Cooling the Horses' Hooves In Mendenhall Creek

Cooling the Horses' Hooves in Mendenhall Creek

by Susan Fay

     We end our ride as usual, sitting on the horses where they stand looking upstream toward the bridge that crosses Mendenhall Creek.  Never mind that it is January or a drizzly thirty-six degrees.  Ending the ride here is our tradition, one born of the first attempts at crossing this very stream.

     Back then, a few of the horses didn't trust us.  Horses like Gin, the big Palomino Paint beneath me.  Lots of trail rides and consistent training make a world of difference.  Today, Gin willingly waded into the swift-running creek, dropped his head, and playfully lipped the wet stuff.

     The big guy has never been my first choice trail mount.  He's an accomplished show pony, formerly my son's horse.  Last fall, when the temperatures dropped, I noticed some stiffness and soreness in Gin's hocks.  The cause is uncertain, but it's likely a combination of age-related arthritis and a fusing of the joints that occurs naturally in the hock. The best remedy is work, so here we sit, cooling the horses' hooves after a brisk jaunt up the trail.

     Lorenzo is astride Drifty, a once-upon-a-time broodmare who is easily the ultimate trail horse.  Unless she's not the lead horse.  For the past hour, the back half of our ride has tested the metal of both rider and mare as Lorenzo forced Drifty to bring up the rear.

      Witnessing my companion's determination, the fire that burns in his soul when a horse gives challenge, is a divine gift.  Always and professionally, Lorenzo prevails.  Drifty, like every other horse, adores him for it.

     This quiet time, this peace after the fiery dance of horse and rider sooths, heals, and strengthens our connectedness to each other and to our horses.  There's a practical reason to stand in the creek, too.

      Hoof soles are tricky this time of year, soft and prone to stone bruises.  Soaking helps stave off any potential complications.  So here we sit – two humans and two horses in the middle of Mendenhall Creek – peacefully drinking in the cool, fresh air, the soothing chorus of water and rock.

     The water level is low, far lower and way less noisy than usual.  The high water mark, the base of the trees, is covered with last fall's wrinkled, brown leaves.  Most Novembers bring howling wind storms to sweep and rake away such things. Not so in this, our La Nina year.

Copyright 2012, Susan Fay.  If you would like to reprint this very short story, please contact me at susan.fay@coho.net.