When I met Blue, he was being "tuned up" by a trainer in the greater Madras/Terrebonne/Redmond metroplex. Otto came from the same area. Someday, I would love to live in central Oregon, so any excuse to visit is more than welcome. And if nothing else, my horse shopping odyssey has allowed me to see a lot more of my adopted home—from Spokane to Port Orchard, from Pendleton to Prineville to Albany, I just love how much the landscape can change.
|Beautiful... but deadly.|
|There just isn't a good way to show how deep this hole is. Deep enough that they have to have signs warning you not to play fetch here.|
The day I went to try Blue was bright and clear, meaning I could see at least five volcanoes at any given time. How cool is that?!
I had the trainer ride him first so I could see his movement. He wings out with his back legs—didn't I hear some famous endurance person say that was good? Huh, this guy sure likes to lope. Oh, good, he's not afraid of the semi going by.
Then I rode him. OMG, he is walking fast. Easy. Easy. Easy. Whoa. OK, I am going to look like a total pansy if all we do is walk. I better show the trainer I know what I'm doing. Back? Baaaaaaaack? Good boy. Trot? Wheeeeee!!! OK, yes, you have the endurance trot.
Then I got down and looked him over up close. So skinny. Rain rot and what looks like a case of ringworm just clearing up. Scratches on his back heels. Overreach scars all over the front feet. Looks like I'll be buying bell boots. Teeth are… wow. That's not good.
Then I got back on. Does his temperament justify what I'm going to spend fixing those teeth? Can I feel him overreach? Uh-oh, golf cart approaching and—oh, crap, a bunny is about to dart out and there's a log to go over and is that a chainsaw starting up over there MAYBE I SHOULD BAIL OFF BEFORE HE HEADS FOR THE HILLS but wait, he's not reacting. Halleluiah! He's not reacting to any of it!
And that's how I ended up owning the worst set of teeth I have ever seen on a horse.
|How can an American mustang have such British teeth?|