TRUE TALE

I had become so enamored with my flashy new mare that I spent less and less time with my old mare, Polly. Then a crisis forced me to recognize what really matters.

A change of heart: I had become so enamored with my flashy new mare that I spent less and less time with my old mare, Polly. Then a crisis forced me to recognize what really matters.

Before you judge my coldheartedness too harshly, I want you to know that I share this story only in the hope that it will prevent you, too, from committing the equestrian equivalent of the unforgivable sin.

I have owned Pollyanna, my 25-yearold Percheron/Thoroughbred mare, since just before she turned 2. She was my first horse, and she taught me more about horses and riding than all of the books, magazines, DVDs and seminars combined ever could have. She saved me from serious injury at least twice and carried me over any cross-country course I was brave enough to attempt. She always did well in the dressage portion of combined training events, yet I must confess that I got somewhat tired of the judges’ comments that described my horse as “cute.” I’m sure these were well-intended, but they did feel somewhat condescending.

So as Pollyanna began to age, I decided that this time around I would look for a horse who would engender more respect. One day, I found just what I was seeking: 17 hands of long-legged beauty, wrapped in a blood bay coat with four white stockings and a symmetrical blaze---like one of the horse figurines from my childhood come to life. Watching this powerful, perfectly balanced athlete float across the field in a herd of 20 other Thoroughbreds, I thought I might just have found the horse of my dreams.

I was told Devon had been brought home from the track for breeding, so the owner was reluctant to sell. But we did finally manage to strike a deal that included me adopting a second older Thoroughbred mare, named Julep, who needed a home. I could hardly believe that Devon was about to become mine.

I admit I did feel somewhat guilty about getting another horse to ride. Polly had been more faithful to me than many of my human friends. The longest we’d ever been separated was one six-month stretch when I was away at school. For months I’d worried she might forget me, but then when I returned to the farm in my old pickup, I was shocked to see her head come up at the familiar sound of my engine. Her rapid trot to the gate to greet me reduced me to tears.

I would never sell Polly, but she had let me know that she was ready to retire. So my plan was to keep Polly happy and safe, give a home to Julep, and enjoy training my new dream horse, Devon.

What I hadn’t taken into account was the new herd dynamic. The two Thoroughbreds quickly bonded with each other, pushing Polly to the bottom of their pecking order. When I walked out to the pasture to pet Polly, the other two quickly drove her away. I started pulling her out of the large pasture to spend time with her up close to the house, but this only seemed to exacerbate the problem.

It was getting harder, too, to see Polly’s beauty next to the statuesque Thoroughbreds. Her larger head and stockier legs seemed almost ridiculous by comparison; her gait looked cumbersome as she ambled through the pasture in their wake. And sometimes, as the brush was gliding effortlessly over the satiny sheen of Julep or Devon’s slick coat, I found myself feeling grateful I wasn’t struggling to work a brush through Polly’s long, dense hair.

It was never a conscious choice, but before I realized what was happening, Polly started to slip away. I was spending less time with her, and caring for her was beginning to feel less rewarding. She became despondent and withdrawn, and when I came out into the

TRUE BEAUTY: Cheryl Rivers ultimately realized that her “dream horse” was Polly, “my faithful friend of more than 20 years.”

pasture with treats, she often didn’t even try to approach.

I’m embarrassed to say, this situation might have gone on indefinitely. But then a student living at my farm made a serious mistake. Coming home late one night, she drove up the driveway and forgot to stop and close the gate. Reaching the house, she looked up into the rearview mirror just in time to see the three horses jogging out toward the road.

She came to tell me apologetically what she had done, and I sprang out the door and sprinted toward the gate, pausing only to grab three halters. When we reached the road, the horses were nowhere in sight. Standing by the dark, unlit road and knowing the disastrous consequences of a car rounding the corner too fast on such a moonless night, I felt a chill run down my spine and a churning in the pit of my stomach.

As I stood by the road peering into the darkness, halters in hand, a car pulled up. The driver told me that had just passed three horses about a quarter of a mile down the road. With a nod of thanks, I took off running, looking for the familiar glow of Polly’s gray coat in the dark. The quarter mile quickly stretched to a half before I heard the sound of hooves on pavement. In the inky night, I could barely see Polly almost obscured by the shadow of the two darker Thoroughbreds. Knowing that if I could catch just one horse, the other two might follow, I decided to choose.

I’m ashamed to admit Polly wasn’t my choice. I’d like to say this was because I felt certain that Polly would obediently follow the other two. But to be honest with you, as well as with myself, I must admit that my flashy Thoroughbred had become more important to me.

The three were all coming back my way now, and I stepped out in front of Devon and threw my hands in the air hoping to slow her rapid trot. She paused just long enough for me to swing a rope around her neck. I was just slipping the halter over her ears when Julep sank her long teeth into the younger mare’s hindquarters. Devon exploded. Although I managed to avoid being trampled, I found myself sprawled on the pavement gasping for air as I watched all three horses rushing down the road past my house---headed right toward a busy intersection.

I could see the impending catastrophe unfolding as if I had fallen into a nightmare: I envisioned my horses crushed by a car or a truck or slipping down on the pavement in front of oncoming traffic.

In sheer desperation, not having any real hope that it would work, I scrambled to my feet, took a deep breath, and yelled as loudly as I could, “Polly! Whoa!”

Despite the aggressive Julep driving her from behind, and the natural panic of any prey animal running into the unknown, Polly stopped.

Scarcely believing what I was seeing, I watched as Polly hunched down in fear

I could see the impending catastrophe unfolding as if I had fallen into a nightmare: I envisioned my horses crushed by a car or a truck or slipping down on the pavement in front of oncoming traffic.

of the mare nipping at her hindquarters, then managed to swerve around and turn to face me. Breathlessly I began calling her with the “kissy” sound we had shared for more than 20 years and stood in disbelief and gratitude as she took several tentative steps toward me.

“Good girl!” I reassured her and began walking to meet her. The Thoroughbreds had paused to consider whether to drive Polly along with them or continue their flight on their own. Polly met me more than halfway, and

when I pointed to the open gate, she quickly trotted inside before Julep, who was coming back, could attempt to drive her in the other direction.

The two Thoroughbreds paused in the road, throwing their heads in the air and snorting as they sized up the situation. As I watched their ears swivel to follow the sound of Polly’s hooves receding up the driveway, I suddenly realized that the mares were rapidly becoming silhouettes in the headlights of an approaching car. We were only heartbeats away from disaster.

As Julep and Devon tensed to bolt from the alien monster roaring up the road behind them, I caught a blur of white out of the corner of my eye. Polly had returned and now stood just inside the fence, calling for them. Her whinny generated just enough indecision in the mares that I exploited by waving my arms and clucking as I dove in behind them.

My elegant “dream horse” and her royally bred friend floated through the gate and up the driveway without giving me a second glance. I ran in, shut the gate, and went to wrap my arms around Polly’s thick neck. She stood motionless as the other two mares continued their flight toward the barn. I hugged her as we stood together in the dark while the tears ran down my face.

How could I have been so blind? I already had my dream horse, my faithful friend of more than 20 years. Others may look at her and see only her platter-size feet, thick legs and large head, but what I see is a heart that is faithful and true beyond any measure of reason or training. And that makes her more beautiful than the prettiest horse on the planet.

So if you are lucky enough to have an old friend who is still in your life, go wrap your arms around his neck, and thank him for all the joy he has given you. Know that his faithfulness is worth more than anything you may hope to achieve with any other horse.