Winter Training for My Human Pony- FullHD
I wanted a winter ride, so I took the most useful thing I had available: a saddled human pony that could carry me through the cold.
For almost twenty minutes, I stay exactly where I belong: seated above him, wrapped in my winter coat, holding the reins, my crop and my spurred riding boots ready whenever his performance displeases me. The ground is frozen, the old yard is cold, and every step under me sounds heavy and pathetic. Still, he is expected to continue.
He is not there to be comfortable. He is not there to be considered. He is there to carry me, to obey my reins, to endure my corrections and to make himself at least somewhat useful beneath me. A disappointing human pony needs a strict rider, and I am very good at making useless things work harder than they would ever choose to.
I ride him around the pond, across the yard and through the rough winter ground. Sometimes I correct him with my crop. Sometimes I use my spurs. Sometimes I make him stop just to worship my boots before I decide he may continue. His comfort is irrelevant. His only value in this scene is whether he can keep moving while I enjoy the ride.
I laugh when he struggles, lose patience when he becomes too slow, and remind him exactly what happens when my human pony disappoints me.
By the end, I tie him outside where he can wait properly: cold, used, obedient, and still not nearly as impressive as he should be....
For almost twenty minutes, I stay exactly where I belong: seated above him, wrapped in my winter coat, holding the reins, my crop and my spurred riding boots ready whenever his performance displeases me. The ground is frozen, the old yard is cold, and every step under me sounds heavy and pathetic. Still, he is expected to continue.
He is not there to be comfortable. He is not there to be considered. He is there to carry me, to obey my reins, to endure my corrections and to make himself at least somewhat useful beneath me. A disappointing human pony needs a strict rider, and I am very good at making useless things work harder than they would ever choose to.
I ride him around the pond, across the yard and through the rough winter ground. Sometimes I correct him with my crop. Sometimes I use my spurs. Sometimes I make him stop just to worship my boots before I decide he may continue. His comfort is irrelevant. His only value in this scene is whether he can keep moving while I enjoy the ride.
I laugh when he struggles, lose patience when he becomes too slow, and remind him exactly what happens when my human pony disappoints me.
By the end, I tie him outside where he can wait properly: cold, used, obedient, and still not nearly as impressive as he should be....
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