A Boy an Apple and a Horse
Meeting a family on the shoreline
I cried today, silly tears. Some longing I’ve never got right in my head.
I woke around 3.30 a.m., having slept five hours, grabbed my bathrobe, and headed down to the kitchen. I brewed a cup of tea and took it into the study, where I sat at my desk to write for an hour. Later I showered and dressed and around 5.00 a.m., went across to the barn. Darkness was, I felt, reluctant to give way to daybreak. I threw a lead rope over Thunder’s head and led him from his stall, where I brushed and saddled him up before cleaning out his stall, then headed out of the barn. Moonshadow, snickering her contempt at being left alone in the stall. It was 6.30 a.m.
Thunder is a real character, a Thoroughbred bay gelding, standing16.3hh. Down on the Mendocino shoreline, away from a scattering of early morning walkers, I let him go… gave him free rein, and asked him to move on. I felt his anticipation under my legs. For close on a quarter-mile, I let him move easily, steering a path. I know he wanted to go more, but I held him up. He has a powerful heart, and that power transcends to his rear quarters. It was like being sat on a keg of explosives.
Warmed up, I let him kick into second gear. Dear God, is there anything this animal loves better than to be given his head, his mane flying, ocean water sparkling silver from his hooves? My heart was racing, missing every other beat. I talked to him all the time. Whispering into his ears, encouraging him to stretch out, keep it even. This was everything. To be a part of his energy at full gallop. To sit on his back, knowing his freedom, feeling the salt wind at my face.
Seeing stragglers ahead, I asked him to slow. His response was immediate, the power slackened off, and his hindquarters relaxed. I could feel his disappointment. We turned and slowly began our walk back along the almost deserted beach. Closer to home, as Thunder strolled in the ragged edge of the water, two children came running, a boy and a girl. They had run from a man; I presumed to be their father, higher on the shoreline.
The boy, seven or eight, with short, brown hair, stood back twenty feet. The girl, younger, five or six years old, caught him up and stood alongside him. Without saying a word, the boy held out his hand. He was holding an apple. Gently, I walked Thunder closer to the children, who upon seeing the apple, snorted loudly. This display of pleasure sent the children scurrying. The apple dropped as the girl chased after the boy. They only stopped running when the boy reached the arms of the man high on the shore. I raised my hand, hoping it signaled my dismay that his children had been frightened by Thunder’s enthusiasm. The man picked up the girl, taking the hand of the boy, and began their walk toward me. I dismounted Thunder and bent down, picking the apple the boy had dropped.
I spoke up as they approached, apologizing that the children had been frightened. He smiled, understanding the situation, and asked if they could touch Thunder. I offered the boy back the apple. Thunder again agitated his legs in the surf, wanting the gift.
“His name is Thunder,” I said. “Did you want to give him your apple?”
The boy nodded shyly.
“Why don’t you keep hold of your father’s hand and step forward. Let the apple sit in the palm of your hand, keeping your fingers flat, like this, okay.” I show the shape of the hand so that he can see what I meant. “The horse will take it from you. Don’t grip the apple, okay. Thunder, that’s his name, will take it from the palm of your hand.” The boy, holding his father’s hand, nervously stepped forward.
I steadied Thunder, shortened the rein. “Easy, fella. You have a new friend.” The boy tentatively pushed the apple closer, his fingers opening slowly till the apple was sitting in his palm. I slackened the rein, letting Thunder stretch his neck, and with curling lips, he took the entire apple from the boy’s hand. The boy turned to his father with the hugest smile to prove his bravery.
The children, with their father standing guard, patted Thunder. He then lifted the girl to touch Thunder’s ears. The father then offered his thanks before the three of them carried on along the shore.
I put my foot in the stirrup and mounted Thunder to ride toward home, toward my wife, my photos, old memories and new, and the simplest thing of a child with an apple in his hand. Daniel once sat in the saddle with me, riding out across the Scottish hillsides. His tiny, chubby hands holding the reins.
I cried today, silly tears.
