Mort and Me Walk The Line

I belonged to Kit Carson Riding Club in the 70's. The arena was a scant 1/2 mile from my stable. I loved competing in the Friday night gymkhana. When I first started showing Mort it was mainly a matter of hang on, point and pray for each event.

Since he ran away with me every time I let him loose we had plenty of speed, but had a tendency to leave barrels rolling and poles winging through the air.

The first event we conquered was 75 Up and Back. All we had to do was get around one barrel. Flags was next. Once again all we had to do was fly past a couple of barrels and I had to let go long enough to ram my flag in one bucket and out of the other.

The other events had me stymied.

Once a month we had a day show on Sundays. The "morning events" were something I could only look at and envy. In my own special, poisonous, bitter and jealous way.

The kids who rode in the morning events could really control their horses. Their horses would calmly, coolly tool around the ring, listening to every command like magic. Their horse took their leads. They backed up.
It killed me to think there was some magic touch I just didn't have. That my horse wasn't good enough, or I was just too thick to know how to get the job done.
Sometimes they had two horses. One for the morning and one for the speed events in the afternoon. I learned this was because they didn't want their "morning event" horse to get hot.

Get hot? C'mon already, Mort and I were born to boil. I decided I just didn't care. We liked to run, so we did. I ignored all those morning kids and teased my friend Karen because her mom wouldn't let her run her "morning horse" in the speed events. I had to make myself feel better somehow.

But I wanted to know what I was rejecting. I wanted to know how they magically got their horses to listen.

My first big break through came from listening in on a barrel racing lesson at a 4-H meeting (There was no such thing as a clinic back then, imagine that). I didn't belong to the equine part of 4-H because they met at a different arena every week and I didn't have a trailer. But on this lucky day they were meeting at Kit Carson, so I rode Mort over and sat outside the fence, listening with everything I had.
"You can come in and ride if you want honey," the instructor said when she saw me.
I scowled and slunk out of her line of sight. I knew Mort would just make an ass out of me. I couldn't bear the thought of having this professional pointing out what a crappy rider I was.
She shrugged and turned back to the other kids.
I didn't leave though. I was going to hear every word.
"You can't teach your horse to think on the run. Every horse needs to learn at the walk. So does the rider.
"Anybody can run a horse, it takes a horseman to walk," she told them.
She spent the rest of the lesson teaching how to run a direct line to the barrel how to set up for each turn and how to handle the reins.

The whole lesson came down to one sentence for me.
"Anybody can run a horse, it takes a horseman to walk."

I set up my practice barrels and poles in my pasture. They consisted of plain metal barrels, (watch those knees!) and six, dirt filled paint buckets with broom sticks in them.

Mort and I began to walk. It was horrible at first. He slung his head, he danced sideways, he loped in place. I would quit when he would walk through both patterns. Every day, over and over we walked the patterns. Mort calmed down. He began to walk his patterns on a loose rein.
I was finally able to think. I found my pocket in the barrels and how far past the end pole to go before I started my turn. I played with leaning in, then leaning out, around the barrels and through the poles. I finally settled on the middle, it seemed to work the best. I switched out of his bit and into a flat leather mechanical hackamore. I used it only for my speed events, I was already planning for the future.

I pushed it up to a trot. Mort immediately freaked, so I went back to a walk. Trot, walk, trot walk. This walk thing was pretty hard. It was nice too. I could daydream at the walk, admire the sun on my horse's metallic summer coat or just concentrate on the motion of his feet.

I rode bareback most of the time. As we progressed to trotting our patterns on a loose rein I really concentrated on my how I balanced on his back. The better a position I held the calmer Mort stayed. If I sat right, I didn't balance myself with my hands. If I wasn't hanging with my hands, Mort stayed focused and calm. His incessant head toss eased.

I skipped the next few gymkhanas. I was afraid I'd upset him.

We moved up to a lope. At first I had to hold his mane to stay off Mort's face, but eventually I could ride the barrels and poles at ease, still bareback and keeping my loose rein.

We went back to the Friday night gymkhana. I thought I would look the fool, no crop, no wild kicking. We were loping, but so slow. I didn't think I should go any faster though, I didn't want Mort to blow.
I only entered the Barrels and Poles, I didn't want him jazzed up by the Flags or 75 Up and Back.

In we went. I trotted him in, circled around in front of the starting line and got ready to go. Mort's head shot up and he started to jig so I started to trot in circles again, waiting for him to find the loose rein.

"Janet, you planning on running tonight?" The announcer gently teased.

Embarrassed, I smooched him into the lope and headed off to our first barrel. Mort loped quiet and smooth, we turned each barrel without a hitch and loped to the finish line.
I was tickled to death to hear a few approving whistles from the folks from the club and blown away to hear my time. A totally respectable third place. All from being calm.

Poles went even better. We were breathing down Casey Heare and her one-eyed Appy, Kiko's, neck for a close second. Nobody beat Casey and Kiko and we were right there. Mort hadn't even broken a sweat.

Mort and I walked home that night. His ribbons spun and flapped from his bridle in rhythm with his bobbing head. We were finally placing. Because we had slowed down. I thought about the 4-H hand book I had borrowed and had waiting for me at home.
It had a section on correct turns. It talked about backing. It explained leads.

I rubbed my horses neck and admired the red and yellow ribbons fluttering in the night breeze. They were pretty. Blue would be better though.
My thoughts turned to the morning events. My horse was walking after all.