Horse Drama!

       One of the issues facing Jessica and I was the second mount for the ride. I needed a horse for the trail and needed it in time to condition and train it. The horse I’d been riding, Buster, was only borrowed and besides, trooper that he was, he was past his prime for a really tough ride. He also was a bit of a stumble foot. At least once every ride he would stumble to the point of almost going down. This was on fairly easy trails and wasn’t confidence inspiring when I thought of some of the sections of the Pacific Crest Trail with steep switchbacks and sharp drop-offs into rocky oblivion. Jess had a lead on a good packhorse but all leads for a mount for me played out.

       The potential packhorse was a mix of Quarter horse and a small draft breed called Fjord Pony common in the Scandinavian countries. Strong and stocky, they make good mounts too but this one “had issues”. According to Jessica, he was 10 years old but very green because he would bolt or buck when mounted! Saddled and loaded with packs was OK, just not mounted by a person, at least not predictably. Jessica negotiated with his owner and bought him at a very reasonable price. Two down and one to go. We now had a packhorse and one mount.

       The new horse was named Tuxedo though for the life of me I can’t figure out why because he’s a buckskin tending to dun with the typical Fjord Pony mane that is light down the middle and black on both sides. He was also BIG! Not tall, but big. He was barely 15 hands but probably weighed 1500#s. Some of this was excess because he spent much of his time in a box stall. Because of his tendency to bolt and throw people, he was pretty useless on the previous owners string of rental ponies. Jessica felt that his problems could have resulted from someone using a blindfold to train and mount him as a young horse. She also felt that hobbling him and mounting him over and over would get him past this but the previous owner felt that hobbles were cruel. I don’t know about that. I’ve never seen hobbles cause injury and I do have my own opinion about the cruelty of living in a small stall most of your life.

       When Jess got Tux home to her pasture she started considering him not just as a pack animal but also as a possible mount for me. As I’ve mentioned before, my weight limits gear that I can pack. A typical horse can carry around 250# for a long trail ride but Tux is capable of carrying a 300# load. That’s me, tack, and some food or gear! Of course there was still his bolting and bucking.

       I got a call from Jess, “Come meet your new horse!” she sounded cheerful and chirpy. I was immediately suspicious. I sensed an agenda but we agreed to meet. I wanted to try out the saddles I got from my sister and see if one would fit him. Sis was all grins to find me back in the saddle after almost 50 years on two wheels instead of 4 hooves and she gleefully outfitted me with bridle, bit, two saddles, pad, and halter. I filled the back of my station wagon with leather and headed over to meet the new kid on the block.

       Saddling him was a breeze as was getting the bridle on. He really didn’t give a hint of trouble so we got out the hobbles and took turns getting on and off. Gently at first, then normally. Off, on, both sides, each of us taking turns. He tossed his head but seemed OK.

“This has gone better and faster than I expected.” Said Jessica. “Let’s try him on a lunge line and then see about riding him in the pasture.”

All went well and later, I rode him a very short bit without any trouble. I was gaining confidence but Jess was pessimistic.

“There’s still drama in him. I don’t think were done yet. This was too easy!” But it was enough for one day so we unsaddled him and called it good.

The next week I saddled Tux up, hobbled him while Jess was getting her horse ready. I mounted him a few times. All was going well. We were going to trail ride with Jess on Tuxedo and me on her horse Cheeseburger.

“I think Tux is good. I’m going to ride him up the field a bit.”

“Don’t! I don’t think he’s ready yet Greg.”

“You’re being a worrywart. It’s OK Mom.” I teased.

She put her face down into her horse and made a big deal out of looking away and covering her ears so as to not hear the carnage that I was convinced wouldn’t happen.

I mounted up and carefully pointed him up the pasture. We went about 100 yards and turned around to come back. He felt a little goosey, a little odd but I kept him moving. We were about halfway to the other horses when he decided enough was enough and channeled his inner bronco. Suddenly I was barely hanging on and very aware of the power in that draft horses build. I lasted about 3 bounces and was suddenly lying on my back on the ground. Ouch! That was no fun. Jess ran out and grabbed the horse and yelled, “Are you alright? Does everything still work?”

Well, sorta… slowly… and with some pain. Damn, it’s been at least 50 years since I was last dumped off of a horse and the ground has used the time to learn how to hit much harder. I got up but again,  slowly. Caught my breath and started walking down to her… slowly.

“Get on him again when you’re ready.” Yeah, she really believes that you should get right back on the horse that just dumped you. We hobbled him up and I got on and off a few times.

“Do you still want to ride today?”

“Yeah, but let’s go back to plan A and I’ll ride CB, OK?”

We did the short loop, about 4 miles and I went home to soak and cuddle up with Advil. The next day, I was sore, really sore. I must have landed on my left hip because it didn’t want to work for a couple of days. As the week progressed some pretty good bruises filled in but slowly, things started to heal. Not quite as fast as when I was 16, but heal they did. We rode some more but I told Jess that I would happily let her do my stunts for a few weeks. She could ride Tux while I rode CB.

 I also gained more respect for Jessica’s horse sense. She called it exactly right and predicted the drama in Tuxedo accurately. In the future I’ll trade a bruised ego for a bruised body and do exactly as she recommends.