She was mostly French thoroughbred and about 11 years old. She was a sorrel with white hind feet, a tail that reached the ground, a white blaze and long wavy mane. She also was mean, bit and kicked with front and hind legs. But she was a good beginners horse. As long as she had a rider who didn’t know much, or a child on her back she was docility itself. People who could ride and demanded something from her were bucked off sooner or later. So it gave me a sense of pride when she bucked me off the first time.

I never graduated to a horse for more advanced riders, I kept on asking for Astrid. The reason? I fell in love with her, only God knows why. The riding instructor saw a sale coming and told me he was going to sell Astrid, he had a buyer. Well, at that time I did not have the money to buy and keep up a horse, so I stopped riding. A week later I got a call from the stable “Why haven’t you been out?”. I told them the reason and, as I could have known, heard that the sale had fallen through. We talked a little and it was decided that I could pay Astrid out in several installments.

Astrid changed. From an overworked horse she became pampered. She threw me a lot.The ridingmaster was kind enough to help me retrain her from scratch. He had always told me that Astrid was a very well trained horse and could even do the Spanish trot, piaff and courbette. She also could jump like a cat.

We worked hard together and trust and mutuel interdependence grew. She stopped her bad habits of kicking and biting but not her funny little tricks. As she never left the grounds she was oftnen turned out. There was a little lake behind the stables and once a big splash was heard and there was Astrid swimming away, tail and mane floating on the surface. When she came out she tried to sneak into her stall like a naughty child but was pulled back and hosed off.

We often rode out to a little restaurant on the heath. If I gave her her head she would trot straight up to the kitchen and stick her head in the window. Invariably a sugarcube was put in her mouth. Then I would have coffee and she got a coke served in an aluminum tray,which she sucked up very noisely.

Then came the day that we were on a ride with a bunch of friends and Astrid slipped on a slick stone. She kept herself from falling but was horribly lame. The horse ambulance was called and the vet came out. She had torn the big hip muscle and the outlook for full recovery was doubtful. She was treated with a blistering ointment and stood for three month. The first time she was led around she was stiff but looked sound. The vet told me to ride her every day for ten minutes in a walk only. Bets were made on which side I was going to be bucked off, because that was one frisky horse! The first day went fine. The second day was a Sunday and everybody had left on a hunt. The stableboy didn’t know we were in the arena and threw a bunch of buckets out. Astrid exploded ! I went up almost into the rafters and she raced around and around. The good thing was that it proved she was sound. The bad thing however was, that she was ornery and bucked me off just about every day. I learned to sit those bucks out but it didn’t make her behave any better. One day a week we used to ride in the arena with at least sixteen horses and ride figures with music as a background. Astrid became disruptive. One evening she started a tantrum again. I saw a crop lying in the window sill, grabbed it and let her have it. Then I took her out and sponged her off. After that she became her old dependable self again.

Astrid and I had many wonderful rides. I loved going out into the woods early in the morning. The sun shining on cobwebs made them look like spun silver. The leaves smelled musty but so good and the only sound was the singing of the birds, hoofbeats and an occasional snort. That’s when I felt closest to God.

To my granddaughter Erin Astrid Mann.