A Pony Named Meghan

My last summer at Cedar Lodge, heaven on Earth for a horse-crazy pre-teen girl, I was assigned to work with a little dapple gray pony named Meghan. Meghan was pulled from a slaughter pen, like the new horses are every year, and was one of the greenest - and meanest - ponies I had ever encountered. I was excited to learn after riding evaluations that my riding instructor that summer was Chris, who was known for being one of the toughest trainers for advanced riders. She didn't tolerate the same mistake twice and she intimidated a lot of the other kids at camp. But not me. I knew Chris had a way of producing the best riders and I was ready to do whatever it took to shine in her eyes. Little did I know what Meghan had in store for me.

When I saw my name on the list next to Meghan for my riding assignment that first day, my stomach tied itself in knots. I had heard whispers from the counselors about how she had bitten not one - but two - of them and drawn blood. The second bite landed one of them in the emergency room and left her with a black-and-blue shoulder that stretched almost to her elbow. This pony was rumoured to be downright wicked, no doubt due to whatever abuse she had endured before she was sent to the slaughter pen. Responsible horse owners don't send horses to slaughter.

At Cedar Lodge, the day was divided into activity hours. Each hour, the bell rang, and it was time to switch activities. Since I was a seasoned camper and absolutely disinterested in any activities outside the barn, Chris and Amy, the two in charge of the camp, would often overlook the fact that I spent every single activity hour in the barn because I spent every minute helping others or doing chores.

As the bell rang, it was time for my first lesson on Meghan. Because of how many horses we had, we were taught to tack all of the horses in their stalls while tied with a halter. I grabbed Meghan's halter off the hook and slid the middle wooden two-by-fours that acted as the makeshift stall doors to the left so I could climb into her stall. Meghan immediately turned her butt towards me, pinned her ears, and made it clear I was not welcome. This was a new encounter for me, as most of the other horses I had worked with during previous summers had much more experience. Meghan was one of the newest and greenest ponies to the program - and I couldn't help but feel like I had my work cut out for me.

I mustered up all the courage I could, halter in hand, and took a step toward her. She immediately flung both back hooves in my direction as I scrambled out of her stall as quickly as I could. I knew I was running out of time to be on for my lesson, and Chris had no tolerance for students who weren't punctual. So I waited a few moments and tried again - with the same result. If this was a game of chicken - she was winning.

Flustered and frustrated, I made my way to the main barn aisle where Chris was busy with other students.

"Um...Chris? Meghan won't let me in her stall," I said quietly, embarassed at my inability to retrieve my mount with time running out.

"C'mon, let's go," she said as she took the halter from my hand. She led me back to Meghan's stall, undid the other two remaining two-by-fours, walked right up to Meghan - ears pinned and head buried in the back of her stall - and put her halter on without issue.

"You can't hesitate. Not with horses like this. She clearly has been through a lot, so she naturally is untrusting of people, but you being afraid is making her afraid. Don't be afraid. Be confident. Move with intention. Command your space," she explained as she led the pony to the crossties where she could keep an eye on me as I groomed and tacked for my lesson.

As I slid my hand into the curry comb, I could feel my nerves bubbling with her eyes on me. I was hesitant and my body language was showing it. As I approached cautiously and too slowly, Meghan swung her hind end at me and came barely an inch from landing a swift kick to my thigh.

"Here, give me that," Chris said, trying to disguise the fact that she was losing patience. Chris was known for being great with horses, but only decent with kids.

She showed me how to approach her confidently and use the curry comb gently.

"Confidence, Catherine. You have to be confident and you can't show that you are afraid. She can sense it," she said as she curried her - to my amazement - with no objection from Meghan as she stood quietly, one ear cocked toward us as she listened intently.

"Okay, confidence, got it," I said as I took the curry comb, determined that if Chris could do it, so could I. That first grooming session was very hard for me - pretending to be confident while I was mostly terrified I would become Meghan's third victim. I moved cautiously - but confidently - near her head and hind end and dodged a few more attempts at kicks and bites. By the time I was able to get her saddled and in the arena, I only had 15 minutes of ride time before it was time to dismount and untack.

Chris was firm, but fair, with me while she continued to assign me to Meghan. At first, I groaned and objected. And Chris didn't tolerate it.

"You will ride who I tell you to ride. Meghan is your project. She is your responsibility," she said, matter-of-factly. At the time, I felt as though she was punishing me. But looking back, I realized that she knew this mare and I had something in common. Neither of us trusted people.

That summer, Meghan and I had our moments, but we quickly began to grow together to the point where other kids started to become jealous that I always got to ride her. It's funny how that works. At the beginning of the summer, no one wanted to go anywhere near Meghan because of her attitude. But once I saw past that and began to bring out her better side, the whole summer camp took notice. It wasn't long before we were jumping 2'3 to 2'6 courses with ease. She was the kind of pony with a big attitude, but an even bigger heart. Meghan and I were able to see past eachother's shortcomings and together we were able to bring out the best in one another.

To this day, Meghan serves as a reminder to me to never write off any animal - or any person - based on just a few bad experiences. Life is a complicated journey and we all have our own baggage to carry, but sometimes all we need is that one person to acknowledge our potential to truly become great.