EEEE-ouch!

After two years, we are still learning things about Rodney. The newest revelation: he does NOT like liniment. It’s ironic because we were trying to be nice.

Hubby did the same PT/lunging session as last weekend [Vewy, Vewy]. He ended with several runs through a triple cavaletti. Rodney bounced through perfectly the first time and then began whacking the poles as he sped up. At his point, you question whether to try for improvement and risk having it get worse or quit while you’re ahead. Well, we decided, it’s not like we can ruin his jumping career at this point. Hubby brought him in slowly and he hopped over all three as neat as you please. Yeah!

Between the humidity and horse stress, Rodney had gotten quite sweaty. We hosed him off. Hubby wanted to reward Rodney for a reasonably good day. After a jumping school, Previous Horse always got a washdown with warm water and liniment. What’s not to like about warm water?

Rodney danced about for the second half of his liniment bath, but he was still proud of himself for negotiating such difficult obstacles. We put it down to ‘tude. Usually we let him go at the wash area/water trough. When it’s obvious the bath is over he wanders off. Not so much today.

To his credit, he lowered his head and paused long enough to give me a chance to take off his halter. Unfortunately I moved too slowly. Whereupon he wheeled off and headed back to the barn at Mach 10, much to the dismay of Arthur who was headed in the same direction & suddenly found 1300 pounds of thundering hooves on his tail.

We retrieved him, bought him back, and hosed off the nasty gunk. Dunno if it’s the smell or the tingle but something about it blows his fuse.

Liniment. Who knew?
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Gratuitous Kitten Cat Pic

Back-up Barn Cat

Vox Clamantis in Deserto

End of the month commentary on blogging.

When I started this blog last December [We begin.], I negotiated with myself that I would blog every day for a one year. Two & a half months to go. Barring miracles, that means less than 100 posts. What would constitute a miracle?

MONEY
By money, I mean a book contract or a call from the New Yorker. A magazine wants to fund my around-the-world tour while I blog about equine hot spots? I’m willing to listen. Monetize my blog for a trickle of pennies that amount to the cost of a bag of feed every six months? No thanks. Not worth the trouble. If I’m going to sell out, I’ll sashay into five-star hotels wearing Manolo Blahniks, not stomp around a street corner waving a polyester boa.

FAME
Who wouldn’t love high hit numbers or double digit Likes & Shares? After the initial egoboo, where does it really get you? What I have enjoyed most is hearing other people’s stories. I’m pleased when the stories are happy. I’m flattered when folks are willing to share their sad stories to commiserate or to make a point. Responses of all sorts make me feel less as if I am yelling down a well.

I appreciate folks who take the time to comment, more than is perhaps healthy. But I know that the Internet is vast and that we all have demands on our time. I can recognize – intellectually at least – that only a small percentage of readers, followers, casual passersby would have the inclination to comment on a given post. So, a readership base big enough that a handful of people are moved to comment most days, that might be enough to keep me going without remuneration.

CONTENT
I would continue if I had a process to document, e.g. getting ready for my first CCI* classic format. That was the original intent of the blog way back when [How I Won]. I was going to be the next Thinking Horseman (an old Practical Horseman column) and record my return to eventing. If I had progress to get excited about, I’d probably keep yapping. I’ve certainly proven that I am enamored of hearing myself write*.

Barring any of the above, or a surprise move from left field, last post will be 12/21/12.

List of posts about blogging
New Page: Fellow Travelers

[*Stolen from Whedon. If you’re gonna steal snark, steal from the best.]
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Creature of the Night

Or at least creature of the late afternoon with flash.

Sam I Am

I’m in love. I think I’ve just met a Saddleseat schoolmaster. His name is Sam. I’m told that if his rider gets serious, he’s perfectly capable of putting on the flash, but with beginners is equally capable of imitating a doorstop. Guess which one I chose.

When I arrived at Stepping Stone Farm, I was presented with the following post & video on Horse Nation, about an event rider having a saddleseat lesson. Go ahead and read it. I’ll wait.

Weekend Adventure: I test drove a Saddlebred.

Pretty funny, yes? Put me in a small funk. I didn’t want a bottle rocket. If I had been told that my ride was “REAL hot” I would NOT have been unconcerned and “secretly thrilled.” Hyperventilating and headed down the driveway would have been a more likely reaction. My preferred ride at that point would have been a small, narcoleptic pony. Plus I worried that my post would be nowhere near as amusing. Ride better than me or write better than me, I’ll cope. Do both and I’ll start questioning my purpose on the planet.

Enter Sam. Perhaps body language is one reason for the Saddlebred’s hyper reputation among hunter/jumpers and others. Picture a horse with a high head, bulging eyes and ears so alert they almost touch. In a Thoroughbred this means lift-off is immanent. In a Saddlebred, it means hello.

I was less nervous that I had expected, right up until it was time to get on. Then I started wondering who thought this was a good idea. As I slid on, got my stirrups adjusted, and scooted around in this weird new saddle, Sam stood like a rock. If he had jigged or danced or even moved off, I might have dissolved into a small puddle right there.

My discomfort increased as we walked toward the ring. I could tell my body was still braced for the ever-increasing meltdowns I had to deal with the last time I rode regularly [Square One]. Sam gradually jollied me out of my nerves with his willingness to do as little work as I requested. Stand? Sure. Walk quietly? No problem. He was not at all lazy or deadheaded, just conservative. He displayed absolutely no tendency to hear voices or begin aerial acrobatics. When I failed to keep the engine running at the canter, he happily slowed right on down. At this point, I would laugh because he made his intentions so clear. At the end of the trot in the second direction, he suggested that if this was a walk/trot lesson, he was done now and would go to the middle of the ring, thank you very much. After the canter in the second direction, he was sure he was done.

Without further ado, my saddleseat lesson (although I must admit that in my mental movies Sam was far more animated and I was far more elegant):

Film Credits
video: Miranda Shope
editing: Hubby
instructor: Courtney Huguley
horse: Sultan’s Miracle Man courtesy of the Donovan Family

Thank you Sam.

Lesson Ho!

Saddleseat lesson set for today at 11:00 cst. We had to reschedule [Hiatus]. In my excitement, I forgot that lunch is served at 2. Miss M will not be denied.

This will be my second saddleseat lesson. I had one years ago in another state. Perhaps Previous Horse was laid up. Perhaps I had a wild hair. History does not record. I have no memory of how the actual ride went. One of the two things I do remember is that the lesson progressed exactly in the manner of a flat class. In. Turn left (or perhaps right). Walk-trot-walk-canter. Reverse. Repeat. Apparently those horses where ridden the same way every time out. Dunno if that is a saddleseat phenomenon or was specific to that barn.

The other part graven on my memory is that the trainer got on after I was done. I thought I had ridden with a modicum of verve. Hah. She cranked up the volume and when sailing around the ring displaying way more energy that I was willing to generate and control. Then she got off and explained the way I had ridden constituted level one. What she had done was level three. Horses showed at level five. Yowza.

Does anyone else have secret Walter Mitty fantasies when starting a new venture? That you will turn out to have previous unsuspected gifts that are uniquely suited to this new activity? No? Just me? Anyway, as I understand saddleseat, it’s all about showmanship & ring presence. Back when horses were transport, I can imagine folks gathering to show off their pimped out rides. It’s the red carpet & limo sector of riding.

I understand the importance of presentation in competition. The “show” in horse show. My ribbon collection includes blues from …
… an equitation flat class finessed on a runaway horse (Riding the Dark Horse, Horse Illustrated, January 2011).
… a First Level dressage test that I won after going off course. Twice.
… a Working Hunter Flat class with Previous Horse, who moved like a sewing machine. Okay, it was a local show but those other two horses took some beating. I was the only one who knew that the then-current fashion for hunters was to have the horse scoot along in faux-medium gaits. Shocked the trainer with that one.
I can be all about flash and dazzle. (Prior saddleseat experience conveniently forgotten.)

Off to dig up my britches, short boots, and yes, a helmet.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic update: kittens continue to be cute; my recent photographs, less so. More GKP as available.

Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet …

… we’re hunting pwogwess.

Wodney, er Rodney, may not be a waste of pasture space for the rest of his days? It’s too early to break out the tack, but Hubby may have made progress on Rodney’s back. As one might expect, his back is turning out to be central to his whole way of going.

After much poking & prodding, I had reduced the original lump of scar adhesion [Daddy Dearest] to a much smaller knot [Other]. Unfortunately, this is a nasty, tight patch rather like the causative lump in the middle of a yarn snarl. Then again, I thought this back in March [Changes].

Over the weekend, Hubby used the stiffest of our fleet of currycombs (I’m a bit of a brush junkie) to get purchase on the skin and give it a hefty yank, almost getting himself bit in the process. Anyone who has had to break up scar tissue on themselves knows the kind of benevolent violence required. I estimate he managed to loosen 10 to 25% of what was there. A huge leap forward given the overall pace of improvement. I will spend the week keeping Rodney’s back warm & loose to prevent re-adhesion. Another PT session is scheduled for Saturday.

Most importantly, Rodney lunged differently with this change to his back. He still ran about & fussed & hopped, including at least one maneuver with quality hangtime. But he was calm part of the time. The truly significant aspect is that he was calm AFTER acting up. This is new for him. Usually, once he gets tense he keeps ratcheting up until we stop the exercise or the roof blows off. Plus, it was hard to tell if the acrobatics were due to tension, tiredness, training, or just plain Thoroughbred.

As always, the signs of changes are slight enough that it could be wishful thinking.

Later: Awash in positive vibes, I felt inspired to attempt one of his exercises [360o box]. He felt inspired to jump out of the box and run back to the barn. And thus does my tiny diamond chip of hope convert to a coal lump of despond. Sigh.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Tonight There’s Gonna Be Jailbreak . . .

Monday morning, as I lay half asleep sorting out which day of the week it is, I hear Hubby say, “What the h-ll are you doing out of bed?” By process of elimination, I figure that he is talking to Senior Dog, who usually doesn’t stir without firm motivation. A reasonable question. Also the theme of the morning.

A short while later, I hear, “Would you come give me a hand?” addresses to me in a tone that suggests urgency but not emergency, along the lines of an escaped kitten.

I am close.

We can see part of the field from the front door. Up on the hill is a big, black butt. Yes, black. As in Mathilda. Out grazing. All four legs are pointed down, so we assume she is some degree of okay. Wonder what the barn looks like?

Hubby sensibly decides that the situation – whatever it be – is stable and we can respond with traffic. I opt for lights & sirens. I move right to pass, only to trip over a root. For a few strides I think I can pull off a save, only to go skidding into the gravel scraping knee, elbow, and both palms in a way I have not done since I was in single digits.

Fortunately, the barn is near. By the time I reach it, I am starting to vagal out. For those who have not experienced this amusing little syndrome, the vasovagal response is when a body “overreacts to triggers, such as the sight of blood or extreme emotional distress. [Mayo]” Or skinning one’s knee, in my case. I become light-headed, nauseated, and possessed with an overwhelming desire for the nearest horizontal surface.

Poor Hubby is torn between his escaped horse and his wife curled up on the barn floor twitching and whining. I mumble a feeble, “I’m fine”. He goes. I stagger out to see him leading Mathilda. She’s walking well. Time to lie down again. On my back? Nope, bad idea. The world goes all distant and fuzzy. Hands and knees work better. I scuttle over to the side of the pen to watch Hubby bring in the escapee and check her over. No marks other than some dust on her neck.

As best we can reconstruct, she went to scratch her neck on the barrier, pushed up, and got lucky at a weak spot. Hubby asks if I want to take a picture of the broken boards for content. I walk – slowly – back to the house to get my camera.

It was quite a morning.

Care to share your Houdini story?