Horse trying, Part I
OK, I can’t hold it back any longer. These words have been threatening to spill out for some time, and this is the week. I think I’ve just exceeded my threshold of bizarre experiences. Folks, welcome to the horse trying column.
This is exactly what it sounds like: an account of my exploits trying horses to purchase for my lesson program.
In all seriousness, when I’m checking out a horse with hopes to add it to the program, the process is far more arduous than if I’m just buying a mount for myself. I put a lot of time into finding the right fit so I can maintain a safe learning environment and keep the horse happily working.
The process can be lengthy with many candidates passed over. Lesson horses are rarely for sale because the good ones are working in busy programs. Therefore, a lot of my candidates are good using horses — they’re sound and gentle but may be new to teaching. That means the actual trial rides rarely take place at public facilities and that the venues are often — ahem — interesting. These stories are for your entertainment and also to give you a glimpse into the horse buying process in case you ever find yourself there.
Let’s begin with a scenario from last summer. My friend, Katie Metro, who was doing some work for me as an instructor at the time, generously agreed to accompany me on a trek down south of Atlanta to try an older gelding. We arrived a little late, having inadvertently taken a tour of downtown Atlanta when we, against our better judgement, followed the GPS and left the interstate, but we were still bright-eyed at that point in the journey and ready to face the process with open minds and hearts. The gelding turned out to be lovely. Everything about his demeanor screamed “safe.” The surrounding scenery, however, was memorable in a different way.
We tacked up the gelding and made our way to the rare real arena. Katie and I both had a spin on the horse and conferred in low tones about how much we liked him. No reason to give the game away — after all, we were horse trading. A rider boarding horses at the barn had followed us and was making commentary on the trial. (Horse people love to do this, by the way — just sitting around and remarking on other people’s rides.) So, there was this boarder sitting with a leg slung over her saddle horn (potentially very dangerous), casually talking and vaping (strictly prohibited at most barns). At one point, as I rode by, I got a glimpse of the brand on her horse’s hindquarter, and I had to look twice to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. There on its hip, outlined clearly in white hairs, was a hand with a certain single digit extended skyward. I halted the gelding and quietly pointed out this observation to Katie who has a much better poker face than I.
“She must have bought him like that,” we reasoned equably. But as we would soon find out, that was likely not the case at all. We walked the gelding back to the trailer and tied and untacked him. The boarder’s other horse was tied to a trailer opposite us, and when it swung its body around, we could see it bore a brand that matched her first horse. This distinctive mark seemed to be a choice the owner had made. By this point, I couldn’t contain myself.
“Katie, look!!!” I shrieked in an audible whisper pointing to the marking. Katie busied herself thanking the gentleman who had shown us the gelding and insinuated herself between myself and the branded horse, probably to distract me because at this point, it was obvious my brain was completely off the rails. We had another horse to try, so we hightailed it to the car without making an offer, and once inside, we exploded in laughter.
Unfortunately, the gelding went to another buyer before we could make a purchase, but we still talk about the experience.
Later that summer, I tried a tall and imposing warmblood cross in a gently sloping grassy bowl beside a massive, golden stucco mansion sprouting alone on a high hill like an enormous mushroom out of the red Georgia clay. I trotted the horse up and down in the silent high-summer heat along the edges of the concavity that served as a riding area trying to come up with the nerve to canter as a sizable cliff dropped from one side to a public road.
Although I never swing a leg over a new horse unless I’m pretty sure I’m safe, I always consider the worst case scenario. If he grabbed the bit and ran over the edge, I was toast. By the time I worked my courage up to ask for a gait change, he was tired, and despite his enormous height, he gave me a lovely, collected canter with not a foot out of place. I felt my shoulders sink and the tension leave my back as I realized he was as hesitant about getting near that drop-off as I was.
Sometimes, the distractions prove to be simply too much. I later found myself on an older mare on wet grass in a front yard filled with bushes and trees. All of that would have been challenging enough to navigate had there not been a four-month-old foal at her side. The owners were unable to contain the unweaned baby as she had never been separated from her mother. No sooner would I ease the mare into a jog than the filly would come careening out from behind the shrubbery and nearly collide with us, jumping three feet into the air at the very last second and reversing course while kicking out with her tiny heels.
Dodging the baby required so much of my mental energy that beyond registering that the mare seemed unflappable and had a nice little trot, I couldn’t even begin to make a decision about purchasing her. Although the craziness makes for great stories , it’s obviously better when horse trying isn’t always so eventful.
A successful mission took place recently in a very large hay field dotted with freshly rolled round bales. The owners apologized that their gelding was a little distracted by his pasture mates, but after what I’d been through previously, I assured them it was really, really (like, really) no big deal. The horse was a deep, golden palomino with a flaxen mane and tail and a beautiful, dished face.
He was a stoutly built fellow, no doubt descended from good cow lines. I was able to trot and canter him in large, easy circles in and out of the bales, his feet swishing through the short grass rhythmically as we figured each other out. I realized I actually had room to think about my maneuvers without worrying about cliffs looming or tiny horses rocketing into me, and the owners kept a polite distance. It was a pleasant departure from what has become my accustomed set of hectic circumstances.
Well, there you have it: I’ve laid out my views on what situations not to get yourself into when riding an unfamiliar equine. To summarize: brands portraying obscene imagery are out. Cliffs near the riding area are out. Wild, unweaned baby horses are out.
What can I say?
I’ve had some interesting rides and done some unforgettable (and very unplanned) sightseeing during my horse trying outings. I’ve wasted quite a bit of gas, but I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of my stories.