Wedgfire’s Song

Her friend, and my previous owner, did have some misgivings about whether or not my Krissi could “handle me”, and rightly so. I was an experienced reprobate of a horse and she was a pie-in-the-sky, oh-isn’t-he-so-beautiful newbee. I was going to eat her alive, and I was looking forward to every tender, tasty bite. But my Wyndswept owner knew Krissi. She also knew that “look” that a human gets when it falls in love with everything about a horse. She was counting on Krissi breaking through the wiseguy humor, the walls of evasion, and the arrogance that were my ways of dealing with the world back then. However, I didn’t know all that, I just knew how much I was looking forward to devouring this overly optimistic and smiling new owner. One memorable sortie into the gourmet delicacy that I, at that time, perceived my new owner to be, occurred one day when she came to clean my stall. I waited until she had the wheelbarrow full to the top of dirty, smelly stall litter. Then I dumped it. I waited expectantly for her response. How I loved “Fire”-works in those days. I watched her as she walked over to inspect the damage I had done. I was head up, eyes wide, poised-for-flight ready. But all she did was close the door to the stall, leaving me outside while she cleaned up the mess I had made. She was making those ridiculous giggling sounds that she always made when I was trying to impress her with my mischief. I could clearly see that I was going to have to step up my game. A few days later, she decided to saddle me up and go for a ride. “Go for a ride,” I thought to myself. “Just the thing.” I decided I would take this young lady for a ride she wouldn’t soon forget. So when she got on and said “Go” I went. Sideways. I went sideways all the way into the side of the barn. She sat there quietly while I was doing my best to scare the dickens out of her with my delightfully evasive maneuver. Once I had the two of us right up against the barn with nowhere else to go, she continued to sit there. Just sit there. I listened for that stupid chuckle of hers, but didn’t hear a thing. No chuckle, just sitting. “Hmmm, where to from here?” I wondered. Just then she bumped me in the side. “What the heck?” I thought. She was supposed to be peeing her pants in fear, and there she was bumping me in the side. I decided retreat was my best tactical option for the moment. I walked away from the wall, and after giving me a few more bumps and prods to go here or there, she dismounted and told me what a good boy I had been. Now I was the one to chuckle. “Oh, Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” I decided to stand down for the moment. Lulling her into a false sense of security, after all, was going to do me more good in the long run. I immediately set about planning my next salvo. That extraordinary day came a few weeks later when she decided that I was being “such a good boy” that it was time for cantering. I told you the whole lulling thing would work. (Chuckle. Chuckle.) So she saddled me up and took me over to the riding ring. She mounted and set us off at a nice little walk. I behaved perfectly (evil chuckle, here). We walked, and then we trotted. I made sure my trot was as disgustingly bouncy as I could possibly make it. She bounced along happily, all the while telling me what a good fellow I was. (Geesh, what was wrong with her?) Finally, the moment I was waiting for came. She asked me for a canter, and canter I did. Right on cue. Perfectly, too, because, as she said, I was being such a good boy. Not! After four or five lovely strides I twitched my rear end to the side ever so slightly but just at the right moment. Off she went to the side, through the air, and into the dirt. I stopped politely and looked back, careful to keep the glee out of my eye. “Darn!” she said. “How did you do that, you little stinker?” Little did I know that it was not a rhetorical question. Apparently, she was honestly trying to figure out how I sent her flying with such a small movement of my back. In all honesty, how was I supposed to know that people with Physical Education degrees are always trying to figure out that kind of stuff? Anyhow, I figured it didn’t really matter because I was sure we’d be done for the day after her ignominious defeat in the dirt. But foolishly she decided to remount. And I decided on a “Take #2”. She said walk, I walked. She said trot, and I trotted. She said canter, and canter I did. (Really evil chuckle here!) Five strides. Six strides. Wait for it. Wait for it. “Good boy!” she said. And then, Wham! I did it again. One tiny little twitch of my backbone. One slight movement in my rear end, and she was airborne! I was soaring on the wings of victory! And then I wasn’t. Darned if she didn’t follow the movement of my little "twitch" right around in order to place her fall right beside my face. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed my bridle in very tightly fisted fingers, shook my headgear as hard as she could while tractor-beaming her burning laser gaze straight into my eyes. “Don’t! You! EVER! Do that again!” She spit into my face. And⋯so⋯ I didn’t. It was on that day in the dusty dirt of that riding ring that we really took good measure of each other. We both realized that each one was packing just a bit more “Fire”