On The Seventh Day He Rested

I have been riding too hard. I have been working too hard. It has worn out my body, but I can handle that pretty well. My body has not been feeling all that great for the past thirty years. The more serious problem is a worn out spirit. It is possible to be tired for so long that one forgets how to rest.

This Sunday morning when I went out to feed up I remembered how to rest. It always makes me cringe when a visitor to my pastures addresses the approaching herd with "I am sorry I do not have a treat for you."

My horses are not beggars, solely motivated by food and self interest. Most of them are simply coming over to visit and to be rubbed and scratched. Years ago, I spent at least an hour a day rubbing my wild horses and joining them in the herd. Now I spend nearly all of my time riding, training, and working on fencing, pasture care, etc.

This morning I went out into the herd as I used to. We talked and I rubbed horses down but did not catch or restrain a single one. Little Tree, who has never wanted me to touch her since I had to painfully treat a wound on her neck two years ago, was all over me. Mangus did not want me to leave. Ghost Dance even stood her ground when Standing Holy tried to drive her away from me. My BLM yearling, Makipiya Luta, was as affectionate as an old dog. Kiowa looked pained as I left. Black Shawl came over to reintroduce herself. Medicine Dog and Rattling Blanket Women followed me around with each step as if we were doing a round pen demonstration.

Spotted Elk, (Si Tanka), the son of Young Joseph and Black Shawl, came over to remind me that he is old enough to train to ride in the woods.

I came back home and did something that I have not done in years--went back to sleep.

(Si Tanka, shown above, is started under saddle and is for sale)