smellshorsey

Eight Things You Don't Know About Me

Rebecca Laffar-Smith at The Writer's Round-About tagged me a while ago with the meme Eight Things You Don't Know About Me. Not sure you want to know eight things about me, but here goes:

1. I’m never on time, unless it’s to eat.
2. When I was growing up, I got my Non-Saintly Brother's hand-me-down horses.  When a friend introduced me to jumping, I was riding my brother’s abandoned barrel racer QH-type. I borrowed my father’s flat (walking horse) saddle, set up jumps with 2x4s and concrete blocks (which were plentiful since my father was a contractor) and taught the barrel racer and me to jump. It wasn’t pretty, but it was great fun. Eventually I got lessons.
3. When I was about as good as I ever got (and an adult) one horse show judge said I was “inelegant but effective.” Alas, that is true. And sometimes not even "effective."
4. Nothing looks worse on me than riding pants, AKA Sausage Breeches.
5. I campaigned my last horse, a TB from the track with no papers because he was confiscated when his previous owner didn't pay the bills, and was able to win my state's "Horse of the Year" award as a novice-level eventer. That just proves that if you show up often enough and get some kind of ribbon (we never got a blue at at an event), you might beat the better horses and riders who don't always show up. And I think novice is very high level, scary stuff, by the way.
   
6. I’ve been taught so many different canter departures that I no longer remember which is supposed to be the correct one, so I just do the one I like.
7. I used to be a playwright and had a one-act comedy produced Off-off Broadway. Then I switched to writing fiction. I am currently working on a novel, a brochure about dump trucks and an article about how to sell life insurance.
8. I'm so old I was taught "galloping position" instead of "two point."
9. My horse kicked a foxhound once. Shhh! Don’t tell.

Now, I tag the following eight to tell us eight things we don't know about them:

Equine Mine
I Gallop On
I Will Jump Sweet Jumps
MiKael's Mania
Of Horses and Art
Equine View
Transylvanian Horseman
Flying Changes

Growing Confidence, Growing Jumps

Here's the jump from the last post, only now she's got it higher than three feet but we didn't measure. (Also note the addition of a ground line and one barely adequate crossbar.) As you can see, I seriously lack camera skills (and I'm used to aiming at lower jumps, so I can't get Lily's head in the photos) and Buddy, who was a Western pleasure horse, hasn't figured out where all of his legs are supposed to go. And our jumps need repair, etc. But they're going over.

And if I could catch Lily's face on the camera, you'd see a really big smile.

When Mom Wasn't Looking, She Jumped Three Feet

This time last week we were all a-dither over Lily's loss of confidence. Would we have to sell Buddy (her boisterous apx-QH) and buy a dull plug (since we can't afford a made horse)? Maybe we should send Lucy (my ignorant, untrained, unpredictable TB) out for training and hope it takes, then let Lily have her? Maybe we should sell the horses, move to town and take up tennis?

Then we had the confidence building lesson. (See Losing Confidence and Gaining it Back.) I wasn't sure how long Lily's confidence would stay boosted. All Buddy had to do was appear to be thinking, or perhaps not thinking, about bucking her off and it would all be over. (He bucks rarely but eventfully.) Yesterday I couldn't go outside because the pollen and dust are so bad, so I let her ride on her own with just a few glances out of the window. A horsey friend (not as advanced) was over and they were both taking turns riding Buddy. Apparently the friend was also excellent as Lily's personal jump crew.

Last night Lily said, "Mom! Can you believe I jumped three feet?"

Gosh, I hope not. Before now her highest jumps have been in the 2'6" range. "When did you jump three feet?" I asked.

"Today. It was great. I made him stop between jumps, then take a couple of steps and jump it," she said.

?!?!??!?!

"I think he gets to canter when he jumps three feet," I said. Her answer was a bit wobbly, I'll have to say.

"You can go see the jump," she said. "I really did it. Do you think I can jump 3'6" before the end of the year?" (Note: her New Year's resolution was to jump 3'0".)

"Not while I'm watching," I said.

"That's fine," she said. "You weren't watching yesterday." But she knew what I meant.

Maybe I liked her better scared (just kidding).

You should see the jump. A set of standards with one pole stuck up three feet in the air. No ground line. And a cavaletti in the way on the approach.

Good old Buddy. His athleticism and attitude paid off for something.

Is there such a thing as getting TOO confident? I know the answer. But I'm not going to slow her down until this confidence thing seems to have taken serious hold -- again.

Everything's Great Except I Can't Breathe

I think if it started raining, Buddy and Lucy would freak out that stuff from the sky was hitting them. Rain? What is that? Surely it must be the sky falling.

We're having absolutely lovely weather. Blue skies and cooler temperatures. The horses are wearing their sheets at night (Lily's desire) so that they won't start getting their winter coats. It's great riding weather.

But until the dust settles and the grass and weed pollens get washed out of the air, I can't spend much time with the horses unless I want to trigger my allergies and asthma. I'm fine, just don't want to push my luck.

So, while I'm inside looking at the horses out of the window, I've been doing a little reading and I found a funny, inspiring blog that's not about horses but does have a stray donkey. How can you not like a series of posts named "Nice Ass--Donkey Tales"?

Start at the beginning (bottom) and read up.

Praying for rain here in the Southeast USA!

Answer to Quiz

First off, I'm the first to tell you that this wasn't entirely fair. My TB has a fat behind and the light was funny. Plus I am photo-challenged. (Taking a photo of your horse's rear is more difficult than you think when the other end wants to see what you're up to.) So, here's the answer:
A=TB
B=Apx. QH

You would have gotten it right in an instant if you saw them in person. Come on out! I'll show you.

Saddest Forelock

I have never pulled Lucy's forelock. Isn't this just the saddest thing? Hard to feel like a girly girl when this is the best you can do. Don't even think Big Sexy Hair would help. (Camera's back! Just playing!) Click on the picture to make the forelock large enough to see.

Quiz: Can You Identify a Breed by the Hindquarters?

Guess which hindquarters belongs to the TB, and which belongs to the Apx/QH.

You'd have no trouble if you saw them in person.

Enter your guess in the comments section.

Hindquarters A       Hindquarters B

How to Read a "Horse for Sale" Ad

Here's the ad, more or less (this is from my imperfect memory -- I've underlined the parts I'm sure of; the rest is approximate):

"8yo reg. gelding, chestnut, 4 stockings. Lovely mover. Very affectionate. Clips, loads, stands for farrier. Loves trail riding. Always ready to go. Gets along well with other horses. Suitable for any discipline. 30 days professional training. Child safe."

Here's the truth, more or less:

A local trainer (Jane) known for working with difficult/impossible horses gets a call from a former client. They've bought their daughter a new horse, and she can't ride him. They want to send him to Hell Camp for 30 days. So Jane takes him.

The horse, though lovely, is very difficult. When Jane takes him trail riding, HE TRIES TO MOUNT THE MARES WHILE THEY ARE BEING RIDDEN. He has a host of other problems, and Jane determines that he is "proud cut" (hasn't been completely gelded). When the 30 days are up, Jane admits defeat. "Send this horse back where you got him. You'll never be able to use him for your daughter. In fact, I'm not sure anybody can use him."

So the people returned the horse. When they checked the seller's web site later, they found the ad for their horse, written above.

It is true that he  had 30 days of professional training (where he flunked out). It is true that he loves trail riding (especially if there are any pretty mares to mount). It is true that he is lovely. But he will never, ever be child safe.

Sometimes you have to read between the lines.

Losing Confidence -- and Getting it Back

For most riders (except possibly for Sue at Flying Changes), falling off repeatedly can make you lose confidence. So can almost falling off, thinking about falling off, seeing somebody fall off, remembering how you fell off, and wondering when you are next going to fall off.

I remember one year when I was eventing my really fabulous best-ever horse (never written about him but it's coming) I knew three people who broke their backs riding. None were paralyzed, though one had a terrible time recovering and another had to quit riding. And I remember watching a girl from our barn who was a great rider on a fantastic horse tumble into the ditch obstacle on a cross-country course (they were both fine) and feeling a fear so great that it wouldn't have been greater if she had been my daughter. As soon as she proved to be fine, I immediately began to worry about me.

So I know fear. And I know losing confidence. And when I see it creeping up on my girl, it breaks my heart.

Not sure where it came from. My brave girl who rode her pony and Buddy like motorcycles, racing around and enjoying every stride. Who was always wanting the jumps put higher in lessons and Pony Club. Who really is getting better every week. Suddenly, she's not so sure she can do what she's been doing. What she could do a year ago. Or longer....

We have a long talk. She's hurting -- so I hurt with her. And Paul and I scheme on how to get her confidence back.

An e-mail and divine intervention later, and we have our answer: Jane

Jane (not her real name) is one of Lily's former teachers. The "kick-the-snot-out-of-the-pony" teacher. She's recovering from surgery (back trouble related to riding -- hate to even think about that) and she's well enough to come. I'm surprised she can come, because she's been working too much on her other job to teach for the last couple of years.

Jane is also the Camp Counselor at Hell Camp, the place where bad horses get to go for 30 days if they need "a reckoning." Lucy got to go there once, and when she came back, she had a lovely new attitude. (Too bad Jane doesn't run a diet camp for middle-aged moms.)

So Jane shows up. And the magic begins. Some adjustments to the bridle (addition of curb chain which we'll call "hay twine" because I don't own a curb chain) and a very boisterous lesson that starts with lots of extreme transitions. Not always pretty but this isn't about pretty. This is about Building Confidence.

And part of the charm is -- Jane makes Lily LAUGH! Even doing the scary stuff.

Buddy is not happy, but Buddy is not being abused. Jane and Lily have Buddy's attention. Buddy would rather drag around and do nothing -- or go "Yahoo" after the jumps. He's not allowed to do either. The lesson is fast, the jumps get high. The jumps get higher. The laughter continues. Buddy doesn't have a chance to do anything silly because there are still a lot of transitions, mostly  ending with a halt.

Wild, crazy, fun and safe things are done. Nobody falls off. Not even close. Confidence restored.

And then we had to go measure the jumps.

Thank you, God!

Bad Horse Mom

I planned to go trail riding on Lucy with another horse mom while Lily had a lesson on Buddy at the farm where she and Buddy go every week. Both horses got in the trailer just fine, which always surprises me with Lucy because she used to have strong objections to getting in the trailer. Maybe that is over. I don't know.

Lucy was fine when we got to the other farm. Buddy, who goes there every week and acts as calm as an old dog arriving home when we get there, is suddenly not That Buddy anymore. He is Wild Protective Stallion Buddy-Man (he's gelded) with his red-headed, highly desirable mare (Lucy). He can't stop whinnying. Lucy is looking around and blows him off. We saddle up and ride to the where Lily will have her lesson on the bellowing and agitated Buddy and I will meet the other horse mom for our trail ride.

I figure that Lily's instructor will be able to handle Buddy's whinnying and concern about Lucy leaving, so I ride off. Buddy's badness has a limit. He'll do little things and dance around and pretend to rear and want to buck, but he's just into drama. Lily can handle it, especially if she gets mad. She can certainly handle it with the instructor supervising her actions.

Lucy is looking at things and a little dance-y, but she settles quickly as long as we are moving forward. She's not even that concerned about being that close to the other mounted horse mom. I can hear Buddy and hate that I've done this to Lily's lesson, but if this is a problem, there's no better place to work it out than right here with a trusted teacher. And Lucy needs the mileage.

So we head off for the trails. Until....

A very dear, sweet friend barrels up in her Suburban to tell me that Lily is having a terrible time and that Buddy is upset. It's clear that if she were me, she'd rush back. I value her judgment and her opinion of me. I also think that Lily, with the teacher right there and Lucy disappearing into the sunset (figuratively), is fine by now. I don't even hear him, and I'm within hearing distance. But I don't want to be a Bad Mom, in case I'm wrong about absolutely everything (and this wouldn't be the first time.)

So I go back, only to interrupt their lesson and get Buddy whinnying again. "He's fine," said the teacher. "He's only bad when you leave. Or come back."

So, do I leave again? Do I ride back out to the trails?

This is like dropping a child off at daycare twice. Make them go through the separation again. So I just rode around the outside of the lesson area and worked on Lucy.

In retrospect, I wish I had left for the trail. If they were fine, it would be a good thing to work on Buddy's separation-from-Lucy issues. But that wasn't the lesson plan for that day.

And I so didn't want to be a Bad Horse Mom.