I haven't seen my boy since Weds. night. My mom is in town for my son's birthday and we have had lots to do.
Today, we are shifting our focus from a three-horse trailer with living quarters to a simple, two-horse, slant load bumper pull. Going to look at one in Loveland, then heading for Estes Park for the day.
The plan is to ride tomorrow.
Hope he doesn't forget everything while I've been gone.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Friday, April 18, 2014
Thursday, April 17, 2014
TTTT: Mexican Rodeo
Every year J, T and I attend the National Western Stockshow. This is something J and I have been doing for sixteen or so years and we always start planning our visit weeks in advance. The Stockshow has been going on for over a century, with it's throw back to the days when ranches would gather their cattle and drive them to this dusty little cow town to sell to the buyers from the East Coast. (If you are ever interested in reading an incredible book about the end of the cowboy and open range and cattle drives then find yourself a copy of Monte Walsh, by Jack Schaffer. Great book.) Anyway, the Stockshow has a little bit of everything . . . H/J, Western and English Pleasure, PBR, NPRA, ducks, rabbits, 4-H, some evening shows, draft pulls, and sheep shearing. Although, I would recommend skipping the sheep shearing - it's not for the faint of heart (I think we permanently scarred our little man by taking him to the sheep shearing at the age of two. He has such a big heart when it comes to animals and he was traumatized by the shearing.)
So, one year, several years back, when the event was still exciting and fun, we were at the stock show. We had spent a couple of hours wandering through the Hall of Education, checking out the huge Carhart booth, admiring the alpaca, buying enough fudge to last at least a week, and finally ending up at our favorite place to eat. T and his friend R were running around getting condiments and just being ten year old boys when they were stopped by a man. He asked them if they would like four tickets to the Mexican Rodeo. He was a vendor and had been given the tickets for his employees, but none of them wanted to go, so he was trying to find someone to give them to. J and I went on high alert, and then relaxed when the boys tore over to ask if it was okay. We agreed and they gathered up their tickets. Looking at them, we realized we had ten minutes to cross the Stockshow grounds and find our seats at the coliseum. Grabbing our drinks, we booked.
The Mexican Rodeo is a little different from the PBR or the NPRA. For one, the vaqueros dress in traditional Mexican garb, with big sombreros, tight pants, and fancy dress coats. The events that they host are a bit different as well, with trick roping and riding, a different style of bareback riding, and their bull riding is pretty fun to watch, what with the huge hats. The bulls they use are a bit more rangy and thinner, but still buck pretty good. They skipped some of the events, like calf roping, that I am not particularly fond of. Overall, we were having a blast when it came to the last event of the rodeo.
Bull fighting.
Yes. Bull fighting. Complete with a matador, a bull bred in Mexico for this purpose, cape and all. It's a little different in that the bull they use is young (not seasoned) and the matador is alone in the arena instead of with his outriders. It is also bloodless, which means they do not set the swords in the bull's shoulders to prevent him lifting his head, nor do they kill the bull in the end. Pretty much, it's supposed to be a man in fancy clothes with a huge cape, dancing with the bull.
The bull had other ideas.
When they released him into the arena they announced that he was bred from fighting bulls for 400 years. This was his second bull fight. He was wiry and big, with a glistening black hide and wickedly big horns. They were long and hooked at the end, without caps. He wasn't thick or slow, like the bulls on PBR, but rather like lightning in a cow's body. He was wicked fast. And he was looking for trouble.
The matador was introduced. He had been a matador for a while. He had kills. He had success. He was dressed in the traditional matador costume and was well prepared for the deadly dance with the baby bull. You could feel the weight of hundreds of years of bull fighting resting on his shoulders. This was not going to be a problem.
It started to go wrong from the first pass.
Part of the reason they use the swords in Mexico, is to prevent the bull from swinging his head from side to side, reducing the "hooking" motion they can bring to the dance. When you are talking about a bull with an eight foot span between his horns, that seems only prudent, otherwise men would stop wanting to be matadors. The blood loss also slows the bull down. However, "playing" with a bull in the US means not being able to wound it, slow it down or otherwise tip the scales in your favor. The bull liked that.
The first time the bull charged the matador, the matador swung his cape and turned his body at the last moment, letting the bull slide by, the wind from his passing chuffing the cape. The bull hooked with his horn as he went past, grazing the man's thigh. There was no blood, but the matador staggered just a touch, looking shocked. He straightened and gathered his cape again, preparing for the bull rush. The second time, with a nifty twist of his head, the bull took the cape and part of the matador's jacket with him on the way past.
I think the bull must have indulged in some type of stimulant before the rodeo, because he was on fire.
The matador staggered back, suddenly bereft of cape and no longer fully dressed. The bull was stomping and gouging at the cape. The bull stopped as if he suddenly remembered where he was and turned to look at the matador. The matador's eyes bugged out and he broke for the arena fence.
It's tough when the prey suddenly becomes the predator.
The bull blasted snot from his nostrils in a snort that could be heard throughout the arena, which had become deathly quiet. With his head high, breathing fire and brimstone from his nostrils, the bull gave chase. As he got close, he lowered his head and twisted his neck, so the tip of his right horn led the way. He was about to get revenge on the little matador for 400 years of torture and death of his ancestors.
The matador, stumbling and sliding in his fancy boots on the arena sand, didn't try to jump the fence, which any self-respecting cowboy knows how to do before they start riding the bulls. Instead, he tried diving between the rails to safety. I have no idea why. Perhaps he couldn't jump. Maybe he was afraid his very tight pants were going to split. Perhaps he didn't think he was going to have time. Instead, he dove at the fence, trying to slide between the rails to safety.
The matador met one of the rails square on the top of his head. Knocked himself out and fell to the ground unconscious.
The bull, not really expecting his protagonist to fall limply to the ground, hit the fence right where the matador's wriggling legs would have been if he wasn't lying limply on the ground. Hands from the far side of the fence grabbed the matador's arms and began to drag him under the fence. The bull backed up to assess the situation, wanting man meat to play with.
Enter the bull fighting rodeo clowns.
These guys are insane.
There were three. And a barrel. And they started to play with the bull, which seemed to make the bull even faster, if that were possible. They were all wearing track clothes and running shoes under their clown costumes, and they were pretty fast on their feet. One guy would try to grab the bull's tail to distract him, while the other two tried to confuse the bull. The bull was having none of it. He took off after one clown, who raced for the fence and jumped it, landing in safety on the other side. The bull turned and went for another one, who, out of time, jumped into the safety barrel they had in the arena.
The bull hit that barrel and flipped it into the air a good twenty feet. I have no idea how the clown survived that crash. He didn't come out of the barrel right away. The third clown grabbed the tail and tweaked it, distracting the bull from barrel tossing the other guy a second time. The bull whirled around cat quick and chased the clown down the arena. The clown was running all out and staying ahead of the bull, barely, when he reached the far fence. He leapt that eight foot fence like a champion hurdler.
Now, the arena where they hold this event is a permanent structure and the rails and fences are well-built. However, for this rodeo, they had shortened the arena with temporary fencing made from portable panels, then set up a riser and camera equipment on the riser. We were sitting in the stands right at the spot where the portable fencing was set up, so we had great visibility for what happened next.
The clown jumped the fence and landed on the riser next to the camera man. He turned, triumphant, to face the charging bull. The charging bull hit the portable panels at a dead run, his horns lowered to hook, then lifted the portable fence and kept coming. Watching the clown and the camera man turn tail and bolt for the exit to the stadium was pretty freaking funny. Watching the bull put the smack down on the camera equipment left on the riser with the portable panels was pretty boss, as my son said. Wondering if we were going to have to find an escape route if the bull found his way over the fence was pulsing in the back of my mind. That bull pushed the fence and riser back a good ten feet before he untangled himself and turned back toward the chutes. The very expensive motion picture camera was toast.
During that distraction, the other rodeo clown had helped the barrel tossed clown out of the barrel and then out of the arena. They were exhausted and bruised. The bull raced around the arena, testing fences and trying to find a way into the stands. He was not showing any signs of slowing down. And he was still pretty hungry for man meat.
Some brainiac in the back decided to turn in some of the Mexican longhorns into the arena in an attempt to provide a herd for the bull to connect to. Unfortunately, bull-fighting bulls are kept in isolation to increase their aggression and turning the steers into the arena just gave the bull something to play with. The herd came out and began to mill about. The bull rushed them, lowering his horns to hook the first one he came to, tossing it high enough it almost cleared the fence.
The parents and children on the other side of said fence scrambled for higher ground. Luckily, the steer bounced off the top rail of the fence and fell back into the arena. It was close though.
At that point, vaqueros rode in on their horses, loops flashing. By using the cattle in the arena and working together, three of them managed to get ropes on the bull, pulling and controlling him, until he was safely out of the arena. In the bull's defense, he was starting to tire. It's hard work tossing things around with your horns.
At that point, the matador and the clowns came back in and let the audience see no one was killed, although the matador was still a bit wobbly. And one of the clowns was limping.
Best. Rodeo. Ever.
So, one year, several years back, when the event was still exciting and fun, we were at the stock show. We had spent a couple of hours wandering through the Hall of Education, checking out the huge Carhart booth, admiring the alpaca, buying enough fudge to last at least a week, and finally ending up at our favorite place to eat. T and his friend R were running around getting condiments and just being ten year old boys when they were stopped by a man. He asked them if they would like four tickets to the Mexican Rodeo. He was a vendor and had been given the tickets for his employees, but none of them wanted to go, so he was trying to find someone to give them to. J and I went on high alert, and then relaxed when the boys tore over to ask if it was okay. We agreed and they gathered up their tickets. Looking at them, we realized we had ten minutes to cross the Stockshow grounds and find our seats at the coliseum. Grabbing our drinks, we booked.
The Mexican Rodeo is a little different from the PBR or the NPRA. For one, the vaqueros dress in traditional Mexican garb, with big sombreros, tight pants, and fancy dress coats. The events that they host are a bit different as well, with trick roping and riding, a different style of bareback riding, and their bull riding is pretty fun to watch, what with the huge hats. The bulls they use are a bit more rangy and thinner, but still buck pretty good. They skipped some of the events, like calf roping, that I am not particularly fond of. Overall, we were having a blast when it came to the last event of the rodeo.
Bull fighting.
Yes. Bull fighting. Complete with a matador, a bull bred in Mexico for this purpose, cape and all. It's a little different in that the bull they use is young (not seasoned) and the matador is alone in the arena instead of with his outriders. It is also bloodless, which means they do not set the swords in the bull's shoulders to prevent him lifting his head, nor do they kill the bull in the end. Pretty much, it's supposed to be a man in fancy clothes with a huge cape, dancing with the bull.
The bull had other ideas.
When they released him into the arena they announced that he was bred from fighting bulls for 400 years. This was his second bull fight. He was wiry and big, with a glistening black hide and wickedly big horns. They were long and hooked at the end, without caps. He wasn't thick or slow, like the bulls on PBR, but rather like lightning in a cow's body. He was wicked fast. And he was looking for trouble.
The matador was introduced. He had been a matador for a while. He had kills. He had success. He was dressed in the traditional matador costume and was well prepared for the deadly dance with the baby bull. You could feel the weight of hundreds of years of bull fighting resting on his shoulders. This was not going to be a problem.
It started to go wrong from the first pass.
Part of the reason they use the swords in Mexico, is to prevent the bull from swinging his head from side to side, reducing the "hooking" motion they can bring to the dance. When you are talking about a bull with an eight foot span between his horns, that seems only prudent, otherwise men would stop wanting to be matadors. The blood loss also slows the bull down. However, "playing" with a bull in the US means not being able to wound it, slow it down or otherwise tip the scales in your favor. The bull liked that.
The first time the bull charged the matador, the matador swung his cape and turned his body at the last moment, letting the bull slide by, the wind from his passing chuffing the cape. The bull hooked with his horn as he went past, grazing the man's thigh. There was no blood, but the matador staggered just a touch, looking shocked. He straightened and gathered his cape again, preparing for the bull rush. The second time, with a nifty twist of his head, the bull took the cape and part of the matador's jacket with him on the way past.
I think the bull must have indulged in some type of stimulant before the rodeo, because he was on fire.
The matador staggered back, suddenly bereft of cape and no longer fully dressed. The bull was stomping and gouging at the cape. The bull stopped as if he suddenly remembered where he was and turned to look at the matador. The matador's eyes bugged out and he broke for the arena fence.
It's tough when the prey suddenly becomes the predator.
The bull blasted snot from his nostrils in a snort that could be heard throughout the arena, which had become deathly quiet. With his head high, breathing fire and brimstone from his nostrils, the bull gave chase. As he got close, he lowered his head and twisted his neck, so the tip of his right horn led the way. He was about to get revenge on the little matador for 400 years of torture and death of his ancestors.
The matador, stumbling and sliding in his fancy boots on the arena sand, didn't try to jump the fence, which any self-respecting cowboy knows how to do before they start riding the bulls. Instead, he tried diving between the rails to safety. I have no idea why. Perhaps he couldn't jump. Maybe he was afraid his very tight pants were going to split. Perhaps he didn't think he was going to have time. Instead, he dove at the fence, trying to slide between the rails to safety.
The matador met one of the rails square on the top of his head. Knocked himself out and fell to the ground unconscious.
The bull, not really expecting his protagonist to fall limply to the ground, hit the fence right where the matador's wriggling legs would have been if he wasn't lying limply on the ground. Hands from the far side of the fence grabbed the matador's arms and began to drag him under the fence. The bull backed up to assess the situation, wanting man meat to play with.
Enter the bull fighting rodeo clowns.
These guys are insane.
There were three. And a barrel. And they started to play with the bull, which seemed to make the bull even faster, if that were possible. They were all wearing track clothes and running shoes under their clown costumes, and they were pretty fast on their feet. One guy would try to grab the bull's tail to distract him, while the other two tried to confuse the bull. The bull was having none of it. He took off after one clown, who raced for the fence and jumped it, landing in safety on the other side. The bull turned and went for another one, who, out of time, jumped into the safety barrel they had in the arena.
The bull hit that barrel and flipped it into the air a good twenty feet. I have no idea how the clown survived that crash. He didn't come out of the barrel right away. The third clown grabbed the tail and tweaked it, distracting the bull from barrel tossing the other guy a second time. The bull whirled around cat quick and chased the clown down the arena. The clown was running all out and staying ahead of the bull, barely, when he reached the far fence. He leapt that eight foot fence like a champion hurdler.
Now, the arena where they hold this event is a permanent structure and the rails and fences are well-built. However, for this rodeo, they had shortened the arena with temporary fencing made from portable panels, then set up a riser and camera equipment on the riser. We were sitting in the stands right at the spot where the portable fencing was set up, so we had great visibility for what happened next.
The clown jumped the fence and landed on the riser next to the camera man. He turned, triumphant, to face the charging bull. The charging bull hit the portable panels at a dead run, his horns lowered to hook, then lifted the portable fence and kept coming. Watching the clown and the camera man turn tail and bolt for the exit to the stadium was pretty freaking funny. Watching the bull put the smack down on the camera equipment left on the riser with the portable panels was pretty boss, as my son said. Wondering if we were going to have to find an escape route if the bull found his way over the fence was pulsing in the back of my mind. That bull pushed the fence and riser back a good ten feet before he untangled himself and turned back toward the chutes. The very expensive motion picture camera was toast.
During that distraction, the other rodeo clown had helped the barrel tossed clown out of the barrel and then out of the arena. They were exhausted and bruised. The bull raced around the arena, testing fences and trying to find a way into the stands. He was not showing any signs of slowing down. And he was still pretty hungry for man meat.
Some brainiac in the back decided to turn in some of the Mexican longhorns into the arena in an attempt to provide a herd for the bull to connect to. Unfortunately, bull-fighting bulls are kept in isolation to increase their aggression and turning the steers into the arena just gave the bull something to play with. The herd came out and began to mill about. The bull rushed them, lowering his horns to hook the first one he came to, tossing it high enough it almost cleared the fence.
The parents and children on the other side of said fence scrambled for higher ground. Luckily, the steer bounced off the top rail of the fence and fell back into the arena. It was close though.
At that point, vaqueros rode in on their horses, loops flashing. By using the cattle in the arena and working together, three of them managed to get ropes on the bull, pulling and controlling him, until he was safely out of the arena. In the bull's defense, he was starting to tire. It's hard work tossing things around with your horns.
At that point, the matador and the clowns came back in and let the audience see no one was killed, although the matador was still a bit wobbly. And one of the clowns was limping.
Best. Rodeo. Ever.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Taming the Fox
"One only understands the things
that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand
anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no
shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends
any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
--- The Little Prince
I have so many things rolling around inside my head tonight that I am having a hard time putting them into perspective. We are currently looking at a Bison 2-horse, slant-load trailer with Living Quarters and finagling how we could swing the payment. A horse trailer with LQ is almost a necessity if I want to try an endurance race or a competitive trail ride, since we have no way to pull both a horse trailer and our pop-up at the same time. We also need a horse trailer if I am going to spend lots of time riding trails around the area, without worrying about using N's trailer when she might need it. I still really want to camp in Wyoming with Ashke, and a trailer is the first step in meeting that goal. Finally, if I want to show in WE I need to be able to go to those shows and nobody I currently know is interested in doing those type of shows, so I need to be able to go by myself. Basically, I need a trailer. J is good with that, but I have to get right with it, first.
The need for a trailer ties back into finding some purpose for my riding with Ashke. That is another bundle of angst in and of itself and not really something I am ready to delve into at this point. We will save that conversation for a moment when I don't feel like crying. So, onto something that has been bothering me for a while.
I think that we some times take for granted the grace and presence a horse brings to our lives. I try to be cognizant of the honor Ashke does me every time I take him out and work with him. I recognize that we can become co-beings, but the effort has to come from both of us. Although at times I have believed I am not worthy of him, I have never felt that way about him not being worthy of me. I know, with every fiber of my being that having him is a gift: a gift of the universe and a gift from him.
There is a woman I know that has had five horses in three years. Five. All of them are flawed in some way and needed to be replaced immediately. All of them were expected to become perfect dressage horses through the training and riding of her trainer, with minimum effort on her part. She treats her horses like they are pets, with minimal boundries (something the trainer is expected to provide to the horse), lots of treat feeding and minimal grooming. She wants a horse she can ride a couple of times a week, that behaves with flawless perfection so she can show it off in the local dressage shows. She lays out a ton of money for a beautiful, high spirited horse, then laments her way into selling it again four to seven months down the road, because it acts like a horse.
She doesn't want to put the work in.
Every one I know who has a real connection to their horse has put the work in. N purchased Cali at the age of about a year and for three years, worked with her from the ground only. Four or five times a week. Groomed and walked and ground work and round pen work. Three years worth to get their relationship to the point where she and Cali have a tight connection. I spent every day with Ashke for the first eight months and then five days a week for the past year and four months. I groomed him for the first two months, handled his feet, brushed his mane and tail, wandered around and let him graze. I learned who he was and let him learn who I am. We have a connection because I put the time in. Every day.
Not only that, but I retaught myself to ride by doing it five times a week as much as I could. I thought about how I could be better. I dreamed myself being better. I looked to make our riding better because I recognize that it is my responsibility to make our interaction better, more. The times when I have thought about giving up, it's because I felt I was failing to bring to the table what Ashke needed from me. I used a trainer to make me better, not with the expectation that the trainer would magically make my horse perfect.
I listened to Ashke. I consistently provided boundries and got after him when he wanted to be a bully. I gave him a break when he needed one, and got after him when he didn't. Just like with any relationship, we have rules and we try to follow them.
Now a fifth horse is up for sale. I really hope she buys a horse calendar with her money so she can have a new horse every month, rather than follow this path a sixth time.
--- The Little Prince
I have so many things rolling around inside my head tonight that I am having a hard time putting them into perspective. We are currently looking at a Bison 2-horse, slant-load trailer with Living Quarters and finagling how we could swing the payment. A horse trailer with LQ is almost a necessity if I want to try an endurance race or a competitive trail ride, since we have no way to pull both a horse trailer and our pop-up at the same time. We also need a horse trailer if I am going to spend lots of time riding trails around the area, without worrying about using N's trailer when she might need it. I still really want to camp in Wyoming with Ashke, and a trailer is the first step in meeting that goal. Finally, if I want to show in WE I need to be able to go to those shows and nobody I currently know is interested in doing those type of shows, so I need to be able to go by myself. Basically, I need a trailer. J is good with that, but I have to get right with it, first.
The need for a trailer ties back into finding some purpose for my riding with Ashke. That is another bundle of angst in and of itself and not really something I am ready to delve into at this point. We will save that conversation for a moment when I don't feel like crying. So, onto something that has been bothering me for a while.
I think that we some times take for granted the grace and presence a horse brings to our lives. I try to be cognizant of the honor Ashke does me every time I take him out and work with him. I recognize that we can become co-beings, but the effort has to come from both of us. Although at times I have believed I am not worthy of him, I have never felt that way about him not being worthy of me. I know, with every fiber of my being that having him is a gift: a gift of the universe and a gift from him.
There is a woman I know that has had five horses in three years. Five. All of them are flawed in some way and needed to be replaced immediately. All of them were expected to become perfect dressage horses through the training and riding of her trainer, with minimum effort on her part. She treats her horses like they are pets, with minimal boundries (something the trainer is expected to provide to the horse), lots of treat feeding and minimal grooming. She wants a horse she can ride a couple of times a week, that behaves with flawless perfection so she can show it off in the local dressage shows. She lays out a ton of money for a beautiful, high spirited horse, then laments her way into selling it again four to seven months down the road, because it acts like a horse.
She doesn't want to put the work in.
Every one I know who has a real connection to their horse has put the work in. N purchased Cali at the age of about a year and for three years, worked with her from the ground only. Four or five times a week. Groomed and walked and ground work and round pen work. Three years worth to get their relationship to the point where she and Cali have a tight connection. I spent every day with Ashke for the first eight months and then five days a week for the past year and four months. I groomed him for the first two months, handled his feet, brushed his mane and tail, wandered around and let him graze. I learned who he was and let him learn who I am. We have a connection because I put the time in. Every day.
Not only that, but I retaught myself to ride by doing it five times a week as much as I could. I thought about how I could be better. I dreamed myself being better. I looked to make our riding better because I recognize that it is my responsibility to make our interaction better, more. The times when I have thought about giving up, it's because I felt I was failing to bring to the table what Ashke needed from me. I used a trainer to make me better, not with the expectation that the trainer would magically make my horse perfect.
I listened to Ashke. I consistently provided boundries and got after him when he wanted to be a bully. I gave him a break when he needed one, and got after him when he didn't. Just like with any relationship, we have rules and we try to follow them.
Now a fifth horse is up for sale. I really hope she buys a horse calendar with her money so she can have a new horse every month, rather than follow this path a sixth time.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Springtime
In the Rockies can remind one of a bi-polar, drunken wench who can't make up her mind.
Friday it was 74 degrees with a slight wind. I rode Ashke in the outdoor arena and we did nine circuits of about 3/4 of the arena at a canter in both directions. By the end of the last three circuits to the left (we do to the right first, since it is his more difficult direction) Ashke thought he was going to die. In fact, he tried to slow down and I kicked him to continue going forward at a canter, which resulted in a baby crowhop in protest. I spent the rest of my time wandering around the property, and even got Ashke to follow the trail down the fenceline and across the creek under the trees. He was a little tense, but listened well and we crossed without a single spook.
Saturday, J and I got up super early and drove to the barn to grab the horse trailer. We hooked it up in a jiffy and headed for Longmont to pick up barrels for the Working Equitation obstacle course. We made great time and ended up at Colorado Tank and Barrel fifteen minutes before they opened. Of course, the guy was half an hour late to work, so we waited for forty-five minutes. We purchased 11 food-quality plastic barrels (with brown sticky rice still in the bottom) and four food-quality steel barrels for just over $100. Three of the plastic barrels are for Rachel for barrel racing, and the rest are for my obstacle course. The steel barrels have removable tops, making them perfect for the lance pick up and return. The other two I will use to border the straw bale jump. We dropped them off at the barn, parked the trailer and left without even checking on Ashke. (T's birthday weekend and lots of stuff to do with the Madre.) Saturday's high was 76 and it was wonderful.
Today, it is a high of 30 with sideways snow and significant wind. I am not very happy about it.
N and I rode in the indoor and talked. We talked about her focus on showing, her traveling to the shows without Ashke (and at least for the first show, without me) because he is a distraction for Cali. Both she and Cassandra believe Cali will show better if we don't ride along. N wants Cali to turn to her during times of stress, rather than rely on another horse. I get that. I knew on Friday, based on their conversation during the part of their lesson Ashke and I observed, that they believed having him around was a bad idea. So, instead of J driving our truck and pulling N's trailer with our two horses loaded inside, N is going to make other arrangements.
N was pretty persistent in wanting to know how I was feeling. She was really worried about hurting my feelings in telling me that she no longer wanted Ashke to trailer out with Cali. I told her it wasn't a surprise, since I had already surmised from her conversation with Cassandra on Friday, that we wouldn't be going. It was not a surprise. My biggest issue is that I am missing riding with N. We haven't really had a lot of opportunity to ride together and most of our rides have been while she is taking a lesson. We may both be in the arena, but her focus is entirely on what she is working on.
I know Ashke really misses just riding out with Cali, and I miss riding and talking with N. I feel like a huge part of the reason I took the lessons over the winter was to teach Ashke what he needed to know to be able to canter and gallop on the trail with N and Cali. We've figured that out. I feel completely confident at being out on the trail with Ashke, at any gait, and still in control. Ashke has gained the confidence and knowledge to carry me safely at any gait and still listen to my requests. All that remains is to get back out there and have fun.
So, what do you do when your riding buddy and you have different goals for riding?
N has always wanted to show. It started with H/J and has now refocused on dressage. She has a show horse that is amazing. They are amazing together. They are going to rip up the dressage circuit this summer. They are going to attain one of N's Equine bucket list items this summer. I believe they are really going to make a name for themselves. I think they both have the talent and ability to go as high as they want in the dressage ring.
N says she really wants to make time to trail ride with us. Her plan is to train three days a week (two days of Cassandra riding Cali and one day of lessons) and then two days of trail riding with me on the weekends. But the reality is that may not happen. She has obligations to her family and if the dressage showing goes well, she is going to want to continue to focus on that. Her intentions are good, but she just might not have the time. I get that. I can wait until she has the time to ride with us.
Ashke and I are going to have to figure out a different plan for the times when she can't.
I talked to J about it and J agreed to ride trails with me. Hopefully, the boy will want to join us. Ashke is pretty solid when we are out without another horse and he enjoys trail riding with J and T. I prefer to ride with some company from a safety point of view, but there is no reason why Ashke and I can't do trail riding on our own. J doesn't mind exploring and going at whatever speed Ashke and I can manage. We had a lot of fun doing that last summer on the weekends when N couldn't ride.
J and I are also going to spend some time working on building obstacles and setting up a course for WE. Once we have the trail course set up according to the WE standards, we can work over the obstacles and I can focus on doing those obstacles well. In looking at the testing levels, I believe Ashke and I could start at the Preliminary level with some work and focus. There is a dressage portion we can work on when we have to ride in the arena, plus Ashke is going to rock the obstacle course. I have no idea when there might be an actual show for us to go to, but we can work on it until there is a show.
On the cantering front, Ashke is moving forward very well and beginning to stretch his ability to maintain the canter for longer periods of time. I don't think the issue is entirely physical. I think we are working through some mental stuff too. Today, he cantered willingly with a great upward and downward transition until I asked him to trot. It felt like he could have gone on forever. That is a great step, since he is no longer acting afraid to move forward or showing anxiety at what I am asking him to do.
He does still snort explosively and pin his ears when I ask for the canter, though.
Friday it was 74 degrees with a slight wind. I rode Ashke in the outdoor arena and we did nine circuits of about 3/4 of the arena at a canter in both directions. By the end of the last three circuits to the left (we do to the right first, since it is his more difficult direction) Ashke thought he was going to die. In fact, he tried to slow down and I kicked him to continue going forward at a canter, which resulted in a baby crowhop in protest. I spent the rest of my time wandering around the property, and even got Ashke to follow the trail down the fenceline and across the creek under the trees. He was a little tense, but listened well and we crossed without a single spook.
Saturday, J and I got up super early and drove to the barn to grab the horse trailer. We hooked it up in a jiffy and headed for Longmont to pick up barrels for the Working Equitation obstacle course. We made great time and ended up at Colorado Tank and Barrel fifteen minutes before they opened. Of course, the guy was half an hour late to work, so we waited for forty-five minutes. We purchased 11 food-quality plastic barrels (with brown sticky rice still in the bottom) and four food-quality steel barrels for just over $100. Three of the plastic barrels are for Rachel for barrel racing, and the rest are for my obstacle course. The steel barrels have removable tops, making them perfect for the lance pick up and return. The other two I will use to border the straw bale jump. We dropped them off at the barn, parked the trailer and left without even checking on Ashke. (T's birthday weekend and lots of stuff to do with the Madre.) Saturday's high was 76 and it was wonderful.
Today, it is a high of 30 with sideways snow and significant wind. I am not very happy about it.
N and I rode in the indoor and talked. We talked about her focus on showing, her traveling to the shows without Ashke (and at least for the first show, without me) because he is a distraction for Cali. Both she and Cassandra believe Cali will show better if we don't ride along. N wants Cali to turn to her during times of stress, rather than rely on another horse. I get that. I knew on Friday, based on their conversation during the part of their lesson Ashke and I observed, that they believed having him around was a bad idea. So, instead of J driving our truck and pulling N's trailer with our two horses loaded inside, N is going to make other arrangements.
N was pretty persistent in wanting to know how I was feeling. She was really worried about hurting my feelings in telling me that she no longer wanted Ashke to trailer out with Cali. I told her it wasn't a surprise, since I had already surmised from her conversation with Cassandra on Friday, that we wouldn't be going. It was not a surprise. My biggest issue is that I am missing riding with N. We haven't really had a lot of opportunity to ride together and most of our rides have been while she is taking a lesson. We may both be in the arena, but her focus is entirely on what she is working on.
I know Ashke really misses just riding out with Cali, and I miss riding and talking with N. I feel like a huge part of the reason I took the lessons over the winter was to teach Ashke what he needed to know to be able to canter and gallop on the trail with N and Cali. We've figured that out. I feel completely confident at being out on the trail with Ashke, at any gait, and still in control. Ashke has gained the confidence and knowledge to carry me safely at any gait and still listen to my requests. All that remains is to get back out there and have fun.
So, what do you do when your riding buddy and you have different goals for riding?
N has always wanted to show. It started with H/J and has now refocused on dressage. She has a show horse that is amazing. They are amazing together. They are going to rip up the dressage circuit this summer. They are going to attain one of N's Equine bucket list items this summer. I believe they are really going to make a name for themselves. I think they both have the talent and ability to go as high as they want in the dressage ring.
N says she really wants to make time to trail ride with us. Her plan is to train three days a week (two days of Cassandra riding Cali and one day of lessons) and then two days of trail riding with me on the weekends. But the reality is that may not happen. She has obligations to her family and if the dressage showing goes well, she is going to want to continue to focus on that. Her intentions are good, but she just might not have the time. I get that. I can wait until she has the time to ride with us.
Ashke and I are going to have to figure out a different plan for the times when she can't.
I talked to J about it and J agreed to ride trails with me. Hopefully, the boy will want to join us. Ashke is pretty solid when we are out without another horse and he enjoys trail riding with J and T. I prefer to ride with some company from a safety point of view, but there is no reason why Ashke and I can't do trail riding on our own. J doesn't mind exploring and going at whatever speed Ashke and I can manage. We had a lot of fun doing that last summer on the weekends when N couldn't ride.
J and I are also going to spend some time working on building obstacles and setting up a course for WE. Once we have the trail course set up according to the WE standards, we can work over the obstacles and I can focus on doing those obstacles well. In looking at the testing levels, I believe Ashke and I could start at the Preliminary level with some work and focus. There is a dressage portion we can work on when we have to ride in the arena, plus Ashke is going to rock the obstacle course. I have no idea when there might be an actual show for us to go to, but we can work on it until there is a show.
On the cantering front, Ashke is moving forward very well and beginning to stretch his ability to maintain the canter for longer periods of time. I don't think the issue is entirely physical. I think we are working through some mental stuff too. Today, he cantered willingly with a great upward and downward transition until I asked him to trot. It felt like he could have gone on forever. That is a great step, since he is no longer acting afraid to move forward or showing anxiety at what I am asking him to do.
He does still snort explosively and pin his ears when I ask for the canter, though.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
TTTT: Piss'n
Dick brought four new horses to the barn late March or early April. He had picked them up outside of Rock Springs, Wyoming, at the end of a BLM wild horse round-up. I don't know now, if he knew someone in the BLM, or if he was just lucky, but without a lot of too-doo, he loaded four wild mustangs onto his trailer and hauled them the five hours home.
They came off the trailer snorting and scared. There was a big, bright chestnut mare already pushing 16.3 hands I wrote about earlier. They believed she was pushing four and in the end she turned out to be a really nice roping horse. The second horse was a two year old chestnut with flaxen mane and tail, scared out of her wits. The third was a neatly built black mare, missing her face which had been badly cut when they loaded her in the trailer. This little mare would be the one I broke in and she was a sweet little thing that never really got beyond being timid. Both of those mares would be sold for $100 a piece a year later.
The fourth horse was an old style dun, with a black mane and tail, dorsal stripe, tiger stripes on his upper legs and four black stockings. He was short coupled, with a thick neck and a blocky roman head. He had powerful hind legs and was heavily muscled. He stood just about 15 hands and just looking at him was enough to remind you that dynamite comes in small packages. He was also a stallion. Dick named him Piss N Vinegar, but just called him Piss'n. As in "pissing me off".
Dick locked him into a wooden stock corral with eight foot high fences. He figured to get the vet out to geld him as soon as possible, but until then a really solid and high fence should suffice. It had been raining for about a week at the point he turned him loose and he didn't hang around to see what was happening.
I was in the barn, messing with my four year old Ace when all hell broke loose out in the corral. I got to the entrance to the barn just in time to see Piss'n launch himself for the second time at the upper rail of the corral. He managed to hook his right front foot over the top rail, but missed with the left, scrambled at the poles for a moment, and then fell heavily onto his left side, rolling with cat-like quickness to his feet. My heart was in my throat, thinking he was going to break a leg, as I watched him try a third time. And you know what they say: third time's the charm.
I watched him do it and I still don't really know how he managed. He hooked both front feet over the top rail and then kicked and thrashed with his hind legs until he teetered on the top pole of the corral, still trying for freedom. For a split second it was touch and go which direction he would fall, but with supreme effort, he kicked himself over the top and pretty much summersaulted down the fence, landing heavily in the mud puddle on the far side of the fence. In a flash, he was on his feet and headed for Wyoming at a dead run.
Not knowing what else to do, I swung up on Ace bareback and cantered up to Dick's trailer. After pounding on the door for a few moments Dick answered and I managed to let him know what was happening, although at that point in my life I wore thick glasses and couldn't see more than two feet in front of my face in the downpour we were having. I pointed in the general direction Piss'n had headed and with a slew of cuss words, Dick headed for the barn at a dead run. I took Ace back to the barn at a slightly slower speed and tacked him up.
Several other riders were out, waiting to see if the rain would break, and at the news of a horse on the run, they willingly saddled up. Within ten minutes we had a posse of ten or so riders, ready to chase after Piss'n, despite the weather. Dick realized he had forgotten his best rope in the trailer and sent me to fetch it for him. Ace was saddled and ready, while Dick was still getting gear on Popcorn. He had saddled Popcorn with his roping saddle, crupper and breastcollar, since we were figuring we would have to rope him to get him back. I raced Ace up to the trailer and slid off, racing inside to grab Dick's rope, then came back out just as they came riding up. I tossed Dick the rope and then swung into the saddle as the whole group whirled and took off after the stallion.
I settled myself, spun Ace, still gangly and awkward at an early four, to chase after them. He blasted forward and tried to cut the corner around the house. Both front feet slipped in the mud and he sprawled onto the ground. I came off his head like a spear, ramrod straight and head first, to land in the thick mud on my face, plowing forward.
I had mud packed between my glasses and my eyes. It was ground into my teeth and up my nose. I had wrenched my neck pretty good when I slid, arching my body up and almost over my back. By the time I had my glasses cleaned off and the mud dug out of my body crevasses, the pack of riders was gone. I trudged up to the barn and found a towel to clean up with. Then I unsaddled Ace and put him away, opting to pull Queenie out and saddle her. I scraped as much mud off of me, my tack and my jacket as I could, then pulled myself up into the saddle and sent Queenie off to find the group.
During this time, Piss'n had led the band a pretty merry chase. Most of the people riding with Dick were moderate horse riders on geldings. The geldings weren't very interested in letting that pissed off stallion get any where close to them, so when they would begin to get him cornered, Piss'n would pin his ears, snake his neck and go after the horse. A couple guys got dumped after their horses spun and ran in fear. More than just me hit the ground that day and some of them opted not to get back on.
I followed the churned mud and hoofprints. It wasn't hard to follow, because that damn stud went straight through any fence he came to. There were fence posts down and snapped wire between the corral and the far fields were he was running free. Queenie and I moved carefully, with me peering through foggy, wet glass at the blurred shapes moving through the grey. We traversed a couple of small ditches and one fairly large ditch, which required a bit of a swim to get across (more of a canal, honestly) before we got close enough I could hear Dick cussing.
By the time I caught up to him, there were only four riders left giving chase. Piss'n was out in front doing the tail flag, you can't catch me dance. Popcorn, already pissed off he was being ridden in weather that really deserved to be observed from the inside of a stall, was about ready to knock that stallion into next week. Piss'n slowed enough to allow that little gelding to get close, and then turned and charged toward them, teeth bared and his head snaked low.
Popcorn, ears pinned and a determined look on his face, charged the stallion, playing their own little game of chicken. Dick had his rope and as they got close, he readied his throw. At the last moment, Popcorn dodged to the side, swinging his hips toward the stallion and double-barrel kicked Piss'n in the ribs as he went past. Dick missed the throw and almost got tossed as the stallion careened past. The stallion squeeled like a stuck pig, spinning to come back.
Popcorn, seeing the stallion coming, bared his teeth and charged to meet him. Dick was riding with the reins looped over his saddle pommel, working his rope with both hands, building a loop. As the two horses raced on a crash course for each other, I pulled my rope out. I knew I wasn't going to be able to get a loop on him first (I'm not that crazy) but I wanted to be ready in case Dick got the first rope on him. Stretching a horse between two riders is a way to get them home without any one getting hurt, kind of like mobile cross ties. The stallion once again over ran Popcorn, but this time instead of kicking Piss'n, Popcorn spun and raced alongside for the three steps it took Dick to get his rope out of his hand.
As the loop settled over Piss'n's head, Popcorn braced his front legs and set down. Dick just barely had time to dally before that stallion hit the end of that rope and flipped head over heels into the mud. A geyser of muddy water and thick mud shot into the air and Popcorn slid forward a couple of feet. Piss'n just lay there for ten seconds or so, gasping for air, and then bounced to his feet just as my loop settled over his head. Then a third loop dropped and now there were three horses tied to the stallion.
I and the third rider kept the ropes stretched on either side of Piss'n, ensuring he couldn't get close enough to either of us to intimidate our horses. Dick rode behind Piss'n, leaving his rope on in case he needed it.
We dragged that horse the entire way home. He would plow his front feet into the mud, bracing and refusing to step even a single time toward the corral. Dick would pop him on the butt with the other end of the rope, which didn't do much in the way of motivating Piss'n to move. Finally, frustrated, Popcorn would bite the stallion on the flank or the back of the legs, sometimes hard enough to strip hair from the flesh. Piss'n squeeled and struck and fought, only giving in when Popcorn made him go forward.
Finally, we reached the corral and forced Piss'n inside. Dick rode Popcorn out and grabbed another rope, then went back in and threw Piss'n. He attached hobbles to the horse's back legs, to his front legs and then ran a rope between the two. That done, he went to the house and scheduled the vet to come out the next day and geld the stallion.
They came off the trailer snorting and scared. There was a big, bright chestnut mare already pushing 16.3 hands I wrote about earlier. They believed she was pushing four and in the end she turned out to be a really nice roping horse. The second horse was a two year old chestnut with flaxen mane and tail, scared out of her wits. The third was a neatly built black mare, missing her face which had been badly cut when they loaded her in the trailer. This little mare would be the one I broke in and she was a sweet little thing that never really got beyond being timid. Both of those mares would be sold for $100 a piece a year later.
The fourth horse was an old style dun, with a black mane and tail, dorsal stripe, tiger stripes on his upper legs and four black stockings. He was short coupled, with a thick neck and a blocky roman head. He had powerful hind legs and was heavily muscled. He stood just about 15 hands and just looking at him was enough to remind you that dynamite comes in small packages. He was also a stallion. Dick named him Piss N Vinegar, but just called him Piss'n. As in "pissing me off".
Dick locked him into a wooden stock corral with eight foot high fences. He figured to get the vet out to geld him as soon as possible, but until then a really solid and high fence should suffice. It had been raining for about a week at the point he turned him loose and he didn't hang around to see what was happening.
I was in the barn, messing with my four year old Ace when all hell broke loose out in the corral. I got to the entrance to the barn just in time to see Piss'n launch himself for the second time at the upper rail of the corral. He managed to hook his right front foot over the top rail, but missed with the left, scrambled at the poles for a moment, and then fell heavily onto his left side, rolling with cat-like quickness to his feet. My heart was in my throat, thinking he was going to break a leg, as I watched him try a third time. And you know what they say: third time's the charm.
I watched him do it and I still don't really know how he managed. He hooked both front feet over the top rail and then kicked and thrashed with his hind legs until he teetered on the top pole of the corral, still trying for freedom. For a split second it was touch and go which direction he would fall, but with supreme effort, he kicked himself over the top and pretty much summersaulted down the fence, landing heavily in the mud puddle on the far side of the fence. In a flash, he was on his feet and headed for Wyoming at a dead run.
Not knowing what else to do, I swung up on Ace bareback and cantered up to Dick's trailer. After pounding on the door for a few moments Dick answered and I managed to let him know what was happening, although at that point in my life I wore thick glasses and couldn't see more than two feet in front of my face in the downpour we were having. I pointed in the general direction Piss'n had headed and with a slew of cuss words, Dick headed for the barn at a dead run. I took Ace back to the barn at a slightly slower speed and tacked him up.
Several other riders were out, waiting to see if the rain would break, and at the news of a horse on the run, they willingly saddled up. Within ten minutes we had a posse of ten or so riders, ready to chase after Piss'n, despite the weather. Dick realized he had forgotten his best rope in the trailer and sent me to fetch it for him. Ace was saddled and ready, while Dick was still getting gear on Popcorn. He had saddled Popcorn with his roping saddle, crupper and breastcollar, since we were figuring we would have to rope him to get him back. I raced Ace up to the trailer and slid off, racing inside to grab Dick's rope, then came back out just as they came riding up. I tossed Dick the rope and then swung into the saddle as the whole group whirled and took off after the stallion.
I settled myself, spun Ace, still gangly and awkward at an early four, to chase after them. He blasted forward and tried to cut the corner around the house. Both front feet slipped in the mud and he sprawled onto the ground. I came off his head like a spear, ramrod straight and head first, to land in the thick mud on my face, plowing forward.
I had mud packed between my glasses and my eyes. It was ground into my teeth and up my nose. I had wrenched my neck pretty good when I slid, arching my body up and almost over my back. By the time I had my glasses cleaned off and the mud dug out of my body crevasses, the pack of riders was gone. I trudged up to the barn and found a towel to clean up with. Then I unsaddled Ace and put him away, opting to pull Queenie out and saddle her. I scraped as much mud off of me, my tack and my jacket as I could, then pulled myself up into the saddle and sent Queenie off to find the group.
During this time, Piss'n had led the band a pretty merry chase. Most of the people riding with Dick were moderate horse riders on geldings. The geldings weren't very interested in letting that pissed off stallion get any where close to them, so when they would begin to get him cornered, Piss'n would pin his ears, snake his neck and go after the horse. A couple guys got dumped after their horses spun and ran in fear. More than just me hit the ground that day and some of them opted not to get back on.
I followed the churned mud and hoofprints. It wasn't hard to follow, because that damn stud went straight through any fence he came to. There were fence posts down and snapped wire between the corral and the far fields were he was running free. Queenie and I moved carefully, with me peering through foggy, wet glass at the blurred shapes moving through the grey. We traversed a couple of small ditches and one fairly large ditch, which required a bit of a swim to get across (more of a canal, honestly) before we got close enough I could hear Dick cussing.
By the time I caught up to him, there were only four riders left giving chase. Piss'n was out in front doing the tail flag, you can't catch me dance. Popcorn, already pissed off he was being ridden in weather that really deserved to be observed from the inside of a stall, was about ready to knock that stallion into next week. Piss'n slowed enough to allow that little gelding to get close, and then turned and charged toward them, teeth bared and his head snaked low.
Popcorn, ears pinned and a determined look on his face, charged the stallion, playing their own little game of chicken. Dick had his rope and as they got close, he readied his throw. At the last moment, Popcorn dodged to the side, swinging his hips toward the stallion and double-barrel kicked Piss'n in the ribs as he went past. Dick missed the throw and almost got tossed as the stallion careened past. The stallion squeeled like a stuck pig, spinning to come back.
Popcorn, seeing the stallion coming, bared his teeth and charged to meet him. Dick was riding with the reins looped over his saddle pommel, working his rope with both hands, building a loop. As the two horses raced on a crash course for each other, I pulled my rope out. I knew I wasn't going to be able to get a loop on him first (I'm not that crazy) but I wanted to be ready in case Dick got the first rope on him. Stretching a horse between two riders is a way to get them home without any one getting hurt, kind of like mobile cross ties. The stallion once again over ran Popcorn, but this time instead of kicking Piss'n, Popcorn spun and raced alongside for the three steps it took Dick to get his rope out of his hand.
As the loop settled over Piss'n's head, Popcorn braced his front legs and set down. Dick just barely had time to dally before that stallion hit the end of that rope and flipped head over heels into the mud. A geyser of muddy water and thick mud shot into the air and Popcorn slid forward a couple of feet. Piss'n just lay there for ten seconds or so, gasping for air, and then bounced to his feet just as my loop settled over his head. Then a third loop dropped and now there were three horses tied to the stallion.
I and the third rider kept the ropes stretched on either side of Piss'n, ensuring he couldn't get close enough to either of us to intimidate our horses. Dick rode behind Piss'n, leaving his rope on in case he needed it.
We dragged that horse the entire way home. He would plow his front feet into the mud, bracing and refusing to step even a single time toward the corral. Dick would pop him on the butt with the other end of the rope, which didn't do much in the way of motivating Piss'n to move. Finally, frustrated, Popcorn would bite the stallion on the flank or the back of the legs, sometimes hard enough to strip hair from the flesh. Piss'n squeeled and struck and fought, only giving in when Popcorn made him go forward.
Finally, we reached the corral and forced Piss'n inside. Dick rode Popcorn out and grabbed another rope, then went back in and threw Piss'n. He attached hobbles to the horse's back legs, to his front legs and then ran a rope between the two. That done, he went to the house and scheduled the vet to come out the next day and geld the stallion.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Two Years: Part Two
December, 2012
Unique in All the World
I wonder if Ashke knew . . . if the hope of someone coming to rescue him was what kept him alive. I can't imagine how dark and dreary his days were, without someone for him to believe in. Perhaps the wind whispered to him that if he held on long enough, I would come. I would come with food and shelter and a thick blanket. That he would no longer be weak or hungry or cold. That his needs would be met with warmth and extra food, with companionship and love.
Perhaps the future can call to the past and carry a message of what can be if you just hold on long enough.
Erin Ralston believed so. He believed that the child of his future, borne to his wife after he lost his arm, came to him in a waking dream while he was pinned to the wall of the slot canyon by his rotting arm. It was what gave him the strength to cut himself free and then hike seven miles with an amputated arm to find help.
Might Ashke have experienced some of the same thing? I could hope that the dream of warm bran mash, carrots, peppermints and a place of his own where he didn't have to fight for his food kept him company during the dark and bitter winter months he had to endure. I could hope that the thought of his teeth being fixed, his feet being balanced and the chiropractic care he has received kept him going through the pain of being so cold he shivered. I hope he knew I was coming.
Perhaps the future can call to the past and carry a message of what can be if you just hold on long enough.
Erin Ralston believed so. He believed that the child of his future, borne to his wife after he lost his arm, came to him in a waking dream while he was pinned to the wall of the slot canyon by his rotting arm. It was what gave him the strength to cut himself free and then hike seven miles with an amputated arm to find help.
Might Ashke have experienced some of the same thing? I could hope that the dream of warm bran mash, carrots, peppermints and a place of his own where he didn't have to fight for his food kept him company during the dark and bitter winter months he had to endure. I could hope that the thought of his teeth being fixed, his feet being balanced and the chiropractic care he has received kept him going through the pain of being so cold he shivered. I hope he knew I was coming.
January, 2013
Oy!
Yesterday was the day I was supposed to go straight to the barn to ride Ashke. Instead, I got called home to clean up the disaster that is current state of affairs at home. See, we hadn't expected (okay who am I fooling - I wasn't prepared) to bring home two puppies and had forgotten how much we needed to do to puppy proof the house. I thought I had devised a decent plan with three child gates and the dining room table to keep the puppies contained. But no. Bad plan.
T was a trooper and cleaned up the larger piles of poo, plus most of the pee that was all over the house. Puppies can't just pee in one spot. No. They must pee in a lot of spots. And also poo. Which they then walk in and track every where. Which T discovered when he was ambushed by playful puppies and got poo in his hair. He decided to wash off their feet and that turned into a complete disaster, when the water got a little overwarm and Lily let him know in a shrill, puppy voice. (She was not hurt, just a touch uncomfortable until he got her out of the water. However, she sounded like she was dying.)
I am at work with a screaming puppy and a hysterical son on the phone, trying to calm him down while also trying to assess how serious the damage was. Thankfully, the puppy calmed right down and had no signs of burn and was back to her happy bouncy self in a matter of moments. The boy child did not bounce back as easily, and cried himself to sleep at the imagined injury he could have caused to his puppy. (In his defense, he was in the master bath, with the jacuzzi tub and he really doesn't know how to adjust the water temp like he knows in his bathroom. He had tested it when he put the puppies in the water, but didn't double check it a few minutes later. The water was about the temp I like for my shower, however, it was definitely too hot for Lily.) I skipped going to the barn and headed home.
February, 2013
EntrancedCompanions are white horses with a human-like soul inside them. They are Companions to the Heralds, who are Chosen by their Companion to serve Valdemar. This is also the series of books I took Ashke's name from, which is just about as perfect as it could be, seeing as Ashke is my Companion.
I love the well-muscled curve of his neck and how he arches it toward me when he wants something. I love the quiet, deepness of his eye, bold when needed, but soft and quiet with me. If a horse can have the heart of a lion, then mine does. I love how thick and healthy his mane is as it is growing back in. I love the muscle we are building in his rump. I love how thick the bone in his legs are getting (they were toothpick thin when I brought him home.) I love being able to ride him out - just the two of us. I love being able to ride with N and Cali.
March, 2013
Relationship
February, 2013
EntrancedCompanions are white horses with a human-like soul inside them. They are Companions to the Heralds, who are Chosen by their Companion to serve Valdemar. This is also the series of books I took Ashke's name from, which is just about as perfect as it could be, seeing as Ashke is my Companion.
I love the well-muscled curve of his neck and how he arches it toward me when he wants something. I love the quiet, deepness of his eye, bold when needed, but soft and quiet with me. If a horse can have the heart of a lion, then mine does. I love how thick and healthy his mane is as it is growing back in. I love the muscle we are building in his rump. I love how thick the bone in his legs are getting (they were toothpick thin when I brought him home.) I love being able to ride him out - just the two of us. I love being able to ride with N and Cali.
March, 2013
Relationship
The only reason I wanted a horse again was to have a relationship with him. Perhaps I was chasing a dream of my childhood, of recapturing the love and connection I had with Queenie when I was 13. Perhaps I was chasing a deeper dream of riding the wind blown prairie with a Spanish barb descendent, in leather and beads. Perhaps it was an even deeper dream of the first horses to join up with humans, to become both companion and comrade in travels across the steppe or desert. All I know is that I have been captivated by the grace and beauty that is horse.
Moreover, the grace and beauty that is the Arabian horse. I lucked out in rescuing a steed that is thoughtful, smart, actively engaged, connected and loving. He likes hanging out with me. He follows me with his eyes. He nickers when he sees me. He whinnies when I leave him alone too long. He seeks out my company, the same way I seek out his. He loves to follow me. I love to just hang out with him. I love to groom him, stroking my hands over his coat, making him feel as clean and comfortable as possible. He loves being fed treats. We like each other.
Moreover, the grace and beauty that is the Arabian horse. I lucked out in rescuing a steed that is thoughtful, smart, actively engaged, connected and loving. He likes hanging out with me. He follows me with his eyes. He nickers when he sees me. He whinnies when I leave him alone too long. He seeks out my company, the same way I seek out his. He loves to follow me. I love to just hang out with him. I love to groom him, stroking my hands over his coat, making him feel as clean and comfortable as possible. He loves being fed treats. We like each other.
April, 2013
Fruit Loop
When I was young, I rode 95% of the time bareback on whatever horse we had. My first horse was a shetland pony with a predisposition to bite, kick and ignore the bit. I could ride him, as long as I was ready to bail off him when we got close to home, because he had no compunction about running under and into whatever he could find. He would kick with both hind feet and there was a year when I had twin hoof shaped purple bruises on my chest for most of the summer. I broke my left hand at the age of 12, playing Civil War, when I tried a flying mount and only made it about half way.
My second horse was a 3 year old green broke mare that I trained in the snow during our first winter. I rode her for years without a saddle. I rode without thought to balance or staying on. It was like we were connected at the point where my legs and her body connected. My body reacted without thought when she spun or spiked. There was one incredible afternoon when we played tag with 30 other 18 year old girls on their horses in a corral and Queenie was the last horse to be touched. Even 1 against 29 it took them a good five minutes to finally catch us and Queenie was wild-eyed, sweat soaked and still ready to evade when it finally happened. That magical moment was the most connected/without conscious thought I have ever had while on a horse.
I was an arrogant muck, but with good reason. I could ride anything. Bareback. I helped people break their horses. Bareback. I rode for hours all over the place. Bareback. I rode without holding on, even with my legs. Bareback. I had balance and could stay in the middle of my horse without thought. Especially bareback.
I want that again. I want that Centaur-like ability to stay on, to not worry about what the horse is going to do, because I will stay on. To ride with balance, to be centered and connected. But not bareback. Too old to do that again. I want Ashke to describe me as something other than a Fruit Loop.
My second horse was a 3 year old green broke mare that I trained in the snow during our first winter. I rode her for years without a saddle. I rode without thought to balance or staying on. It was like we were connected at the point where my legs and her body connected. My body reacted without thought when she spun or spiked. There was one incredible afternoon when we played tag with 30 other 18 year old girls on their horses in a corral and Queenie was the last horse to be touched. Even 1 against 29 it took them a good five minutes to finally catch us and Queenie was wild-eyed, sweat soaked and still ready to evade when it finally happened. That magical moment was the most connected/without conscious thought I have ever had while on a horse.
I was an arrogant muck, but with good reason. I could ride anything. Bareback. I helped people break their horses. Bareback. I rode for hours all over the place. Bareback. I rode without holding on, even with my legs. Bareback. I had balance and could stay in the middle of my horse without thought. Especially bareback.
I want that again. I want that Centaur-like ability to stay on, to not worry about what the horse is going to do, because I will stay on. To ride with balance, to be centered and connected. But not bareback. Too old to do that again. I want Ashke to describe me as something other than a Fruit Loop.
May, 2013
Something To Think About
I was watching a Parelli TV show (horse TV, who would have guessed we would have something like that!) and was watching Linda Parelli ride around the ring at a walk. It was a "Ah ha" moment for me as I watched both her horse stretch and move easily, and Linda's hips flex and move in rhythm with her horse. I knew at that moment, that was what I was lacking. I needed to free up my brace, relax against the pain, and let my hips move with Ashke. He's probably thinking, "What the hell is she doing up there?" and "What is she worried about?" since tension and stiffening is something horses do when they are afraid or worried. In this case, as so often, the difficulty with our gaits and movement is not that he doesn't get it - he does - he knows exactly how to walk, trot and canter - it's the subliminal messages I'm sending him that I'm not aware of that is tripping us up. This is exactly the reason why he is SO relaxed at the walk - because I am moving with him and relaxed. As we increase our gait, I become more tense and braced against the potential pain.
Years ago, I was struggling with back pain. It hurt to walk. I found myself shortening my stride and walking to protect my injury. I looked like a needed a walker. And it didn't help. It just made more of my muscles ache from the strange position I found myself twisting into in order to protect myself against the pain. I looked like I was ten seconds away from a wheelchair. One day, I thought to myself that I was making things worse. My trying to protect myself from the pain was making the pain worse. I decided to stop favoring my back, to walk like there was nothing wrong. I forced myself to step out like nothing hurt and then I discovered the pain diminished when I moved that way. My fear and trying to prevent it from hurting was contributing to the back pain.
I tried a back brace from Back on Track the last time I rode and that's not going to help. I may be able to wear it while I am doing other things, but it really inhibits the movement of my hips while I am riding. I am going to try taking off the running martingale and focusing on relaxing and allowing my hips to move at the walk. When I feel comfortable at the walk, we will start working on the trot. I am going to worry less about where his head set is or how rounded his back is and just focus on moving WITH him.
Years ago, I was struggling with back pain. It hurt to walk. I found myself shortening my stride and walking to protect my injury. I looked like a needed a walker. And it didn't help. It just made more of my muscles ache from the strange position I found myself twisting into in order to protect myself against the pain. I looked like I was ten seconds away from a wheelchair. One day, I thought to myself that I was making things worse. My trying to protect myself from the pain was making the pain worse. I decided to stop favoring my back, to walk like there was nothing wrong. I forced myself to step out like nothing hurt and then I discovered the pain diminished when I moved that way. My fear and trying to prevent it from hurting was contributing to the back pain.
I tried a back brace from Back on Track the last time I rode and that's not going to help. I may be able to wear it while I am doing other things, but it really inhibits the movement of my hips while I am riding. I am going to try taking off the running martingale and focusing on relaxing and allowing my hips to move at the walk. When I feel comfortable at the walk, we will start working on the trot. I am going to worry less about where his head set is or how rounded his back is and just focus on moving WITH him.
This is a fairly funny post, since I wear the BOT back brace all.the.time. And I have purchased a second, smaller brace that I absolutely love. Between the brace and the Rocky Mountain Rider's Rescue Rub, I am a whole new woman.
Being
I try very hard to be the same person all the time. You'd think it would be easy, right? But really, it's not. It's hard not to get angry when you are cut off in traffic or someone won't let you in, but it doesn't seem hypocritical fifteen minutes later when you are the person hitting the gas to cut off the person trying to move into your lane. Part of my journey in this lifetime is modeling who I want to be all the time, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the timeframe.
So, what does that look like? It looks like not fighting with my soon to be wife. It looks like not yelling at my kid when I am feeling frustrated. It's not whacking the dogs on the butt or Ashke on the shoulder when I am feeling frustrated and angry that they don't get whatever I am asking them to do. It's using humor and conversation to really find out what is bothering J, or why T is angry and slamming doors. It's not taking the destruction of property seriously when the puppies decide to chew up Rockies tickets and cash the cat knocked off the counter for them. It's not screaming at the dogs when they take food off the counter while I am getting something out of the refrigerator. It's not being short and terse with T when we leave the house fifteen minutes after it's time to catch the bus. It's being patient. It's listening. It's not taking things so seriously. It's taking responsibility for my own reactions when I've had a bad day.
None of this is easy when hormones are involved. About ten years ago now I started menopause and the one constant emotion I had to deal with was anger. At that time I was given the Lakota name of Badger Woman (Ihokawin) by Uncle Daniel (a Lakota man who adopted our family) to remind me to be wary of my anger. Badgers are very quick to anger, very protective of their family, and Uncle Daniel gave me that name to raise my awareness. I helped. It made me much more aware of the consequences of my actions and the ramifications of untimely explosions. (I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover, but living with someone that is perpetually angry is no fun on any level. It's like living next to a hive of yellowjackets. The incessant buzz kills all joy.) Thankfully, my hormones and menopause journey have leveled out and tailed off just in time to deal with the hormones and anger issues of a thirteen year old man-child just on the verge of developing into a bearded, brooding teenage man.
So, how does this combine with the joys and frustrations of owning Ashke? I need to remember to be calm and patient. I don't have an issue with dealing with Arabians, because I love the energy, the constant up, the almost-hyper awareness of surroundings, but I do sometimes get a little frustrated with the lack of what I see as progress. I want to grow our relationship to the point where we become a centaur, where the connection is so tight and complete that I can think about what I want and the horse does. I get impatient that it hasn't happened yet. I worry that he's not going to have the mental fortitude to handle long rides and weary legs and quick paced gymkhanas, and backcountry trail rides and camping in Wyoming and maybe a couple of LD's. (I have seriously reconsidered my desire to ride the Tevis, considering the number of horses that seem to fall off that trail.) It's having fun with my horse and spending time developing our relationship.
Like most things, this is a journey.
I try very hard to be the same person all the time. You'd think it would be easy, right? But really, it's not. It's hard not to get angry when you are cut off in traffic or someone won't let you in, but it doesn't seem hypocritical fifteen minutes later when you are the person hitting the gas to cut off the person trying to move into your lane. Part of my journey in this lifetime is modeling who I want to be all the time, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the timeframe.
So, what does that look like? It looks like not fighting with my soon to be wife. It looks like not yelling at my kid when I am feeling frustrated. It's not whacking the dogs on the butt or Ashke on the shoulder when I am feeling frustrated and angry that they don't get whatever I am asking them to do. It's using humor and conversation to really find out what is bothering J, or why T is angry and slamming doors. It's not taking the destruction of property seriously when the puppies decide to chew up Rockies tickets and cash the cat knocked off the counter for them. It's not screaming at the dogs when they take food off the counter while I am getting something out of the refrigerator. It's not being short and terse with T when we leave the house fifteen minutes after it's time to catch the bus. It's being patient. It's listening. It's not taking things so seriously. It's taking responsibility for my own reactions when I've had a bad day.
None of this is easy when hormones are involved. About ten years ago now I started menopause and the one constant emotion I had to deal with was anger. At that time I was given the Lakota name of Badger Woman (Ihokawin) by Uncle Daniel (a Lakota man who adopted our family) to remind me to be wary of my anger. Badgers are very quick to anger, very protective of their family, and Uncle Daniel gave me that name to raise my awareness. I helped. It made me much more aware of the consequences of my actions and the ramifications of untimely explosions. (I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover, but living with someone that is perpetually angry is no fun on any level. It's like living next to a hive of yellowjackets. The incessant buzz kills all joy.) Thankfully, my hormones and menopause journey have leveled out and tailed off just in time to deal with the hormones and anger issues of a thirteen year old man-child just on the verge of developing into a bearded, brooding teenage man.
So, how does this combine with the joys and frustrations of owning Ashke? I need to remember to be calm and patient. I don't have an issue with dealing with Arabians, because I love the energy, the constant up, the almost-hyper awareness of surroundings, but I do sometimes get a little frustrated with the lack of what I see as progress. I want to grow our relationship to the point where we become a centaur, where the connection is so tight and complete that I can think about what I want and the horse does. I get impatient that it hasn't happened yet. I worry that he's not going to have the mental fortitude to handle long rides and weary legs and quick paced gymkhanas, and backcountry trail rides and camping in Wyoming and maybe a couple of LD's. (I have seriously reconsidered my desire to ride the Tevis, considering the number of horses that seem to fall off that trail.) It's having fun with my horse and spending time developing our relationship.
Like most things, this is a journey.
June, 2013
Shoulder Spot
What this means is my poor skinny thin boy of a year ago has gained more than six inches of beefcake across his chest. Woo Hooo! My weight tape measuring device I got at the Rocky Mountain Horse Expo puts his weight between 1100 and 1200 pounds. Really?
July, 2013
Not The Tevis
So, the Tevis Cup race happened yesterday. For those of you who are not familiar, it is an 100 mile race from Tahoe, NV to Auburn, CA, and was my professed goal when I started talking about getting a horse and the main reason I wanted an Arabian. The temps in the canyon were 120 degrees and most of the ride was above 100. One horse was put down during the race yesterday after falling off the trail. 47% of the riders and horses that started the race, completed.
I was following the race on FB and reporting to J the posts I was reading. She told me I'm not to ride that race. I think she's right. The three reported falls this year all occurred with experienced riders and horses. I'm not willing to risk either myself or my horse. I'm thinking we need to do something other than endurance. Trail riding for sure. There is a group based in Denver that does backcountry riding and camping that might be fun. I'm just going to have to see.
I was following the race on FB and reporting to J the posts I was reading. She told me I'm not to ride that race. I think she's right. The three reported falls this year all occurred with experienced riders and horses. I'm not willing to risk either myself or my horse. I'm thinking we need to do something other than endurance. Trail riding for sure. There is a group based in Denver that does backcountry riding and camping that might be fun. I'm just going to have to see.
Seven Things
Finally, I have to recognize that my weight does not define my ability to ride, get stronger or be more fit. The muscles that support my back, that add strength to my core, are getting stronger with each ride. Riding in the arena and working on all the gaits is forcing my body to strengthen and adapt. I can ride for several hours at a time, without being completely done in at the end of the ride. Just as I am requiring Ashke to do some movements that are difficult for him, so do I ask myself to ride for a length of time or in a gait that challenges my ability. Both my stamina and my overall strength are improving and I believe Ashke and I will be able to continue together on this path. I am pretty happy with my continuous improvement and my increased ability to ride the canter. Slowly, but surely, we will get there.
August, 2013
Insanity
While we were getting them ready (they are both shedding like mad and Ashke's hair has gotten so thin and sleek that he is going gun metal grey on his shoulders and neck) N wondered out loud if she should work Cali in the sidereins, to help Cali remember that they have work to do. She opted out of sidereins, which she lamented about loudly as Cali was bucking, rearing and kicking her way in an all out battle of wills.
I was amused at Cali's behavior (I find it hilarious to watch her rear and kick when N asks her to disengage her hindquarters - although I know I would be frustrated and a little angry if I were N) while warming up Ashke, and feeling not a little bit of pleasure that Ashke had matured past the point of throwing tantrums. And you know what they say, Pride goes before a fall.
Luckily, I didn't fall, but I did have my horse suffer through about fifteen minutes of insanity. He started rearing, little bitty crowhops and a couple of loud snorts. I don't know if the issue was Tonka, complete with bright blue leg wraps which he was valiantly trying to jump out of, or something I could neither see or sense that was making both horses completely out of control. Ashke held still while I dismounted (thankfully - that's my least favorite thing when dealing with an out of control horse) but exploded away from me as soon as I was on the ground. He bolted in a circle around me at the end of the rein (roper - see earlier post) at a dead run, bucking and kicking and flagging his tail. He only made one serious attempt to get away and then seemed perfectly content to tear around doing Arabian scuttlebutt for a good fifteen minutes. In a fifteen foot circle around me until he was drenched with sweat.
N laughed at me.
I was amused at Cali's behavior (I find it hilarious to watch her rear and kick when N asks her to disengage her hindquarters - although I know I would be frustrated and a little angry if I were N) while warming up Ashke, and feeling not a little bit of pleasure that Ashke had matured past the point of throwing tantrums. And you know what they say, Pride goes before a fall.
Luckily, I didn't fall, but I did have my horse suffer through about fifteen minutes of insanity. He started rearing, little bitty crowhops and a couple of loud snorts. I don't know if the issue was Tonka, complete with bright blue leg wraps which he was valiantly trying to jump out of, or something I could neither see or sense that was making both horses completely out of control. Ashke held still while I dismounted (thankfully - that's my least favorite thing when dealing with an out of control horse) but exploded away from me as soon as I was on the ground. He bolted in a circle around me at the end of the rein (roper - see earlier post) at a dead run, bucking and kicking and flagging his tail. He only made one serious attempt to get away and then seemed perfectly content to tear around doing Arabian scuttlebutt for a good fifteen minutes. In a fifteen foot circle around me until he was drenched with sweat.
N laughed at me.
September, 2013
Rain Totals
South Boulder got 18.64 inches, North Boulder got 12.91 (This area seems the hardest hit early)
Golden (TMR) got 8.64
Thornton (where I live) got 6.33
Estes Park got 8.5 (over 15" if you count the entire week)
Drake (Big Thompson Canyon) got 11.34
All this water emptied into the South Platte, which is why we are having flooding east of the mountains now.
Happily, the skies are partly cloudy and we have sun.
Golden (TMR) got 8.64
Thornton (where I live) got 6.33
Estes Park got 8.5 (over 15" if you count the entire week)
Drake (Big Thompson Canyon) got 11.34
All this water emptied into the South Platte, which is why we are having flooding east of the mountains now.
Happily, the skies are partly cloudy and we have sun.
October, 2013
Today
We walked out to the dressage arena, him snorting and blowing at everything. He was so UP. As we reached the far end of the arena, the wind caught the cooler and flipped it off his back. Unfortunately, one of the hooks I had looped through the saddle loop, held. Suddenly, I was holding on to a 1100 lb, panicked animal who had a freaking 8' by 5' black sail attacking him from the side. I don't remember dropping the stuff in my hand or even how in the world I held him; all I knew is that if he got away, he would be running for his life from the death kite into the road and beyond. I couldn't let him pull away from me, regardless. I held onto the reins with my right hand (thank god, I had the reins I did, my old rope reins would have pulled right through my hands) and managed to wrap the blanket up in my left arm. Once the black blanket wasn't billowing in the wind, Ashke listened and held still. I had pretty good burns on my right hand from the rein, but we completely avoided the whole "get killed on the Highway while running away from the blanket" thing. One more thing to NEVER do again.
N: Ten Things
1. N always says what's on her mind, straightforward and blunt. I love that. I have been caught off guard a couple of times, but not in a bad way. Most of the time people cloak themselves in what they think you want to hear, instead of speaking their truth. N speaks her truth.
2. N and I have been talking and sharing stories for over a year now and neither of us has run out of anything to say.
3. N and I have a lot of similiar interests outside of horses, which contributes to #2. We like Friends, we have the same sense of humor, there's just a lot of things that click. Makes being friends easy.
4. N and J and R are comfortable with and enjoy spending time with my family. They love T and his energy and T treats R like a little brother. J and J are very similiar in some of their personalities and things they like. We enjoy spending time with each other in a group and really enjoyed the camping trip we took together. We are now starting to celebrate important events together; birthdays, holidays, etc.
5. N's infectious grin, her wonderful laugh and her ability to laugh at herself. Those are all qualities I like and admire in a person, and ones that I feel I share.
6. She can cuss as good as I can. And she tells great stories.
7. I can ask her questions and talk to her about Ashke and she answers honestly and completely, not treating me like a noob.
8. N can talk me through moments of difficulty I'm having with Ashke. We can be each other's support and sometimes we talk each other off the cliff.
9. She's a great coach and very positive with my attempts to learn a completely new discipline. She is brave and willing to try things she's never done with her horse before, in part, because she trusts me not to put us in harm's way.
10. We have each other's back.
2. N and I have been talking and sharing stories for over a year now and neither of us has run out of anything to say.
3. N and I have a lot of similiar interests outside of horses, which contributes to #2. We like Friends, we have the same sense of humor, there's just a lot of things that click. Makes being friends easy.
4. N and J and R are comfortable with and enjoy spending time with my family. They love T and his energy and T treats R like a little brother. J and J are very similiar in some of their personalities and things they like. We enjoy spending time with each other in a group and really enjoyed the camping trip we took together. We are now starting to celebrate important events together; birthdays, holidays, etc.
5. N's infectious grin, her wonderful laugh and her ability to laugh at herself. Those are all qualities I like and admire in a person, and ones that I feel I share.
6. She can cuss as good as I can. And she tells great stories.
7. I can ask her questions and talk to her about Ashke and she answers honestly and completely, not treating me like a noob.
8. N can talk me through moments of difficulty I'm having with Ashke. We can be each other's support and sometimes we talk each other off the cliff.
9. She's a great coach and very positive with my attempts to learn a completely new discipline. She is brave and willing to try things she's never done with her horse before, in part, because she trusts me not to put us in harm's way.
10. We have each other's back.
Back Away From the Jacket
Two minutes later I stepped over a rattlesnake.
You know, the biggest issue with snakes is that you don't see them 100 feet in advance. You see them as you are hand walking your horse over them. I stammered and stuttered back at N and she figured out what the hell I was trying to say. She stopped.
At that point, we were in quite a pickle. Cali and N were on one side of the snake. Ashke and I were on the other. And whatever snake magic had allowed us to walk over it in the first place was gone and the snake was both awake and a bit pissed off. I tried tossing a couple of rocks at it in the hope it would slither off downhill, but instead it moved uphill until it was hanging on the very lip of the hillside overlooking the trail.
That was worse, because we then had a pissed off, coiled up snake at the lip of the overhang, about shoulder height on a very narrow trail. And it wouldn't move. All it did was coil tighter and rattle.
You know, the biggest issue with snakes is that you don't see them 100 feet in advance. You see them as you are hand walking your horse over them. I stammered and stuttered back at N and she figured out what the hell I was trying to say. She stopped.
At that point, we were in quite a pickle. Cali and N were on one side of the snake. Ashke and I were on the other. And whatever snake magic had allowed us to walk over it in the first place was gone and the snake was both awake and a bit pissed off. I tried tossing a couple of rocks at it in the hope it would slither off downhill, but instead it moved uphill until it was hanging on the very lip of the hillside overlooking the trail.
That was worse, because we then had a pissed off, coiled up snake at the lip of the overhang, about shoulder height on a very narrow trail. And it wouldn't move. All it did was coil tighter and rattle.
November, 2013
Remember
. . six months ago, Ashke couldn't trot with his head down.
. . . three months ago, I was still riding with a martingale to help bring his head down.
. . . two months ago, we couldn't canter a full circle to the right.
. . . we've only been doing dressage lessons for six weeks
. . . my feeling frustrated is NOT Ashke's fault.
. . . eating something at 4:30 will help my attitude and aptitude.
. . . Ashke is not responsible for my NOT being able to ride with balance or grace.
. . . last Saturday we trotted for six miles.
. . . Ashke is getting stronger with each ride.
. . . I am responsible for my temper. Losing it is my responsibilty.
. . . my being angry and frustrated by our canter will NOT make Ashke magically better. In fact, it will make him worse.
. . . I set the tone for our conversation, our relationship and our interaction.
. . . trying to make things happen faster will result in set-backs.
. . . commitment is the most difficult when things become difficult.
. . . replacing Ashke will NOT magically fix everything, or speed things up. It would just change the conversation.
. . . don't let stress from work or life affect the conversation with Ashke. Make of our time a space outside of those things.
. . . improvement needs to be measured in smaller increments: one stride, one try, one moment.
. . . Ashke is trying for love of me. I need to be worthy of that.
. . . tomorrow is a new day and Wednesday is a new ride.
. . . three months ago, I was still riding with a martingale to help bring his head down.
. . . two months ago, we couldn't canter a full circle to the right.
. . . we've only been doing dressage lessons for six weeks
. . . my feeling frustrated is NOT Ashke's fault.
. . . eating something at 4:30 will help my attitude and aptitude.
. . . Ashke is not responsible for my NOT being able to ride with balance or grace.
. . . last Saturday we trotted for six miles.
. . . Ashke is getting stronger with each ride.
. . . I am responsible for my temper. Losing it is my responsibilty.
. . . my being angry and frustrated by our canter will NOT make Ashke magically better. In fact, it will make him worse.
. . . I set the tone for our conversation, our relationship and our interaction.
. . . trying to make things happen faster will result in set-backs.
. . . commitment is the most difficult when things become difficult.
. . . replacing Ashke will NOT magically fix everything, or speed things up. It would just change the conversation.
. . . don't let stress from work or life affect the conversation with Ashke. Make of our time a space outside of those things.
. . . improvement needs to be measured in smaller increments: one stride, one try, one moment.
. . . Ashke is trying for love of me. I need to be worthy of that.
. . . tomorrow is a new day and Wednesday is a new ride.
I hope to finish this on Friday, because tomorrow is TTTT.
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