Ok. I realize this may have only been me. I am probably the only person who was an uneducated savage when I first became interested in horses. You know, the second I was born. I’m absolutely positive that everyone else started with horses as a completely educated equine veterinarian/Olympic rider. Which is awesome for them. It’s just that I didn’t start that way. At all. Ha ha…
I started riding when I was around four years old, on my very own demon-possessed Shetland Pony “Buttercup”. I got him as a complete surprise gift at my fourth birthday party. It was truly perfect, the dream of every four-year-old girl everywhere, came true for me. Buttercup was a beautiful dark bay with a loooooong, thick, luscious, mane and a tail that drug the ground.
Did I mention he had a heart made of Satan’s toenails? I loved that pony more dearly than my own life Obviously… Because I never wanted him dead no matter what he did to me. Buttercup lovingly bit me in the face while being cinched up once, reared up and fell (on purpose) with me repeatedly, bucked me off repeatedly, bolted repeatedly (Fun story… It ended up being how I discovered my love for going fast and jumping once I figured out how to stay on), kicked me repeatedly, struck me twice, and the last thing he did was lay down and roll down a hill on me.
At the time I rode in a beautiful little western saddle. You can imagine that horn crushing into my tiny little sternum as he rolled down the hill on me. He went over on me once, discarded me, and raced away to a nice and shady patch of grass. It was the one time I didn’t jump right up. That’s what my grandfather said ended it. He said I *always* jumped right up and went after the pony. It didn’t matter if I was crying, bruised, bleeding, or wind knocked out of me. Straight up and after the pony. That time I just laid there, not making a sound.
My grandfather was so pissed that he rode Buttercup and straightened him out. Now my Grandfather isn’t fat, but he isn’t a small man by any stretch of the imagination. Papaw is quite tall and stocky to boot. Maybe like a Whirlpool or Maytag refrigerator. I can’t decide. He sure could ride a rank ass horse, though. It never ceased to amaze me watching him ride a bucking, rearing, plunging, spooking, bolting jerk of a horse like he was just having the easiest time of it. He’s my idol in many ways. Anywho, Papaw had me Ride Buttercup the next day when I could walk around a little better. Then Buttercup was gone. Buttercup and I were together for a little over two years. I had a new horse to replace him a week or two later. We were out of the pony game.
The point of that story is to say, I still have that saddle and I loved it so much. One day I hope that our little one will ride in it, after a proper oiling. Now that saddle has a chance to be loved and enjoyed again.
Also, I finally picked a crupper and ordered it. I think and research way too much. It will hopefully be here by the end of the week. Review to come!