I’d like to introduce a new series that will be appearing, perhaps quarterly or so, on this blog! It’s a guest post, done by none other than my fantastic husband! He’s had some amazing horse experiences I could only dream about. I thought we’d start with his horsey upbringing and go from there.
So without further ado…
Well evidently I’m supposed to do a “guest post”. As the misses stated, I am the financial backer (husband). While she thinks that I have a strong dislike for her horse, I simply am jealous that hers is so much closer than mine.
Mule barn, 5- speaking.
That was how I was taught to answer the house phone growing up. That would be my fathers doing. He’s a mule guy. He loves his mules. We’ve never not had a mule growing up, both riding mules and mule teams. But this post isn’t about him, it’s about me.
I actually grew up in a very different equine environment than my wife did. Where she sees horses as a pleasure animal, I would sometimes spend 4-6 hours a day on them driving cattle. While that can be fun, it’s not exactly pleasurable. At least I rode western.
My first hose was a little black Shetland pony named Jill. Jill was a bitch, excuse my language, but it’s true. If you’ve ever ridden a pony you know what I mean. When I was about 5 or 6 we were gathering cattle at the Andres pasture and she decided to go for a little swim. With me on her. I tried to convince her this wasn’t the best idea, but she wouldn’t listen (like most women that have been in my life), so into the pond we went. Luckily I soon graduated to my second pony, Rosie.
Rosie was a Welsh. While going from a Shetland to a Welsh might not seem like a big step up, I felt like I had made it to the big leagues. Rosie was great: easy to work with, well mannered, yet still stubborn. But she served her purpose well, which was to go wherever the other horses went and not throw me off. Well, she kind of served her purpose well, luckily it was always a short trip to the ground. I showed her in the local fairs and won several purple ribbons with her, mostly for her groundwork. After I outgrew her I bounced around on some spare horses my parents had until I reached 6th grade. That fall I sold Rosie to a local barn and used my earnings at my grandparents quarter horse sale to buy my first real horse, Shasta.
Shasta is my girl. One of my greatest accomplishments was having the privilege of training her. Growing up the grandson of a horse breeder and the son of a farrier, I had pretty big shoes to fill, and wanted to break her all by myself. I’d have to say she turned out pretty good. While she isn’t the best cutting horse we have, she has always had the most desire. Whenever we’d go on a ride with other horses she always has to be in front. Always. When she was younger I’d try to hold her back, get her used to the idea that she doesn’t always have to be the best or first, but she’d get angry and take nips at my legs until I’d let her run out.
After I had left for college my family got big into mounted shooting. My brother has actually been fairly successful locally and statewide, and Shasta is his favorite horse to shoot off of.
Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that I love my wife.
Well I’m tired, and football is on, so that’s it! Next time I’ll talk more about my family and our horses (quarter horses, mules and drafts) and possibly go into my college job working at a thoroughbred equine research treadmill.