A lesson in fences and freedom from Royal the horse
As a corporate wife and mother of four, I felt fenced in by domestic duties yet bound to them by love. “Think of something fun to do,” a friend advised.
I took up riding and was paired with Royal, a tall chestnut raised at a fox-hunting club. Royal and I developed a routine: I’d lead him to a paddock; remove his halter; and let him kick, roll, and gallop. After 10 minutes, he’d trot over and stand while I reattached the halter.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onHow does one balance freedom and strictures, especially when bonds of affection are involved? With episodes of joy, perhaps, as one horse and rider find.
One cold day, Royal seemed particularly energized. I set him loose in the paddock, and he started galloping. But this time he jumped the fence. I watched in horror as he galloped across one field, jumped another fence, and another. He vanished into the woods.
I was devastated.
But then I saw movement. It was Royal, galloping toward me! He jumped one fence, then another, and finally the paddock fence. He trotted up to me, and lowered his head so I could reattach his halter.
I was laughing and sobbing with relief as I patted his neck. For Royal, and for me, I saw, fences and freedom had always been a matter of choice.
I was a corporate wife and a mother of four children. My life was confined to Scouts, music lessons, sports teams, orthodontists, PTA, church, keeping the budget, and so on and on. I felt fenced in and yet bound by love to my family duties. Some days I’d dream of freedom but always return lovingly to my tasks.
A neighbor, a wealthy widow who had raised six children, invited me to tea one afternoon. After listening sympathetically to my woes, she asked me a pointed question: “Elizabeth, what do you do each week for fun?” I was shocked. Fun? “I’m too busy for fun,” I said.
“Think of something fun to do every week,” she urged. I didn’t have to think.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onHow does one balance freedom and strictures, especially when bonds of affection are involved? With episodes of joy, perhaps, as one horse and rider find.
“I would love to ride horseback,” I said.
I found a riding stable about 45 minutes away. It was run by a charming Irishman full of flattery and encouragement. When I began lessons, he told me I was a natural. After I’d gained some ability, I was introduced to Royal.
I’d seen Royal hanging his magnificent head over his stall to be patted as I walked through the stable. He was tall – 17 hands at the withers (5 feet, 8 inches at the shoulder). He was a chestnut, a brilliant sorrel red, with a triangular white star on his forehead. He stood proudly, with his head up and his neck slightly arched – a steed. Royal had been raised at a fox-hunting club, galloping hard over fields and fences.
Riding Royal over jumps was a challenge. I was so far off the ground! I felt as if I were riding powerful coiled energy. We got along well, and I couldn’t wait for my weekly lesson. It lightened my spirit all week; my tasks seemed easier.
Several months passed, and one day the trainer told me that Royal was for sale. I bought him. The trainer began working with me to groom Royal for the show ring. The horse had to learn to jump fences in a controlled manner instead of flying over them as he would in an open field. We started with small poles and worked our way up to full jumps.
After two years and an ever-deepening relationship with my beloved horse, I moved with my family to a different city. I found an equestrian stable nearby and relocated Royal.
By that time, Royal and I had developed a routine: When I arrived at the stable, I would take him from his stall to a big paddock, where I’d remove his halter and let him run free. He would kick and roll and then take off at a gallop, head high, whinnying with his tail flying straight out behind him. This might go on for 10 minutes or so. When he was finished, he’d trot over to me and stand still while I put on the halter. We’d walk over to the stanchion for grooming and saddling up for my ride.
Soon after our move, I arrived at the stable on a particularly cold day. It was 15 degrees Fahrenheit. The cold seemed to energize Royal. He was holding his head so high I was practically swinging from his halter as I led him out of the barn. I struggled to hold him. We got to the big paddock, which was adjacent to a farm with fenced, rolling pastures, and I slipped off his halter and let him loose.
Royal started galloping around the paddock. But this time, as he neared the fence, he effortlessly flew over it. I watched in horrified astonishment as he galloped full-speed across the first field, jumped another fence into the next field, covered it in a few strides, jumped a third fence, and vanished into the woods.
I was devastated. How was I going to find him? How would I catch him if I did find him? And there went any hope of making a good first impression.
Then, as these dire helpless thoughts raced through my mind, I saw movement at the edge of the far woods. It was Royal, racing toward me! He jumped one fence, then another, crossing both fields at a full gallop. Finally, he jumped the paddock fence and trotted up to me, blowing and stamping. Then he lowered his head so I could reattach his halter.
I was laughing and sobbing with relief as I patted his neck. I was incredulous. Royal had found freedom, as I had. But he’d also found love and satisfaction within fences. For him and for me, I realized, fences and freedom had always been a matter of choice.
