Gaiety
At this stage every effort should be made to avoid a fight as it is so important that the horse should not realise his power and be encouraged to dispute the will of the rider... He (the rider) should not forget the youthfulness and inexperience of his horse and show leniency to his faults, overlooking playful bucking which is an expression of youthful gaiety to which the horse is entitled.
~ Alois Podhajsky on The Young Horse in the First Phase of Training, The Complete Training of Horse and Rider
With Toby on a loose lead line, we head into the pines.
I need to go for a walk today (part of my plan to lose this extra twenty pounds), and the young Percheron needs to get out so we can continue working on his ground manners, which are pretty darn good now, by the way.
The Big Boo is interested in everything. He stops for a moment like an ebony statue, ears cocked, listening, nostrils flared slightly, one eye superglued to me because I'm his security blanket. I freeze along with the youngster who is now standing at military attention, trying to see whatever it is that he sees. Then Matilda-the-tenacious-heeler comes crashing through the scrub oak, pink tongue lolling, panting, and in one fell swoop every bit of tension releases from the horse's body, and we stroll on.
A culvert causes some eye rolling, but I tell the Percheron it's OK, it's not a monster, culverts don't eat draft horses, well, not too many anyway. And he relaxes his stance with a long exhale of breath, believing every single word I say.
I'm picking my way down into a narrow, rocky arroyo, with Toby equally cautious at my shoulder, when all of a sudden he explodes into a black flash flying through the air next to me like a gazelle, and lands on the other side, trots up the rocky incline in three light-as-a-feather, rip-snorting, long-legged strides on the loose lead, while I just about stop breathing, thinking of all the power of those 1,350 pounds that have just been unleashed, knowing there's no way I can ever keep a hold of the rope if he gets a wild hair and decides to railroad forward, wishing I had on better shoes for running, when to my surprise all of that good ground work pays off, and the big black horse turns around on his forehand to face me, draws himself up to his full 17+ hands, and waits as I stumble forward, heart pounding. He is shivering with expectation and all the marvelous fun he's sure the two of us are having, never guessing that he's almost given me a heart attack.
We amble on side by side, blue heeler blazing the trail ahead of us.
I lay a hand on the behemoth's damp neck. Careful to stay right with me, he casts a wide, childish eye in my direction, just a tinge of white showing.
Gaiety, I mutter.
