Feeling Like Super Woman

If you tell me I can't do something, I will always prove you wrong. Nothing motivates me like someone who has hurt me deeply telling me how I am incapable of every goal and dream I have.

Over the past 5 months, I have earned money training horses that no one else would train and selling off the tack I don't need. I have shoveled more poop in days then most people do in months. I purchased a GMC Yukon with cash and I interviewed like a pro, landing a job that pays more then any other position I have ever worked before.

Alaric is fully broke; walk, trot, canter and started on jumping and I hope to show him next year. I work my butt off. I have set out to do everything I was told I would never do and I am slowly and steadily checking off my list and I am proud of what I am accomplishing.

Soon I will be on a work schedule where I will spend my mornings and days off with my daughter and I will work nights while she is sleeping. She sings her whole ABCs now and she can count to 15! I just purchased a whole new wardrobe for her. We see her sister on a regular basis. We are happy.

A New Waffle Is Needed

To quote an old post, the "Waffle Theory" isn't only about moving on, it is about accepting the imperfect waffle; throwing butter and syrup on it and enjoying every bite. But sometimes that waffle is too burnt and the bites you take don't taste so good and sometimes you make a mistake, use sour milk in the recipe and give yourself food poisoning. That is when it is time to give up on enjoying that imperfect waffle and make another; not because you want to, but because it is what is healthiest for you and the other people you share your waffle with.

My focus is not on the past and the many ways I've been wronged over these past 3 years. I am angry, but that will pass. I am moving on because the only way to go is forward. My focus is first on my daughter and what is best for her; second for myself, and third for the animals that also depend on me. We have all been left with nothing, but I am not one to curl up into a ball in defeat.

 Three days ago, we were left with $6 and no car as I packed up our things to leave. Today would have been day 7 of our 7 day eviction notice. Who evicts their own child and her mother in 7 days? I will never understand and I'm not sure that I will ever be able to forgive the total disregard for my child and her well being. Deep breath and move on...

 We are back at my parents' house, where we are safe and warm. I have secured a place for my horses to stay. Charm and hard work goes a long way because people remember you. Dogs and cats are also at my parents. I have taken out my state retirement and have picked up odd jobs to get us by and get a vehicle.

Now that we are safe and have things somewhat figured out for now, my thoughts go to another important person in my life, my daughter's sister and how might she be feeling and dealing with all of this change. I want to talk with her, but I don't know what to say and I don't know how to answer the questions she is going to ask. I want her to know that everything will be ok and that both my daughter and I love her and miss her.

I want her to know that we are going to stay in her life and we will see her every chance that we get. I want her to know that she is a beautiful, smart, wonderful little girl and despite the constant changes in her life she will always persevere. I want her to know that change is good, that it a chance to make things better. Most of all I want her to know that she is loved and that is something that will never change.

#newbeginnings #russelllanpher #rustylanpher #russelllanpheriii #russtylanpherstetsonmaine russell rusty lanpher iii stetson maine bangor maine buckshot maine

Tuesday is Garbage Day

I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've been doing a lot of cleaning. I am reducing the clutter around me because it seems to be effecting me and contributing to my stress. The relief of getting this done is helping me feel better too. Today is Tuesday, garbage day and every Tuesday I will plan on taking my emotional garbage out with the trash. Today I put my current insecurities out on the curb. Today I am confident, smart, and beautiful.

Sincere Appreciation

Last night while shopping, an older gentleman I've never met, smiled at me and said "Hi". He had kind eyes, eyes that reminded me of my grandfather, so I smiled back. This same gentleman stood in front of me in line at the checkout and when the total rang up on his milk and few other food items, he started counting out change. Everyone in the line behind me seemed to grumble. As he was counting, he realized he was 2 cents short. The cashier wouldn't let him take his items without paying the last 2 cents. The entire line grumbled. Automatically, I handed the man 2 cents and when he protested, I just smiled and told him he was doing me a favor by taking it, I have too many pennies weighing me down. He gave me the most sincere thank you and smile that I've ever received. It was nice to be appreciated. I have been in a good mood since and for now I'm going to think of the older gentleman as my guardian angel. Maybe he knew I needed appreciation, but knew I wouldn't accept it unless it was deserved. Not that giving someone a couple cents is some great deed, but it was just enough to help him out and in turn make my day better. Kind older gentleman, where ever you may be, you really did help me by taking those 2 pennies. More then you'll ever know.

5 Years Ago

January 16th has come and gone. This year I didn't even notice. Another year has passed, making it 5 years ago that I cradled Mister's head in my lap for hours, when he couldn't stand, waiting for the vet to euthanize him.

This year I didn't cry. I wrote no sad stories. I didn't feel my heart break all over again. That makes me feel guilty. How could I forget? How could I not wonder what life would be like had he lived? How could I not shed a single tear?

Mister was my world, my rock, my horse. When life seemed to be kicking my butt, he was there to carry me away. He understood me when no one else did. He was there when no one else was. He kept my secrets and inspired my dreams.

It sounds so silly to give so much credit to a horse. Most likely all he ever really knew was that I had carrots in my pocket and if I was crying that meant that he would have to get them himself or wait forever listening to me babble away and cry. Horses don't understand our words or why we are feeling the way we are feeling. They understand that a show of anger means to stay clear, that crying delays the treat giving, and that a laugh is a good thing. They get this from experience and body language. There is a human need to project ourselves onto our horses and believe that they have human qualities. It's a comforting thought that they would understand every word and yet, still keep all our secrets.

I once read somewhere that every horse person has a once in a lifetime horse. I believe Mister was mine. Mister was like an extension of myself and when he died, I felt like a part of me died with him. A part of me was just ripped away and sent on to heaven with him. It's a part of me that I'd like to have back. It was the part of me that knew everything would always be OK; the part of me that knew it was OK to dream, that nothing was impossible, and that a two-minute gallop could leave all my sadness and frustrations in the dust. I guess what I really lost with my horse was my connection to childhood, 5 years ago on January 16th... Rest in peace my sweet boy. I love and miss you daily, even if I don't always show it. You are always in the back of my mind.

Old Stories/Articles

I've started digging up some old articles and short stories from quite sometime ago. Some are posts from my old blogs that I decided to keep... Anyways, I hope that my one follower and anyone that might stumble across my abandoned blog enjoys them. :) I will try to post some new short stories soon.

My Pet Peeve- "Rescuing" Standardbreds From The Track (2008)

I am the daughter of a harness horse trainer. I have also been taking Standardbreds from the track and retraining them under saddle since I was 8 years old. My first riding horses were Standardbreds, I learned to jog harness horses, brush them, and bathe them. My passion for horses started with the harness horse and harness racing.

Someone saying that they rescued a Standardbred from the racetrack is my biggest pet peeve, because it is not true for harness horses as a whole. Not all Standardbreds are rescued from the racetrack. Rescue by definition means "to free or deliver from confinement, violence, danger, or evil".

Most of these harness horses receive better care than your average show horse. They have a set schedule for meals, stall cleaning, pasture time, and training. They get one day off a week. They are fully rubbed down after workouts; some have chiropractic, laser treatments, and massage appointments. Most of these harness horses get the best twice-yearly veterinary care and some of the most advanced care in veterinary science in the case of an injury or sickness. They get hoof trims every 6 weeks, they receive joint supplements, vitamins, regular worming, and sometimes other supplements based on the horse. Most have their own blankets, coolers, leg wraps, and boots. These horses are kept fit, taking an average of 3 months to get them in top shape before even going to their first race of the year after a short vacation.

Racing is their job and MANY enjoy it. To say that you rescued your Standardbred off the track is as ridiculous as saying you rescued a horse from the dressage ring or western pleasure. There are bad apples in every discipline, but for the most part the harness horse trainers are good horse-loving people that you do not have to rescue horses from. Over 90% of these harness horses are well taken care of year round.

You may have adopted them off the track, but they are not a rescue, unless you or someone else has stepped in to save them from abuse, neglect, or a greater evil. When you refer to every Standardbred as a rescue, it is an insult to every harness horse owner and trainer who take excellent care of their horses. Real harness horse trainers do take excellent care of their horses, no exceptions.

The Standardbred That Stands Beneath Me Part II: He's PrimeOfYourLife (2008)

I think it was a Wednesday eight years ago, when a big fancy rig pulled into our farm, with not even a days notice. Arriving from New York, Prime was spotless stepping off the trailer, beautiful shiny coat, big sad brown eyes. The former trainer shipped him wearing no wraps and a raggedy nylon halter. He was a big boy, quiet, with little personality, and no real need for contact with people. He never made a sound, didn't nicker, whinny, bang walls, or doors, or buckets at feeding time. He did everything like a robot, on a routine, and he had absolutely NO idea what treats were.

It wasn't until Saturday night, that I took notice of Prime having any personality at all. I had a show the next day with Mister and was making a big fuss over him. I had fed and watered all the horses myself that night, as my dad and grandmother were racing. Before starting to braid up my show horse, Mister, I made the decision to move him to his stall, directly across from Prime. I was braiding him up in his stall when I looked across and saw Prime peeking over his stall door and across the isle way at us. I was talking to Mister and Prime's ears were moving to catch every word I said. Every time I gave Mister another treat, Prime's bottom lip started flipping, like he was taking a treat too. I walked over and offered him a treat, but he wouldn't take it and went to the back corner of his stall. I went back to Mister's stall, stood up on a bucket, and kept on braiding Mister's mane. Prime moved back to his door, so he could get a better view of what I was doing to my horse. What a silly horse I thought.

The next morning bright and early wearing riding clothes under wind pants and a sweat shirt, I headed out to the barn to make some last finishing touches on Mister before leaving for the show. I walked into the barn and as I was pulling Mister out on cross ties, my father said, "You forgot to feed the new horse last night. You forgot his grain and his hay." Prime had never made a sound, never banged his bucket, all he did was flip his lip. Prime hadn't wanted a treat, he was asking me to feed him! I felt awful and as a habit grabbed some treats to go and apologize. I walked into Prime's stall, he was standing quietly in his corner as he had done since he got here, and I said "I'm sorry" and offered the treats. Just then Prime looked at me with his big sad brown eyes, and gently took his first treats.

Later on, a qualifier had been scheduled for Prime and the young colt we had in training. My father asked me to help him for the day and go to the track. Barely 13 years old, I unloaded the 16.2 hand gelding and led him to his stall in the paddock area. With me he was quiet as can be.

I helped lug water and get Prime's racing gear together. He was harnessed and hitched and the hired driver hopped into the cart. They forgot his head number as they headed out to the track. He was hell on four legs, wound up beyond recognition of the quiet horse I handled earlier. He attempted to take off pacing full throttle with the driver during the short warm up before the qualifier. The driver had all he could do to keep Prime somewhat under control.

The qualifier was ready to go and Prime was ready to go, when over the speakers came the request for Prime's trainer to put his head number on. The driver turned Prime around and headed the jogging direction. Prime came back around towards the paddock area ready to go and ticked off about the change of direction. My dad ran out to put his number on and barely had it on when Prime acted up and slammed him into the outer wall of the race track. People were now under the impression that Prime was a complete nut.

Turning him back around to the racing direction, the driver held on tight and had all he could do to keep Prime from taking off with him. Prime went on to win his qualifier and didn't want to stop to come back in. My father led him in from the track and put him on cross ties. Then 13 year old, 90-something pound me, took over helping to unharness and bath him, and then walked him out around the paddock area. When it was time to go, I led him out and helped load him. Prime was a little bit of a head case on the track then, but he never once over stepped his boundaries off the track.

Years later, it was August 2005 when Prime had a few slow races, and I was told to throw a saddle on him. I bridled Prime, led him to a paddock, and jumped on him bareback. I let him sit there for a minute getting used to my legs and having weight on his back. He just turned his head and looked at me, "What are you doing up there?". Then I asked for a walk and we walked around a bit. He did well, so I went in, grabbed my saddle, and saddled him up. I asked for a trot and got a pace, but I took it. Then my dad walked up, opened the gate, and told me to take him out on the track. I did. I walked and paced him around the track, with a few steps of trot. He was quiet and trustworthy right from the beginning.

Over the next week I rode him every day. He learned the difference between the pace and the trot, and that I wanted him to trot under saddle. He learned to walk and trot ground poles, and went for a ride or two with my sister riding Mister. Not even a week after he'd been started under saddle, my then 10 year old sister with limited horse experience, wanted to show. I already had a student that was showing Mister that day in the same classes, so sent Kayleigh with Prime and they placed in the top 5 in every class they entered. Prime was a champ, acted as if he'd been shown every day of his life. A few days later, Prime was entered to race at Windsor Fair and his newly started under saddle career also launched a winning streak racing.

The following year, Prime would be started in riding lessons and later he would be the one to fill the very big shoes left after Mister's passing. Prime has given many children their first rides, taken children to their first shows, and has been the star for children who had never before been able to say they knew a race horse in the local races. He's talented, loyal, honest, and trustworthy. He's PrimeOfYourLife.

The Standardbred That Stands Beneath Me Part I:The Graceful Art Of Bareback Riding (2008)

I was struggling not to scream "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!" and fall off clutching my inner thighs. That's what I was picturing; me, ungracefully falling off in a heap, clutching my inner thighs and wailing like a big baby, while Prime stood over me in complete disgust and amusement as he ruffled my hair and rolled me around like Alaric's big blue ball. Oh, what an embarrassment!!!

So, I was practicing the art of graceful bareback riding. Ya, right! I used to be a talented bareback rider. Walk, trot, canter, gallop, jumping, barrel racing, trail riding, bucking, rearing, you name it I rode it and I stayed on. I used to be able to post bareback, get into a jumping position and hold it as if I wasn't riding bareback at all. I had a great case of "velcro butt", except I didn't only stay on, I made it look easy and graceful. Unfortunately, not anymore!!!

Yesterday, I decided that I would be lazy while tacking up Prime and headed out with just his support boots and a bridle. I hadn't ridden bareback in at least a year. The old fool didn't know what to think when I hopped on him with no saddle and asked him to trot. He actually halted and turned his head around as if to say "Are you sure?". "Of course I'm sure" I mumbled under my breath, "I used to do this all the time". So off he trotted being extra cautious and slow as I just about slid off the left side of him at the corner of the ring. I caught myself on his whithers and giggling with embarrassment centered myself and corrected my legs and riding position.

Off we went again, and I tried to post. I could still post without stirrups, but man, the pain I was feeling in my legs is like nothing I've ever felt before. I was struggling not to scream "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!" and fall off clutching my inner thighs.

Though I pictured it, it didn't happen. I stayed on, I kept my posting trot, the pain in my thighs went away, riding bareback started to feel familiar again. I sat down, gave a scoop and Prime picked up a beautiful canter down the long side of the ring. One, Two, Three, Four strides, hit the corner and into a pace. Through the second corner and back into a canter down the other long side, except this time it was a diagonal, 4-beated canter that only a pacer can manage. Back to the posting trot, sit, scoop, and there we had the beautiful canter again.

A little more work on the canter and I was really feeling my legs and my stomach muscles. From Prime's back I opened the arena gate and we headed out for a short relaxing walk around the track before dinner. During our "cool down" ride, I began to think about the Standardbred that stood below me.

My Heels Pop Up. So What's The Big Deal? (2008)

Something I wrote back in 2008...

"Heels Down." I say it in every lesson, with every rider. I even say it to myself some rides. People often wonder why having your heels down is so important. Why do I get after these riders about their heels so much? Their heels are up, so what?

The ideal riding position is sitting with your ear, shoulder, hip and heel in a perfect vertical line. The stirrup should be placed at the ball of your foot just behind the little toe at the 5th metartarsal phyalgial joint. You should feel a slight pressure at your ankle with your heel down, you should not feel pain. Forcing your heel down at a severe angle, or letting it float up with most of your weight on the ball of your foot or your toe will throw off your riding position, your center of balance, and effect your general riding ability. Letting your weight fall down into your heels allows you to stay relaxed and lets your leg sit against your horse more comfortably, effectively and securely.

Also consider the fact that allowing your toe to point down, sets your foot in the perfect position to slip through the stirrup. When the foot slips through the stirrup, a rider will lose their balance and could possibly fall. Now, if you are not using safety stirrups your foot could become stuck and if you were to fall, you risk being dragged.

I would also like to point out that it is also now an FEI rule that competing rider must have their heels down.

Having your heels down is more than just looking pretty, it is a safety issue. Having your heels down helps set a proper riding position and is the foundation of what keeps you on!

Inexperienced riders often have difficulty keeping their heels down while riding because this is not a movement that occurs naturally in other activities. BUT it is something you can practice at home on a 2 inch board, standing with your legs apart and knees slightly bent as if you are riding. This helps train your muscles and tendons for proper riding and keeping heels down. Give it a try in between lessons!

This Is What It Is & I Appreciate My One Follower :)

I have seriously neglected my blog and in the process have lost nearly all of my followers. At the start, my blog was "Diary of a Mad Horse Woman" and I had well over 30 followers; who laughed, cheered, cried, and yelled with me. I had the comments to prove it and a few online stalkers too!

Following my filing for divorce, I deleted my original blog and started "The Second Waffle" blog and some of my followers joined me again. A year later, I deleted it, wanting to forget all that I'd been through. It makes it slightly harder to start over with everything written out in cyber space.

A few months later, I decided to take a different approach with my blogging and started "The Second Waffle" blog back up, mostly just posting short stories and articles I've written. See the "Waffle Theory" isn't only about moving on, it is about accepting the imperfect waffle; throwing butter and syrup on it and enjoying every bite.

Unfortunately, many don't want to read non-snarky, non-crazy, drama free writing. Let's face it, that's why you log on to read blogs. Everyone likes drama and twists and turns and sick ex-husbands. They want to read my blog and go "and I thought my life was bad". Well, unfortunately for you folks, I have removed all negative influences in my life and things are going good now and when they're not going good, I no longer have the urge to post it publically (I have my non-public diary for vent sessions). For those of you who do read my blog and still enjoy it, I thank you for sticking with me. I hope to share more stories, thoughts, and opinions. I look forward to your imput.

Aim For The Moon

I preformed a dressage test… In the dark… Without a horse.

When horse loving kids find themselves horseless, in an arena, it isn't uncommon to see them become their inner pony and kick up their heels. You might watch as the children complete circles of a well preformed trot and canter, and for a young dressage enthusiast, maybe a passage, piaffe, or extended trot. In a horseless arena with jumps, the young horse lovers compete over fences, complete with lead changes and looking for their next fence. I remember those days very well and have often, while teaching lessons, found myself trotting and cantering a dressage test for a student or cantering strides to work on timing for a fence. I always end laughing.

I've often wondered why an adult isn't allowed to find their inner pony and run wildly around the ring. Maybe it's because as a whole, horse people are already believed to be crazy and we don't need to add any additional reasons for people to believe it. Or maybe, it's because somewhere between being a horse-crazy child and becoming a horse-crazy adult, we let our dreams take a backseat to life.

I began thinking about this as I practiced flying lead changes down the centerline. I only vaguely remember my dreams from back then and know they have changed greatly. My dreams are more realistic and boring now. No, that's wrong, they are worse then realistic and boring, they are overly safe and littered with excuses as to why I'm not aiming higher. I've become more afraid of trying and failing than I am of barely trying at all and never accomplishing anything. I would never allow one of my students to do this, my expectations for them have always been higher, why am I allowing myself to do this? Just as I was thinking this, I tripped over my own foot and went into the dirt.

I had fallen. What is my rule? When you fall, unless you've hurt more then your pride, you dust yourself off, take a deep breath and get back on. I needed to follow my own advice. I needed to learn to lead by example again. I stood up, laughed at my clumsy self, found my inner wild pony, and galloped away, wondering what goals I would set for myself. If you aim for the moon and only make it halfway, you will still make it farther than if you had aimed for the backyard and made it. I've decided to aim for the moon and if I don't make it, that's OK.

Tribute To Nana- Published in November 2007 issue of "The Horses Maine"

Tribute To Nana- A True Horse Woman

Written By Melissa Beckwith & Published in the November 2007 issue of "The Horses Maine"

Heading into winter, Dorothy Beckwith's thorough care keeps the older horses at Beckwith Stables in excellent condition. Never have I seen them thin or uncomfortable, though I have seen her tending to them while having the flu, pneumonia, shingles, and a torn retina. Neither I, nor anyone else will ever persuade her to willingly get her butt back into the house and let one of us care for her boys, even just for one day. No doctor, no family member, not a single human being on earth, will ever keep her from her old horses, and her lifetime promise to them. She exhibit’s a dedication to her horses that we don’t see nearly enough of in this day and age.

Dorothy, known as Dot or Nana to everyone that comes here, loves horses. They have been part of her life since she was a young girl and a passion that has stayed with her. She may not ride anymore, and she doesn’t want to drive a horse, but she still likes to get up and smell the manure in the morning.

After jogging her regular 3 miles a day, followed by her aerobics in the morning, she heads out to the barn armed with carrots and cat food. Her arrival at the barn is announce long before she walks in the door, as 30 year old Maple thunders in from his paddock beside her house and waits eagerly at his stall door for his carrots and grooming. “The carrot lady is coming!”, “The carrot lady is coming!” is announced throughout the barn . She is greeted every morning by her impatient old horses whinnying for carrots and barn cats screaming for their meals. Dot feeds her three barn cats and then proceeds to groom and spoil her two elderly steeds.

Though in her late 70s, Dot pulls the 29 year old Standardbred gelding, Maple Way and 26 year old Standardbred stallion, Double Hill, out onto crossties and picks out their pastures and stalls. She brushes them, rubs them down as if they just had a workout, and cleans their feet. They are both rewarded with many carrots and an oat, bran, and salt mixture is dumped into their buckets to encourage them to drink more water. Their grains for later are filled and supplements added, their water is changed, and their free choice hay is wetted down, to keep it dust free.

When asked why she does this every morning, Dot replies, “They’ve earned it. Just because they aren’t working anymore, doesn’t mean you can just throw them out in a pasture and forget about them. They still need joint supplements, vitamins, and senior grain. They need to be brushed and have their feet done daily. They need clean bedding and fresh water and hay. They might need blankets in the winter and a fan in the summer, so be prepared to provide these for them. They need more care now, than they ever did before. When you get a horse, they are your responsibility to care for, for the remainder of their life. They gave you their heart and soul when they were young, you owe them at least this much.”

It's not about the money. What is a qualified riding instructor?

Recently, I received an inquiry about riding lessons that ended with me being told that I am too expensive because they can take lessons somewhere else for $15 and that place lets their child ride in sneakers so they wouldn't have to buy any new shoes to ride there.

One of my first students when I started teaching professionally on my own was a 9 year old girl who had developed severe fear issues related to horses because her previous instructor, who they went to based on the low price, was careless. In her first 6 lessons with her previous instructor, she had fallen 5 times, the last of which she was caught in a stirrup and dragged down the arena fence. This fall left bruises down her side and even worse, a fear of doing what she had always dreamed of; riding horses. Her first experiences with riding were horrific and should have never happened. They left her wanting to quit and if not for her mother's determination to make her daughter's dream of riding horses come true, despite her own fear of horses, this young girl would have never gotten back on a horse and her dreams of riding would have been tossed aside. I was recommended to her by a mother of another student and 2 years later her daughter was a confident and proud rider who had reached her goal and got to go over her first cross rail. Helping her get there was also one of my proudest moments.

In the State of Maine there is no licensing and no certification requirements. This means that anyone with access to a horse can call themselves a riding instructor and teach riding lessons. When looking for an instructor to teach your child, you want to look not so much at the price of lessons, but at the quality of the instructor you are paying and what exactly you are paying for. The saying "you get what you pay for" applies just as much in riding lessons as it does in most other cases. First of all you want to find a qualified instructor and then you want to look at what the cost of lessons actually covers for you child.

What is a "qualified" riding instructor?

Webster dictionary defines "qualified" as "fitted (as by training or experience) for a specific purpose"; competent."

My opinion is that a qualified instructor is someone who has the experience, knowledge, and understanding of the principles of riding and can effectively teach this to their students. A qualified instructor in my opinion has trained with various knowledgeable instructors, has extensive experience in what they are teaching (not necessarily showing), and preferably has taught previously under the supervision of an older, more experienced instructor.

I don't believe a qualified instructor has to be certified and I don't believe all certified instructors are qualified to teach riding; in fact there are several certifications that aren't geared towards riding instruction, but they are easier to obtain so instructors will get them and state they are certified instructors.

I also believe that there is a difference between a qualified instructor and a good qualified instructor. I have met many people who could ride beautifully and understood what they were doing and why, but couldn't relay it effectively to their students. A good qualified instructor can work with a variety of riders and horses and adapt their teaching methods to accommodate who they are working with. They help their students to understand what they should be doing and why. I have also met a number of poor riders, who knew what they should be doing and why and could effectively teach it, just couldn't do it themselves.

I'd also like to talk about responsibility because I believe it also comes into play when you are looking for a qualified instructor. A responsible instructor ideally has an insured program, safety stirrups, and requires helmets and appropriate foot wear. A responsible instructor should maintain a safe riding facility that fits it's purpose, and maintain their lesson horses in a safe condition for what they are doing. For example; a 20' round pen is not an ideal set-up for teaching a student to jump. You also don't want an over-weight, under conditioned horse out jumping with a student or a horse who hasn't had their feet done in four months out trotting around on long toes. Why? Because having a horse that is not in the condition to do what they are doing or not having the appropriate set-up for what you are doing, can get the rider hurt.

The insurance and the maintenance costs for the facility and horses alone will cause an instructor to have to charge a higher price.

When you pay $25-$40 for a responsible, qualified instructor, you are not necessarily paying for the higher quality of teaching (which you will receive with a qualified instructor), you are in most cases paying for the safety precautions that instructor takes to protect your child that the other lower priced instructor does not take. In most cases the responsible, qualified instructor is not even breaking even on teaching at that higher price because of the costs related to teaching riding safely.

Before you settle on an instructor based on price, please consider what you are paying for and consider the consequences of settling for a less safe and less qualified instructor for your child. Even if your child is not physically hurt in a bad riding experience, a bad riding experience caused by poor choice in an instructor can cause confidence and self-esteem to drop and cause them to give up a dream. A good riding experience can enhance a child's self-esteem and confidence, help them to become more outgoing, and help them to remain active and healthy. How much is a good, safe riding experience worth to you as a parent?
~Melissa

Rules Of The Road; Horse and Rider Have The Right Of Way

When I was 12 years old, while riding our horses, my cousin and I were forced out of the breakdown lane and into a huge muddy ditch by a driver who felt we had no right to be riding our horses on the road. He honked his horn, screamed at us, and it was either jump into the ditch or go through his windshield. Between the two of us we remembered his license plate number and when the local police department caught up to him, he claimed to have no idea that horses had the right of way, or any rights on the road at all.  
The unfortunate reality today is that while many people have horses and would like to enjoy riding their horses on trails, there are few trails that continue without the horse and rider having to cross a road or continue for a period of time down the road to get to the next trail. This wouldn't be nearly as unfortunate if motorists knew the Maine State laws pertaining to horses on the road and how to handle an encounter with a horse and rider or horse and cart.
 
By Maine State Law, equestrians, whether riding, driving, or leading their horse have the right of way on public roads; unless the road is marked otherwise. There are 4 simple rules for motorists to follow when encountering a horse and rider:
 
1. SLOW DOWN. Whether the road is posted for 25 or 45, slow down as much as you possibly can before passing the horse and rider. Even if the horse seems completely calm, they can be startled by something and get in your way. If you are speeding by, you are less likely to be able to stop before hitting them and the more force you hit them with, the more likely you are to kill the horse, the rider, yourself, and any passengers you might have. If you hit a horse and rider, that's a 1000lb animal with a person on it's back coming through your windshield and you as the driver of a motor vehicle would be liable.
 
2. MOVE OVER. Give the horse and rider as much space as possible for their safety and to protect your car from getting damage to the side if they should be startled and jump sideways. If you can't fit another car between you and that horse, you're within damage distance.
 
3. WATCH THE RIDER. Equestrians have hand signals, very similar to those of bicyclists and by law, motorists have to pay attention to them. We have turning signals and stopping signals, but one signal that most drivers don't recognize is the "slow down" signal. If a rider looks like they are dribbling an invisible basketball, they are telling you to slow down. This could mean they are riding a young horse, riding an unpredictable horse, that they have young riders with them, or simply that they feel you are going too fast. If a rider puts their hand up asking you to stop, do it. They could be having a problem with their horse and you going by could make it worse and endanger the rider, the horse, and yourself. Another signal you might see is a universal signal called "the bird" and it usually means you did something wrong.
 
4. NO HORN. A common mistake made by often well-meaning drivers is honking the horn to let riders know they are coming. This can startle the horse and cause them to spin around or bolt. This can also be considered against the law under Title 29A, Section 2055, where it states "An operator may not knowingly operate a motor vehicle in a manner to annoy, startle, harass or frighten an animal being ridden or driven on or near a public way."
 
Now I'll address the riders. A few years ago, I submitted a similar article to my local newspaper and not even a week after it was published I came across two teenage riders riding down a busy road, side by side, not paying any attention to traffic. Concerned for their safety, I pulled over to talk to them and they told me that according to the newspaper article that I wrote, they had the right of way which meant they could do anything on the road that they wanted to do. This is not true and thinking this way could get you hurt or killed.
 
Advice for riding on the road, in no particular order.
USE YOUR HEAD. Right of way does not mean you can do anything you want on the road. Keep in mind that you are riding an animal with a mind of it's own and that you are sharing the road with vehicles much larger than your horse. Doing something stupid on the road could get you or someone else hurt or killed. When it comes down to that, it doesn't matter who has the right of way or who was right or wrong; We need both equestrians and motorists to work together to keep everyone safe.
 
GOOD JUDGEMENT. If your horse is acting up and a car is coming, consider getting off your horse and leading them into a nearby driveway or a field. If you have a horse that regularly acts up or is known not to be road safe, keep them at home.
 
RIDE WITH TRAFFIC. Like bicyclists, equestrians are required to go with traffic.
 
PAY ATTENTION. Listen and watch for traffic. If you think you hear a car coming from behind, look over your shoulder. By doing this, you are letting the driver know that you know they are coming and that will usually keep them from honking their horn. Also be aware that motorists aren't always paying attention; they may be distracted by kids, text messaging, or talking on their cell phone. Be ready to get out of the way.
 
STAY ON THE SHOULDER OF THE ROAD. Your safest in the breakdown lane or on the shoulder and it gives cars more room to get around you.
 
KNOW AND USE HAND SIGNALS. If you don't know them, I recommend you ask your trainer or look them up online.
 
RIDE SINGLE FILE. Don't ride side by side. It makes you harder to miss if a car comes from around a corner or over a hill.
 
WEAR A HELMET. This is a personal choice, but it could save your life someday.
 
WEAR HIGHLY VISABLE CLOTHING. There are actually trail riding vests available online that are highly visible and have directions for passing motorists written on them. I would highly recommend this or any similar clothing if you are riding on the road.
 
CARRY A PEN AND PAPER. If a motorist doesn't respect you on the road; if they throw something at you, honk or yell at you, speed by you way too close, or ignore your hand signals, take down their license number and file a report. There are laws in place to help keep you safe while riding on the road, but law enforcement needs you help to keep those laws enforced. Something may not have happened this time, but by filing a report you might actually save another rider later on.
 
If you can avoid riding on the road, avoid it. Unfortunately, riding on the road isn't as safe as we'd like it to be.
For a complete list of laws regarding equestrians on the road, please visit www.legislature.maine.gov and go to Title 29A, Section 2055. Be safe and enjoy the warmer weather!

Melissa Beckwith
www.pleasantlakefarm.net

The Push I Needed

"Breathe, sit, leg on, and visualize a smooth consistent canter."

It wasn't smooth and it wasn't consistent, but we tried. I was coaching myself on Sharade again. Coaching myself wasn't an unusual event since Molly and her daughters sold their farm and moved to Florida nearly 2 years earlier. I used the excuse that affording regular lessons with someone I felt was worth my time and money was not in my budget, leaving me to continue on my own.

Sharade's attempt at a canter left much to be desired. At the walk and trot she was fun and could make anyone who knew how to post look good. Her canter on the other hand was an example of why many people believe the myth that Standardbreds can't canter. To this day I believe that this myth exists because of a combination of one of Sharade's ancestors and a trainer who finally threw their hands up in the air and said "I give up". Sharade can canter, but she does not canter very well.

I let out a deep sigh. "Let's try this again. Sit up, deep breath, leg on, keep contact, ride through, ride through, ride through." And there we had it, a decent canter for three and a half strides before it fell apart and turned into her pacey scramble.

"See you can canter like a normal horse, when we are working together on it," I laughed. Those three and a half strides were exhausting. It was so much work for not much canter. We worked on the canter for awhile longer and ending on a good note, a whole four strides, I put Sharade away for the night.

The following day, a student of mine, Rachel wanted to ride Sharade for her lesson. I agreed knowing that Rachel knew that if she rode Sharade it would only be a walk/trot lesson.

It was a good lesson and towards the end I allowed myself to get talked into letting them do some work over cross rails, which Sharade enjoyed and did fairly well at despite not having a nice canter. Rachel got into her two point position and guided Sharade down the center line towards the 18" cross rail I had set up. Sharade popped over it and continued trotting down the center line until Rachel gradually guided her to the right and back up the rail.

They went back down the center line and back over the cross rail. This time Sharade acted as though she wanted to canter away from the jump, but as instructed, Rachel kept her at a trot and turned her to the left and up the rail.

"Can I let her canter away from the next one?" Rachel asked. Usually I would have said no, but today something made me say "We can give it a try."

Rachel steered Sharade down the center line, preparing for the cross rail and Sharade's God awful canter. I remember almost changing my mind before they got there, then Sharade picked up her canter two strides before the cross rail. It was a decent canter with two equal strides and a good jump and then Rachel rode her away from the jump at the canter; One, two, three, four, five, six, seven strides and they transitioned to the trot without a single stride of awkward canter nor a single stride being paced.

Rachel had shown me up. She could get Sharade to canter and she could get Sharade to transition to the trot with no pacing in between. I had yet to accomplish this with Sharade.

Proud of my student, but shocked and a bit embarrassed, I emailed Pam at Hoof Pix Farm and asked when Babette Lena would be back. I would have to find a way to work regular lessons back into my budget.
Sincerely,
Melissa Beckwith

Not Today

It was as if I was in a dream. I was there and then I went flying and landed in a heap on the ground. A few years ago I would have bounced right back up, caught the horse, and got back on, but not today. I lay on the ground staring up at the sky as I contemplated getting up to catch the little pain in the butt that had just launched me. I was sore, but not broken and my breath was still with me, which isn’t often the case when you hit the ground like I had just done. The clouds formed shapes above my head on a blue background; a rabbit, a dog, a person jogging; and I stayed put, staring up at the fluffy characters above me. The arena gate was closed and Hilly was busy finding grass in the center of the ring. Dealing with him could wait a few moments.

Hilly wasn’t usually a bucker; he was just feeling good after a week off. Formally, my father’s race horse, Hilly had retired from harness racing the year before and I’d started him under saddle. I thought the plan was to find him riding home, so put hours of training time into him. Under saddle he could walk, trot, canter, and even hop over some cross rails if asked. Since my grandmother had decided she was keeping him as a pet, his training had become inconsistent. I took him out only when he became bored enough to start taking down his pasture fences and my Nana didn’t even like me doing that. She said he’d earned his retirement and that he did, but by the way he spent his day destroying things out of boredom, I’d come to believe he found retirement incredibly boring.

As the clouds drifted slowly away, the sun shone brighter and I closed my eyes and rested my arm across my forehead to cast a slight shadow across my face. For the first time in my life, I just wanted to stay on the ground where the horse put me and it wasn’t because I was hurt. With my eyes still closed, I listened to Hilly grazing, to his feet stomping and his tail swishing at flies. On the other side of the fence, I could hear the breeze blowing through the tall grass in the hayfield and for a moment I allowed myself to go back.

There was a time when my life revolved around horses and riding. I was a talent in progress, a hard worker, a fearless rider. I felt as if I knew it all and was ready to take on any challenge, any discipline, and any “problem horse” that came along. Falls, disappointments, and bad days never fazed me. Back then all I needed to fix any heartbreak was a trail ride, an hour of grooming my horse, or an hour of lying in a field while my horse grazed beside me. I thought about the times I had sat on Mister loose in the stall, while I read a book. I thought about how I used to skip school to go trail riding. I remembered how much I used to love competing and had enjoyed staying up until 1am braiding my horse, just to get up again at 5am to fix whatever they’d managed to undo. I thought about the multiple hours I spent researching stallions, watching videos, comparing photos, and planning for my dream foal that would someday grow up to help me reach my goals. Almost every goal, plan, and dream I’d had for myself was once based on horses. Somewhere between Mister’s death and life’s happenings, things had become different and my unfinished goals seemed more like failed dreams.

My dream foal was now a yearling and I’d just listed him for sale. I was no longer a fearless rider; in fact I had become somewhat of a timid rider, afraid to fall, but more afraid to get back on. I no longer competed, unless I had to school a horse for a student at a small show and I didn’t enjoy preparing the horses to show. I was proud of my students and proud of my program, but just emotionally drained. Though I had a barn full of horses to ride and a riding program that was steadily growing, I sometimes felt as though I was on the verge of quitting everything horses. I lay there contemplating getting up and just putting Hilly away. Maybe today would be the day I didn’t get back on; the day I quit riding.

Suddenly, whiskers brushed my right hand, interrupting my thoughts and making me smile. I sat up quickly, grabbing Hilly’s reins before he could head off to the other end of the arena. Standing up, I dusted sand off my breeches and fixed the reins around his neck. Going to Hilly’s left side, I took the reins in my left hand up by his whither and untwisted my stirrup. Putting my left foot in the stirrup, I brought myself up and swung my right leg over. “Jesus Christ, did you fall off?!” screeched Nana from across the barn yard, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, “I wish you’d just put him away and leave him alone!”

Smiling back at her, I said as much to myself as to her, “Not today. I think today, I’ll ride”.

Tomorrow You Should Wear Breeches

My alarm was going off, but instead of waking me, it just became part of my dream. The sound of my horse's feet hitting the ground in perfect four-beat rhythm soon turned to beep beep, beep beep, beep beep.

"Where is that beeping coming from?" I asked Mister as we galloped across the field. Stirring from my dream, I remembered and sat straight up in bed. It was 6am and a start to a new day at a new job working in trade for riding lessons with Molly. I hit my alarm, leapt out of bed, and pulled on a pair of wind pants and a T-shirt. I had my own chores in the barn to take care of before heading to Molly's barn at 7:30.

I felt as if it took me forever to get stalls cleaned. I had two horses to feed, turnout, and clean stalls for. One was my beautiful chestnut Morgan/Saddlebred cross gelding, Mister and the other, my equally handsome dark bay Standardbred gelding named Star. Mister at the age of 17, was completely sound and ready for anything. Star, at the age of 14, had chronic arthritis that gave him good days and bad days. During that time, he was having few more good days than bad and spent most of his time in a pasture or being ponied beside Mister. His sound riding days were limited.

Finished with my chores, I threw a few flakes of hay and a halter into my blue LL Bean backpack, saddled up Mister, and headed to Molly's barn. I was running later then I had planned and forgot to change into riding clothes before leaving.

Upon arriving at the barn, I untacked Mister, dumped out the hay in my backpack, and turned him loose in the small paddock that Molly had shown me the previous day. Molly was already in the indoor arena with a student and called out to me to come in, take a seat, and observe. Their were two lessons going on, one on each half of the arena. Molly stood in the front end of the arena with a whip, a girl on a lovely bay Dutch Warmblood worked around her on a circle at the trot. On the other end, Molly's oldest daughter, Alison lunged a young girl on a large draft cross.

I sat towards the center of the arena taking in as much of both lessons as I could at once. My attention would soon be directed only at the lesson Molly taught as she became louder and stricter, demanding that the rider ask the horse to gradually bend and stretch first to the outside of the circle and then to the inside. "Can you see how crooked he is?!" she half yelled.

At the time, I had no idea what she was talking about. "Look at what you are doing with your hands! Look at what you are doing to his neck! Keep him moving forward! He's falling to the outside. Leg, leg, outside leg!"

Instead of using outside leg, the rider started using the reins to guide the horse back into the circle and Molly reached up and grabbed the rein, startling the horse and rider and bringing them both into a tight circle. She leaned up towards the rider, the rein still in her hand. The tone of her voice was firm as she gave directions, but her voice was barely above a whisper. I still have no idea what she said. The rider went back out on the circle and this time Molly seemed pleased with how they were going. About 10 minutes later, both lessons were finished and attention was turned to me.

Molly lead me over to the large draft cross that had been doing the lunge lesson and introduced him as John. John was a very big, very friendly 3 year old Belgium/Paint cross gelding and I would be riding him today during a short lunge lesson. With the help of a mounting block, I mounted up and began adjusting the stirrups. "You wont be needing those during this lesson", Molly stated as she moved the mounting block and put John out on the circle at the end of the lunge line.

John's walk was large and swaying. I sat perfectly straight, hands by my sides, heels down, trying my hardest to look like I belonged here. Molly asked John for a trot. His trot was large and powerful. I suddenly regretted my choice of not changing into breeches and arriving in wind pants, as I began to slide. I fought my slippery pants and remained in the saddle at a less than graceful sitting trot. "Those pants aren't really the best for riding", Alison stated.

"I was in a hurry and forgot to change" I explained still concentrating heavily on staying on.

"Posting trot", Molly announced and by some miracle, despite my slippery wind pants, I managed a posting trot. Smiling, Molly brought John into a canter. Again, I stayed on despite my wind pants.

"Knees up", Molly demanded. My heart sank, was she trying to kill me? I looked towards her with a puzzled look. "Knees up", she repeated. I was sure I was going to die.

I brought my knees up, depending only on my balance and seat to stay on at the canter. Somehow, I survived my lunge lesson, not only counter-clockwise, but clockwise too.

"Tomorrow, you should wear breeches"

Quest For A Trainer Who Would Get Me

"You rode all the way here bareback?", Molly asked with a half smile. There we stood in front of the big white farm house on the tarred driveway at 8am in the morning. I was sitting on my gleaming and muscled up gelding, in jeans and sneakers, no helmet. All Mister wore was his brown bridle with a kimberwick. I imagine we must have been quite a sight. I had just finished my chores and disappointed in everything horse show related, threw a bridle on Mister and just rode. I didn't plan to end up here, I just saw her driveway and turned up. Somewhere there was a trainer that would understand me and considering she seemed to be the most misunderstood trainer in the area, maybe she was it.

It was the day before my sixteenth birthday, the day after not making the Maine Team for the Big E. 4H had never really been my thing anyway and my goals had never matched up with the leaders ideas of what they should be. While everyone else in our group were riding pleasure bred Quarter Horses and Appaloosas, looking picture perfect in Western or like an AQHA idea of what hunters are, I was proudly riding my Morgan/Saddlebred cross hunt seat, forward, on the bit, and with his head slightly higher than 4H liked it. I was not about to force my naturally high headed, forward moving horse, into a scene from an AQHA hunter show for a pleasure class. My scores were fantastic in Equitation, I hated showmanship, so it was a little weak, and my portfolio had been thrown together in 10 minutes and over-nighted two days before the deadline. When I was talked into going to tryouts, I didn't really want to go, but once they were done, I was upset that I didn't make the team.

I looked down, a bit embarrassed. "I didn't make the Maine Big E Team. The goals 4H has for me don't really fit. I was hoping that I might be able to work in trade for lessons with you and just rode up here to ask if that was a possibility?"

About a month earlier, I had officially met Molly when she was asked to do a saddle fitting at 4H horse camp. I pulled Mister out of his stall and brought him out with my saddle to be fitted. She liked him instantly, which wasn't a reaction I got often at 4H events. "He's very nicely put together", she remarked.

While every other horse had been put right back into their stall, I kept Mister out for awhile longer because he didn't like being in the stalls at the fairgrounds and would become very upset. Molly watched us for a moment and then said, "This horse has had some rough times in his life, but he is extremely happy with her. They have a good understanding of each other." There were many eyes that rolled and that comment was turned into a joke by a few 4H members later, but I decided it was one of the nicest things I'd ever heard at 4H camp.

The next thing I knew, Molly was showing me around everywhere. She had me turn Mister out in a small paddock in the back of the barn and told me that I could put him there everyday. She introduced me to all the horses. I was told to be there at 8am the following morning for a riding lesson and then we would go over my daily chores. I rode home looking forward to the next day.

Prime's First Treat

The muscles of a well conditioned race horse rippled under a translucent red/brown coat as he came down the ramp of the shipper's trailer. Everything about this horse was picture perfect; his conformation, his condition, the way he moved. They shipped him with no leg protection and a ratty halter, typical for a trainer not wanting to give up his position training a decent horse. The shipper handed him off and I gladly led him down the isle way to the waiting stall.

That day and the days following his arrival, this horse had no personality. It was as if we had a beautiful robot standing in a stall. He ate, he pooped, he stood emotionless, uninterested. He wasn't friendly, his eyes were dull, and he had no idea what a treat was.

It was a night that my father was racing and I had fed the horses. I stood on a bucket in Mister's stall braiding his mane and talking to him incessantly about nothing. We had a show the next morning and he had been clipped, bathed, and was now in the process of being braided. I was on my second braid, still babbling away when I had this feeling I was being watched. I looked up and across the isle way. There stood Prime at his stall door watching me with interest. As I talked, his ears moved. His soft brown eyes looked sad, but curious and he moved his lower lip as if he was eating.

I climbed down from my bucket and out of the stall. Approaching him with my hand flat, I offered Prime a treat. He ducked back into his stall and hid in the corner. Disappointed, I went back to braiding and talking to Mister. Prime came back to his stall door to watch and listen to me interact with Mister. He seemed fascinated. His ears flipped back and forth and he watched my every move. His lower lip flapped and his eyes brightened. This was my first glimpse at Prime being a real horse. I finished up the braiding, gave Mister a kiss on the nose, and offered Prime another treat before closing up the barn for the night. He refused the treat and went back to hiding in his stall.

The next morning, dressed in my show clothes with sweats on over them, I entered the barn and began loading my things in the horse trailer. I was on my second armload of stuff, when my father stopped me and gesturing towards Prime's stall said, "You forgot to feed that horse last night. Not only did you not give him his grain, you forgot to toss in his hay."

I felt horrible. Forgetting that Prime didn't eat treats, I grabbed a handful of peppermints by habit and entered his stall to apologize. There he stood in his corner dully munching on hay. I stroked his muscled up neck and scratched up by his mane. Prime turned and looked at me with his big brown eyes full of curiosity and I swear they brightened just then. I offered the treats in my hand and fidgeting with them with his lower lip for a moment, he took them from me. Prime had just eaten his very first treats.

"But I Still Loved Her", The Story of Sea Star

When I was eight years old I was talked into leasing my Standardbred mare, Skater out to her former half-owner to be bred. He wanted a foal out of her sired by Direct Scooter. Skater left in January of that year and didn't return until the end of August.

During this time, I started riding lessons with a family friend that rode Grand Prix level Dressage. I was too little and too inexperienced for her Grand Prix dressage horse, but her step-sons had an old camp pony that they never rode and so my riding lessons started on Sea Star.

Sea Star's head was too big, her back too long, and her legs too short, but she had the patience of a saint and more experience than you could ever imagine. Sea Star knew all her cues, did flying lead changes, put all her heart and soul into everything she did, and she loved kids. Sea Star was an ugly pony, but I loved her.

That spring, the family friend became too busy to teach lessons and I started riding lessons at another barn. I missed Sea Star, but enjoyed riding the school pony, Dutchess. Dutchess was sweet, but I still talked incessantly about Sea Star. Show season hit and with my horse out on lease and the family friend's step-sons not being very interested in the pony, I ended up bringing Sea Star home on a free lease about mid-summer. Sea Star did have some health problems and drank a lot of water and soaked her stall. I had to strip her stall and re-bed it everyday, but I still loved her.

I rode Sea Star everyday. I could tack her up and go without anyone's help. I rode her in the paddocks, in the hay field, on the 1/2 mile track. We walked, and trotted, and cantered. We went to horse shows and on the Saddle Up For St. Jude's Trail Ride. I loved that pony.

Sea Star stayed with us through the summer, the fall, the winter. I cleaned her stall and brushed her daily. Trudged through the snow with my dad to the barn and turned her out. Sea Star's health issues didn't end with the coming of winter. Her stall still had to be stripped everyday and she had to have two clean, ice free water buckets at all times. She required a little more time and work then some other ponies, but I still loved her.

The next spring, we took care of her coggins test and vaccines. While the vet pulled her blood for the coggins, her age came up. How old was Sea Star? Hemphill's had told the family friend she was 20, but when the vet checked her teeth, he whistled loudly, looked at me, and said "This is a very old pony you got here". He then went on to say that he was positive Sea Star was older than 35, but if he had to guess, he'd guess she was possibly in her early 40s. Sea Star was a very old pony, but I still loved her.

My own horse, Skater had her foal and I spent a lot of time with them, watching the young foal grow, but I still loved the old pony. I was riding Sea Star around the track and she decided that being an old reliable pony was getting boring and that the green grass looked nice. She jumped a banking, dove for grass, and I fell off, but looking up at her from the ground, I knew I still loved her. I took Sea Star to horse camp and for the first time since I'd had her, she turned up lame. I was disappointed and had to ride another horse there, but I still loved Sea Star.

I learned to braid and braided and bathed Sea Star myself. She looked silly and gave me pathetic looks, but stood forever and never put up a fight. We showed that summer and never won, but that was OK, I still loved Sea Star. I was planning to go to the St. Jude's Trail Ride again, but then the family friend called and soon after, came and got Sea Star.

I went to the St. Judes Trail Ride with a borrowed pony named Jackson, who acted like a complete ass and I cried for the first time out of frustration with a horse. I turned back early after being run into a tree and nearly "clothes lined" off. I wanted and missed Sea Star. The family friend was called and she told us that she had sold Sea Star back to Hemphill's. I skipped school and tagged along with my dad to Hemphill's to go see Sea Star. We got there and were told that Sea Star had died only a week before during the night. It broke my heart, but to this day I still love Sea Star.