I have never met a horse that I haven’t liked. There has been the horse I once rented for trail riding. He was adorable. I don’t quite remember his name, but his name made you think of speed, galloping on the open plains, riding into the moonlight. One thing that they didn’t tell me was that his name was just a random name, simply picked from a hat. As we rode, I continually urged him forward, wanting a little spurt of fire to start, to make him go faster than the sloth that I was currently comparing him to. He finally trotted for a few steps, and then slowed down. I gave a big smile, telling everyone that I made him slow down.
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just that, you know, I don’t have a helmet. I’m making him go this slow, it’s not like I actually want to go faster than your everyday slug.”
Yeah, real suave. I could also mention that this horse was also out to get me. Seriously. At every chance he had, he would brush up against a tree, preferably a pine tree with many small branches jutting out the side. Needless to say, by the end of the ride, my legs were completely white with scratches. Of course, that doesn’t mean that I didn’t like him, no. It just means that his only good trait is his cute face, which has most likely been used quite a few times since, to win over another young rider that he could bump off along the trail.
There were also the horses at a barn in Fayette that I rode at. Dasher and Jake, as well as a couple others that I don’t remember the names of. Dasher was a sweet black horse, with a small patch of white on his back. He was adorable, wanted to do anything for people. Perfect horse, except he isn’t that great at neck reining. I am a western person, and I love only having to use one hand to steer, but with Dasher, well, he didn’t understand. He would continue to walk straight, and the only way that I kept him from running into a wall was by quickly pulling the rein to the side and forcibly turning him. But he was still sweet.
I rode Dasher a few times, then the woman that owned the barn put me on Jake. Apparently, Jake was better at neck reining, which made me very happy, but there was a downside. His trot. I was prepared for a nice even trot, smooth and comfortable, but before I knew it, I was bouncing.
“He-Thump!-has”whumpl”a-Thump!-very-Fwoomp!-bouncy-Ouch’-trot,” I would say, bouncing around at this unfamiliar (and uncomfortable) gait. She took pity on me though, and at the next lesson, I was given a different horse.
There was also peaceful Camanche, my neighbor’s horse. He is a wonderful horse, even if he is a bit small. He is a frequent eater, and like Smoke, he believes that the trails are walk through buffets. A charming horse. He is also the horse that I first cantered on, and galloped on. His owner was taking us through a field, and we were cantering, which was smooth and quite fun. It then felt as he was jumping and kicking with every step that found that he was galloping. It is, to say in the least, a very awkward gait when you first try it. After he started his gallop, I started to pull back on the reins, shouting various phrases which were garbelled attempts at halting him, but really amounted to nothing. After this incident, he would pretend to become scared and would shoot off at a gallop, with me hanging on for dear life. If I were really cool, I might have been able to peel my back from its position on the saddle and wave at onlookers, acting as though I was not currently holding on for dear life. In my dreams.
Looking back. I feel that it is a wonder that I have survived this long with the mischievous little buggers that I have taken a liking to. After all, now I am riding Smoke, the horse whom is worse than the others put together. Whether I am brave, or maybe just crazy, one thing is for sure. I have to have a pretty darn good attitude to put up with them.
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