After a long day, my poppa was dragged out into the woods to watch his little primadonna ride her ponies.
Look, Daddy, look, no saddle.
This is how Axel gets pulled around!
Daddy, no bridle.
I ride Angus with two ropes off his halter... no real stopping power, it's merely there as a suggestion. Which is what I suggested, after a mile of pleasant riding, and he declined. Galloping with a little buck as a finale. Needless to say I was not using a horse whisperer's voice when I said "Whoa @$%!". He was fine after that. We turned around to go collect Axel, looking dumbfounded at the sudden burst of speed. Angus, very succinctly, pointed out that His Lordship lets me ride out His benevolence, and that He controls the seat ejection button, so I'd better be nice, or else.
See? Girls are also good at giving even the most patient father cause to reconsider why he ever procreated in the first place... and a full head of grey hair.
I started training my dad early:
At the age of 5, I decided to do my first solo lake crossing without permission.
Never gave up trying to follow in my dad's ski prints!
Growing up is so overrated!