Crops and Whips and Spurs, Oh My!
Crops, whips, and spurs are just a few of the “artificial aids” a rider uses to help communicate with the horse. Since I’m not a big fan of “manners”, Mom always carries a whip when she leads me. She’ll hold it up and say, “No shenanigans, Meenster. Don’t make mommy use the whip.” I checked it out and thought, “Ooooh, I’m shivering in my hooves,” and immediately leaped ahead of her.
Yikes! I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover. That scrawny bugger was hiding quite a set of choppers. In a flash it whipped forward and nipped my butt. Mom tucked The Whip back under her arm and said, “Manners! You know how to walk nicely to the paddock.” Keeping a sharp eye on the stick, I did walk quietly the rest of the way—that day.
I couldn’t figure The Whip out at all. It lived in the barn with us, but it never ate, drank, or moved—until Mom carried it. Then it never missed the target—namely my backside—if I ever stepped out of line.
Little by little I lost my fear of The Whip and decided it was time to remind Mom that I’m a Morgan, descended from a long line of fearless, bold leaders. That day, when Mom opened the paddock gate, I blasted past her, whirled, and faced her defiantly. As she stepped toward me, I reared up and pawed like my famous stallion father. SWOOOSH! CRACK! Yowee! The Whip wasn’t sleeping on the job that day.
I decided I’d taken just about enough from that Whip and planned my revenge. One day, Mom left it near my paddock. I watched it all day and it must have been napping because it never moved or uttered a sound. Finally I launched my attack. I snuck up on it, clamped my teeth on its skinny little body, and dragged it into the paddock. I gnashed it and smashed it. I bashed it and trashed it until it lay there limp and broken.
I pranced around it proudly, head high, neck arched. “Take that stupid Whip! I guess you won’t be stinging me anymore!”
When it was time to bring me back to my stall, Mom spotted The Whip lying there looking pathetic. I thought she’d be upset, but she laughed and said, “Well, I guess you showed The Whip who was boss.” She picked it up and we returned to the barn. I behaved perfectly even though I knew The Whip had lost its power.
Would you believe Mom had it tucked under her arm the next day? She had wrapped a duct tape bandage on it and even though it was bent and looked kind of sad and tired, I had a feeling it might still have some life left in it. Hmmmm, should I assume it was as good as new, critically injured, or behave and not worry about it? What’s a Meenster to do?
I decided to be just a little bit naughty to see if it could muster up a response. I didn’t slow down when Mom said, “Pony steps, Meenster!” Instead I picked up a trot. The Whip instantly flicked out and nipped my rump. Wow! That Whip can really take a licking and keep on ticking. It looks like I’ve met my match.
Like millions of youngsters, Nancy Di Fabbio was infatuated with horses and never gave up dreaming that one day she’d be riding one of her own. She eventually realized her dreams and got her first horse, followed quickly by her second, third, fourth and finally fifth. Passionate about sharing her love for this amazing animal, she’s written Saddle Up! – And Live Your Dream, a comprehensive how-to for the budding equestrian which will be released this fall. She also writes a children’s column about the exploits of her herd, but the stories are informative, funny and touching enough to appeal to everyone. You can share their adventures on TheExaminerNews.com website under the heading: NEIGH-borhood Tales
Adam has worked in the local news industry for the past two decades in Westchester County and the broader Hudson Valley. Read more from Adam’s author bio here.