Tico was and is sweet (though mischievous), and can sit around for months and then ridden without ever needing to lunge him. I know this because he was barely ridden at all - no more than 10 times - in the year prior to my buying him, and most of those times it was by me.
At the time of this story, this was important because I was seven days away from hip replacement surgery. I was not going to be getting on him again for a while after this ride.
Anyway, back to September, 2005.
Like most people here in the northeast, I'd been suffering through a steamy bug-choked summer. There were trails tantalizingly close - something I hadn't had in a long time - but they were chock full of hungry and marauding gangs of deer flies, horse flies, mosquitos and all things buzzy and bitey.
In one earlier but soon-aborted attempt at a trail ride I did learn that Tico didn't mind being non-stop whacked all over his body with a branch full of leaves: he was smart enough to realize that I was defending him from the exsanguinating hordes and not trying to beat him into submission. So that was a plus, anyway.
Anyway, it was the Labor Day long weekend and time for riding was running short, and so I bit the bullet. I coated him in bug spray, put his fly mask on, and we headed out.
Like many horses, Tico doesn't like leaving his pals to go somewhere he's never been before, but he never fights about it. Well, at least not to the death. :c) I like a horse you can persuade with little effort and no rancor and resentment. I've known the opposite - not fun.
Our path wasn't the straightest - there was some weaving back and forth across the trail, with surreptitious glances back towards his pals - but for the most part he walked along well, and was being careful where he walked. The trails had quite a few rocks and tree roots to step over and around; he navigated them well.
So I was feeling pretty good about this horsie purchase, and happy with life in general.
We had one incident where the trail came close to someone's back yard. We could hear them: kids hollering, dogs barking, and big splashes as (I presume) the kids cannonballed into their pool. We couldn't really see them, except for an occasional glint as the sun reflected off the splashed water.
We stopped. He was on high alert, stock still and focussed completely in the direction of the weird sights and sounds. I didn't bother him - as a matter of fact, I took the opportunity to snap a photo. We stood there for a few minutes, and his head came down, his ears relaxed, and he tried to turn back.
Well, that wasn't a "get-me-outta-here" trying to turn back, it was a "can I get away with cutting the ride short" turning back, so I suggested we keep moving forward, and he complied, no problem. He was just checking.
But then it happened.
We rounded a corner and up ahead, there was a mud puddle. It was a dark and dank looking puddle, but not really notable otherwise.
We continued on towards the puddle.
Suddenly, about 100 tiny mud colored frogs who had been sunning themselves on the "shore", decided it was a really good idea to make a hasty retreat before the approaching big monster stomped all over them.
The puddle went from a dark brown splotch of innocuous mud to hundreds of tiny bits of earth suddenly animating and splish-splashing into the water. It was ALIVE!
Snorts and honks ensued. Legs akimbo and stiff, sides heaving, neck about 10 feet longer than normal, he stared down the alien mud puddle.
But the mud puddle had gone ominously quiet.
I asked him to go forward. We accelerated backward over twigs, roots and rocks. His concentration was completely on the placid goo - they weren't going to surprise attack him, no sirree bob!
I got him stopped, asked him to move forward again. We creeped up slowly to approximately the same place as before. Again, I asked for forward movement; again, we ended up about 10 feet back. A third time, we got to the same spot and I got off.
I had the (probably unwise) idea that if I could find one of the frogs and show it to him, he'd be ok.
Well, I couldn't find one - they were keeping a very low profile. But we did manage to go all he way up to the edge of the puddle of doom. He was still wary but obedient and offered only slight resistance; pretty soon he was calm enough to look around at the rest of his surroundings.
So I told him he was a goof ball but I loved him anyway, got back on him, and we headed home. Heck, I was going to turn around at about that point anyway.
I only allowed him to walk (I won't let a horse race back to the barn) but I swear, he may be a quarter horse, but he was doing a running walk as we left the lair of the mud monsters.
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