Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  He stood no taller than I did, just under six feet. He was lean but not skinny, and he carried himself like a Thoroughbred in the post parade, all taut, controlled, dangerous energy. His hair was jet black and it fell haphazardly around his face, the longest of it ending below his jaw. His eyes were unbelievably dark and so intense that it both thrilled and terrified me to be so close. I tried to comprehend how I had missed him before, when he used to hang out with Lou. Was I blind?

  Slowly, I became aware that I was staring at him. I knew I needed to stop, but it seemed an impossibility. Feeling embarrassed, I pulled at a stray thread on my shirt. Don't panic, I told myself. He's probably used to this. All the same, I hated my lack of self control. I could almost hear the seconds go by.

  Fortunately, Lawrence threw me a lifeline. "Harry's in his stall. I left him in this morning so as not to waste any of your time. He doesn’t like to be caught."

  I smiled gratefully. "That was good thinking. Well, I'll get started with him then."

  Almost surprised by my newfound ability to form words, I followed Lawrence to the barn, noting that the back view was as righteous as the front had been. Well, that's not going to help you concentrate, is it?

  We stepped through the barn door. My stomach was floating unnaturally with anticipation.

  I saw Harry immediately. He was black with a bold white blaze on his face. That was all I could tell at first. He was straining against his stall door, weaving slightly. At the sound of our feet he turned his head and focused on me. The weight in his stare was shocking. There was more behind his eye than there should have been.

  I stayed back, watching, as Lawrence clipped a lead to his halter and brought him out. “Meet Harry,” he said.

  I could see the potential my brother had spoken of immediately. Harry was athletic and muscled, yet streamlined. His legs and feet were well built and clearly up to the rigors of polo. He stood up as if on tiptoe, poised. The whites of his eyes were prominent, like an Appaloosa. My heart was suddenly very loud in my ears.

  We moved Harry to the cross ties so Lawrence could tack him up. Harry stood well for the process, but I could see his mind working overtime.

  "So. What kind of problems have you been having with Harry?" I asked, like this was just a normal training gig with a normal owner and a normal horse.

  Lawrence stopped what he was doing, a stirrup leather frozen in his hand. His eyes went even darker for a second. “He…” Lawrence seemed to be doing a lot of editing. “He has no work ethic,” he finally said.

  “What do you mean?” I needed more information than that.

  “Harry could easily go along with what I want. I’m not asking for much, at this stage. But he won’t. He works himself into a lather fighting against me. He’d rather fight himself ragged than walk in a straight line when I ask him to.” Lawrence stared dimly at Harry. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I walked around to Harry’s near side. “I assume he’s been vetted?”

  Lawrence snorted. “Flexed, poked, prodded, x-rayed, scoped by the finest vets in Wellington. He’s had a bone scan, an MRI even. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

  I didn’t bother asking about saddle fit. I could see the saddle was a match, and even if it wasn’t, horses are adept at tolerating a little pain. This issue went way deeper. Whatever it was.

  Lawrence went to Harry’s head, fastening the noseband and throatlatch. I realized I would have to ride soon. Harry seemed to realize it too. His head came up, and his calm demeanor vanished. Staring at his twitching muscles, I felt my confidence retreating. Lou said he’s not a rogue, I reminded myself. Lou said he’s not a rogue.

  Oh, hell, what does Lou know? My brain rebounded. Lou hasn’t even seen the horse!

  Lawrence handed Harry's reins to me.

  I looked into Harry’s quivering eyeball, then back at Lawrence. He was waiting, ready to take Harry’s reins back. He thought I was going to bail. I turned back to Harry with resolve. He wasn’t any different than the young, fractious ex-racehorses I started all the time. He was smaller, too. I hesitated for a brief moment, then fastened my helmet. "Come on, Harry," I said in my best fake self-assured horse calming voice, "Let's have some fun."

  I led Harry to the arena, pulled down the stirrups and mounted up. He stood obediently. Encouraged, I gave him a long rein and brushed him with my leg.

  When I got on a new horse, unless they were totally jazzed up and ready to buck, I always gave them a minute to just walk out, and I followed them with my seat and hands, asking nothing. It gave me a chance to get used to their rhythm, and I found it made them more agreeable in the end. Horses didn’t subscribe to the same social standards as people did, true, but it seemed to me that it was rude to jump on a new horse and immediately start demanding things.

  Harry did hesitate. I let him have that moment of uncertainty, and then he picked himself up and walked on. His neck was upside-down, and his head floated above the contact I offered. But he walked dead straight.

  I patted him, turned him in the other direction, and gave his sides a light squeeze. He burst into the trot, skittering around in a quick tempo. I controlled my posting, lingering in the air each time I rose, and Harry slowed his gait to match the rhythm I’d set for him. Encouraged, I picked up the contact, wrapping my inside leg against him and fluttering the reins, reaching down to touch his neck whenever he softened.

  I changed direction a couple times, bending him different ways. Harry was melting, answering me, giving me the power to shape him. That was a big deal for a horse like Harry. But I could see, from the glimpses I caught of his eye as I rode him, that his mind was far from quiet.

  Gently, I brought Harry to a halt. I patted his neck, which wasn't even sweaty. And I looked up from the black curve of Harry’s neck, right into the equally dark and deeply-set eyes of his owner. He was smiling.

  Lawrence

  Glancing at the clock, which showed ten after nine, I wondered if she was actually going to show up. Then I heard the sound of her tires on my gravel. Pausing to pull on my boots, I headed out the door. I was curious to meet her, because other than what I'd gleaned from our single, brief conversation, I knew nothing of her.

  Erica looked nothing like the rest of the Rimwork family except for her blue eyes, which contrasted sharply with her short-cropped brunette hair. Her height impressed me immediately; she stood eye to eye with me as I shook her hand. I soon realized I had seen her before when I rode with Lou at his parents' farm. I’d thought she was one of their grooms. After a brief introduction we walked to the barn to start with Harry. She said little, but looked him over with knowing eyes.

  I couldn't give Erica much in the way of history, and as I tacked up Harry I wondered if she would bail. I tried to read her, but she wasn’t easily read like most women. She seemed stronger, like she knew herself. So it was both a surprise and a foregone conclusion when she took the reins I offered. I followed them to the arena, looking forward to the show.

  Erica mounted up. I leaned on the fence, watching. She let the reins out immediately, to the buckle.

  My back stiffened. I almost intervened. But I stopped myself. She had come to help me, and the least I could do was give her a chance. Besides, I kind of wanted to see what would happen.

  I leaned forward over the top rail as Harry started walking. Finally I would see what I had been feeling all this time. I was hoping, if nothing else, that I might pick up a visual cue that would tell me something. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was really going on when you were on top of a plunging, twirling horse.

  Then I realized something. Harry was walking.

  His neck was inverted, and his steps were short. His eye was surrounded by white. I could almost feel his brain leaping around in overdrive. But Harry was walking.

  I stared. I stopped breathing and became still, like if I moved I would shatter this miracle. I was almost afraid to move my eyes. I glanced up at Erica, suddenly remembering she was up there, maki
ng this change happen. What is she doing? She appeared to be doing nothing.

  Her face relaxed and smiling slightly, Erica took Harry up to a trot. He looked like he was going to jump out of his skin in the transition, but he quickly settled. The reins were still flopping at the sides of his neck. Erica quietly gathered them up.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Harry surrendered control of his body. He let her coax him out of his tight, resistant posture. He conceded to her.

  I was up and over the fence without realizing it. I walked straight toward them, feeling the wind rush in my ears. Harry came to an obedient halt.

  As he halted, Erica rubbed his neck, and his expression softened. My pulse rose. I could see something worth going after. It was a long way off, and who knew how long it would take to reach it. But the first battle had been won. That was something worth celebrating, but I couldn't help but feel like I should've been in the saddle when it happened.

  I shook off my disappointment as Erica dismounted. While we walked Harry to cool him down, I told her about my early sessions with him. How I'd seen the potential but hadn't been able to grasp it. "How did you read him so perfectly?" I asked, still a bit envious. "That guy in Wellington had him for two years. I've been working with him for weeks now. You've known him an hour, and you got the first breakthrough."

  She stared thoughtfully at Harry's neck for a moment. "I think it was because I didn't have any history with him, not in spite of it. I came in without any expectations or motives. Sometimes you can't see something clearly until you step back." She paused. "I think you were too close to him."

  I nodded slowly. Being close to Harry was a concept I couldn't fathom. But I could understand the point she was making. I had been desperate for something to go right, and Harry surely felt it. Horses always fight pressure, and my emotions must have felt like a ton of bricks on Harry's back.

  She stayed to untack and groom Harry. He seemed to enjoy the attention this time, instead of fidgeting and looking for an escape as he usually did. I then led him to his paddock and turned him out. He took off for the northern facing fence line, bucking and kicking all the way.

  Erica laughed softly as she watched him. "Does he ever get tired?"

  I smiled. "I've never seen it happen." Harry finally lowered his head to crop grass, but seemed ready to run at any second. He was always on the alert, like a wild mustang.

  Erica glanced over at me. "Not that it's my place to say it, but 'Harry' seems awfully plain for him."

  I nodded. "He came with it. I thought about changing it, but when I got to know him, I realized how well it fit.” I smiled darkly. I wasn’t about to let her in on the joke.

  "Well, it's a strong name, at any rate." Erica glanced at her watch. "I'd better get going." She turned to head over to her truck.

  "Thanks for everything," I said. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and she shaded her eyes with her hand.

  "He's a really interesting horse," she said. "He has everything it takes to succeed, really. He's well built. Has stamina, power. A great mind," she added. "But he's using it all wrong. He always has, probably. Whether he always will is another question." She hesitated. "I don't like to be pessimistic, but I don't want to be overly optimistic either. I can't say which way he'll go. Today he showed that he can give up some degree of control. But he has a long way to go before you can trust him when the stakes are high." She looked me in the eye. "I'd be willing to work with him some more. This was a favor to my brother, but I think Harry can help me grow as a trainer. The question is, do you want me to come back?"

  I didn't have to think on it. Thinking before acting wasn't really my style, anyway. It never had been. Some might call it reckless, but living in the moment never hurt anyone. "Anytime," I told her.

  Erica

  As soon as I reached my parents' farm and parked my truck in the usual spot, I headed for the barn. I was still fired up from my ride on Harry, and it seemed the perfect time to work with my own horse.

  I grabbed my gelding's oversize halter from the hook on his stall and jogged the short distance to the field where he was turned with ten other horses. After climbing a small hill, I spotted Don't Cha Doubt Me grazing in the valley below. "D.M.," I called out to him. He raised his head, flashing his blaze. I rubbed his neck in gratitude when he reached me. As he lowered his head for the halter, I pulled it over his nose and fastened it behind his ears. After a few more pats I clucked to him and we began walking to the stable. He was so long strided that I almost had to jog.

  After the process of grooming and tacking up was complete, our ride began. I had set up some jumps in the outdoor arena the previous afternoon. D.M. pricked his ears in their direction as I rode him past. "Yes, we're jumping today," I told him. "But you have to warm up your muscles first." D.M. sighed and lowered his head, stretching his neck and back muscles. Soon we picked up the trot and I focused on suppleness, circling him in both directions. D.M. had a weaker side, as all horses do. I had been working on strengthening it for quite some time now. In order to succeed in the show jumping arena, D.M. needed to be able to turn well. Sometimes the hardest part about jumping wasn't the jumping itself, but getting to the fences. My brother would argue that dressage is more difficult than any other equine sport, but jumping was certainly a challenge. My dad and I bred and trained horses for several disciplines, but from an early age I had fallen for the sport of show jumping above all others.

  Now our real work for the day had begun. I had set up the fences to mimic parts of the courses we'd had trouble with at last season’s shows. D.M. had jumping ability to spare, but mistakes - his and mine - in tight corners had cost us. It was critical that he learned to compress his stride without losing impulsion.

  I began riding him through the lines I'd set up, focusing on driving him on with my leg while controlling his stride length with my body. It was no easy task for either one of us. The first few times, D.M. sped up, hitting the top pole with his front legs. Then he began listening to my seat but ignoring my leg aids, slowing down so much that he was forced to heave himself over the fence. Soon poles were scattered all over the arena, posing a safety hazard, so I briefly dismounted and reconstructed my fences. As I returned to the saddle, I patted D.M.'s neck reassuringly. "Don't worry," I said. "We'll get this today." I believed my words wholeheartedly. I had to believe them.

  I started the lesson again, first working on the flat. When I thought he was starting to understand the concept, I turned him toward a line of jumps. We cleared the first one at a normal speed, but upon landing I began applying my seat and leg aids again. At first he did not react, but in a few strides I could feel his response, and the fence remained intact as he soared over it. We hadn't met it perfectly, but the effort had been an improvement, and that was all I could ask for. I patted D.M.'s neck, exclaiming over him, and let him walk on.

  As I let D.M. stretch I became aware of a presence at the rail. Taking a closer look, I recognized Ben Miller. He was a well-known hunter/jumper trainer in the area, and my parents bought horses from him on occasion. I now remembered my dad mentioning that Ben was coming out to look at a hunter prospect we were offering for sale. "Hello there!" I said, walking D.M. to the rail.

  Ben extended his arm, and we shook hands over the fence. "That was a rough ride," he said sympathetically.

  I groaned. "How long have you been standing there?" I can't believe Ben Miller just saw me litter the ground with poles!

  He laughed. "For a while.”

  "Well, did you at least see the end?" I asked. "He figured it out in due time." I glanced at D.M., who had cocked a hind leg and looked half asleep, and smiled.

  Ben nodded. "Yes, yes, I did." His expression turned serious. "I've seen enough of you to know that you're a talented rider, Erica. But I think your horse is holding you back."

  The smile vanished from my face. The balmy air now had a distinct chill in it. "What makes you say that?" I asked coldly.

  "He's got scope, that's for s
ure. I mean, he's massive, so he'd better have a big jump in him, right?" Ben chuckled. "But today's courses aren't just about height. The turns are a problem for him, as you've noticed. He's just not as agile as he needs to be. A big horse like him could go well as a hunter, or even in low-level dressage. But if jumping is the direction you're headed in, the two of you might need to go your separate ways."

  I stared at Ben silently, but my mind was irate. I don't need you here, Ben. Just go. Just take your stupid metaphors and your suggestions and get away from me. I opened my mouth to tell him just that, but he was too fast for me.

  "I've got a mare you might like. Jumper prospect, schooling five feet. Scopey, athletic. Tall enough for you, but nimble - "

  I cut him off. "I'm sure she's lovely," I said, with such restraint my entire body tensed. "But I'm not in the market for a horse right now." I nodded to Ben, then dismounted and walked D.M. to the gate. By the time we reached the barn, the angry tears I'd been blinking back finally spilled over my eyelids. I wiped them away roughly with my sleeve. Ben wasn't worth crying over. I had let him get to me, and that made me angrier than anything else did.

  Grooming my horse nearly always had a calming effect on me, but not this time. Ben Miller wasn't the first person to question my choice of a horse, only the first person to say it to my face. My parents had never been big fans of D.M., and I had heard them talking about horses they'd sold that would have been better for me. Rivals at shows had offered condolences after bad rounds, saying that I'd ridden really well and that it was just bad luck I'd placed fifth, or sixth, or not at all. Ben Miller had been trying to sell me a horse, but most of those people genuinely cared about me. But they didn't notice how he took care of me when I was nervous. They couldn't feel how hard he tried for me, even when he was tired. They didn't know how far he'd come. I rested my face on D.M.'s neck, breathing deeply. Maybe he wasn't the easy way out for me. But the decision to keep him always had been.