Truck Shopping Report

No truck but much data. We knew this was not to be an overnight occurrence. What we want, car dealers don’t sell. Their choice is either a super basic work truck or a moving mansion: leather seats, four doors, extra chrome, and all other manner of nonsense.

Next time – the bowties.

We have dogs, we don’t want leather seats. We don’t have passengers, we don’t want extra doors. I have taste, I don’t want my truck to look like a tart’s boudoir. Why is this so hard to understand? Ford’s high-end King’s Ranch package costs an extra $1,000 and there is not a thing on the list that I want. Two-tone trim? Pedals that move up to meet me? A truck you can talk to? Why? Okay, if forced, I would take the heated seats. Hubby’s VW came with them. Over the top yes, but you can get addicted to having your butt warm. But I digress. Truck makers don’t seem to understand – or think buyers don’t understand – the difference between flash and functionality.

Other observations from a day in the truck trenches:

I spend a lot of time writing down notes – yeah, quel surprise – which I gather is not standard car buyer behavior. Tough. I’m spending enough $$ that you can stand around and wait.

Amazingly, the one truck they have on the lot is exactly the one you need.

Incompetence. At dealer A we ask for a list of options. Dude shows us a description of the available packages, which is a slightly different beast, in his dealer book. No take-home here. At dealer B, a large stand of PR materials yields a brochure full of truck advertisements in the back of which is a list of packages and options broken down by truck style. Exactly what we were looking for. We are not difficult customers. Just know your product, please.

Overall, progress is being made, so I’m happy.

Does anyone out there actually enjoy car shopping?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

If you are having trouble with the geometry, it’s two kittens lying on/across my wrist as I type.

Rack On. Let ‘Em Rack.

Buster & me.
Well, almost.

My second saddleseat lesson at Stepping Stone Farm was on a 5-Gaited Pony. We slow gaited all over town and even maybe did one tiny, half step of rack. Verdict: not going to replace jumping as my drug of choice, but pretty slick all the same.

When I arrived, I found out that Sam from last week had ‘blown a tire’, i.e. lost one of his shoes. How brave was I feeling? If I was up for it, Buster was amenable enough to take me around with a minimum of hysteria and he was due to be traded soon. If I wanted to give it a try, now was the time. Was I up for it? Well, no. Did you read the paean to pigeon-heartedness that I wrote last week? However, pride will come to your aid when bravery fails, so I said, sure fine, why not.

So, what’s it like?

First you walk and trot to get warmed up. We didn’t canter because Buster has a tear-away canter & she didn’t want to freak me out totally. Then, you shake their head to signal the slow-gait and let ‘er rip.

Hands up. Hands wide.

Balance with the rail hand. Strong give and take with the inside hand. More than hunters, less than jumpers.

Squeeze with your inside lower leg.

Sit back. If you start posting, you’ve probably lost it and are trotting.

They can lean on your hands, but don’t pull back on their mouth.

Oh, and relax while you’re doing all of this.

A jump-off goes by so fast that I don’t have time to overthink. Information goes from the eyes directly to the hands/seat/legs. This felt exactly opposite. I had to stay totally focused in the moment to monitor my hands, legs, seat, posture. It felt, in retrospect, like spinning plates. Initially, a hefty twirl to get spinning and then tweaking to keep airborne.

When you get it right, the back comes up about a mile, the horse feels as sturdy as a couch, and yes it really is as smooth as advertised. Of course, as you sit there marveling at your ability to achieve this miracle, you forget one of the parts and the plates all come crashing down.

At one point, I got everything right, and started to get a really happenin’ gait going. Unfortunately, I felt the change in balance and thought he was starting to canter, so I whoaed him. Whereupon, Buster stopped dead, parked out, and turned his head to give me the stink eye that clearly said, ‘Listen, Lady, I’m giving you quality goods here. If you are too dumb to recognize it, I see no reason to continue.’

I did have one close call, but not with a horse. After the lesson, one of the resident Jack Russells dropped a pine cone at my feet. Having been well-trained by my own dogs, I picked it up & heaved it down the aisle and out into the parking lot. Or, that was the intention. Since my arm was beat from all the plate spinning, my aim went high and wide, neatly bisecting the airspace between two people having a conversation to my left. Cool shot had it been intended. As it was, I almost beaned my new instructor with a pine cone. Not the way to win friends and influence people.

Previous Saddleseat Posts
Sam I Am
Foto Friday: Ears
Lesson Ho!
Showing in the Sun
Riding Toward Random

What non-standard gaits have you ridden?
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Gratuitous Kitten Cat Pic

I don’t care if you need to take horses to a show. Stop moving my nap spot.

Weekend Plans

We are going truck shopping!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Missing inner door panel & broken automatic window. One of many signs of age.

I love my truck but it is an ’89 that we have had for 18 years. The odometer has turned over so many times that it finally expired. The engine makes noises as if powered by asthmatic hamsters. The windshield leaks to the extent that I have to drive with a towel over my lap in the rain. An untraceable electrical problem kills the battery, makes starting unreliable, and means that if I put the lights on, I have to come straight home without stopping.

All of this is dealable with. I have lots of towels, drive slowly, don’t drive at night, and make sure it is plugged it in whenever I want to drive that day. However, the various small annoyances swarm into a psychological barrier that leaves me feeling trapped out here in the country.

My in-house mechanic says we will be looking at Ford F-250, with low frills (cloth seats over leather, etc.), strong towing package, but not a dually. We are open to used but haven’t found anything under 100,000 miles. He is debating gas vs. diesel. I am desperately hoping that if the new truck takes gas I will remember which fluid to put in what automobile. After pulling up to the same diesel pump for decades, I may forget.

MI-HM thinks this will be my last truck. I am of such an age that if I am still still shipping to shows in 20 years, he says he will gladly buy another. Challenge accepted.

Comments? Concerns? Advice?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Redneck Siamese

A Line in the Grass

A clear distinction between edible and inedible grass. Back when we had any of the former.

Standard writing advice says write what you know. Lately, I’ve known a lot of grass time.

Since we mowed the field, Mathilda has been a complete PIA about grazing. Nothing seems to please her. The mowed part is too short. The unmowed part is too long. She’s turned into Goldilocks with a mane. The real concern is when she gives up after 20 minutes and stalks 🙂 back to the barn. Trying to keep her out does not work. Once she’s decides she done, she’s done. You can imagine our concern when a disabled, underweight, geriatric mare refuses to eat. Is she colicking? Is she too tired? We have come to accept that she’s being an opinionated cow.

Pastures flourish with regular mowing and regular grazing. When Mathilda & Previous Horse were munching, the whole field was their buffet. Now Mathilda lives indoors a majority of the time and Rodney hangs out next to her during the daylight hours. He goes off to graze at night. Therefore the grass/tooth ratio has fallen out of whack. Mowing doesn’t seem to help.

Other Grassy Bits
In the ongoing debate between ebooks & the codex, grazing comes down firmly on the side of the printed book. While an illuminated ebook allows you to read at night, it attracts midges and dulls your nightsight. Not good for keeping a position lock on your charge. More importantly, you can’t swat flies with an ebook.

Know your role. When coming out of the barn or going back in, Mathilda knows she is on the end of a leadrope and follows obediently. When the two of you are in the grass, you are the one on the end of the rope and you had better behave accordingly.

Previous Grazing Posts
June 13 Grazing
June 23 Grazing II
July 10 Grass Buffet
Sept 17 My Summer

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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Mystery Revealed

The barrier outside Mathilda’s pen. The endpoint of all panic attacks.
Back in the summer [Salt Mines], I gave vague hints about a new exercise. All will now be explained. The goal is to hand-walk Rodney around the pasture, for companionship, leading to running/trotting around the pasture, for dual exercise, leading to long walks under saddle, for fitness, leading to galloping heedlessly, um, conditioning work. A simple walk around his own field shouldn’t be a problem, right? Pfft [Thing].

The plan was to walk him with a leadrope around his neck (the hint) rather than a halter over his head. When he stressed, I would slip the rope off, let him go, finish the lap on my own, & retry with the next lap. I wanted him to work – to the extent that a stroll around the field is work – but not feel pressured. Forcing him to behave just tightens the tension spiral. If he was upset, I would give him space, thereby diffusing the stress level. It worked a bit. He was going farther from the barn and often grazing where I left him rather than running back.

Unfortunately, the plan had two fatal flaws. The first was identified by Hubby immediately. Rodney needs successes. He needs to know that he has done the right thing and thereby develop confidence in making his own decisions. (So he can save my amateur a** when I freeze mid-course.) Achieving a lap around the field would be a lack of negative (panicking, running) rather than a defined positive (negotiating the cones well [Somewhat]). A subtle but telling distinction.

What I have come to realize is that I need successes also, perhaps more. Rodney is satisfied with the status quo. He could be a fat & happy lawn ornament for the rest of his days. I think he’d be even more content with a job and the spoiling that would follow, but he doesn’t know that. If change is to occur, I must be the one to instigate it. Therefore, I require positive reinforcement to motivate me to haul my sorry self off the couch and out to the barn.

I was able to approach the exercise with utmost calm and patience. Really, if you knew me, you’d hardly recognize me. As we walked, I could observe but not place value judgments on his behavior. Today, he is tense in this spot. Okay. Yesterday, he made twice that distance, or half. Noted. Then I would inevitably push the envelope and he would go tearing back to the barn.

This I could not accept with equanimity. I took it far too personally. Whatever his reasons, barn sour, panic, or lack of training, watching him fly back to the barn was depressing, deflating, & demoralizing. It would take me weeks of wallowing to work up the reserves of Zen-like patience to try again.

I still think my reasoning is sound. If I could have maintained a Budda-level of detachment from the results, he would have gradually desensitized to the idea. Or I would have accumulated data on the parameters of what he will do and what causes him stress. Either way, beneficial. But no, all we accumulated were small steps of progress and gloomy, hair-tearing days of failure.

Enough. Even I can see that I have over-thought this to a standstill.

What non-traditional (but safe & humane) training techniques have worked for you?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

File under K for
kute.