Almost a week into my stay at Time Out Farms, I got my first opportunity to sit on a horse. Jay, the horse trainer, was having a lesson and when that was done, he let me ride for ten minutes or so, just to see how I looked in the saddle.
And god, was it hard. The first time in a western saddle, the first time with the long, separated western reins, nervous because I felt I had to prove something. I must have looked awful, all over the place, no feel what so ever with the reins and the stirrups. No, the start wasn’t good.
And it didn’t continue much better either. The saddle made me feel out of balance and the roundpen (the round riding paddock with a high fence around) was so small. We trotted around in a circle, Zena and me, and I kept giving her the wrong signals. Jay had to tell me to have longer reins and be still with my hands and stop squeezing the horse with my legs. Partly, these mistakes were due to my English riding style schooling, but mostly it was just me doing a crappy job at showing my fifteen years of riding experience.
No, those first ten minutes of riding for Jay are nothing that I’m proud of. But he must have seen something he liked in me, despite my incredible sloppiness, because just a few days later he told me to ride Zena on the days when he wasn’t having lessons on her, just to get her into shape.
Katja Malmborg 
Moikka, kiva että olet päässyt hevosen selkään. Ja kiitti kaikista tarinoistasi fantastisen taitavalla englannin kielellä. Iso hali äiti