I had my first little ride on Josie today, and all in all it was a good thing. I have, however, invented a new word: "Mulehardy". Mulehardy is the act of stubbornly insisting on an action that you have realized is unwise, with your mule. In the past this has led me to point my horse at jumps whose height I could not judge--I have no depth perception-- resulting in several shocking but successful leaps, before I learned to always walk my horse up to an unfamiliar fence, so that I could see where it came to on him. Fortunately, my horses always bailed me out and it only took about two times to cure me of that one. I was not so lucky on my honeymoon when I rather recklessly thought I'd show my new husband--thank God he loves me anyway--how I could climb down a cliff in ill-fitting street shoes. That time I broke my ankle, and I also realized that I was really too old for bone-head moves. Most of the time.
Things have been going so well on the ground with Josie that I couldn't see anything standing between me and riding her, bar a little thing like lack of a pony girth. I rode Willow stirrupless all this past year trying to balance my seat, which I think I succeeded in. I did this in my ancient, beloved but worn out Prix de Saute, which is a close contact saddle, not blessed with knee or leg rolls, never mind a nice, deep seat. Twenty years ago, the first time I sat on one, I thought my instructor was kidding expecting me to jump in it, when I'd always used my armchair Stubben Siegfried. Once I got used to it I quickly became addicted to the feel of my horse's every muscle movement; I'd never felt more one with my horse.
In applying this practice to Josie however, I forgot that a season of riding stirrupless in the Prix de Saute was really not like riding bareback, a talent I hadn't practiced in more years than I can count.
Of course, I put on my helmet and half chaps, as well as a neck strap on my maneless mule-ette.
To Be Continued
No comments:
Post a Comment