A Pasture Sour Horse

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She was getting anxious as I was brushing the dried mud from her hair and mane, tossing her head and looking from side to side. Placing my hand on her head, right between her eyes seemed to temporarily calm her. I had her lead line tied to a tree as that seemed to be the only thing that could hold her when she decided she was done standing.

The saddle blanket sits a little further forward on her wither than it does with Diego, my Leopard Appaloosa. The blanket only seems to agitate her further, but I am convincing myself that she needs to be ridden and broke from being sour. She just does not want to leave the comfort and safety of the herd that roams the pasture.

I set the saddle gently down on her back and she looks around at me, grabbing my sleeve with her teeth and pulling my arm away. I can be just as stubborn and continued situating the saddle so it fit perfectly on the blanket. Walking around behind her, I had a split second where I thought she might get tired of my persistence and just kick me. I pull the girth strap which had been laid across the saddle and gently laid it along her side, and walked back to the other side. Reaching beneath her ample belly I pulled the girth to my side and finished saddling her. I knew the second I climbed into that saddle that was not going to be a smooth ride.

Riding down the drive way she started a slow walk, tossing her head high into the air, just acting generally agitated, but she followed Frank our cremello quarter horse. Crossing the road posed another challenge as she did not want to walk in the grass. Every few seconds she would sputter and whip her head up and down. Like a drunk that was well passed simple inebriation, she zigged and zagged the entire way down the path, cutting directly in front of the other horses. She also was not one to be left behind as her zigging and zagging kept putting her behind. She would then start a run without warning to catch up with the Frank and Diego.

After a quarter of a mile I decided I was tired of fighting the reigns and turned her around. That is the only direction that she followed without hesitation or a measure of defiance. A straight line was finally possible; however stopping became another issue. She knew exactly where to go to get back to the herd and come hell or high water, she was getting there, with or without my agreement.

That is the quickest I have ever unsaddled a horse and set it back out to pasture. For as long as it has been since she was ridden she did do relatively well, however, the name Charm is not the best descriptive name for this horse.

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