As I said in my last post, I preferred Ollie to Frankie for quite a while. After our indifferent start, we found a level of trust at which we were comfortable, overcame challenges such as water, jump fillers, loading, and had become a decent partnership. We did all kinds of stuff, fun trail rides, long gallops, prelim dressage, small cross country and show jumping and a little bit of working hunter pony, which I enjoyed. The smaller achievements I had with Oliver back then rank up there with the larger ones I'd go on to have. We were supreme ridden champion at a local show once, and a very popular choice, I'm immodest enough to say! We also used to go jumping at a high profile competiton yard's unaffiliated night, which attracted large numbers every week. I'd only jump in the under 12s section, but there were often 40 in a class, including kids who were already riding affiliated on push button ponies that had been handed down to them having been there, done that. We'd managed to come 2nd twice, but there was always someone who could turn tighter, gallop quicker, take more dares.
Now, Ollie had come a long way from his lazy days, and was now a bouncy, keen, bold pony, almost strong at times. He was never snaffle mouthed for jumping, which I regret a little, but in the interest of control, a kimblewick or pelham sufficed. We were both happier that way.
The thing he and I enjoyed the most was the thrill of the jump off. No turn was too tight, rarely did he have a pole, and he just loved to go fast for me. Well, one night, we won the class. It felt BRILLIANT.
That wasn't the story I wanted to tell, but it kind of leads up to the one I do. By this point, it may seem that I'd figured him out. But when we went to the big local outdoor summer show, 3 refusals at the first fence in the under 12s was the story, and I was upset that the trust hadn't been there. Fortunately for me, I had Frankie in the same class, and, with a bit more experience by now, we finished a creditable 6th in his biggest class to date. He was so much bigger than the ponies belonging to the other competitors, but his ground covering stride made up for the turns they did, and I was proud of him for keeping his composure.
I wasn't 'talking' to Ollie after the incident, so when we got back to the yard, my mum suggested we go out for a ride to forget about it and make friends again. I took Ollie, my friend Jasmin took Frankie and another friend rode her horse. We headed off up the 'Gypsy Track' - so called because of the traveller camp next to the trail that led to the best galloping fields around. The fun was the half mile field, where you walk/jogged up to the top and then whirled round and went as fast as you could for a loooooooong way, before having to pull up in front of the drainage ditch across the bottom. We made our way uneventfully up the track, cut over into the first field and headed to the top.
Ollie knew full well what was coming and jinked, jogged and snorted his way up. The other two seemed calmer. I knew my pony would finish first. He was darned fast, and could even beat Luke, mum's Thoroughbred. I was beginning to feel better. We all hit the top of the field, spaced out far enough, and set off. I was on the far left, Frankie in the middle, and Tizer, Kate's horse on the right. The first few seconds were fine. The rush, the adrenaline, then out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie spook, jump sideways, dump Jasmin off the side, and then carry on running left, towards the track and the dual carriageway that ran along the side of the next field over.
Crap!
Barely checking to see she was alright, I told Kate to stay with Jasmin, and headed Ollie off after a rapidly disappearing Frankie. All sorts of horrific scenarios played through my head: What if he gets on the road? Falls off the unfinished concrete bridge? Trips over his reins? He disappeared through a cut in the hedge ahead of us as we crashed through the first line of bushes. I urged Ollie on, thankful for Frankie's seemingly carefree trot and our speed advantage. I didn't want to startle Frankie into running away from us as there would be no way to cut him off then.
We quickly passed the cut and headed down the dirt track, not being able to see Frankie around the curve, but at least he hadn't crossed the barrier to the road. Now it was just the bridge to worry about, and as we turned the curve, I breathed a giant sigh of relief to see him trotting for home, stirrups and long mane flying, back along the straight track. He would meet a road in a couple of hundred metres though, so there wasn't long to act. I pushed Ollie on again, with only one way I could think of to successfully catch him. There were a series of cuts and ditches that ran parallel to the dirt track and led to another field. If I could jump in, gallop along next to Frankie and cut back across ahead of him, he'd have nowhere to go. This was not a time for Ollie to refuse again! I headed on for the first turn, up and down a shallow hollow and turned left into the field pushing on again. Shortly, I could see Frankie through the trees and was going to be perfectly placed to cut him off. I asked Ollie for a sharp left turn and a leap over our bugbear- a ditch - which he responded to! I could hear Frankie heading towards us, and we pulled to a halt in front of the hedge alongside the path. We startled Frankie, who leapt over the hedge, into the ploughed field. I had no choice but to follow him, so from a standstill, we too jumped the hedge, and finally, in the heavy going, Frankie's weight slowed him down, and I was able to draw level, leap off, and grab him, holding both plunging beasts until the others caught up, and we headed home, a little astounded at the dramatic turn the ride had taken. I couldn't praise Ollie enough, and made sure to tell everyone how amazing he'd been. Frankie was none the worse for his experience, but I could tell he was going to be some character.
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Moving on
After curing Ollie's stubborn-ness about trailers, we soon solved the issue with water, me riding, and my trainer and a helper - my mum - coaxing him through the newly dug out water jump at our yard with bristly brooms. I rode him forward firmly, and as he dithered on the edge of the half foot step in, he got bristled on the buttocks. It didn't take too long, and once he'd taken the plunge a couple of times, he became a fairly reliable water jumper. We did the same with a ditch, and again, he learnt they could be fun to jump and were not scary. This meant I could finally go away and do small cross country competitions, without the embarrassment. We were doing quite well on Pony Club teams, as Ollie's jumping over about 2'6" was very accurate, and months of schooling had led to a passable communication between us that allowed nice dressage tests to be produced. We once even won a Prelim 14 with 70%, beating many older combinations. I was thrilled!
I grew fairly quickly, and it was clear that Ollie could not be my pony forever, sturdy though he was. I was getting better as a rider, Ian, the yard manager would put me up on anything under 14.2 that arrived in the selling section of the stables. This was anything from 10.2 kids' ponies to ex JA jumpers with serious speed, to helping to back a Connemara stallion - gorgeous. It was a brilliant experience, between the ages of 8 and 10, and meant I was happy to get on anything, very little fear. The rich owners of the yard even got me to show off their ponies when they were trying to sell them. Didn't make me popular with the other kids, but I didn't care. I just wanted to ride as many ponies and horses as possible.
In the spring of 1997, I was riding Ollie in the indoor school, watched by one of my mum's friends when the lorry of a well known mass horse buyer/owner for the yard turned up. We went to the door to peer out and watched the ramp let down, wondering what would appear.
After a bit of banging, a stunning jet black welsh cob appeared at the top of the ramp, looking all around him. A long mane and forelock lent him a film star air, and we both agreed he was hot stuff.
Little did I know that Ian had got in this hot stuff from the buyer for ME to try. He was about 14.2, black, 4 white socks, 5, lightly ridden. His name was Frankie, and he had one brown and one blue eye. My older, taller friend rode him in the beginning and without anyone knowing, she let me ride him once. He was lovely. Plenty of energy, super soft mouth, very willing. Completely unspoilt, a pony to do anything with, and to take as far as possible.
I grew fairly quickly, and it was clear that Ollie could not be my pony forever, sturdy though he was. I was getting better as a rider, Ian, the yard manager would put me up on anything under 14.2 that arrived in the selling section of the stables. This was anything from 10.2 kids' ponies to ex JA jumpers with serious speed, to helping to back a Connemara stallion - gorgeous. It was a brilliant experience, between the ages of 8 and 10, and meant I was happy to get on anything, very little fear. The rich owners of the yard even got me to show off their ponies when they were trying to sell them. Didn't make me popular with the other kids, but I didn't care. I just wanted to ride as many ponies and horses as possible.
In the spring of 1997, I was riding Ollie in the indoor school, watched by one of my mum's friends when the lorry of a well known mass horse buyer/owner for the yard turned up. We went to the door to peer out and watched the ramp let down, wondering what would appear.
After a bit of banging, a stunning jet black welsh cob appeared at the top of the ramp, looking all around him. A long mane and forelock lent him a film star air, and we both agreed he was hot stuff.
Little did I know that Ian had got in this hot stuff from the buyer for ME to try. He was about 14.2, black, 4 white socks, 5, lightly ridden. His name was Frankie, and he had one brown and one blue eye. My older, taller friend rode him in the beginning and without anyone knowing, she let me ride him once. He was lovely. Plenty of energy, super soft mouth, very willing. Completely unspoilt, a pony to do anything with, and to take as far as possible.
After a month or so, my mum took him on loan for me. I was pretty tiny on him at this point, but he was very easygoing and learnt so quickly that he was honestly very little trouble for me at all. That's not too say a little while down the line we were still as harmonious! but I was happy with my boys, and Frankie's willingness to tackle new challenges, such as jumping upward of 2'6", medium and extended trot, a comfy canter and happily splashing through water and mud were a revelation. Everybody loved him, even the grooms who had to cope with his destroying of every automatic water dispenser in any stable he was put in. He was friendly, charismatic, happy and full of himself.
I still preferred Ollie though. Frankie was almost too good; too perfect. Everyone loved him, but not so many people loved Ollie, a more circumspect, difficult pony. But I did, and I resented Frankie's popularity. Even though he was mine!! At 10, that didn't seem to matter to me. We took him to a jumping competition at a local show after he hadn't been jumping long. Ollie was in the smallest class, Frankie in a bit bigger. He was so overawed that he barely cleared anything. Gawking, looking around, showboating. In retrospect, it was far too soon to have taken him out, and any lesser horse may have been traumatised by the experience, but he wasn't. However, I had finally found something imperfect about him, which made me relent a little on my view of him. He was still hugely arrogant, but he would need my guidance for something.
I could work with that.
Monday, 13 October 2008
Sunday, 12 October 2008
So, I'm watching HOYS
and as usual, although not so much as in the past, it gets me all emotional. Seeing all the top horses and riders, seeing people I used to know doing well, makes me very happy, but there's always a big sense of regret. I'm hoping it's lessening over time. Frankie's 16 now, but I still remember competing like it was last year, when in reality it was 6 years ago. At the time, I lost the enjoyment and I know I couldn't have carried on with school and lack of money and keeping the others at the time, but I do always wonder!
Ode to the Horse
Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, friendship without envy or beauty without vanity?
Here, where grace is laced with muscle, and strength by gentleness confined.
He serves without servility; he has fought without enmity.
There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent, there is nothing so quick, nothing more patient.
England’s past has been borne on his back.
All our history is his industry; we are his heirs, he our inheritance.
The Horse!
Ronald Duncan
Ode to the Horse
Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, friendship without envy or beauty without vanity?
Here, where grace is laced with muscle, and strength by gentleness confined.
He serves without servility; he has fought without enmity.
There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent, there is nothing so quick, nothing more patient.
England’s past has been borne on his back.
All our history is his industry; we are his heirs, he our inheritance.
The Horse!
Ronald Duncan
Friday, 10 October 2008
Little and Large
While I was falling asleep last night, I was thinking through all the stories I could write about. I'm finding it nice and cathartic to get things written down, so I'm wondering if getting some more emotional stuff down will help. I just so happened to be thinking this, and then reading blogs that i follow this morning, found that topics close to my emotional heart are being discussed. So I'll go ahead!
First of all is one of my angriest experiences, that still gets me fuming. I need to get over it, granted! Last October, my last year of University, I decided I'd try out for the Uni Riding Team. Why not? They asked me to fill in a form before the trials, asking me what experience I had, what I liked to ride, what I didn't like to ride. I stated my height and weight, my successes, confidences and fears. Simple, I thought, and sent it off. The trial date was set, I got a lift with some of the other triallists to a place so far into the middle of nowhere that one of my first thoughts was 'shit, what if one of us gets hurt?!' air ambulance would've been the only option, we were 15 minutes from the nearest proper road, half an hour from the main road and with just moorland as far as the eye could see. I shrugged it off anyway and we headed into the yard - a bit rundown, but not terrible. There were 4 or 5 horses tied up, some rugged and muddy, others not. Nothing special, just average riding school horses, so they looked, a variety of heights. I picked up a brush and began helping to groom one of the unrugged geldings. I'd managed two stroked when one of the old Uni girls snapped "we don't use dandy brushes here." Oh, I thought. Why the hell not? the horse was muddy and was going to be ridden. I was only doing the saddle patch. Still, biting down retorts, I backed off, and waited for everyone to tack up - there were more people than horses. Not that I felt like helping anyway.
I was first assigned to a 5 year old grey hogged cob named Bailey. I had specified I was used to riding cob types, nothing over 16.3, so this was fine. The 'trainer' told me he was for sale, and as a jumper/hunter and he had 'done some competitions'... Riiiight. He was like cardboard, dead sides, dead mouth, and i was not allowed a whip. Fine by me, but he didn't respond to squeezes or a kick, and it was frankly ridiculous. When we got the measure of each other, he did trot and attempt some semblance of contact and bend on circles, and I got a bit of canter, but there was no way he could have performed a balanced simple dressage test! Still, everyone else was doing ok, and soon it was time to swap. This is where it got fun. The b*tch who snapped at me got my cob, I got put on a 17.2 hunter...that was FOUR.
THANKS
while the others swapped amongst their schooled 15.2 borings.
I hadn't ridden anything that big since I'd sat on our old shire Josh, a while ago. I've never trained a young giant, and i've certainly never had my riding assessed on one! So I was pissed, but I thought i'd give him a go. They were obviously testing me out, and I'd make the best of it. He walked nicely, mouthed the bit a little but seemed to have problems bending. Trot was similar, and when asked to circle, I made sure the circles were LARGE enough for him. I was a little worried at how ineffectual my short short legs were on him, as his lack of bend made for some hairy moments heading for the fence. I decided to stick to straight lines, especially when the 'trainer' asked us for canter. I figured maybe we canter the long sides, then trot the short - the arena was pretty small, with 3 other horses in it, doing their own thing too - but no, this wasn't good enough, the 'trainer' wanted circles. This horse still wasn't listening to my leg. She told me he'd done very little, and had trouble with taking the correct lead. Bailey had this problem too, but I'd managed to work through it with him. The large thighed bint who was now on him couldn't even get him to canter, so this gave me a smidgen of comfort.
Just as well, because things were about to go very wrong. At her instruction, I'd set the giant onto a 30 or 40 meter circle - basically at 1/3 and 2/3 of the school, and as we crossed the center line, and he'd ignored my hand and leg asking for a bit of bend, we were heading for the fence. I couldn't do much but encourage with my leg more, and all of a sudden, he stumbled, I went over his right shoulder, and for an awful moment I thought 'hello tonne of horse, hello air ambulance' but somehow i was thrown clear, and he pulled up. I lay still, cause my shoulder kind of ripped, and my leg hurt and i was damned if i was moving before i checked all my limbs. I was left there for a few minutes, til the stupid trainer realised maybe I wasn't fine and she'd checked her precious barely broken hunter, who was fine, I was glad, but geez, I took a tumble!! I gingerly got up, pretty shaken, but willing to get back on. They stressed and stressed how it wasn't the horses fault, nope, could've happened to anyone. yep, poor horse, only 4. I got back on, with commands to just walk. No problem there.
When the time came to change, the 'trainer' got on the 4 year old, and he could not, or would not canter with bend with her for a good ten minutes. After that, she had him cooled down and put away. No one else rode him, and I didn't get another ride. Great, I really showed how good I was there. By now though, I didn't give a damn. I just wanted to go and get ice on my shoulder which was throbbing like a good un.
Fastforward to the next day, I can barely move. I receive a rejection email - didn't make the team. I am relieved to be free from going up there again, heaven forbid to JUMP the unsuitable horses, but am seriously indignant. I know i'm a damn good rider, and I know I got done over badly! I email back, asking why? I only rode two horses, took a crash off of one, and may I therefore have my money back for the trial?
Her (paraphrased, but i remember most of it very clearly) reply - this is snappy b*tch btw - "no you may not have a refund, you got a fair trial, some other people only rode two horses too (yeah, ones that were schooled) and the reason your horse fell over was because your inside leg was fixed and the horse was trying to bend around it and couldn't. Me and Katie (the trainer) agreed."
I didn't reply to this, because the vile things I wanted to say would've overshadowed everything. But by golly was I furious. Even if the horse could've felt my inside leg barely below the saddle flap, I have never, ever, ever known of an animal falling over because someone's inside leg is applying pressure to its side. Whatever it was, and I'm not absolving myself of blame, the horse should not have been used in the exercise, let alone for me, and I needed 6 months of physio afterwards before I could rotate my arm fully. I reported the riding club for using substandard facilities, unsuitable horses, and unqualified trainers. The next week, I was invited back for a second trial by the apologetic club captain, but even if i'd wanted to, which I very much did not, I couldn't have, with the seized shoulder.
Aside from all the drama, and what I could find out about the place from a friend who is the welfare officer for that area, I was stunned to see a saddle come off the 17.2 i'd been riding and, with a couple of saddle pads underneath, be put straight onto a 14.2 lightweight pony. Summed it up, really.
First of all is one of my angriest experiences, that still gets me fuming. I need to get over it, granted! Last October, my last year of University, I decided I'd try out for the Uni Riding Team. Why not? They asked me to fill in a form before the trials, asking me what experience I had, what I liked to ride, what I didn't like to ride. I stated my height and weight, my successes, confidences and fears. Simple, I thought, and sent it off. The trial date was set, I got a lift with some of the other triallists to a place so far into the middle of nowhere that one of my first thoughts was 'shit, what if one of us gets hurt?!' air ambulance would've been the only option, we were 15 minutes from the nearest proper road, half an hour from the main road and with just moorland as far as the eye could see. I shrugged it off anyway and we headed into the yard - a bit rundown, but not terrible. There were 4 or 5 horses tied up, some rugged and muddy, others not. Nothing special, just average riding school horses, so they looked, a variety of heights. I picked up a brush and began helping to groom one of the unrugged geldings. I'd managed two stroked when one of the old Uni girls snapped "we don't use dandy brushes here." Oh, I thought. Why the hell not? the horse was muddy and was going to be ridden. I was only doing the saddle patch. Still, biting down retorts, I backed off, and waited for everyone to tack up - there were more people than horses. Not that I felt like helping anyway.
I was first assigned to a 5 year old grey hogged cob named Bailey. I had specified I was used to riding cob types, nothing over 16.3, so this was fine. The 'trainer' told me he was for sale, and as a jumper/hunter and he had 'done some competitions'... Riiiight. He was like cardboard, dead sides, dead mouth, and i was not allowed a whip. Fine by me, but he didn't respond to squeezes or a kick, and it was frankly ridiculous. When we got the measure of each other, he did trot and attempt some semblance of contact and bend on circles, and I got a bit of canter, but there was no way he could have performed a balanced simple dressage test! Still, everyone else was doing ok, and soon it was time to swap. This is where it got fun. The b*tch who snapped at me got my cob, I got put on a 17.2 hunter...that was FOUR.
THANKS
while the others swapped amongst their schooled 15.2 borings.
I hadn't ridden anything that big since I'd sat on our old shire Josh, a while ago. I've never trained a young giant, and i've certainly never had my riding assessed on one! So I was pissed, but I thought i'd give him a go. They were obviously testing me out, and I'd make the best of it. He walked nicely, mouthed the bit a little but seemed to have problems bending. Trot was similar, and when asked to circle, I made sure the circles were LARGE enough for him. I was a little worried at how ineffectual my short short legs were on him, as his lack of bend made for some hairy moments heading for the fence. I decided to stick to straight lines, especially when the 'trainer' asked us for canter. I figured maybe we canter the long sides, then trot the short - the arena was pretty small, with 3 other horses in it, doing their own thing too - but no, this wasn't good enough, the 'trainer' wanted circles. This horse still wasn't listening to my leg. She told me he'd done very little, and had trouble with taking the correct lead. Bailey had this problem too, but I'd managed to work through it with him. The large thighed bint who was now on him couldn't even get him to canter, so this gave me a smidgen of comfort.
Just as well, because things were about to go very wrong. At her instruction, I'd set the giant onto a 30 or 40 meter circle - basically at 1/3 and 2/3 of the school, and as we crossed the center line, and he'd ignored my hand and leg asking for a bit of bend, we were heading for the fence. I couldn't do much but encourage with my leg more, and all of a sudden, he stumbled, I went over his right shoulder, and for an awful moment I thought 'hello tonne of horse, hello air ambulance' but somehow i was thrown clear, and he pulled up. I lay still, cause my shoulder kind of ripped, and my leg hurt and i was damned if i was moving before i checked all my limbs. I was left there for a few minutes, til the stupid trainer realised maybe I wasn't fine and she'd checked her precious barely broken hunter, who was fine, I was glad, but geez, I took a tumble!! I gingerly got up, pretty shaken, but willing to get back on. They stressed and stressed how it wasn't the horses fault, nope, could've happened to anyone. yep, poor horse, only 4. I got back on, with commands to just walk. No problem there.
When the time came to change, the 'trainer' got on the 4 year old, and he could not, or would not canter with bend with her for a good ten minutes. After that, she had him cooled down and put away. No one else rode him, and I didn't get another ride. Great, I really showed how good I was there. By now though, I didn't give a damn. I just wanted to go and get ice on my shoulder which was throbbing like a good un.
Fastforward to the next day, I can barely move. I receive a rejection email - didn't make the team. I am relieved to be free from going up there again, heaven forbid to JUMP the unsuitable horses, but am seriously indignant. I know i'm a damn good rider, and I know I got done over badly! I email back, asking why? I only rode two horses, took a crash off of one, and may I therefore have my money back for the trial?
Her (paraphrased, but i remember most of it very clearly) reply - this is snappy b*tch btw - "no you may not have a refund, you got a fair trial, some other people only rode two horses too (yeah, ones that were schooled) and the reason your horse fell over was because your inside leg was fixed and the horse was trying to bend around it and couldn't. Me and Katie (the trainer) agreed."
I didn't reply to this, because the vile things I wanted to say would've overshadowed everything. But by golly was I furious. Even if the horse could've felt my inside leg barely below the saddle flap, I have never, ever, ever known of an animal falling over because someone's inside leg is applying pressure to its side. Whatever it was, and I'm not absolving myself of blame, the horse should not have been used in the exercise, let alone for me, and I needed 6 months of physio afterwards before I could rotate my arm fully. I reported the riding club for using substandard facilities, unsuitable horses, and unqualified trainers. The next week, I was invited back for a second trial by the apologetic club captain, but even if i'd wanted to, which I very much did not, I couldn't have, with the seized shoulder.
Aside from all the drama, and what I could find out about the place from a friend who is the welfare officer for that area, I was stunned to see a saddle come off the 17.2 i'd been riding and, with a couple of saddle pads underneath, be put straight onto a 14.2 lightweight pony. Summed it up, really.
Monday, 6 October 2008
A Potted History
Me on Luke earlier this yearI'm 22 now, and haven't ridden competitively since I was 16. This is definitely a regret, but something I cannot change. I began riding at the age of 5 at a local riding school on the ubiquitous grey pony. This one was called Dinky. All the kids wanted to ride her, so I didn't ride her for long, moving instead to something with a bit more speed. This was in addition to occasional rides on the local shetland pony who lived up the road, and whose owner generously led us around.
I was a classic pony mad girl, lucky to have a mum who shared the madness and was also fairly experienced with horses. She was the one who suggested lessons for me, and shopped around for the right riding school, which, after a couple of years, we found. I don't remember exact dates, but I remember receiving my first pony, and then about 6 months after that, my mum got her own horse. She had previously had on a sort of loan a big ex medium dressage horse named James. He was beautifully mannered, exceedingly well trained, prone to a bit of cheek now and then, but I remember having a little sit on him when I was tiny, and him being fine. We agree in retrospect that the horse my mum picked was totally unsuitable, but he's still with us, and I don't think she'd change him now. Luke is a chestnut Thoroughbred ex racehorse - he was rubbish, ran twice, last twice - 16.3, nice conformation except for a bit of a giraffe ewe neck. He was 5 when he arrived in 1996, gawky, unschooled, with a saddle that didn't fit and a pelham that he hated. I was way too small and young to have any hand in his schooling or training, but I was still interested. When Luke didn't understand something, he would run, and he soon scared my mum. He dumped the yard's jump jockey (It was part riding school, part livery yard, part competition yard) when she attempted to take him around an outdoor jump course, he ran off with our trainer, an eventer and dressage judge, and he was generally a bit hot under saddle. In the stable, he was a lamb, however, and he and Olly even became friends.
I was a classic pony mad girl, lucky to have a mum who shared the madness and was also fairly experienced with horses. She was the one who suggested lessons for me, and shopped around for the right riding school, which, after a couple of years, we found. I don't remember exact dates, but I remember receiving my first pony, and then about 6 months after that, my mum got her own horse. She had previously had on a sort of loan a big ex medium dressage horse named James. He was beautifully mannered, exceedingly well trained, prone to a bit of cheek now and then, but I remember having a little sit on him when I was tiny, and him being fine. We agree in retrospect that the horse my mum picked was totally unsuitable, but he's still with us, and I don't think she'd change him now. Luke is a chestnut Thoroughbred ex racehorse - he was rubbish, ran twice, last twice - 16.3, nice conformation except for a bit of a giraffe ewe neck. He was 5 when he arrived in 1996, gawky, unschooled, with a saddle that didn't fit and a pelham that he hated. I was way too small and young to have any hand in his schooling or training, but I was still interested. When Luke didn't understand something, he would run, and he soon scared my mum. He dumped the yard's jump jockey (It was part riding school, part livery yard, part competition yard) when she attempted to take him around an outdoor jump course, he ran off with our trainer, an eventer and dressage judge, and he was generally a bit hot under saddle. In the stable, he was a lamb, however, and he and Olly even became friends.
I didn't have many ambitions for Oliver, except that one day I may be able to go cross country, and he may accept the bit and enjoy life. Luke, however, was bought with dressage in mind. He had - still has - lovely paces, but a short attention span and a tendency to get frustrated quickly. Oh, and he was a massive hypochondriac and injury prone. And a wus in the field. Dressage comp the next day? Lame: puncture wound, or more serious wound that may need stitches, or gravel, or a bruised sole, or anything really. These are all things I remember happening to him. Now he's retired, all he has to suffer are the bites from the two bully boys.
Sadly, in the end, a lack of confidence in my mum and my budding show career probably put an end to the dressage ambition. Luke was competing at Elementary standard with her, and working at home at medium, but it just never went further than that. And after numerous jumping clinics and trainers riding him over jumps not having a great deal of change in Luke's keenness and tendency to run on after the fence, my mum 'retired' from jumping. Basically, if you could cope with a steady to the point of being silly approach to a fence, and then an explosion afterwards, jumping him was fun. I once put him over a 4 foot upright when I was about 13 - with mum watching - and his scope was incredible. I never had the balls for big jumps though, and I don't think I'd have been allowed to monopolize him!
We had Luke and Ollie together for a year and a half, competing in local dressage, showjumping and cross country, although Ollie would go nowhere near water or ditches for love, whips, bribery, shouting, anything. We got a horsebox too, and he didn't like that either. Made for embarrassing days out at Pony Club competitions when we'd be doing well after dressage and jumping, clear cross country, then get to a water and that was it. And then he wouldn't want to travel back.
We solved the two problems in two separate but related ways. Loading wise, we were boxing over to have a jumping lesson before a competition an hour's drive away. There was a competition on at our yard that night too, which led to plenty of spectators/advice givers. Ollie, true to form, would not load straight up. People came over in dribs and drabs to suggest lunge lines crossed over, spinning him round, food, trotting him at the ramp, beating him with a whip - tempting, but no thanks. By this point he was rearing, whirling, looking excited, but not at all bothered with being persuaded into the lorry. After all this, he reared and whirled one too many times, got loose from my mum and careered across the yard. Luckily the gate was shut.
Finally at the end of her tether, my mum caught him, attached the long line to him and shouted at him as you may a recalcitrant child, something along the lines of how he was really p'ing her off, she was sick of him being so stubborn, pony didn't deserve a trip out, then she over and undered him with the soft rope a couple of times to punctuate the message, and with a 'who, me?' look, the little git hopped right on the wagon, to a stunned silence from the onlookers.
The lesson went really well, and he was rarely an issue to load after that. Funny things, ponies.
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