jkitten
Well-Known Member
Just thought this might be a fun thread in the run up to Christmas! To get the ball rolling, here's the story of how 20 years ago I, a very average teenage riding school student, convinced onlookers that I had horse-whisperer blood (or horse-teller-offer blood, anyway):
This was when I was about 14, trying to mount in the yard before my lesson. This was a fairly large riding school, with two full-size schools on either side of a smallish yard. On weekends, both schools would be taken up by group lessons of between five and ten students each pretty much continuously. Since no horse could be ridden for more than two lessons a day, the small yard got pretty busy during changeover time, not to say chaotic, with up to twenty students trying to mount and enter their respective schools, while at the same time another twenty were leading their horses out to go back to the stables.
On this occasion, I was one of the more senior students, and riding a very smart and fairly spirited (by riding school standards) cob. We didn't use mounting blocks, and several of the horses were prone to side-stepping when you tried to mount from the ground, especially this one. Being the spry children we were, we could usually just hop after the departing horse and get up anyway, but on this occasion my cob was making himself unusually difficult. Try as I might, I could not get close enough to bounce up, and so finally, exasperated, I took my foot out of the stirrup, held onto my horse, and told him loudly and firmly to 'stand still!'
I was purely venting my frustration, and expected nothing but total equine contempt in return, but miracle of miracles! On my next attempt immediately after my outburst, he didn't move a muscle, but stood like a marble angel while I mounted with consummate professionalism. I would say no one could have been more surprised than me, but as we turned to enter the school, I saw the father of one of the younger kids. He was holding onto his child's scruffy little pony and looking up at me with something like awe on his face, evidently imagining he had just witnessed a feat of true horsemanship. I'll admit I did not disabuse him!
Suffice to say, whatever it was he witnessed, it was a one off. I was never able to repeat it, and was forced to revert to the rather less dignified one-legged-bunny technique the following week.
This was when I was about 14, trying to mount in the yard before my lesson. This was a fairly large riding school, with two full-size schools on either side of a smallish yard. On weekends, both schools would be taken up by group lessons of between five and ten students each pretty much continuously. Since no horse could be ridden for more than two lessons a day, the small yard got pretty busy during changeover time, not to say chaotic, with up to twenty students trying to mount and enter their respective schools, while at the same time another twenty were leading their horses out to go back to the stables.
On this occasion, I was one of the more senior students, and riding a very smart and fairly spirited (by riding school standards) cob. We didn't use mounting blocks, and several of the horses were prone to side-stepping when you tried to mount from the ground, especially this one. Being the spry children we were, we could usually just hop after the departing horse and get up anyway, but on this occasion my cob was making himself unusually difficult. Try as I might, I could not get close enough to bounce up, and so finally, exasperated, I took my foot out of the stirrup, held onto my horse, and told him loudly and firmly to 'stand still!'
I was purely venting my frustration, and expected nothing but total equine contempt in return, but miracle of miracles! On my next attempt immediately after my outburst, he didn't move a muscle, but stood like a marble angel while I mounted with consummate professionalism. I would say no one could have been more surprised than me, but as we turned to enter the school, I saw the father of one of the younger kids. He was holding onto his child's scruffy little pony and looking up at me with something like awe on his face, evidently imagining he had just witnessed a feat of true horsemanship. I'll admit I did not disabuse him!
Suffice to say, whatever it was he witnessed, it was a one off. I was never able to repeat it, and was forced to revert to the rather less dignified one-legged-bunny technique the following week.
