Ivy - fun comes in pint sizes

Michael Hillman

(9/2021) I am still struggling to recall the exact nature of the conversation that would eventually result in Ivy becoming my youngest, and smallest student ever.

I was dropping off copies of the paper at her grandmother’s office, when Karen asked if I would be willing to let her granddaughter come over to look at the horses. Now I don’t know what I was thinking, but at my age, when someone say’s ‘granddaughter’ I tend to think of 13- or 14-year-old girls. Always on the lookout for barn help, I said yes.

Then the pandemic hit, and Ivy became a distant memory. It seemed liked eons passed between Karen’s request and when she eventfully brought Ivy over, but I do recall my initial thoughts when I first saw Ivy – "I’m going to need a pony!"

At 5 years and 10 months, (Ivy makes a point of including months when giving her age), Ivy is pint size to say the least. But what Ivy lacks in height she more then makes up in spunk and, dare I say, intelligence?

One normally does not apply the word ‘intelligence’ to a 5-year 10-month-old child, but in Ivy’s case, she’s earned it with me.

But let’s get back to ‘spunk.’

Ivy walked into the barn bound and determined to be a rider on day one – but her determination evaporated when she ‘looked up’ to discover Wesley ‘looking down’ at the pint-sized human in the barn isle. Wesley’s nose was just inches from the top of Ivy’s head. Upon discovery that a head, half her size, was about to eat her, Ivy dropped the bag of carrots she was holding and retreated behind her grandmother, from where she peered with the widest of eyes. We couldn’t help but laugh.

Ivy was mesmerized as I took Wesley out of his stall and walked him by her to tack him up. Try as she might, Karen could not get Ivy to move. But as I’ve come to learn, all Ivy needs is a gentle nudge, and once nudged, the sky is the limit.

When asked if she wanted to pet Wesley, Ivy just shook her head "no". But when she saw Karen (a knowledgeable horsewomen in her own right) calmly walk up and start to brush Wesley, Ivy couldn’t resist – and soon she was brushing too.

When I pointed to the bag of carrots on the ground and asked if she wanted to feed them to Wesley, she again shook her head "no." So, I picked them up and began to feed them. I had just finished the second carrot when I felt Ivy behind me – so I handed her the carrot. Wesley was a bit startled when a hand suddenly appeared at my waist with a carrot – but then again, a carrot is a carrot to Wesley. He no sooner nipped it, when the hand disappeared, and a wide-eyed Ivy watched in awe as it was consumed.

When Wesley went to seek out the third hand for more, Ivy retreated to the safety of her grandmother. Needless to say, any idea of her actually getting on Wesley’s back would have to wait until another day.

But I saw something in Ivy that intrigued me and suggested that she come out every week – which met with Karen’s approval.

Ivy was much more self-confident the second time around. She marched right in and picked up ‘her’ brush and began to groom Wesley. Then learning began...

As I tacked up Wesley, I showed each piece of tack to Ivy and told her its name – quilt, saddle pad, gel pad, breast plate, saddle, and bridle. Ivy repeated each name after I said it. Over the next few lessons, I would hold up each piece of tack and ask her to name it, she stumbled at first, but you could see determination in her eyes to eventually get them all right. For some reason she kept forgetting the name of the breast plate. Apparently that got to her, so she spent the week memorizing it. As it turned out, the week she was going to prove herself, was the week I had decided not to use the breast plate. I had in ‘my mind’ finished tacking Wesley up when Ivy blurted out "you forgot the breast plate!"

I was stunned. Not only had she gotten the name right, but she was tuned in enough to notice I had done something different – and pointed it out to me. That impressed me. Needless to say, I put the breast plate on.

As for riding that day, Ivy, while bright eyed, had no intention in the world of getting on Wesley. ‘None, nada, never going to happen’. Nothing her grandmother did budged her to ‘yes’. So, I opted not to push it, and instead just rode around Ivy, who silently watched me with a wide-open mouth.

Ivy must have given it a lot of thought over the ensuing week, for when they showed up for her next ‘lesson’ she proclaimed that she was "going to ride.’" But once again, when the time came to get on Wesley, Ivy froze. So once again I rode around them. When I stopped in front of Karen, I asked Ivy if she wanted to sit on Wesley with me – Ivy hesitated. Her lack of ‘no’ was taken as a ‘yes’ by Karen, who promptly picked Ivy up and handed her to me.

A thoroughly shocked Ivy was stiff as a board – for a few seconds. Then the grin began, and grew and grew, and grew. She was smitten.

When I asked Ivy if she wanted Wesley to take a step, I got an emphatic "no". Then I asked her if he could take ‘only one step.’ She didn’t say ‘no’, so I allowed Wesley to take a single step. When Ivy started to breath again, I asked her she wanted to take two steps. Again, I got an emphatic ‘no.’ But again, my second offer didn’t get shot down, so Wesley took two steps. So, it went until Wesley had taken five steps – at which time Ivy pointed to the other end of the field and asked me to walk Wesley "over there."

"That’s a lot of steps Ivy. Are you sure you’re ready?"

I didn’t get a ‘yes’, but I got a definitive head nod, so off we went … and went, and went. After almost 20 minutes of wandering around the field, I told Ivy it was time to get off. She shook her head no, "can we go a little longer please?" Now when a bright eyed spunky 5-year-old uses the word please, it’s hard to say no. So off we went.

As we continued our ambling, I tried to figure out how to top the day’s event, and in a flash. I knew exactly what to do. When I returned to where Karen was standing, I hopped off – leaving Ivy on Wesley’s back, all by herself. An hour before that very act would have short-circuited her mind; Ivy now took it all in stride. I positioned her into the saddle and asked her what she wanted to do.

"Ride."

I turned to Karen and smiled. Karen positioned herself next to Ivy on Wesley’s side and off we went on Ivy’s first solo pony ride.

The following week Ivy’s parents came to see if all the tall tales Ivy brought home were true. Ivy more than proved them true as she sat on Wesley – this time without any support form her grandmother’s hand - and directed me where to lead Wesley – each request to turn left or right punctuated with a ‘please.’

Ivy also showed off to her parents her pony club drills, a set of exercises to solidify a young rider’s ‘seat’ which we had been working on. Such things as touching your toes while the horse walks, touching the horse’s ears (something Ivy will need an extra 2 feet of arm length to do), the ‘whirly bird’, and of course the classic ‘dairy princess wave.’

As I watched Ivy beam each time she went by her parents, I found myself wondering what I was going to do with her. As much as Wesley is a saint, he’s a horse, not a pony, and there was only so much I could teach Ivy, whose legs didn’t reach the end of the saddle’s flaps.

After 42 years of owning horse, for the past few years I’ve been adamant that my three current ones would be my last.

Sigh.

If Ivy keeps it up, I may have to buy a pony. Probably a miniature Shetland pony at that!

Sigh … just shoot me now.