The Complete Horse Bumbler: The Horse Bumbler

By Hilary Walker

"First Catch Your Horse," the first book of The Horse Bumbler Series, takes the reader through the many woes and vicissitudes of an Awful Rider with Aspirations to become a Competent Rider. This book goes through the author's tried and tested, and mostly not recommended, ways of acquiring a horse.

 

The second book, "You've Caught Your Horse: Now What?" takes a humorous look at deep issues of horse ownership, such as "Where the Heck Do I Put It?" and "Mounting the Beast."

 

Now comes "The Aim of All This." Recovering from the sober discovery that just because they bought a horse doesn't mean they are able to ride it, and after begging other people to take the plunge first, the author and her husband finally mount up and Get Serious About Riding. This leads to the world of show-jumping, eventing and dressage, as well as a brief foray into the hunting field (where the hounds are always outfoxed).
 

Reading about Hilary's incompetence in and out of the competition arena will encouraged you in your own riding. Remember, it's not the rider with talent who wins, but the one who works at becoming better.

 

"What Horses Do to You," the final book, discusses how the process of horse ownership can (and most likely will) warp your mind and body. In common with many top sportsmen, you'll develop a superstitious mind, especially when it comes to show days, and possibly acquire the odd scar or two. You may want to warn your family about this.

I'm afraid the other bad news is that horses have a tendency to get hurt and need the vet. You'll get to read about some of the things that can go wrong and how yours truly has dealt with them.

But horses are still great fun and absolutely worth owning!

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hilary Walker
• Release date: May 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201337452

Hilary Walker

British born bestselling author Hilary Walker writes uplifting Christian fiction that transports readers into the healing world of horses. She lives on Hilton Head Island with two British bulldogs and her husband, who hopes she'll get interested in golf.  No luck so far. Instead she rides competitive dressage on her homebred Welsh cross gelding, and enjoys taking him on the trails.

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The Horse Bumbler Series

Originally Published as The Horse Bumbler: Getting It Right By Mistake 2008

All rights reserved © 2015 by Hilary Walker

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Hilary C.T. Walker

http://www.hilary-walker.com

Printed in the United States of America

Foreword by a Disillusioned Riding Instructress

I first met Hilary Walker many years ago when she phoned me to ask if I would help her with her show jumpers. She had been having problems, and on meeting her I could understand why.

There is not much of Hilary, when she stands sideways you can hardly see her. Her horse was a different matter. GR was twice as big and four times more powerful than any horse I’d ever met. It was hardly surprising that he roared round and round the school flat out. I don’t think he realized his rider wanted to slow up. He was a very talented jumper, but unfortunately had been pushed too much too soon, and was basically terrified.

Her other horse, Al Capone, was directly opposite—a beautiful horse with natural presence, and an effortlessly beautiful mover. Effortless was the name of the game. Anything with Effort was a non-starter. Dressage was good—no judge realized how little he put into it. But jumping needed Effort. He would do a few fences and then say ‘No more’—even if this happened at the other end of the arena.

No one could be more dedicated than Hilary. We worked through sun, rain and snow, with much laughter, the odd tear, and one or two drinks along the way. GR ended up behaving well enough to be ridden in a snaffle, but would always panic if something untoward happened. Al Capone got so that if he did decide to jump, he would win.

Other horses came and went—Kelly, the wild but talented chestnut mare I think was the favorite. Hilary decided to breed from her, and I suggested Ganton Rufus, a Welsh Cob Grade A stallion with a wonderfully sane temperament, as the stallion.

Her present young competition horse, Cruz Bay, is the outcome—at last, I hope the perfect horse for Hilary, who has lost none of her enthusiasm despite all the ups and downs that have befallen her. You will read about them in the following pages of this book.

Maureen Summers, Gloucestershire, England, October 2007

My undying love and gratitude go to my husband Glen,

who believed in me when I didn’t.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword by a Disillusioned Riding Instructress

Introduction

Dramatis Equi

Book One: First Catch Your Horse

Section I: First Catch Your Horse

Chapter 1: Caveat Emptor—Loosely Translated: Beware of Horse Dealers

Chapter 2: A Little Auction Action

Chapter 3: Private Purchase—But He Behaved Beautifully at Their Barn!

Chapter 4: Instructor Instructs Purchase—A Happy Interlude

Chapter 5: Timeo Danaos et Dona Ferentis—Another Loose Translation:  Fear the Greeks but not the Mouths of Their Gift Horses

Chapter 6: Breeding From Your Gift Horse, Regardless of Her Mouth

Book Two: You’ve Caught Your Horse: Now What?

Section II: Where the Heck Do I Put It?

Chapter 8: The Private Barn—This Means Your Place

Section III: Mounting the Beast

Chapter 9: Let Someone Else Ride It (Safe Option)

Chapter 10: Get On Yourself (Risky Option)

Book Three: The Aim of All This

Section IV: The Aim of All This

Chapter 11: The General Idea

Chapter 12: Have Horse, Will Travel

Chapter 13: PSG, Anybody?—Dressage

Chapter 14: Where’s the Next Fence?—Show-jumping

Chapter 15: You Cannot Be Serious!—The Cross-Country Phase

Chapter 16: I Have to Get Up WHEN?—Hunting

Book Four: What Horses Do to You

Section V: The Inevitable—A Warping of Mind and Body

Chapter 17: Let’s Compare Scars

Chapter 18: Important Information Regarding Superstitions

Section VI: A Profusion of Contusions

Chapter 19: Don’t Dial 911

Chapter 20: Sage Advice on Using Herbs

Chapter 21: The Road Never Traveled

Chapter 22: The Leading Lady Bows Out

Backword: Will This Ever Be Fun?

Addendum

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

About the Author

Discover Other Books by Hilary Walker

Connect with Me

Introduction

In her wonderful book That Winning Feeling! Jane Savoie states that, If you do not believe in yourself, who will?

My life with horses was always dogged by a firm disbelief in myself.

At age sixteen I got my first pony: I’d wanted one since I was seven. The trainer at my English boarding school was Sister Bernadette, a nun with a special dispensation from the Pope to wear breeches. She told me my legs were the wrong shape and I’d never be a good rider. My joy evaporated. All my life I was doomed to grope unsuccessfully for the bottom rung of the riding ladder.

As an adult I started riding again in Germany, where the natives are born brilliant horsemen. My exasperated instructress tied my arms down with a scarf to prevent them jerking about in canter. Now my upper limbs were malfunctioning, too...

She became so frustrated with me that I had to find another trainer. After three months of private lessons with Roland every day, he suddenly asked, Do you really want to carry on with this? I was crushed. I’d thought I was starting to almost begin to show the possible signs of the onset of a smidgeon of improvement!

Was I the only one who didn’t ‘get it’, who made nothing but mistakes both on and off the horse?

We riders aren’t keen on advertising our failures. But I’m winning a lot of blue ribbons these days and am ready to come clean about my mishaps. I still mess up and things go wrong sometimes, but I believe in myself: I no longer allow my idiot moments and perceived bad luck become obstacles to success.

Somehow, I’m getting it right, despite getting it wrong.

If you think you are the only one who’s no good, take heart. Even the top riders make errors and have setbacks, but they put ’em where they belong―behind them.

Forgive yourself for blunders, look beyond the bad luck and enjoy your horse. Good things will follow.

––––––––

God bless,

Hilary

[e-mail]

Visit my website to download a free ebook: https://HilaryWalkerBooks.com

Dramatis Equi

This is a list of my horses in order of their appearance, with brief descriptions. Since the number of key equine players in this book rivals that of the human ones in Tolstoy’s War and Peace,* it seemed desirable to provide readers with a reference.

Florian Beautiful but vertically inclined gray Hanoverian

.

Ivo Distinguished gray Oldenburg gelding and the love of my husband, Glen’s life (after me, of course)

Acteur Sweet-tempered bay with whom we hated to part

Grandiana Four-year-old Hessen chestnut mare with a thing about paper and a chronic need to move in straight lines

San Salvadore Huge bay who just had to stop at that one fence every time

Cindy Little mare, big mistake

Bugsy  My first non-mistake: Irish, and a terrific bay, a.k.a. Spirit of Ivo, eventer and hunter

Callow Double Despite his name, the nicest gray horse you

Clover could ever meet: 17.1hh Irish raft/Thorough-bred 

Goya A case of mistaken identity: this Hanoverian

a.k.a. Glen Ross  was never going to be another Ivo

a.k.a. GR

a.k.a. Gifted Rascal

Al Capone Bolshy bay Hessen stallion who lived up to his name even after I gelded him

Queensberry My husband’s mistake this time: beautiful, talented black thoroughbred who deserved a better rider than me and finally got one

Ruggles My first pony: Connemara cross, 14.3 hh and very ugly: I loved him

Queenie Unpredictable gray Welsh Mountain Pony who nevertheless gave my son Ross some good times

Kimcote Carlo Beautiful dun/buckskin Welsh Mountain Pony whom I couldn’t get rid of fast enough

Fanal Super German horse who gave me my first win

Kinley Gold Fabulous Irish Draft/Thoroughbred cross: bay eventer and all-round good guy

Trigger Cute gray Welsh Mountain Pony who first gave my son confidence

Dazzle Maureen’s companion pony who became ours for a while before succumbing to Cushing’s Disease

Kelly Would you believe, another chestnut mare?

a.k.a. Rubesca  But this one quickly became the equine love of my life, my soul mate

Cruz Bay The unbelievably happy result of breeding Kelly with an Al Capone look-a-like

If anyone’s counting, that’s twenty ungulates in all, breaking down into five ponies (if you include Ruggles as a pony at 14.3hh) and fifteen horses. Ruggles was with me when I was sixteen till my eighteenth year. After a long gap and while living in Germany, I bought Florian. And so began my hunt for the perfect horse.

Twenty-two years and four countries later, I finally have a barn of horses I love (and who seem to think I’m pretty O.K., too) even though the mistakes haven’t stopped, nor ever will. Three of them are still growing old with me, but one has passed on. I look forward to seeing her again when I, too, have finished growing old.

* Believe it or not, this much-maligned book is actually a terrific read.

Book One: First Catch Your Horse

Section I: First Catch Your Horse

This whole horse business started because of skiing.

During the dating game, I’d gone along with my future husband’s passion for roaring down big snow-covered mountains, weekend after weekend. I say ‘gone along with’ more in the literal sense than out of any heartfelt inclination to freeze my posterior off in the Austrian and Swiss Alps from early November to late March. Glen loved skiing. I loved Glen. Therefore, it behooved me to at least pretend that I, too, adored skiing (and Chinese restaurants).

We were both CPAs working for the then Ernst & Ernst accounting firm in Frankfurt, Germany. Glen of course was much higher up the food chain than yours truly, but nonetheless I spent as much time behind a desk as he did and relished the thought of two days off every week.

Glen’s idea of ‘two days off’ clashed violently with mine during the ski season. He insisted on our rushing south in his BMW every Friday towards some winter resort. This was in the days when there was no speed limit on the German Autobahns and it was a matter of hair-raising honor for him to shorten the travel time each week.

The stories of our trips could fill a book of their own. Suffice it to say, I got heartily fed up with rising at 6 a.m. each Saturday and Sunday in order to be the first in line at the ski lift, go up and down icy slopes in winter and mushy slopes in spring and fall over a lot while Glen slalomed past me in perfect style.

Another matter of honor for Glen was being last off the mountain. Many a time we got chased down the hill by a Pisten-Bully—that mechanical monster which pretends to groom the slopes, but is actually looking for skiers to squish.

Anti-skiing readers will appreciate why I went on strike towards the end of yet another long season, announcing that I hated skiing and wanted to ride horses again. We were now married and this charade had gone on long enough. (Together with pretending I liked Chinese restaurants.)

Glen then uttered words he was to forever regret: So buy yourself a horse.

Well! I’d only meant—but luckily not said—that I wanted riding lessons. Buying a horse of my own was a dream I’d abandoned at age eighteen, when I sold my one and only and very ugly pony to go to college. Glen had no idea what was involved in owning a horse. Should I tell him that it meant riding every day? (I knew the Germans didn’t turn their horses out, but kept them standing in their stalls 24/7, so daily exercise was vital.) Should I mention board bills, shoeing bills and vets’ bills, inter alia?

Forgive me when I tell you that the overdose of skiing during the past few years had clouded my judgment and prevented me from enlightening the man. Within less than a month, I had a new horse.

Despite being unable to tell the backend of an equine from the front end of an anteater, my husband has bought only two horses in his life and each one was a huge success.

On the other hand, I, the alleged ‘horse person,’ have bought fourteen horses and five ponies, and enjoyed stunning failure with most of them. This experience naturally qualifies me to expound on the various methods for acquiring horses.

Chapter 1: Caveat Emptor—Loosely Translated: Beware of Horse Dealers

Including that first horse, eight equines were purchased by yours truly through this interesting means. For the reader’s convenience, I have identified six basic methods and urge thorough scrutiny of each before even considering approaching a dealer.

* * * *

Method the First: Flashy and Cheap? Go for It!

Seasoned horse-people (who I hope aren’t reading this book anyway) will scoff at my first foray into the world of horse-sellers. I cringe when I look back at my naïve trusting self, reading a horse dealer’s ad and believing he really did have a stable full of the best sport horses money could buy. I didn’t even stop to ask myself whether I wanted or needed a ‘sport horse’ in the first place. Logic didn’t prevail in those days.

Being a polite person, I rang ahead of time to make an appointment. A big mistake, I was later to discover. Brimming with excitement and anticipation, Glen and I drove the forty-five minutes from our apartment in the Taunus mountains, prepared to be dazzled by the stunning array of horses promised by Herr Hasty. That, of course, is not his real name: it’s roughly what his name means in English. So why don’t I give you his German name? To protect the guilty, that’s why. ‘Guilty of what?’ you ask. Read on.

A jovial Herr Hasty and his son greeted us with a hearty hand-shake and led us to the horses. The barn was tidy, with a large indoor and outdoor arena, and clean stalls with no bars preventing the horses from looking out. I was impressed.

Over the phone I had discussed with the dealer what kind of horse I was looking for and he kindly let me know that I was in the market for a horse with the potential to become an international show jumper. Sounded good to me. As luck would have it, there happened to be one at his place with a fantastic temperament.

Herr Hasty’s son, the rider in the family, now tacked up a gorgeous gray and led him out of his stall into the indoor arena, while his dad told us about the horse.

He’s by the famous Furioso’s Sohn, is nine years old and has an international future ahead of him. You can even ride him with your little fingers!

Glen and I stood open-mouthed as Herr Hasty, Junior, mounted the docile beast and proceeded to put him through his paces. The animal behaved impeccably. Hasty, Senior, put up a vertical jump and the horse popped over it easily. The jump was then arranged in a way I hadn’t seen before—a spread with three bars. The front bar was low, the second was higher and the third pole was really high. Glen’s and my jaws dropped even lower as we watched the gray, whose name was Florian, sail effortlessly over this incredibly big jump without a murmur of protest.

That was it: I was in love. I had to have that horse. Out of earshot of the father and son team, Glen asked me what I thought this horse was worth. Horse-savvy as I was, I replied: At least 30,000 Deutsch Marks.

So imagine our delight when, after I’d ridden the horse pathetically and had the jump put back down to two foot nothing, Herr Hasty, the dad, told us he was looking for a mere 15,000 Deutsch Marks!

Glen was smart enough to ask why the horse was going so cheap. The answer came quickly: Oh, it belongs to a teenager who got pregnant. Her father is so angry with her, he’s making her sell the horse. Sounded reasonable to us.

Glen and I drove home in elation. We’d bought (and paid for) a fantastic horse. His sire was, after all, the famous Furioso’s Sohn, (whoever he might be) and the Hastys had said I could ride him at their place until I found a boarding barn near home.

As soon as possible, I drove back to ride my new horse. He was a little less calm than before, but I put that down to my being a new person grooming and tacking him up, and cut him some slack. When I rode him in the indoor arena he seemed really wound up, but I attributed it to the fact that there was a tractor at the far end which hadn’t been there the day before. I just knew he was the horse for me, and things would work out fine.

What I didn’t know until too late was that the dealer had used the advance notice I gave him before showing up the first time to deny Florian water for several hours. Horses will become very quiet if desperately thirsty, and it saves getting caught sedating them with drugs. Obviously he was being given enough to drink when I went back to ride him and after the dealer had our money safely in his bank.

I was also to discover that the impressive fence we witnessed Florian jump is commonly known as a ‘dealer’s fence.’ It is much easier for a horse to clear than your regular high vertical or oxer and frequently used to ‘show off’ a horse’s jumping ability. 

The Rettershof, a posh hotel near us in Koenigstein, had stables attached to it, and I managed to secure one for my new acquisition. Since I worked during the week but didn’t want to wait until the following Saturday to get my horse, the Hastys were to deliver Florian at 5 a.m. the next day. The excitement was becoming too much for me.

What should have been an evening filled with happy expectation turned into the opposite when Glen had a bad car accident that night. The BMW, of which he was so proud and on which he had made the final payment that very day, was totaled. Luckily no one was hurt. But looking back, it was an omen.

Undeterred, I arrived at the Rettershof in high spirits the following morning to await the arrival of the new love of my life. Before I even saw the Hastys’ trailer, I heard Florian whinnying and stomping.

If I hear that from a new horse now, after he’s traveled nearly an hour and still not settled down, I’ll send him straight back. But that day my love was blind and deaf.

Florian roared out of the trailer and gave Hasty Junior a good run for his money while dragging the hapless man along. As soon as he’d shoved the horse into his stall, the dealer’s son beat a hasty retreat, pun intended.

Because I hadn’t ridden for many years and took it slowly with Florian, his problems took a while to emerge. I tried so hard to love that horse, but over the next few months his true self surfaced to the point where I couldn’t handle him any more.

He would buck at the slightest provocation, bolted with me several times and constantly refused fences. Whenever he was confronted with a situation he didn’t like, he would rear vertically. I explained this to Roland, my long suffering German instructor, who took the horse on for a while. For several days he rode him and told me he didn’t understand my problem. Until after one trail ride. On his return he said: "Florian reared—but didn’t just go up, he went completely vertical." I looked at him, shrugging my shoulders in an ‘I told you so.’ Roland agreed the horse should go.

But I was to endure several more rounds with the gray before I reached that smart decision. I felt sorry for him, knowing that a horse is not born bad, he’s made bad, and cursing whoever turned this talented gelding into such a dangerous ogre.

* * * *

Method the Second: The Tail-Pull Test (Highly Recommended)

During the going-slowly phase with Florian, Glen and I would take turns riding him out. By now my husband realized I was going to be riding six days a week and he wouldn’t see me at all if he didn’t join in my hobby. I felt a certain poetic justice in this situation.

We would go to the stables together, get Florian ready, and one of us would stay behind feeling left out while the other rode off into the setting sun, after work. One time, I asked Glen to take care of a beautiful pearl and diamond ring he’d given me on our anniversary, while I rode into the woods. He put the ring into his pocket. When I returned, he’d lost it. We never found the ring and hindsight tells me this was another Florian Omen.

A few days of this sharing-the-horse-lark convinced Glen that he needed to get his own if he was ever going to spend time with his wife. At this stage we still thought Florian was O.K. and went straight back to Herrs Hasty Senior and Junior.

By now they really had our number. Glen liked the color of my equine buddy and asked for another gray. It just so happened that a gelding of that description had come in that week. What good fortune! He was very quiet, just as Florian had been, when being tacked up and led into the indoor arena.

Herr Hasty the dad told us that Ivo (pronounced ‘Eeffo’) was a son of the really famous stallion Inschallah. By now we knew to be impressed with that part of the story, as we’d found out that Florian’s dad, Furioso’s Sohn was, indeed, a big deal stallion. So our trust was complete.

Herr Hasty Junior went through the same rigmarole with this horse as before and the gelding jumped even better than Florian. Look at him! Herr Hasty Senior cried. "Isn’t he wonderful! He already is an international show-jumper, and you can ride him with your little fingers!" Glen and I exchanged glances at this repeat of the line used about my horse. I hadn’t tried riding Florian with my little fingers—in fact I’ve never felt the urge to ride like that—but I began to suspect the man, just a tad, of exaggeration.

His son dismounted and Glen rode Ivo for a while, even feeling safe enough to risk a little fence. Glen’s riding was limited to bareback on the plow horses in his early youth, so it was quite something for him to be so brave.

We now all stood in a group by the free-standing horse and discussed price. He was even cheaper than Florian! At some point during the pow-wow, Ivo became bored and started back to his stable. Herr Hasty Junior grabbed his tail. Ivo stood still, and Glen immediately said, He’s the horse for me!

I noticed the gray drinking like crazy when he got back to his stall. Someone had filled up his water bucket while he was being ridden, forgetting to wait until we’d gone....

Not surprisingly, Ivo woke up considerably after we got him home. But he turned out to be the sweetest, most generous horse you could ask for. He had, indeed, belonged to an international show jumper by the name of Rene Tebbel. The real reason he was sold cheap is that he had begun refusing fences. He had been asked to do too much too soon. His new lease on life with Glen, just being asked to trail ride, was exactly what the horse needed, and was the beginning of his rehabilitation as a successful show-jumper. Glen reveled in telling the crooked dealer that the horse he’d sold so cheaply was truly a wonderful sport horse. He enjoyed seeing Herr Hasty’s face turn purple!

So: don’t be afraid to pull your prospective purchase’s tail.

* * * *

Method the Third: It Must Be a Good Horse if the Dealer Will Swap It for Nothing

By now it was clear—even to me—that Florian had to go. He was dangerous, and I was not experienced enough to deal with him. A certain Kasper, who will pop up later in the book, was the only one who got on with the horse. But he had no money to speak of and attempted to con me into selling him dirt cheap by saying the horse’s back was broken. If so, why was he interested in Florian?

Back I went to Hasty, confident that he would feel sorry for having sold me such an unsuitable horse and be willing to swap him for a better one. Initially he balked at the idea, then suddenly agreed to go along with it. A kind-looking light bay with long graceful legs and a small piece missing out of his left lower