Slow Ride

I'd make a great stockman, if only I didn't have the Foghat song perpetually playing in my head.

Y'know, as much as I foresee bitching about working at horse riding centres, I really do love horses, and I'd love to get some kind of full-time with them. (I would not, however, like to live out the rest of my life in poverty, and so I'm going for my other dream--being paid to mess with peoples' heads.) Here's a brief history:

When I was oh, six or seven, my family lived for couple of years down by the racecourse in Melbourne (yes, that racecourse,) with a clear view to the exercise yards. To this day I retain a love affair with balanced, compact, good-looking thoroughbreds. Then we moved to my current hometown, and I started riding for the first time on small ponies. I competed in small local events, mostly barrel racing, and got a couple of third- and second-place ribbons (this is not hard--I was probably the only kid there who didn't own their own pony and actually made the most of every second I spent on a horse's back. Most of the others had $10000 purebred whatevers with $2000 saddles. I swear, something about parenthood makes a rich man into a retard...)

Then stuff happened, the family moved again, and I stopped riding, at around age 12. I picked it up again after another move, two years older, a foot taller, and rusty as hell. I also got my first job in the equine industry, cleaning shit out of the agistment barn to scrape away at the price of my lessons.

Due to illness I stopped riding for about six months when I was fifteen, then came back and found another job, at a different riding centre, where I could trail ride all day if I wanted to as long as I also babysat tourists. And this was where I discovered for the first time that I was actually a good rider. I have a good seat and soft hands, I give firm, clear commands to my horses, and I have never, ever lost my seat just because a horse was travelling at high speed. (I do have some great stories about the times I did eat the dirt, though, mostly my own fault.) And possibly the most important attribute for any horse-person--when I made a mistake, I bloody well learned from it. For a year or so I rode with a girl who refused to learn that the bleeding gashes left on her horse's sides were from her girth buckle being fucked up. Oy vey.

Anyway, since my skills mostly involve managing difficult (i.e. kicky/bitey/stompy/bucky/otherwise rude) horses and keeping my seat at a fast pace over reasonably rough terrain, I could always move to the Snowy Mountains and herd brumbies, or something... but to be honest, I'd settle for having a job that paid enough for me to keep a sound horse in a good stable to ride as often as I could.

I think I already mentioned my weakness for good thoroughbreds, but I also have a thing for the butt-ugliest ponies you ever did see, as long as they're sound. These examples are from Fugly Horse of the Day.

cow-hocked with lousy posture
ugly head, short neck, no shoulders to speak of
long back, no butt, straight shoulders
I used to ride someone almost identical to this scruffy little bastard

They ain't ever gonna win a beauty contest, but those horses are just adorable. People don't understand why I think they're cute--well, I never understood how a pug or a sharpei is cute, either. Eh.

Tomorrow I'll write up some stories about my Epic Fails on horseback, I think. Or else about when I worked at the church. That had a surprising amount of hilarity involved in it. This is mostly just a quick post to remind myself that yes, I do have a blog, and I should update it sometimes.