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Or I guess, God, that’s not true. He told me that first day out in the stables what he wants. For me to be out of my mind for him. And to freaking beg him?
I shake my head even as I scrape the pitchfork along the floor of the stall to separate Lulu’s clean bedding from the dirty. Then separate out the soiled hay. Lulu’s stall is one of the easiest. Maybe it’s because she was raised from a foal, but she always poops in one part of the stall and pees on the hay in another without getting her bedding too messed. I always leave hers for last because it’s a relative joy.
If only Lulu herself would warm up to me. But nope, while most of the other horses will let me approach them and I’ve even started grooming Pioneer, Bob, Paddyshack, and my favorite—Sugar—Lulu is still not a happy camper when I’m around.
She neighs and gets agitated, stepping back and forth, her eyes going crazy. Xavier says it’s something we need to work on and that she’s picking up on my anxiety, but I’m happy to just go groom one of the other nicer horses. Thankfully he hasn’t pressed the point.
And he has his hands full with Samson and the other animals.
He always spends a portion of his morning and evening with Holy Hellfire. He must have a special affection or relationship with the old ornery racehorse. Or rather, the racehorse who refused to race, I guess I should say. He puts ice packs on the aging horse’s hooves morning and night and feeds him a special grain. I’ll see him out there some evenings just standing and brushing his comb down the horse’s body long after the grooming should be done. If I wasn’t bound and determined to see Xavier for the bastard he is, I might almost think it was sweet. But nope, I’m far too clear-eyed for that.
Even if he did stop with the lasso around my waist after a couple of days. I swear, it’s like he’s extra assholish on purpose so then I’m brainwashed into thinking he’s being a good guy when he stops. Like how I felt all grateful after the dog kennel. And now with letting me off the lasso. When he pulls back and gives me back a modicum of freedom, he’s suddenly my knight in shining armor? Such BS.
The petty politics people used to play back in the corporate world have nothing on this guy. Though, I don’t know, I go back and forth from being sure he’s a master manipulator and then thinking he’s just making up everything as he goes along, completely on the fly.
Because when he’s working with the horses, he
seems like the most natural and guileless person on the planet.
Now that I’m not forced to watch him training Samson, I find myself wandering out to the front paddock between my other chores.
The progression has been sloooooooow, but Xavier has made headway with the beast. At first it was a lot of standing around staring at each other. Samson would bolt every so often until Xavier walked close, hemming the horse in until he finally stood still again. Commence another stare-off.
After a couple days, Samson would stop long enough for Xavier to come near enough to touch his muzzle. By day three, Xavier was able to scratch up his long nose and touch his neck.
Then I swear he spends the rest of the week just doing that.
Just touching the horse.
Oh, and whispering to him. Can’t forget that. The secret Xavier-horse language he’s developed.
He is a horse whisperer. Like, a real one. He whispers to the animals and they respond with their horse noises. So much so that after three weeks, the jacked up, crazy-eyed Samson I met the first day doesn’t look much like himself. I come out after cleaning Lulu’s stall and put my arms on the fence to watch Xavier with him.
For the past two days, Xavier’s been tossing a small blanket over Samson’s back, then pulling it off again. Then tossing it on. Pulling it off.
I thought at this point Xavier could get away with anything, but at first, Samson seemed quite spooked at having something on his back.
Now as I watch, I see where Xavier is going with the whole exercise. Not only is the blanket on Samson’s back, but now Xavier’s hefting a whole saddle on as well.
Samson paws the ground nervously but Xavier gets it on. Then he pauses and goes to the front of the horse, whispering to him and cuddling him, forehead to nose. I can only shake my head in wonder.
Oh yeah, Samson’s already under Xavier’s spell big time. He might be putting up some last token resistance, but he’s already a goner.
When Xavier pulls back, Samson stands perfectly still while Xavier buckles the saddle in place underneath his stomach. He’s had a rope harness around Samson’s head for about a week now, and he holds the reins loosely.
Then, straight away, Xavier lifts his foot into the stirrup and stands up, holding onto the sides of the saddle for balance. Samson shuffles forward, turning his head sharply to see what’s going on. Xavier’s forced to drop back to the ground.
I jolt forward, hands going to the fence as the horse turns around in a circle, neighing. Xavier starts talking to him, patting his long neck. Then he grabs the saddle, hikes his foot up into the stirrup and tries again.
My heart leaps into my throat as again Samson heads forward, dislodging Xavier. Xavier jumps back to the ground.
What the hell is he doing? Obviously the horse isn’t ready for this step.
But Xavier just walks the short distance, grabs the saddle and yet again, hikes himself up.
With predictable results.
Damn him, why does he always have to push? It’s a wild animal, for God’s sake. Does Xavier just have some screwed up need to conquer everything in his path?
