Talon, my 3-year-old Gypsy Cob gelding (that’s horse-speak for “majestic feather-footed goober”), is away at summer school this year. No, not because he failed algebra—he’s learning how to drive. As in pull a cart. As in work for a living. I know, I know... shocking.
He’s studying under Melody Madison of Shamel Arabians, a trainer with nerves of steel and the kind of patience usually reserved for kindergarten teachers and bomb defusers. Me? I have the patience of a caffeine-deprived raccoon on in a cornfield. So she’s got the job.
Things didn’t start off great. Turns out Talon is what Melody gently described as “sensitive.” Which is trainer-code for melts under pressure like a snowflake on a griddle. When she introduced him to two other horses in the paddock, he panicked and tried to hide behind her. When she stepped away? He tried to hide behind a rock. A rock. You can't make this up. Unless you’re writing a sitcom, in which case boom, there's your pilot episode.
But wait, it gets better. One of the horses bit him. Three times. Did he assert himself like a proud, 1,200-pound steed? Did he puff up his chest and show them who's boss? No. He stood there blinking like a stunned librarian who just got hit with a dodgeball. Poor baby. I swear he tried to file an HR complaint.
Look, I’m not saying he’s a coward… but the goat he lives with at home has more street cred. And that goat screams at chickens.
Then there was The Great Right Turn Debacle. Talon was perfectly fine working to the left. Left was his jam. Left was safe. Left was home. But ask him to turn right? Suddenly we’re starring in a soap opera called "Why Are You Ruining My Life", starring Talon as the over dramatic lead and Melody as the long-suffering trainer with a twitching eyelid.
But then—cue angelic chorus—he finally got it. One day, mid-hissy fit, the lightbulb in his big fuzzy head blinked on. You could almost see it: “Ohhh! You meant turn this way? Pfft. I knew that. I was just... testing you. Yep. Totally intentional.” And now there’s a picture of him trotting proudly to the right like he invented it.
Meanwhile, back in the real world, a little girl at church wanted to come visit Talon. DH told her Talon was away at summer school. Her face said “I smell nonsense.” Then he added that Talon was learning to drive.
She gasped. “Horses can’t drive cars!”
I mean… technically, no. But considering how my grandson parks, I’m not ruling it out. Talon at least signals before turning—after 3 weeks of training, anyway.
He's majestic. He's fluffy. He's emotionally fragile. But by golly, he’s turning right now.
Talon’s Official Summer School Progress Report
Filed by: Melody Madison, Horse Whisperer Extraordinaire
Week 1:
• Introduced to new paddock
friends
• Hid behind human
• Attempted camouflage via small
rock
• Bitten three times
• Confidence level: Marshmallow
Week 2:
• Refuses to work to the right
•
Mastered “I don’t wanna” body language
• Feigned dramatic
exhaustion after light groundwork
• Therapy goat requested
Week 3:
• Still twitchy, but not hiding
•
Cart harness introduced—looked mildly betrayed
• Minor
progress turning right… if bribed with hay
Week 4:
• Successfully driving left and
right
• Stopped sulking mid-session
• Looks smug, acts like
he’s known it all along
• Requested return of emotional
support goat
Final Notes:
Horse is a wimp, but a
lovable
wimp. Recommend continued training and possibly a helmet for
emotional protection. He may not
be fast, brave, or particularly useful yet… but by golly, he’s
polite and turns right now.
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