It began out of guilt, or should I say, concern, that my horse was gaining weight. We had a dry summer, then suddenly a lot of rain and sunshine, which meant a lot of grass. I came home from a trip to find that Calvin had gone from trim to looking pregnant. So I knew I had a responsibility to exercise him.

The thing about starting to ride again after a season off is that you don’t just pick up where you stopped. Everything takes longer than it used to — even catching the horse and tacking up.

Under the best of conditions, Calvin would rather be out grazing than to come into the barn. He’s last to come in at night, and doesn’t mind that the other horses have left him. But, convincing him to voluntarily leave his buddies is a different thing entirely.

His favorite thing is to play “invisible,”  as in, “I’m busy eating grass so you can’t see me.”  We’ve worked a lot on on the “come to me” cue but when he’s out of practice, it requires me walking to within about 15 feet of him. Then he suddenly discovers me, eats about six more mouthfuls of grass, and just when I’m about to swing my lead rope to make him move, he trots to me, as if he’d been planning to do so all the time. (I sometimes think it’s his game, designed to help build my character.)

I pet him and make a fuss, then walk about 15 feet away from him toward the barn. Then I call him again. This time when he walks to me, I’ll give him a piece of carrot. And so it goes, heading toward the barn in 15-feet increments (though I only pay off with a carrot piece randomly).

Now it would seem to be more efficient for me to walk up to him, put on the halter and just lead him out of the pasture. But I don’t want to have to walk all the way out to him every time, so I continue to make it his responsibility to come to me. Or at least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

This philosophy backfires, though, when we get nearly to the gate.  When I walk what he considers out of range to influence his decision, he turns around and merrily trots all the way back down the hill to his buddies, leaving me to trudge after him. Of course, the exception is that on the days when I’m just bringing him in to fly spray him, he’s right with me. But mind reader that he is, he can tell when I have work planned.

So last week, we worked on the “come to me” cue, and I got plenty of exercise in the process. After coming into the barn, grooming, then saddling, we headed out to the arena to the “I’d-rather-not-be-mounted block.” I don’t know what happened in Calvin’s former life, but saddling and standing for mounting are two of his least favorite activities. Even after all the training we’ve done, he’s tense when mounting time comes. I respect his anxiety, but I hold to the standard that he has to stand like a statue until I give the signal to move off. So we work through all of that until he’s comfortable standing, and I have the mounting block perfectly positioned for me.

As you can imagine, that doesn’t leave much time for riding. That’s okay for now. The first week back isn’t the season for riding. It’s the season for “fixin’ to ride.”  You might think that for all the inconveniences of getting this horse (and myself) out of mothballs I’d give up on him. But riding isn’t just about riding. It’s about the relationship and the process. So for now,  we’re having fun trying to get our act together, and in the process, enjoying each other’s friendship. Nothing like munching carrots together while easing into a new season.