Читать книгу Finding the Missed Path. The Art of Restarting Horses онлайн

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“I’m not planning on chasing him.”

“Good.” She put her foot on the bottom rail of the fence. “It doesn’t help.”

We had only been standing near the round pen for a few minutes, but the gelding had been worried long before that.

The pen he was in had been visible from the road so I was actually able to get a little look at him as I drove up. Even from that distance, it had been clear that he wasn’t a very happy horse. He stood in the middle of the pen, head high, neck and body tight, ears erect and nostrils flared.

After I met his owner, a small dark-haired woman by the name of Marie, we walked around the side of the house and started down a small footpath covered in tiny white and grey rocks toward the pen. Almost as soon as we walked around the corner of the house, the gelding saw us, immediately headed for the far end of the 50-foot pen, and began pacing. We were still over 100 feet away from him at the time.

The footpath we were on led all the way down to the round pen gate where the path with the little grey and white rocks split, forming a 3-foot border in both directions around the pen itself. On the far side of the round pen, near where the gelding was pacing, was another gate that opened into a 6-foot-wide, 30-foot-long alley that led to another gate that opened into the nearby 150- by 200-foot arena. The little rocks bordered the alley and big arena as well.