Oh Rapidan!

Last month I wrote at Equestrian Ink about Rapidan, a Thoroughbred gelding I had owned back when I was twenty or so. I referred readers to the “Rapidan” tag here at this blog so that they could read more about him.

 

I just forgot that I never finished telling his story.

 

Sorry about that.

 

And I probably left a lot out.

 

Sorry.

 

So here is a little more of The Rapidan Story.

 

What you have to remember about Rapidan is that I bought him a couple of weeks after he was gelded. At age five. He was skinny and he was mettlesome and he was looking for trouble, but I was already in love with his personality underneath all that tempestuous show of studliness. Within there was a bold, curious, good-humored horse who would make a hell of a jumper or eventer.

 

Once he evened out.

 

If he evened out.

 

Of course he would even out.

 

I had him at a little barn where I was working at first, with a few other geldings, and he didn’t pose much problem. I didn’t have much time to ride him. My job was in its last death throes so my boss had me on the run twenty-four seven, trying to piss me off enough to quit. Anyone who has spent more than a month in the horse business knows exactly what I’m talking about.

 

I finally quit a few weeks later. I was standing at a gas pump on a cold rainy night, and my door was open so that I could hear the NPR coverage of the presidential inauguration. I guess it was George W. Bush. I was much more interested in politics then.

 

My cell phone rang and I answered it while I was still pumping gas. Another woman at the island got very angry and started yelling that I was going to start a fire so I climbed back into my Honda and turned down the radio. It was a breeding farm offering me a job as an apprentice.

 

I’d never worked in breeding so the offer – which I believe was board for both my horses and a hundred bucks a week – was pretty attractive. Especially since I was ready to burn my boss’s house down at this point.

 

And so I accepted the job and ended the call and wriggled a little in my seat, a little yay new job dance, and then I had to get back out into the cold and pump gas, and in Washington D.C. George W. Bush was president and I was about to take a two-months’ gelded teasing stallion to a breeding farm. What could go wrong?

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