instead of Ayler.
The owner tells us that we will only be able to walk and trot on the equestrian trail that runs around the park. The pathway is separated by a white fence, and the trail itself has good sandy footing. But once we are out, our guide can see that we know what weâre doing, and she doesnât mind our cantering on.
There is something so urban about riding in a well-groomed park like this. It reminds me of movies where people are all dressed up in their riding habits, posting in Paris or London or New Yorkâall very civilized, Iâm sure, but a far cry from the freedom of the wild, Wild West.
The park must be one of the most beautiful in the world with its undulating grounds filled with plant life and birds, small ponds and playing fields. It is a glorious morning, in the high sixties, refreshing after the intense heat of the Great Barrier Reef. Iâm not used to riding on such restricted terrain, but it is still nice to be in the saddle. No trip seems complete without a ride of some sort.
Our guide tells me that Howie is a âbit of a pain,â and I soon learn whyâfor though he has a big strong trot, he is reluctant to get into a canter, and instead of responding to my legs and signals, he simply trots out with bigger and faster strides, until I finally kick him really hard, repeatedly, and then he only canters for a short ways and then drops back into his lazy-boy gait. I might have better luck with a crop, but there arenât even any branches within armâs reach. I have to ride ahead becauseif she and Ayler canter in front of me, Howie will bolt past them, and I certainly donât want to hurt myself on a strange horse right before takeoff.
Anyway, I am glad that Aylerâs horse, Dante, is behaving nicely. We ride by Busby Pond and then the equestrian grounds, where we work the horses in a small ring, but I still have difficulty getting Howie to canter.
What an effort.
We only have another hour before heading back, so we try to make the best of being out in the fresh warm air. Australia seems especially child-and-dog-friendly. There are strollers and puppies everywhere. One jogging mother goes by at a fast clip pushing her baby ahead of her. The horses seem used to all the distractions and certainly know when they are headed for home. I ask Howie for one final short canter, but when he breaks out of it, I feel a twinge in my back and fear trouble for the long flight home. I will appreciate my own good horses more than ever.
After dismounting, I notice that my inner thigh muscles are stressed, which I have not felt in years. At least Iâve had a bit of a workout, and Ayler was not bothered at all by the dander. He says repeatedly how happy he is to be riding again. I imagine the day when I can take Kailer and Cash out for a pony ride. What a pleasure that will be.
After showering and packing up, I have to say goodbye to my grandsons. I feel weepy leaving them, not knowing when I will see them again. I have bought each of them a little truck. As they sit at an angle to each other in their highchairs, I kiss them over and over and tell them how much I love them. Clovis ushers me out of the house as I wipe away tears, giving me an understanding hug.
ARIZONA
Peanutâs Flying Mane
Picking up Peanut
After our two-week trip, we return to Patagonia jet-lagged. When I get up at eight in the morning, there is already a red blinking light signaling a message on my answering machine. I call Melinda back, and she wonders if I can make it over by nine to pick up Peanut before a threatening storm moves in. I thought she was going to have Peanut with her for a few more days, according to our agreement, but I donât want to argue. She considers his training done.
When I arrive, Melinda tells me that Peanut became buddies with the little calf in the next pen. But one night she put the two of them together in the same enclosureâ Peanut became defensive of his
The owner tells us that we will only be able to walk and trot on the equestrian trail that runs around the park. The pathway is separated by a white fence, and the trail itself has good sandy footing. But once we are out, our guide can see that we know what weâre doing, and she doesnât mind our cantering on.
There is something so urban about riding in a well-groomed park like this. It reminds me of movies where people are all dressed up in their riding habits, posting in Paris or London or New Yorkâall very civilized, Iâm sure, but a far cry from the freedom of the wild, Wild West.
The park must be one of the most beautiful in the world with its undulating grounds filled with plant life and birds, small ponds and playing fields. It is a glorious morning, in the high sixties, refreshing after the intense heat of the Great Barrier Reef. Iâm not used to riding on such restricted terrain, but it is still nice to be in the saddle. No trip seems complete without a ride of some sort.
Our guide tells me that Howie is a âbit of a pain,â and I soon learn whyâfor though he has a big strong trot, he is reluctant to get into a canter, and instead of responding to my legs and signals, he simply trots out with bigger and faster strides, until I finally kick him really hard, repeatedly, and then he only canters for a short ways and then drops back into his lazy-boy gait. I might have better luck with a crop, but there arenât even any branches within armâs reach. I have to ride ahead becauseif she and Ayler canter in front of me, Howie will bolt past them, and I certainly donât want to hurt myself on a strange horse right before takeoff.
Anyway, I am glad that Aylerâs horse, Dante, is behaving nicely. We ride by Busby Pond and then the equestrian grounds, where we work the horses in a small ring, but I still have difficulty getting Howie to canter.
What an effort.
We only have another hour before heading back, so we try to make the best of being out in the fresh warm air. Australia seems especially child-and-dog-friendly. There are strollers and puppies everywhere. One jogging mother goes by at a fast clip pushing her baby ahead of her. The horses seem used to all the distractions and certainly know when they are headed for home. I ask Howie for one final short canter, but when he breaks out of it, I feel a twinge in my back and fear trouble for the long flight home. I will appreciate my own good horses more than ever.
After dismounting, I notice that my inner thigh muscles are stressed, which I have not felt in years. At least Iâve had a bit of a workout, and Ayler was not bothered at all by the dander. He says repeatedly how happy he is to be riding again. I imagine the day when I can take Kailer and Cash out for a pony ride. What a pleasure that will be.
After showering and packing up, I have to say goodbye to my grandsons. I feel weepy leaving them, not knowing when I will see them again. I have bought each of them a little truck. As they sit at an angle to each other in their highchairs, I kiss them over and over and tell them how much I love them. Clovis ushers me out of the house as I wipe away tears, giving me an understanding hug.
ARIZONA
Peanutâs Flying Mane
Picking up Peanut
After our two-week trip, we return to Patagonia jet-lagged. When I get up at eight in the morning, there is already a red blinking light signaling a message on my answering machine. I call Melinda back, and she wonders if I can make it over by nine to pick up Peanut before a threatening storm moves in. I thought she was going to have Peanut with her for a few more days, according to our agreement, but I donât want to argue. She considers his training done.
When I arrive, Melinda tells me that Peanut became buddies with the little calf in the next pen. But one night she put the two of them together in the same enclosureâ Peanut became defensive of his
Similar Books
