Well this is my story. My name is Alida, I’m 38 years old, have been married for 16 years and have 2 children aged 6 and 10.
I've always loved horses – ever since I can remember I would get excited at the sight of a long flowing mane, an arched neck, a graceful gallop.
My very first horse that I could call my own only came along in my twenties. As a child there was very little opportunity or money for horseriding. I bought an 18month old stallion named Twister for just R500. That was before I learned how to ride, please note. Green horse + green rider = injuries, so NOT a good idea! I got a broken wrist for my efforts, many falls, sprains and lots of trodden toes. I actually didn't ride him that much. Did more of a "dirt slalom" - skiing behind him as I got dragged through the vegetable garden. It was only after I pulled him through a bout of colic that he actually seemed to decide that I was someone worthy of his trust.
I trained him on voice commands and did plenty of groundwork as I knew that I was too poor a rider to back him myself. Oh, we did plenty of groundwork allright - me walking with feed bucket and halter to go and fetch him from the plot next door where he had escaped to visit the pretty fillies!. He was eventually backed by a friend of ours, but I was never confident enough to be comfortable and relaxed while riding on him. He was after all a stallion!
I didn't know that much back then, and he was just over two when we put a saddle on him (big old western thing that scared the living daylights out of him). Knowing what I know now, I would have waited until he was three or four years old at least, but by then it would have been too late.
With patience, and time, I eventually got to riding him around our five-acre plot at a walk, which we both felt comfortable with, and later on did a little bit of trotting. Unfortunately he died from African Horse sickness at a very young age. I was grief stricken and was convinced I would never ride again. I sold the other horse, sold my beautiful western saddle (beats head against desk as I think back to that little mistake!) and lost contact with my horsey friend and co-blogger Anya.
My daughter was born in 2001, then my son in 2004, and horses were pretty to look at, but not for me to ride. Then my daughter started with riding lessons at her nursery school at age 3, and loved it. When she went to "big school", we had to go to the riding school on a Saturday so she could continue with her lessons, and my husband, knowing me better than I know myself, saw that I was interested in more than being just a spectator. It was not long after that I agreed to "one lesson only", on an old schoolmaster named Charlie. I climbed on, and asked the instructor if he thought the horse would mind me hurling on its head. I was terrified! ..
I managed just a walk that first day, on the lead rein. Very embarrassing to have the groom lead me around just like the 3 year old riders! Oh, and I managed not to hurl despite my churning stomach. So I signed up for a few more lessons. Trotted by the third week. Took me 6 months to be brave enough to canter a full round around the arena. But I was happy. With patience (from Ricus my instructor and from old Charlie the schoolmaster horse) they taught me to relax, to feel the rhythm, to enjoy the experience, along with gentle reminders that I did, indeed, need to breathe.
I was presented the opportunity to half bait (or perhaps you might know the term half lease?) a big old Percheron x horse named Big Chester. He had more than a few trust issues: sometimes resembled a runaway steam train thundering across the arena with his nose on his chest, did not like me fiddling around his ears, seemed to take joy in walking off whenever I tried to mount, would take a chunk of flesh from you given half a chance, and he had a very strong personality, but he was my boy and I loved him dearly.
December 2009, our riding school hosted a little Christmas show. I managed a very respectable 2nd place in the novice equitation on Big Chester. The fact that most of my fellow competitors haven't hit puberty yet did nothing to diminish my absolute joy at me and Big Chester surviving the flesh-eating umbrellas and predatory folding chairs that threatened to engulf us. I even ventured forth into the scary jumping arena and managed a clear round of “terrifyingly large jumps” (40cm...)
A loner, he barely tolerated other horses around him. He loved carrots, apples, sweet potato, watermelon, bread - given one treat at a time and in small quantities of course, much to his disappointment, and his huge Percheron head would frisk me for more treats that MUST be hidden somewhere on my person. He turned into a real softie actually, and my daughter could ride him with ease, with only an "apple" bit in his mouth (plastic straight bar and green - apparently has an apple flavour, but I haven't gone as far as sticking it in my mouth for a taste). And when my 6 year- old son walked right up to him to hug his huge chest, Big Chester arched his neck this way and that to get a better look at this little person, and stood very very still, until my son was done with hugging his huge chest.
Grownups he is more wary of, and it took some time to build that relationship of trust that is so important. As I work full time, have a husband and two kids to look after, my time was and still is unfortunately limited. But we progressed slowly and surely and grew a strong bond.
Big Chester
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