My journey (sort of) started in 8th grade. I have always been horse crazy, but as a Navy brat in a family with not much to spare, having a horse or pony of my own was never an option. I was lucky to make a friend that year whose family had a few horses, and they started taking me to the barn with them after school a couple days a week. The place was pretty run-down, looking back, but there were HORSES. I spent most of the time getting run away with by an old Appaloosa named Bossman (as the guy who owned the place grinningly told me "that was probably enough for today, he's no spring chicken", as if I could stop the dang thing!) and falling in love with a mistreated yearling named Surprise.
Surprise years later, after a friend located her for me. Pregnant with her second foal, with a wonderful family.
I also rode my friend's QH gelding, Joker. He was very sweet, but I have never ridden a horse that could put a stitch in your side like him...
Boy, what a dweeb...
We moved away eventually, and family problems put a stop to any access to horses. I spent most of my time in my room, drawing and drawing and drawing... In 11th grade, my mom and I ended up in Florida, and to cure the chronic sadness I seemed to have, she dug into her small pocket of cash and sprung for a weekly lesson at a barn near my grandfather's house. The trainer was very nice, considering I am sure I was a wreck. She put me on a huge Appendix gelding named Rugged, who was pretty even natured, even if he took advantage of my short little legs and wouldn't canter for me, and gave me my very first fall. I think about that instructor frequently, as I struggle to get some of the basic concepts of riding through to the beginners I start, and I wonder how she managed to keep her patience with me! I wish I had pictures of Rugged and some of the other horses I adored out there, but I lost most of them when photoisland closed down.
My family situation changed, and the summer before 12th grade, I moved to Alabama with my dad. He had remarried, and together his wife and I talked him into going horse shopping, when I narrowly avoided him taking me to lessons at a saddleseat barn (I mean, horses are horses, and I was grateful that he finally understood, and saddleseat is fine...for people who want to do that sort of thing. I am not a people who wants to do that sort of thing.) I saw an ad in the local paper for a "7yo Arabian gelding, friendly, $750" and put a big red circle around it; I'd always wanted an Arabian! We went to go see "Benny" that week. He was pastured with a two year-old palomino named Honey, and owned by a middle aged woman named Theresa. Ohhh, if I had actually KNOWN what I was doing...but at least I was in better shape than Dad and the wife. I'll give her credit, she did tack him up for me, but due to her bad back, I was on my own after that. In retrospect, a helmet and lunging him prior (if he'd even known how back then) would have been a BRILLIANT idea. But I was 17 and had minimal experience, and was of course invincible. And besides, who could resist THIS FACE?!
Mid head toss...at least I knew enough then to realize it probably had something to do with the massive, random curb chain dangling from his face. P.S. FATTY.
So I spent about 45 minutes getting run away with (seems a common theme for me back then- maybe that's why I can't enjoy a nice slow horse), scraped under trees, nearly knocked in the face by this head slinging monster, reared with...you name it, he tried it. Perhaps when sweet Theresa told us, "We bought him for our 26 year-old daughter eight months ago, but she's so scared of him, she's only ridden him twice" should have made a lightbulb of some variety go off...BUT. There were a total of thirty-seven seconds that the little firecracker slowed down and chilled out...and I loved him. After we left, me nervous as anything when the seller ominously said that someone was trying him out the next day, we went to dinner and I did my best to sell him to my dad. Dad already thought he was "cool", because he was "like a big dog! Did you see him lick my hand? And those perky ears! He was like a big dog!" I threw in my two cents by appealing to my dad's "bad ass nature" by asking if he saw how FAST Benny was, he was SO FAST! (ha ha haaaa)
Long story short, the other potential buyer never showed, and Theresa told my dad and wifey that if we paid cash, we could have him for $600. COOL. Now...um...the whole thing of actually finding somewhere to board and getting equipment, because finding Benny happened a lot faster than we'd planned and we were not prepared at all. Wifey managed to find a barn (English, ohhhh welllll... *sigh*) that wouldn't break the bank and sent me off by myself to introduce myself and check it out. We truly lucked out with this place, as the owner is the aforementioned wonderful woman, and I am still with her eight years later, and she is like a second mother to me. She even drives me nuts sometimes, just like a real mom!
Benny came home almost two weeks after I tried him out. I don't think I concentrated one iota at school that day. I had a HORSE, dudes!!
Nice hair, kid...
...who immediately commenced running away with me for the next, oh, I don't know, six months. I later got ahold of the number of the guy Theresa bought him from, hoping I could hunt down a foal picture of my sweet little guy, and the guy, country to the BONE (well, it is Alabama), boasted proudly, "Oh yeah, the kids used to just throw the saddle on him, get on, and take off running and run all day! They had a blast with him!"
YEAH. THANKS for that!! Because they essentially trained him to gallop. And that was what we did. For the next six months. Because I could not get him to STOP. I'm sure his old owner could hear me, an hour and a half north, as I hauled back on the reins yelling, "WHOAH BENNY. WHOAH, DAMN IT!" on a daily basis. He'd been there barely a week when I had the bright idea to ride him in the big open pasture for the first time. He would not stand still for me to mount, so a younger, much better rider than me, held his reins while I got (mostly) on. I had barely swung my leg over when he bolted loose from her and ran and ran and ran andranandranandran andranandranandran... An hour later, when I finally made it back to the barn, totally shellshocked and worn out, she asked me if I'd stayed on. All I could do was nod. It's amazing I didn't fall off of him more than I did, and that we never crashed into anything. He was like a homing missile; whichever direction he wanted to go, he would go, as fast as possible, no matter if his nose was cranked all the way to my knee in the opposite direction. A word of advice: NEVER underestimate the flexibility and balance of an Arabian.
Sort of like the Energizer bunny.
We did have some good moments, even then.
But I worked hard, and loved him desperately, and slowly found that the more I trusted him with, the more I COULD trust him. Every bit of progress was a shiny little diamond to me, and he never stopped being my best friend. When I think back to some of the knock down, drag out fights with that horse I had as an inexperienced rider with no supervision and certainly no professional help (as the BO was kept busy with actual paying students and didn't have time to do more than cross her fingers, make sure I had a current release signed, and hope she didn't have to scrape me off the ground), I'm astounded we developed the relationship we did, but we learned from each other.
He did a lot of this.
Now, he is a teenaged guy who we trust with the tiniest of beginners. Somewhere along the way, he got tamed...or just decided it was easier to be lazy. It is hard to reconcile that nutso firecracker with the plodding, patient little Arab who ignores the most persistent kicks from tiny little legs before giving a little sigh, rolling an eye in my direction, and succumbing to the inevitable. "There better be at least six kids in the crossties brushing me after this!" It is wonderful to watch peanut sized kids who barely come up to his shoulder dragging him around, picking up his feet for them, standing half asleep in the crossties while they fuss over him. He is MUCH cherished, that has never changed, but now countless little kids love him as much as I do. It makes me so proud to think of how many of them will hold him in their hearts forever, have pictures of them on their first lesson pony, at their first show, accomplishing things and overcoming obstacles, and becoming capable riders...because of him. I'll never forget one of my favorite students turning him out after a lesson, throwing her 6 year-old arms around his neck and saying, "You are a big sweet horse and I love you so much!" I had to turn away so she didn't see me cry. He's come a long way...
He and I are doing a little better too...
(even if I still look a little unfortunate)
He is an angel. I'm a lucky girl.
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