Coquetta, continued ...
The horse dealer's place sat on a sandy rise above the Rio
Grande. We parked next to a mobile home and walked over to pipe
corrals where dozens of horses lounged. The wrangler said he'd
sold one of the mares. The other was old, 14-hands-high, and
almost black. She was no bigger than Boy Horse. Dozens of scars
marked her back. Her big ears framed a forehead marked with a
five-pointed star. She had a wide muzzle with drooping lower
lip. A leathery udder declared the many foals she had borne.
The wrangler declared that she was good with kids. "A
five-year-old rode her yesterday in a gymkhana." (A gymkhana
is an event where people show off an assortment of horse sports.)
He threw on a western saddle and bridle.
Valerie volunteered to try her first. As she swung into the
saddle, the mare beelined for a trash heap. She stepped in and
out of several five-gallon buckets, crow-hopped a few times and
then danced into a tangle of baling wire.
The wrangler shook his head and held the mare while Valerie
dismounted. Then he swung up onto the mare's back. Again she
danced into the trash heap. He wrestled with her, mouthing things
under his breath.
The mare wasn't breaking a sweat. She seemed in complete control
of herself and the wrangler, too. She reminded me of Boy
Horse fighting to get back to cringing Thoroughbred heaven.
"Let me try." I got on. She crow hopped a few times,
meaning that she was jumping straight up from all fours, like
a pogo stick. It's easy to stay on a crow hopping horse. Then
she twisted while she crow hopped. Normally this is a good way
to pitch someone into the dirt. However, she twisted so smoothly,
it felt like she was just giving me some fun. I petted her withers.
"What beautiful movement."
She paused, and her ears flicked back, not laid flat with
anger, but like she was listening for another compliment.
"Good girl," I said.
She made a liar out of me now, zigzagged about, her back gliding
level as a hockey puck on ice. So what if she was still misbehaving.
I caressed her withers. "You sure are smooth."
She halted and her ears swiveled back again. I caressed her
withers, lifted the reins and looked to the right. She moved
to the right, polite as can be. I walked her around and turned
her in tight circles. She even agreed to back up. Then I let
her move fast to show off her smooth gait again, only going in
the direction I wanted, not into the trash heap.
Valerie, Virginia and Diana Stender all declared that they
wanted to try her out. Now she behaved for all of them.
Finally I spoke up. "She's not exactly a beginner horse.
Do you girls want her anyhow?"
All of them, Diana and Dorothy included, chorused "Yes!"
Had we found the key to the mare's heart? Just in case we
were deluding ourselves, we made a deal. We took her home for
a $100 deposit and a one month trial. If we decided to keep her,
we would pay Merck Ranch another $450.
On the way home Dorothy persuaded us to name her Coquetta.
"It's because she responds to flattery."
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