When I was a kid, I had the poniest-pony of all time. He would rub me off on trees, buck just for fun, and generally take full advantage of the kind-of-tiny, kind-of-clueless 9-year-old that I was.
Luckily, I had a great trainer, who was ever-so-patient with me and this naughty pony. She always told me I had to earn that pony’s respect in every interaction, but it wasn’t always easy. She had a small back pen behind her indoor arena that was often too muddy to ride in, but when we did get out there, she’d harp on me to “ride the whole way into the corners.”
My kid brain didn’t understand it, really. If I was trotting along, working on my hands, my balance, my feet, and my pony’s…
