Among horses
So far, I do not think I really have written anything about my precious little horse, who is not mine at all because she belongs to the riding school where I take lessons once a week. But anyway, now it is time to mention Chilla. The horse's name is Chilla. She is whitish grey, well, mostly white, looking a bit like Tony, but smaller and not half as grumpy. Do not get me wrong, I loved Tony, he was my favorite horse for at least seven years, perhaps he still is, but he is dead, and I have to move on. Then it was Chilla.
I rode her on Tuesday, the last time before the summer vacation. And she was her sweet little self, as always. But afterwards, when I unsaddled her and was about to find a more or less clean bucket and a sponge to get rid of her sweat, two girls came up Chilla. Well, actually, only one was too confident, the other was just waiting outside and looked like she did not like to be there. The confident one started looking at Chilla's back, and obviously coming to the same conclusion as I had some mintes ago; she needed to be cleaned. The girl asked me if I was going to clean the horse and I said yes,as soon as I find a bucket and a sponge. And then I went to look for those two things. As I started to clean a bucket and fill it with water, the girl also found a bucket and started pouring water in it (without cleaning it.) I must have looked at her because she suddenly said that she was going to "sponge" Chilla. Why? Why could not I do it? The riding teacher had said so. That was probably because the riding teacher did not know that I was going to do it, and since I had ridden her, I saw no reason why cleaning her was not my responsibility. I found the first sponge, so I got back to Chilla first, except that the other girl came running after me, without bucket, only to block my way. At that moment one of the other people from the same riding course as me passed us; a grown-up woman with grandchildren. I said, and only afterwards did I realize howstupid and childish it sounded: "She will not let me clean Chilla!" Nonetheless, it had the desired effect. The woman said the same as I had thought: I rode her, I should clean her, the other girl could do it another time. Then the girl went off at a trot towards the other end of the stable. The woman said to me that she knew that girl, and in no circumstances should I let her do something I wanted to do, she walked around like she owned the place. And particularly, she added, like she owned Chilla. Bitchy, little mean girl. She did not come back after complaining to the riding teacher. And because I had carrots, Chilla chose me.
But as this is the last week with riding lessons before the summer holiday, I had better hurry to cathc up on those lessons I have missed: three of them in total after Christmas. That is actually rather many. So Thursday I was back. Two lessons: Rodin and Luna. I did not know Rodin at all, and we played games (on horseback, that is, uhm, gymkhana) and that was a little bit scary. But it turned out that Rodin is a very calm, maybe a little too calm, horse. Luna I know better, so I felt safer even though she is not as calm as Rodin was. To sum it up, I had a good time that Thursday evening; what do one need humans for..? There were horses, a dog and several cats.
And there was a bus that only left once every hour, that is, exactly when the lessons ended. In the end, it was only the riding teacher and me left in the stable. Normally, my dad drives me home, but not this time. "Are you happy now that your dad is not waiting for you and you can spend as long as you wish here?" my riding teacher suddenly said. I explained that even though that was true, I also had to wait for the bus. Until, after a little talking,I discovered that my riding teacher has to drive past the bus stop closest to me to get home herself. So she gave me a lift. I found out a lot on that fifteen minutes drive: I got to meet her daughter, because we picked her up ata friend's house, and we talked about her son. My riding teacher is married to a French guy, and has lived in France a long time, and both her children were born there. Her son goes to the same school as me, (although I am finished with that school now, *weeee*,) but even though we are born in the same year, he is in the class below me. And whereas I was in IB, he is taking "Media and Communications". For a long time, I have been wondering if I had seen hm at school, without knowing it. Then I found out. He and me, wehad actually been in the same class for some time. French, actually. But he was really too good in French to be there in those French B classes all the time, andhe kept mostly to himself. It only took me one and a half year to find out that that was my riding teacher's son. I cannot spell his name, but I will try: Rocque(s).
And on a completely different note: it is now clear that my parents and I are going to Iceland in approximately two weeks. Beautiful Horsises!!!!!
I rode her on Tuesday, the last time before the summer vacation. And she was her sweet little self, as always. But afterwards, when I unsaddled her and was about to find a more or less clean bucket and a sponge to get rid of her sweat, two girls came up Chilla. Well, actually, only one was too confident, the other was just waiting outside and looked like she did not like to be there. The confident one started looking at Chilla's back, and obviously coming to the same conclusion as I had some mintes ago; she needed to be cleaned. The girl asked me if I was going to clean the horse and I said yes,as soon as I find a bucket and a sponge. And then I went to look for those two things. As I started to clean a bucket and fill it with water, the girl also found a bucket and started pouring water in it (without cleaning it.) I must have looked at her because she suddenly said that she was going to "sponge" Chilla. Why? Why could not I do it? The riding teacher had said so. That was probably because the riding teacher did not know that I was going to do it, and since I had ridden her, I saw no reason why cleaning her was not my responsibility. I found the first sponge, so I got back to Chilla first, except that the other girl came running after me, without bucket, only to block my way. At that moment one of the other people from the same riding course as me passed us; a grown-up woman with grandchildren. I said, and only afterwards did I realize howstupid and childish it sounded: "She will not let me clean Chilla!" Nonetheless, it had the desired effect. The woman said the same as I had thought: I rode her, I should clean her, the other girl could do it another time. Then the girl went off at a trot towards the other end of the stable. The woman said to me that she knew that girl, and in no circumstances should I let her do something I wanted to do, she walked around like she owned the place. And particularly, she added, like she owned Chilla. Bitchy, little mean girl. She did not come back after complaining to the riding teacher. And because I had carrots, Chilla chose me.
But as this is the last week with riding lessons before the summer holiday, I had better hurry to cathc up on those lessons I have missed: three of them in total after Christmas. That is actually rather many. So Thursday I was back. Two lessons: Rodin and Luna. I did not know Rodin at all, and we played games (on horseback, that is, uhm, gymkhana) and that was a little bit scary. But it turned out that Rodin is a very calm, maybe a little too calm, horse. Luna I know better, so I felt safer even though she is not as calm as Rodin was. To sum it up, I had a good time that Thursday evening; what do one need humans for..? There were horses, a dog and several cats.
And there was a bus that only left once every hour, that is, exactly when the lessons ended. In the end, it was only the riding teacher and me left in the stable. Normally, my dad drives me home, but not this time. "Are you happy now that your dad is not waiting for you and you can spend as long as you wish here?" my riding teacher suddenly said. I explained that even though that was true, I also had to wait for the bus. Until, after a little talking,I discovered that my riding teacher has to drive past the bus stop closest to me to get home herself. So she gave me a lift. I found out a lot on that fifteen minutes drive: I got to meet her daughter, because we picked her up ata friend's house, and we talked about her son. My riding teacher is married to a French guy, and has lived in France a long time, and both her children were born there. Her son goes to the same school as me, (although I am finished with that school now, *weeee*,) but even though we are born in the same year, he is in the class below me. And whereas I was in IB, he is taking "Media and Communications". For a long time, I have been wondering if I had seen hm at school, without knowing it. Then I found out. He and me, wehad actually been in the same class for some time. French, actually. But he was really too good in French to be there in those French B classes all the time, andhe kept mostly to himself. It only took me one and a half year to find out that that was my riding teacher's son. I cannot spell his name, but I will try: Rocque(s).
And on a completely different note: it is now clear that my parents and I are going to Iceland in approximately two weeks. Beautiful Horsises!!!!!