The Year that Nothing Happened.

This post was written fall or winter of 2023. When I was uploading the last photo, it vanished. I vowed to never write again. In May of 2024, it re-appeared (at least most of the completed post was there). I tweaked it and publish it now. The happenings in the posts entitled "Blissful Me" and "We Did It" occurred approximately 9 months after this post was written.

Over a year ago, I bought a horse. I have done nothing (very little) with him since. A year of nothing. And I need to write about our year of nothing.

Over the last year, people have asked 'Are you gonna ride?' (shrug. no) 'Did you ride?' (nope) 'how's your horse?' (standing) 'What are you doing with your horse?' (I dunno. nothing?')


I like to say we have done nothing. It suits my need for hyperbole. In truth, when it comes to what most would consider work, we have done little things inconsistently. Some ground work, some mounted work... here and there. 

But I think it is fair to say we have done nothing. Especially as compared to what many who have known my horse journey would have thought my horse ownership would look like. We are not cantering circles. We are not trail riding for miles. No piaffes, pirouettes or cattle herding. No baby jumps.


It's funny. When I "owned" my first horse, I had a trainer, she had a trainer and we had someone half-leasing who was a MUCH better rider than me. A lot has happened since I owned Bella and (I admit) I bought Atticus with a vague idea of redemption. The question of 'What can we do?' was high on my mind... more like "What am I capable of achieving on my own?

Then I saw him and he was mine and I was his and the question transformed to 'what the h*** do I do with him??? On my own?!?' He is mine. There is no one upon whom I can blame any pre-conceived idea of failure. I didn't feel overfaced and no one was going to pull him into a lesson program with multiple riders of varying skills. It's me and him. The screws ups will be mine and mine alone.

Completely and utterly paralyzing. My time listening to Warwick Schiller's podcast, while giving me so much beauty and awareness, left me facing this horse asking questions like "What if he doesn't want to <do the thing>?"  "Does he have headaches?"  "If I blink wrong or stiffen my pinky finger will I create irreversible 'little t-trauma???"


It took me a while to realize how I was paralyzed and it's source. In the silence, I found that source and in the finding was able to slowly scratch, crawl and climb my way out of the fear hole I had fallen into. I wasn't afraid of Atticus. I was terrified of damaging him.


And so it's been a quiet year. Atticus was not what I expected. I certainly was not anything he had anticipated or wanted.




We have done absolutely nothing but on these dark fall mornings, I find my self reflecting on what has happened and what I have learned while standing in the paddock watching this stranger of a horse:


I know where his itchy spots are. The importance of this can not be stressed. As both a bonding and training tool, as well as developing communication, spending time finding the itchy spots is vital. We both know he doesn't need me to scratch. We both know I can get that spot better than anyone else.




I understand (a bit) of the herd dynamic. His preference for being alone. The one he doesn't mind. The one who can boss him a bit. The one who shares leadership. His love of mares. 

I've worked through and laid aside the Hero regret. He's given me so much. It never occurred to me until the papers were signed. Why didn't I put that money into him? Hero and I have talked about it; Atticus and I have talked about it, as I worked through the why and wherefore of it all... those long days in the field where nothing happened. I've explained, apologized where necessary and made promises. And I know I have been heard. It's hard to work with a new friend when you carry regret.

Conversations had to happen with regard to Matilda. The promise and memory of Her and all we were.... 

probably more legend than fact to it for me now. She will be on my mind and in my heart as we work but Atticus needed to know that I will not lay her memory on his back. He can be him and we will be us. Whatever that means down the line. It's hard to let yourself love the new when grief clouds everything in comparison.

I very nearly laid aside expectation. It creeps back in, the need to do and accomplish and do things that can be posted. In the paddock, looking at Atticus' soft brown eyes, I am reminded that he did not choose this fo himself and he owes me nothing. His obligation to me is fulfilled in his existence and the peace and smiles I feel when standing with him, scratching those itches.

Food motivated. Yes. Check.


I've taken lessons with other horses and my hands have softened some, my legs are starting to learn to release, my groundwork is getting stronger-more refined. My movements are changing. Things that will serve us moving forward.

I've laughed trying to get him moving. I've laughed trying to get on him bareback... literally trying to jump up. I don't worry about him moving away from the fence if I choose to climb to the top and slide onto his back. He stands quietly if I am not adventurous enough for the leap up.

I did figure out how to get him walking without killing my legs for 5 minutes and I can get him to the spot I am aiming for 90% of the time. When he's hyper fixated on the mares, he will check in with an ear flick if I ask (but sometimes I just let him stare)


I'm getting more comfortable with the hugeness of his walk, moving with it and not trying to make it smaller (which always feels safer to me). 


I keep our rides very short (20-30 mins) getting off before he gives me a hard no and starting to feel a flow. I've even been able to give a thought to working on rhythm and circles. 


But the real gold is here. I never would have known if I had just walked up and put the halter on... if I had not stopped and sat in the grass to enjoy his pleasure. I never would have known that he would freely choose to walk over and be with me. It's like some sort of miracle.

Now? I can feel the shift. Let's get to work.