Good Boy, Good

Boy,

eventually lost count! I really liked it back at Old Barn and I’m not sure why I had to leave, especially because I thought I was good at my job.

My new rider—Melissa keeps saying “Kennedy,” so I suppose that’s her name—was very nice to me in my stall when we were getting ready for the lesson, chatting the whole time. She smelled like soap and flowers. I don’t know exactly what she was talking about, but she had a lot to say. And I was happy to listen.

You might be surprised to know that horses understand about seven to ten spoken words. I call them spoken words, rather than English words, because the people I know speak more than one language. I personally know nine words. But the really great thing is that I don’t need a whole lot of words to communicate with people because I can interpret so many emotions. I get body language, too, and I always know kindness when I feel it. Basically, I understand much more than people think.

The specifics vary from horse to horse, but I personally understand all the following words when they are said aloud by people: entirety. I love a good boy, Eddie. We walk a lap around the ring before Kennedy steers me to the center. Melissa pats my head. Gallagher, one of the horses who gets turned out in the paddock with me, is also in the ring now. His lesson is about to start. We give each other a look, like a changing of the guard. gripping the saddle with both hands as she allows her body to slink down to the ground. When her feet hit the dirt, she stumbles back a few steps as she regains her balance. I may not be very big for a horse, but it’s a long way down when you’re not very big for a person.

It’s his turn now to take care of his rider. I love what I do, but I’m still a bit relieved when the lesson is done. It’s hard work to keep a rider safe. Also, the end of the lesson means I get a nice brushing, and sometimes a carrot.

Kennedy gives me a big pat on my neck. It was a good first lesson. Melissa leads me out of the ring, and we walk outside on the way back to my stall. An evening breeze rustles the leaves on the trees all around us. I watch as a few of them float lazily to the ground.

I think I’m going to like this place.

When you take the words that Melissa just said to Kennedy, for example, all I really got out of that was trot. So, I kept trotting. Melissa’s voice also sounded kind and encouraging, which are good signs that I should continue what I’m doing; that I’m helping my rider learn.

As I walk past Gallagher, I wish him good luck. Horses don’t communicate out loud the way people do, but I can hear what other horses are telling me, and they can hear what I tell them, especially once we get to know each other. People don’t pick up on this, of

I also know the meaning of two sounds that aren’t technically words. I know that the clucking sound—when people suck down tight on their tongue and then release it—means to move forward. If I’m already moving forward, then the “cluck” means to go faster. (I’ve come to learn that people can mean more than one thing based on a single sound. It gets a little confusing.) I also know the sound of someone shaking my grain in a feed bucket, which means it’s time to come into the barn to eat.

ALL of us know that sound, even from two paddocks away.

I feel pressure as my rider pulls on the reins, drawing the metal bit back into the corners of my mouth. I slow from a trot to a walk before I even hear Melissa say whoa.

“Good boy, Eddie,” she says with a laugh. Now that, I understood in its course. If they did, we’d all understand each other with a whole lot less fuss! Horses do “speak” to each other from time to time, but mostly it’s just listening and feeling. If you ask me, I think people could probably benefit from less talking and more feeling.

Horses use our bodies, too, to show what we are thinking. People can usually decipher our body language, if they’re paying attention. Pinned ears means we’re angry, and ears perked forward means we’re concentrating on something. One or both ears cocked gently back means we’re listening.

It all seems much easier than the way people communicate.

Kennedy takes her feet out of the stirrups and swings one leg over the back of my saddle. Melissa is taking her through the steps of dismounting. Next, Kennedy slides down my left side,

Rennie Dyball is the co-author of the Show Strides novel series and managing editor for The Plaid Horse magazine. Rennie grew up riding school horses and now shows on the A circuit in the adult hunter and equitation divisions. She hopes that Eddie will remind readers of all the “schoolies” they’ve known and loved. Learn more about Rennie at renniedyball.com.