Virtual Brush Box

Riding Journal

 
Awareness of the outside world. History.com: 11 Things You May Not Know About Marco Polo, by Andrews, 2013 updated 2018.
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Proof, once again, that everything in my life becomes a blog post. [Life with a Blogger]

 
Some members of my family are more visually-driven than text-oriented. Therefore, I have been dragged kicking and screaming in the 21st century. I am part of a Marco Polo chat group. Think short videos in place of text messages.

Since I detest how I look in selfies, I tend to send a short clips from a recent activity, perhaps from one of my park walks. ‘Hi. I’m here. This is what I have been doing.’ The sort of mildly pointless message you send to family to let them know you continue to respirate.

As I was sitting on Rodney taking photos for yesterday’s post, my phone pinged. I realized I had not sent a Polo for the week. Well, I can fix that right now.

Eventhough I don’t like selfies, I still start each Polo with a shot of my face. Turns out my mother and I sound very similar on the recordings. Even I can hear it. So, I start with my face. Then the rest of the people know which one of us is talking. Although the horse would have given it away this time.

A person on in the chat group asked me, “How long do you have to stand in that ring with him before he’s comfortable?” Horse training in a nutshell.

Do you Marco Polo?

Stay safe. Stay sane.
Katherine

Riding Journal

 
Awareness of the outside world. Three family members fully or partially vaccinated. Starting to hear about friends getting their shots.
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Every few years, the dressage pooh-bahs redo the tests. A while back, they split the eventing dressage tests apart from the straight-up dressage tests. Which is weird. Back in the day, one simply did the equivalent level dressage to whatever level of eventing one was going.

When they split off eventing dressage, they also dumbed down the tests. Which I appreciate. The Beginner Novice Test B test that Rodney and I have been practicing is full of commands along the lines of ‘Pick up your canter somewhere over there.’ or ‘Walk in that corner.’ This is one reason we are working on intro eventing tests rather than the Training Level Test 1, which expects a higher level of accuracy.

However, the test is a little strange.

A-X-H. Enter Working Trot.

What?

No halt. I had heard the starting halt had been cut. Riders were having trouble with dumping all their momentum at the beginning. These days, eventers don’t Enter-Halt-Salute until they get all the way up to Intermediate. Odd, but okay. Dressage riders are expected start from a standstill early on. Dressage Intro A has no initial halt. Intro B and everything after halts at X. USEA tests, USDF tests

BTW, one of the eventing Intermediate tests has an initial halt, one does not. That’s not confusing at all. What about people who take their eventing horses to dressage shows for schooling? But I digress.

No halt. Got it. I have ready done this with both Milton and Rodney in Intro A. Will admit to trotting into the arena chanting under my breath, Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

At least a centerline is involved.

For both eventing Baby Beginner Novice tests, we are expected to trot in, get to X, turn off the centerline and trot over to the corner. M and H respectively for Intro A and B. I don’t think I have ever deviated from a centerline in my life. I was so confused by the test sheet that I had to track down a video online.

Turn off centerline? Really?

Can any old-school eventers tell me if this ever stops feeling weird?

Nota bene. Baby Novice used to be the ankle-biter, intro level. Must learn to say Beginner Novice instead. Apparently, the term “baby” upsets people. Yeah, well. a) Hunters have no trouble with their Baby Green division. & b) If you are that bothered by it, learn to ride and move up to Novice. I say this as someone who aspires to, would be thrilled to, achieve the level of Baby Beginner Novice.

Stay safe. Stay sane.
Katherine

Horsekeeping

 
Awareness of the outside world. It’s not changing history to tell the complete story. OPB: New, mysterious Portland monument honors York, an early explorer of Oregon, by Foden-Vencil, Feb. 22, 2021.
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Milton now wears the new shipping boots. [These Boots Were Made For Shipping]

Milton loads well. Milton ships well. He is a star about all of it. They both are.

In an ideal world, Milton would like to leave the trailer head first. When he was shipping alone, this was possible. There was enough room for him to turn around and walk off.

With two horses, this is not possible.

As the lighter horse, he gets the rearward slot. Less room to turn around.

Because of the way the slantload is constructed, the storage area has to be set up in order to use the butt bar on the second slot. Narrower exit.

As a result of all this, Milton has to walk off backwards around a turn. He clearly would rather not. He takes smaller and smaller steps as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

Perhaps the big nylon-armored boots would make him feel more protected.

He’s backing up a trifle more smoothly and he has not been pooping in the trailer as much. Pooping can be a sign of nerves. Or a full colon. It’s hard to tell.

I think it helps. I think he feels a little safer about plunging his legs into the void. A little.

Or maybe it was coincidental. Maybe he was getting better right as he started wearing more padding.

Stay safe. Stay sane.
Katherine

Riding Journal

 
Awareness of the outside world. As a kid in the ’70s during first wave feminism, I always thought it was unfair that I could choose to wear pants but a boy could not choose to wear a dress.
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Horze Moulin Crystal Handle Dressage Whip from Riding Warehouse.

The gentleman who ordered this whip did not read the description carefully enough. He was looking for a long whip that would reach Milton’s tush without the rider letting go of the reins. Check. He also wanted a gentle popper that emphasized noise over force. Check. He did not look to the other end sufficiently.

I have nothing against men bearing crystals. Billy Porter could totally pull this off. My husband is so not a sparkle person. Even less than I am.

Am I wrong to be this amused?

Stay safe. Stay sane.
Katherine

Words

 

Eventually he would be known as Tiktaalik roseae, a ‘fishapod’. We will call him Albert.

In a shallow lake in what would become Canada, Albert swam back and forth in the shallows, giving the fisheye to the scattering of bugs just out of reach on the shore.

If you took the time to hang around with the old fish, they talked about days when the fish had to swim deeper and faster to catch food. To Albert it was so much gillwash. His grandfather was always going on about how much better things were in their day: the fish were faster, the food was more abundant, the young fish were more respectful. Albert could repeat the lecture verbatim. Particularly the part about being more respectful.

Fish ate smaller fish that swam in the warm shallows. Occasionally, they would feast on bugs that had been caught in the plants as the land moved down twice a day. The land moved back up, the plants receded, the fish waited. It had been that way all of Albert’s life.

Except that Albert was hungry. Prey fish had been scarce lately. Low land wasn’t due for a few more hours. He wanted to eat now. Even when the land got low enough, he wasn’t sure it would get down far enough to bring this particular small bundle of plants within reach. It was that lovely dark greenish-purple stuff that housed such tasty, meaty bugs. If it did come within reach, any food would be gone in a flash when the whole school found it.

Sure, he had nosed as a younger fish. Everyone did. Friends would dare you to stick your nose up into that curious non-wetness. Albert’s best friend had held stuck his entire head into it for 14 tail-strokes before he collapsed. Albert hadn’t done it in years.

Now he wondered if he could combine nosing with a small fin push and reach plants before they came down. He swam and pondered, pondered and swam.

Suddenly, he revved his tail for several beats, took a big gillful of water and lunged up the land. It was farther than he thought. One fin push. He tried not to panic at the empty feeling in his gills. He drew in, but no comfortable surge of water washed through. A second fin push. He was into the non-wetness with everything but his tail fins. He grabbed a bug and faded back into the water.

Albert swam away with a proud fin-waggle. He’d never heard of a fish doing what he had just done.

Two fin prints glittered in the sand. They would leave no mark after the next high tide. The planet would never be the same.
~~~
Reposted from [Off Topic:GMiFE] 2015.