PO Box 518 Montpelier Station, VA 22957  1-540-748-7199

The last hunter pace of the season

Was a complete disaster.  I was so disappointed in T.  So were J3 and Reggie, because they didn’t get to run and jump.  But here’s a brief synopsis:

The morning started just fine, like all the others, albeit cold and windy (probably a lesson there).  The boys hopped right on the trailer (we have discovered Reg is much more willing to get on if someone else does it first).  This pace was the furthest one from home, about an hour, but they travelled just fine.  I got us signed in and J3 and I tacked up and wandered over to the start, very quietly.  We chatted with the starters and were sent out on course.  We hadn’t gone two minutes before we hit our first obstacle: through a narrow gate, short, steep downhill to a river.  Both lovely racehorses peered into the abyss and said, “What? Are you freaking kidding me????”  When they refused to take a lead even from the teams that passed us, I got off and led T through the gate, down the hill and across the river.  In my Dehners.  I was not pleased.  Now it is 35 degrees, my feet are soaked, and I’m thinking this was just the world’s most expensive trail ride ever.

But I hop back on (T stands fine) and we start off again.   But now he starts to get excited.  He winds himself up.  He starts to squeak.  I hate it when he squeaks, because nothing good ever follows.  So, poor Jeanne wants to move along and jump (which is why we do this stuff), but my monster is now snorting and plunging and breathing fire.  I think, well, we keep trotting and maybe he will blow off steam.  Didn’t really work out that way.  About half way through the ride, T gets away from me and gallops up a hill.  No problem, right?  I mean, despite the lack of brakes, I can ride as fast as they can run.  Unfortunately, when we got to the top, we had a disagreement about direction.  The usual result of these “consultations” is that the horse goes his way, and the rider goes hers.  This produced the usual result.  I went flying and was rolling across the grass before I realized I was even airborne.  To T’s credit, he was heartily surprised at our parting of ways, and stood there looking at me like he was thinking, “dumb***.”   Or other things I can’t print.  So he was easy to catch, and I didn’t have to chase my tack across Albemarle County (because about that time, the tack was all that concerned me).

 

But I hop back on (T stands fine – at least he remembers something) and we start out again.  We all walked and squeaked back to the trailer.  I am a bit sore today, but thankfully all that good pony club training (tuck and roll!) is pretty automatic, so despite hitting the ground from about six feet in the air, I am unharmed.  I’ve had this silly horse almost a year and a half, and that’s the first time he’s managed to lose me.  Cross your paws that’s not the only lesson he took away from Sunday’s trip!

So I spent the time walking back to the trailer composing his for sale sign.  You think this will work?

For sale:  7 year old OTTB gelding.  Sound, attractive, very nice mover, athletic, big jump, but good luck getting him to do any of it when you need it.  Was a perfectly wonderful animal until I got him home and the drugs wore off.  Waaay too much horse for this old broad.  Paid five, make offer.  Need the money for tennis lessons.  And racquet. Maybe sneakers…

 

Categories: News

1 comment

  1. Anna says:

    Don’t know if you get the paper version of “The Chronicle of the Horse” but there was a great pic in one of the recent issues of a rider pitching a fall and quotations of “non-horse friends of riders who’ve taken a bad fall” where one’s brother says “Why don’t you breed pugs?”

    It’s because we get back on each time

    35 degrees is way too cold for me to ride — not that I can’t, but my toes take it tough (I froze them one winter in Wisconsin, and immediately get chilblains if they get cold now) Guess that’s why I live in the Deep South.

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