Acorn
Our Shetland pony was smart. We were convinced he was one of the most intelligent horses (and by intelligent, I mean mischievous) that ever roamed the countryside. His brown hair and black mane gleamed with health and strength even while smeared, as he was now I noticed looking out the garage door, with mud. Acorn was mischievous, but he opened up opportunities for all of us. Opportunities to observe nature, to add extra exercise into our routines, and to conquer fears.
It seemed like just last week that he had jimmied the latch to his stall free with his muzzle. I was volunteering at the library when I got the call from the police. It was a 2 mile walk home for Acorn and me that day-- or maybe I could count it as 4 miles if I added in all the times I had to turn circles to correct his behavior. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get him all the way home without an incident, my overactive imagination picturing all kinds of catastrophes, but I did it. That day as I walked, the circling became a type of meditation, allowing me to notice the buds on the trees just starting to push their way into green, proof that the “all things new” fresh spring days we longed for were imminent. Connections were made with neighbors who lived along our route as we passed by. They came over to say hello, and gave Acorn a pat or two.
The electric fence we had installed was no match for our Acorn. He would bend his head down and carefully stick his neck out, flaring his nostrils and pursing his lips to extend the length of his whiskers, then ever so gingerly he would run them along the edge of the white strip. If the electricity was off, so was he. Off to see what kind of trouble he could get into that day.
Emily loved to ride her pony bareback. Acorn loved to buck her off. Or, pretend he was going to buck her off. He often just bucked hard enough to give her hell, then stopped. If he did go so far as to thrust her from the saddle, or from his bare back, he would just stand there and wait for her to mount again. It was all just a game to him. It seemed, though, that he could tell when it was playtime, or when she really needed him. At those times he allowed her complete access to his sturdy body, patiently standing when life got too hard for a pre-teen and hot tears fell into his shaggy mane. He was accommodating when she cleaned his feet, or combed him, accepting the unconditional love that she returned to him. She spent hours brushing and braiding his hair, keeping his stall clean and fresh, and learning to make his favorite horse treats from scratch.
Acorn was our daughter’s 9th birthday present and had been a true gift. Family folklore has it that he blew into our lives as an answer to her grandmother’s childhood birthday wish, made through closed eyes and fiery candles. Every year Grandma’s wish had been the same: “I wish for a pony.” The pony did not come to Grandma, but it is believed that her wish passed down through the generations. Oral tradition claims that Emily was the recipient of her fervency. Perhaps the perseverance of prayer, the patience in waiting, and the consistent wish in both grandmother and granddaughter created this sort of celestial beast, one who was downloaded with just the perfect attributes through osmosis to land in our backyard. The details are sketchy, but how Acorn got to us didn’t really matter-- he was a blessing.
The two “besties” had a routine that was changed only by weather or our mowing pattern. We placed small jumps along the wide swaths cut by our tractor through the tall, waving grasses. Girl and horse would make a couple loops around the fields and wooded trails and then, without encouragement, Acorn would trot over to the side door of the house. My daughter had taught him to step up the two large granite stairs and use his muzzle to hit the door knocker. I was trained, too. The knock meant it was time for me to open the refrigerator. Carrots in one hand, and a bowl of fresh water in the other, I trotted to the entryway and offered my guest refreshment.
One fall day, Acorn discovered the electric fence was off. It was a Saturday, and we were having a leisurely morning watching cartoons. The call came at about 10 a.m.
“Jennifer, could you come get Acorn?” I heard my neighbor’s voice and frowned, frustrated with our fencing system which never seemed to work properly.
“Of course! I’ll get dressed and be right down.”
“Well, could you hurry? I’m hosting a bridal shower for my daughter and all of the guests arrived at the same time. Acorn is patiently waiting in line with them at the door. I think he thinks he was invited to the party!”
“Oh my gosh! He probably is expecting a carrot and a drink like he gets at our house.” Luckily for us, she loved Acorn almost as much as we did and laughed it off.
“I’d get him one, but I’m kinda busy right now.”
How we loved that pony! He whinnied when we arrived home and we knew he felt the same. He lorded over our other horses, he kept our dwarf Nigerian goats in line, he insisted on dominating the neighborhood dogs as well as our beloved dog, Gracie, and even the bobcat that watched from behind a large boulder at the corner of the yard knew not to come any closer. We were all one herd, and he was our Stallion. Nobody but God could do a better job of watching out for us.
One winter day, I was digging in our mudroom closet for my cross country ski boots. On my hands and knees, feeling around in the dark (the fluorescent light had not been replaced after it burned out), I finally found them. I couldn’t wait to get out into the freshly fallen snow. Emily was outside already, getting Acorn’s halter in place for their ride.
I tied my laces tight then added gaiters. The blizzard had started again in earnest. Snapping my boots into my skis I started off, following Acorn’s tracks through the foot of snow that had already fallen. The fields were a blur of white, the trees dark grey sentinels that swayed in the brisk wind. I could feel it redden my cheeks where they were exposed, and it took my breath for a moment as I pushed off. I could just make out the shape of horse and girl in the distance and I worked to catch up, but Acorn’s strong legs moved faster than my skis.
The tempest swirled around me and I became quite lost in its power. Coming around the bend, I stopped. The outline of my daughter astride her pony slowly came into focus. They bulldozed together through the storm, one step at a time. I saw Acorn turn, and she turned with him, then she spotted me and reined him the other direction. It was one dark form, not two, that drew closer, and I had this brilliant moment of clarity as they reached me and we were enveloped in the majestic white purity of the snowfall.
The Creator had made us all: Mother, daughter, pony, and the natural world that surrounded us. We were as unique as each one of the zillions of swirling snowflakes, as enduring as each blanketed tree, and as resilient as each blade of dry grass that withstood the weather and poked up through the drifts around us. We were made perfectly, according to a master plan; sacred and loved.
I reached out and brushed Acorn’s forelock out of his eyes. “Even when we are naughty.” I smiled, chuckling to myself. He took a step forward and nuzzled my side. “You’re the best, Acorn.” Taking a treat out from my pocket, I added, “You are much more than just a pony.”