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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Your chair? The evidence is not in your favor.

The books on the floor to the left are post-disaster, see yesterday’s GPK.

Liberty Mare Redux

The horizon beckons … and glows a bit.
As I type, Mathilda is eating hay in her pen with, gasp, the door open. Rodney is in the stall to a) keep him out of the way & b) keep her close to home. After her escape at the end of last month [Jailbreak], we had to admit that she was strong enough to graze on her own, despite the palpations such an idea gives us. Damage, if it comes, will be from one silly misstep. These can happen at any time, escorted or unescorted, out for 5 minutes or for 5 hours. So, over the last week or so, she has been going out for gradually longer periods with gradually less supervision. I don’t want to yap on any more about it as our previous attempts each lasted a day [Two Forward, Liberty]. We’ll all just cross our hooves & hope that this time we are successful.

How are your animals celebrating Fall?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
Kitten of limited grace + overloaded bookshelf = disaster in making.

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