A baby sits at a table.
She reaches toward a crayon, grasping it in her chubby fist.
“Color on the paper, honey,” Mom says.
The child grows into a toddler. She reaches toward a crayon.
“Hold it like this, honey,” Mom says. She corrects the child’s grip. “Color in the lines.”
The child grows, now able to hold the crayon properly.
“Make sure that when you color, use the proper crayon. What color is the sky?” Mom asks.
“Blue,” The child says.
Cappy has worked inside up until now. He’s learned his gaits and he’s almost ready. Soon we’ll ride outside.
I’ve guided him step by step, trying to fill holes in his education gradually and without reprimand–only reward. I’ve started with a base layer of color and I’m adding to the masterpiece. I want to be certain if he reacts outside, it isn’t from fear/uncertainty/confusion about my instructions, which would only leave environmental concerns. If he’s upset over a tree, or a car, or another animal, I can deal with them once he’s obedient under saddle.
The baby boy is almost what I’d consider green broke. Once he’s ready, he’ll go home. Until then, he’s my canvas to play on.