Coquetta, continued ...
The horse dealer's place sprawled out across a sandy rise above the Rio
Grande. We parked next to a mobile home and walked over to pipe
corrals where dozens of horses lounged. The wrangler said he'd
sold one of the mares. The other was old, just 14-hands-high, and
almost black. She was no bigger than Boy Horse. Dozens of scars
marked her back. Her big ears framed a forehead marked with a
five-pointed star. She had a wide muzzle with drooping lower
lip. A leathery udder declared the many foals she had borne.
The wrangler said that she was good with kids. "A
five-year-old rode her yesterday in a gymkhana." (A gymkhana
is an event where people show off an assortment of horse sports.)
He put a western saddle and bridle on her and invited us to try her out.
Valerie volunteered first. As she swung into the
saddle, the mare beelined for a trash heap. She stepped in and
out of several five-gallon buckets, crow-hopped a few times and
then danced into a tangle of baling wire.
The wrangler shook his head and held the mare while Valerie
dismounted. Then he led the mare out of the trash heap and swung up onto the her back. Again she
danced into the trash heap. He wrestled with her, mouthing things
under his breath.
The mare wasn't breaking a sweat. She seemed in complete control
of herself and the wrangler, too. She reminded me of Boy
Horse fighting to get back to cringing Thoroughbred heaven.
"Let me try." I got on. Again, she beelined fo rthe trash heap. She crow hopped a few times,
meaning that she was jumping simultaneously on all fours, like
a pogo stick. It's easy to stay on a crow hopping horse. Then
she twisted while she crow hopped. Normally this is a good way
to pitch someone off, in this cae into the trash heap. However, she twisted so smoothly,
it felt like she was just giving me some fun. I rubbed her withers.
"What beautiful movement."
She paused, and her ears flicked back, not laid flat with
anger, but like she was listening for another compliment.
"Good girl," I said.
She made a liar out of me now, zigzagged about, her back gliding
level as a hockey puck on ice. So what if she was still misbehaving.
I caressed her withers again. "You sure are smooth."
She halted and her ears swiveled back again. I caressed her
withers, lifted the reins and looked to the right. She moved
to the right, polite as can be. I walked her out of the trash heap, then turned
her in tight circles each way. She even agreed with me and back up, perfectly straight. Then I cued
her to move fast to show offhow she could move like the Peruvian Pasos I had seen at the State Fair, and in
the direction I wanted, not into the trash heap.
Valerie, Virginia and Diana Stender all declared that they
wanted to try her out. So they each took a turn, and the mare performed perfectly now for each of them.
Finally I spoke up. "She's not exactly a beginner horse.
Do you girls want her anyhow?"
All of them, Diana and Dorothy included, chorused "Yes!"
Had we found the key to the mare's heart? Just in case we
were deluding ourselves, we made a deal. We took her home for
a $100 deposit and a one month trial. If we decided to keep her,
we would pay Merck Ranch another $450.
On the way home Dorothy persuaded us to name her Coquetta.
"It's because she responds to flattery."
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