On grass he is skittish and wants to bolt. He hooves dance, and I am as careful as an electrician in a swimming pool. Soon as he hits pavement or a road, he is calm as a kitten though. A testemant to his days as a working amish cart horse. Pavement means business to him. Grass means college kegger. I can walk him like a swaybacked ol' trail horse on the road, but going across the lawn is like rolling a fat kid over twinkies and asking him to keep his mouth shut.
I refuse to back down or give up though. I move him around, and he knows who is in charge. I hold my ground and work with him every chance I get. Last night at the rodeo I saw these women barrel racing on their quarter horses like champions in a western flick. That is not me and Jasper. If I am lucky, Jasper and I will be able to someday hitch up the little buckboard cart and head the three miles into town.
Tonight I we up to the pasture together, him all excited and fussy, and I focused and determined. I held his hatler in my hand, guiding him tough. When I finally let him out to those acres of green grass and apple he exploded! He leaped into the air, kicked out both back feet to the left, and while both back legs were airborn sideways in glee, he let out a merry fart. I laughed so hard I nearly peed. He then pounded around, blowing off steam, leaping and running like a colt on crystal mushrooms. The sheep watched from behind a fence, happy to be away from that mad man farting amongst the apples. Jasper ran to the top of the hill and rolled around on his back like Gibson does on the living room floor. He then started down at me, resting on his legs like an equine sphinx. If I knew what he was thinking I could conquer the world.
He is a goofball, a free spirit, a jackass, and a piece of work. But I love that pony. And on those occasional calm walks down the mountain road I feel like the luckiest girl in New York. Learning to work as one will be a huge lesson in this life. Stay tuned.