What happens when you ride a Percheron
This gorgeous photo is by taylorkoa22 on flickr. Stunning.
The Big Boo and I are trotting through the back yard.
We circle the swingset. We circle the log splitter. We circle the vaulting barrel, of which he is still suspicious, but we manage a nervous circle nonetheless.
1,850 pounds of Percheron springing up off of the ground in great strides, onyx legs swinging beneath him, back rounded, neck arched, and I simply ... sit, because on Tobias it is this easy, especially after we work the buggers out on the longe.
We are practicing being soft. Soft. Soft. Soft. The advice of my vaulting coach, the classical dressage rider who's studied with some of the best, is chanting in my head like Ohmmmm.
I still my seat, still my hands, exhale slowly, and like a miracle, the big horse halts, and we find ourselves staring into the luminous face of the full moon rising above the horizon, climbing above Starvation Peak, ascending above Rowe Mesa, her cool arms outstretched over the tips of Toby's ears. He shivers in her radiance, nods his head, as if the moon and the mighty horse had arranged this meeting.
I feel suddenly like the unlikeliest of knights in my very own backyard, surrounded by the chain link fence.
