BB&G, Part 3 & Self-Critique, a la George

Bet you thought I was done talking about B. Barns, but nope, there are still more tales relating to this establishment! (

I distinctly recall the 4-H meeting when some of the kids' parents joined us because Trainer had a special announcement to make. I was very worried because I think I had heard she was losing her lease on the property. But no, she was much excited, bubbling over with big talk. A sort of blueprint document was spread out, and little 3-D paper buildings plunked down: we were looking at plans for the new, improved BB Luxury Equestrian Estates development! Huh?? Our Club President's dad was a developer, I knew that much (they had two horses at the barn) and apparently he was the one behind this grand idea. There would be a huge, round indoor arena, several barns, improved pastures, and a number of homes.

I didn't quite know what to make of this. I didn't think Trainer had a lot of money, so I didn't know how it was all going to work, but I sure hoped that it would because I really loved my barn life at BB&G, the 4-H Club, and "my" lovely girl American Mare. Trainer was an excellent instructor and I learned a ton about riding and horse care from her. She was generous to a fault, never even charging me a fee to ride her horses at shows or for her time at them; I showed for the cost of entry fees and trailering. She genuinely loved horses, loved teaching and was a huge advocate of 4-H. For those qualities alone I would remember her fondly.

Long story short, sadly, the Luxury Equestrian Estates never were built (although the property today, is, in fact, covered in large homes). I assume Trainer had a falling-out with President's Dad, and/or he couldn't get financing. Trainer, kids and horses were forced to relocate, and the whole establishment picked up sticks and moved to a new facility about 15 minutes away. It was a far cry from the old one, unfortunately. Not much turnout, one ring, and a barn. The whole thing was surrounded by busy roads.

I continued taking lessons, doing 4-H and showing. We didn't just go to 4-H shows, by the way; we went to another series of local unrated affairs as well. These were held at a place called Freedom Farms. I liked the fancy ribbons they gave out there, and it was an appropriate level of competition for me.

I actually have one picture from a 2'6" jumping class taken when I was around 15, the only actual real photographer's photo I've ever gotten of me at a show. But I refuse to share it on the grounds that you would instantly lose all respect for me - yes, it's really THAT bad. :-) I would like to think it was just "a moment in time," but I have a distinct feeling that any jumping photo of me ever taken is going to have my toes out at 90 degree angles... and probably a lot of other faults. (I know I have mentioned the toe thing before. Here's the deal: I can sit on the floor, put the soles of my feet together, and lean forward until my head touches my feet with my knees all the way on the floor. Now those are some funky hip joints! So I walk/stand very duck-footed and have always struggled to turn my toes in while riding. Nowadays nobody seems to care much but back then... whooo. Not good.)

Every time I look at this picture (that no, I'm still not going to show you) I crack myself up imagining what George Morris would have to say if I submitted it to Jumping Clinic. After he had wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, he'd write something like this:

"This rider needs to work on tightening her leg. Her heel is down, but I can see daylight between her knee and the saddle. I have never seen a toe turned out that far - it is well beyond the maximum 45-degree angle. Returning to small crossrails and no-stirrup work would help strengthen the leg.

The rider is not so much as jumping ahead, as simply standing in the stirrups. Her hip angle is far too open and she has not let the thrust of the horse close it. Her short release is okay, but one hand is far higher than the other. Her eyes are up and she is looking for the next jump.

This horse is merely stepping over this little jump and has a bored expression. I cannot evaluate her form accurately with this small fence, but I would like to see her knees more even. The mare needs some groceries and she should be braided and her hooves polished, even for a small schooling show. She needs a better-fitting browband as well.

Whomever thought it was a good idea to attire a teenage girl in a loud, white/blue/black/red plaid coat, jodphurs with garters and paddock boots should be taken behind the barn and shot. This outfit is not appropriate for her age and looks ridiculous. Also, the excess stirrup leather needs trimming." 

I was riding the chestnut OTTB mare who was the other main lesson horse at BB&G.  She was a stereotypical opinionated redhead and we really didn't get along all that well (Patty Flower mostly rode her, in fact). I fail to remember her name, which tells you something. At any rate, she was a hard keeper and didn't have a lot of bloom to her coat. She could jump 3'6," though, and her front end sharpened up over bigger fences.

As far as my hideous outfit, it's called "I borrowed the jacket from Trainer and therefore the price was right." Picture something like the above, except with a narrow red thread, tailored in luxurious 100% polyester double knit. You could wad it up into a ball and stuff it into your backpack, and upon extraction it would instantly spring back into coat-dom. We knew I needed tall boots, but having had no luck thus far finding any off the rack (and my long-suffering mother sensibly refusing to get customs), I was consigned to paddock boots and jodphurs even though I know now I was definitely too old for them. I remember thinking the paddock boots, which had punched toe caps, were really pretty spiffy.

Regarding the standing in the stirrups - I have no idea why this was going on. I have a few snapshots taken of me jumping in a lesson (at night, in a dusty indoor, so not exactly the best quality) and I'm not doing it in those, and certainly my instructors have never mentioned it, so I think it was a function of nerves/a flat-jumping horse/what have you. I may have weirdly-assembled hips, but they do bend! :-)

Towards the end of my career at BB, I started riding a new school horse, a fugly-but-cute bay gelding named Little Brown Jug. Mare was pretty much retired; she'd developed a large and painful sarcoma or melanoma under her tail, and Trainer was trying to get another foal from her (she'd had one in the past, a colt whom T kept and stood as a H/J stallion). Jug was a TB, but had a full-sized horse head on a pony body. The story I got was he had been starved as youngster and his growth was stunted. We got along very well, fortunately.

I have a distinct memory of my last class at my last show ever as a junior rider. It was a 4-H show and Jug and I were waiting for our turn on the outside course. The sky was fast-darkening with an approaching storm. To the sound of rumbles of thunder we made our way around the jumps; Jug was a good jumper but being so small, he made 3'6" feel like a lot taller. Up and over we flew (with me being jumped loose over a couple of fences that had to have been at least 3'9") and as we finished I remember thinking, "Well, this is it. Who knows when I'll ever show a horse again?"

It took twenty years.

(Story coming!)

BB&G, Part 1

This will be one of my "writing my memories down because I want to" posts... hope it's somewhat entertaining!

***

Anyone who's been around this blog for a while knows that I started out riding H/J at Tricorne Farm in Holmdel, NJ when I was but a wee tyke (5). I stayed there until I was 12 years old, but then things weren't going so well (didn't care for the new trainer) and it seemed like time to make a switch. So where did I go?

Better Barns and Gardens.

Nope, I'm not making that up! The giggle-worthy name was cooked up by the trainer/person in charge and the "silent partner" actual barn owner. The barn was a single pole-style main structure with about 14 stalls and a tackroom, and the "garden" was the flower beds on either side of the main door. The rest of the facility consisted of a nice-sized outdoor ring, a small stone building that was optimistically called the "office," a hay/shavings storage shed, two huge pastures, and two homes - one extremely old and uninhabited and the other a farm house, probably built in the 30s and occupied by the trainer and her three children. The buildings were located at the end of a long dirt lane that ran alongside the main pasture.

The barn had just opened and my mother's good friend's daughter was taking lessons there, so on the strength of their recommendation over I went. I was a bit intimidated by the trainer lady at first; she was a bit older than my mom, and very forthright with her opinions. Keep in mind that my self-esteem was practically non-existent at that age (middle school = HELL, no?).  Fortunately, she mixed compliments in with her criticism so I decided I could live with her training style.

On the other hand, Trainer's kids absolutely reveled in giving me a hard time. A sensitive, insecure, straight-A student with braces and a flat chest? Oy. Might as well have painted a bulls-eye on me. There were a son and a daughter older than me, and a daughter who was a year younger. All three of them treated me like I was the dorkiest, most socially-unacceptable person they had ever met. It didn't help one bit that the son was pretty cute so of course I developed a mad crush on him... or that he was dating Mother's Friend's Daughter (who, by the way, was none other than the exact same person who I was sent with to Little Hope Ranch. Gaaah.)

Enough about my social angst. What about the horses and the riding? THAT part of BB was really good. There weren't a lot of horses, but the ones I rode the most were great. Photos are very sadly lacking from this riding era, so unfortunately the only one I can find to share is this crummy Polaroid I took out in the big pasture:

The white horse is American Mare, my main mount. I think she was about 15 when I started riding her, and 15.1hh. She was a registered Paint, as she had one dinner plate-sized splotch of chestnut hair on her flank, and chestnut cheeks, and those just barely qualified her as such. She was a very good show horse and before I met her had earned several ROMs from APHA.

Mare was a very well-trained gal and taught me a lot. She was a great "next step" type of horse for my riding ability. Among many things, I learned what an extended trot felt like and how to ask for it, how to do a turn on the forehand, how to jump bareback (she was extremely comfy) and how to get a white horse clean. Incidentally, KEEPING her clean was another matter: I'd spend hours shampooing and scrubbing the day before a show, tuck her in a well-bedded stall for the night wearing a sheet, and then arrive at 5:00 AM to find she'd managed to lie down in a poo pile or two and accumulate lovely stains. Baby powder was my friend!

Mare also pulled like a freight train when she got excited (at least when I was riding her - she went like a dream for Trainer's Daughters), so another thing I learned was how to use a Pelham. Even then, our jumping rounds, especially on an outside course like we had "back in the day," were less than things of beauty. Just picture me pelting around a large grass field at warp speed, screeching to a halt in time to pop over the rustic jumps. (It probably wasn't quite that bad but I do remember being scared a lot of the time.)

The best part of riding Mare, and indeed, riding at BB, was that my trainer turned out to be a very enthusiastic proponent of 4-H. I'd had zero exposure to the program before this and was excited to find out I could be part of a club despite the fact that I didn't own a horse. Our new club met twice a month at Trainer's house and I was soon plugging away on my Horse Project. We also formed  a Horse Bowl team and I eagerly joined that as well.  (More about 4-H experiences in next post)

My mom was willing to leave me at BB for long stretches, so I really became a barn rat at this place. All kinds of things went on there, good and bad, as I'm sure you can imagine. Some of my favorite memories (most of which my mom knew nothing about*):

- Taking the dare on touching the hot wire on the pasture fence. What I didn't notice was my challenger, who touched the wire to demonstrate that it didn't hurt, used the BACK of his hand. I put my palm on it and got "stuck" for about five seconds, which didn't feel too good.
- Jumping on bareback and riding the horses in from the pasture with nothing but a halter and lead shank. Big fun to someone in a lesson program!
- Learning how to braid manes and tails and getting good enough at the former to charge others $$.
- My darling dad staying up all night to take me to the barn at 4:30 AM for shows.
- Riding in the horse van on the way to shows (a real "horse box" type like nobody uses in the US anymore) between horses and getting green sneezy-snot in my hair.
- Being exhausted, filthy and sweaty after being at the barn on a really hot day and walking allllll the way down the lane to meet my mom, then sneaking in to cool off in the neighbor's pool. I'm sure they wondered about all the horse hair in the filter!
- The barn lane itself. Driving down this became quite an exercise in auto preservation over the years, as enormous car-swallowing, axle-banging holes and ruts developed (in the summer, muddy swimming pools, and in the winter, frozen mini-ponds) and the BO never paid to have it graded. I actually took perverse pride in my ability to navigate it as you had to be a "regular" to know the way. I'd be practically standing up in the station wagon, hollering, "Go right! Now left! MORE left!" at my poor mom as we tried to wend our way through a 1/2 mile of torture.
- Holing up in the "office" and spending hours and hours happily reading back issues of Paint horse magazines, looking for mention of horses I knew (especially Mare).
- Scrubbing "my" white horse until my fingers were raw, including using water and bleach with a Brillo pad to get her pink hooves clean.
- Learning how to use horse clippers and do fetlocks, bridle paths and whiskers.
- Riding through the pain of hideous, raw shin rubs and the joy of getting my first pair of real leather tall boots, which finally eliminated them.

* (And never will, I guess, because she sure doesn't read this blog!)

So between the good riding, hanging around the barn, the 4-H activities and dealing with Trainer's lovely (koff, koff) kids, I was getting quite an education.

The most amazing thing was the condition of Trainer's house. Now, my own house was never what you'd call immaculate. My mom had better things to do then clean all day. But this place... whoa. Cat hair, dog hair, and just plain old dirt all accumulated in vast abundance along with myriad flotsam and jetsam related to horses and riding. Broken halters draped on the lampshade? Check. Hairy, muddy brushes? Check. Random animal-chewed leather items, whip handles, dirty polo wraps, rusty bits, discarded horse shoes, faded ribbons, dog-eared magazines, stained saddle pads, and tarnished and bent trophies? Check. You name it, it was flung around that house. I would literally have to clear a space to sit down, and the whole place stank of cat pee to boot. Yes, my mother did know about all this but she told me later she just closed her mind and told me to shower when I got home. :-)

And then there was the night when the house caught on fire during a 4-H meeting...

* TO BE CONTINUED! *

Ground: 1 Me: 0 (Maddie)

Imagine you're me, and there are two horses you ride most often in your lesson program. One is a Paintaloosa pony gelding, about 14.2hh. The other is an approx. 18hh Percheron mare. Now which one do you think it would be "best" to unexpectedly dismount? Probably the pony, seeing as he's almost a foot and a half closer to the ground....

Unfortunately, as you've probably surmised, I did not fall off the pony. No, in true Murphy's Law fashion, my last fall occurred from the lofty Percheron. Here we are at a show, so you can hopefully see I'm not exaggerating her height:

This was taken by my 6' tall husband, and really doesn't illustrate how tall she actually was. I'm 5'6" if it helps any!

Maddie arrived at my old lesson barn with a black TBx colt by her side. I was enthralled with her from the start, as I'd long thought Perchies were beautiful horses and I'd never had the opportunity to really get up close to one (other than petting the occasional carriage horse on the nose). She belonged to the BO and I had no idea what he planned to do with her. Her tail was docked so I knew she must have been trained to drive.

One day I was out with my friends grazing our horses after a lesson. To my great surprise - for I had no idea she was even a riding horse, and for that matter had never seen anyone riding a draft horse at all - the BO came trotting along on Maddie. We could tell she was not thrilled to be parted from her foal, because she was neighing at the top of her lungs every other stride and pulling towards the barn. It looked pretty exciting. I called out to the BO, "Better you than me!" and he responded, "Hah - just wait, I'm putting her in the lesson program!" My friends and I looked at each other like, okaaaaay... They had their own horses so didn't need to worry, but I certainly wondered!

The colt was duly weaned and sent back to the breeder (it hadn't been a package), and true to BO's word, Maddie was promptly put to use as a lesson horse. I did not think *I* would ever ride her, though; I mean, what did I know about drafts? Apparently that didn't matter because one day I showed up for my lesson and there she was, next to my name. Yikes.

Picking her enormous feet proved to be a back-breaking challenge, as did currying and brushing such a vast expanse of horsehide. Fortunately she was a good girl in her stall; since she took up so much of it, if she'd been bad she could have squashed me like a bug, especially while I was standing on an overturned bucket to clean her rump. The only trouble I had with her was bridling. She rather liked to raise her head, and that's a real issue when head-raising means it's 10' in the air. I was forced to develop a routine of, "Feed peppermint, stuff in bit whilst Maresy is chewing."

Once aboard Maddie, I found I was in for a treat. She was amazingly athletic for such a big girl, and had delightful gaits. A big, springy trot and a rolling canter, which covered a lot of ground without being so fast that it scared me. And she simply loved to jump! I think she was pretty green over fences, but her form was fine and it really was a blast. One thing that I especially appreciated was 2'6" looked much smaller from that view. :-)

I did have to ride Maddie in a different manner than I was accustomed to, namely with my hands higher, and really balance her between hand, seat and legs, but it was fun and a good challenge. While I missed my favorite pony a bit, I sure did enjoy the big gal.

A humorous post-lesson anecdote: the first time I rode her, as usual the other ladies and I took our mounts over to a grassy area to graze them afterwards. This was actually one of my most favorite aspects of the day, and we girls would stand around for at least an hour, chatting about this and that, while the horses happily munched. Suddenly Maddie's legs started buckling. I practically had a heart attack - what the heck was the matter with her? Had I killed the big mare with my inept piloting? Her knees hit the turf, then the rest of her body followed with a loud grunt and a thud. I must have been open-mouthed with horror - and I don't think my friends knew exactly what was going on, either.

Well, you guessed it - somebody was looking for a nice roll! Giant hooves waved around in the air as she flung herself from side to side. We onlookers were cracking up in relief. Maddie finally levered herself up off the ground, gave an earth-shaking shudder, and went back to grazing like nothing had happened. I quickly learned to expect this behavior from her after every lesson, and looked forward to the awesome sight of such a big horse contorting herself with glee on the grass.

The day I fell off I was in a de facto private lesson since my usual buddies weren't able to make it. Maddie and I were jumping a little course, and I remember turning towards a fence on the diagonal. I can't recall if we were trotting or cantering, but whatever we were doing, I completely misjudged the distance. Maddie floundered over the jump, and I was popped loose from the saddle and wound up sitting on her neck. I clung there like a monkey, really not wanting to hit the deck. Many horses in this situation panic and take off but God bless 'er, Maddie simply ground to a halt as I was forced to let go. I pretty much rolled off of her and hit the soft sand of the arena on my butt. It felt like a very long way down!

So, certainly no big deal as far as "wrecks" go. My trainer was not sympathetic in the least and quickly pointed out that I'd gotten Maddie to the fence wrong, which I freely admitted. I can't remember if I got back on but I'm pretty sure I did, since the only thing that seemed to be bruised was my pride. The next day, however, I felt some after-affects, namely a very sore neck and shoulders, which I think I got from trying to stay aboard.

I rode Maddie in the last horse show I participated in, an academy show. I was grumpy about riding her for a couple reasons, mainly because I'd hoped to show the pony, and also because she'd managed to get herself absolutely filthy. I had no time to bathe her so despite coating myself and my nice show outfit with a thick layer of dust we were not too spick-and-span for the show ring.

Nonetheless, we made a fairly good account of ourselves, as you can see by the ribbon haul.

I believe that's a first, a third and a sixth. I know perfectly well where we got the sixth; it was in one of our over-fences classes and I'm sure there were only six horses. Miss Maddie Moo unaccountably decided that she'd rather not jump the last jump and ran out to the left. This was not her usual behavior, at all. In fact, I don't think she'd ever refused or run out on me ever before. And it was towards the in-gate, too! I was Not. Happy. with her. We circled, I hauled for all I was worth on the right rein, and got her over the jump, but it wasn't pretty.

The first-place winning effort I also remember well. This was in Equitation on the Flat. I remain very proud of that one, and have the nice medal I won (around my neck in photo) prominently displayed. It was a good day overall and I treasure the memories. (Note: my vintage "tall" dress boots, ca. 1978. They still fit and are in excellent shape, but are obviously not the current style. Maybe I could have a cobbler add a snakeskin Spanish top? :-))

In addition to her being a lesson horse, the BO used Maddie as his hunting partner. They made quite a picture in the field with her braided up and him in his pink coat. This went on for a couple years, and she seemed to enjoy it very much. Unfortunately, the big mare developed a chronic lameness. This was after I'd had to quit taking lessons, so I wasn't around the barn and don't know what happened. Eventually she was bred to the BO's TB stallion and had another beautiful black colt. Sadly, I don't know where she is now... and I'm a bit afraid to ask. I'd rather just remember the sweet girl who I nicknamed "The Fridge" (her back was the same height as mine) as she was, who taught me that draft horses can be absolutely wonderful riding horses. Vive La France!

Flying With Peter Pan

Well, hello there, if anyone's still listening! I guess my blogging muse has largely deserted me lately. That and I was gone on a college orientation/vacation trip for 10 days... had a terrific time at the Jersey Shore. Yes, that place. However, our version looks more like this than the one you see on the wretched show. I know these aren't horse-related, but please bear with me while I defend the honor of my beloved native state! You will note that there is not a Snooki in sight. :-/

Beach approach - Normandy Beach, NJ

Our beautiful Atlantic...



Getting ready for 4th of July fireworks show, held in honor of my dad who loved all things that went "BOOM!"

At any rate, a post by my friend Jessica over at Hopeful Jumpers has inspired me to, ahem, dive back into a blogging, in order to relate a couple of tales of equestrian mayhem, RiderWriter-style. Jess was able to list her recollections of almost all of her falls. I'm afraid I long since lost track of how many times I've parted company with an equine, but I know it was a least a dozen by the time I graduated from HS. In later years, it really hasn't been very many - and thank goodness for that, since God knows I sure don't bounce like I used to! At any rate, I vividly recall my two worst childhood wrecks, and also the last time I came off. I've already written about one of the kiddie incidents in this post, so I won't repeat myself, but here is the other one. This wound up going rather long so I'll put the story of the most recent fall into my next post.

*

One of my favorite lesson mounts as a kid at Tricorne Farm was the wonderful Peter Pan. Peter was a buckskin large pony, about 14hh, of indeterminate breeding. This boy was full of ponytude, but he could jump the moon. Purportedly at some time in his career someone had taken him over a VW Bug! I remember being told that story and somehow not doubting it was true. I don't really recall now why I liked Peter so much; whether it was his devil-may-care attitude, athleticism, or comfortable gaits, I'm not sure. However, I do remember the time he nearly - and I'm afraid I don't exaggerate - killed me.

I was about 10 years old, and we were on a group trail ride instead of a lesson. To get to the trails we we had to leave Tricorne by the front entrance, cross a road, and then immediately cross another road (we were right by an intersection). Then we would go straight up a small but steep hill. The initial trail forked near the top and sometimes we went one way, sometimes the other. On this particular day, our trainer had warned us that when we went up the hill we were to take the left branch of the trail, not the right, but she didn't say why. Peter and I clip-clopped across one road, across the other, started up the hill, and then.... when I tried to turn left, Peter decided he was going right. He yanked the reins out of my hands as I was leaning forward trying to grab mane and lunged upwards.

The next thing I knew, there was a tremendous blow to my chest and I was lying on the ground. A large branch had fallen directly across the trail, just high enough for Peter to fit under it but not me. I had the wind knocked completely out of me, between the branch hitting fore and the ground hitting aft. I couldn't move, and lay in stunned shock trying to figure out what had just happened. Of course the tears soon came and I know I was totally hysterical. Everything hurt. Peter, to his credit, did not go far once he'd unloaded me in his little burst of freedom, and eventually I was able to mount up and ride him back to the barn. The trail ride obviously was cancelled.

The real issue with this incident came afterwards and still haunts me. What if that branch had fallen just 8" or so farther from the ground? It would have connected with my neck, not my chest. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you if that had happened, at the very least I would not be sitting here today typing with both hands. I was very, very lucky, indeed. I know for a fact that other trail riders and foxhunters have not been so fortunate.

I still loved and rode Peter Pan after this plenty of times, including the time when he ran off again and carried me right into the road - I can't put that incident in "falling-off stories," since I stayed on, but gee whiz, I guess the guy must have really wanted to do me in!

Long Arms, Short Reins

OUCH. "Ben Gay, Take Me Away"....

Yes, I know - I am mixing up some advertising slogans here, namely those of a certain strong-smelling human liniment and equally fragrant bath salts. I KNOW you all know what Ben-Gay is - as riders I think we are all in need of it at one time or another (I actually prefer some stuff called BioFreeze. Active ingredient is menthol, so you're quite minty-fresh, but it works great.).

I realize some of my readers probably weren't around during the era of the "Calgon, Take Me Away" commercials, so here is one for your viewing pleasure.


As a side note, I can practically tell the year this was made by mom's professional attire - remember when bows were in? I can also tell that the guys in the suits at the advertising agency were really pleased with themselves for paying tribute to Today's Working Woman. Of course I had to crack up at the actual bathing scene. Yep, all of us over-stressed moms have a swimming-pool sized tub surrounded by marble columns in a palatial bathroom, not to mention a hairdresser on call to arrange our luxurious locks in tasteful updos before we climb into the mountains of bubbles... *eyeroll*

I'm thinking about this ad right now because I wish I had a combo of the two products to relieve some of the muscle aches and pains I'm currently experiencing. However, they are not attributable to traffic, the boss, the kids or the dog: I'm sore for the best of reasons, because I made it to the barn for a lesson on Saturday! I'm not quite sure why I'm so uncomfortable this time, because I did my Gatorade/vitamin/Advil routine, but my inner thighs are killin' me.

Trainer M put me back on my friend Pebbles, which suited me fine. In my current state of un-fitness, I appreciate a horse I have to slow down versus one on which I have to use leg, leg, leg to get a decent trot. It's funny, I got used to my last trainer constantly telling us to go faster at the trot, so when Pebbles volunteered her speedy gait as soon as we set off on Saturday, I thought all was fine and dandy. I was literally brought up short when M told me to take it a little easier on P's short QH legs. I was thinking, "Hey, this really wasn't MY idea," but of course I obeyed!

I am very grateful to a poster on the COTH Hunter/Jumper forum, who asked the other day for suggestions on keeping her hands forward. I have continued to struggle with keeping mine forward as well as lower. The one thing that someone shared which really "clicked" for me was a piece of advice she'd gotten from Anne Kursinski, which was "Long arms, short reins." I needed a little phrase to keep in mind and this must have worked pretty well, because in this lesson instead of "Hands lower, reins shorter," I got "Bend your elbows when you're asking to slow down!" Sigh. It's always something, right? :-)

After the usual W/T/C warmup, I did a little two-jump course of diagonal gate to diagonal gate, trotting into the first jump and cantering to the second. I wasn't particularly thrilled to not be starting with a crossrail and got a bit nervous, which never helps my jumping form, but we did okay and I think only had one sticky fence the entire time we were jumping. It did help that the gates were almost on the ground, therefore not even 2,' and they were straight across, not curved. I've really had an issue with the latter kind ever since the lesson when good old chestnut mare Polly got it into her head that we needed to vault the side of one, nearly putting me into orbit (it was at least 3').

The jumps were just this kind of gate, no rail above.

At my last barn, the trainer wanted me to do a five-jump course after two lessons, and this was after a 10-year hiatus from riding. I gamely attempted to comply but finally had to tell her I just wasn't up to it, physically or mentally. So trainers obviously think I am capable enough to do what they're asking. I keep telling myself this, but it's still hard to psych myself up for jumping anything that's not a trot crossrail. Another "nervous factor" was Pebbles kept getting a little strong before and after the second fence. I know my braking afterwards was not very graceful (that's mostly when the "bend your elbows" comments were coming as well). Over the jumps, I did fairly well, but my legs were definitely flopping more than I'd like. Yeah, I don't think I'm quite ready for bigger fences! :-/

The leg-flopping was due to three factors: nerves, fatigue and worn out knee patches on my breeches. I wore my older pair and the synthetic suede is absolutely shot, cracking and missing entirely in some places. On the upside, these pants are not so tight around the waist that I can't actually tuck a shirt in, wear a belt and look a bit more tidy. My other pair give me a hideous muffin top that I am not about to have on display, so the polo shirts have been untucked. I really need to get some new breeches. There was another post on COTH last week discussing this very topic, specifically which breeches work best in hot weather, and I now know what kind would hopefully work on my shape. Unfortunately, they're Tailored Sportmans (Trophy Hunters, to be exact) and cost about three times more than I want to spend. But they come in low rise, side zip with a wide waistband and I'm pretty sure that's what I need. The local tack shop is having a sale this week so I might just wander on over. People think buying a bathing suit is bad - hah, they've never had to find breeches!

I guess I'm probably ouchy because I jumped a lot more in this lesson than I have in other ones (I went through the two-jump course about six times). I found out that I literally cannot maintain a 2-pt in canter, too; the 15 seconds I attempted of that might well be what's done me in. Prescription = more saddle time, of course - I'm working on it!

I Love Pebbles!

To continue with my theme, no, I don't mean these (yuck!):

Talking about this pretty girl:

Whaddaya know, another chestnut mare! The folks at the barn joke about how many redheaded females they have in the lesson program. Luckily, none of them seems to be equipped with the mega-attitude sported by my old pal Polly, so it's okay by me. Pebbles is another QH, I think around age eight. She's nicely-conformed and a very comfortable size, around 15.2.

I have to tell you (I think we're all girls here - if not,  guys be warned, you might want to skip this paragraph), I didn't know if I was going to make my lesson at all last weekend. About 45 minutes before I had to leave home I was hit out of the blue with absolutely monster cramps. The kind where you're thinking (if you've had kids), "WHENISTHEBABYCOMING, oww oww oww oww oww OWWWWWW!!!" Yeah, great timing. Bouncing up and down on a horse sounds simply delightful when you're doubled up on the bed in agony, feeling like someone is twisting your insides into a knot. Boy, was I mad! How dare my girlie parts throw a fit right before the highlight activity of my week! I started taking Advil and doing what little of my pre-ride stretching I was capable of. (Lying on stomach to do "Superman" back stretch? NO.) Four Advil later, I had staggered to the car, still in misery. Usually it only takes 15 minutes or so for relief but not this time. Determined not to ruin my ride, I took another pill on the way - stomach/liver be damned. The first person I saw when I arrived at the barn was my friend Sally, who was grazing her horse. She made the mistake of asking me how I was and I'm afraid I told her, even though it should have been obvious from my squinty eyes and gut-clutching. :-) She said she'd had the same thing happen, but oddly, riding seemed to help. I grimaced and told her I certainly hoped so!

A girl who I didn't know came up to me as I was going across the parking lot with my gear. She said, "Are you RW? M wants you to ride Pebbles today. She's outside so you'll have to go get her." Okay, this was something new but no problem, I'm certainly capable of bringing a horse in. I asked if I needed to bring a halter, and where the horse was, since I was not yet familiar with the pasture arrangement at the new barn. I was told Pebbles was with another horse in a small paddock and I couldn't miss her. Okey-dokey.... I sure hoped so, because as I mentioned I'd been told there were quite a few chestnut mares.

Luckily, the teenager who lessoned after me last week had been assigned Pebbles, so I knew pretty much what she looked like. I put my stuff down over in the "lesson aisle" and went looking for a halter and lead. I should have remembered that halters were hung up in the schoolie tack room under the bridles, but didn't, so I wound up borrowing one from outside a stall (another school horse's, I know better than to grab a boarder's). Off to track down Pebbles...

Turns out, she was in a drylot paddock with Snickers! Miss Snickie acted like she was glad to see me, but I had to disappoint her and take Pebbles instead. The girls were by themselves and the rest of the school horses were turned out in an enclosure next door. Those accomodations were definitely not deluxe; no grass, just mud. The schoolies had a lot of hay to munch on and looked content, but I chuckled because they rated hot wire for their fence. The pretty and picturesque white vinyl is reserved for the grass pastures in the front of the farm where the boarders go. I've noticed that's typical of many farms!

Look around back and you may well find something else keeping the horses in. :-)

Pebbles was a bit snotty for grooming, and definitely girthy, but nothing too bad. I didn't feel that instant bond that I had with Snickers, either, but I was still looking forward to trying her out since she'd seemed nice during the few minutes I watched of the other lesson. It was pretty warm out and I was pleased when M poked her head in the barn and told me to meet her at the small outside ring.

I'm happy to report that somewhere between starting to groom Pebbles and mounting up, the Advil finally kicked in so I was no longer in excruciating pain when I got on her. Good thing, too, because riding in a larger ring outdoors gave me quite a workout! I pushed myself to keep going most of the time but whew, the 'ole lack of endurance definitely kicked in. I was very glad to find that Pebbles needed no stick and very little leg; in fact, I wound up having to half-halt and say "Ho" more than once to her. Funny how I have kept "stepping up" with the lesson horses in that regard! We trotted for a long time, and then after a break, cantered in both directions. I am still being told to keep my hands lower so I have to keep working on that. Canter departs were "eh" at first but by the third one, we did quite well.

Then it was time for jumping. There were five jumps in the arena, all set very low (last hole on standards, whatever that is). One was a crossrail on the diagonal and the others were verticals, set in two five or six-stride outside lines. We trotted the x-rail a couple times and then M said, go ahead and come around to the line. GULP! I haven't jumped a related distance in well, you know, years... We trotted in and yes, cantered to the second jump, and hey, I survived! I didn't remember to count strides, though, so I failed that quiz. Second time through I went too fast and we chipped with five and half strides. For the third time, M told me to keep cantering after the crossrail (I'd been coming back to the trot) and go around to the line. I had to give myself the Little Engine pep talk before setting off on this adventure. "YOU CAN DO IT! YES!" Thank goodness, Pebbles landed on the right lead after the crossrail, we kept going, and I am proud to say that not only did I canter through the whole line, I even managed to rate her and we got the six strides. HURRAY! :-) It was terrific fun and I was thrilled to end the lesson on a high note.

Pebbles was a very good girl, indeed, and I will be more than happy to ride her again. I was absolutely pooped after this lesson, though. Nerves, lack of fitness, and "woman troubles" will do that to you. I had a nice time grazing the mare after I untacked her and hosed her down (she was quite sweaty) and was amused to notice she really went for a particular kind of weed, even preferring it to the nice grass. The same weed is growing rampant on my lawn at the moment. I was really wishing I could pack up Pebbles and take her home for some natural (and attractive) maintenance!

Do you think the neighbors would mind? I KNOW the HOA and our town ordinance inspector would, unfortunately! "Livestock" of any kind is expressly forbidden...

I Love Snickers!!!

Nope, I'm not talking about these:

I'm talking about HER:

This 8 or 10-y.o. QH mare was my mount for my lesson on Saturday, and I LOOOOVED her. Of course I was delighted from the beginning that she was a dark bay mare with a crooked blaze, and if you have to wonder why, just look at the photo in my last post. I thought it was a pretty cool coincidence that she was channeling Zenyatta! In fact, I whipped my phone out and showed my new friend Katherine that the photo of Z and Baby is currently adorning the lock screen (and by the way, if you want to see some more incredibly adorable pictures of the mother and son pair, just check out their new Facebook page. I'm having a hard time deciding which is the sweetest!).

Snickers came right to the door of her stall when I opened it, which I always think is a good sign. (Butt to you, tail swishing angrily, ears back? Not good.) She was easy to pop in the cross ties, easy to groom, and acted like a little lady. Interestingly, the only thing she didn't care for grooming-wise was when I went to use my stiff brush on her lower left side, near her flank. She let me know that it didn't feel right. Other side was no problem. I filed that away for future reference.

My antique saddle pad looked rather well on her, too, if I do say so myself. Here we are just at the start of my lesson (thanks again to Patient Trainer M for me making her fill in for Annie Liebowitz):

I could tell from the second I sat on her that Snickers had a little more get-along than Ms. Slowpoke-But-Sweet Thumper. This was a relief, because while I'd recuperated pretty well (the Gatorade treatment continued to work), I didn't know if I had it in me to spend the whole lesson squeezing again! Anyway, she moved right out and I had little problem keeping her going the whole time. This was a great particularly because M decided to have us do quite a bit of trotting and then a number of walk-to-canter transitions.

The latter were necessary because I wasn't organized enough when I asked her to canter, and was also relying on the corners too much. M really wanted me to pick up the canter on the long side, but I guess I'm not confident enough in my aids so I was reluctant to do so. I finally succeeded, but not without almost completely cramping my outside calf up. It was a close thing. We were working on the right track, and my left hip also hurt pretty badly yesterday, so clearly there are muscles being put to use that haven't been in play lately!

Another thing we worked on was keeping Snickers straight. She's developed a pretty bad habit of carrying her head to the left all the time, so I was frequently reminded to shorten my right rein. I had a devil of a time getting her to go into the corners nicely on the right track at the trot. Didn't want to listen to/bend around right leg, AT ALL. To compensate, I'm afraid I kept crossing my right hand over her withers and don't think M didn't notice! I did remark after the lesson to M that Snickers had been ouchy just on her left side when I was grooming her, and we both kind of wondered if the behaviors are related. She has been seen by a chiro in the past so I think M will be keeping this in mind. (Note: All the time I was taking lessons in the past - if you recall it's been at least five years - I never even knew there was such a thing as horse chiropractors. Thanks to the interwebz and my extensive blog reading, I am now thoroughly familiar with them and the great work they do. One of the better things to come into the horse world in recent years!)

Right after I mounted up, I asked M about the hand-too-high thing and how I'd never been told this was a problem in the past. When she heard that, she said that it probably is a bad habit I've picked up just trail riding on Giant WB LiRoi. Funny the stuff we do unconsciously. I got told a lot again to keep them down, so believe me, I'm trying to focus on that.

So, are you wondering if I jumped the Scary Blue Wave again? Well, yes I did, and guess what, it went MUCH BETTER this time! We started out trotting a crossrail a couple times, and then M told me to keep going afterwards and come around over the blue wave (back at a trot, which I have to admit I'm still more comfortable with). We did that twice and I was super-pleased because I really didn't feel like I was landing in a heap as badly. Gettin' the mojo back!

In other good news, I put Lexol on the half-chaps, wore them around the house some more, and really worked on smooshing them down so they weren't rubbing those bruised areas. Something worked because I had almost no trouble with them during and after the lesson. Hurray! I was beginning to think I might have to sell them and get the standard height ones instead (these are X-Small Talls, a size I would not have guessed I'd wear despite my pencil-like shins. I know I have fairly long femurs but thought my tibia/fibula length was on the short side.). Still no horrible shin-rubs, either. Don't know why I didn't try narrower stirrup leathers a looooong time ago... argh.

After the lesson I untacked Snickers and asked if I could take her outside for a pick of grass. When I had arrived at the barn, I'd found my friend Sally grazing her mare outside and the latter was having a grand old time hoovering up the tender new blades. We've had hardly any winter here in MO and now it seems like spring is here in a hurry, so everything is growing. Yummee! Before we went out I dug out a horse cookie I had buried in my bag and fed it to Snickers. Here's a couple of short and dopey videos that I made of these occasions. I sure do love grazing a horse... best therapy there is.

P.S. Having not been around horses as much as I would have liked lately, and having spent a whole lot of time with my dog, I'm finding I tend to address the poor equines in the same tone I use with the dog. I keep telling them to "Stay," too! Has anybody else done this? Aside from Albert in "War Horse," that is... good grief. >.<

The Good, The Not-So-Good, and The Ugly, Part 2

One thing I noticed right away, which caused a bit of internal laughter, was the trainer was looking at her cell phone during my lesson. This continued for most of it. I was thinking, "Uh-oh, red flag here. That's a bit rude." However, I have to be prosaic about it. It's not like she's prepping me for the Maclay finals, after all, and she knows I haven't lessoned in a while, and I can kind of understand if she does not feel the need to knock herself out. So while it's not really okay I decided I could live with it. She did give me constructive criticism and appropriate praise at the right times, so she was paying attention when it was important (I also managed to slip in a little posting when I was supposed to be 2-pointing and vice versa, to give myself a break, so the lack of 100% scrutiny certainly wasn't all bad, LOL!).

Speaking of criticism: I was told almost immediately to put my hands further forward and lower down. My reaction was, "Say WHAT???" I never, and I mean never, in all my years of riding, have had a trainer tell me to do that. Well, that I can remember, anyway. Maybe when I was five or seven but seriously, I feel that I have a pretty accurate mental log of all my riding faults as they have been cataloged by various instructors over the years and I honestly do not recall having heard that before. Raise them higher, yes, but that was when I was riding the 18hh Percheron. But lower them, and move them forward? Nope. I thought this very interesting, indeed. I didn't argue, of course, and did my level best to comply but it felt most odd. Maybe I have developed a bad habit that I'm completely unaware of? I meant to ask the trainer about it afterwards, in a non-complaining, please-explain type of way, but I forgot, so this is a mystery I will have to pursue next time.

I surprised myself by doing fairly well endurance-wise with the trotting. Thumper continued to have the drags so I spent a lot of effort squeezing, clucking and occasionally tapping her with my stick. She was smooth, though, and really very sweet, so I cut her some slack because I know schoolies get tired. I did begin to think I would have my hands full when it was time to canter. Fortunately, we were good! The trainer told me not to let her trot and I'm proud of myself because I didn't, we went right into canter. Picked up the wrong lead at first in the second direction, but I asked her again in a corner and got it. I did get worn out in a hurry cantering - more squeezing/clucking/tapping required - so I we only went about one and half laps around in each direction; I start to collapse my chest and round my shoulders something awful when I get tired, so I try to quit while I'm ahead. (I have to admit I was thinking about someone's comment on a COTH thread. She said her trainer used to tell her students, "Tits to Jesus, ladies!") I apologized for my lack of fitness but was pleased when the other trainer, who by this time was hanging out in the ring, too, said, "Oh, that's nothing. We see a lot worse, you're fine!"

I took a nice long walk break after that and then the trainer asked me if I wanted to be done, or if I felt like doing a little jumping. I did, crazy me. She wanted to know if the little jump across the diagonal was okay, or if she should build something smaller. I said no, I would tackle the little jump. Of course, the minute the words were out of my mouth I was thinking, "WTH is WRONG with you, you've never jumped anything like that in your life! Why now, you idiot, when you've jumped nothing at all for freakin' years?!" So why the distress? Because the jump in question was this, only smaller:

Yes, the famous "blue wave" jump, bane of the equitation ring back at the Charity Horse Show! You can just see the end of this scary structure in the photo of me on Thumper in Part 1. I meant to take a picture of the whole thing after my ride but  naturallyI forgot. It really was tiny, they had the the waves as low as they would go, but good grief... I gathered my courage and did my best to move Thumper into a forward trot. The trainer emphasized this and said I needed to get up a head of steam or she wouldn't jump well. I did know that so I tried hard. Boink! We went over, I guess sorta to the right of the middle bump. I wasn't exactly sure where to steer, to be honest. You see how I titled these posts? Another "ugly" besides my lack of steering definitely is how I landed after every jump. I have absolutely no idea what my hands were doing but I know it wasn't elegant. Thumper cantered away and I inwardly cheered that I'd survived.

We trotted the fence twice, with roughly the same results - more speed needed going in, alas. Then the trainer said, "Let's do it again from a canter." OHBOYOHBOYOHBOY. Let me explain why I think this instantly threw me into panic mode. It's amazing how one bad lesson can have repercussions for years, isn't it? My old trainer always started us out trotting to a single crossrail in a lesson. Then she'd build another jump, either a bar or an oxer, about two strides away, and we'd trot in/canter out that combo. Sometimes we would keep going and canter to another fence, or a couple of them. That was it, the only time I really did whole courses was in shows. One day, after I'd been at the barn for about nine months, she built a two or three stride combination. We had to canter in. For some reason, I just Could. Not. Get. the distance to the second fence that day - I bungled it over and over and over. Trainer and I both got very frustrated! So do you know, following that lesson, trainer never once - for another two years - had me initially canter any jump or combo? We always trotted in during lessons, I kid you not. Somehow I got around some courses during the show I did after that, but in lessons - trot in it was.

So I had that swimming around in my head, and I guess that's why I freaked a bit when new trainer said, "Canter it." Yes, it was only one lousy teeny-weeny jump, not even a combo, but put it this way, my heart rate definitely accelerated and my hands starting shaking. Poor Thumper! God bless 'er, the little mare got me through. I asked for as energetic a canter I could manage out of her and we didn't totally botch things. Again, I'm quite sure I landed in a heap but I wasn't jumped loose, at least. The trainer was laughing at me a bit, because afterwards I was like, "WOW. Geez, I was scared." I probably was a little pale... She said I could quit then, but I thought to myself, nope, I am not going to end things like this. I asked her if I could do it one more time, just to prove to myself I could. She said okay, so over we went. Not graceful, but by golly, I did it. Yay, me!

After that I really was ready to be done, and we just walked around. Gabby Me kicked in and I chatted a bit with the girl on the B/W Pinto. I asked the trainer to take a picture of me and she was kind enough to comply. She also said, "If I'd known you had your phone I would have gotten some more of you, even jumping!" Uh, that's okay, I don't quite want to know what I look like doing that yet. Somehow I doubt GM would be pleased. :-/

I finally climbed down, and it was about then that I realized something miraculous had taken place: I had not a single, solitary pain in my shins. No rubbed-raw areas, at all! You have to understand, I have suffered, and have the scars to prove it, from horrid shin rubs while riding ever since I was a teenager. I have tried elasticized leg covers, Band-Aids, taller socks, etc. in an effort to avoid these but nothing has worked well (except tall boots, which I don't want to fool with for lessons, esp. not my antiques) - until now. I'm not sure if it was the new, narrower stirrup leathers or the new half-chaps, but something did the trick and boy, am I grateful. I used to keep on ridin' and ignore my bleeding legs but not having that going on is much more pleasant! (Incidentally, I have had no problem with the Wintec leathers on the dressage saddle while riding LiRoi.)

The not-so-good side of this is the new half-chaps also made some lovely bruises, right where my knee joins my leg on the inside. Where that big tendon comes in, but on the calf, not the tendon. I can't quite figure out what's causing this; it may actually be from bunching up of the Clarino knee patches on my breeches. Or, maybe the half-chaps are too tall.... I don't know. I've heard new tall boots can be a nightmare to break in these days so I guess some degree of suffering from half-chaps is to be expected. They aren't SUPER-bad and didn't bother me that much while riding so I'll continue to stick it out for a while.

I untacked Thumper and was not too embarrassed to ask Katherine (she really was nice, and turned out to be the niece of the human/dog/horse chiropractor my dog has been seeing, of all things) if she would show me how to properly apply the Miracle Collar. The mare got some scritches and pats and put in a stall to eat her much-deserved dinner (she actually lives outside, hence the blanket), and I headed back to the other side of the barn to set up another lesson. Yes, what a wacko, half kill myself and I can't wait to do it all over again! :-) I'm going back next Saturday afternoon. I will be happy to ride Thumper, or maybe they'll assign me someone with just a bit more oomph, which would be okay, too. All I know is that getting on a horse still feels like coming home to me. If/when that ends, I'll know it's time to hang up my saddle, but for now the view between a set of furry ears is all I want.

Oh, and the soreness? Not that bad, amazingly. I think I've discovered the secret, and since I love my readers, I will share it with you. It's just one word... *looks around to see if anyone's listening*... and it's, "Gatorade." Yes! I drank it before the lesson and afterwards, and I'll tell you what, I've never done better in following days. Something to be said for that football coach who thought of putting electrolytes in sweetened water! (I'm sure the Advil has helped, too... ;-)

The Good, The Not-So-Good and The Ugly, Part 1

Before anything else, proof. Here I am on "Thumper" on Saturday:

YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!! :-)

I have to tell you that writing this blog was absolutely an instigator to get me to take some lessons again. Knowing that I had a place to come discuss everything really makes me very, very happy! I don't even care if nobody reads it, I just always have so many thoughts and feelings about riding and horses in general, and heaven knows my poor family gets that glazed look after about five minutes of Mom babbling on and on... so writing here is awesome. I'm going to split this post so you don't get too much babbling!

I was really nervous all day Saturday before this lesson. Like, if I thought about going, my stomach did a slow twist, so I tried to focus on my work (I had to work from 9 - 3). Why was I nervous? Mostly fear, I guess. Not fear of falling off. I really don't worry about that, thank goodness. Fear of looking/acting stupid. Fear of suddenly forgetting everything I ever knew about riding or horse care. Fear of people being snobby or rude, because let's face it, you do run into those types at H/J barns (probably any horse barn). General fear of the unknown...

Oddly, by the time I actually got to the place I was doing okay. I reminded myself that I was paying them to do something, so I was the customer, and I had "rights," too, among them to be treated nicely. :-) Furthermore, I have at least one friend who boards there and she had assured me that I would be fine. I had no idea when she's usually at the barn, but was crossing my fingers that on a Saturday I might catch her. I laughed at the sign they had on the side of the driveway: "Old dog. Stupid Dog. Slow Dog. WHOA!" I was pretty calm when I pulled into the lot and parked my van between a Mercedes and a BMW (*koff*). I hopped out and snapped a few photos so you guys could see the farm. It's very nice and well-kept!

I gathered up all my gear (saddle, saddle pad, grooming tote w/ helmet and chaps, total about 20 lbs.) and stepped into the barn. Literally the first person I saw was my friend - hurray!!! A smiling face was just what I needed, especially since the teenagers milling around merely glanced my way and went about their business. Sally gave me a hug and proceeded to show me over to the gate to the indoor arena. There we greeted the two instructors, who were busy doing a group Jrs. lesson. I quickly learned that I needed to go back outside and around the corner to the school horse side of the facility, but before that I had some paperwork to do. I expected the latter - nobody lets you ride these days without signing your life away on a liability release.

Oopsie... guess what middle-aged lady was wearing her contacts, the ones with which she can't see up close without reading glasses, the latter being cleverly left back home. The only way I could see a thing was to go back outside into the intermittent sun, and even then I have the feeling my name/address/signature/insurance info. are probably not terribly legible on those forms! Saddles make decent writing tablets, though, come to find out.

Once the paperwork was dispensed with off I went (Sally had disappeared to put her horse away). I had been told I was riding a horse named "Thumper," who I assumed was a gelding. Well, okay, there was a chestnut horse wearing a blanket standing on cross ties in the aisle. Halter plate said "Tucker." It was a mare. Didn't think this was my horse... but wait a second, the blanket said "Thumper." ??? As I pondered this dilemma, a smiling girl came around the corner. "Hi," she said brightly, "Are you RW?" Yep, that's me, but more importantly, is this in fact my horse? She was!

Here's Thumper:

As always I apologize for my shite photography. In this case, I do have an excuse: I was trying to hurry up and get this before anyone spotted dorky moi taking pictures of the school horse. Isn't she cute? I found out from the young lady, whose name was Katherine and who proved to be very friendly and helpful, that they'd had Thumper for about five years but she didn't know her breeding/background. From conformation and shape of her head, I'd guess Quarab myself, but who knows. One thing was for sure: the little mare was an inveterate cribber and wearing a Miracle Collar. Hmm, something new for me, as I've never had to handle one before.

I groomed Ms. Thumper and Katherine brought me her bridle and a half-pad. My own saddle pad would do on the bottom. I hate to tell you how old the plaid thing is (it was made by Wilkers and I think dates to around when I graduated from HS - it came with my first saddle), but it's still functional. Thumper was a good girl and definitely had the "been there/done that" aura of a seasoned school horse, which was fine with me. No snorting, pawing steeds necessary right now. She did give me a wee bit of trouble when I went to bridle her, because literally the instant her MC was off and one tie unclipped she was all about cribbing on the stall door next to her. I've never had to deal with a cribber that dedicated, and now I know all the things I've read about them are true! (Wendy, I'm thinking of Jag, of course) I managed to wrestle myself into the new half-chaps and they felt okay.

When we were ready we went out to the arena. The big group of juniors had gone and I was alone but for one girl riding a beautiful B/W Pinto WB. My instructor was the head trainer, which was a little intimidating. I climbed aboard - and gosh, it was nice to sit in my own saddle again! :-) I adjusted the new stirrup leathers, which went okay, thank goodness. I had noticed in the tack room that all the schoolies wore those faux-sheepskin comfort girths. They are nice for the horses but whew, I'd forgotten how stretchy they are! I thought I'd gotten the darn thing pretty tight but was able to take it up two more holes once I was sitting on the horse. I finally got everything situated and we headed towards the rail at a walk....

A verrrrrryyyyyy sloooooowwww waaaaallllkkkkk. Oh, dear. Thumper was a sweet girl but turned out to not be terribly inclined to movement unless heavily encouraged, and I was immediately afraid that my out-of-shape legs were not up to the task. Squeezing really didn't do much and I almost immediately had to apply some mild stick to her backside. Shades of my old chestnut mare friend Polly! (But at least this one hadn't tried to kill me on the cross ties) The trainer told me to get up in 2-point, which they like to do to stretch riders and horses at the beginning of a lesson. That was okay, but staying in 2-point while also trying to squeeze Thumper on was rather difficult. I did my best and we walked a lap or so around the ring that way. Then we picked up a trot...

TO BE CONTINUED

Chestnut Mare, Beware

This is kind of funny... once again, I'm not posting what I had planned to put up next, but that's okay! I just finished writing a rather lengthy comment over on another blog, and decided it was worthy of continuing over here. I had intended to write about this horse someday anyway. She truly was one of the most interesting equines I have ever run across.

I don't have any photos of the real Polly, so this isn't her, but it looks very much like her:

Same bright and gleaming chestnut coat, rounded butt, nice straight legs, close-coupled body and star on the forehead. She was a beautifully-conformed full TB out of the barn owner's lovely and well-mannered OTTB stallion, who after winning almost $200K on the track had excelled as a jumper in his younger days. She belonged to the BO; he usually bred for one or two foals of his own every year. I think when I met her she was about four years old. I never saw her mother as she didn't live there.

Polly was part of the lesson string at the time and I was given her to ride only my second time at the barn, after the trainer found out I wasn't a beginner rider (just a re-rider). I truly thought I was going to die that day. The darn horse simply did Not. Want. To. Go. I had little stamina and my legs were still hurting from my first lesson six days prior. The only way to get anything more than a slow trot out of the mare was leg, leg and more leg. She acted like HER legs were encased in lead! So much for the "hot TB" stereotype... (since she'd never been at the track I know it doesn't really apply).

I rode Polly a few more times after that and quickly learned that if she finally got rolling, the horse could jump, and well. She took me over the "high side" of a U-shaped gate one day and nearly launched me into outer space. I was not in any shape to be negotiating 3' instead of 2'6," believe me! Unfortunately, I also found out in a hurry that she was a total b*tch when it came to grooming. God forbid you touched her heavenly body with anything other than a jelly curry or an extremely soft brush. It's a good thing she was one of those horses that naturally maintained a super-slick and shiny coat pretty much by herself, because normal grooming caused snaps, strikes and cow kicks. I shudder to think of what would have happened if she'd rolled in mud! (Lest you wonder, I didn't feel I could discipline her much since I was just a humble lesson student.)

Two days in particular that I spent with Polly in the lesson program will never be forgotten. The first was when I was already mounted, and the trainer asked for us to begin trotting. Nope. Not happening. No trot today, thankyouverymuch. I mean, NOTHING. Kicking? No. Squeezing? No. Verbal commands? No. Smack on the butt? No. I was dead in the water in the middle of the arena, ready to cry in frustration and embarrassment. I had not experienced anything like this since I was about six years old at Tricorne Farm riding some ancient pony. As luck would have it, the BO happened upon this little scene and told me to get down... and, well, you probably know what happened next. He beat that mare into next week and made her go. I did cry then, partly from mortification and partly because it was becoming more and more clear to me that this horse was a square peg being forced into a round hole.

On the other day that's engraved in my memory, I never even got on Polly's back. I arrived at the barn for my lesson and found her name next to mine. Believe it or not, I didn't mind. She had earned my respect and I was truly interested in trying to figure out what made this horse tick. Futhermore, I had the feeling that Polly actually kind of liked me, as much as she was going to like anyone. I grabbed her halter, went in her stall... and was greeted thusly:

Seriously, if ever a horse gave someone the finger, she did. I'm no animal psychic, but I'm telling you, I could read her mind quite easily! I beat a hasty retreat and went to find my trainer. She said something along the lines of, quit being a baby/being ridiculous, snatched the halter and marched in the stall. Ten seconds later she emerged and said, "You know what, why don't you ride someone else today..."  :-)

About a year and a half after I started taking lessons, Polly was moved to another barn aisle and I found out she'd been sold to one of the boarders. I thought this was quite interesting and hoped that maybe having just one rider fairly skilled rider would lead to attitude improvement on her part. Yes and no: she did okay, but she still drew the line some days and caused no little angst for her owner and the trainer. I would stop and say hello to her, Ms. Ears-Pinned-All-The-Time Snarly Face, just because I wished her well and hoped that somehow, eventually she'd be happy.

Imagine my surprise when out of the blue, Polly's owner asked me if I'd be interested in exercising her once a week. Are you kidding? OF COURSE. I mean, yeah, it was Polly, complete with sulkiness/balkiness/quirks/downright meanness at times, but I still jumped at the chance to get in extra riding time. I was pleased her owner recognized that I cared about her and that we got along pretty well. What followed was truly a blissful period in my riding career. I'd take a lesson one day a week, and then get to go back to the barn to ride again. We just did W/T/C in the arena, or went out on the trails (she seemed to like that a lot), but it's literally the only time in my life so far that I could pretend, just for a couple hours or so, that I had my own horse. *le sigh*

Very sadly for everyone, IMHO, the BO shut down this arrangement after only five or six weeks. Apparently he was irritated or worried from a legal standpoint that no lease had been signed and it was strictly a verbal thing (and that I wasn't spending any money). I guess I understand, but at the time it caused a whole lot of tears on my part. Frankly, I was devastated. I was just starting to feel like I was building a better connection with the chestnut mare and wham, it was all over. (For the record, I never experienced another completely "eff you" day from her, either.)

Polly's owner soldiered on with her for at least another year and a half. She was shown in some local unrated shows and earned a few decent ribbons, but you could still just tell her heart was never in being a hunter. I believe the final straw came when she simply refused to learn flying changes; I'm sure she had the ability to do them, but absolutely no willingness. This obviously was going to limit her as a hunter show horse. One day she was gone, and I was told that her owner had sold her to a mother/daughter pair in Arkansas who were going to use her strictly as a trail horse. I thought this very good news, indeed.

Having been a lesson student my whole riding career, I'm afraid I hadn't ever really considered whether or not the horses I was on enjoyed their work. Polly was quite the wake-up call. Since she was in my life I have learned and thought a whole lot about horses and the jobs we ask them to do. Despite her practically-perfect conformation and hunter/jumper lineage, Polly most definitely did not want to be one. What would have happened if she'd been allowed time off, say, six months of nothing but hanging out in a pasture, and then been re-started in a totally different way, with someone listening to what she had to say about where her true talents lay? I really have to wonder. The best ride I ever had on her was the day someone was ponying a baby in the arena the same time we were in there. She was absolutely fascinated and whizzed around trying to get a better look, trotting so fast I was out of breath trying to keep up. This from a horse who normally would wear out my legs just getting her to trot! Her ears were up, her legs were churning, her brain was engaged and voila, it was like riding a totally different horse. I've mulled this over many times since.

Dear Pretty Polly, I truly hope this is the view in front of you these days, and that someone is cherishing you. You taught me a lot and I will never forget the times we spent together. Happy trails!

"Grey-Baby"

Have you heard the expression "Heart Horse?" Well, here's mine:


This is the uncreatively-named Grey, who was, of course, a grey horse*. I honestly don't know what breed he was, but I'm guessing TB. See what you think (sorry about the fabulous "conformation" shot - I took this myself with my Brownie Instamatic):

Someone, perhaps the person holding him, had taken the time to braid Grey for this particular show. He sure looked handsome. But then, I thought he looked perfect on an ordinary day.


I do not remember meeting Grey for the first time. I DO know that I immediately fell madly, blissfully in love with him. Part of the reason was my innate attraction for underdogs, the unloved, and the unwanted (I recall picking up rocks on the way home from school because I felt sorry for them - yes, tenderhearted to a fault.). Most of the other lesson students at Tricorne did not like Grey: they thought he jumped too high over the jumps. They were right, too. He did have a tendency to clear every fence by an extra foot. Maybe part of it was something I just read about on another blog, which I'd never heard before. Apparently TBs are known for giving an extra little "hitch" in the back end over fences. At any rate, you were wise to grab mane when jumping him.


Was it his lovely white eyelashes? His divinely soft and pink nose? His beautiful dapples? Was it the way he seemed to know me, even when I showed up only once a week, and recognize that someone who genuinely cared was with him? I don't know. I just remember that we were somehow bonded, and shared that special connection that occurs when a horse and rider "get it." I'm guessing most of you know exactly what I'm talking about.

That's not to say that my Grey-Baby (the nickname I bestowed upon him) was always well-mannered. We had plenty of wrestling matches when I would try to bridle him and he thought it would be fun to raise his head as high up as possible. I usually resorted to kneeling or even standing on his manger, trying desperately not to fall into his water bucket. Naughty boy!

One of my favorite memories of Grey occurred one summer when I was attending riding camp at Tricorne. He was my assigned mount for the week (woe to the instructor who tried to give me another horse), and one day we had a grooming competition. I curried and brushed and bathed and combed until that guy was GLEAMING. This took some doing because he had a lot of white! I remember leading him over to the judging area and patting him while we were waiting. My hand hit his chest... and in that moment, I found it. The most amazing, softest, velvetiest thing I had ever touched in my whole life. You know that cute little valley between their pectoral muscles? His that day felt just incredible. Still imprinted on my mind.

There is quite a bit of home movie footage of me riding Grey, who came along when I'd been at Tricorne for a few years. In the photo above I can tell by my haircut that I was at least nine (possibly my "Mom-Brady" shag, I'm afraid). Here's the only other photo I can find of him, a little earlier since it's before I cut my hair:

That's Mom in the plaid skirt. We wore/wear a lot of plaid in New Jersey.

With my eagle eyes I observe that in this photo Grey is wearing a Kimberwicke, and in the above two it's a snaffle. I wonder why they switched his bit? Anything to do with the reluctance to be bridled?

I loved Grey with every fiber of my being. I dreamed about him, doodled pictures of him, thought about him constantly and probably drew little hearts with "Grey + Me" in them all over my schoolbooks. Sounds like a typical horse-crazy girl, right? And then some human boy comes along and ruins it all? :-) Well, maybe the critical difference in being a typical horse-crazy girl and graduating to horse-crazy woman is we never lose that feeling. To this day I have the same feeling in my heart about Grey. He has never gone away. My dream horse? Big surprise - a grey TB.

Unfortunately, and it gives me such pain to write this, the real Grey did go away. To exactly where, I know not. It happened like this:


Grey had navicular. I didn't really know what that meant when I was nine, but I knew it had something to do with his hooves. Somewhere along the way, he was "nerved," and I was told about that, too. To me it was some mysterious operation. I didn't know exactly what had been done but I certainly was glad that he was still at Tricorne and able to be ridden comfortably (he must have had time off at some point, I don't remember). The summer before I turned 10, I took time off from riding; we went to the beach a lot and did family activities. When I returned to the barn that fall... no Grey.

You can imagine how I felt, running in to greet him, and finding another horse standing in his stall. A sickening feeling in my stomach. Utter panic. WHERE WAS "MY" HORSE?!?! I was pretty insecure about approaching adults, so I didn't confront the trainer directly. Instead, I asked my mother. She told me, "I'm not telling you where he is, but he's in a good place."

This was too much to deal with. I simply closed my mind to the most hideous fate I could imagine, a trip to the "glue factory," whatever that was (thank God I didn't know a thing about horse slaughter then). I chose to believe that he really was "okay," and imagined him peacefully grazing in a sunny pasture. But I always, always wondered...

Fast forward to many years later (1990 or so). My family was enjoying a retrospective of some of the zillions of slides my father had taken over the years. Along came another horse show from my childhood, with a bunch of pictures of me riding Grey. Of course I started to cry, and something prompted me - maybe the fact that I was in my late twenties, i.e. considerably older - to ask my mother, "Whatever did happen to Grey, anyway? You'd never tell me." She looked slightly taken aback and then said, "He was put to sleep and buried in the back pasture."

What?????

WHAT?!?!?

All of those years I'd worried and wondered what really happened to him and he was simply buried in the back pasture??? Why had I not been told this right away? My mom said she thought I'd be too upset. Instead, upon learning this information at such a late date, I went into total hysterics. An hour later I was still sobbing. Poor Mom. I can't blame her, really. I'm sure some day my own kids will tell me things I did/didn't do that upset them.

Here's the thing, though: I'm not sure I believe her. And I am *NOT* bringing up the subject again. Mom, if you're reading this, and you really do know anything more about Grey's demise, do not tell me. It's okay. If you said that to put me off, well, I'm going to stay put off. He will reside happily in my memory forever no matter what.


* The oddest thing happened when I cropped the first image here (I'll have the full one up soon). I realized for the very first time that the person visible in the lower left corner is most likely my dad. I know it's small and blurry but I just have a feeling... right size person, right haircut, right arm swing, right outfit - I think it's him. This means that two of the most loved, now-deceased beings in my life are both in this photo. I feel like I have been visited by a ghost! Give him a pat for me, Daddy.