Once adjusted to Stander bred Stable, Gretchen started giving lessons once more. My sister and I returned eagerly, and were introduced to a new pair of horses. Sting and Miss Ali. Sting was a Morgan with a thick unruly mane, that was composed of hair that was neither straight nor curly but somewhere in between the spectrum. Despite its wild nature his mane and tail were a shine black color that off set his copper colored body wonderfully. He was big, gentle and slightly stubborn as most school horse tend to be. Emma was commissioned to ride Sting which left me with Miss Ali.
I admit I was slightly surprised with the choice at first. Miss Ali and Emma had taken lessons together previously so I assumed that they would be partners at Stander bred as well. Miss Ali was shorter than Sting by at least two hands ( four inches equals a hand) and I was most certainly taller than my younger sister. I became even more speculative of our matches when we found out that Sting was trained for English riding, my area of expertise, and Miss Ali was a western horse through and through which was Emma's desired area of riding.
Despite the obvious cacophony of interest I was incredibly pleased to be riding Miss Ali. She was a mustang, my dream breed. I had been longing to ride a mustang since I had started riding and finally my wish was granted. Plus Miss Ali had character. She was a stubborn old nag, who taught with and iron mouth and will. But when I showed her who was boss she would become malleable like clay and do what ever I asked of her. She had a special look about her a straw blond mane and tail cast over a strawberry roan body, and a red face that made her look slightly tipsy. I loved her. Gretchen knew what she was doing when she placed me with Ali and Emma with Sting. We grew incredibly fond of our respective partners and felt out of place on the few days we switched horses.
Slowly a transition began to take place. It began when Emma fell of Sting after participating in some instructed acrobatics. She was not very eager to get back on a horse after that or take lessons. After Emma's accident I began to take private one on one lessons. Something new occurred during these lessons, I was taught to train a horse instead of being trained by one. I felt a monumental sense of pride when Gretchen told me she needed someone to teach Sting to back up and make him mind his young riders, and that she had chosen me for the job. I began to work with Sting avidly till he was able to back up and would listen to my cues. I felt incredibly accomplished and my imagination began to seriously contemplate the idea of being a horse trainer as a job profession even though, I was still a very green rider at that point a beginner at best.
Do not think that I abandoned Miss Ali, due to a dosage of pride. I was still deeply attached to the little mare, and enjoyed spoiling her with lengthy brush in her wood stall after my lessons and babbling to her about how wonderful she was and how much I loved riding her and what I would do with her if she were my own (which I did with almost every horse I ever rode).
It was after one particular brushing session that I herd a rumor of a wonderful event that was about to occur. The Andalusian stallion Navarre was going to be released in the indoor arena to stretch out his legs. I quickly tossed some hay into the stall for Miss Ali and then hurried out to the main hall of the barn see the great spectacle.
I had never meet a stallion in person till I encountered Navarre. He was muscular with a dark almost grulla coat that had accents of gold and red on his beautiful form. He had a long wavy mane and soft forelock that draped over his bold face. He was proud and arrogant and he deserved to be, since he was by far the most majestic horse at the stable. Of course what I did not know was that the owner of this sculpted creature was non other than my riding instructor Gretchen. I felt new respect and awe for Gretchen after that. She had the courage to ride upon fire.
Now would probably be a good time to mention that the stall Miss Ali was in was located in the indoor arena, where Navarre was about to be released. Whoops.
Of course I had forgotten this fact completely. I was clinging to the fence my gangly frame trembling with excitement as a stable hand walked over to Navarre's secluded stall pulled back the latch and set the stallion free. He came out of his stall regally, with an aristocratic gait, slow and collected. He then proceeded to break into a smooth flowing trot, so he could inspect his surroundings. He moved on air, his hooves effortlessly floating mere inches above the ground, he had captivated the wind for it would never let him touch the ground.
It took him only a few moments to realize he was not alone in the indoor arena. He found Miss Ali contentedly munching alfalfa, oblivious to the quivering mass of testosterone just outside her stall. Navarre became excited a mare was near, but there was a solid wall of wood and iron bares between them. Furious at the blockade, Navarre reared pawing the air in anger, and released a reverberating scream. I almost fell off the fence I was so amazed, stunned by the sight of a horse rearing. Miss Ali looked up briefly from her alfalfa curious to see what the racket was all about. Once she saw that it was only Navarre making a show of himself she went back to her meal uninterested.
Of course the stable rose to a panic, two stable hands rushed out with hay and a lead rope to tempt Navarre away from the mare and back into his stall. This tactic worked without incident, and soon both Navarre and all the people in the stable returned to the usual calm motions of barn life.
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