Granite at twenty-one, Nancy, and Melissa, visiting from Florida.
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GraniteUnflappableI’ll never forget the time Granite won his first Beginner Level Horse Trial, because he was the only horse in our division who didn't spook at the moose that was hanging out in the trees by the river that flowed near the outdoor dressage arena.
Another instance occurred during the stadium jumping portion of a competition. We rounded the corner to the last fence and as we approached, three noisy chickens scurried into the arena and took cover under the rails of the last jump. A wave of panic washed over me; Granite, however, remained unfazed and sailed over that fence to end with a clear round. |
Granite had the classic look of an intelligent and engaged horse.
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How Granite Came into My Life
Have you ever had a day that seemed so ordinary you never imagined it would turn out to be significant?
I chuckle every time I think back to that day in the mid-1990s when a horse broker from Idaho Falls dropped three horses off at the Susie Q Ranch. I was managing the boarding operation at the time, teaching English-style riding lessons and training horses for entry-level eventing. The three new arrivals were Quarter Horses—of no interest to me. If someone wanted them, it would be for trail riding or general ranch work, not for jumping.
But what happened next changed my life forever.
When Melissa, an adult student of mine, saw the gray horse's beautiful, soft eye, she was immediately smitten. She wanted to know what I thought: Could he jump? Would I train him if she bought him? According to someone, a woman had been trying the horse and had started him over jumps, but she couldn't afford to continue the payments, so she returned him to the broker.
This gray horse was more refined than the rest, and I learned he was an Appendix Quarter Horse, which means he had Thoroughbred in his lineage. A local veterinarian examined him, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
As detailed in my book, In It for the Horses: A Journey from Whips to Whispers, we soon found out why the woman had given him back—and it had nothing to do her financial situation.
I chuckle every time I think back to that day in the mid-1990s when a horse broker from Idaho Falls dropped three horses off at the Susie Q Ranch. I was managing the boarding operation at the time, teaching English-style riding lessons and training horses for entry-level eventing. The three new arrivals were Quarter Horses—of no interest to me. If someone wanted them, it would be for trail riding or general ranch work, not for jumping.
But what happened next changed my life forever.
When Melissa, an adult student of mine, saw the gray horse's beautiful, soft eye, she was immediately smitten. She wanted to know what I thought: Could he jump? Would I train him if she bought him? According to someone, a woman had been trying the horse and had started him over jumps, but she couldn't afford to continue the payments, so she returned him to the broker.
This gray horse was more refined than the rest, and I learned he was an Appendix Quarter Horse, which means he had Thoroughbred in his lineage. A local veterinarian examined him, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
As detailed in my book, In It for the Horses: A Journey from Whips to Whispers, we soon found out why the woman had given him back—and it had nothing to do her financial situation.
Positive Reinforcement Training (R+) also called Clicker Training
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Granite stretches his neck by touching cones.
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Standing on a block , preparing to stretch.
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Always the lovable clown.
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"Bless his heart!"
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One of my most treasured memories with Granite came during a jumping clinic with a highly respected clinician—largely because of the unexpected result.
The exercise we were performing was a single grid, and the final fence was a small oxer, a jump characterized by its spread. The grid's cavalletti were arranged with such precise spacing that it became nearly unavoidable to reach the final jump at the ideal takeoff point. Granite was a superstar. Without a hint of resistance, he came in quietly every time and sailed over the jump. Once all the horses had sorted out maneuvering the cavalletti and found their rhythm, the clinician started raising the height of the oxer. She explained she would keep going up in small increments, and if at any time a rider felt the height was too much for their horse, they should pull out of the exercise. To everyone's surprise, Granite was still in the game when the oxer was set to three feet. He felt good, confident, and capable. The clinician and I agreed he could keep going. |
After that, every time Granite cleared the oxer, she clutched her chest and said, "Bless his heart!"
Granite and I finished right alongside the more accomplished horses, topping out at four feet—the highest either of us had ever jumped. A testament to his willing heart. |
Forgiveness
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. –Mark Twain |
Granite's huge, loving eyes drew Melissa in the first day she met him. I followed suit soon thereafter, and his heart held me close until the day I stood with him years later while he was euthanized because of melanoma.
By that time, I'd made amends for uncountable mistakes. Not the least was taking him for a treatment from a traveling team of chiropractors from Australia. New to the idea of getting bodywork for horses, I didn't realize there were differences in approaches within modalities. By trying a new practitioner, I hoped for a breakthrough in the persistent problem at the base of Granite's neck. That treatment was so brutal that I drove home in tears. Granite was sore for a week. Once again, Granite endured abuse because he had no choice. The choice to subject him to it was mine. By standing strong, unwavering in his trust, Granite showed me that mistakes are opportunities for learning—deserving of forgiveness, not punishment. He delivered a sobering dose of humility by forgiving me every step of the way. |
Forever HomeWhen Melissa moved to Florida, she kept her promise: Granite would have a forever home. She entrusted him to my care, knowing he was safe, knowing he was loved.
Years passed. And then the day came when his melanoma turned painful, spreading where we couldn't see it, stealing him from the inside. Standing with Granite that final afternoon—feeling the warmth of his body, the trust in his soft eye, knowing the vet was coming and that by nightfall only his spirit would remain—was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. He is buried at a friend's ranch. My favorite T-shirt covers his eye, shielding it from the dirt, keeping him safe one last time. Rarely a day goes by that I don't think of him. And when I do, I always smile. |
I met Granite in the mid-1990s, before everyone had digital cameras and smart phones. We cherish every photo we have of him.
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