Have you ever had one of those nights?
The kind of night where you end up spent and exhausted, covered in sweat, muscles twitching? The kind of night where your bones have melted and you can't move, your eyes are rolled up in the back of your head and you just want to sink into sleep? The kind of night where you are so satisfied you have no words to describe it? That moment when you don't believe you could achieve that level of connection with another living being, ever?
That was my ride today.
Walk-trot transitions.
Trot-canter transitions. First time EVAR!! He tried so hard. He listened. When he tried to rush, I went back to the walk-trot transitions until he was soft and listening in a frame. Correct lead in both directions. He was much more rough to the right, but his head was actually much lower than the last time we tried to canter. I can't tell you how happy I am. We had a huge breakthrough moment.
I was walking on water and over the moon in love with my boy. He was trying so hard and listening so well. He was awfully proud of himself as well.
What did you all think I was talking about?
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Tonight
Two years ago tonight, a co-worker stood up at our Company Christmas party and announced to everyone that he had given me a horse. I sat at a table, hands clenched in front of me and refused to think, to hope, to dream.
One year ago tonight, a co-worker and his wife greeted me when they arrived at the Company Christmas party, but then hurried off. In the four hours of drinking and eating and socializing neither of them (Steve or his Wife) asked about Ashke. The silence surrounding that topic rang loud with guilt and remorse. I was alright with avoiding them, because I was still so very angry at the condition I had received Ashke in. I was angry that anyone could treat an animal that way.
Tonight, I was no longer angry.
Tonight, I didn't have any feelings at all toward either of them. The bottom line is if Ashke had been valued and loved I would have never ended up with him. If they had been at all concerned with his well-being there would have been no reason for Steve to have given him away. If they had had any idea of what an incredible animal and partner Ashke was going to be, I would still be trying to save the money to buy a horse. But they had no clue and for that I am greatful.
I have not forgiven them for the criminality of their actions, but it no longer actively effects me.
It still bothers them, though. The biggest issue with announcing you've given away a horse at a company party is that it sticks with people. Four or five different people asked Steve about giving me the horse this year. Every time the subject came up, both Steve and Michelle left the group and went to talk to someone else. Mark followed them, still jawing about the horse. Pedro looked like he didn't understand why they refused to talk about it and asked J how the horse was. J had to laugh at Steve and Michelle's antics and she told everyone who asked that he was magnificent.
So, two years from the night Ashke became mine, we took a trail ride. The horses had a marvelous time and N and I enjoyed the ride. We found a new way to ride home on the Mesa trail and ended up riding through the neighborhood back to the back of the barn. Ashke was amazing. He was in a frame about 65% of the time, even at a walk. Our trot was very nice. He is getting it a little more every time I ride.
The only bad part about today was the four inch heels on the boots I wore to the party. My feet are killing me tonight.
One year ago tonight, a co-worker and his wife greeted me when they arrived at the Company Christmas party, but then hurried off. In the four hours of drinking and eating and socializing neither of them (Steve or his Wife) asked about Ashke. The silence surrounding that topic rang loud with guilt and remorse. I was alright with avoiding them, because I was still so very angry at the condition I had received Ashke in. I was angry that anyone could treat an animal that way.
Tonight, I was no longer angry.
Tonight, I didn't have any feelings at all toward either of them. The bottom line is if Ashke had been valued and loved I would have never ended up with him. If they had been at all concerned with his well-being there would have been no reason for Steve to have given him away. If they had had any idea of what an incredible animal and partner Ashke was going to be, I would still be trying to save the money to buy a horse. But they had no clue and for that I am greatful.
I have not forgiven them for the criminality of their actions, but it no longer actively effects me.
It still bothers them, though. The biggest issue with announcing you've given away a horse at a company party is that it sticks with people. Four or five different people asked Steve about giving me the horse this year. Every time the subject came up, both Steve and Michelle left the group and went to talk to someone else. Mark followed them, still jawing about the horse. Pedro looked like he didn't understand why they refused to talk about it and asked J how the horse was. J had to laugh at Steve and Michelle's antics and she told everyone who asked that he was magnificent.
So, two years from the night Ashke became mine, we took a trail ride. The horses had a marvelous time and N and I enjoyed the ride. We found a new way to ride home on the Mesa trail and ended up riding through the neighborhood back to the back of the barn. Ashke was amazing. He was in a frame about 65% of the time, even at a walk. Our trot was very nice. He is getting it a little more every time I ride.
The only bad part about today was the four inch heels on the boots I wore to the party. My feet are killing me tonight.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Boy Crush
Or . . . what to do when your horse won't stop staring at another horse.
So, I had a lesson on Wednesday night with Cassandra. When I first got to the Indoor, there were four young women finishing up their lesson with Cinnamon. Cassandra was finishing up her lesson with her six o'clock student. I got on Ashke, who was so ramped up he was quivering, and set about the task of focusing and redirecting my horse. About twenty minutes later, Cassandra and I started our lesson.
Ashke is still relatively new to the whole focus and listen to me deal. It is difficult for him to focus when we are in the arena and there are other horses around. When we are out on the trail, I want him to pay attention to our surroundings, in part because I think it is good for his soul, but also in part because if I pay attention to him, he will alert to things that might be trouble. I stay alert on the trail, as well, because the last thing I need is for me to be oblivious to any surrounding danger. However, that's not the case indoors and I need him to trust me enough to focus on what I am asking.
He was doing pretty good for the first half of the lesson. He's not fond of chestnut horses, or bays, and he especially dislikes any horses he's ridden out on the trail with when Cali is with them. For example, even in a frame working trot-walk-trot transitions he would pin his ears and swish his tail every time Bentley came past him. I have found it much easier to get him to pay attention when there are fewer horses and especially one's he doesn't know. He is also much harder to handle/stop when Cali is present, although much more relaxed and willing to work if she is riding with us.
So here I am, in a lesson on a horse that is displaying mild ADHD and the temperment of a 4 year old, when in walks the most beautiful palomino gelding, with flowing white tresses and a butt to die for. (Some kind of QH champion, from what J said. Had an engraved saddle and everything.) Ashke lost focus and became completely enamored of this handsome man-horse.
It was embarrassing.
Kind of like walking the mall with a hormonal teenager. Or actually, walking half a mall behind a hormonal teenager, because teenagers don't walk with their parents. Boy sees girl, boy drools and forgets how to walk, boy trips over tongue . . . . or whatever combination of boy-boy-girl-girl thing is going on. Ashke did the horse version of that.
Granted, it was a very nice looking horse, but really. Ashke started leg yielding in the direction of the palomino every time we went around the circle close to him. He started pinning his ears at any horse that got between him and the palomino. He tail swished and got all prancey. His tongue might as well have been hanging out of his mouth, he was so enamored. Even Cassandra and the cowboy riding the palomino noticed.
I finally asked the cowboy if they could greet each other and I think the cowboy thought I was being stupid, but agreed. Ashke did fluttery nostrils and lippy mouth with the other gelding.
He really likes those yellow colored horses.
So, I had a lesson on Wednesday night with Cassandra. When I first got to the Indoor, there were four young women finishing up their lesson with Cinnamon. Cassandra was finishing up her lesson with her six o'clock student. I got on Ashke, who was so ramped up he was quivering, and set about the task of focusing and redirecting my horse. About twenty minutes later, Cassandra and I started our lesson.
Ashke is still relatively new to the whole focus and listen to me deal. It is difficult for him to focus when we are in the arena and there are other horses around. When we are out on the trail, I want him to pay attention to our surroundings, in part because I think it is good for his soul, but also in part because if I pay attention to him, he will alert to things that might be trouble. I stay alert on the trail, as well, because the last thing I need is for me to be oblivious to any surrounding danger. However, that's not the case indoors and I need him to trust me enough to focus on what I am asking.
He was doing pretty good for the first half of the lesson. He's not fond of chestnut horses, or bays, and he especially dislikes any horses he's ridden out on the trail with when Cali is with them. For example, even in a frame working trot-walk-trot transitions he would pin his ears and swish his tail every time Bentley came past him. I have found it much easier to get him to pay attention when there are fewer horses and especially one's he doesn't know. He is also much harder to handle/stop when Cali is present, although much more relaxed and willing to work if she is riding with us.
So here I am, in a lesson on a horse that is displaying mild ADHD and the temperment of a 4 year old, when in walks the most beautiful palomino gelding, with flowing white tresses and a butt to die for. (Some kind of QH champion, from what J said. Had an engraved saddle and everything.) Ashke lost focus and became completely enamored of this handsome man-horse.
It was embarrassing.
Kind of like walking the mall with a hormonal teenager. Or actually, walking half a mall behind a hormonal teenager, because teenagers don't walk with their parents. Boy sees girl, boy drools and forgets how to walk, boy trips over tongue . . . . or whatever combination of boy-boy-girl-girl thing is going on. Ashke did the horse version of that.
Granted, it was a very nice looking horse, but really. Ashke started leg yielding in the direction of the palomino every time we went around the circle close to him. He started pinning his ears at any horse that got between him and the palomino. He tail swished and got all prancey. His tongue might as well have been hanging out of his mouth, he was so enamored. Even Cassandra and the cowboy riding the palomino noticed.
I finally asked the cowboy if they could greet each other and I think the cowboy thought I was being stupid, but agreed. Ashke did fluttery nostrils and lippy mouth with the other gelding.
He really likes those yellow colored horses.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Thursday: Truth or Tall-Tale
To recap last week: Truth
And now to our Thursday Truth or Tall-Tale segment. (Sorry, Popcorn may make another appearance next week.)
I grew up on an acre of land. It was divided between a small pasture (@ 1/2 acre) and the land the house set on. There was a slant roofed building we used as a chicken coop, where we housed 150 pullets every January. It was a low building and filled with chicken poop, which we used as a prison for our myriad of games every fall after the Great Chicken Beheading in August. Those were fun times.
At the end of the pasture where the chicken coop was, was a small wood corral. The rest of the pasture shared space with 13 apple trees, in a variety of flavors. In the back, behind the chicken coop, was a wreck of a building, with no roof, where we housed three sows one year, and their 36 suckling pigs. If you think keeping horses in a field is a lot of work, try keeping piglets in their pens.
Our 1942 brick house and one acre of land was part of a 40 acre piece of property owned by one of the local farmers. It had about an acre of for a stockyard, which had two silver grain silos, and a old white building also used as a silo. They made for great mouse hunting games. We didn't eat them, but we did feed them to the barn cats. There was huge old boxcar with one end off of it, that was used to store hay about a million years before we moved in, but was repurposed as an awesome clubhouse, complete with an old couch. Off one side of the boxcar was a lean-to with a stock corral next to it.
Behind our house and small pasture, was 40 acres backed by a canal. Canals in my childhood were like back alleyways through the countryside, where we could ride for hours and hours, constantly exploring new places. They were great for swimming as well, with or without horses. The only bummer was the occassional dead cow or horse or even pig some farmer upstream decided to dispose of.
Anyway, the land behind us was broken into four parts. There was a five acre pasture, then the rest of the land was divided into three planting fields: alfalfa, wheat and potatoes. There was a ditch that separated the back half from the first half that was used for irrigation. We had a quarter mile dirt road that ran out to the fields and this whole parcel was our playground. Especially after we got horses.
(In case you haven't figured it out yet, I had the soul of a Lakota warrior trapped in a ten-year-old girl's body. Fearless doesn't begin to describe it. The more dangerous the stunt, the more I wanted to try it. And there were always kids around to coerce into trying it with me. Within a two mile radius there were two families with about a dozen kids each, three families with at least five kids, and a couple of families with four kids. Plenty of guinea pigs.)
The second Christmas after I got Queenie, I was given a Western saddle. It was a great gift but the best part about a Western saddle is the horn. You can tie stuff to it. It didn't take long for me to start tying stuff to my saddle and dragging it behind me, usually piled with as many kids as possible. This was especially fun during the winter, when sleds and tractor tire tubes made the challenge of ejecting the riders off them into snowbanks. I perfected the exact trajectory needed to swing Queenie at a hard gallop, out of the wheat field and down the dirt road in such a manner that the tire tube would drift to the right behind us and hit the ditchbank, sending it and anyone still clinging to it about six feet off the ground in a long arch to bounce across the empty potato field. It was especially fun to watch the snow encrusted kids pick themselves up from wherever they had landed, because no one ever managed to stay on. This game was best with truck tire tubes, but unfortunately they are hard to keep inflated and so the game couldn't be played outside of winter.
Then some genius made a red, plastic toboggan with yellow handles and a tow rope in the front. They were long enough that three (count them) kids could sit in it or lay down and pile on top. They were super fast and fairly cheap. We had two of them. They got a lot of use on the sledding hill fifteen minutes from where we lived. They were slick and smooth and traveled over the snow with great ease. They even launched better than the inner tubes over the ditchbank.
The next fall, late October, before the snow had started, I had the brilliant idea of using the toboggans on the wheat field. Wheat fields, when they are cut, are cut very short. The wheat head is harvested for grain (bread) and the wheat shaft, which is about two to three feet tall, depending on the amount of water and heat the wheat is subject to during the growing season, is gathered and baled for straw. This leaves a perfect field. The footing is awesome and it was a favorite to ride in and across after the harvest. One of the things about flood irrigation is that there are small humps built into the field, where the water runs on either side. These humps are about 14 inches high and make both a great jumping obstacle, as well as, an awesome launch point for the toboggan.
We gathered the neighborhood kids, tied the toboggan rope to a lariat, and then secured the lariat to the saddle horn. By this time we had two saddles. Mine and a smaller pony saddle for the younger kids. We used Queenie, of course, with me aboard, and my brother on Sham. (For the complete background on Sham, please read "All the Horses"). I took off across the wheat field with three kids in the toboggan, hitting all of the irrigation humps at a fast trot. The kids thought it was great fun. Queenie thought it was great fun. We started galloping and making circles, watching the kids whip out behind us in a flying arch, the short wheat acting in much the same way as snow would have. My brother, always game, followed behind me on Sham.
We got more and more crazy, going faster and faster. The kids behind us were screaming in delight. And then it happened. My brother took a turn too fast or too sharp, or the kids just got tired of holding on, but the toboggan tipped over and the kids in it sprawled into the wheat (not nearly as much fun as snow) and the squeels of delight turned to groans of pain. The toboggan, freed of the weight holding it to the ground, became a kite.
This was not an improvement.
Sham lost his mind.
He bolted with the toboggan whipping behind him like a kite. My brother dropped the reins and grabbed the lariat end and pulled for all he was worth. This did not slow the horse nor did it release the toboggan. It did manage to wedge the rope tightly around the horn in a manner that made releasing it impossible. In his defense, he hated horses and really didn't like to ride. It was an easy mistake. Sham, who could jump four and a half feet with me on him bareback, raced up to the ditch, slid to a stop, then jumped like a deer over the six foot wide ditch. My brother racked himself on the front of the saddle when Sham slid to a stop, then flipped off the back of the horse as he launched himself, landing on his shoulders with a splash in the ditch. My brother was fine, if covered in muck from the bottom of the ditch, smelling of rotten fish and cow manure and swearing he would never ride another horse (which he stuck to).
Sham kept going, the toboggan flipping and floating in the air behind him. He circled the fields, scaring the crap out of the other horses, while I watched in horror. There was nothing we could do. The rope was tangled around the horn and there was no way to stop Sham. By this time he was running like a scared rabbit, in great leaps forward, more jumps than run. He finally lined out for the house, and I braced for a serious wreck. The big wooden fence at the end of the dirt road was closed. Sham didn't even slow down. He went over that five foot fence like it was child's play. He cleared it with a foot or so to spare. (Sham would have made a great jumper, since he was 13.3hh, if he hadn't been such a psychotic horse and if we had lived somewhere with a hunter/jumper barn. I saw him clear six foot fences from a stand still. He really was part jackrabbit.)
The toboggan floating behind him was not so lucky. As Sham turned to the left toward his pasture, the rope slipped between the gate and the fence post. The toboggan hit the gap sideways and exploded with a sound like a gunshot. It shredded into a thousand parts, but not before it jerked Sham completely off his feet on the other side. He landed on his side with an earth shaking thump. The horn on the smaller saddle broke with a thunderous crack, pulling partway off the saddle and the rope finally slipped free. Sham got to his feet, snorting and frothy, wet with sweat from his ears to his haunches but victorious. He had defeated the Red Dragon trying to eat him. The plastic pieces of the toboggan covered the ground for a good fifty feet in all directions.
That was the last time we did that.
And now to our Thursday Truth or Tall-Tale segment. (Sorry, Popcorn may make another appearance next week.)
I grew up on an acre of land. It was divided between a small pasture (@ 1/2 acre) and the land the house set on. There was a slant roofed building we used as a chicken coop, where we housed 150 pullets every January. It was a low building and filled with chicken poop, which we used as a prison for our myriad of games every fall after the Great Chicken Beheading in August. Those were fun times.
At the end of the pasture where the chicken coop was, was a small wood corral. The rest of the pasture shared space with 13 apple trees, in a variety of flavors. In the back, behind the chicken coop, was a wreck of a building, with no roof, where we housed three sows one year, and their 36 suckling pigs. If you think keeping horses in a field is a lot of work, try keeping piglets in their pens.
Our 1942 brick house and one acre of land was part of a 40 acre piece of property owned by one of the local farmers. It had about an acre of for a stockyard, which had two silver grain silos, and a old white building also used as a silo. They made for great mouse hunting games. We didn't eat them, but we did feed them to the barn cats. There was huge old boxcar with one end off of it, that was used to store hay about a million years before we moved in, but was repurposed as an awesome clubhouse, complete with an old couch. Off one side of the boxcar was a lean-to with a stock corral next to it.
Behind our house and small pasture, was 40 acres backed by a canal. Canals in my childhood were like back alleyways through the countryside, where we could ride for hours and hours, constantly exploring new places. They were great for swimming as well, with or without horses. The only bummer was the occassional dead cow or horse or even pig some farmer upstream decided to dispose of.
Anyway, the land behind us was broken into four parts. There was a five acre pasture, then the rest of the land was divided into three planting fields: alfalfa, wheat and potatoes. There was a ditch that separated the back half from the first half that was used for irrigation. We had a quarter mile dirt road that ran out to the fields and this whole parcel was our playground. Especially after we got horses.
(In case you haven't figured it out yet, I had the soul of a Lakota warrior trapped in a ten-year-old girl's body. Fearless doesn't begin to describe it. The more dangerous the stunt, the more I wanted to try it. And there were always kids around to coerce into trying it with me. Within a two mile radius there were two families with about a dozen kids each, three families with at least five kids, and a couple of families with four kids. Plenty of guinea pigs.)
The second Christmas after I got Queenie, I was given a Western saddle. It was a great gift but the best part about a Western saddle is the horn. You can tie stuff to it. It didn't take long for me to start tying stuff to my saddle and dragging it behind me, usually piled with as many kids as possible. This was especially fun during the winter, when sleds and tractor tire tubes made the challenge of ejecting the riders off them into snowbanks. I perfected the exact trajectory needed to swing Queenie at a hard gallop, out of the wheat field and down the dirt road in such a manner that the tire tube would drift to the right behind us and hit the ditchbank, sending it and anyone still clinging to it about six feet off the ground in a long arch to bounce across the empty potato field. It was especially fun to watch the snow encrusted kids pick themselves up from wherever they had landed, because no one ever managed to stay on. This game was best with truck tire tubes, but unfortunately they are hard to keep inflated and so the game couldn't be played outside of winter.
Then some genius made a red, plastic toboggan with yellow handles and a tow rope in the front. They were long enough that three (count them) kids could sit in it or lay down and pile on top. They were super fast and fairly cheap. We had two of them. They got a lot of use on the sledding hill fifteen minutes from where we lived. They were slick and smooth and traveled over the snow with great ease. They even launched better than the inner tubes over the ditchbank.
The next fall, late October, before the snow had started, I had the brilliant idea of using the toboggans on the wheat field. Wheat fields, when they are cut, are cut very short. The wheat head is harvested for grain (bread) and the wheat shaft, which is about two to three feet tall, depending on the amount of water and heat the wheat is subject to during the growing season, is gathered and baled for straw. This leaves a perfect field. The footing is awesome and it was a favorite to ride in and across after the harvest. One of the things about flood irrigation is that there are small humps built into the field, where the water runs on either side. These humps are about 14 inches high and make both a great jumping obstacle, as well as, an awesome launch point for the toboggan.
We gathered the neighborhood kids, tied the toboggan rope to a lariat, and then secured the lariat to the saddle horn. By this time we had two saddles. Mine and a smaller pony saddle for the younger kids. We used Queenie, of course, with me aboard, and my brother on Sham. (For the complete background on Sham, please read "All the Horses"). I took off across the wheat field with three kids in the toboggan, hitting all of the irrigation humps at a fast trot. The kids thought it was great fun. Queenie thought it was great fun. We started galloping and making circles, watching the kids whip out behind us in a flying arch, the short wheat acting in much the same way as snow would have. My brother, always game, followed behind me on Sham.
We got more and more crazy, going faster and faster. The kids behind us were screaming in delight. And then it happened. My brother took a turn too fast or too sharp, or the kids just got tired of holding on, but the toboggan tipped over and the kids in it sprawled into the wheat (not nearly as much fun as snow) and the squeels of delight turned to groans of pain. The toboggan, freed of the weight holding it to the ground, became a kite.
This was not an improvement.
Sham lost his mind.
He bolted with the toboggan whipping behind him like a kite. My brother dropped the reins and grabbed the lariat end and pulled for all he was worth. This did not slow the horse nor did it release the toboggan. It did manage to wedge the rope tightly around the horn in a manner that made releasing it impossible. In his defense, he hated horses and really didn't like to ride. It was an easy mistake. Sham, who could jump four and a half feet with me on him bareback, raced up to the ditch, slid to a stop, then jumped like a deer over the six foot wide ditch. My brother racked himself on the front of the saddle when Sham slid to a stop, then flipped off the back of the horse as he launched himself, landing on his shoulders with a splash in the ditch. My brother was fine, if covered in muck from the bottom of the ditch, smelling of rotten fish and cow manure and swearing he would never ride another horse (which he stuck to).
Sham kept going, the toboggan flipping and floating in the air behind him. He circled the fields, scaring the crap out of the other horses, while I watched in horror. There was nothing we could do. The rope was tangled around the horn and there was no way to stop Sham. By this time he was running like a scared rabbit, in great leaps forward, more jumps than run. He finally lined out for the house, and I braced for a serious wreck. The big wooden fence at the end of the dirt road was closed. Sham didn't even slow down. He went over that five foot fence like it was child's play. He cleared it with a foot or so to spare. (Sham would have made a great jumper, since he was 13.3hh, if he hadn't been such a psychotic horse and if we had lived somewhere with a hunter/jumper barn. I saw him clear six foot fences from a stand still. He really was part jackrabbit.)
The toboggan floating behind him was not so lucky. As Sham turned to the left toward his pasture, the rope slipped between the gate and the fence post. The toboggan hit the gap sideways and exploded with a sound like a gunshot. It shredded into a thousand parts, but not before it jerked Sham completely off his feet on the other side. He landed on his side with an earth shaking thump. The horn on the smaller saddle broke with a thunderous crack, pulling partway off the saddle and the rope finally slipped free. Sham got to his feet, snorting and frothy, wet with sweat from his ears to his haunches but victorious. He had defeated the Red Dragon trying to eat him. The plastic pieces of the toboggan covered the ground for a good fifty feet in all directions.
That was the last time we did that.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Asking
Or, "You don't know what you don't know until you discover you don't know it."
I keep running into this a lot with Cassandra. She makes assumptions and I make assumptions and then we both wonder why in the hell I'm not doing what she wants, then she corrects me and I cry.
Well, not really. At least not the crying part.
The rest though? Spot on.
When I showed as a kid, I showed Western. 40 odd years ago. In 4-H. This is wonderful when you are a kid and want ribbons and the right to earn rosettes at the State Fair, but doesn't really prepare you for learning dressage 40 years later on a horse that is learning with you and who might just be smarter than you are. So, every time I take a lesson I learn something I've been making an assumption about and finding out that I am wrong. Makes an ass out of me, because you weren't there, so it can't make an ass out of you.
Tonight I discovered that the heels down, toes pointed forward does not apply in dressage. It does in Western and for H/J too, but not dressage. My weight should be balanced on the balls of my feet. Or the Gushing Spring TiChi spot according to Cassandra. When done correctly I should be able to feel every twitch of every muscle, nerve and cell in both my legs. While also softening with the inside rein, keeping constant contact on the outside rein, tipping my heel and calf up against his side, holding my outside leg steady and also not whacking anyone across the face with my dressage whip.
I used to think I was good at multi-tasking.
The other thing I learned? That when we transition down into a walk from the trot I shouldn't immediately loosen my reins and let him drop contact. Even at the walk, I should maintain contact. What that means in practical matters is that I should keep my reins the same length, with contact the same, regardless of the speed of the gait. I've been letting Ashke go on a loose rein at the walk, which is bad, because I had to spend most of our lesson relearning and rereminding my stubborn white horse that he really can move forward with contact.
Cassandra laughed and said Ashke has been training me, which I think is a nice way of saying I'm an idiot. By the end of the lesson, I had a better grasp on how he should feel when he is rounding his back and lifting through his hips. I told Cassandra that it felt like we were walking through molasses, but she said he was moving very nicely and faster than I thought. I now know why Cali walks slower than Ashke. It's because when he is moving the way he is supposed to, it's pretty slow.
In 4-H, we were expected to have a booking walk, slow trot and slow canter. Now, the walk is going to be slow.
We worked a lot on trot- walk three steps - trot transitions. He got much better after doing those for awhile. It will give us something to practice.
We ended the lesson with a sweet canter to the left and a pretty much decent canter to the right. He didn't bring his head down for either of those two canters, but he also didn't run away with me either.
J came out with me and took a ton of video. I'm not posting it though, since it was just us walking in a circle, which is about as exciting as watching paint dry.
I keep running into this a lot with Cassandra. She makes assumptions and I make assumptions and then we both wonder why in the hell I'm not doing what she wants, then she corrects me and I cry.
Well, not really. At least not the crying part.
The rest though? Spot on.
When I showed as a kid, I showed Western. 40 odd years ago. In 4-H. This is wonderful when you are a kid and want ribbons and the right to earn rosettes at the State Fair, but doesn't really prepare you for learning dressage 40 years later on a horse that is learning with you and who might just be smarter than you are. So, every time I take a lesson I learn something I've been making an assumption about and finding out that I am wrong. Makes an ass out of me, because you weren't there, so it can't make an ass out of you.
Tonight I discovered that the heels down, toes pointed forward does not apply in dressage. It does in Western and for H/J too, but not dressage. My weight should be balanced on the balls of my feet. Or the Gushing Spring TiChi spot according to Cassandra. When done correctly I should be able to feel every twitch of every muscle, nerve and cell in both my legs. While also softening with the inside rein, keeping constant contact on the outside rein, tipping my heel and calf up against his side, holding my outside leg steady and also not whacking anyone across the face with my dressage whip.
I used to think I was good at multi-tasking.
The other thing I learned? That when we transition down into a walk from the trot I shouldn't immediately loosen my reins and let him drop contact. Even at the walk, I should maintain contact. What that means in practical matters is that I should keep my reins the same length, with contact the same, regardless of the speed of the gait. I've been letting Ashke go on a loose rein at the walk, which is bad, because I had to spend most of our lesson relearning and rereminding my stubborn white horse that he really can move forward with contact.
Cassandra laughed and said Ashke has been training me, which I think is a nice way of saying I'm an idiot. By the end of the lesson, I had a better grasp on how he should feel when he is rounding his back and lifting through his hips. I told Cassandra that it felt like we were walking through molasses, but she said he was moving very nicely and faster than I thought. I now know why Cali walks slower than Ashke. It's because when he is moving the way he is supposed to, it's pretty slow.
In 4-H, we were expected to have a booking walk, slow trot and slow canter. Now, the walk is going to be slow.
We worked a lot on trot- walk three steps - trot transitions. He got much better after doing those for awhile. It will give us something to practice.
We ended the lesson with a sweet canter to the left and a pretty much decent canter to the right. He didn't bring his head down for either of those two canters, but he also didn't run away with me either.
J came out with me and took a ton of video. I'm not posting it though, since it was just us walking in a circle, which is about as exciting as watching paint dry.
Clothing Blog Hop
Saiph A from Wait for the Jump started this . . .
I run hot.
(Thank you, but that was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Now back to our regular show.)
Most of the time, I can tolerate temps in the upper 40's before putting on a long sleeve shirt and a long sleeve shirt with a sweatshirt will keep me comfortable when riding in the indoor, on most days. However, that said, I do want to trail ride in the snow and for that I must bundle up.
For Christmas I am getting:
-- Winter riding gloves from Dover (I think). They have the reinforcement for the pinky and almost pinky finger where the reins rest, they are waterproof and have leather, no-slip palms and lined with fleece. They are very snug around the wrist, which is awesome, since the wind and snow can't blow in.
-- Headband for wearing under my new helmet
-- Irideon Polartec Power Stretch knee-patch breeches in black (Oooooo.)
-- I have insulated Northface boots I can wear, which I haven't broken out yet, but will going forward, especially out on the trail. Those with my half-chaps should be perfect.
-- I have a thermal henley under a Halo Noble Team sweatshirt with a Carhart jacket. (Swear to you, if you've never worn a Carhart for riding you are missing out. It is my go-to jacket for the Bronco stadium when the weather is going to be cold. My feet and hands might freeze, but my core stays warm. Buy one. They are worth more than gold. Better than Northface even.)
In Colorado you always have to layer, because you just never know what you are going to get.
I run hot.
(Thank you, but that was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Now back to our regular show.)
Most of the time, I can tolerate temps in the upper 40's before putting on a long sleeve shirt and a long sleeve shirt with a sweatshirt will keep me comfortable when riding in the indoor, on most days. However, that said, I do want to trail ride in the snow and for that I must bundle up.
For Christmas I am getting:
-- Winter riding gloves from Dover (I think). They have the reinforcement for the pinky and almost pinky finger where the reins rest, they are waterproof and have leather, no-slip palms and lined with fleece. They are very snug around the wrist, which is awesome, since the wind and snow can't blow in.
-- Headband for wearing under my new helmet
-- Irideon Polartec Power Stretch knee-patch breeches in black (Oooooo.)
-- I have insulated Northface boots I can wear, which I haven't broken out yet, but will going forward, especially out on the trail. Those with my half-chaps should be perfect.
-- I have a thermal henley under a Halo Noble Team sweatshirt with a Carhart jacket. (Swear to you, if you've never worn a Carhart for riding you are missing out. It is my go-to jacket for the Bronco stadium when the weather is going to be cold. My feet and hands might freeze, but my core stays warm. Buy one. They are worth more than gold. Better than Northface even.)
In Colorado you always have to layer, because you just never know what you are going to get.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Things
I no longer have time to do, since getting Ashke:
- Read. I am an avid reader and at one point had a blog where I reviewed books I had read, but in the past six months I have struggled to make it through any books. Well, except the Laura Crum books, which I read 10 or 11 of, I think. It used to be I would average three or four books a week. Now, I am rereading Harry Potter because I know the story well enough it doesn't matter if I don't read it for a couple of days.
- Iron. This one is dead in the water. Thankfully, I can wear sweaters instead of pressed shirts to work most days and my pants are easy to maintain. This will have to change in the spring, but I'm thinking if I play my cards right I could buy enough hawaiian shirts that I would only have to iron every four weeks or so. Yes, nice Hawaiian shirts are my go to for work during the spring, summer and fall. Argyle sweaters are the winter equivalent of Hawaiian, for those of you who are keeping track. Thank God that J does the laundry, because really I think we would all be naked if I was responsible.
- Clean. Over rated at best and for crying out loud it is a never ending need. This is the real reason women used to stay home and take care of the house. Otherwise, the house is never really clean. My Poly Sci teacher told us in class about a hundred years ago, that house cleaning proves the atrophy of the universe philosophy, since we don't really clean, we just move things from the visible areas of our home to the basement, where it's not seen. Add three dogs, four cats, two bearded dragons and three people in our 1000 sq ft condo and you end up with hair, slobber and snot central. Good thing we are going to G'ma's for Christmas.
- Cook. We now rotate four meals: Manwiches, Spaghetti, Stew and Chicken and Rice. I manipulate J into going out the other three or we eat cereal. I am horrible. I used to plan and plot and try new recipes. Now, if it can't be done in about fifteen minutes, it's not going to happen. And, I used to be responsible for all the meals. Now, J and T are fending for themselves at least two nights a week. At least I try to make sure there are either leftovers in the fridge or pizza rolls in the freezer. I am a catch, let me tell you.
- Household Maintenance. Out the window. The projects that aren't finished are legion. I need, in no particular order, to do the following: Fix the drywall in the upstairs hall ceiling and on the landing leading to the dining room; pull up the carpet in the upstairs hall and replace with the hardwood that is still in boxes in the hall; paint the upstairs hall and stairwell (which was started four years ago, discovered I hated the color about ten minutes into rolling and stopped. It's an acquired look.); replace the three stairs worth of carpet between the dining room and living room with hardwood; fix the drywall at the top of those three stairs where Skittle was sampling it; repaint the wall in the dining room; repaint the walk-out; take down the pool table, repaint the basement, install a small bar for drinks when playing pool; pull out the carpet, remove the flooring and replace, install radiant heat flooring, lay hardwood, find homes for the bookcases and dog kennel and bearded dragon viv, reinstall pool table; lay hardwood on the stairs leading to the main floor; replace all the windows; pull the bathtub out of T's bathroom, pull the vanity out of T's bathroom, replace toilet, replace floor, fix leak in pipe behind wall in T's bathroom, install new vanity, install new shower, install new toilet, paint, and replace mirror; Take out raised counter in kitchen to create bar seating, replace kitchen counters with granite, install recessed lighting in the dining room, and refinish the cabinets in the kitchen. I'm exhausted just thinking about all of that work. And not doing it makes the list even longer. Sigh.
- Read. I am an avid reader and at one point had a blog where I reviewed books I had read, but in the past six months I have struggled to make it through any books. Well, except the Laura Crum books, which I read 10 or 11 of, I think. It used to be I would average three or four books a week. Now, I am rereading Harry Potter because I know the story well enough it doesn't matter if I don't read it for a couple of days.
- Iron. This one is dead in the water. Thankfully, I can wear sweaters instead of pressed shirts to work most days and my pants are easy to maintain. This will have to change in the spring, but I'm thinking if I play my cards right I could buy enough hawaiian shirts that I would only have to iron every four weeks or so. Yes, nice Hawaiian shirts are my go to for work during the spring, summer and fall. Argyle sweaters are the winter equivalent of Hawaiian, for those of you who are keeping track. Thank God that J does the laundry, because really I think we would all be naked if I was responsible.
- Clean. Over rated at best and for crying out loud it is a never ending need. This is the real reason women used to stay home and take care of the house. Otherwise, the house is never really clean. My Poly Sci teacher told us in class about a hundred years ago, that house cleaning proves the atrophy of the universe philosophy, since we don't really clean, we just move things from the visible areas of our home to the basement, where it's not seen. Add three dogs, four cats, two bearded dragons and three people in our 1000 sq ft condo and you end up with hair, slobber and snot central. Good thing we are going to G'ma's for Christmas.
- Cook. We now rotate four meals: Manwiches, Spaghetti, Stew and Chicken and Rice. I manipulate J into going out the other three or we eat cereal. I am horrible. I used to plan and plot and try new recipes. Now, if it can't be done in about fifteen minutes, it's not going to happen. And, I used to be responsible for all the meals. Now, J and T are fending for themselves at least two nights a week. At least I try to make sure there are either leftovers in the fridge or pizza rolls in the freezer. I am a catch, let me tell you.
- Household Maintenance. Out the window. The projects that aren't finished are legion. I need, in no particular order, to do the following: Fix the drywall in the upstairs hall ceiling and on the landing leading to the dining room; pull up the carpet in the upstairs hall and replace with the hardwood that is still in boxes in the hall; paint the upstairs hall and stairwell (which was started four years ago, discovered I hated the color about ten minutes into rolling and stopped. It's an acquired look.); replace the three stairs worth of carpet between the dining room and living room with hardwood; fix the drywall at the top of those three stairs where Skittle was sampling it; repaint the wall in the dining room; repaint the walk-out; take down the pool table, repaint the basement, install a small bar for drinks when playing pool; pull out the carpet, remove the flooring and replace, install radiant heat flooring, lay hardwood, find homes for the bookcases and dog kennel and bearded dragon viv, reinstall pool table; lay hardwood on the stairs leading to the main floor; replace all the windows; pull the bathtub out of T's bathroom, pull the vanity out of T's bathroom, replace toilet, replace floor, fix leak in pipe behind wall in T's bathroom, install new vanity, install new shower, install new toilet, paint, and replace mirror; Take out raised counter in kitchen to create bar seating, replace kitchen counters with granite, install recessed lighting in the dining room, and refinish the cabinets in the kitchen. I'm exhausted just thinking about all of that work. And not doing it makes the list even longer. Sigh.
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