Mistakes Were Made

    In the beginning of time, everything was a trial of error or success. Even in the time now, the 21st century, everything is still a trial of error or success. To put this in prospective, everyone, at every age, has messed up, done something wrong, or slipped. In every profession, every aspect, every field, mistakes are made. This is especially true for young children with little training and a boat load of do-it-yourself-kinda attitudes, and the lack of experience in certain situations. For a little girl and her horses, going beyond what she has learned can create a whole bunch of problems, and one very useful learning experience.

    I have always been one of those girls that is more in love with horses than anything else. From a young age, it has always been horses. I was never into sports, never into cars, or fashion, or even princesses and tea parties. It was always horses. I was overjoyed when one day in my third year of school I came home to see a giant 15 hand quarter horse and fat, 9 hand, Shetland pony grazing grass on my lawn. They had bought the quarter horse, but seeing how large she was, decided to take the pony also, which the previous owner had given for free in the deal. Jewels and Royal Spark became my life. Every day I would say goodbye before going to school, and getting off the bus they were the first to see me home.

Jewels was around twenty years old, and very gentle, but Royal Spark, or Sparkle, as we came to call her, was only eleven, and a spit fire at that. She was the laziest, fattest pony I had ever seen. But when you weren’t around her, her laziness turned into unending energy, she would run, kick, squeal, and attempt to get Jewels to play with her. But Jewels merely observed the spunky little pony with a quiet, mother-like calm, and waited for my next visit. Many days I climbed the fence to slip onto Jewel’s back, and just lay on her as she wandered around the pasture in search for better grazing. Because Jewels was so big, I was never able to really ride her because of my tiny stature compared to the height of her. Her saddle was much too big, my feet never touched the stirrups, and I could barely turn her head with my lack of strength. So I rode my spunky, yet lazy, pony. With an saddle from my uncle’s old pony, a brand new bridle, and some blankets my aunt had gifted me, I saddled up.

    Now, Sparkle was not the biggest fan of exercise when it wasn’t at her choosing. I would mount, gather the reins, and give her the signal to walk. She would act innocent, flicking her ears back to listen, but she wouldn’t go anywhere. She stood stock still. With a little help, I was able to get her to listen, and the fat little pony, with me astride, would waddle up and down my driveway time after time after time. Now this pony was fat, and I mean like as round as a house, “Hay belly.” was what the previous owner had called it. One day, by chance, I was late for the bus and in a rush, did not go out to see my horses before school. When I got home, a miniature version of Sparkle was standing by her side, running and jumping, and hiding under Jewels. The new foal was named Phoenix, for her way of surprising us, and she became a beloved part of the family.

    Sparkle never got out of her riding lessons due to her daughter, as me and the foal became fast friends, and she loved nothing else but when she got to go explore the world when we took her and her mother outside the pasture for lessons. Phoenix was an avid supporter of play, she would run, race the dogs, became the worlds’ greatest Houdini horse, and gathered more attitude than her mother could ever muster. But one day, my father decided to ride with me, and Jewels calmly conceded to be his mount, as I saddled up my pony and gave Phoenix a good rub before the ride. My dad hadn’t ridden in years, and to see him on a horse again was great, that he was riding with me was even better, I had someone to ride with. Now, being little, every kid thinks they can do better than they really can, and when my dad pushed my quarter horse into a canter, I thought I could keep up. I pushed Sparkle into a gallop, and Sparkle, seeing how Jewels was actually running, was only happy to oblige. Phoenix was happily gallopping along side us, but she was having a ball, squealing and kicking her heels up, which got her mother into feeling the joy too. Before I know it, my lazy little pony had the bit between her teeth, rocketing away, and suddenly came to a flying kick. My eyes widened as her heels went up, and I went over her head. I face-planted on the ground without a sound, never letting go of the reins, and got dragged a little ways before Sparkle came to a halt. I had suffered a bloody nose, some bruised ego, and a whole lot of blush as my father came over and scolded me for going too fast without knowing really how to. I wiped my nose with my sleeve, grumbled to myself, and Phoenix shoved her nose into my arm, and mounted my pony again. I was smart enough to praise her for stopping so quick when I fell, but decided that I would stay at a trot for the rest of the day.

    With that, I never did push my pony to go faster than I had been taught at that moment, and never did try to keep up with a much larger horse. I learned that no matter what, it is never the horses’ fault, but merely the riders’ lack of experience, or their own dumb pride. I learned that you have to get up, that it doesn’t matter what happens, you got to keep trying. I also learned the value of your own personal knowledge, and not getting yourself into situations you haven’t been taught how to deal with just yet, on purpose.