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  • A Hustling Huzzy comes home with me,

    IV A Hustling Huzzy
    A young female has come into my life. I am not exactly sure as yet what I have got, except that her Mumís name was Molly, I know now pretty much for sure that she is an Irish huzzy through and through but worse, she has spent most of her formative years in South Wales, itself an area for breeding formidable females. Being a mere London boy, I am aware of the battles for supremacy to come in matters of him versus her. Somehow there has to be an acceptance of the respective roles in life - ie he up on the saddle asks her down in the engine room to go where he wants to go. But it doesnít always work out quite like that.

    For a start, her in the engine room can claim reluctance on the grounds that the way is neither proven nor safe. In equine terms that means that there could be a mini strop otherwise known as a shy. The considerate rider of course has to be aware and cogniscent of such a fear in his equine companion which may indeed be well grounded but it may also be a way by which the engineer tells the navigator who holds the power. In fact this little girl showed her independence long before we left the confines of the stable yard. Oh she allowed herself to be groomed and tacked up, after all what is there to object about a little preen, lots of stroking and the application of smelly things. Where the problem developed is that the Old Man thinks that the smelly things should be fly spray, tail disentangler and mud fever lotion whereas the new girl on the block seemed to prefer LíOreal. She is worth it, after all. If she was blessed by Mother Nature with a long silky tail then it must be swishable at all times.

    Once the beautifying process has been completed there is the question of the gear. Now, she has a broad back, this girlie, and there is absolutely no reason why she should not wear the old horseís Pathfinder saddle which is admirably suited for horses with broad backs. However this Celtic wench has demanded that, if she is to wear Joeís cast offs, that at least she can be given a nice new thin saddle cloth. The bridle and bit came along with her and for the first week she wore it, bit included, without complaint. But for the next couple of rides she threw her head about knowing full well that I had to look for a cause. So I had to rummage in the tack room for something less controversial. By her way of thinking if I am to be her master, then it is appropriate that I pay the full price for notional ownership. Second hand goods may be acceptable but only if the design is classical and the quality irreproachable. No cheap foreign tacky rubbish will be acceptable As luck would have it, the thirty year old rolled leather bridle set she chose was too large for her pretty little head and she knew it. However in the meantime, as a temporary measure, I could utilise the one bridle set that did fit her but only on the understanding that one day in the not too distant future I bought her a rolled leather set, just like one of my previously owned horses had used. Of course it would have to be hand made.

    So imagine, we had reached the stage where we were going out for a hack Thatís exactly where sheís got me at her mercy. Even though she is only 15 hands high, I need to use a mounting block to stand on, prior to putting my leg over her back. She knows full well that the dodgy bit for me is just after I put my foot in the stirrup iron, prior to lifting my other leg off the step; she knows that if she moves away, just a foot will do, then I would be stuck in limbo land. And a quick side step is exactly what she did. Then when I dropped down inelegantly onto her broad back, she had the right to jib at my clumsiness. She has not as yet pointed out that if I were just that little bit more agile then there would be no problem. I pointed out that if she had not moved away at the critical moment then there would be no discussion. All I got in answer was a smile. But I am beginning to rumble what the fundamental issue is. If, when we are out on the hack, a call of nature occurs, I have to ask her for permission not only to dismount but also to remount I realize that if we canít get this issue sorted then she will have wrested control. Worse, when we go to the pub for a glass of red, if she decides to be difficult because I have taken too long or because my breath smells or something, then she will have the power to make me walk home. And whatís the point of using the horse to go to the pub if she wonít bring you home?

    Well, after just ten days, that was the stage where we were. Everyone says what a pretty little docile thing she is, and there she is, with me already wrapped around her pretty little toes. It will always be my fault if things donít go right between us - she will just stand and smile - knowingly. It is the battle of the sexes all over again.
    This article was originally published in forum thread: A Hustling Huzzy comes home with me, started by Divus View original post
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