A sigh escaped her as Ingrid placed the saddle on the back of the living room chair for the second night. Still too keyed up to go to bed, it seemed the perfect time to order the black saddle a proper nameplate. And maybe if her name, Ingrid Crane, were on it, the saddle would feel more like it was really hers.  Turning on her computer Ingrid went straight to her favorite online saddle shop’s saddle plate page and began her order. Italic or Roman typeface? Ingrid causally walked over to the saddle to examine the cantle. For the first time she noticed two very tiny nail holes right where a nameplate would go. Quickly she tilted the saddle directly under the bright table light; sure enough there was also the smallest tracing of a long rectangular impression showing where a nameplate had been. Who would put a nameplate on a brand new saddle - yet never use it? 

As she was getting ready to shut off the computer Ingrid noticed that she had an email from Tui with a subject line, “So That You Know”. An unsettling feeling began to grow, but Ingrid told herself the email was probably work-related, and okay to read later. After all, tomorrow was Saturday, and an entire morning to devote to Cissy at the stable. Quickly, before she could change her mind, Ingrid turned off the computer. She stood up to head for bed catching sight of Smokey quickly tip-toeing along the far wall to give the black saddle the widest berth possible while heading toward his customary sleeping spot at the foot of her bed. 

And again that second night she started out sleeping well, only to have her sleep dissolve into fretful, uneasy wisps of dreams. Dreams in which a dark haired woman and an indistinct but very fleet horse galloped smoothly and swiftly along wild trails far, far into distant hills.  But as beautiful as the scene was, there was an over all feeling of urgency, as if fleeing time itself was the necessity. Hurry, hurry - the dream seemed to imply. But the alarm buzzer signaling a Saturday morning trip to the stables quickly exorcised the odd dream. Ingrid hit the alarm stop button with more determination than if it had been a mere workday, and promptly headed to the kitchen for morning coffee. But the odd feeling that she must hurry to the barn, that time was of the essence, wouldn’t completely let go. As she grabbed a coffee mug off a hook, a phrase from the dream, two words, fluttered back into her head, “Wir müssen - we must”. It was German. Ingrid was surprised she remembered its meaning from high school German, “Yes, yes we must,” she whispered out loud while gazing at the saddle through the kitchen doorway, but to whom she was speaking she did not know. She shook her head. The smooth, effortless way the dream rider and horse team had galloped along the trails was fantastic inspiration, nothing more.  

Yet Ingrid’s brow furrowed as she watched Smokey once again tiptoe quickly and cautiously past the saddle on his way to the kitchen for breakfast.

She was in enough of a rush to get out of the apartment and head to the barn, that it wasn’t until Ingrid was on the road that she remembered Tui’s email from the night before. Oh well, she’d have to read it later. No need to spoil a Saturday morning with work email anyway.

 At the barn Ingrid pulled the black saddle out of her car, smoothing the peach colored towel across the saddle for what would be one of the last times, as she’d ordered a saddle cover while ordering the name plate the night before. Standing with the saddle in her arms it still didn’t really feel like hers, more like it was borrowed. Yet hopefully that would change with her nameplate on it, along with the initialed saddle cover. At least it would look like her saddle.    

Leaving the parking lot and gazing around her, Ingrid saw a beautiful autumn morning, chock full of clear Southern California sunshine. Energizing and perfect for outdoor enjoyments like trail riding. So perhaps imbued by the enticingly calm beauty of the morning, her recent unprecedentedly successful rides on Cissy in the riding ring with the black saddle, or something else entirely, Ingrid surprised both herself and several of her barn-mates by accepting their open invitation to join them on their regular Saturday morning trail ride.

It had been months since she had even tried to try to get Cissy through the dry creek bed crossing after several frustrating and humiliating failed attempts. Cissy had reigned as queen in her refusals to traverse completely down the first small hill and cross the rocky creek bed below, a spot which signaled the start of miles of open trails. She had never been able to get Cissy through there. Not a difficult feat for a horse, especially one as athletic as Cissy, but one that had caused Ingrid to give up hope of ever riding the trails with Cissy until this day.

Cissy stood serenely in the cross ties, while Ingrid rushed through brushing and saddling making sure she’d leave on time with the group of trail riders. Taking advantage of Cissy’s herd-instinct to follow along with the other horses was the best chance she had in getting Cissy to make the crossing and head out. But the inspired feeling of the dream was fading as Ingrid looked down at her shaking hands clutching the reins while she mounted and settled in the black saddle. All the other riders were past witnesses of her previous botched attempts to go out on the trail. Some had been sympathetic and helpful, others annoyed, even scornful. Yet Ingrid felt an urgent drive to go out on the trails, much more than she ever felt before. And now with the black saddle she had the best chance than ever before. “We must go”, she leaned down and whispered to Cissy’s left ear, but even to Ingrid’s own ears there was a grave lack of force in her tone.

It was a group of twelve riders; Ingrid counted as she and Cissy walked up to join them. She and Cissy made an unlucky thirteen. But the numbers didn’t matter to the horses who were interested in sizing up newcomer Cissy, as they restlessly waited to be out on the trails. At least Cissy behaved well in groups, and obediently allowed herself to be placed near the back of the lineup and between two placid horse and experienced rider pairs who’d set a good example. Ingrid smiled much more brightly than she felt as the group leader gave her a big thumbs-up and the group headed away from the barn and off toward the trails. 

For the first few hundred yards all went well. Cissy seemed to enjoy her entourage, happy to be out for a royal stroll on a lovely morn. But this came to a halt soon after the flat gravel driveway gave way to a dirt trail that began the descent toward the dry creek-bed. Just below the top of the hill Cissy stopped moving forward and began bobbing and shaking her head, signaling that things were not to her liking. Then she started fidgeting and dancing sideways, a clear “no” in equine body language, which soon devolved into tidy 180 degree spins leaving her facing backwards towards the way they’d just come. Soon would come the dainty rears that grew in size until Ingrid gave up in fear. All this was déjà vu for Ingrid, following the same pattern as in every previous attempt. And again, just as before, Ingrid sat inert, hunched lump-like in the saddle.

“Don’t just sit there Ingrid, turn her around and get after her. You have to make her go. She’s pulling the strings here, not you”, shouted someone from up ahead of the line. Everyone was waiting impatiently for her. They wanted to go on out to their ride, and she was holding them up simply because she couldn’t make her horse obey forward and go down an easy trail. Once again, they were all watching her fail.  

Ingrid lost count of the times she half-heartedly pulled the reins from one side, then the other, attempting to get Cissy to at least stop turning in circles and stand facing toward the trails instead of the barn, but with failure after failure, it was obvious Cissy was winning again. Next would come her even more intimidating rears at which point Ingrid always admitted defeat, and dismounted to lead Cissy back to the barn, while everyone else headed out for the trail ride. 

“Ingrid”, came the patient voice of the older rider behind her, “If you make Cissy go out, even once, it will be easier to make her do it the next time. She’s just got you big-time buffaloed. Tell her she can’t say no – that she must go.” Then more softly, so only Ingrid could hear, “She’s not afraid, Ingrid you are, to the point you are not even trying.”  And he was right, Ingrid knew, but still she could only sit immobile on the black saddle while Cissy misbehaved underneath them both. History was humiliatingly repeating itself.

The other riders and horses were growing antsy, and it was inevitable after a few minutes, they headed on out without her. Just before he left, the older rider tipped his cowboy hat and said, “Think on it Ingrid, you have to at least make an effort to ride your horse.”

She knew he was right. But she had just sat there, immobile. Even in the black saddle, she’d become frozen while reliving all her earlier failures. This time it galled her more than before. Ashamed and defeated, Ingrid dismounted and began the walk back to the barn, leading a sassy Cissy. Ingrid sensed an almost palpable feeling of disappointment around her, as if she had acutely disappointed someone beside herself. A feeling that hit with an extra pang as she looked over her shoulder to see the group already well along trails that looked extra scenic on such a lovely day

***