The Story That Never Was: Part Seven

It is a stormy, stormy night. Perfect weather for story-telling. I thought I'd treat you with the end of The Story that Never Was. Here goes...

Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
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"All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a little girl." (Author Unknown)

Jake was going downhill fast. He was a young, talented horse who was slowly being ruined: by Donna's ambition, by Shannon's incompetence, and by his own moody disposition.

Donna had plans for Carousel Farms. Her farm was the biggest and the best, and from there, it could only get bigger and better. Her reign was rough on all the school horses: she took more riders than the horses could handle, and she held them to no standards. Riders who hauled on their horses mouths or wielded crops like a fencer wields a sword were welcome in the barn so long as their checks didn't bounce. There were even students (grown girls, not children) who would sneak the beginner's pony, Captain, out of his stall and jump on him bareback and grab on to his halter. Even when Captain had to be retired due to back troubles (obviously resulting from 120 pound girls jumping on his back when the trainers weren't looking), these girls could be found hanging out with Donna and Shannon almost every day. And more importantly than all of this, Carousel Farms was just a very dynamic place. Horses came and went; the school horses were always being moved to different stalls; and there was always people everywhere: laughing, crying, singing, screaming. It takes a very particular kind of horse to deal with that environment.

Jake was not that kind of horse. He was still green, and he was put into three, sometimes four lessons a day in order to accommodate the growing clientele. He was not happy sitting through three hours of low-standard equitation lessons, and the constant changes around the barn did nothing to soothe his mood.

I talked to Shannon about leasing him. He was still a talented little horse, and he would throw his heart into every one of our lessons, even if it was plain to see that he would have preferred something other than hunters and equitation. He could act annoyed or irritated or bored with me, but at the end of the day, he would never let me down. He would snort a complaint or toss his head, but then I would reprimand him with my legs (Come on, let's go.) and he would carry himself like Adonis over our course. It was killing me to see him suffer through his work and through the pony parties Donna subjected him to. He wasn't cut out to be a school horse. I wanted to make it so that he didn't have to be one. But Shannon didn't consider my inquiry into a lease a serious one. She brushed it off with an, "Oh, I'll get you the information, but I think we need him in lessons."

I never got the information. I wish I had.

I distinctly remember my last lesson on Jake, because it was the first time that I could truly feel the difference between the horse he was now and the Super Star he had once been. His gaits were flat. His jumps were dull. He didn't put up a fight when the lesson dragged on ten minutes longer than normal. He didn't prick his ears up when I headed for the in-gate, and he didn't nicker at me when I offered him a peppermint. He didn't do much of anything. I could only look at him and thing, What happened? He had always been a surly horse, but he had always had a little bit of sparkle. What had happened to turn my sparkly little gelding into the morose recluse I led into his stall that day? I don't think I'll ever know the full story.

When I arrived for my next lesson, I was told that I would not be riding Jake. His stall was empty as I passed it on my way out to the ring, and my heart sank. My nerves were eased as I saw my gleaming chestnut Jake being held by Shannon in front of the in-gate. Shannon was talking to Donna, and as I approached I got the gist of their conversation: Jake's lesson had not gone well. He had been acting up all day: giving small bucks, running through the bit, flashing his teeth at the other horses. Donna's temper was high that day, and her words came loud and fast: This was ridiculous; she hadn't paid for him only to act this way. And then, voice thundering, she swooped closer to Shannon, sideswiping Jake and coming around behind him.

Jake saw an opportunity to release his frustration and get the better of Donna and took it. He tucked his haunches in, aimed, and then swiftly launched a kick at the owner of Carousel Farm.

It was like pulling a fire alarm. The reaction was instant and overpowering. "I am done with this horse!" Donna screamed. "Done! Jake is gone!"

I never once dreamed that she would act on that threat, nor that she would act so quickly. The next time I came to Carousel Farm, I stopped short in front of Jake's stall. There was a horse in it; he looked tauntingly similar to Jake: a taller, less compact version. He was part Quarter Horse with a dusty red chestnut coat, a white black, and two white stockings. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was Jake. And then I realized that it wasn't.

In twenty-four hours, Donna had called the dealer where Jake had come from and arranged to have him sent back. No one thought to call me and see if I wanted him (I would have taken him in a heartbeat). After all, I was just a kid. To them, I knew nothing about owning a horse.

But I like to think I know more about the nature of horses than Donna did. Or at least the nature of Jake. I once referenced in a post that there is "a princess buried inside every broodmare." I believe there was a prince buried not too deep within Jake. I felt it the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I continued to feel it throughout our time together. Sometimes, all it takes is the right girl working with the right horse to bring out the best in both. Jake gave me my foundation for working with real horses, not the mindless school horse drones kept at Carousel Farm. He also taught me how to handle green horses, and, from Shannon and Donna, how not to handle green horses. He showed me a part of myself that I never knew existed. From him, I gained the confidence of a real rider and the courage to find some place different than Carousel Farms, some place where I could truly work with horses, not just watch as other people took them away from me.

Instead of telling the story about a bond with a school horse that ultimately came to nothing, I should be telling you about how I bought my first horse, Jake, and about our adventures in finding a discipline that truly suited him. I should have stories about our training, our showing, our search for a good boarding barn. But that's not how life works.

I found my happy ending, at a new barn with a more suitable trainer. I hope Jake found his, too. Rumor has it that he ended up in retraining with Martin Klein at Benchmark Farm, but that might not be true. I wish I could find out what happened to him. I wish I could have found him under better circumstances and made him mine. I wish I could have truly appreciated everything he taught me before he was taken away. But sometimes, you just have to cut your losses and take fate for what its worth.

If it hadn't been for Jake and our Story that Never Was, I wouldn't be the woman or the equestrian that I am today. And that's worth more than all the horses in the world.

The End.

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This post is dedicated to all the riders out there struggling to find themselves, that they may meet a horse who touches them as much as Jake has touched me.