Saddle Your Own Pony
We were not allowed to ride our pony or horses around the farm with a saddle.
The reason given was that we might fall off the horse and inadvertently leave our foot caught in the stirrup, and be drug to death or be badly hurt.
We didn't have time anyway to lug the old heavy saddle out spending precious time trying to heave it on the horse, and fighting with him to get the girth tightened.
Horses aren't dumb. Often they would kind of tank up on air while you tightened the girth, but when you begin to swing up into the saddle...by then the prankster of a horse has let the air out of his belly, the saddle is loose, and the saddle and its rider is sliding around the middle.
Oh, the stories I could tell about those 'prankster horses'. We had mostly 'work horses'—big draft horses, ours were of nom-de-plum origin.
I remember our old white mare named Nellie Belle standing at the wagon box. I don't know what I was doing, but she didn't need me where I was. She picked up her big old pancake hoof and put it on my toes.
Of course it hurt, and I'm standing there trying to get the stinker off my foot. How does one hop up and down when one foot is firmly pinned on the ground?
I'm talented I guess. And I'm pushing and shoving, hollering and whatnot for all I'm worth. In her own good time she lifts her offending hoof and moves it slowly off mine. She has this nonchalant look on her face, 'Oh, excuse me, I didn't know...' innocent like.
Just like a kid that liked to play pranks, some of the horses did things that were funny. Like our little Indian pony, Wee Willy Snowball—Willy for short.
He would be galloping for all he's worth, and then stop suddenly so my sister would roll off over his head. She's laying there looking up and Willy is looking down at her like, 'What are you doing down there?'
Some of their pranks didn't turn out so well. Like the time when I was in fifth grade and my cousin Coco and I, first day of spring vacation, decided to go for a ride.
We are riding double and she's 'guiding'. I can't imagine we are going at anything but an amble, out across the field when our Morgan/Standard bred horse decided to head back to the paddock.
I don't remember much about the turn he made, but our adventure ended with both of us on the ground. Of course without a saddle, we didn't get drug, but...
We both sit up rather dazed and Coco begins to take stock of her not really injuries. She looks up at me, her eyes get large, and she says, 'We need to get you into the house.'
She doesn't shout or get panicky. That's all I remember until short time later at the local clinic the doctor is sewing me up. A number of stitches inside my lip, and about the same amount on the outside.
That happened at the end of fifth grade. I didn't ride as much after that. It was by chance not by choice.
Life took a turn in a different direction after that, and
I guess one word that would describe all of my life would be 'change'. One phrase description would be 'losing and leaving'.
***
Fast forward to when our oldest child was maybe twelve. I wanted a milk cow, but in preparation, we first acquired barnyard cats, a dog that we named Bear, goats. We got rid of the goats.
Next was a pony named Paint. I felt like we were getting closer to the cow. We purchased a Morgan foal which we named Aragorn.
I never did get the hang of saddling my horse. The saddle was heavy and quite a wrestle for me. By the time Aragorn was old enough to ride my boys had horses of their own, so they saddled their horses and mine when we were riding.
As I've gotten older I have learned to ride with a saddle. It was called preservation. Now I need not only a saddle, but I also need a step ladder. I never have learned to saddle that pesky horse, though.
They are too tall, the saddle too heavy and awkward, and horses still like to tank up on air, and I don't have time for that.
Ephesians 4:28 "Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth."
