PrintI can't remember my first time on a horse. I would have been very, very young, and it was probably a pony ride at the park. I do have a vague recollection of riding ponies tied to a hotwalker-like contraption at the local rec center in the town I grew up in; I couldn't have been more than 5 or 6. I remember liking it, a lot.
I can't remember my first ride on my first horse, Cheerio, either, but I can remember lots of great rides. He was a wonderful grade paint-y looking fellow of undetermined age (old) and undeniable sainthood. I remember deciding one day with some riding friends that I wanted to learn to vault, so they longed him for me while I climbed all over the poor creature. He never once took advantage of the oh-so-easy option of trampling my stupid preteen self to bits.
He wasn't the first horse I ever showed—that honor belonged to a school horse named Corian, a grey mare with horrendous stringhalt. I took her to the USDF Youth Team Championships—ordinarily a wonderful show, but this one was a bit of a trainwreck—and after jumping out of the ring in Intro A, I earned a 39 percent in Intro B. You too, kiddies, can come a long, long way.
I do remember my first ride on Beau, one of the world's most perfect Thoroughbreds. His real name was Stressful Prince (No Distress—Donut Princess/Donut King; it could have been worse). He was anything but stressful and a real prince. He had a neck like iron but a canter like butter, and while he absolutely did dump me in the dirt on several occasions, I learned a lot.
My first warmblood came after that, a horse I stole from my mother. Nicholas was a giant Trakehener. Nick embodied all the stereotypes about warmbloods—big, dumb and unhelpful. Nick never rose to the occasion. Nick made me earn every minute. But Nick never got me in trouble, and Nick brought me, however badly, to FEI. I don't remember my first FEI test, but I can tell you that it was fairly cataclysmic.
The horses since then I have very vivid memories of. Billy, of course. That magic man. Having given Nick back to my mom (that lucky girl), I went to college horseless, which was fun for about 10 minutes. We made a deal—keep good grades my first semester, and we'd make a Germany trip. We arrived in Frankfurt, drove to Warendorf and arrived around 3. It was bitterly cold, and my mom was exhausted, but our wonderful agent said I could go see a few horses that night if I was up for it. So off we went.
And the first horse was Billy.
He is so, SO beautiful, even today at 18. A supermodel among mere mortals. I couldn't sit to save my life, I didn't necessarily have control, and it wasn't pretty. But I loved him. LOVED him from the moment I met him. It wasn't always sunshine and butterflies through our time together, but he is responsible for nearly all of my good qualities as a rider. He is the horse against whom I judge all horses. (...and men. Perhaps why I've been single so long?)
Our first ride in competition was at the New Jersey state fairgrounds, and Lendon Gray had to lead us in-hand in front of the judge's box a few times, as the judge sat in a two-horse trailer. Billy will walk right onto a trailer, but can't stand to be near them. He's a little odd.
