By Archie, Aged 8
I had to undergo some months of physiotherapy which involved no riding but included various other, far too labour intensive, exercises. I was introduced to that most horrific of horse torture devices, the pessoa and lunging, plus Mum and Dad devised new and interesting ways to help me learn to use my body correctly. One of these ill-conceived initiatives was long reining.
For the uninitiated, long reining involves attaching two long lead reins (no kidding) to my bit, then the designated human walks (or runs) behind you, like the old-time ploughing pictures.
This worked quite well, I tolerated it. We’d go out on lovely long straight walks around the countryside with Mum or Dad at the front and the other one behind. If they were alone, usually Mum, we'd work on circles in the school, and even have a bit of a trot until she ran out of puff. It was all going swimmingly. That is until I discovered something interesting. It dawned on me that the weight ratio between Mum and me is decidedly in my favour.
One day we’re in the school, and I was, um enthusiastic. (Mum would describe it as having the devil in me). Off we go, marching up the long side with a purpose, we turned the corner, where I kicked up my heels and took off at a whoohoolie to the far end of the school. Mum, of course, being tiny, couldn’t hold me, so, in the interests of self-preservation, she let go of the reins. I got to the other end and turned to look at Mum with my ears pricked. This was fun!
Trudging all the way to where I stood, Mum muttered, ‘You think you’re hilarious don’t you?’
Quite frankly, yes, yes, I did.
It is worth pointing out that our schooling area consists of a large school and a smaller one which effectively forms an L shape.
Retrieved and ready to go again, we marched back up the school, turn, heels up, off I go again. This time I whoohoolied around the corner into the second school, to the spot where I would be hidden by the horse trailers.
I wasn’t sure what Mum was doing, so I quickly peeped around the corner of the trailers, only to see her give a big sigh and look up at me. I pulled my head back in and waited. A couple of minutes later she still hadn’t appeared, so I peered around the trailer again, only to see her once more trudging to retrieve me, trying to look cross, but I could see her smirking.
She patted my nose and called me a big clown, but long reining was cancelled for the day, just when it was starting to be fun too.
With in-school stuff on hold, Mum thought it might be better to long rein along the tracks which run around our turnout fields. There are nice long stretches and I tended to be reasonably sensible.
A week or so into the new regime and we’re coming along the track at a decent trot (for me) and sprint (for Mum) when some of the boys in the adjacent field decided to whoohoolie along next to us. Well, if it was a race they wanted…
I also broke into a canter. Mum’s little legs were already going nineteen to the dozen, and, she couldn’t let go and have me running amok. Her solution was to hang on for grim death and develop this kind of huge, moon landing style leap while simultaneously bellowing for me to ****ing WHOA!
And that dear friends, is why Mum no longer long reins me.
Ps: FYI I won the race, and Mum came in about 3rd.
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