Winter Riding

One of the joys of winter is riding my horse in the snow. We avoid much of the regular season preparation, like grooming, pre-ride lounging (to get the bucks out) and schooling/ring work. I just collect him from his pasture, pick his hooves, run a quick hand over his thick coat, saddle up and mount up. He doesn't do too many crazy/I-haven't-been-ridden-in-weeks actions, except a little passage (french for a slow, collected trot) because of the deep snow.

Within a few minutes, we are deep in the woods, accompanied only by the quiet crunching of the snow underhoof and the occasional bird's call. We travel on paths that many have passed before: with the aid of the snow, we can see where the forest "highways" are. Some paths are traveled heavily, some none at all. Of the footprints we see, some are from small animals, with prints close together, some travel dragging their tail, and some are from larger species, with several feet between prints (a running deer, maybe?). There are no human prints to be found.

My horse bravely trudges on, occasionally stopping to cock an ear this way or to peer intently into the trees (he's looking for horse-eating monsters). His trust in me is complete: he knows I would not allow him to travel in areas where he's likely to get hurt or encounter afore-mentioned horse-eating monsters. It's not until I decide that it's too dangerous to attempt to cross a frozen stream that we turn around to retrace our steps. To my horse's delight, he encounters his own hoofprints. He travels with his nose in the snow, to better smell his equine partner. And then, jackpot! A manure pile to sniff. This evidence of fellow equine emboldens him to pick up his pace and move energetically through the forest, thinking, "that brave horse traveled here, so I'll be fine." I don't think it matters that the prints and manure smell just like him; he clearly feels supported by his find.

We pick up our pace along a straightaway with good footing. With a gentle squeeze of my legs, I encourage him forward into a lovely trot, and then a rocking horse canter. The cool wind rushes by my face and the snow flies from his hooves. Life does not get better than this.

At the end of our ride, I blanket him with a fleece cooler for the long job of drying out his thick coat. We walk and walk, seemingly for hours, until his coat stops steaming. Back into his snowy pasture he goes, guaranteed to roll within 10 seconds of liberty. Sure enough, with snow covering his face and ears, he faces me on his side of the fence, "Well, mom? What's next? I'm ready!" I throw him another flake of hay and give him a good rub on his ears in thanks. I head inside to warm my toes full of happy, warm feelings for my big-hearted steed.