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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