A reader shares with HestaSaga the wonderful years she spent with her first Icelandic horse which is unique for her. This time is still very present in Christiane’s mind, although 22 years have passed since she lost Blíða.
On June 30, it was 22 years since my first own horse crossed the Rainbow Bridge. However, my heart has never left it, even if we have only had 2 ½ years together and in the meantime, very few people even remember that I have not always been a riding couple with Fön.
Bliða was my favourite riding school horse and within half a year she crept into my heart so much that I had to buy her. She was a beautiful little chestnut mare, imported from Iceland, had no impressive pedigree and little action, but she was the horse for me.
She was so incredibly curious and courageous. Once we rode on the oval track and a hot air balloon flew over us and fired heavily because it was sinking. Blíða stopped and looked up fascinated.
Another time a friend and I did “shock therapy” on the track with our horses. Blíða stood in front of me and was very impressed with my gymnastic ribbon on a stick, with which I made curls: The Haflinger mare Nina almost raced over the fence in panic.
As fearless as she was, she was ambitious in the group. Unfortunately, I have to say, she didn’t care about parades at all and her place in the group was, in her opinion, always at the front – even though we always started at the back.
After group rides I had trouser legs full of strange horse hair and my fellow riders had aching knees.
Once, Blíða was in the lead, she even ran zigzagging at a gallop to make sure no horse would pass her. At her pace, only a few could even get close to her, but well.
We hardly found the tölt at first, the trot not at all. After half a year, the first four-stroke came on demand and after one year she could even trot (on the long rein).
A memorable video from the 1994 Hessian Championship shows us in the four-gait test how we totally screwed up the canter because I was so nervous that I thought we were on the wrong hand (the thick mane wasn’t helpful either), then could hardly brake, caused a pace/changing mess and finally we actually ran out of the picture in the outside canter because the friendly filmmaker couldn’t keep up with the camera at that speed.
She took oval track curves in canter in a sloping position and the dressage arena was too small for us to gallop. That would certainly have gotten better over the years, but unfortunately we didn’t have that much time.
Blíða and I were enthusiastic rally participants and my cupboard still shows off the cups and wooden boards that were always available for the participants in Kaufungen. We never won, but still had a lot of fun.
She was also a keen swimmer. Once we even swam in the Nieste because we followed my friend’s Haflinger in the creek bed and suddenly the creek became too deep to run because it was high water. So she just swam off.
She ran after me everywhere without a rope and I rode her without a saddle, only with a halter in the terrain and from and to the pasture. Once I jumped over her totally stupidly because I had too much momentum. She turned to me, shook her head and walked slowly to the stable, while I picked myself up from the ground.
Blíða unfortunately got a kick in the hind leg in June 1996 and had to be operated on the splint bone.
Afterwards she lay in the recovery box for another week and could not get up because, due to an undetected heart defect, the oxygen supply to the muscles during the anaesthesia was insufficient, resulting in a kind of gigantic lumbago. She could not be put up because she was too small for the harness.
One week I sat next to her every day, begged her and hoped – but unfortunately in vain.
Even though I always tell myself it was good to let her go, as it was very likely that she would hardly have been able to walk, if at all, on her feet again – but I will miss her forever anyway. She should not suffer any more because of me, because on top of the broken leg and the muscle pains she had a large and centimetre deep wound after one week. So I let her go with a heavy heart.
My small, agile, brave little horse with the cheeky look.
And these days, when I sit on a chestnut with a mane around its ears, I still cry because I think of Blíða.
BLÍÐA FRÁ KROSSI
PEDIGREE INFORMATION
Born: On Iceland in the summer of 1986
Exported: To Germany on 28.04.1993
Died: 30.06 1996
Father: Hrafn 583 frá Árnanesi
Ff.: Krummi frá Borgum
Fm.: Stjarna frá Árnanesi
Mother: Fjöður frá Krossi
Mf.: Blesi frá Austvaðsholti 1
Mm.: Jörp frá Hjaltastöðum
