Despite having arthritis, Clifford manages to make a statement on a two hour trail ride.
Anne's trail ride was staged in a county park with plenty of wooded paths, fields, and late fall color. It was scheduled to be three hours long. That probably wasn't the smartest thing for me to do, because Clifford, besides having the arthritic knee, is fat and out of shape. The weather is pretty mild, in the sixties, amazing for this time of year. He jumps in the trailer without hesitation and we haul up to Anne's.
There are five of us, all aboard Morgans save for the one quarter horse. Clifford, with his big stride on a little horse, starts out in his customary place at the head of the pack. I decide to let him stay back a little because Anne is riding Blitz, her palomino Morgan stallion. Blitz has perfect manners, but why try to compete?
I can tell Clifford is not the same as in years past. He opts to go around mud holes now, and fallen trees, instead of over and through. He has lost a lot of flexion in the knee and can't step as high anymore.
But we still have a good time, laughing and chatting as we meander along the winding trails through the blazing fall colors. A little breeze kicks up and dried leaves rain softly down on us.
My dogs Cajun and Ripple cavort happily, swishing through the foliage. The horses don't seem to mind, although Blitz keeps looking at them and Anne thinks he might want to race. Her mare, Jingles, is last in our troupe and she has fallen back a little. Finally I hear a voice, "Nancy, call Rip!"
I look back, and my Australian shepherd, Ripple, is behind Jingles, busily nipping at her heels! She comes away when I call her.
After a good hour and a half, we come to the water hazard. It's a canal at the bottom of a deep gorge, and is belly-deep on the horses. Clifford has been in water so much in his life, that I think nothing of it. But as we splash into the rushing current, I realize how cold it is. He climbs up the bank, and I am getting the idea that he is becoming uncomfortable. He doesn't limp, but it is an idea, and after all these years together I can only surmise that it is right.
As we continue on, I realize Ripple isn't with us and it occurs to me that she's been in the water, but she's never really HAD to swim. I call a couple of times, but she doesn't come. Clifford turns immediately. He knows we have to go back for her. He tries to do his collected canter back to the gorge, but it feels stiff and wrong so I pull him up. Just then, Ripple emerges from the ditch, completely drenched.
"You made it!" I said. We turn and hurry back to join the others.
Anne's husband Rob meets us at the clearing to take pictures. He graciously photographs each horse; the beautiful golden Blitz, the red bay mare Jingles, and then Clifford. I ask Clifford to stand by the chosen backdrop of oaks, and give him the signal to stretch in a park stance. He has been trained to set his head, so that his neck arches like a classic Morgan. But as soon as he hears the shutter of Rob's camera, his head pops up. His ears are thrust forward and his nostrils flare as he gazes at the camera. Everyone is cracking up! All training aside, it's just much more important to be a star.
Then we line up for the group shot. The sorrel Quarter horse, the two bay mares, and Anne's palomino all pose nicely facing the camera, with Clifford and me on the end. Not satisfied with being one in a crowd, Clifford starts to sink beneath me.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?" I shriek, as he gets lower and lower until finally he has flopped completely down on his belly. To my horror, Rob keeps snapping photos as Clifford stretches comfortably out on his side, right next to where I am now sprawling on the ground.
He stretches his neck for a moment, snorting happily. Then apparently satisfied with the material he has provided, he gets effortlessly back to his feet, and shakes himself vigorously.
"NICE!" I tell him. By now everyone is laughing again, and his expression is completely blissful.
I climb back aboard. The photo session ends and we resume our ride. Not long after this, I can feel how very stiff he is becoming. We are on a dirt road, but he still looks wistfully down every tree-lined path we go by. He loves the deep woods.
Finally he has begun to limp. I dismount and we walk together.
"Do you want Rob to bring your trailer?" Anne asks. We agree that's for the best, as there is still another half hour left to ride and we have to cross the water again. The nice lady on the quarter horse offers to let me double up, but I am content to just walk with Clifford.
I think if he had been in better condition, we would have been okay. I've had a rough time adjusting to the thought of such a change, with him being only fifteen years old. But this ride has given me so much reassurance, because character-wise, he is still Clifford, after all.
And today, he is pretty much his old self, gorging on hay and begging for peppermints.
Puffy strays and something happens to make him decide he will never run away again. Judged "Outstanding" at the 2013 Writers Digest SPB Awards. Named among the best in family-friendly media, products and services 2019 by the Mom’s Choice Awards®.
