By Masters Hands

One of my favorite things in this world is to wake up on a warm stall on a Saturday when there's a cool breeze coming down from the aisle of our barn and hearing my masters footsteps. I stretch and shake, ready to have my blanket off me, my oat breakfast which he usually put bits of strawberry and honey into and lets me eat while he sees to me. I always try to have the bedding shook from my flesh and greet him at the stall door. Some mornings I am slower than I intend and hear him cluck his tongue in amused disappointment as I fight my way to the door, tangled in my stable blanket like a fish in a net. He likes me to be an elegant creature. Some mornings I am a lovely cat of a horse...some mornings I'm a clumsy pony.

This morning I manage to greet him at my stall door without being in a tangle. Somehow, I even have my mane all tossed to the left side of my neck as he likes and when Master greets me I shove my face into his large rough hands. In my world the greatest thing is the scent on his hands when he touches me. He smells of leather and soap always and the callus's on his fingers gently stroke my jaw line, calming and centering me. I'm his creature. He is my world. Everything is just as it should be when he touches me. These are the hands I would follow into or out of a burning barn, they just need to touch me soothingly and take my rope.

Content, I sigh and rest my brow against his chest, encouraging him to pat my neck or stroke my shoulders, activities I would extend to the entire day if it were up to me. While I believe he enjoys these quiet moments too he would not let me be so lazy. Even on days we don't go out together I will at least go out to stretch my legs and move around my field. Or I might get muddy in the duck pond if I feel I'm being neglected and need to have my master bathe me. We shall not talk about that one time he let me sleep covered in mud as an object lesson. I now try and gauge his mood before I play in the mud. A spirited pony can only do her best though.

My breakfast is a pleasant but quick affair. Sometimes I eat warm oats and berries or honey from a pan while he does other chores about our stable. Some mornings he will feed me bits of my breakfast off the tips of his fingers. This of course is my favorite and I am ever careful not to nip him. I do not bite or fight or kick often. I am valued by my master for being his Good Girl. I would hate to loose the privilege of hand feeding to a stray nip.

Now while I have a bit of water Master will groom me. He leads me from my stall and on a mild day like this one he will see to me inside. When the weather warms we will use the garden hose at the end of the stable where there is a rubber matt and the sunshine hits on the east side of the building. Today is just a bit too cool for that he tells me and he keeps me just outside my box stall. Cross tying me with a clip on either side of my headstall and a lead attached to opposite walls, obliging me to stand in the center of the aisle, moving neither to the left nor the right. I never have liked standing like this. It makes me feel exposed and powerless but when I snort to complain about it he just chuckles and smacks my rump.

"Behave. I'll be right back."

Disgruntled I do behave as I don't have much choice in the matter anyway. He takes my blanket off my shoulders, folds it, and disappears into the tack room. When he returns its with a bucket and a sponge and I have a lovely hand wash from him with warm soapy water from the tap. My master is careful not to get the soap in my eyes and washes my neck well under my mane. Over my back, over my belly, there's not an inch of me that I feel doesn't glisten when he has finished and goes for clear water to rinse my mane with.

Then the cloth, I love the cloth, he rubs me vigorously all over with it and I tingle from nose to toe. Oh how the cross ties frustrate me when he grooms me because I want to turn and lower my head and nuzzle him. My grooming is another of my favorite things in the world - like the smell of leather and soap.

I want to nuzzle and smell him again. But right now has just gently efficient drying me.

Next the body brush. This is my favorite thing in the world surly. When he brushes he always has one hand on my body somewhere to steady me and the other wields the brush. It is a coarse hair brush, and as I am a finely made pony my skin is soft and sensitive. He says he will never use nylon or something synthetic on my hide. Only this - it is stiff enough to straighten my mane and tail if they aren't too tangled, but soft enough to go over my face without hurting. It was made to stroke my flesh though. Well, really to clean it I suppose, but I feel stroke is the right word here.

Again no inch of my body is untouched and sometimes he smooth's his hand over the patch he just brushed, feeling the prickly heat of my sensitive flesh with his fingers and telling me I am his Good girl. Oh how I want to nuzzle him while he does this. He never releases me from the cross ties while grooming. He says for me to stand tied is good and proper... but some days he's very kind and will stand in front of me a moment before he finishes grooming just stroking my neck or cheek while I lean my head into him.

Today is a day that goes just so and after a few minutes of stroking me post-brushing he taps me under the chin with a smile. He's got something special planned and wants to get me ready. I shake my head once to hear the hardware from the ties jingle against my headstall. It's a sound similar to (though not as nice as) the tiny bells on my winter harness. My master sometimes truly knows me and laughs, taping my nose.

"Red leather for you today Princess? Why not?" I flounce in place, excited. I usually only wear the red set in winter because the bells , he says, go with the little red sleigh I sometimes pull. There is no snow today though so I know it will be the little cart we take out, but I like those bells. Something about them makes me pick up my feet a bit higher.

Master has a system for tacking me up that I cannot comprehend. All my harness hang on hooks in the tack room. I have seen them and they look, when hanging, like 100 mice tied together by the tail. Somehow he knows what goes where and in what order. This leather bits that go over my neck and against my shoulders first, strapped into place, then a long line that runs down my spine and circles the base of my tail. There are buckles that hold me to the traces on our carts and a large leather piece with three shiny buckles on it that circle my belly. Sometimes it tickles when he pulls that one tight and I will squeal. I'm not being bad - it just tickles and I can't be perfectly silent. I know thought that to fit properly it must be snug. It will slip and chafe otherwise.

I am getting excited to be out. I know from our routine that this is a weekend... he doesn't have to work later today so it we want to spend all day romping down the paths in our cart. Tomorrow too he will likely choose to be home and often spends more time with me. This won't be a fast 'we must exercise her before I go' run, He is taking his time and enjoying this as much as I am. He is even using a small comb on my mane and braiding it back off my neck today. I feel so proud when he does this as it shows off the small brand on the near side crest of my neck. Not every pony is branded thus and I am very proud to be one of few. Master says I should be proud, He is the man who held me steady when it was done, his strength mine to borrow and be brave with. His calm the ground that held me steady through pain of it.

Those hands I will always trust now slip my bit between my teeth. It is the flexible rubber one which is not traditional for driving but my mouth is very soft and Master says he prefers I not drool down my chest like a venting horse. A proper driving bit makes everyone drool a little. Such bits are large and clumsy because the reins to a cart are long and don't telegraph much. But I am well trained and take very little rein to guide me. Master doesn't have to drag my head halfway to the west just to get me to make a turn. Just a little pressure and I know what is expected. Just as I know I am expected to stay standing now when he takes off the cross ties and my regular headstall, fastening this red leather one with small blinkers ( which are just squares of leather on either side to fix my vision forward) behind my ears. He smoothes my forelock over the brown band and gives each strap another tug and check before gathering the long reins and leading me into the spring morning.

Even as I stumble a moment, barn blind and blinking, he guides me to the rubber pad I am to stand on while he sees to my feet. Before we go out he always makes sure they are clean, that my hooves are shiney, and that I am ready to go. By now I have my sight - what the blinkers allows me - and I can swing my head to look around for our cart. It is the little black trap he has pulled out of the shed and I toss my head once in approval. This cart is fancy but lightweight, made of highly polished black wood with tall red spoke wheels. The seat is up higher than the jog cart so my masters hands are higher when he guides the reins and I feel his gentle signals so well. I frisk and bump him with my head, wanting to share my pleasure. He is indulgent, not reprimanding me until he wants me to settle and back into the traces where he buckles my harness and straightens the reins.

Next he does something unusual for us and ties the reins to the cart, reminding me I am to stay just as I am and wait patiently. So find myself in the stable yard alone while he disappears into the big house. Its not long but he comes back having groomed himself, wearing his shines boots and black clothing. He has a small overnight bag under his arm and I smell more soap than leather on his hands as he comes back to me. He runs those clean hands over my flesh, patting my neck and then my rump with pride before climbing into our cart. Its not completely unknown for him to dress up before we got out, but it isn't often either. Something special is happening but I haven't a clue what. Still it doesn't matter. He is with me, his hands on the reins, and we are about to do one of my favorite things in the world. Looking like a grand pair, a Master and his good pony, we move out of the yard and onto one of the mossy paths thought the woods.

Master owns some of this land, I've never been sure how much, but our good neighbor and my Masters friend Sir James owns most of what I've ever crossed in harness. As far as I can go in a days trot is still on Sir James land it seems and we have permission to use all of it. There are rules - such as to close any gate we open, and that if we cross near the Sirs house we are to stop in and say hello. Master and Sir have even discussed once or twice pairing me with one of his pony's, and I beleive he means to drive us in tandem in a larger cart. I have taken both men in the jog cart before and while I am proud to say I could manage well I could not trot as briskly with both their weight behind me.

Sir James has a pair of stallions who pull a large carriage together. I have seen my master ride in it with Sir James and a friend and did not like it. Its MY joy to take my Master anywhere, I would rather pull that big carriage alone and as many people as they care to throw into it, as see those stallions take my place again. I just hope if they want me to drive with another pony one day it will be my masters hands on my reins. I've never been driven by another and am not sure how frightened I would be without his guidance. He knows me so well. He knows when I am tired, when I have a stone in my shoe, when my flesh is raw from a strap rubbing - would another driver see these things? would -

The light sting on my flank from the driving whip gets my attention - I had been trotting briskly and daydreaming while my Master was planning something else. He was guiding me into the tree lined path that led up to the big stable and yards of the very Sir whose plans and plots were distracting me from my own Master. I tried to appear apologetic when I twisted my head to look back at him. Again he knows me.

"It's alright Princess, some mornings are made for day dreams but today is a big day." He often explained things and spoke to me while we had these walks. "I want to slow you down so you don't arrive too sweaty - you look very fine this morning and I want to show you off a bit. James Is having a bit of weekend party with several like mined friends. Other pony's, their owners, group activities and such. This time we are going to both stay over too. I know its not the stable you are used to but you've seen it - its maybe a bit fancier than home but you outclass our good old barn anyway."

I preened. Sometimes he complimented me like this. Some days, when he was proud of my looks or the way I stepped or how well he had trained me, I felt like a creature with 1000 years of good breeding who came out of a palace stable. But there's no place I would rather be than my own warm stall, piled high with clean straw and with my own blanket on me. Fancy was no replacement for home. But Master went on to say he had inspected the stall I would stay in himself and the blanket I would be borrowing for the night, even to make sure I would have honey oats in the morning and that he had no doubts about my comfort this one night from home. If I would follow those hands into fire, surely I could let them lead me into a strange stable for just one night.

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When we were with in sight of Sir James home Master let me pick up my pace a bit, not too much faster mind, but to lift my feet and prance a little. I had found that when I bring my knees up high and sort of dance forward in this harness it makes my rump bounce a bit and the bells on the leather to jingle brightly. I also swish my long yellow tail, liking the way it tickles as it falls down the back of my legs.

My Master and I turn heads as we enter the stable yard - several of them as there are more people and creatures than I am used to. So many days its only Master and I, for days and days I see no one but him and occasionally Sir out and about with one or more of his creatures to accompany him. In the yard now are several pony's, in harnesses no less grand than mine, though I am the only one of us in red. In the small paddock, unharnessed, wearing only headstalls with bits and a chain lead rein are the stallions I know. Neither of them are tied - Master has said before they are poorly trained and have to be held steady. They will not stand as they should - and each have their own groom. Sir James own them, but most of their tending isn't done with his own hand. I often feel pity for the stallions, though each seems to put faith in the grooms here.

They are not the only stallions today, and I see them restless and the ends of their lead ropes, cresting their necks and glaring across the fence to the strangers on their land. That's why the bits and chain I think - to control them with strength if necessary. Stallions often fight and there are so many strangers today. Other young mares like myself, other stallions on the far side of the yard, and more than a dozen humans talking, stroking their creatures or drinking from stemmed glasses.

My Master guides me to one side of the yard and has me back our shiny cart into a row of others. Some more simple, some just as fancy and fine. I startled when someone takes my bridle in hand before my Master has even taken his off the reins. I recognize the young male as one of those who is often cleaning the yard when we've been here before, but he has never touched me. No one really has head my bridle or reins except Master, and once Sir James when he asked to look me over when we first met. I did not like that then and I did not care for it now but Master was already out of the cart and alongside me, quietly but firmly correcting the male. Telling him you would no more grab the bridle of a pony under control than you would touch a collar that Sir had place on a pet. The boy apologizes sufficiently for Master to nod and let him go without more fuss and Master tied off my reins, telling me to remain here for now.

So I slipped into gentle patience as best I could when surrounded by strangers and sound and my own nervousness. I turned my head about a bit to see what I could. There was another pony besides myself well trained enough to trust with being tied to his cart. A handsome dark fleshed and bright eyed stallion, who seemed remarkably calm compared to the high strung pair if Sir James, who even now were making a fuss while people guests admired their build and height. I murmured a very soft greeting to this nearby stranger though..., soft enough he could ignore me if he'd been told to behave or disregard others, But no, he returned my greeting in a soft warm tone, less shy than myself he gave me his name - Sebastian - and requested mine.

I am embarrassed to say I've never been certain. My Master calls me by several things - Good girl and Princess get equal play. Occasionally "My Brat" is used - but that's mostly on duck pond days. It doesn't matter what he calls me, as long as I hear that voice I will gallop to it. As long as I hear his steps in my stable I will wake and look for him in the early morning dark.

This is what I admit to my new companion...but put in a more condensed way as "My name is whatever Master wishes it to be at the moment he speaks," which I think sounds like a lovely answer but it makes the dark pony laughs at me! Offended I turn my head away from him, planning to ignore him but he doesn't really let me, He bumps my shoulder and apologies, but as he's still got amusement in his voice its hard to buy. He says he will just call me Angel since I'm apparently a pony saint, and I tell him be quiet my Master is coming.

Which turns out of be true, though in that moment I was just being snippy and feeling offended, but a moment later my Master was there, sliding his hands and their good smells under my bridle to stroke my face. I leaned against him to steady myself as he turned to the companions he had brought with him. Sir James seemed to want to show he already knew me as well as he stood on my other side and strokes my neck. It is not unpleasant and I know in the past Master has given his permission for these little familiarities so I behave as I know I should, nickering a soft greeting to our host and my Masters friend. I could tell that pleased him. They all continued some conversation they had apparently started before coming into my hearing, something and conformation and lines and temperament. Nothing I really know how to follow so I pay it little mind.

I knew Master was wanting people to admire his pony so I lifted my feet high and held my head up as he unstrapped my harness from the cart and bound up the trailing edges so I could walk about still in tack and not have any bits trailing the ground to trip me or get dirty. I felt another strangers hand go over my rump an pat it. Startled I shied and kicked, causing people to step back quickly and my Master to jerk uncharacteristically hard on my reins, yanking my head down.

"Behave," was his only word to me as he lead me in a circle away from the human people for a moment to settle me. Someone raised their voice to offered him a red ribbon for my tail if I was bad for kicking and I lowered my head a bit, ashamed.

I resolved to try and bear whatever came next. If Master brought me here it was safe, so I need not jump. I may not enjoy other people touching me but if my Master was permitting it must be acceptable. I was there to make him proud of a pretty, spirited, but well trained pony - not ashamed of a nag. I bumped his shoulder with my face, hoping he would know I knew what was expected and would do my best for him and his grip on my leads did seem to ease just a touch.