My mare Audie is an old- fashioned beauty. She’s a leggy part-Thoroughbred chestnut with plenty of white on all four legs and a flashy blaze. She is the sort of pretty that a 19th century livery stable owner would have appreciated. I think her looks—long, elegant neck, bright-penny coat, well-shaped ears—give her an old-timey sort of style, like a carriage horse in a linocut print or a well-turned-out hunter in a faded daguerreotype.

Maybe it’s because I see her through this historic lens, but I believe that Audie has an old-fashioned personality, too. She is largely polite, though strong of mind. She conveys her dislikes as if she were a movie librarian clearing her throat. Sometimes when I go out to the field to catch her, I am listening to an audiobook. If Audie hears those faint voices emanating from my jacket pocket, she gives me an arch look, neck craned, and peers down at me in a way that seems polite but a little irked, as if I am a servant whose behavior is not quite up to snuff. She might even take a half-step away from me. Only when I turn off the recording, will she permit herself to be haltered.

Prim, proper—and a bit picky

Audie is also a little girthy—an extension, I think, of her pickiness. She pins her ears as soon as I lift the saddle from its rack, and makes dragonish, toothy faces while I tack her up. (She’s been evaluated; it’s behavioral, not medical.) A friend believes Audie simply disdains abrupt handling. It’s true that if I’m very methodical and easygoing about every single step of the saddling process, she is much quieter.

Under saddle, Audie doesn’t exactly balk, but if she doesn’t feel like going forward, she smoothly moonwalks backward as if her rider wouldn’t notice the scenery sliding by in reverse. With a leg on or a gentle tap of the crop, she will move off gamely enough. But she maintains a “Can’t blame a lady for trying” swing to her step.

Audie’s life—big pasture, ample rations, easy riding schedule—is agreeable by any standard. So where does the pose come from? The fussier behavior makes people ask me if she was a lesson horse. She did live at a camp for a while, but I’m not sure how many beginners rode her or if that was her only stint. But her habits—and her attitude—remind me very much of the horses that I used to ride when I was a lesson kid without my own pony.

Part of a tradition

In fact, Audie could be a horse from my own past as a Generation X-er who grew up around school and camp mounts, horses and ponies with their names Sharpied on their halters and plastic currycombs. We lesson kids groomed and rode these jaded, wise animals. Sometimes we were warned about their quirks, other times not. The instruction at many barns in those days included, “That’s just Abner,” and “Well, see if you can figure it out.” I had some good teachers. And the horses were generally safe, but they did stall on the trail, blow up during saddling, and sometimes churn along at a deranged speed-trot when asked to canter. Audie, too, does these things.

Because of her appearance and choosiness, I had thought of Audie as a messenger from the past. But now it’s clear that she is more connected to my own personal history. She is an emissary of the horses I got to know in the 1980s. They were a little rank at times, but brave, smart and entertaining (if not easy) to ride. Wonderful teachers, every one.

After a lifetime of dreaming about it, I bought my first horse as a young adult and have been lucky enough to own at least one ever since. I spent 25 years as a horse owner, and then Audie arrived to make sure this lesson kid remembers who she is.