from Story 8
Heather Fashions a Whip
(February 1985)

       As we entered the arena that morning, Heather noticed: “Where’s your whip? You just got knee-high boots, side reins, and a dressage whip—all that new riding gear. But I don’t see one of those most critical things. You know, it’s when you don’t have some piece of equipment that you usually need it.”

       It wasn’t that I had to use the whip much. In fact, one of the major things that caused me difficulty was not using it when it was needed. I was usually hesitant about enforcing my commands. With Duke, the difference was whether I held a whip or not. Such a difference. When I had a whip, he saw it. That’s all that was needed. His pace was bright. When I was carrying a whip, Duke was quite willing to move up to the faster gait as I gently squeezed my legs against his sides. When he realized that I didn’t have a whip, he ignored me, ignored my leg, ignored my signals.

       Forgetting to bring the whip could definitely cause great struggles and frustration for me. “Should I go back up to the barn and get it?” I asked. “No, not yet. Let’s see how it goes. Maybe he’ll have more respect for you today without it. Use a firm leg. In the future, remember that it’s best to have all the equipment that MIGHT be needed. If you don’t have it, and you do need it, you’re sure to have trouble.”

       Heather started us off with some warm up exercises at the walk. Not much problem, though it took us a few times around the ring to get into the rhythm. Then Heather spelled out: “T-R-O-T.” (We both knew that if she called out the gait, he would be responding to her voice command, rather than to my leg signal.) I pressed my legs to Duke’s sides. Duke went into the trot, or at least, somewhat of a trot. Duke gave it the minimum of effort, barely brisker than the walk. I accentuated my movements and rose high up into my rib cage in the posting trot. He continued to plod along without any change in his gait. I kicked his sides. Duke ignored me and continued to move without energy.

       “ I had better go back up to the barn and get the whip,” I offered. “No, no. Just hold on. I’ll get one for you.” Heather turned and walked to the far side of the arena, away from the gate. She hoisted herself up over the railing and ducked into the woods. A few minutes later, Heather emerged from the trees with a small, slender branch that was the perfect shape and length for a dressage whip. “Here you go,” she said. She reached up and handed me the improvised whip. Duke eyed the tree branch. “T-R-O-T,” Heather called. I squeezed with my legs and off we went, briskly and on the money with no hesitation. Duke carefully eyed this odd whip out of the corner of his eye. His bright pace told me that he saw it clearly. What a relief not to have to schlep up to the barn to get the whip.

       At home that afternoon, I thought about how clever Heather was, how quickly able to do what was needed to make it work. My admiration for her was heightened by her skills and intuition in working with horses, working with Duke, and in teaching me. I felt satisfaction in making progress and enjoying my time in the saddle.

       When I went to the bathroom and glanced at myself in the mirror early the next morning, I gasped at my reflection. My face, neck, and lower arms were ablaze with an ugly red rash. Blisters were beginning to form. My ears, neck, and cheeks throbbed and glowed red with swelling. The poison oak rash was everywhere. The itching, stinging pain had startled me awake. I realized that the whip Heather had fashioned was a branch from a poison oak bush. I am extremely allergic to poison oak.

       After I phoned the Urgent Care Unit at the local hospital to get an appointment for a cortisone shot, I called Heather. “You know that wonderful whip that you fashioned for me yesterday? Well, if you don’t know it already, it must have been poison oak. I’m covered with a horrible rash.” “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I hate to tell you this, but I’m not allergic to poison oak. I could probably rub poison oak leaves all over me, and nothing would happen.” As I hung up the phone and headed for the car, I reminded myself that I had better give Duke a good soapy bath right away to wash the residue off his coat.