“I have good news for you, buddy. We’re leaving the yard and going for a ride. That should make you super happy, right?”
I doubt that Frey, my dappled-grey stallion, understood what I was saying, but he was delighted I was standing in the yard with him. As I did some major grooming, he practically purred, making a low rumble deep in his chest. For some horses, I think that was the first stage of a warning, but it was Frey’s way of telling me he was ecstatic over the attention.
I checked his hooves for rocks and scolded him when he sagged against me. Perhaps that was his idea of cuddling, but twelve hundred pounds of a leaning hug is not appreciated. I had explained that to him before, but he sometimes forgot.
There were no rocks or problems with his hoofs. Frey was an easy keeper in that respect. I don’t remember him ever picking up a single pebble, at least, not one that needed to be pried out.
I still didn’t have my saddle back from the officer’s possession of it. In fact, I didn’t even have my bridle, which seemed a necessary component for guiding a horse, but I’d had to use a simply made hackamore before I’d saved up enough money to buy my leather bridle. The rope hanging in the shed was perfect for hackamore making, although a bit rough for Frey’s nose. I’d need to wrap the band with a rag I’d brought from the basement.
I measured out the rope and found it to be long enough, about twelve feet, which was perfect, actually. I folded it in half, made a knot, then slipped that over Frey’s muzzle, then hooked another piece over his poll, and knotted that. The result provided me with reins. Next, I added some protection for the roughness of the rope on Frey’s muzzle, wrapping the fabric of the rag securely so it wouldn’t flap up and startle him.
That done, we were ready to go for our ride. I wished I could use a rag for my hands, since the coarseness of the rope was scratchy and unpleasant to the feel, but I needed to have a feel for him and a rag would interfere with that, and it might even make me lose my grip on the rope reins. I’d probably have chaff marks if I used the hackamore too long, but I didn’t yet own any gloves, and it was urgent that we both get some release from our confinement.
I led Frey to the gate. He was prancing, excited that we were going out for a ride. The only problem left was my lack of a mounting block. At my hut back in the village, when I’d wanted to ride Frey without a saddle, I’d used a boulder that had already been in place for such a need. Here, I hadn’t seen anything conveniently located. I closed the gate behind us, attempting to calm my restless stallion. He was behaving rather well for not being ridden in several days, but he was still a handful, especially when the lead rope was already burning my hand from restraining him.