Fall weather continues, and Fiona continues to show me what a big girl she thinks she is. Yee. Haw. It's not dirty or scary most of the time, it's just head shaking and trying to grab the bit when she just feels like going for a run. I'd be more concerned if I couldn't stop her with that loose ring snaffle, but it can be a bit unnerving. Today was her first day jumping the cross country obstacles. The expression on her face when I asked her to jump out of the ring over the logs was pretty classic.
"Mom, are you drunk?! I can't jump out of a ring! Next time, I drive!"
But after she did it once, she decided that was fabulous fun. Cantering toward the barn where she just knew dinner was being served? Let's just say that turning away was a bit of a challenge, and the princess threw a temper tantrum. My trainer is more amused by her antics than anything, so she's clearly not that scary. At least not for spectators. She was a good girl, though. Jump all three of the logs that were set up and dropped off of the bank a couple times. We worked in the field until she settled and could handle cantering around without deciding to make a break for home. Height will not be an issue for the little girl come summer. Not at all.
It's very different for me. I've ridden green horses. I've ridden young horses. I've ridden athletic horses. I've never ridden a green, young, athletic horse. I've only owned one horse before Fiona, and that was Allen. I only had Allen as my partner for three years before he had to be retired (at the ripe old age of nineteen). Other than him, I've always been a catch rider. I would ride whatever other people didn't want to. It's good for giving someone a really strong foundation and getting them used to riding a wide variety of horses, but you don't build a lot of strong bonds that way.
I have to thank Allen for the fact I can handle Fiona's shenanigans. He was a big boy, 17 hands of TB that could get very big and hot when it was time to jump. He had a bit of a roar, so when he would enter a ring way up on his toes, tossing his head and sounding like a freight train, people got out of our way. His nickname was Hellbeast. He was a handful to jump at the best of times, but he taught me a lot. We did the 3'6" jumpers, adult equitation, and tore around the property bare back. He baby sat me through my first cross country fences and hauled my butt around the Coliseum for my first medal final. Of course, he didn't bother to bend his knees when jumping a four foot fence.
Sometimes Fiona reminds me of him. When she gets way up on her toes and starts snorting because she knows it's time for jumping, it makes me giggle. But there is a major difference. Fiona is seven with next to no experience. Allen was a school master that would take care of me if I made a mistake. He knew his job better than I did. We used to joke that we felt bad for whoever rode Allen in his prime, considering what a handful he was at eighteen.
I'm starting to think I know exactly how that person felt.
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