Green Broke

GREEN BROKE

n. A horse that has been ground trained, and can be ridden a little, but is not fully trained.


So here it begins, I have not ever actually indulged in a real live blog and I am sure it is going to be a difficult thing to keep up with, but I am going to try. This is a blog by a college aged equine enthusiast, I have had so many different experiences in my life with horses that one of the things that people have always said “you should write book” well I have not begun the Great American novel yet… but this is a step in that direction. I suppose a good way to start off the first entry of a horse themed blog would be to start off with my earliest memories of these incredible animals.


I was the same as virtually every little girl out there, minus the doll obsession. I always had horse collection, horse stuffed animals, plastic models, and more, I don’t exactly know when all that started, but my brother and sister blame it on an uncle who gave me my first plastic modeled horse, complete with real neighing and clip clopping noises. At the tender age of 4 my dreams came true and on a family trip to the Midwest I got a chance to ride my first horse. Pony, that is. I remember it was one of those run down, crummy trial riding places where you can read a book on your horse, but I thought I had stepped into dreamland. This place had more than enough real live breathing horses, and I was going to ride one of them. I imagine I was just bouncing with energy that refused to be tamed, and impatiently waiting while my mother paid for the hour ride. Of course the wrangler in jeans and chaps came to assign horses for myself, brother, mother and sister. The horses that my sister and mom rode were unmemorable, although I am sure noble, steeds, but my brother and I will never forget our horses.


My brother got the proud mount of Molly the Mule; she was just a typical long eared chestnut, but my big brother was ashamed as could be. At 14 or so, and just realizing how to become a macho man, the mule was the pentacle of uncool. In every picture of that day, my brother has his face turned away and I am sure is blushing like a radish. On the other hand, there was my steed. I was assigned the little gray pony, Termite the Terminator. His name says a lot about the plucky little pony…. Termite because he chewed on every wood surface he could reach, and Terminator because he bit the knees of all the other horses, using his small stature to become the top dog of the mangy herd. I am sure this little guy was just a Shetland mix, but I was convinced he was a Chincoteague pony, who must have swam the channel, just like my favorite pony heroine, Misty. This feisty little critter did nothing but his job, plod on the path, nose in the butt of my sister’s horse, but he was quickly my hero. When I got two feet on solid ground I could talk, think and dream of nothing else. Horses were in my blood, never to get out again. From then on, I have found myself finding every possible pathway leading to the saddle, and in my own way, created one of the best pathways to my passion that I have ever seen.


I hope to use this blog as a place to explore my passion, use this place as somewhere to share knowledge and place my photos where others may be able to share them. I want to share my stories and maybe hear yours too. This is my first try, I am a green broke blogger, with lots of enthusiasm and plenty of drive. I intend to join this whole internet conversation that nearly every person in America enjoys.

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