Booie

Booie
Another one from the archives. Circa 1979, or thereabouts.

This was at my first off-the-property show. I was 16 years old. I was leasing my second horse. I thought I was the cat’s meow. Since Booie could be strong, I spent most of my class galloping in a small circle around the judge. I may have been less slick than I thought.

Red Flags

Seller: He’s never done that before.
Buyer: Thank you for your time.

My horse shopping adventures continue. Why is it that the only horse trainer who has shown ongoing enthusiasm for my horse hunt is involved with a breed that isn’t popular for jumping? I refer of course to the saddleseat lady. If I had been absorbed by the collective and had decided to go three-gaited, I’d have a horse by now. Or, I certainly would have looked at dozens in the last few months. Unfortunately, I still want to jump. At least, I think I like jumping. It’s been a while.

What red flags have you encountered, with horses or in life?

For the Record

I was emitting my standard whinge about Rodney’s vast, gorgeous uselessness. Hubby replied with,

“Well, imagine how good you will feel when you are leading the victory gallop in Texas next fall.”

????

“Why not? You still have 18 months.”

!!!!

He was referring to the American Eventing Championships, being held in each September from 2013 to 2015 at the Texas Rose Horse Park in Tyler, Texas. I can’t tell whether he really believes this or needs to believe it in self-defense. I think he’s been biking in traffic and inhaled too many carbon monoxide fumes. Currently, the future stretches in front of me as a comfortable, featureless, beige plane filled with an endless repetition of “petty tasks and worthless jobs”, occasionally to be interrupted by tragedy, and gradually descending into terminal rot. Of course, I could be wrong.

In his defense (Hubby’s not Rodney’s), IF Rodney and I could ever trot quietly into a show ring, we’ve got the moves. He (Rodney not Hubby) could be the mid-life-crisis horse that he was bought to be. It’s the trotting-in-quietly that is the rate-limiting step.

Should it all one day come together, I want it on file that Hubby always had faith that it would.

I Got Nuthin’

You know when you go out to the barn and your conditioning program calls for dressage or flat work or some version of concentrated athletic effort and you say ‘Verb it. I’m going on a trail ride’? It’s like that.

This is my brain on a trail ride.
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GKP Ghost 6
(Picture looks better enbiggened.)

I Love My Cats. Really.

After last weekend’s show [Report], I tossed my jodhpur boots into the bathroom to be washed. In the course of the day [Nevermind], my gloves had gotten wet. I tucked them into a boot to remind me to give them a once over.

Fast forward a few days. I hadn’t gotten around to cleaning either boots or gloves. Picture me rushing about getting ready to leave for a lesson. I reach into the boot, pull out … a dead mouse curled up in one glove.

I tossed the mouse, washed my hands 2-3 times, and took the spare pair. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go bleach a pair of leather gloves.

***

In cosmic coincidence, I had spent part of the morning reading archives from The Bloggess. One of her obsessions is fun with taxidermy, That’s way too many dead rodents for one morning. While I was there, I searched her blog for “horse”: UPDATED X 10! I NEED a pony. It is intended to be humorous. You might find it upsetting, particularly if you don’t like stuffed animals. No, not that kind, the other kind. You have been warned.

Sometimes I find her blog annoying because she puts bow ties on her cats and gets almost 400 comments: This is what happens when your coworkers are all cats. And by annoyed, I mean jealous. I don’t always understand the attraction. Still, I keep coming back, as do a lot of other people. She must be doing something right.