Third time lucky…
This is Bruno. He’s 25 years old, an Aquarian and loves reading crime novels by the fireside, almost as much as he loves carrots.
He is also the hugest horse I have ever seen in my life. I practically needed an oxygen tank up there. Despite his stature, he was very patient with me and didn’t take too much advantage of my reluctance to kick him. Ben had a lovely young lad named Benny who liked digging in the dirt. Together we were determined to be wrangling cattle and thundering across desert plains hollering “yee-haw!” in under an hour. No sweat.
Walking was probably a good place to start though, so first we did some circuits of the arena, getting a feel for the way the horses moved and attempting to steer them. The sensation was oddly familiar and yet completely foreign – as if I felt like I knew exactly what to do, but putting it into practice proved the opposite. I was continually reprimanded for looking down at the horse instead of straight ahead, and not keeping my heels down, which it felt so unnatural to do. And yet I kept thinking ‘I’m totally down with this. I just need to yell ‘yaa!’ and gallop off into the sunset’. Sometimes I think my brain doesn’t really consult with itself.
We took turns at trotting. Of course by ‘trotting’, I mean something more like ‘gracelessly bouncing’. Chanting “up down up down” was apparently the key, but chanting quickly became less of a priority when up against clinging on for dear life. Each time, I would be sure to have it under control. Then Bruno would trot, and I’d maybe manage a couple of “up downs”, and then the rhythm wouldn’t match up. That’s when the teeth started rattling and the weight started shifting and an unsuspecting sense of alarm kicked in. So we’d stop, and I’d catch my breath and steady the nerves, and once again, my brain would immediately and conveniently forget that I couldn’t trot. Yeah! Let’s do this! And off we go again, with the same result. I think I’m regressing. Nevertheless – fun! What beautiful creatures horses are.
We did this for a while, then went back to walking and steering, and then the hour was over. Just like that. We walked back to the stables and put Bruno and Benny to bed. It all went by so quickly, by the end of the day it was almost as if we’d never been horse riding at all. Then I woke up this morning, and my thighs reminded me. Hello thighs…
This is Bruno. He’s 25 years old, an Aquarian and loves reading crime novels by the fireside, almost as much as he loves carrots.
He is also the hugest horse I have ever seen in my life. I practically needed an oxygen tank up there. Despite his stature, he was very patient with me and didn’t take too much advantage of my reluctance to kick him. Ben had a lovely young lad named Benny who liked digging in the dirt. Together we were determined to be wrangling cattle and thundering across desert plains hollering “yee-haw!” in under an hour. No sweat.
Walking was probably a good place to start though, so first we did some circuits of the arena, getting a feel for the way the horses moved and attempting to steer them. The sensation was oddly familiar and yet completely foreign – as if I felt like I knew exactly what to do, but putting it into practice proved the opposite. I was continually reprimanded for looking down at the horse instead of straight ahead, and not keeping my heels down, which it felt so unnatural to do. And yet I kept thinking ‘I’m totally down with this. I just need to yell ‘yaa!’ and gallop off into the sunset’. Sometimes I think my brain doesn’t really consult with itself.
We took turns at trotting. Of course by ‘trotting’, I mean something more like ‘gracelessly bouncing’. Chanting “up down up down” was apparently the key, but chanting quickly became less of a priority when up against clinging on for dear life. Each time, I would be sure to have it under control. Then Bruno would trot, and I’d maybe manage a couple of “up downs”, and then the rhythm wouldn’t match up. That’s when the teeth started rattling and the weight started shifting and an unsuspecting sense of alarm kicked in. So we’d stop, and I’d catch my breath and steady the nerves, and once again, my brain would immediately and conveniently forget that I couldn’t trot. Yeah! Let’s do this! And off we go again, with the same result. I think I’m regressing. Nevertheless – fun! What beautiful creatures horses are.
We did this for a while, then went back to walking and steering, and then the hour was over. Just like that. We walked back to the stables and put Bruno and Benny to bed. It all went by so quickly, by the end of the day it was almost as if we’d never been horse riding at all. Then I woke up this morning, and my thighs reminded me. Hello thighs…
You are def leaning English riding style. Saddle, posture, rein grip, size of horse.
ReplyDeleteNo so much "yee-haw!" as "Hullo there, guvnor! It's a jolly well good day for a ride! Cheerio!"