We were late.

Er.

I was late.

My daughter was showing up to ride a horse whenever - that’s how a ride on a leased horse works. I had a scheduled time.

It’s funny though. I arrived at the time Megan said.

But my arrival time was inaccurate.

As such, Eddie, my steed had already been pulled from the paddock, groomed and tacked. (tacked means he was wearing his saddle and all of the other significant thingies and accoutrements that go with it.)

Eddie was waiting.

The other parent was waiting.

Even our substitute teacher was waiting.

NOTE though an adult, and though I knew and liked the person who would teach us, I was still disappointed about the teaching change. I’m super excited to ride with Megan next week. Megan runs things. You can’t get anything past her. Megan does not tolerate bullshit readily. Horseshit? That’s a whole other story to be told later.

Anyway.

I led Eddie into the arena. Unfortunately, there was no WWE style theme music as I entered. There should have been.

If there was it may have been this:

Or this:

I could work with either.

Though I am learning to ride ‘English style’, my fashion choices are going to be decidedly western.

My breeches are made of blue denim. My riding coat is the very finest of Chezzetcook Leather. My helmet? Well. It’s a skateboarding helmet. But I need one that looks like a cowboy hat. I also need the boots. I am so incredibly stoked to have an excuse to own a pair of real life cow boy boots.

In competition, riders lose points based on their attire. I plan on showing up at an English riding competition doing my best Sam Elliot imitation. Sure, the judges will deduct points for me for dressing improperly. I’ll deduct points from them for lack of imagination. And if they really complain? There will be plenty of poo for me to smear on their cars when I’m finished. But more on the poo later.

Once inside we got our stirrups in place, checked the belt around the belly / chest of the horse (the girth), one by one we led our mounts to the block in order to climb up and get into the saddle.

Note: I do not feel that I was ever ‘into’ the saddle. I was on it for certain, but it was neither like a wetsuit or a car. The experience was more like a teetertotter that went from side to side rather than from front to back. More on that soon.

Despite chomping at the bit, I went last. I’m always chomping at the bit to do new things. In horse terms, as a person, I need more ‘woah’ than ‘go’.

My turn.

I led Eddie baby (don’t call him Eddie baby) over to the block. There is an advantage in going third. I watched the other two moms struggle getting their feet into the stirrups. I watched as they awkwardly attempted to swing their right leg over the horse and get ‘into’ the saddle.

I was determined to execute this move with grace and athleticism.

Did it work?

Notsomuch.

Though I like to think that I moved with precision and expertise, I fumbled from the get go. Despite this, my idiot powers allowed me to notice my wobbles and expertly correct. Though an idiot, my years of mime and dance training allow me to dance on the edge of success and cat ass trophy for quite a while.

Once I was on his back Eddie snorted.

“Why the long face bud?” I questioned.

Actually, I made that joke many times. It was painful. Not for me. Nor Eddie. Everyone else? Ouch.

Me?

Very few shits to give about the pain I was inflicting on the world.

Eddie however?

He had a shit to give - a very large one in fact. At first there was a fart. I felt his whole belly move between my legs. It did not move a little bit. Eddie’s belly that is. The movement was pronounced. It was a swelling, full movement. Next? It moved even more, tensed up then with a gradual and even push, contracted.

Interesting.

That’s what pooping feels like externally.

Movement.

I’d never been ‘on’ a creature as it shat. This was another first.

What an intimate thing, being in physical contact with a creature while it shits. The experience was incredibly odd to me.

As for the barnies (official name for people who spend a lot of time in barns)

This was all normal. Never commented on. Nothing to see here.

It was remarkable just the same.

Sitting on a moving horse was new. Things shifted. Things flowed. Things? Eddie Baby shifted. Eddie Baby flowed.

I have balanced on many things. I love circus apparatus related to balance. I ride bikes and unicycles. I sit on surfboards that move with the waves. Though the slackline in my backyard is less used that it was, I can still get across it.

Sitting on a horse was nothing like any of these experiences. It was at once fluid and mechanical, variable and predictable. It was like sitting on a slightly tilting tilt-a-whirl and teeter totter that moved from side to side.

As a group, we set out for a walk around the ring.

Again, with this ring parade, I wanted WWE style music as mentioned above. Alas! There was none.

It was easier than I thought to steer. Through watching my daughter get super refined about steering a horse, the general, pull with the rain (?) and squeeze with the leg to get them ‘over’ part seemed pretty intuitive. Add in the ‘look where you want to go’ aspect of steering that is evident in driving a car, surfing a wave and riding a bike, the whole thing made sense.

With that in mind, I wanted to go faster. At times I felt like Jeremy Clarkson shouting ‘POWER!” Lacey, my wonderful teacher, who I forgot was a substitute and I was ready to follow to the edge of the earth by this time, had to several times remind me to slow down and not ask for more speed or Eddie baby would break into a trot.

Heh…

Pride filled me. I was going too fast.

Excellent.

I imagined myself cantering down the beach, bareback and shirtless. Eddie’s mane and my moustache blowing in the wind.

POWER! I thought loudly to myself and gave Eddie Baby a bit more of a squeeze with my heels. (that’s where you find the gas pedal on a horse)

“Halt” encouraged Lacey.

“FASTER” I thought.

“Steady”, encouraged Lacey.

Next, we’d take turns trotting down the long side of the arena.

Ah-ha! I thought, now’s my chance. Now, I’ll get to go faster.

(did I mention that I love going fast?)

When trotting, riders ‘post’ - that is they go up and down with the rhythm of the horse in order to… prevent hemorrhoid perhaps? Look like a whack-a-mole? Develop bum cakes? No idea really.

Either way, in my mind, I’m athletic. On top of that, I’m a dancer and a drummer and infinitely coordinated, this posting stuff will be easy.

I mean, you’re reading this foolsletter, I post a blog every day!

As it happens? They rhythm is not at all natural. It’s quite difficult to perform timed micro-squats with a 1500 pound flatulent turd factory between your legs.

Lacey ran with Eddie Baby. Eddie Baby trotted. I attempted to post. My daughter filmed the whole thing. It felt like we were moving moderately quickly.

And then I saw the video.

I was slow, out of synch with Eddie Baby and looked really awkward. It was as though the old man from ‘Up’ was riding a horse. I was hunched and stiff. When a good rider is riding, they look as though they are one with the horse. I looked like a tall stack of turds riding on a flat bed down a rutted country road. My moustache was not blowing in the wind.

I laughed at myself.

My god video is good for the ego.

You can watch it all as a saved Instagram story here

After the lesson was over, I treated Eddie Baby to a bit of candy and a good grooming.

Just as I went to clean out his hooves, Eddie responded in kind by spraying about two gallons of horse piss mere inches from my face.

Thanks bud, I thought wryly. Eddie Baby didn’t care if he wet me. I was calling him ‘Eddie Baby’. This was his version of revenge for me insulting him and hurting his back. If I were a horse, I would likely do the same.

Overall however?

I’m hooked.

As soon as I got off I wanted to go again.

I wanted to keep riding till it hurt.

I wanted to go full ‘boarder collie Jim’ on riding and play and play and play and play and play and…

You get the idea.

It’s like the old saying goes:

After a fun time on horseback, the only long face is on the horse.