Dear General, Sam, Mickey, Tucker, Samson, and Ginger,
General, you were my lesson horse. Every girl remembers the horse she learned to ride on, and I will never forget the lessons you taught me when I started jumping. It's kind of funny that you became my favorite horse to ride, considering we were never supposed to meet. It was April, and I'd only been riding at the barn for a month. I was a 12 year old just starting to jump, and another girl pulled a prank. Instead of riding the seasoned, old jumping horse, I somehow ended up riding you. By the time anyone realized that I was on the wrong horse, it was too late to change. I remember how stubborn you were. You were used to getting your own way, of course. But somehow, I rode through the bolts and head throwing, and got you to trot past the cross country course without running to the grass. Then, you stopped. Your head seemed to go down slowly, and all I could think was what should I do OMG he's going to buck. The only thing I knew to do was scream, "HEY." You jumped and your head shot straight up. I was shaking, you were shaking, and my riding instructor was laughing. It was this moment when you became fully devoted to me. I don't know if it was the way I yelled, or the fact that you were not expecting a soft-spoken, 90 lbs 12-year-old to yell that loudly, but I never had a problem with you again. I never felt your buck, and I never fell off of you. You always seemed to take care of me in comparison to others, though that was in no way because of my riding. I think, despite your thick exterior, deep down you just really cared about me. Either that, or it only took one moment of fear for you to realize I was a force to be reckoned with. So thank you for teaching me that even a small 12-year-old has a voice that should be heard.
Sam, I never thought I'd find another horse after General left. When his owners brought him home for the winter, I was sure that I would never meet another horse like him. Admittedly, I never did, but I did meet you. Our relationship shouldn't have worked, but somehow it did. You were the shy, green-broke colt who was afraid of everything. I was the shy, beginner rider with anxiety. But somehow, we made a perfect team. I will forever remember the day I fell off of you. October 28, 2011. I may have written it in my calendar, but hey, I was only 13. We were riding with no-stirrups around the cross country course after a lesson, and you had never seen any of the jumps. When we got to the coop, you were hesitant. I coaxed you towards it, and made you stop to stand next to it. "See Samyboo," I said gently as we passed, "It's not going to hurt you." I tapped the side with my foot, not thinking much of the gesture. You swung your head around, and gave me a funny look. Then, to my surprise, you lifted your leg and dragged your hoof across the wood. The moment you heard the noise, you spooked and ran. Never in my life had the saying "it scared it the crap out of him" been so true as I landed in the fresh horse manure. For my first fall, I had quite the experience. Thank you for teaching me that it's okay to fall, and it's okay to fail, as long as I get myself right back up and try again. Though our time together was short, I will always remember the lessons you taught me.
Mickey, we were the bomb squad. I am so thankful that you were my show horse. After Sam was sold, I wasn't sure that I wanted to show anymore. I didn't get along with the show horses, and I felt like I had failed to train Sam. But then you came along, and you reminded me that show horses aren't all push-button horses. Falling off of you was a humbling experience, to say the least. We were cantering, and I misunderstood my trainer. I thought she was asking me to do a simple change across the diagonal. What she actually wanted was for me to cut across the middle and start a 20-meter-circle. You were ready for the lead change, and I was attempting to fix my mistake. You went one way, and I went the other. A mouth full of sand was enough to teach me my lesson: when riding a horse, I always have to commit to what I'm asking. Thank you for earning ribbons along side me, refusing jumps when I needed a reminder, and showing me why I entered the hunter/jumper world in the first place.
Tucker, thank you for teaching me the power of trust. After Sam and General, I was afraid to fall in love with another horse. I remember the day I rode you, I was determined not to love you. I had already been riding Mickey, and I secretly hoped that I wouldn't get another training project. For once, I was eager to focus on the showing aspect of horses. At first, I thought disliking you would be easy. Your trot was unbelievably bouncy and I hated every lap of sitting trot that I had to do to "work on my abs" as the trainer put it. Then, you cantered, and I was in love all over again. But unlike General and Sam, you were a 16hh quarter horse, compared to the 14hh disaster ponies I was used to working with. I'm going to be honest; I was terrified of you. How was I, a 14 year old, supposed to train you? Your biggest issue was leg pressure, and you bucked anytime I added any. You hated crops, so I did the only thing I knew to do; I taught you to walk, trot, and canter on voice commands. Throughout this time, we really bonded. But of course, I had yet to fall off. This wouldn't have been such a big deal to you, had I kept my mouth shut. Then again, I probably deserved it, considering I was the one who said, "I only fall off of my favorite horses." And you, the bomb-proof horse who was terrified of nothing, spooked at literally nothing that same day. It could have been a coincidence, but the smug look on your face said it all. So thank you, for not being afraid to remind me that you were going to be my favorite horse, whether I liked it or not. Thank you for helping me learn to trust again.
Samson, you were my real first horse. I'll never forget the day I met you. I was praying before the lesson, asking God to let me ride Tucker (as I had been riding a different horse in some previous lessons). It was in that prayer that I had a thought, but what if Sam is there? I don't know where the thought came from, but I remember amending my prayer, God, if Sam is there I would want to ride him a thousand times. I love Tucker, but I miss my ponies. Sam, General, I miss them so much. And I didn't think much of the prayer until I got to the barn. "Libby!" One of my barn friends called to me, "General is back." We were the only two people in the barn, and she quickly dragged me back to the stall. I remember looking at the black and white paint standing before me, and being disappointed. It wasn't General. Then, I remember being told that I would ride this "new horse" that wasn't given a name. At the end of my lesson, I remember someone said, "His name is Sam. Well, Samson, but we call him Sam." I almost cried as I hugged you, realizing that my prayers had been answered. Nothing compared to the day that followed, when my parents called me down to ask what I thought of you and we decided to buy you. At the age of 15, I had finally found my horse. I fell off of you 4 times, and I learned so much from you about the importance of having fun. I wanted to show, and I wanted to win. You wanted to break your leg and be out for 6 months, reminding me that riding is more than a blue ribbon hanging on a wall. Thank you for being the perfect first horse, and I know you're an amazing therapy horse now.
Ginger, you are last but certainly not least. Unlike every other horse that has impacted me, you are my mane mare. I don't know how I can even begin to talk about you. While I trained 2 colts who weren't broken to do much, you were the first unbroken horse I worked with. When I got on you, the only thing I could do was saddle you and point you in a given direction to gallop. You scared me, I'm not going to lie. You scared me far more than any horse ever had because you didn't care about your riders. You cared about speed. You cared about jumping. And I never thought you'd make it in the show world. That was, of course, before I bought you. The first time I fell was the first time we truly connected. I was galloping through the front yard, and Samson was calling for you from his stall. There was a car in the driveway, and you shied away as you saw it. For a moment, I lost my balance and you saw it as an opportunity to throw me off. I hurtled over your neck and landed in front of you. By all means, you should have kept going. After all, at this point you didn't really care about me. I didn't really care about you. We were too stubborn, and too like-minded to work well together. And then, you did the unthinkable; you stood on top of me and shoved your nose in my face. I pushed you off of my leg, and you stood there, shaking. My finger was broken, or maybe dislocated, and I knew there would be at least a bruise on my leg. But when I looked up at you, I realized that you were still right there next to me. Unlike the other times, when I had watched other riders fall, you stayed by me. You didn't trot off to eat grass, and you didn't run away. For the first time, I was seeing the horse I had broken and trained instead of the horse I didn't like. I like to believe that you were determined to show me that I was wrong. So thank you for showing me that I was wrong. Thank you for being more than I could handle from time to time, and thank you for learning with me.
Behind every successful rider are the horses who loved her enough to push her. Happy #nationalhorseday to the wonderful horses all around the world who pushed their riders to become the best at what they do. I'm thankful for the opportunities I've been given to ride these wonderful horses, and I will never forget what they've done for me.
