Once, at the end of a horse show which went on much longer than anyone imagined it would, we were confronted with cranky beasts (and that’s just the parents!), lots of medium size kids and an equal number of hot, tired, and hungry horses and ponies plus and an hour and a half ride along country roads in the dark, back from the fairgrounds to the home barn.

All of a sudden, the grand handsome thoroughbred in the crowd yelled, “Enough!” and started throwing a tantrum. He and I knew each other pretty well, so there was just barely enough mutual respect and understanding from which to extract a smidgen of cooperation from the beast, once I got a leg up. My own horse went home in a trailer, and the farm owner had pointed me to the rearing, snorting bad-boy, who demanded to go first or not at all. At first he was going to do it all backwards – go figure. But we started negotiations. After he got various tricks out of his system, me cooing at him and stroking his neck, and him backing in circles, threatening to rear and squash sundry items including me, he noticed I wasn’t yelling at him and we agreed, he and I, that we could join forces after all.

All the ponies and horses were lined up behind this seeming maniac of over-wrought horseflesh, and we started off toward home, me on the supposed nut-case in front, responsible advanced riders also at the middle and at the end of the line, and younger, less experienced riders tucked in between. That hot-headed leader settled right down immediately. We hit the road and walked in single file, riding just barely on the berm. When we hit a crossing-place, everyone was told to turn and wait, then cross at once, so-as to lessen chances of having anyone caught in the road if a car might be coming. Such a tactic was made simpler by the fact that it was now dark, and we could see oncoming headlights.

All those equines and kids, all quietly doing exactly what they seemed to know made sense, cooperating. No one was ordered to do anything. The only instructions made were explained; both people and horses cooperated even more – end and middle riders gave a shout-out when they had cleared an obstacle of concern; horses and ponies closed up and followed closely without rancor, etc. It became even darker. I asked all to trust their steeds and simply lie down on their necks without even trying to steer, so they wouldn’t be hurt by low-hanging branches. This group of 20 or so young people and tired, formerly cranky animals worked as one, each quietly following those immediately in front. Not all the trip was along the road. Some was on narrow trails through the woods and fields. Thank heaven it was all level ground.

The most impressive point of the trip for me was when that wonderful, over-stressed thoroughbred came to a cross-way where the trail split. I didn’t tell him a thing, didn’t steer him, and didn’t even urge him onward. He lowered his head, sniffed the ground and checked over the ground at one trail, then paused and looked just as carefully at the other. He then started off again, with obvious confidence in his choice of the correct trail which took us all safely home, at a nice careful pace safe enough for the smallest pony and rider. Periodically, he lowered his head again to check details of the trail. “Canterbury”, the thoroughbred “terror”, brought us home all by himself, except that he and I enjoyed each other’s company immensely on the trip. He showed infinite patience when I needed to stop him a few times to wait so the whole group could stay together.

“Canter” and I both wanted to go home. He knew how. I did not. He and I cooperated to get the whole gang home, children into their parents’ arms and equines to their warm stalls. Hard to forget things like that.