Riding Barranca Read Online Free PDF Page B

pottery—like a mini-museum. Ian seems like he will be the perfect family curator.
    I tell him that I would be willing to take El Chapo on trial, but what with hay, feed, shoeing, and vetting, the initial price is only part of the expense involved. Plus, I already have my hands full.
    â€œWhat do you need a miniature draft horse for?” Phil asks me later, and I have to respond—“Good question!”

    Not Ready to Go
Spurs of the Moment
    I decide to make the drive back to Amado to pick up El Chapo. No one else will be at the ranch, but Ian tells me which gatesto open, and I am confident about going alone with my two Standard Poodles, Bali and Cello.
    At the ranch, I halter El Chapo, leaving the dogs in the truck, as there is a vicious sounding Pit Bull barking behind the fence to the house. I have brought along a good supply of apples and carrots, and El Chapo is interested in the treats, but when it comes to the trailer, he only puts his two front feet in, then immediately backs out, repeating this stunt over and over.
    Barranca behaved the same way when Les Spath tried to load him in Massachusetts, and I knew I had to be patient and encouraging, backing him up when he refuses to enter. But it is not easy backing up a reluctant, hefty pony, not used to going in reverse. I try again to entice him, but like most ponies he is wily and stretches out his neck to get what he can without committing himself to the trailer. I am getting hot and take off my outer shirt. I don’t know why I imagined this would be easy. The other horses watch with interest from inside their corral. Do they think this is funny? Do they wonder where El Chapo is going? Or do they even care? Life in a bare paddock must be boring, and the other horses seem mildly entertained by our antics.
    I hate for this little guy to get the best of me, but I am running out of patience. Finally, he loads, all four feet, but instead of standing by him calmly, congratulating him as I should, I tie his lead rope and make a move to close the divider. He freaks out, pulling back as if his survival depends on it. Not a proper “unload.” Now I have one broken halter that I tie around his neck and El Chapo is unnerved. I try scooping out some pellets from the can in the shed and entice him with that, but to no avail.
    I even try placing a rope around the back of his butt, pulling him forward, but he ducks under, off to the side.I try a few encouraging taps on his rear to get him going, but he seems insensitive, confused, and I don’t want to upset him further. So, after two hours of effort, I give up. What else can I do at this point? In any case, I’m not sure if I want another difficult loader.
    I remember the old black groom, Pinky, who once tried to load my horse, Zucchero. The horse was reluctant, balking, so Pinky took a crop and jammed it up the horse’s ass. Zucchero sprang into the trailer. I am not about to imitate that move, but I’m sure if Les Spath was on hand, he would get El Chapo loaded.
    Later that day, Ian checks in by email, saying that he found out that El Chapo is not a Friesian but a twelve-year-old Welsh pony. Twelve is not old for this breed.
    My son’s New Forest pony lived to a ripe old age. When Ayler was in third grade, I bought Star for his birthday. When Ayler awoke, a used English saddle was sitting on the footboard of his bed, and his black pony was out in the corral. We had five years of glorious rides together. The two of us would often go down trails holding hands, or we’d gallop up dirt roads and explore new territory, sometimes getting chased by land owners.
What a time.
    But when Ayler went into eighth grade, his interest in team sports took over, so we gave Star away to a family with several little girls who loved this able yet aging pony. Later, we found out that after the girls had outgrown Star, the pony was returned to the original owner, who now had her own daughter, and Star was