Why BLACK Horses?
I’ve been drawn to all horses, but especially the mystery of dark horses since I was a child. Watching with my Dad, in the 70’s, the iconic and ill-fated black thoroughbred race filly Ruffian display her heart and beauty. Sam Savitt’s gripping story and accompanying drawings of “Vicki and the Black Horse.” And, of course, Walter Farley’s “The Black Stallion,” that glorious dark animal dancing in the sand and water with Kelly Reno playing Alec Ramsey.
Somehow, some way, some day I thought! I will have such a beast in my life.
The lesson ponies, camp horses and anything I could ride—all colors and shapes—were my start. Brown, red, yellow, white, spotted. I loved them all. I begged and borrowed horses to ride and purchased my first after college.
His name was "Air Piracy" or Magic.
A grandson of Kentucky Derby winner Bold Forbes, Magic had a very unremarkable racing career in New York, but earned his keep until he was 6, whereafter I found him as a skinny, depressed trail horse in Rhode Island. I learned how to help him, his body, and he helped me get me back into riding after getting my degree in Fashion Merchandising and Journalism, eventually leading me to New York and the sport of dressage. My little black beauty (not small by many standards but compared to horses I later rode, yes) and I learned the very basics of suppling and gymnasticizing a horse. His body changed as did my understanding of this new world. It was Magical.
Enter Lutzen.
He had, near the end of his life, a new pasture-mate at the barn. Enter Lutzen, also black, with a fetching tan muzzle and other points around his body. He was big. And deeply unhappy in his upbringing. He was a Swedish warmblood in for training, and I watched his owner and trainer struggle for months.
Finally, I got the opportunity to ride this young and intimidating horse I had spent hours staring at, as often as I could. Magic was retiring and I needed something, a goal, a project. Funny how unready I was when I think back to our first ride.
But, he liked me.
Or more than he liked any other human.
Eventually and miraculously, I was able to purchase him.
Nicknamed “Monster” in the early days, he displayed his unhappiness and indignation by pinning you to the stall if he felt like it, ears pressed to his skull, teeth bared, often jaw open wide. He’d slam on the brakes doing basic, easy work under saddle. He bit. And kicked. Me, and several others. Big warnings.
I still had no regrets.
I didn’t ever blame him. I let him think he knew more than me about all this dressage stuff, as he’d been bred for it and actually had had more lessons than me at that point. He also knew how he was feeling about it, and because I didn’t know exactly what his early training was like, I called a truce. I had no choice. If you fought him, he fought back. Guess who won. 1400 pounds of black fur and muscle and opinion, that’s who.
We hacked a lot. I pretended to do “dressage” on the paths, sneaking it past him, moving his body around here and there. He sighed a lot. It cracked me up. We avoided the arena, home of his unpleasant feelings. I found I could ask for small things out in the woods, baby leg yield, shoulder in to let him eat leaves off a branch, transitions sitting into trot when the footing evened out. I got his body moving and he liked it.
His personality grew...
I began figuring out how to keep him from stopping under saddle. He never once stopped out of resistance in a competition. So I showed him. Frequently. He was better than he was at home, stimulated, so why not. Sometimes he did really well! I was smitten and proud. His mood was always a factor. But when he came to compete, he could beat them all, at the local, regional and even a year-end award at the national level when he was 20 years old. I had the harmony and connection of dressage to thank.
Black Horse Expressions was soon to be born.
