This evening, instead of longing Caprichosa, our Andalusian mare who's on the mend from an injury and getting lots of physical therapy these days, I decide to pony her from my Appaloosa mare Teyla instead. I haven't ridden Teyla in a good six weeks. But I feel pretty good about it. All of my horses have a bit of that wild as a deer thing going on in the wintertime, but Teyla seems to bounce back faster than anyone. The clocks working against me, and I know it will be dark soon. So I grab my lightweight bareback pad that I like to use in the wintertime, her hackamore, Caprichosa's halter, and a long lead line.

Teyla may not be the prettiest or the friendliest mare on the block, but when I swing up into the saddle, it's like I had just ridden her yesterday. She is as light as a feather, and I can ride her on a loose rein, using only my legs. She cruises forward in her all business walk, and Caprichosa has to jog to keep up with her. I drop Caprichosa's lead line once, and Caprichosa bends her head down to graze. But Teyla, who has no problem being in charge or herding anyone else around, gets right up next to the Andalusian with only a little leg from me, and I can bend down and grab the lead line easily.

That fellow I bought her from for $500, the killer price, sure would be surprised. She's as sure as the sun. As solid as a rock. As right as the rain.

I love that rangy little mare. And I think that underneath all the layers of abuse, her hardened psychological makeup that melts, bit by bit, as the scars are fading, although I don't kid myself, I think they'll always be there, she knows that.