Elizabeth on horses: Why Milla reminded me that I should never be in charge

And they're off!

Despite living for 13 years in Kentucky and covering seven Derbys, Ryan got his first hands-on experience with a horse on our trail ride with Icelandic horses.

I may have had the "expertise" – if that terms applies after passing a one-credit horseback riding course in college - but we were definitely the problem children for our instructor.




Ryan was aboard Hrodlur. Our troubles began about three minutes after mounting the horses. Picture three horses standing placidly in line behind the tour leader, then me about 15 feet behind, and then Ryan and Hrodlur 50 yards away while the guide yells "Mister, mister! Pull to the left!" Finally, Ryan convinced Hrodlur to return to formation. After that rocky start, Hrodlur calmed down wonderfully.

Snack break/photo break. 

Then there was me. Feisty is a deft description for my horse, Milla. She wanted to set her own pace rather than keep up with group, prompting many "Keep up! Closer! Closer!" directives from the guide.

Just a snack break. 

If we stopped for even a second, Milla was eating. Getting her to stop eating was a struggle. She'd make her own path when food was an option, and had no concern for whether her rider wanted to walk through that particular clump of bushes or where the other horses were going.

And when our group of six elected to speed up the pace, Milla wasn't content to follow the pack - she wanted to race for the lead and picked off the others. The instructor kept yelling "Shorten the reins!" and everyone knew she was most worried about me and Milla.

As we neared the end of the ride, even the instructor seemed to have given up on our cooperation. Milla and I were still trailing the pack by about 10 feet. I watched as the other four riders guided their horses into the paddock and readied to dismount. Milla, however, stopped a foot in front of the paddock and refused to move. I looked to the instructor in a panic, but by then even she was grinning: "Sorry, she's pooping. Give her a second."

Photos cannot do the setting justice. 

It illuminated why Sydney dog determines her walking routes, dining schedule, and wake-up times.
You know, basically running our household. The formidable will I inherited from my grandmother is apparently no match for any adorable animal, no matter the size.