I knew nothing about Moonshine other than the location of his stall, which was in one of the boarder barns. He didn’t live in the school barn, so he couldn’t be a school horse. But I also never saw any boarder come to ride Moonshine. I had ridden all of the school horses, so I knew what they were like. As for the boarder horses, I saw most of the horses’ owners when they came to the barn to ride their horses, so I knew something about them and their mounts. But nobody ever came for Moonshine.
Nevertheless, I gathered his bridle and saddle from the tack room and headed to his stall. He was dozing with his head held low in the dark corner of the stall. He almost blended into the shadow of that corner, as he was a deep brown color, almost black. When I opened the sliding stall door, his head snapped up. He pinned his ears, turned, and lunged at me with gnashing teeth. I pulled the door closed in an instant, watching as his teeth bit at the metal bars of the stall door. I had never been attacked by a horse before.
What did I do? I wondered.
I stood, frozen, on the other side of the stall, as Moonshine continued biting at the bars. I looked to my left and then to my right. No one was around to help me, or to explain this crazy behavior. I stood there, alone and confused. I waited a few minutes for the animal’s fury to subside. He eventually tired of attacking the dead metal bars of the stall and moved back to the same corner in which I found him. Succumbing to my curiosity and perpetual urge to overcome challenges (and an apparent death wish), I entered the stall again, approaching the animal with a saddle pad to put on his back. He stood still while I approached.
Maybe I caught him off guard? Maybe that’s why he freaked out? I wondered as he stood still, now that I was I was about to tack him up.
But as soon as I drew my arm over my head and flung the saddle pad over his back, I was instantly pinned in a corner of the stall. With unexpected speed and agility, he had twisted his body so that he barricaded me. Now I was in the corner! This was the first time I was afraid of being hurt by a horse. His ears were again pinned flat to his head, revealing his rage. His body squeezed and pushed me as hard as he could to keep me in the corner. I was afraid of him moving slightly forward and having perfect aim at my body with one of his powerful hind legs. I knew that one good kick would be all that it would take to either kill me or put me in a lot of pain for a very long time. That realization turned my fear into anger. I was suddenly fearless.
“Get OFF me!” I shrieked as I shoved against his heavy body.
He started whipping his tail from side to side in another sign of irritation, which only antagonized me further. I pushed him off of me and, when I was free, amazingly, he didn’t kick me. He didn’t even lunge at me. He simply went to his feed bucket in another corner of the stall.
What the hell? I racked my brain to try to understand what was going on. He ignores me when I get mad? That doesn’t make any sense. This horse is totally nuts, I concluded.
Nonetheless, I went to the stall door to get the saddle on the floor right by the door, always keeping an eye on the beast in the corner. I lifted the saddle onto his back while he stood motionless, ears still pinned. When I put on the girth and tightened it around his belly, however, he turned his menacing face around to bite me. Just when his mouth opened, I raised my hand and lunged slightly back at him, to reciprocate the attack. He jerked back around, ears flat on his head and tail swishing during the entire episode. Then it was time to put on the bridle. I knew this would be a struggle. There was no way this beast would let me strap leather all over his head and slip a metal bit into his mouth. As soon as I got the brow band in front of his nose, he jutted his head out and tossed the entire bridle out of my hand. It landed against the wall, and slid down into the shavings. After I picked it up and tried again, he decided he would lift his head high beyond my reach and nod, almost taunting me. All I could do was sigh. I had a feeling that getting angry wouldn’t expedite the tacking up process.
Well, you gotta bring your stupid head back down sometime, I thought. I stood there, trying to look disinterested, but waiting for the perfect chance to slip the bridle over his head. As soon as he brought his head down, I grabbed the front of his nose with one hand, jerked the bit into his mouth, and pulled the bridle up past his ears, slipping each ear through as quickly as I could. I was generally careful and gentle when putting bridles on horses, conscious that I was slipping a harsh, cold, tasteless piece of metal into their mouths. But since Moonshine had been such an exceptional pest, I was unyielding and forceful with the bridle. His antics had earned him none of the kindness I showed the other horses.
My arms were already sore from the fight—he had still pulled me off the ground—but I didn’t care. I had won.
“Haha, you jackass!” I let out, too overcome by my victory. I didn’t care that I was taunting a horse; this one really deserved it.
As soon as the tack was all securely on, I marched him out of the stall and toward the mounting block outside. I positioned him near it so that I could slip my foot into the stirrup, throw my free leg over his back and ease into the saddle. But, just when my left foot was in the stirrup, the beast trotted off!
“Damn it, horse, stop!” I yelled, holding on to the left side of his body with all my strength. I would not let him get away with this! I pulled myself up to the saddle and threw my body over it. Then, I swiftly swung my right leg over his back as I pulled the reins in my left hand and sat back. But the animal kept building speed, and was making his way to the back field, so then I threw my right hand over my left hand on the reins, to pull back with more force.
Moonshine then came to a grinding halt.
In my frustration, I whipped his head around to turn him in the direction of the indoor arena, where Carol was waiting for us. Her dog, Max, a sleepy, old Labrador Retriever, lay at the entrance of the arena, his usual spot. When he noticed Moonshine and me approaching, he stood up to get out of the way. Just as he started to shift out of Moonshine’s path, Moonshine flattened his ears and lunged at the dog. I grabbed the reins in just enough time to spare Max.
What the hell is wrong with this horse? Why is he so vicious? And why do I have to ride him? I wondered as I entered the arena, looking for my trainer.
As I approached Carol aboard Moonshine, ready for my first lesson on this animal that had just tried to kill both me and her dog, she remarked, “I see you’re still in one piece,” she smiled mischievously. Then, she gave me my first tip on how to ride Moonshine.
“If you can ride this horse, you can ride any horse.”
Oh great, I thought, this will go well.
I squeezed Moonshine with both legs, giving him the cue to go from walk to trot. But he dipped his head down and sped backwards, exactly the opposite of what I wanted. I kicked him to stop the moonwalking, trying to save some face in front of my trainer, and everyone else, but then the jerk bolted forward in a gallop! As I scrambled to collect my reins, I realized that he wasn’t just bolting, he was aiming for a target—another horse and rider in the arena, and he was charging the pair! “Moonshine!” I whispered loudly through my gritted teeth, hoping my voice would snap him out of his sudden rage. But he wasn’t stopping. We were racing to the other horse and rider. At this point I realized there would be no grace or dignity in this lesson, so I resorted to the cowboy maneuvers I had picked up riding crazy horses on trails, and yanked his head hard to the right. I then threw all my weight to the right to at least throw off his balance. Then came the brakes. Instead of turning to the right, Moonshine grabbed the bit with his teeth, leaving me with no control. However, he did stop—like a cow pony, he dug his hind legs and heels into the ground, lowered his haunches, and bounced three times to a sliding stop.
I was grateful for the multiple lessons I had at Leslie’s, when other horses tried to pull this on me and I somersaulted over their heads. My body knew to sit down deep in the saddle, my heels knew to pull themselves down for more balance in the stirrups, and my legs knew to hold on tight.
This horse had just taken me for a ride. My ego was crushed. I would show him not to do it again. My frustration bubbled to the surface, and I scolded him with a tap of the whip on the haunches. His immediate reaction was to simulate a handstand, bucking his hind legs defiantly in the air, almost in a perfect gymnastic handstand.
I fumingly tapped again, and kicked him to move forward, only to be met by another recalcitrant buck. Then I kicked hard and he bolted forward.
“It’s OK, Victoria, just keep riding, ignore his antics,” Carol instructed.
__________
Just before my second lesson aboard Moonshine, Carol gave me some extra insight into Moonshine’s personality.
“If Moonshine were a person, he would be the troublemaker smoking a cigarette on the street corner, in the leather jacket, trying to pick up girls,” she said. “Just think of him as a punk,” she concluded.
Great, I thought cynically.
Moonshine more than lived up to Carol’s assessment. My second ride on him was also a disaster. If I squeezed with my legs to go forward, he shuffled backward; if I kicked him again to reinforce the squeezing aid, he bolted like a racehorse out of the holding pen; if I tapped him with the whip to reinforce the kicking cue, he bucked. Steering proved just as problematic as going forward—if I pulled the left rein to go left, he grabbed the bit and went to the right. Moonshine would not be told what to do or where to go. No amount of coaching or coaxing from Carol would ease my frayed nerves. This horse was going to do whatever he wanted and I was incapable of persuading him otherwise.
I walked him back to the barn after the performance, ego bruised and severely humbled.
I’m obviously not as good I thought, if I can’t even make this stupid, piece of crap horse go forward, I thought to myself, looking down at my feet as I led the horse back to the barn.
Why the hell does Carol want me to ride this stupid horse? He doesn’t know anything, he hates every living thing, and he’s nuts. What does she want me to learn from him? How to ride in a rodeo? I could do that at Leslie’s, five minutes from home, instead of all the way out here, I thought.
As I untacked the animal in his stall after my ride, I was swimming in anger, confusion, and defeat. I hated this beast, I didn’t understand why Carol wanted me to ride him, and the ride was a disaster. I cursed him out while doing all the necessary chores after a ride, including cooling him out. I slipped on his halter, and led him outside to the patches of grass around the barn for him to graze.
As I watched him plucking mouthfuls of grass out of the earth, I fell deep in thought about how much I hated him and wracked my brain, trying to understand why my trainer wanted me to ride him. I was suddenly pulled out of my musings when a rider I had never seen before approached me and exclaimed, “You guys looked really good out there!”
My mouth dropped. What? Does she realize who we are? I think she’s confused, she can’t possibly mean Moonshine and I looked good. But there was only one other horse and rider pair in the indoor and they looked like our polar opposites—the rider had long blond hair and her horse was white. My horse was dark brown, as was my hair.
“Ummm . . . thanks,” I muttered and looked down. I didn’t want to make eye contact and witness her realization that she was paying a compliment to the wrong person. It was nice, though. I let myself play along with the mistake and gave Moonshine a carrot when I put him back in the stall.
That fall, I transitioned from riding any available school horse, to riding Moonshine exclusively.