Appaloosa Memories: Sonny Part 1

I could hardly contain my excitement when I arrived at Knicker Knob stable for my first riding lesson. Through the fence I watched a blonde girl about my age ride a beautiful blanket appaloosa. That was my first memory of Sonny. Kelly, a veteran KK student, rode Sonny often during my first year of lessons, since he was “more challenging” a lesson horse. I practiced on a steady bay mare named Everready, waiting for the day when I was good enough to ride Sonny.

My instructor, Terry, said that Sonny had a strong sense of justice. He had a lower tolerance level than the other lesson horses for the unfair pulling and kicking of unskilled riders. Out in the herd, he was the dominant personality. At 15.3 hands high, he was an athletic Appaloosa cross who was known for his bouncy trot and hard mouth. But he had a divine canter.

Riding Sonny for the first time represented an accomplishment. After a brief affair with a tri-color pinto half Arabian named Jazzy and a dapple gray mare named Manzanita, I found my appaloosa true love. Sonny was the best part of my awkward teenage years. In the summertime, Terry roached his pitiful mane and he carted me out on trail rides to picnic at the lake with Kelly, Lauren, and the other barn girls. We raced up the “racetrack” trail, climbed Gambit’s hill, hopped over the “jumping log,” and trotted along the ruins of an old canal.

There were two other Sarahs at the barn – a younger student and Terry’s dog. My obsession with Sonny soon earned me the nickname “Sonny-Sarah” as a means of identification. I loved horses, but I’d never loved a horse so much.

I was 14 when I participated in my first “play day” at the barn – an informal horse show for the lesson students and boarders.  The lesson students were allowed to sign up for one class/horse per week for a month prior to the event. I crossed my fingers that I could sign up for Sonny before someone else did. When the show finally arrived, I had second thoughts on my choice when things didn’t go so well in our pleasure and equitation classes. Sonny barreled around like a freight train in a curb bit. I cringed at my poor technique when I saw the pictures later.

But we redeemed ourselves in the following years. Sonny took me to first place in the bareback class three years running (it was amazing – the more I learned, the less bouncy his trot became!), and culminated with a blue in the challenging “Judge’s Command” class.

Saving & Splurging

Moving to a new barn has inspired a few other splurges on Ransom’s care and wear, even though I am a horse owner on a budget.  I’m not in debt and live within my means, yet I still have a hard time spending money. This last month’s expenditures are a radical departure from my penny-pinching ways, which I can only justifiy by my fanatical saving.

First up was a new helmet. My trusty Troxel had served me well but fell victim to a sticky substance I couldn’t remove, even with goo-be-gone.

Next up was new shoes – of the metal, hoof shaped variety. Ransom has been barefoot for the last year and a half, but given his toed-out conformation and the upcoming dry season, I had him shod. In the region where I live, boy – are those shoes pricey! And he grows out of them every seven weeks like a child having a growth spurt. Ransom also got new leg boots which, I confess, was primarily to meet dress code expectations at the new barn.

But the big purchase was a new (used) saddle and pad. I knew I wanted to upgrade eventually, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I normally agonize over a decision of this magnitude (financially speaking), but an opportunity presented itself and I seized it. It happened so fast I had no time to guilt trip myself about discretionary spending.

My old saddle was a well-loved hand-me-down that was too narrow for Ransom’s shoulders and a bit small for me, but we made do. My new saddle is the nicest piece of tack I’ve ever called my own. Its wide tree leaves a nice smooth sweat mark on Ransom’s back – no dry spots. It completes Ransom’s quality, coordinated ensemble, which means I can now return to the comfort of my frugal, guilt-free saving.

Poetry

A young friend of mine -- a budding poet -- recently composed the following ode to Ransom.

Sarah and Ransom
What a pretty little pair,
With a spotted coat
And beautiful curly hair.
Striped hooves that canter, trot and fly,
White lining around his intelligent eye.
Beautiful spotted and striped coat,
Wisp of a tail that dances and floats.
A horse angel alighted on earth,
It took a special person to find what he was worth.

Thank you, Ryann! I love it.

Learning Curve

The weekend after moving to CW, Ransom and I participated in a clinic. It was a boot camp of sorts, kicking off a new season of moving forward in our training. There were nine other participants, and Ransom had never been in an arena with so many other horses before. He sneaked in curious sideways glances when I didn’t require him to focus on the task at hand. Ransom was unofficially dubbed “the Appy,” and the nickname stuck with those who couldn’t remember his name.

While the principles taught in the clinic were review, the application and execution of them showed holes where Ransom and I can use improvement. For example, I need to expect more when I follow-through on my cues, and be more correct with my hands. Ransom needs work on accepting the bit, and tail swishing attitude.

In summary, an effective rider:

1) Controls the horse…
                Mentally
                Physically
                Emotionally
                …by controlling the feet
2) Produces a horse that is:
                Safe
                Soft and responsive
                Obedient
                Pleasurable
                Balanced and collected
3) Trains by principle versus style or discipline
4) Rides with an independent seat and uses pressure & release consistently with good timing and feel
5) Establishes trust and leadership by correcting appropriately and listening to the horse

All that served to remind me that Ransom and I still have a lot to learn and practice. But that’s my favorite thing about horsemanship – there’s always more to learn. By the end of the clinic, Ransom was the picture of weariness. After nine hours in the saddle, I was ready for a nap myself.

A New Home

This month, I moved Ransom to the barn where I work. I’d been going back and forth for months, mentally weighing the pros and cons, and the situation at Ransom’s current barn had shifted enough to tip the scales towards moving. The primary advantage of our present barn was its price and separation from all things work related. But little irritations built up – an unsafe roundpen with no repairs planned; forbidden grass that went to waste; an inconsistent stall cleaning co-op schedule.

Moving Ransom to CW, just 15 minutes away, looked better and better. It offered convenience, community, and additional education for both of us. Affordability – that was another issue. So I asked God for favor, and He poured out more than I had hoped for in the form of an agreeable barter arrangement.

Then the waiting began. It felt like an engagement, minus the stressful wedding planning. I’d finally made the big decision, and now had to wait to start our new adventure. I was excited that everything had fallen into place for the move, but waiting out thirty days’ notice was a drag. Between increased work hours and a change in routine, I hardly had time to visit Ransom, let alone ride him, during those weeks.

Finally, on a bright Thursday morning, I loaded Ransom up and embarked on our new future. I was surprised to find a touching goodbye card from my fellow boarders, expressing their genuine regret in seeing “Handsome Ransom” leave.

My friends at CW were curious to see the new horse they’d heard about. Although he was admired for his markings, Ransom did not make a good first impression at our new barn. He immediately latched on to his stall buddies, and then had an emotional meltdown when they were out. His uncharacteristic separation anxiety was embarrassing, but I knew he’d settle down in a few days and return to his normal self. Which he did.

Now I pop my head out of the barn office to check on him grazing in the large turnout field, or go for a ride on my lunch break. I’m happy this is home.

Dog Desensitizing

My friend and her horse Dolly joined me and Ransom on a scenic ridge loop ride. Everyone was out on the trail today, enjoying a 70 degree Saturday in February. Though we didn’t encounter any other equestrians, we shared the trail with many bikers, hikers, and their dogs. Our first canine run-in was with a young yellow lab who stopped in the middle of the trail to look at us, his head tilted quizzically as if to say, “What are you?” When we neared, he jumped to the side and gave a single, startled bark at these strange new creatures.

Just a little beyond that, two black and white border collies sat sedately on a rock while their master took pictures of Dolly and Ransom. The man wasn’t the only one to play paparazzi. Apparently, horses are a novelty even to outdoor enthusiasts.

As we trotted along a flat stretch of the ridge, a brown dog came barreling towards us, his three women walking a ways behind. One woman called out a sharp, “Come!” and the dog stopped in his tracks and loped back to her side. My friend and I exchanged impressed looks over the dog’s obedience.

As we walked the horses down the final hill to the staging area, two black dogs came charging around the corner, harassing Ransom and Dolly. They barked aggressively, circling and running behind the horses, who stood quietly, until an older couple regained control of the culprits.

I think it’s safe to say that Ransom passed the dog desensitizing test.

The Equine Identity

Ransom and I trailered out for a trail ride at the training barn where I work, crossing, for the first time, the line between my two horse spheres. This was an emotional risk for me, and I felt vulnerable. The professional horsemen and horsewomen I work with had only heard snippets about the private life of Sarah and Ransom. To merge the two was to expose myself to the discriminating eyes of those whose knowledge and opinion I trust and value – and that was scary.

I’ve said before that I’m not one of those women who refer to their horse as their child, but I felt a lot like a parent being judged by their child’s behavior. There was no escaping the fact that Ransom’s behavior was a reflection of my skills, or lack thereof. And when you’ve spent the last fourteen years of your life in driven pursuit of this passion, it’s hard not to take critique of those skills as a critique of your identity. Horses are part of what defines me. In this one trail ride, all that time, effort, and experience was somehow dependent on what someone thought of the performance of a spotted gelding.

Ransom, like all horses, was honest. He didn’t try to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Nor did he embarrass me (“good boy!”). He showed his strengths and didn’t hide his weaknesses. He didn’t care what somebody else thought. And as I wrestled with my performance-based insecurities, that was a lesson I needed him to teach me.