Dog Walks
Exercise sucks. Four years at a jock school did not change my opinion. Under protest, I bike, I swim, I stretch. I have yet to come in contact with an endorphin. I know I must persevere if I do not wish to be stove up.
Exercise is easier under the influence of an external agency, hence the popularity of personal trainers. In the past, I motivated myself to walk around the pasture with the excuse that Mathilda needed exercise [My Two Horses]. Since spring, she hasn’t been walking, so neither have I.
Another activity that fell off the schedule was barn time for the dog [Barn Dogs]. The only time our uber-beta dog doesn’t mind me is when there are horses to chase. Therefore, she is not allowed near the barn if Mathilda is out or being walked. The dog annoys the horses so much that Mathilda will try to kick or lunge even on a rope. So the dog has been in the custom-fenced dog pen that is our front yard. Despite the space, her summer hasn’t been any more fun than the rest of ours.
Combining the above, I have recently started taking the dog for walks around the pasture after the horses are done and Mathilda is put up for the might. She runs. I get weight-bearing exercise. My slothful side gets distracted.
If you will excuse me, I have to go walk the dog.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
The first of the junior cats gets big enough to invade a senior cat spot. Arthur will not be pleased.
Happy Trails
Sam does not appear to be impressed.
Photo by Courtney Huguley
Saddleseat lesson #3 lesson gets an A for confidence-boosting and a C for progress. Five-gaited Buster stayed in the stall & I rode the less exciting but more relaxing Sam. Mild-mannered trots and lots of breaking at the canter. I’ve figured out that the familiar hunter/jumper buttons don’t work but am having trouble finding the saddleseat buttons. Naturally, Sam was thrilled to motor around at half-speed and have an easy day. I could feel him listening but his reply was, Nope, she ain’t got it yet. All of which is ironic because I’m normally better at go than whoa. I have better luck motivating horses with my electric seat than calming down bottle rockets.
The best part was the trail ride after. I think I miss that most of all, more than showing, more than jumping, just strolling along. Previous Horse was not one for trail rides. Every so often we’d say Darn it, we have horses. We are going on a trail ride. At which point, PH would be such a pig that we wouldn’t try again for months. PH & I did, however, spend much time ambling around the edge of the pasture for warm-up, cool-down, cold-weather riding, and so on.
A friend commented that she was happy that I was riding again. She’s right, of course. Riding is better than not riding. However, a lesson a week on a school horse is a handful of carob chips when what I crave is a pound of Fassbender & Rausch. Robin McKinney said it well in her blog (which is why she has published 17 books):
“… I couldn’t ride regularly, week after week … and there’s no frelling point to riding any other way than regularly. At least not at my age and when I’ve done enough riding and hanging out with horses in years past that I’m not interested in anything less than a relationship, and preferably a training relationship, with an individual horse, in which one or the other of you and probably both are learning stuff you didn’t know before.”
Mind you, I do like getting on a horse. I’m sure I am much more amenable on Friday afternoons than I am the rest of the week. The plan is to stay with the saddleseat even if/when I am riding my own horse(s) again. Still, it does little to stem the tide of frustration and angst that Rodney can inspire.
Are you go or whoa?
List of previous saddleseat posts, Saddleseat lessons from Stepping Stone Farm.
Foto Friday: Public Equine Art
Day Off Philosophy
I gave the horses the morning off yesterday. I tried not to feel guilty about it.
The idea is to dial back the barn time. Since I am not training for the Olympics, or the regionals, or much of anything, why am I logging marathon-training amounts of time? Now that both horses are at a comfortable status quo, I need to find a more sensible way forward. Putting more into an activity than you get out is a sure way to burn-out. The amount of time does not matter, 6 hours a day is great if you are getting huge amounts of life energy back out of riding, gardening, or tiddlywinks. Five minutes a day is too much if it shrivels your soul. So, this is me walking away, when I can.
Declaring a day off easy when it’s part of the schedule, say the day after a show, or when it’s raining cats & dogs and poodles are forming in one’s riding arena.
A legitimate day off is harder to determine when the schedule is amorphous. Obviously, there are activities of daily living that need to be done: feeding, medication, etc. What about the rest of it? Mathilda needs to be groomed, but does she need a 30-minute head-to-toe every day? I’m sure she would enjoy it, but her hair won’t fall out if I skip a day. I should work with Rodney (see Tracey & Amy’s suggestions), but it’s hard to rally for seven days a week when the outcome is unclear. What is a good compromise between possible progress and sanity? Five days? Three days?
“Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.”
Desiderata, Max Ehrmann
Sure, fine, whatever. At what point does being gentle with one’s self slide in to sloth & self-indulgence? I have a liberal arts degree and lawyers in my genetic heritage, I can rationalize myself into a Harry Potter movie marathon quicker than you can find the remote. That’s why I like having a plan. If I make it up day-by-day, I’m suspicious of my own motives. I know myself. I’m a lazy sod.
What is your day off policy?
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Gratuitous Kitten Cat Pic
Our tortoiseshell being scenic in the leaves.
Mood Swings
DOWN
Rodney loves his stall. It reminds him of his former days as a high-class horse. He gets stalled when Matilda grazes. Usually he trots in. A few days ago, he wouldn’t go. When he finally went, he stood in the corner staring over the horizon waiting for the onrushing hordes. He was completely wired. I despaired. How was I ever going to manage this if an attack happened at a show?
First of all, we won’t go to an overnight show right away. There will be lessons, one-day shows, cross-country schools, and all manner of other adventures. We won’t go to a big show until we have a satisfactory answer on how to manage 17.1 hands that wants to bounce around like a kite on the end of a string. Therefore, it is a nonissue.
Secondly, failure is an option. If we get to our first event and Rodney had an irretrievable meltdown, back in the stall he goes, the weekend becomes a schooling experience, and we try again next time. Not desirable but doable. This was Hubby’s way of talking me down out of the trees. He’s gotten good at this over the last two years.
Finally, part of the intimidating factor is his size, yes, but mainly he is Fancy Horse and I have never figured out how I ended up with a Ferrari Lexus in my driveway. Going to take a stab at cheering myself up on this one. Whether he is too fancy for me, or I just think he is, either way, I must come to terms. A Lexus is still a car and a fancy horse is still a horse. Even Gem Twist put his girth on one buckle at a time. Or, how about this. If I want to pull myself out of the quagmire that is the lower levels of jumpers/dressage/eventing, I am going to be out of my comfort zone, at least for a while. This is, by very definition, uncomfortable. Sigh. The cheering up works so much better when Hubby does it.
UP
Preparatory to a PT session [Quiet], Hubby rubbed Rodney’s back with a burn-relief cream that we use to give Mathilda her shots. It dulls feeling to the skin for a short while. Rodney spent the next hour galloping, trotting, hopping, and cavorting. After the above, this was a great relief. Although he was powering around in a borderline manic state, the motivation was totally different. This was joie-de-vivre rather than sky-is-falling. This was the horse I saw 6? years ago, who looked ready to take on the world [Next Door]. This was a horse I wanted to ride. I might not be able to, but it sure would be fun to try.
SYNTHESIS
From the above we learn three things:
1) Nerves are involved in the damage to Rodney’s back, not just skin & muscles. It is not usual for deeply scarred areas to react weirdly to stimulus, in his case to cold. More investigation required.
2) I am not as bad at this as I think I am. I couldn’t be. I’m not a brave rider. I never was. However, when the stars align, I have my moments. Also, I have been doing this for so long that tiny flecks of knowledge must have adhered. If I sense that Rodney is tired, tense, unmanageable, whatever maybe it’s not just because I am a sniveling coward afraid of my own horse and undeserving of the good fortune that has rained down on me. This is clearly the main reason, but perhaps there is a secondary issue based in fact. I should listen to myself.
3) Happy uses fewer words than sad.
How do you talk yourself out of a tailspin?
(Apologies to anyone who found a second, inexplicable post in their email yesterday. I was experimenting with a secondary blog and import/export. One of the little buggers got away from me.)
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The books on the floor to the left are post-disaster, see yesterday’s GPK.
Liberty Mare Redux
How are your animals celebrating Fall?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
Kitten of limited grace + overloaded bookshelf = disaster in making.
Virtual Brush Box 