Awareness of the outside world. This occurred to me as I was walking next to Milton one morning. Cats, dogs, horses, people. Does any living being actually enjoy being patted? As in thump, thump, thump with an open hand? Not stroked, not scritched, but actually pat, pat, pat? I think not. [Current Marching Order]
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Continuing the series of horses I will probably never ride.
Here is the incident I mentioned a while back, “I am now up to speed on all recent lessons, except for the bad one. I will – I intend to – tell you about that at some point. Short version, high ears combined with cow flashbacks.” [Recording My Lessons]
Last time I did not get on a lesson horse, in 2024, there were extenuating circumstances of a loose horse and loud, clanky noises. [After The Show, In Which I Try To Corral The Frogs]
This time, the assist goes to the home team. The main problems, of course, were in my head.
One. New horse. Since I was a kid, I’ve been dubious of new horses. The level of concern varies with the individual horse and my state of mind at the time. Stems from being overfaced at summer camp. I was tall and thin and looked good on a horse, so I was given more horse than I could handle. The habit of giving new horses the side-eye did not improve over the years. But that’s a whole ‘nother blog post.
Two. Saddlebred ears. First lesson back in 2012. Cited many times since. No change. “Picture a horse with a high head, bulging eyes and ears so alert they almost touch. In a Thoroughbred, this means lift-off is imminent. In a Saddlebred, it means hello.” [Sam I Am] 2012
“I will never get used to Saddlebred ears.” [Ears Up!] 2025
Three. This is a nice horse. Fancy enough for Louisville, reliable enough for National Academy. Not a fragile flower who would faint if someone dropped a ferret down his pants. (That would be me. I’m the ferret.) And yet. I had developed a fixation that this horse and I would not get along. As I said last time, “If one starts a ride with that attitude, it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.” [The Frogs]
I showed up for lesson. Coach Courtney pointed to this horse. She had been talking him up for a while. Thought he would help me learn to ride a show horse.
Okay. Fine. I can do this. I can get on. I can walk in the round pen. No promises, no pressure to do more.
This was on Thursday.
The preceding Monday was the affair of the visiting cow. I spent the evening watching my TB come unglued. He cantered – yes, cantered – back and forth in his stall. [Bovine Visitor]
Fast forward to my lesson three days days later. Standing at stall. Girding my loins. Noise off in the distance. Horse put his ears up and began to mill about.
Nope. Nope. Nope-ity nope.
New horse. ASB Ears. Mental block. Cow flashbacks.
Not gonna happen.
I left. Gathered my things, said a brief good bye, and drove away. The alternative was sobbing for an hour in Coach Courtney’s office.
I am not good at diagnosing my melt-downs. I don’t know why they happen. I can’t find the words to explain while they are happening. That’s part of the problem, I don’t know how to deal with something I cannot put words to.
Anyway. Looking back.
Trepidation. I really did not want to ride that horse.
Upset with myself because I really did not want to ride that horse.
I never did get on. Coach Courtney has not brought it up. Either, the barn has been busy or Coach Courtney has known me for long enough to know a losing argument when she sees it. Or both.
So why tell you? It wasn’t as traumatic to recall as some posts have been. “My stomach is knotting up as I type this.” [Trip to Tennessee, Nerves]
It happened. Moving on.
I promised to tell you the whole story. “I have no intention of avoiding bad news. Ups and downs are part of life.” [Bright-Eyed, Bushy-Tailed, & Back to Blogging]
And now you know.
Onwards!
Katherine
Virtual Brush Box 