The magic horseman's word

Terry Pratchett's kingdom of Lancre is home to a blacksmith who can shoe the fiercest stallion by using the magic horseman's word, which he whispers into the animal's ear and which causes even the rearingest bitingest snortingest of them to stand docilely for shoeing. Upon being pressed by Granny Weatherwax, local witch/wisewoman/incurable snoop, he admits that he's murmuring, "Cross me, you bugger, and I'll have thy goolies on t'anvil, thou knows I can."

Grayson's goolies are long gone ("that most discontented of animals, a gelding," says Patrick O'Brian; "that most useful of creatures, a gelding" says Jane Smiley), so we rely on other magic tricks to get him to cooperate. On Monday Kate tipped me off to a new one: When Grayson is reluctant to leave his hay and presents his formidable feet to anyone approaching with a halter, spin the lead rope so that it catches his eye, then let the rope fly out so that the knot gently smacks him on the ass. After he refused to stir for a palmed carrot last night, I followed her instructions, letting the rope's end just tap his blanketed rear. To my surprise, he turned right around, careful and polite, and stood stock-still while I slipped his halter on, buckled it, and led him out to the cross-ties. Hmm. Submissive horse ISO strict discipline? Best not to think about that too much.

He handled grooming and tacking with his usual ill grace, though, then in the ring nipped my hand and damn near kicked Pat, who fortunately dove out of his way. Some horses kick for show or to express discomfort; Grayson picks a target and aims. Angry and embarrassed, I shoved him out toward the rail, thinking, awright, you dappled freak, beatings beatings beatings it is. And do you know? From that moment he was as fast and light as could be. He did leg yields and shoulders in and bending and even a credible canter, and although toward the end of the hour his motivation flagged and I got a leg workout squeezing him forward, it was one of the best classes we've ever done.

Pat was pleased; I was thrilled. Perceptible improvement! When I started off with dressage last summer, I felt gawky and uncoordinated, hopelessly far behind the other students, a klutzy incompetent who could stay on a horse but couldn't handle short stirrups and two-fisted reins and Cappi bolting whenever I asked him to turn left. But I kept going to class, kept having Cappi run away, kept hearing Pat say some encouraging variant on "that was close for a couple of strides." Dogged persistence. Now it feels as though progress is coming out of the air, with Grayson remembering his early dressage training and my muscles remembering from week to week that to make him go like that, I have to go like this. I'm not even a kindergartener by Spanishe Hoitytoitischereitschule standards, but I'm finishing the classes tired and pleased, already looking forward to the next session. What more can you ask?