Chancey of the Maury River (9 page)

The focus to our training surpassed any lesson that I had given as a school horse. Claire had chosen me as her companion, and together we worked every day. With the new supplement arriving in my morning grain each day, I felt freer of pain than I had for some time. As Claire and I were not jumping too aggressively, I felt certain that I could tolerate well this degree of soreness and aches. Indeed, it would have been more painful to deny, to Claire or myself, the satisfaction of becoming a team.

True, Claire and I were only jumping small eighteen-inch fences and, at most, a course of two outside lines. But it was a joy for me to be with Claire no matter what we were doing. We progressed easily from taking the little jumps at the trot to taking them at the canter.

We quickly found that I needed to be very nearly completely retrained to jump. As a way of compensating for my poor eyesight, I had long refused or ducked out of jumps. As everyone now understood the reasoning, no one — not Mrs. Maiden, Mother, or Claire — seemed the least bit dissuaded from the effort it took to retrain me. My refusal behavior was treated as an entirely natural consequence of my visual impairment; no one accused me of a poor attitude or nasty temperament.

The burden of retraining me fell primarily to Claire, under the guidance of Mrs. Maiden, and with the encouragement of Mother, who no longer kept up a pretense of reading or writing at the barn. In fact, Mother joined us in the ring by taking lessons, using Mac as her teacher. Mac rather enjoyed this phase of Mother’s. He is known to adore human females and is rather boastful of the fact that he has never, accidentally or with intent, allowed one to slip out of the saddle, even at times at his own peril. Mother and Mac got on sweetly. Though they did not train together as Claire and I did, they appeared to enjoy each other’s company, and Mother grew comfortable enough with Mac to call for the canter herself every now and then.

The presence of Mac and Mother in the ring, along with Daisy and her new student, Ann, helped us prepare better for showing than if we had undertaken our training privately. As is sometimes the case with bossy mares, one must use extreme caution when approaching from behind. In Daisy’s case, she is hardwired to kick out behind her at the slightest detection of another horse. This posed no problem for Claire, or me, for Claire had years of experience as Daisy’s primary student. She was well informed of Daisy’s invisible bubble and the consequences of violating said bubble. Daisy herself gave off plenty of warning by pinning her ears flat back as soon as any horse even approached her. Daisy’s presence in the ring with us simulated the very conditions under which Claire and I would be competing, assuming I could be retrained to jump consistently and safely with Claire.

To help me undo my bad jumping habits, Mrs. Maiden constructed several exercises. First, she began placing dollar bills between Claire’s calves and my barrel. Claire was then instructed to ride our entire lesson, even over jumps, without losing the bills from under her. This was necessary, explained Mrs. Maiden, because a strong leg is the best aid a rider has to communicate with her partner. Furthermore, Mrs. Maiden told us that in my case, Claire’s legs needed to compensate for my poor eyes.

She said, “Claire, blind horses can compete in Grand Prix events, if they’re matched with the right person. Chancey’s not completely blind yet; there’s no reason he can’t do anything you ask him to do. You just have to consistently ask him. If you ask with your hands but not your legs, he’s going to have to guess what you mean. Sometimes he’s going to guess incorrectly. But if everything about you — your eyes, your legs, your hands, your heart — are telling him the same thing, then it’s just as if you were talking to him, like I’m talking to you now. So we’ll work on your legs first.”

Claire picked up the reins and held the dollar bill tightly against my barrel. For a girl her age and size, Claire already possessed a strong leg; the dollar-bill game only added to her strength.

Mrs. Maiden also had Claire count our strides out loud on the approach of every jump. Beginning about six strides out, Claire would count us over the jump. “One, two, one, two, one, two, jump!” This was begun entirely as a finishing technique for Claire, but we all soon realized that hearing her helped me compensate for my shortcomings. In our training, I learned to keep my ears turning always toward Claire’s voice, readying myself for her cues.

“Trot, Chancey, trot!” Claire invited me.

For most of my life, it had been fundamentally contrary to my philosophy to respond to voice commands only, except for the command
whoa,
which I had taken quite seriously. I suppose one of the characteristics that had contributed to my reputation as an obstinate horse was that I required much more of my students than the simple voice command to walk, trot, or canter.

I firmly believe that children don’t learn well on push-button ponies, or automatic horses, and so I myself had always determined not to be automatic in any way. Children deserve to learn the basics upon which a strong foundation is built, and that cannot be done through voice command alone, in my humble opinion.

But Claire was different. In working with Claire, I did not feel I was giving her lessons, but learning to move with her as if we were a single being.

“Trot, Chancey,” she said again. I obliged. I picked up, and held, an easy trot while Claire performed around-the-world by turning herself around and around in the saddle while I circled the entire ring at the trot.

“And, whoa,” Claire sang as she directed me toward Mrs. Maiden, who was still standing in the ring.

A barn mother, watching from the fence, yelled, “He’s gorgeous. He doesn’t even look like the same horse; his coat is so shiny. They look beautiful together.” Claire and I came to rest with Claire sitting backward in the saddle. Mrs. Maiden got back to the lesson.

“Okay, Claire, enough play. Let’s practice the outside line.”

We worked hard to correct my bad jumping habits in time for the summer series. Claire’s strong legs became most important to our training. Mrs. Maiden worked us both hard, always pushing us each to do our best individually and to do our best as a team. She liked to pull us into the center of the ring for an explanation of the task before she set us loose to attack the jumps.

“Claire,” Mrs. Maiden would say, “you’ve got to hold him up with both legs. He’s not Daisy, remember? If you drop him, he’s going to want to duck out, but don’t let him. Don’t get ahead of Chancey, and don’t fall behind him. Use your legs to tell him when it’s time to jump. It’s almost like you’re going to lift him up with your legs, then hold him up the whole way over the fence. He’ll listen to you once he knows he can trust you. Remember, he can’t see out of that left eye. You’ve got to see for him.”

I learned, with Claire, to wait for that moment where together we would defy gravity. We would canter around half of the ring, with Claire counting my strides on the approach. I felt what was coming from the shift in Claire’s weight and the tilt of her head. I felt when it was time to fly.

Claire would rise up from her seat with just enough spring. Steady with her entire leg, and with both of us looking far beyond the fence into the mountains, we would hover for an eternal instant. Once over the jump, Claire would always laugh out loud, delighting in the thrill of jumping with me. She held me straight, and cantering away from the first fence, we would soar, again, over the second fence in the line. We touched the ground, rounded the corner, and again and again we flew over the two small fences, each time with less effort and more lift. During those early days of jumping with Claire, I felt that if I had wings, they would be named Claire.

We progressed rapidly together. My desire to be a great first horse for Claire, combined with my stubborn insistence that arthritis and blindness were mere annoyances, meant that sometimes I pushed myself too far.

Once, after an outside line, Claire reached down and patted my neck, just as she usually did after a clear round. “Let’s go again, Chance.”

I was already tired and breathing heavily. I didn’t want to go again. I wanted Claire to take off the saddle and let me graze in my field while she rested on my back. I preferred to watch the sun set while listening to Claire practice her choir songs. Yet for as much refusing as I had done in the past, I could not refuse Claire. She asked for the canter, and I stumbled.

“Claire,” Mrs. Maiden warned, “Chancey’s worked hard today. Why don’t you walk him down to the barn? You can jump again tomorrow.”

Claire’s confidence was back; she wanted to jump all night.

“Please, Mrs. Maiden? We’re just getting the hang of it together, and I haven’t ridden like this in such a long time,” Claire begged. “Just one more outside line? Then we’ll stop.”

Just as I had, Mrs. Maiden also had difficulty refusing Claire. She gave in. “Okay, one more line. Take your time and use your aids; Chancey’s tired.”

Claire asked for the canter again. This time, I threw my weight into her request, getting the correct lead despite feeling sore and exhausted. Claire counted on our approach and gave me equal support with both legs.

I was not the only one who was tired and needing to rest. I felt Claire’s legs evenly on my sides, but then on the approach, she looked away and dropped her right leg. She opened the door for me to duck; I thought I was supposed to go out and so I relaxed, sure that Claire had changed her mind about the prudence of taking these last two fences. I did not expect her to come up into jump position, but she rose into her two-point, ready to jump. I tried to stop myself, but it was too late. I ducked out to the right.

Claire, who was already in jump position, fell up onto my withers and over to my right. As soon as I felt Claire falling, I stooped and slid my neck and shoulders under her to keep her with me. That save would have made Mac proud.

Mrs. Maiden wasted no time in correcting us. “You dropped him! That wasn’t Chancey’s fault, Claire. What happened? What did you do wrong?” she asked.

Claire knew her mistake right away.

“I looked down at the ground.”

“What else? What did you not do?”

“I didn’t hold him up with my right leg,” Claire confessed.

“Why not?” Mrs. Maiden always pushed her students, especially Claire, to think about their riding and find their own answers.

“I was losing my stirrup on the right, and I was trying to get it back.”

Mrs. Maiden was waiting for that exact detail from Claire. Once she knew the cause of Claire’s mistake, she set about fixing it.

“Okay, I know you’re both tired, but let’s end your lesson right. Try the outside line again. This time, no stirrups.” Through our combined willpower only, Claire and I cleared the outside line.

For many lessons after that, we jumped without Claire’s feet in the stirrups or hands on the reins so that Claire and I could learn to succeed without them. And so it went, with Mrs. Maiden pushing Claire and me to become a solid team. Only once in all of our training did I let Claire off of my back.

Our mistake occurred on the second in a series of two jumps. We approached from the left, and though I knew in my muscles and memory that there must be a second jump following, Mrs. Maiden had paced it differently; I panicked when I failed to hear Claire’s counting.

I ducked out again — in the instant before the jump, I grew impatient, old fool that I am, and second-guessed Claire, whom I had come to love and trust more than any person. This time I was unable to scoop her up, and she fell abruptly off of me, brushing my outside foreleg on her way down. I managed to lift my back leg high over her body, and so we avoided what could have been an accident of serious consequence for Claire.

I knew right away that I had lost her and trotted immediately back to her. I dropped my head down and blew into her face. Claire laughed and blew her own breath across my cheek. “I’m okay, Chancey. Don’t worry, boy.”

Claire picked herself up and together we took the line again; this time Claire guided me perfectly through both jumps. After our lesson ended, Mrs. Maiden lectured us before letting us out of the ring.

“Claire, you’re so good for Chancey. And he’s so good for you. You’ve really grown together over the last few months. I’d like for you two to show in the short stirrup division next week at Tamworth Springs.”

Claire squealed and patted my neck. “We’d love to go! We’ll be great together; won’t we, Chancey?”

“Hold on, Claire,” Mrs. Maiden continued. “If you’re going to show Chancey, you’re going to have to concentrate. He loves you and he listens to you. Sometimes, though, you get too distracted by other things. Chancey is a good horse; he might even be a great horse. But you’ve got to help him be great. He needs you to count his strides, and he needs you to concentrate.”

Mrs. Maiden let her words sink in before asking, “Can you do that?”

Claire did not hesitate. “Yes! We can do it; I promise.”

“You’re used to Daisy, Claire. Chancey is not Daisy; he is his own horse. Daisy will jump over anything you point her at. That’s why beginners ride Daisy. You and Chancey are a team now; you’ve got to help each other.”

I don’t think Claire heard a word of Mrs. Maiden’s lecture to us; she walked me down to the barn, all the while making preparations for Tamworth Springs. Claire untacked me and rinsed me off with a cool bath, which I welcomed. She rubbed my entire body with a dry towel and walked me around the paddock before turning me out. We had worked so hard that Claire took extra care to stretch me out again after our lesson.

I leaned into Claire’s shoulder with each leg she pulled, enjoying the full extension of my muscles. I looked at Claire, so petite, yet so strong and confident. I realized then as Claire held me, unafraid of taking my weight and holding me in balance, how delicate the matter of balance really is.

When we missed the second jump and I let Claire fall, we lost our balance in an instant. Whether I had dropped Claire or Claire had dropped me made no difference. We had recovered and resolved to go forward to our first showing together. I had never felt better; Claire’s confidence was soaring. Our sights were set on Tamworth Springs.