She was six months old when I saw her for the first time. I was hugely pregnant with our youngest son and we went to the auction to pick up a saddle for our oldest who was then four years old. I had stood up, hoping to ease my back, when there was a squeal from just outside the door of the sale pen and chaos erupted.
It took the form of a small coal black filly. Only six months old, it nonetheless to six - count ‘em - SIX full grown men to “persuade” her into the auction barn. Chest heaving, nostrils flared, perfect little ears swiveling all around and pinning straight back to her head when someone came close, her coat patchy and missing in places….She was beautiful.
I looked up at my husband. He was grinning until he saw my face. I saw his heart sink like a poor little rock. Let’s see, he describes it as a “eyes glazed over and brimming with hope” type of look. I know he can’t say no to it. He said, “Oh, honey. You don’t really….” He trailed off when I nodded.
Well, he’s a good man. He nodded, sucked in a deep breath and bought me the scrubbiest, wildest filly in the whole place for $75 (which was unheard of cheap in those days!!).
I named her Luna, which means “moon” in Spanish, for the white sliver of a crescent moon on her forehead.
It took me forever to tame her down. She was a Houdini and would open gates, crawl through, jump over, and sometimes I swear, she belly crawled under fence. Intelligence shone from her like a beacon of light but was contrasted by the most stubborn nature I had ever seen.
The very first time I cinched up a saddle on her she swelled up and held her breath until her eyes rolled back and she passed out. It once took us two and a half hours to load her in a trailer. I worked on getting her to step in a mud puddle for nearly three hours one day. When we rode with anyone else, she had to be in the lead, which was the source of much contention on many, many rides. She would work herself into a frothy lather if the horse we were riding with was even close to taking the lead. Head bobbing, bunny hopping, teeth gnashing, tail swishing….all tactics to show her displeasure at being forced to be common.
Eventually, I could do a lot with her. There was a catch. It was mostly just me. Anytime anyone else came around Luna still pinned her ears and stamped her feet.
While we were learning lessons, narrowly escaping death and destruction along the way, I was finding something else out about my little princess. She was a warrior.
Luna was undaunted by any task set before her, afraid of nothing. Everything she did was done with a flare and a boldness that made me forget everything but her. She loves a challenge with a passion and seeks adventure with a fearless abandon that still leaves me breathless. She’s my kinda girl.
Something else I discovered? She trusted me.
She would walk through fire if I asked her to. She parked cars at the county fair as a three year old with no previous exposure to carnival rides, crowds, flashing lights or loud speakers. She stood fifty feet from her first train rolling by and was politely interested. She went up and down Main St. in Pratt, swam the river, raced a QH who had been running on the track (and kept up with him), and did it all because I asked her to.
I didn’t dominate Luna. Nobody could dominate Luna! But I asked. I showed her that she could trust me. I let her have her fun. I picked my battles with her. I let her know that, in the end, my word was law, but I let her wiggle her way through the middle.
To this day she is a spoiled, bossy, stubborn….diva. She’s still the most beautiful, smartest, fastest, and the best friend a girl could have. The queen of the pasture, Luna rules with complete authority. Anyone new learns quick. Real quick. She’s not mean, by any means, but she tolerates no nonsense. She tells the pasture horses when it’s time to drink, where to graze, and does it all with a regal hand, er, hoof.
There are those horses out there, we have several, that anyone could ride. Which is what most people want. I, however, take a not-so-secret delight in the fact that she prefers me. Dustin can, has, and does ride her now. Neither one of them care for it much but they tolerate each other.
My saucy little brat has grown up. The kids can all groom her, pick up her feet, brush her belly, and comb her tail until their hearts are content and she patiently stands there, bemused and bored, and lets them do it. You can lead her around bareback with four kids, all bouncing and screaming, on her and she goes like an old plow mare. However, if anyone besides Dustin or I actually tries to ride her…..
She still is the worst behaved horse on the place. She still frets about being first but will sullenly take her place in the middle or even *GASP in HORROR* the rear if I insist. She still hates a mud puddle and will try to leap (no matter how big it is) over it, skirt around it (no matter how narrow the trail), or act like there is a cave bear lurking beneath the surface. She still bunny hops sideways out of the drive as we leave the house and when we get home, she bunny hops right back in the yard.
All of these things are my fault. I trained her. I could have curbed that spirit, tamed it, molded it into a horse that was something everyone could ride, a horse that was no different from others. I wouldn’t tolerate this type of behavior from any of the horses that I train or any of the others here on the home place.
So why? Why do I have the worst behaved horse on the place?
Because she is Luna. She is fire and magick and mine. She’s like riding a keg of dynamite. She’s velvet coated power and muscle and pride. She’s exhilaration, excitement, and elation. She’s a redneck princess - charging through the mud with an arched neck and flagged tail. She’s heart and courage, soul and love.
I wouldn’t change one thing about her.
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