Virtual Brush Box

When we are late with his bath, Rodney helps himself.

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Show this weekend. Show tweets start today. Per usual, I show on Saturday. I’m hitching a ride a day early to save myself the drive.

+ Saddle fitter came on Saturday [Finding One That Fits]. Fred found a few issues with my position and with the saddle, but nothing that would contribute to a major meltdown, particularly given Milton’s amiable demeanor while we worked around him.

+ I have ordered a plastic, three-step mounting block. This works with the zippiest of ASBs, so I figure it’s a good place to start.

In defense of the barrel [Universe], I have used it for a myriad of horses. No one has every given it the hairy eyeball. Until now. Even when Rodney was coked out on competition feed, he never looked at it. Getting on from that height removes torque from the horse’s spine and avoids the awkward mid-air position. Be that as it may, we have moved on.

As for mounting from the wrong side, I have no explanation. Brain fade.

+ When I figure out what to put on Milton’s back, Saddle Seat Instructor has given me the name of a cowboy for First Contact – The Sequel.

+ Milton has been a star with his groundwork: lunging, walking over cavelletti, trotting in hand, even discussing the kiddie pool. He did everything well, particularly for a 6-year-old, green Thoroughbred. If he objected at all, he tended to stand there and say, Why should I? If the subsequent motivation involved, say, a lunge whip, he didn’t necessarily like it, but he took it with good grace.

In short, his work attitude as been everything we would expect from his reputation and his behavior since his arrival … with that one exception.
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Gratuitous Cat Photo

Taken the day Milton arrived.

On Friday [So Be It], I said I was starting to get a handle on the screaming monkeys in my head. Here’s my current thinking.

Normally, waiting to get back on after a fall makes the situation worse. However, on that day, I was an emotion wreck before I got anywhere near Milton. As a result, my head is not really any more screwed up. I realize that it – whatever “it” is – has to come from inside a person.

In the movie Mr. Baseball, Tom Selleck plays a burned-out player traded to Japan. A Japanese coach has him hitting peas and golfballs and whatever. Finally Selleck says, Dammit, I want to hit a baseball. Ahhhhh.

I see now that I need to get to the place where I want to hit the baseball. I have let self-doubt erode my initiative. The lesson horses have been a enormous boon. However, they can take me only so far. I want to be more than a passenger on other people’s horses. I have be able to say – with conviction – Dammit, give me those reins. 

I am of the opinion that my mental state was not contributory to the explosion. My witness agrees. Who knows. Without access to the instant replay, we may never determine what the hell happened. Conversely, if Milton had been a foot-perfect angel, I would still need to get my head back in the game.

In essence this is the same message as Friday, just through a positive filter instead of a negative one. Time will tell if it is a productive line of reasoning or more mental wheel spinning.

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Gratuitous Greenery