When they teach you to drive the first and most important thing they show you is how to stop the car. Then they show you how to make it go and vary the speed. All this with a fully qualified instructor by your side, usually with an extra set of pedals, just in case.
To get into a car for the first time and just start driving without knowing these basics would be completely irresponsible and extremely dangerous.
Why, therefore, when it comes to horses, are you allowed to do just that?
On our recent trip to the wetlands of Co. Fermanagh, we decided (all of us - adults too) in a moment of insanity to go pony trekking. There is the first mistake. The word 'pony' conjures up an image of a nice friendly wee tiny horse with short legs. I was given this great big brute of a thing thast required me to climb a stepladder to get on board. I had no idea how high up you were when you sat on a horse. Probably because I'd never actually sat on one before. Ever.
So I'm sitting there, on my horse, holding on with my hands, knees, thighs, ankles, toes as if my life depended on it. Tip no. 1: when going 'pony' trekking for the first time, make sure you are the last person to get on a horse and not the second, like I was. By the time the adults had all be seated, I was having serious doubts about the decision to do this, and by the time the children had been sorted, I was nothing short of pleading with the girl to let me down. And DVT was setting in.
So we're all on 'ponies' and my sister-in-law and I are nervously eyeing each other up, each trying to be brave for the other, whilst the men (seated on retired shire horses that looked like they had been doped) were pretending to be full of bravado. And suddenly my horse moves. Not far, just one or possibly two steps you understand, but enough to send me into a complete tizz.
There are two helpers there, the girl in charge and the girl with the stepladder and as there are 7 (seven) of us, I'm waiting for the other five helpers to arrive so that we all have one each before we head off on our trip. So it came as a big surprise when the girl in charge grabbed Dolly's horse by the reins and said 'Walk on'. The 'ponies' do just that, and we're off - me without anyone beside me to make sure I didn't fall off or to tell me what to do. And I suddenly realise, as we approach the main road, that I don't know how to make the thing stop.
By this stage I was holding on so tight I had cramp in my hands.
After a couple of minutes on the road, my 'pony' pulled up beside my sister-in-laws and started eating it's ear. A sign of affection I'm sure, but sister-in-law's 'pony' didn't seem to see it like that and started biting back. Unsure of what to do, and terrified to do anything in case what I did do made the thing go faster, I did what any reasonable adult would do in the situation and shouted for help. The girl in charge (who was three horses away) told me to stop my horse by pulling its reins. Slowly the realisation dawns that in order to do that, I have to leave go of the saddle, which I have been grabbing with a vice-like grip since getting on board.
So we've gone about 100 yards and I'm thinking it's time to head back. But unfortunately we have a whole loop of a lake to go yet. We settle into a steady pace, or at least the 'ponies' do and I eventually relax my toes, but not my ankles, knees, thighs and hands. Then brothers horse, which is in front of me, decides it wants a tea-break and stops to have a nibble on some grass. Does mine stop? Does it ever, and I can see the inevitable collision happening in slow motion, and sister-in-law's 'pony' with the big teeth gaining on me from behind and I'm thinking I've died and gone to hell.
Collision narrowly avoided, we continue on our not-so-merry way and I eventually find the nerve to relax my ankles, but not my knees, thighs and hands. I spent the entire rest of the journey praying that my 'pony' wouldn't get thirsty and try to take a drink from the lake, and that sister-in-law's 'pony' wouldn't get hungry (or frisky) and bite mine on the bum.
Prayers are answered and eventually, after what seems like hours but was actually about 30 minutes, we arrive back at the stables. You might think I experienced an overwhelming feeling of relief as we neared the stables, but no. I had a sudden mental image of my 'pony' spying it's home and heading off at a great rate of knots towards it's dinner, so the closer we got, the more agitated I became.
'Did you enjoy that?' asked the girl with the stepladder as she prised my fingers off the saddle and levered me off the 'pony'. The only answer racing through my head was 'having a hysterectomy's going to be a doddle after that!'
