I Chose the Challenge

I grew up with dogs in my family. My mom loved horses and rode an Arabian gelding during her years at Pennsylvania State College. His name was Keb. Her riding clothes still hang in her closet. These were her memories, and she chose to keep them.

Sundays were special; my younger brother and I would go to an amusement park, where we could both ride ponies on a carousel under close supervision. After all, we were very young but old enough to sit up straight. The only thing that could go wrong would be a mechanical failure!

Several years later, my parents took us for pony rides on Sundays. Now we were on real ponies! The kind that eat, drink, and possibly throw you off! No mechanical failures in this scenario! My love for riding I attribute to my Mom. My brother couldn’t have cared less.

By the age of 7, I was riding at a local stable. I began on a lesson horse reserved for beginners (kids and adults), attached to a lunge line, being led around a ring by an adult. This was for safety reasons—mine. My brother, Rich, had the same opportunity. He gave it several tries, deciding that this wasn’t for him. He referred to that lunge line as a “lunch line.” Yep, that was my brother.

As I’m recalling these memories, that proverbial light bulb goes off. This rope was Rich’s “lunch line.” My life went in one direction while his went in another. He loved his work in various sectors of the food industry. Go figure that one out. It’s taken me decades.

By age ten, I was riding in horse shows. My mom and I enjoyed trail rides together. My riding stopped when I became a wife and mother. Once my children were grown, I decided to pick up where I left off years ago, riding horses reserved for lessons at various stables. It didn’t take very long to realize I wanted one of my own. Yep, I was horseless!

In 2007, my trainer took me to a local Thoroughbred Farm. Two horses were waiting for homes. One was a schooled five-year-old gelding. I gave him a test ride, sailing over a jump course. A thrilling experience to say the least!

The other was an unschooled three-year-old mare. I rode her briefly; her name was Calli, and I chose her. I’d school her myself with the help of a trainer. This was going to be a challenge. I was handed an envelope, which wasn’t opened until I was home. It contained her pedigree. She was the great-great-granddaughter of Secretariat! Unlike her famous great-great-grandfather, she had no interest in racing.

Calli was meant to follow a different path. We worked as a team beginning at square one.

She needed desensitizing, and this took time and patience. Routine grooming, including baths, came first. When I turned my back to reach for something, she did her best to catch me off guard with a nip here and a nip there. This was Calli. This was her personality.

Next came the bridle, the saddle pads, and a saddle. The saddles went back and forth between the tack shop and the barn until I eventually found one that fit her conformation. All these steps were important before trying a brief ride. I was accustomed to being thrown off horses. Thank goodness for those manure piles from way back then: they made for safe landings. It was no different now except that I was older.

She was going to be my jumping partner once she was old enough. I envisioned a long and bright future. We practiced cavaleties, trotting, and cantering. My trainer was waiting until she was four years old to try her first fence. This was for her safety. The day finally came, and we sailed over our first low fence. There’s only one word to describe this moment: thrilling. She had one of the softest mouths I’ve ever experienced in my years of riding. It was as if she could be ridden without a bit. She had a smooth and gentle way as we rode.

But life had other plans, and Calli developed colic. She was boarded at a Thoroughbred stable five minutes from our home. The owners lived on the premises, and they treated her without notifying me. She had an equine vet I would have called. Whatever happened during the night, I’ll never know. When I phoned in the morning to arrange a riding time, I was given the news. She was gone. Her vet came out, finding me in a paddock with her head cradled in my arms.

Calli crossed the Bridge in 2008. My riding clothes are my memories and remain in my closet. Calli was loved beyond measure and will never be forgotten.

Once an equestrian, always an equestrian, even when our stirrups are no longer in use.

Read more about Calli in Tia Talks - My Life in a Multi-breed Family in chapter 11, “She’s Here.” You can order it on Amazon.

—Lesley💞

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