Hay is for horses

My daughter has started horseback riding, or should I say me and my daughter. Every Saturday my 20 kilos daughter tries to get the 600 kilos lazy beast to walk, trot or gallop, and no matter how much she squeezes her legs, the horse would rather just stand on its four feet. This is where we mothers come in the picture; we are expected to run along (where are the fathers???) and keep the bloody beast in movement. For some unexplainable reason I took the first time my favourites sneakers on, and now they are ruined, totally covered by horse shit. Trying to get the horse to run, I tried to kick it on the side, but the result was it just tried to kick me back. I changed the strategy and begun kicking it in the ass instead; the revenge of a horse is shitting on your sneakers. I have learned a lot since August.

I am still Pangloss and grateful for getting the exercise every Saturday morning. The thought of this whole horseback riding costing a fortune (one month costs as much as a whole season of gymnastics or handball, not to mention the equipment!) is somehow easier to accept when I am also burning calories for an hour.

But I would in fact like to start riding myself. I have occasionally been riding, though never really learned any technique. For me riding is just fun at a beach in Greece, Moroccan woods, Cuban tobacco fields or Dominican horse farm. I am not interested riding in an inside arena, this looks so boring. I want to get out in the woods, and a friend of mine found a perfect place for this. Now I just must find time for it, it is gonna give a break in my boring life. Yes, I have read my share of Chekhov and know that the most amazing things happen when a lady is riding alone in the forest!