Let’s rewind for context. Ransom, my now 8 year old Arabian gelding, is a pistol. In 2023 we attempted two 50 mile rides and had to pull at 40 miles due to issues stemming from his temper tantrums thrown like a toddler when told he can’t have sugary cereal. At the first ride, Ransom spent the initial ten to fourteen miles throwing himself in the air, tossing his head, kicking, bucking and being a general dickhead because:
- I had the temerity to take him away from ride camp and his girlfriend, Nisha (who hates him when we’re at home),
- I had the audacity to insist he not gallop balls to the walls to catch the horses in front of him on the course
I know, I know. I am a terrible human being and a shameful horse owner.
What resulted later in the ride was a sore back. I rider optioned (took him out of the race of my own accord) because there was no way I could, in good conscience, get back on that horse and go another ten miles on a back that was caving at the slightest pressure.
On 50 mile attempt number two, I tried to avoid the drama of a crowded start by leaving ride camp much later. But on this course, no trail repeated or crossed paths, so Ransom couldn’t even see other horses in front of him. This lowered his herd and race drive, and while he was much easier to manage, he also lacked enthusiasm. This became an issue when it was time to leave camp after the the 45 minute hold. He would not go. Would. Not. Go.
Fuming, I got off and trotted him in-hand out of ride camp and got on him again. He was still refusing to go forward. Enraged, I once again dismounted and tried getting him to just move his feet. Ransom then decided to move his feet by running backwards toward camp and, not paying attention to where he was going, tripped and fell on his ass. This was not ideal. For the remainder of the loop, he was sore and when he presented at the next vet check, was lame on his rear.
I let him rest most of the summer and hardly rode him at all mainly because it was hotter than Hades, I was dealing with a personal tragedy, and the deer flies on trail made him unrideable. Ransom has the emotional maturity of a fetus. If Ransom is upset, I know. He wears his big heart on his sleeve.
That’s the context for Ransom. It should be noted that all my horses have nicknames. Nisha for example is either “my queen” or “super-mare extraordinaire.” Ransom, up until days ago, was known simply as “dickhead.” This factors in later, I promise.
After resting most of the summer, I took Ransom on a short-for-us trail ride in the fall to assess if he was even ready to get back into the sport for a tough Limited Distance race in October.
Not only was he ready, he annihilated that ride, cruising to a very easy second place finish, seconds behind the winner. I always knew Ransom was special, but it was during this race that I fully realized he was incredible. An athletic machine.
There were two rides left for 2023 in which Ransom and I could participate, both in Athens, Texas. I opted to skip the November ride since I’d just brought home Pumpkin, then 9 weeks old. This left Tracing in the New Year 2023, the end of our year but the beginning of the AERC season.
I wasn’t even sure if I was going to make the final ride of 2023, as I was vacillating between the 50 miler with Ransom and a fox hunt with Hondo. Choices, choices. But Hondo came up with some foot issues and made the choice for me. With days to prepare, I decided to go for it in Athens with Ransom and was thrilled for the chance to complete a 50 once and for all.
In the days leading up to my journey to Athens, my gut instinct raised her hand. Do gut instincts raise hands? Well mine did. A little voice in the back of my mind said this: “just let Ransom go.” In other words, stop fighting him. If he wanted to run his heart out and buck and be silly… let him. This also is an adaptation of Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory.
Because heck, do I or do I not know how to ride a horse acting silly? Did I or did I not take a very new to me horse, fresh off the race track, and throw him into a chaos-fueled sport without issue? If I could fox hunt a new 16.1 hand horse and gallop to and over jumps, why was I holding back my 14.3 hand Arabian as he trotted and cantered over trail?
I’m the one with the big brain. Supposedly. It seemed silly of me to ask my little horse to trust me if I wasn’t showing him the same respect.
On the way to Athens as I weaved my way through horrendous New Year’s weekend Dallas Fort Worth traffic, I listened to a podcast from Mel Robbins about manifesting. I’d been binging Mel’s podcast and other “self-help” YouTube content since November in an all out effort to realign with the life of my true self. This is all very deep stuff I can get into later for a separate post. While listening to Mel discuss manifesting and the proper way to go about it, I decided to put manifestation in practice for me and Ransom.
What that meant was, I would not try to complete our first 50. We were GOING to complete the ride. I wouldn’t assume Ransom would be an asshole dickhead shitweasel throwing tantrums, I expected he’d be a rockstar. I decided I wasn’t going to refer to my little horse as anything other than talented, wonderful, powerful and smart. Therefore from December 29, 2023 until the day Ransom leaves this earth, he shall be known as a rockstar, Mighty Mouse, an athletic machine, and my little dirt bike with opinions. I made the decision in that truck, between cursing at inconsiderate and rude ass drivers cutting me off, that my Little Ransom and I would finally turn a corner. Because I had decided it. We were a team now, united forever to be victorious not just for the 50 the following day, but all the rides thereafter.
It worked. Even though Ransom didn’t want to leave ride camp (I dismounted and trotted him in hand out of camp and got back on about a half a mile away from camp), he was the rockstar I’d envisioned. He had one brief moment of considering a tantrum as he picked up a canter in some sand, but my correction was tiny. Just a small half halt on the left rein, no words, just a little hand whisper “Nah, don’t do that,” but that was all. The remainder of our ride I was loose reined, making small steering corrections when we’d missed our turn or to keep him out of a ditch. Other than that, he was allowed to ride how he wanted. Fast trot? Sure, go ahead. Canter here? Go ahead. Hand gallop to catch the horses in front of us? Do it. Leap over a tiny creek and bolt to make speed to catch up to the horses who had no issue crossing the creek? I mean, I guess if that’s what we’re going to do, I’m here for it. Race our new friends in an open field? Let’s go!
And wouldn’t you know it, no tantrums. No sore back. Pinned ears only when other horses dared make a move to pass us (normal for a lot of horses, actually), but no ears pinned at me. No kick outs to show his frustration, no threat of bucking, rearing, or general bad behavior because he was mad at me. That’s because he wasn’t mad. I’d removed all obstacles for him, I’d chosen to trust him and let him race how he wanted to race. I didn’t kick him to go faster, I didn’t pull him to go slower. I really can’t emphasize enough that I gave him freedom.
It’s hard to fight with someone who let’s you do whatever you want (except stay in ride camp!). It’s hard to argue when the other entity just says “Okay.” It’s hard to be in a bad mood when your team mate trusts you to get the job done the way you want to get it done. And this is what I did for my boy.
Ransom got seventh place over all, and fifth for the vet score (incredible!), making him, like Nisha, a top ten horse.
Ransom is now deserving some time off and acting as though he never ran 50 miles. He’s an athlete through and through. Until our next ride, I will do as much as I can to just be his friend. Go out to visit him, pet him, tell him positive things, and most importantly, scratch his booty.
I’ve spent enough of my life giving myself negative pep talks and doing the same to my horses. I’m done with that. I’d never allow people to talk to me the way I’d talk to myself, and I never would’ve allowed anyone else to call my horse an asshole, yet there I was doing it with this special little diamond in the rough.
I love this little horse and what he needs most is to know it. The only what to prove it is to show it.
