JenHunt
Well-Known Member
It occurs to me that 20 years ago today (aged 8) I (or rather my parents) took delivery of my 2nd pony, Buzz. I remember that he came off the trailer like an orange torpedo.
He was 13hh, welsh C, and given to us by a friend of the family. He was coming from a previous loan home to us. He was fit as a lop and shod 4square. They'd been hunting him all winter, and had been to the prince philip games finals at olympia that year.
He'd obviously read the pony club manual on "your new owners" and knew that he had to make certain we knew who was in charge. He refused to go onto the yard, and dad went to give him a tap with the end of a lead rope. He was promptly rewarded with two hoof shaped marks, one on each thigh (even 20years on they show up when dad gets a tan!). after a second (better timed) tap, Buzz walked onto the yard like a lamb.
Buzzy knew every trick on the planet, and would escape from anywhere. His favourite trick was to let himself out of the stable (kick bolt included) and into the feed shed. He'd have to go down 3 wooden steps, and down a narrow passage between the wall and the hay. He'd then raid the feed bins for whatever he could reach. Somehow he never got colic of choke from all the dry sugar beet he ate!
When he'd had enough he'd reverse (!) out and back up the steps, before letting the others out. Buzzy was rarely where we left him in the first few months! To this day all our gates have 3 methods of securing them shut!
Buzzy wasn't elegant, or classy, but he was awesome. He taught me to jump, he taught my sister to jump, he taught my friend to jump too. He taught us a lot about doing things right and doing them well. The cockier we got the cockier he'd get. I remember having an arguement with him about going down a track. He stood at the top and refused, and the crosser I got the more resolute he became. everytime I smacked him he'd buck, everytime I flapped the reins he'd go backwards. I remember getting the message and booting him, once, hard, and he walked on calmly.
I used to go hunting on him, and remember standing at the meet with my parents sorting out my bridle as I'd put the pelham in upside down!!
I remember my first ever one day event (at Nicola tweddle (wilson) 's parents place). the jumps must have been about 9 inches high, and we went round the dressage like a motorbike on speed. But we jumped a double clear, and that was all I cared about.
Eventually I grew out of him, and my sister had an awful lots of fun on him too. But he started to show signs of age, and a random discussion with someone at ponyclub camp made us wonder about his age. We'd always thought he was late teens, but it turned out that he was 40 by this stage!
we decided on that piece of info to retire him, and to let him have a few peaceful years. Those few years turned out to be 8 years. He was a calm and sensible companion to young and nervous horses, and was even asked to be the 'donkey' at our local church's easter parade! He was always up to tricks and his sense of humour was there to the end.
We took him to the beach on a couple of ocasions on a lead rein to have a swim and a roll in the sand. he always went with his ears pricked, even though he'd be stiff the next day and in need of a spot of bute to make him comfortable.
The end came about 5 years ago. He must have tripped or slipped in the field and damaged his hock. We made the decision to take him to the hunt kennels. Hunting was always his love, and we felt it was right for us all. It was heartbreaking to see him excited to go up the trailer ramp, even though he was quite lame. The kennelman said that when they dealt with the body his hock had disintegrated, so the decision was the right one. I cried buckets for days, but when I think that my love of and respect for horses comes back to that young man it makes it all seem better.
I realise I don't have any photos of him as they're all long before digital, and all at my parents house.
Aren't memories great!?
He was 13hh, welsh C, and given to us by a friend of the family. He was coming from a previous loan home to us. He was fit as a lop and shod 4square. They'd been hunting him all winter, and had been to the prince philip games finals at olympia that year.
He'd obviously read the pony club manual on "your new owners" and knew that he had to make certain we knew who was in charge. He refused to go onto the yard, and dad went to give him a tap with the end of a lead rope. He was promptly rewarded with two hoof shaped marks, one on each thigh (even 20years on they show up when dad gets a tan!). after a second (better timed) tap, Buzz walked onto the yard like a lamb.
Buzzy knew every trick on the planet, and would escape from anywhere. His favourite trick was to let himself out of the stable (kick bolt included) and into the feed shed. He'd have to go down 3 wooden steps, and down a narrow passage between the wall and the hay. He'd then raid the feed bins for whatever he could reach. Somehow he never got colic of choke from all the dry sugar beet he ate!
When he'd had enough he'd reverse (!) out and back up the steps, before letting the others out. Buzzy was rarely where we left him in the first few months! To this day all our gates have 3 methods of securing them shut! Buzzy wasn't elegant, or classy, but he was awesome. He taught me to jump, he taught my sister to jump, he taught my friend to jump too. He taught us a lot about doing things right and doing them well. The cockier we got the cockier he'd get. I remember having an arguement with him about going down a track. He stood at the top and refused, and the crosser I got the more resolute he became. everytime I smacked him he'd buck, everytime I flapped the reins he'd go backwards. I remember getting the message and booting him, once, hard, and he walked on calmly.
I used to go hunting on him, and remember standing at the meet with my parents sorting out my bridle as I'd put the pelham in upside down!!
I remember my first ever one day event (at Nicola tweddle (wilson) 's parents place). the jumps must have been about 9 inches high, and we went round the dressage like a motorbike on speed. But we jumped a double clear, and that was all I cared about.
Eventually I grew out of him, and my sister had an awful lots of fun on him too. But he started to show signs of age, and a random discussion with someone at ponyclub camp made us wonder about his age. We'd always thought he was late teens, but it turned out that he was 40 by this stage!
we decided on that piece of info to retire him, and to let him have a few peaceful years. Those few years turned out to be 8 years. He was a calm and sensible companion to young and nervous horses, and was even asked to be the 'donkey' at our local church's easter parade! He was always up to tricks and his sense of humour was there to the end.
We took him to the beach on a couple of ocasions on a lead rein to have a swim and a roll in the sand. he always went with his ears pricked, even though he'd be stiff the next day and in need of a spot of bute to make him comfortable.
The end came about 5 years ago. He must have tripped or slipped in the field and damaged his hock. We made the decision to take him to the hunt kennels. Hunting was always his love, and we felt it was right for us all. It was heartbreaking to see him excited to go up the trailer ramp, even though he was quite lame. The kennelman said that when they dealt with the body his hock had disintegrated, so the decision was the right one. I cried buckets for days, but when I think that my love of and respect for horses comes back to that young man it makes it all seem better.
I realise I don't have any photos of him as they're all long before digital, and all at my parents house.
Aren't memories great!?
