April 1, 2018. I’m dating these posts because I’m a little behind, and it’s been a journey. Over the last three weeks I’ve been heading down to the barn to ride Bizzy at the walk. She’s been very up when we bring out into the ring, and broncing on the lunge line. When we would walk, at first, Lauren would lead her with me on her back, like a pony ride.

One day she was so up, and it was so windy, we didn’t ride her at all, which is so unusual for us. Lauren lunged her, and then I lunged her, and then we took her inside and groomed her and discussed emergency dismounts. Why was that on our minds? Because the week before Lauren had hopped down mid-bronc back to the gate in the middle of what had been a good-ish ride.

So over the last few weeks, when I’ve had a couple of walks on her that went well, and where Lauren left us to walk on our own, it felt like a breakthrough. But it wasn’t the real breakthrough we were looking for, as it felt tentative. I was aware of her ears constantly. She was looking for excuses constantly. Pricking her ears forward at anything. “Come on, Bizzy,” I would think as I drew her back to me, her ear flicking back or just flopping down as indication she was listening again. One of the times recently, when Lauren was still walking beside her, she tried nipping at her to get a rise out of her, to get an excuse to flip upward.

It was like that the whole time. Each time there would be a spook or a scoot; a few times I felt what it was like to get air between my seat and the saddle. But each time I would be centered, and after that initial adrenaline-inducing surge, she wouldn’t really do that much – and we would live to ride another day.

That was our winter into spring. Snow squalls, huge winds, nervy horse, wondering if it would get better, when it would get better, would we ever trust it and trust her.