My mother always said I wilted when I wasn't at the barn.
When I told my young nephew I was quitting riding, he said "Horses will be sad."
Horses are a tragic love story, every last one of them.
For me, anyway. I tried many times to quit the horse-life, and this last horse-free time was 20 years or so.
On a pure whim (helped by the fact that I passed the barn on my way home from work)
I decided to throw that leg over again.
Okay, maybe not a whim. A prayer. I guess I was starting to desiccate.
I had tried the barn years before, but wasn't impressed. At all.
Ownership had changed, and OH, was I impressed.
Happy, healthy horses. LOTS of them!
ETA - BUT a year later, and things changed back to bad. Very bad.
My first ride on Penny was my first time back in the saddle in a very long time.
My time-line after horses is easily muddied.
Penny was a 16.2+ bright-copper chestnut, the best colour.
Glinting with gold in certain light.
Gorgeous thick tail, multi-coloured, with the darkest shades a glorious red-burgundy.
Her coat was fine and soft. Penny didn't need clipping.
A kind eye, an expressive wide generous mouth.
Long ears, for intelligence, but not overly long.
Lovely long well-shaped neck and an intelligent head at the end of it.
Slightly long in the back, slightly goose-rumped, and oh, I liked her from the start.
Just enough uneven white on her face and good-boned sound legs. Trakhener.
A breed I'd thought was scatter-brained and flighty. Well.
The horses have stall fronts that allow them to hang their heads & necks out and look beyond their stalls.
Penny looked fabulous.
I learned she'd been used for driving, as well as H/J, as well as other divisions.
Penny was 12 years old, and clearly knew what the ropes of riding were all about.
I was just thrilled to be there in her presence.
She surprised me with her tallness, which I think amused her.
Getting on and off, both!
Penny's blasé attitude was just what I needed.
She wasn't all that thrilled about grooming, maybe my arms were weak, and not tuned to her likes and dislikes.
I did try her withers, but that seemed to be no big deal.
Penny was sizing me up.
I climbed on, and settled in, and felt... home.
My stirrups were the right length (miracle, at a riding school).
I had no idea how my body was going to react.
I sat up, and asked her forward, and away we went.
No drum rolls, no fan-fare. I am not wilting, in the saddle.
I am not wilting, as I smell horses.
Walking, long strided, easy swinging gait, lovely for my old back, which did say a few surprised words.
I ignored those words, as most of my spinal cord was applauding.
My legs felt right, my body said "ah, yes. good."
All because this bright-chestnut mare knew just what to do.
I felt safe. We tried a trot, which she gently shuffled into.
I surprised myself again by posting on the second beat, and then knew what diagonal I was on.
Penny plunked along as my scrawny old frame slowly adjusted/stretched/relaxed into her movement.
You know I kept my reins loose, don't you? I did.
Penny didn't do the time honored school-horse duck-in-to-the-centre-of-the-ring trick.
Penny stayed close to the wall, while I sorted myself out.
The minute I heard louder words from my spine, I'd collapse a bit, and Penny would immediately walk.
She knew when I needed to take a break.
At the half-hour mark, the end of the first ride, grinning from ear to ear, I forgot how far away the earth was.
Subsequent rides were about 40% Penny, and the other lessons were on S. and T.
Those great geldings are wonderful in their own right, but that's another story.
Penny was quite (sorryPenny) lazy, during some of our rides.
She'd let me wiggle my legs ineffectually against her sides, while she maintained a minimal pace.
I finally asked for a "stick" (little bat is my go to "weapon"), and OH, Penny said.
Okay then. One should always carry a stick, taught Penny.
I had cantered both Star and Tucker by my 12th ride, but I hadn't cantered Penny. Ride #13.
I wasn't given much direction (and yeah, I probably wasn't listening, sorry, K).
I figured Penny'd be lazy about cantering, so I asked her from a walk, going towards home, from the far end of the arena.
It was lunch-time, and she'd been in all day for the farrier. Yeah. Talk about lighting up her life.
What should have been 10 or 12 strides was transformed into a galloping 7 strides, before I could aim her at the next wall for a whoa.
I had pulled on her mouth as soon as she started to Not-canter, saying whoa, but she was sure I'd asked for a gallop, and pulling was fine during a gallop, anyway!
Funny mare. Kinda killed my confidence, but a learning experience nevertheless.
I was glad my 13th ride was on Penny.
I rode Penny twice more, Not cantering, thank you very much, before C was able to convince me I COULD canter Penny.
C explained I needed to "throw the reins at her".
No arguing allowed as she started to canter, and it would be easier from a balanced trot.
And lo and behold, with a little pin of her chestnut mare ear, she "tiny-bucked" into the canter.
When I say tiny-buck, I mean millimicronic. Adorable.
We cantered both ways, with circles! Easy-peasy, because she was left alone to listen to what I wanted her to do.
She had a lovely, slightly-stiff-backed, canter. Easy to sit to.
My 17th ride. On a Friday.
Now, don't forget, it's my horse story, and you just know how they turn out.
Be prepared, because with horses, tragedy is always waiting.
My next lesson was Tuesday. Arrived, blooming with the thought of horses.
My heart twisted when I saw people surrounding Penny's stall, looked at seriously/sadly/tearfully by her owner and the vet and other barn workers.
Penny went to Ontario Veterinary College, where their track record was excellent with colic cases.
One week later, the decision to free her from her pain was made.
My heart, which I had truly believed was finally tough enough to withstand horses (otherwise why go back?) broke.
Again.
Thank you, Penny.
I'm so grateful I rode her first. I hope Penny liked me.
I didn't know I loved her, but she did.
Rest easy, sweet girl.
I will ride again, because I think Penny would want me to.
Her last lesson to me.
Horses are transient spirits on this earth, and the time we are given with them is a gift.
Never take them for granted.
Ever.
My first ride on Penny was my first time back in the saddle in a very long time.
My time-line after horses is easily muddied.
Penny was a 16.2+ bright-copper chestnut, the best colour.
Glinting with gold in certain light.
Gorgeous thick tail, multi-coloured, with the darkest shades a glorious red-burgundy.
Her coat was fine and soft. Penny didn't need clipping.
A kind eye, an expressive wide generous mouth.
Long ears, for intelligence, but not overly long.
Lovely long well-shaped neck and an intelligent head at the end of it.
Slightly long in the back, slightly goose-rumped, and oh, I liked her from the start.
Just enough uneven white on her face and good-boned sound legs. Trakhener.
A breed I'd thought was scatter-brained and flighty. Well.
The horses have stall fronts that allow them to hang their heads & necks out and look beyond their stalls.
Penny looked fabulous.
I learned she'd been used for driving, as well as H/J, as well as other divisions.
Penny was 12 years old, and clearly knew what the ropes of riding were all about.
I was just thrilled to be there in her presence.
She surprised me with her tallness, which I think amused her.
Getting on and off, both!
Penny's blasé attitude was just what I needed.
She wasn't all that thrilled about grooming, maybe my arms were weak, and not tuned to her likes and dislikes.
I did try her withers, but that seemed to be no big deal.
Penny was sizing me up.
I climbed on, and settled in, and felt... home.
My stirrups were the right length (miracle, at a riding school).
I had no idea how my body was going to react.
I sat up, and asked her forward, and away we went.
No drum rolls, no fan-fare. I am not wilting, in the saddle.
I am not wilting, as I smell horses.
Walking, long strided, easy swinging gait, lovely for my old back, which did say a few surprised words.
I ignored those words, as most of my spinal cord was applauding.
My legs felt right, my body said "ah, yes. good."
All because this bright-chestnut mare knew just what to do.
I felt safe. We tried a trot, which she gently shuffled into.
I surprised myself again by posting on the second beat, and then knew what diagonal I was on.
Penny plunked along as my scrawny old frame slowly adjusted/stretched/relaxed into her movement.
You know I kept my reins loose, don't you? I did.
Penny didn't do the time honored school-horse duck-in-to-the-centre-of-the-ring trick.
Penny stayed close to the wall, while I sorted myself out.
The minute I heard louder words from my spine, I'd collapse a bit, and Penny would immediately walk.
She knew when I needed to take a break.
At the half-hour mark, the end of the first ride, grinning from ear to ear, I forgot how far away the earth was.
Subsequent rides were about 40% Penny, and the other lessons were on S. and T.
Those great geldings are wonderful in their own right, but that's another story.
Penny was quite (sorryPenny) lazy, during some of our rides.
She'd let me wiggle my legs ineffectually against her sides, while she maintained a minimal pace.
I finally asked for a "stick" (little bat is my go to "weapon"), and OH, Penny said.
Okay then. One should always carry a stick, taught Penny.
I had cantered both Star and Tucker by my 12th ride, but I hadn't cantered Penny. Ride #13.
I wasn't given much direction (and yeah, I probably wasn't listening, sorry, K).
I figured Penny'd be lazy about cantering, so I asked her from a walk, going towards home, from the far end of the arena.
It was lunch-time, and she'd been in all day for the farrier. Yeah. Talk about lighting up her life.
What should have been 10 or 12 strides was transformed into a galloping 7 strides, before I could aim her at the next wall for a whoa.
I had pulled on her mouth as soon as she started to Not-canter, saying whoa, but she was sure I'd asked for a gallop, and pulling was fine during a gallop, anyway!
Funny mare. Kinda killed my confidence, but a learning experience nevertheless.
I was glad my 13th ride was on Penny.
I rode Penny twice more, Not cantering, thank you very much, before C was able to convince me I COULD canter Penny.
C explained I needed to "throw the reins at her".
No arguing allowed as she started to canter, and it would be easier from a balanced trot.
And lo and behold, with a little pin of her chestnut mare ear, she "tiny-bucked" into the canter.
When I say tiny-buck, I mean millimicronic. Adorable.
We cantered both ways, with circles! Easy-peasy, because she was left alone to listen to what I wanted her to do.
She had a lovely, slightly-stiff-backed, canter. Easy to sit to.
My 17th ride. On a Friday.
Now, don't forget, it's my horse story, and you just know how they turn out.
Be prepared, because with horses, tragedy is always waiting.
My next lesson was Tuesday. Arrived, blooming with the thought of horses.
My heart twisted when I saw people surrounding Penny's stall, looked at seriously/sadly/tearfully by her owner and the vet and other barn workers.
Penny went to Ontario Veterinary College, where their track record was excellent with colic cases.
One week later, the decision to free her from her pain was made.
My heart, which I had truly believed was finally tough enough to withstand horses (otherwise why go back?) broke.
Again.
Thank you, Penny.
I'm so grateful I rode her first. I hope Penny liked me.
I didn't know I loved her, but she did.
Rest easy, sweet girl.
I will ride again, because I think Penny would want me to.
Her last lesson to me.
Horses are transient spirits on this earth, and the time we are given with them is a gift.
Never take them for granted.
Ever.
