Horse Mavericks

Key and I sat down on the blue overturned barrel, while Lanny West led a paint horse through the gate of the round-pen.  He eased into the saddle, tapped his legs against the ribs and asked the horse to draw his head inward so that his face was perpendicular to the ground.  Lanny walked the gelding around perimeter, stopped, backed, turned him around and trotted the other direction.  Then he cross-reined the paint by tilting his nose to the left and moving clockwise.   After that, he asked him to spin. 

Key swept her long blond hair behind her shoulder.  She placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward on locked arms.  Her blue eyes were large and round. The muscles in her arms and legs twitched concurrently with the paint’s movements.  She may have been sitting on the barrel next to me, but I knew she was in the pen with her horse.  She gasped.  “There,” she said. A few moments later she gasped again.  “There.”

I watched the horse make sudden 180-degree turns and I couldn’t figure out what she was seeing.  “What is he trying to get the horse to do?”

“He wants him to park his ass and swing his front-end around.  Watch,” she said.

Lanny trotted the horse for a couple of laps, and then he did the turning routine again.  This time, the horse spun until his hind legs stood still while he crossed his front feet around in a true pivot.  It all happened so fast, if I had blinked, I would have missed it.  “There did you see it?” Key said.

“Yeah,” I said sitting forward on the barrel, and I wanted to see it again.  A moment later, Lanny got the horse to turn around once more, this time with its butt tucked, its hind legs planted in the footing and his body swooped around in an arc.  Key and I gasped at the same time.  “There,” we said in unison.  A thrill crawled up my spine and I got caught up in the moment.

But the moment didn’t last long, because once the horse whirled around, Lanny stopped, dismounted and loosened the cinch.  I felt let down.  I had finally figured out what all the excitement was about and I wanted watch them do it again. 

“When the horse starts workin’ good,” said Lanny, “get your ass off of him.  Leave him alone.  That’s the best reward you can give ‘em.  They’ll work to find that spot the next time.”

I looked at Key.  She wasn’t saying anything.

I knew better than to protest.  My own horse stood behind me with his eyes half closed.  As soon as Lanny led the paint out of the round pen, I would lead my gelding in.  I knew Gambler would be more responsive to my queues because Lanny was training him. His methods worked.  As much as I wanted Lanny to make the paint do it again so I could enjoy a display of equine athleticism, I kept my mouth shut.  This was about the horse, not about me.