Lessons to a Kid
Now that I have ended the Tennessee Valley’s hunt season as the first and only 12.1 hand Huntsman’s Horse, I can focus on having a relaxing summer. Except I have a nagging feeling that I have now hit the ceiling in a hunt horses’ career. Now that Kurt Krucke, professional huntsman, has hunted off me as his Huntsman’s Horse, what’s next for me? I’m kinda depressed at the thought. At 14 years, I’m too young to have such ambition stifled.
So I have a new plan! What would be better than being the Huntsman’s Horse? Why, there is only one profession I can think of – being Indiana Jones’s horse! Think of the tanks we could fight! How easy it would be for him to grab his hat off the ground when it blows off? Those Nazis wouldn’t stand a chance with me around! Rockets-schmockets. Now I just gotta get a hold of Harrison. I hear he and Calista once came to East Tennessee to visit her parents – I wonder how much it would take to bribe the guy at the little airport they use to find out when their next visit will be. Hmm . . . I think I still have Gretchen’s Paypal password. This is a great plan! [Gretchen’s Note: I changed that password months ago, Mini-Me. And you know you wouldn’t stand a chance as a movie horse – the first time anyone drags a hose or cable across the ground you’d throw Indy and run like a little girl.]
But in the meantime the Kid is bugging me. He’s Gretchen’s 2 year old Trakehner that she is training under saddle this spring. He knows he is to be a hunt horse, so he keeps pestering me about it. At least he has the good taste to come to me, the only Huntsman’s Horse on the farm, instead of that Mr. Darcy Wanna-be. You know him – he’s the tall, dark and brooding pony that Gretchen rides First Flight now. Jerk.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to tell the Kid all the important things a hunt horse needs know. The first thing I said was, “Never ever kick anything. Even if it’s an elephant-in-disguise warmblood that says you are just a speed bump for him to run over. Now – you are a warmblood yourself, but you’re also a short squirt. So they will raze you. The thing to do is the throw Gretchen right in front of them so they have to slam on the breaks. That will shut them up!” [Gretchen’s Note: Ziggy Pelham, do you ever want to see another sunrise? Keep this up and you’ll find out what the inside of glue factory looks like!]
If I may continue without such rude interruptions, I also said, “And never kick the hounds. Yes, they are cocky, rude, smelly and like to push you out of the way, but you will be banned from the hunt if you kick hounds. Banishment is just not cool. Then the Mr. Darcy Wanna-be will bully you around more than he does now.” [Gretchen’s Note: Somehow I don’t think the hounds will be able to body slam the Kid around as easily as they do you. He’s only got about 400 pounds on you, Munchkin.]
I’ve never been body-checked by a hound! Well, there was that time with Woodford . . . wait, what am I saying? No, never happened! The Huntsman’s Horse doesn’t get bullied by hounds – so therefore I’ve never been bullied by hounds. Don’t listen to her – all that scarlet has gone to her head.
The Kid then asked if he could chew off the elephant’s tails instead of kicking them. ‘Course, he had a stolen lead rope in his mouth while he asked this. Do they make pacifiers for horses? Sigh . . . I’m a saint for putting up with him. I can tell these lessons are gonna take a long time.
Ziggy Pelham, the Tennessee Valley’s Huntsman’s Horse and Saint