Elegante

What an adorable fellow (pix below). What a sad situation. And I ignored all the warning signs and nearly got myself killed.

Short version: We were in a 40-foot circular pen. Jason gave me a leg up. While I was still in mid-air, the (allegedly trained) horse became agitated. I leaned back and tried to steady him. The horse went from bad to worse and I decided to make an emergency dismount. Too late; the horse charged forward at a full gallop. Ok, change of plan: hang on for dear life, only one foot in the stirrup.

I have never been so terrified in my life. The horse was acting like he had never been ridden. I watched the iron bars of the pen fly by and thought, "If he bucks me off, I am going to break my skull."

We all know what happened next.

Miraculously, I hit the ground hard (instead of the bars), rolling underneath the iron fence and out of the pen...through a sticker patch. I have escaped with mere bruises and a few embedded stickers.

Long version: This fellow is mostly Andalusian (1/4 Tennessee Walking Horse) and 6 years old. He had a lovely face and let me love all over him. Andalusians are usually very expensive; he was a bargain (Red Flag #1). The ad said "excellent conformation." Uh, not true: He has sickle hocks, slightly splayed front legs, and a club foot (which can be corrected with corrective hoof trimming). The ad said he had basic pleasure riding training by professionals as well as "additional training by Michael Vermaas, former instructor by the Portugese Equestrian Federation and British Horse Society. Very suitable for Western or English pleasure riding with excellent dressage potential." This, as it turns out, was also not true. [UPDATE: I learned months later from Mr. Vermaas himself that he rode the horse 10 times and did not consider that training. Mr. Vermaas said he felt the horse needed daily riding for three months before he would be safe. ] Of course, the ad also said he was "16.5 hands." Since hands are measured in increments of 4 (inches), there is no such measurement: it goes 16, 16.1, 16.2, 16.3, 17.0... I'd say he was about 15.2.

The horse's dirty halter was too small and had rubbed hair off his nose and jaw. He was clearly afraid of his owner and got agitated every time he approached. The owner didn't seem unpleasant. He said he was out of town a lot: Kuwait, Geneva, Argentina. Jason asked what he did. He said, "I'm a dentist by trade." Yeah, a dentist arms dealer! A Google search revealed that he's a professor, works with the World Health Organization, and received the International Dentist of the Year Award.

The horse was sweet with me, however, and let me pick up his hooves and touch him all over. My heart went out to him. He needs to be rescued.

The owner didn't ride him first (Red Flag #2). OK, he was older and possibly unable. There was something vaguely uncommunicative as well (Red Flag #3). He mentioned that the horse was still 100 lbs. underweight: "He came back from the trainers really skinny." (Red Flag # 4: What kind of dressage trainer doesn't take decent care of the horse?) He dug up a bridle and girth in rather poor condition (Red Flag #5; I mean, the guy raises Andalusians, which can be $30,000 horses). The horse was reluctant to take the bit, but that's not incredibly unusual. We used my saddle and the horse seemed fine with the tacking-up process. "When was the last time he was ridden?" I asked. "Four weeks ago" (Red Flag #6).

At this point I considered all the red flags and realized that this was a textbook situation where you do not ride the horse. But he seemed sweet. And I'm an idiot.

We were a 40-foot circular pen. Jason gave me a leg up. While I was still in mid-air, the horse became agitated. I sat gently, leaned back and tried to steady him. We all thought, I guess, that I could calm him. The horse went from bad to worse and I decided to make an emergency dismount. That exact second, the horse charged forward at a full gallop. Ok, change of plan: hang on for dear life, only one foot in the stirrup.

I have never been so terrified in my life. The horse was acting like he had never been ridden, and if he bucked me off, I was likely going to break my skull on the iron bars of the round pen.

He bucked.

Miraculously, I hit the ground hard (instead of the bars), rolling underneath the iron fence and out of the pen...through a sticker patch. Jason was there instantly, ashen.

The first thing I said was, "Is my nose broken?" It hurt, but was fine. I guess when I roll it gets banged up since it sticks so darned far out there. I seemed to be all right.

The second thing I said was, "Did you get that on video?!" Of course there was no time. Darn.

The third thing I said was, "I'm covered in stickers." Jason started helping pick off the stickers. "Turn around," he said and then almost laughed. The entire back of my shirt was a mass of burrs. I took the darned shirt off. The sweet little horse looked at me. "It had to be a briar patch?" I grumbled at him. Horses are so stupid. He really blew a chance at a better life. Other than mild abrasions and some serious bruises and soreness, I escaped intact. But it could have been very bad. That's when I decided to quit considering options and stick with Jasper, who is at least safe.

Lesson learned from Elegante and Rolling Rock: You know, those horses for sale at fancy Hunter-Jumper barns may have fancy prices, too, but with trainers and lesson programs, those horses are generally safe. And the trainer rides them first!

Priced at $3,800