Horsey Fever!

Moi, as a wee girl, riding my horsey!

Many moons ago when I was a wee girl, my parents bought me a beautiful bouncing plastic horse that I used to ride and ride and ride until someone pulled me off and made me go do something else (apparently the springs got irritating after an hour—go figure).

A few years later, I got into riding real horses. I blame my mother. ;) Actually, I am so grateful to her for exposing me to this sport. We were living in Rota, Spain at the time. We bought a beautiful gray gelding called Diablo. He was ¾ Arabian and ¼ something else. Diablo did sort of live up to his name, in that he was a bit of a devil to deal with if he decided he didn’t want to do anything. You try moving a 900 lb horse if he doesn’t want to budge—and I was a 10-year-old kid at the time!

Diablo had once been a dressage horse, so his favorite thing to do instead of almost anything else was dressage. I’d be trying to get him to jump over a low jump and he’d start prancing and dancing around. It was beautiful, but just not what I wanted him to do. I had to work hard to get him to canter, too. That horse had the fastest trot known to man and I learned pretty quickly not to ride Diablo on a full stomach. He simply would not canter if he wasn’t in the mood. Not for me, at any rate. Mom was a no-nonsense rider, so she got him to do things I could only dream of.

Diablo and I eventually came to terms with each other, and I was able to progress quite nicely as a rider with English and Western saddles, as well as a bareback pad when I felt especially brave, or suicidal, as the case may be. We even competed in the local rodeos and Gymkhana’s at the stables where he was boarded and did quite well. They were no major grand and glorious competitions, but it still meant the world to me when I brought home ribbons and trophies, and I think he actually enjoyed competing.

Thinking back now, I wish I knew more about his previous life as a dressage horse and whether he competed in that discipline. Possibly his stubbornness to do what we wanted him to do was simply his misinterpreting what signals we thought we were giving him. A gentle kick here, or applying pressure with the knees there may mean something specific to a dressage horse. Ah, the things I still have to learn!

We had other adventures, too. Most of the time when I rode him it was an extremely pleasant and exhilarating experience, but there were those occasional bad days. One day we were out riding around the campo, and evidently we crossed an invisible property line and trespassed on someone’s private property. Next thing I knew someone was shooting a rifle! I didn’t stop to check if they were aiming at us or just firing up into the air, nor did Diablo. I barely had the “g” in giddyup out and he was a dot on the horizon! We carefully avoided that area of the campo after that.

We had less-harrowing and occasionally gross adventures in the jumping ring. In the early days before Diablo understood or took me seriously as a rider, I’d be trying to get him to turn one way to line up for a jump, and he went the other, throwing me to the ground just inches from a pile of manure. I swear that horse could smirk! I preferred his dressage steps to that mess!

Another time we had just finished the Grand Opening for the rodeo and were leaving the ring. Diablo accidentally cut too close to the large steel post as we were running out and I smashed my left knee on it. I screamed and my dad came running out and pulled me off the horse and carried me back to the car. At the hospital I had to have my knee drained of a lot of fluid. By this time Diablo and I had bonded pretty well and I think he actually felt horrible about it. He was very gentle and careful after that.

One of the traditions of the stable where we boarded Diablo was that when a rider had a birthday, a birthday posse would be formed. The posse would seek out the person with the birthday, pick them up and carry them to the water trough. The birthday girl or boy would naturally be fighting like mad to get away, but they never did. The posse would take the person’s boots off, and hat if they were wearing one, and then dunk them in the trough. Then they gave them a hearty HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and left them to squish around in wet clothes for the rest of the day. I know I hated it and I can only imagine how the horses felt about it.

So now, all these years later, I’ve been bitten by the horse bug once again thanks to a lovely dressage horse called Blue Hors Matine. Again, I have to blame my mother. She forwarded this link to me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKQgTiqhPbw . If you haven’t seen it, you’re horribly deprived and you must rectify it immediately!

Fortunately for my finances, common sense prevails and I realize I cannot currently afford to own a horse, so will settle for the video, and perhaps volunteering at a local service organization that specializes in helping children with disabilities to ride horses. Where there's a will...