Dundee

Dundee was a medium ugly build, medium brown colour, medium bored temperament. My F/W barn instructor seemed to delight in heaving his students up on slightly un-broke 16hh horses. But Dundee was the second horse, and he was thrilling, if completely jarring, his outer-mongolian trot incomprehensible to my overly imaginative mind.

Dundee had a very effective move for rider separation without damage. Dundee had a genius for the "irregular" trot. While trotting rapidly on the rail of the arena, jar the rider as high as possible, and then hang a 90degree inside turn, and stop.
Plop. Always gently, it never hurt. This move worked for Dundee and me, every, single time. My instructor would laugh. And off I'd go, again.

Took me quite a long while to master Dundee, and then he was gone, his butt shipped to parts I didn't know about. I was bereft, heartbroken, crushed beyond all fevered kid's expectations of life. Dundee really was a great horse to ride, before riding any other type of horse. He was impossible to sit truly comfortably. He encouraged strength in my legs, in sheer self-defense. Posting a trot was life or death, with good old medium Dundee.
Stay in 't middle, lass, was his lesson. Don't expect an easy ride in life. Hang on!

'e must have been a Scottish warm-blood, with that name, anyway.
Butch was still prettier, in his day;)

How it all starts

Is in the first horse you manage to climb up on, whether you're 11, like I was, or mid-50's, like I am now. The first horse that I ever rode was a belgian cross almost blonde-chestnut-roan gelding named Mike. Four white socks, a big white blaze, a picture of big and solid and square. A bit short-necked, a bit big-headed, and just HUGE when he is your first horse you ever ever ride.

I rented a horse, named Mike. I was so excited, I paid for an hours time, all of my savings from 11 year old allowances. I had found my first barn, filled with horses.

I was vaulted up onto his broad back outside, in an attached paddock, and turned loose with the rest of the rental string. I was over the moon. I was eleven. Mike ran back to the barn.

What?? I was mortified, embarrassed, my crimson face a subject of laughter from the people in the barn. One of the stable hands led me back out to the paddock, and asked again, "Do you know how to ride?"
"Yes" I lied, again.
Off went the guy, and Mike again, ran back to the barn. And again, back out to the paddock, and whoosh, back again.

I finally answered, in a whisper, "No". That was my very first lesson.
Always be honest, or your horse just might point out when you're lying.

And obviously, take riding lessons, if you don't know how to ride.

I went on to successfully "master" Mike, and we won my first ribbon together. Over jumps, even. Mike was a super cool horse. He would do whatever you said. If you said "I can ride", he'd feel your body truthfully trembling "I've never ridden before in my life!" and back to the barn he'd go.

Mike was for people who answered "Yes" truthfully.