Lucky Girl

Oslo and Me.

I told my husband I was going to write about him in my blog. And in choosing to write about my horse, I write about my husband. Oslo ended a long search for "my" horse. I have been riding horses for about 36 years. The first pony I owned was Peanut.

Peanut and me, he with a dapper Goose feather in his crown.

 I bought him for a dollar, and as the adage goes "You get what you pay for". I got a lot for my dollar's worth. I got a feisty little bucking machine in black and white who I loved unconditionally. My sister and her friends received hours of entertainment. They would sit on the top of the hill at the neighbor's barn and watch me cross the creek in the valley, a distant round speck. Then they would watch my pony take off in a dead run, nose high in the air, in preparation for the next step in the dance. Buckbuckbuck- boing boing boing... off I'd go, and the pony would turn on his heels and run right back across the creek and up back up the valley to his stall. I would walk back, catch him, repeat. Sometimes I would make it up to the top on the other side of the valley- to the neighbor's barn, and the older kids. Usually not. But, as weeks turned into months, I got better at staying on the pony's broad back during  buckfest. At this point, it was less amusing for my sister and her friends. This prompted her to bring my saddle with her when she rode her horse up the hill after school, leaving me without a saddle. Again, back to the buck and chase. Eventually, I learned to stay on, even bareback, and the fun was gone for both sister, and pony. I don't think it ever occurred to me that falling off several times a day was unusual. I had, after all, watched my sister learn to ride her horse, Frosty, and it seemed that being tossed off was part of the deal.

Third place in my very first show. I was so nervous I cried before the class.

Peanut was the last horse I ever chose for myself. When I grew out of his tidy size, I went on to a series of hand-me-downs from my sister, castoffs from my instructor, green polo prospects, and during college and vet school, horses no one else dared to ride.

Frosty and I finishing Cross Country at the local Horse Trials, Redding CT. circa 1979

Frosty was the champion of all tricks designed to cause passenger ejection, with maiming and dismemberment optional. I sometimes wonder why no adult stepped in and had him made into Alpo. I think we were more casual about bodily harm back then.
By the time I started looking for a horse for "me", I somehow had acquired two mares, Samantha and Peaches and made them suitable mounts for my children.
My friend, Kara, found Oslo for me. She called and said there was a horse that had been donated to a foal rescue for a fundraiser. They were selling him to raise money to save more foals, and it sounded like something I might be interested in. The rescue would be taking him to the Equine Affaire in Columbus to find a buyer.
I couldn't get there until the penultimate day of the extravaganza. I thought he'd already be sold, but the rescue was concerned about finding him a good match. He had some "challenges" and the bulk of the inquiries were from young riders and their trainers. The rescue felt he needed someone with some experience. A facbook friend wrote yesterday that "experience" is just another word for "mistakes". And, that would be me! I don't know how I was so certain that Oslo was my horse, I just was. And, I'm head over heels for the guy. This is why this is a story about my husband. He's okay with that. Even when Oslo is naughty ( and we've had some days that were real doozies!) he makes me happy. I love the man I married, and he knows it enough to not be jealous of  my horse. How lucky am I?

Oslo and I working on small circles.

Here is what I know about Oslo; he is 16.3hh ( for non-horsey types, that means he is 5'6 at the top of his shoulder). He weighs about 1350 lbs. He is classified as dark brown, which means he is black, but fades to a dapple brown in the summer sun. He is an American Warmblood. This means he is a mutt. His heritage is both of cold blood breeding (like a draft horse, think Budweiser) and a hot blood breed ( think Kentucky Derby). This makes him large, with big bones, but also athletic. He has an amazing tail, thick and long, and he is a bit insecure still.
Here is what I think I know about Oslo; he was pushed too fast too young, and developed splints (usually a concussive injury in young horses that causes a bony knob on the "splint bones"- small bones in the leg). When something is difficult for him, he turns into a volcano. I think this was an effective intimidation technique that quickly got him out of work.  And eventually donated, to be purchased by me. I think because of his potential volatility, he was worked exclusively in an arena, which caused him to be bored, frustrated, and more volatile. I was told he would not jump- he's now jumping. He had no idea about trail riding, but does so with genuine joy now. He is athletic and brave, flashy and fun, and very attached to me. I think my husband is too....Lucky Girl.

We're starting to get some extension!