TFW Facebook sucker punches you with one of those "remember this?" posts and you have to go blog about your man-eating horse.
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Patrick said, "There's this horse I want you to go see."
He was the farrier who'd worked miracles with Cosmo's dinner plate feet, and he knew it had been a year since I'd been able to ride anything other than lesson horses. I trusted his judgement, and he knew the horse I'd tried to lease had been an absolute nightmare. "Okay, tell me about him," I said.
The horse was a 17.2hh imported Dutch warmblood gelding. "He's big and old school, like Cosmo," Patrick said, "and he knows all the tricks through Prix St. George. His owner wants to sell him, but I told her all about you and your situation, and she's willing to lease him to you to start."
"Sounds too good to be true," I said. "What's wrong with him?"
He folded his arms over the wash rack divider and said, "I think y'all will be a good match. I think you'll get along with him real well."
"What's wrong with him?"
"I think he'll like you."
"Patrick, what's wrong with him?"
He grinned. "Just go see him. What've you got to lose?"
Nothing. I had nothing to lose, and it turned out that we really did get along.
I came to discover that he'd been for sale for six years; that he'd thrown a woman through a fence; that he was so well trained, in fact, and particular about his rider, that if he didn't like you, he was going to smash the eject button - and it's a long way down when a 17.2hh horse bucks you off. I met someone who'd test ridden him, and she scoffed and said, "I tried him, and he's not very nice," while she slopped around on a friend's horse like a split-open bag of oatmeal.
He was out of shape when I met him, recovering from a pasture injury, quiet and lazy, and that was fine with me. After the Sparky fiasco, I wanted a little quiet and lazy, and I had tons of experience with sports rehab after Cosmo.
It was probably two months before I saw the real Markus. We'd been plodding along, doing our little strengthening exercises. I would free lunge him in the arena because he wasn't strong enough to lunge in tight circles on the line. I ran around the inside of that 100'x200' arena with a whip that I never used; he was content to run with me, keeping right on the rail the whole time. One night, after dark, under the lights, after all the boarders had gone home, I was working him like that when all of that slow rehab work came to fruition. I had him trotting down the long side, trying not to trip and fall on my face in the sand, when he made this great roaring sound like a dragon, lifted his back, tucked his head, and started to float. From plow horse to dressage horse in a blink, and then he shook his mane and elevated some more, like he was saying, "Yeah, I still got it." I turned toward my Mom standing in the doorway of the barn and shouted, "Are you seeing this??" The horse that nobody else wanted was dancing for me.
He was a powerhouse. Not a prancy mover, but a strong one. He kicked at my trainer, and he kicked at a judge in the booth at a show, and I never had one moment's doubt that if I yelled for him, he'd come surer and meaner than any guard dog. When I was talking to workmen at the farm, he ran the fence, screaming and pawing until I got on the other side of him, so he was between them and me, and only then would he graze quietly. He would stomp a dog if given the chance, and it wouldn't have shocked me if he'd killed a man in a past life; he sure hated them at any rate.
I don't believe that God's going to put the "right man" in my path - he'd have to find one who didn't tell me how physically ugly I am to my face, and that hasn't happened yet - but I believe he sent that horse to me. That we needed each other. When I tell people that I owned an imported grand prix jumper and dressage horse from the Netherlands, they think I'm wealthy. *Snort* I paid next to nothing for Markus, and his sweet owner even let me make monthly payments on him.
I miss you every day, my Widowmaker. Thanks for haunting Kit Kat - but could you lend her a little caution so she doesn't poke out her other eye? That'd be swell, bud. xoxo
Sometimes there is a horse that was meant to be yours. When you find that horse, it's magic.
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