The Girl Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 18

  “Miss Sierra,” João greeted cheerfully. “It is so very fine to see you.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Mateus,” she answered back. Her own smile outshone his in brightness.

  “Let us go see if Fiel is finished with his breakfast. And please, call me João.”

  “Okay…João. And you don’t need to address me as miss either.”

  “A good bargain,” he chuckled in agreement.

  And so the day began. Sierra followed João around as he explained and demonstrated how he liked the chores done. Together they cleaned the stall, scrubbed water buckets, and tidied the inside of the barn. Then João led Fiel into the crossties.

  “He is in a good mood today; I think eager for work. This is good,” João commented as they worked together grooming and saddling Fiel, who stood patiently but alert. “So, I will ride first. You will watch. One can learn much by observation.”

  Sierra agreed to everything. She already felt as if she had learned an entire book’s worth as João explained the parts of the horse as they groomed; especially which muscles and joints were important for executing the different gaits and movements.

  João led Fiel to the sandy area behind the barn. A full-sized dressage arena of twenty-by-sixty meters had been set up with a border of low rails. White-painted plywood boxes with black dressage letters had been placed within the rails at the specified distances of an official dressage ring: A at the center of the entry to the short side, then K, V, E, S, H, along one long side; C at the center of the top of the arena; then M, R, B, P, and F, along the other long side. Shade trees grew along one edge of the area providing shade, and a hedgerow at right angles provided another border. Flowers bloomed in planter boxes at each of the four corners of the dressage ring.

  What an attractive place to ride. Sierra found it very pleasing to behold.

  João mounted and walked Fiel on a long rein a few times in both directions of the ring. Fiel stretched his nose almost to the ground, snorting frequently, and his ears flopped lazily to the sides. Then João gathered the reins and Sierra observed an incredible transformation. Fiel’s head came up into a regal arch; his muscles bunched and rippled as he stepped up into a collected walk; the expression in his eye was one of serious concentration; and he pricked his ears forward or flicked them back and forth, listening to his rider. João sat as if an appendage growing gracefully out of his horse’s back, his body moving harmoniously with Fiel. Sierra never detected any movement in his hands or legs; always held steady and still. Invisible to her, João signaled Fiel to move forward into an energetic working trot. The relaxed, almost lazy-appearing horse that had entered the ring was transformed into a powerful, gracefully elegant, and magnificent being. She watched in awe.

  “This is good,” João spoke. “We start with good energy. Now we will collect.” Invisibly, João communicated to Fiel and the forward moving trot changed to powerful, upward thrusting movements from his back and hocks. The lovely gray moved around the ring in circles and figure eights, transitioning from a collected trot to medium trot. Sierra sucked in her breath in appreciation as he crossed the diagonal at extended trot, his hocks pushing up underneath his body as he reached forward with outstretched front legs. Then he performed a shoulder-in down one side of the ring, and haunches-in along the other. Turning the corner, he moved across the diagonal in half-pass, his legs crossing underneath his body as he moved in a lateral direction. Then all the movements were repeated in the opposite direction.

  From invisible aids, Fiel transitioned to a collected canter, executing flying lead changes as his rider guided him through a serpentine pattern. Then he transitioned from collected to medium and back to collected canter in both directions around the perimeter of the ring.

  The session ended with Fiel, obedient to his rider’s invisible aids, transitioning down to a collected trot, then into passage (a very collected and elevated trot where he appeared to float above the ground), and finishing with a few steps of piaffe (a collected and elevated trot in place). The trot work was repeated in the opposite direction. The beautiful animal’s expression radiated joy and pride, his breath came in rhythm with his gaits, and his tail waved as if a victorious banner. João brought him down to a square halt, and with words of praise and pats on the neck, gave him the reins, allowing Fiel to stretch his nose forward and down as he walked off from the halt.

  “Very nice, good energy; a happy horse today.” João beamed with pride and pleasure as he walked Fiel over to the mounting block and dismounted. “Now, you will try.”

  Sierra approached, shaking inside in nervous intimidation. How can I possibly ride such a talented, well-trained horse? João helped her mount and adjust the stirrup length.

  “Begin at the walk, loose rein; everybody relaxed,” he said in a soothing tone, aware of Sierra’s nervousness. “I will observe your position.”

  It felt so good to be back in a saddle. Sierra didn’t sense any tenseness or the likelihood of a spook as she sat astride Fiel’s broad back; his calmness helping to quell her inner trembling. She pressed her legs to his side and he immediately stepped up into a trot; not what she expected!

  “No, no,” João spoke calmly as he jogged alongside and gently touched the inside bridle rein to bring Fiel back to a walk. “You see, too much leg just now.” He spoke just as patiently and calmly to Sierra as he had to Fiel. “Almost for walk you need only touch the reins to say ‘listen’ and then touch with the leg. No pressure; just a whisper of a touch. Let us try again.” João stopped and Fiel obediently halted. “Try again…softly.”

  Sierra squeezed the reins between her fingers and noted the flicker of Fiel’s ears. Her legs hung down next to the saddle girth and she moved them just to touch Fiel’s sides. He stepped forward into the walk.

  “Good, good,” João praised. “You see, use very little. One goal is always to use as little aid as possible.” He continued to coach Sierra as she halted Fiel, then moved him forward into a few steps of walk, then halt, and repeated over and over; all the time walking at their side and correcting just a fraction of her leg position or placing his hands over hers to caution, “Too much with the hands; quiet the hands.”

  “Now, a little trot.”

  Her inner trembling returned at the thought of an increase in gait, but she pulled in her stomach muscles, squeezed the reins and touched with her legs. She felt she had done well when Fiel obediently stepped up into a trot, but after only a few steps, João said, “Uh oh, back to walk.” And then Sierra was back on a lunge line with the reins and stirrups taken away. “You are riding too much with the hands. I see you have a good seat and you know how to use your legs, but we need to develop control from here.” He indicated his abdominal muscles. Just what River had been telling her.

  In spite of the regression of returning to the lunge line, Sierra felt it was an excellent lesson. Her spirits soared at her good fortune to have found such a wonderful teacher. Just like River!

  They walked Fiel back to the barn and removed his tack, and then to a graveled area outside where they rinsed off his sweat with a hose (no fancy wash stall here). Fiel tolerated all with patient good manners. Sierra fed him pieces of carrots and then they turned him out into the pasture to relax for the rest of his day.

  “Shall we have a cup of tea?” João invited.

  “That would be great,” she readily agreed. So very European.

  Sierra followed João into his tiny but cozy kitchen where he prepared tea as if it were an important ritual; setting a kettle of water on a burner, rinsing a ceramic teapot with hot water, suspending loose tea in a tea ball into the pot, and then pouring in water after it had just come to a boil. He set the pot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of tempting pastries on a tray, and they carried it to the table on the front porch. The morning had heated up, and Sierra was sweaty and grimy after riding, but it was pleasant in the shade of the porch where a breeze wafted through from time to time. Charlie emerged from his important canine activities to j
oin them at their feet. João gave him a dog treat from a box on the stand and then pulled out and lit up a cigarette, apologizing again for his bad habit.

  “Fiel is wonderful! Thank you again for letting me ride and teaching me. You don’t know how much it means to me.” Sierra felt happiness infuse throughout her being as she sipped her cup of tea. It also made her feel very mature.

  João chuckled, “Ah, but perhaps I do know.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed.

  “You ride so beautifully, like River!”

  At that he burst into a loud guffaw. “Oh my,” he gasped amid his laughter. “Let us say River rides like me.”

  Sierra blushed, realizing what she had just said. “Oh, yeah; I didn’t mean it like that sounded. Did you teach River to ride?”

  “Now that one, he almost taught himself to ride.” João took a last puff off his cigarette and stubbed it out. “If there is such a thing as a natural born rider, then it is that one; like his mother.” He took a sip of tea, smiling at a memory.

  “How do you know River?” Sierra asked, full of curiosity and realizing she might find many of her answers about River from João.

  “I know that one since a baby. Renee, his mother, she and I were good friends even though we often rode as rivals in a race. But his mother understood the heart of a horse, like me. Sadly, not all at the track do.” He pushed the plate of pastries toward Sierra. “Here, please. Young people, they must refuel after a morning of riding.”

  Sierra selected a scone with a sweet lemony and biscuit flavor. She loved the combination of a bite of scone and then a sip of tea.

  “River…I remember him all around the stables; barely walking and we could not keep him off the thoroughbreds. He would climb up the sides of the stalls and somehow crawl onto their backs. Those horses, they all put up with him. I still don’t know why they stood still for it.” He laughed softly. “Renee lost him once when he was maybe five years old. I remember her with frantic tears running around, ‘have you seen River?’ (He mimicked a female voice.) And where do you think we found him?”

  Sierra shook her head, fascinated.

  “Sound asleep curled up next to Wind Lass’s belly where she lay down in her stall. She had won the cup just that day.” Another swallow of tea and he continued. “Renee sometimes put him up in front of her on a colt after the morning workout. Some people criticized her for that; too dangerous. But who could blame her when you could see such absolute joy on the little boy’s face?”

  Sierra had seen that look on River’s face so she knew what he was talking about.

  “A few winters we worked at the same farm off-season. His mother started him in a saddle, but I taught him some too.”

  “Tess Holmes calls him a backyard rider,” Sierra told him.

  “Hmmph,” João responded. “Well, I have seen that woman ride. I have been to some of the events. I do not like to criticize but she rides her mounts with heavy hands and much force. I have only seen her on lovely, well-bred warmbloods, and yes, even with her style of riding, they perform well. But I am not happy to see the look in the eyes of her horses. They are not horses happy in their work.”

  Sierra almost wanted to burst into tears. All the lessons she had taken from Tess; not only was her horse stressed but herself as well. She should have followed her instincts long ago. “River probably told you I was taking lessons from her.”

  “Yes, Sierra,” he spoke to her with such kindness and understanding. “As a student it is important to respect your teacher and I believe you tried. But for you to confront her after the rapping incident, something you knew in your heart was a wrong thing to do, well, that takes much courage.”

  “Thank you,” Sierra replied, barely above a whisper, and fighting back tears. She sighed deeply and then diverted the conversation. “What do you mean by the ‘heart of a horse’?”

  “I think you know what I mean, don’t you?” He gave her his crinkly-eyed smile.

  “Maybe.”

  “I have lived my life working around horses and I am still humbled by what fine creatures they are. I believe God created horses to be an example for mankind.”

  Sierra nodded. “I like that,” she agreed with him. “I do know what you mean.” She thought for a few minutes as she finished the last bite of scone. “I think Tess sees horses as something to conquer and control.”

  “A good observation,” João said. “Sierra, it’s not subservience that makes a well-trained horse; it’s willingness. And by their very nature, most horses are willing to do what we ask. Our responsibility is to learn how to ask them. That is the purpose of your weight in the saddle, your legs on his sides, and the soft touch of your hand to the bit in his mouth. That is how you communicate what it is you are asking. And if it is not beyond his physical capability and if it does not cause him pain or frighten him, he willingly will do all you ask if he understands what it is you are asking.”

  Sierra nodded in agreement with his wisdom.

  *****

  Sierra left the farm in a dream state. She missed all the horses at Pegasus and working with River, but she felt compensated to have found a teacher that she respected; who would teach her in the same manner as River, and in accordance with the philosophy of the riding masters she read about. She thought long and deeply over João’s words and determined that she would strive to never become a dominating master of her horse, but his respectful leader and partner.

  “Horses are herd animals and by nature, are most content and secure when they have a leader they trust to keep them safe. That is the role of a true horseman,” João had explained.

  Pam and Sierra were sitting down to dinner with Sierra chattering almost non-stop about her day, when they heard a soft knock at the door.

  Pam raised her eyebrows. “Are you expecting River?” she asked.

  “No; I’ll get it.” Sierra went to the front door.

  “Hi,” River greeted, standing on the doorstep.

  “River, I wasn’t expecting you,” Sierra broke into a grin. “We’re just sitting down to dinner and there’s plenty of food. Come join us.”

  “Um, no, sorry, I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to see how things went with João.”

  “I can’t wait to tell you all about it,” Sierra’s voice and smile gleamed with her eagerness to share her experience.

  “Hello, River,” Pam called from the kitchen doorway. “Come in and have dinner. I’ve set a plate for you.”

  River rubbed his hand over his mouth and relented, “Um, okay.”

  *****

  Two to three times a week, River dropped in for dinner; supposedly to hear about Sierra’s lesson on Fiel. He could not help but feel welcomed by Sierra’s obvious delight in seeing him and her enthusiasm as she told him all about her time with João and Fiel. Then she plagued him with questions about the horses at Pegasus and always asked him to say hi to Manuel and Rosa.

  “Mom, are you okay with River coming over so often?” Sierra asked after the first few evenings.

  “Of course, Kitten. He seems like a very nice boy.”

  “He sure does eat a lot. I can’t plan on leftovers.”

  Laughing, Pam assured her, “The day I can’t afford to feed a hungry teenage boy is the day I am truly destitute. I like to see him getting plenty to eat. I lived with a growing boy in the house, remember? (Sierra had an Uncle John, her mother’s brother.) I know how much they need to eat.” Then in a more serious tone, “He’s the friend you were asking about, that might be abused, isn’t he?”

  “How can you tell?” Sierra asked, surprised.

  “It’s nothing in particular…just kind of how he looks at us. I think he’s lonely.”

  “Yeah, well he is the one. I’ve seen bruises on him sometimes, and he won’t talk about them. But I really don’t know for sure because River won’t talk about a lot of things. I somehow don’t think he’d appreciate us interfering.”

  “Perhaps…well, anyway, he’s welcome here whenever. Besides
, I think he comes over for more than just a meal. I think he likes you.”

  “Of course he likes me. We’re friends.” Sierra didn’t understand why her mother would state the obvious.

  *****

  24 Novice Level

  When competing, it is always the horse who is the star, not the competitor. – Max Gahwyler, The Competitive Edge.

  *****

  The weeks of summer were passing way too fast.

  Sierra spent every morning with João. First they did the chores, then he rode Fiel and Sierra watched, paying close attention as he explained the aids he used. Then it was her turn to ride. After the first few lessons, João took her off the lunge line and Sierra re-learned how to use the reins lightly, relying more on her core muscles, weight, and legs. Fiel finished his lessons snorting in contentment and nudging at both João and Sierra for the treats he knew they carried and that he deserved for doing so well. The way he walked, carried his head, and looked around seemed to Sierra to state as clearly as in words, I am relaxed and happy and I enjoy my work.

  João trusted Sierra with Fiel. After riding, they walked Fiel back to the crossties and untacked. Then João left Sierra to rinse off, groom, and turn Fiel out in the pasture while he went back to the house and prepared the morning tea.

  Sierra was falling in love with Fiel. Good-natured and patient, he willingly put up with her efforts to ride; all his mannerisms indicating he wanted to figure out what she asked him to do. She loved the dappled color of his coat and his luxuriously thick mane that hung below his neck and his forelock long enough to fall over his eyes.

  “You are beautiful inside and out,” she told him and the look in his eye seemed to agree with her. His posture, his attitude, his entire bearing was regal and proud.

  After riding and taking care of Fiel, Sierra sat with João on his porch and they talked for an hour or two over tea; mostly about horses. João answered her questions about riding and to her delight, had read most of the same books she had read and praised her for taking the trouble to learn all that she could. It was great to have a knowledgeable adult confirm that the books were not just idealistic principles, but were the basis of his own style of riding.