Red Caddilac

I eyed the fat red gelding, who was rolling his eyes and snorting, with some apprehension. "You say he's broke?" I asked his owner, the sweetest woman in the world. She is nearly 80 and has several horses, although being respectful of the diminished healing capacities of her body, she no longer forks the ones that snorts and rolls their eyes. That's where I come in.

She nodded. "He's broke, it's just been awhile."

The gelding was 15 1/2 hands of well-fed power, easily weighing in at 1200 lbs. A Tennessee Walking Horse, he stood with his hind end stretched out slightly while I curried and tacked him up. He had been a rescue of hers, having come from a sale where he was most likely doomed for the packers (that's what we call slaughter-buyers around here). She called him Red. The lady who had owned him said that he was broke but high strung. I was skeptical.

I had brought my own gear to ride in (I love my saddle!) and so once he was tacked up, I led him out onto the dirt road in front of her house and asked him to lunge a little. He did the typical "YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!?!?" jump to the side a few times, but he quickly got the idea that I wanted him to move around me in a circle. I helped him see this by keeping my left arm, the one that was holding the lead, stiff to the front while I walked toward his hind end, clicking my tongue to ask him to move. I have found that if you apply pressure, even if its only your voice and presence, to the hind end, they will usually seek to escape that pressure by moving away. When they do, I take a step back and reward them by letting off with the "pressure". Anytime they deviate from the circle, I move back in.

Within just a few minutes he was trotting nicely in a circle around me. I only wanted to trot him enough to give the saddle a chance to loosen so that I could tighten the cinch once more before getting on and to allow him a chance to warm up a little. It also gave the both of us an opportunity to see how the other worked. He learned in short order that I wasn't going to allow him to misbehave and I learned that, while he tested me, he had a general want to please me.

I tightened the cinch and my husband held the reins while I stepped up. The horse felt like a time bomb beneath me, I could feel him fairly vibrating with energy and nervousness. He didn't want to stand still, and now was not the time to argue, not when it had been years since he had been ridden like I was going to ride him today. I pick my battles.

I asked him to move out, away from the farm, heading south on this old dirt road. His nervousness increased as we drew away from the house and the other horses, all of whom were voicing their displeasure at his departure quite loudly. He whirled a few times, wanting to go home to his nice little paddock with his buddies. I simply made him follow through with the turn until we were once again headed in the right direction.

It was about that time I realized that the saddle was sitting funny. I wiggled and he jigged to the side. Perhaps not the smartest idea to try and adjust things while on this horse then. I asked him for a stop, which he gave easily, and then turned him for home, holding him in the whole way as his head was held high and he strutted as quickly as possible. Dustin walked out to meet me and immediately saw the problem. I stepped down and adjusted everything while he held Red, who's slight obesity had made the saddle shift.

I'm not going to lie, I was a little nervous. I wanted my equipment to be on right. You know...just in case.

Mounted once more, we again went south, this time into a ploughed field. I figured that the deeper footing would take some of the starch out of him as well as provide a better landing spot for me if I should happen to come off. Which I had no intention of doing, but you know what they say about good intentions.

The gelding was very responsive, although very rusty. I would give him a little pressure with my heel and he would start to react, hesitate, and then once I cued him again, he would complete the maneuver. Someone had trained him well and he was smart enough to remember most of it, even if he was a little slow on the pick up.

We went about a half a mile and then we started to play. I asked him for figure eights, lead changes, stops, backs, trot, canter, and a gaited walk. He did it all. The more we did the quicker and more responsive he got. Sure, he still tried to go back to the house occasionally, but for the most part he did as I asked.

Since he was mostly fat and little muscle, it didn't take long to have him sweating. I knew that if I pushed him too hard, he would be sore the next day. Horses are just like people in that regard; I know that if I spent the day digging holes or something that I was unaccustomed to that I would be sore, for sure! I let him out into his gaited walk on the way back to the house, stopping and turning around and going the opposite way several times. I wanted to test him, to see how he would respond to being asked to go away from the house once we were on our way back. He did it every time with no complaint.

I reached the drive grinning from ear to ear. Martha was smiling too, she had been watching from afar. "How'd he do?" She asked me.

"Well," I said as I scratched and patted his sweaty neck, "you have your Fords, and you have your Chevy's, and they are both nicely made cars. But then you have your Cadillac's. He's a Caddy."

She laughed and patted him. She has a good eye for horses. I told her I thought he would eat trails for breakfast and that he would go all day for a good rider. She nodded, like it was what she had expected all along.

Now that Red is healthy and we know a little about what he can do, Martha is going to put him up for sale to a good home so that she has the space and time to rescue another horse.

I personally wish I had the time and space for another one. Riding him was a blast. There is something special about a Tennessee Walker.