MOLI VIEW™

There were a lot of firsts for me as I prepared for my trip to the Paws up Resort in Montana, the most interesting was a document I had emailed to me called "You and Your Horse". This three-page brief detailed how the wranglers would match us to our assigned horses based on our "riding experience, physical size, and attitude". We were instructed to let our new horse smell us first, and to give friendly, reassuring pats on the shoulder and neck.

The document also said to avoid ponchos (horses are afraid of these fringy fashion faux pas). Interesting. And my heart sank after I read this line: "All clothing should be in dull colors with no neon or bright colors that can easily spook horses."

Horses had always spooked me. Closer to elephants in size, I had no dewy-eyed romance about their towering frames, bony appendages, hard-shelled feet, and reputation for being bad-tempered. Volumes of literature have been devoted to little girls and their desire for ponies, and young women, on the verge of ripeness, who have special feelings for their horses. But being a city kid, I was never in a position to have or ride horses, and thus, I've never known or loved one.

In my last blog, I detailed the treachery of the 10 hours I spent on horseback, but what I didn't mention was how much I liked and learned from my horse, Kodiak, for the three days and two nights of that adventure.

Dark brown (almost black), Kodiak was a hearty-looking draft horse (strong, shorter legs, thicker around the middle), obviously quite well-fed, with kind, curious eyes. The first thing about him I related to was that, much like my 5-pound Chihuahua, his entire existence seemed to be motivated by the pursuit of a unexpected snack. He was docile and took direction well except when a nice patch of grass or a river stream caught his eye. Then he would go his own way, animal instincts and nostrils flaring.

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