Grooming Jetter| A Horse Story About a Stallion

This horse grooming story is all about love, trust and emotional bond that a horse shares with people. This horse story tells about a stallion named Jetter… read on…

Grooming Jetter| A Horse Story About a Stallion

By: Mary Smith-Dinsmore

The day was sunny with a breeze that blasted even more heat.  Though I knew the ocean was just over the mountain,  I would have to sustain the heat and keep on working.  I looked down and noticed my bare legs against the white shorts that I wore.  I was achieving a significant tan after only two days!  I worked as the groomer at a horse ranch where there were practically no roofs due to the pleasant climate.  What a great job – outdoors, free to walk from pasture to pasture with nothing but my bucket of brushes and the bright blue sky.  I later discovered that my so-called tan was really several layers of dirt that accumulated from the horses as I walked and groomed.  The dirt that was hidden in their coats landed on me and, in turn, changed not only my look, but eventually my outlook.

On my fifth day I was asked to groom Jetter.  Though I had not met the horse, I was confident of my ability and responded positively.  The horses were practically my sole companions.  Nights were spent in wait of returning to the herd – their dirt, their company.  I loved that I met the horses in their pastures, far away from people, saddles, and bridles.  It seemed that with them, I was offered a piece of wildness, a chance at nature.  With my satisfaction soaring, I went to locate Jetter, my next unbridled character.

To my surprise, Jetter was solitary.  The square was small, unlike the pastured horses I had been acquainting with.  Surrounding the perimeter was an unforgiving electric fence.    A powerful wave of strength and authority hit me as soon as my gaze climbed up his outline.  My feet silenced and would not proceed.  With riveting attention I froze, as the Stallion’s presence commanded me.  His great neck worked up and down and his nostrils flared wide and pink.  As he snorted discontentedly, his black mane danced wildly.  The three steps that he could comfortably take within the boundary were punctuated like a patriotic march, the banner of his tail held thick with pride.  No human could mistake his royalty – the beauty of being aware of everything with perfect confidence.  My mind released a thought:  Did she say groom?

His initial opinion of me was obvious.  I took off for higher ground to unscramble my thoughts.  Walking dismantled some of my fear, but inside my legs still quivered.  How could I latch myself in with a Stallion?  While it was true that I had helped birth a level of trust and respectability with the other horses, it was done so in combination of voice, hand, and brush.  If Jetter did not allow my entry, grooming was impossible. Certainly the others at the ranch would comply with his grooming omission – after all, he was a Stallion!

Over the next few days, I could never escape Jetter’s ability to hold me in his eyes for a moment or two while I crept past his stall, coward that I was.  Making eye contact with him was like playing the beat of my heart with a big brass band.  I wasn’t about to broadcast the extent of my fear to him – after all, I was the Groomer!

One day, while showering off the layers of dirt that I came to regard with high honor, Jetter, and our lack of connection, weighed on my mind.  The brown color fell off my skin, but something else dynamic stayed and covered me – my membership of truth and honesty with the horses.  I deeply appreciated them all.  Each one shared intelligence, history, and openness with me.  Thinking of Jetter now, I knew I could not use fear as a reason to deny him a chance to share what could only come from him.

After spending part of a morning grooming some of the others, I realized it was time to carry myself into Jetter’s domain.  My heart pulsated loudly as I walked.  When Jetter came into my view, everything else evaporated – blue sky, large pastures, my feeling of connection with the horses.  The Stallion targeted my intention and held his head stiff and strong.  Between his flared nostrils began a white thunderbolt signature, leading to large eyes, penetrating and dark, defined with caution.  Male strength erupted along the lines of his body, defining a posture that stated boldness.  Breathing deeply, I steadied my fear.

I thought about keeping the gate latch open so I could get out, but decided it was better that he did not run out and hauntingly closed myself in with the Stallion.  I felt absolute fear freeze my mind, yet habit yanked me and I began filling the air with the vibration that came from my throat.  My voice unconsciously located great details to speak about and I discovered that talking helped avert my primary sense of imminent destruction.  I offered him a show of my small, shaking hands.  As his nose approached my outer limbs, distant brain waves suggested I remain frozen and allow his approach to continue.  My legs hardly held me the moment his warm breath covered my skin.  His head rose, our vision connected.  At last – we meet.

I had to let Jetter know that there was some degree of trust that we needed to arrive at with each other.  Cautiously, I took my eyes away from him, turned my back and slowly reached for a brush.  I was still breathing!  Despite his station as Stallion, I sensed a familiar curiosity that was unusually gentle.  I floated my tool over to Jetter’s nose for distinction and acceptance.

In smooth motions, I placed my hand and then brush along Jetter’s mighty body.  His every fiber seemed to be alert.  I began speaking more softly – humming, whispering.  With every gentle stroke Jetter seemed to relax a body part.  After every soft word, he seemed to reach a degree of trust.  To remind the Stallion of my commitment, I re-joined his vision again and again, relaxing his strong face with my hands.

I groomed Jetter for over an hour.  The relaxation in his body naturally caused his head to feel its own weight.  His great neck slowly stepped down, down, down.  In our last moments together, his nose rested on the ground and he seemed to be sleeping.  On that day I was renewed with his noble acceptance.  The brass band that had played in my heart was just the right introduction to this leader.  With a sweeping bow to the graceful Stallion, I walked away, celebrating the covering of dirt I earned from my friends.

Mary Smith-Dinsmore