Introducing the Bit
by Susan Fay
Call it kismet, call it luck, call it providence - it doesn't really matter what you call it. Some moments are so pure, so elemental and transcendent, that no word will do. In my world, the world of horses, cattle, dogs, ducks, and a barn cat, that instant is most often some type of interaction between the species.
The past couple of weeks, I've been working at communicating better. From my posture to the way I position my shoulders and arms to the sequence I use to ask for an action, it's been an exercise in both consistency and clarity.
So when my blue roan filly, Jetblue, nails every gait change I ask for on the lunge line, when she swiftly squares each "whoa" or stop, I know she is ready for more.
For several weeks now, I've had the neon orange nylon headstall and bit ready, the jar of molasses waiting in the tack room fridge. Lorenzo and I stand shoulder, excitedly predicting the filly's reaction as we slather the copper mouthpiece of the D-ring snaffle with the sticky, dark sweet syrup.
It's tricky business, this introduction of the bit. The occasion requires respect, sensitivity, and a measured persistence. Done properly, Jetblue will accept the bit and perhaps play with it. If the process is hurried or handled roughly, the filly will require countless sessions to undo the damage. We carry more than a headstall and bit down the breezeway to the hitching post; we carry an awesome responsibility to Jetblue.
Lorenzo clips the filly's lead rope to her halter, untying her from the hitching post. His fingers are molasses black, a new scent to Jetblue. She is at first wary, but Lorenzo coos to her and works his fingers between her lips. Initially, she draws back. Watching, I see worry then curiosity then comprehension flash through her eyes.
Gently, we remove the bit and the cheek pieces from the headstall, placing the top portion over Jetblue's ears and buckling the throatlatch. Lorenzo takes on the lion's share of this work, both holding the filly and softly encouraging her to open her mouth. I hold the bit out, an offering, and Jetblue's head shoots up. Patiently, we wait and visit about other things. Sensing our ease, Jetblue's nostrils creep toward the bit.
Smell gives way to touch and touch gives way to taste. Before long, I am using my thumb along Jetblue's bit seat, the part of her mouth without teeth, to help part the filly's jaws. It’s a delicate operation as I work to slide the bit into her mouth without clanking the metal on her teeth or being overly aggressive. Quiet as I am, the sensation of metal on Jetblue's tongue sends her head skyward. At the same time, she forcefully arcs her neck toward Lorenzo and me. I jump back, but Lorenzo holds fast.
Our girl is a hefty thousand-pound adolescent in the throes of puberty. In a heartbeat, she could easily level us both. Yet somehow we've earned the filly's trust. Jetblue softens and drops her head. Her lips quiver as she searches out the bit. Five more times, we gentle the thing into her mouth. Each time, she draws away less.
Lorenzo takes the bit from my hands and folds the copper mouthpiece in half. Slowly, he edges this into the filly's bit seat. Before I know what has happened, the bit is in Jetblue’s mouth and she’s standing quietly.
"I can't believe you got it," I whisper. "It's like a magic trick. You did it."
Lorenzo grins.
"That was pretty good," he tells me.
We each take a cheek piece, buckle it once, adjust, and buckle again until the bit is low enough to be comfortable and high enough to stay put. Jetblue runs her tongue forward and back over the bright shimmering copper mouthpiece. For now, it's a toy.
~~~
Copyright 2012, Susan Fay. If you would like to use this mini-story, please e-mail me for permission at susan.fay@coho.net.
Lorenzo and Jetblue
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