Randy Old Man

Sahara's at least 21 - in horse years that makes him a very old man. He suffers the aches and pains of old age: his back legs are stiff, he can't bend his neck to the left without groaning, he needs built up shoes to keep standing.
For a month we've been gently stretching and flexing - already he's working a beautiful outline; he floats over the ground at a trot...
Last night, for a brief crazy moment, he forgot he was an old man - he fancied a night with the girls. He jumped the post and rails fence that separates the geldings' paddock from the mares...
Perhaps I should say that he tried to jump it...
This morning the grooms found him straddled - hindlegs with the geldings, forelegs with the mares, and his abdomen horribly bruised where the pole had cut into it till he was rescued.
"Silly old fellow," I told him.
He rubbed his head ruefully against me. He knows he's been rather silly. But there's a gleam in his eye which suggests that he might just try it again.

A Sara Crewe Moment

My favourite part of A Little Princess is when Sara Crewe, stripped of her fabulous riches and made to work as a servant, meets a street urchin less well off than herself. And even though Sara is hungry she gives her a roll of warm bread to eat.
At Pony Club last week Octavia and Alice fell off when their bold ponies bolted. This week only Octavia turned up in time for their lesson. I gave her a very safe pony - to help her regain her confidence. When Alice finally arrived, only Coco, the bolter was left to ride.
Octavia spoke up and said: "Give Alice my pony. She's more frightened than me. I'm frightened too but I will ride Coco."
When Coco bolted this week, the little Princess kept her seat.

Groundhog Day

Teaching pony club was always a challenge but now it's an impossible challenge. Because tonight I realised I'm repeating myself and that's always fatal with me. Tonight I looked at the nervous wee faces of the children, and the expectant faces of their parents and the stoic faces of the ponies and I thought "Groundhog Day Help!!"
Last year when I started to teach there were also nervous wee children and expectant parents and stoic ponies, but then I was fresh to the challenge. I encouraged the children, impressed the parents, and loved and petted the ponies.
But I'm not able to do it again.

What Doesn't Kill You #2

It's only the third week of pony club but tonight my absolute beginners were given an impossible challenge. The quiet kind horses they've been learning to trot were requisitioned for private lessons, leaving us the wily, experienced ponies.
I tried my best to explain that when it comes to horses small never means docile: ponies have mouths like iron bars: if you pull to stop, they will pull against you; tug of war with 200Kg.
The girls repeated walk halt transitions using their body weight and closing their thighs -
Then I let them loose on the obstacle course - paths to steer into, cones to bend round, three trotting poles in the middle...
Two feral cats growled in the dark - two ponies bolted bucking wildly - two girls held on for as long as they could -
Then green with fright, but with admirable pluck, they remouted and resumed the course.
Afterwards, they congratulated themselves: "Anne says we stayed on for almost as long as professional riders."

Flogging A Dead horse

There's a rule at the stable I ride at - if you want to queue-jump the livery waiting list you've got to allow your horse to be used in lessons.
"How many lessons?" I asked.
"Two lessons, three times a week. He'll be used for beginners - he's such a good horse..."
6 lessons with 6 beginners - pulling his mouth and and kicking his sides and sitting like bags of potatoes...
"I'll think about it," I said.
I started to make out a list: Those who wish to ride my horse:
a. will not jump him
b. no whips or spurs
3. must weigh less than 60kg
Then I thought of Black Beauty - valiant and noble and good. And treated so harshy by insensitive jockeys towards the end of his life.
I went back to the stables. I said: 'I'm sorry. The answer is No. "

Mother Knows Best

Maud, 11, had a dressage lesson while I schooled Waif in the paddock. Afterwards, we cooled off together.
She said, "I'm learning how to 'shoulder-in'. I'm finding it rather difficult..."
I gathered up Waif's reins and gave her a quick demonstration. I told her: "It's all to do with weight distribution..."
She was opened mouthed with admiration.
"He did it for you!" she said. "The first time you asked him, he did it!"
I had to laugh at her innocence for eleven thinks it knows everything these days and eleven's mother is just an old dear, useful only for driving eleven to riding lessons...
I said: "No need to look so shocked, darling..."

Ode to Pony Club Mothers

They're at it again, the Pony Club mums, telling me how to teach... Last night their kids rode off around the arena - a gentle stretching walk - after a lap I was planning to check the girth and the length of their leathers.
PC Mum pipes up: "Excuse me! Excuse me! Annabel's stirrups are not the same length."
"Yes I can see that," I said. "I'll adjust them when she rides back to me."
"But what if she falls off before that because her stirrups aren't the same length?" (The implication being that the fall will be my fault, the result of my negligence...)
Usually I try to be kind. And to reassure the pony club mums that their children are in safe hands. But last night I couldn't be bothered. I said: "If Annabel's not fit to sit on the pony she shouldn't be in this class. She should be on a lead rein."
Today I've decided to fight fire with fire. The following extract from An Essay on Criticism (1703) is to be pinned on the door to the tack room:
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
and drinking largely sobers us again.
Alexander Pope

Karma

Years ago when I was at school my sister's friend's sister was pony mad. She was only a little girl - at least ten years younger than me and too young to have a pony of her own so I used to lead her around on my pony when she called out to the house. I think I might even have taught her how to rise to the trot.
Now Ruby is a solicitor with three horses of her own, and a stable block and an arena. And last night at pilates she said to my sister: "Anne is welcome to come ride my horses any time she wants."

Comfort Zone

I swapped riders and ponies tonight - it was a disaster.
Jamie who always rides fast trotting Toby couldn't get lazy Munch to move.
"Stupid animal. Why won't he move?"
"Because you're hauling on the reins..."
All along he's been using Toby's reins to balance - he's not been riding at all but waterskiing...
Bella who rides lazy Munch was moved to fast trotting Toby.
"Don't kick," I told her. "Don't kick or he'll bolt. Think zen thoughts when you ride him." But she rides like a Hun and insisted on kicking and Toby kept bolting and even after she'd fallen off three times she was still kicking and kicking.
"I'm bored," complained Liz, an adored only child, who likes undivided attention and is not suited to group situations. Of course she was bored - she was riding (as always) our remote control pony, Duke, who walks and trots to my voice command. I did not dare swap her onto a real pony for I know she's not fit for the challenge and her father will sue if she falls.

True Grit

Rex took his first fall tonight over a very small jump - he lay prostrated in the arena - tears in his eyes, his face pale.
"What bit is broken?" I asked him.
Turned out there was nothing the matter - his pride was injured, not his neck.
I said, "That was a very small fall, Rex. Get up and get back on your pony. And try not to get left behind this time when he jumps-"
"You're not very kind, Mum," he told me.
I shrugged. "If you're not prepared to fall off, don't ride."
He nursed his injured pride until after the lesson and we were watching Tamara jump Skippy. Skippy swerved and Tamara fell off in to the wing pole, catching her leg on the sharp metal cup. She tore a large rip in her jodphurs and a nasty gash in her leg. She stood up laughing and rebuilt the jump. She caught Skippy and jumped back up on him, cantered round and back over the jump. Then she dismounted to get her leg seen to.
In a very small voice Rex admitted: "You're right, Mum, mine was a very small fall."

Pony Club Mum

I'd been warned about this special breed - tonight I got a chance to meet one.
It is my opinion that Precious Child rides with more confidence than ability but mum - who rides herself - insisted she was ready for pony club. Her child (aged 5) does not need a lead rein...
Tonight's class was riding without stirrups. The children walked without stirrups, then it was time to trot, one at a time with me running along side, ready to grab a leg when they wobble.
"And the rest of you stand there and watch."
Off we trotted - Frosty and me and wee Josh...
Precious Child's pony did not hear the instruction to wait, politely he trotted forward to follow us. After two strides Precious Child wobbled off on to the ground. The pony looked a bit shocked.
Then Pony Club mum had hysterics and started ranting about 'safety issues'.
So I bring a groom into the arena to walk beside Precious Child. Poor little thing, I am thinking - to have such an hysterical mum...
"Get him away from me," shrieks Precious Child. "I don't want him near me."
I have decided Precious Child and her Pony Club mum deserve each other. Next week I'm going to suggest Pony Club mum walk beside Precious Child - that should sort out the 'safety issue'.

Spook

Frosty is almost 30 years old and his eyesight is not very good. At dusk shadows frighten him and in every lesson he spooks at least once with his rider. His great age ensures that the furthest he moves is two steps to left or to right but it's often enough to unseat a child, and so far in three days of teaching I've had one child fall off and a couple of near misses. Children are starting to say: "Please don't make me ride Frosty!"
I have to repackage the pony.
So I'm going to explain to the children (and their parents) that the arena is an artifical environment. When they hack out dogs will bark at their ponies, plastic bags will flap in the wind, boy racers will roar past with loud tooting - and their ponies will spook.
To prepare the children for spooking they will each get a chance to ride Frosty. If they can sit Frosty spooking and it doesn't frighten them half to death then they're ready to hack.
If they fall off it'll be gentle for Frosty comes up only to my elbow.

Beginner's Luck

So yesterday was just lucky - today's pony club was a disaster. I suffered a shower of children who couldn't and wouldn't listen to a thing I was asking them to do. Who wanted only to trot wildly around the arena. Yet could not transition to walk without hauling on the reins. Who insisted they were ready for jumping when they could not rise to the trot. Who could not follow a simple instruction such as "Do not kick - your pony will bolt!" (and he did). Who disregarded such simple instructions as - "Please turn your head to the left if you're hoping to turn your pony to the left.... And close your right rein along the pony's neck" - preferring instead to haul on the left rein and beat the pony at the same time...
I learnt something valuable today.
The truly useless don't listen. This is why they are useless.

Falling

My first afternoon teaching pony club was an educational experience - both for me and for one of my students. Sweet little Maisie fell off Frosty when they were trotting together - I picked her up, dried her tears and gave her leg up back into the saddle. I clipped on the lead rein to give her a confidence boost. I said: "Do you know how many times you have to fall off before you become a good rider?" She shook her head. I said, "10." She started to smile. "So I only have to fall off another 9 times to be a good rider?"
I nodded.
She gathered up the reins, sat up straighter; I unclipped the lead rein; she said "Walk on Frosty."
Soon they were trotting again and she was riding much better.
I said: "That's really good trotting, Maisie."
She said: "Before, I was afraid to fall. Now I'm not afraid any more."

High Noon

Already I'm suffering from bullying in the workplace and my job has only begun. I've got this charming wee job at the stables teaching riding to pony club children - bliss except that one of the other instructors really really doesn't like me (for no particular reason that I can think of for I don't believe we have ever even engaged in conversation - she's not really a woman who talks - I say "Good Morning" and she grunts)
Anyway she's started to rubbish my riding - last night she criticised me loudly and openly - and a gang of pony club mothers were listening.
"You're cutting that corner!"
"You changed rein far too sharply!"
"She's on the wrong leg!"
"Don't play in her mouth!"
(I promise these are riding terms - nothing kinky!)
Bahrain is a very small island and guess what - it's all over the playground this morning - "That rude instructor that nobody likes.... She was shouting at the new instructor last night..."
"OMG! And what did the new instructor say to her? Did she attack or retreat?"
Well, the answer is neither just yet -
I have made an appointment to speak formally to the stable manager at 5 this afternoon to tell her frankly it's 'that woman' or me.
And if that fails I suppose there will have to be a gunfight in the jumping paddock...

Arms

Apologies to those of you who don't know the back of a horse from the front, and frankly couldn't care less. Here are two photographs taken this morning of me riding my darling Al Kateef. In the top shot my arms are as stiff as pokers and look at poor Al Kateef's head. I think he's saying, "Ouch! You're hurting my mouth!"
In the second photo my instructor Hussein has come into the arena to shout a bit at me - (and wave his long whip around)and just look at the difference in Al Kateef and myself - now there's a straight line from elbow to bit and we're in tune with each other

Team Tinsley

Once Beatrice learns to rise to the trot and Rex recovers his bottle I'm thinking I might teach them how to play polo - if only I could be sure they'd use the mallets to strike only the ball and not each other...

Patience is a Virtue

When I was a student I went inter-railing - first stop the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. I didn't care how much it cost, I wanted to see the dancing white stallions. Except the School closes during the summer. I sat down on the steps and I wept.
Now twenty four and a half years later the mountain has come to Mohammed.
At Bahrain's Agricutural Show we had, FOC, an hour long performance by the famous white dancing stallions.
And OMG it was stunning. Especially to a dressage freak like myself. I kept nudging the children and whispering - "Flying change" "Piaffe" "Passage"...
Even Nick was impressed with the Capriole - the vertical jump of a trained horse with a kick of the hind legs at the top of the jump. He said, "You wouldn't need to be standing behind a horse that kicks out like that."

What Doesn't Kill You

I was jumping Waif at the show. But Waif has only two gears. Gentle Waif who will stop at the very least provocation and Mad Waif who gallops and always jumps early and always jumps over the moon. Earlier this week he jumped from the canter pole 3 metres in front of the jump and I was up in the air for so long I had time to look down and to think 'Oh dear I shouldn't have done that' for of course when you look down that's exactly where you're heading - head first into the ground. My head still hurts from the thump. "We've four little children and I'm on the wrong side of 40 to be taking a risk on Waif," I told Nick. "Time to take up knitting?" said Nick. Easy for him to say. At the show Waif took the decision from me. He jumped the first three jumps as Gentle Waif, and knocked a pole. There was a big stretch to No. 4. Somewhere during the stretch Gentle Waif morphed into Mad Waif and I forgot that I'm an old dear with four little children dependent on me and Waif and myself stormed the rest of the jumps and when he jumped over the moon I jumped with him. It took about five hours for the adrenalin rush to die away.

So Proud

Those of you who are parents - do remember your first foetal photograph after the 12 week scan? A blurred jumble of black and white, yet you couldn't stop looking at it and proudly showing it to everybody? This video is the 'My daughter's first show' version of that first foetal photo...