Here is a wayyy back throw back to me as a tiny cowgirl. We lived in town and didn't have animals (except for that one time my brother and I got a hamster and we went on vacation to see Chincotigue ponies and it died....). So once or twice a year Mom would take us to this place down the road where you could trail ride old nags. Rainbow Stables. It was the highlight of my year and I lived and begged for it. "Mom let's go for Josh's birthday!" "Mom let's go riding for YOUR birthday!" "Mom let's go riding because I haven't been since last week and I'm dying to ride"
In addition to my twice yearly rides on the nags, we'd go visit Mom's bestie from when she was a kid and we'd ride her big QH mare. I don't know if she was really as big as I remember. But when you're 8, you think they're all 18 hands.
Here is an old ass photo of me riding an old nag. Though I rode western the first 12 years of my life, I always knew that was just to hold me over until I started riding English and became a Grand Prix jumper. (Though I was serious at 8 or 10 and even maybe at 14, that statement is now laced with mucho sarcasm).
|actually pretty healthy looking for a trail nag|
And just because I don't like my brother atm here is one I foud of me in the same cowboy hat after deciding little brother would look better dressed at Laura Ingalls.... please ignore the fact that I look like a hobo. My mom must have dressed me, I swear.