On this Thanksgiving day, I am profoundly, desperately thankful for Tristan.

I am thankful that he is my best friend and that he carries my heart with him.

I am thankful that the incredibly stupid gamble I took eight years ago, of adopting a horse on a minimum wage salary, has paid off and while I am not and never will be rich, I can give him everything he needs.

I am thankful that his shoulder is the perfect height to cry on.

I am thankful for the soft, fuzzy absurdity of his winter coat, that I can sink my hand into it and lose my fingers.

I am thankful for the thick tangle of his mane, in which I can twist my fingers and make a fist and just hold on.

I am thankful for the soft sweet grass scent of his nose.

I am thankful for the moment of fear and joy combined that rises in me when he finds another gear in his gallop as we head up the hill.

I am thankful for his expressive eyes, which so often look at me dubiously, and tell me that I really should just chill out and go for a hack instead.

I am most of all thankful that one year ago I didn’t know if I would ever ride him again – and it has been such a long year – but last night I pressed my knuckles down into his neck and stood in the stirrups while he bucked and cavorted underneath me for a few seconds in the canter.

White Mane (1953)
(available on Netflix streaming, or for purchase on Amazon.com)

This has been on my Netflix to-watch list for sometime, if only because at some point I did a search for “horse” and added everything I could.

At only 40 minutes, White Mane is a really sweet, lovely movie about a boy who befriends one of the wild horses of the Camargue in southern France. It is 95% without dialogue, and filmed in black and white in a more documentary style. In fact, the only sound at all is a light soundtrack and some sound effects that are more for imaginary effect than realism (a horse galloping through the water does not make the same noises as a person walking through a puddle, I’m just saying.)

It’s very, very French, and filled with “don’t try this at home, kids” moments – lots of scary, dangerous things done by everyone involved, from horses to kid to wranglers. It’s somewhat nonsensical in its portrayal of the main character, the wild stallion White Mane, who is imbued with all the Black Stallion qualities you could hope for.

In the end, though, it is almost compulsively watchable, incredibly gorgeous, and overall has a dreamy, fairy tale feel to it, even through the long chase scenes. I put it on as background while I caught up on some work at home, and couldn’t stop watching.

The ending is…ambiguous and somewhat difficult and somewhat sad. If it tells you anything, this film is by the same director as The Red Balloon. You can choose to elevate the entire story to a fairy tale, and believe the narrator about the fate of the boy and his horse; that’s what I’d recommend. The whole movie builds toward a more fantastical interpretation of its own events rather than a realistic one, so it works.

Definitely recommended. In fact, if I’d discovered this as a kid it would’ve been a top 10 for sure.

As I sort of glossed over before I went away: Tristan has developed what can only be a white saddle sore on his withers. Jen at Cob Jockey’s post about a possible sore on her horse pushed me to ‘fess up more completely about this.

At first, I didn’t notice it because he is so roany, and the white growing in looked like an extension of the white in his mane.

Then, each time I worried about whether it was in fact a saddle problem, I investigated. He showed zero tenderness or reactivity when I palpated the spot. When I put the saddle on his bare back there was zero interference. I would even reach down while riding and could still fit several fingers between the pommel and his withers. But after a few weeks I had to admit that there was definitely something wrong.

So what was the problem?

Two things. First and most egregiously, his lack of muscling behind his shoulders/below his withers means that saddle pads tip forward and slide down almost as soon as I start riding. The front of the saddle pad works its way down and puts pressure on his withers – directly in the worry spot.

Second, his jump saddle is no longer a good fit, also due to the lack of muscling. I have ridden in it perhaps a half dozen times in the last two months, and always for hacking out, but the pommel does bump the wither a bit when I sit in it. So while I doubt that flat-out caused the problem, it certainly did not help.

Solution, in two parts.

– Better fitness program, to include longeing and work on building his topline.

– Sheepskin half pad, in which he looks very dashing.

I’m going to start doing weekly topline photos, and we’ll see if there’s a visual difference.