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With lessons ongoing in the indoor ring, I chose to take my prospect to the nearby covered arena. Zee was a gorgeous liver chestnut. He started later than other horses due to his owner’s preference to back her young stock late in their junior careers. While past the giraffe stage of training, he still sussed out all his capabilities. He was flighty compared to most of my string of pampered dressage prospects, but what he lacked in awareness, he made up for in capability beyond his training.

When I made it to the other arena, I spied Cole with one of his youngsters, a pretty bay mare with a bald face. I worried I was about to get all the judgement as Zee zigged and walked around the mounting block like a doofus.

“You aren’t a fucking racehorse,” I groaned. “And I don’t have anyone to give me a leg up.”

Cole passed at a brisk jog, eyeing me with a look of judgement that suggested he didn’t buy for a second I progressed on my groundwork with this horse. Finally, I swung onto Zee’s back. Zee trotted nervously until I established contact and reined him. He was a spring underneath me. He needed strong legs and contact to keep him on course. Touch reassured him. That was the difference between Cole’s style of riding and mine.

Cole passed at a lope, his mare pinning her ears at Zee. He thankfully ignored her. For all the fear of things Zee had, he could have given a flying fuck about other horses.

“Eh!” Cole chided the mare, pulling her into a trot and a bouncy half-pass to remind her she was working.

It wasn’t half bad. I didn’t know western riders could do such a thing. They went back to a slow lope.

We picked up a nice, quiet trot. Zee focused only on the upcoming bend in the rail. Cole came the opposite way. Western warm up rings were a certain kind of chaos I’d never understand. Hunter rings were bad news, but western riders seemed to ignore literally everything in a warm-up. Their horses were used to going all over the place.

“She’s in heat,” Cole passed. “I should have warned you.”

“Good to know,” I said, unfazed. Then, at a whisper, “So am I.”

Zee was a good boy. I’d never seen him get the least bit studdish. His stupid afraid-of-everything routine was just that—a dumb thing he did. He was a prima donna, but not into chatting up ladies yet.

Pushing Zee into the most beautiful canter, I basked in what a good horse felt like. It was heaven to float on a horse like Zee. I knew he would be an angel once he knew his job and was focused on advanced movements. Rarely did I feel so confident about a horse’s capability, but Zee was special. I bought him after a spring trial in Denmark. He’d come to me months later, still fresh as a daisy.

As I was lulled into feeling normal, Zee took off, then crow-hopped like he thought he was part Lipizzaner, and fart-bucked. I held on until the last bit and decided to part ways with my mount before he took off.

While I slid off, he stopped, turned, and nervously approached, ears focused on nothing more than a set of cones alongside the arena.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I groaned, dreading standing without looking a fool.

Annoyed about the cones, I grabbed one while still holding Zee’s reins. He backed up slightly, nostrils flaring. I set it down and waited until he approached. Still nervous, Zee booped it with his nose. When it didn’t fly out to eat him, he relaxed. He champed at the bit, softening.

“Good boy,” I gave him all the love for acting more sensibly. “Come on.”

I dragged a cone with us to the mounting block. Zee side-eyed the terrifying object the entire time. I figured if he would be an idiot, he’d have to work. I plopped the cone near the block—a good 4 feet apart away and in his line of vision. Then, I brought him through. Terrified, Zee backed away the first, second, and third times. The fourth time, he stood quietly, nosing the cone while I mounted. I showered him once more with all the praise and we walked on.

“There. I told you that you’d do it,” Cole encouraged. “That was a hell of a spook. For a minute, I thought he was just fresh.”

“He’s that, too,” I said.

Leaving a good distance between us, Cole tried keeping step with Zee, picking up a jog with his mare.

“He’s a gentleman in many ways,” I said. “But he’s terrified of napkins, plastic bags, and his own shadow. I just wasn’t having it.”

“That’s good, though. I would have been off on my ass. He got really high.”

“He does airs above the ground. He’s big into classical dressage, obviously,” I joked.

“Beautiful mover, though.”

“Beautiful mover, nothing in his brain.” I patted Zee’s shoulder. “You’re still out here? It’s late for you?”

Cole shrugged. “I went in late this morning because I took Piper to a checkup. Her mom picked her up. They’re shopping in Arlington Heights for a dress for a dance.”

“Oh, interesting,” I said.

“So, I’m free after this?”

I looked down from my odd vantage on the house-sized horse. “Oh, really? Are you going to start this time?”