Pony Jumpers 9- Nine Lives

by Kate Lattey

  Katy just blinked at me, looking confused. “She’s kinda dangerous.”

  “So was Squib when I started riding him.”

  “Not like her,” Katy said firmly, even though she hadn’t even known Squib back then. She threw a set of rubber bell boots at the box, and missed. “Haven’t you had enough injuries lately?”

  I reached down and picked up the bell boots. “Apparently not.” I smiled at her expression. “Can I just try? If I feel unsafe, I’ll quit.”

  Katy rocked back onto her heels and frowned. “I don’t know, AJ. Mum will kill me if anything happens to you.”

  “So we won’t tell her.” My friend hesitated, and I tossed the bell boots into the box. “Come on, please? Just let me sit on her. If you’re going to sell her, then at least I get one ride, right?”

  My best friend sighed. “I guess you can if you really want to. I don’t know why you want to, but…just don’t die, okay?”

  I smiled at her. “I won’t.”

  Tori was back out in the paddock at last, enjoying her freedom, but I took a handful of sweet feed and caught her without any problems. I took my time grooming her and tacking her up, giving her plenty of pats and as much personal space as I could. After a while, Katy got bored of leaning over the partition and delivering dire warnings about Tori’s bad attitude, and decided to go and school Lucas in the arena instead.

  “Saddle incoming,” I warned Tori as I lifted Katy’s black jumping saddle onto her back. She twitched her ears back and hitched up her near hind leg, threatening to kick me, but restrained herself from following through. I settled the saddle in place and slowly, carefully attached the girth and snugged it up. Tori tossed her head and pulled faces at me, but she didn’t try to bite. More sweet feed convinced her to lower her head enough for me to slip the reins over her arched neck, and by standing on tiptoes, I managed to slip the bridle onto her head with a minimum of fuss.

  I didn’t start feeling nervous until I led the black mare out into the yard, when suddenly she looked massive, the saddle I was about to sit in impossibly high above the ground. Over in the arena, I could see Katy’s helmet bobbing along the top of the flax bushes in time with the rhythmic thud of Lucas’s hooves.

  “Steady, now.” I tried to keep my voice calm as I halted Tori next to the mounting block, wondering yet again why I was doing this. What was I trying to prove?

  That this is a horse worth persevering with. The words leapt into my head, and with renewed resolve, I pulled down Tori’s stirrups and stepped up onto the mounting block. She turned her head towards me and touched her muzzle to the side of my thigh.

  “Don’t bite,” I told her, but I didn’t correct her or make her move her head, the way I knew Katy had done last time she’d ridden Tori.

  I’d noticed the way that the mare had laid her ears back and stamped a hind leg at the correction, taking offence at being told off and setting them off on the wrong foot before they even began. Even as Tori’s lips parted slightly against my leg, I forced myself to stand still. But she didn’t bite me. She nibbled at my leg with her lips, her ears twitching back and forth, but kept her teeth to herself. I stroked her neck, and a moment later, Tori sighed, straightening her head of her own accord.

  Relieved, I lifted my left foot into the stirrup, then swung my right leg across her back and sat down gently in the saddle. I gave Tori a gentle pat as I slid my foot into my offside stirrup, and let out a deep breath. So far, so good.

  Sunlight dappled through the trees, stretching our combined shadow across the hard-packed gravel. Tori’s neck was long, her ears seemed a mile away, and the ground was a lot further down than it was from Squib’s back. I put my reins into one hand and stroked her neck gently as Tori swished her tail at a fly that was buzzing around her flanks, seeming completely at ease with me being on her back. So I sat up straighter, adjusted my hands on the reins, then touched my legs gently against her dark sides.

  Tori stepped forward into a swinging walk with her ears pricked. The only problem was that she was going the wrong way, heading down the driveway instead of towards the arena. I touched the left rein to correct her, using the lightest amount of pressure I could, but Tori ignored me and carried on. Again, Katy would have made a point of correcting her. She’d have insisted on obedience, and got into a fight right away. But I also knew, from my own experiences with the mare on the ground, that sometimes giving Tori a little of her own way was the quickest way to win her over. I would just have to hope that I could convince her to turn around when we got to the gate.

  Tori’s stride was long, fluid and powerful, and I could feel her hind legs coming underneath her with each step she took. I’d been working on that with Squib lately, trying to get him to ‘come through from behind’ as Deb called it. I’d done my best to get the result she wanted, seeking out that sensation of swinging hindquarters and increased propulsion that she described. Sometimes, when I’d applied precisely the correct aids at the correct time, she would call out “Yes, that’s it, do you feel that?” and I would be able to honestly say that I did. Sometimes I didn’t, but pretended that I did. Sometimes I thought I did, but she said I didn’t. But Squib had never, even at his most balanced and powerful, made it feel as effortless as this. I was starting to realise why people bred flash warmbloods instead of training talented cross-breds. Half of the work was already done with a horse this naturally athletic. It would just be a case of harnessing and controlling that power – and, in Tori’s case, winning her over.

  We got to the end of the driveway in no time at all, and Tori came to a halt at the closed gate. She stuck her head over it, looking longingly out at the road that stretched out in either direction, but I wasn’t brave enough to venture out there, where there could be traffic to contend with, so I gently applied pressure to the left rein again, asking her to turn back up the driveway. She tossed her head, and yanked the rein out of my hand. I knew that if I got into a fight with this horse, I would lose. But before I could decide whether to insist on a correct response, or to just let her stand there until she got bored, Tori made up her own mind. She turned herself around – to the right, not the left like I’d asked – and marched back up towards the yard.

  Her stride was quicker now, and I could feel an uneasy tension radiating from her as she hurried back.

  “It’s okay,” I told her, leaning forward and gently stroking Tori’s neck. Her skin twitched under my hand, but I felt no other reaction. No sense of trust, or harmony. Just irritation, like I was a fly that was bothering her instead of a human that she liked.

  “Good girl. That’s a good girl.”

  I’m sure the words meant nothing to her. I only spoke for the reassurance of my own voice, and because I felt like I had to say something, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. Tori strode past the yards and towards the arena. I glanced over at Katy as we came closer. She was cantering Lucas in circles, her eyes focused on his arched chestnut neck. I closed my fingers around the reins, asking Tori to halt near the arena gate, but she wasn’t having any of that. She tossed her head against the pressure of the bit, and surged forward again.

  I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, so I sunk my weight into my seat and heels and let her keep going, hoping for the best. I kept expecting Katy’s voice to ring out, asking me where I was going, telling me to come into the enclosed area, or at the very least to wait for her, that it wouldn’t be safe to take Tori out on her own. But she was focusing so closely on Lucas that she didn’t even see me, and soon we had passed out of view.

  The spring in Tori’s step increased as we rode down the long raceway. I knew that the gates onto the Fitzherberts’ farm would be shut, so I let the reins lie loose on her neck, waiting for her to reach the end and turn around. But when we got there, the gate to the hill paddocks was open. Tori’s head lifted and her stride lengthened, and I picked up the reins and closed my fingers, trying again to slow her down, but Tori’s only reaction was to pick up into a jogging
trot and swing her hindquarters to the side, threatening to misbehave if I dared try and turn her back. I caught a glimpse of her rolling eye as she kinked her hindquarters into the air, and knew she was laying down a challenge.

  We were balancing on a precipice, each one waiting for the other to make the first move, and the decision I made now was important. What would I want my rider to decide, if I was Tori? With a smile, I shortened the reins a fraction enough to have a light feel on her mouth, then started rising to her trot.

  “Let’s go then,” I told Tori, and feeling encouraged, she straightened her body and headed up the slope.

  Her stride was massive, and so powerful that it almost boosted me out of the saddle with each step she took. I pushed my heels down and tried to keep up with her, suddenly fiercely aware that I’d never ridden anything remotely like this before. Squib was a little powerhouse, but not like this. Molly was sensitive, but nothing like this. Lucas was fluid and graceful in motion, but he couldn’t compare to Tori. The ponies were V6 hatchbacks while Tori was a Formula 1 racing car, engineered to have speed and power beyond imagination. She was intimidating, intoxicating, incredible to ride. And although I had no steering and no real control over her paces, I couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across my face.

  A rabbit shot out of a clump of grass on our right and raced down the hill away from us, and Tori bounded forward in surprise. I grabbed her mane with one hand to avoid using my reins for balance, and Tori yanked her head down in irritation.

  “Sorry.”

  I forced myself to let go, and rested my hands against either side of her strong neck, doing my best to relax and trust her. She took that as her cue to surge forward into a canter, and I pressed my knees into the soft saddle flaps and leaned forward, going with her as she propelled us uphill. Her canter was immense, like her trot dialled up to ten, and I was finally starting to realise why she was such a disappointment to Katy. A metre-forty oxer would be nothing to this horse, if she wanted to jump it. I could practically feel the potential oozing out of her, and knew with absolute certainty that if she could be tamed, if that power could be harnessed and controlled, she would be mind-blowing to ride. I didn’t blame my friend for feeling let down, but I still didn’t quite understand how she could experience this and still be willing to throw in the towel.

  Tori accelerated up the last part of the slope, and we reached the trail that ran along the top of the ridge. It was narrow and undulating, and the first section sloped downhill. Tori tugged at the reins and sped up, her stride lengthening and flattening out. I really didn’t want to let her get away on me, because I knew that there was a big wooden gate at the far end of this track with a hot wire running along the top that she wouldn’t see if she tried to jump it. We needed to slow down, and I needed control back, but I also knew that she was a lot stronger than I was.

  Start slow. I flexed my fingers on the reins slightly, so gently that I was barely aware of it myself, but I felt Tori’s stride slow a fraction in response. A memory floated back to me from many years ago, when a riding instructor had told me that horses are far more sensitive than we give them credit for. She had reminded us that they can feel a mosquito land on their flank, so naturally they must be able to feel every tiny, subtle movement of our bodies when we are on their backs. The least brush of our legs against their sides, the subtlest movement of our fingers on the reins. It had made sense to me, but when I had attempted to communicate so subtly with the riding school ponies, and later Squib, with such light aids, I had received no response at all. So I’d increased the efficacy of my own aids, out of necessity. Like the school ponies whose sides and mouths had been deadened by the endless kicking and pulling of beginners, my own riding had become dulled over the years.

  Do less, I schooled myself. Think slow. Think woah. I sat up taller, shifted my weight back slightly and began to slowly close my fingers around the reins. And Tori responded. Despite the subtlety of my aids, despite the fact that I had closed my fingers only a few millimetres closer together and applied only a fraction of pressure to the thin strip of leather, Tori slowed. My seat in the saddle and the support of my lower leg brought her back to me and I was breathless with delight as she eased into the most beautiful floating canter I’d ever had the privilege to sit on.

  The narrow hilltop stretched out in front of us, Tori’s ears were pricked forward and her mane ruffled in the breeze as we covered the uneven ground effortlessly. I laughed out loud, overwhelmed with emotion, and I knew that riding Squib was never going to be the same again.

  I rode Tori every day after that. She wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. After that first brilliant canter, she’d jogged all the way home, spooking at everything and trying to tear the reins out of my hands. But despite her difficulties, despite the meltdowns and spasmodic fits of bucking and the way she still seemed to view all my instructions as optional, I enjoyed riding her. Not just in those sublime moments when everything came together and she was grace and power personified, but for the small changes, for the moments when she tossed her head happily, for the way she strode out down the raceway every day, eager for more adventure, and for the fact that she no longer flinched away when I reached forward to pat her. Nothing worth having ever comes easily – Squib had taught me that, and Tori was teaching it to me tenfold.

  “She’s only being good for you because you’re not asking her to do anything,” Katy pointed out one day when I came back from a ride with an ear-to-ear grin. “If you took her into the arena and tried to school her, she’d try to kill you too.”

  I wanted so badly to prove her wrong, but I also didn’t want to give Tori the opportunity to prove her right. But the next day, I couldn’t help testing the theory. I’d ridden Tori down to the river flat, but instead of letting her trot along as usual, I asked her to circle. Tori started out well, flexing at the poll and accepting the bit, but when I asked her for more inside bend and to collect her stride a little, she started to become agitated.

  I should have left well enough alone, but I’ve always been a slow learner. I persisted for several more circles until Tori took matters into her own hooves, plunging out of the circle and putting in her first genuine attempt at bucking me off. I didn’t see it coming and was flung forward onto her neck, grazing my cheekbone against her hard neck. I braced myself for a second buck, knowing that I had no hope of staying on if she wanted me off. I caught a glimpse of the stony ground and hoped that it wouldn’t hurt too much when I landed on it. But again, Tori surprised me. Instead of dumping me, she slammed to a halt, then stood still as I pushed myself back into the saddle. I wiped my watering eyes on my shirt, then reached forward and gently stroked her neck. She might not like what I was asking her to do, but she wasn’t trying to hurt me, and I was grateful to her for that.

  I rode home to find a note asking me to feed out, because Katy and her mum had been running late for a fundraising dinner. I was in the midst of unsaddling Tori, daydreaming about my parents winning Lotto and buying her for me, so that I could ride her every day and do whatever I liked with her, when a bright green ute drove into the yard. It stopped in front of the stables in a spray of gravel, and Tori tossed her head, unimpressed. Then the driver’s door opened and Harry stepped out.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Hey yourself.” I unbuckled Tori’s girth and laid it over the top of her saddle, then lifted the steaming saddle blanket off her back. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Visiting you, obviously.” Harry jogged across the yard and unlatched the stable door for me, holding it open and gesturing me through with a flourish.

  “Since you’re such a gentleman, take this,” I said, holding out the saddle.

  “What am I, your groom?”

  “You wish.”

  He took the saddle from me, and I went back to Tori and removed her bridle, then rubbed behind her ears as she dropped the bit from her mouth. She shook her head in relief as she wandered to the back of her stable to get a drink
of water.

  “I see she’s stopped trying to kill everyone,” Harry commented, sounding mildly impressed.

  “Not really. Just me.” I stepped through the open stable door and latched it behind me, then led the way into the tack room. “I’m still trying to figure her out, but I don’t know if I ever will. She’s a bit of an enigma.”

  “She’s a lunatic,” Harry said cheerfully. “If she was a person, she’d be a serial killer.”

  “Hey now. Be nice.”

  “I’ll be nice when you be nice.”

  I pretended offence. “When have I ever not been nice to you?”

  “Let me think. I turn up here, out of the blue to surprise you, and you barely even say hello. No hug, no snog, nothing.”

  “Please stop saying snog,” I begged him. “You know I hate that word.”

  “Which is why I use it. To punish you.”

  “You really are Boyfriend of the Year, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what I keep saying. Glad to hear you’re finally coming around.”

  “Uh huh.” I watched as he slung Tori’s saddle crookedly onto its rack, leaving the saddle blanket bunched up underneath it. “Well, you make a marginally better boyfriend than you do a groom,” I grumbled. “But that’s not saying much.”

  I reached for the saddle blanket, but before I could fix it, Harry had grabbed me around the waist and pulled me towards him.

  “I give up on subtlety,” he declared. “Come here and give your boyfriend a hug.”

  “That was meant to be subtlety?” I asked him as he turned me around in his arms to face him. “Hate to break it to you, Haz, but you’re about as subtle as a brick wall.”

  Harry smiled down at me. “You know what? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I replied. “Because that’s definitely not how it was intended.”

  “Sure it was.” He leaned in closer until the tip of his nose was touching mine. His body was warm, and strong, and he smelled good. Teasing him came naturally, but sometimes he just made me melt. “My lack of subtlety is just one of the many things you love about me.”