Horse Riding Begins with Hello a personalized book with your child as the hero

Rose had imagined the first riding lesson all the way to the school. Walk around the arena. Wave to Grandad. Perhaps even try a few bouncy trot steps. The little chestnut pony waiting by the gate had a flaxen mane and a white stripe down the nose. “Bramble,” said the instructor. Rose thought it was a very good name for a new friend.

The instructor checked Bramble, the saddle and the girth, then helped Rose mount from a block. The navy riding helmet was fastened snugly. The boots had little heels, and the balls of Rose's feet rested on the stirrup treads. The instructor held the lead rein beside Bramble's shoulder. Everything was ready. “Walk on,” Rose whispered, adding the gentle leg squeeze they had just discussed.

Four hooves stayed exactly where they were. Rose asked again. Still nothing. The happy picture from the journey began to crumple. Perhaps Bramble liked everybody except Rose. “Should I say it louder?” The instructor shook their head. “Let's pause. A pony that doesn't move may be unsure, or uncomfortable. First I need to check.” Rose let both legs relax.

The instructor checked carefully and found nothing troubling, but decided to finish the mounted part for now. Rose came down with help. “Bramble is shy with someone new,” the instructor explained. “We can give our next meeting a quieter beginning.” Rose looked at the pony's soft brown eye. All morning, Rose had been thinking about what Bramble might do. What might Bramble need?

With the instructor holding the headcollar rope, Rose approached slowly from the side, towards the shoulder. Never from behind, where a pony might be startled. “Hello, Bramble. It's me.” Rose stopped, leaving room around the hooves. Then, when the instructor said it was all right, one small hand rested on the side of the neck. There was no hurry to do anything else.

On the next visit, the instructor offered a soft brush. “Follow the way the coat grows.” Rose stood at the shoulder and brushed a small chestnut patch. At first, every stroke seemed to say, When can I ride? But the hairs settled into such a smooth, shining path that Rose began watching the brush instead. One slow stroke. Another. Bramble stood quietly, and Rose stopped counting.

Afterwards came a tiny treat the instructor had approved for Bramble. Rose put it in a bucket and held the handle, keeping hands away from the rim and the pony's mouth. The instructor kept hold of the rope. Bramble lowered that white-striped nose. Crunch. Rose waited until the bucket was empty. “Does this mean he'll walk for me?” Rose asked. “Food isn't a bargain,” the instructor said. “We're taking care of him.”

During another short visit, a wheelbarrow rattled beyond the fence. One ear turned. Bramble's head rose and the body beneath Rose's brush became less loose. Rose lowered the brush and told the instructor. “Good noticing. One ear doesn't tell us everything. Look at the whole pony, and what's happening nearby.” They waited for the wheelbarrow to pass. When Bramble settled, brushing could begin again.

There were little rides too, always with the instructor holding the lead. Rose learned to look ahead, sit tall and keep hands soft. After a gentle request to walk, the legs could relax as soon as Bramble stepped forward. Once both were ready, the instructor introduced a few quiet trot steps. Holding the neck strap helped Rose balance without pulling on the pony's mouth. Then they walked and rested.

On the school's small display morning, Grandad waited outside the rail. A coral scarf fluttered from one hand. Bramble lifted his head. Rose, still on the ground beside the shoulder, noticed the tightness straight away. The old feeling returned: everybody would be waiting. Then Rose remembered the wheelbarrow. “Please put the scarf away, Grandad. And give us a moment before you wave.” Grandad tucked it into a bag.

“We can leave riding for another day,” the instructor said. Rose thought about that, then chose a quiet hello first. Nobody pulled. Nobody hurried. The instructor checked Bramble and watched for a while. When both pony and child were ready, Rose mounted with help. The instructor took position at the left shoulder, lead in hand. Rose looked towards the orange cone, breathed out and asked softly. One hoof moved. Then another.

Rose let the legs relax. Bramble was walking! At the cone they turned together, with the instructor guiding. Next came a few gentle trot steps, the instructor jogging alongside. Rose held the neck strap and kept the elbows soft. Bob, bob, bob! A laugh escaped. Then back to walk. The lovely part wasn't going fast. It was feeling those little steps happen together.

Beside the cream marker, Rose sat tall and quietly asked for a halt, closing the fingers gently as taught. The instructor helped Bramble stop. Rose softened the hands again. Four hooves stood still, just as they had at the beginning. This time, standing still felt wonderful. The instructor offered a plum-and-cream rosette. “For noticing, caring and giving a pony time.” Grandad clapped softly beyond the rail.

Rose thanked Bramble with a gentle stroke on the neck. After the instructor helped with dismounting and took off the saddle, there was still something Rose wanted to do. “May I have the soft brush?” The rosette could wait in its box. A shiny chestnut patch and an unhurried hello were waiting too.