A Girl and a Horse, Kindred Spirits?

Picture an eight-year-old girl, on a horse, bareback for the first time. No reins, the girl's dad had been leading him, until the horse decided otherwise. At a full gallop, then leaping over a barbed wire fence. That was pretty much how Smokey and I met.

My dad decided to buy him for me. We only had to go next door to get him and bring him home. I wanted to ride him home, so dad picked me up and set me on his back. It was wonderful. He was beautiful. And he was mine! Then he broke away from Dad. He was huge. He was powerful. And I had no way to control him! But, the fear only lasted a second. And I realized he was not trying to lose me.

He was actually being careful. Like he was trying to teach me to stay on. He veered toward the fence a couple of times. Trying to prepare me. Then he went over it. He slowed to a trot and carried me to the back door of our house. That was the beginning of one of the best friendships of my life.

I lived on the edge of a small town in northern Wisconsin. And it was 1970. There was not much for an eight year old to do. Earlier that year my folks had gotten me a Collie. I was not too original, I named her Lassie. When we brought Smokey home, they hit it off immediately. The three of us became inseparable.

I was a country girl in every aspect. We heated with wood in the winter and I helped gather it. I taught Smokey to pull a sled so we could move more wood at one time. He loved helping and he loved his carrot or bread rewards. Yes, I said bread. He loved bread. He would escape from the field, come up to the house and if no one stopped him, come right in the back door to get bread. A horse in the kitchen is sure something to see! And something that got me into trouble more than once!

I loved to show off my saddle and when I would give friends rides, I always used it for their safety, but, after my first ride, I realized I didn't really like to use it. So I rarely did. When I got him, he was not trained very well. He never did get the hang of neck reining. I always had to plow rein him. The difference being; neck is like you see the cowboys do on movies, pull the reins together in one hand and steer' by pushing them against the side of the horse's neck. While plow is holding the reins separate, one in each hand and literally pulling the horses head in the direction you wish to go. I didn't like that, so I taught him to go where I wanted with knee pressure. We could go almost anywhere with no reins or saddle. If I was taking him toward town, I would always use reins for both of our safety.

I lived about a half-mile from the edge of town. There was a grocery store, car dealership, motel and Laundromat. Outside the Laundromat was a Sun Drop pop machine. A dime a bottle, with a long door that opened and you pulled out the bottle you wanted. We went there one day because I wanted a pop. Smokey seemed kind of thirsty, so I went to pour some into my hand for him and he grabbed the bottle with his lips and teeth. Right at the end where the rings were to hold the cap on. And he tipped it up and drank the whole thing. Okay. It was only a sip for a horse, but it was my whole pop. There were some people there doing their laundry. They saw him and thought I had taught him that. So they asked if they could buy him one to see if he would do it again. Which he happily did. Many, many bottles over the next 10 years. His favorite was red cream soda. If he wasn't thirsty he could turn his nose up to any other flavor. Not red cream. We entertained many people at that Laundromat. And all it ever cost me was a dime.

The summer before I started 7th grade, I started to play the saxophone. If you have ever experienced a kid learning to play an instrument, then you can appreciate my parents suggestion that I practice in the woods. I would go hop on Smokey's back, and let him follow the trails as he wanted. He was a very good audience. He never complained when I hit a bad note. Or played something over and over until I knew it by heart. I thank him for being the first 7th grader to play in our 8th-grade jazz band. He seemed to like to hear me play, so sometimes I would practice longer, just for him.

I got him when I was eight. He was the only horse I have ever owned. He died when I was 20. I dug the hole to bury him. By hand. And wouldn't let anyone else help me. He had done so much for me, it was the last thing I would ever be able to do for him.

That was 26 years ago. I still miss him. I live in Michigan now. The winters aren't as bad, but there is definitely still winter. And a winter will never go by without memories of spending time with him in the barn. I would go every day. Sometimes to clean his stall. Everyday to feed and water him. And sometimes just to visit. And I never left without giving him a kiss on the cheek. I guess that is how he learned when I was leaving. Usually, he would rub his head against me. Sort of a hug. But, there were times when he didn't want me to go right then. And he would put his hoof on top of my foot and apply just enough pressure, that if I really wanted to leave, I would have to do so without my foot. His way of saying, "Please stay". He was my best friend. He heard about every fight with my parents, all my accomplishments, every problem in school, my first boyfriend, everything.

You ask if a girl and a horse can be kindred spirits?  Most assuredly! Smokey, Lassie and I were three kindred spirits. We didn't speak each others language. We didn't need to. Our spirits knew. And our hearts did the communicating. I will always miss my two best friends.