Growing Older, But Not Any Wiser
- September 28, 2015
- Rachel Larsen
Somewhere between becoming a mother and entering my thirties, I’ve become a chicken. That hasn’t stopped me from making some poor horse related decisions lately. I purchased a Welsh-QH cross pony last year. The purchase was
almost entirely based on how cute he looked in tiny photo on the internet. Who wouldn’t want a stocking-legged chestnut? Is that even a question? Sign me up!
I should have known better. When I arrived to pick up my newly purchased pony, the young ladies who owned “Mozart” couldn’t get him loaded in my trailer fast enough. There were no tears on their faces when they said goodbye, either. Mozart didn’t seem like a fitting name for my new pony fiend, I mean friend. So I promptly renamed him “Wolfgang.” I thought it rather witty, sticking with a Mozart-esque moniker. His nickname will be “Wolfie,” I thought. I didn’t realize just how appropriate that would become.
The first time I saddled him, Wolfie bucked around the round pen, clanging my monel stirrups together over his back. Surely he’ll get over it, I said, tossing all hope of him becoming a project pony for my son out the window. My husband coaxed me into putting several rides on him in the corral. Once I overcame my initial nerves, it seemed to go well. Then he bucked me off. All 780-lbs of him swapped ends and strung my thirty-something self out like Elastagirl in the Incredibles. Unlike, Elastagirl I did not snap back promptly back into my proper form. With age comes wisdom, so I promptly pawned Wolfie off on a teenage boy for the summer (and then on my husband for the Fall, Winter, and Spring. . .just imagine a grown man rolling onto an outfit as day help, sight unseen, and jumping a 14-hand pony out of the trailer. Hilarious, right?).
When I began riding him again last Spring, I pussyfooted around him until my confidence returned. Come Summer, I was relatively confident he was over his bucking horse phase. He lulled me into a sense of complacency over the course of a few months. To his credit, Wolfie is the ultimate fencing horse. When you reach a bad spot in the fence, it’s nothing to step on and off with little effort. Our relationship seemed to have turned a corner, until a fateful day in August. I don’t know how long Wolfie had been planning this sneak attack, but he took full advantage of the element of surprise when he jumped across a small stream and just kept jumping across the mountain meadow. I looked at the ground, upon seeing scattered boulders I panicked and was promptly bucked off. Rookie mistake. Unfortunately, I’ve been hobbling around with a knee brace ever since. Does anyone want to buy a pony?
About Rachel Larsen
Rachel Lohof Larsen is a fifth-generation rancher, mom, wife, cowgirl, and blogger. Originally from Montana, Rachel has a BA in Environmental Science from Colorado College. She and her husband, Guy, bring a sense of integrity and a strong interest in sustainability to all their pursuits....