For goodness's sake, Twite, shorten your reins! You look like a chicken.
- A New Arrival
"Since no one would like to ride this horse, I suppose I will."
Martha and Dr Charles Pollard had been arguing about who would ride the new mare ever since she arrived. It was like watching two children fight over a toy, with the argument going back and forth and back and forth, getting absolutely nowhere. There was no structure to it, either. No one in their right mind would have the patience to wait until the two were finished, although Twite did attempt the feat. Inevitably, he gave up and stepped in.
"Thank you, sir. She'll be ready in a minute." Charles gave him a grateful look, and walked off. Martha followed closely behind, a black look clouding her face.
They'd be right as rain by the end of the day. The two just needed to stew over for a bit. Perhaps a ride would do them good.
***
The mare was ready very quickly, as Pollard had promised. She was truly striking, with her soft colours and bright mane and tail. Her eyes were intelligent and kind, and there was a spark in them that showed her more rambunctious side. Delilah was her name, as Twite recalled. The name suited her gentle colour, but did not hint at her rebellious personality at all. That showed through when they attempted to introduce her to the other horses. She immediately took charge, and insisted on making sure everyone knew she was the boss. Hopefully, she wouldn't be like that when ridden.
Delilah was in a full set of cross country tack, which was the only thing that would fit her at the moment, as Charles explained. Her withers were extraordinarily high, which made fitting saddles a disaster. At least she was comfortable. Twite led her to the arena, and mounted, grumbling as the horse promptly walked away the moment his foot touched the stirrup. Irritated with this rudeness, Twite halted the mare, and asked her to stand quietly. She did not seem to like standing still, which signified that she was either a nervous wreck, or incredibly excitable. Twite hoped for the former. Nervous horses were much easier to deal with.
As it was, Delilah turned out to be the latter. Speed seemed to be the only thing on her mind. The slightest movement of the leg would send her flying off like a rocket. Circles, half halts, transitions, nothing seemed to slow her down. Her trot strides would extend to the maximum, then fall into a speedy canter. Goodness gracious! How on earth was he to deal with this horse?
***
Things worked out eventually. After a very long and tedious conversation, Twite managed to bring Delilah back underneath him. When she collected and focused, it was an incredible feeling, one that Twite very rarely experienced with other horses. This mare was truly special. A pang of jealousy shot through the old man, but he quickly shook it away. He had eight beautiful horses, and he should be happy for the Pollards and their wonderful new addition to the family of Fairbanks. Delilah certainly deserved their loving care.
A hack would be a great reward for her hard work. Twite steered Delilah out of the arena, and into the sparse wood bordering the property. A cross country course from a competition earlier in the week threaded through the trees, still marked out by white tape. The air was filled with the gentle rustling of leaves, and the endless songs of birds. Delilah was permitted to relax and stretch her neck as the pair wandered in silence.
The first jump they passed was a simple log. Delilah pricked her ears and raised her head, but continued walking. She seemed to be waiting for something. As the log fell behind them, the mare looked back and seemed confused. Wasn't she supposed to jump over that? She was urged on by Twite, who couldn't quite understand why his horse was acting so strangely.
A brush jump approached them. Delilah was thoroughly fed up by this point, and began to half step and toss her head.
"What on earth do you want?"
The mare responded to the words with a heavy stomp of her foot, and a pointed look at the jump. What an insane animal, Twite thought. In his long lifetime, he had never met a horse that would willingly ask for more hard work.
"You're supposed to be tired," Twite remarked, noting the sweat lathering on Delilah's neck. She'd been worked very hard, and yet she still seemed to have a reserve of energy tucked away. It was tempting to jump her, but she was not his horse, and Twite assumed that the Pollards would not be pleased if she went lame.
Snorting, Delilah lowered her head, and commenced to paw at the ground. This stupid human would not let her have fun! What was wrong with him?
***
"Very well, then. One jump, mare, and no more!"
After a small debate with himself, Twite gave in. The jump was small, only 65cm, and it was on level ground. Delilah was wearing boots, although some apprehension about her safety remained... No time to waste, they needed to be back soon! Twite urged Delilah into a forward canter, and circled back to the jump.
Upon approach, Delilah lengthened her strides, noticing she would take off long. It takes a good horse to understand distances, especially with all the distractions of cross country. The mare tensed her muscles, and prepared for flight.
Three, two, one, up! Her form was beautiful, making a perfect arc over the obstacle. Her landing was soft, and well-judged. She departed with a pleased spring in her stride, that was exaggerated when Twite's praise reached her ears. She'd taught this human how to have fun!
Twite slowed Delilah to a walk, and began to head back home. Fully relaxed and happy, Delilah walked with a proud step. Twite gave her neck another pat, and reflected on today's ride. The Pollards would have a very interesting time working with this horse. Looking down at her, Twite smiled. She'd definitely be worth all the trouble.
Referenced from this stock image by luda-stock.deviantart.com.
