Year One

A year ago today, I met Surya and my life changed.

She is the sweetest, hardest working, smartest, bravest, itchiest, most beautiful, and perfect horse I have ever met. I am so lucky we are partners.

A year ago, Surya wouldn’t go into the indoor arena… or her stall. A year ago, she was not confirmed at the canter under saddle. She hated fly spray and wouldn’t think of standing for clippers. A year ago, I didn’t own a pair of breeches. I didn’t own a curry comb. I had not yet inexplicably bought unnecessary duplicates of halters and blankets. I posted the trot like a child told she was going to Disney World. Surya was green; I was (am) green. A year ago, a successful partnership was not a foregone conclusion.

Thanks in large part to my brilliant trainer, we have made it work, and last month Surya started galloping up to me when I come to fetch her from the field. Granted, this may be because it’s winter and freezing and she wants to come inside, but I am choosing to interpret this as enthusiasm for my company.

I trust her; she trusts me. This is in evidence in our jumping. If I am unsure or confused, Surya decides she is too. But if I ask her to go, she goes. I have almost fallen off of her a couple of times – lost my stirrups, landed on her neck, hung off the right side of her with my left hand clenched in her mane while she somehow ran out of a bounce. She doesn’t hold it against me, and on the plus side, she’s obviously very agile. The next time we face the bounce I keep my upper body back and we go through perfectly, her ears relaxed and happy. And she is so smart. She gets us through the jumps if I don’t see a distance and over new stuff like she’s seen it all before. She is unafraid and I am unafraid. I’ve got her back (hah) and she’s got mine.

This is true in dressage too, though it’s less about trust and more about accurate communication. Surya will let me know if she is upset: pinned ears and swished tail. But she capitulates so easily. As if she considers the energy required to put up a good fight, then mentally shrugs and says ok Alex, you know best…bend to the right it is! This is wonderful, because I have been able to work on developing finesse without her punishing me for accidental heavy-handedness. If riding is a language, I feel like I’ve finally gained enough understanding to start reading novels. Easy ones for now, maybe on the level of Harry Potter, but hopefully more nuanced with time.

In some ways, Surya is the least marish mare that has ever existed. But she loooovvves scratches, pretty much everywhere. She pricks her ears and then pouts if I greet other horses in her line of sight. She will do anything for grain or apple bites, but places a lesser value on carrots. We have had little fights, but I’ve won, and she lets the precedent stand. She can tell if she’s pushing the boundary of acceptable behavior, and I can tell if she just wants to run in the snow.

Having a horse is like living a pop song, or a symphony. Surya, as Taylor Swift says in declarative chords, “I loved you from the very first day!”