Get On and Go, Easy to Say, Hard To Do

Training Journal

 

Admin note: this took place and was written up before the show on Saturday [Someday]. I was feeling more charitable toward the Gray Wonder then.

The show was not the biggest news lately. The big news was the saddle fitting session earlier in the week.

The Thursday before the show, I took Milton over to Falcon Hill Farm for a saddle fitting with the Devoucoux rep. The big news was not trying fancy saddles, although that was fun. The big news was that *I* took Milton over, and rode in him new tack, all by myself. No village.

Last time I fiddled with the tack. Milton tried to buck me off [Hops]. Granted it was also cold & we were walking around the field. Could have been any of the above reasons. Didn’t help with the pre-saddle fitting nerves. What if we tried a saddle and it didn’t fit and he didn’t like it and … and …

Plus, Greg was at work. On a practical level, he wasn’t there to lunge Milton before I rode. I don’t lunge. It’s a patience thing. Groundwork, yes; lunging, no. Thursday was not the day to change that. Nor would he be there as a header when I mounted. Given the way Milton and I started [Universe], I think that first step will always be the hardest. On a mental level, he would not be there as moral support. I had to to hold my own paw.

I’ve trailered Milton on my own. Not often, but enough that I don’t worry about it, at least any more than one worries about hauling horses in general. FHF is not far, maybe 15 minutes on country roads. Easy drive.

In the past, when Milton and I have gone out Ă  deux, it has been to Stepping Stone Farm. This was my first time to FHF. I don’t think Coach Molly has a grasp of the amount of baggage Milton and I bring to each ride. That’s good. It’s also bad.

Coach Molly has never seen Milton turn into Mr. Hyde. I would not be surprised if she thinks we are elaborating for effect. After all, horse people are as bad as fisherfolk in embroidering their tales. Never believe the height of a jump or the length of fish unless you measure it yourself. Also, she has never witnessed the extent to which I can fall apart. Not sure she appreciates the depth of hot mess that lurks beneath my suave demeanor. As far as she was concerned, I brought my horse over, tacked up, and got on. No big deal.

To me, it was a big deal. I did it. Very proud of self.

Oh yeah, the fancy saddles. Tune in tomorrow.

Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott

Categories: Horses, Hunt Seat, Riding, Tack

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