Two Months of Riding

As I rode Final Call today, I realized it’s been two months since he came home with me. In some ways it feels like a lot longer – his sweet personality made bonding pretty easy (oh those flighty, loveless OTTBs!). In other ways, it feels much briefer – there definitely hasn’t been sixty days’ riding, since the weather hasn’t cooperated.

But today was lovely, as we trotted those cursed circles, he put his little nose to the inside without the yawing and complaint, he bent his spine around the track, he even moved off my inside leg – yes, in both directions. His transitions were clean, his halts were polite.

We even went past the Evil Corner of Death without issue.

And speaking of the ECoD – I had an epiphany. It isn’t the hang-out for Dementors, after all (I admit that was a long shot.) I have a much better theory – it is haunted by the ghosts of pit bulls past. In the corner of the neighbor’s yard there is a morbid little connection of crosses with the epitaphs of what I assume were family dogs; names like “Budweiser” feature largely here and I’m guessing they didn’t bury a six-pack.

Like the Dead Horse Patch in “National Velvet,” horses don’t like ghosts! How’s that for a hypothesis?

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5 Comments

Filed under Final Call, Uncategorized

5 responses to “Two Months of Riding

  1. Barb

    And you know PBs don’t lose their bark with death!!

    • Natalie Keller Reinert

      Oh PBs… I’d like to fill your mouths with PB, then your jaws would stick together and you could just enjoy delicious peanut butter instead of barking at my horses/child/birds in the sky/butterflies/random nothingness…

      The thing about that stable, Barb, was that it was at least one block, and I’m thinking two, off of Central Park. So you had to ride down the middle of a cross-street and ACROSS Central Park West to get into the Park. And then the trouble had only just begun. The Bridle Path should have been renamed the Obnoxious Joggers Path, especially on weekends. Joggers EVERYWHERE, mostly wearing earbuds, so they couldn’t even hear horses trotting up behind them – and even if they did, they wouldn’t move out of the way, even though signage clearly stated that horses had the right of way.

      (My suspicion is that they mistook “Bridle” for “Bridal,” and since there are like eighty thousand wedding photos taken in Central Park, seems possible to me.)

      I would see little girls in show attire come out for a canter on ponies, and they could barely strike up a good gait before someone would cross their path and they’d have to rein back. It was unfortunate because if they lived in the city, it was probably an hour or more’s commute to get out to Jersey or someplace to take riding lessons. And even though it was hard on the horses to live in the city (they lived on the second floor, and rode an elevator to the riding arena) it’s one of those six of one situations, where it was also hard on the kids that had to give up riding because the stable did eventually close. It’s almost like keeping animals in captivity at zoos.. you know it’s rough on the animals, but you have to educate people about them for the greater good. It wasn’t great keeping horses in Manhattan, but at the same time, horses live in far worse conditions even out in the countryside. I’ve ridden at barns on sixty acre spreads where school horses still lived in straight stalls! But it’s gone now, so…

      • Barb

        Wow- an elevator! Somehow I never imagined that, or that they lived on the second floor! My childhood experience with NYC was limited to occasional visits to see my aunt, and while I never saw the stable, I guess I just pictured as a KY horse farm, complete with outdoor ring, set down somewhere among all those buildings. I’ve always been somewhat naive…

  2. Oh, good boy!

    (pat, pat, pat)

    Definitely ghosts. The ground will smell funny, too. Depends on which way the wind blows.
    (shivers..)

    Just a goose walking over…

    sorry about my evil mind. I can’t help playing with letters, it’s part of my job.
    TB’s R Therapists.

    My heart goes out to parents of children with autism. TB’s with jobs that use their great hearts, well…
    sigh.

    So, you were NOT in Dubai? Humpfh. I was all thrilled for ya.

    scritches to Fine L. Cawll.
    <")

    • Natalie Keller Reinert

      Dubai’s pretty far down on my list. I know it’s supposed to be sensation and all, but when you come down to it, wandering a luxurious city built in the desert does not sound as appealing to me as, say, jumping a stone wall somewhere in the British Isles… I’m pretty traditional in my tastes.

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