We returned a few days later with the horse trailer and my parents, who had generously agreed to finance this endeavor. My parents tried halfheartedly to talk Len down from his asking price, but he held firm and they didn't argue. The red gelding loaded readily onto the trailer, despite the fact that it was so small for him that he could barely lift his head. I promised to let Len know before the month was up if I would be keeping the horse, and we were off. The red horse rode quietly to his new home.
Upon arrival, he unloaded just as quietly, then looked around excitedly at his surroundings. Before settling him in his new stall, I decided to turn him out in the sand ring (which was more like hard-packed stone dust) to give him a chance to get his fidgets out and also to assess him for any lameness.
I let him go and he took off, leaving all of us standing at the gate with our mouths open - he was a spectacular mover. First galloping back and forth, then trotting, flagging his tail and flinging his head in the air, he looked like he had springs in his legs. One of the riding lesson groups had gone for a trail ride, and he occasionally stopped and stared at the horses in the distance. Eventually he quieted, and I took him inside to settle into his new stall.
Before I left, the lesson group returned from their trail ride. One of the students was a middle-aged lady who rode the stable's school horses. She asked me what kind of horse I'd bought, and I told her he was a Thoroughbred. She said, "Oh, OK. We were watching him out there and I thought he was the biggest damn Arab I'd ever seen!"
That evening I returned to check on him and get on him for the first time. My mare and I had been together for six years at that point, and knew each other extremely well. I only had to think "canter" and she would go, and in jumpoffs she would whirl through the course like a spinning coin. I'd ridden a lot of different horses, with varying amounts of experience, but it had been a few years since I got on anything that came through the barn. I knew this horse was going to be very, very different from what I was used to.
As a precaution, I decided to longe him after I had tacked him up. I thought my saddle would be OK for him (knowing what I know now, and after years of trying to find saddles that clear his huge withers, it really didn't fit him at all). I didn't know if he'd ever been longed before, but he seemed to figure it out, although motivation was lacking. I was expecting running and bucking, and when it didn't happen I felt a little less apprehensive about getting on him.
I don't remember a lot of specifics about that first ride, only that he didn't try to kill me, he was REALLY unbalanced, and he really had no idea what I wanted. We were able to walk and trot fairly successfully, although his trot seemed to have two speeds: really fast and stop. When I asked him to canter, things got really interesting. The indoor arena at this particular farm was fairly long, but only about 50 feet wide, with stalls lining each long side making it feel even smaller. I had already learned at the trot that steering and balance had not yet been installed, so to give him as much room as possible I asked for canter right out of the corner onto the long side. By the time we actually got it, we were almost to the other end and he couldn't make the turn without falling over. So we actually got 1 or 2 strides in before falling back to trot.
Regardless, he seemed to be trying to do what I asked in his new surroundings - I doubt he'd ever been ridden indoors before. I went home feeling like we'd had a promising beginning.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Deliverance
"Thoroughbred gelding, 16+hands. Make good barrel, trail or hunter jumper. $2500." read the ad in the Trading Post.
It sounded promising. I hadn't expected to be in the market for another horse, but my mare's arthritis was becoming a serious problem, and I knew that she probably only had a couple of years of competition left in the jumper ring before she'd have to retire. As much as I loved my girl, I knew it wasn't fair to her to keep working her so hard, but I couldn't imagine not riding and competing. If I started a new horse now, hopefully it would be up to speed before she had to be completely retired. Besides that, I really wanted the challenge of starting with a green horse and training it myself.
I'd ridden a lot of different horses at my trainer's barn while in high school, and had hopped on the occasional problem horse at my current boarding barn. I was pretty good at getting on new horses and figuring them out, so I was fairly confident that I'd be successful in this new venture. I also had youth and bravery on my side.
I'd considered one horse briefly prior to my consultation with the Trading Post, a mare that was at our barn to be sold. However, she had an unfortunate accident in her stall, putting her foot through the wall and having to be sawn out, damaging herself badly enough that her future soundness was in question. I was sad for the horse, but thankful it had happened before I decided to buy her rather than after.
So there I was, looking at horse ads. My requirements were simple: over 3 but under 6 years old, at least 16 hands, and reasonably athletic (so probably at least part Thoroughbred). This horse sounded like he might fit the bill, so I picked up the phone.
After speaking with the owner, Len, I ascertained that the horse was "big" (I'd asked how much over 16 hands - he'd never measured), chestnut, and he didn't know if he would jump, but probably. I made an appointment to come see the horse that weekend. He gave me directions to his antique store on Highway 50 in Indiana and said that I could meet him there and he would take me to his farm.
The day came, and my husband and I set off for the antique shop. We found it without much trouble. The store was crammed to the gills with the most random junk imaginable. We waded our way through to find Len, who possessed a perfectly nice demeanor and three or possibly even four teeth. He motioned for us to follow him in our car, turned the shop sign to CLOSED, and drove off.
We turned off Highway 50 and the road rapidly deteriorated from asphalt to gravel to worse gravel. We were being led deeper into the backwoods of Indiana. At any moment I expected to hear banjo music and people squealing like pigs. I was extremely glad I hadn't come alone.
Finally we turned into a gravel drive where there stood a dilapidated mobile home, a couple of muddy pastures (forgiveable in March in Indiana) and a very neat, recently built pole barn. Clearly this man had his priorities in order.
We entered the barn (which had wood plank floors). There were a few stalls with half doors, and their occupants were hanging their heads out in welcome. Len led us to the farthest stall, where a slightly scruffy chestnut was waiting. I peered in the gloomy stall while the owner recited his merits: quiet, ridden on trails, no soundness problems. I could see a couple of small, oozy lumps on his chest, and while I was looking he grabbed the top of his stall door and took a big gulp of air. Great, he was a cribber....not ideal, not a deal breaker, but something to consider if I decided I wanted to sell him later.
I asked to see him out of the stall. He walked out relatively calmly and I didn't see any evidence of lameness in the few steps he took. More than a little on the thin side, but no obvious lumps or bumps on his legs, either. He was, as promised, well over 16 hands. I asked his name, and Len muttered something unintelligible; I must have looked confused, because he followed with "I call him Mick." I wanted to see him move around, so we took him out to the muddy paddock and turned him loose. He took off as best he could in the muck, avoiding the run-in shed made of two-by-fours and tattered blue tarps blowing in the breeze, and while it was impossible to evaluate his soundness in the mud, he wasn't crippled.
I thought the gelding looked like a decent prospect, and Len was willing to give me a generous month's trial period (which I would later joke about - "he gave me a month to try him, and I bought him anyway!") so we made arrangements to return with a check and a horse trailer to take him home. I could hardly wait...
It sounded promising. I hadn't expected to be in the market for another horse, but my mare's arthritis was becoming a serious problem, and I knew that she probably only had a couple of years of competition left in the jumper ring before she'd have to retire. As much as I loved my girl, I knew it wasn't fair to her to keep working her so hard, but I couldn't imagine not riding and competing. If I started a new horse now, hopefully it would be up to speed before she had to be completely retired. Besides that, I really wanted the challenge of starting with a green horse and training it myself.
I'd ridden a lot of different horses at my trainer's barn while in high school, and had hopped on the occasional problem horse at my current boarding barn. I was pretty good at getting on new horses and figuring them out, so I was fairly confident that I'd be successful in this new venture. I also had youth and bravery on my side.
I'd considered one horse briefly prior to my consultation with the Trading Post, a mare that was at our barn to be sold. However, she had an unfortunate accident in her stall, putting her foot through the wall and having to be sawn out, damaging herself badly enough that her future soundness was in question. I was sad for the horse, but thankful it had happened before I decided to buy her rather than after.
So there I was, looking at horse ads. My requirements were simple: over 3 but under 6 years old, at least 16 hands, and reasonably athletic (so probably at least part Thoroughbred). This horse sounded like he might fit the bill, so I picked up the phone.
After speaking with the owner, Len, I ascertained that the horse was "big" (I'd asked how much over 16 hands - he'd never measured), chestnut, and he didn't know if he would jump, but probably. I made an appointment to come see the horse that weekend. He gave me directions to his antique store on Highway 50 in Indiana and said that I could meet him there and he would take me to his farm.
The day came, and my husband and I set off for the antique shop. We found it without much trouble. The store was crammed to the gills with the most random junk imaginable. We waded our way through to find Len, who possessed a perfectly nice demeanor and three or possibly even four teeth. He motioned for us to follow him in our car, turned the shop sign to CLOSED, and drove off.
We turned off Highway 50 and the road rapidly deteriorated from asphalt to gravel to worse gravel. We were being led deeper into the backwoods of Indiana. At any moment I expected to hear banjo music and people squealing like pigs. I was extremely glad I hadn't come alone.
Finally we turned into a gravel drive where there stood a dilapidated mobile home, a couple of muddy pastures (forgiveable in March in Indiana) and a very neat, recently built pole barn. Clearly this man had his priorities in order.
We entered the barn (which had wood plank floors). There were a few stalls with half doors, and their occupants were hanging their heads out in welcome. Len led us to the farthest stall, where a slightly scruffy chestnut was waiting. I peered in the gloomy stall while the owner recited his merits: quiet, ridden on trails, no soundness problems. I could see a couple of small, oozy lumps on his chest, and while I was looking he grabbed the top of his stall door and took a big gulp of air. Great, he was a cribber....not ideal, not a deal breaker, but something to consider if I decided I wanted to sell him later.
I asked to see him out of the stall. He walked out relatively calmly and I didn't see any evidence of lameness in the few steps he took. More than a little on the thin side, but no obvious lumps or bumps on his legs, either. He was, as promised, well over 16 hands. I asked his name, and Len muttered something unintelligible; I must have looked confused, because he followed with "I call him Mick." I wanted to see him move around, so we took him out to the muddy paddock and turned him loose. He took off as best he could in the muck, avoiding the run-in shed made of two-by-fours and tattered blue tarps blowing in the breeze, and while it was impossible to evaluate his soundness in the mud, he wasn't crippled.
I thought the gelding looked like a decent prospect, and Len was willing to give me a generous month's trial period (which I would later joke about - "he gave me a month to try him, and I bought him anyway!") so we made arrangements to return with a check and a horse trailer to take him home. I could hardly wait...
Inspiration
I've been thinking about telling our story for a while. Mainly because, sadly, my memory is not what it once was; and morbid though it may seem, my boy is 20 (!) this year and there are many, many times that I feel as though time is slipping through my fingers like water. Sometimes it seems like yesterday that he was that crazy, barely broke OTTB (oh wait...he WAS like that yesterday, LOL!) and I was a fearless college kid...and suddenly, BAM! He's almost old enough to vote, and I think back to some of the antics I used to ride him through and feel a little faint.
And while he shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon (knocking wood ferociously here) I know in my heart that no matter what, one day he will be gone and I don't want to forget a single one of these precious memories that we've made together.
I'm writing this alone in a hotel room, at a veterinary conference in the town where I lived until last summer. This aftrrnoon I got the devastating news that a friend of mine lost her horse today; he collapsed on cross-country at an Advanced level horse trials (his first at that level). My friend was so full of pride, hope and love for this horse; he was truly her heart horse, as mine is to me. A once in a lifetime horse. Now, more than ever, I feel the need to write this down. So Hopper, this is for you...and all the other "heart horses" out there...
And while he shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon (knocking wood ferociously here) I know in my heart that no matter what, one day he will be gone and I don't want to forget a single one of these precious memories that we've made together.
I'm writing this alone in a hotel room, at a veterinary conference in the town where I lived until last summer. This aftrrnoon I got the devastating news that a friend of mine lost her horse today; he collapsed on cross-country at an Advanced level horse trials (his first at that level). My friend was so full of pride, hope and love for this horse; he was truly her heart horse, as mine is to me. A once in a lifetime horse. Now, more than ever, I feel the need to write this down. So Hopper, this is for you...and all the other "heart horses" out there...
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