A story about horses, part five

            I remember the difference between riding in an English saddle and riding bareback. Somehow, the saddle was always in the way. The stirrups were too big for my tiny feet, and it was hard to get everything adjusted to fit me comfortably. And when I tried to do the stretches, leaning back to touch my head to my horse's rump, the back end of the saddle jabbed me in the spine. I could flex enough to bend despite it, but it was not comfortable. I never seemed able to communicate with my horse, either. Perhaps as a tiny child of fifty pounds, my gentle movements did not make it through the saddle and the saddle pad to where the horse could detect them. It always seemed to me that the grown-ups were telling me to do everything "More, more!" But I didn't want to hurt the horse, and I didn't know how hard was too hard.
            On the last day of my riding class, the teacher had us ride bareback. Most of the other students were very uncomfortable. I think they had never sat a horse without a saddle. But me? My tall horse Bruce and I cantered back and forth and in circles around the others. We trotted and spun the other direction, and won all the games. I held the crop I had been told I must use to get my horse to move, but that day I did not use it at all. Bruce didn't need me to. He could tell what I wanted from my legs.
            I remember what it felt like to ride Bruce that day. He was the tallest horse I had ever ridden. I felt very high up in the air. But without the saddle, I felt like my legs and seat were part of Bruce's body. I couldn't fall off, because we were moving together. I finally felt what a posting trot is supposed to feel like, the easy rhythm you settle into when you and your horse are so tuned in to each other. I could ask him to move a little faster by changing my rhythm just a bit, or to slow down a little. And Bruce was happy. When we stopped, he would turn his head around and nuzzle my knee.
            I remember what my riding instructor said to me that day, one of the only times I remember getting specific attention from the instructor: "So that's all I have to do to get you to do these things right? Take away your saddle?" It felt like a backhanded compliment. Had I really been doing everything wrong the whole time? I guess I hadn't been paying a whole lot of attention to the other students and the explanations the instructor gave didn't make a lot of sense to me. I just wanted to ride horses. Bruce didn't care what the instructor was saying. He was just blissfully happy with the belly rubs I gave him after taking his bridle off and brushing him down.