A Pony and Her Saddle
When we go into the world of horses so many new doors are opened before us, but they also must always close.
My first pony was my first opened and closed door. This left me with only a little western saddle that carried me for numerous miles of mountain and woodland adventures.
Patches, later endearingly dubbed ‘Kung Fu Pony’, plowed into our life with all the fury that a Shetland pony can hold.
About two decades ago, a close friend of our family told us of a little mischievous critter that was terrorizing a local trailer park. My parents decided this would be a mighty fine pairing for their feral and rambunctious daughter. I couldn’t agree more.
This fluffy little demon spud quickly became my partner in silly goosery. But, before all of those shenanigans could fully commence we needed to adorn her with only the best of pony regalia one could acquire.
At a local feed store there sat up high, almost touching the ceiling, a pony saddle about the perfect size for a little girl. With a purple latigo and billet, it fully demanded my attention.
I vividly remember the gentle afternoon sunlight glistening on the shiny new leather and brand new metal hardware. As well as the shadows of the trees, swaying from the breeze, gliding over the scene.
Little did I know that was my saddle, waiting to come home.
In the back of our blue 90s Chevy Silverado, I clutched onto my new most treasured possession, with no intentions of ever letting it go.
That night I crawled into my bed, still clutching the saddle, and soundly fell asleep with dreams of where it would carry me.
Hundreds of miles it has seen, from the spinning chaos on the stone steps of the Trinity Alps, to the chaffing horror, while I was in my little leggings, for 30 miles at the AERC ride of Cuneo Creek.
Admittedly a hard seated western saddle may not be the best choice for endurance, but boy did my rear get callused and tough.
It also saw the many occasions of the ‘Kung Fu Pony’ launches.
Patches was an opinionated and sensitive little mare. Anyone who approached her rump would see the chaotic little sight of two pony legs flying in completely different directions and angles, rivaling that of a contortionist.
We tried our best to combat these swanky fighting moves by placing large red Christmas bows in her tail. (Red ribbon on a tail means a kicking horse, for those who do not know)
Surely no one could miss that, right? Well, to be fair, they did not. But, individuals held no fear to the potential damage a little pony could do to them and proceeded up the volatile rear. They learned quickly that it wasn’t the pony they had to worry about.
But it was the little girl, atop the unsuspecting beast, that was in the line of fire.
Launched by the force of a thousand oats I would be flinged into the neck of a squealing ball of marish fury. With some extra unlucky occasions involving my tights hooking the saddle horn and causing a wedgie of proportions that have yet to be rivaled.
My mother became all too acquainted with this recurring scene and would ride up alongside me, with Chief, grab me by my shirt collar, lift me up over the saddle horn, and plop me back into my seat.
You could imagine the confusion of the individuals who not only witnessed this, but initiated the chaos.
After many launchings the title of ‘Kung Fu Pony’ was born and all trembled in the terror of being the one to cause the dreaded saddle wedgie to the poor innocent little girl.
So, as her reputation spread, we noticed the distance of others behind her increased. Only took a few wedgies, but alas, I could finally ride in peace.
Years, miles, and adventures passed. My pony was rapidly approaching the years of a graceful old mare, almost as quickly as I grew in height.
The year came where I rode her for the last time in the little western saddle, I was just too long legged. I transitioned to bareback shenanigans in reluctance, I didn't want to let go of that saddle in any way. It meant I was growing up, and that my dreams of becoming a jockey were stifled by my unwelcomed growth spurt.
As I fully outgrew her I still had the occasion of pulling the escape artist, out of her raspberry bush feast, by the forelock. Our shenanigans had not yet ended at the closing of riding.
But, even those little cherished moments came to a full close.
My little pony showed the most of her affection, in her lifetime, when she dragged her head to my mothers lap, then to mine, while seeing the last of the mighty oak tree above her, smelling the last of the swaying and rustling corn, feeling the last touch of my hand on her brow, and breathing the last of her cool summer breeze.
Resting forevermore below the raspberries, she so loved, I am left with only a saddle.
That day in the back of the Silverado, in the feed store parking lot, I decided that I would never let it go, and I meant it.
However, a memory does not need to be a never changing and stagnant shrine. Ever changing memories are a part of life and do not negate the heart of its meaning. Changes and additions were made to the little saddle that have instilled a deeper development to its memories and meaning.
This has been with the replacement of the fenders with custom stirrup leathers, made from leather gifted to me by a student's father, that I crafted whilst on my kitchen floor.
Then with the creation of the buckle covers, made of hand scraped and painstakingly tanned goat hides. The goats being gifted by the wonderful Katy Zulliger.
I scrapped and prepared them with my machete, hatchet, and a variety of knives. All done atop a log rolled from the forest by my father, which then followed many weeks of the hides sitting in a tanning concoction. Once the tanning process was complete, they were cut and hand stitched into the unique buckle covers.
With the help of the big pony, Jake, that little saddle is now the opening door for new generations.
Patches’ life is closed, but her contribution and memory remains open.
I never put that saddle, her memory, or my passion away. She lives on.
It isn’t just a saddle, it is a door into a vivid full life you will never forget.
