Part 1
Mathew was having a bad day.
“I hate James!” hissed Mathew, shooting a glare the other seven year old boy out with us that day, who – pretending to be a monster truck over on the other side of the pasture, was blissfully unaware of his compadre\s ire. Then Mathew turned his gaze on me, “And you’re stupid!”
I couldn’t disagree with that. And the short, sharp snort that my grey horse Zag gave at that very moment, seemed only to confirm it.
‘See?! Said Mathew. “Zag thinks so too.”
It was such a glorious day – crisp winter sun, a light, icing sugar frost dusting the grass, no wind, a roe deer had just flitted across the field and a par of buzzards wheeled high above us, keening in the winter blue. Serene contrast to Mathew’s bitter mood – a result of too much sitting, too little protein, too much restriction at home and at school.
He aimed a vicious kick at a frozen pile of horse poo.
As it went skittering away, making a faint clacking sound as it went, I swung Mathew up into the saddle. “Hold tight”, I said, and whispered the magic syllable . not even a true syllable but a single, percussive, “P”.
Immediately Zag sprang forward into the most elevated, impressive passage he was capable of.
“Woooah!” said Matthew. Not as in stop, whoa, but whoooah as in the way a surfer says whoooah dude when a good wave hits.
And then: “I love this!’
More to follow.
Next Blog: Sacred Geometry and Coherent Horsemanship (Coming soon)
