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.
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