Ride the horse, not the saddle... posted 10/23/2007 11:51:13 PM | 9 kudos what's this?     report abuse tagged: horses, humor

redtigr

For the past few weeks I've been horse shopping. I know, I know... with my badly sprained wrist and bruised ego, I'm probably not the best candidate for trying out unknown equines. But it's the best time of year to ride, and many people are selling off horses due to the unprecedented drought.

Here in the deep south, very few people ride "English" and, as I am learning, many have never even seen an English saddle. (Do I have to capitalize english even when it is used as an adjective? Firefox says I do, but no one ever capitalizes western when they are referring to a western saddle...)

I digress.

I first looked at a beautiful red roan mare who was unbelievably cheap. The man who was selling her told me she "pulled back." I watched him put a halter on her as she eyed him nervously - and then threw herself backwards. I tried handling her hooves and again she threatened to lunge back. Hmmm... this is the fairly common response of a sensitive, smart horse who has been roughly mishandled. She would now be said to have "bad ground manners" though likely the people who have ridden and handled her were the ones with the bad manners. Such a shame to ruin a lovely horse through ignorance. I passed, reluctantly, because I need a quiet horse who is predictable and I've little time for retraining - and no time for injury.

On my way to look at horses at another farm, I passed a hand lettered sign: "horses 4 sale >" . I followed > signs for a mile or so to a pen where five assorted horses were munching hay. There were three nice mares: one black, one bay and one palomino (just like Charlie's Angels... ha ha) and two geldings: an elderly sorrel and a bay TWH (Tennessee Walking Horse). No one was at home or about so I just looked them over from the gate and made my hypothetical choice. I left a note and went on to my appointment with "Cathy."

Cathy was selling two geldings: a leggy five year old dun with a dorsal stripe and leg stripes (rare color and markings) and a handsome little bay quarterhorse, barely 14 hands, who was "bomb proof" having been ridden in a drill team, on trails and in parades. When I set my English saddle astride the gate, one of Cathy's children asked what it was. I told him it was a Yankee saddle, the Peugot of saddles: an English saddle. He just laughed while his dad brought out the biggest, heaviest roping saddle I have ever seen, complete with breast strap, tie downs, and a bucking strap. As the dun hadn't been ridden in five months, I said you ride the dun and I'd take the bay; then we'll switch. I saddled the bay with my Yankee tack and off we went down the dirt road, looking like Mutt and Jeff with our totally different mounts and apparatus.

As we approached the second house, the neighbor turned on a weedwacker and that was all she wrote... (or in this case all he rode...). The dun balked and began to plunge and then to buck hard and in spite of his huge saddle with the "handle" and all that leather, "dad" was thrown, unceremoniously into the neighbor's lawn. My little bay danced and wanted to follow the dun, but he settled down and we walked back. The owners were afraid so I climbed on the dun and walked him for a bit. (It's a bad thing to let a horse buck you off and then put him up. It's like rewarding bad behavior.) Needless to say, I decided against the dun - and the bay was a bit too small.

A couple days later I went to try out Charlie's Angels. The only time the owners could meet me was 6pm with time to try two of the three before dark. Once again, the owners' three teenage sons had quite a laugh over my saddle, but they were eager to see if it "really worked" as they put it.

The lovely black mare turned out to be a barn sour dog. I ruled her out. The pretty bay had been ridden for the past four years with only a halter and rope for reins so I asked one of the owner's sons to ride her first. He was at least 6' 2"; 240 lbs., and he looked like a gigantic cramped up jockey until I let the stirrups down. After a few minutes, he said "Hey, this saddle is really comfortable!" Luckily, he couldn't see how uncomfortable he looked - but part of that was that he was too big for the horse as well as my little saddle. I rode "Baby Girl" and liked her except for the halter thing. Potential, thought I.

Sunday I went back to ride the palomino (named "Silver" of all things) only to be disappointed to learn that she is (><) 20! She was by far the best of the horses I had tried and didn't look her age. We discussed aging horses and pricing and I left, feeling they wanted too much for the bay and wishing the palomino was 10 years younger.

Yesterday the owner of Charlie's Angels made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He's selling me both mares for a bit more than the price of one. BOGO!! Bogo... that will make a nice name change for Silver...

And today, the owner of the roan mare called...

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Blogs by redtigr: The real thing... I, for one, am not from Venus... Superpowers ...and supersculpture... email exposure... the tar pool... Let the rain come down on me.. That Little Red Roan... I seek... Illustrating a blog... November 9, 2007... a blog about life, without rancor Sunday morning... early. ...the quality of light... (a tardy repost) Ride the horse, not the saddle... Take a clean plate on every trip to the buffet... High jinx Scarred (no, not scared - just... not perfect) Mornings shouldn't be broken... Listening A lifelong love and a 22 year affair... part II A lifelong love and a 22 year affair... part I The Ballad of the Mouldy Blog... dedicated to misschoos... I've Lost My Heart... What would it be like...? The Terror of Poetry... * Why do we do what we do?