Gypsy, the Missouri fox trotter, who taught me a thing about gaited horses.
I have no idea how it happened. All I know is that I didn’t come off the horse. I do remember thinking, “Heels down, heels down. Don’t let your feet come out of the stirrups.”
I can’t say I remember pulling back on the reins, but apparently I did.
What I remember is being scared out of my wits as this horse sped across the pasture.
In actuality, I still had my wits about me.
It started as just walking and getting the horse, Gypsy, to settle down. When we got to an open field, my companions asked if I wanted to trot. Sure.
Off we go, except that Spirit, the lead horse, wasn’t going fast enough for Gypsy. The next thing I know, Gypsy is speeding across the field. I remember thinking, “Hmm, this feels like a canter.”
In hindsight, an odd thought, considering I should have been thinking, “Whoa!”
The speed was more like what I remember a gallop to be, but I was sitting down.
We crossed the field, headed toward trees, when the horse finally slowed, and I was able to walk her and then turn around, where I could hear shouts.
My companions had stopped, one being Gypsy’s owner, who reasoned that if she and the other rider stopped, Gypsy would not have as much incentive to continue the fast pace.
Maybe that’s what caused her to slow down several dozen horse lengths later; maybe she actually responded to me.
I have no idea how it happened. All I know is that I didn’t come off a speeding horse.
What a confidence boost, but not one I want to repeat any time soon.
Buying horses ain't like buying fish 