A riding lesson for the marlboro man
Quarter horse mare Piñon is boosting my 8-year-old's confidence in the saddle. We're working here on riding every step, using our legs to communicate with the horse, and using an open rein—inviting the horse into the turn. That's a lot for a little guy to get!
I think C. would prefer to be riding out on the trail any day.
On the mesa last weekend, I watched speechless from astride my appaloosa as C. and Piñon swept past me up a wide, grassy expanse in a long-legged lope. Mare freewheeling beneath him, C.'s Wranglers were firmly planted in the saddle. He held the reins nonchalantly in one hand, shoulders back, shoulder blades down, chin up, knowing exactly where he was going.
Oh, and about my tendency to call the slowly fattening-up quarter horse "Penny".
I have been advised that under no uncertain terms is that her name. It is Piñon. (Pronounced with full Northern New Mexico inflection.)
My pint-sized boy is turning into the Marlboro man.
