WALT

He noticed because the gelding noticed, being entirely too interested in what was going on around him and not the rider on his back, a habit Walt was not yet sure how train out of him. He saw Vic enter the arena from the side door from the barn, look briefly around and then slowly walk forward to lean on the railings, seemingly watching horse and rider with interest.

Giving up on getting anything useful out of the gelding, given both their concentrations were shot, he walked him around the arena a couple of times on a loose rein. It served two purposes, to cool the horse down, and to teach him that the lesson was over when Walt said so, no matter what the big grey gelding's opinion was. There seemed to be a never ending supply of horse opinions, to both their frustration most of the time.

Walt had grown up around horses and had a good understanding of their psychology via his father, who was an innate horseman. Walt considered himself an adequate rider, mostly due to lack of quality teaching, an experienced horse to learn on, and enough time to master the art. His time with Horse had gone a long way to help, but theirs was a relationship of mutual trust. He had not had to train Horse, not the way Omar was expecting him to train these headstrong Arabs.

Reaching the far end of the arena, where he kept his gear, he slid both feet out of the stirrups, before swinging his right leg over, and dropping in a smooth controlled drop to the ground. He had been surprised at how comfortable the English saddle had been once he got used to it (and once he had found one that would fit both the horses *and* him!)

Buckling the halter strap around the gelding's neck, he unbuckled the girth, ran the stirrups up, and slid the whole heavy leather bundle off the back and onto the nearby rail. Pulling the reins over the horses head, he unbuckled the throatlatch strap and slid the snaffle bridle up over the ears and when the horse obligingly let go with his mouth, down over his head, to hang over the rail next to the saddle. So many new buckles and straps and different names for things! The pile of reference and research books in his bedroom grew weekly it seemed, when he found a new thing to read about.

Taking a moment to scratch the big grey down the crest of his neck under his sweaty mane, he was young and inexperienced and a bit silly, but not stupid and deserved a treat. Not stupid at all, flighty perhaps, but there was intelligence in those big dark eyes, Walt just hadn't found the right way to connect with it yet. Noting his coat was still a bit warm and damp in the cool air of the big arena, Walt hooked up the noseband of the halter and retrieved the long coil of lunge rope from the pile in the corner. Hooking up the clip, he let the coil fall to the sawdust floor, collected the very long lunge whip in his far hand, keeping the long lash tight, unclipped the tie rope, and grabbing the lunge lead from the ground, led the gelding out into the middle of the arena.

Time to work a bit more on his long line technique, work the gelding in both directions for flexibility, and cool them both off for a bit. Stepping back 6 or 8 feet, keeping the line taught but with a light touch in his left hand, he gave the gelding a quiet "gee-up" and a suggestive wave of the whip off to his right. The big dappled grey knew this game, and dropped his head and walked forward, more in resignation than enthusiasm. Walt put his energy into focussing just behind the geldings shoulder and bought the whip in a touch closer til the gelding was able to see it trailing a few feet behind his tail.

Ah, that bought a touch more energy to his pace, and stepping in a tight circle to keep up, Walt slowly let the line play out till there was about 12 feet of line between them. He kept the grey going in a big slow circle, keeping hard focus on the point behind the shoulder, and letting the long lash trail down on the ground, every now and then a bit of a flick to remind the gelding it was there.

It was hard work, lots of concentration on all the different things going on, keeping the line taut, keeping the circle round, trying to get the horse to work with energy, and above all not getting dizzy! But when the big grey dropped his head, licking his lips and moved out well, Walt knew he had got the point, and gently bought him to a halt, and took some time for some scratches and pats and some "good boy" murmurings.

Walt was aware of the irony of the fact that what he was doing was essentially therapy, and he was being paid and paid pretty well for it. He would never ask, but he suspected the job offer was out of pity for the situation he had found himself in. Omar knew Walts' experience with horses did not cover training them under saddle, and even less so with breaking in babies, but as he said to Walt on the day "I need a horseman, someone who understands and can relate to the horses. That is a skill that can't be taught. You have that, and you can learn the rest. I trust you Walt, and I know you will treat these animals well" He had clapped Walt on the shoulder and refused to hear any further discussion on the subject.

At the time he hadn't been that grateful at the opportunity, more bitter about the circumstances that had bought it about. Several months later he found himself looking forward to his days spent with these noble creatures, even this big stroppy one, who wasn't that keen on going the OTHER way round the circle. He cursed himself for forgetting, and starting with the less favoured side first. The silent hovering presence of the woman still leaning on the side of the arena was a constant awareness, and after spending a few more minutes battling with the disobedient gelding, he sighed and called it a day.

Dropping the whip on the ground to collect later, he walked towards the horse, coiling up the line as he did, and grabbed the halter with a firm hand and let his full weight hang off it for a moment and the horse stilled under the reminder. Pausing to make sure no further temper tantrums were pending, man and horse walked quietly down to the far end, where he clipped the tie rope to the halter, unclipped the lunge line and replacing it in the corner. Grabbing a dandy brush he gave the horse a quick going over to lift and help dry the coat and then taking a softer body brush and a curry comb he started work on giving him a more complete groom.

The stable hand did this daily in the mornings, and would also do it after the workouts if Walt let her, but he felt the quiet time was a good one for bonding with the horse, that it was good for their relationship to have a positive benefit for the horse, rather than only being exposed to Walt's presence for training. Plus it helped him get to know each animals personality better. This big grey (who Walt had dubbed Omar) was a bit full of himself and pushy and curious, all of which meant he had a short attention span and was a challenge to train.

The other gelding, a dark chestnut, was lazy and not inclined to exert himself unless he had to and was an entirely different challenge. Walt had mentally named him affectionately, Bob and they spent a lot of time bonding while being groomed because Bob *adored* it. His ears would flop sideways and his lower lip dangle, quivering now at then when the brush got into a particularly ticklish spot. He was a pain in the ass to work on the ground, and hard going to ride, but his nature was so endearing Walt didn't mind too much.

Running a firm hand down each leg, checking for heat or swelling, before lifting each hoof to check for stray stones or other pickups, he made a point of holding each leg up for a second or two longer than needed, always taking the opportunity to teach or underscore a lesson.

It was the nervous sidle of the grey that alerted Walt to the fact that Vic had finally wandered their way. He turned, one hand on the greys neck to calm him and watched the slight dark haired stranger standing there in an oversized parka, hands jammed in the pockets as she eyed them both warily.

He said quietly, not to startle the gelding "You can come closer and say hello if you like". She flicked him a suspicious glance but sidled forward a couple of steps and cautiously held a hand out, palm out flat and fingers tucked in tight and he breathed a small sigh, she had remembered his lessons as well.

Her voice was quiet "What's his name?"

He paused for a moment "Well he has a fancy stud name, which I can't pronounce" and he paused for a longer moment "So I call him Omar".

She smiled a quick fleeting smile and tucked her hand away and stepped back out of range and saying "Maria told me to tell you lunch would be served in about half an hour. That was about 20 minutes ago"

"Ah you met Maria, I thought I recognised the look on your face" he smiled as he said it but her answering expression was a bit hard as was her voice

"What look?"

His smile was a bit more forced this time in response but he kept it light, non threatening "Oh that startled, 'not quite sure what just happened' look" he grinned more naturally "I feel like that everytime I talk to her. I don't know if all Australians are like that or if it just Maria, she is certainly an experience!"

Another small grudging smile and a nod towards the horse "Do you need a hand carrying something when you put him in the barn? I assume you are going to come and have lunch?"

Surprised at the offer, he hesitated and then nodded "You can carry the bridle if you like". The English saddle was lighter compared to his usual Western one, but still heavy enough, and she didn't look sturdy enough to load her up with that too. He could come back for it later. He picked up the bridle, arranged the reins over the headstall properly and handed it to her "If you hook it up over your shoulder it won't drag on the ground" and she nodded and with some help, got her arm through the right gap and safely tucked over her shoulder.

Motioning for her to walk ahead, he undid the leadrope, and all three of them trooped out of the arena, across the cold concrete into the side door of the barn. Walt was glad for his hat and his tight fitting soft black leather riding gloves that the cold weather had made a requirement. In the warmer barn, he stripped the gloves off, tucking in the back pocket of his jeans, while leading the gelding into his stall, checking he had a full hay rack and water bucket before unclipping the lead and sliding the stall door shut, and locking down the latch. He hooked the lead around the railing and then turned to show Vic the tack room but she wasn't beside him.

Instead she was down at the far end, pressed up against the bars of one of the big stalls, the one that had 3 of the seven long legged babies in it. They were curious about this new comer, reaching up with questing lips to tug and pull whatever they could find within reach. Luckily the stall bars were close enough to prevent Vic putting her arm through and risking losing a finger without him there to warn her.

She turned as he stepped up beside her, and for the first time he saw a genuine smile on her face as she looked at the fuzzy long legged ungainly foals in the stall and asked hesitantly "Can I come back after lunch and meet them?"

He relieved her of the halter, and smiled gently back in return "Absolutely, it's their turn for freedom then and I could do with another set of hands, if you want to help". She nodded, eyes on the baby horses again, and he hung the bridle up in the To Be Cleaned section of the tackroom. Rachel the stable hand would be delighted, she loved the English tack and adored taking it apart and cleaning it and putting it back together, apparently the leather responded nicely to being cleaned, different to American gear.

The two of them headed in for lunch. Of course the topic of conversation was the horses, and Vic was so diverted by the subject that she seemed like her previous self. He answered her questions but resisted asking any of his own, it was so much like how they used to be together that he didn't want to spoil it. He hoped the rest of the afternoon would be as good.

YAY! We get to the horse bits :) For those who care I was involved in the local Arabian scene here for about 10 years, I had a share in an imported English Arabian stallion and eventually bought myself a lovely grey gelding when he was 6 months old and spent the next couple of years learning how to teach a young horse what he needed to know. Was a learning experience for us both, but quite rewarding.

Eventually RL intervened and I sold him back to the breeder where eventually he became an experienced endurance horse and was sold to the UAE for a small fortune when he was 10. His name was Bentley and he was a real character.

Song Inspiration

The Story - 30 Seconds to Mars