Читать книгу The Ryder Chronicles - Vicki Sach - Страница 3

Have you ever been shopping and insisted on buying an expensive pair of shoes? They felt really uncomfortable when you tried them on but you just HAD to have them? Well that’s what it was like when it came to buying my first horse. I think I broke every rule in the book…I didn’t take an experienced horse person with me; didn’t bother with a vet check or ask for a written receipt. It was a classic case of what NOT to do!

My name is Sarah Ryder. Yeah, I know…corny name for someone who loves horses as much as I do but heck, I was born with it. Ryder by name, rider by nature I always say.

I’m 17 years old and live with my mum, dad and 18 year old brother Jordan. He and I are forever playing practical jokes on one another. My best so far was when he tried to mow our back lawn (one of his chores) but I took the mower blades off. It took me ages and I got covered in gunk but it was worth it to see the look on his face!

He got me back by sneaking a prawn into my schoolbag….I couldn’t figure out where the stink was coming from for ages! Mum wasn’t impressed because she ended up having to buy me a new bag.

My dad has his own music business, which is pretty cool. He used to be executive of a large recording company but decided to branch out on his own and turned an old dairy on our property into a sound-proof studio. Mum kind of helps him out…she’s a freelance graphic designer who works from home although sometimes I reckon she sees more of her computer than she does her family!

I’m average height, have blondish hair (highlighted from time to time) and have been horse crazy ever since I can remember. My family lives on a five hectare property at the foot of Victoria’s Dandenong Ranges; a gorgeous area but the best part is it’s VERY horsey! We moved here about three years ago and I love it. We used to live about 10 minutes from Melbourne which was okay except for smog and the fact there wasn’t a horse within cooee.

It’s agony being horsey in a non-horsey family but the best news is that mum and dad have finally uttered those magic words…I can get a horse.

I’d been having riding lessons most weekends for over four years, starting with trail rides at a run-down dump and progressing to proper lessons at a more upmarket centre which boasted an indoor school.

My dream horse is a stunningly beautiful chestnut with lots of white markings, about 16 hands and fairly young because I plan on us being together for a quite a while. I mostly want to do hack classes at shows and who knows, maybe even compete in the Garryowen some day!

I’ve dragged mum to Barastoc Horse of the Year show a few times…I’m in seventh heaven when I go there. The horses are so awesome, the way they’re turned out; the gorgeous bling browbands, the riders’ outfits. I SO want to do that! I haven’t really told mum how much all this is going to cost mind you; I plan on gathering all the bits and pieces while I school my show hack and get him or her fine-tuned for our future show career.

I’ve gone through the latest Horse Trader magazine from cover to cover and picked out four horses within my price range. There’s plenty more I’d love to enquire about but they’re a little (actually, a lot) beyond my budget. Oh well, a girl can dream can’t she?

The four I have my eye on include a 15.2hh eight year old bay mare; a 15hh six year old grey gelding; a 16.2hh chestnut thoroughbred ex-racehorse (this my number one choice actually), and a 15hh five year old bay gelding.

I spent hours gazing at their photos and reading the descriptions over and over until I practically knew them off by heart. Alas, when I phoned about the first one the lady said she’d already been sold. Oh well…on to the next. The person selling the grey seemed nice, told me he was being used for Pony Club and had potential as a future eventer. Hmmm, not exactly what I had in mind but I reckon from the looks of him he could also make a decent show horse so organised a time for mum and I to check him out on the weekend.

I’m really excited about the chestnut though, the seller said he was an ex-racehorse but was really quiet and had royal show potential, although I kind of got the impression he was only telling me what he thought I wanted to hear. That’s what it felt like anyway, but heck, the horse was only an hour’s drive away so I arranged to visit him too. At least I’ll get to have a horsey weekend and score some rides into the bargain!

As for the last horse, I phoned to enquire about him and told the lady about my riding background, but she stressed the horse was too young and inexperienced for a beginner. I wasn’t quite sure what to say because as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t a beginner, I’d been riding for years! But she insisted the horse wouldn’t suit me, wished me luck and hung up. I was really disappointed but there wasn’t a lot I could do.

Come the weekend, I was up bright and early, dressed in my favourite jodhpurs and t-shirt. We were seeing the grey horse first out the other side of town, about a two hour drive away. Mum chatted away about…stuff. I couldn’t really say what because my mind was miles away and my stomach churning. I was picturing myself riding the grey in a hunter class at Horse of the Year, waiting for the judge to decide on the final winner. He looks the first three horses over and beckons towards me…..

“SARAH!” Mum was yelling, apparently for the third time. “We’re here.”

I gazed at the horses in small paddocks lining the driveway. They were rugged and most were grazing while a few played ‘nibble your neighbour’s withers’ over the fence.

I could see a grey horse tied up already saddled and felt a pang of disappointment. He didn’t look anything like his photo! To start with, he was really underweight and I couldn’t help noticing some ugly dark scarring on his flank and legs. It crossed my mind that someone had been playing around in Photoshop and ‘erased’ the scars on the photo in his advert because I’m certain I would have noticed them. But he had a kind eye and I read somewhere that scars could be covered with make-up for the show ring, so I decided I may as well check him out. I’m no judge of horseflesh but I do know a few basic conformation faults, like a goose rump and cow hocks, both of which the grey had.

The owner prattled on about how well schooled he was, blah, blah, blah, but something didn’t feel right. I mean, the fact the horse was already saddled and tied up could mean he was hard to catch, or had already been ridden into submission before I got there.

Now I had to get on and ride and hopefully not make a complete idiot of myself. Gathering my hair into a ponytail, I fastened my hat and got ready to mount, hoping the horse wouldn’t pick up on how nervous I was. Once mounted I was like, oh my goodness…he’s so tall and narrow! His stride was also longer than anything I’d ever experienced before.

C’mon Sarah…heels down, sit up straight, don’t hold the reins too tight, allow your seat to relax and go with the horse’s movement. I walked around the yard a couple of times (which was the only place they offered me to ride in…hmmm, why?) before attempting a trot. Talk about uneven! I tried to rise on the correct diagonal and it was about then I realised my stirrups were too long. I knew he wasn’t the horse for me but kept trotting, hoping the horse’s owner didn’t think I was totally hopeless.

I had to give up in the end; my legs were killing me, my head was starting to ache and I was really bummed out. This was supposed to be fun!

I babbled some excuse to the seller and dragged mum back to the car.

“That didn’t go very well,” she commented wryly.

“Ya think?!” I didn’t mean to be rude, I was just so disappointed.

“So what happened?”

“I have no idea, the advert didn’t seem to be very accurate,” I replied.

She agreed…my mum might be non-horsey but the graphic designer in her meant she had a good eye for detail.

“Do you still want to go see this other horse?”

Was grass green? Of course I did! Besides, you should never buy the first horse you look at and I’d had my hopes pinned on the chestnut from the start.

My heart sank when we got to the second place. It was a run down dump with sad-looking horses tied up (by the reins!) to a wooden fence.

“Ooohhh, this looks a bit dodgy!” Mum muttered.

I was dismayed…what happened to my wonderful horsey weekend? Was buying a horse supposed to be this complicated? Was nothing as it seemed in the ads?

An elderly man approached, his grubby trousers held up by bailing twine.

“G’day, me name’s Jim…which ‘orse have you come to look at?”

I looked across at the horses, there were three chestnuts. When I explained which ad I had phoned about, I wish I could say the man led me to the horse of my dreams. What I saw was a shaggy chestnut around 16.2 hands with two rear stockings and a large star. He stood dozing, eyelids half closed, lower lip hanging. He also didn’t look anything like his photo in the advert!

“Make a top show ‘orse he will,” Jim told us. “Won over $10,000 in prizemoney as a racehorse!”

The chestnut didn’t look very flash, but beneath the shabby exterior could lie my potential show hack. I looked the horse over and he seemed okay conformation-wise…the only blemish I could see was a faint scar on his off hind. Plus the price was right. I wanted a horse of my own so badly!

The stock saddle the chestnut was wearing was torn and lumpy and I could see the bit was too high in his mouth. I walked him across to a bare, manure-riddled paddock and using a rusty feed bin as a mounting block, started my ride. He certainly seemed quiet enough and I felt very comfortable but had trouble getting him to move forward with any great enthusiasm. I had to work hard to get him to trot and after much kicking, finally managed a canter. He struggled through a few rough strides…I think he might have been disunited…before stumbling back to a walk.

“Don’t worry about that luv,” Jim shouted. “It’s just left over from his racin’ days. You’ll soon train it out of ‘im!”

I kept walking around on the chestnut for ages, imagining him at home in my paddock. My very own horse! Sure, he looked a bit…tatty…but he would soon fatten up and I could have lessons on him. We could learn together! Plus he seemed very quiet and did I mention that the price was right? What girl can resist a bargain?

“I’ll take him,” I said to mum and Jim.

“Bewdy!” Jim beamed.

Mum frowned. “He’s no oil painting Sarah,” she said, (that graphic designer thing again!)

“But he’s got so much potential!” I replied in what I hoped was a convincing voice, leaning forward to stroke the chestnut’s neck.

So mum made arrangements with Jim to buy Solomon’s Gold, or ‘Goldy’ as he called him. Blah, think I’ll switch that to Solo, which sounds way cooler!

So that’s how I bought myself a horse.

For an extra $100, Jim delivered Solo to our property the following weekend. Solo stumbled down the ramp and stood dejectedly, seemingly uninterested in his new home, before lifting his tail and christening our driveway.

“Hoo roo luv,” Jim called. “Oh…I forgot, there’s no warranty with this ‘un!”

I put Solo’s new headstall on (Jim wanted his tatty old one back) and stood there holding the leadrope. My own horse at last. I buried my face in his mane and inhaled his horsey smell. Solo sighed deeply.

Jordan came out for a stickybeak.

“How much did they pay you to take him off their hands?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

Typical, I decided…he’s just jealous, so I kicked a dollop of horse poo over his Nikes.

I had Solo’s paddock all ready with fresh water and a couple of biscuits of hay. He had a brief drink before wandering off to nibble grass. I was itching to groom him but decided to let him settle in a bit first.

I planned to spend the following day getting to know Solo, but he seemed to have undergone a personality change overnight and I was confronted by a snorting, flighty dragon!

What the heck?

After about two hours, I managed to catch him with the intention of grooming him, but he kept whirling around me.

“Woah boy,” I tried to reassure him, but he wasn’t listening. I hoped he just needed more time to settle in.

But the next day he was the same and although by the third day I could at least tie him up, I had to admit something was seriously wrong.

I needed help, and urgently.

I had no idea who to turn to and it was mum who suggested I contact the local Pony Club. She phoned around and eventually got hold of their chief instructor, who offered to come around and see Solo.

I groomed him as best I could in preparation, but he was still fidgety and wouldn’t stop pawing the ground.

The instructor, Judy, visited around 5pm.

“Where did you get him?” was her first question and when mum told her, Judy’s eyes widened in horror.

“Was the seller’s name Jim McCormick by any chance? And did he mention some racehorse name?”

Uh oh, I had a bad feeling about this!

“Ummm……..”

“He’s a crook,” Judy said. “A dealer who buys horses cheaply at stock markets and sells them to unsuspecting buyers, usually young girls like yourself, for huge profit. His trademark spiel is telling prospective buyers they are ex-racehorses. The reason Solo was quiet when you went to try him…and when he first got here now I think about it…is because he was probably drugged.”

She said it’s likely Jim came up with the name Solomon’s Gold trying to pass him off as an ex-racehorse, but to be sure, I can check on the name at the Registrar of Racehorses website. (I later did just that and while there was a Solomon’s Gold listed, the horse was grey).

She went on to explain that I should have taken along an experienced horse-person when looking for a potential mount. To add insult to injury, she pointed out he had ringworm, a contagious fungal skin condition, and after a quick check of his teeth, said he wasn’t six as claimed by the dealer, but closer to 10 years old!

“Don’t even think about riding him for, oh…I don’t know…probably a month or two,” she advised.

“He’ll need his teeth seen to by a dentist, and placed on a good worming schedule.”

No arguments from me there, although I was bitterly disappointed this had all gone so pear-shaped. That’s what you get for rushing into things, which is fairly typical for me. Monkey-see, monkey-want, as Jordan loved to tease. But what the heck, I had a horse at last and I’ll do whatever it takes to get him going, or bust a gut trying!