She’s a dancer.

My sister once more leaned over Brandy, only this time putting her full 61 ½ kilos on the horse with her right foot in the stirrup and for about one milli- second, all was well. Next moment this horse which I was gently going to lead around the paddock for the very first time with a rider on her back, arches her back sky high, aiming for the moon.  Near enough simultaneously sis is passively embracing the rocks underneath Brandy whilst pressing her cheeks deeply into the soil. Meanwhile a voice from the side lines is urging us to Get the hell out of the way.


My sister’s elegant nosedive is followed by a swift scramble through the electrified fence to the edge of the paddock as I also run to make place for this impromptu break-dancer. 
Ace performance. Back arched, manes, nostrils and stirrups soaring through the air with her feet barely, if ever, touching the ground. Just a whirlwind flying through our paddock. It seemed to last for an eternity. I don’t know if the on and off leaning into the electric fence spurred her on or eventually slowed her down. But we mainly credit her visiting friend, Calypso the gelding, for telling her that, enough is enough. 


Eventually her pupils returned and the white of her eyes, by now a little bloodshot, disappeared. She had had a good workout. Hell, we’d all had a good workout. 


Maybe the extra 40 kilo’s my sister put on since our childhood years made all the difference, or have I lost my touch already?