Wrangler Dani

I’ve been wanting to tell this story for a long time now, and I realized the other day that this was really my first intro to Therapeutic Riding, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

This girl and horse captured my heart, and she is part of my fondest “wrangler” memories. I got on a creative roll, so I cut the story in three parts, to be more palatable to the blog-o-sphere. Stay tuned for more….

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“I want Willow!”

The familiar whine behind me caused a momentary slow to my steps, but not much more.  Clearly this was not the reaction that April* was hoping for.

She bullied her way in front of me and stopped in the rising dust, looking for all the world like a survival-minded urchin from the cobble-stoned streets and lean times of a previous century.  She stuck out her lip and stamped her foot.   She meant business, and wanted me to know it.

“Willow.”

I sighed.  Willow was a good horse.  A great one, in fact, and in high demand with all of our beginner riders.  April had the skill to ride a much feistier horse, and would therefore save Willow’s strength and good temper for more timid, needy riders – but as I looked at her determined little glare, I caved.

“All right,” I said. “But you better be super nice to her, okay?  She’s a sensitive girl, and she’s got a big day ahead.”

April grinned impishly and ran off to grab a helmet.  Boss** came up and leaned on the corral fence next to me with a sigh.

“Can’t say no to her, can you?”

I grunted and prepared myself for a reprimand.

To my surprise, he thoughtfully rubbed his moustache and smiled.

“I can’t either.”

April was a challenge from the moment she stepped foot on the ranch and rustled our hearts with her reckless determination and mischievous grin.
At twelve years old, she had already felt and seen more pain then most adults, and as a result, was moody, impulsive, wary and on enough medications to start her own pharmacy.  She bounced around in Foster Care for a few years, and was recently adopted when she first came to the ranch.  She had trust issues, behavioral problems, raging tantrums and far deeper challenges than us simple cowpokes were equipped to handle. However, we did know how to assist with one of her addictions – a passionate love for horses.

Willow was standing by the corral fence the first time April  showed up for a horseback ride.  About fifteen middle-schoolers piled into a hay wagon and left their normal camp activities for an afternoon of horses, and April was predictably the first one to the corral, a reckless ball of energy and emotion.

Perhaps it was the simple fact that Willow was the first horse she saw, but I felt there was more to it than that.  From the moment April jumped off the hay wagon that July afternoon, an emotionally fragile and misunderstood 12-year-old girl and a gentle, leggy, deep brown Thoroughbred mare were friends.

They rode every trail ride together, fearlessly conquering the arena obstacle course and recklessly riding over water crossings and bridges that made April’s peers quake in their spanking-new cowboy boots.

April was a different girl around Willow.  The defiant, protective shell fell away, and glimpses of beauty would shine through in this rough, boundary-testing little girl.  She would be shamelessly put her cabin leaders through their paces, driving them to tears with her steadfast refusal to do anything they asked; but when threatened with the loss of her horse privileges, she promptly behaved and flashed her impish grin.

Boss used to say that her smile could move mountains.  I don’t know about that, but she sure had me wrapped around her (often dusty and smudged) little finger.

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*No, her name was not really April.

**Yes, we did call our boss “Boss”. We thought we were being funny, but it stuck.