Frazz and the Exploding Pony

So much to write—so little time.

When the Gin set comes to visit, all of the family together, Frazz cannot touch the horses.  This is because he does not want his mother’s head to explode.  Or her eyes either.  Or her nose, which has actually happened.  Thus, we had to wait till she was long gone before we hustled Frazz down to the barn and started playing horses.  On Friday, we joined Jedda in her long walk down the driveway to the barn, Frazz astride bareback, me walking shotgun with the waistband of his pants firmly in my grip – just in case.  With a horse, as I have said, “just in case” is sort of more the rule than the exception.  On Friday, all was peaceful, and we got horse hair all over ourselves.  YAY!!

But on Saturday came the real adventure: our neighbor, the Big S, a real horseman who rides in shows and wears very romantic tall boots and has three Arab horses, also has a true and lovely pony.  He also happens to be an excellent sort of neighbor, the kind who, when you call and say, “I have a short person coming to visit,” will immediately plan a pony adventure.  And so, on Saturday morning, off we went in our most solid shoes to the barn of the Big S.

You know all that stuff about Man Against Nature?  Well, this is Kid Meets Pony.  The pony is a little mare named Stormy is who beee-ewtiful and sweet natured, except to horses—most of whom she hates.  In that way, she is just like Sophie.  I’d buy a ticket for a meeting between those two, and I wouldn’t be betting on Sophie, either.

I’m not sure what it was that amazed the Frazz so much.  Perhaps a glimpse of the cat, Findis, who manages to end up ten feet in the air up in the rafters?

But there is work to be done down on the ground, and so the Frazz sets himself to learn How to Prepare Equus for Riding.  First, the brushing.  It was amazing to me to look down on a rump from above while doing this.  And to tell the truth, I was more than a little envious of her trim and athletic figure.  I’m not kidding.  I really was.

Out in the arena.  The boost-into-the-saddle moment.  I remember my first BITSM – eight years old and finally getting a RIDING LESSON for my birthday.  (We were in LA, so long ago that cowboys were actually still to be found there, and people with horses could afford enough ground to keep a nice sized outdoor arena for riding.)  The teacher threw me up into the saddle and told me to stick.  I stuck, but when that horse shifted his weight, I was pretty sure the saddle was slipping off and I was gonna die.

Frazz is close enough to the ground, he can actually tell where it is from horseback.  Still, it takes two guys to get his feet into the proper stirrup and him settled in the saddle.  The very, very small cute saddle.

Is this child worried?  

Stormy has the loveliest tail.  The fact that the Big S actually brushes his horses makes it even better.  Here’s a little lesson about horse tails: it’s not like horses have hair just shooting out the end of the spine (never really thought about it, didja?).  The spine extends beyond the hind quarters in a flexible, flesh covered “dock” that’s about twelve to sixteen (I’m guessing here) inches long.  The tail is made up of hairs that grow out of the full length of the dock.  Different parts of the dock can grow different colors of hair – the way part of the skin of the pony grows black hair and another part white. Stormy is so well kept, her tail blows out behind her like silk.

G led Stormy around and around the arena, and she was a total lady the ENTIRE time.  Until . . . 

See her head?  She how she’s looking off to the side?  Well about two seconds after this shot was taken – from far away since I put the long lens on the camera which was probably a big mistake – about two seconds later, as I said, Story momentarily lost her mind.  

Up came the front end, straight into a rear – which turned into pony-launched-into-the-air, then pony-spinning-and-jumping around.  We still don’t know why it happened.  Was there a badger in the weeds?  A wolf trotting across the road?

Whatever it was, it happened so dang fast – and not in slow motion, either.  You know how people say that times slows down when something awful happens?  Well, not for me.  The thing happens really, really fast and I’m the one who slows down.

You don’t want to run toward a freaking out horse.  But I think I did, while all the time, G is pulling her head around with the lead yelling, “WHOA!!!  WHOA!!!!” and the Big S, who had slipped into the barn for a shorter rope, ran out yelling, “GRAB THE KID!!! GRAB THE KID!!” Which was hard to do  since the back end of the pony kept spinning out of  grabbing position.

And all of this time (all fifteen seconds of it), while my mind was imagining moves far beyond the moment (mothers should be GREAT at chess): Frazz flying off, getting stepped on – during this whole long ordeal I say, Frazz is STICKING TO THE SADDLE LIKE A BURR.  His feet did not come out of the stirrups.  His hands left imprints on the leather of the horn.  The look on his face was set and focussed.  Even when G finally got his hands on Frazz, he couldn’t pry him off the pony.

Then there was quiet.  Stormy wasn’t about to tell us what had just happened.  Frazz himself suffered a little shock at the sudden violence of the thing—but—but—but—even though he wasn’t eager to get back on, Frazz let himself be dropped back into the saddle – and for the next hour, had the rest of a very pleasant adventure.

Here you see a face that isn’t quite so innocent of the world as it had been five minutes before.  But look how brave – to believe that we could keep him safe.  To get back up there again.  That’s real courage.

And the Big S is so danged great with kids.  He just talks to them straight across, like they’re older than they really are and he’s younger than he really is.  The man is a gem.

Frazz and the Little C (or K, I don’t know which) who brought carrots in case anybody was hungry.  And this was the beginning of the second adventure: riding in the cart.

Here we see Frazz, not so sure this is going to be fun.  But look at that classy pony.  Behind her is a pony cart.  If it had two wheels and a seat only for one person, you’d call it a sulky – evidently because people who drive single seaters obviously want to be alone.  But no sulky for Stormy – she likes company.  I have to apologize – out of the 400 pictures I took of this charming arrangement, I only included about twenty here.  

Did I mention how steady and dependable the Big S is?  The kind of driver you can really trust?  Yeah, there’s a reason why I didn’t.

The Frazz, loosening up here.  With carrot.  Pony still classy.

During someone else’s turn in the cart, Frazz and C do a serious tomato exchange.

Yes.  Driving in a cart.

Oh, you say.  ANOTHER shot of this rig.  But LOOK WHO’S DRIVING!!!!

A FAR more serious driver than Big S.  Note the concentration in the face, the deft and sensitive hands.  That cute little girl seems really, really impressed.

Yeah.  She does, doesn’t she?

Ahem.  Eyes on the road.

And that’s the end.  The end of the great adventure.  A  great time was had by all.  Except maybe by Stormy, who got very, very tired of trotting in circles.  We finally packed the Frazz off so I could wash the evidence out of his clothes before his mother got a nose full of it, blowing kisses at Stormy’s kind and patient family.  Who sent me home (do NOT look at me – just at the good stuff) with my arms full of goodies.  I entitle this shot: what it’s like to live in my neighborhood.  (The hair doesn’t count.)