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Reviews of Riding a Dead Horse

 

5.0 out of 5 stars great book unfortunate tragedy! January 28, 2013

By Leanne Herrera

Format:Kindle Edition

I received this book in exchange for an honest review!

This is a great YA novella about a young girl who has to find a way to deal with losing the only family she has ever really known. In order for her to deal with the tragedy of losing them and moving in with her father, a ghost horse comes and shows her the way. There are a lot of messages about growing up that all young girls should know in this short story.

The characters were easy well developed and the plot was easy to understand. There were moments in the story that I felt truly sorry for this little girl and her predicament and other times when I wanted to smack the adults that were involved.

I would recommend this novella for young teens as it has some serious situations that involve making the right choices. My rating for this book is 5 out of 5.

5.0 out of 5 stars Great book January 25, 2013

By Kaylene Kollos

Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase

Couldn't stop reading this book, only took me 3 days to read. If you love horses and feel they are one of your best friends you will love this book.

I love reviews! They are the best way to get feedback from my readers. I am grateful to see that Riding a Dead Horse is touching readers. It certainly was an emotional book for me to write. While I did not lose my family when I was a child as Aspen Joyce does in the story, I have lost loved ones in ways that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Riding a Dead Horse takes place in my hometown, Tucson, Arizona. I figured it was time to show Tucson as I know it. I rode English (both jumping and Dressage) not Western, and spent more time around Arabs and Warmbloods than Quarter Horses. I have seen Tucson portrayed by authors who have obviously never been here (One particular one featured swimming in a water tower which is both incredibly inaccurate and really gross-- that would be drinking water!) Tucson is a large, thriving city, full of culture and gorgeous landscapes. I hope you enjoy seeing a little bit of it through my eyes.

This is Why

This is it-- why I do what I do. What I believe in. Why I write horse books.

The magic of a girl and a horse or a boy and a horse? It's real. It's powerful. It's world and life
changing.

Quincey: The Horse Who Broke Me

I was fifteen years old and taking lessons at a stable about twenty minutes away from my house. My trainer was a nice woman, but she had a really bad habit of giving the horse I rode in my lessons sugar every time he ignored me and went over to her. She laughed and said that she was his 'Sugar Momma.'

This, of course, created a huge problem for me. I was trying to get better at riding, but the horse was being trained to disobey me.

His name was Quincey. He was a big Quarter Horse gelding with great conformation. He had a history with abuse, which is why my trainer was so set on spoiling him.

I often had my lessons at night, as I live in southern Arizona and it can be too hot during the day to do any serious riding. For once my dad had come to watch me ride. He had never seen me ride and I was eager to show him what I could do.

I always loved riding under the arena lights. I liked to imagine that I was riding in a competition or under a spotlight. Quincey was so beautiful that he could have been a star. Despite our issues, I adored him. I wished he was my horse.

My trainer had put Quincey in side reins because he had a horrible habit of tossing his head back and smashing his rider in the nose. She said that it would teach him to carry himself correctly. I could tell though, that it was doing the opposite. He would lean on the side-reins, which would mess up his top line and make his gaits choppy and uncomfortable.

My dad was watching from the fence as I urged Quincey into a trot and started a figure eight. Quincey pulled at the bit impatiently, trying to turn his head to face my trainer. As always I corrected him. I took a firm hold of the reins and used my legs to keep him on track.

Before I knew it he was bucking underneath me. The side reins snapped under the force of his tantrum. He reared and plunged and twisted. I flew out of the saddle with such torque that I manage one and a half rotations before I hit the ground-- face first. The brim of my helmet crumpled. My nose was crushed by the impact.

I gasped for breath and rolled onto my side, only to see Quincey above me, driving his forefeet straight towards my head. His eyes were rolling and his ears were pinned back. There was nothing there to remind me of the horse I cherished.

My trainer had a lunge whip in her hands and it took her lashing him across the face to get him off of me. He nearly trampled me to death.

All told I had three cracked ribs, a broken nose, black eyes, and huge bruises around my knees. The arena dirt had skinned my face and hands. I looked like I had been in a fist fight.

I didn't give up riding. My dad certainly wasn't much of a fan of my riding now, of course.

The next time I went to the barn for my lesson Quincey was gone. They had sold him as dangerous.'

I still feel guilty. Quincey misbehaved because of what my trainer had been teaching him, not because he was a dangerous horse. Yes, he snapped. Yes, I know he honestly tried to kill me, but I still wish he had been given another chance.

Years later I found out they had sold him to slaughter.

So Quincey is the horse that broke me-- both physically and emotionally. Embarr, in Crash Course, is very much a tribute to a horse that could have been rehabilitated if anyone had been willing to put the time and effort into him.

Adventures With Ponies

I started riding when I was twelve.

My trainer had me jumping within a half hour, before I knew how to canter a horse and right after learning how to post. Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful. I loved every minute of it.

At twelve, I believe I was pretty short. Like, looks right on and 11hh pony short. My trainer had given up riding, and her daughter, who did ride, was six feet tall, so they were pretty excited to see tiny little me.

Immediately began the parade of ponies who hadn't been ridden in a while. First, Pacman, who was lazy as could be until he saw a jump, then he would get super excited, stop acting his age (21) and act like a five year old. He was a welsh pony cross, gray, and only 11hh tall. There was no way anyone could get hurt on him... well, unless they looked down while jumping.

I did... once.

Then there was Elsie. She hadn't been ridden in three years. Elsie was the name I called her. My trainer called her something else entirely. A word I wasn't supposed to say.

She was a cute little saddlebred/shetland cross, which meant she was hot, willful, intelligent, stubborn... She was quite a character.

We actually really hit it off. She liked me, because I adored her. (It's a mare thing.) I had a bunch of mishaps with her, which included crushing my leg between her, the fence, and another horse. Then, there was the time she smashed through the arena gate with me, shattering the heavy wood in half, because she was late for dinner.

Ponies.

Then there was Cricket. It was a disaster from the start. She was a four year old green pony. I was a new rider. It had been raining. Puddles were scattered here and there in the arena. Most of the footing was fine, but there were random spots where the sand gave way to clay.

Right before one jump was one of those spots. Cricket tripped, stumbled over the jump, and bolted.

We flew around the arena, until I lost my seat. I landed, hard, on my elbow, slid eight feet (trainer measure it later), broke the bill of of my helmet, and skinned myself up pretty badly.

My arm really hurt, but I did what riders have to do, I got back on, jumped the course again, ended on a good note, and then went to Urgent Care with my parents.

It wasn't a bad break. Actually, the bone bruise was probably worse than the actual hairline fracture. I had a sling, though, and happily used it to skip PE for six weeks.

The worst part was not riding for six weeks.

I have always gotten along great with ponies. We short folks have to make up for stature with personality. Perhaps this is also why stallions absolutely adore me.

Mares don't, but that's another story.