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I’ve been riding horses since I was thirteen. By the time I was seventeen, I had convinced my mom to go halves on a horse. I had visions of a trained show pony, preferably black as coal, who never spooked and did everything I asked. Instead, I got Riff Raff.
While he’s actually (mostly) named for the Rocky Horror Picture Show character, the name also fit him as an unwanted baby from Alberta, brought to Ontario to be sold to the African Lion Safari for food. At first, I didn’t want him either. He was unbroke, spooky, and somewhat ugly with his big heavy head and giant donkey ears. I wanted a horse I could get on and ride, not an uncut stallion terrified of the little white Shetland pony he shared a field with. I remember bringing him into the stall the first time (after spending 20 minutes catching him) and being really angry at him for his antsy behaviour.
Canada also has its own horse, called – shockingly – the Canadian (or French Canadian) Horse. Before their popularity waned in the 1970s, there were three types of Canadian Horses: the Canadian Heavy Draft or St. Lawrence; the Frencher (also sometimes called the St. Lawrence for maximum confusion); and the Canadian Pacer. The Pacer was known for being able to race on ice, which probably means it should replace the beaver as our national animal.
The Canadian Pacer is thought to have influenced a number of breeds in the United States, including the Tennessee Walker, a horse well-known for its unique gaited walk; the American Saddlebred; and the Standardbred. Riff currently lives in a small herd with a Standardbred mare named Elly and Elly’s daughter, Raina.
Standardbreds are best known for their harness racing, and Elly was in a few races in her youth, meaning she’s trained to pull a sulky or buggy. She didn’t do very well, possibly because she’s somewhat bad-tempered and uncoordinated. When leading Elly somewhere, watch your toes; she tends to fling her feet off to the sides. She and Riff are both approaching 20 years old, so she’s mellowed somewhat.
I’ve had Riff for 14 years now. Once he was gelded and given some attention, he blossomed into one of the sweetest horses I’ve ever known. When he's feeling good, he plays keepaway in the field: he waits until I get almost close enough to put his halter on, then trots off a good distance before turning back to watch me try to approach him again. He’s good-natured and patient, though that doesn’t mean he won’t buck me off if I deserve it. And he did, finally, grow into his ears.
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