I came home from school and my mom told me she wanted me to try him out to see what he was like. I ran inside, threw on some jodhpurs, and slipped into my boots- this was a usual routine after school; my backpack thrown into the corner of the kitchen, forgotten until I came in from the barn. I ran and grabbed my helmet, curious about the funny bay standing next to the arena.
The first time I ever rode Spirit I found his bucks endearing- a challenge to ride through. I was nine and invincible. I took him for a trot around the arena, then my mom said to try a canter. As soon as I asked it I was met with a big buck! When he had finished letting us know what he thought of being a show pony, I threw my arms around his neck on center line and squealed to my mom that I wanted to keep him. I called the fiery bay, Spirit. As a side note I would like to say that he was dubbed Spirit long before the film.
As I rode Spirit I quickly learned that his bucking was far from endearing. I was a frustrated blonde bundle that he frequently threw to the ground. Time and time again I was bucked off, only to climb back on his back. It didn't take long for me to become a hell of a rider thanks to my bay. He would buck, I would pop him with a whip, he would buck, I would pop him with a whip, he would buck, I'd land on the ground. Such was our relationship for quite some time. I think he found it funny to make me feel comfortable and then buck just to see if my legs had grown stronger. They did, and eventually I didn't fall off, and Spirit accepted that his training of his young rider was complete in that category.
My routine was always the same after school as it was that first day I rode Spirit. I would come home, run in the house, and just as quickly be running for the barn and my friend. We grew together, girl and pony. When the honeysuckle along the driveway was blooming Spirit and I would go up and down the drive, bareback and in shorts, picking the honeysuckle and laughing as I sucked out the sweet nectar, leaving his mane covered in the white and yellow flowers. He was my truest friend and the smartest pony I had ever met. He would do anything for a treat. I would play games with him in the barn aisle, teaching him to bow for a treat, or pick a hand... he always picked the right one. He would follow me everywhere, we didn't need a lead rope. As I grew up and gave random pony rides, the kids on his back thought he was terribly funny, this pony that would follow his girl in zig zags and circles.
Spirit, we quickly discovered, could jump anything. As I began taking him to shows it was clear that despite my dismal dressage score we would make up for it in the jumping ring and cross country course. He never hesitated, just tucked his knees and flew over the fence, carrying his lady over with him. Once, after a ride down the road I was trying to open the gate without having to get off. I was kicking him forward trying to get him to turn flush with the fence, misunderstanding me he jumped the gate from a standstill, clearing it, and leaving me open mouthed on the other side with the dilemma of a still closed gate. People always wondered at how high a fence he could clear, but I knew that really Spirit had wings. He was filled with as much joy as I was as we flew, ears forward, small knees tucked under him as tight as he could make them.
We went to a jumper show once for some extra practice and fun. Spirit, with his tight turns, and Tigger legs won the show. A man offered us an astronomical amount of money to buy him. He informed us that he wanted that pony off the Jumper's Circuit. My mom told him that my pony wasn't for sale. The love for her daughter and horse made my mom confident in her decision. We stayed away from Jumper shows, mostly because my short memory always steered Spirit over the wrong fences. I never had a knack for memorizing a course without walking it first.
When I wanted to play mounted games, Spirit began teaching me again. My issue was learning a running vault. We would trot up and down the side of the arena, I would jump, slam into his side, and land back on the ground. He was ever so patient. I don't know that he knew what I was trying to do, but he was willing to keep trotting next to his girl until she got whatever trick she was determined to master. When I finally did get onto his back one day I landed behind the saddle. Spirit knew I didn't belong there so he reminded me by bucking me off; remarkable I landed on my feet, bounced again, and landed in the saddle. Success! Spirit was proud of me, his crazy girl for accomplishing her goal... I think he was also relieved that I wouldn't be slamming into his side anymore, but rather landing in the saddle. Just as he had wings over fences, he flew up and down the games field. We shared each others exhilaration when we flew.
You always learn so much from the people in your life, but I believe you learn more from the quiet constants, like a bay pony with an impossibly spikey black mane. Spirit taught me so much. As I grew too tall and needed a taller horse for games, Spirit continued to enchant little girls. He continued to teach lessons of strong legs through his random bucks and he taught many other little girls to fly. The honeysuckle trips up the drive, and the gallops through the field remained mine. That was mine and Spirit's to cherish.
Spirit hasn't been able to fly over a fence or across a field for awhile now. He has grown into an old man that still loves me when he gets to see me. He always knew when I was visiting and would greet me as his first lady. He was always comforting to my heart regardless of how I came to him. Horses have a way of giving comfort.
Psalm 36 says, "Thy righteousness standeth like the strong mountains: Thy justice is like the great deep: Humankind and beast shalt thou save, O Lord." In reading that verse my hope is restored that my beast shall be saved and I shall see him again. Until I get there I know he is teaching some other wild haired little girl how to stay on through his mischievous bucks, patiently waiting for her to learn to hold on, no matter what is thrown at her.
Thank you for teaching me to always hold on tight, Spirit Birit. I will miss you my old friend. Until we meet again..
Hannah
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