[Phase 2] Past & Present

Pigeon’s two week quarantine passed slowly for the horse and Dylan both. Once Pigeon’s bad tooth was removed, though, the horse did seem to perk up more when it came to meal times. Gradually, his head shaking stopped, too. After a week, it was like he’d never had the habit to begin with. With the extraction being so recent, though, Dylan was unable to use a bit when riding. Nevertheless, Dylan was determined to work with Pigeon to get him feeling more confident. On day 8 of Pigeon’s quarantine, five days after the tooth extraction, the teen finally got a saddle on him. 

“The girth is on correctly, but the saddle is too far back,” Isabella told Dylan. As instructed, he’d made sure to find one of the instructors to help him ride since he was almost a complete beginner. Isabella pulled the saddle off, adjusted the cushy pad, then lightly set the saddle down a little too far forward and slid it a few inches back into place. “See how it comes to rest naturally here? That’s because this is where it was designed and fitted to sit. You try it now.” The blonde French woman pulled both pieces of tack off again and handed the saddle pad to Dylan, using her chin to indicate he should put it on. 

“Like this, right?” Dylan draped the pad over the horses back with caution equivalent to someone playing Operation, tentatively straightening it and putting it where Isabella had the first time. 

“Dylan, he is a horse, not a glass sculpture. You can just put it on him. Yes, that is correct, though. Now the saddle.” 

With burning cheeks, Dylan took the saddle and replicated what Isabella had done, trying to be less timid. The western saddle was far heavier than he looked, though, and he dropped it partially, the cinch and a stirrup smacking into Pigeon’s leg. Pigeon, unbothered by anything except being alone, pulled a mouthful of hay from his hay net and turned his plumed palomino neck to check on them. It was as if he were saying, “You sure you want to ride? You’re not very good at this.”

“Sorry, Pige.” The teen gave the horse an apologetic smile and patted his shoulder before successfully hefting the saddle up and trying again. 

Tacking up took a painfully long time, but, with Isabella’s help, Dylan managed it. Since he couldn’t use a standard bridle while Pigeon’s mouth healed, Isabella showed him how to use a rope bridle instead, making him practice the knot four times before deeming it acceptable. 

“Helmet on, then up you go.” Isabella clapped her hands once, slipping into fully training mode. “Don’t forget to check your cinch before you mount.”

Helmet on, cinch double checked, then triple checked at the mounting block, Dylan got himself into the saddle, picked up his second stirrup and felt Pigeon quivering with excitement? Anticipation? Fear? He didn’t have time to figure it out before the horse sprang forward with a whinny of excitement and cantered the length of the long side of the paddock.

“Head up! Heels down! Deep seat and pull back on your reins! WHOA, Pigeon!” Isabella was jogging after them, attempting to cut the horse off and grab the reins, but he spun around and picked up a trot worthy of a dressage ring to avoid her. On his back, Dylan, well unprepared for the unworked horse’s antics, was barely staying on. One foot was out of the stirrup, he’d begun slipping sideways when the palomino horse spun around, and he clung desperately to the saddle horn, but it seemed like he hadn’t checked the cinch as well as he thought he had, because he wasn’t the only thing slipping. 

Pigeon slid to a stop near the water trough, dumping Dylan into it and promptly trotting off toward the other side of the ring, his long tail flagging out proudly behind him. 

“Are you alright?” Isabella asked through her panting. She had run across the paddock as quickly as she could when Pigeon dodged her, but it hadn’t been quick enough. Pigeon, as if he hadn’t just turned into an agent of chaos, walked up behind Isabella, stretching his neck over her shoulder to blow hot breath in Dylan’s face. The teen couldn’t help but think the horse looked smug. His saddle was almost completely slipped to the right, but he didn’t seem like he could care less. 

“Yea, fine,” Dylan snapped, pulling himself out of the trough. “Just peachy.” He sloshed out of the water, soaked from head to toe, boots squelching as they hit dry ground.

“Okay.” Isabella gave him a chance to collect himself while she caught her breath. “Take a minute, then get back on. I will keep my hand on the reins and fix your cinch.”

Dylan’s face pinched in annoyed frustration. 

“I’m not getting back on. He’s a dick who clearly doesn’t want to be ridden. This was a stupid idea.” He turned to storm off, but Isabella caught his arm.
“Dylan Reese you are getting back on this horse and you will be fair to him and yourself. He has been couped up in this quarantine paddock for a week, and before that he was in a crowded rescue, before that an auction house, and before that he was in a stall 23 hours a day, if he was even out to be ridden. Pigeon hasn’t been worked with for months. You’ve been skipping your lessons or arguing with Audrey instead of learning from her during them. You are a beginner. You will learn nothing if you don’t shut up and listen. The horse is not the only problem here!” 

Dylan shut up and had the decency to look properly chastised. The French woman was pretty intimidating when she wanted to be. 

“Thank you. Now watch when I fix the cinch, and if you don’t understand or aren’t sure, then say something.” 

Even though Dylan was soaked and sure to be sore in a few hours, Isabella got him back on the horse and led him around the ring, giving instructions to correct his seat, posture, foot position, keeping his eyes forward, and how he held the reins. At the end, she clipped a lead rope onto the side of the bridle and jogged alongside them so Dylan could trot one lap in each direction around the paddock. It was what the lesson should have been, had Pigeon not gotten a wild hair up his ass in the beginning. Whatever had gotten into him at the start didn’t appear again, fortunately, and seemed to have been a poorly timed case of excited zoomies.

“Good, we will end there. You did well.” She patted Pigeon’s neck and held the reins while Dylan hopped off. 

“Maybe next time I won't end up taking a bath halfway through,” Dylan grumbled. 

As they took care of Pigeon and the tack, the horse started to get antsy. Unlike when they had been tacking him up, the stallion started to nicker softly every time Dylan went to the grooming bucket for a different tool. He pawed at the floor, twisting himself in the tether he was clipped to as he tried to pace around the run in. 

“Easy boy,” Dylan tried to soothe him. Isabella had grabbed the saddle and stepped out of sight to put it away. Pigeon twisted on the tie, calling for her, pawing at the ground. He walked as far as the tether would let him, visibly tense when he couldn’t find her again. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” Dylan tried to assure the horse, stroking his craned neck. He didn’t like how the whites of Pigeon’s eyes showed so much. 

Isabella reappeared in time to see Pigeon twist himself up in the tether further in his attempts to pace. When he couldn’t go anywhere, he self soothed by pressing his teeth to the wooden beam beside him. 

“Ah-ah!” Isabella said forcefully, making the horse jerk back with a snort of surprise. “None of that in this barn, Pigeon.” She gave him a stern look and held up his treat ball, freshly stuffed to the brim. “If you want this, you will stand and behave.” 

“Isabella, he’s just anxious. He doesn’t like being left alone.” Dylan tried to reason with the woman. “You said it yourself - he’s been through a lot.”

“Yes, he has, and now he will go through more as he unlearns what they’ve taught him, but he will be a better horse for it.” She set the treatball aside and unclipped the tether to untwist it. “Did you finish grooming him?” 

Dylan nodded, stroking the horse’s neck as he calmed. 

“Good. We are going to give him the treat ball once he’s calmed himself, then we will leave. I had a dog like this when I lived in Camargue. She barked and barked every time I left my apartment. It got so bad that the neighbor complained and I almost was forced to leave. I was very lucky to have a friend who worked with dogs like that before. He showed me how to train the dog not to be so scared when I left and I was able to stay in the apartment with her.” She let the tether hang down when it was untwisted, fussing with the hay net next. “We will do the same for Pigeon.” 

“How?” 

“We start with giving him a treat that he only gets when we leave. It will make him see it as a positive thing over time. Eva said you use this at night, yes?” She asked, nodding to the treat ball. “Did it work?”

Dylan thought it over and nodded slowly. The treat ball had certainly soothed the horse for a while, including when he’d had to leave for the night, but once it had run out… He relayed what had been happening to Isabella. Each night after the treat ball ran out, Pigeon began his antics. 

“And it’s getting a little better,” he admitted, “but still. We get up early as it is. Waking up to see it’s still dark dark? Ugh.”  A sigh slipped from Dylan’s lips. “Eva said he’s supposed to be my project, that I’m in charge of him. I don’t think she’d set me up to fail,” he looked up toward Pigeon, struggling to put his thoughts to words. Finally, he let his head fall forward against Pigeon’s palomino shoulder, a hand coming up to scratch at his white splashed belly. “I can barely ride, you know?” He said finally, lips twitching up in the corners when he felt Pigeon’s breath in his hair. “How can I work with a traumatized horse? Eva said he used to compete and was a very talented horse, but after today?” Dylan pulled away from Pigeon and shook his head. “I don’t know, Isabella, I might be in over my head.”

Isabella rolled her eyes and put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder to gain his attention.

“In over your head or not, you know how to swim,” she said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “And right now you look like you just went for one with your clothes on.” A mischievous look crossed her face at the tease. “Pigeon will be fine. Let’s give him the treat ball and you can go take a shower. I’ll do the night feed tonight.” 

It was strange, Isabella hadn’t given him advice and really hadn’t given him much reassurance either, but the few words she’d said felt like they took the weight of the world off his shoulders. “You know how to swim.” It sounded so simple when she said it like that. 

“Thanks, Isabella. I appreciate it.” The pair gave Pigeon a few final pats, Isabella rolled the treat ball into the middle of the paddock, and they made their getaway. This time, Pigeon watched them go, but decided the treat ball was more important than their departure.