We arrive at Herrick twenty five minutes before my horseback lesson, scheduled for eight in the morning. My coach, Kathy, wants me in the ring, on my horse at eight. As I walk across the ranch yard, Kathy sees me and calls out "You 're on Bingo." Bingo. I am riding that sweet old boy. Though he may not be the favorite of the stable, he is my favorite. Though I had ridden him many times before, nothing we had previously done would prepare me for the terrifying adventure to come.
Upon entering the barn aisle, I am overwhelmed by the sweet smell of horse. As I walk down the aisle, I see Bingo 's multi colored eyes fix on me as he watches me approach. He knows Friday is our morning. Though he has two other riders earlier in the week, he had a
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Once he is securely in the crossties I begin to groom him. As I brush Bingo, I run my hands over his adorable brown and white body. Because he is not only an older horse, but also an atypical hunter, he is often overlooked. While he may not meet the streamlined standards of beauty, he is nevertheless my favorite. After he is brushed clean, I grab his tack from the tack room. Only after he is saddled do I unclip the crossties and removed his halter. He always accepts the bit without a fuss, allowing me to bridle him with ease. Grabbing my helmet, I lead him away from the crossties and into the arena.
In the ring, he follows me around like a dog as I put down my water and lead him to the mounting block. From her bench under the tree, Kathy checks her watch to make sure I am on time. Once a warm-up walk is completed, I urge him into a trot on Kathys cue. For nearly fifteen minutes she has me keep him at a trot. Several minutes are spent on a brief rest before we move into the canter. Of every horse I have ever ridden, Bingo has the smoothest, most enjoyable canter. He is the definition of a rocking horse canter. Normally, we do several intervals of trot and canter, with various transitions between the two, but today Kathy had something new in store for us. As usual, she has me do another trot. We go around the ring once, and I think nothing of it. Go trot the white x. she instructed, referring to a small crossrail in the middle of the ring. Ive never jumped before. I remind her, looking back with