Free Horse Crazy by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page B

doing
somersaults off their backs.
    Meanwhile, back at the shop, Angel would ask
about my progress and applaud my tenacity. Although she made it
clear she never taught green riders, she said she would make an
exception for me as I was working for her. The cost of the lesson
would, of course, be deducted from my paycheck.
    We'd had many long conversations about our
horse experiences and I tried not to misrepresent my abilities. I
was green, but I was keen too. To Angel's credit, she seemed to
derive as much excitement from my burgeoning fascination with basic
dressage as I did.
    Together, we poured over the many equestrian
books in the shop and I was relieved to think I may have found a
mentor. It might have been, too, if not for an imposing German
Warmblood by the cuddly name of Amadeus.
    One morning, on my way home to spend
Christmas with my family in Florida, I stopped in at Angel's barn
to take the much-touted, talked-about and anticipated lesson.
    It was a wet and chilly morning, not a
morning normally given to thoughts of horseback riding unless it's
the only way to fetch the doctor and the contractions are four
minutes apart. But I was keen, and truly keen riders, green or not,
don't let a little wetness stop them from enjoying a good hack.
    Ha.
    Amadeus was a 17'2 hand German Warmblood. He
was a handsome, spirited and highly-trained dressage horse. It
would be two years before I felt as confident as I did the day I
climbed on Amadeus' back.
    Angel had me lunge him first. I'd experienced
being lunged while I was living in New Zealand. Doing the lunging
is at least as difficult, if not quite so physically uncomfortable.
Lunging a horse involves standing in the center of an imaginary
circle with a long lunge whip in one hand (depending on which way
you're lunging the horse) and a lunging line in the other. This
lunging line attaches to the snaffle bit which is connected to the
horse's mouth. The idea is to urge the horse forward á la the whip
and control him via the lunging line. The horse trots, walks, and
canters in a circle around you, obeying verbal commands from you,
while you become painfully and inevitably dizzy. (How George Morris
does this over and over again without then turning away and walking
into the side of a barn, I have no idea.)
    Myself, I succeeded in dropping the lunging
whip in the mud a few times and then getting hopelessly entangled
in the lunge line. I'm sure Amadeus and Angel exchanged more than a
few glances that involved eyes rolling toward heaven.
    When she was satisfied that I'd done what she
wanted or when it was evident that I could do no more, she gave me
a leg up on him.
    With no neck strap to hang on to, but my
hands resting jauntily on my waist, she lunged us both in a circle
at a trot. The mud squished disconcertedly under us as we
plop-plop-plopped around the ring, me gripping with my thighs for
dear life in an attempt to post with no hands and still remain
astride, Amadeus wheezing in time to the post for no obvious
reason.
    Although physically difficult, the no-hands
posting wasn't particularly scary. It was more a matter of
concentration, blending the mental and the physical in a
coordinated effort to perform the task. Within minutes of my
thinking this, Amadeus bucked me neatly and quite completely off
him by way of a swan dive over his head.
    I missed the fence by millimeters and landed
on my hip and derriere. The mud, although making me less attractive
for my Christmas homecoming, no doubt saved my bones from
damage.
    Angel, of course, was horrified and chattered
away in concern and possibly even guilt (she'd pooh-poohed my
hard-hat as superfluous for the lesson) while she helped me up and
led me back to The Beast.
    I knew I had to get back on him and I would
have paid several hundred dollars not to. Because he was going to
do it again and that was as clear to me as the mud on my face.
    I looked at Angel and knew I'd have to quit
my job, change my name, and maybe have plastic