Post by Riley || Jake on Oct 11, 2006 9:04:37 GMT -5
Nice to meet you, my name is Riley O'Conner.
Please, just call me Riley.
~~~
I am 17 years old.
~~~
Despite what my first name suggests, I am female.
~~~
My hair is blonde in colour. It hangs just below my shoulder, with gentle waves throughout. Usually, I wear it pulled back into a loose ponytail with a few strands framing my oval-shaped face. My long lashed eyes are icy blue in colour. Despite the icy colour, they are filled with warmth. My ears are pierced, but due to my habit of nearly living in the barn, I usually only wear small studs. No make-up marks up my face unless I have plans to go out on the town.
My torso is long and athletic. At seventeen, I am not as 'developed' as one might expect. I suppose it has much to do with my athletic life. My arms are long, swinging lightly from broad shoulders. Old friends have often joked that I have the body of a football player. It's true, but not a fact I am either proud of or fed up with. When it comes to dealing with large horses, which are my passion, a larger, stronger build is desirable.
My legs are long, with lots of muscle built up over the years of riding. But, because they are so long, I need a slightly taller horse, so as not to look overly awkward. My total height comes to approximately 5'9", fairly tall for a girl.
~~~
Just like the next person in line, I have my good days and my bad. But, no matter what type of day I'm having, I always do my best to keep an upbeat mood. I know it's no fun being around a grouch, so I try not to bring anyone else down with my mood. I'm always looking for a good laugh. After all, life's too short not to have fun, right?
While it may seem that I am always in a good mood and looking for a good time, that's not true. Every so often, I have my little breakdowns. I get snappy and often say things I don't mean. Sometime, I just get really upset and have to cry. I feel no shame in any of this. I'm in touch with all my emotions and use them to the fullest. With the possible exception of love.
I have yet to truly fall in love. I guard my heart, afraid of getting it broken. Sometimes, this trait makes me distant and seemingly cold. It doesn't help much that I have a very sarcastic and dry sense of humour.
~~~
I was born in a small Alberta, Canada town. I was raised on a cattle ranch, with 1500 head of cattle, 500 sheep and 200 horses. My twin brother and I shared the chores with our father. Our mother passed away when Jake and I were only three years old.
After she died, Dad tried so hard to raise us right. He taught us the value of a hard-earned dollar and to love each other, because one day family might be all we have left. Between school, all the barn chores and the ranch jobs all summer, Jake and I had little time to have many friends, so we became best friends. I don't know how I would have gotten through highschool without him.
Being a real country girl, no one at highschool made it easy for me. Because I was a girl, the guys shunned me. But, because I was a tomboy, the girls shunned me. Jake never let me get down about it. He let me hang out with him and his friends. We started our own road hockey team, and played every time Jake and I could get away.
But, a deadly virus ran through the ranch, killing a lot of our stock. Dad was forced to sell the ranch and we moved out here. Luckily, Dad found work locally, and decided that it was time for Jake and I to learn to be independent, so he sent us here. Dad also let me keep the stallion I had rescued when I was twelve.
He had only been a colt at the time, barely over a year old. He was part of the wild herd that had run the lands near our ranch. During a spring round-up, he had torn a ligament in his left foreleg. I had been out exercising one of the cattle drive horses when I found him. Using an old rope halter I keep with me in case of emergency, I managed to get him home. My dad said that, while he would live, he would never amount to much. I refused to believe that. Looking at the iron gray colt, I knew that he had great potential. His face looked almost Arabian, but his sloping shoulder and muscled hindquarters suggested Quarter Horse. I called him Iron Willed, with the nickname of Feisty. True to my beliefs, Feisty became an amazing horse that I used for cattle drives and pleasure riding.
~~~
A concerned from flitted across his weather-lined face. His experienced eyes cut over the scrawny colt before him. The colt, barely over a year old, was staring defiantly back, his dark brown eyes untrusting. His coat was matted in places, and rough from lack of grooming. His mane and tail were tangled and dirty, hanging limply.
With a sigh, Ian O'Conner rubbed a hand over his deeply tanned face. He then looked at his daughter, a horse-savvy twelve year old. "Ry," he said, using his personal nickname for her. "I know you wanted to help, but there's no guarantee this little fella will do anything big. His injury isn't bad, just a small tear in his left foreleg ligament, but he's wild, sweetie. I don't think he'd be happy being anything but wild."
Her hopeful face fell at her father's words. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail beneath a battered cowboy hat. She looked at the colt she had brought home barely an hour ago. He had stood still enough while she had expertly wrapped his leg, but now he shifted nervously.
With determination in her bright blue eyes, she turned back to her father. "I believe in him, Dad!" she said stubbornly, "He just needs time! He's still young! I could teach him to trust me! Please! I can at least try, can't I?"
Ian sighed, laying his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He knew that once her mind was set, there was no changing it. Still, he had his doubts and hesitations about allowing his young daughter to handle a wild colt all by herself. She had been born and raised on the ranch, and was extremely knowledgeable when it came to these powerful animals, but that wouldn't stop a father from worrying.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "Alright," he relented, "But only if you promise me that you'll look out for yourself before him. Do not do anything that could put you in any type of danger just for him, okay?"
Riley threw her arms around her father's waist and hugged him tightly. "I won't, Dad! I promise!" she said, her words muffled slightly. "You'll see! I'll turn him into a good horse! You'll be so proud!"
Ian smiled, reciprocating the hug. "I'm already proud of you, Riley," he said, "You have your mother's warm and natural love and my stubborn will. I'm sure you'll do fine with him."
Please, just call me Riley.
~~~
I am 17 years old.
~~~
Despite what my first name suggests, I am female.
~~~
My hair is blonde in colour. It hangs just below my shoulder, with gentle waves throughout. Usually, I wear it pulled back into a loose ponytail with a few strands framing my oval-shaped face. My long lashed eyes are icy blue in colour. Despite the icy colour, they are filled with warmth. My ears are pierced, but due to my habit of nearly living in the barn, I usually only wear small studs. No make-up marks up my face unless I have plans to go out on the town.
My torso is long and athletic. At seventeen, I am not as 'developed' as one might expect. I suppose it has much to do with my athletic life. My arms are long, swinging lightly from broad shoulders. Old friends have often joked that I have the body of a football player. It's true, but not a fact I am either proud of or fed up with. When it comes to dealing with large horses, which are my passion, a larger, stronger build is desirable.
My legs are long, with lots of muscle built up over the years of riding. But, because they are so long, I need a slightly taller horse, so as not to look overly awkward. My total height comes to approximately 5'9", fairly tall for a girl.
~~~
Just like the next person in line, I have my good days and my bad. But, no matter what type of day I'm having, I always do my best to keep an upbeat mood. I know it's no fun being around a grouch, so I try not to bring anyone else down with my mood. I'm always looking for a good laugh. After all, life's too short not to have fun, right?
While it may seem that I am always in a good mood and looking for a good time, that's not true. Every so often, I have my little breakdowns. I get snappy and often say things I don't mean. Sometime, I just get really upset and have to cry. I feel no shame in any of this. I'm in touch with all my emotions and use them to the fullest. With the possible exception of love.
I have yet to truly fall in love. I guard my heart, afraid of getting it broken. Sometimes, this trait makes me distant and seemingly cold. It doesn't help much that I have a very sarcastic and dry sense of humour.
~~~
I was born in a small Alberta, Canada town. I was raised on a cattle ranch, with 1500 head of cattle, 500 sheep and 200 horses. My twin brother and I shared the chores with our father. Our mother passed away when Jake and I were only three years old.
After she died, Dad tried so hard to raise us right. He taught us the value of a hard-earned dollar and to love each other, because one day family might be all we have left. Between school, all the barn chores and the ranch jobs all summer, Jake and I had little time to have many friends, so we became best friends. I don't know how I would have gotten through highschool without him.
Being a real country girl, no one at highschool made it easy for me. Because I was a girl, the guys shunned me. But, because I was a tomboy, the girls shunned me. Jake never let me get down about it. He let me hang out with him and his friends. We started our own road hockey team, and played every time Jake and I could get away.
But, a deadly virus ran through the ranch, killing a lot of our stock. Dad was forced to sell the ranch and we moved out here. Luckily, Dad found work locally, and decided that it was time for Jake and I to learn to be independent, so he sent us here. Dad also let me keep the stallion I had rescued when I was twelve.
He had only been a colt at the time, barely over a year old. He was part of the wild herd that had run the lands near our ranch. During a spring round-up, he had torn a ligament in his left foreleg. I had been out exercising one of the cattle drive horses when I found him. Using an old rope halter I keep with me in case of emergency, I managed to get him home. My dad said that, while he would live, he would never amount to much. I refused to believe that. Looking at the iron gray colt, I knew that he had great potential. His face looked almost Arabian, but his sloping shoulder and muscled hindquarters suggested Quarter Horse. I called him Iron Willed, with the nickname of Feisty. True to my beliefs, Feisty became an amazing horse that I used for cattle drives and pleasure riding.
~~~
A concerned from flitted across his weather-lined face. His experienced eyes cut over the scrawny colt before him. The colt, barely over a year old, was staring defiantly back, his dark brown eyes untrusting. His coat was matted in places, and rough from lack of grooming. His mane and tail were tangled and dirty, hanging limply.
With a sigh, Ian O'Conner rubbed a hand over his deeply tanned face. He then looked at his daughter, a horse-savvy twelve year old. "Ry," he said, using his personal nickname for her. "I know you wanted to help, but there's no guarantee this little fella will do anything big. His injury isn't bad, just a small tear in his left foreleg ligament, but he's wild, sweetie. I don't think he'd be happy being anything but wild."
Her hopeful face fell at her father's words. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail beneath a battered cowboy hat. She looked at the colt she had brought home barely an hour ago. He had stood still enough while she had expertly wrapped his leg, but now he shifted nervously.
With determination in her bright blue eyes, she turned back to her father. "I believe in him, Dad!" she said stubbornly, "He just needs time! He's still young! I could teach him to trust me! Please! I can at least try, can't I?"
Ian sighed, laying his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He knew that once her mind was set, there was no changing it. Still, he had his doubts and hesitations about allowing his young daughter to handle a wild colt all by herself. She had been born and raised on the ranch, and was extremely knowledgeable when it came to these powerful animals, but that wouldn't stop a father from worrying.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "Alright," he relented, "But only if you promise me that you'll look out for yourself before him. Do not do anything that could put you in any type of danger just for him, okay?"
Riley threw her arms around her father's waist and hugged him tightly. "I won't, Dad! I promise!" she said, her words muffled slightly. "You'll see! I'll turn him into a good horse! You'll be so proud!"
Ian smiled, reciprocating the hug. "I'm already proud of you, Riley," he said, "You have your mother's warm and natural love and my stubborn will. I'm sure you'll do fine with him."
