Seeing the young riders on all the wonderful ponies and horses at the Junior Hunt and hearing about their adventures in the hunt field brings back memories of my early days as a rider.

I fell in love with my first horse, Sherman, the first time I laid eyes on him.

He was a palomino with a white blaze and big brown eyes. He was a school horse at the training facility where I took riding lessons. He suited beginners and advanced students alike because he was so willing. The students named him Sherman (like the tank) because he was so overweight when he arrived at the stable. But the name suited him for other reasons. He seemed indestructible.

Sherman wasn't the most comfortable ride. He had a short, choppy stride that made you feel like you were sitting on top of an egg beater. Many of his riders said he needed "new shocks."

But you could count on Sherman jumping a fence like you could count on the sun coming up every morning.

Whether he chipped into a fence or tripped before an in-and-out, he would never think about stopping. Sherman would simply forge ahead, ignoring his riders completely if he thought they didn't know what they were doing.

He was the perfect school horse.

One evening I was taking a lesson in the in-door arena and jumping my first little jump. As we approached the fence, I did what all beginners do -- I jumped up ahead of my horse. I really got ahead of him and landed on his neck after the fence. Seeing no way to get back in the saddle, I kept on going.

All the riders in the arena stopped and watched as Sherman trotted around the ring paying no mind to the idiot on his neck. The instructor yelled, "Jump off or he'll buck you off."

But I had faith in Sherman. He simply went to the center of the ring (where all school horses end a lesson) where he stopped so I could dismount. Sherman, like many horses, had definite likes and dislikes. He didn't like mud splashing on him or getting wet in general.

At the first schooling show where I rode a course of fences, the large outdoor ring was muddy and slippery from a rain storm the day before.

The more we jumped and the more mud splashed up and hit his stomach, the more he crow-hopped.

I clutched harder with my legs and hands, determined not to be bucked off. Sherman got so frustrated he finally ran out at a jump and cantered back to the in-gate.

He then calmly stopped at the gate and waited to be let out. We were done and he knew it (even if I didn't).

Horses often know more than their riders, especially at the beginning of a rider's career. The good horses forgive us our mistakes and give us another chance.

It's this remarkable generosity of spirit that creates bonds between horse and rider.

I have wonderful memories of my 21 years with Sherman. As I watched the young riders at this year's junior hunt, I thought about all the memories they were creating of special days with special horses.

Patricia Smith can be reached at fotobyTocco@vbbi.us