There have been some very special horses and ponies in my equestrian life. Some were chubby, lazy cobs who taught me to use my legs, others were whizzy little crackers who taught me to stick on when things didn't go my way. On my way home from riding today, my dad and I reminisced about all the special equines, from the beginning until now, almost eight years on.
First, there was Bobby. The first pony I ever rode in a lesson, and a lazy bugger. He had a gorgeous bay coat and a white face, and was probably around 13hh. He was the pony who started the addiction, got me hooked on horses, and began the long love affair with all things equestrian. So thank you Bobby for being the mounting block.
Then came Bay Nicky, the slowest, laziest, most stubborn pony I've ever so much as encountered. I still adored him, in his chunky bay glory, and was delighted with myself for successfully managing to lead him a few yards to win a leading race. I've never had to work harder to wake a pony up! Thank you Bay Nicky for teaching me to perservere.
Spider was the first livery I ever sat on, and boy was he pretty. A teeny, almost pure white gelding who needed only slight aids to get going. I still distinctly remember his pink saddle pad with green trim, with Spider embroidered on the side. I was delighted to get to ride him, albeit for just one lesson, and he taught me that all ponies are different. Thank you Spider for teaching me that, and also how to let go of something good.
Buzz was next. Another cobby schoolie, who was nothing special, just always there. He still is. He's piebald, comfy, and moody. I rode him fairly regularly, but one day he taught me a very important lesson - horses have feelings too. He was plodding around as usual one sunny day, but I felt a change in him. He responded quicker, trotted with his head up, cantered for the full perimeter of the arena, and his good mood rubbed off on me. Thank you Buzz for teaching me that horses are more diverse than they seem.
The most special pony of those early days had to be Trigger. A smart, speedy but gentlemanly little pony, with a shiny bay coat and a terrible fear of umbrellas. One day, I begged and pleaded with my mam while the rain pounded down to still go riding, and just as she gave in, the sun emerged. I was the only one who showed up for our lesson, and learned the most I ever had, including diagonals in trot and how to canter properly, with no one helping and clucking and waking him up for me. He was my regular mount, who I adored the most. He chucked me off in the rain once, after spooking at an umbrella, but I still trusted him with everything. He died of a twisted gut just a few months later, aged 21. Thank you Trigger for everything, being so amazing and teaching me so much, especially how to say goodbye.
Little Blue was a tricky pony. He was first my older sister's favourite pony, but soon became mine. He was cheeky, blue piebald, had a smashing jump, and a hell of an attitude on a bad day. He bucked my sister off once, tearing ligaments in her neck and stopping her riding for numerous weeks. I still rode him, but was much more wary than before. He wasn't malicious, but made me realise that this was a dangerous sport. He went lame a year ago, and I have a very sad feeling that he had to be put down. Thank you Little Blue for teaching me how to get the best out of a tough pony, and what kind of a sport I'm really doing.
There was a pony who scared the life out of me at first, but turned out to be the sweetest thing once I matured and gave him a chance. His name was Trucker and he was stocky, probably a short cob, and was white all over apart from black patches on either side of his face and on his belly. He was a nightmare at first, and jumped the high side of a crosspole the first time I rode him, which I vowed never to do again. Anout two years ago, I saw his good side. He was the kindest pony on the ground, maybe a bit clumsy but always considerate. I rode him again, fell in love with him after realising that he was a tough jumper because he was green, taught him to pick his legs up, and finally jumped an 80cm jump on him, which was a huge feat at the time. He was the most honest, hardworking, and generally sweet horse I think I've ever known. He was sold to another riding school about a year ago. Thank you Trucker for teaching me to always give second chances, and believe in my mount.
A very special mare helped my riding enormously. Dark bay, whith socks and a white stripe, she's an odd mover but jumps like a dream and knows no boundaries. Cookie. If you want to learn how to get a glue bum, ride Cookie for a while - she'll either take off, buck you off, or jump you all the way to the moon and leave you there. She is, in short, mad. I affectionately nicknamed her psycho pony, due to her silly antics, but she's brilliant fun once you learn to calm her down and hang the hell on. Her owner is lovely, does brilliantly with her, and has calmed her down considerably. They're the cutest pair too, and Cookie adores her owner. I've jumped high on Cookie, helped her to relax, and always had a soft spot for the nutter. so thank you Cookie for teaching me how to handle strong ponies, and stay on in tough situations.
Diamond was the new Trigger. He was a livery, he was quick, he was a magnificent jumper, and he wasn't mine. I so wished he was! No more than 13.2hh, totally chestnut except for one teeny star under his forelock, and with the world's squeakiest saddle, he was the pony to ride. And still is. He's small but mighty, klein aber fein, and I jumped my first real show and chase-me-charlie on him. We got to 1 metre but weren't allowed to go further due to a lvery policy, and my dad remains to this day convinced that we could have won it. The last time I rode him was fantastic; we jumped our record again, and he behaved in his usual, happy, Diamondy way. He's the fun little show pony that everyone wants, and I miss riding him. Thank you Diamond for teaching me how to just have a laugh on a really good pony, and how to balance when teeny pony decides to take off a stride away!
A more recent horse to teach me something was Tara. Young, powerful, lofty, a bay mare at about 17hh, I adored her. I got to canter her over a few poles on the ground at the end of a lesson last year, and was dying for more. She reminded me of Betty, a very green grey cob mare who I learned to really jump big single fences on, and for that reason I begged and begged to ride her for weeks. She fell lame, and has been out of work since. Thank you Tara for teaching me how good youngsters really are, and to accept that I can't get what I want all the time.
A beautiful blue piebald cob mare of about 15 hands has just entered my life. Her name is Molly, and I love her to pieces. From her softness, to her responsiveness, to her incredible jump, I adore her. She's seven, but only broken about a year or so, due to the death of her foal, so she's still green and learning her job. She has the sweetest disposition, and the most docile nature, and every time I dismount, I want to get back on. Thank you Molly for teaching me how to sit big leaps, how to cater to a greenie, and that special horses are never perfect, but that makes them more special.
Benny is like Trucker was - misunderstood. Everyone, including me, groaned at being told they were on Benny, as he sometimes needed a few backhand wallops along with numerous flailing kicks to make him trot. He's a chunky, dark bay heavy cob with a huge barrel, a bald face, and one wall eye. Some think he's lazy and impossible to ride. I think he's Supercob! He may not be a drop-dead gorgeous, pure bred show horse, but he has the biggest heart I've ever known, and the most surprising ability to jump, as I've taken him over a 95cm oxer easily. I love his happy bucks and head tosses when he does his big, bouncy, rolling canter; I love his springy trot; and I love how we've gelled together after years of friction. It all magically clicked one day, and I've worked him out - he hates working on a day above 18 degrees Celsius; he needs automatic release to get him to pck himself up and jump the bigger fences; and he needs to be loved and cuddled. Benny has been there from the start, but I've only come to appreciate him properly in the past year or so. Thank you Benny for teaching me how to use my legs, how to enjoy being taken off and bucked with, and how to see a diamond in the rough.
I can't write a thank you without mentioning Sunny. He is the most incredible being, and the horse I have given my heart to. I love him more than anything! He's a chestnut thoroughbred gelding, with a summer belly on him at the moment, and the most beautiful mover, jumper, and looker I've ever seen! We do have our problems, like all partnerships, but just being in eachother's company is bliss. I have two posts about him and our story on this already, and numerous videos of him on my Youtube, HorseyBeefs. He isn't a schoolie, and I don't own him, but he still is, in part, mine. He's made me the rider I am today, and I grin every time I see him or even talk about him. Thank you Sunny for teaching me how to love a horse as my own, how to keep going when things get tough, and how to be a real horsewoman.
Finally, I have to thank the pony who has been my favourite from the start, who I have fallen off, had my heart broken over, had my faith restored by, and learned everything from. Susie. About 14hh or so, she's a cute bay mare, the same age as me, with three dark spots on her quarters and a teensy tiny star on her forehead. She's got a smooth, controlled canter, a floating jump, a fear of new obstacles, and something that draws every little girl at my yard to her. She's the special pony that everyone fights over, even though she has a tendency to refuse, because she has a caring, almost maternal instict and looks after her rider with amazing tenderness. She began as a plod, then a refuser, then a superstar, then a has-been, then a plod, then a worse-than-plod stubborn nightmare, then a regular schoolie, and now back to a superstar. It's been a rollercoaster, but even in the worse-than-plod days, everyone loved her. She's the most changeable pony, but still the most constant. She went from having to be smacked again and again to even walk (the work of some lazy little boys who never learned to kick) to responding straight off the leg to canter; from refusing anything put in front of her to leaping a decent sized coloured filler first time, along with spooky jumps, arrowheads, water jumps, a jump on a ridiculous angle, and even a jump constructed of logs, leaves, and anything we could find in the field. I haven't ridden her in a long while, and miss her soft canter unbelievably. My legs will probably dangle miles below her belly now, but I don't care. I love her too much to just let go. Thank you Susie, for teaching me everything, for making the fearless, proper rider out of the little girl who was terrified to jump her first oxer. Thank you for being there.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Why am I so dead set against American shows?
I honestly didn't know the answer to this question. It just bugged me. But today, while flicking through YouTube videos, I realized why. No, it's not that some riders who show their horses are ungrateful brats. It is a big factor, but the system can't be fully blamed. Nor is it that few classes are of really the substantial height or difficulty as riders claim them to be. It's not even that most of it seems to revolve around money and how much Daddy paid to get you this push-button saint who'll jump a bridge while carrying a sack of potatoes.
The thing I thought it was was the description of the classes. In hunters and equitation classes over fences, one is not just judged on how many fences they leave up, but how they look and their style of riding too. At first I thought it was just silly, that if the horse does what it's supposed to, then it's fine, they deserve to win. But there are some riders, especially here in Ireland where this additional judgement isn't practised, who will win classes because they jump everything quickly and don't knock any poles or have any refusals. But not infrequently, this is achieved through incorrect, jarring, even unfairly harsh riding. They'll fry their horse's brains and wallop him around the course and receive congratulations for it. I despise this method, and know one girl who practically beats her pony, but jumps big, enters shows, and has lots of rosettes. So I realise that judging a rider's actual riding ability is actually a really good idea.
What has just dawned on me is that the criteria for such riding is utterly misread in many cases. Some are totally justifiable, like "Faults are weighed against each other; for example, a rider's heel coming up and leg moving a bit back on jumps is less of an offense than a rider who gets left behind.The greatest offenses could include a dangerous ride, an abusive rider or a rider who very much gets in the way of his horse (like the one who gets left behind)" which was written in Ezine @rticles' Understanding Horse Show Judging. Fair, okay. This article also says "In equitation over fences divisions, refusals, break of gait and wrong leads are faults." Understandable.
But riders and judges have warped this. Just because it's worse to get in the way of your horse by getting left behind, doesn't mean that if you jump miles ahead and your leg is swinging so far back that your heels catch your saddle, you shouldn't be penalised fairly heavily. Same as if you never go back to trot but dig your spurs in every stride to maintain "rhythm". But why bother wearing spurs if you have to have a slow, rhythmical canter? I know a rider's legs should be solid and still, but frequent nudging seems a lot fairer to the horse than rotating the heels so far inwards with spurs on that the poor animal is uncomfortable. And young riders without total control of their leg being taught to wear them so as to look neater than kicking is disgraceful!
My biggest annoyance however, is jumping position. The amount of riders who drape themselves over their ponies is ridiculous, but it isn't penalised! It actually seems to be encouraged, judging by the number of winning riders who have no base of support other than their ponies' necks. They waltz around the course on their push button, well bred machines, and pop over fences with no regard for the fact that they're meant to be riding, not flopping on their mount and sticking their ass out to win a prize. Glenshee Equestrian Center has a fascinating post about the deterioration of riding due to the crest release which I recommend you read here---> http://glenshee.blogspot.com/2009/01/crest-release-and-how-it-has-ruined.html . People are being rewarded for getting in their horse's way, which is exactly opposite to what the rules state!
Personally, I think both methods of showing over fences here and in the US should be revised and even integrated. I love the idea of judging on actual riding, but hate that of being judged purely on how one looks. The concept of each system is wise, but needs improvement in reality, as horses are being looked on as mere tools for their rider's success. There arev millions more things I'd like to say, but homework and Sunny beckon. So, thanks for reading :)
The thing I thought it was was the description of the classes. In hunters and equitation classes over fences, one is not just judged on how many fences they leave up, but how they look and their style of riding too. At first I thought it was just silly, that if the horse does what it's supposed to, then it's fine, they deserve to win. But there are some riders, especially here in Ireland where this additional judgement isn't practised, who will win classes because they jump everything quickly and don't knock any poles or have any refusals. But not infrequently, this is achieved through incorrect, jarring, even unfairly harsh riding. They'll fry their horse's brains and wallop him around the course and receive congratulations for it. I despise this method, and know one girl who practically beats her pony, but jumps big, enters shows, and has lots of rosettes. So I realise that judging a rider's actual riding ability is actually a really good idea.
What has just dawned on me is that the criteria for such riding is utterly misread in many cases. Some are totally justifiable, like "Faults are weighed against each other; for example, a rider's heel coming up and leg moving a bit back on jumps is less of an offense than a rider who gets left behind.The greatest offenses could include a dangerous ride, an abusive rider or a rider who very much gets in the way of his horse (like the one who gets left behind)" which was written in Ezine @rticles' Understanding Horse Show Judging. Fair, okay. This article also says "In equitation over fences divisions, refusals, break of gait and wrong leads are faults." Understandable.
But riders and judges have warped this. Just because it's worse to get in the way of your horse by getting left behind, doesn't mean that if you jump miles ahead and your leg is swinging so far back that your heels catch your saddle, you shouldn't be penalised fairly heavily. Same as if you never go back to trot but dig your spurs in every stride to maintain "rhythm". But why bother wearing spurs if you have to have a slow, rhythmical canter? I know a rider's legs should be solid and still, but frequent nudging seems a lot fairer to the horse than rotating the heels so far inwards with spurs on that the poor animal is uncomfortable. And young riders without total control of their leg being taught to wear them so as to look neater than kicking is disgraceful!
My biggest annoyance however, is jumping position. The amount of riders who drape themselves over their ponies is ridiculous, but it isn't penalised! It actually seems to be encouraged, judging by the number of winning riders who have no base of support other than their ponies' necks. They waltz around the course on their push button, well bred machines, and pop over fences with no regard for the fact that they're meant to be riding, not flopping on their mount and sticking their ass out to win a prize. Glenshee Equestrian Center has a fascinating post about the deterioration of riding due to the crest release which I recommend you read here---> http://glenshee.blogspot.com/2009/01/crest-release-and-how-it-has-ruined.html . People are being rewarded for getting in their horse's way, which is exactly opposite to what the rules state!
Personally, I think both methods of showing over fences here and in the US should be revised and even integrated. I love the idea of judging on actual riding, but hate that of being judged purely on how one looks. The concept of each system is wise, but needs improvement in reality, as horses are being looked on as mere tools for their rider's success. There arev millions more things I'd like to say, but homework and Sunny beckon. So, thanks for reading :)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sunny Side Up :) Part II
The second ride was a lot less boneshaking. I had retained at least some of the helpful information and advice offered to me by those with much more experience and sense, and felt myself click a lot more with Sunny while in the saddle. We had had a bond on the ground from the start, but when mounted I was a different person, and, I'm ashamed to say, a slighly over-confident one at that. I was sure my ability to conquer riding school ponies was infallible, and would work on any horse, but the first ride proved me completely and utterly wrong. It made much more sense to accept I wasn't perfect, and doing so led Sunny to trust me. With my parents there to guide and support me, I could relax, and concentrate on getting Sunny listening to me, rather than concentrating on not hitting the ground.
Weeks went on and I worked with Sunny, improving my riding and his manners. He was still a tough ride - strong and willful in canter being the worst offence - but we were making progress. That is, on the flat. When jumping, we may as well have been trying to compete at Grand Prix level with the success we had. He was a dirty stopper, pulling into every fence, refusing the tiniest jumps, and bunny-hopping when given a sharp kick. It was excruciatingly tedious to try and make him relax and jump calmly, and there were days when the frustration got the better of me. Sunny was a former eventer, but years of pure dressage, and months of rest in the field had made him reluctant. I have always been a very keen jumper, and this was a very large obstacle for a young girl to tackle. One day in particular was totally refusal-free, and I was on an enormous high. At the same time, someone had tried to steal Sunny's rug and tore it badly, scaring him and almost destroying the careful groundwork I had done with him. It was a miracle he was still so placid and kind, and made me appreciate how special this horse was.
Sue gave me instructions and tips to help me re-school him, and we made noticeable progress, but he would sometimes take a few steps backwards and revert to his old, cheeky ways. I had to introduce him to every jump, push him on strongly, and let him cop on and stop refusing for no reason. It wasn't the ideal training method, and in summer, he stopped altogether. I tried to jump him over one, simple jump more than forty times, and he wasn't having any of it. Beaten, worn out, and quite upset, I gave him a few months break from jumping. We had him shod, used hoof-treating supplements, schooled him to be more responsive, and did everything we could to improve our chances of actually jumping. My natural instincts to be airborne and to solve problems came into play, and eventually, we got him back on track in autumn.
From there, we went uphill. We improved immensely, and had a total mutual respect that enabled us to keep moving onwards. I started to jump him bareback, which, on an excitable thoroughbred in an un-fenced field, is no mean feat, and even tried bridle-less. In October, we managed to leap 3 feet together, which was just 15cm less than my overall record. This was also the day of my first fall, when he stopped suddenly at 1 metre. November and December brought snow, which Sunny was delighted to canter around in, fully rugged, with me on his back. In January, we went to our first show at my riding school, and earned a respectable clear round in the 60cm class and a few justified stops in the 70s. He never touched a pole all day. Now, in February, we have nearly perfected his canter, making it rhythmical and relaxed, and I have him on an outline most of the time. Bareback and bridle-less jumping is the way to go, with our record standing at about 70cm. We've been in a bit of trouble with jumping again, with the ground in a bit of a messdue to terrible wintry weather, but I am determined to make it through this annoying little phase. We are closer than ever as a team, and I love him more than anything.
I'm just thankful I'll never have to leave Sunny, and this incredible being has changed my life, my riding, and my attitude for the better.
Weeks went on and I worked with Sunny, improving my riding and his manners. He was still a tough ride - strong and willful in canter being the worst offence - but we were making progress. That is, on the flat. When jumping, we may as well have been trying to compete at Grand Prix level with the success we had. He was a dirty stopper, pulling into every fence, refusing the tiniest jumps, and bunny-hopping when given a sharp kick. It was excruciatingly tedious to try and make him relax and jump calmly, and there were days when the frustration got the better of me. Sunny was a former eventer, but years of pure dressage, and months of rest in the field had made him reluctant. I have always been a very keen jumper, and this was a very large obstacle for a young girl to tackle. One day in particular was totally refusal-free, and I was on an enormous high. At the same time, someone had tried to steal Sunny's rug and tore it badly, scaring him and almost destroying the careful groundwork I had done with him. It was a miracle he was still so placid and kind, and made me appreciate how special this horse was.
Sue gave me instructions and tips to help me re-school him, and we made noticeable progress, but he would sometimes take a few steps backwards and revert to his old, cheeky ways. I had to introduce him to every jump, push him on strongly, and let him cop on and stop refusing for no reason. It wasn't the ideal training method, and in summer, he stopped altogether. I tried to jump him over one, simple jump more than forty times, and he wasn't having any of it. Beaten, worn out, and quite upset, I gave him a few months break from jumping. We had him shod, used hoof-treating supplements, schooled him to be more responsive, and did everything we could to improve our chances of actually jumping. My natural instincts to be airborne and to solve problems came into play, and eventually, we got him back on track in autumn.
From there, we went uphill. We improved immensely, and had a total mutual respect that enabled us to keep moving onwards. I started to jump him bareback, which, on an excitable thoroughbred in an un-fenced field, is no mean feat, and even tried bridle-less. In October, we managed to leap 3 feet together, which was just 15cm less than my overall record. This was also the day of my first fall, when he stopped suddenly at 1 metre. November and December brought snow, which Sunny was delighted to canter around in, fully rugged, with me on his back. In January, we went to our first show at my riding school, and earned a respectable clear round in the 60cm class and a few justified stops in the 70s. He never touched a pole all day. Now, in February, we have nearly perfected his canter, making it rhythmical and relaxed, and I have him on an outline most of the time. Bareback and bridle-less jumping is the way to go, with our record standing at about 70cm. We've been in a bit of trouble with jumping again, with the ground in a bit of a messdue to terrible wintry weather, but I am determined to make it through this annoying little phase. We are closer than ever as a team, and I love him more than anything.
I'm just thankful I'll never have to leave Sunny, and this incredible being has changed my life, my riding, and my attitude for the better.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sunny Side Up :) Part I
Sunny Side Up is, without over-exaggeration, the focal point of my life. He is my personal sun, the reason I get up in the morning, my best friend. I love this horse to pieces. Sunny is a 16hh (approximately) chestnut Thouroughbred gelding, with looks and talent to die for. He loves to be groomed and loved, and especially being fed, and doesn't like rain, being bitten by Darcy, or being ignored. He has a million different quirks and preferences, and it would take me five years to list them all. He is truly the most talented, intelligent, funny, sweet, beautiful horse I have ever laid eyes on, and the most unique horse to ride. How I acquired the luck to be able to ride such a marvellous crature is a mystery.
Sunny and I first met in June 2009. He was my friend Hannah's pony's field mate, and I was Hannah's horse crazed friend. I would accompany Hannah on her trips to see and ride Pippa, and briefly encounter Sunny as we caught her, but that was the extent of our relationship. He was just a horse, me a human. But things soon changed.
Debbie, Sunny's loaner, became pregnant near the end of that year, and Sunny had no-one to ride him. He lived in his field, and became bored, and seeing this prompted an idea to strike me: I could exercise him. With the all-clear from my parents, I asked Sue, his owner, if I could ride and lunge him for a few weeks while Debbie was unable to. My heart exploded with delight when she told me I could.
On March 26, 2010 I got to catch Sunny and groom him for the first time. I was smitten. His coat was velvety soft, and he stood quietly and calmly, because he knew in his special Sunny-ish way that I was nervous and inexperienced. Looking back, it was stupid of me to assume I could handle such completely new, powerful creature, but I was immensely lucky that he wasn't just a thoroughbred - he was Sunny. I lunged him and even got to trot him bareback, being led by Hannah's dad. Sunny was an angel the whole time. I'll never forget that first day with him.
We fell into a pattern of visiting, grooming, lungeing, and parting. He would be kind and overlook my novice mistakes, and I would do my best to please him. It occurred to me, however, that even though he was the perfect gentleman, he was still a powerful horse. I was nervous, but still eager to ride, but because of this realisation, I put it off. One weekend the weather wasn't great. Another, I was too busy. The next, my cousins came to stay. These minor things prevented me from riding, or rather, were the excuses, but eventually, the time came for me to clamber into the saddle I wasn't worthy of.
The first ride was, quite honestly, scary. He trotted too quickly as he sensed my nerves, and he took hold in canter. I was now fully aware of what my horse could do, and I felt slightly over-faced. I would usually just trot around the arena in a ride in lessons, transitions, turns, exercises and the like quite impractical in the group setting. But on my own, I had to do these things. Sue and Debbie coached me, telling me how I should turn my toes in, relax, make nice big loops. I was just concerned about not hitting the ground. He was no bombproof schoolie, and me no eventer, and we were an odd couple. I deemed the ride was eight out of ten, fun but ultimately terrifying. But I still wanted to prove myself, and be able to show his and my full potential.
Sunny and I first met in June 2009. He was my friend Hannah's pony's field mate, and I was Hannah's horse crazed friend. I would accompany Hannah on her trips to see and ride Pippa, and briefly encounter Sunny as we caught her, but that was the extent of our relationship. He was just a horse, me a human. But things soon changed.
Debbie, Sunny's loaner, became pregnant near the end of that year, and Sunny had no-one to ride him. He lived in his field, and became bored, and seeing this prompted an idea to strike me: I could exercise him. With the all-clear from my parents, I asked Sue, his owner, if I could ride and lunge him for a few weeks while Debbie was unable to. My heart exploded with delight when she told me I could.
On March 26, 2010 I got to catch Sunny and groom him for the first time. I was smitten. His coat was velvety soft, and he stood quietly and calmly, because he knew in his special Sunny-ish way that I was nervous and inexperienced. Looking back, it was stupid of me to assume I could handle such completely new, powerful creature, but I was immensely lucky that he wasn't just a thoroughbred - he was Sunny. I lunged him and even got to trot him bareback, being led by Hannah's dad. Sunny was an angel the whole time. I'll never forget that first day with him.
We fell into a pattern of visiting, grooming, lungeing, and parting. He would be kind and overlook my novice mistakes, and I would do my best to please him. It occurred to me, however, that even though he was the perfect gentleman, he was still a powerful horse. I was nervous, but still eager to ride, but because of this realisation, I put it off. One weekend the weather wasn't great. Another, I was too busy. The next, my cousins came to stay. These minor things prevented me from riding, or rather, were the excuses, but eventually, the time came for me to clamber into the saddle I wasn't worthy of.
The first ride was, quite honestly, scary. He trotted too quickly as he sensed my nerves, and he took hold in canter. I was now fully aware of what my horse could do, and I felt slightly over-faced. I would usually just trot around the arena in a ride in lessons, transitions, turns, exercises and the like quite impractical in the group setting. But on my own, I had to do these things. Sue and Debbie coached me, telling me how I should turn my toes in, relax, make nice big loops. I was just concerned about not hitting the ground. He was no bombproof schoolie, and me no eventer, and we were an odd couple. I deemed the ride was eight out of ten, fun but ultimately terrifying. But I still wanted to prove myself, and be able to show his and my full potential.
The First of a Long Series of Posts
Well, hello there :) I thought I'd introduce myself properly. My name is Aoife, I'm a teenager living in Ireland, and I set up this blog to save my mother from the boredom that she inevitably feels (and kindly disguises) any time I start to passionately discuss any equine issues I find important but have absolutely no relevance to her in any way. This blog is dedicated to sharing my horsey opinions, observations, and rants, and hearing those of others in the equestrian community.
I have been riding horses for seven and a half years, and have been working with one very special horsey in particular for nearly eleven months, but I'll elaborate on that in another post. Living in suburbia, it has been tough to cater for my hunger for horses, especially as my parents aren't particularly horsey or wealthy, though they are very supportive of my riding. But we have devised some ingenious ways of dealing with this.
Firstly, I have been taking lessons for donkeys' years in a great equestrian centre where I have learned the basics of horsemanship and equitation. I absolutely love it. The ponies are quirky, the people are fun, the atmosphere is positive, and I am thankful for every lesson I have taken there. Without them, I wouldn't be an equestrian, I would be... a hopeless wreck of a rider.
Secondly, my parents have been amazing. They have done what they can to make my equine experiences pleasurable and plentiful. They're the ones who cart me to lessons every Saturday, take me to as many events - Dublin Horse Show, countless race meets, and a few shows amongst them - as possible, while maintaining a balance. I adore my parents. I obviously wouldn't be alive without them, but that aside, if I had different parents, my equestrian life would be frought with a lot more hardship. They are neither pushy nor lazy, and it's them I have to thank for everything.
Finally, a little beastie (by which I mean 16hh Thoroughbred) has been my anchor over the past 11 months. I say anchor instead of rock because rocks don't do much. They're just there. I say anchor because without Sunny Side Up, I would be floating along, untethered, unhappy, uninterested. He always puts a smile on my face, and any time I see him, whether he's been a star, or refused a million times, I feel a strong, happy, comfortable bond, and know everything is better in his big, ginger presence. He has done wonders for my riding, my confidence, my general horsemanship, and, above all, my happiness. Words cannot express how much this horse means to me, and nothing could stop me loving him.
I hope I haven't bored you to death, dear reader, but this has been an informative introduction into my litle world :)
I have been riding horses for seven and a half years, and have been working with one very special horsey in particular for nearly eleven months, but I'll elaborate on that in another post. Living in suburbia, it has been tough to cater for my hunger for horses, especially as my parents aren't particularly horsey or wealthy, though they are very supportive of my riding. But we have devised some ingenious ways of dealing with this.
Firstly, I have been taking lessons for donkeys' years in a great equestrian centre where I have learned the basics of horsemanship and equitation. I absolutely love it. The ponies are quirky, the people are fun, the atmosphere is positive, and I am thankful for every lesson I have taken there. Without them, I wouldn't be an equestrian, I would be... a hopeless wreck of a rider.
Secondly, my parents have been amazing. They have done what they can to make my equine experiences pleasurable and plentiful. They're the ones who cart me to lessons every Saturday, take me to as many events - Dublin Horse Show, countless race meets, and a few shows amongst them - as possible, while maintaining a balance. I adore my parents. I obviously wouldn't be alive without them, but that aside, if I had different parents, my equestrian life would be frought with a lot more hardship. They are neither pushy nor lazy, and it's them I have to thank for everything.
Finally, a little beastie (by which I mean 16hh Thoroughbred) has been my anchor over the past 11 months. I say anchor instead of rock because rocks don't do much. They're just there. I say anchor because without Sunny Side Up, I would be floating along, untethered, unhappy, uninterested. He always puts a smile on my face, and any time I see him, whether he's been a star, or refused a million times, I feel a strong, happy, comfortable bond, and know everything is better in his big, ginger presence. He has done wonders for my riding, my confidence, my general horsemanship, and, above all, my happiness. Words cannot express how much this horse means to me, and nothing could stop me loving him.
I hope I haven't bored you to death, dear reader, but this has been an informative introduction into my litle world :)
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