One could tell that he felt special. His coat actually gleamed, and because his ribs now had a new layer of healthy flesh covering them, his dapples were pronounced, almost artfully scattered about his barrel and hindquarters. A small group of Red Riding Hoods leaned on the rail wanting to see him in all his splendor. He wore our one and only warmblood bridle for the special occasion. We had cleaned and rubbed the soft old leather until it nearly glowed. He sported both a Red Bucket training pad and a distinct and very palpable attitude infused with a good dose of self worth. Grande was on my ride list, and maybe, just maybe, we might jump a small fence or two.

Sitting on what may very well be the top of the world, I warmed him up slowly, smiling at a wee bit of exaggerated toe pointing and a completely unwarranted but absolutely wonderful arch of a stiff old neck that had lost its muscle tone but not its memory. He made it very clear that that he had punched in and was ready to go to work. He kept eyeing the fences, cutting the corners and pushing his ribs over as if to say, “Oh come on”! I eased him gently around the corner and allowed him to jump the little cross pole heading towards the gate. He pricked up his ears and picked up his knees and gracefully arched his body over the jump. He completely blew off my attempt to stop him in a straight line, but with more athleticism than I expected, he did a flying lead change around the corner and only then allowed me to transition him down to the trot. He wasn’t the least bit rude about it, but communicated clearly that he knew the rules and intended to play by them. Grande definitely didn’t want to be babied, unless it was with a bedtime kiss.

It is hard to decipher whether his bold trot and big canter and overall happiness to work were more the result of the change in his routine, the healthy weight, nutritious diet or something else. I am pretty sure that while all of the big things and nearly 300 pounds, TLC and a home where he feels wanted has a lot to do with it. Deep in my gut, I think that it might just be the smaller things that have the biggest impact like the final post wellness check where he is greeted by name and offered a small bit of apple while getting “tucked in” for the night. It might be the cross-tie time where he is groomed, clipped and carefully wrapped, all while enjoying the conversation and over all feeling of importance and belonging. Perhaps it is the hand on his neck, the verbal affirmation, the post ride rub down, complete with a few hard candies or twists of licorice. These small little consistencies have become a part of his routine and this next chapter of a life that has more to give.

I swung down, my feet hitting the ground a few seconds after I expected to feel the earth. As I stiffly regained my balance, Grande gently, but very intentionally, pulled me into his warm body, cradling me tightly with his neck before letting go. It was a small, intimate act of gratitude, an appreciation for more than just rescuing him; it was, I believe, the deepest of thanks for respecting him. The gifts that we give to these horses that we love are life changing and also bring us a nameless potent and inescapable emotion. In rescuing, I too am rescued.