Horse Crazy (4 page)

We hired our four horses from the rental
stable, and I was insistent that I be given an English saddle.
Western I can ride Stateside. I wanted the real thing. We were all
soon mounted and moved off amiably enough into the crisp Taupo
morning and our ride. The horse I'd been assigned was extremely
tame and extremely bored with his current situation. He spent much
of his time rooting about in the grass in order to relive the
ennui. I was inexperienced enough not to know how to prevent him
from grazing his way along the trail at the approximate speed of
the continental drift and timorous enough not to have been able to,
had I known.

Frustrated and mindful that I was holding up
the party, I urged my friends to go on ahead and I'd catch up. I
think I was tired of being the object of their patience and felt
that if I had some time alone, I could reason with the creature in
some way. They cheerioed me and trotted happily off down the trail
which was bordered with wild hibiscus and azaleas.

I sat on the horse for a few moments while he
reduced the grass population of the Taupo region and felt my
frustration build. I tugged on the reins to bring his head up. No
dice.

In retrospect, I probably wasn't very firm
about this. His blithe indifference to me was unnerving. I looked
around at the beautiful countryside. Would I have to say here until
someone came to get me? I nudged the horse with my new rubber
boots. Nothing. I squeezed him hard with my knees a la Corrine's
suggestion. Nada. It began to feel hot under my bulky riding helmet
and I wondered how far my friends had gotten down the trail.

It was incredible to think that even if I did
get this animal to stop eating and actually move I would then be
able to find my friends.

I began to feel hopeless. The most I could
hope for was to get back to the stables in order to save myself
that embarrassment. This feeling of surrender mixed with my
still-earnest desire to be with horses created a sick frustration.
Here I am, all decked out, in some of the most beautiful riding
country in the world and I can't get the stupid animal to lift his
fool head!

In anger and fear (I was still basically
afraid of these big beasts), I swung my leg over the saddle and
slid to the ground. He looked around briefly at me and then resumed
eating. With hands shaking, I took his reins and pulled him gently
toward the trail that led back to the stables. He followed. I
relaxed just a bit with the relief that this, at least, wasn't
going to be a total nightmare.

I walked next to him, careful not to have him
step on me, which I was fairly sure was next on the agenda, and
spoke softly, nonsensically, to him. I wasn't sure that this was
normal to him, or that being abnormal to him (how many riders rode
out and walked back?) he wouldn't do something weird that I'd find
beyond my ability to handle.

As I walked, I worried: Now that I'm on the
ground, will he try to run away? What if he tries to bolt for the
stables? Do I let go of the reins? Will he trip on them? Will they
sue me then? What if he shies and lands on my foot, breaking all my
toes? How do I get back to the stables then? We were at least two
miles from the barn and I didn't relish the thought of hobbling
them.

Suddenly it occurred to me that there was
little to no grass on this part of the trail back to the barn.
Nothing for him to eat. If I kept him away from little meadows like
the one we'd just come from, perhaps I could at least walk him
about. Heartened but shaking once again, I tossed the reins over
his head, stood close to him as I'd seen in the step-by-step books
I'd read, grasped mane and rein in my left hand, positioned my left
toe in the stirrup and placed my right hand on the cantle or front
of the saddle. Hopping breathlessly on one foot, I heaved myself up
on the count of three. Just as quickly I found myself back down on
the ground as the saddle inverted itself onto the horse's
stomach.

I stood back and looked at the horse in
frustration. I don't think I'd ever seen a saddle upside down on a
horse's belly before. Although I thought I knew, technically, how
to right the situation, I'd certainly never done it before, wasn't
sure that anyone anywhere had ever had to do it before and was
therefore hesitant to start unbuckling equipment. What if the
horse, feeling his girth loosened, became unnerved and tried to
kick me? What if he decided to run away?

I tugged gently, hopelessly, at the tack to
see how easily it might simply be pushed back on top again. It was,
to me, a conundrum as complex as splitting an atom. With your
teeth.

Disheartened, resigned and miserable, I
gathered up his reins and led him back to the stables, watching the
New Zealand dust kick up and cling to my new boots as we walked.
The horse walked agreeably beside me, pieces of grass protruding
from his bit, his saddle slapping quietly against his belly.

Chapter Three

Grooming for Success

One of the curious things about riding horses
is the accepted possibility, even likelihood, of damaging oneself;
perhaps quite severely. To some riders, it's what makes it
exciting. to most, it's simply the calculated risk understood and
accepted because the enjoyment of riding is worth it. Worth the
pain of broken ribs, crushed fingers, lacerated hands, wrenched
shoulders. There's usually nothing half way about an injury
incurred on horseback.

Although it's true, most falls result in
nothing more than having the wind knocked out of you, (and if it
weren't true, a lot fewer people would be riding), almost everyone
has their tale of pain and woe.

Horses are big creatures and we ask them to
go fast and jump high and turn quickly, so when an accident does
happen, chances are it's going to be a little more serious than
skinning your knee on the tennis court.

This is probably yet another reason why horse
people find it easy to feel superior. After all, jumping fences at
a mad gallop in the woods with dogs baying and a stampede of horses
behind you tends to be a little more dangerous than serving up a
diabolical serve to your racquetball partner.

At any rate, if you ride, sooner or later,
you are going to fall. If you don't fall, you're probably not
taking any chances and your riding will no doubt stay at a very
basic level, i.e. walking. This is not to say that some people
might not want to stay at this level. Older riders, and especially
older new riders can still enjoy their mounts, and the countryside,
without risk of a broken pelvis, if they leave the more animated
riding stuff to the under sixty-year olds.

When I returned to the States, I visited
briefly with friends in Atlanta, Georgia before deciding on my next
move. As it happened, my friends owned horses, and we decided to
spend my first afternoon home riding on the farm where they kept
their horses.

The farm was a wonderful place, sprawling and
comfortable, with several hundreds of acres of pasture and woods.
It was springtime; and the trail we rode wound around the
Chattahoochee River, hidden in spasms by great stands of dogwood
and redbud trees. Wild violets and pansies stood out like vivid
bruises against the green of the newly flourishing trees. The air
smelled fragrant and full of new life. It was also a warm day, and
the horses seemed happy as they pranced along the colorful
trails.

It was a perfect day, marred only by my
falling off the pony I was riding when I attempted to jump a wee
one-foot coop in the pasture on the way back to the barn. Having
never jumped before, I was nonetheless buoyed by my success at
having negotiated a small stream the mile before by jumping it.
When I saw the coop, I decided to try it.

I'd read enough books and magazines to know
how to get into two-point position and get out of the way of the
horse while he gets on with jumping the obstacle or fence. I was
excited but confident. We jumped it successfully, if not
effortlessly, but I lost a stirrup.

Determined to end the perfect day with a
perfect jump, I cantered back to the jump to try again. It seemed
to me that my pony was aiming for the pat of the jump that was not
only higher but had a loose board sticking out as well. I attempted
to steer him to a nicer spot (in my estimation) but was not able to
communicate this until too late. When he finally got the drift of
what I wanted, I'd already committed to doing it his way. So he
jumped the spot that I'd originally preferred he jump, and I went
sailing over the nasty, protruding board, narrowly missing snagging
my jacket on big nail that leered from the board. I came down
softly, almost gently on my left side and broke my shoulder in one
muffled crunch.

During my recuperation, (made considerably
worse by my lack of accident insurance--having just newly arrived
Stateside), I read endless books and magazines on riding (and
specifically jumping), attended horse shows with my arm in a sling
(getting wary, even betrayed, looks from the riders) and made
preparations to re-enter the world of horses.

I was as green as a rider could get and still
be Homosapien, and there was a lot to learn before I again found
myself cantering through a lovely spring day, let alone toward a
coop in a field.

The shoulder is a nasty break and physical
therapy tends to be quite important if full or near full use of the
arm is expected back. In addition to several hours of muscle and
bone grinding exercises every day (made possible by the fact that I
did not have a full-time job and was not physically able of
procuring one) there is the torment of holding great, unwieldy
blocks of ice to the bar afflicted area for length periods of time
after each exercise session. When my arm was out of the sling,
although still quite useless, the exercises began.

After a month of them, I was able to drive a
car and had the strength to lift certain small items. When I
walked, my right arm swung rhythmically to my gait, while my left
one hung as flaccid and lifeless as a sack of beets. Though I
couldn't lift it over my head, I could now raise the arm some, and
so began the next step of my therapy, which was also the next stage
of my equine education.

Learning to care for a horse on the ground
can, and should be, as loving an experience--and in some cases as
enjoyable--as riding the beast. I'd always felt much less at ease
with horses when I was on the ground with them. I was convinced
that a horse was going to: a) kick me b) bite me c) squeeze me into
a corner of his stall and crush me to death d) stomp all my toes to
the consistency of Span e) generally hurt me in
yet-unthought-of-ways.

As my still-healing arm wouldn't allow me to
actually ride just yet, I felt that working with horses on the
ground was an ideal way to overcome my apprehension of them. I was
still easily size-shocked by them. As it happened, it also proved
to be wonderful physical therapy for my arm. In a way, horses
helped me regain the full use of it.

One of the first things I wanted to know in
my grooming education was how to tack and untack a horse. (The
mystery of the upside down saddle in Taupo still haunted me.)

I learned that after you brush a horse's back
(with a curry comb and then a hard brush), you brush his tummy with
a softer brush to make sure there are not rasping bits of grit
caught under the saddle pad of the girth. Once that's done, you
gently toss the saddle over the horse, but high on his withers and
then ease it back into place. During my instruction, it seemed I
could never get this part right. I was always re-heaving the saddle
on the horse and re-sliding it back...usually too far back.

Then, the mystery of the girth was explained
tome. Why the stretchy part goes on the left, (it's the more secure
end.) Why a horse will "blow himself up," (the phrase
"equine-schmuck" comes to mind. He does it to prevent you from
initially notching the girth very tightly.) Why he needs to be
walked some before finally tightening it. (He lets out air as he
relaxes.) Why he needs both legs pulled out from the girth once
it's secured tightly. (In order to relieve any folds of skin that
may be pinched and trapped under the girth.)

If you've gone it all correctly, you should
be able to suspend your entire weight in one stirrup without
causing the saddle to slip, and still fit one hand cleanly between
girth and belly. While, of course, balancing a hard-boiled egg on
the tip of your nose.

The saddle pad itself needs to fit properly
too. It can't be bunched up, but must be straight and perfectly
situated under the saddle with no part of the saddle touching the
horse's bare skin.

I never saw National Velvet do any of this
stuff, but it was, as they say, just the beginning.

For example, then there is the unbridled joy
of learning how to bridle a horse. The mechanics of it are not all
that tricky. You throw the reins over the horse's neck, hold the
cavesson in your right hand which is snaked under the horse's chin
and over his nose, and your left hand cups the metal bit. Then, you
just pull the cavesson up over the horse's nose while you guide the
bit into his mouth. Sound disconcerting? If the horse clamps his
sweet little teeth shut and doesn't take the bit as easily as he
does in all the horse books, you need to jam the thumb of your left
hand into the side of the horse's mouth to force his jaws apart
while you slip the offending piece of metal into his mouth.

This procedure goes under the heading of
being a true test of whether or not you really want to be involved
with horses. If you are willing to stand up in a crowd and say "I
will now stick my hand into a horse's mouth," you may then advance
to the next stage.

The western bridle, as usual with things
western, tends to make things easier on the rider. There is no brow
band to mash the horse's ears during the bridling procedure,
there's no nose band to have to maneuver his delicate little nose
through; you just insert the bit and flip the cheek strap over his
head and buckle it. Bingo. Couldn't be easier than if they came
into the world already-bridled. (Intriguing image.)