When my mother was growing up in 1930-1940's, she lived on a farm, that her father owned and operated. A man who was a friend of her father's wanted to board his son's pony there in exchange for letting my mother and her younger sister ride the pony.
It was an agreed upon offer, as it would be entertainment for the sisters, as well as the son when he wanted to ride. There were work horses on the farm but being draft animals they were only used for plowing and planting crops, and harvesting, and for pulling farm machinery. That left no chance of horseback riding for the sisters.
However, the pony grew fat and sleek, on good food and care, and pasture grass, and they rode him often. One day when they had the pony out their father stopped by to watch them ride. He told his youngest daughter she had grace and beauty, in her riding style. She sat the horse perfectly and was a joy to watch.
Then he turned to his oldest daughter, my mother, and told her what a good rider she was, but one thing was wrong, her legs were a bit long and her feet were almost dragging on the ground. She sat the pony with ease and grace, however, she looked like a elephant riding a bedbug.