Dante of the Maury River

by Gigi Amateau

  “You know, I’m not sure he’ll ever get to where he needs to be. I hate to give up on a horse, but maybe Dante ought to live out his life as a companion horse,” Mrs. Maiden said.

  John set down my hoof, and I already felt an improved sense of balance. “That’d be a shame, for sure. He’s talented. He has a good heart. In prison this horse was my best friend. There for me every day. Who knows what all he’s been through.”

  “Maybe you’d like him, John?”

  He rubbed his hand down my back. “I wish I could take him. I really do.”

  “Seriously, I can’t keep him at my school if we can’t get him under saddle and if he’s not safe,” said Mrs. Maiden.

  “You rode him a lot at the prison,” Ashley said. “Would you help us?”

  As he was done with my feet — and with appointments for the day — I lifted a front leg out to him. John broke into a big grin. He held my knee and laughed. “That’s my boy, right there. How can I refuse?”

  With all the work I was doing, to tell the truth, I didn’t have much time to act up. I was plumb exhausted. My new mentor, Daisy, had me running around the gelding field learning all the landmarks and fence lines: the hay ring, the enormous gray boulder, and the old stand of cedar trees. John and the corgi started coming out to the barn twice a week to work with Mrs. Maiden, Ashley, and me.

  “Can you really help me ride Dante?” Ashley asked.

  “I believe so. First off, let’s see . . . do you have a peppermint? Very important.”

  Ashley ran into the tack room. Lo and behold, she returned with a bag of treats. She had been holding out on me.

  “Like I said, Dante is finicky. Not all Thoroughbreds are as sensitive as this guy and not everyone would agree with me on rewarding him with sweets.”

  “Whatever works,” said Mrs. Maiden.

  He explained how I liked to know what was coming next, and how he always talked and showed me each step. He reminded Ashley to show me the blanket, saddle, and girth before placing the tack ever so gently on my back.

  “So far, so good. Go real slow with tightening the girth. Yep. Now, give him a treat. Pat his neck.”

  Next, he led me into the round pen in front of the barn. Ashley followed. He picked up the longe line, clipped it to me, and pushed me out on the rail. Longeing had been a big part of my workdays since starting out at Gary’s. My mind clicked into gear. “About ten minutes on each side.”

  “Oh, I haven’t been longeing him for that long. He goes so fast, and he gets all snorty and prancy. I guess I get scared and stop.”

  “Now, don’t be afraid. Be patient. He actually likes longeing, but you want to give his mind the time it needs to relax. Dante has so much energy that if you jump on and ride him cold, it won’t work.”

  “Why? Other horses, like Daisy and Gwen, I could ride around bareback in the field.”

  John cracked up laughing. “And I bet you do, too. Nah, not this guy. He wants to go fast. All the time. But you don’t always want him going great guns, right? If you ask him to trot do you want him to gallop?”

  Ashley shook her head.

  “Right, well, racehorses aren’t trained to walk or transition slowly or make pretty circles. Dante here was taught one thing: Go, man, go!”

  As I made circles around the group, I started to relax. I felt happy to be working with John again. Somebody who knew me and what I needed.

  “There we go, Dante. That’s it. Easy. Easy.” My cue to slow down. “Do you see what we did here, Ashley, by giving him plenty of time to settle and not rushing him? A couple of things. Number one: we burned off some of his energy. Number two: we gave him something to focus on. Number three: we also let him look around, check things out.”

  “He’s so much calmer now,” said Mrs. Maiden. “We knew working with an OTTB would be different, didn’t we, Ash? I hadn’t factored in the peppermints, though.”

  “Now for the big test.” John grinned. “Into the ring we go. Ashley, why don’t you walk him to the mounting block. I’ll hold him and give him treats while you hop up in the saddle. Well, don’t hop. Just ease your way.”

  Though I knew Ashley had a bad habit of holding her breath, she was not a wiggly rider. And she felt calmer now that she knew what I liked.

  “Nice job. All right, go ahead and lean down and give him a candy. There you go. Now, walk off. Stay soft. I learned that the hard way. Let him look around some more.”

  Mrs. Maiden watched all this, nodding her head. Ashley and I walked around the ring. I recollected our first easy walk at Riverside and started to relax. I let it all come back to me, and I felt Ashley smile.

  “Now he’s good to go. Just ride him normal, now. He’ll be okay to work.”

  Ashley and I walked all around the ring. Naturally, Gwen, Daisy, and the other mares pressed themselves up against the fence, watching us from afar. I pretended not to notice. When Ashley came upon standing water from a recent rain that took up a full corner of the ring, she started to cut and go around.

  “Nah, go on through it. He’ll go. He loves water. Now, how many horses can you say that about? See how awesome he is?”

  John spoke the truth. The puddle cooled my toes and relaxed me. I dropped my head and might have even groaned a little, it felt so good.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” said Mrs. Maiden.

  “Oh, Dante’s full of surprises.”

  “And what if we don’t go through all that each time, with the longeing and the candy?” Mrs. Maiden asked. “If we forget a step?”

  “Same results you’ve been getting. He won’t like it. I believe he was mishandled over the years, but who knows? Really, all this is about trust and repetition, and easing him into work.”

  For the rest of the summer, my regimen consisted of rigorous daily longeing, flatwork, and plain old walking or trotting circles and spirals and serpentines. We’d walk then trot then come back to a walk. We’d trot then walk then come back to the trot. Once I had walk-trot down, we began to work at the canter. Then came even more transitions.

  Mrs. Maiden was feeling confident that the time might be upon us to test how well I’d handle the environment of the show ring. After all, if I was ever to become a show horse for Ashley, I’d need to learn how to handle my business in public. Personally, I saw no big rush to prove anything to anybody. I’d have been tickled to stand in my stall eating hay, minding my own business.

  But everybody’s got to work.

  With help from the Maury River Stables family, Mrs. Maiden organized a small hunter show at her farm. Kids, ponies, and equines from all over Rockbridge County came out. Mrs. Maiden’s friend Stu fired up the grill with hamburgers and hot dogs. The moms served coffee, lemonade, cold water, and brownies. All spiffed up and ready to show, the riding students looked almost as pretty as their horses.

  A rainbow of ribbons waited on display at the judge’s stand. All of Mrs. Maiden’s students and the parent-volunteers turned out in Maury River Stables polo shirts to represent the home barn. The show judge that day was none other than the neighbor up the road, Mrs. Pickett, who had grown up a hunter herself but now preferred raising donkeys, mules, and llamas to hunting.

  Ashley planned to show three horses: Daisy, Gwen, and me. Ashley and I were scheduled for two classes: Walk-Trot and Pleasure.

  While Ashley showed Daisy over fences, Gwen and I waited our turn in the barn. Mrs. Maiden had cleared out the row of stalls across from me for the day so that visiting horses might have a place to rest. The large turnout meant the show would likely continue through afternoon. That meant Gwen was in the stall right next to mine.

  On a typical day, Gwen and I didn’t have a whole heck of a lot to say to each other. Oh, she and I had exchanged formalities across the fence line on occasion, but not much more. The newest horse at the Maury River Stables was a Belgian draft named Macadoo. He had arrived not all that long after I had, and the Hanoverian seemed more concerned with helping him acclimate than with helping m
e. And that had been bugging me ever since he had arrived.

  Macadoo would have his turn in the ring with a student named Eric and go against Ashley and me in our Pleasure class. To my view, Macadoo boasted nothing but a big body and clunky feet. He claimed to be a purebred, but no papers had come with him. Plus, he had a big chunk missing from one of his ears. A little rough around the edges is what I’m saying. I wasn’t too worried about the Belgian as a competitor, but I couldn’t understand what Gwen saw in him.

  I finally got up my nerve to ask her while we waited for our classes. “Now, Gwen, I know I haven’t been here that much longer than Macadoo, but I wonder something. Why do you take such an interest in him?”

  By that, I was implying and why not me?

  Gwen dropped her head to pick up some hay, but she didn’t turn her backside to me, so I figured she was reflecting on the question.

  She took a long drink of water from the plastic bucket attached to the wall, then answered, “I suppose I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

  “Not much to figure,” I replied. “What you see is what you get.” I hadn’t yet learned my lesson about smart-talking a mare.

  Gwen let me have a stern piece of her mind. “What I see is a gifted and beautiful but spoiled horse who has a good twenty or so years ahead of him, yet who has neither learned how to be a horse at all nor relate to the people who care about him. I see a horse who every day fails to show any gratitude for the incredible opportunity he’s been given.”

  I decided to paw myself into a deeper hole by making a joke. “Oh, I get it. You haven’t talked to me much because you didn’t want to have to be rude.”

  “Precisely,” Gwen said. She put her nose into the corner and spun her tail toward me.

  Now I was the one with nothing to say. I didn’t even want to consider whether the Hanoverian might be right, but her opinion of me seemed a smidgen unfair. I was loading up to give her what for, but before I could mouth off too much, a horse mom walked into the barn and right up to me.

  Straightaway, I realized she was Ashley’s mom. I figured Ashley had told her which stall I lived in.

  Her hair was curly like Ashley’s and as dark as my coat, like Ashley’s. She had the same big, round eyes and good long nose that I admired so much in Ashley.

  “You must be Dante, the horse who’s given so much trouble to my daughter. I wanted to come meet you. See for myself why she loves you so.”

  I didn’t offer a whicker or a nicker or any sound at all. For one, because we had only just met. For two, there was a gravity to her tone that unnerved me.

  On the surface, she looked like a kind and pleasant enough person, but there was something unpredictable simmering inside her. I prided myself on my ability to accurately interpret the true nature of people. For example, Mrs. Maiden’s friend Stu always presented in scent and in spirit as a comforting blend of hay, grain, grease, and sweat. His earnest odor told me all I needed to judge his character: horses, land, and hard work. A man able to fix anything that needed fixing.

  My friend John smelled like dog, horse, and grass. And peppermint. Also a winning combination.

  The lady before me presented a confusing bouquet of fatigue and coffee, leather and chocolate. Not a whiff of peppermint.

  Flummoxed at best, I pinned my ears. Just a mild show of displeasure, since she was Ashley’s dam, after all.

  I’ll grant her this, she was determined to make friendly. Without even asking, she slid open my stall door and scooted up beside me. I took a step back.

  Thankfully, Gwen was now watching and offered some advice.

  “Relax, Dana’s a good person. She’s not a horse person yet, but a good one. You could help her.”

  “You know Ashley’s mom?” I asked.

  “Yes, she’s actually one of my students. A beginner. Tell me something, Dante’s Inferno. You know Ashley as well as anyone. Do you ever feel that part of her is anxious? Or absent?”

  Gwen hit on a true thing when she said that, but I couldn’t ever put my nose on it till now. I had noticed how sometimes Ashley would just check out. I whickered.

  “Those are the places inside Ashley that most miss her mother. Dana’s been gone for months and months and has only returned home of late. That’s what she does — goes away and comes back.”

  “How could she leave Ashley?” I remembered the first day I met Ashley, how she called me Monkey and told me how much she was missing her mother, this lady standing beside me now.

  The woman scratched my ears; I shook her hand away.

  Gwen snorted at me.

  “I mean, where was she all this time?” I asked.

  “She goes wherever her commander beckons. Ashley’s mother is a warrior. I imagine that’s why she’s not afraid of you. I expect nothing much frightens her.”

  I bowed my head but kept my feet poised and ready should I need them.

  Then Gwen surprised me. “Dana is like you, Dante. She’s seen it all and then some. Here in the blue mountains, even though she’s at home, the battle still wages within.”

  I could tell that Gwen was right. Dana’s erratic heartbeat, her shallow breathing, and the way her left hand stayed tense, balled up, and ready to defend.

  True enough, I hadn’t invited Ashley’s mom into my stall, nor had I initiated her touching me. Something Gwen had said, though, rattled me. The battle within. The battle she couldn’t escape.

  “Use your heart, Dante,” Gwen said.

  The same words Grandfather Dante had said.

  “I see your pride twitching. I know you have a large heart that helps you go the distance physically, but your heart has a different job here.”

  “How can I help her?”

  “By not reacting in your usual explosive, defensive way. You can help the both of you by stifling your distrust. Just accept Dana’s touch. Try not to anticipate anything; simply be present.”

  I froze. “Like this?”

  “Almost. Unpin your ears and set your back foot down. All the way.”

  Ashley’s mom scratched my mane, and I instinctively let out a deep sigh. Then she did, too.

  “Better,” said Gwen. “You’re no therapy horse, but better.”

  I felt myself dozing off and tried to fight it by asking Gwen, “How do you mares know so much?”

  She nickered softly. “I’ve seen it all, too. I realized a long time ago that I could either seek out and surrender to the goodness in those around me or live my life as an unhappy, albeit gorgeous, warmblood.”

  Humility is, clearly, a rare trait among mares of any breed. Dishonesty, even rarer. Gwen was, indeed, a gorgeous Hanoverian. Her honesty and her beauty were a hard combination to beat. I decided to give her advice a chance.

  I let Ashley’s mom rest her head on my withers. I let my own heart soften. A horse with my bloodlines isn’t born to be anyone’s pet, but right there in that moment I found no shame in offering respite to a soldier. I calibrated my breath in time with hers.

  I wanted to know more about Gwen’s former life. She sounded as though she, too, knew something about hard work and hard knocks. So I asked her, “Were you a racehorse, like me?” I knew that other breeds besides mine raced, though none as famously so.

  “Do I look like a racer? No, Mister Thoroughbred, I was a carriage horse in New York City, among other places. Later, a police horse, here and there.”

  “Whoa. You’ve seen the whole world.”

  “Yes, I have, and let me tell you something. I wake up every day and my eyes rejoice to see Saddle Mountain and my ears welcome the sound of the river, no matter how fast or shallow it runs. The Maury River Stables is a heavenly, healing place. A very good life for a horse, if you give us a chance.”

  Now, Ashley’s mom may not have been a horse person, but surely she had learned some Horse along the way. No sooner did Gwen start waxing about the mountain and the Maury River than did the lady lean out my window and say, “I’m so glad to be home. I’ll tell you what, Dante. B
etween you being so welcoming and Saddle Mountain forgiving me for being gone so long, I feel like I’m in church.”

  About then, Ashley came into the barn. She stopped in her tracks when she saw her mother. Her eyes flared white. “Mom? What are you doing in Dante’s stall? I told you to be careful around him. I just asked you to peek in and see if his water bucket was empty, that’s all.”

  “Oh, honey, he’s a gentleman. What a sweet horse.”

  Good glory, I couldn’t help myself. Yes, I did whicker. Nice and loud, too. I’d been called a lot of things in my lifetime: handsome, spirited, athletic, talented, promising, unfit, demented, intelligent, stupid, a head case, mean, and rotten. But never had any person or equine ever called me sweet. So I whickered again.

  That day, Ashley had a pretty easy time getting me tacked up for our two classes. She took the time to longe me, and the work paid off. We didn’t win, show, or place in the Walk-Trot class, but we didn’t get DQ’d, either. I didn’t bolt, rear, or buck her off. I did canter a little bit, though.

  Surprise of all surprises, we placed fourth out of six in our Pleasure class. The credit was somewhat but not entirely due to Napoleon and his nemesis, a mule named Molly from over at Tamworth Springs, who chose that class to reinstitute their long-standing rivalry.

  For me, a fourth in Pleasure was about as good as first.

  “See!” Mrs. Maiden said. “I told you, Ashley. You two are making progress. Stick with it. Never give up.”

  Now that I had been called sweet and had even placed in a show, I almost had a reputation to live up to. I wasn’t ready to admit to being spoiled or entitled, but the day had given me a lot to think about.

  A full day of showing and being on my best-ever behavior had wiped me out. I was ready to grab some shut-eye. We mares and geldings remained on evening turnout, but with a chill in the air and the light getting shorter, we all knew that the turnout schedule was about to switch from night to day.

  The turnout schedule depended upon the air and on Mrs. Maiden. So any night could be our last one outdoors till spring. Sleeping under the stars made me feel closer to home and closer to the bloodlines, so I was hoping for a few more nights outdoors.