Fairytales of a Childhood That Never Was, Part III

To hell with anything sacred. Rather than tackle something safe, I'm again going to try to tackle the other narrative I hold to be sacred and true. Which is going to be damned hard to do, because I'm not already questioning it. Here goes:

Fact: I could trust Tex whenever I was on him.
Truth: For all I like to pretend that everything was perfect, there were moments where I was terrified to be on him. Mostly earlier on, but, they existed. A couple of times, he sort of ran away with me, and I had to run him into a fence. Stopping was always a dicey proposition, especially bareback, because he does this weird thing where he tries to deccelerate, and ends up flailing about with his legs for a bit. (Note: I'll be jumping around with tenses a bit, trying to convey the state where he's not mine, and he's still alive.) I fell off him no fewer than six, more likely 8-10 times. Some were my fault, but once he took off, once he stopped in front of a jump...some were definitely his fault.

That said, I want to question whether the narrative is true that I became able to trust him more, or whether those last few days, and that last ride, bareback, with one lead rope going to his halter, and no helmet, was as much a profound statement of trust as it was a display to prove to myself that this was special, or a subconscious desire to crash and burn.

In a way, I was putting myself in harm's way, doing things we were always bad at, like bareback, without any bit (he only did well with contact on the bit, and it was absolutely necessary to stop him), and while not wearing a helmet, which I'd always been told to do, but I'm not sure whether it was a grand gesture to reassure myself that this narrative I've always built up, where I could trust Tex no matter what, was real, or whether it was a way of tempting fate to prove me wrong. Ultimately, though, I think the two desires are intertwined. By tempting the fates, I was testing, proving to myself that this was real, and not an imagined connection. (The fact that I didn't wear a helmet throws in a sort of morbid element to the test, a sort of statement that I would be nothing without this particular fairytale.)

Fact: Tex loves green grapes.
Truth: A couple of times, he actually got excited about eating grapes. It wasn't that he ever dislikes treats, and being fed them is never a bad thing. He does get excited about carrots sometimes, too.

I really remember the grapes because it was special, and unique, and not something you think of feeding a horse. But he did kind of mellow out about them after a while. And I forget that.

Fact: I always treated Tex with the utmost respect.
Truth: I was far from perfect. I hit him occasionally, usually with good reason. But not consistently.

He nips occasionally, and sometimes I'd slap him for it. Sometimes I'd just let it go. Sometimes I'd blow up in his face, but not hit him. Sometimes I'd outright hit him for it.

To be clear, all of those are valid training strategies, if you're consistent. If you do the same thing every time the horse nips, and it fixes the problem, and it's not something that causes physical damage to the horse (Trust me, my bare hands couldn't do that.), it's a more-or-less valid strategy. But the key is consistency. And I wasn't consistent. Nor does hitting him necessarily suggest respect.

When we did groundwork, I was a long way from respectful. When he was too close, or moving crooked, I would slap his nose with the loose end of the reins. I didn't have much patience or tolerance there.

In retrospect, Tex was a damn good first horse for me. In reality, he's still a damn good horse, period. And someday I'm going to take apart this fairytale more, I think, but it's not ready to unravel just yet. I can't really get into tearing it apart. It doesn't feel cleansing, like the others, it just feels like I'm needlessly tearing out part of myself.

So don't consider this one dealt with.  I'm not ready to pull it apart just yet.