The second or third year I owned Cherry (can't remember now, it was awhile ago), a friend taught me something that changed our relationship and started us down the path of becoming a real team. Ann had a young gelding, a sweetheart but very pushy on the ground. In an effort to fix this, she found trainer Monty Roberts. She followed his Join-Up method with her young horse and found that it worked wonders for his ground manners. She could get his respect and attention, even though he was still a silly young horse.
When Ann went out of town, she asked me to take care of her horse. She taught me Join-Up so that he would listen to me as well. It was amazing how well it worked. Cherry was laid up from a popped splint bone (the end of our disastrous jumping career), and when she was ready I was determined to try it out on her.
What I did was a very crude approximation of the method, but it worked! We’d been having horrible arguments over who was the leader of the “herd”, and after doing join-up every day for a week, those fights were history. I was the boss, and I was able to tell her so in a way she understood and respected. The darkness was slowly lifting, I was able to gain my horse’s respect. She no longer seemed to hate me as much, and I was warming up to her.
* I’m aware now that Monty Roberts is surrounded by accusations, controversy and scandal, but he taught me something valuable, and no matter who the man really is I will always be grateful for that. *
Our rides improved along with the ground manners. The bit issues were still there, but now she stopped, turned and moved laterally without much fuss. We began working on accepting contact and bending through the body.
We even went on a few campouts. The local Horseman's Association opened its arms to me when I got Cherry, and I’ve been a member ever since. We went to play days and campouts, trail rides and distance riding clinics. Everyone always loved Cherry b/c she was so cute and such a plucky little trail horse. They saw the best side of her, and we were able to put the screaming fights behind us.
I learned many things about Cherry during the first couple years. I learned that she was a food whore and would do anything for a treat. I learned that she was petrified of motorcycles and would leap off the trail n the side of the road to get away from them. I learned that although she was incredibly grumpy and ill-tempered, she didn’t try to get me off. Her bucks were easy to sit, she didn’t rear again, and she didn’t bolt. For a cranky, untrained horse, she was pretty safe.
Doing join-up was the turning point, though. I think the most important lesson I learned out of all that was that to have a successful relationship with my horse, I needed to be clear, consistent and communicate effectively to establish myself as the Boss Mare.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Early Years
I think the main trouble I had with Cherry in the first couple years I owned her was the fact that we hated each other. She obviously loathed me and I detested her. The only think keeping me from trying to get rid of her was the fact that this was my only horse, if I didn’t like her I didn’t get another. If I’d taken her on trial I’d have given her back.
Life was filled with pinned ears, yelling and four hour battles in the arena over something simple like stopping. I screamed at her and she screamed right back. Riding in the arena was misery. For a month I had to beat her through the gate with a crop b/c she flat out refused to enter. Her basic attitude towards me was, “Fuck you!” and she made that abundantly clear.
Our only solace was trail rides. The trail was the one place where we came to a grudging acceptance of one another and usually could get through a ride with only one or two small fights. Usually these fights were over what speed we would go. Most of the time, though, we could cruise down the trail as a rough semblance of a team.
I took lessons, many lessons, on Cherry. At least once a week she also had a training ride by either the barn owner Debby or her assistant Alice. I took a lesson once a week for about five years.
In the beginning, the only way to get a downward transition from the canter was to turn Cherry into the wall. She consistently held her head so high her ears were in my mouth, and had the huge underneck muscles to prove it. She alternately fussed with and avoided the bit, and scooted forward in this strange half-bolt every few strides.
It wasn’t much better on the ground either. Cherry would try to drag me to the grass, or bite at me as I tightened the girth. She stood tied just fine, but pawed in the cross-ties and danced if she though food might come. Leading her was a pain in the butt. She’d charge in front of me or fall behind, attempting to divert our walk towards the nearest patch of grass.
Looking back now, I can see just how ignorant we both were at building a partnership. Neither of us had any idea how be a team. I either rode dead broke horses that didn’t care what you did or rank horses that tried to scrape you off on the nearest tree. Cherry was neither of these, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
For her part, Cherry had never really been broke. She had extensive trail miles on her and could carry a rider over all sorts of terrain, but had never been taught to listen to the rider’s aides. She was smart enough to figure out what you wanted, and if she saw a point she’d go along with it. On the trail she was totally reliable b/c she saw a point to the ride. She wasn’t going to charge down a hill or leap over a creek, and would slow down when conditions called for it. But she never learned to trust her rider and to be obedient.
Our fights in the arena were due to lack of training on both our parts. I didn’t know how to train a horse, and Cherry was too confused and angry to want to listen to me. It didn’t help that both of us were terribly stubborn and hot tempered. Lessons helped with this a bit, and now I can see the huge delusion I worked under, that the horse had been trained when in fact she had not.
Only one of my trainers finally noticed this. She told me that my horse wasn’t being bad, she just didn’t get it. And she didn’t get it b/c nobody had ever taught her. We worked on really basic things like turning and stopping, moving away from the leg (instead of taking off like a bat out of hell), and relaxing the neck. Slowly, painfully slowly, Cherry developed some top line muscle. We were getting better.
All through this painful process we went out on the trail. The trail was where we were safe, far away from the arena and the frustrations that existed there.
We went out on some great rides, both alone and with friends. Cherry quickly became the “babysitter” trail horse, standing patiently in the mud while my friend’s arena baby TB danced at the edge.
One memorable ride, the TB was terrified of some bags of brush left by trail workers. As she snorted, pranced and blew, Cherry looked wildly around in the opposite direction, unable to locate the horse-eating monster. We jumped logs, we raced up hills, we rode until dark, we rode at night, we rode bareback, we rode on deer paths never meant for horses to traverse. And we had a blast.
I remember why I had wanted Cherry in the first place.
Life was filled with pinned ears, yelling and four hour battles in the arena over something simple like stopping. I screamed at her and she screamed right back. Riding in the arena was misery. For a month I had to beat her through the gate with a crop b/c she flat out refused to enter. Her basic attitude towards me was, “Fuck you!” and she made that abundantly clear.
Our only solace was trail rides. The trail was the one place where we came to a grudging acceptance of one another and usually could get through a ride with only one or two small fights. Usually these fights were over what speed we would go. Most of the time, though, we could cruise down the trail as a rough semblance of a team.
I took lessons, many lessons, on Cherry. At least once a week she also had a training ride by either the barn owner Debby or her assistant Alice. I took a lesson once a week for about five years.
In the beginning, the only way to get a downward transition from the canter was to turn Cherry into the wall. She consistently held her head so high her ears were in my mouth, and had the huge underneck muscles to prove it. She alternately fussed with and avoided the bit, and scooted forward in this strange half-bolt every few strides.
It wasn’t much better on the ground either. Cherry would try to drag me to the grass, or bite at me as I tightened the girth. She stood tied just fine, but pawed in the cross-ties and danced if she though food might come. Leading her was a pain in the butt. She’d charge in front of me or fall behind, attempting to divert our walk towards the nearest patch of grass.
Looking back now, I can see just how ignorant we both were at building a partnership. Neither of us had any idea how be a team. I either rode dead broke horses that didn’t care what you did or rank horses that tried to scrape you off on the nearest tree. Cherry was neither of these, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
For her part, Cherry had never really been broke. She had extensive trail miles on her and could carry a rider over all sorts of terrain, but had never been taught to listen to the rider’s aides. She was smart enough to figure out what you wanted, and if she saw a point she’d go along with it. On the trail she was totally reliable b/c she saw a point to the ride. She wasn’t going to charge down a hill or leap over a creek, and would slow down when conditions called for it. But she never learned to trust her rider and to be obedient.
Our fights in the arena were due to lack of training on both our parts. I didn’t know how to train a horse, and Cherry was too confused and angry to want to listen to me. It didn’t help that both of us were terribly stubborn and hot tempered. Lessons helped with this a bit, and now I can see the huge delusion I worked under, that the horse had been trained when in fact she had not.
Only one of my trainers finally noticed this. She told me that my horse wasn’t being bad, she just didn’t get it. And she didn’t get it b/c nobody had ever taught her. We worked on really basic things like turning and stopping, moving away from the leg (instead of taking off like a bat out of hell), and relaxing the neck. Slowly, painfully slowly, Cherry developed some top line muscle. We were getting better.
All through this painful process we went out on the trail. The trail was where we were safe, far away from the arena and the frustrations that existed there.
We went out on some great rides, both alone and with friends. Cherry quickly became the “babysitter” trail horse, standing patiently in the mud while my friend’s arena baby TB danced at the edge.
One memorable ride, the TB was terrified of some bags of brush left by trail workers. As she snorted, pranced and blew, Cherry looked wildly around in the opposite direction, unable to locate the horse-eating monster. We jumped logs, we raced up hills, we rode until dark, we rode at night, we rode bareback, we rode on deer paths never meant for horses to traverse. And we had a blast.
I remember why I had wanted Cherry in the first place.
Buying a Horse
I found Cherry advertised in a local livestock exchange newspaper that my dad brought home from one of his grape picking trips. No picture, just a short description that outlined the horse. “8 year old Arab-Appy mare, very cute, good on trails, $3500 OBO” or something like that. There were other possible horses listed as well, and I swallowed my fear of calling strangers on the phone and left messages with five horse owners. Only one called me back.
The ad for the Arab-Appy mare neglected to mention the horse’s height, and that was the first thing I asked about. My heart fell when the owner told me she was only 14.2 hands high. At age 12, I was nearly 5’9” and still growing. The horse sounded much too short for me, but I pressed on anyway. I was desperate for a horse, no matter how unsuitable.
We talked for more than an hour on the phone. The owner, Leslie, was a mom with a daughter about my age. She told me that Cherry was her trail horse and she’d been getting into low level endurance on her. The mare had never been lame or sick, she trailered, tied, bathed and stood for the vet. She was an excellent trail horse. Just what I was looking for, I thought.
When I asked Leslie why she was selling the horse, she told me that Cherry was getting to be too much for her to handle, and she didn’t want her daughter to handle her either. That should have been a huge red flag, but I was 12, and my motto was “No throw, we’re good to go!” Basically if the horse didn’t buck me off the second I mounted, it was broke and totally ride-able.
So we arranged a time for me to come out and see Cherry. Leslie was a bit shocked when I told her I needed to ask my dad first. She thought I was at least 16 if not in college. Apparently my phone voice was much more grown up that I was. Between her and my dad, they worked out a time we could come and try out the horse.
A few days later, me, my dad and my best horse-y friend Kate were driving to Lake County. Leslie and her family lived on a few acres on the edge of town and kept their horses on their property.
When we arrived, Leslie and her daughter Robin greeted us at the door. After formal introductions were made, we went to the barn.
Leslie picked up a halter bridle, took the bit attachment off and opened one of the stalls. She brought in a small, spotted and absolutely adorable mare. The horse had the slightly dishy face of an Arab and the intelligent eye of an Appaloosa. Her ears were pricked and she looked at me in an interested but rather detached way. Her mane was so short it stood straight up in a Mohawk, and her ratty tail didn’t even reach her hocks. The lack of mane and tail only added to her cute, baby-like appearance.
We cross tied her in the barn aisle and she stood fairly quietly to be brushed. When we got to saddling, it was obvious that she was very cold backed and girthy. Though she didn’t bite, she pinned her ears and made the ugliest dragon-face I’d ever seen a horse make. Leslie told me she always did that when saddled but was fine once you got on.
What came next should have been another red flag, but in my ignorance I missed it. Generally, you should have the seller put the horse through its paces before you get on. As Leslie was rather afraid of Cherry and didn’t want to ride her, she didn’t do this. We had Kate (a better rider than me) get on first.
Kate walked and trotted Cherry around the tiny area, I can’t remember now if she cantered or not. The arena was more of a large, oval pen actually, but it was the only enclosed place to ride. Cherry more or less did what she was asked, and Kate got off and handed the reins to me. She said that the horse was a bit hard to steer, alternately grabbing the bit and recoiling from its pressure. No matter, she didn’t toss Kate to the ground, so I wasn’t worried.
As soon as I got on, I felt like I didn’t have much control. This didn’t frighten so much as annoy me. Kate was right, the horse didn’t steer well, and seemed very unhappy about any type of contact with her mouth. After a few laps of trot around the arena, Cherry began sticking at the gate. Then, something happened that should have sent me home with a “Good luck selling that thing!”
Cherry refused to pass the gate and reared.
I had never been on a rearing horse and had no clue what was happening. The front end was going up, and I leaned forward and waited for it to go down again. When she came down, she stood very calmly, and the look on everyone’s face was priceless. It was one of “OMG, she reared! Holy shit!” I knew enough to know that rearing was bad, but I didn’t know how bad. So I kicked her forward and made her trot around the arena a few more times.
After the bad steering and the rearing episode, I was ready to call it a day and go home, horseless. Somehow Leslie talked me into taking Cherry out on the trail. I don’t know why I agreed, I didn’t want to die.
Robin got out her own horse, a Quarter Horse gelding, and an arthritic old pony. The pony was feeling good that day, and we set off through the orchard with me on Cherry, Robin on the QH and Kate on the pony. Once we got out of the orchard, we were in the middle of nowhere. It was heaven.
Cherry was much happier now, and I rode with a fairly loose rein as we passed under trees, went down a hill and approached a stream. Looking back, I suspect that Leslie and Robin planned the trail route in advance to show off Cherry’s trail skills. We forded a creek that was at least two feet deep, went through mud and crossed a bridge. It seemed like we covered all types of terrain from hills to flat, rocky to smooth. She did everything without blinking and eye, even reaching down to drink out of the creek.
The final maneuver, if you will, was a trip up “Suicide Hill”, so named due to the steep incline and height of the hill. We trotted to the base, and as soon as the trail started to go up, Cherry took off. As the horse pounded up the hill, I stood in my stirrups, clinging to her sparse mane.
It was like nothing I’d ever done before. The pounding hooves, the flying scenery, leaving Robin and Kate in the dust, it was the biggest rush of my life. When we reached the top Cherry stopped and waited for the others to catch up, calm as could be, blowing hard. I was giddy with excitement. This horse was a blast! Never mind the fact that she just took off without my asking, it was the most fun I'd ever had on a horse.
As we rode back to the barn, Kate suddenly laughed and called out, “Look at her tail!” Turning around, I saw that Cherry’s ratty little tail was stuck straight up in the air like a flag. I’d never seen a horse do that, carry their tail like a happy terrier. It was that moment that I thought, “I want this horse.”
My dad had waited behind at the house with Leslie, and came around while I untacked and fed Cherry a carrot. I don’t know if he worried about me at all when I went off down the trail on the “crazy horse”. It’s hard to tell if my dad worries at all. He’s always so laid back, and has the attitude that if you can get up and walk away, you’re fine.
I can’t remember details after that. There was my happy babbling about how much fun the trail ride was, there were serious discussions over the logistics of purchasing the horse, and there were far more opinions than I wanted to hear from Kate. In the end, we bought Cherry.
We found a vet to come out and do a pre-purchase exam (which she passed with flying colors), and then we haggled over the price. Leslie had been trying to sell Cherry for the better part of a year, and though several people had come out to look at her, none found her satisfactory. She was willing to drop the price for us, partly out of desperation to sell the horse and party b/c she couldn’t believe I still wanted Cherry after the rearing incident. She even threw in some of Cherry’s tack, the halter bridle, a breast collar and a blanket.
We agreed to a price of $2000, including trailering Cherry to her new home at Grizzly Peak Stables. As I sat at the barn waiting for Leslie and Cherry to arrive, I could barely contain my excitement. My friend Kendall was at the barn and waited with me.
We heard Cherry before we saw her. She was kicking the trailer vigorously as Leslie made the final turn down the hill to GPS. That boded well. Cherry was unloaded and immediately began sniffing and snorting at her new surroundings. She wasn’t especially afraid, just jazzed up to be at a new place.
I led her around, showed her off to anyone who was interested, and got a few pictures taken with Leslie before she left.
Cherry was my horse now.
The ad for the Arab-Appy mare neglected to mention the horse’s height, and that was the first thing I asked about. My heart fell when the owner told me she was only 14.2 hands high. At age 12, I was nearly 5’9” and still growing. The horse sounded much too short for me, but I pressed on anyway. I was desperate for a horse, no matter how unsuitable.
We talked for more than an hour on the phone. The owner, Leslie, was a mom with a daughter about my age. She told me that Cherry was her trail horse and she’d been getting into low level endurance on her. The mare had never been lame or sick, she trailered, tied, bathed and stood for the vet. She was an excellent trail horse. Just what I was looking for, I thought.
When I asked Leslie why she was selling the horse, she told me that Cherry was getting to be too much for her to handle, and she didn’t want her daughter to handle her either. That should have been a huge red flag, but I was 12, and my motto was “No throw, we’re good to go!” Basically if the horse didn’t buck me off the second I mounted, it was broke and totally ride-able.
So we arranged a time for me to come out and see Cherry. Leslie was a bit shocked when I told her I needed to ask my dad first. She thought I was at least 16 if not in college. Apparently my phone voice was much more grown up that I was. Between her and my dad, they worked out a time we could come and try out the horse.
A few days later, me, my dad and my best horse-y friend Kate were driving to Lake County. Leslie and her family lived on a few acres on the edge of town and kept their horses on their property.
When we arrived, Leslie and her daughter Robin greeted us at the door. After formal introductions were made, we went to the barn.
Leslie picked up a halter bridle, took the bit attachment off and opened one of the stalls. She brought in a small, spotted and absolutely adorable mare. The horse had the slightly dishy face of an Arab and the intelligent eye of an Appaloosa. Her ears were pricked and she looked at me in an interested but rather detached way. Her mane was so short it stood straight up in a Mohawk, and her ratty tail didn’t even reach her hocks. The lack of mane and tail only added to her cute, baby-like appearance.
We cross tied her in the barn aisle and she stood fairly quietly to be brushed. When we got to saddling, it was obvious that she was very cold backed and girthy. Though she didn’t bite, she pinned her ears and made the ugliest dragon-face I’d ever seen a horse make. Leslie told me she always did that when saddled but was fine once you got on.
What came next should have been another red flag, but in my ignorance I missed it. Generally, you should have the seller put the horse through its paces before you get on. As Leslie was rather afraid of Cherry and didn’t want to ride her, she didn’t do this. We had Kate (a better rider than me) get on first.
Kate walked and trotted Cherry around the tiny area, I can’t remember now if she cantered or not. The arena was more of a large, oval pen actually, but it was the only enclosed place to ride. Cherry more or less did what she was asked, and Kate got off and handed the reins to me. She said that the horse was a bit hard to steer, alternately grabbing the bit and recoiling from its pressure. No matter, she didn’t toss Kate to the ground, so I wasn’t worried.
As soon as I got on, I felt like I didn’t have much control. This didn’t frighten so much as annoy me. Kate was right, the horse didn’t steer well, and seemed very unhappy about any type of contact with her mouth. After a few laps of trot around the arena, Cherry began sticking at the gate. Then, something happened that should have sent me home with a “Good luck selling that thing!”
Cherry refused to pass the gate and reared.
I had never been on a rearing horse and had no clue what was happening. The front end was going up, and I leaned forward and waited for it to go down again. When she came down, she stood very calmly, and the look on everyone’s face was priceless. It was one of “OMG, she reared! Holy shit!” I knew enough to know that rearing was bad, but I didn’t know how bad. So I kicked her forward and made her trot around the arena a few more times.
After the bad steering and the rearing episode, I was ready to call it a day and go home, horseless. Somehow Leslie talked me into taking Cherry out on the trail. I don’t know why I agreed, I didn’t want to die.
Robin got out her own horse, a Quarter Horse gelding, and an arthritic old pony. The pony was feeling good that day, and we set off through the orchard with me on Cherry, Robin on the QH and Kate on the pony. Once we got out of the orchard, we were in the middle of nowhere. It was heaven.
Cherry was much happier now, and I rode with a fairly loose rein as we passed under trees, went down a hill and approached a stream. Looking back, I suspect that Leslie and Robin planned the trail route in advance to show off Cherry’s trail skills. We forded a creek that was at least two feet deep, went through mud and crossed a bridge. It seemed like we covered all types of terrain from hills to flat, rocky to smooth. She did everything without blinking and eye, even reaching down to drink out of the creek.
The final maneuver, if you will, was a trip up “Suicide Hill”, so named due to the steep incline and height of the hill. We trotted to the base, and as soon as the trail started to go up, Cherry took off. As the horse pounded up the hill, I stood in my stirrups, clinging to her sparse mane.
It was like nothing I’d ever done before. The pounding hooves, the flying scenery, leaving Robin and Kate in the dust, it was the biggest rush of my life. When we reached the top Cherry stopped and waited for the others to catch up, calm as could be, blowing hard. I was giddy with excitement. This horse was a blast! Never mind the fact that she just took off without my asking, it was the most fun I'd ever had on a horse.
As we rode back to the barn, Kate suddenly laughed and called out, “Look at her tail!” Turning around, I saw that Cherry’s ratty little tail was stuck straight up in the air like a flag. I’d never seen a horse do that, carry their tail like a happy terrier. It was that moment that I thought, “I want this horse.”
My dad had waited behind at the house with Leslie, and came around while I untacked and fed Cherry a carrot. I don’t know if he worried about me at all when I went off down the trail on the “crazy horse”. It’s hard to tell if my dad worries at all. He’s always so laid back, and has the attitude that if you can get up and walk away, you’re fine.
I can’t remember details after that. There was my happy babbling about how much fun the trail ride was, there were serious discussions over the logistics of purchasing the horse, and there were far more opinions than I wanted to hear from Kate. In the end, we bought Cherry.
We found a vet to come out and do a pre-purchase exam (which she passed with flying colors), and then we haggled over the price. Leslie had been trying to sell Cherry for the better part of a year, and though several people had come out to look at her, none found her satisfactory. She was willing to drop the price for us, partly out of desperation to sell the horse and party b/c she couldn’t believe I still wanted Cherry after the rearing incident. She even threw in some of Cherry’s tack, the halter bridle, a breast collar and a blanket.
We agreed to a price of $2000, including trailering Cherry to her new home at Grizzly Peak Stables. As I sat at the barn waiting for Leslie and Cherry to arrive, I could barely contain my excitement. My friend Kendall was at the barn and waited with me.
We heard Cherry before we saw her. She was kicking the trailer vigorously as Leslie made the final turn down the hill to GPS. That boded well. Cherry was unloaded and immediately began sniffing and snorting at her new surroundings. She wasn’t especially afraid, just jazzed up to be at a new place.
I led her around, showed her off to anyone who was interested, and got a few pictures taken with Leslie before she left.
Cherry was my horse now.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Name Change
For those of you who knew us in our high school or undergrad years, you'll remember my horse as Cherokee, not Cherry.
Why the change of name? I must admit to took me awhile to adjust, but when I did I can't go back. The horse will forever be Cherry to me.
When I brought Cherry to the riding school to start earning her keep as a part time lesson horse, there was already a horse named Cherokee at the barn. He was also used in lessons and horse camp, and of course he was spotted too.
He was a large gelding with a huge head, completely the opposite of my petite mare. The differences between them were vast, but try explaining that to a 6 year old child. They didn't look anything alike, but you can't say, "Get Cherokee. The spotted one." They're both spotted.
Another problem was the communal tack room with saddle racks and bridle hooks labeled with the horse's name. I could just see some kid trying to force my small bridle on the gelding's huge head while another asked why the gelding's large bridle was hanging off my mare's small face.
So Cherokee became Cherry, and I figured I could change it back when we left. At first I had trouble keeping the name straight, and probably confused several students before I was became consistent. Besides, the name suited the small, cute and spunky mare. "Cherry" just sounds so upbeat, doesn't it?
I never did change her name back though. After 2.5 years of calling her Cherry, I didn't think of her as Cherokee anymore. So when I moved to grad school, I introduced her as Cherry, and that's what everyone calls her.
Just in case you were wondering. :)
Why the change of name? I must admit to took me awhile to adjust, but when I did I can't go back. The horse will forever be Cherry to me.
When I brought Cherry to the riding school to start earning her keep as a part time lesson horse, there was already a horse named Cherokee at the barn. He was also used in lessons and horse camp, and of course he was spotted too.
He was a large gelding with a huge head, completely the opposite of my petite mare. The differences between them were vast, but try explaining that to a 6 year old child. They didn't look anything alike, but you can't say, "Get Cherokee. The spotted one." They're both spotted.
Another problem was the communal tack room with saddle racks and bridle hooks labeled with the horse's name. I could just see some kid trying to force my small bridle on the gelding's huge head while another asked why the gelding's large bridle was hanging off my mare's small face.
So Cherokee became Cherry, and I figured I could change it back when we left. At first I had trouble keeping the name straight, and probably confused several students before I was became consistent. Besides, the name suited the small, cute and spunky mare. "Cherry" just sounds so upbeat, doesn't it?
I never did change her name back though. After 2.5 years of calling her Cherry, I didn't think of her as Cherokee anymore. So when I moved to grad school, I introduced her as Cherry, and that's what everyone calls her.
Just in case you were wondering. :)
The Point
I'm starting this blog to chronicle my experiences as a horse owner. The horse in question is Cherry (aka Cherokee Sunrise), and I have owned her for 11 years.
I'll be detailing as much of our past as I can remember. Some events won't be exactly as they happened due to my memory and perspective.
I will also include the people involved in each story, and if you see yourself and want me to remove or rename you, please ask.
None of the writing contained on this blog is meant to harm or offend anyone, it is simply my life with my horse as I see it.
I'll be detailing as much of our past as I can remember. Some events won't be exactly as they happened due to my memory and perspective.
I will also include the people involved in each story, and if you see yourself and want me to remove or rename you, please ask.
None of the writing contained on this blog is meant to harm or offend anyone, it is simply my life with my horse as I see it.
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