Virtual Brush Box

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?

Tell Me What You Really Think

Space-age sweat scrapers. Dunno how I feel about them. OTOH, I do know how I feel about free text. So, here’s the deal, I will send these two unused specimen (specimens?) to the first two folks who ask. In return, you must provide a 50 to 500 word, engaging & edifying product review that I can use as a post. If you are interested:

Step 1) email me your particulars using the blog email, listed over there —–> and down a bit.

Step 2) Let me know that you have done so HERE. That way I know to check the Gmail account & the hordes of other contestants will know that one has been claimed.

For those of you who do not have horses, or who do have horses but do not wish to change your scraping methodology, I offer the recommendation of a horse trekking essay, “Horse of a Different Color: Kyrgyzstan July 2006” in Holidays in Heck by P.J. O’Rourke [Atlantic 2011]. As the title is a pale imitation, the text lacks the verve of his classic Holidays in Hell [Atlantic 1988]. Still, PJO on an off day is funnier that the rest of us on a good day.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

I’m not the only one in the house who enjoys LEGO.

Piling on the Therapy

Rodney’s heat therapy set-up. You are looking at a Western wool saddlepad (colored, striped), two microwave heating pads (mostly hidden), & a piece of sheepskin (white, fuzzy), all being held in place by an overgirth. When Mathilda has had enough, I toss her two microwave pads & English sheepskin saddlepad on his hindquarters. He can happily stay this way for upwards of an hour, even in summer. Rodney is part lizard.
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Gratuitious Kitten Pic

Horse Hunt – Hiatus

A few nights ago, I had a dream about horse shopping.

An old riding buddy (LCM for those who knew me back when) and I were just finishing up an incomprehensible dream activity. As she was leaving, I remembered to ask, “Do you know of any horses for sale.”

“Yes,” she replied, “I may have one, if I buy that chestnut.”

With dream insight, I knew that meant she was willing to sell me a horse of hers I had admired for many unspecified time periods.

End scene.

Before leaving the known ‘verse for DragonCon over Labor Day weekend [Monster], I promised myself that September would be different. I even said as much to my horse hunt fairy godmother [HHPR#1] in a pre-trip email, “When I return, it will be a new month, a new season. I will be organized, productive, stop drinking soda, exercise more often… In short, turn into a completely different person. Oh, and find a —- horse.”

In Atlanta, I had a blast, but failed to create a new persona. This month has looked a lot like last month & the one before & the one before [Spinning]. Part of the problem is motivation, but part is logistical. Between the three kittens and the two geriatrics, my day is eaten up with chores. Cosmic payback for so many years bragging on the low-maintenanceness of our menagerie.

So, the dream was my subconscious’s way of kicking me in the pants. Not one to ignore a k. in the p., I decided to do something, anything. Since my local horse association appears to be selling 15-handers at the moment, I fell back on the saddleseat lesson idea [Random]. Kinda like moving a balky horse. Get going in any direction, then steer back to the intended course.

Success! I have a lesson penciled in for 2 pm on Thursday. I say penciled because last time, we tried for a month but couldn’t get our schedules to synch. If nothing else, I should get content out of it, no small thing after nine months of blogging every day.

What did you do today to advance your plans?
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Foto Friday: Barn Art

Crosstraining

I aim to swim three days a week as my out-of-saddle exercise [Spring Fitness]. However, a forecast of 71o for this evening is making me reluctant to dip my toes – much less the rest of me – into the outdoor pool. I know it will not be heated sufficiently. Nothing short of the whirlpool sauna ever is.

Plus, I should be doing more. One decent use of this enforced no-riding period would be to get in shape. Then I could get on and be ready to go. It would be ridiculous to start riding and then have to get fit at the same time.

What to do?

Swimming, exercise machines, other gym work – Driving to a workout seems a waste of resources. Then again, so is a horse show, which I would go to in a heartbeat.

Running – Popular with riders. Stop me if I’ve told you this one. At Rolex one year, I wanted to get a soundbite from David O’Connor. He said he was in a hurry but he could talk if I wanted to run back to the barn with him. He said run. I heard jog. He took off at a pace that left me standing still, notebook pages waving in the breeze. So, is running particularly suited to riding or just an adaptable exercise that one can do anywhere, anytime, with a low bar to entry?

Biking – Go with hubby on the weekends. Mostly leg power, unless one is willing to push one’s self into aerobic exercise. I’ll let you imagine how often that happens.

Karate – Plays to my strengths: tightness, control, legwork. I’ve even got the kiai down. I learned all about the value of sound helping strength when I worked at a bookstore and had to lift heavy box of books. OTOH, shouldn’t I be working on my weak areas?

Aikido – A more flowing marital art. All that dropping and rolling would be good fall protection. However, all that d&r is based on the ability to do a backwards somersault. I don’t roll. I am too stiff and tight through the back. Instead of curving into a ball and rolling over my shoulder onto my feet, I slam flat on my back and lie there like a distressed turtle.

Yoga – Way too motionless. Part of a firefighter’s turn-out gear is a PASS device (Personal Alert Safety System), a little black box attached to the airpack straps that goes off if the individual does not move for 30 seconds. If the person continues not to move the noise increases up the decibel scale to earshattering. Useful when one is looking for a downed FF. Less useful when one is standing around on air waiting to go into a training exercise. It is common to see folks having to shake their device every so often to shut it up. In that situation, my PASS never goes off. Never. I cannot be still for 30 seconds. Yoga is out.

Tai Chi – Yoga in motion. Again why drive to a class when I have Claire Hooten’s marvelous DVD, complete with reverse view? Two things I lack, a big enough living room & motivation. Add (very small) freeweights and stretching to the list of things I could do at home if only I was motivated.

Pilates – is, or was, the hot new thing for riders. Took one class. More accurately, started one class. All the exercises seem to me to be a variation on the sit-up. If you can’t do a sit-up, the rest of the exercises are moot.

Yes, I can’t even do one sit up. I am that out of shape. But more than that, I have baffled sports advisors and physical therapists with my inability to achieve even a baby, beginner sit-tup. Without a tiny start, I have no base from which to improve. I suspect it has to with my back, as above.

How do you crosstrain? What do you recommend?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic