Part I

My eyes lingered on the black ribbon of road stretched behind me. Though my foot never deviated from the accelerator, driving me away, my heart slammed in to my ribs trying frantically to sprint back to Kent. I pulled into the drive and shut the car off. The silence no longer made me itch, I felt nothing, nothing at all. With no real recollection of how I got there I found myself in the barn. Mechanically I began to clean the stalls. It was peaceful there, in my routine, it comforted me after the dull roar of the school day. A flash of copper raced across my field of vision, my eyes snapped my head around trying to focus on the flash. The sun hid behind the cottony clouds blanketing the parched grass in murky light. There racing through the haze was JB, his brilliant coat glinting. Then a image slithered across my memory and took my breath away.
Perfect blue sky towered over him, not a single cloud blemished it. He stood there in the middle of the pasture, head high, legs locked. I sat in the grass close by studying him. The sun seared my exposed shoulders, I could practically here my skin screaming for aloe. Gatsby jerked and wheeled away bolting another circuit around the field. I shook my head, and suddenly I was back in November.
Gatsby. Gone. Gone. Gone. GONE.
I have to tell myself every time I walk out to the barn that he will not be there.

I'll write Part 2 soon readers.
Raime

It was one of those nights where the clouds hung low in the sky. Smudged across the periwinkle horizon like last nights mascara. I walked out to his pen, leaning against the dusty railing. He stood there, in the fading light, with his head held low between his knees. My teeth clamped down on my lip and a bubble of doubt swelled in my chest. What if I haven't done enough?

As I stood there wallowing in my self doubt it struck me that I have been neglecting this blog. I'd love to tell you, my readers, that I was busy saving the world or doing good for someone. That would taste a lie. I've been busy no doubt - but it's wrong to ignore something once you start. I'm sorry readers for leaving you in limbo.

Gatsby leaves soon. With every blurry sunset and every falling leaf goodbye stalks closer. Goodbye, is a nasty nasty creature indeed. Goodbye - empty at best. I hate it.

Little Gatsby isn't so little anymore. He has shot up over these last couple months. The muscles in his neck and shoulder seem to have appeared from nowhere as well. He reminds me of the moon, one night you look at it and it's hardly even there, the next time you steal a glance it hangs, a god among the stars, full and radiant. His future is so bright.

A brief list of things we've accomplished since my last post
-Walking over a bridge
-Walking over a tarp
-Hooves trimmed by the farrier (no problems at all! In fact our farrier loves Gats)
-Saddling
-Backing through poles
-Trotting over poles
-Loading in trailer
-Unloading (without rushing or crowding)
- Standing in the trailer

I'm nervous yet excited to take him to his feature in October. Although it will be bittersweet to drive home with an empty trailer.

I'll write again soon-
Raime

The last post was one that was written but failed to post. This is today's events.

Dust raked it's way down my throat, I blinked sporadically trying to clear it from my eyes. The rope came to it's end with a great jerk, wrenching me forward. I cursed under my breath trying to stand my ground. It was the third time today Gatsby had tried this little stunt. The first one, caught me off guard, the second one surprised me, but this time I was ready. I watched his long athletic legs gather up under him, I leaned back against the rope waiting for the snap. The force still sent a shock through me that rocked me. Gatsby was at the end of the rope, but it might as well of been a rocket. He flew circles around me, launching him self into orbit. I pulled on the end of his nylon lead, which was acting as gravity pulling him in to me. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, he stopped. He stood with his head hung low, eyes half hooded and licking his chops.

"Gatsby, what was that?!" I stared incredulously at him.

A small morning colored bird flitted to him, Gatsby stuck his nose down into the grass by it. The little bird showed no fear, as it hopped closer looking for bugs to eat. Gatsby sniffed at it. "Gatsby" I warned "You be nice to the pretty birdy"

Quick as a wink, Gatsby nudged the bird with his muzzle. The bird took to the air in a single motion. The sudden movement sent Gatsby in to another fit of bucking. Annoyed I took him back to his round pen. I braided his mane and tail, wrapping it in pink vet wrap to keep it from being pulled out. He seemed annoyed with the club I attached to his tail. More than once I watched him wallop himself with it.

Changing it up with a Hemingway Quote :)

"Man cannot be defeated. He may be destroyed, but he will never be defeated." The Old Man and the Sea

Heat rippled in my stomach as I started across the lawn. I could hear my heart beating faint as raindrops in a summer storm. My hands shook and I felt it all start to unravel. When things start to pile up, we have a choice to run from it or fight it. I am not a runner.

I sat in the shadows of the barn feeling out my thoughts. Worries ran like ice water down my neck, chilling me to the bone and holding me in place. Anxiety ran ramped - scolding my stomach and running its scorching fingers through my hair, raising goose flesh on my scalp. Something like anger, was there too, it wasn't as unpleasant as anger, it was more controlled; focused. It squeezed my shoulders and pointed me in the right direction. My logic was inside, ticking away, driving me crazy. I parted my lips and let it all go, one big breath.

I sprayed the big horses down with fly spray, and went to do Gatsby. I got one spritz in before he took off bucking and kicking. "You naughty little mongeral!"

I lunged him till he gave. His eyes softened and his mouth opened and closed. He stopped and stood sweetly as I misted him with fly spray.

After that we worked on leading, he knows how, but he also knows how not to. At random intervals Gatsby will lean all his weight back and brace himself, refusing to go forward. I've gotten creative, getting him to come forward.

We worked on that for a long while, then I opened the panels and made him continue to work inside. Then, with the Indiana Jones theme song playing in my head, Gatsby and I stepped out on our first solo outing.

If you aren't a horse person, it's hard to explain the almost religous moments you have with these beasts. Having Gatsby behave, and follow me, head bobbing, feet shuffling; it was like having the rain stop in the middle of a down pour.

"I spoke to her," he muttered, after a long silence. "I told her she might fool me but she couldn’t fool God. I took her to the window" – with an effort he got up and walked to the rear window and leaned with his face pressed against it – "and I said ‘God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but you can’t fool God!’" The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Buttery light filtered through the heavy canopy, the wind raked it's fingers through  the bows of the trees, whispering secrets, making promises to the green leaves. Subduing their fears, their objections with a 'shhh, shh'. Till finally one let go, the brave little leaf jumped on the back of the tempting gusts and rode them down, down, down. Twisting and bucking, leaving a galaxy of swirling dust particles in it's wake. The callow little leaf was caressed by the ever moving water. I let my eyes track it till the stream sucked it over a waterfall and out of site.  I rolled the weight of my head to the back of my neck letting my hair fall over my shoulders. The sun felt warm and comfortable on the hollow of my throat, I settled back a little more my elbows grinding into the moss. I closed my eyes and sighed. I had walked down to the creek with Jessy to gossip about life and let myself fall easily into mindless chatter. I was having no such luck. As I watched my pulse behind closed lids, my mind was anything but clear. It was muddled with Gatsby's image.

The day before my Dad and I took him up to the horse trailer, I walked in and he followed with no pressure. He quickly hopped out, but willing returned. It was a start, but of course not good enough. No, I have to find a way to get him to haul like a true gentleman.

I quickly assessed his behavior lately, the bucking, and romping. It was unusual for him. I can only assume he's bored. I pulled the feed sack in his pen today and he simply flipped his forelock in to his eyes with a snort as if to say "Oh, this old song and dance."

Jessy loaned me her Clinton Anderson book, I plan on reading it and using it to my advantage. But to be honest, I feel like the brave little leaf. I'm riding this wind in a downward spiral, making the descent beautiful and graceful, but when we hit that water and it is out of my control, will he be ready? Will that dance down burn in someones eyes like the sun on a puddle? Will it be something they can't bear to look away from? What if I fail? If a leaf lets go of the tree, will it always find it way to the ground, or be left up in the air?

"It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey."
The Great Gatsby By F. Scott Fitzgerald- Chapter 3, on Gatsby.

The sun sat lazily on top of the trees. Leaves swayed and shimmied in the wind, leaving round grey spots on Gatsby's coat. The sun gave the earthy red color an almost gold tint. He seemed to have an almost Aura around him. His eyes were soft and lazy as he smacked his lips glamorously.

Today was the second day of standing tied for Gatsby, it's remarkable how quickly he picked it up. I credit it to pressure-give-release training. Every time he pulls away, he feels pressure, he's being trained to give in to pressure, so he stops moving away and voila, release. I had him stand for a good twenty minutes with the lead looped over the rail-not tied so there was no risk of him feeling panic and not being able to get away.

I swept the soft brown brush over his body. I talked him through the plan for today. I hopped out of the pen and walked to the barn. In a far back corner covered in dust was my old bareback pad. Complete with cinch. I grabbed it and took it to Gatsby. He didn't even look at me when I tossed it on his back. I looped the cinch so that it was touching him, but it wasn't tight. I sent him out on the lunge line. Walk, trot, canter. He handled it beautifully. I released him with the pad still on, allowing him to get used to it on his own accord. He reached back and tugged on the straps, but other than that paid it no-never-mind. I must admit he looked handsome in the Kelley green pad.

Later I took it off and set it on the rail. I went down to the barn to get his dinner, only to come back and find Gatsby tossing his new outfit around like a toy.

"It makes me sad because I've never seen such - such beautiful shirts before."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 5

I apologize for the last post. I left it undone and up on the screen. My ever so impatient Mother clicked "post". Oy Vey.

I ran the razor blade over the taunt plastic, watching the cedar shavings expand and spill out of the slit. I flipped the bale of shavings over, dumping it in to Gatsby's stall. I heard his snort of protest from the other side of the pen. I shoved my hair back out of my eyes as I turned to him.
"Hey Gatsby-Bratsby, get over here look what I got you!"
Another loud snort. I smiled at his expression.

Later in the day my Dad and I took Gatsby out. He flew to the end of the line, snapping himself around. His eye stared at us, proud and offended. We walked him in the grass letting him graze.

I watched him, his every little move, trying to paint a picture of his life before this, his home. His herd, I'd imagine is every bit as beautiful as him. All in assorted browns, reds, greys. All with the same almost liquid movement. These horses in my head run like thunder through the dust and sand of the Paisley Valley. It made me almost sad that everything Gatsby had once know, would be something he would never know again.

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment." The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald; Chp. 6

During his adventures outside the corral, Gatsby had gone into enclosed stall, and into an unfenced pasture. He's faced barking neighborhood dogs and evil chickens. He hardly batted an eye.

Today I went to him in the afternoon. The sun was hot and lazy, allowing no wind to blow. Gatsby was curled up in the fluffy cedar shavings. I sat on the bench by his stall and watched him wallow with innocent eyes. I can't give you words my readers, for what it was like for me. Watching him stretch and groan, sighing in the luxury of a bedded stall. It made me laugh but at the same time it put him in perspective for me. And that is what I can't explain, I understand him and his little arrogant ways, I get it. I just can't tell you why or how he still listens through all that ego.

I poked Gatsby in the ribs with my forefinger.

"Hey lazy bones it's time to do some work."

He sighed and rolled his eyes at me before hopping up to his feet. I slipped him into his halter and a lead. Walking him around the pen, I thought of Cinco, my show horse, and how before each workout he gets stretched. I stopped Gatsby, I slowly pressed my back to his flank, pulling the lead rope til he bent to me. I watched him, the long lean muscles on his back tightened, the veins under his neck and down his chest stood pumping his gamey blood. I watched them serge with his heart beat. Rise, one two, rise, one two. On the fifth rise Gatsby bent farther toward me, giving to the pressure, I released his head. Repeating on both sides.

Everyday when I muck his pen, Gatsby harasses me relentlessly. Following me, standing in the way, and even stealing the pick. He's a real pest. So today I decided it was time for the Great Bratsby to learn to stand tied. I looped his lead around the top rung, just tight enough that if he tried to wander it would apply some pressure, but if he pulled hard, he'd be freed. I'm happy to report I cleaned his paddock in record time :) He stood with his head pressed to the fence pouting the whole time. He got his revenge while I was filling his water.

I squatted by the trough holding the hose in it, he mosied over and began to drink. I was so captivated by his sweet coco powder colored eyes that I didn't see the hoof. Gatsby without warning shoved both front hooves into the trough, pawing and sloshing. Completely soaking him and I both.

"Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small, reluctant hand. Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he had ever really believed in its existence before." The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald Chp. 7