Riding lessons. ACK. Perpetual Newbie in-stinkin'-deed.

The last few rides on Tril have been difficult for me as I struggle to speak his language.  He's hard-mouthed, strong, and exhausting, and I felt like we just weren't communicating.  He knows so much and has so much to teach me, but I realized I had no clear idea how to listen to him.  I reached a point of frustration, and felt he shared the sentiment--we both want to please the other, but neither of us was understanding.

So, I buckled down and scheduled a riding lesson with a local professional Arabian trainer.  I figure this is someone familiar with how Tril is trained who can serve as translator for the two of us.  This had been the plan all along--to take lessons with her--but my busted ankle delayed that by about a year.  But, spring break arrived, and I had time and had healed...so, DAMMIT, I'm scheduling that lesson and getting out there.  With the help of a friend, I did exactly that.  Dammit.

And you know it's going to be one of those kinds of lessons when one of the first things the trainer says is, "Well, first I'm going to teach you how to wrap his legs correctly."  Awesome.  And then the recommend increasing his hay an extra flake a day as he's down about 100lbs and needs the groceries.  Crud.  And that my saddle pad was insufficient and he really should have something else as (poke poke poke) he's a little back sore.  Phooey.

But!  All of this was offered kindly and gently, and she was absolutely right.  I listened and absorbed, as she certainly knows her stuff and I certainly could learn from it.

She also told me, to my surprise, that her daughter showed Tril as a three year old over at a big Arab show in Santa Barbara, and that they were reserve champion something-something, and that her daughter loved this horse.  Well.  WHOA.  She also said Tril had suspensory injuries which is why he stopped showing when he did, and that he was always a hard keeper over at Cal Poly, which is why I am having so much fun keeping weight on him.  Made her feed adjustment suggestions all the more poignant.  (I think she's his favorite new friend, because thanks to her, he gets a FULL flake of alfalfa twice a day now instead of just half.)

So this is a trainer who really knows the horse, not just the way he was trained.  

With that, she saddled up and took him from a brief ride to get the feel of where all of his buttons and levers are.  

Ooh, purty

She also saw what we've been working on chiropractically with his hind end, and showed me various maneuvers to get him engaging both sides of his body evenly... 

Lots of bending

...and getting that atrophied butt of his working.

Work that butt.  WERK.

Then I got on him and it looked like this:

Laura, relax, you have elbows

It was an introduction to Arabian Hunter Pleasure Horse as a Second Language.  Vocabulary, basic sentence structure, greetings, and basic, useful phrases akin to "Where is the bathroom:"

"Hold frame on the bend."

"Whoa."  Yeah, we liked this one.  Even if my eq makes my eye twitch a little.

"Bend on the turn going the other way.  Engage the hindquarters."

Our communication is getting results--even if just at the walk.  I'm meh, but he looks awesome.  I think I had a Breyer horse that looked like this.

You'll notice not many trotting photos.  I did trot a good amount, but that's on video--which this blogger is annoyingly persnickety about.  Some videos upload no problem, and some get "We're sorry, but there was an error uploading this video."  All of my riding lesson videos are in this uncooperative latter category.  OH DARN.

I was stunned at the end of the listen to discover it was much, much less work to ride him the way she was teaching me versus how I'd been riding him on my own.  There was so much mental energy spent at that lesson, covering everything from his care up through the ride itself, that it's difficult to remember what she was saying.  (God bless video.)

But today, I went for lesson #2--just two days later, gotta make damn good use of my spring break!--and a few things went click!  One, I had been riding him like a dressage horse, trying to push him forward from my seat up into my hands to frame him up.  This did NOT make sense to him, at all, and would result in my legs and arms being drained and shaky in a hurry.  Instead, I just need to tap him with my legs while half halting him and, stunningly, he frames up.  That is not at all what I would have thought would happen.  I thought there was a lot more squeeze and hold--but again, this is an Arabian hunter pleasure horse, not a dressage horse...not that I have ever been much of a dressage rider.  Heh.

Two, I try to ride like an equitation rider and force myself into correct frame, so much so I become tense (which makes me crooked--frickin' irony!).  It's okay to bend my elbows and lift my arms--and I should!  What has happened is I have become stiff and tense and brace while trying to hold my wrists stiff.  The idea of bending my elbows was ludicrously unheard of until this second lesson.  My shoulders and forearms get wonky partially from the tension--just let go and go with the horse is actually okay, rather than try and stiffly hold my own frame.

Three, when I cue my horse with my leg, it goes back.  I need to work on keeping my lower leg at the girth--even though it feels like a chair seat, it's not.  She physically held it in place and hand me look down to prove it wasn't as far forward as it felt--it was, in fact, perfect.  Felt horribly awkward, but perfect.

Four, in the words of my trainer, "Shut up."  I told her while tacking up Tril that the photos were painful for me to look at because my shoulder is crooked, my arms are stiff, I collapse my left rib cage, blah blah blah, and she said with a warm smile, "I can tell you this because you're an adult: you need to shut up.  Don't criticize, don't overthink, just do.  Relax."  

Yes ma'am.

Greetings from disease central

Good.  GRAVY.

I think I still own horses.  I'm pretty sure I do.  I feed them everyday, and they nicker their recognition and hungry welcomes.  I pick up a lot of manure and the interior of my truck is covered in shedding horse hair...so, yeah.  I'm pretty sure I still own horses.

But for the past two weeks, I've been working hard being human and a mother.  It started with me taking a Thursday off because I was completely drained feeling.  I wasn't exactly sure what I was feeling--sick, maybe?  Sick-ish?  Since my youngest had a cold and my tummy had been iffy, I figured it was a virus and took my first sick day for myself (but fifth this year--ah, motherhood) to lounge on the sofa and watched a marathon of RuPaul's Drag Race.  Yup, while I didn't go to work that day, I did go to werq!  

Then I picked up my eldest son at school, and he was sobbing in misery.  I thought it was just a fever, until I heard his breathing.  Shit.  A few times in his life, his body freaks the hell out at a virus and he goes into respiratory distress.

I brought him home, checked his temp (101.2), and started the nebulizer as his breathing was wheezy and he was whimpering with each struggled breath. As he watched his favorite movie (Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron--hooray, horsey movie!) after the nebulizer treatment, I watched him breathe. His stomach would push with each breath, and his ribs would go in instead of out. Uh oh. I called the pediatrician, who sent us straight to urgent care. In hindsight, I wish we'd gone straight to UC, or an emergency room, from school.

Hubby took Boy 1 while I stayed home with Boy 2, feeding, bathing, and bedding him while anxiously checking my phone for updates. 

Boy 1's oxygen levels were low, so they immediately put him on O2 (which scared him, even though it didn't hurt--he was afraid of wearing the tubing), and then they started him on an IV of a potent anti-inflammatory medication to get his lungs to calm the eff down. When hubby texted me that, I moaned--putting an IV on this kid was NOT going to go well for anyone. And in fact, it didn't. It took three pokes and three locations before they got it in, and got it in to stay. In his panic, his blood pressure raised enough that his vein "blew out" the second jab. 

But, they got it in, and they then started him on a double-dose albuterol treatment on the nebulizer. Exhausted and feverish, Boy 1 fell asleep while his body was soothed by the welcome presence of oxygenated blood.  

Poor baby

After all that, the doc still could hear something in his left lung, so he was sent for x-rays to check for pneumonia. Thankfully, they were clear. 

Hubby expressed deep gratitude that I had called the doctor and sent Boy 1 on to UC--seeing how much he was still struggling to breathe, after all that treatment, was unnerving to my stoic hubby.

Four hours of treatment later, my super-wired-from-medication boy came home with a new Matchbox set, two prescriptions, and a worried mommy's arms.

Wish I were as resilient as he is

From what we've been repeatedly told, he doesn't have asthma; just "reactive airway disease," which is more or less a catch-all term of this sort of thing. He can go months, and as much as a year, without an episode. It isn't triggered by allergies, heat, dust, or physical exertion--it always, always follows a viral respiratory infection. This is by far the worst he's ever been, and I swear it came out of nowhere.

Five days later, both Boy 1 and myself started running a fever as the flu hit us full throttle.  I assume whatever it was that made me lethargic and sent Boy 1 to urgent care is to blame, as that bastard drew its claws and just shredded us with high fevers, severe body aches, skin pain (seriously?  WTF is that about?), nausea, and a paaaaainful cough.  Crap.  Guess we're staying home that Thursday, too.

Friday morning, Boy 1 and I woke up feeling worse.  Then Boy 2 showed up with bright red cheeks and ears, and I groaned.  He had a 102 fever as well.  Sick momma can't handle two sick kiddos, so hubby stayed home to help out.  The next few days were a blur of pain, fevers, nausea, and Boy 2's vomiting spells.  Four days later, I managed to drag myself to work--and then hubby woke up with a 102 fever.

I oozed into my classroom, dutifully digging through the mess that even the best of subs leave behind, and was greeted by substantially smaller class sizes.  The virus wreaked havoc in particular on my afternoon group, which had six out of 31 absent Monday and seven out on Tuesday.  The rest of the week, we watched as some returned and others went out, and by Friday, we counted 14 of the 32 of us (when you include me) that had been leveled by the bug.

Thursday, I figured enough time had passed that I could go ride my damn horse.  It had been over three weeks when you account for Trilogy's inexplicable lameness (that mercifully resolved with a week of Bute and stall rest) and the infirmary my home became.  I lunged Firefly, turned her out, then tacked up Tril and lunged him before getting on.

I made the ride simple, figuring Tril was going to be strong and I was going to be weak.  We only spent about 10 minutes in the arena, trotting, circling, bending, before my shaking limbs directed Tril out to go on a brief trail ride around the property.  We paused to stop and talk with a friend, and after a few minutes, I noticed a hot, queasy feeling in my stomach...soon followed by a feeling of cold water pouring over my head.  Uh...oh...  I quickly dismounted and handed the reins to my friend and lay down on the ground (how interesting that must have looked) to avoid passing out.

Apparently, while I certainly felt better in that I no longer felt like shit, I wasn't truly better.  My friend confirmed what I read later on--this virus takes weeks to recover from.  Suuuuuuuper.  After about 5-10 minutes of lying there, I was able to get up and slowly hand walk Tril home.  I felt icky the rest of the night.

I disapprove.

I hope to ride this weekend, but admittedly, more than anything I just want to lounge about with my laptop inbetween naps.

We'll see.  Here's hoping I get to experience my horses again soon.

Tril, you're so LAME. And you make ME feel lame. LAME!

Oof.  I suppose there is a reason the word meaning "crippled or physically disabled" has come to have slang meaning of "stupid, boring, and/or ridiculous"--because apparently the reason why horses go lame is "stupid, boring, and/or ridiculous."  I mean, seriously.

I have frequently said (and always only partially in jest) that Tril is like having a third son.  He is sweet, gregarious, and endlessly curious, exploring and conquering his world in his constant, innocent, hands-on investigations.

However, there is also a lot of:

"No, don't put that in your mouth."
"That's not a toy."
"That's not a toy either."
"Well, what did you think was going to happen?!"
"What the hell is that?"
"What did you do to yourself now?"
"How the heck did you hurt yourself there?"

Within a few months of owning Tril, I stopped worrying about the lumps and cuts I'd find on his legs. If he was sound, I shrugged it off.  Whereas my pretty, dainty, feminine grey mare rarely had a mark from the knees down, Tril frequently looks like he's been running through briar patches while wrestling baseball bat-wielding weasels.

I used to document every lump and bump, like this small one on the outside of his right (photo left) front leg, worried that he'd done something akin to that hideous (but asymptomatic) splint on the same leg.  But he was sound, so sigh and move on.

Aw, look at how cutely worried I used to be about itty bitty lumps

Once, as best I could gather, he got the leg straps of his new fly sheet up in his groin and sliced some very delicate territory like a giant, painful paper cut. "How the heck did you hurt yourself there?" What do you do with that except Bute him and leave him alone?  It's not like he's going to let me put antibiotic ointment there.  Then, there was the big rubbed-gash-like thing behind his elbow that as best I could gather was created by kicking himself getting up.

Then there was this:

Ow.

Ow!

Ow ow!

"What did you think was going to happen?"

Trilogy had been enjoying some turn out and grazing on the property when some firecracker shot up his butt, ignited, and sent him wheeling and bolting around a corner for no reason in particular.  He scrambled, fell, and skidded upside down a good six feet or so before righting himself, popping up and trotting away snorting and tail flagging like no one saw that, and if they did, he meant to do it.

Ow ow ow!

I had been cleaning his stall and saw the skid and was incredulous watching him slide, four limbs up in the air, and took all these photos for documentation.  Note the landing strip he created in the process:

Talent

I looked him over, cleaned and dressed his multiple wounds, gave him Bute, put his fly mask on to protect the scrapes on his face, snapped a final photo, shook my head, and went home for an adult beverage.

All.  Boy.  ALL boy.

Since then, he seemed to slowly learn his boundaries and how to not, oh, maim himself on his fly sheet/pipe corral poles/dirt/gravity/bubble wrap.

When I see his legs have marks, I check his soundness, shrug my shoulders, and move on.

His legs:

...look a bit like my 3yro son's legs:

Ask me where all those scrapes, bumps, rubs, and bruises came from.  On either of them.  Go ahead, ask.

I have NO idea.  But, they're not complaining, so...*shrug*

So, Monday when the farrier came and noticed Trilogy was lame at the walk when I led him out, I shrugged.  He was fine when I'd turned him out for a good run-off-the-crazies a few hours before, and figured he torqued something mid-yee-haw.  He was shod and trimmed and left to be.

Wednesday, I noticed he was still walking a bit off and asked a trusted friend with a damn keen eye to take a look (I always ask her, "Can I borrow your eyeballs?").  She noted he was slightly off on the same leg--the left front (white leg)--and helped me discover a little heat on the inside of that leg toward about midway down.  No noticeable swelling--well, nothing unusual for him--so I followed her suggestions of a little arnica on the heated area, wrapping his legs with bandages smothered in ichthammol to keep my mouthy boy from eating them, and of course...adding a little Bute to his grain bucket.

Tools of the trade

Be grateful this blog cannot capture the smell. It's like he slogged through the La Brea Tar Pits. 

His "I'm bored" face.  Too bad, Tril.  Deal.

"Hmm, wonder if I can somehow hurt myself WITH the wraps!"

I let him be then went back Friday to check on him, and I could not believe what I was seeing:

Yup.  He still had heat on the left front, but now he's lame on the right front.

What.

The.

HELL?

I put in a call to the vet, who advised Bute, rest, and time. Of course. If it gets worse, doesn't improve, or comes back, it's probably time for me to have him come out and look a bit more thoroughly.  Of course.

And a little Quietex won't hurt in the meantime...of course.

Guess it's time to focus a bit more on Firefly's ground driving.

Never a lame step in the 8 years I've known her.
Of course.

F-you back surgeries, H1N1, busted ankle! I'm taking my body back!

As I respite on the couch following a long (but fulfilling) morning at the barn, I'm reflecting on how much my body has been through--and celebrating how much it can do, now.  

There are many, many others who have (and have had) it far worse, but admittedly, it's been a rough past three years or so physically. Hmm, past 7 years, really. I had back surgery in 2006 (shattered a disc giving birth to my first), then again in 2007.  That second time around was the most frightened I have ever been; the tough outer lining of the disc, all that was left of it, had herniated and had kinked the sacral nerve root like a garden hose.  

The pain was indescribable and incomparable.  I gave birth to my first with pitocin-augmented contractions and not a drop of pain medication of any sort, and I will do that every freakin' day over being in that sort of pain again.  

Surgery removed centimeter-sized chunks of material normally measured in millimeters--but unkinking that nerve provided immediate relief of the agony.  It took months of physical therapy to strengthen my atrophied body, but in time, I was riding again.  I have some arthritis and minor nerve damage, but it's nothing that even appears on my radar 95% of the time--and again, I will gladly take that in exchange for getting my life back.

Incidentally, an MRI of my spine appears in the book Shit My Kids Ruined, heh.  I'm under "V" for "vertebrae." 

Then in October 2009, I came down with H1N1 (the infamous "swine flu") while pregnant with my second.  Full disclosure: I was diagnosed, but not tested specifically for H1N1; they said it was the only flu that people were getting at the time, and they were treating everyone (especially pregnant ladies like me) with the assumption that that is what it was.  

This beast did the most lasting damage--I ran a fever for two weeks and my OB called me on a daily basis at home (!!!) to check on me.  I was still trying to go to work and actually tried to convince him to let me.  WTF, Laura??  He actually barked at me that old physician cliche, "No, you are NOT going to work--that is an ORDER!" <yes sir>

In the days after a c-section delivered my son (with my history, I was advised to avoid a vaginal birth, and they weren't about to give me a spinal; I was knocked out), I started coughing up nasty black stuff  that resembled contents of a dirty ash tray.  (Um, minus the cigarette butts.)  The specialist later said it was due to the medication I was given when I was intubated; all that gunk was sitting in the bottom of my lungs, and the medication--meant to dilate the respiratory tract--and intubation drudged it up.  YUMMY.  

I'd like to add, coughing that deeply and violently after abdominal surgery SUCKED.  Su-UCK-ed.

I was sent to a pulmonologist, amusingly yet appropriately named Dr. Leung, who had this peculiar way of interrupting me with active listening.   

"So what is going on?"

"Well, they think..."

"...Uh-huh..."

"...I had H1N1 when I was..."

"Uh-huh, yeah..."

"...about 27 weeks pregnant with my son..."

"Yeah, okay..."

Oh...kay.  But hey, he was listening, and managed my case well, so...he can "uh huh, yeah, okay" in randomly timed non-pauses all he wants.

He warned at my first visit (uh huh) it would take 2 (yeah) years to recover (okay). I "Bah"-ed this--two years?  Psh, sure. Oh, but indeed--it was 2 years to the month after my diagnosis that he finally said my lungs were clear, and staying clear, and I could wean off the medication. A year into my recovery, I found myself in the ER; another time, I wound up in Leung's office getting a steroid shot in the "hip" (doctor speak for "butt") for an out-of-nowhere infection. A cold could send me from zero to bronchitis in 6 hours. 

Ugh. Wow, it sucked. I suppose it makes sense I was diagnosed with post partum depression in that phase, too.  But haven't I whined enough?  This is a bit uncomfortable for me--me, the over-sharer--because I've learned I need to just deal with what is given, and when need be, get some help with dealing.  Seriously, this is getting to be too  much.

(Um...well...I also busted my ankle last April, which put me in a cast for 6 weeks and a brace for 6 months.  It's stiff, but healing.  That story awaits another day; it involves a moment a supreme stupid with Trilogy, and it was alllllll my fault.)

Obviously, I cannot be trusted with gravity.  I'm like a horse that can impale themselves on bubble wrap.  "What the hell did you do to yourself NOW?"

All those years of medications (the steroids, in particular) and all that inactivity (I couldn't do anything because my lungs/back/whatever wouldn't allow it the majority of the time) meant the baby weight gained from baby #2 stuck. I'm only about 17lbs up from what I weighed on my wedding day, but I hate it.  Around November, I gave up, resigning myself to just being overweight and trying to make myself accept and own it. 

Then another epiphany came. We went to a campground this past Christmas, the same one we went to when youngest was barely one (and thus, I was just at the halfway point in my H1N1 recovery). I remembered going there that time and being winded--more than winded, just whole-body fatigued--walking up and down the main hill just to the kids' playground. Yet, this most recent visit, I realized I was able to walk everywhere. EVERYwhere. Up that hill, down that one, hiking that trail, going to that playground two times a day alone--PLUS all the other walking. 

It dawned one me, I can do this, and I couldn't before. It excited me to the point of tears.

So I've started 2013 using My Fitness Pal. I'm calorie counting and eating healthily, and prefer it. I've always had good eating habits; I just realized my portions were too large. 4.4lbs lost in the first 3 weeks.

Also helps that my riding horse is a hard mouth lazy boy. He makes me WORK to ride him--at least, to ride him so he's not just willy-nilly loosey goosey on the forehand. 

I hope to get down to my prepreggo-with-second-child weight, but more than anything, I just want to be healthy--and ENJOY being healthy. 

I feel like for the first time in years, I'm...me.  My neurosurgeon told me after my second back surgery to start physical therapy to "regain confidence in your body."  Yes, that was it completely.  My body had betrayed me, I'd felt.  In the years since, it has continued to confound, confuse, and frustrate me.

But now, now, I am exercising, walking, breathing, riding...I'm me.  Nice to have her back.

Well, nice to meet YOU, Captain Goofballpants

I needed a few days to let some muscles stitch themselves back together before getting in the saddle again, but with Mother Nature (or, at least meteorologists) reminding me that winter in SoCal means *gasp* rain, I needed to hustle my tired, sore butt in the saddle today before STORMWATCH 2013!!! (!!!!!) struck.

I was short on time and on daylight, but I got out there.  I knew Tril probably needed a good head-clearing galloping around the ring in turnout, but time did not allow and I only lunged him in a circle.  He's not allowed to canter circles yet due to chiro's orders ("I don't want him on one leg"), so all we did was trot.  Bor-RING to a 10yro hot blood, but deal, boy.

After about 4-5min of lunging each direction, I got on him...and, uh, wow.  I got to meet the real Trilogy today.

"The real Trilogy?"

Yes.  It's rather like what my son's preschool teacher was telling us today at his conference (which is why I got to the barn later in the day):  when they start testing boundaries and acting out, it's a very positive sign because it means the child feels emotionally safe.  

I don't mean Tril hasn't felt "emotionally safe" or some other 70s-child love mush, but that since we are now really doing some work (or, I suppose, starting some work), he is showing me his "I don't wanna work!" side.  It's a positive because it shows I am actually asking him to work now, instead of willy-nilly wandering about the rings.

He didn't do anything bad, and, true to who he is, he wasn't being nasty or aggressive or spooky.  He was just being himself--his big, goofy self--but bigger.  I could feel his energy when I got on him; he rounded up and tucked his chin and played with the bit, which at first had me thinking, "Great!  He's giving my hands a break!" However--our first trotting pass, he decided the leaves in the back corner were a reason to buck or crow hop or something else that involved rounding up and ducking his chin further.  Never afraid--just annoyed--I said, "No, no, NO.  Go forward, go forward, go forward, and get over yourself."  Harrumph, he said, you're no fun, and off we trotted (with some circle and figure-eight work tossed in when he was feeling just too good).

He kept up the "Let's PLAY!" persona, but was a good enough listener inbetween the "Aw, c'mon, let me spook at the trash can!  Let me get all snorty and blowy and race down the line!  Let me be stupid at the leaves again!" for me to actually get some riding in.  My legs are still lame (literally with my right ankle, dammit, but it's not sore in the stirrup) and I had to remind myself to use my lower leg, but that proved challenging with Captain Goofballpants.  

We worked for a good 25min or so (all the time I had with the vanishing daylight) before getting everything battened down for WATER!  FALLING OUT OF THE SKY!!   !!!

I'd really like to get some lessons on him soon so I can better learn his language (and that includes how to properly call him on his bullshit).  A local Arab trainer is busy with shows--Scottsdale is next month--but I might manage one sooner than later.  We shall see.

Time to take a little punk pony for a (ground) drive

An epiphany is not simply reached, celebrated, and then marked off the list with an "And that's that."  One goes back again and again, seeking to recapture the"Ah ha!" feeling to ensure it was, in fact, a genuine revelation.  It is not a period in a sentence, but an ellipses, a colon, promising there is more to come.

With this guiding me, I went back for more this afternoon and rode Tril.  My muscles, which I hadn't noticed being all that sore, roared and groaned their complaint from the moment I picked up the reins--but despite the "Oww, ow ow owwwWWW!" I got It again.  Not great, but there--and this time, Tril rewarded me with fleeting moments of relaxing his neck and reach forward, playing with the bit and giving my aching arms a break without breaking frame.  Looking at photos, we're still not there, but we definitely can see it from here.

Dude, he even looks good at the halt (Laura, drop your weight through your heels and sit up)

My forearms hurt looking at this.  (Laura, turn your ankles in--though I'm probably tapping him with my right leg--and relax your hands)

This isn't even his big trot.  What the heck will THAT be like?  (Laura, elbows in and raise your left shoulder.  What, me my own worst critic?)

But after Trilogy, it was Firefly's turn. He was only part of why I was eager to get there.  After that amazing Friday ride, with Daylight "Savings" sending the sun diving under the horizon before I could catch it, I (okay, a friend who actually knows what she's doing) tacked up Firefly in the harness I'd found on Craigslist over the break.  Firefly stood there dutifully in her "Like I could give a crap" way as she was tacked up.

Daylight "Savings" my ass

The cute, it is to Awwwwwwww

My friend with the driving Clydesdale helped show me what everything is and how it all goes, and did a little preliminary ground driving with her. The harness itself was no issue--she very much as a "don't give a crap" attitude. The bit was annoying to her, but all she did was mouth it (as you see here). 

She had a few pissy moments as my friend ground drove her, but as Firefly's motto is "avoid giving a crap if at all possible," they were mild. She did some pivoting and backing up, but my friend got her straightened out and within 5-10min, Fly was going forward and turning with little protest. She also has an excellent whoa--big bonus.

My friend helped me practice a little itsy bitty bit driving her to get the feel, and I was pleasantly surprised how responsive Fly was. Of course, I had just ridden my hard-mouthed, arm-dragging boy, so it was quite the contrast feeling her respond to a squeezed finger to turn. After the initial pissiness, all the ground driving training she'd had before I bought her (8 years ago!!) started to show itself. It's like a light bulb went off and she said, "Oooh, oh, this thing."

And now, I'm all tired and stuff.  It's Monday night after a glorious three-day weekend, and I have sleep to attempt.  But--we ground drove her again on Sunday, and she was amazingly good--I'm seeing all the training she'd had before I bought her eight years ago.

My friend did most of the driving, but I did some, and Fly was such a good girl. Opinionated and obstinate, but a good girl. She isn't a tantrummy brat that will pitch a big fit, but she WILL make her displeasure known with a curled lip and grumpy ears. Still, she seemed happy and eager (if bewildered half the time) to be doing something--while I was riding Tril, she kept whinnying after us, and she is anything but buddy sour--that is quite beneath her.

This second time in the harness, she was noticeably improved. No backing up, no butt swinging, no pivoting. She did have selective hearing and was offended by the (hay string) overcheck preventing her from snacking, but she begrudgingly listened--and she did what was asked. 

I wanted to finish this blog and publish it so you could see all her cuteness...so from here on, I'll let the photos do the talking.

I'm going to be checking bit fit--she never seemed comfortable with it

A bit bewildered, but adorable and obedient

"Fuck off.  You see nothing."

"I SAID you SEE NOTHING."

The indignity...I will have to kick and squeal at many a horse to regain it

Navigating through trees to practice and control steering--and limit distractions and options

A few times, she let out a little helium whinny.  Bewildered, confused, feeling alone? Poor girl. She was okay soon enough.

I had to give it a try.  She was very good, but I definitely need to drive horses that are trained just out of fairness out her

Yup, even some trotting was done!

Horse butt

More trotting!

Coming home!  Tril, who had been out grazing, was very curious in a "What the HELL are you DOING with her??" kind of way.  He had to greet us as we returned.

It's a good look for her

We were sure to end on a good note, and after untacking her I was sure to do something I never do with her--I hand fed her a treat. I'm trying to keep this as positive as possible. She was such a good girl.

I'm learning (and seeing for myself) just how much training she'd had before I bought her. I learned, for one, she had been ground driven in this exact bit--not sure why she's mouthing it like it's been dipped in rancid milk. She's picking this up far too quickly to be as green as I thought, but she's gone 8+ years without it. She just needs a little refresher course for things to click again and shake the cobwebs off.  

Her whoa is awesome. My friend chuckled, "It's her favorite gait." Indeed.

There's a driving show next month I want to attend (relax, as a spectator) so I can both see good driving and network with professionals. There's also a three-day driving clinic I will likely attend at least in part in May.

Ooh, the first pseudo-halter class of the day is "Hairiest Horse."  Hmm.  We just might need to take her along.

So, cool.

And now, good night, and great week.

Sweet, excruciatingly painful epiphany!

First of all, yeaahhh, it's been a while.  Vacation + camping with small children + rude reality check of returning to work = no bloggity blog.  Only sleep.  Just kidding.  Boy 1 had anxiety followed by a bout of nightmares followed by an midnight asthma attack and Boy 2 had a double ear infection followed by a bout of nightmares, so no sleep either.

But today was exciting horsey-wise, so dammit!  I'm blogging!

Second of all, after owning Tril for 9mos, I think I have finally figured out how to ride him so he's using himself correctly and I'm using myself correctly.

Keep in mind, this is what he can do:

Hey heyyyyyyyy handsome!  (No, the four-legged male)

 And this is what I usually end up doing with him:

The equitation, it burns

The epiphany came when a knowledgeable friend happened to be watching me ride and gave me an impromptu mini-lesson from the rail.

"Leg!  Leg leg leg leg!  Hold your hands steady and back!  Left shoulder up!  Leg!  Legggggg!  Don't post with your hands!  Elbows in and still!  LEG!"

Me:  *pant pant pant*  "This..." *pant pant pant* "...sucks..."  *pant*

"Leg!  Raise your left shoulder.  Left shoulder!  Leggggg!"

But then--it happened.  I felt his hind end get under himself, and I felt him round out as he went forward into the bit, rather than just race off.

It.

Was.

AWESOME.

The ride time was nearly over and I needed to get home to the house of kid chaos, but with sun and warmer temps in the weather forecast, I put riding him (and getting that feel again) in the crosshairs for after work Friday.  I made that feeling my goal.

Friday, by the time the final bell rang, my grades were done, my lesson plans were printed, my next week's assignments were copied, and my classroom was ready to go for throttle up first thing Tuesday.  I left shortly after the students then made a bee-line to the barn.  The mini herd was turned out, Tril was tacked up, and I got on, warmed up, and got to work.

We got it. We got it. Again.  He has known what to do all this time--I just hadn't understood.  I thought giving him leg would make my big-striding boy take off, and it would, if I didn't hold him steady with my hands.

"Think of being a training surcingle.  Hands don't move or bounce with them; they're steady, and the horse figures out 'Okay, forward into frame I go.'"

So I held him--hands back, elbows in, legs squeezing forward into the bridle.  And, my solidly trained boy showed me how far he surpasses me in education:  BOOM he was rocking it, while I panted and shook.

But we got it.

I have to confess, though, there was a lot of panting, cussing, starting, and stopping inbetween those moments of glory, because holding him steady sucked (he has a hard mouth, particularly compared to Ana's suuuuper soft one) and constantly having to squeeze him sucked.  We'd get the frame for half a trip around the big ring's circumference, we'd stop, and I'd "Oh my GOD I am going to DIIIIIIIIIE."

(Or, as I said one time, "Holy Frankenfuck, he is going to kill me!")

My legs weren't as bad off as my fingers, forearms, and triceps.  Holding him steady when he wants to lean on me buh-lew, and I have to find ways to soften him up to spare me from dismemberment.  Although if I can ever keep that up, I'll have arms like Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2.  Something to consider.

Now I get why they told me "His favorite gait is STOP."  Now I understand why they had to ride him in (dull) spurs.  He doesn't like to be framed up and would much rather trot about willy-nilly on the forehand, nose up in the air, gawking and taking it all in.  After all, using that big butt of his takes, well, a butt-load of work.  They told me he needed a lot of leg--now I understand.

I get it.  I get it!

Now please pass the ibuprofen. All of it. Ever.

Such an adorable device of torture

There is more--after I rode Tril, Firefly was introduced to the full harness and was ground driven on the property for a bit--but that's for a future blog. .