…and the story continues!

So, I struggled through the e-mails and the phone calls, swallowed my pride before I started each conversation and picked my ego up off the floor when I was done. How I managed through all the directions in German is still a mystery to me, but I successfully secured 8 visits to 6 different barns before finally choosing mein deutsches Pferd.

Sometimes you have to ride a lot of mules before you find Black Beauty.

The Unstoppable – This horse was literally a Black Beauty. A Friesian with so much black hair I couldn’t even see his eyes. The owner switched to English just long enough to tell me a bunch of bad things about the barn owner (who didn’t speak any English), and then never uttered another English word. We rode together, me on the Friesian and she on her other horse, through the Black Forest. I could not stop the horse at all. Like, not even a tiny bit. Even my 22″ biceps were no match for this guy!

The Stand Up – This woman and I agreed to meet at her house and then go to the barn together. When I got there, there was a big sign on the door that said, “Nachricht für Trysta.” I was impressed…she spelled it correctly! Apparently I am a decent speller in German. As I waited patiently for an answer at the door, I contemplated the sign, which was tucked between the glass and the wrought iron of the door. “Nachricht” means news and also voicemail, sometimes information. So, I stuck my fingers between the open spaces and started to inspect the sign, which was tied with a pretty bow at the top. It wasn’t actually a sign at all, but an envelope. Inside, the woman had written me a letter (99.9% of which I understood! Yeah!), in which she told me that she had already promised the work to 4 other people. She didn’t have any way to contact me, but invited me to come to the barn regardless. Really? I called your cell phone. My e-mail was in the newspaper, for crying out loud. I drove home.

The Compound – Here, I meandered through at least ten different barns before finding the one that actually had the horses I would be working with. Apparently there were 80+ horses at this complex, all deceptively tucked into every nook and cranny available. After nearly getting bit and kicked while trying to tack up the horse, I was already feeling like this wasn’t going to work out. I have been bit and kicked enough by my own horses. I didn’t need to let someone else’s horse abuse me as a favor. I found out later that the owner actually had 8 teenage girls sharing her three horses. I would be #9. Or not.

The Crazy Farm – When I asked for the exact address to this barn, I was told there was no address, no street name. Great! Two strikes against me already: German, and completely indecipherable landmark-style directions. I managed to find the barn and then spent the next two hours listening to “the crazy lady” talk…non-stop…without interruption…about everything…and nothing. She told me the story of every one of the 30+ horses that were on the farm, that she doesn’t know how to read, how much she hates computers, and that she doesn’t travel more than 5km from her house. She also told me that she would not learn my name. It was too difficult for her. I told her that if I could learn German, she could learn one word…my name. She refused. She did, however, ask me when I was coming back. The opportunity was a loss, but I gained 2+ hours of listening comprehension practice!

The Vices – This mare was actually really cute, until she came out of the stall. Only 5 years old, the poor thing was so bored that she had already developed numerous bad habits. I really enjoyed riding the horse, but there was something about the owner that I just couldn’t put my finger on. Everything was too perfect and too new. I had to use a mounting block (I think) for fear of stretching out the stirrup leathers, the hooves had to be cleaned at a specific location, the horse couldn’t go outside if it was too muddy, I could only ride on Fridays, etc. I would be sharing the horse with the owner and her daughter. To sum it up in the eloquent words of my mother and sister, “Sometimes four girls in one place are just too many.”

Needless to say, none of the above quite fit the bill.

My Black Beauty is actually red, a total sweetheart, and really tall! His name is Dorian. Dorian’s owner is a self-declared “adventurer” who waits patiently as I jack-around with the word placement and accusative/dative/genitive tenses of each of my sentences. He has a son, also really sweet, who told me how great Dorian is and that he learned nothing in school that day.

So, Tally Ho! Me and mein deutches Pferd.