I had a couple of horses when I was a kid and loved to ride. In my adult life, I had been wanting to get into riding again since I moved back to the country. Not long after we were married, my husband had a solution”we moved one of his childhood horses, Buddy, to the pasture behind our house. Now that we had a place to keep him, and a place for me to ride him, we were set. I just needed a saddle, a halter, a lead, a saddle blanket, a bag of sweet feed, a bale of hay, a hoof pick, a brush, fly spray, wormer, a curry comb…oh, and some cute riding boots…and some cute riding clothes to go with those cute riding boots…
So, after this simple hobby became an expensive hobby, we set out for my first ride. Like I said, Buddy was my husband’s horse when he was a kid, so he’s at least 20 years old, but he’s also tall. Really tall. And once I got myself into the saddle, my daydreams of galloping across the fields with my hair blowing in the wind were dashed because I was shaking in those super cute riding boots I purchased. I was pretty darn scared. To combat my fear, my husband led Buddy at a walking pace while I rode in the saddle for the first couple of evenings. Easy peasy. Probably too quickly, I thought I was ready to graduate to handling Buddy myself. I mean, if my husband could climb up into the saddle and easily go from a walk to a trot to a gallop, in any direction he wanted, then surely I could get Buddy to walk across a field for me. But, it didn’t exactly go like that. Apparently Buddy knew I wasn’t in charge. He didn’t care if I wanted to go right or left or fast or slow. And when I tried to stand up to him, that just made him like me even less. So, after he took off much too quickly for my comfort level numerous times, I was ready to give up.
But then we took off for the State Fair the next week and spent some time watching the equestrian events. We happened to catch an event called ‘Mounted Cowboy Shooting.’ It’s nothing as weird or gross as it sounds. It’s a timed event where a horse and rider come out of the gate and have to follow a certain path around barrels while shooting balloons at each barrel. They’re scored on time, following the pre-set path, and how many balloons they hit. After ten minutes I was completely amped up and ready to enter myself and Buddy the next year.
My husband and brother still laugh at me going from knocking knees to pistol shootin’ horse racer within seconds. I’ll never live it down. And lucky for me, we found out I was pregnant not long after that so my cowgirl shooting days were put on hold.
So, after this simple hobby became an expensive hobby, we set out for my first ride. Like I said, Buddy was my husband’s horse when he was a kid, so he’s at least 20 years old, but he’s also tall. Really tall. And once I got myself into the saddle, my daydreams of galloping across the fields with my hair blowing in the wind were dashed because I was shaking in those super cute riding boots I purchased. I was pretty darn scared. To combat my fear, my husband led Buddy at a walking pace while I rode in the saddle for the first couple of evenings. Easy peasy. Probably too quickly, I thought I was ready to graduate to handling Buddy myself. I mean, if my husband could climb up into the saddle and easily go from a walk to a trot to a gallop, in any direction he wanted, then surely I could get Buddy to walk across a field for me. But, it didn’t exactly go like that. Apparently Buddy knew I wasn’t in charge. He didn’t care if I wanted to go right or left or fast or slow. And when I tried to stand up to him, that just made him like me even less. So, after he took off much too quickly for my comfort level numerous times, I was ready to give up.
But then we took off for the State Fair the next week and spent some time watching the equestrian events. We happened to catch an event called ‘Mounted Cowboy Shooting.’ It’s nothing as weird or gross as it sounds. It’s a timed event where a horse and rider come out of the gate and have to follow a certain path around barrels while shooting balloons at each barrel. They’re scored on time, following the pre-set path, and how many balloons they hit. After ten minutes I was completely amped up and ready to enter myself and Buddy the next year.
My husband and brother still laugh at me going from knocking knees to pistol shootin’ horse racer within seconds. I’ll never live it down. And lucky for me, we found out I was pregnant not long after that so my cowgirl shooting days were put on hold.
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