[Phase #3] Into the Future

Trauma can’t be healed overnight. A day, a week, a month, none were enough to unwind the years of neglect that Pigeon had endured at the hands of his previous owner and rider. For months, Dylan worked one day at a time grasping for straws with progress. Isabella helped him keep Pigeon exercised and fit, Eva made sure he was cared for to the same level of any other horse at the equestrian center, but it was up to Dylan to help him overcome the past. The teen truly didn’t know if he was succeeding or making it worse some days, but, nevertheless, he pressed on. One day, one week, one month, and eventually one year at a time until he looked back and no longer saw the horse that had come off the trailer the first day so many months ago.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two,” Dylan told Eva, strapping on his helmet and scribbling his planned ride down on the “out and about” board by the exit of the barn. Anyone going out of the immediate area was required to write their departure time, expected return, who was going and with which horse(s), and which trail they’d be on. If anything happened and the rider didn’t have service or was knocked out, it made it much easier to locate them. Originally it was something he’d rolled his eyes at, but it only took losing his horse and having to walk back from ten miles out one time for him to value the tool. 

“Going down to the versatility trail again?” She asked, looking up from where she mixed feed. Pigeon’s ears perked at the sound of it hitting the buckets and he tugged lightly against the reins Dylan had looped over one arm so he could write. 

“Yea,” he nodded, capping the marker and returning it to the ledge. “I think making him use his brain to work through the obstacles really helps tire him out.” Dylan patted the pretty plumage marks on the splashed palomino stallion’s neck. “He’s less fussy out there, too. Pigeon’s never liked when we work in the ring and another horse comes around. It’s like he’s nervous I’ll just hand him off and get on the other horse instead.”

A heavy silence filled the aisle, broken only by the sound of Pigeon chewing on his bit impatiently. 

“Someone did do that to him, Dylan,” Eva reminded the teen softly. Their eyes met over the horse’s toned topline. In the year Dylan had been working with him, the teen had shot up in height. Now he looked like he actually fit the horse he was working with. They weren’t just a random kid and a rescue anymore, they were a pair. Partners, even.

“I know.”

“Alright,” Eva dusted her hands off on her pants and stepped out of the feed prep area, fussing over the saddle for a moment. “Be safe. We’re having taco casserole for dinner tonight.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she spoke the words, pulling a smile from the teen. “Dawson is cooking.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dylan chuckled. “I’ll make sure I’m back for it.” 

There was an ache in Dylan’s chest when he guided Pigeon off of the main property and towards the rolling foothills behind it. Eva had seemed like his mother for a moment and emotion roiled in him at the realization. 

“Let’s get out there,” he told Pigeon through a wave of determined blinking and a soft sniffle. “We’re burning daylight.” With a snort and a light tap of Dylan’s heels to Pigeon’s sides, the pair picked up a fluid canter that soon evolved into a wild gallop down the sprawling woodland path. Maybe for a few minutes they were both running from something, but Dylan realized quickly they were going too fast and steadied their pace. Unlike their first ride together, Pigeon was easy to communicate with now. Almost as soon as Dylan thought about slowing down and shifted his weight, Pigeon was dropping down to a canter. 

“Good boy,” he praised warmly, rubbing the crest of the horse’s neck. “That’s better, isn’t it? Little bit safer for us both, huh?” Pigeon snorted, twitching one ear back toward Dylan briefly as he spoke. It wasn’t long before they were reaching the end of the tree covered path and entering a wide field filled with a variety of obstacles both natural and manmade. Dylan slowed Pigeon to a walk, letting him catch his breath for a moment and deciding where to start.
“Let’s see,” he mused, “you don’t seem to have any issues with the stuff we could see in a ring..” Dylan’s eyes scanned the field, taking in his options. “Why don’t we work on that uneven bridge some more?” Pigeon had been primarily used in ringwork and light jumping and dressage from what Dylan had been told. He was used to cones and jump poles, jump fillers and directional flags, but natural obstacles like water, wooden bridges, and embankments had been a struggle for the horse. 

At first, they’d thought it might be residual from the infected tooth he’d had. Pigeon had arrived with a bad headshake that the vet suspected was being caused by a rotted tooth. Once the tooth was pulled and removed, the head shake disappeared, just like the vet had said it would. Cribbing and pacing were still issues that Pigeon had, but keeping the horse exercised mentally and physically was helping both issues. The cribbing had all but stopped now that Dylan was riding and training him six days a week, but the pacing was still an ongoing issue, especially first thing in the morning or when Dylan was leading other horses past Pigeon’s paddock. 

Giving the horse an affectionate pat at the thought of their progress, Dylan guided him toward a large flooded pit. It wasn’t deep, but many horses threw a fit at the idea of wading through it. Pigeon was one of them. Even ten yards out, he was already beginning to snort and try to angle his steps away from the water. 

“No way, Pigeon, we’re going to get your feet wet today.” Dylan was gentle, but firm in his aids to direct the horse back toward the water at a casual walk. It worked until the front of Pigeon’s leading hoof touched the edge of the water. The stallion stopped like they were about to salute a panel of dressage judges and refused to budge. No matter what Dylan tried, the horse stayed planted. The teen was getting ready to dismount and try to lead the horse in when Pigeon, ever the jokester, lowered his head like he was going to drink, then sprang forward nearly ten feet, launching them into the middle of the flooded pit. 

Loosing a string of expletives, Dylan scrambled to throw his arms around the horse’s neck to avoid tumbling off his back and into the muddy water. 

“What the hell was that?!” He snapped, giving the horse a displeased glare and grumbling under his breath. Pigeon tossed his head, peeling his lips back as if laughing at the teen’s dismay. “Ugh. I mean, at least you went in the water,” Dylan sighed. Even though he rolled his eyes while he did it, he rubbed the crest of the stallion’s neck in praise and let him stand still in the water for a moment before urging him to finish crossing the flooded pit. “Good job, Pige,” he praised again when they reached the other side. 

At the risk of ending up soaked with an evening chill settling in, Dylan walked Pigeon through the uneven log obstacle before turning him back toward the water again. The palomino pranced at the water’s edge for a moment, elongated tail swishing in annoyance, but, with a far less dramatic hop than the first time, Pigeon entered the water after just a few moments, briskly trotting through so he could be done with it. The antics drew laughter from the teen and earned the horse more praise before they moved on to other challenges for the rest of the time they had before it began getting dark. By the time the trees were beginning to cast long shadows around the edges of the field, both horse and rider were sweaty and thoroughly exhausted. 

“Alright, I think that’s good for today,” Dylan said, glancing at how dark the wooded path back to the farm had gotten. “Let’s get back before we can’t see anything.” 

The pair cooled off on the short walk back, enjoying the sounds of crickets and a lone bullfrog somewhere in the distance along the way. 

“How’d it go?” Isabella asked when they got back to the barn. 

Dylan filled her in on their progress while he untacked and groomed Pigeon, earning an approving nod from the trainer. 

“Sounds like you two are making some progress. I bet you’ll both sleep well tonight,” she teased. 

“I hope so. He’s still having some trouble getting through the night without getting fussy around 4 or 5am. Maybe I’ll finally get to sleep until my alarm.” Dylan understood that it would take time for Pigeon to fully overcome everything, but a year of pre-pre-dawn wakeups had been brutal on his sleep schedule. 

“If not, you can always take a nap after morning chores,” Isabella shrugged. She woke up around 5am naturally and couldn’t relate to the teen’s struggle. 

“Oh yea, like Eva will let me nap when work could be getting done.” 

Isabella shrugged at his sass and said goodnight, taking his tack with her since she passed the tack room on the way to the apartment over the barn. That left Dylan and Pigeon alone again. 

“What do you say, Pige? Ready for some dinner and bed?” Pigeon let out a tired huff of air that Dylan took as an agreement. With a soft laugh, Dylan lead the horse out to his turnout, dumped his dinner in the pan in the run-in, and tossed the treat ball the horse loved out into the paddock portion for when he was done and said goodnight. Their progress showed when Pigeon barely twitched an ear in Dylan’s direction as he left. 

An alarm going off at 6:30am woke Dylan the next morning and there wasn’t a single desperate whinny to accompany it.