Easier Than Fighting Rocky: How Horses Carried an Autistic Mind into the World of Emotion and Compassion

By Duke Cole DVM

This story is about how on a hope a mother gets a horse for a young man with autism. Drawn into the emotional nature of horses, a life changing bond forms between this young man and both the best and the worst horse he could learn from. The stubborn and defiant will of Rocky challenges him to understand the body language through which horses communicate their emotions. As these two minds learn from their struggle together, competing on who will be the leader on the trail, an autistic mind experiences a revolutionary change in which he discovers he can read the body language and learn how to understand the emotional nature of this majestic creature. Using information that he could not previously see, he quickly grows into an excelling rider exploring nature with this horse that constantly challenges him for position as leader. Sadly, Rocky learns as much from this young man as he learns from Rocky. After a year, Rocky is no longer safe to ride, and this young man must give up the bond he has created.

Heartbroken, he searches for a new horse with all the good but none of the bad of the first. He finds this horse as he discovers a path to veterinary school and continues his discovery of the emotions communicated through body language, but not just those of horses but of the people around him. Struggling to understand the nuances of communication used by the students at his community college, the struggle to connect with others continues at a university as his young horse learns and grows from the adventures they experience together.

Through an ambition to learn the emotions that governed Rocky, an autistic mind learns how to see the passion, the desires, the fears, the unwillingness to stop fighting one another and through it, learns to see himself. The self-discovery catalyzes revolutionary changes that carry him through struggles, injuries, rejection, heartbreaks, disappointments, loneliness, through the exceedingly difficult accomplishment of gaining entry into a veterinary college and into a world of emotion and compassion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665547260

Duke Cole DVM

Duke Cole struggled socially due to his autism. He had a questionable future ahead of him until he met Rocky, a horse. Duke's transformation began as communication between him and Rocky progressed. He had to understand his horse if he was going to be able to explore the trails. Duke earned his Bachelor of Science degree in Animal Science from California State Polytechnic University in Pomona, CA, in 2016, and in 2021, he earned his Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree from Midwestern University in Glendale, AZ. The area of veterinary medicine that he finds the most fulfilling is working with clients to diagnose their beloved pet's ailments and determine an effective therapy, particularly in the areas of Internal Medicine and Dentistry. Personally, he is a calm and steady person who values routine. He appreciates the riches of life that come through visiting the zoo animals of Arizona, playing music that catches his ear on his piano, the outdoor sports that Arizona offers, riding his thoroughbred/quarter-horse, No Name, and his well-trained feline, Confidential.

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© 2021 Duke Cole, DVM. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Published by AuthorHouse  01/24/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4727-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4725-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4726-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021925181

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expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Horses and Autism

The Lesson

The First Horses

The First Trail Ride

What Did We Get Ourselves Into?

What Did We Get Ourselves into, Again?

Training Rocky and Myself

Rocky Relents

The Lone Ride

Bridges to Cross

A Third Horse Joins the Herd

Reading Faces

Feelings to be Shown

The First Speech

The Second Speech

The Party

The Impromptu

Summer Riding

Rocky’s Training Resumes

New Adventures

Rocky

The Time After Rocky

The Search

The Search Farther

A New Season

What to do with Feelings

A Consultation

Question 150

Orientation

Surgery

A New College: Cal Poly Pomona

Cal Poly: A Few Exceptions

Cal Poly: Confrontations

Cal Poly: Interacting with Others

Cal Poly: Attempting Humor

Cal Poly: Stepping Up

Cal Poly: The Last Quarter

The Animal Shelter

The Interviews

The Last Interview

Leaving for Texas

A Monday in Texas

A Tuesday in Texas

A Wednesday in Texas

A Thursday in Texas

A Friday in Texas

A Saturday in Texas

A Sunday Morning in Texas

A Second Monday in Texas

A Second Tuesday in Texas

Last Day in Texas

A New Future

The Longest Ride

Epilogue

About the Author

PROLOGUE

This story is about how on a hope, a mother gets a horse for a young man with autism. Drawn into the emotional nature of horses, a life changing bond forms between this young man and both the best and the worst horse he could learn from. The stubborn and defiant will of Rocky challenges him to understand the body language through which horses communicate their emotions. As these two minds learn from their struggle together, competing on who will be the leader on the trail, an autistic mind experiences a revolutionary change in which he discovers he can read the body language and learn how to understand the emotional nature of this majestic creature. Using information that he could not previously see, he quickly grows into an excelling rider exploring nature with this horse that constantly challenges him for position as leader. Sadly, Rocky learns as much from this young man as the young man learns from him. After a year, Rocky is no longer safe to ride, and this young man must give up the bond he has created.

Heartbroken, he searches for a new horse with all the good but none of the bad of the first. He finds this horse as he discovers a path to veterinary school and that of a veterinarian and continues his discovery of the emotions communicated through body language, but not just those of horses but of the people around him. Struggling to understand the nuances of communication used by the students at his community college, the struggle to connect with others continues at a university as his young horse learns and grows from the adventures they experience together.

Through an ambition to learn the emotions that governed Rocky, an autistic mind learns how to see the passion, the desires, the fears, the unwillingness to stop fighting in another and through it, learns to see himself. The self-discovery catalyzes revolutionary changes that carry him through struggles, injuries, rejections, heartbreaks, disappointments, loneliness, through the exceedingly difficult accomplishment of gaining entry into a veterinary college, and into a world of emotion and compassion.

HORSES AND AUTISM

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My coworker told me about this non-profit and how they offer rides for children with autism and other disabilities. I think you will have a lot of fun volunteering here.

I don’t know, Mom, looking through the passenger’s side window on the other side a white fence and two horses grazing in a green pasture.

The car passes from the gravel driveway onto grass; the rocking gives way to smoothness before it stops. Stepping out looking over the low-cut hedges to the lawn and the arena beyond, Oh wow! I’m so excited! I haven’t been around horses like this since I had mine. You’ll love this, Duke!

Scanning the arena fence, several horses stand tied to a railing anchored in front. Their backs equal in height to my chin make plain their size and strength, as my mind considers, I might learn something through observing children with autism that could help me understand my own autism. My eyes become fixed on the closest horse as I follow Mom as she approaches a woman.

Staring at the short distance to the horse standing tied to the thick railing clearly intended for the purpose, the animal’s size does not let my attention drift as my eyes fix onto the contours of its strong muscles showing from underneath the short brown fur coat. My eyes follow its muscular form forward ending on the horse’s large brown eye. The eye glances to me, holds for several moments, and then looks elsewhere.

Watching this animal, The horse isn’t concerned with me. If she isn’t concerned with me, perhaps I shouldn’t be scared of her either. Looking back to Mom, I overhear her conversation with the program’s owner ending as a handful of parents arrive with their children, and I begin observing the children closely.

Of the children who appear to have autism, some are clearly excited and eager to ride while others appear to be somewhere else in their minds or distressed and resisting their parents’ hands that try to hold them still or move them closer to the horses.

How the horses can help these children, I cannot hypothesize.

However, the remaining children appear to have cerebral palsy and other conditions with motor impairment. For these children a hypothesis is forth coming, these children’s efforts to keep balance on the horses’ backs will stimulate improvement in motor control.

Mom instructs me on how to saddle the horse still standing unconcerned and having learned I move on to saddling the other horses lined up at the railing, and the children are placed upon the horses’ backs.

The height, some six feet from the ground, is concerning until the horses begin to walk, and the children begin to sway back and forth. Some smile and some do not, but all try to maintain balance. The rocking of the horses’ backs prompting them to exercise and control their leg and back muscles in a fun and stimulating environment. The excited children who appear to have autism are smiling. The distressed and distant children who appear to have autism grow relaxed until most have smiles that can be seen. Not one child shows signs of distress, and not one child is in need of being caught by those walking beside them as the experience ends.

The experience of being near the horses is enjoyable enough that we return for a second time. This one follows as the one before, but this time when asked, mom eagerly rides a horse holding onto a child sitting in front her not able to maintain balance on his own. The progression of horses and children ends, and I make a comment that riding looks like fun.

THE LESSON

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So little experience with horses, I feel stressed and nervous as my outreached hand pulls me upward as I lift myself up onto the horse’s back. I can feel my legs gently pushed apart as the horse beneath me takes a breath. A modest wind blows from the two wide nostrils, my legs falling closer together for several moments until the next breath.

The owner of the program tells me to squeeze my legs together, and the horse surges into motion. Her back moves up and down slamming into me through the saddle as harsh as repeated speed bumps. Looking past her ears out in front of me at the end of her long neck, I see the path she intends to follow around the perimeter of the arena, and I lose concern about where she is going. My attention shifts to my legs in the stirrups and how to counter this pounding that is beginning to hurt.

Experimenting with my leg muscles, I extend my legs as her back surges upward.

Pound. But, not as harshly as before.

Her back falling away beneath me as she moves through her stride, I let myself fall, but before I can react, her back rises along with the saddle slamming into me throwing me upward before I fall hard onto the saddle. Feeling a growing soreness, I can do this, but it will take a lot of practice.

Look at those hands! They’re so gentle!

Hearing my instructor, I look downward. My hands grip the reins loosely as the mare trots around the arena, thinking, Why wouldn’t they be? I don’t need to tell the horse to change direction so of course I am not pulling on the reins.

The short lesson absent any significant instruction ends, and I dismount.

You have such smooth hands! Her volume so forceful I halt. You’re our next jumper!

Images of jumping competitions on television flash through my mind as I look towards the arena and three riders practicing jumping obstacles.

Stop it Linda, another woman speaks. You’re going to scare him away.

THE FIRST HORSES

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Dad driving and Mom up front, I look out the rear window at the mountains in the distance asking myself, What is it like buying a horse?

Patty, how do you know you if this horse is the right one for us?

I had my horses when you met me, and it will be so much more convenient to have horses at the stable near home than drive all the way to that place to ride. Cheaper too if we ride every day instead of Duke going for lessons.

Yeah, but that was thirty years ago when you last really rode a horse. You sold all of them when you went to Oklahoma for medical school.

Technology changes but horses do not. I know what I’m doing.

On the long street lined with widely spaced homes on a flat and open landscape, the San Bernardino Mountains are visible far off in the distance. Up a short gravel driveway, around a broad gate, and across a grass covered yard there is a row of horse stalls lining the back fence. In one of these stalls is the horse whose picture was online, a red chestnut with a broad and striking white blaze rising from the tip of his nose and up across his forehead. The owner brings the horse out, and I feel small standing beside him.

Standing at the eight-o-clock position six feet back the angle highlights what is before me. The outline of his rear leg grows until it is overcome by a dominating thigh. This is a quarter horse standing before me. The outline draws my eyes forward following along his back to a large and slowly expanding chest that melds into a long and muscular neck. My scanning gaze ends at what controls all this muscle that leverages against bone, a large and broad head topped with two red furred ears swiveled back towards me but only a single brown eye visible from this side, turned toward his owner. Taking in the sight, this massive red chestnut coated creature with eyes that can see nearly behind itself, two independently swiveling ears topping its head, and a dominating muscular form, I know that this is not like buying a dog.

The owner speaks as she saddles the red horse, how Rocky was born in her backyard to her mare who coliced and died six weeks after he was born leaving him an orphan. Without his mother, Rocky was bottle fed within the house. So impressive Rocky’s form, she did not geld him at a young age. Instead, she waited until she bred him with one of her mares who unfortunately miscarried, and with Rocky already gelded, there was no second try.

The contrasting sight of Mom mounting Rocky’s back further makes clear his size. Around the modest backyard, she rides as Rocky responds with small bucks that rock her on top his back. Watching her struggle with Rocky’s defiance I think, He’s not completely cooperative, but Mom is experienced. She can handle him.

Has some behavioral problems, but he’s a really smooth horse. I think I like him.

Seeing that Rocky is being difficult, the owner offers to have her son ride him and demonstrate. The young eighteen-year-old mounts his horse. I see Rocky’s body stiffen clearly bothered by this young man now upon his back. Trying to understand what I see, I ask myself, Why is this horse so displeased with a boy who he has spent his whole life with from the time he was born in their backyard?

Rocky rocks his back throwing his rear legs up into the air a short height as the son stays balanced in the saddle.

Get that cigarette out of your mouth! His mother yells.

The son does not respond as he kicks Rocky’s enormous chest and pulls Rocky’s head to the side with the reins. Rocky shifts his weight onto his rear hooves raising both front hooves off the ground before stomping his weight into the ground.

You can’t ride that horse with a damn cigarette in your mouth! Now marching over to him.

From atop Rocky’s high back, the son continues to ignore his mother as she reaches up towards the cigarette far out of her reach.

Give it to me!

Pulling sharply on the reins, a hand lets go handing the cigarette downward.

Both hands returning to the reins, the struggle resumes. Rocky rocks onto his hindquarters, thighs bulging as they contract launching him and his rider forward. A sharp turn makes clear Rocky’s intention as he takes his rider towards the low overhanging roof of the shed. Rocky lowers his head as his ears rotate back and flatten. Rocky’s head will clear the roof line, but the son’s head will not! Seeing the battle waging and the looming danger, I’m going to see someone go to the medical examiner or the plastic surgeon! Rocky’s head passes well below the roofline as the son lowers his head and barely clears. Emerging from under the roofline, Rocky resumes bucking until the owner tells her son to get off his horse.

Discussing the merits of buying the horse, we look across to each other over the restaurant table. Dad prizes Rocky’s looks, his red chestnut color, and his strength. Mom expresses the value of the smoothness of gait that Rocky possesses as an asset for a rider which is known to me from my brief experience being bounced around on the mare a week earlier.

Listening to my parents discuss what they like about Rocky, I understand why they find his looks, strength, and gait appealing, but I am thinking that neither Mom nor the owner’s son was able ride Rocky. They just fought him. How can we have a horse that fights? I ask aloud.

Well, if I were Rocky, I would want to knock that kid off! It’s a bad environment there, and Rocky hates that kid.

Yeah, Dad adds. I just really disliked how that kid was smoking that cigarette while he was trying to ride that horse, but I also understand a little bit why he had such a bad attitude. He told me that there is nowhere to ride anymore. There used to be places they could ride to from the house, but it all got taken for new developments so there’s nowhere to go anymore.

I remember my horses acted up at times. It just took some discipline, and then it was back to having fun riding. It never posed a problem. We can fix him.

The three of us toast over dinner to buying Rocky as I think, I hope Mom knows what she is doing.

A week passes since Rocky has arrived having been trailered to his new home just a ten-minute drive from our own. The stable is very different from the home Rocky has known. Instead of a small back yard with a row of five stalls only three occupied, he now is in a stable home to dozens and dozens of horses. Many owned by individuals and a great many more owned by the stable, a popular tourist spot especially during the encroaching holidays.

Rocky is placed in a stall of his own open in the front, flanked by two desert beige painted concrete walls, topped with a roof for shade, and an open stretch out behind flanked with tubular fencing. From the front, Rocky can reach his head over a short wall to look down the double row of stalls each like his own and see the other horses. In the open back, he can look across an open area to where the rental horses’ stalls are located and to the business activity and the coming and going of its staff. Rocky finds the new environment stimulating, and as he did in his previous home, Rocky fights.

Mom immediately takes to riding Rocky attempting to discipline him using her knowledge from her memories. During her repeated attempts to ride Rocky over the ramp leading out of the stable and into a broad wash hundreds of yards across, Rocky resists, refusing to leave the stable.

Knowing she cannot afford to give up for it will only endorse such rebellious behavior, Mom allows Rocky to halt but not turn back. Periodically, she persists in encouraging Rocky forward not permitting him to turn back. She learned long ago that horses are creatures of habit with an excellent memory. Let a horse shy away from a task and he will remember.

A factor compounding the difficult situation is that Rocky’s resistance is aided by the stable environment. Tourists from all over the world come to rent horses that are led by their guides in small herds from a few horses to larger herds of more than fifteen. The congested area of the ramp leading over the berm and into the wash is no place to fight a horse.

To avoid an incident, Mom waits until the departing and arriving herds have cleared giving at least fifteen minutes of non-conflicting time in which she can persistently encourage Rocky forward. Stopping is met with repeated kicks against his sides while his turning away results in more kicking on that side of his chest accompanied by the pulling of the bit in his mouth drawing his head back towards the ramp. The purpose of all this pressure against Rocky’s body and mind is to make clear to Rocky that the battle only ends when he goes where he is told and that is forward.

Repeating again and again each time Rocky approaches the ramp, Mom persistently urges him forward and each time Rocky will eventually relent and be rewarded with the absence of pressure.

After two weeks, Mom finally succeeds, and both she and Rocky are rewarded with the view of the expansive wash covered in desert scrubs and on the far side of the wash, a rapidly ascending thousand-foot mountain that towers over the stable.

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Rocky at hitching post

Now my time to ride Rocky, I take the large step into the stirrup, and as though a wall were being ascended, I swing my other leg over his back. Rocky does not fight leaving the stable as he carries me out into the wash with Mom walking at my side.

A powerful vibration pulses through Rocky shaking my body vigorously!

A cottontail rabbit shoots out from under a bush darting across the trail, and

immediately, Rocky stops shaking as I look down at Mom, Rocky is scared of rabbits?

Looking back up, Horses are prey animals, so they spook easily. He will get used to the rabbits surprising him.

The deep sand that conceals Rocky’s hoofs with each step hardly seems to slow his pace, and gentle even pressured pulls of the reins are frequently needed to slow Rocky so Mom can keep up. Lacking Rocky’s strength, Mom soon tires from walking in the sand, and we trade places on Rocky’s back.

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Head shot of Rocky and Duke

A tiring hour passes as we reach the end of the wash, a barbed wire fence marking the border of the Indian Canyons Tribal land, and the three of us turn around and make the long walk through the sand back to the stable. Showing a different side to his personality, Rocky does not fight and is easy to ride as Mom informs me that she has found another horse to go look at and maybe we will soon be riding together.

Mom, Dad, and I walk amid the debris cluttering a backyard far too large to be tended to by the woman we follow. Among the many horses in the many horse stalls there are multiple stray dogs running about that have come to this woman for food and shelter. Rounding a long bare aluminum horse trailer, we see a round pen. Running, head tossing, and bucking with dust billowing, there is the young horse Mom has come to see. A white blanket of fur wraps the hindquarters of this Appaloosa the white blending into a light speckled brown through his chest. This young wild horse is no small animal. Already two and half years old, he is an inch taller than Rocky though more lightly muscled.

Mom and the woman speak to one another about the young energetic horse’s training and history. This horse has none except for multiple experiences as a halter horse in which he has won ribbons for his beauty and poise. Starting with nothing does not dampen Mom’s enthusiasm for this young horse for she once had a baby horse that knew nothing.

Born to her Appaloosa mare, Polly, Charlie was born strikingly different from his mother. Charlie lacked the characteristic spotting of the Appaloosa breed and was solid black. Charlie also lacked his mother’s energetic spirit. While Mom on numerous occasions described Polly as the most wonderful horse she had ever ridden excelling at rodeos as a barrel racer and poll bender to achieving success as an endurance horse, Charlie was a lazy horse that never had enough, oomph, for her. This young colorful and energetic horse before her is the young horse that she imagined training long ago. Excited over what she sees and imagines, she quickly decides to buy this young never ridden horse now named Apollo.

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Apollo

A few days later, the back door of the house opens and shuts loudly Dad yelling, Duke, you have to hear what happened down at the stable!

Concerned that Mom has gotten hurt during Apollo’s arrival, I rush to the back door.

Dad quickly describes Apollo’s arrival, how Apollo entered his stall and darted straight to the open back before spinning and charging back to the open gate there standing the owner of the stable. Dad’s hands shoot upward, and he yells, Whoa! imitating the stable owner. Apollo just stopped right in front of Casey when he saw those hands shoot up. Casey then turned to Mom and asked her, ‘Are these the horses you were planning on getting?’ Mom didn’t know what to say so she just said, ‘If you have perfect horses, then you don’t learn anything.’ She’s still down there now starting to train him, so you two can go riding together.

Hearing Dad describe Apollo’s arrival to the stable adds to my concern telling myself, Maybe Mom doesn’t know what she is doing?

I hope you two don’t get hurt. Mom was good with horses when I first met her, but I think your mom is getting in over her head with these two horses.

In my arms, I carry the saddle and the saddle blanket following Mom leading Apollo to the round pen. Setting the saddle and saddle blanket in the center of the round pen, I step out and watch with apprehension as Mom explains that saddling a horse for the first time is a delicate act that can frighten them.

Having earlier explained that as prey animals, horses have an innate tendency to be frightened by almost anything new. Slow and controlled exposure is key to avoid overwhelming them with so much emotional stimulation that their instinct to panic and flee takes control of them.

From outside the pipe fencing of the round pen, I watch her stand a few feet away from the side of Apollo’s neck, pick up the saddle blanket from beside the saddle, and slowly raise it.

Apollo, who until now has taken little interest in the objects lying on the ground beside him now stares at the saddle blanket intensely, his eyes wide! His body stiff, he looks away and then back at the blanket which at that moment Mom lowers. Tracking the saddle blanket’s movement, Apollo’s lowers his head continuing to track the blanket’s every move.

The exercise repeated again and again, I begin to see the dynamic between Mom’s movement of the saddle blanket and Apollo’s response. The mechanism of the exercise is an emotional one. The sight of a saddle blanket from a few feet away appears large and strange to a horse unfamiliar with the object. Maybe it is dangerous, a predator perhaps, a fear builds.

If the horse attempts to move away, the stimulation has been too great. On the next attempt the distance from the object must be more finely controlled to not overwhelm the horse, but with Apollo, he only looks away for an escape route before looking back at the saddle blanket to see it lower as he returns his eyes to it.

I can see Apollo’s concern and fear of danger fade with each repetition. In just a few minutes, Apollo relaxes concluding that a saddle blanket poses no threat.

With Apollo’s acceptance of the saddle blanket, Mom swings the saddle blanket onto Apollo’s back, and he merely looks back towards it touching it with his nose before swinging his head straight. Next comes the saddle, the cinch strap fastening around Apollo’s chest as he looks back at Mom with a calm curious expression.

Apollo’s eyes follow Mom as she approaches his hindquarters. His muscles twitch as she taps him gently with a whip. Encouraging him with a combination of clucks and taps to walk around the circular perimeter of the round pen, Apollo begins to become accustomed to the feel of the saddle on his back as he waddles side to side the saddle swaying the cinch strap loose around his chest. With each lap around the round pen, Apollo becomes increasing comfortable with the sensation of the saddle on his back stopping to relax several times. However, with each stop he is jolted from rest with a tap of the whip atop his tail.

With the new experience of having a saddle strapped to his back, Apollo walks back to the hitching post near the tack room where Mom removes the saddle and begins a new exercise, placing the bridle.

Looking at Apollo, I laugh quietly over his confused expression as Mom tries to pry open his mouth with her thumb while she attempts to push the bridle’s metal bit into his mouth. Not understanding and unwilling to cooperate, Apollo raises his head, his neck outreached, in an impressive display of his height. That is until he spots a carrot down low beside the bit. Lowering his head, his lips grasp the carrot, and the bit slides into his mouth along with the carrot. Repositioning the carrot to the back of his mouth where his molars can grind the carrot, Apollo feels the bit in its place over his tongue. His ears and the muscles around his eyes move about as he tries to understand the taste of carrot and copper. Distracted by the new sensation, the headstall of the bridle slides over his ears onto the top of his neck, and the head stall’s strap fastens under his chin. The carrot consumed, Apollo investigates the bit with his tongue flopping around in his open mouth revealing the bit resting in a toothless gap between his large incisors in the front and the massive row of molars in the back. His funny expression of curiosity is soon replaced with him looking to Mom’s hand wanting another carrot.

After the successful lesson, Mom and I speak to each other after Apollo is put away as we walk down the aisle of horse stalls towards our car. A painted horse of dominating white patches separated by dark red fur catches Mom’s attention, reaching out her hand to pet his nose. I see the horse’s muscles tighten, eyes fixed on her hand, ears rotated and flattened back, He doesn’t want you touching him.

It’s okay.

Nearly touching his nose, the red and white painted horse takes a step back, and

retracting her hand, taking a step back, How did you know?

His muscles tensed, and he laid his ears back when you reached out to him.

You’re better than I am. I didn’t even notice that.

A week now passed since we brought two new horses into our lives. Mom spends most of her time riding her new horse in the round pen making full use of its attributes as a training aid. The circular pen thirty feet in diameter is large enough for Apollo to maneuver but small enough that if he becomes wild, he is still confined preventing him from building up his momentum and throwing her off. Apollo’s lessons have been focused on learning how to follow basic directions starting with the signal to move forward, squeezing of his chest by her lower legs. This gentle pressing is annoying to Apollo, and he tries to remove himself from the irritation by moving forward and away exactly as the instruction intends. In only a few repetitions, Apollo learns the signal to walk forward.

I quickly learn that clear, concise, and most importantly consistent instruction is essential for a horse to learn new things. They do not know that a lesson has started or what that lesson is about. They need to first understand that a new lesson has begun and to start looking for new stimuli before experimenting with responses.

A pull to one side points Apollo’s nose in that direction, and once he is walking in that direction, the gentle pull stops. Mom repeats this consistently just a few times and Apollo has a suspicion as to what he is being told. Repeated a few times more, Apollo learns another piece of basic knowledge.

In another lesson, Mom teaches Apollo to stop by pulling back on the reins applying equal pressure on both sides of the bit, the signal to whoa. This however is more confusing to Apollo than the previous instructions.

Watching from the outside of the round pen, I see Apollo continue to walk forward as Mom pulls on the bit his expression of puzzlement escalating into distress. Wanting the pressure on his tongue to go away, he walks faster trying to move away from the discomfort as the pressure increases. Walking away not working, Apollo halts, and Mom immediately lets the reins go loose. Repeated a few more times, Apollo learns that the pressure from the bit goes away as soon as he stops moving.

A little discomfort, some moments of confusion, some moments of thinking, some moments of trying, some moments of evaluating what just happened, leads to Apollo learning and moving on to the next step in his training preparing him for the trail rides to come.

Rocky having learned everything Apollo is learning in the round pen many years before, I am the one having the lesson in the arena, but before I can ride Rocky into the arena, I see the eave of a tack room getting very close to my head. The image of the boy ducking as Rocky tried to knock him off flashes through my mind, Rocky is trying to do the same thing to me!

Yanking the left rein back, I kick Rocky’s massive chest on his right side trying to force him to turn away from the eave as I duck. The wood wall of the tack room is harsh as Rocky presses my leg against the tack room wall. Crouched against the saddle, I glance upward to see the eave is too high for my head to hit. Not in danger of decapitation, I relax and look downward, my eyes following the thick red main forward along its length to two erect ears rotated back fixed onto me.

Wow! This is my horse, and he’s a fighter!

Rocky walks past the edge of the tack room parting it from my leg following the bit turning him towards the arena gate.

Trial and error, a push here, a tug there, I instruct Rocky to walk, trot, and canter around the arena. With each press and pull, I evaluate Rocky’s response and learn how to interact with this mighty being. How tight of a squeeze leads to how much speed? How much of a pull to how quickly Rocky halts?

Rocky’s consistent responses to my consistent inputs facilitate our familiarization with one another. The more I feel Rocky respond, the more excited I become. Rocky’s muscular bulk underneath me, I feel a connection, a thrill, and his earlier fighting falls from thought.

THE FIRST TRAIL RIDE

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Taking the lead, I ride Rocky with Mom following on Apollo. Looking down past my boot towards the sand, I see Rocky’s hoof swing forward and sink deep into the sand disappearing beneath the surface of the wash. Rocky rips his hoof up from beneath the sand and plants forward it again sinking out of sight. Feeling Rocky’s back rock through the saddle, I see the sand pass by without feeling its tiring pull.

Looking back, Apollo a few strides behind is looking down at the sand watching it swallow his hoofs. Apollo’s head swings level, and I see his muscles contract pulling his hoofs above the sand as Mom gives him a firm kick followed by a tight squeeze.

Straightening myself in the saddle, I look down at Rocky’s two swiveling ears, one forward and one back, and think to myself, It’s amazing I don’t have to walk through this sand. Rocky’s ears rotate to the right as his neck tightens. He’s scared, flashes in my mind, a cottontail darts away, and I feel Rocky’s neck relax telling myself, He is getting used to the rabbits hiding underneath the bushes.

For twenty minutes we walk through the wash until we come to the Indian gate, and I hold Apollo’s reins as Mom takes care of our entry. From Rocky’s back, I look out across the broad yet slowly narrowing canyon thinking about the many hikes I have hiked before and how riding a horse is putting me in a familiar place with a different perspective.

Before Rocky, hiking up and down the strenuous trails along the base of the mountains soaring over Palm Springs required too much exertion for me to look around and appreciate the many aspects of nature and the terrain I struggled against. If I were hiking in the sand with my head barely high enough to see over the bushes, I would not be in the position to see the broad valley that narrows into the canyon as it melds into the low hills. With Rocky carrying me on his back sharing his strength, my mind is free to wander, to think.

Being on the eastern desert side of the San Jacinto Mountains, the streams created from snow melts flow down the mountainside and across the desert producing streambeds that cut deeply across the trails. Halting at the sight of the trail falling into the dry streambed, Rocky halts, and his stance stiffens as I squeeze his chest encouraging him forward. Rocky swings his body around and walks past Apollo maneuvering into position behind him.

Let me go first with Apollo. Then, you can follow after Rocky sees that it’s all right.

His chest gently squeezed, Apollo resists moving forward. Mom lightly kicks and squeezes again, and Apollo responds by taking a step back.

Rocky steps forward walking past Apollo and down the steep path into the streambed. Looking back over the powerful hindquarters that power Rocky up and out of the streambed, I see Mom on top of Apollo following right behind.

You were able to get Rocky going?

No. Rocky just went on when he saw Apollo refused to go.

That’s interesting.

A few minutes later, Rocky’s head out on his long neck peers over the trail as it plummets into the next streambed. Giving Rocky a firm kick, I expect him to walk forward having crossed the first, but Rocky spins around and walks past Apollo as I pull on the reins.

It’s okay. Maybe Apollo will go first this time now that he knows what to expect.

Encouraged by Mom’s legs squeezing his chest, Apollo walks forward and stops as he looks down into the streambed. Apollo quickly spins around and tries to walk back to Rocky, but Mom’s pull on the reins stops him.

Looking down at Rocky, I see a change in his expression, and Rocky walks forward.

Oww, Mom expresses as my legs plows into hers as Rocky brushes past Apollo.

Rocky’s forequarters drop down following the trail as I rock forward on his back and then rock back as Rocky trots up the opposing side with Apollo behind.

Did you tell Rocky to go that time?

No.

I guess Rocky has to be the leader then. He’s scared about the trail and doesn’t want to go. Apollo gets scared, too, but a lot of that is because he is young and just wants to follow Rocky. I think when Rocky thinks Apollo is going to go first that means Apollo is the leader, and Rocky wants to be the leader so he then goes first.

I don’t know. I’m just getting to know Rocky.

An hour we ride before turning back when Mom asks, Since we are going back the same way, do you think Rocky is going to stop at the same places?

I look down at Rocky and think about what he will do. Feeling a change, an increased energy in his step, I think he will go right through.

Well, we will get to see. If Rocky goes, Apollo will follow. That’s for sure.

Without the slightest hesitation Rocky, crosses the streambeds without the slightest pause Apollo eagerly following behind, and we return from our first ride excited for our second.

WHAT DID WE GET OURSELVES INTO?

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Examining a basic map that shows the many trails weaving through the Indian Canyons, we choose a trail to explore with our horses. Leading again on Rocky, I have an unobstructed view high above the desert shrubbery.

Four miles we ride on same trail as before that follows alongside a road that takes cars back to Palm Canyon, the main canyon filled with large palm trees lining a stream known from hiking in years past. Before reaching Palm Canyon the trail branches, and with a gentle lone tug on the left rein, I direct Rocky to the left into another canyon that we have never seen before.

Eagerly, we travel further into the unknown canyon that slowly begins to narrow, and with Rocky watching each step, I am free to look up and appreciate the vertical cliff faces rising far above and winding across our path concealing the view of the canyon ahead. The canyon walls closing in, what was once a canyon more than a hundred feet across is now merely forty feet. In front of us is a narrow trail rising from the sandy canyon floor onto a peninsula jutting forth through the center of the canyon that branches off on either side.

Whoa, accompanied by a pull on the reins, Rocky halts. Looking past his ears out on the end of his long neck only the first twenty feet of the trail is visible before it climbs out of sight disappearing around a bend. Hesitant to immediately begin climbing up into the unknown I turn Rocky around and have him stand beside Apollo, Let’s look at the map again.

We are clearly at the trailhead marked Fern Canyon on the map. The map is color coded mild, moderate, and strenuous showing the first part of the trail ahead colored red. Looking at the rising trail ahead, this is the part of the trail visible to us.

I didn’t do riding like this in Rolling Hills, but it doesn’t look like it’s steep for very far. It doesn’t look that bad from here either.

You’re the more experienced rider. The go-no-go decision rests with you.

I trust you. You lead, Rocky needs to go first so Apollo will follow.

At least we can turn around if it gets bad, I tell myself as I point Rocky’s nose back towards the rising trail. Climbing around the first turn I relax seeing that the trail eases, and the first hundred feet is easily ascended.

Climbing upward we look to either side of the trail and see the splitting canyon deepen as we climb. The experience is incredible as each step Rocky takes lifts me higher and higher, until the fun ends.

Whoa, I pull on the reins and Rocky halts. Distracted by the sight of the bushes on the canyon floor below, I missed sight of the treacherous trail on which Rocky now stands. Looking back to Mom and Apollo, I think we should turn around.

We have to keep going. Apollo can’t turn around here.

The sight of Apollo standing right behind Rocky makes clear just how narrow the trail has become as he looks off to the side and down. Seeing the drop next to him, Apollo takes a step closer to Rocky bumping into his hindquarters.

Okay, gently squeezing Rocky’s chest, and he resumes climbing.

The sound of the horses’ hooves crunching against the rocks lining the trail sounds as we continue climbing back and forth, the trail weaving upward.

This is too much of a ride for such an inexperienced rider as myself, processing the sight I see, Rocky concentrating on each step, but with each concentrated step Rocky takes, I feel more comfortable on his back watching the rocks lining the narrow trail go by. Rocky is unconcerned with the narrowness, the steepness, and the ever-greatening drops to either side of the trail. Rocky’s confidence comforts me.

Looking back, I see Apollo right behind Rocky determined to follow Rocky wherever he goes, and there I see a herd animal. Apollo, so afraid to take the lead back down the trail but unhesitatingly follows Rocky further into the unknown. Eventually, the trail levels out and winds through short hills barely higher than ourselves atop our horses as we see the depths of the forked canyon disappear beyond sight. The trail once again becomes a narrow path on a steep hillside, but this time it is descending onto white sand lining a canyon floor forty feet below. Not an entirely new canyon however, this canyon is one of the canyon branches that forked off lower on the trail. The floor here has yet to be eroded away, but to the left, at the threshold, a sheer cliff drops into the eroded canyon.

Rocking forward as Rocky’s forequarters drop, I feel confidence in each purposed step, and with an exciting hop, Rocky jumps the last few feet onto the sandy canyon floor.

Turning Rocky around, I see Apollo pause at the edge, look down at Rocky, and then make the same jump.

That’s way more intense than anything I ever rode on growing up! I think Apollo could use a break after that climb. It was grueling.

Around the bend, the sandy canyon floor is cast into shade by a small enclave of palm trees, a perfect place to have a break. In the narrow canyon crammed against our two large horses standing beside one another, we look at the map again and consider our original plan to follow this trail on a loop to another trail, Vandeventer, that should take us to Palm Canyon and back to where we started up Fern Canyon. It appears that up ahead the trail will move to the right and to the south. Remounting our horses, we walk up the canyon widening onto a desert plane covered in shrubbery.

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Palm trees

From behind, Oh, where is our trail?

It should be up here on the right, remembering the layout of the map in my mind as a wooden sign comes into view.

The sign reads, Wild Horse, an arrow pointing left, and Vandeventer, an arrow pointing straight up. A few hundred yards straight ahead lie a line of laid rocks directing us down a smaller wash bracketed on both sides by low hills. The further we walk up the small wash the more of the wash is engulfed by the hillsides closing in until the wash is blocked by a small cliff of rock rising four feet high.

I think we are lost, I hear from behind.

Looking around, I see that we are not lost, There is the trail.

Where? I see nothing.

Squeezing Rocky’s chest, Rocky moves into a trot heading directly past Apollo to the trail concealed behind a bush that quickly rises out of the small wash.

Riding Apollo up beside Rocky, It doesn’t look like we climbed at all.

Looking out across the desert at the trail winding up and down over short rolling hills, I see no sight of the strenuous climb we endured during our ascent up Fern Canyon, and for what seems like the longest time we talk and then fall silent as the arrows on a few wooden signs point us along Vandeventer until the trail begins to descend.

Excitement builds through our fatigue as we see the green tops of a long line of palm trees tracing Palm Canyon and the way back home. The trail moves beyond a hill that has been blocking our view of the trail ahead, and from our vantage point along with the map, I gauge our position.

I see the trail at the bottom of Palm Canyon.

What?

I see the trail at the bottom of Palm Canyon. This time louder.

That’s good, speaking louder to be heard over the rising winds. I feel Apollo getting more scared as the wind picks up!

My hand slams onto my cowboy hat as I feel it lift off my head, yelling, It’s not far now.

Good, you don’t want to lose your hat.

The wind builds until I have one hand continuously holding my cowboy hat on my head as my other hand holds the reins, but as the wind roars over our voices, Rocky’s previously unhesitating confidence begins to wane.

My kicks urging Rocky forward grow with ever increasing intensity. Looking back, I see Mom’s mouth move, but I do not hear anything but the wind blasting past my ears.

I don’t know how long I can keep kicking like this, feeling my calves ache not just from my waning strength but from the dull pain that grows with each kick against Rocky’s chest. Seeing Apollo’s eyes wide with fear and Mom urging us both forward, I demand that my legs keep pushing Rocky forward until Rocky stops.

We can see the trail curving around the corner of a hill, the base of the canyon surely just barely beyond our view, but Rocky does not budge. No matter how much my boots and legs pound against his sides, Rocky remains stationary not lifting a hoof. Mom urges Apollo to walk past Rocky and take the lead, but Apollo stops at Rocky’s side and refuses to take a step past. We yell to each other over the roaring winds and the thundering gusts ripping at us realizing that without Rocky willing to walk forward there is no path forward, only back the way we came.

Moving back onto the rolling plains, the wind fades into silence as we can once again hear each other. Reexamining the map, we see the trail Wild Horse that heads back towards the stable on a parallel path to which we came. It appears that Wild Horse will take us to another trail which we have not ridden but have seen winding up the low mountain behind the stable. Wild Horse is the only path we can take to avoid a descent through Fern Canyon, and I take the lead on Rocky back the way we came across the rolling hills.

Returning to the wash at the top of Fern Canyon, we can see the wash narrow and disappear into the canyon. Just out of sight are the palm trees we rested under and beyond them the treacherous descent.

A light pull on the right rein directs Rocky around the sign reading, Wild Horse.

We continue on yet another dry wash bed that extends into the distance to the base of hills in the direction of the stable, and the further we follow the trail the more it blends into the surrounding sands.

From behind, Are we lost? I don’t see the trail anymore.

A firm pull on the reins brings Rocky to a halt, and I look across the trail, the wash, the desert before us, the desert to either side us, and the desert behind us. Turning in the saddle, The trail, the wash, is now all the same. We should go with the trail we know.

I agree. Who knows what other problems we will run into if we keep going? We have been riding six plus hours already, and this is only Apollo’s second trail ride. We can’t afford to ride another hour and then have to turn around.

A gentle pull on the reins turns Rocky around, and a gentle squeeze moves him past Apollo as Mom asks, Can you find the way back to Fern Canyon?

Absolutely.

The horses seem to agree that returning the way we came is the right choice as their moods appear to lighten with an eagerness in their step. Through the narrow canyon and the enclave of palm trees we walk. Accelerating into a trot, Rocky makes a left just before the threshold of the canyon floor making the short leap up onto the narrow trail with Apollo right behind.

The wind begins to build as we near the top of the descent, and the feelings of excitement in ourselves and our horses are exchanged for concern as the wind grows louder and stronger. The hope within the four of us is tempered by the sight of our final descent. The base of our original assent is visible far below. The winding path we climbed earlier all plainly visible beneath us makes clear our original climb was even more impressive than we had known.

This trail being our final option, Rocky must make it down, and my determination roars with the wind. Between surges, the wind quiets just enough to barely hear Mom encouraging me forward. My arm aches, constantly holding my cowboy hat on my head feeling the wind ripping at it, but it is not my arm that aches the most but my legs.

The reins are not what are guiding Rocky down the trail winding down the rocky peninsula falling off into the forked canyons on either side. Rocky is guided forward by his will supplemented with unyielding additions of my own. Each hesitation of step is compelled forward with a strong kick against Rocky’s chest, and as the repetition of kicks grows in number, I notice a dynamic between Rocky’s steps and my urging him forward. The dynamic is that whenever the intensity of my kicks fades Rocky’s hesitation grows.

Rocky desperately wants to give up and return back to where the winds are weaker, but with Mom struggling behind me with Apollo trying to follow Rocky straight down not yet understanding how the trail zigzags, it is clear to me that my strength must not waver. My muscles continue to rhythmically urge Rocky forward. My unwavering consistency is our only hope of continuing. I strain into the aching fatigue pounding me even more strongly than the wind. Rocky’s hoofs sink into the sandy canyon floor the roar of the wind falling silent.

No wind to drown out her voice, Duke, you saved us! You are my hero!

Eight hours after our initial departure, we finally return to the stable riding beside one another and are greeted by one of the experienced ranch hands. You guys have been gone a long time.

Speaking with fatigue sounding in her voice, Those trails are nothing like what I grew up on, emphasizing with a rising sweep of her arm.

You guys didn’t know what you were getting yourselves into, spoken with a chuckle.

WHAT DID WE GET OURSELVES INTO, AGAIN?

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A few days later our legs sore, Mom and I ride along the back of the stable past the long row of horse stalls on our way out of the stable to the wash for a short ride with Dad walking beside us to see us off glad we are not going to venture far.

Looks like someone else is going out for a ride, Mom observes two horses tied to a horse trailer up ahead. A man steps out from behind the horse trailer.

Jackson, is that you?

Hello, Patty. My friend was going to ride Bartender while I ride my Lady, but he canceled a little bit ago. I was really looking forward to our ride, but if you want to go riding together, your husband can ride Bartender. He’s a great horse.

Yeah! I’m getting envious of these two having their own horses and leaving me behind.

From Bartender’s back, This is great! I haven’t done this in years. Bartender stood still right there making it easy for me to get on. Let’s go.

Forming a line walking down the row of horse trailers, we approach another trailer with two men saddling two mules with their large donkey ears atop their horse shaped bodies.

Hi, Dr. Todd, Jackson speaks to the older man saddling one of the mules. We have an impromptu trail ride group forming. Do you want to join?

Yeah, I know Dr. Cole. With a veterinarian and a doctor, we are prepared for anything.

"There’s not much I can do out of the operating room without my equipment so people

better not get hurt on this ride."

Watching the mules get saddled, I notice that there are additional straps wrapping around their thighs and tail. Noticing the same, Mom asks Jackson, Why the additional straps?

The mules are shaped like a barrel so unless you put them in bondage the saddles will rotate right over and off their backs.

The herd takes form, four horses and two mules, and at the front Dr. Todd, You guys will like the Shannon. You will get to see Bob Hope’s house, but first we need to get onto the Henderson that takes us up to the start of the Shannon.

That sounds cool, Dad riding Bartender behind Jackson on Lady with Mom and Apollo following.

Riding out of the stable, a wrangler riding a stable horse rides up and introduces himself.

I’m Julio! I see you guys have your own herd. This guy here I’m riding is new to going out and before he gets a renter on his back he needs to go out and get some experience with this place. Do you mind if I take up the rear?

Come along, several voices speak.

The fifth horse makes up the last of the line behind me and Rocky.

Rocky follows Apollo carrying me along both of us not knowing where we are going as we climb up an embankment onto a trail that follows the base of the low mountain behind the stable. North, we turn away from the direction of our ride a few days ago. This trail, flanked on one side by the rocky mountain rising hundreds of feet above and the drop into the wash on the other, is not intimidating after our eight-hour adventure. Multiple horses walking the trail before him, Rocky is relaxed and a source of support for me as I sit silently on his back listening to the conversation up front.

The lead mule becomes visible rising into view above the procession as the trail ascends. The mule and his rider then disappear around a rock face. Rocky steadily follows Apollo, but from atop his back, I see the sharp narrow turn. Rocky climbs, the trail so narrow that I pull my boot from the right stirrup as the face of the mountain touches the trail and the stirrup scrapes the rock face. On our left, a vertical drop into the wash below grows higher and higher as Rocky climbs. The trail crests and then descends a natural staircase of rock the remainder of the trail now in view. The trail as narrow as before is flanked on one side by the mountain, and to our left the drop eases into a slope rolling down to the wash floor and the stable below on the far side of the wash.

The lead mule and Dr. Todd move onto the trail turning to the right instead of the trail that continues forward back down to the wash, and a second climb begins hugging the side of the mountain. Feeling Rocky’s confidence in his own climbing ability, I begin to enjoy the ride. The view of the wash below grows with each step. That is until abruptly I find myself facing the direction from which we came. Rocky has just spun completely around on the trail not more than three feet wide. Feeling the surge of stress, a moment too late to matter, I calm myself, It’s okay, it’s already over.

In front of me is the last horse and Julio, Wow, uhh, I didn’t know a horse could do that.

To my left is a vertical rock wall ascending out of view, and on my right is most surely a fatal fall. Looking down at Rocky who just demonstrated that a course reversal on such a trail is feasible, I pull Rocky’s nose to the left away from the