Chapter Eleven
And that's why, for the next half an hour, I find myself cleaning a stall out for Kate's horse. Note the "Kate" part about all of that. As I pitch in the new woodchips I can't help but feel a little bit bitter. Why do I have to do all of Kate's work while she doesn't have to do a thing to prepare for her new horse?
It doesn't take that long to dump the old woodchips and replace them with a fresh load, considering the stall Kate has chosen hasn't been used in a while, and all the chips are flattened down. The sides of the stall are a little dirty, so I hose them off. At the last minute I remember to get a bucket and fill it full of fresh water.
I have to admit I am a little curious to see her new horse. Does her moving on mean that she won't be so hard on me about Diva? I can only hope, I suppose. When I finish the stall, I put away the pitchfork and wheelbarrow.
On my way to the shed, I see the exercise sheet, and remember that I still have one more horse to ride. Upon closer inspection of the list, it says that the horses name is Going On Thirty. Feeling guilty that I've let the horse sit in it's stall for so long, I look over to see what sort of exercise it needs. Cross country.
I start to panic a little bit, because I've only done cross country on a few occasions, and I don't even know where the course is. That's why you ask Kathy, you idiot, I remind myself and put away the wheelbarrow.
I go back into the stable, and look around until I find Going On Thirty. A bay mare with a pretty dished face and a wide crooked blaze fills the stall I find. I want to say that she's an Arab, but she's much to tall and filled out. She must be crossed with a Thoroughbred or something. But an Arab for sure. It's actually a really good mix of breeds for cross country. Arabians have amazing stamina, and Thoroughbreds are fast. You can't get much better than that really.
Going On Thirty stands still as I clip on the lead rope and lead her out of the stall. She waits patiently as I brush her down in the cross ties and find her saddle. I do up the girth, and then lead her into the stable yard. I climb into the saddle and walk her on a loose rein around the yard, looking for someone so that I can figure out where the cross country course is.
After about ten minutes, I see another rider walk into the stable yard. I shyly walk Going On Thirty up to the rider and smile, "Hey, can I ask you a question?"
She leans against her saddle horn and smiles, "Sure can, honey."
"Thanks," I grin and pat Going On Thirty, "Can you tell me where the cross country course is?"
"The cross country course? Yeah, if you follow that trail," she points to a trail head about fifty meters away, "it takes about ten minutes to walk there."
"Thanks," I smile.
"No problem, honey," she smiled and kicks her horse forward.
I turn Going On Thirty towards the trail. I instantly feel a bounce in her step and I smile. She must know that I'm taking her to the cross country course or something, because I can feel her pulling at the bit. Either that or she just really loves being ridden.
We trot down the cleared trail at an even trot as a warm up. I turn her from side to side so that she's good and limber until we end up in a clearing. I can't see the full course, but from what I can see, it doesn't look to hard.
The first jump is just a simple woodpile, and about ten strides after it is a haystack jump. I canter Going On Thirty around the course so that I can get a quick estimate on how many strides there'll be in between the jumps, and how hard it'll be. None of the jumps I see are over two and a half feet.
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English Saddles and Cowboy Hats
Teen FictionAt just fifteen years old, Blaire Thompson thought she had it all. Living in Alberta, owning a fancy stable and competing top level dressage with her mare, Blaire was happy. She lived for competing and loved every second spent around horses. And the...