After being run off with, thinking race trainers did nothing but wave white handkerchiefs at me from the gap and sworn at in Spanish for three full weeks…this old hunter jock learned to sit [stand] chilly, make a bridge and NEVER take a second hold…It’ll come. Avoid being sent to neighboring shedrows inquiring as to the whereabouts of “the key to the quarter pole”…and don’t stand like an idiot at the far wall when hotwalkers scream whoa back, stop their horses and glare at you…this ain’t an equitation barn where your told what to do from dawn to dusk. In mere weeks, you’ll be watching some poor new soul and asking “whose the f**ing new guy”? What an idiot. LOL!! You’ll pay your dues…but it’s worth it 
And as if you couldn’t tell by the look of anguish, fear, and confusion on my face…this is only my second time trying to gallop a horse. Note I said: trying.
I could stand to go a little shorter on the irons, I suppose. My friend who took the picture is a show rider and was yelling, “Lengthen your irons! Keep your head up! LOOSEN YOUR REINS!” to which I would yell back, “NO! THATS NOT HOW RACEHORSES WORK!” to which she would respond, “Well she isn’t a racehorse anymore, she’s a SHOW HORSE! SHOOOOWWW HOOOOORRRSSEEE!”
Ahh, friends…
There’s no such thing as a “saddle stretcher” either…
http://community.webshots.com/user/racetb
oh hell…it won’t let me post…so if you want to see Greta you’ll have to go to my webshots scrapbook…forgive all the 1960’s horse show stuff…we hunter folks are having a nostalgia fest!
For some reason when you describe the farm, I am reminded of a less exotic verson of that animal race in Swiss Family Robinson.
What a cool animal! I’d never even heard of them.
