Owner: Taxidea
Show Name: Σ! Wit and Grit
Barn Name: Tad
Gender: Stallion
Height: 15.2hh
Halter: Artist's choice
Prompt:Resiliency is not how far you've come but what you've made it through to get there.
-----
I went to the auction house that day not looking for a horse. It felt like only yesterday that I lost my Willow, the best mare there ever was. My heart still ached to think of her, and I could feel the hole where her soft whinnies and tenacious character had once been. Still, I thought that being around horses -- unfamiliar but still so known with the sound of hooves shuffling, the sight of curious noses poking over the rails of pens, and that smell that is so many wonderful things all rolled up into one that just makes your brain think
horse. So I dragged myself down to the auction, forced myself to walk through the big barn doors, and made sure that I didn't look too long or too hard at any of them.
I wasn't ready, I told myself.
I took a booklet of those who would be up for sale but didn't even crack the cover as I found a seat in the very back row of the bidding ring. I could feel my heart pounding as the auctioneer began announcing the first horse. As a dark shape on the end of a lead rope came into the bright auction lights, I wasn't breathing. It was too soon, too much. What if one of them looked like Willow? At this thought, my vision started dimming around the edges and I began gulping down air as though I was drowning. I buried my face in my knees and could hear nothing above the roaring in my ears until I was able to slowly, slowly calm my racing heart. I took deep, even breaths, feeling the denim of my jeans against my cheeks worn smooth from years of constant wear. The fabric smelled like horse hair and mucking out stalls and apple slices forgotten in a front pocket for too many days. Without even knowing what I was doing, my fingers found the hole by the right side seam that Willow had bit through when she first started feeling sick. At the time, I thought she was just grumpy, "being a mare", even though she never had that attitude. I wasn't sure if catching it earlier would've made a difference, but I wished I'd had the chance all the same.
The painful but tender memory helped beat back my anxiety, and I lifted my head in time to see a sturdy Thoroughbred being paraded around the ring. She held her head high and almost lifted her handler off the ground at one point when she playfully reared. I couldn't help but smile at the way she swatted her tail and tried to nip at the people leaning their elbows on the edge of the ring. The bids went up and up until the auctioneer cried, "Sold!", and the mare was taken away. More horses came through: off the track Thoroughbreds and Arabs, cow ponies of every shape and size, and even a few gaited breeds. Then, what I guessed was about midway through the day -- that point where they scrape the bottom of the barrel before they start bringing out the horses that will go for more and more and more, keeping the high bidders there until the very end -- out came a horse that, at first, I thought had an unfortunate run in with several jars of hoof polish. His otherwise buckskin pinto coat had the strangest black streak down his neck. Curious, I listened as the auctioneer spoke.
"Next we have number 100. Don't let this horse fool you, he's a purebred Lone Bashkir Curly that was wild caught as a yearling. And while he may look a bit strange, rest assured that only his buckskin parts will pass to any offspring. Now, he's got a bit of an attitude..." This comment was accompanied by a snort, head toss, bunny hop combo that was so well-executed it seemed staged. "But those bloodlines will take him far, and he'll be an excellent addition to any stud barn." I sat up straighter in my seat as the horse, as if on cue, planted all four feet perfectly square and seemed to quite literally pose, arching his neck, pricking his ears, and even lifting his tail. In a blink, as the auctioneer continued, the horse resumed his casual but, to my eyes, calculated circles following his handler around the ring.
After a few more turns, showing off a balanced trot, the stallion's handler stopped him in the center of the ring, and I could swear the horse rolled his eyes with boredom. I leaned forward in my seat, watching that obviously intelligent gaze roam over the gathered crowd. Without knowing why, I wanted that horse to look at me. To see me. When our eyes met, he stopped his searching and seemed to focus. That look bore into me, and I felt like it was digging up every part of me I hadn't yet been able to face alone. I couldn't look away. I wasn't sure I wanted to look away. The handler was standing next to the stallion's left shoulder, and, despite his relaxed expression, I could see how white his knuckles were on the lead line. The stallion's eyes flicked sideways toward the handler, then back to mine. Without breaking our joined stare, he casually picked up his left front hoof, and set it down so calmly onto the toe of the boot of the handler that I would've thought it was accidental -- just a typical horse shifting it's weight. But that look he was giving me. There was nothing unintentional about this. That was mirth sparkling in those eyes. If he could, I think he would've given me a cocky lopsided grin as if to say, "These humans just keep underestimating me, and I just keep beating them at their own games." This horse, I could feel it all through my bones, was
smart.
All of a sudden, I wanted this horse. More than that, I needed this horse. His smarts, his wit, his grit in the face of capture from the wild, a grit that manifested in what could only be called a sense of humor: this was my horse. The auctioneer called out the starting bid, and I threw up my hand, calling out my number, certain that others would take up the cry after me. My outburst was met with only silence. The auctioneer made some attempts to drum up other interest. I dug my nails into my palms, hoping against all hope that no one else had seen what I had. That no one else saw this amazing horse for who he truly was. As if to aid in my scheme, the stallion lowered his head, closed his eyes, and started swaying from side to side as if he were eager to fall asleep. The auctioneer, shaking his head, called out my number and said, "Sold!"
It felt like I floated in a dream as I made my way down to the side of the ring, following behind as the handler led the stallion through the halls of the auction house back to his pen. My elation and sense of certainty were quickly being replaced with a cold sweat and trembling hands. What had I done? I came here today with the knowledge that I would not buy a horse. That I needed more time. My mind wandered and I almost bumped into the stallion's handler when he exited the pen into which he had put the horse -- my horse.
"Ex-excuse me," I stammered.
"I hope you have an iron will, young lady," the handler said with a small smile. "I've spent two years with this horse, and I still can't guess what he's thinking most of the time. It's been one problem after the next. Trouble trouble trouble is about all he's good for. He handles fine on the ground at first, but he'll start to protest after a few turns around the round pen. We've tried putting him on the hot walker for hours just to burn off energy, but he just doesn't seem to tire. Can't say I'm sad to see him go." The handler moved to walk away, but I spoke up quickly, realizing this was probably my only chance to learn whatever I could about this horse that had bewitched me.
"Before you leave, what happened to his neck and mane?" I asked, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.
"Humph," the handler blew air out through his nose in an audible stream. "Well, this handful of a stud has a bit of story to tell. Our farm is fully fenced with electric tape wire, which works just fine for the rest of the horses. Then this one comes along, and, for unknown reasons, he decides to spend his days resting his neck on the fence, not phased in the least by the resulting shocks. We turned it up to the max, and it just seemed to make him all the more determined to stay there! At the time, he was too short to put his head over the top, so he would stick his head through two of the electric strips -- one above his head and the other below. So, we tried to keep him away from the fence, but he just kept getting out and going back. Then, his hair began falling out where it rested on the electric strips, and, when it grew back, it came in black! His mane was zapped to a bit of a burnt crisp, so we've been keeping it roached to prevent him from scaring the neighbors with his smoking locks. You can see that he's spent all his growing days leaning on that fence like it's the best massage he can find, and I gave up a while ago trying to change it. I was going to keep him for breeding, but he's more trouble that he's worth."
I looked from the handler to the -- my -- horse. He was looking at me with that same knowing stare, then he cocked his head as if in question. Unable to tear my gaze away, I didn't notice that the handler had walked away until I turned around and he was gone. Turning back to the stallion, his face was suddenly level with mine, his eyes seeming to search my face. Tentatively, I reached out my hand, palm raised, and he pushed his nose into me, exhaling deeply.
"I really hope this was the right decision," I muttered under my breath. As if in response, the stallion gently nuzzled my hand, and I reached further into the pen, at which point his eyes turned devious and he gave me a playful nip. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
-----
Over the next months, I learned exactly what I had purchased at the auction. The first few weeks were...rough, to say the least. I didn't have to worry about electric fencing, since the property didn't have any, but it soon became apparent that, if not kept occupied, my new companion would find things to do. He could open every type of gate he was presented with, but wouldn't leave a paddock. I watched him spend fifteen minutes figuring out how to unlatch an unfamiliar hitch gate, and, once he had succeeded, he gleefully closed the gate and set to opening it again until he could do it in seconds. Bins and containers were another exciting toy. Anything with a latch or clasp he would work to undo, storage containers weren't safe unless padlocked, but he never ate the treats he uncovered or left a mess. Usually, the only sign he had been fiddling with something was the telltale patches of dried saliva peppered with flakes of grass and hay. His previous owner was right: physical exercise didn't tire him, despite my best efforts. He was willing and responsive on a lunge line or in a round pen, as promised, but he seemed to fade and dim quickly after several circles of walk, trot, canter, trot, canter, and on and on. Then he'd start acting out, finding ways to turn the session into a game: catching the line in his mouth and pulling me toward him, kicking the side boards every second or third step, or leaping into the air when asked to stop. At first, I wasn't sure what to do. I was equally worried that he would hurt himself and that he'd hurt me. But, when I watched him quietly thinking through how to unfasten a button on a sack left a little too close to his stall door and saw the gleam that came over him as he tried numerous methods to open it, I felt a new fear: that he'd grow tired and bored and lose that impulsive, inquisitive spark. Yet, despite repeatedly disappointing sessions of putting him through his paces, each day I would find he had discovered some new aspect of his surroundings and had set to work on figuring out exactly how he could use it.
Over time, we learned to understand each other. Tad, as I had dubbed him, did things, well, a tad differently, but he always put his whole heart into it and never failed to leave me smiling. If his penchant for mischief wasn't proof enough, he was far smarter than even I had guessed. He picked up desired (and undesired) habits and behaviors with little prompting. Tarps, plastic bags, pool noodles -- he'd walk through, over, and under them all. But, he'd also try to steal them, dragging them along the ground in his version of equine artwork or flinging them up in the air and bucking with joy when they came floating back down. He was eager to please but wanted to be given time to think, understand, and form his own conclusions about what I was asking. He needed, I discovered, to use his brain, not just his body. I left him in the arena one day while I grabbed a jacket and came back to find that he had proudly perched himself on the stepped wooden mounting block, one foot on each stair. It wasn't long after that I introduced him to the teeter-totter, bridges, and backing through every shape of poles I could think of. I was able to start him under saddle with almost no fuss after he spent several days investigating all the tack I had left out for him to explore, but he never seemed to really enjoy being ridden. He would move along however I asked, but he wasn't as engaged as he was when we were working together on the ground. That was okay with me: I wasn't ready to go back to the show ring, the hustle and chaos, the pitying glances from people who pretended to be my friends. I enjoyed Tad's and my quiet days, sometimes just walking the property side by side, him inquisitively investigating every nook and cranny of each passing tree, bush, or hole. I would've been content to just spend our days like that, but it was clear to me that he wanted something to do.
It was the day a car pulled up along the fence of the paddock that everything changed. Tad was turned out and, in a brief respite from his usual antics, was sprawled on the ground in a satisfying nap. I was working on barn chores but could see him lazily dozing, his lower lip dropping in unmistakable equine bliss. I turned my attention back to the work at hand, and didn't even notice the sound of a car engine until it failed to fade into the distance. Looking up, I could see a car pulled up along the fence where Tad was napping, the passenger door opening and a petite woman with ice white hair bracing herself on the door and seat to ease her way out of the car. As soon as the woman had stood, she made her way toward the fence. The car's engine turned off, and a young man stepped out from the driver's seat and hurried over to the woman, who had almost reached the fence line. He put a hand on her arm, gentle but firm, and said something to her I couldn't hear across the distance between us. The woman's gaze never left Tad, but I saw her shake her head and take another step toward the fence. The man seemed to sign, his shoulders slumping, and he moved his hand to support the woman's arm as they both stepped toward the fence.
I got to my feet, not worried but curious, and moved toward the barn door to get a better look. The woman seemed to be saying something, and I saw Tad's ears flick, then his eyes open, and heard his sigh as he rolled himself onto his folded legs. His tail swished, ears pricked toward the woman. Without any hurry, he pushed himself up to standing and shook to remove the coating of dust he had accumulated. Then, with the same deliberation and focus with which he approached all new things, he made his way to the two people at the fence, stopping just before he reached them. From where I was standing, I could see the two people clearly but only the side of Tad's head as he turned his gaze one direction then the other, seeming to analyze the two people before him. Then, he stretched his nose out toward the woman, who was now holding out her hand. Tad pushed his nose into her outstretched palm and then just...held it there. Aside from when he was sleeping, I had never seen him so still. I watched as his sides slowly moved with each gentle breath, saw his ears stay forward but relaxed, and almost yelped with surprise as he cocked a hip and bent the opposite hoof, the perfect picture of a horse at peace. Where was the stallion I had spent the past months with? The one who lived to explore, to discover, who would never let anyone just pet him until he has thoroughly explored every pocket, pulled every zipper, and lipped every button?
Not wanting to miss out on whatever was happening, I quickly made my way across the paddock to the fence. As I approached, the man noticed me and said something to the woman beside him, but she only gave him a knowing smile and continued her soft stroking of Tad's nose. Tad barely flicked an ear toward me as I approached, but he heaved a contented sigh as I came up beside him, resting my hand on his mismatched neck. Before I could open my mouth, the young man spoke,
"I'm so sorry. My grandma, she loves horses. Spent her whole life around them. And we were driving and she lives in a nursing home now and when she saw him sleeping she insisted we stop. I didn't know she'd get out, I'm so sorry for intruding."
I gave them both a reassuring smile. "No need to apologize! I only came over because I think you may have put a spell on my horse. I've only seen him this content after he's mastered a new skill or spent an hour unlatching and relatching every stall door in the barn. This is Wit and Grit, by the way, or Tad, as I call him."
The woman smiled more broadly, her eyes never leaving Tad's drooping head as she traced circles around his forehead. "I could tell he was a thinker as soon as I saw him. You've got yourself one special horse here. It's been so long since I've been able to run my hand over a velvet nose or smelled the tickle of warm horse breath as it's blown across my face. Thank you for letting me spend just a little time with him, even if we did disturb his nap."
Looking between Tad and the woman, a thought occurred to me. "Where do you live? Is it nearby?" I asked the woman.
"It's about another three or four miles down the road," the young man answered. "We wanted to make sure she was still out in the country. She loves the fresh air and ability to walk the grounds."
"I'm right here, dear," the woman said teasingly, and the man flushed slightly and looked at the ground. "But he's right, it's not too far. Now that I know this handsome fella is here, maybe I'll bother my grandson to take me out more just so I can stop by and say hello. If that's alright with you, of course."
"That would be just fine," I said. "But I have an even better idea. Seeing Tad with you, I have a feeling he would be most happy if he was the one that came to visit." As if understanding my meaning, Tad pricked up his ears and gave a soft snort, leaning into my hand where it still rested on his neck. "I've been looking for a job for Tad, something he can do that will keep him happy and let him think and explore just the way he loves. I've never even thought about making him a therapy horse, but I think it would be perfect for him." I watched as the woman's eyes began to fill with tears. "If I can get the name of where you're living, I'll reach out to them and see what the process would be to get him a visitor's pass."
The woman and the young man stayed a while longer, speaking with me about Tad and our history together, and giving me contact information for the woman's home. After they left, Tad watched where the car had gone with longing. That day, I started looking into therapy horse programs and calling local retirement facilities and nursing homes to see if they would be open to having a big, quirky horse visit their residents. Some were skeptical, but most were curious enough to give it a try. Tad and I spent the next few weeks preparing. Or, rather, I spent the next few weeks preparing, reassuring myself that Tad was perfectly mannered as we practiced slowly walking through narrow passage ways, turning in tight circles, and solidifying commands like "kiss" and "treat" as well as "freeze", "stay", and "head down". Tad was perfect; learning and mastering everything with the same focus and enthusiasm he always had when solving puzzles.
Soon, the day came for our debut, and we set off down the road at a leisurely walk toward the home where the woman we had met lived. We could've taken the trailer, but I was so full of nerves I knew I needed the walk to help calm me. Tad was as patient and eager as ever. I had spent hours bathing and grooming him the previous evening and this morning, and he seemed to understand as he carefully stepped over dusty patches of dirt and avoided rubbing against any trees we passed. When we arrived, I could see a small crowd of people through the sliding glass doors of the facility. They were seated in chairs in a semi-circle, faces glowing with anticipation. I realized with a panic that Tad had never seen sliding doors and felt the cold rush of fear as we got closer, trying to convince myself that I could trust him. Still, my hands shook as the doors slid open, but Tad didn't even bat an eye. He strolled right through into the lobby like he'd done it all his life, and I suddenly knew that if I dropped the lead rope, he'd keep walking straight to the group of hopeful onlookers and patiently greet each one.
I still held the lead rope, but I did nothing else as Tad approached each person in turn, first studying them for a few seconds before interacting with each in a unique way. He seemed to know what each person needed and would respond accordingly: gently nibbling at one person's hair to make them laugh or dropping his head into the lap of another so they could trace their fingers around his ears. The last person he reached was the woman who had inspired this journey, and he spent a minute just gazing at her before he pushed his nose against the side of her leg. With the same mischievous expression I had seen on Tad's face so many times, the woman reached down and pulled a peppermint out of her pocket. Tad waited patiently while the woman unwrapped it before taking it daintily from her outstretched hand. After several loud crunches, he stepped forward and pushed his whole head against her chest, allowing her to wrap her arms around his face.
"Thank you," I heard her mumble against his curls before she looked up to me. "And thank you for listening to your horse. He's going to change a lot of lives and spread a world of happiness."
