Before me peaceful, Behind me peaceful, Under me peaceful, Over me peaceful, All around me peaceful-, Peaceful voice when he neighs. I am everlasting and peaceful. I stand for my horse. Navaho war God's song A Girl and Her Horse Buddy, a large, clumsy, bay standardbred, trots across the arena, snorting, head lowered, neck snaking, briefly kicking at the dog on his heels, seeking the tall, teen-age girl with carrots in one hand, halter in the other, smile plastered across her face. It's been a week since the two have seen each other. Bred primarily for speed, the Standardbred resembles a thoroughbred, but is heavier, more robust, and has very strong hindquarters. The Standardbred can be traced back to a Thoroughbred stallion, Messenger, imported to the United States in 1788. This stallion sired four sons, the foundation sires for the breed. Over the years, the Thoroughbred lines were crossed with trotting breeds such as Canadian trotters, Hackneys, and Narrangansett Pacers. In addition to out-breeding to pacers and trotters, the Standardbred was crossed with horses of Arab and Barb descent as well as the American Morgan, with the most recently practiced out cross to internationally prized Swedish Warm-Bloods. Buddy: AKA, Malmo Sweden. Sire: Baltic Speed. Dam: Pride of Stockholm. Dark bay, black points. Freeze brand--lip and neck: HY 234. The week passed slowly for the girl. She missed the horse, Buddy, missed his clumsy good nature, his large raw-boned strength which he loaned to her every time the two rode out on the trail. He would trip a lot. Lazy, he didn't always watch where he placed his great feet. But he was still young, she always pointed out-- only five years old--he would outgrow such silliness. His big, brown nature more than made up for his youth and lack of training. She knew they were a team that would learn together as they grew up. Dressage developed from the high-school equitation of the 15th to 18th centuries which was popular in the royal courts of Europe. Movements that had originally been developed for use in battle were combined into a demonstration of horsemanship that showed off the stamina, agility, and obedience of the horse and the skills of the rider. As her sister drove her up the dirt road to the stable, she craned her neck, trying to catch a sight of her aptly named gelding, trotting free in the arena. He would love these carrots. "How much do you want for the horse? " "Oh, you don't want him. Maureen will outgrow him. He's not athletic enough. He was born for the rent string. Some horses are just born to be plodders. He's too docile for such a young animal only knows how to trot had the canter beaten out of him probably ruined his legs racing. She'll be bored in two months." I don't recall asking his opinion. Jill tells me, "Mike says that horse is in pain. Watched him walk down the hill. He's hurting." I try to remember asking her opinion. The horse rests his head on the girl's shoulder as the farrier pulls the iron shoes. "Got some good sized feet here." The girl passes her hand over the horse's muzzle, tugs on his upper lip to keep him awake. He leans on the girl, leans on the farrier. "Big guy. Real quiet for a trotter. Been raced?" "No, my mom called the registry. He's never raced on the track." "Good straight legs. Sound as a church bell. A little toed in, but that shouldn't hurt him none. Got a horse myself that looks like a duck, but breaks straight over the shoe, so you know she's walking straight. Good sound horse, like yours." The horse's mulish ears lie slack as he dozes sporadically, only waking when the shoer is done trimming his feet and starting to nail on the shoes. The lazy never-been-raced-Standardbred leans on the girl's shoulder only occasionally turning to nuzzle the shoer's vulnerable backside. You didn't buy that horse? Yes, he's sound you didn't buy She worked all summer that horse rode him all summer you'll just be feeding never came up lame a cripple had a vet I know, had three myself check, clean bill of health fed 'em for years sound waste of money, if you ask me. I try to remember asking her opinion. Fresh from a bath, the bay skitters across the decomposed granite, eyeing the white shopping bag threatening to attack in all its plastic glory. "You big muley chicken. What's a bag gonna do, eat you?" The girl ties the horse, slaps its rump on her way to the tack room for brushes. Buddy's ears follow the girl as she disappears into the place which he knows houses carrots. He counts the seconds with a front hoof. 1-2-3-4... A car approaches--same engine vibrations he always listens for. The carrot girl. The apples-and-other-good-food girl. The girl who brushes the dirt and itchyness from his hide. His muscles are twitchy from standing around waiting. Yes, he can hear the door of the room open. The lid thunks on the feed box. The grain spills into the bucket. He hears the carrot girl breaking the big orange vegetables in half, dropping them into the bucket, into the grain, in twos. Buddy leans over to sniff the new dog--a retriever--nibbles the feathery golden fur, gently grips a fold of skin, tentatively. The dog stands frozen, big brown eyes rolling up at the big brown dog gripping him. Buddy releases the dog, but continues to snort and snuffle the fur. Floyd, the dog, licks Buddy's muzzle. The girl chuckles. On the trail chaparral stones rock cairns her mom always tells her to wear a hat red tailed hawk sometimes rattlesnakes sometimes deer keep the sun off her face and out of her eyes off her head barbed wire She-who-thinks-she-must-be-obeyed lectures about sunstroke heatstroke sun screen water bottles dead horse The horse was a rental horse. The rider tried to take it across water. The horse panicked, threw the rider and tumbled down the embankment. The man pushed himself up out of the dirt and dusted off his pants, expecting to catch the horse and get back on. The horse had fallen, wedged, in the stream channel--six inches of water is enough for a horse to drown in--the rider couldn't reach the horse (it was drowning, flailing, dangerous) four hooves tipped with metal thrashed the air around the upside- down-drowning-dying horse. The man gave up all pretence. Dead horse creek--we now call it the Hudson river--the horse's name was Hudson. The owner cut off the saddle and left the horse to rot for six weeks (sick smelling weeks) just off the main trail. Medicine horse, night sun horse, black wind horse, Sun God's mount. Guardian horse spirit, blackbirds fly with you, fly with sun's black horse. Night wind horse, jet stone, most sacred. Sun's black jewel, you have a bald face, white on black face; white stockings on black legs. Santa Susanna pass dried weeds wild oats Chatsworth park bridle trails dirt grass the straightaway -- racing fast, faster the hat blows off, hair flourishes in the wind rain fog sun heat Although predominantly a harness-racing horse, the Standardbred's speed and stamina, keenness, and calm temperament make it excellent for general riding. Its qualities also suit it to endurance riding. Santa Monica mountains waist high wild oats waist deep Malibu creek Remember the day you went swimming last winter, Mom? Maureen. No, No. Tell Andrea. Mau reen. OK I'll tell it. We went riding in Malibu. John borrowed the trailer for us. We were going to teach Tayo, my mom's horse, to cross water. There was this really deep part. Only we didn't know how deep until we got in it. John got Sarah (you remember Tulapai's owner?) and Tulapai across. He had to pony them--you know, dally the lead rope to the saddle horn. He finally had to just pull her in. Tulapai was not pleased. She's dainty and afraid she'll melt. But Sarah was dry. Well then I went across with Hamlet. He was good about water by then. Mom talked Tayo into the water after about fifteen minutes--she says it's because he always listens to her and all she has to do is wear him down, kind of like I do her--but I think it was probably because he could see the bottom from that side of the creek. But then she decided she should have him go across again. Tayo was willing--kind of--but the bank on this side was steep, so when he tried to step in the water, he met with about three or four feet of water. My mom flew over his head and went swimming. Lucky for her she didn't lose her glasses. Her cigarettes got all soggy too. I told her it must be time to quit. Racing is the sport of kings. Her horse flies across the field, dogs dogging the horse, coyotes dogging the dogs. Buddy loves chasing after coyotes. Thinks it's a game. The origins of eventing lie in the battlefield, as it developed out of the endurance rides that were used to test cavalry horses. At the beginning of the 20th century, the first three-day event was held, in France. It began with a dressage test, followed by a grueling cross-country endurance ride, and concluded with a show- jumping test (added partly to increase public interest in eventing). At this time, three-day events were purely military affairs, and it was not until after World War II that civilians could compete. Eventing was first included in the Olympics in 1912, and is the ultimate all-round test of a horse. The smell of chaparral dogs the ride--sticky resin odor. Sharp. Acrid. The barn smell trails the girl home. Her mother tells her to leave her boots on the front porch; she smells like the stable. It's a good smell. Incense. Jet stone will not tire in battle. Black jewel, you will not falter. During World War I millions of horses were used on all parts of the front, and losses were appalling. The Scots Greys arrived at the Belgian frontier soon after the outbreak of war, and the famous grey horses had to be stained chestnut in order to camouflage them and prevent the enemy identifying their formation. Tick season is all seasons. She hates ticks. More than rattlesnakes. She'd rather meet a rattlesnake on the road than a tick on her body, or Buddy's. Sweat soaked t-shirt and jeans Foamy lather So many men would read this as a pungent salt Freudian parlor game. A Jungian sweat/leather pasture. A Lacanian mirror. Foucauldian will to power. Note the consistency and smell of your horse's perspiration as your work progresses. As he becomes fitter, his sweat will lose its lathery, sticky, and rather acrid-smelling characteristics. A truly fit horse perspires moderately, and his sweat is watery and odorless. Black horse, guardian horse spirit, medicine horse, carry me far, carry me safe, carry me fast. I tie black feathers to your white forelegs (carry me swiftly). Your white feet see the way (carry me safely). Bald faced horse, Sun God's mount, you are life medicine. Black sky horse, You are life way. We tried to trailer the horses to the beach. Most beaches are closed to horses, but a friend told us about horse access up by Ventura. We loaded all the horses into the stock trailer and headed north. Maureen jabbered almost the whole way about how Buddy would react to the ocean. In her best cartoon Buddy voice: Duh, George. What is that moving stuff? Dis is funny kind of sand, George, running all over my little feets. She almost went into hysterics describing the different possible attitudes of Buddy's ears--whether they would flop in disbelief, scream into exclamation points of panic, or stab backward against his head in rebellion. Then she started in on the poor animal's nose. You have to understand, Buddy has a head the size of a healthy toddler, with ears like a mule and an upper lip like a parrot, at least when he's relaxed, which is almost all the time--unless he knows there are carrots to be had somewhere in the vicinity, in which case he earnestly begs with his upper lip, somewhat reminiscent of Mr. Ed in his better peanut-butter-eating days. He could probably carry two-by-fours with his upper lip, that is, if he thought they were edible. Anyway, she first suggested, with just a hint of a giggle, that Buddy would lift his lip in disdain at Tayo's pure panic-- Tayo being an Arabian who thinks water will wash away the desert winds of which he thinks he was born, and highly born at that. Then she says, his nose would wrinkle in disgust that we could possibly want him to approach such a strange phenomena. Laughing hard now she describes Buddy finding himself in the surf (he dozes on and off) his nose quivering in dismay that he would surely lose his balance and be swept away from reach of his beloved snacks. I've always suspected the girl had a bit of a mean streak. We never made it to the beach. All four freeway exits were closed. North. South. East. West. We later found out Buddy was raised in Corona Del Mar where all the race horses run on the turf and play in the surf. Guardian horse spirit recall the first, Sun's black jewel, recapture first life. Jet stone horse, carry me far, recall the original. Night sky north, capture the hero. Guardian horse spirit, find me. Night wind horse, carry me. Medicine horse, help me. Santa Susanna Pass. The stagecoach road is a stairway of rock now, shelving two or three feet. It's hard on the horse's legs and knees. Hard to imagine it ever being smooth enough for a coach and six. Rain has carved a precipitous spillway into the decaying roadbed, revealing bedrock, recalling geological formations, sometimes even remnants of an ancient sea. Sun God's horse, I destroy myself. Jet stone horse, help me unravel. Night sky horse, show me. Guardian horse spirit, carry me. Broadcast my body: to the east - flesh, to the north - blood, to the south - bone, to the west - marrow. Medicine horse carry me; bid moon spin my marrow, ligaments and bone. Carry me; bid sun restore my eye sockets, nerve and sight. Carry me. The horse nickered to the girl, foggy breath visible in the observant evening air. She offered the carrots, patted his neck and combed his mane with her fingers as he munched the last of her offerings. She held out the halter, and the horse lowered his head. Grabbing a handful of mane, the girl vaulted onto the bay's broad back. Turning his massive head, the gelding nibbled the girl's boot. She chuckled, leaned forward and hugged the horse's neck as they slowly ambled off to the barn. Black horse spirit, recall the original, I reassemble to a new pattern. Night sky north, recall the hero. I reassemble to a new pattern. Sun's black wind recall the first. Black horse, guardian spirit, black horse, Sun God's jewel, black horse, jet stone, most sacred, black horse.