The Start of a Bumpy Ride

 Before anyone asks, let me explain.  Wassachusetts is not a place or a thing – and forgive me those of you who are sticklers for grammar – but he is a who.  More accurately, he is a seven-year old, 16.2hh, bay Thoroughbred racetrack flunky.  At the tender age of five, this lovely athlete was at the end of his racing career having run eight times with one win (first place), one place (second place) and one show (third place).  Somehow Wassachusetts made his way from Massachusetts to a big hunter/jumper barn in Pennsylvania, where it would be explained to me that, while there wasn’t anything “wrong” with him, per se, he just didn’t “fit in with the program.”  More on that in a minute.

Meanwhile, I’d hit the wall and started to sink into the dregs of a mid-life crisis.   It had been nearly seven years since I’d quit my job at a Fortune 500 Company to stay at home to raise my kids and a year and a half since my freelance writing job with a regional magazine dissolved when the publication went belly up in the summer of 2009.  I laid down my pen in frustration after getting zero interest from magazine publishers I had queried for work and decided to hunker down and busy myself with childrearing while waiting – and hoping - for other opportunities to present themselves.

In a turn of events, I found myself shopping for a new horse last fall.  I have been riding almost all of my life.  My passion for and relationship with my horses has carried me through some of the best and darkest times of my life.

So, with a little talent and even less cash, I optimistically started searching for my next ride.  I was looking for something that not only fit my budget but that would be competitive at local horse shows.   Based on experience, I knew I’d be looking at an animal in a pretty plain wrapper, nothing fancy - imports from places like Germany or Holland, which are all the rage in the world of hunter/jumpers, would be out of the question – and with minimal training since, generally speaking, the more experience and training a horse has, the higher its price tag. 

My search soon became frustrating as I learned that to fill even that very basic order would cost me a tidy bundle and that the amount of cash I had to work with was laughable at best.

Luckily, I live in Pennsylvania: Land of the Retired Thoroughbred.  They were easy to come by and most would suit my budget but they were not necessarily the breed of choice for the hunter ring.

“Bah!”  I thought to myself, certain that I would unearth  a diamond in the rough that might not be fancy enough to do any rated shows (I’m not delusional, after all) but that would certainly pull a few decent ribbons at local shows.

After looking at a few horses, my search led me to a trainer who had a “cute” little Thoroughbred for sale.  When I arrived, the trainer led me through a barn brimming with gorgeous warmbloods with glossy coats and regal carriage.   I stood, star struck, as a groom led a muscled gray gelding down the barn aisle.  This horse had real presence and proudly sauntered down to his stall like a king.   A few of the impeccably dressed owners greeted me with smiles and friendly hellos as I was led to Walter’s stall, which, by the way, was situated in the last aisle in the very back corner of the barn. 

The washed up and rejected Walter peered at me through the bars of his stall. On the ground, he was polite and waited to be tacked up but was pretty devoid of any personality.  He wasn’t much of a ride.   His trot was jarring with his two front legs stabbing at the ground like two sewing machine needles. Jumping him was even less impressive as he lurched blindly over one fence and zigzagged down to the second fence which he launched himself over with room to spare leaving me clinging to the saddle with the tips of my knee caps.  He obviously didn’t have much training as a hunter, but I was anxious to buy something and start working towards horse showing.

A few dollars later, he was mine.  And so, our travels together have begun.