Last summer after much searching, we found a perfect horse. He was a true gentleman with good manners around all things. He jumped, rode English and slowed down to a Western jog and neckreined when asked. He set up for showmanship. He loaded in the trailer and the vet loved him. He was over 20 but in good health. Until he died. Suddenly. The emergency vet could not save him and insisted we had not killed him, that it was his time.
Still it was horrible and traumatic. A month later we looked at a young, adorable miniature horse who was sweet as can be. She was three years old. Three years is still a puppy. But all we were thinking was this one is young, she will not die. And she hasn’t been messed up like so many older horses we looked at. She is a clean slate.
But soon I realized that at my age, with my kids also in the adolescent stage, that I was in over my head with the young horse. A clean slate yes- but no training in things like trailer loading and baths. And of course with a little bit of puppy-tude amid the general good nature.
I soon realized there was a reason I preferred horses headed towards their geriatric years. I was headed in that direction, too. I fantasize about sitting on porch swings in the sun not lunging teen-aged miniature horses.
I trained Katie, but she was 15. She was settled down and in her mature years- her 40s.
So mini will be heading off to a trainer and hopefully come back a well-trained girl. In the future, I will be only getting mature animals. Cute puppies? Forget it. Kittens, no way.
The Katie Chronicles 