Dickhead Returns

Too cute to be called Dickhead.

A while back I wrote a post about our family's use of nicknames and the fact that Indy may have
thought his name had been changed to Dickhead. (He's young and blessed with ADD and I have a tendency to communicate through the use of colorful language).

I find that things with Indy follow a pattern.  Lots of really good behavior and then some not-quite-so-good behavior.  Like tonight, for instance, was one of the latter.  It was a gorgeous night, we'd had a lesson on Sunday that was not one of our best (totally my fault) and I thought a trail ride would be a low key experience for us both.

And the trail ride part was great.  The beginning and end parts, not so much.  When we left the barn I noticed the outdoor ring had a new wall jump that looked like it came from a giant Lego castle.  There was also a round pen with poles set like a pie cut into a bunch of pieces. Some of the round pen walls had fallen and were laying on their sides.  Did either of these new items in the ring bother Indy?  Nope.  He marched right up to investigate, sniffing them and noodging them with his nose.



Round pen and pole exercise. Or Pie. Take your pick

The issue came when we left the ring. I went to steer him left and he planted his feet and refused to budge.  The issue?  A patch of grass he walks over pretty much every day.  Heck, he GRAZES on it darn near every day!  He snorted and refused to go near it, backing up, hopping up and down, and trying to wheel around.  We went back and forth for a bit, and eventually he gave in and we went over it.  Maybe not the particular patch we were fighting over, but we went forward over grass that was very close to the patch we were fighting over.

Then we wandered around the farm and on the trails, and that was wonderful.

And then we came back and I got the bright idea to bring him over to the offending patch of grass to CONFIRM the correction we'd made.  Big mistake. HUGE. What can I say? I'm a dumbass.  We argued.  We discussed the issue at length. He cited reasons why we shouldn't go over the grass, I contended it was the only acceptable outcome. We expressed our divergent opinions, crossing over the driveway and every damn blade of grass except the ones we were squabbling over.  As you can imagine, my language was a bit salty.  I may have called him Dickhead again. (I did. Several times. I felt the situation warranted it. I have opposable thumbs, so I get to make those calls.)

The Grass Patch of Doom. 
Clearly terrifying.

I decided it was time to try something different.  I know you're not supposed to get off, but that wasn't getting anything accomplished so I got off.  And started to do some ground work, moving his haunches and front end, getting him to back up or come to me, just to get him to listen to me again.  At first he was resistant, but I persisted and he became softer and more willing.  We did our groundwork for about 10 minutes, on the offending grass, no less. (He didn't seem to have a problem with it once I was off him, the little booger).  Once I felt he was completely focused on me and what I was asking him to do, I got back on him and walked him up to the Grass Patch of Doom.  He hesitated, but went over it. I made a fuss over him, jumped off, and let him grab a few bites of grass.

Maybe conventional wisdom says I shouldn't have gotten off him, but the way I was doing it wasn't working.  I felt the need to reframe the conversation, and in this situation it worked.  That doesn't mean I should or will get off in the future.  It just seemed like the right thing to do tonight.

And we're okay now.  He got lots of kisses and scratches and he put his head in my arms for a long hug.  I said I was sorry for calling him Dickhead, and he told me he may have been over-reacting about the whole grass thing. 

Field Trip For Indy

Where are we, Mom?

I have a (relatively) new trailer, which I call the HMS Valium.  When I first got it I did not have a horse.  Pretty much the whole "cart before the horse" cliché.  As you can surmise, I did not get to use my trailer much.

Then in October I got Indy.  When I took him to get a pre-purchase exam there was much drama surrounding the loading process. Indy wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Great Big White Box.  When we moved to a new barn in October, my trainer and I thought rather than fight with him we'd see if he would like a different type of trailer (mine's a bumper pull with a rear loading ramp, theirs is a 3 horse with a ramp on the side.)  He didn't.  He didn't want to get on that trailer and when we arrived at the new place he came flying off it like his hair was on fire.

Over the fall, winter, and spring I worked on his trailer issues and learned some natural horsemanship from the lovely Dom Nawrot of Thumbs Up Horsemanship.  I want to do clinics and trail paces, so I need Indy to get on the trailer with no histrionics or bribing. I also figured learning natural horsemanship would be a great way to understand Indy better and bond with him.  We took our time and didn't push him and now Indy has no issues whatsoever getting on and off the Great Big White Box.

Dom suggested that before we take him somewhere serious like a show we should take him on a quick trip "around the block" to give him a good, low pressure experience. That went well, so last weekend we decided to take him to a horse show about an hour's drive away for some schooling.  It gave me a chance to get some more trailering time under my belt, it gave Indy a chance to spend more time on the trailer, and it also helped give him some exposure to a horse show without the stress of competition. (As far as I can tell it was only the third show he'd ever been to).



Noah and Indy paying close attention to Dom's instructions

My son Noah came along as moral support, another set of hands, and to make sure my nerves didn't get the best of me. While we were on the road he regularly reminded me to "Breathe, Mom" and "Go wide around the turns" and "The speed limit is 50, Mom. You should try to do that." Thanks in large part to his efforts we arrived in one piece. The second we opened the trailer Indy stuck his head out, looked around like Dorothy after she landed in Oz, and proceeded to holler his little gray head off.  He yelled, someone else would reply. Indy hollered again, somebody else would holler back. Have you ever seen the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians? Remember the Twilight Bark?  It was like that. For about 20 minutes. Non-stop.

We brought him over to the rings to graze and Indy visited with everyone who would stop to talk with him.   Since I haven't shown in over 2 years and didn't want my nerves to affect Indy I asked one of the barn's working students to school him. Call me a wuss if you want, but the main goal for the day was for Indy to have a good experience, both on the trailer and at the show.  The schooling ring was insane and  Mike's calm demeanor worked well to keep Indy focused.  He also took Indy out for a school around the jump field, and you know how sometimes it's just nice to see someone else ride your horse? Where you can just gawk at your horse and think, "Pretty horsie. MY pretty horsie." This was one of those times. Mike is tall and graceful and Indy's dapple grey coat and silver/grey mane and tail looked gorgeous in the sun.  Sadly I was too busy staring that I neglected to get any pictures. DOH! Mom fail.

Hanging with Indy and Noah all day was great.  Noah was my rock: He served admirably as parking and exiting consultant, scouting out the parking spot where I would have the most room to back the HMS Valium up if needed.  When it was time to go he did a little recon and found a way for me to wiggle out without having to back up. (I have terrible Trailer Reversal Anxiety). He made sure that there was always an adequate supply of Oreos for me and mints for Indy. Most importantly, he kept me laughing and relaxed (or as relaxed as I get) which in turn helped keep Indy relaxed.

So our first real "field trip" went off rather well, and I'm kinda looking forward to our next excursion.  My barn-buddy Dave tells me I'm on my way to becoming a "Bad-ass Mother-trucker."  I like the sound of that - think it comes on a t-shirt?

Equestrians at the Gym...

I can get on from this side...

Now that my head is somewhat better and I can do light exercise without getting a splitting headache (concussions are so much fun!) I've been getting back to the gym.  While I was there and getting on the elliptical machine, I realized I have what might be considered an odd behavior.  I "mount" from the left.  And I get off on the left as well. No lie.   I also do this when I get on the stationary bike.

I kept an eye on my fellow exercisers while they got on and off their machines.  Most seemed to be able to mount and dismount from either side.  Hmmmmmm.  At this point I flashed back to our family vacation this summer.  I had noticed then that my kids and I, the family equestrians, all got on our bikes from the left. Only my husband got on from either side.  I also remembered that I'd tried to get on the bike from the right side once, and it was awkward as heck.  Kinda like a penguin attempting a pole vault.

Fellow equestrians - do you do this??

Flirting With the Dark Side: Sug and I Try Schooling Cross Country

Warning: You know I tend to be wordy, but this one goes on and on and on.  You might want to get another cup of coffee or some wine (depending on where you are in your day) before settling in to read this. Just sayin'.

I've been intrigued by eventing since I was a little girl.  I think when I was around 11 or 12 my parents brought me to see the Essex Horse Trials at the USET headquarters in Gladstone.  I can still remember seeing Bruce Davidson and being completely starstruck.  I can also remember having mononucleosis the summer of 1984 and being glad of it because it meant I could watch TV all day and that meant I saw almost all of the limited equestrian coverage.  I remember watching the eventing and thinking, "Dang, that looks really cool, " at the same time I thought, "Dang, that looks scary as heck."

I started riding in the hunter and equitation divisions as a kid, and then when I became a re-rider several years ago, that's what I went back to.  I got involved in the jumper divisions because Sugar was a jumper when I got her.  She was the right horse for me, so I just decided to do what she was good at.

That being said, I've always believed in taking the horses out of the ring. I love galloping or schooling in fields, and exploring trails.  I think it's good for the horses, both mentally and physically, and it's good for riders to learn how to function outside of a perfectly manicured environment.

So when I had an opportunity to go cross country schooling with the evening trainer at my barn the other day, I took it.  Virginia Jenkins Rowsell is an Advanced eventer, who was part of the winning 1993 team gold at NAYRC as well as winner of the individual gold there.  She's also won the Essex horse trials and at Morvnn Park, and probably a bunch of other places that Google hasn't told me about.  In any case, if anyone could get me around a cross country course, even a small one, she could. So I got myself a vest, rationalizing the expense by telling myself it was also a good safety measure considering all the hunter paces I do.  I felt pretty Xena Warrior Princess as I wore it around to break it in, telling friends and family to "Go ahead! Hit me!"  Some of them were only to happy to oblige...

Getting fitted for a vest by Sarah Jane at my local Dover Saddlery.
Do they come with a "No Muffin Top" option?

As the appointed day got closer, I began to over-analyze things.  What the hell was I thinking?  I'm 44 and the Sainted Mare is 18. Were we the proverbial dogs trying to learn new tricks?  I can barely find a distance in the aforementioned manicured ring over featherweight poles - what in God's name made me think I could do so over varied terrain with solid obstacles?? I have a crisis of confidence each time I approach an oxer, what would I do when faced with a Trakehner?

Then (and this was the height of stupidity) for some reason I decided to watch the footage of the 1976 Montreal Olympic eventing competition at Bromont.   I watched that with one eye closed, wincing and cringing and occasionally gasping loudly as one by one horse and rider teams came to grief at various obstacles.   

However, despite serious misgivings and fears of grievous bodily harm when the day came I found myself loading Sugar on my friend Mary-Ann's trailer and heading over to the farm we were schooling at.  This farm was seriously gorgeous, to the point that when we turned down the drive both our jaws fell open in shocked appreciation (Jealousy? Lust?)  I mean, the barn was bigger than my house.  Hell, the tack room was bigger than my house.  Sug came off the trailer and looked around with interest. Once she'd done a quick perusal and noted that everything met her standards, she pricked her ears and studied the field with the cross country course, almost as if she was trying to figure what wild hair Mom had gone and grown now.

Let me tell you, the Sainted Mare was jazzed to be out in that field.  Her head was up, her ears were up, and she moved out in the brilliant floating trot she gets when she's having fun and feeling good. we trotted around, getting a good gander at the fences, and then picked up the canter to do a large loop around the field.  Her Majesty was feeling sassy, shaking her head a bit and threatening to throw in a happy buck or two.

We started jumping over a little vertical, then going down a small incline then galloping down to a log, turning around and galloping back up the incline to pop over an oxer.  Okay, sounds easy, but if you're used to going on flat, perfectly manicured footing, well then, galloping on grass and going up and down hills is a whole 'nother thing altogether!  Then we went up the oxer, down the vertical and the log, then around and up another hill to jump another log that set right up on the lip of the hill.   Again, you don't see a lot of this stuff in show jumping (unless of you spend lots of time in Spruce Meadows or Hamburg) so I was operating on a wing and a prayer. Sug, bless her heart, thought this was all great fun and figured things out despite whatever I was doing on her back.

We went up and down hills, and jumped things going both and down.  We jumped logs, both singly and in stacks.  We slalomed in and out of trees as we navigated through the courses we were given. We even jumped a ditch, which went a heck of a lot better than I thought it would.  The ditch came in the middle of the course and I'd wanted to jump it by itself first. "Nope, you can do it, " said Virginia as she told me to sit back and slip the reins.  At least, I think she said that - she told me to lean back and slip the reins a few times.  That's another thing -- she kept telling me to go with a longer rein, which went totally against my jumper training.  Virginia said if I didn't I might end up on Sug's neck or falling out the front door if she pecked or needed to put her head down to balance herself, so out of the sheer will to live I figured I'd listen to Virginia.

The most entertaining part of the afternoon came when we got to the water obstacle.  If you've been following AWIP at all, you might recall that the Sainted Mare is highly aquaphobic.  She's been known to go wheels-up if there's a puddle in the wash stall, so I was anticipating a discussion at the water. Sug didn't disappoint. She refused to get within 10 feet of it at first, wheeling and backing and hopping up and down.  We tried for about 5 minutes to convince her to get close, but she wasn't having it.

This was taken after we had a 20 minute discussion.
Clearly she still thinks there are alligators in there....

Mary-Ann and her horse Bene then tried to give us a lead.  We tried this from a standstill near the water, then following at a trot and then approaching the water.  Nothing doing.  Just when we were about to call it a day and watch while Mary-Ann and Bene schooled the water, Sug decided she'd better go ahead and humor us and leapt into the middle of the water, gathered herself, and leapt out of it.  There was much fussing and patting and we then went back and forth through the water until we could do it without any fussing.  Then we tried jumping a stack of logs, followed by a slight back and then down through the water and then up a small hill to a log.  The first time we attempted it Sug saw the water on the other side of the logs and said, "Oh, HELL no!"  I circled her, sat in the back seat and rode defensively as I was told, and we went up, over, throughout the water and up over the log like we did it every day.

This is how we looked:

Not too shabby, huh?? (Can I tell you how may times I've watched this video?  Like, a thousand!)  Doesn't she look like a good eventing pony??  After we confirmed her at the water, we tried jumping up and down banks, starting with little ones and getting a little bigger each time.  The first time she jumped up we were both a little shocked, and she kinda got caught up and I got my teeth rattled a bit. We recovered and managed to jump down the down side, which went fairly well.  Virginia and I expected her to give a great big old leap out into space, but she just popped down that bank, easy peasy, which Virginia said shows how smart she is. (Virginia was promoted to Most Favored Person after that comment.)

So that was it.  Our big foray over to the eventing side of the equestrian world.  I'm so glad I tried it. Screwing up my courage and jumping cross country obstacles made me feel all kinds of badass, which will hopefully make me more confident in my show jumping.  Plus, learning how to ride and jump over varied terrain is really good for you- I felt super solid in the tack the next time I popped over some fences in our ring.

Who knows - this may be the start of something special.

Thanks for reading!

James and the Evil SuckMonster

So the umbrella isn't an issue, but the vacuum is. Go figure.

My kids' OTTB James is the equine version of the Peanuts character "Pig-Pen."  He lives for a good roll that will grind and cake mud into every nook and cranny he possesses.  James loooooooves looking like a four-legged Swamp Thing; although his riders are less enthusiastic about his hygienic practices.

It's rained for the past couple of days, which means James has been in high heaven, no doubt finding every patch of dirt in his field.  My son and I knew what we were going to find when we got to the barn, and James didn't disappoint.  He was covered stem to stern, his forelock sticking up like a Mohawk and the only things not covered in dried mud were the eyes that were gazing gleefully out at us.  James looked like a kid who'd gotten into the cookie jar and ate every last one, clearly very pleased with himself.

Sadly for James, his pleasure was not to last long.  Noah curried, curried some more, and yet even more.  Currying and a couple passes with the stiff brush didn't do much against the muck - if you tapped his croup a mushroom cloud of dust came up - so it was decided it was time to break out the vacuum.  Have I ever mentioned that James does not like the vacuum?  Nope, not even a little bit.  To James, the vacuum is the source of all evil in this world.

Noah dragged the vacuum over to James, who had pulled his head back and was eyeing Noah with obvious misgivings.  "You brought this on yourself," Noah told his horse.  He then walked up to James and held the vacuum cleaner head under his nose, saying "You know what this is.  You know how this works. I turn it on and it makes a  WHHHOOOOOOOSSSSSSHHHH noise and I put it on and it sucks all the dirt out."  James sniffed the end of the vacuum, his eyes going from machine to boy and back again.  Noah then rubbed the head along James' neck and shoulders, talking to him the whole time.

He cleans up quite nicely!

Sugar and I watched this whole exchange with great interest and many giggles from our vantage point across the aisle.  Sug loves the vacuum, and clearly had no idea why James was apprehensive.  As we watched, Noah turned the vacuum on and poor James' eyes damn near goggled out of his head!  He startled, braced his legs out like he was Bambi on the ice, snorted, and whipped his head over to look at me as if to say, "I want to speak with Management! I'd like to file a formal protest!"  He then swiveled his head to give Noah the hairy eyeball and snorted emphatically.

Noah kept talking to James, praising his bravery (???) and making glacially slow, sweeping movements with the vacuum.  This eventually relaxed James, and he reduced his Terror Alert Status from High to Guarded, his ears tracking back and forth in case anybody decided to try any more funny business.

When Noah finished, James let out a HUUUUUUGE sigh and hung his head on the cross-ties, his demeanor indicating he felt highly put-upon by the indignities of being subjected to such a traumatic experience. Noah went over and grabbed a carrot for James, who brightened and scarfed it down,  immediately forgetting his encounter with the Evil SuckMonster.

Dragons and Pixies and Trolls - Oh My!

Are those trolls over there??

I know my Mom mostly writes stuff here and sometimes Sug has something to say, but I feel I've been under-represented and I've decided to take things into my own hooves and add my two cents to this blog.

I'm really glad winter is over, but we've done well despite the weather.  Sophie (my girl) and Noah (my boy) have been working hard and improving.  We continued to have fun together. Sometimes instead of riding they just played with me in the indoor arena, running around with me and leading me through obstacle courses, which  was fun.  Sometimes when it was too cold to ride they just groomed me or clipped me or did what they call a "Spa Day."

Now that the weather has gotten nicer we get to come out of the ring and play outside.  I like trail rides a lot, but I'm not a huge fan of our outdoor ring.  Others may disagree, but I swear dragons and trolls run rampant in that place!  Mom and I went out there the other day, and yeah, it was a bit brisk and there was a breeze, and it was the first time we'd been outside, so I was feeling pretty happy.

As we walked down the wooded path to the ring, I swear I saw a troll come out from under a pile of leaves, and I bolted forward to get us out of harm's way.  You'd think Mom would have been happy that I saved our bacon, but oddly enough she was less than thrilled.  She put me into a shoulder-in and said "That's not a troll, you goofball, it's a squirrel!"   I feel a simple thank you would have been more in order.

We passed through the rest of Troll Path unscathed and entered the outdoor.  There were some new jumps in there, so I felt the need to go over and investigate, as it's common knowledge that pixies inhabit jump standards and will jump out and bite you at any opportunity.  I snorted loudly at the standards to scare away any pixies that may have been hiding there, and just to be on the safe side I snorted the next several times we passed in order to discourage them from returning.  Mom called me a boobie and made me shoulder-in past it in both directions.

I could not understand why Mom was not impressed by my diligent attention to our safety.  For example, when when approached the mounting block I very clearly saw a dragon hiding behind it, waiting to pounce.  I did everything I could to convince mom it was not safe to advance: I snorted, side passed, planted myself and then reversed field rapidly.  "James, you eejit, that's no dragon.  That's a chihuahua!"  We did a shoulder-in past the mounting block in both directions.

I was starting to notice a pattern.

Mom remained calm and chatted to me the entire time we rode, telling me that we were safe and there were no horse-eating beasties about and if by some chance they appeared she said she'd take care of me.  She told me I was a brave boy when I managed to control my fear and pass whatever demon I saw.  (I don't see how I was brave - the woman didn't give me much choice!)  She babbled on to the point where finally I relaxed and began to believe that either she was supremely confident in her dragon fighting abilities, or she was dumber than a box of rocks and completely oblivious to her surroundings.   I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and  put my mind to the job at hand, but I remained ever vigilant just in case she was wrong.

Chief Safety Officer James relaxing after a tough shift.

Thankfully we finished our session without incident and returned to the barn unscathed and ready to fight another day.  Mom gave me a carrot and a mint for overcoming my anxieties and bravely facing down my demons.  I know she was patronizing me, but I can overlook that because of the treats.  She put me back in my stall with my hay and I heaved a sigh of relief, thankful the ordeals of the day were done.

James

Valentine, Schmalentine...

Someone is NOT pleased...

The Princess of Pulchritude's rather long schnoz is a bit out of joint right now.  Seems a certain holiday went by with no message from her sweetheart.  No card, no flowers, mints, no hay bag.  Not even a text!  

As you might surmise, the date in question was February 14th, aka Valentine's Day.  Of course Sug got a plethora of treats from yours truly and the kids, but you know as well as I do that Valentine's trinkets from a parent, no matter how thoughtful, are not the same as those that come from that special someone.  

The Sainted Mare's sweetie, Tucker the Wunderkind, has always been the model Valentine, showering Sug with sweet billet doux such as this:

But this Valentine's Day passed without any word from her swain.  I told Sug that her favorite bay gelding has been very busy lately.  He moved barns, he's been training in a new discipline (dressage) and he recently did a clinic with Pierre St. Jacques, which must have put a lot of pressure on him.  

I don't think Sug was believing anything I was saying.   She normally doesn't set much store in manufactured holidays and takes things like this in her stride, however I suspect darker forces are at work here.  February 14th isn't the only special day in February - February 26th is a pretty important day, as it's the anniversary of The Sainted Mare's birth.  As she is turning 18 this year, I think she's starting to worry about aging.  She recently asked me if I thought her tush wasn't as tight as it used to be, and wondered if maybe we should do a little more collected work to firm things up a bit.  She also asked if the Eqyss Avocado Mist we use came in an anti-wrinkle/ retinol version.

Sug is nothing if not a strong woman, however, and is determined not to let a little hiccup in the road of love get her down.  Just this morning she put a little more sway in her strut as we passed some of the geldings' stalls on our way to the arena today.

I told her she's like a good red wine, and only gets better with age.

Breaking Out The Bad...

Last night's lesson was pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.

Actually, the last several lessons have been really good.  (Smiling and doing a little happy dance.)  After about a year of working on my rhythm and making sure to keep my canter consistent over baby fences, I've gotten consistent enough to warrant moving back up to 3'.  In the past raising the height of the fences would have put me in the fetal position, but since I've worked on my mental approach and the whole consistency thing, the "fetal thing" wasn't so much of an issue.

My trainer built me up to 3' in stages.  I usually share lessons with my kids, which made sense since we were all jumping about 2'6".  Lately during lessons she'd raise one fence in a course  to 3' for me.  Then maybe a second fence would be put up to that height.  The rest would be the 2'6" my kids and I normally jumped.  I'd jump a course with the 3' fence or two. No problem.  Wheeeeeeee!

In the interest of honesty I should mention that the first couple times my trainer raised the fences on me she totally fibbed  and told me they were only 2'9".  I'm no expert, but she's the coach, so I believed her, even though they looked bigger to me. Finally during one lesson she raised a fence and it looked waaaay too big to be the 2'9" she told me it was, so after I'd finished Sug's post-ride grooming I snuck back into the ring and measured it.  Sure enough, it was 3'.  Ah-hah!  Mind games!  I can appreciate those!  She knows how I work, and bamboozling me into thinking I'm comfortable at 2'9" when I'm really jumping 3' is not a bad strategy on her part.  Well played, coach!

So, anyway, back to last night's lesson.  Soph and I rode together, and usually our Tuesday night lesson is mostly flat with some cavaletti work or exercises over small fences.  Last night the exercise was the "circle of death" exercise, where you ride in a circle over jumps working on rhythm, staying the center of the fence, and getting the horse to land on the correct lead.  My trainer had complicated things by making the fences into ridiculously small targets - a flower box and two bales of hay.  First we jumped the one hay bale, working on getting a rhythm and making sure we could get our horses to the middle of an obstacle only 3' wide. Then we did the hay bale to the flower box. Then the hay bale to flower box to the second hay bale.

Sounds easy, but it ain't.  Luckily for me, I'd geeked out yesterday and had read Amanda Steege's article on nailing your lead after a fence in the November issue of Practical Horseman. Amanda advocates making sure you look up and across the fence in the direction you want to go, and that you close your fingers around the rein on the side of the lead you want as your horse prepares to take off, while you apply slight pressure with the opposite leg and step into that heel to move the horse's haunches over and cue him to land with the correct hind leg first.

I'd also watched a little EquestrianCoach.com while I was on the treadmill at lunch.  Hope Glynn's video on "Making the Most of Your Turns on Course" was super helpful.  She demonstrated how making a good square turn to a fence sets the horse up for a good jump.  She also showed how fading in or out on the turn affects the horse's landing and approach to the the next obstacle, and thus affects balance and smoothness and your distance, as well as time if you're a jumper.

Well, DUUUUUHHHH, right??  I mean, I should know this stuff, right?  But you know how sometimes you get to the barn after a long, crappy day at work, you've fought rush hour traffic and somehow all the stuff you should know doesn't seem to come out in your ride?  I just read a blog post on Eventing Nation by Denny Emerson's student Lila Gendal on Being More Present and it touches on this.

So last night, I was present during my ride, and I nailed that damn circle of death exercise, right from the get-go!  And what made it even better was that my daughter had trouble with it for a while, and so did my trainer's daughter (a fabulous little pony jock with several trips to pony finals under her belt by age 9).  My trainer was telling the girls to watch me (watch me!!!) and how I set up my turns, how I used my outside aids, and how I got Sug to the middle of each fence. LALALALALALA- time for the mounted happy dance!!!! (I know, real mature, huh? Great parenting moment, right?  Pffffftttttt!!!!  Sometimes Mom gets to win! LOL.)

Yeah, I was getting high on my big, bad self.  Got my strut back on, feeling like a badass!  That's me, vanquisher of flower boxes, slayer of hay bales.  Bring on that 3' course, baby!  I'll kill that muthah!!!

Flying the Horsie Freak Flag High...

You know those horse people things we do that other folks don't get, like half-halting grocery carts, poking people and clucking at them to get them to move over, counting strides between cars on the highway, and seeing no issue with washing human clothes and horsie clothes in the same load, much less the same washing machine?

I have two more for you:

1) This past week I was at the gym. A quick look to either side and in front of me confirmed that everyone else was either watching the bank of TVs, or reading Men's Health, Shape, Self, Prevention, or some other gym-appropriate reading material. I'd brought my own reading material from home, and was (can you believe it?) the only one catching up on the latest issue of The Chronicle of the Horse. I know-seriously? Don't these people appreciate good literature??

2) This past Sunday I flew out to Las Vegas on a business trip. Miracle of miracles, I arrived at the airport with time to spare, and so parked at the gate, fired up the old iPad, and commenced watching some Global Champions Tour live streaming. And I was into it, riding every stride with the riders and
exclaiming with disappointment when appropraite. (Umm, that means I was saying "Crap!" or "Shit!" each time a rail fell). After a while I realized I'd drawn a crowd. Several guys, no doubt thinking I was watching the NFL, were standing in a semi-circle behind my seat, no doubt pretty darn confused when they realized the athletes I was focused on were 4-legged, not two. One guy even asked me, "Who's playing?" Ummm, ponies vs. poles???

How would you have answered that one?

Whistle While You Work. I Dare You.

I might be late to the party because apparently this has been around since 2009, but I saw it on the United States Pony Club Facebook site today and it's too darn good not to share!

I've had a mare for some time now and although cleaning her lady bits ain't fun, it wasn't until we leased James that I was reminded how nasty willy washing can be.  That being said, I never though to write an ode to it to help pass the time, à la Disney's Giselle in Enchanted or the Seven Dwarves in Snow White.

Holy smokes, sportsfans, it's a Ding-Dong-Sing-A-Long!

Until I saw this, I thought the funniest thing I'd seen regarding sheath cleaning was my very proper Mother's face when she stopped by the barn one day and found with my arm up to the elbow in my gelding's junk.

That might be a close second to this.

Go ahead, tell me that's not going to be in your head all day.

You're welcome. :)

The Horse Family On Vacation: Part Two

Look!  Horses on Hilton Head!

It's disgustingly early and I'm woefully under-caffeinated, but I'll try to get a few thoughts down since, well, there's not much else to do on this plane except mouth breath and hope for this ride to be over. On one hand it can be a good thing to be located in the back next to the lavatory, especially if you're a middle aged mother of two (know what I mean, ladies?). On the other hand, the atmosphere can be a touch, ummm, gag-worthy.

Anywhooo, so here are some of the other ways we managed to make our non-horsey vacation a bit more, for lack of a better word, horsey:

1) My son and I were bike riding and he kept trying to ride without the use of his hands, to no avail. He kept drifting precariously to the right. I made the connection that Sugar and James drift right when he rides them, and -LIGHTBULB!- came to the conclusion it might be because he is weighting his right seat bone too much. I asked him to tighten up his core a bit and concentrate on putting a little more weight into his left seat bone, and lo and behold, after a few aborted attempts he was able to ride no-handed in a straight line.

Noah and Sophie riding "Julien" and "James the 2nd"

2) Sophie has declared that my lucky number is 4. This pronouncement is based on the fact that my average per hole mini-golf score is 4, which she says is obviously because horses have 4 legs. You get the connection, right? Clear as mud.

3) On our last day we managed to drag my husband to an actual barn. One of our previous trainers had moved to a lovely facility about 30 minutes from where we were staying, so on our way out of town we stopped by to say hi and see her new digs. As the kids and I walked into the barn we all inhaled deep breaths of that wonderful horse smell, and both turned to me and voiced what I was thinking, "Boy, it sure smells good in here, and boy, do we miss our horses." So we loved on every horse who was amenable to it, offering scratches and nose kisses and peppermints and just breathing in the magic that is horse.

Sophie the Girl meets Sophie the Pony

4) Our flight home was at an ungodly early hour, so we elected to spend the night before near the Savannah airport. It seemed like a great opportunity to see a bit of this historic and lovely city, and we took one of the walking tours of the haunted houses of old Savannah. Savannah is a beautiful city, clean, with wide streets and moss-draped live oak trees. Horse drawn carriage tours are a big tourist draw, and of course we needed to walk up and smuggle peppermints to as many of the cart horses as we could. I'm not a city lover, but I could probably live in Savannah, as at least the historic center smells more of horse (and equine by-products) than of car exhaust, sidewalk food vendor grease, and too many people in close quarters.

5) Plane flights are a great place to read. On our flight home my husband found himself with nothing to read and no in-flight movie, so he leaned over to see what might be of interest in my stack of magazines. "Practical Horseman, Practical Horseman, and Chronicle of the Horse," he intoned with dejection. "I have the US Pony Club Manual of Horsemanship in my bag, if you'd rather that," I mentioned helpfully. He elected to nap rather than expand his body of equine knowledge. Silly man.

So there you have it. How a horsey family manages to take a week away from the horses and infuse it with at least a tiny taste of things equine.

Would be better utilized as a jump field or pasture, right?

Really?? This even needs to be said??

A Horse Family Goes On Vacation...

The kids on their 2-wheeled vacation steeds

I've said it before and I'll say it again: You can leave the ponies, but the ponies never leave you.  Case in point: We took a family vacation to South Carolina this week, the first real "away' vacation we've taken in a while.  We were looking forward to some time away from our busy schedules, quality time together as a family, and truth be told, my husband was probably eagerly anticipation a week away from anything horse related.

He rolled his eyes when we told him how we hugged the horses goodbye and told them we'd miss them and not to forget us for the week.  James, angel baby that he is, raised his head and pretended to look like he cared that we were leaving. Sug never even looked up from her hay.  The poor man started to get a sense that the horses were not going to be completely left behind when we were at the airport during a changeover: We were getting on to one of those automated walkways and my son misjudged his approach, at which point he turned to me and ruefully said, "I chipped the distance on that one."

Here are some of the other ways we knew the horses had not left our minds:

1) You go on a bike ride with your son and when he passes people on the bike path he yells "inside" to them to let them know what side he is passing them on.  To his way of thinking, the road was the outside and the golf course was the inside.  made perfect sense to us, but I told him we were probably the only equestrians on vacation so we'd be better off sticking to "left" and "right."

2)  You realize that bikes, at least the big old cruisers, do NOT listen to half halts.  They respond to backward pressure on the pedals.  I was pointing out an alligator sunning himself in a lagoon to my son when I experienced this bit of learning, and damn near skidded into the lagoon before I figured out what I was doing wrong.

3)  You call your bike your "steed" and name it.  My husband's eyes darn near rolled back in his head when Sophie announced her bike was a stallion named "Julien" (pronounced Hool-eee- en) and Noah and I confessed to naming ours as well.

4)  You find yourself creating a horse-less horse show with your bike.  While waiting for everyone to get organized to bike home after we'd gone out to breakfast, I noticed Sophie riding her bike in circles around the parking lot, muttering to herself.  After listening more carefully, I could tell she was giving herself the same instructions she'd get in an under saddle class.  Of course I had to video that bit of cuteness!

 

5)  While walking on the beach Noah commented how much fun it would be to bring Sugar and James out there, and what a good work-out it would be for our tubby mare.  As we watched Soph run around a jump the tide pools, he turned to me and said, "Look, she's practicing the water jumps."  Some of the tide pools were too large for her to jump over, and she called over to us, "Look, I'm an event horse, and I'm going through the water hazard"  She'd make a very brave event horse.

6)  You take so many bike rides that your muscles are screaming at you.  Normal people would go to the local Piggly Wiggly and look for Ben Gay.  We Googled the nearest tack shop for some Sore No More.

We're only halfway through our vacation, so I'm pretty sure we're going to have a few more of these moments before we head home.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA! One For The Bucket List!

This was the last image I saw before turning out the light last night.  I'd been paging through my new issue of Horse International magazine and lo and behold, there it was!  And I thought, "Sweet nine pound Baby Jesus!  THIS is one for the bucket list!  I might never be able to actually ride at the All England Jumping Course at Hickstead (what with being an amateur and the whole wrong side of the pond thing), but THIS is something I could pull off and at the same time say I'd competed on those hallowed grounds."

So here you go, donkey chariot racing at Hickstead, courtesy of Horse and Hound:



While I was searching for the video above, I came across something a little closer to home that takes the whole competition a step further.  This footage was shot at Equine Affaire in Massachusetts in 2009.  I try to schedule a business trip to Massachusetts every year around Equine Affaire - how the heck did I miss this???  Hoping it's on the schedule this year, as I need to figure out a way to get involved!



Anyway, there's your Hump Day giggle.  Don't say I never gave you anything!

In Which The Sainted Mare is a Complete Twit...

He may look cute and harmless,
but Sug knows he's a deadly mare assassin.

Yep.  Normally she's as bombproof as horse gets. Today, however, the Sainted One's halo slipped. Big Time.

Okay, she's just coming back into work after some time off on the IR so she may be feeling frisky.  However, before her recent boo-boo she was on light duty with the kids while I was sick.  Long story short?  She's fat as a house and very out of shape, which normally makes her lazy as heck.  Portly mares should not be on their toes and on the muscle.  Just sayin'.

It was hot as blazes last night so we did our serious work in the shade of the indoor and she was fine in there.  Lazy, even.  No surprise. Then my son and I decided to cool the horses by walking them in the field.  This will be nice and relaxing, I thought.

I thought wrong.

We were approaching the first field when I noticed the deer.  I turned in my saddle to remind the Boy, the one who was riding the Sensitive Thoroughbred, to keep his weight in his heels and a steady contact with Jame's mouth.  I'd planned on offering additional advice, but before the words had passed my lips The Sainted Mare snorted and did an abrupt 180 to the left, which had my yap snapping shut and forced me to concentrate on staying in the saddle.  Our Mach-1 turn on the haunches left us facing Noah and James and, God help me, the deer that had materialized about 20 feet behind them.  Sug saw that deer and whirled around again, this time to the right.  Somehow I managed to stay in the saddle through this spin as well.  (I've always been really impressed by reiners, but after these spins, they've been elevated to new heights in my estimation.)

The Sensitive Thoroughbred behind us? Stood like a stone the whole time, clearly wondering what the fuss was all about.

Smart people would probably have given up at that point.  Well, I'm not too bright, so onward we went.  We got about 20 yards before we saw more deer; two adolescents were grazing contentedly about 50 yards away.  "Awww, look at the cute deer," we said.  The cute deer were clearly also Rabid Kamikazi Deer, as they took one gander at us and decided to Gallop. Across.The. Field. Directly. At. Us.  Sug took that opportunity to crap herself and do a 360-plant-snort maneuver that had Baby Buck Rabid Kamikazi deer doing the same. Sug snorted and planted her feet again. So did BBRK.  I kid you not.  This really happened.

What did James, the Sensitive Thoroughbred do?  Nothing. Nada. Bupkus.  Just stood and and watched the deer like he was watching some kind of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom re-run.

You'd think I'd have wised up and headed back by now.  You'd be wrong.  I'm a special kind of stupid, it would seem.  A glutton for punishment, even.  By golly, I was gonna put a stop to this spook nonsense and enjoy myself a nice trail ride.  We continued on into the next field, where Sug decided to spook at a tire fence she's seen at least 3200 times.  So we spent some time sight seeing around the tire jump making sure there were no trolls, cougars, or alligators lurking about. 

I finally lost it when she spooked at a crow that had been in our line of sight for-freaking-ever.  At that point I announced that I was officially done with the drama llama crapola and I asked her do shoulders-in and haunches-in and leg yields the rest of the way back to the barn to keep her overactive pea-sized brain concentrating on something other than imaginary predators.  She expressed her displeasure by grunting and huffing, but settled down and refrained from further silliness. 

The Sensitive Thoroughbred followed us quietly home, his halo firmly in place right over the top of his handsome Thoroughbred head. 

The very good Sensitive Thoroughbred
sharing some love with his Boy

Holy Flying Feathers!

OMG, one of my Facebook friends posted this and I had to share.  If this does not put a smile on your face, well, I'm at a loss.

How can you not smile at the sight of a herd of Shires galloping down a race track, feathers a'flying?

The gentle giants were ridden by professional jumps jockeys (a bit different from a normal day at the office for these boys, I'd wager) and the race was put on to raise awareness of the Shire breed, which is considered "at risk" by the Rare Breeds Survival Trust.

Congrats all around to Joey, the winner, and all his connections.  To read more about the race, and to see adorable pics of the big horses getting all dolled up for the big event, click here.

It's All About Class...

As you know, we're pretty top-shelf and high brow here at AWIP.  We hold standards high and all that fancy stuff.

As you can see from this recent pic shot on laundry day:

Doesn't everybody dry their polos by hanging them from patio umbrellas?  Looked like a great big ol' funky Octopus when the wind kicked up!

I live in a very suburban neighborhood and there's not a horse to be seen around here, but the neighbors have gotten used to seeing horse stuff all over my yard.  One was walking her dog with a friend on a day I had my mare's blankets drying on the hedge and saddle pads strewn all over the table.  The friend asked what they were, and the neighbor said they were horse blankets.  I heard the friend ask, "Blankets for horses?  Do they sleep in her bed, too?"

My buddy Cheryl sent me this pic from Facebook.  She asked if this was a picture of me.  I told her nope, this is to classy to be me. If this were a picture of me I'd be riding astride, my shirt would be covered in green horse slobber, my face would be bright red and sweaty, and I'd be reaching out for a big glass of Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale!



'Cause that's how we roll here at AWIP!  Just keeping it real, people!

Lessons from George...

Hey all!  Hope this finds you well.

If you are interested, there's one last post from my time at the George H. Morris Gladstone Program.  It's a series of George-isms in flashcard format to help remember some of the important words of wisdom he passed along.  I'm planning to print some out to tape to the lid of my tack trunk.  (I know- DORK ALERT!)

Oh yeah, and some of the funny bits, too.

If you'd like to read all my recaps, you can access them here.

The USET Foundation’s mission is to support America’s elite and developing athletes by assisting them with their competition, training, coaching, travel and educational needs, partly through programs like the Gladstone Program. If you would like to help support those efforts, and become a true partner in the US team’s success, you can learn how by following this link.


Thanks for reading!

Goat Rides Horse. Really. I'm Not Joking.

Okay, so maybe "riding" is a generous term in this instance.

The video is part of an effort to promote tourism in Newfoundland and Labrador, (not the dogs, the Canadian province) where, we are led to believe, fantastically cool things like equestrian goats exist.  This is a pretty big deal for a place that, other than boasting it's own time zone, hasn't seen much excitement since Lief Eriksson beached himself there sometime in the 11th century.

When accused of staging the video, the film crew making the tourism spot affirmed that they'd spotted the duo while going about their official job.  They approached the owner of the farm where the animals resided and she allowed them to film. According to the farm owner, Sunshine, the horse,will lay down and the nimble little pygmy goats use that as an excuse to play 'King of the Mountain' until Sunshine tires of their antics and "gently" bucks them off. 

No harm, no foul, according to the animal's owner. 

I have no trouble believing this could be real.  Have you ever seen goats up close?  They're nimble and curious little buggers, and will climb anything.

Also,  google "Goat Rides Horse."  Looks like there are any number of nubile Nubians looking for a little giddy-up action.

In Praise of a Little Alone Time...

A Mobius strip.  Pretty innocuous, huh?

I'm an only child.  This is pertinent information as it will help you better understand my occassional need for alone time, which may or may not be more highly developed than some. I also love my kids to distraction.  I do.  I love them like crazy, understanding that at the same time they often drive me batcrap crazy. 

I think that's so because as an only child, I spent a great deal of my formative years on my own, engaged in silent, solitary, peaceful (mostly) activities.  Now all my time is spent in a frenzy of chaos, and while I would not change my life, sometimes I long for a little "alone time" and I don't think I am a bad parent or person because I do (or, at least I don't think that way most of the time). You following me?

Tuesday night it was my son's turn to come to the barn with me.  It was a more than typically rushed evening, as we had to be home in time for me to run out to my daughter's orthodontist appointment.  Picture the Boy and me driving down a busy NJ highway, me with my eyebrows drawn together as I mentally work through some work issues.  It occurs to me that there is a sad lack of parent-child interaction, so I weakly offer a "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Dammit.  I know better.  That particular question always leads to an aneurysm inducing answer.  Yesterday's gem was, "I'm thinking about Mobius strips."  WTF?????  Go ahead, Google away. M-o-b-i-u-s strips.  Lord knows I certainly had to, even after he tried to explain the term to me.  I knew I'd heard of them, just couldn't pick one out of a lineup.  Sigh.

Then we rode.  I kept stopping what I was doing with Sug to offer help. I know, big mistake. I could almost hear Sugar thinking, "Shuddup fercripessakes and leave the kid be.  You have your own issues to worry about."  Then there was the rush to get cleaned up and get home.  The watching-him-take-5-trips to the tack room when he could have saved time by bring everything at once. (Yeah, of course I had to point that out, for which sin I was treated to the dreaded Eye-roll of Annoyance).

Yesterday I got to go to the barn by myself.  And have a lesson.  By Myself.  Could focus 100% on my ride.  Groom and clean tack without distractions.  No one to ask where the hoof stuff was, or where their girth/gloves/helmet/favorite saddle pad was.  Nobody asked me if I had a drink or snack on me.  (Yes, of course I do, honey.  Actually, what you call my big butt is actual a mini-bar stocked with your favorite treats - let me pull a vitamin water out for you!)

It was absolute bliss.

Tonight it's Soph's turn to come to the barn as we have a lesson.  I'm wondering which daughter will show up.  Will it be the taciturn pre-teen who huffs and eye-rolls every time I say something?  Or the Chatty Patty who needs to fill every silence with news of school going on, soccer gossip, or random noises?  I already know I'll be clucking at her to finish grooming and tacking up, and then alternately begging her to hurry up and threatening to leave her there if she doesn't clean her tack faster. 

Guess who was playing with Mom's
phone when she should have been cleaning tack?

I think one solo barn day a month is fair.  That's not asking too much, right? 

Dork of the Day Award Goes To....ME!

This equestrian thing can be dangerous.

I mean, your body can take a beating. If you fall, it's usually from about 5 or 6 feet above the (hard) ground.  Sometimes higher, if you happen to be jumping when you and the horse part company.  And let's face it, we don't usually fall off while the horse is standing still. (Although, to be truthful, I can say that I've done that.)  Most of the time when we experience an unintentional dismount, it's at speed.  Which makes the ground seem harder.

By the way, did you know that there are scales to evaluate the hardness of an object as it pertains to the bounce back of the object hitting it? I prefer using the Leeb Rebound Hardness test, myself.

Yep, from now on you can look at your falls as science experiments.  You can even get a little doohickie called a schleroscope to measure the distance of your rebound after you hit the ground. 
Even better, there's even something called indentation testing that measure hardness based on the indentation left by an object hitting a surface.  So, you can measure the hardness of the ground by the size of the crater you left behind when you landed.

But I digress.  At least when you fall, you can point to your injuries with a sense of pride. Unfortunately, our equestrian passion often subjects us to less, uh, illustrious injuries - the broken toe from being stepped on, the bruised side from the bite of a girthy horse, or the scraped up leg from when Poopsikins tried to pry you off by using the nearest fence for leverage.

I give you my most recent Stupid Horse-Related Injury: The Self-Imposed, Helmet-Induced Nose Job.  Sadly, I was nowhere near a horse when this happened.  I was just getting ready to tack up, grabbing my saddle and helmet from the top rack, and the helmet bounced off the bottom rack, rebounded upwards and the brim smacked me right in the bridge of the nose. BAM!!!!!

I saw stars, and darn near went to my knees.  Bled like a stuck pig, too.  This is what it looks like 3 days later.  Lovely shade of Spring-like yellow, don't you think?

I'll be the first to tell you, helmet safety is VERY IMPORTANT!!!  Those suckers can hurt!

Anybody else have a silly horse-related injury they want to share?