“Let’s go! Let’s go! Lets go get my Horse” I announced while sprinting to the truck. “In a minute Brette hold your horses” “I can’t mom I need my horse to hold her.” I yelled sarcastically.
After about five minutes we were off. Than every five minutes I turned down the blaring music in the truck and ask “Are we there yet!” “No” my mom would always say. During the hour drive I stated to think about my horse. A light brown Crioulo with a white star on her forehead, all that I knew about Crioulo was that they were an Argentinean breed that were good for playing Polo. But the best polo horses are half Crioulo and half Thoroughbred. This was my second time seeing her, but last time I only saw her in the shadows of the night. Then I thought of the other horses I helped mom train. Being the guinea pig. All of bucking and kicking. All of the patience of trying to get them used to ridding. All of the grooming. All of the trying to get them to do certain things and certain keys. All of the trying figure out what spooked them and then not making them spooked of them.
We stopped by a feed store to pick up some hay and a fly mask. After twenty minutes of deliberation with the feed guy about giving us the wrong kind of hay. The one we needed. And how fresh it needed to be. We left. Finally.

About five minutes later we arrived at the UT’s (University of Texas’s) polo stables. When we unloaded the two bales of hay, we grabbed three flakes, opened the stall door and my little sister Terry ran up to Argentina and shouted horsey and hugged her. From my past knowledge of horses I knew that some horses get scared and rear up and kick the intruder in their stall. But luckily Argentina didn’t even flitch a muscle. “Whew,” I said, “at least she is Terry proof”. While walking to the grateful horse, I saw for the first time, her left eye was blind. “Oh poor horse does this mean I don’t get to ride her.” I whispered while all my feelings sagged. “No, but it does mean lots more patience and hard work” my mom said. There went ridding her around the house when I got home. Mom told me again that I had a lot of work ahead of me. But in my head I knew it would takes mouths to retraining to riding, especially since she hasn’t been ridden in a year. Another two mouths getting her used to trotting instead of galloping everywhere. And as the young rider I am I knew that bareback riding was going to be a challenge when I finally got her to galloping, since I herd she doesn’t mind anything when she is running. “Hey the last guy ridding her got thrown onto a metal post outside of the arena, when she was running,” said Beth one of mom’s friends.

Later that day, after me grooming her and messing with her trying to find out what she wouldn’t let me do. For the safety at home, so when neighborhood kids were messing with her while I was grooming her nobody would get hurt. We decide to let Justin and Terry ride her first, while mom was leading. She was a good girl doing everything my mom asked her to do. Then mom told me to get on. I’d agreed and walked towards her, got in the saddle that my mom was barrowing. Mom led her outside of the arena, and then she finally freaked out. Badly. Rearing and kicking and trying to break free to the arena and than toward her stall. Trying to stay on Argentina I thought there goes another month of just getting her used to be outside of an arena and a stall since we didn’t have either of them at home. After a while of my horse trying to kill me and my mom. I got off, unsaddled her, and loaded her into the trailer.

After five months of training her on weekends ten O’clock to nightfall, and weekdays, coming home from school at 4:50 and training. I finally past all the downs. I did what her previous owner couldn’t, trotting her outside of an arena with her not freaking out at anything, going around the block with nothing to fear. I thought all those months of patience, persistence, and determination. Did all the impossible things with my horse. Like my mom before I had trained a horse.