1C
THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, JUNE 29, 2018
CONTACT US
Erick Bengel | Features Editor
ebengel@dailyastorian.com
WEEKEND
BREAK
FOLLOW US
facebook.com/
DailyAstorian
RIDERS LEARN A LOT FROM WORKING WITH THE ANIMALS
was a rookie mistake, and I should have
known better. I underestimated how much
I didn’t learn in all my days of riding, how
much my 4H leader and Mindy guided
me and helped me become comfortable
around horses.
We had actually gone to buy another
horse, but it sold before we arrived. “Have
any other horses for sale?” We asked. Out
came a quarter horse pony complete with
a white, heart shaped freeze-brand on her
shoulder.
Ginger wasn’t evil, but she was one of
those horses that need to be ridden every
single day — high-maintenance, high-
strung, hard to catch, nervous and jumpy.
Moreover, I was a nervous wreck. I
suddenly realized how much I didn’t learn
while big sister guided me along. Worse,
it was my daughter up there, and so I was
anxious as only an over-protective trau-
ma-nurse father can be. Horses are herd
animals, so they take their emotional cues
from the horses — and people — around
them. Nervous dad + nervous kid + flighty
horse = disaster.
I think I ruined the illusion of horses
for Lindsay, who had always talked and
dreamed about riding. After being thrown
for the third time and breaking an elbow,
she called it quits.
By ED HUNT
For The Daily Astorian
H
orses can teach us lessons, but we
have to be willing to learn.
Years ago I was at a trauma
conference listening to a lecture by Dr.
John Mayberry about the nature of eques-
trian trauma. Citing the work of another
researcher, Mayberry explained that while
knowledge and skill decrease the inci-
dence of rider injuries caused by horses,
skill level does not correlate to experience
or hours in the saddle.
In other words, you can spend years
riding and not learn anything or get any
better at it.
Don’t get me wrong, I like horses. You
could say I grew up on them.
The first time I rode was at a road-
side farm in New Jersey, led around on a
Shetland pony so bored he likely wished
he was back in the coal mines with his
ancestors.
My first horse for riding lessons was
a big ancient thing named “Stoney.”
His name was derived from the fact that
he was barely faster than an inanimate
object. He was old and slow, but he was
also “bomb-proof.” He would not spook,
he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to
me — in retrospect, the perfect horse for a
Nervous-Nellie beginner.
Every kid should start out on a Stoney.
Old horses may not be as fast or as flashy,
but they can teach new riders.
Ed Hunt photo
In this photo (altered using the Prisma app), Grace Hunt rides her Tennessee
Walker, Tino.
Young riders
When we moved out west in 1978, we
had 80 acres of woods and fields to ride
on. As long as you closed the gates behind
you, all the land around our property was
open to us as well. You could ride for
miles and miles without seeing a house or
a road. It was paradise for riding.
We bought 4H horses at auction and by
word of mouth. My first was a fat and evil
Shetland named “Candy.” Coincidentally,
my wife, Amy, had one named “Sugar.”
I believe the confectionery names are
intentionally ironic and deceiving to the
uninitiated. Most people who’ve had
horses have a bad “first-horse” horror
story to tell. I think it’s often because we
put our cute kids on cute ponies instead of
on ancient been-there done-that retirees.
Often cute ponies come with stubborn
habits and bitter dispositions.
We soon sold sour Candy and got Sun-
down, an Arabian Paint horse who was
young and green broke, like his rider. He
was a good horse — only kicked me once
and never bucked me off.
We bought him from the same sheep
rancher that had sold us Shadrach, a
Hackney that could trot as fast as some
could gallop and who was smarter than
most people I knew. Shadrach was mis-
chievous, but not evil. He could open
any gate latch and would steal the pipe
tobacco from my dad’s back pocket.
My brother Chuck found a half Appa-
loosa and half Belgian that was a strik-
ing strawberry roan. For those who don’t
know horse talk: Belgian is a kind of draft
horse, like a Clydesdale. “Strawberry
Grace Hunt, left,
and Lindsay Hunt
with Ginger.
Ed Hunt photo
Grace Hunt photo
Ed Hunt rides Lilly, his Arabian mare
roan” means the horse was pink.
In other words, Bickleton was a giant
pink horse ridden by a guy who would
one-day fly into Baghdad airport under
enemy fire. The two of them were quite
a sight.
It didn’t take us long before we started
riding all over our corner of the Columbia
River Gorge, through the scrub oak and
yellow grass that covered the hills around
our home. We’d race up through the hid-
den fields and take shortcuts cross country
to the arena for 4H.
Of all of us, my sister Mindy was the
best with horses. Long after Chuck and I
had sold our horses to buy cars, Mindy
was still riding and showing. She trained
horses for a few ranches in the area and
kept her own horses as long as she could.
We learned that
horses gained
confidence and
trust from our
calm. They are
herd animals
and pick up
social cues from
their riders.
Chuck and I were much more interested in
gaming. Though my early years were all
tears and fears, eventually I settled in and
riding became second nature. I learned to
throw a rope, swing onto a moving horse
and lean out of the saddle to pick my hat
up off the ground. Mindy trained horses
for local breeders and went on to show
Paso Fino horses in full costume.
Rookie mistake
By 15, I was getting a little tall for Sun-
down, and he was getting a little bored
with me. I sold him to a girl who put more
work and love into him and cleaned up on
the junior rodeo circuit with him. I used
the money to buy my first car.
I didn’t get back on a horse for 30
years.
It wasn’t a Shetland, but we bought my
eldest daughter, Lindsay, a bad pony
— a green broke horse for
a kid new to horses. It
Learning the hard way
People that keep on with horses can
often tell you a couple of lessons learned
along the way.
We learned not to be in a hurry. We
learned that horses gained confidence and
trust from our calm. They are herd ani-
mals and pick up social cues from their
riders. We learned to listen to the horse
and recognize when a horse would be a
better fit with someone else.
In our efforts to try and calm Gin-
ger down, we picked up a 20-year-old
Arab mare. This time, I hopped on the
horse bareback and rode her to make sure
she was calm and easy and sound. Rag-
ged and raw-boned, she was half-starved
when we got her.
Lilly was such a sweetheart that it
made us realize Ginger was a mistake,
that there were better horses out there.
We should have started with a Stoney
that could teach us those crucial first les-
sons about horses. A friend helped us find
a better owner for Ginger, too — some-
one who would work her bad habits out
of her every day and bring her up to her
potential.
Somewhere along the way my
younger daughter, Grace — who had
never had any interest in horses — fell
in love with riding. While Amy or I ride
old Lilly, Grace is learning the lessons of
work and patience on a dopey old geld-
ing. This year will be her first showing
Tino, a 20-year-old been-there, done-that
Tennessee walker. A wise old horse for a
green rider.
Slowly, we are learning our lessons.
Ed Hunt is a writer and registered
nurse who blogs on medical issues at
redtriage.com and on other subjects at
theebbtide.blogspot.com. He lives in
Grays River, Wash.