Slippery Footing

March 23, 2024
Skye stood and stared at the english saddle pad, in awe of its ornateness, its finery.

"You can get closer" Grace said. "It won't bite you."

"That is the fanciest saddle pad I've ever seen. And it's pink!"

"We have a white one too."

"Who made these?"

"StudioMaire."

"I've never...how are we going to keep these clean?"

Grace didn't have an immediate answer, but after a fair pause, she responded.

"Very carefully."

March 24, Just before dawn
There was more of a crunching sound beneath La Barilla's hooves than Grace was comfortable with. The snow wasn't soft and snowy.
She saw tracks, and guessed them to be fox...not the long-ranging, single foot trot of the coyote.

They went slowly and carefully. The rising sun would quickly warm the ground.

There was no sign of the wild horses that Grace so longed to see.  As the air warmed, the frozen snow melted, but before it made its journey all the way back to liquid water, it became a bit more slippery. Grace decided to turn around, and take a path back that was still mostly in the shadows.

That path took them near a snow melt pool in the fire break.  La Barilla's hind legs slid in the saturated soil, and kept sliding, folding under him. He began slipping sideways.  He scrambled.  Grace leaned forward over his shoulders, gave him his head, hoping somehow she could help him balance, but the ground offered no traction.  La Barilla's hooves slipped out from underneath him, and he plunged into the icy pool.

Grace pulled up her right leg, then let go of the reins and went into the water. The soil was incredibly slick.

A layer of ice covered the surface of the water. La Barilla was pressed against it, all four legs beneath him. Little more than a depression left by heavy equipment, the hole and the water were deceptively deep.

La Barilla lurched forward, scrambled up the steep bank, almost to the top, before slipping back into the water. If Grace could get him to go back out the way they'd fallen in...

He lunged forward again. Thrusting with his whole body, stabbing front hooves into the soft soil like anchors, every fiber focused, deliberate, determined. He scaled the slippery bank.

La Barilla seemed no worse for the wear. Grace was none too sure on her own feet, in boots not made for walking on water, but she decided to walk La Barilla home nonetheless.

In one of the outdoor arenas, Anahit and Lousin's mom greeted Grace cheerfully. As she got closer, she sensed a bit of concern about Grace.

"Is everything well? Where is Skye?"

Grace took a deep breath. "Everything is good. Skye wasn't feeling well, and then she stayed up all night watching documentaries on the arctic, the antarctic, and the origins of life on earth. I can tell you that, because I couldn't see the screen, but I was often listening."

Mom laughed. "Is she going to be a biologist?"

"Maybe" Grace said. "She's very tuned in to the environment, on a big-picture scale. So I went out for a ride this morning without her, and we fell in a water hole. Totally my fault. I chose the wrong path back."

"On this horse?"

"Yes."

Mom studied La Barilla for a moment. "He appears to be just fine. Did you get hurt?"

"Nope, just wet. And I was so concerned that La Barilla might have gotten hurt, it took me a while to realize he was also soaking wet under the saddle, and get him untacked."

As Grace spoke, the cloud cover thickened, and a cool breeze moved restlessly across the arena. Mom noticed Grace's pants. They were wet to the top of her legs.

"I think you should put your horse in a nice dry stall and then do the same for yourself. Go inside and get out of those wet clothes."

She was probably right. Grace wanted to show her the retooled english saddle, and the beautiful saddle pads, and ask her many questions...including what she liked to be called, besides mom...but perhaps this wasn't the morning for all of that.

March 31, Easter Sunday
Grace and Skye made their way to the tack room during a break in the rain.

"Still think going barefoot to keep your shoes dry was a good idea?"

"I don't know" Skye giggled. "I can't feel my feet."

Sitting atop the pink and white english saddle pads, Grace found herself being stared at by a giant stuffed Easter bunny.  The Berber saddle on the next rack held an Easter basket, from which peered gingerbread men.  "Hoppy Easter"  tea the card in front of the basket.

"From the boss?" Skye asked.

"Nope. Dear Grace and Skye, we hope you have a wonderful Easter, and Skye, please get well soon. Stay warm! Anoush, Anahit and Lousin."

Grace surveyed the Easter basket. "No shortage of love in here."

"Anoush! What a pretty name! And now she knows we have these fancy new saddle pads."

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