Almost-Christmas Reminiscence

Jennifer over at Braymere Custom Saddler (she does really neat custom model tack - check it out, if you have a moment!) posted last week about a pony ride - complete with pictures of fuzzy adorable ponies. Scrolling down the page sent me on a trip down memory lane.

When I was oh, eight or ten maybe (?) my dad and I were visiting my grandmother in Iowa for a week or so around the 4th of July. The town where she lived was having its version of Frontier Days - a Rendezvous had taken over the downtown square and surrounding streets.

For those of you not familiar with Rendezvous, they're sort of combination street fairs/flea market with people dressed in period clothing doing traditional tasks like weaving, carding, blacksmithing, etc., and selling their wares.

I was fascinated by the knife and ax throwing competitions, but what really had me loitering longingly was the pony ride. We'd been in town for a week, and while I had cousins around, I missed my pony. I was too big to ride these particular ponies - they were more of the Shetland variety - but still, they were cute, fuzzy, had that pony smell... The ride wasn't too busy, and the man working the ride let me rub their foreheads and scritch along their necks while they stood there waiting for paying customers. They wuffled my shirt, and I remember wishing I'd brought an apple or something along.

After my dad and grandmother had looked around enough, we all walked back to my grandmother's house a few blocks from from Main Street. But I couldn't stop thinking about those ponies. I was too big to ride them, and I didn't have any money anyway, but surely no one would mind if I walked back and just petted the ponies some more. I was old enough to walk to the grocery store alone, and the ponies weren't much farther than that. More importantly, no one had said I couldn't go back by myself...

I don't remember consciously thinking that it's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, but it wouldn't surprise me if the thought crossed my mind.

After a quick check to make sure my dad and Gramma were still occupied inside, I slipped off the porch and down the street back to the pony ride.

When I got there the man was just rotating out the ponies for a new set, so without thinking twice I started helping. Oddly (in hindsight) he didn't say a word as I adjusted halters and loosened cinches on the group finishing their shift and brushed out manes and tales. I don't know how long it was before my dad appeared to retrieve me. I do remember that I was standing with my nose pressed into pony mane, rubbing the little bay's withers.

My dad apologized for me being a bother, and the man just shrugged.

"She was no trouble. Seemed to know not to get under their feet."

You know, I didn't even get in trouble. It was like my dad knew that those ponies were an irresistible magnet as far as I was concerned. Or maybe he was just so relieved that I hadn't been snatched off the street - although people didn't worry too much about that in those days... and besides, my folks always said any kidnappers that grabbed me would return me quick enough. In any case, he just told me to stay in the yard if I was going to be outside, and that was the end of it.

The pony ride wasn't there the next day, to my great disappointment.

Riding in the car

Anybody else follow Equestrian Ink? Mugwump's post reminded me of something I used to do growing up - and I still do it occasionally even now. Any guesses as to what?

I won't keep you in suspense.

When I wasn't happily turning pages - yes, I'm one of those annoying people who can read absolutely anywhere, including the back of a big yellow bus bouncing down a dirt road without getting the slightest bit sick - I was staring out the window, imagining myself galloping along over whatever terrain we happened to be driving past.

The color of the horses I rode varied through the years - I think a blue roan with a flowing, jet black mane and tail was my mount of choice for a long time after I read Zane Grey's Valley of the Wild Horses, and there were bays, steel grays, sorrels and buckskins now and then. I don't remember every daydreaming paints or palaminos, though - too much white to keep clean of grass stains and mud, even in my imagination - or possibly, there just weren't too many nice specimens of either around where I happened to be? Whatever the reason, my imaginary horses were usually more earth-toned than not.

These days my out-the-window mount is most often a bright red chestnut - he has the requisite flowing mane and tail, and if he's on the round side and not terribly tall, he suits me just fine. Of course, in my fantasies, Sunny's usually a bit more cooperative....

How about you? Did you/do you daydream in technicolor about sailing across ditches and charging up hillsides while the wheels turn round?

Happy trails

Sorting through some old snapshots today I found this one of Sunny's mom.

ASA Sauds Mariah

Doesn't look anything like her, does he?
(grin)

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The summer Sunny turned two my friend C had knee surgery, which meant that she wasn't doing much riding. She and her husband J have been kind enough to allow me to trailer with them on a number of occasions. Prior to her surgery, we'd planned to go on a multi-day ride out in the Badlands, and when she found out she couldn't go, she offered her horse for me to ride, and the extra space in their trailer for Sunny.

Needless to say, I jumped at the chance. The ride was held south of Kadoka on the edge of the Badlands. Camp was way in off the paved road, and the day we arrived there were pop-up showers on and off all day interspersed with beautiful bright sun. The track in was clay, and the campsite was down a fairly steep slope with a curve in the middle. The afternoon's entertainment was watching new arrivals try not to jack-knife while sliding into camp. (There was someone posted at the top to warn all the drivers to take things slowly - still, there were a couple of nail-biting moments.)

It was a big ride, turnout-wise. And being June, it was HOT. The pace was slow, but pretty steady - there were rest stops, planned and accident-caused. (There always seems to be some sort of wreck, although thankfully, we were neither the cause of, nor involved in any of them!)

Pause=nap-time

Sunny learned pretty quickly that when we stopped, it was a good idea to rest. He ponied along next to Sheba or Misty all three days, wasn't concerned about wagons, put-off by the mules, and charged merrily through the water crossings.

We saw some gorgeous country.

And had a great time visiting with "neighbors."

This cute pony team belonged to an elderly gentleman from Nebraska (I think). He'd converted the seating in his wagon so that he could have an easier ride. His team pulled along like champs, and I think they all three finished the day fresher than a lot of the big teams and most of the riders. Camped nearby, he kept us all entertained around the fire in the evening telling stories of rides he'd been on and teams he'd had.

Montana may be Big Sky Country,

but South Dakota has its share.

I had an absolute blast, and if you have the chance to go on one of this sort of organized rides, I'd recommend it. It was (then) about $40 for the two of us to ride for the three days. It was strictly BYO - bring your own food, grain, extra tack, etc., although the I've been on a couple where at least some of the meals were either potluck or partially provided.

It varies, but there's usually a good source of drinking water for the horses, although not necessarily for people. The potty wagon is... an experience. If you're a newbie at the whole trail riding thing, you'll probably have more fun going with at least one other person who's been before - especially on the bigger rides, people tend to group up with others they know, but everyone's pretty friendly, and if there are a few inconsiderate riders along, they're usually easy enough to avoid.

Weekend - rain & shots

Saturday it rained, so nothing much got accomplished. Today it looked like rain all morning and was blustery & on the chilly side. About 2 PM the sun popped out and it started to warm up and dry the puddles. Even so, the ground was still pretty greasy when we got to the farm.

T moved in a round bale, and we wormed them all but Sahara (I thought I had four Ivermectin left, so I only picked four up - turns out I only had three and one Strongid... drat!) and vaccinated Sunny and Amyra for West Nile. The vet clinic didn't have the 4-way I wanted, and the tractor supply store was out, so I have a raincheck in for that.

Amazingly, everyone was good. Shots were a complete non-issue for the two that got them - they both had their heads in their grain buckets, and I don't think the pricks even registered.

Sunny's never been a problem to give shots to, other than one memorable occasion right after I bought him. He was a long yearling, and the first thing on my agenda was to have him gelded. The day or so following he had some swelling - only on one side - which was a bit concerning, so I called to see what the vet wanted me to do.

"Hose him down with cold water, and give him some penicillin."

It was, of course, a cold, blustery spring day. Sunny really hadn't been handled all that much at that point, and he wasn't real thrilled to be snubbed to a post away from his friends. He was even less thrilled when I turned the hose on him. But he was fairly good for that portion of the day's agenda.

The shot, however, he was having nothing to do with. After being squashed into the sucker bars repeatedly, stepped on, dropping the needle multiple times, both of us sliding around in the mud, I stood back, looked him over, and told him, "Fine! You win. Just see if I care when you drop dead!" I was just a touch annoyed....

Of course he was fine. Vaccinations (small gauge needle) were no problem. And when he stepped on a nail and developed an abscess as a three-year-old, by that point he'd decided penicillin shots, large needle & all, were no big deal - especially when accompanied by his morning grain ration - LOL!

Other than that, a quiet weekend

Rainy day memories

Rain today. Nice & gentle, but too steady to play with the ponies.

We went for a walk last night. T rode out to the farm with me and went for a run while I fed. He still wasn't back when I was finished, so Sunny and I walked down the rode to meet him. I almost hopped on, but then decided that was probably a recipe for disaster. He was a bit up - storm coming in, and hadn't been out & about since they all took their little jaunt down the road earlier this spring.

But he minded his manners for the most part, got to eat some grass, and seemed happy enough to be out and about.

In the meantime, I'm keeping myself occupied paging through some old notebooks. Back in college I took lessons flat & jumping twice a week. It was a lot of fun, (and I probably rode a lot better then, too). I thought it would be fun to dig out my lesson journal...

Some days went better than others.

Jump Class Day 1 (3/1/95)

It's an elementary jump class, which means 1 step up from beginner [where I probably ought to have been!]. I started on Fame, who was being goofy about the ice on the roof, the twit! Ruth switched Alexandra and me halfway through so I wound up on Cruz. I'm not sure for whose benefity, but I sure did appreciate the change. I got to canter the small vertical on Cruz - he has a nice easy canter, but my legs were slipping a bit.

Short reins. fairly firm contact, and really leaning into him up to the jump helped. It felt good. I think I'm comfortable on him because he reminds me of Mingo. Maybe....

1. Steady lower leg - it kept sliding
2. Shoulders back and seat down at canter - look for the jump and then through it.

To be perfectly honest, jump days terrified me. But I persevered. We rode a mix of horses, some of which really were babysitters and would put you in the right spot at the right time without too much effort on our part. Some of them were work, plain & simple. It helped it you had more than one lesson on some of them, though - because after some reflection on what had gone wrong (or, less seldom, gone right), usually the second lesson was better.

Flat class had its own excitement to offer: Darryl for instance. Darryl was a big, awkward looking, no-mane Appaloosa with the homeliest face. (Remember the Bob Newhart show with Larry the neighbor? The one with two brothers named Darryl? Yeah, like that - LOL!)

Flat Class Day 4

Darryl. Ooh boy. We definitely had a better ride than the last time I rode him. Actually, today went pretty well. I just thought "Percy" real hard at him. It worked for the most part, although our canter was pretty ragged. The more uninvolved I got, the better response I got - I think the last time I was really nervous and uptight, and he knew it. I even managed a pretty good turn on the forehand. Yeah me!

1. Don't get involved - as light contact as possible
2. he gets strong on the long sides, but the coreners weren't as bad - staying uninvolved helped there, too
3. He doesn't like the track, so keeping him straight takes a bit of leg - letting him keep to one or the other side and just keeping him straight there worked.
4. He's not relaly dumber than dirt - sometimes it just seems like it.

I had over half of my flat lessons on Darryl that semester, and we kept improving together. He was a trail horse before they bought him to use for lessons. He had NO bend either direction, and a tendency to just keep going faster if you didn't keep him gathered up - which you had to do without getting in his face.

After a while, I started getting him a lot for jumping lessons, too - I think this was the first one.

Jump Class Day 8

Darryl and I jumped today. Sometimes separately, but we managed to come down together at least. He was really good, and I think it was one of the best jump lessons I've had all year - not that I did so many things right, but that when I was wrong he was off & then we could fix it. The last jump felt wonderful because we were together and I wasn't getting my signals crossed. We also had some of the best canter transitions we've managed this semester.

1. eyes on the jump - think leg and don't drop him. He quickens, but doesn't take off - just go with him
2. steady him after - the more off balance he is the more distracted and obnoxious he gets.

Fame & Cecelia had a great day, & so did Ki & Tympani - in fact, I think everyone had a super lesson! :)

Eventually I started asking for him, and had I had the means and place to keep him at the time, I might have tried to buy him.

I'll play!

MiKael & BECG have a "getting to know your horse history" quiz up, and it looked like fun... The invite's out, so if you want to reminisce too, feel free!

1. How old were you when you first started riding? Really riding? I probably started steering a bit on my own around 4. That's when my mom commenced the great Pony Hunting Expedition and we acquired Shandar, the chronically fuzzy.

2. First horse ridden? That would be Cricket, I think.

3. First horse trotted on? Shan? Can't remember!
4. First horse cantered on? Either Shan, or one of a family friend's. She had a herd of horses that the grandkids all lived on in the summer.

5. First Horse fallen off of? Probably Shan.

6. Most recent horse fallen off? Sunny. We were working on nice easy lope circles on a really windy day - my hat flew off, hit him in the butt and he spooked. He was headed for the fence and a big rock. I was going to come off anyway, so I baled while I still had a choice of landing pads.

7. Most terrifying fall? Borrowed drill team horse rearing over on top of me. Also the most expensive fall I've ever had.

8. First horse jumped with? Hmmm - I think it was a whippy little Appy-Arab cross when I was taking lessons in College. Fame. But it might have been one of the others.

9. First horse who ran away with you? Shan. Probably. He never ran away very fast, though. He just steered where HE wanted to go, which was usually back to the barn. My first real panicky runaway horse? Pennie -she has one bad eye, and a dog in a yard we were passing on her bad side stood up and headed toward us. He wasn't threatening, she just hadn't seen him until then. She spun around and headed the other way at a dead run faster than you can say "jack rabbit." A quarter mile later I got her slowed down and we went back and took a good look at the dog. Once she knew what it was, no problem.

10. First horse that scared the crap out of you? As in I think I'm gonna die? Yeah... that would be the silly little bugger that tried to jump sideways off a 15' river embankment to get down to where the other two riders already were. Silly twit. Don't know what his name was. We slid sideways 4 or 5 ' down the hill before I got him pointed in the right direction.

11. First horse shown? Does leadline count? Either "Fat Sally" or "Trigger" two QHs belonging to a family that showed. On my own? Shan, I think.

12. First horse to win a class with? I got a ribbon in leadline.... I don't remember if I ever came in first in 4-H with Shan or not. Sunny and I took home Grand Champion Half-Arab Gelding at the South Dakota State Fair a couple years ago....

13. Do you/have you taken lessons? Yep. English. The only way I could ride at college was to take lessons, since I didn't have the extra 15K a year it would have cost to transport a horse out east & board it. It was a lot of fun, although jumping scared the heck out of me!

14. First horse you ever rode bareback? I couldn't saddle Shan by myself, so we spent most of our time bareback. And riding with friends we almost never bothered with saddles. In fact, one year at the 4-H show the judge commented that the best riding he'd seen all day was in the bareback equitation class - otherwise we were all pretty uncoordinated! :)

15. First horse trail ridden with? Formal trail ride with organization & everything? Borrowed 3-year-old palamino gelding named Pal out in the Badlands after I moved to SD. Informally? Shan - our whole riding experience was pretty much one big trail excursion.

16. Current Barn name? J's farm name is Flaming Star Arabians. It's part of Sunny's registered name, as well.

17. Do you ride English or western? Mostly western, although I started using the English saddle with Sunny last year because he's more comfortable in it.

18. First Horse to place at a show with? Shan.

19. Ever been to horse camp? I helped out for a couple of summers with a Girl Scout riding camp - it was a lot of fun.

20. Ever been to a riding clinic? Only as an observer.

21. Ridden sidesaddle? Nope.

22. First horse leased? I've never leased a horse. Borrowed a bunch, and ridden other peoples a lot, but I've never leased one.

23. Last Horse Leased? See above.

24. Highest ribbon in a show? Champion with Sunny. Oh yeah, and we also took the blue in Liberty. He was a star - lol!

25. Ever been to an 'A' rated show? Only as part of the audience. Maybe someday - if I ever win the lottery. It's a bit $$$ and a bit too intense. I have more fun fooling around.

26. Ever competed in pony games/relay races? Yes.

27. Ever fallen off at a show? Not to date, but I expect it's only a matter of time.

28. Do you ride Hunter/Jumpers? I'd like to - well, the jumper part still scares me, but....

29. Have you ever barrel raced? Yes - but only at playdays & 4-H events. Nothing serious.

30. Ever done pole bending? Yes

31. Favorite gait? Depends - I really love that BIG traveling extended trot that feels like you're floating, but it depends on the horse.

32. Ever cantered bareback? Oh yeah!
33. Have you ever done dressage? Nope, but I'd love to learn.

34. Have you ever evented? No. Fun to watch, terrifying to think about doing.

35. Have you ever mucked a stall? Yep.

36. Ever been bucked off? Yes

37. Ever been on a horse that reared? Yes - and it's not an experience I'd appreciate repeating, either.

38. Horses or ponies? Both - I've been around good ones & bad ones of each. Someday I'd really like to have a Welsh pony again. Shan was a doll.

39. Do you wear a helmet? Jumping or taking lessons, and occasionally when I'm working with one I know may launch me. But as a regular thing - no.

40. What's the highest you've jumped? 3' give or take.

41. Have you ever ridden at night? Yes - moonlight on snow is almost like daylight. It's beautiful.

42. Do you watch horsey television shows? I prefer horse TV non-fiction (RFD, etc) - movies & TV shows with horse themes annoy me.

43. Have you ever been seriously hurt/injured from a fall? Seriously? I've never broken anything major. Seperated a couple of ribs, and my back has been messed up a couple of times (at least according to the guy who read the x-rays), but nothing that's kept me on the ground for longer than a week or two. Knock on wood.

44. Most falls in one lesson? Never more than once per ride, I don't think....

45. Do you ride in an arena/ring? Not on a regular basis. The closest arena requires hauling, and since I'm currently sans-trailer....

46. Have you ever been trampled by a horse? Yes.

47. Have you ever been bitten? Yes.

48. Ever had your foot stepped on by a horse? You're kidding, right?

49: Favorite riding moment? First time I loped bareback on Sunny is right up there, but any good day riding is a favorite moment.

50. Most fun horse you've ridden? I can't name just one - when it's going well, I just plain enjoy the horse I'm riding, and how does it get better than that! But if I have to pick on, probably Shan, because I spent so much time doing all sorts of things on him, and I was too young to know how rare being that relaxed & carefree was.

A memory kind of day

My mom's been doing a lot of sorting through old papers & pictures. She sent a few along recently, and that got me started looking through some of the ones I've managed to collect. We had - well, not exactly a menagerie - but a number of critters over the years. And they appear as regular characters in my school assignments and in family photos.

This little booklet must have been first or second grade, and after chuckling my way through the six or so pages, I though it might be fun to put photos with the descriptions. (It's interesting to note that neither my spelling, nor my penmanship have substantially improved!).

Shandar photos were fairly easy. I have numerous shots of my poor, long-suffering pony. Usually draped in something, whether kids or other odd get-ups. He was really a saint most of the time. (Although yes, occasionally hard to catch!)
I learned all sorts of horse dos & don'ts under his patient tutelage and my folks' watchful eyes - this must have been shortly after Shan came to live with us.
That blanket? I still have it. It's TB-size. And it was NOT cold when this picture was taken. If you look closely, he's asleep. Not sure what I was up to.
I recall spending a lot of time pretending to be asleep, just to see where he'd wander. Usually, back to the barn.

Then there were the cats.

Muffin, our first kitten, grew up in a household with two little girls who fought over everything. She very quickly learned that my mother was the boss, and we could safely be ignored or intimidated. She could, and often did, bring home bunny feet and partridge wings, leaving them proudly on the doorstep.
Climbing up to go to bed in the top bunk when Muffin was there first went something along these lines: "Ow! - Mom! She won't let me up!"
[From the kitchen - in a stern tone:] "Muf-fin." [Sounds of me climbing gingerly into bed, making sure not to accidentally kneel on a paw or tail.]

More later - must go do something productive with my day.

"Oh, I keep him in the bathtub."

Pony Girl's Monday Musing got me thinking, as her posts often do. Specifically, she was talking about her experiences catching up with old friends. Her description of the frequent reaction she gets when she mentions being a horse owner reminded me of this conversation....

Back before I was married, when I lived in a third floor, walk-up apartment downtown, the UPS guy - the regular, who has been known to spot me on Main Street having lunch and hand me whatever packages I might have in the truck - would schlep my boxes from Stateline Tack, Dover Saddlery, Valley Vet and wherever up the stairs (and sometimes back down, if they needed signing for).

One day, surprised to actually find me answering the door during the day, (and probably grateful that he didn't have to lug the large box containing a portable elecric fence kit back down the stairs) he asked did I actually have a horse, and getting an affirmative answer, where I kept him.

I don't know what possessed me, but I answered, "In the bathtub."

UPS guy, "Really?!" Peering around me into the living room where the four saddle racks were neatly lined up.

"Oh sure. Teaching him about the stairs was a bit of a challenge, but he's great about them now." Of course, I couldn't keep a straight face, and he's not a dim guy.

But maybe that's why he remembers me to hand packages to on Main Street....

What about you? Any interesting reactions from old friends or new acquaintances on finding you come attached to a large hairy beastie?

Memories: Lessons

Since I'm not getting any actual riding in, I thought I'd take a little trip down memory lane and read through a lesson journal I kept back when I actually was able to take lessons.

I grew up with horses - my mom taught me to ride... and some of my earliest memories are of wriggling onto my pony bareback because I was too little to lift the saddle and tighten the cinch myself.

It wasn't until I was in college that I had the opportunity to take formal riding lessons. I couldn't afford to board my own horse - the cost of tuition was cheaper than boarding a horse on the East coast, at least back then. But no way was I going to go 9 months without horses.

So I scrimped and saved all my waitressing tips and had just enough left over after I bought all my books to afford riding lessons, took the placement test:

"Can you canter in a circle?"
Me: Yes
"Show us."

"Can you find your left diagonal?"
Me: What's that?

Imagine my surprise (and horror) when I discovered that not only was I going to have to ride English, but that they'd put me in a jumping class.

I spent a lot of lessons terrified. But I learned a lot. A normal week contained a flat lesson and a jump lesson. Horses were luck of the draw - well, the instructors assigned them, but if you rode slightly better than the rest of your class you either got the tough horses with bad habits, or the new horses that needed work.

Riding Percy 1994

Percy was a good horse to get, and we all liked him. His bad habits were few, consisting of corner-balking, being consistently heavy on the forehand, and needing LOTS of leg. All problems I was quite comfortable dealing with.

Darryl, (Remember the Bob Newhart show? "This is my brother Darryl, and this is my other brother Darryl" - well, that's how Darin got his name.) on the other hand, was a nice boy, but his experience prior to being purchased for lessons was all trail work. He was FLAT, FLAT, FLAT in the corners - no bend either direction. Cantering him was an experience in steady acceleration, because he compensated for lack of bend by going faster. He liked speed, and he loved to jump. And he jumped BIG over the little jumps, which was... interesting. For some reason I ended up with Darin a lot. Eventually I learned to rate him fairly well.

The barn had, as most barns do, dogs. Two small, ancient Jack Russell Terriers. Too old to be much trouble, they were almost blind and pretty tottery. The barn had sub-floor conveyor belt that ran along in front of the stalls. Each stall was fronted by a metal grate that could be flipped open and stall waste shoveled in. The conveyor - when it was working - dumped the manure outside, saving lots of steps with a wheel barrow.

Neither dog could see very well - at one point one of them stumbled in to an open hatch. The conveyor was on at the time, and the sound of "Yelp! Yelp! Y-elp!" echoed out from underfoot as the dog passed under our feet on its impromptu amusement ride. Someone ran for the switch, and someone else ran for the hatches, and eventually the dog was convinced to come to a point where it could be lifted out no worse for wear. It was seriously hysterically funny.

More later....

Riding before walking

My mom's been cleaning out an old trunk full of pictures and albums, and she scanned this one in to send to me. She grew up with horses, and when I was born, had two. Kittle, an OTTB she was gifted after he bowed a tendon, and Cricket, an sweet old air-fern mare (Notice the sleek and muscular physique she's sporting along with her pint-sized passenger? LOL!)

Yep, that's me up there on top. My mom was bound and determined I'd be on a horse before I took my first steps. And I was. Probably the only time in my life I've been that close to doing the splits - Cricket was plenty broad, especially for my short legs.

One set of feet behind Cricket belong to Kittle, and the other, I think, are my dad's - you can just see the hand he's using to balance me. Cricket was absolutely long-suffering. She was always the one we could pile multiple children on top of - turn her loose, and she'd head for the nearest edible anything.

Sunday flashbacks

That's Sunny as a long yearling the summer before I bought him. The big bay next to him was my then current riding partner, Dodge. See his back foot? Here's a close-up.
Long toes, I know.... This was taken almost a year after he sliced the bulb of his heel open on (we think) a strand of electric wire, probably kicking out at one of the other horses. Amazingly, he didn't cut anything crucial, and the protruding triangle you see there has shrunk down to look almost normal except for the scar.

This is Star & mom Pennie, probably only hours old & still a little wobbly.

And Star this fall.

Worst ride ever #2

or, Head over heels before strangers

The second most embarrassing moment of my riding life happened in front of semi-strangers, although I got to know them better later on....

**********************************

It was about two years after I moved to South Dakota. I didn't have a horse then. Happily enough, I'd found horses to ride (never seems to be a shortage of people who have horses that need riding, does there?), and even someone to ride with. A very nice lady with a horse-habit of her own, which, lucky her, her husband shares. They'd looked long and hard before finding her mare, in the process borrowing lots of horses for her to try. So they knew a lot of local horse people - many of them with horses that needed riding.

Long story short, the plan was that the two of them would pick me up and we'd meet two horse trainers with a load of 30-day horses out near Kennebec and spend the weekend riding. One of the guys had a gelding that - say it with me - needed riding. I'd ride him and/or one of the green horses for the weekend.

No dummy, I asked if I could try the horse first. "Sure, come on out - do you have your own saddle? Great. Willie's in the front pasture...". And so he was. A big, deep red sorrel breeding stock paint. Willie actually seemed pretty broke, and I had no problems on our test ride.

Cut to the day before we're to set out on this excursion - I get a phone call from my new horse friend. There's an illness in her husband's family, and they won't be able to go. But she's already asked, and I can ride up with the two guys. They're wonderful people, and she knows I'll have a good time. It shouldn't be just us - one's sister is supposed to come down and meet us with two or three horses she's started, so I won't be the only woman.... Okay, sold.

Well. The guys were perfect gentlemen. But the sister never showed. No fool, I learned very quickly that this was not going to be a walk in the park sort of ride. We slid the horses on their tails down shale hills, scaled bluffs via deer paths, bucked brush, crossed a river (several times), sunk one horse chest deep in a quicksand pit, pulled her out and kept going. Three hours or so of steady riding and we'd switch horses and head back out.

Thighs burning, heart in my throat, I stuck to the saddle and kept my mouth shut. I didn't (still don't) ride nearly as well as those guys - few do, I think - but I had one slight advantage - my horse was a bit older, broke, and used to going where he was pointed with a minimum of fuss. Watching where their horses had trouble let me pick my path, and Willie took care of us both.

Until the gully.

It looked innocent enough. It wasn't even rocky. Or slippery. Or covered in trees. Or filled with water.

After the morning's territory, it looked like a cakewalk. Basically it was a draw cut into in a line of rolling hills. One side - the one we were on - shelved off about two feet from the top. After the drop-off it was a steep grass-covered straight slope down to a right angle turn onto a deer path threading the bottom of the gully. Probably 20 feet all told. The worst bit was the initial step over the edge. The other side was steeper - no going back up that way, the horses had to make the turn and continue down the path to get out.

Neither of the two young horses was having ANY part of it. No amount of convincing was going to get them over, or even close to, that edge. Silly me. Being on the "broke" horse of the three, I volunteered to go first. After all, Willie hadn't failed me yet. Huh!

He'd watched the other horses balk. There were monsters down there! No way was he going over that edge. But a couple good kicks and a whack on the hind end with my reins got his front over. Except Willie was quite a bit quicker than I'd given him credit for. He sucked back, and when he zigged, I zagged. Right over his head and down the gully I rolled.

I still had one rein in my hand when I stopped, and darned if Willie didn't follow me right down. Didn't step on me, either.

Silence while he whuffled my hair. Then, still too stunned to tell if I was all in one piece or not, I heard a faint, "Okay down there?" from up top. Pride answered.

"Yes."

"Okay then."

With Willie in the notch, neither of the other horses refused the drop, and the men rode past me, carefully not looking and not speaking (and likely silently laughing their fool heads off, I expect). I gathered up my reins found my stirrup, and brought up the rear.

I rode the next day, too, sporting a number of sore & bruised spots, and wishing for a heating pad, more Tylenol, and something soft to sit on. But I wasn't giving up. They didn't complain, I sure wasn't going to!

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Of course, the silence only lasted until we got back home. Out riding for weeks after I'd get a once-over from folks I barely knew, "So - hear you know an easy way to get a horse down a drop-off...".

The next year, back out to Kennebec, with more people this time, the two took a detour to share with the group "my" hill. You know what? It didn't look nearly so steep and intimidating that time! Of course, I knew I could make it down....

Worst ride ever #1

... or, how I became a horse thief

Jennifer over at How Did This Happen claims that catharsis is good for the soul. And in honor of the fact, she shared accounts of her worst three rides.

They are indeed doozies. And she climbed back on every time.

She asked for other's Worst Ride Ever stories - Jennifer, here you go.

I've definitely had a couple "worst" rides. Can more than one be worst? Anyway, I'll save my worst wreck story for another day. But for sheer embarrassment, this one still tops all the others.

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I was probably about 12 or so. I'd had Shan for several years, and was pretty comfortable riding on my own with very little adult oversight. On this particular day I was over at a friend's house. She also had a pony. An itty-bitty little thing that was way too small for me, but plenty big for her - I'm over 5'9, she's was only about 5'3" or so, and skinny as a rail.

So we fooled around with Whiskey for a bit, but it's not much fun riding when one person always has to walk.

Now down the road about a mile or two lived an older friend of my mom's. E had a pile of grandkids, but more importantly, she also had a whole herd of horses. I'd ridden most of them lots of times when we were over there.

And what better solution to our lack-of-horse problem then to go see if we could borrow one of hers.

We trekked down there, arriving sweaty (me more so, 'cause I walked the whole, hilly, way) and hopeful, and asked E could I please borrow Mingo for a bit. She okay'd it and I caught him up. But the rest of the herd was really interested in Whiskey - no way were we going to take a strange pony in with a bunch of big horses. Even we weren't THAT stupid.

Of course, we also weren't bright enough to simply lock them up and ride in the pasture. Nope, we just opened the gate, led him out, and trotted off down the road.

Oops.

Me and Mingo - 1985

We were about a mile down the road chatting and giggling when here came E, dust boiling up behind her car. Seems she's thought we'd ride in the pasture (after locking the horses up). Imagine her surprise when she came out to tell us she was headed for town and it was time to put Mingo up - only to find no kids, no Mingo, and the rest of the horses hanging over the fence looking down the road after us.

E read me - well, both of us, really - the riot act for taking Mingo without telling her.

Let me tell you, we booked it back to the barn as fast as Whiskey's stubby little legs could carry her. I was mortified (the excursion being my idea, because I just knew E wouldn't mind).

After we put Mingo back we walked slowly and silently back to my friend's place, all three of us on foot - poor little Whiskey was hot & lathery from her scramble after Mingo. The two of us walking who could talk never discussed it afterwards. Ever.

I for one waited for the phone to ring once I got home. And then dreaded it coming up to be laughed about the next time we were over there visiting. But E never said a word to my parents.

Years later I mentioned it to her, and you know, she'd forgotten the whole thing. I guess in comparison to the grey hairs she'd acquired (to this day dyed a brilliant red that both denies her 80+ years and warns of her flash point temper) from 6 kids and scads of grandkids, one misappropriated horse returned with no damage didn't make a lingering impression on her.

It certainly did on me! I get prickly all over ever time I recall that car tearing up that gravel road behind us.

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So what's your worst ride ever? Most embarrassing moment? Remember, confession is good for you ;)

Baggage

I started this post about something entirely different the other day, but reading about Pony Girl's struggles with My Boy's acquired evading-the-halter habits got me thinking about a horse I encountered briefly a few years back.

Sometime in the third month of Sunny's training, D, the trainer, asked me would I want to go with him riding for the weekend down on the Missouri. He was taking a bunch of horses he'd been working with - sort of a graduation ride for them. We'd meet his sister & father there and camp.

Now I've ridden with D on this type of ride before. He doesn't race, but he doesn't tackle easy country. The horses work hard, and so do you.

And they get breaks after a couple of hours of riding - you just get on a different horse.

It's an exhausting weekend, but it's also a blast.

So we loaded the horses at his place and then headed over to a nearby operation were he'd been working with a couple of horses. Arriving, we discovered that one of the mares he'd planned to take the owner had decided to send for breeding instead.

But rather than see us go with an open space in the trailer, she wanted to send a big bay mare she'd just gotten.

"She's a finished head & heel horse. Ten years old...". She talked a lot about the mare as we walked into the barn to collect her. Bred to the hilt, money-winning, etc. And when we got to the stall the mare was indeed, a looker. But as soon as the stall door slid open and D moved into the doorway with the halter & lead, she spun to plant her nose in the corner, ears flat, and heels ready to fire at the door. Yikes!

After some maneuvering, D managed to get her haltered and out of the stall safely. She was leery when tied, but loaded nicely in the trailer along with the other two from there - a 7 year-old palamino former barrel horse mare (about 3 rides - balking issues) and a recently gelded 5-year-old former breeding stallion (30 days riding).

On the way, D and talked a bit about the horses we were taking. The bay he speculated, could be trouble. At ten, and built like the provervial brick house, if she wanted to plant him, there was not doubt she had the power to do it, and she certainly seemed to have an attitude.

We didn't ride the two mares until Saturday afternoon. Ultimately, the bay mare was sweet to tack, lowering her head for the bridle and standing politely. After a test go by D, D's sister ended up riding her and loved every minute. She was definitley a well-trained, easy-going horse to be around. Unfortunately, she was wind-broken - probably why her cow career had ended. We watched her for signs of the nastiness she'd displayed in her stall, but she seemed calm and composed - not a sulk or laid-back ear to be seen.

She was game even blowing hard, ears forward and flicking to listen to her rider, moving out smoothly on a loose rein and answering the slightest cue promptly. It was, we all agreed, a real shame about her breathing.

The 8 horses were turned out overnight in ones and twos in the grassy cattle lots we camped near. The next morning I went out to catch the bay, leadrope & halter in hand. She whickered at me coming in the gate, but took one look at the dangling leadrope and made a beeline direct for the corner of the lot. Stuck her nose in the corner and dared me to approach her. Ears flat, tail tucked, muscles tense & stiff.

Well, I wasn't getting in kicking distance, that's for sure. I talked to her quietly from about fifteen feet back and to the side. Gradually, her position relaxed and her eye softened. If I stepped forward she'd stiffen. Occasionally she'd turn her head slightly, gaze fixed on the rope in my hand. Hmmm.

I dropped the rope and halter. She relaxed a bit more. This time when I took a step toward her, hands empty, she didn't freeze. I kissed to her, and she eased a shoulder toward me. I kept talking to her, and gradually she shifted out of the corner and angled herself down the fence facing me. When I could safely approach her shoulder, she let me lead her with a handful of mane over to where I'd left the halter & lead.

After I petted her a bit, I was able to slide the halter on, and clip on the lead. She followed me quietly on her way to the trailer and her breakfast.

Discussing it, we could only speculate that at some point in her past that mare had been beaten. Her first response to seeing someone carry a rope was fear. In turning her rear toward whoever had that rope, she was protecting herself the only way she knew how.

Amazingly, she didn't really see people as the threat - just the rope, and apparently just in situations where she was loose and about to be caught. Otherwise she showed no anxiety at all about being handled. Ropes thrown over her and off of her were not a problem.

She wasn't headshy.

She wasn't touchy or sulky or cranky.

Had you only encountered her already caught or undersaddle, there was nothing to indicate she had issues. She was lovely to handle and trained to a fare-thee-well; an almost push-button ride.

And if you were sent to catch her in the pasture or halter her in her stall, and couldn't or didn't read her? She'd nail you. Both feet, no questions.

After that weekend I never saw the bay mare again. She went back to her new owner's place, presumably to be bred. Hopefully she'll pass on her quiet disposition, good conformation and winning ways in the arena to her offspring.

But the juxtaposition of the bay mare's good nature and her dangerous habit stuck with me. Horses certainly come with baggage. I expect it was only the fact that mainly along the way she'd also been treated kindly that made her willing to continue to trust people in most situations.

No telling where or from whom she'd learned to protect herself. But whoever owned her was always going to have to realize that she could, and would feel threatened under certain conditions. And she'd act on it.

Thanks, Dad!

Horses were a fact of life growing up. Family vacations were planned around the availability of someone who could feed & check in on them; family outings so that we'd be home in time for one old mare's evening meal. (She wasn't very interested in food, and it could take her two hours to pick her way through several quarts of grain. A bite here, stare into space & doze for a while. A mouthful there, snort at the cat. Waiting on Schelah to finish was an exercise in patience!)

If a vacation was planned in the winter, someone always stayed home because the horses needed to be fed & watered. There was no running water at the barn. For three seasons the horses watered out of a creek, but Upper Michigan winters come early and stay late, so once the creek froze too thick for chopping holes in or the path down iced up, water was hauled out from the house in 5 gallon buckets.

If there was snow we used the sled. If there wasn't, we used a little red wagon. Buckets had to be hauled a couple of times a day when the temperature bottomed out - the buckets would freeze into solid cylinders, and we'd haul them back in to thaw by the stove. (Why we didn't have a spigot at the barn is a whole 'nother story.... Remind me sometime, and I'll tell you all about growing up without electricity!)

I say we, but it was probably mostly my mother doing the hauling for many, many years. As children we were too small, then we were in school, sports, then college.... She hauled a LOT of water over the years.

We all did help put up hay - I learned to drive by steering the truck in the hay field because I was too small to pitch bales or stack. And man, it sucked to get big enough! Especially if I mis-stacked and any bales fell off.

We, and again, I use that term loosely, fenced. Mostly, that was my dad. I inherited the whole horse-affliction thing from my mom, so at least she only had herself, or maybe my grandfather, to blame for the on-going horse chores.

My dad was not a horse person. He's comfortable around them, and he certainly knows which end is which and what goes where, but horses are so not where his interests were. Nevertheless, he helped.

He did a lot of fencing. There was always lots of fencing, because although everything was and had been fenced for years, well... the fences had been up for years. Most of what ground wasn't covered in pasture or trees was sand or swamp. And with cold, snowy winters, muddy springs, and rainy falls, even cedar posts don't stand up indefinitely. So every spring fences needed to be walked, wires tightened, posts propped back up or replaced, downed trees removed... And did I mention there were deer flies to be contended with as soon as black fly and mosquito season ended?

When the fencing was done, at least temporarily, there was haying. We usually helped friends put up their hay, and they helped us with ours. And every year at some point their ancient tractor would stall out or the square baler would jam, and my dad and L would spend a while with their heads and hands stuck into whichever bits of mechanical guts that were malfunctioning. Square bales for both families' horses all had to be counted, hauled, and stacked into whichever barn we were filling with whatever hands were available.

One year in high school when the call came that the bales were ready but rain was on the way I headed out to the hay field direct from work to find the truck idling along driverless in low gear while my dad worked quickly alongside hoisting bales up onto the trailer, stacking as he went. Good thing the field was long enough that not much turning was required!

My mom was on the local horse council, and we girls did 4-H. That meant my dad got volunteered for things. Lucky for us he's quite handy. When they built the 4-H arena, guess who helped dig the post holes? And build the announcer's stand. He "volunteered" for announcing at shows, as well; at the Schoolcraft County Fair Horse Show for all the years we showed, and at the 4-H arena, too -- I think maybe he actually enjoyed announcing, at least!

When Shan the pony came to live with us and I got big enough to ride in the occasional 4th of July parade or 4-H event, we didn't have a horse trailer. Money was tight, and one small to middling pony wasn't worth the expense of a big horse trailer. (The mares never went.) So my dad built Shan a horse - no, a pony box. It took a ditch or a ramp to load from, but Shan rode in style in his box. It was just his size, bolted securely into the back of the pick-up, and my mom even made bumpers chest, sides & rear from thick foam and naugahyde so that Shan wouldn't bang himself.

Yep, we were lucky my dad is handy - although I'm not so sure he always thought so!

So for all those times he was there - and still is - with a pat on the back, an encouraging word, or a helpful suggestion; for the leadline lessons, the fencing, the haying and the 'we'll have to change the date again' vacations, (the binoculars that fit in my horn bag for trail rides!), I owe my father a huge thank you. It's belated, but heartfelt, believe me.

And isn't he ever glad I now live far enough away he no longer gets the "privilege" of spring fencing? lol!

True love started early

As I puttered around bareback in the field last night too hot to bother with a saddle, it struck me how much I enjoy just being out with the horses. It's a long-term relationship that started before I could walk, I guess.

It was my mother who first plopped me on her mare. Before I could walk, even - tiny legs sticking out to almost, but not quite reach the edges of Cricket's broad back. I don't remember it, but I've always wondered if that's why I associate the smell of horses with comforting things.

A couple years later came lead-line at the local 4-H show.

On Trigger, circa 1976

I still have this saddle, and fond memories of the P- sisters and their mom who generously supplied mounts for a bunch of leadliners every year. They also had cows - Limosin cattle to be exact - and always hauled a bunch of them to the county fair. For those of us kids who practically lived in the barn, it was an opportunity to a) groom a cow, b) show a cow, and c) learn the other use for Aquanet! Cows need big hair, too - who knew!

On Fat Sally, 1977

I mentioned before how my mom selected Shandar - here he is a couple years after he came to live with us, with a haircut ala Moe of the Three Stooges. Yikes!

Shandar, 1980

Little sister circles in the round pen - 1984

My sister, who was to have inherited Shan when I outgrew him, still loves horses, but never felt the strong pull to continue horsing around.

With Mingo - 1985

By the 1980's I'd graduated to bigger horses. Mingo, who belonged to friends, was in hindsight a great kids' horse, and also incredibly fugly. Long, fat body, common head, short legs -- he was hard to catch, and so round he was easy to slide off of accidentally. He also had the most amazing shying technique: at the drop of a hat he could disappear out from under you, coming back upright a good 4' from where he started and you left off. Staying on him definitely developed my seat and legs - we seldom used saddles, preferring to scramble on bareback and roam the countryside that way.

For a long time after college I made do with other people's horses. But in 2004 I bought FlamingStars Sundance (a.k.a. Sunny) as a long-yearling.

Badlands Wagon Train, 2004

One of our first major outings - a 3-day ride through the South Dakota Badlands and surroundings area. Sunny was a trouper to pony, handling water, wagons, and careening ponies with aplomb. A wonderful omen for things to come! I borrowed Sheba for the trip. She's a well-seasoned campaigner, and an excellent monkey-see, monkey-do example-provider for young stock. Of course, she dumped me on the last day.... But luckily the only thing bruised was my dignity!

2005 Corn Palace Stampede Rodeo Drill Team

Yep, that's me on the left. In a moment of insanity I agreed to ride in the local drill team, a long-running staple of the Corn Palace Stampede Rodeo. I rode for two years, but once Sunny was old enough he proved to heartily dislike the crowding necessary for close-order exercises and I hated to borrow a horse and give up precious riding time on him, so I joined the "former drill team rider" ranks. (Good excuses, since the speed and crowds made me nervous - I don't look nearly as terrified as I felt!)

I guess I simply started horse crazy, and I never outgrew it. I'd love to share my affliction with my family. When I married my husband I also gained two children (and two cats). He made space in his home for my books and saddles, etc. and he's since acquired a horse - as many do when "saddled" with us horse-mad gals.

H & M are super kids. They're both bright, interesting, active young people, and we get along, which is wonderful. Although T grew up in rural Kansas around horses, cows, and farm equipment, the kids didn't. Initially the farm was a challenge for them - there's poop! It smells! But gradually, it has became less so.

M had a good time in leadline last year (Sunny was a doll), but he's not as captivated this year. Soccer and bowling are his new passions. H is newly a teenager. She's appropriated her dad's camera, and is getting to be quite the photographer. She caught a gorgeous shot of Sunny elevating through the pasture, tail flagged & nostrils flaring - it's hanging on my office wall.

Neither of them has really developed an interest in the horses. They both have other inclinations, and that's okay. Maybe in time they'll come around, but if they don't, that's fine, too - they just don't know what they're missing.

How about you: did you sob over Black Beauty, envy Alec the Black, and thrill to the story of Old Bones, the Wonder Horse? Were your favorite toys Breyer ponies, did you love Barbie's horses more than her outfits, and was the best place to whisper secrets a grassy, horsey smelling mane? Or did you come to the stable later in life?

My mother's list

As I recall it, when I was four, my grandparents thought I was old enough to have a pony. Sounds like a lovely idea, doesn't it? (Note: my family wasn't horse-clueless. They had space and a place for a pony, money to feed one, and the knowledge to care it. My grandparents at one point ran a stable, so they weren't just out of the blue thinking, "Gee, let's buy little Suzie a pony for her birthday and won't she be cute" without a thought for the consequences to child and pony.)

I certainly wasn't an accomplished rider at four. At the time, my folks - well, my mom - had two horses, an OTTB gelding and a older mare who was probably a QH. (I remember Cricket as a large, gentle bay, very round and extremely tolerant of children hanging on her.) When the pony buying process started I was ecstatic.

My very own pony!!!

But my mother was determined that this wouldn't just be any old backyard kid's pony. This pony had to have qualities. Not qualifications, you understand, but qualities. Now for all of you out there who immediately thought "oh-oh, show parent alert" - stop. At the top of her checklist were the following: soundness, steadiness, patience, ease of handling/manners, and familiarity with children. Size was a factor (not too small, not too large), and so was age - not too young. The perfect pony would ride, load, be of a size to be - eventually, after all, I was four - tacked up by a child, and have good feet. That was just the top of her list... it was a long list.

She (we) commenced looking for and at ponies. I don't remember exactly how many ponies we looked at, but at the time it seemed to be many. I do remember a beautiful palamino pony that was advertised as absolutely kid-broke (kids could crawl underneath him). So "broke" was he that he balked at leading; just planted his feet and wouldn't leave the yard. There were ponies that were too small, ponies that had no training, ponies that were highly trained and priced accordingly. Ponies that tried to bite, and/or had founder issues, and ponies that couldn't be caught, but sure were pretty. Lots and lots of ponies. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that there were no ponies in existence that my mother couldn't find some sort of fault with! (Thank you, Mother!)

Finally we found Shan. Shandar was a shetland/welsh cross, a small bay with a white star and copious amounts of mane, tail, and hair in general. He had good feet, a happy outlook on life, and a hearty appetite. He liked kids. He bridled and saddled without problem. He was willing to leave the yard. His owner said he was trained to drive (we never tried), and she loved him; she hated to see him going to waste out in the field while she rode her big horses, but was selling because he no longer had a job and needed one. Shan passed the list test, and he came home with us.

In the winter Shan was solid, plushy hair, and you could barely find his ears. Not too tall, he was a bit small for a real horse saddle, and as I quickly got too big for a pony saddle, our adventures were mostly bareback. He could be challenging to catch, and he didn't much like to load, but he was willing to be decorated with flowers and ribbons, braided, blanketed (the OTTB's blanket, which you can imagine was a tad large), and fussed over. With a tiny tot aboard he would stick his nose to the closest adult's pocket and remain glued there, calmly starting and stopping, carrying his tiny charge with absolute care.

With a more experienced rider, he could be a bit hot-headed and difficult, but his resistance always seemed age and ability-appropriate. His patience was endless. When I fell off he would stop and wait for me - most of the time. He taught me many, many things without a single formal lesson. When we lost him to a freak accident at 16 - a pasture mate kicked out connecting with his jaw shattering it beyond repair - I was devastated. I'd grown too big to ride Shan by that point, but he was still mine, even if my sister was the one riding him.

I didn't really realize how important my mother's list was until I grew up. Just talk to anyone whose first experience with horses was awful because of an impulsive "cute" pony purchase. Look at the white faces in show rings; kids who are afraid because they've been over-mounted, and adults scared to ride after being traumatized by a pushy, ill-mannered, under-trained horse - we've all heard the stories and seen the results.

Shan is my foundation - when I think about why I love horses and riding, he's my warm, fuzzy, comfortable memory: the feeling I strive to get back when I ride now. (Again, thanks, Mother!)

My mother turned her pony-hunting list into an article - with pictures, yikes! - which ran in one of the horse magazines (Practical Horseman or Horse & Rider, I think) sometime in the mid-70s. It's probably hard to find now, but there are lots of good sources of information on horse-buying out there. Do yourself a favor: read at least one before you buy a horse/pony for your child. They'll thank you for it eventually!