The equestrian identity had appeared to me as the salve for my struggles with the human condition, especially my emotional wounds and faltering growth. The delight of novelty crested as a tsunami of hope against my melancholy. With so much to learn, each new aspect of horse care and training remained full of positive potential even if things didn’t go as planned or were stalled because the horse or I lacked in some way.
As soon as Vegas was officially my charge, it became uncomfortable to remain at the ranch where we started together. For all I had gratefully learned there from the proprietor, my independent study had expanded my knowledge of horses. As the owner of Vegas my changes in management quickly improved the horse’s physical health and appearance, publicly bringing into question the truth of some of the proprietor’s expertise and opinions. This consequence was unintended on my part (I was only thinking about the horse) though it dissolved my relationship with the proprietor.
One of my friends from there had earlier acquired a horse of her own from elsewhere and boarded at another ranch a bit further south. She introduced me to her new ranch friends, one of whom was very experienced and willing to help me transport Vegas to an available paddock there. This woman became an informal mentor to me and I happily joined this new less isolated and more diverse cohort.
During my preliminary year of investigative research into horses I came upon the concept of bare hoof management, which is a philosophy of maintaining the hooves without metal shoes. This appealed to me in its alternative approach to conventional farriery. Since bare hooves were natural to the horse, the theory was they were therefore healthier. I decided before even acquiring my own horse that I would keep “barefoot”, as it is typically called, any I might take on. Not long after I purchased Vegas I had his shoes removed.
It turns out that my new clique fully embraced barefoot hoof care and were learning how to do the trimming too. A clinic had been arranged for a certified practitioner of this technique to come to our ranch. He demonstrated and provided an introductory lecture on the topic complete with cadaver hooves on which we could practice. I participated with great interest, but utter ignorance as well. While I still had so much more to learn, my friend who organized the clinic agreed to do the regular trimming for me.
My entry into the equestrian world was during the tidal wave of “natural”. From natural horsemanship training methods to natural barefoot trimming to pasture living that aimed at mimicking the natural herd life of wild horses. I embraced it all as essential to my success with horses. Classical equestrian culture was still alive and well, but there was also a mixture of old and new as consideration of the horse’s subtle (psychological) nature was intended to more gently develop cooperative unity between horse and rider and enhance the efficiency of the horse’s utility for equestrian goals.
My learning curve was steep even after more than a year. My enthusiasm and love for the horse provided the energy to keep at it, but Vegas needed more than my desire for him to live up to my expectations. No matter how much love one has for the horse, their natural general tendencies and needs along with their particular tendencies and needs will be in tension, if not direct conflict with equestrian desires and expectations.
Our stay at the pastoral Red Tail Ranch, which occupied an area of Stanford property was not to last. Stanford evicted the lot of us for their own purposes. The boarders found other accommodations, scattering our small community between convenience of location, preferred amenities and availability of tenancy. Again with the help of my close ranch friends, Vegas and I moved with them like refugees one more freeway exit south.