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It was just an old saddle, but sometimes life’s lessons can be learned in unexpected ways. My husband surprised me one day by saying, “I’ll buy you that new saddle, if you want.” He was not a particular fan of “expensive,” “fly-attracting,” “smelly” horses, but he had just purchased new wetsuits and water skis for himself and our son, so I guess he was feeling a little guilty. Besides, he knew that in all my years of riding I had never owned a brand new saddle. I was ecstatic about the prospect at first, but my mind switched from pleased to pensive so quickly it almost short-circuited when he continued, “on one condition.” Prior experience had taught me that my husband’s conditions often times overshadowed the benefits of the promise, especially where horses were concerned. “What’s the condition?” I asked. He brushed something that looked suspiciously like horse hair off his jacket and said, “If you’ll get rid of your old saddle. It has seen better days and I don’t want to be stumbling over two saddles.” I swallowed hard. My father had given me that saddle when I was only six years old, and I had “ridden” many miles with it slung across the back of a trusty sawhorse, even before Blaze, my first real horse, had entered my life. “I love that saddle,” I said and, without waiting for any comment from him, went on to tell him how excited I was about the new saddle and how sweet he was to buy it for me. I hoped he hadn’t noticed that I made no commitment about giving up the other saddle. Nothing more was said about my husband’s ultimatum during the next week when we ordered my new saddle and waited for it to arrive. I supposed he surmised that I would just obligingly honor his request, but this was a more disagreeable appeal than usual. Not knowing if I could part with the old saddle, I thought about it often. The saddle had not been new when my father purchased it, but we had replaced the cinch and leathers that had been chewed off by mice, so it almost looked new. I smiled as I remembered standing next to Blaze, when I was not much higher than her belly, trying to push the saddle up her side and onto her back, without brushing the saddle blanket off in the process. Through the years, I had placed that saddle on the backs of all of my horses from my ever faithful Blaze, whose pedigree had always been in question, to my present registered quarter horse racehorse, Sunrise, whose ancestry traced back to Man-O-War. Once my daughter had ridden in front of that saddle with me, now my granddaughter occupied that space. When my new saddle arrived, after several weeks delay, I decided it was worth the wait. It was beautiful, with sterling silver plated trim and a padded seat of roughout leather. My old saddle looked ancient next to it, like I had begun to notice I appeared alongside the new secretary at the office. I was anxious to ride with my new saddle after work the next evening. Excitedly I carried it from the car into the barn. The saddle looked wonderful on Sunrise. Its reddish brown blended beautifully with her golden brown color and everyone commented on how nice she looked, but as I rode the saddle’s new leather squeaked and my feet and ankles grew tired keeping the stiff stirrups turned correctly I began to miss the comfort of my old saddle. That night when I returned home, I placed my new saddle over the top of my old saddle on the rickety stand. My husband had promised to build a new stand for my new saddle. He would probably want to discard the old stand along with the old saddle. I frowned as I wondered if the day would come when he would want to replace me with a younger, more streamlined model. |
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