Horses confound me.  Our daughter had a preschool friend who was given a little pony.  Her friend did not care at all about the pony.  Our daughter did.  We visited it in a pasture nearby, with  carrots in our hands.

We found a neighbor near to our home.  She had a stable of six horses and a pony.  These horses needed to be ridden.  For a mere five dollars each a group of girls rode these horses once a week.  Our daughter was very young, but she learned how to ride a horse named Dylan.  She could command the horse to go straight, left, or right and to walk, trot and gallop.  The neighbor lived on a rural road on several acres.  The girls followed her on her horse and they had wonderful times.

We moved to Connecticut and I found a large riding stable in our area. We had to buy full riding gear for this stable:  tiny camel colored pants, black boots, and a felted black cap.  She looked snazzy in the outfit.

I started chewing my lips the minute I pulled into the gravel parking area where there were multiple barns.  I had that gnawing feeling that I just walked into a clothing store filled with clothes that I couldn’t afford.  We found the huge stable where horseback riding lessons were offered.  We entered an enormous barn.  She held my hand as we walked past stall after stall of horses.  I saw a handwritten sign by a windowless room marked:  “OFFICE”.  We went in and I asked how much the lessons would cost for a child as young as mine.  “Fifty dollars for one hour.” a woman at the desk said casually.  I felt menopausal hormones stir in my brain, but I paid it.  “She can ride Randy, in stall six.” she said.

We found Randy in stall six.  He had his face in the food bin.  He was larger than I had imagined, and I looked wildly around for any clue about what to do next. I saw a dad lead a horse out of its stall and fasten its halter to chains.  I tried the same move with Randy.  I patted his neck like I knew what I was doing when I did not.  He did not want to stop eating.  I took the free end of the halter and tugged him toward the open stable door.  He chewed on my blonde hair and nipped me pretty hard on my forearm.

He did follow me out of his stall and stood so that my daughter and I could fasten two chains to hold him in place.  The father disappeared into a room marked, by hand:  “GEAR”.  He came out with an arm full of stuff to put on the horse.

We entered the same room and found a wooden peg with a sign above:  “Randy”.  On the peg was an odd looking saddle, and mysterious leather and metal things.  My little daughter found a saddle blanket.  I walked toward Randy with these things.  I looked for an instructor, or helper.  My daughter was knee high to this animal.  It meant that I had to figure out how to put these things on a horse.  I looked at the father. I pretended I knew what I was doing and I put on the saddle blanket, the saddle with the metal things and a strap with buckles on it.  My little daughter put her hands in this Randy’s mouth and inserted what I learned was a bit.  The reins went over the head and there was some other things I did that escape me.

I saw the father pull the long strap under his daughter’s horses underbelly.  I bent over with my ass end near Randy’s head.  I fastened it and pulled on the buckle and he reached around and nipped me on my ass and I deserved it.

I watched the father unfasten the chains and his daughter rode her horse to line up by a double door outside the “RIDING ARENA”.  I had to pick up my daughter to get her into the saddle.  The father told me, with a little laugh, that I had put the saddle on backwards.  He was kind enough to take a few minute to properly put the gear onto Randy as I held my daughter.  “They don’t like the cinch, he said.  Don’t put your rear end where the horse can bite it.”

This man had no idea what ran through my mind on how to thank him for his help.  I had no money.  I dismissed the thought, of course. Chains off, Randy rode with my daughter in the saddle to line up behind his daughter.

I saw a room with a faded sign: “VISITORS”. It had benches to sit on and a large very dirty window that looked into the riding arena.  The girls on the horses began to ride in a circle around and around.  I was sweating and wanted a cigarette.  I eyed the stable door that opened onto the gravel drive.  It was only a passing thought.  I watched my daughter and Randy stop suddenly.  Randy peed a gallon or so in front of the window.

I chewed on a hangnail.  In what seemed a moment the lesson was over. The girls exited the arena one by one.  The instructor was a bitch for her age.  I wanted to slap her when she held my daughter back from the line that was exiting.  “You have to stand in the stirrups and lift your weight up to let the horse go to the bathroom next time.  It is a mumble mumble “half seat.”  I wanted to slap her.

My daughter nodded that she understood and rode Randy down to his stall.  Older students were chaining their horses to hold them and to undo, basically, in reverse what seemed to be a task I had just completed.

My daughter had it all over me.  She glanced at what the others were doing and somehow removed the gear.  She had ridden horses before.  I had much less experience and a whole lot less success.  I took a funny looking brush and got the topside of Randy brushed.  I looked down and my daughter had grabbed Randy gently by his foreleg and she was using a metal tool to dig dirt from his hooves.  Randy complied.  We then took Randy into his stall and he headed for his food bin, stepping on my foot as he did.  We gave him a few carrots.  I wanted to run after we fastened his stall door.  Out by the car I lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood.

Driving home, I asked my daughter if she had a good time.  “Yeah, it was okay, I guess.”  I think I learned more that evening than she needed to learn.  “I like trail riding better.” she added.  My evil experience with a nag of a horse on a trail flashed before my eyes.  I did not answer.