The Final Epiphany

The next morning there was a rider working on "the creeper."

It's moment like that, when Mark gives advice that is so simple, its hard not to feel like a doofus for not figuring it out yourself. Like when you mom shows you how to keep the plastic in the dishwasher from getting flipped over and filled with water.

"You have to set boundaries and stick with them," he said, walking her though boundry setting.

In reality we are the creeper, aren't we. We let things creep by us until before you know it things aren't working out the way you planned.

We rode in the arena after the clinic. Smokey and I worked in the round pen - the night's festivities, and unusual confinement resulted in one wired pony - and he was better. Good enough for me to try the canter, a sustained one. With a soft back.

And it worked.

We packed up and headed to the campsite. I felt good, I'd accomplished a little and learned a lot. But it would all change in 24 hours.

Nails Creek state park is a fantastic equestrian facility. The pens for horses are amazing, and we settled in for the night in the dark due to our late departure from the arena. I knew I was dragging my feet. Everything was so wonderful. I cooked dinner, my special goulash, and played my bass uke (like a four string mini guitar) and laughed and enjoyed the night.

I didn't want the morning to come.

This next part is too hard to write, even now, weeks later. It's why its taken me so long to write this entire series, why I have avoided writing it because I didn't want to admit my failing, not here.

It's why it's been weeks before I could talk about this, let alone share it here.

But I'm not one to crow about my accomplishments and duck my failings. Especially this one. Because I'm not really ashamed of this moment, this step on the journey. Because it's honest. I'd only be ashamed if I avoided the truth of it, if I didn't own it.

But I'm not going to make it long. Honest is one thing, but it's still not easy to talk about.

The next morning we saddled up to ride. Smokey was up and I was sick to my stomach. I couldn't bring my self to get on him, so I led the trainer's horse while she rode Smokey to a point where he was more settled.

And I still didn't want to get on him. At that moment, that low, low moment when she was urging me to get on I shouted "Look, Smokey isn't my trail horse. Lily is my trail horse."

Lily is my trail horse.

This horse, my dear Smokey, who I had ridden in the mountains, taken to rides at Storm Ranch, this was not the horse I wanted to ride on trails. I wanted to ride Lily. My highly trained, finished horse, who I can galllop with a halter and stop on a dime.

As I walked back to camp I thought about this.

During the drive back I thought some more.

Over the last three months my daughter's illness has reset my world. I've had to face realities.

I don't have time to train this horse. And with the medical bills I won't have the funds to provide him a trainer.
I don't have the energy to get through these issues. Nor the time and support system to get there.
I don't have the time to condition this horse for long trail rides and to do endurance as was my dream when I bought him.

I've been over horsed, but wanted to overcome it. But right now that's not where my world is. My world demands something different, demands I focus on overcoming something altogether different.

I am holding him back because I don't have it in me to deal with everything in my life - with a demanding 60 hour a week job, a chaotic family life, and health issues - especially because no one else is riding.

And I'm holding me back. I don't go on trail rides with friends because I need to get through this with him - yet I don't ride the horse I can ride anywhere. My finished horse is lossing muscle tone because no one is riding her, and yet my young horse is riding the same 10 acres over and over, getting a decent handle but good and stuck.

Right now, with the stress of my life, I need to face facts. I will do more and learn more and enjoy more if I accept the gift of Lily and pass on the gift of Smokey.

This Sunday Smokey will go to a wonderful home with an amazing woman I met who has been looking for this horse. I've done well by him. I've helped him become responsive, kept him sensitive, taught him enough basics to be a wonderful companion.

Now someone else will take him the rest of the way.

I'm lucky. I've found him a wonderful home and I can now give Lily the attention and adventures she wants, and if she's in better shape she will have a better chance of staying sound.

Because I love Smokey I'm letting him go. Because I love myself, I'm giving myself a really wonderful horse. Lily. She'll teach me a ton, and I'll become a better horseman with her as my partner. And because my family needs me more than ever, I'm reducing my time away because Lily needs less of me, but is there for me at the same time.

Smokey's new partner and I will stay in touch, even ride together. I've set up a trial period, established that I will provide him a home in the future if he ever needs one. But I'm confident that won't happen. When I saw her ride, and saw him respond, my heart softened and I had my final epiphany.

This is love, my heart said. When you let them fly. Even if it's not with you.

Even when it breaks your heart.