What a Rascal

Forgot to add this in the others, but it may mean something to you horse riders:
We rode English the whole time, as one would while in Britain. This seemed to upset the people who had riding experience. They complained often. They did not like having to hold the reins in two hands. I did, for although i can't really drive the horses/mules at the farm i was used to holding lines in a similar manner. Anyway, i don't remember riding Western, but apparently English is quite different and the guides really wanted you to use two hands at all times.

Right. Next morning, i go out to the tack room to get my saddle, and i tell the woman that i was riding Polly yesterday. She said something but all i caught of it was "hurt" "field" "we" "get her". So instead of asking i just said ok thanks, walked out and was trying piece together if Polly was hurt or if something else had happened. Finally they come over and explain that another horse, Buttercup, cut her leg yesterday and Polly had kept her company overnight. Phew. I did not breal Polly. So they go out and get Polly, and bring her to me to groom and saddle. The entire time i am doing this Buttercup is over by us trying to talk to Polly. I am about to get up on the pony, when they come over to me with a different horse and explain that they were going to leave Polly to keep Buttercup company. Oh alright Buttercup, you take Polly and feel better. So i was sad; i liked Polly. But she had a pony job to do and i understood.

My new horses' name was Rascal, and the reason he does not have a rider today is because he is the one the other Stacey fell off. Huh. Seems to me we have a Stacey hater. So i did not introduce myself to him as Stacey, hoping all would be ok if he didn't know my name. I was told he was a very good horse and a great guide horse. He was a bit smaller than Polly, and even less sure-footed. That made things exciting. Obviously he never fell, but there was a good deal of stumbling. Once when we were trotting, he stumbled pretty badly and luckily i was at the standing part of the post so i did not fall off i just went up VERY high and came down with a bit of force. All was good though, and he regained his balance.

I am not good at trotting. I don't know if it is due to the long legs or what, but i could not get the right rhythm down. It was not smooth, and although i was.... "okay"... i found myself often apologizing to Rascal. Pretty much whenever we trotted i just said "oh rascal i apologize. this must be highly uncomfortable for you..." But he was ok with it. I just think if you had some person landed on your back over and over while you tried to run, you'd be ever so slightly uncomfortable. Not Rascal. He was a champ.

Rascal did not like horses who cut him off. We had to stop a few times, and during one of them the girl behind me allowed her horse to cut ahead in line. Rascal would not tolerate this kind of insubordination, and for the rest of the time he was behind the offending pony, he refused to walk directly behind her. He would listen if i told him to go left or right, but instead of walking in line he would swoop by and walk just outside the line so that he was still in place but jutted out a bit. Rascal was not pleased. I felt bad because i kept trying to get him to go back in line, but he would have none of it. Finally we were able to get in front of Kim and Rascal was happy again. He shot her a dirty look, followed the line, gave me no trouble, and listened perfectly. He must really not like Kim.

We rode along the hills all day looking at the great views of the beach, the countryside and the town, and reached our destination: a pub. It was in the center of the little town and it was quite busy. I had the 3-course traditional roast meal, which included fruit juice, some sort of beef, lots of vegetables, and an apple crumble. After our filling meal we went back to our ponies whom we had just tied to random bushes on the hill. Apparently this is a normal thing to do in Wales? It was all fine though, no ponies ran away. We got back on our ponies and trotted back around the scenic route, passing roaming horses and sheep on the way.

No dinner this time, sadly, so we we just packed up and went on the bus. I thanked everyone and said goodbye to the ponies and the dog and jumped on the bus. When we reached the train station, we waited around for about 15 minutes until a man came up and said that the train would not be running from Swansea. Huh. Well we have a ticket from Swansea, we say. The man says no. It is not running. You have to take a coach to Cardiff. Right. So we did, almost leaving behind four people who had to catch the later bus because they went in search of a macdonalds. My friend was speaking to a man on the coach who informed her that this happens every sunday. Apparently they schedule trains every sunday evening but don't actually run them. Instead they allow people to come to the staion, look confused for a bit, and then inform them they have to take an hour long coach ride. So that is what we did.

Immediately on the train i started to feel ill. This is not only ineveitable but acceptable for you see, everyone in my hall had been experiencing the plague for the past two months but i had avoided it. I made a pact with the Jeff, the god of illness and things of that nature, and said: " cheerio jeff, if i can stay healthy until the end of pony trekking you can make me as ill as you want and i won't complain." So once the train hit England *BAM* SICKNESS. I was out of it all night, but i went to bed fairly early...so i thought maybe it would pass? I was quite incorrect, you will find....