Post by houndish on Sept 8, 2010 20:01:22 GMT -6
Cash knew that he would need to get Tat working under an english saddle eventually. He wound up with a second hand (actually, third or fourth hand) synthetic english saddle that fit the flashy palimino pretty well, well enough for them to theoretically work in it. The saddle pad was an atrocious shade of pink... left over from one of his half sisters wanting to ride so badly. She rode for a month, fell off because of her own stupidity and decided she hated it. And now... yup, pink saddle pad with silver glitter. Yup, and Cash had his stetson perched on his head, monsterous belt buckle slung around his waist and western spurs jangling on the heels of his boots.
The stirrups he rode with allowed his knees to hang loose, just like in a western saddle. Everything felt so flimsy beneath him, and getting Tat into a steady jog was much harder than it looked. With this god awful english bridle Cash didn't feel like he had any control, and felt like an idiot riding with both hands up in the air.
Cash presumed he would be alone on this blustery morning, so he set up his ipod and speakers, blasting a mix of Rush and the country that he loved so dearly.
He wasn't comfortable with the posting trot, but he asked for a lope anyway. The mare gave, but it was the most disorganized thing he had felt in ages. Something was off... a lead. The blond boy was trying to fix it when he felt something slip... hell. Yup, the mare gave one mighty buck and he was on the ground.
The boy was dazed, but his rodeo instincts kicked in and told him to get to his feet. "Come on sweetheart. You heard the dock, no more bucking for three months, my ribs are still screwed over from last time." Cash stumbeled a few times before falling again, this time feeling the spot in his abdomen where the cracks had been when he had been kicked in the chest by this same mare.
The stirrups he rode with allowed his knees to hang loose, just like in a western saddle. Everything felt so flimsy beneath him, and getting Tat into a steady jog was much harder than it looked. With this god awful english bridle Cash didn't feel like he had any control, and felt like an idiot riding with both hands up in the air.
Cash presumed he would be alone on this blustery morning, so he set up his ipod and speakers, blasting a mix of Rush and the country that he loved so dearly.
He wasn't comfortable with the posting trot, but he asked for a lope anyway. The mare gave, but it was the most disorganized thing he had felt in ages. Something was off... a lead. The blond boy was trying to fix it when he felt something slip... hell. Yup, the mare gave one mighty buck and he was on the ground.
The boy was dazed, but his rodeo instincts kicked in and told him to get to his feet. "Come on sweetheart. You heard the dock, no more bucking for three months, my ribs are still screwed over from last time." Cash stumbeled a few times before falling again, this time feeling the spot in his abdomen where the cracks had been when he had been kicked in the chest by this same mare.