by Elizabeth Mcgill

Created on: December 07, 2008   Last Updated: June 25, 2009

The ownership of horses, and our subsequent riding trail business, started out more like funny business. Our first purchase was a one-year-old standard bred, named "Nibbler". At first he did not know he was a horse. His constant whinnying and huffing at being lonely, lead to the suggestion from my husband that I just take a sleeping bag outside to sleep with the poor dear. I suggested we get him some horsy company. My suggestion won out. Horses need the kinship of their own kind. This next step, in owning more than one horse is called "turning up the laughing gas".

Nibbler's first pasture mates were a mother and daughter team, Sheba and Star. Sheba, had "kid sense", meaning she would let a kid ride, helping the kid right itself, by bumping her hip from the side to keep him centered. She was our nanny horse. Star, on the other hand was a rubberneck, obstinate, crow-hopping horse. Like her mother, she did not mind the kids on her back, for a short time span. After time was up, she would stop, and lay back her ears and you could not kick start her up again. One day, I had to knee her sharply under the belly, as she was heading, saddle and all, for the ground. Soon, she learned the trick of holding her breath to make the saddle slide. I uexpectantly ended up riding her bareback one day.

Next, we added Fancy, a regal acting Tennessee walker. The first time I had to walk her down for my farrier, he tried to hide his laughter behind his hat. An hour later, he finally got to meet Fancy. We had to walk her down for all the years we owned her. It ended up being a good pre-warm up excercise to the actual riding. She was a good horse, and became a favorite among our riders.

A Quarter horse named Kitty put some serious hurting on me over the years. I started notching the saddle horn, one for her, one for me. I did not believe it until I had experienced it for myself; Quarter horses do the bunny hop better than bunnies. One day during some playing around at the barrels, my husband found himself sitting on her rump, still holding the reins, she was that fast at the start up. Experience taught us, barrels was about all she really loved to do.

Then there was Baby. Baby was the world's best Tennessee walker; she never broke her stride, sweet as sweet feed and a real lady's horse. She was the only horse my husband could not ride. She would stand there with a stony look on her long face, as if to say, "Insert quarter for ride". He would eventually get off her in disgust, mutter something

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