The Mare

Ginger

The bareback class was something to see, and I didn’t even see all of it. That crazy woman was so completely in her element that she didn’t even look crazy. They started out in the small ring I’d seen Velvet ride in; they mounted there and then walked the horses to a larger ring, where they trotted in a circle for ten minutes at a time before slowing to a walk, then picking it up again. The trainer kept them trotting with a bullwhip, which she used with gloating skill — she hit each horse precisely on the crook of its back leg with a rhythmic flick that was almost hypnotic to watch. The whole time she would bark out military-style instructions—“Sit up straight! Stay with him! Give him his head! Sit on your seat bones, Jessie; let go that mane! Seat bones, crotch, seat bones, crotch! Legs, legs, legs!”—while the girls bounced on their fannies so hard they got sores, holding on for dear life.