I can recall with shocking clarity the first time I ever saw a broken horse, it was horrific. Just as I can remember the first time I fell of a horse and the first time a horse bolted away with me. Painful memories are crystal clear and rise to the surface of the mind quickly, like jetsam from the ocean utterly useless but always there a twisted mess of slime and junk that is not even worth the effort to untangle.
His name was Demetrius an extremely tall bay Thoroughbred with a strip of blurred white down his nose that gave him an knowledgeable but sorrowful appearance. I watched his owner saddle him with a English saddle that looked petite on his long broad back. She left to go get a helmet and returned with it grasped in her hand. She did not undo Demetrius' lead rope from the metal fence it was tied to since she only intended to get on to adjust the stirrups. It was like a firework went of. Suddenly Demetrius was rearing and bucking and screaming in pain. His rider flung herself off as he began to tug against the rope with all his might till the fence bent in submission toward him. The clasp of the rope finally snapped and Demetrius stumbled back shaking with wild eyes.
Gretchen was the first to approach him, her calm eyes never leaving his white rimmed ones till she slowly reached out and gently grabbed his halter. Demetrius flared his nostrils at her she did not say anything for awhile, just stood there looking at the him as his trembling slowly evaporated. She then turned her head slightly and asked me to go grab another lead rope, which I did. She then told me to come into the arena and hold him.
I was scared to, I had just seen this horse at his very worst and it terrified me. After a slight hesitation I slowly entered the arena and began slowly tip-toeing towards the woman and the horse. I reached Demetrius head and snapped on the lead rope as Gretchen let go and went to examine his back. She removed the saddle and began to lightly stroke Demetrius spine till she found a tender point that made him wince. She nodded her head as if confirming to herself something she already new then she went to talk to the rider who was pacing shaken and agitated on the other side of the fence. I stood there looking up and the horse who could have easily knocked me over with the slightest flick of his head, but when I looked at him all I could see was the venerable pain in his dark eyes. Slowly and tentatively he lowered his massive head till it was resting heavily on my shoulder and released a hot sigh from his nose. I began murmuring softly to him and stroked his long neck. We stood there for a while simply calming each other down till his owner came back to collect him to take him to the vet.
I never saw Demetrius again but not because he was put to sleep, but because change was in the air I just did not know it.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
I don't remember the exact reason behind it but one day my mother informed me that we would not be traveling out to Saddle bred anymore and that Gretchen had relocated once again to another stable. I was slightly surprised by the sudden change, unsure of the reasoning behind the move and wondering if I would ever see any of the horses I had grown so fond of again. Sting, Miss Ali, Griffin, Mark, Jack O' Lantern, Navarre, the red colt who had followed me like a puppy.
At the same time I was thrilled at the prospect of moving somewhere new, with a fresh scenery, and different horses to be acquainted with.
A few days later I could hardly contain my curiosity, I was going to have a lesson at the new boarding facility. The drive was at least half an hour shorter than the drive out to Saddle bred, but to me if felt years longer. The car wove down residential roads and busy streets, and I felt my anticipation growing into apprehension. This could not be the right way, how could there be any horses in a neighborhood a few yards away from one of the main roads of Boise? The car ride finally ended across from a shabby apartment complex complete with extravagant displays of overgrown plants winding down square balcony railings, and a collection of wind chimes composed of broken shards of colored glass.
Slowly I turned my head to see where I would be riding for the next two or so years. It was like falling into a fairytale. There was a riding arena a foot away from the road, with symmetrical square poles and fencing, and filled with white sand, the kind of sand one would find on a seclusive tropical beach instead of a riding arena. To the left was a fence dowsed with thick curls of ivy like plants and a green lawn which surrounded a two story house painted robin egg blue with white trimmings on all the windows and doors. nestled behind the house was a paddock in which two retired Thoroughbred horses a chestnut and black bay leaned contentedly against each other. Adjacent to the paddock was a old classic barn, which slouched in the dirt worn with age, the red paint was faded and the white edges were more of a grey than white, but it gave character to the small slice of horse heaven in the middle of an urban neighborhood.
This place was certainly not as extravagant as Saddle bred and did not even come close to the spectrum of facilities available there, but it was warm and honest. Worn down to the very bones of what horse back riding should be. The only disappointment was I the lack of familiar horses, the only two horses I could see were the sweet old Thoroughbreds and they were strangers to me. Gretchen walked out to meet us dressed in sun bleached jeans and comfortable boots, with her monstrous Great Dane Derek bounding along beside her. Derek was always with Gretchen, like a enormous black shadow always following her. His size was intimidating but in truth he was a coward. He only barked if he was sure the thing he was challenging wouldn't bark back. Every time my mom came to watch me ride Derek would approach her turn himself around and sit on her lap. So she would patiently wait through the entire lesson with over a hundred pounds of dog parked on her lap.
Gretchen walked us around the new grounds till we reached a side paddock that had been hidden behind an old tack room. To my extreme delight two old friends greeted us at the fence, Miss Ali and Sting. I rushed under the fence, which caused both horses to jerk their heads back in alarm, the whites of their eyes showing. But I didn't care. I was home, the winds of change had calmed for the time being and I was back in golden familiarity
At the same time I was thrilled at the prospect of moving somewhere new, with a fresh scenery, and different horses to be acquainted with.
A few days later I could hardly contain my curiosity, I was going to have a lesson at the new boarding facility. The drive was at least half an hour shorter than the drive out to Saddle bred, but to me if felt years longer. The car wove down residential roads and busy streets, and I felt my anticipation growing into apprehension. This could not be the right way, how could there be any horses in a neighborhood a few yards away from one of the main roads of Boise? The car ride finally ended across from a shabby apartment complex complete with extravagant displays of overgrown plants winding down square balcony railings, and a collection of wind chimes composed of broken shards of colored glass.
Slowly I turned my head to see where I would be riding for the next two or so years. It was like falling into a fairytale. There was a riding arena a foot away from the road, with symmetrical square poles and fencing, and filled with white sand, the kind of sand one would find on a seclusive tropical beach instead of a riding arena. To the left was a fence dowsed with thick curls of ivy like plants and a green lawn which surrounded a two story house painted robin egg blue with white trimmings on all the windows and doors. nestled behind the house was a paddock in which two retired Thoroughbred horses a chestnut and black bay leaned contentedly against each other. Adjacent to the paddock was a old classic barn, which slouched in the dirt worn with age, the red paint was faded and the white edges were more of a grey than white, but it gave character to the small slice of horse heaven in the middle of an urban neighborhood.
This place was certainly not as extravagant as Saddle bred and did not even come close to the spectrum of facilities available there, but it was warm and honest. Worn down to the very bones of what horse back riding should be. The only disappointment was I the lack of familiar horses, the only two horses I could see were the sweet old Thoroughbreds and they were strangers to me. Gretchen walked out to meet us dressed in sun bleached jeans and comfortable boots, with her monstrous Great Dane Derek bounding along beside her. Derek was always with Gretchen, like a enormous black shadow always following her. His size was intimidating but in truth he was a coward. He only barked if he was sure the thing he was challenging wouldn't bark back. Every time my mom came to watch me ride Derek would approach her turn himself around and sit on her lap. So she would patiently wait through the entire lesson with over a hundred pounds of dog parked on her lap.
Gretchen walked us around the new grounds till we reached a side paddock that had been hidden behind an old tack room. To my extreme delight two old friends greeted us at the fence, Miss Ali and Sting. I rushed under the fence, which caused both horses to jerk their heads back in alarm, the whites of their eyes showing. But I didn't care. I was home, the winds of change had calmed for the time being and I was back in golden familiarity
The Red Colt
Stander bred stables was always hot in the summer, the air baked and sizzled and mixed with the dust stirred up by slow tired hooves. It was so hot and heavy that it clotted in my lungs, a dry burning ache. There was no relief, the sun beat down mercilessly straight over head and fried away even the slightest morsel of shade. I found myself restless on these day filled with the need to keep moving, as if searching for a breeze. I would wander from horse paddock to horse paddock clucking to the heat weary horses to see if they wanted company.
There were two twin paddocks just outside the main barn, they were sturdy but old, with crooked cracked fences and worn shelters that had seen their fair share of weather. It was here that two weary mares rested in the shade there heads bent against the heat. In the paddock farthest from me was Bella a small thoroughbred mare with a soft face and sweet disposition. Her colt was a small golden bay with charcoal black legs, his name was Noah and he had the arrogance of his father Navarre. He looked up briefly when I walked over but no amount of cooing could convince him to rise from his shade throne made by his mother's shadow.
Disappointed I moved to the other paddock, to meet the other mare and colt. The mare was completely hidden in the shade of her half stall, and so was the colt at the time. Regardless I stood up on the lowest rail of the fence and clucked.
The colt raised his head and began to slowly amble towards me, his head and ears aimed at me, with a youthful curiosity his amber eyes. He came over to the fence his soft muzzle explored my hand and shirt nibbling them gently. I began to slowly rub his forehead and then comb out the tangles in his feathery mane. He leaned in to my stroking causing the fence to creak. It was peaceful just sitting there in the heat, with the little grulla colt, and time slipped by unnoticed. It was a slight shock when I heard the familiar three note blast of my mother's car horn. I quickly jumped off the fence and began to jog towards the car, there was a sudden pounding of hooves behind me and I looked to see the little grulla following me to the other side of the fence. The car forgotten I turned around and began to run the other way, the grulla copied me and wheeled around cantering at my side. The game continued for at least a half an hour of me dodging and weaving back and forth and the colt following in the game with extreme enjoyment. Of course it could not continue forever and the youthful ADHD that colt posses soon made him grow bored with the game and return to his mother without a backwards glance. I could not help but chuckle as he strutted back over to the shelter and collapsed exhausted into a comfortable heap on the toasty ground.
There were two twin paddocks just outside the main barn, they were sturdy but old, with crooked cracked fences and worn shelters that had seen their fair share of weather. It was here that two weary mares rested in the shade there heads bent against the heat. In the paddock farthest from me was Bella a small thoroughbred mare with a soft face and sweet disposition. Her colt was a small golden bay with charcoal black legs, his name was Noah and he had the arrogance of his father Navarre. He looked up briefly when I walked over but no amount of cooing could convince him to rise from his shade throne made by his mother's shadow.
Disappointed I moved to the other paddock, to meet the other mare and colt. The mare was completely hidden in the shade of her half stall, and so was the colt at the time. Regardless I stood up on the lowest rail of the fence and clucked.
The colt raised his head and began to slowly amble towards me, his head and ears aimed at me, with a youthful curiosity his amber eyes. He came over to the fence his soft muzzle explored my hand and shirt nibbling them gently. I began to slowly rub his forehead and then comb out the tangles in his feathery mane. He leaned in to my stroking causing the fence to creak. It was peaceful just sitting there in the heat, with the little grulla colt, and time slipped by unnoticed. It was a slight shock when I heard the familiar three note blast of my mother's car horn. I quickly jumped off the fence and began to jog towards the car, there was a sudden pounding of hooves behind me and I looked to see the little grulla following me to the other side of the fence. The car forgotten I turned around and began to run the other way, the grulla copied me and wheeled around cantering at my side. The game continued for at least a half an hour of me dodging and weaving back and forth and the colt following in the game with extreme enjoyment. Of course it could not continue forever and the youthful ADHD that colt posses soon made him grow bored with the game and return to his mother without a backwards glance. I could not help but chuckle as he strutted back over to the shelter and collapsed exhausted into a comfortable heap on the toasty ground.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sting, Miss Ali, and the Stallion
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.
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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