Superstition

 Reiner Klimke & Fabian.
















I don't think I've ever told you the story of my lone foray into owning an Appaloosa. I've alluded to her, but I don't think I've ever bloggled her. I didn't own her for very long.

I called her Superstition, because she was absolutely horrified, by absolutely everything. Snorty thing, 4-5 year old 16.2, strawberry-roaned leopard Appaloosa, heart stopping to look at, perfectly tall for my leg, and stocky to boot. She was truly beautiful, everything put together JustRight, which is why I traded my first mare (the liver chestnut) for her, from the "WorstOfAllTime" Barn Guy.
We'll call him Woat. And I'll try not to mention him again. (spits.)

Superstition had the explosive power that was lacking in my first mare. Yes, I traded my first mare away, with barely a second thought. I was seventeen. Chestnut was just tooo short for my aspirations and I felt I needed a taller, more powerful jumper. Superstition had a LOT of propulsion in her, but I soon discovered that her idea of a good time would never include me. Ever. Mare had had a pretty rough start in life, that much was obvious. Rank-Broke. Every time I rode her was an adventure in staying on. I felt pretty cocky about her, being the only person on the property that could 1) get near her, and 2) saddle her up and 3) ride her.


I tried everything I knew with her, but as I had really no clue what I was doing, we didn't get very far. I was completely on my own at this point, at Woat's barn. (blech).
Superstition could buck/spin/crow-hop and shoot sideways at Mach 7. The day she finally threw me, I was kind of glad. I'd had enough, and traded her away for a horse that would become yet another one for the vet's "Exclamations!!" books.

It was pretty funny how she threw me, I think I've told you this part before. I (cough) smoked back then, and had a pack of matches in the back pocket of a tight pair of jeans, as I rode the mare in a field, where she'd never been before. We were already going for a new adventure in "Will I be able to stop her?", when the back pocket of my jeans ignited. My one quick, agonized movement away from her back was the perfect opportunity for Superstition to offer a new variety of "remove the human, NOW". I'm sure my yelp of pain didn't help either.
Ouch...

I wasn't ready for this mare. It was a real shame too, because if I'd only been able to reach her, she'd have made one heck of a jumper.
I wish I'd known this mare later in my riding life. It would have been fun to sit in the middle of a super-nova, and actually known what I was doing.