So back in the day the family had a horse. he was a glorious quarter horse. A beautiful chestnut, so strong, so powerful, and very very crazy.
Quarter Horses are known for great sprinting speed over short distances (A racer), refined head (Cute face!), strong well-muscled body (Nice body!?.), featuring a broad chest and powerful rounded hindquarters (Even got a nice butt!?!). They are also highly driven and competitive in nature. A little sneaky. (He ate my mothers hat once). And in my opinion, quite intelligent.
There was only one issue with this particular horse, he really, really liked to run. And fast. So getting him to conform to the rules at the local horse club was somewhat problematic.
We had to use a snaffle bit and a really tight girth (the strap on the saddle). High stirrups because he had an odd gait from being a pacer. So the trot was not much fun, bit bouncy and hard work because you had to ride high in the saddle. But once you got him into a canter things smoothed out a lot and you could move with the horse in unison.
To me that bond between horse and rider. Knowing that the horse had so much more power than you but would happily share it as long as you remained respectful of one another and didn't ask too much. Combining the raw power with the intelligence and precision of a rider. Well it was a match made in heaven to me.
I just loved giving him tasty nibbles and loving attention. Snatching up the sweetest of grass and dusting it off so it was nice and clean so he could munch munch. Even the menial stuff like brushing down after a big run. Washing him off from all the salt. It was all good fun to me. Kind of like a bigger version of a dog but much smarter.
I used to run barrels, keyhole, bending and jumps. I tried my hand at the dressage thing but it wasn't really my style. To me a horse was born to run, and to make them stand and dip and do all the slow stuff just didn't really bring a smile to my face.
But going fast did.
See Pards had a thing, once he got going he really got going. I guess it came from being an ex-racer but he didn't like another horse being in front of him either and would run himself ragged to stay at the head of the pack. Even to the point of nipping at the others if he was challenged.
And well, I figured out a little trick with him. If you brought him to a fast trot or canter. Lean right up close to his ears and give him a hiss like a snake it was like flipping a switch. I guess he had a thing about snakes because once he heard that hiss those ears of his would flatten back to the head, eyes would go wild, and he would hit the turbo boost.
Good times.
That's not to say he couldn't chill, we spent many hours just relaxing in the field. I enjoyed turning around so I was facing backwards and putting my arms under my head and enjoying the warmth and power of the hindquarters moving beneath.
Not sure how many times I fell asleep doing this and woke up a little pink from the sun.
Unfortunately one day he got spooked by a plastic bag coming out of the bush while we were just walking. I got a bit lazy and was not holding on so tight and the sudden (over 1 meter) jump to the side just threw me for six. Came down hard on a rocky path and got injured some.
But hey, that's not the horses fault right? people shouldn't litter and he was just acting out of self preservation. I mean it could have been a snake!!
So I forgive him for this little accident, took me some time to come good as I had broken an arm. But still had the confidence to ride. Unfortunately at this point my family had started to lose interest in him and he was spending more and more time just relaxing in the field.
He didn't like this one bit I imagine, he was born to run, to ride hard.
A little while later after a few slow rides in the forest, I took him to the club again.
Well this time I'm pretty sure he straight up tried to kill me.
I went for the barrel, dipped low on the right side of the saddle, steered with my legs and gave him some guidance with the reins.
He didn't turn.
Now as my weight was far off center, and due to the trot I just bounced my way out of the saddle.
I fell hard, at speed.
My foot was caught in the stirrup, and this horse was picking up speed.
Had to push at the ground a few times to pick my head up and avoid rocks and other such things. My butt wasn't so lucky as well part of me had to be on the ground I guess.
I finally managed to pull against the back of my own knee to sit up (While still being dragged) and untangle my foot from the stirrup and get to my feet. My pants (joddies with camo over the top) were torn to shreds, my gloves destroyed and fingers bleeding. And pards? well he just kept on running, ended up clearing a fence and running off down the road.
The fence was rather high.
It took us a few hours to catch him, and I'd had had enough by this point, and so with bruised ego, bruised body, and broken trust in him. I decided that it was time to call it a day.
I will still ride for pleasure, just a bit of fun here and there. But I will not compete anymore.
I will not use that bond for personal glory and satisfaction. To me this is almost a form of abuse. Perhaps that was the lesson he was trying to teach me?
Or maybe he was just a beautiful strong crazy glorious Quarter Horse. One thing's for sure I will never forget that bond we shared for so many years. I loved and still love that Pards.
Thank you for taking the time to read through this dearest readers.
May you journey respectfully and in peace no matter your partner and have a lovely day. Much love <3
