Tango in the Moonlight

I am nervously excited as I put the saddle on Tango. I have hardly been on a horse in over a year. But I know Tango. She belongs to my long-time horse-riding buddy Helen. Or more accurately, Tango is Helen’s daughter’s unicorn. I’m not worried about riding her. I know her. She is safe and reliable.

Still, I’m all thumbs as I struggle with the straps on Tango’s boots. The ground where we will be riding is rocky so the boots are to protect the horses’ unshod feet. Helen his already leading her horse Cruiser to the mounting block by the time I finish with Tango’s boots. I follow. Tango stands patiently at the mounting block. I check her girth again. Tighten it a hole. Foot in stirrup. Swing my leg over. Settle into the saddle. Pick up my right rein and guide Tango. She knows the drill. We follow Helen and Cruiser up the steep driveway.

I feel like a little kid on a pony ride. I can feel my face muscles lifting the corners of my mouth. I chatter to Helen. Talking about nothing and everything. It’s not so much words as excitement babbling out of me. I have missed this. Missed the sway of the horse’s body as the back legs step under. Missed the feel of my feet in the stirrups. Missed the warmth of the withers below my hands. The reins gently held in my fingers. Missed the view of the world as I look forward between furry ears.

I look up and see the broad wings of a wedge-tailed eagle lifting it up from a branch beside the track. A few languid flaps of its wings carries it across the paddock. It lands in a tree. All but disappears among the foliage. But I can still see it. Hooked beak and hunched shoulders. Eyes watching. Its mate soars higher. Higher and higher. Riding the thermals. I lose sight of both of them as we ride on.

We pause at the end of a gravel road and let the horses nibble on some green grass for a few minutes. The view before us is expansive. Rolling green hills. Patches of forest. Over my shoulder I can see a dark grey cloud. We ride on.

The cloud catches us. Or maybe we ride into it. In any case, soon we are being pelted by rain. It’s cold. The wind cuts through us. The rain drops are like ice. I am convinced it must be hail, but it’s just cold rain. We trot, hoping the increased movement will warm us all up. To some extent it does. The rain eases off. The wind continues to bite. Helen takes out her phone and calls her husband, asks him to light the fire so the house is warm when we get back. But we’re not going back yet. We trot on.

I’m surprised at how my body remembers this. I don’t have to think at all about how to move with Tango’s movement. My body just does it. One two, one two, one two, rising from and sitting in the saddle in time with the trot. Cruiser’s trot is bigger and faster than Tango’s. She does a good job keeping up but she wants to canter. I let her. She shows me what a unicorn she really is. A unicorn with a rocking horse canter. Again, my body knows what to do. I sit deep into the saddle, rock with the rhythm of the movement.

We come back to a walk as we go down a rocky hill. The horses pick their way, as sure-footed as mountain goats. A scarlet robin watches us from his perch on a fence. His breast flashes brightly as he turns it towards us; his back black and white as he turns away. We get to the bottom of another hill and trot up the next one. Tango wants to canter again, so I let her. She’s happy following along behind Cruiser at a steady pace. Until we turn for home. On the way home she wants to be in front. She pins her ears back if Cruiser tries to pass her. He ignores her. Helen and I laugh at her antics. We canter together up a hill. Tango wants to race but listens to me when I suggest we stick to a sedate canter.

The sun comes out again and the wind drops. We are still cold and the sight of the smoke coming out of the chimney as we approach Helen’s house is a welcome sign. We unsaddle the horses. Take their boots off. Turn them out with the other horses.

That night, I sleep in the spare room at Helen’s place and can see the horses through the window. Tango’s palomino coat glows in the moonlight. I fall asleep wondering how sore I will be in the morning, but knowing the aches in my muscles will be a small price to pay for the joy of having been back in the saddle.

Thanks for reading,

Jill