I went a few days in a bucolic paradise of hunters, woodsmen and people who ride them, namely the Sologne. I do not know why I went there knowing that I do not hunt, I can neither find my way, or make a fire in the woods, and the only horse I approached previously proved, after discussion with his master, being an ass. I had no reason to place the Sologne on the map, and even less to go. Adventurer by nature, I am still mounted in the car with my sweetheart who she knows how to ride, hunt and make fire with wet wood without a lighter, all dressed in animal skins.
Three days later, here I plan to be a cowboy. The psychology of a horse or a pony no more secrets for me, and c'mon that I will brush the horse with the American stuff, and after with the hoof tester, go ahead and that I will climbs above without even fall on the other hand, we will catch yahouu roping cows. I must say that I had private lessons rather sharp at the forefront of educational research, which are to tell you "straighten up! "" Greenhouse your legs! "You understand it quickly, but phrases like" put away your riquiqui! "(Huh? What?)," Pie your legs! "(What?)," Back on your reins! (How to do that?) Or "but it's a damn fool me like this? Then, it was felt that this quarter-hour lesson was enough to brave the wild, especially as those who accompanied me (fifteen years of each horse) pranced impatiently. I pass over the cold sweat that, despite my nerves, I have traversed throughout the walk, I expected every moment that my horse has bolted. In fact, it was not packed, but it nevertheless decided at a time to jump an obstacle without going through the procedure of prior consultation, to know ask me. So in protest, I decided to leave it at full speed and pass the obstacle alone. Once found, I still fathom order to show who was boss by trying not to wince too much pain.
In the second lesson, I was told "yeah, you get on very well, but we will give thee a smaller, will be better. "I do not know if it was better for me or the horse, and it is worthy that I'm riding the pony. This lesson was planned to learn the gallop, the instructor was therefore fitted with a whisk. The teaching approach has changed: it was with the whip I run the horse at a gallop we'll see how long you gonna keep . It's like the rodeo, except that viewers do not care about you and that instead of sand on the track, it is mud. Still, I still held a quarter of an hour, proud and dignified on a horse in a fury, um not a pony in fury. I put even a picture to prove it.
(I was then told that normally, the gallop was learned not only to the second lesson, I think it's because we recognized the natural qualities of my jumper, or he is just because the ground was particularly muddy and mocking the spectators).
Next time I learn to kill a boar with his bare hands, my sweetheart has promised me.
