This is a narrative of the weekend of my first ever cart pulling as a pony.
I was a Samaritan. Got to Minneapolis in the earlier afternoon and hung around to pick up Trigger, a famous pony, who flew in at 9:30. In between I explored Minneapolis. The Weisman Art Center on the campus of U of MN is a Gehry designed building. This seems to be my year for Frank Gehry, having seen the Disney Music Center in LA earlier this year. I feel compelled to say that these metal Gehry buildings don't hang together up close and personal. From afar, all undulating masses whose shimmer adds an ethereal quality. Up close they seem more like a soda can sculpture, ragged and flimsy. But still they are quite an achievement.
Stopped in at di Giorgio's wine bar for a quick sip before heading to the Walker Art Center. Had a lovely glass of crisp Vernaccia and chatted with the new waitress who seemed a little perplexed about what to do next with her life, but really wanted to be a screenwriter and The kitchen just starting to cook for the evening. It smelled heavenly. So I decide to have a bite, too. Started with a soul soothing Florentine tomato soup with a body created by chunks of yesterday's bread. Then I had a jones for pasta gorgonzola from our conversation the other night which they satisfied with a penne variant that included a shot of vodka. Rich and fattening, but I'm on vacation.
Off too the airport to pick up Trigger. We hit it off well and he's my new best friend. The only kind of friends I like to have are best friends. We had a jolly drive up, crashed in the hotel after midnight then headed out to the ranch after a quick stop in Wal-Mart for a few last minute supplies. Never having been in a Wal-Mart before, I wish never to go back. I could explain, but there are reams of media on the topic. Let's just say that to me, their pet supply and hardware sections were an eentsie bit lacking.
Did I remember to say that the charming and energetic Nikki at the Hertz counter managed to upgrade me from a Flintstone-mobile to a convertible for just a few dollars more? Yes, so I've been cruising around with the top down, getting pink on the forehead and cheeks and spinning through the CDs I brought along.
After another sunny, breezy open air drive, I'm following Trigger around the ranch like a little brother in the school yard. I was asked to supervise the next batch of volunteers who mysteriously never arrived, leaving me holding the bag. Actually, I ended up enjoying the chores; something about the freshness of the air on forty acres along with the smell of the horses which is rather soothing and not at all offensive, musky and good for the soul. Trigger and I made a project out of implementing the decorative plastic chain link swags by the parking area. After a few more minor chores, it was clear that these volunteers were not going to appear and the big job couldn't be avoided, so I buckled down and started raking the indoor riding area. After a bit I pulled the car around and threw in some CDs to keep up my rhythm. About 75% of the way through, some fella came in and started finishing up one corner. I was very upset. He was messing up my system. Fortunately he got bored. So I finished up. Not needing anymore chores, I decided to extend this one and started raking a checkerboard pattern into dirt. I must have seemed like Rain Man to the others, but pretty soon everyone was aware that they weren't supposed to walk through the barn until the party started. Maybe I was a bit over enthusiastic, but it's the details that make for a good event. Besides everyone seemed to delight in the absurdity.
Trigger showed up again. He was hungry. Since he was going to be stabled 24/7, I had pity and took him out for his last human meal. We drove into town, which is quite a hike out here in ranch territory and requires a map. We stumbled upon a Mexican restaurant that was run by real Mexican restaurateurs. A couple of bottles of Pacifico Clara and a dish of beef mole later (can't forget the chipotle melty cheese dip that was more like a fondue), and we were on our way back to the ranch with the top down. Trigger was napping in the sun and the breeze, but woke up worried about forgetting to put on his sunscreen. I told him he looked a bit pink and he relaxed. Little white lies can be good.
While I was raking, a local pony club was erecting a huge scaffolding with pretty rainbow colored cloths blowing in the wind. In the center they erected a maypole sort of spinning bit with extended horizontal metal bars. Turns out this is a carousel with two places for folks to sit and ride and two places to attach ponies.
Before things got going I took a walk around the ranch, taking pictures of the landscape, barns, stalls and artifacts, some a little heavy on the aesthetic sensibility. Besides my usual photographic entertainment I had an ulterior motive. Something to show the vanillas back home with a wry smile when relaying the excerpted version of my trip.
Then there was some milling about and some settin' and chattin' while some of the Friday evening arrivals started dropping in. A lovely demure woman with riding pants and boots arrived. Her theme was olive green which I found distinctive and tony, yet understated. She had a Spartan cart whose only decoration was hot air balloon colored rainbow cloth around the spokes like a pinwheel. She started talking to Trigger. She had come without a pony and asked if I would like to take her for a ride. Though a bit surprised, I jumped at the chance. No one else had begun yet and I thought it was a good opportunity to be the party starter.
I got my bag from the car and changed into my corset, trimmings and bridle in the loft area of the old barn. I flushed at the admiring looks I received as I came into the sunlight from the barn, my bridle securely fastened with the tiny brass Master locks on the buckles. I handed her keys to the locks, then the reins. I figured I'd start out full speed and had attached the supple chains to the end of the reins. Instead of clipping to the bit, these went through the bit and down to clips attached to my nipples. She showed small delight in affixing them. I felt the beginning of a glow.
She walked me up toward her cart, giving me economical bits of instruction along the way; just enough to perform well; not too much to spoil the spontaneity. My tail tickled the backs of my thighs. As I came up toward the indoor riding area, the folks assembling the carousel gave approving looks. She backed me in between the cart poles, then a few simple instructions about how to lower myself to grab the poles and wait while she seated herself, then rise up. Feeling her weight through the cart was such a delightfully compelling abstraction for human contact. Then the guidance from the reins, the little taps with the dressage whip and the few spare words of instruction uttered sotto voce as if the pony only understood the sounds, but understood just the same. We toured down to the old barn, then back up the hill.
She had me genuflect again to lower the cart and I felt her weight ease off the cart poles as she exited. The tinge of loss was offset by the comfort of her grooming me with a brush and easing my labored breathing and pounding chest with her gentle strokes.
The carousel assemblers, having finished their work, were giving the apparatus a test. They asked my groomer if she wanted to have me pull it and she led me over as they attached me and gave her a lunge line. My enthusiasm had to be reined back a few times as I kept getting ahead of the other pony. Afterwards, she exercised me on the lung line off to the side. I galloped my first gallop.
Back to the cart she drove me toward the restroom facilities where she left me at the cart while taking her pause. I waited at the cart outside becoming more absorbed in the moment, snorting and stomping a bit, feeling the evening breeze tickle. With her weight reassuringly in the car behind me again, it was around to the indoor riding area to put away her cart for the evening. There was a small ramp up to the barn that made me apprehensive, but thanks to a her most energetic urging of the evening I made it up and in smoothly with approving looks from those watching. Then in some small way, her guiding me to back up the cart into its stall was perhaps the most challenged yet coddled I felt. Working backwards in the dark, the guidance of her reins, words and whip filled my all my senses. Though I was anxious, she made me successful.
She was wonderful, she was my first, and I'll never forget her.
evening. It smelled heavenly. So I decide to have a bite, too. Started with a soul soothing Florentine tomato soup with a body created by chunks of yesterday's bread. Then I had a jones for pasta gorgonzola from our conversation the other night which they satisfied with a penne variant that included a shot of vodka. Rich and fattening, but I'm on vacation.
Off too the airport to pick up Trigger. We hit it off well and he's my new best friend.The only kind of friends I like to have are best friends. We had a jolly drive up, crashed in the hotel after midnight then headed out to the ranch after a quick stop in Wal-Mart for a few last minute supplies. Never having been in a Wal-Mart before, I wish never to go back. I could explain, but there are reams of media on the topic. Let's just say that to me, their pet supply and hardware sections were an eentsie bit lacking.
Did I remember to say that the charming and energetic Nikki at the Hertz counter managed to upgrade me from a Flintstone-mobile to a convertible for just a few dollars more? Yes, so I've been cruising around with the top down, getting pink on the forehead and cheeks and spinning through the CDs I brought along.
After another sunny, breezy open air drive, I'm following Trigger around the ranch like a little brother in the school yard. I was asked to supervise the next batch of volunteers who mysteriously never arrived, leaving me holding the bag. Actually, I ended up enjoying the chores; something about the freshness of the air on forty acres along with the smell of the horses which is rather soothing and not at all offensive, musky and good for the soul. Trigger and I made a project out of implementing the decorative plastic chain link swags by the parking area. After a few more minor chores, it was clear that these volunteers were not going to appear and the big job couldn't be avoided, so I buckled down and started raking the indoor riding area. After a bit I pulled the car around and threw in some CDs to keep up my rhythm. About 75% of the way through, some fella came in and started finishing up one corner. I was very upset. He was messing up my system. Fortunately he got bored. So I finished up. Not needing anymore chores, I decided to extend this one and started raking a checkerboard pattern into dirt. I must have seemed like Rain Man to the others, but pretty soon everyone was aware that they weren't supposed to walk through the barn until the party started. Maybe I was a bit over enthusiastic, but it's the details that make for a good event. Besides everyone seemed to delight in the absurdity.
Trigger showed up again. He was hungry. Since he was going to be stabled 24/7, I had pity and took him out for his last human meal. We drove into town, which is quite a hike out here in ranch territory and requires a map. We stumbled upon a Mexican restaurant that was run by real Mexican restaurateurs. A couple of bottles of Pacifico Clara and a dish of beef mole later (can't forget the chipotle melty cheese dip that was more like a fondue), and we were on our way back to the ranch with the top down. Trigger was napping in the sun and the breeze, but woke up worried about forgetting to put on his sunscreen. I told him he looked a bit pink and he relaxed. Little white lies can be good.
While I was raking, a local pony club was erecting a huge scaffolding with pretty rainbow colored cloths blowing in the wind. In the center they erected a maypole sort of spinning bit with extended horizontal metal bars. Turns out this is a carousel with two places for folks to sit and ride and two places to attach ponies.
Before things got going I took a walk around the ranch, taking pictures of the landscape, barns, stalls and artifacts, some a little heavy on the aesthetic sensibility. Besides my usual photographic entertainment I had an ulterior motive. Something to show the vanillas back home with a wry smile when relaying the excerpted version of my trip.
Then there was some milling about and some settin' and chattin' while some of the Friday evening arrivals started dropping in. A lovely demure woman with riding pants and boots arrived. Her theme was olive green which I found distinctive and tony, yet understated. She had a Spartan cart whose only decoration was hot air balloon colored rainbow cloth around the spokes like a pinwheel. She started talking to Trigger. She had come without a pony and asked if I would like to take her for a ride. Though a bit surprised, I jumped at the chance. No one else had begun yet and I thought it was a good opportunity to be the party starter.
I got my bag from the car and changed into my corset, trimmings and bridle in the loft area of the old barn. I flushed at the admiring looks I received as I came into the sunlight from the barn, my bridle securely fastened with the tiny brass Master locks on the buckles. I handed her keys to the locks, then the reins. I figured I'd start out full speed and had attached the supple chains to the end of the reins. Instead of clipping to the bit, these went through the bit and down to clips attached to my nipples. She showed small delight in affixing them. I felt the beginning of a glow.
She walked me up toward her cart, giving me economical bits of instruction along the way; just enough to perform well; not too much to spoil the spontaneity. My tail tickled the backs of my thighs. As I came up toward the indoor riding area, the folks assembling the carousel gave approving looks. She backed me in between the cart poles, then a few simple instructions about how to lower myself to grab the poles and wait while she seated herself, then rise up. Feeling her weight through the cart was such a delightfully compelling abstraction for human contact. Then the guidance from the reins, the little taps with the dressage whip and the few spare words of instruction uttered sotto voce as if the pony only understood the sounds, but understood just the same. We toured down to the old barn, then back up the hill.
She had me genuflect again to lower the cart and I felt her weight ease off the cart poles as she exited. The tinge of loss was offset by the comfort of her grooming me with a brush and easing my labored breathing and pounding chest with her gentle strokes.
The carousel assemblers, having finished their work, were giving the apparatus a test. They asked my groomer if she wanted to have me pull it and she led me over as they attached me and gave her a lunge line. My enthusiasm had to be reined back a few times as I kept getting ahead of the other pony. Afterwards, she exercised me on the lung line off to the side. I galloped my first gallop.
Back to the cart she drove me toward the restroom facilities where she left me at the cart while taking her pause. I waited at the cart outside becoming more absorbed in the moment, snorting and stomping a bit, feeling the evening breeze tickle. With her weight reassuringly in the car behind me again, it was around to the indoor riding area to put away her cart for the evening. There was a small ramp up to the barn that made me apprehensive, but thanks to a her most energetic urging of the evening I made it up and in smoothly with approving looks from those watching. Then in some small way, her guiding me to back up the cart into its stall was perhaps the most challenged yet coddled I felt. Working backwards in the dark, the guidance of her reins, words and whip filled my all my senses. Though I was anxious, she made me successful.
She was wonderful, she was my first, and I'll never forget her.Photo Notes: Rennie as the pony with Mistress Gwen driving from 2006 IPPC
