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.

Diet Change

Rodney is fat and exuberant. A little too f&e. We have finally admitted that we need to cut his feed. His joie-de-vivre is not the toxins-boiling-out-the-ears that he had when he was first here [Square One]. This is more the natural result of green grass and a digestive supplement [Tiger Whistle]. He gets more calories and absorbs them better.

We’ve been resisting this change because he was getting so little food. You know the sploosh sound that grain makes when dumped into a feed bucket? Rodney’s meals just go sploo. And that was before the current rationing. Now, my over-sized Thoroughbred gets less feed than a founder-prone pony. It’s a good thing he likes his yeast. It is now 20% of his dinner. He doesn’t get that much yeast; he gets that little dinner.

Easy-keeper stories, go.

Rain, Rain, Nevermind

It was a dark & stormy day. [Bulwer-Lytton]
Dixie Cup sign

For a rainy day show, last Saturday [Show Report] was the deluxe version. I’ve suffered enough of the basic model to be deeply appreciative of these features:

Covered show arena

Arrangements for covered warm-up. Performance classes were allowed in the ring for a one-minute warm-up before each class, if needed. For the Academy classes, a section of the ring was fenced off as a waiting area. Riders also had one minute before their first class. For the second class immediately following, competitors were assumed to be warmed up. At the break, horses and riders dropped off ribbons but stayed in the ring, unusual for sadddleseat.

Wide, dry concrete aisles rather than narrow, muddy trenches.

High-ceiling, permanent stabling rather than claustrophobic tents with rain dripping off the eaves one inch from the side of the stall.

Warm, well-lit flushies rather than overburdened porta-potties.

Excellent footing underlying the mud puddles.

Dry observer seating.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that I had brought my Wellies, long underwear, and a wool sweater. I am an obsessive overpacker. This is why.

What was your wettest show experience?