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 imminent. 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?

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