Mr. Neurotic may not be whom you’d expect. After all, he could easily be a worried horse husband or father, a fussy coach, or the nice guy at your local feed store who worries about you carrying bags of feed yourself. For me, Mr. Neurotic is a great big lug of a horse. He fell into my life the way animals so often do here – inadvertently. He was my responsibility before I’d even laid hands on him. I had no intention of ever living with him, but fates conspired and now I look out my window at his handsome self as I write this piece.
It’s a good thing I wasn’t at the farm when he first arrived. Apparently he flew off the trailer, broke his halter and spent 20 minutes galloping around screaming. He started earning his moniker right then. He also had a wound that was developing proud flesh, so the next day I brought him into the barn to clean and treat it. Yeah. No. Instead, I watched an impressive piaffe in cross-ties. Sweat dripped off him and his brain exploded. It took quite awhile to get him calm enough to take back to his paddock. In those moments I realized that, wanted or not, I had a “Project” on my hands.
The first time I stood him at a mounting block he spun around it for 10 minutes dripping sweat. When a saddle fitter brought a bunch of saddles to try on him I thought he was going to have a heart attack he was so distressed. People who had met him before he joined my herd reported he couldn’t be in a barn, had to be led with a chain, fought being trimmed and looked terrifying to ride. People still occasionally ask if he’s “that” horse.