Compostulating With The Times

Tuesday, August 9, 2022

We interrupt this blog

The day after my last post. (which I had "pre-posted), I was widowed. Anything new is further specified, and is written on July 10th, 2022. 

I am heartbroken. I am grieving. I am angry. I am grateful. I am remorseful. I am afraid. I am shattered.

I am alive. I am. I am. 

No longer we are. But we are. I am a widow now, not a wife. But...


I fell in love with this 1953 baby in 1992. Didn't want to. Actively avoided him. Later, was ordered to "be nice to him" by my sociably experienced roomie. I was not a sociably experienced person. Tried to run him over with my truck, only once, when he was late for dinner. He didn't learn from this. Ever, like ever. I shoulda kept trying.  I still married him. I continued to want to occasionally exterminate him. If I was mad enough, I'd go and get stuck in the field, so he'd have to help me.. Okay, that happened only once, but you get the idea. Our relationship was an experiment in chemical combustions. Volatile, shall we say. **new** Tumultuous, shall we say. Never, ever dull.**new**

8 Years after I met him, and oh, I was a bride at 45. Not expected. Indeed, living with a boy was complete culture shock. Especially this boy, or not especially. I had no "living with desired human sex" frame of reference.

I was comfortable in spinsterhood. I was uncomfortable in spinsterhood. But I was cool with it. No I wasn't... I've written many journals through my years on this planet. I complained and cried about being alone, and wanting to have a man in my life. For years. I complained and cried about (rarely!!) finding a man and having brief experiences of not aloneness. In journals, and to my long-suffering, very patient friends.

I complained and cried about living with him. In journals, and to my long-suffering, very patient friends Sometimes my rage was expressed as sadness. Sadness as rage. Depression. Grief. His depression could manifest itself in pretty explosive ways, emotionally and verbally. He was extremely intelligent.  As a farmer, he was always in a rage about something, as the years went by. If you've been paying any attention at all, we're losing farmland faster than ever, and he was born to feed people. His heartbreaks were mine, and it wasn't an easy life with him. It was always interesting. He was a force of nature himself, and watching him work was enough to make me weak in the knees. Unheard of, at the advanced age I was! I do believe he was born with a tiny taste of Dysprosium, because his magnetic force was palpable, at least to me. I discovered that rare earth element because of husband, I was spell-checking Ecclesiastes. Hang in there, reader. I do get to the point sometimes.

I never will stop loving him, and feeling conflicted about him. BlueHeron explained it to me, I was experiencing the many facets of loving another human of the desired sex. (I was already sociably inexperienced, remember?)

He was. He was. I can't believe he was.

This 1953 baby was a genius, and as mentioned, suffered from depression. Smart people are often bummed out, and his brain could get stuck in those neuronal pathways, especially with a generous side-order of our standard alcoholic drink in this country. I knew he drank too much when I met him. I knew he was going to be very difficult. I wonder... He called me a witch to his warlock, and we really did have/do have a weird and wonderful chemistry. I knew what he was/is thinking, and vice versa.

He was obsessed with the land, and with farming and tractors and geography and geology and topography and weather and weather and weather and weather and climate and machinery and machinery and machinery and nature and ecology and water and machinery and weather and weather and weather and weather .. do you get the drift? He was a farmer from the moment he saw how dirt worked.

"A Farmer's trade is one of worth.

His pasture with the sky and earth.

Hi Pasture with the wind and rain.

And no man loses for his gain.

For men may rise, and men may fall,

but the Farmer, he must feed them all".

author unknown, darn it.

Here he is, 8 (?) years old, standing beside Mr. Taylor, raptly watching one of the first self-propelled combines in southern Ontario. His brother remembers "He was with Mr. Taylor (Harold), who (as you know) your husband worked for as a young person and really fostered his love of farming. The machine was one of the first self-propelled combines in Ontario… it was a really big deal."



My husband's Masonic Bible has a signature in it, "Harold Taylor", so precious to him. And now, me too.

I first met my husband, walking my little red dog and my room-mates dog Tory (a sweet, loving flat-coat retriever with severe coprophagy EW...) in the rain, on our mutually beside each other's driveways, which was unusual in that rural area. Usually you'd need to drive at least a few hundred feet, (if not much more) but our driveways were right beside each other!! I had just recently moved to the his country, for little red dog. For me too. I liked not having any neighbours near me, driveways notwithstanding. A dear friend who'd lived in his country had moved all the way west, not to return, and her room-mate and I were already friends. I leaped at the chance to live there, although when I realized what I'd done to my commute time... It was still great! 5 minutes away from the barn I was keeping Tad Plaid at! Beautiful rolling hills and rivers and a wonderful conservation area nearby, that I had walked often with my friends and their dogs. It was heavenly. Rustic with a capital C, but that was fun too.

 Our next door (& driveway!) neighbours lived waay in off the road, in the valley, with two ponds. (We weren't that far away from the road, at the top of the hill. Amazing views...)

Here's the extreme north east edge of my first country house, looking ESE towards their valley. The field of beans is farmed by my new neighbours. That cockeyed willow on the right was our east property line.

 It's Fall 1994, in this pic. Remember that! 


Sorry... I'm about to meet my future husband.

(Pay attention to acronyms, people, I use them a LOT. FH=Future Husband, GF = Girlfriend etc. etc.)

These kind neighbours allowed us to use their "front" pond, for dog play and human entertainment. Inflatable large "pool" toys (I'm remembering a palm tree contraption) were deployed. They had a Giant German Shepherd Dog called "Sam". "They" were my future husband, and his girlfriend. (And my future Sam dog.) They had a baby after Sam had barely grown up, and Sam became quite the wanderer. I thought Sam's name was "Max" for the longest time, because I could hear them calling him until late at night. They were far enough away, I couldn't make out the name. Sam would often visit us on "our" side of the pond, and we'd play with him, and then we'd go home. We didn't want to invade the neighbours' privacy anymore than necessary.  ANYway.

It's raining. I'm walking little red dog and Tory back across their field, as they (my future husband, GF + new baby) pulled in their driveway. I hadn't quite crossed onto our property, and I admit I started to hurry. No meeting people for me!! I was wearing a ratty old dressing gown, tall rubber boots, and a big old raincoat. And a BIG umbrella. My hair, as usual, was feral. I hoped they wouldn't stop to say hello, being the sociably withdrawn person I was. I made it to our property driveway. They stopped. Farmers are friendly folk. I was forced (by my own politeness) to walk over and say hello. I looked into the blue eyes of the love of my life for the first time, and a lightning-bolt hit my heart.

Here he is with his beautiful daughter, 1992. I've just met him, in his truck, with his woman and child, in the pouring rain...

1992. Handsome fella.

I kept the conversation short, and hurried back home, cursing my idiotic heart for it's useless reaction. I mean, really?? Here's a guy with wife (I didn't know they weren't married) and kid, and my heart immediately leaps? For what purpose, cardio-joker?? Sheeeesh. What a maroon. But, there it was. Cardiokinesis, at the sight of him. I would spend the next 7 years trying to talk my heart out of him.

Didn't work. Ever. He and GF didn't last, and not because of me, and GF and baby girl went away, in early 1993. As I mentioned, he had just turned forty the next time I met him. He came to my door, and seemed to want to chat. He was struggling with his age, and of course, he was grieving the loss of his little family. Not that he even mentioned them, heck, I didn't know they'd left for the longest time. Room-mate told me, I think. ANYway, I wasn't friendly, didn't invite him in. Chatted for a minute, but sent him away. I knew better, you see. Rebuff rebuff rebuff. Done.  Much later in 1993, roomie invited him over for a beer, as he'd been super helpful with various old house type issues. I'd consistently missed seeing him when he was helping. Fine by me. So, roomie had to order me to "be nice to him".

I just loved him from the start. Hard to cloak that, you know? 

Meeting him for the first time, you would never know he was depressed, unless you asked him, and then you could hear as much as you wanted about it. Often more than you really needed or wanted to know. 

I am kidding. I am not kidding.  He was utterly charming, an endless talker, without being boring. Interested in everything. Those blue eyes... (sigh). His intensity and ability to gestalt were fascinating to me, and he laughed at all my jokes. He talked like me, saying he'd have problems with stuff "falling out of his mouth". Since I suffered from, and had named that same affliction the same way, I smelled kindred spirit. But nope, not getting close to THAT. Uh-uh. No thanks. Still too fresh off his break-up. We'd shoo him home. Or I'd stay up too late chatting with him. He had such great stories. Not many were about him. Mostly about his ex-'s, his friends, their parents. His travels. His neighbours. His family and their farm. The land he'd worked for his entire sentient life.

His dog Sam (pic below, he's at "my" place, being a loveable nuisance 1995) had remained with him after the break-up, and we started getting even more visits from Sam, to Tory's utter disgust. Sam would let himself in the roomie's door (we had separate entrances, such a great house...) and go up her stairs to her bedroom and lick her face. Roomie worked odd hours, and Sam's' friendly visits (at all hours of the day or night) were NOT well-received. Have I mentioned Sam was a Giant GSD? With a very undershot jaw? An enthusiastic gardener/digger? Bringer of giant sticks to break knees and doors with? Yeah. Sam would be covered in whatever mud/dirt/dead thing/garbage on his breath/filth, and he'd share it with roomie, who was way neater than I was. Or should I say, her belongings showed mud a lot more than mine did. Having your face licked at 3 in the morning by a Giant GSD with garbage/death breath is never fun.. Roomie's dog Tory had a constant snarl face whenever Sam would come over. Good thing my door/side of the house was Sam-proof :)



So, we'd often have to bring Sam back home, because Sam wouldn't leave. He liked car and truck travel. Sam's own home had broken and my future husband was busy drinkin' with buddies and doing farming stuff. Sam was bored. Roomie and I sure were entertaining! Sam liked my little red dog, as Sam could spot a genius like himself. Rusty dog had no fear of Sam, just a healthy respect for his bulk. She'd play with him, hurling her little self against him as they'd race for whatever we'd thrown , which Sam ALWAYS received/retrieved first. Sam, Tory, little red dog, in that exact order, always... little red dog was cool with that. No other dogs were welcome at Sam's house. Coyotes and wolves, yes, but that's yet another story. ANYway.

Months passed. I was actively being trained to at least look more sociable, and my roomie would play Barbie-dolls with my face and hair. Getting all "dolled up" was another first for my brain.


Then, we'd go out and get silly in bars around the area. This was also a first for me, because 1) I really don't drink, and 2) I really hate bars. But hey, can't sit inside on a Friday night! Not when you're 38 and your bio-clock is positively clanging away in your brain. 

Amazing, really, what hormones can do. I guess you could say I was a late bloomer.  

Now, I don't think I've mentioned that Future Husband's GF's name was the same as mine? Yeah. Seriously. Once we finally got together, we'd laugh that at least he wouldn't be accused of saying someone else's name in the throes of extreme sociability.

I met someone in a bar, and we were very sociable for a month. I invited this someone over one night, and he drove in FH's driveway by mistake. And was VERY confused when FH said "She doesn't live here anymore". I had to laugh, how perfect was that??  And for me, the socially inept, it was sort of thrilling...

It's fall, 1994. I've met him by now, but I have avoided getting too close. He has been a consistent drop-in visitor since Spring of 1993, when he turned 40, and I rebuffed his arse back home. So, that year later, fall 1994, I finally have to explain to him not to visit anymore, as I found him too attractive, and it was difficult to pretend otherwise. So, of course, he kissed me, and said "You don't need someone like me." And left. And the story began...  Because he kept coming back. I kept letting him.

He continued with this theme of "I'm not worthy of love" for several years (the rest of his life, really), and I didn't disagree with him. His temper was ferocious, and he could be terribly cruel with words. (So could I...) I wasn't exactly perfect either, was I? I just loved him, and nothing my head said would my heart listen to.

To be continued, forever. I fell in love with, loved, and will always love, forever, my husband.


Saturday, April 2, 2022

In memory of Apalachian Chief


 A horse who never deserved his fate.

Thank you to everyone that tried to help. 

Godspeed, to all the good horses.

Don't let it bring you down, it's only castles burning.

Find someone who's turning, and you will come around.

I will never forget you. I wish I could.

I've put my posts about him back up. I put them in drafts, because I was afraid of Chief's owner, a sociopath.  The owner can't hurt me anymore. I just pray she never ever ever crosses my path again, and that everyone stops enabling her chronic animal abuse.

Apalachian Chief

Sunday, March 6, 2022

Speak of Old Friends - for CCC - Part 2

 There is beauty in grays. Can you see them? A family of swans. -5000kelvin, winds howling, going for a swim. Because they can.


And just because I can, here's the picture of the "bom*" that was shipped to 13 places around the USA and Canada, to garner these precious signatures of my earliest, dearest blogging friends. After I received it, I finally understood strange comments that these dear funny friends were making, about a "package sent/received. Coordinates placed.". Apparently one USPS place was a bit suspicious about the package, because it had a LOT of re-directed addresses on it. Wish I'd taken a picture of it, but I was completely clueless as to what the heck it was at the time.

This book has travelled 13 places across the USA and Canada. Amazing. I remember the day I received it, at work, like it was yesterday. I cried. I hugged an inanimate object with words in it that had reminded my blogging-readers-friends of me. I never knew I liked the idea of Centered Riding, until that day...

Here's a link to that blog.

Butch and the UID

BHM delivered it to our last work address, and I don't blame the car for wanting to exit the area. Just behind the jail, sort of thing, kinda ... okay, Icky. Super busy work day, I remember that. 

I still kick myself that I missed meeting her. I hope Trooper (BHM's feral Shire) is well and happy. (The 13th is a piece of braille, glued to the inside page, by Andalusians of Grandeur, and OH, I would love to hear from her again!!) I don't remember the translation, sadly, she did tell me. OH. Might be in the comments... Off to check. Check!!
CCC's "signature" is top right. I debated posting this, because well, you know, privacy and all, but 12 of the 13 don't use their full names, and the full name isn't a signature, and one is in braille, which you can't see, because I didn't post it.

Or DID I?? Ah, AofG, I do wonder about you. She loves a good blind joke.


I found another memory, which shows to goes that writing down memories can smooth them out of your memory banks. The post named "Six Years" about Flip has a CCC comment. She had a smelly tooter of a dog, named Spot. We were graced (Gracie dog!) with aromatic reports about good old Spot. A lot. (Not really, it just rhymed).

CCC was an Army kid, I think? and spent time as a youngster in Ethiopia with her family. Some of her stories! 

Gallop on, all my good friends.

Thank you for being there.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

Unforgettable, that's what you are

Orry & Sam 2013

Orry & Sam 2013 - 2

Orry January 2021

 At  one pm today, Jan. 27, 2022 Unforgettable II finally laid his majestic head to rest, fighting for his flight to the end.  What a grand old man, to pass where he was safest, with people to love him.

Our final time together wasn't nearly long enough, December 31, 2021. I didn't have much time to spend that day. I'll always regret that. I had planned to take January & February off from the barn, due to other circumstances which I won't bore you with.

He stumbled quite badly for our final ride, as if his hind and his front had forgotten each other. This wasn't one of his "I am so bored, my shoulder will DROP at the walk" gaffes.  He loathed walking for any length of time anyway, and of course guess who was asking him to... Go FAST, Rob kept saying. (Jokingly) sOrry, Rob. Old broads don't go fast, without inner-doctor's permission.

The stumble was unusual. K & R were in the arena, and were surprised too by that stumble. Orry came very close to landing on his knees, while his hind end seemed to be trying to scrabble to catch up.  Odd, and concerning to me, mentioned it to Sam of course.. What happened next?  Completely the anthropomorphic dreamer in me, when I heard what happened the next week.

 As we walked back from the arena to his barn, he stopped halfway, and looked soulfully north across the fields for several unusual moments. The next week, he had moved north, to be companion to an old girl-friend. Orry knew.


I was so glad Orry had a change of scenery, well-travelled old show-horse he was. In the summer, he'd piuffey up, get all snorty/prancey, as he went past the horse trailer, hoping he'd go somewhere and do something interesting, which to Orry was jumping.  Instead, he had an old broad, so pretentious in her boring demands. Generous with her carrots, though.

Ah, Orry. The horse we all could learn from. His lordosis (sway-back) was strange for me to ride, having never ridden one with that condition before, like ever.  Really strange. My back would try to mirror his. I tried NOT to do that, and I never really sat him, if at all. I could sit his trot, but why? Even his canter, as delicious as it was, my body wanted to stay out of his way. I'd sit, but it never felt well, you get the gist. New experience for this old girl! Whereas Orry just was the way he was, could care less what I thought.  Orry would get bored. A lot.   He even forgave me for kicking his croup the first time I dismounted, I forgot how low I was, relative to his croup.   

The following I wrote while I was still riding him. I added the stuff that says **new**blahblah**end new** (for example). Pay attention, there's a quiz. I was so smitten. I started to write Nov. 14, 2021, but stopped. I knew it couldn't be finished. I just knew.

November 23, 2021

Nov.14, 2021

While other bits and bobs of my life may not be exactly rosy, I've so enjoyed riding with Rob M and Sam C!  Thanks to Melanie T, as always, did I ever luck out.  "Unforgettable II" aka his barn name "Orry" always, always makes me laugh.

**new**Okay, once, when he head-twanged me, notsomuch. I was grumpy & sore-backed, anyway, my own fault.**end new**

He's 27th years young-ish, acts younger than any of his other close horsey friends, all about 10 years his junior.  When I started riding him in May (? I think??) he was very quiet, mostly.

Here I am essentially melting. Rob was so gently encouraging ;) (I HEAR YOU, ROB!!)


Easy to ride, absolutely lovely mouth, gorgeous gaits. Easy to catch.  (He wasn't, once, just to remind me who was in charge. It was pretty darn funny, too. I insulted him, and it was a nice day, and who needs riding?? You aren't going to jump!!)

He was (and is) a TEENSY bit herd-bound, but at his age, it's one thing I can easily forgive.  For several rides this summer, I felt brave enough to go up to the barn, catch him out of his field away from his two buddies, and ride him out the back field for a hack, alone. **new**Mistake. BIG mistake**end new**

Orry verrry gradually let me know that he would PREFER to ride with company, thank you very much.  He'd cry in his stall when I'd bring him into an empty barn. He'd settle if Rob was there, though.  Then, Orry started to cry piteously, hacking away from the barn alone, so I'd sing to him.  He seemed to like that, but I guess I didn't sing well enough for him.  Next, he became super magnetized to leaving the barn, in a very sad, eeyore like  "i will go how can you make me do this go away from friends silly human."  Complete negative enthusiasm.

His final opinionated statement, in response to the lack of sensitivity on my part?

We'd been (blissfully unaware of his growing irritation) cantering away from his friends up the green strip between wheat and corn fields, just a lovely day.

Orry: Function quick dump: Test of rider engaged.

A HARD 90degree spook towards the corn (which was taller than both of us at this point, so I dunno HOW Orry saw a bear), because Orry decided there was indeed a bear.  I just couldn't see or smell it. Silly human. All alone out in the wilds?  Herd safety is rule 1!

If he hadn't been such a basically good boy, realizing that this carrot lady might not like him anymore if he didn't at least LOOK at where the bear had been, before going home, we'd still be galloping through the corn...  We eventually, mostly quietly, tiny-piaffed-ed a while then settled, and we went back to his friends in the boring arena.  LIKE HE HAD (very politely!) REQUESTED.  Lesson learned, Orry! 

His canter is enough to make your eyes tear up, with it's purity and smoothness.

Now that the cold is here, he has stopped begging for tummy/other surprising area scratches.  Probably xyz-rated to describe, but also utterly ridiculous.  Or maybe I SHOULD have been scratching gelding/boy horses' erm, areas for all those years!  Feel kinda guilty, really. sOrry, all my good geldings, it never occurred to me.  Orry lets you know, by holding up a hind leg piteously, basically pointing...

He refuses to have a hind foot picked out, until the designated area is scratched.  Hard to argue with that half-ton of logic.  I kept doing it wrong, Sam and Rob tried to show me, but I just couldn't get it right.  It was annoying to the poor guy.  Rob and Sam can have him standing on hind-tippy-toe, ridiculous in itself, neck straight out in front of him, eyes closed, nose extended in utter bliss.

He makes me nervous, (not an unusual state for me) as he can come close to whooopsing his suspensory apparatus, which is...  Yeah. Not good. He's big, don't fall down, Orry. He never does (so far as I know) so I'm sure he just does it to make his humans gasp.  Finally, trying very hard to make him happy, I put him back into his stall, and he used that long head and neck to very gently push me towards the area in question. The rest of the story is preposterous. sOrry, it just makes me laugh.

He's very reasonable, as long as you follow his very few rules. Ignore them at your own peril, or you will comply.  He's become woolier than a Shetland pony, which I often accuse him of being (in 16.2negative4 hand Hanoverian disguise).

He has all the moves of the ponies I've known. A blissful, "excuse me, I'm leaving now", sort of attitude.  "Bye! I have a date!" And off he goes :)  Skating along the floor with Orry trailing one cross-tie & me hanging onto his halter comes to mind. (His friends had LEFT. MUST LEAVE WITH FRIENDS!!)  Orry's not like that all the time! I feel as safe with him as any horse I've ever ridden.   Safety is such a relative term...

He's annoyed with me here, because I STILL haven't jumped him. He keeps hinting, and hinting...


I've seen him jump, in pictures and in person.  Sam takes pity on him after I've bored him to tears with flat"work", and they zoom over a few little jumps for fun. **new**Orry's eyes would positively FIRE, and his ears would stay up. Rare for Orry, when I was riding him, to get his ears up. "flatwork is for wimps", says Orry.**end new**

Still not ready to jump, in my heart, yet. They only have so many in them, right? Orry doesn't owe me any. Honoured to be up there at all, really. He is such a handsome fellow, and so smart. Yep, I'm smitten, kitten.   Maybe I should listen to his hints, eh?   Orry, I do get what you're saying, and I appreciate your faith in my abilities.  I think Sam is best equipped and most deserving of those jumps you love.   No offence intended.   You jump around enough for me on the flat, mister spooksatleastoncejustbecause.

Cooler weather! Orry has been barging, and gallivanting, and bucking up his heels when asked to come in for "work".  I wear a hat now when I work around you, Sir Orry. You KNOW why, sOrry not sOrry!  Yes, it was my fault, and yes, I spoil you badly. Taught me a good lesson in safety.  And to not have a sore back when I "work" around horses.

END November 14.

Back to today, January 27 (not really, it's still taking me awhile to finish, as it has to be perfect).  Stopped writing in November, I just had a feeling I shouldn't keep writing. Bad luck or something.

I was a bit worried about him, because he hadn't felt entirely "right" for the last few times I rode, but there was nothing to really say about it. He felt tired, is the hindsight way of telling it, I guess.

Just soooo bored.  Rob likened Orry to a border collie, a Ninja of his equine species. Can't disagree. Orry's birthday was May the fourth, for dog's sakes!  I called him a Jedi Knight, but Sam said he did have Sith moments !  Such an intelligent, kind, opinionated face..

It was his time. Orry knew, I truly believe he knew..

Orry would come when I called him, his ears pricked. I can imagine it's just the carrots, or I can imagine he was glad to see me, too. Didn't matter. Those ears, those eyes...   Unforgettable.  I could go on and on, and I obviously have, which I tend to do with horses...

I am grateful that Penny & Dublin's losses "prepared" me.

It's the truth I've always had a hard time with, when it comes to horses.

You can love them all you want, and you always have to be ready to let them go.

sOrry for the long post. Orry had a long life. May 4, 1995 - January 27, 2022, just a few months shy of his 27th birthday. Glad I was there for his 26th.

WHAT? No carrots??


To Horses.

To old friends.

To my new friends, Sam & Rob. Thank you for the fabulous care Orry enjoyed with you.


Somewhere...Somewhere

in time's own place.

There must be some sweet pastured place.

Where creeks sing on, and tall trees grow.

Some Paradise where horses go.

For by the love that guides my pen

I know great horses live again.

Poem by Captain Stanley Harrison, 1885-1980






Sunday, January 16, 2022

Speak of Old Friends - for CCC

This is for Charles City Cat, aka CR Sullivan, aka Spunky. She was one of the original group that occasionally found me funny, and made me laugh.

I don't understand how FB missed showing me the post CCC put up on the Equestrians from BITD group, in February of 2020. Dammit. I wish I'd seen it, and commented!!
 Here's what CCC had to say on that Flacebooked day.

This is my second horse, Champagne Jam, about 1994, at the State Fair Grounds, Richmond, Virginia. It was a CHSA show and freakin 95 degrees. My wonderful trainer Don Sheehan schooled him for me, it was Schooling Hunter class and there were over 30 entries, it took forever because the pros were jumping client’s horses and there were a lot of delays for tack changes, etc. I am proud to say that we finished out of the ribbons but got called back for an honorable mention.

This horse was my heart horse, he took such good care of me and was a part of my life for over 27 years. I sure do miss him!

Here's the pic she posted. What a lovely shot. 


Most of her comments on this blog make me guffaw to this day. Like when I was selling breeding rights to Butch... snork. Think I might have to scroll back a bit, and copy/paste some of them.

Here you go, just a smattering of CCCisms. There are many more, (find the Butch blog, I have run out of screen time, according to my eyes).

CCC's comments are spread over a lot of years, and various other blogs that are no longer with us. The "Kinder Ways" blog, #2 comment helped me so much, I can't even put it into words.

Blog Name   CCC Said:

Butch, February 16, 2009

This here is Bubba, I been thinkin of breadin my good ole mare LuluBell, she one of them thar quatrharses, an let me tell ya she is a purty thang, she is a palomeener. I'm thankin that with that thar stud ya got thar, we could make us some purty babies. Could make some rally gut muney.

Maybe since that thar stud has 3 testicleez, we could have us some twinz, make more munee thatta way.

I dun drank up my last keg o' PBR, so kould we werk out a payment plan on that thar stud thang?

Further Jollies, Nov. 2011

Jolly ball looks a little sad these days, LOL! I wish I could send you the one I have, it is in perfect condition.

Wizard messed around with it for a week or two and my knucklehead dogs acts like it doesn't exist.

Kinder Ways August 2011

1st comment) Well spoken GL, I think I did understand where you were coming from and frankly I don't get the attitudes.

You have brought out what you don't like about other disciplines, including your own, many times as well. Guess it was okay, that is until now!

Today's western pleasure is a joke, and what is even more a joke is the HUS classes. In no way shape or form is how those horses are ridden

any form of hunter riding. It is merely western pleasure with english tack and apparel. As a true hunter rider, it makes me puke to watch what

they consider hunter under saddle. Lets watch them enter a hunter ring with eight 3'6" fences and see how well they fare approaching those

fences in that type of frame. Lets then guess what is going to happen, I know I can!

Why is it that english riders never try to emulate western riding, but western riders are all up in it? HMMMMMM!!!

Oh, and just so we are all straight,  I did ride western, I showed western, I rode barrels and I was part of rodeo.

Whew GL, I guess I needed to get that one out in the open as well.

Well, there ya go.

Kinder Ways August 2011

2nd comment) Whatever anyone thinks of GL's opinion, she is entitled to it just as much as any of you are.

I don't care for many parts of rodeo or western riding either but that sure as hell doesn't make me a supporter of PETA or SHARK.

Just because someone expresses an opinion that you don't care for does not make them a supporter of a radical group of fanatics!

I also don't care for parts of hunter/jumper, dressage, saddleseat, racing, etc..., and I also know that GL has expressed those same feelings on a number of occasions. Frankly, I don't think GL cares what discipline it is, only that the horses are happy.

I am surprised to see her being accused of anything different.

I just found out today, Jan. 16 through the Equestrians from BITD group on FlackBk, that Cathy passed away suddenly last February, 2021.

Far too young, a new blissful GrandMom, living her best life with her much loved husband and daughter, and extended family and of course her horses and assorted other dogs/cats/alpacas.

CCC! I'm sending her my love. CCC was funny and kind and a staunch and true friend on the webs.

CCC always had my back. Always. As I was an impressionable aka sensitive aka wimp-ish netizen, she helped me stand frimly.  I LOVE that typo, bery much. (One of CCC's favourite typos there).

Thank you, CCC, for your support, your humour, your beautiful kindness that shone through all your comments, for everything.

Godspeed, with love, GoLightly.










Thursday, January 13, 2022

The beginning and the middle and the

 Old Friends.

I KNOW you've been worried about Butch, and so I roused him from his stall-rest. Sadly, he got cast at the beginning, but soon righted himself. That good breading, ya know. Legs made of mild steel and all.

He's officially a pensioner now. Holly cow...



Butch's Breading Perfiticate


How amazing, how well he's lasted. There's a lovely BBC program "Repair Shop" that, not surprisingly, repairs/restores old treasures. Really talented group of people, with steady hands and expert craft.
They've revived Teddy Bears and the transformation was wondrous. I think Butch prefers his original hide. How I wish we had an old "out of the box" picture of him. I honestly have no memory of his first three years, they must have been... challenging for him. At any rate, by the time he's in the pictures, he looks pretty much like now, but with more hair. You can see his poor former chestnut (sorrel??) hairs hanging out beneath his  Registered WarmBelly perfiticate.

I was terribly jealous of bigger yet shorter older sister, as her brand new toy horse looked waaaaaaay too good. I ThinK I was three when sister's arrived. Much drama ensued, I vaguely remember :)
Sisters horse sure didn't last, have NO idea why :)
Apparently, as a good chestnut should, Butch allowed his (mild steel, see perfiticate above) push bars to be snapped, cleanly enough to pose no danger to me, the kid who snapped it. I do NOT remember doing it!! Who needs the damn push bars anyway, we rided!

Probably my first fall from a chestnut, when you think about it. 
Not my last, which was a long time ago now! I think it was Amber, the killer schoolie, but not sure...

Anyway, for posterity, my first friend and now yours, Butch. Still with all his ticking.
Still rolling, too.
What a horse.


Monday, November 29, 2021

Rather this than that

 There is no Fugly Horse of the Day anymore, which is a good thing. But good things came of FHOTD, namely my gathering of the very best of internet friends, like-minded (well, mostly) individuals who can hear what I'm saying, even when I say it very, very badly.

I do miss certain of them, wish I'd managed to keep in touch with my first "follower". Following predates FaceBook, people!! Humph. Although my attrition rate is pretty good, mathically speaking. I know it's spelled wrong, I like that word better. More better, even. 

There is something to be said, though, sorry, blogger, about being able to block people that you just know won't ever be on or even near your headset. But, sometimes, wouldn't it be nice to be able to say something with only good intentions? People don't read that way anymore, perhaps. Any words typed must be dissected meticulously with every singled-out grammar, misspell, or, oh, the horror, slight critical element. You know what I mean. Of course.



The above cartoon would offend some people. I'd take bets on it, but it's just too much of a sure thing.

.If you pointedly blank decline criticism, it will always be proffered. I have a lovely very confused pseudo-tautology going, don't I?? I'm criticizing people being critical... Cartoons may be the way to go. Look, it's a joke! Not sure everyone gets my mostly disturbed sense of humour. Actually, I'm pretty sure they don't. Ah, well, as long as I can make myself laugh, I'll be doing okay. Like if I post old pictures of me riding without a helmet, I tell ya, the noise generated... So, I have helpfully fixed those pictures. You're welcome, helmet police. The technology hadn't been invented yet, folks. A helmet was a fairly dangerous decoration. I bought a new helmet in 2021! I am current in my safety protocols, so, HAH!




Lately, the horse (YAY horses!) I'm riding has been my laugh-inducer. He is so funny, this boy. Just loves him, muchly. He's pretty darn safe, but I'd never specify any thousand pound animal as "safe". Trustworthy? Sure-ish. Safe? Not entirely. Case in points. My latest equine is 27, gelded when he was 8, 1.3m jumper, has evented, hacked, etc. etc. Lordosis is a new thing for me, never ridden that before, but he doesn't seem to care. So far, anyway. ANYway.

He LIKES to jump, he likes to have something to Do. He lives outside, often for 24+ hours at a time, with two other geldings. He's had a pretty set routine, methinks for at least a year or two. His best bud Rob, the instructor/trainer that knows him very well, compares him to a border collie. Always thinking, always considering. At his grand age, he's allowed his opinions.

He is very expressive, with his opinions. Usually, I can see his opinions. But not always...
To be continued. ISN'T HE ADORABLE???





Thursday, September 2, 2021

Flexing Fingers

Edit. I wrote this in April of 2017. Never hit publish. Blaze, my dear Blaze. How I miss you.
October 2005 to February 2018. My kindred Scorpio. ANYway, back to yoga!

It really helps. Just like my old school-horses, movement keeps you moving. Chinook, bless his sweet heart, was so stiff first thing in the morning, he basically hobbled out of his stall. But he was always happy to get out, and always 1000% better when he came back. 

(wrote below just now, this minute, Sept. 2021)
OH, I was sent an ancient picture of him, (thank you, Shar!) after he'd been sold on to another school. That's his big white blaze closest to you, I think you can almost make out his spectacularly bad conformation. His kind soul more than made up for it. Such a funny character he was...

Leo's head is down, furthest away, I don't know the gray or the chestnut, then RAINY!!! Then unknown, then Chinook. Yep, a tad upright, he were.


(Back to April 2017. Are you dizzy yet?)
Movement is life. My doctor recommended I start using weights, oh, ten years ago or so. I so wish I'd heeded her very good advice then. Better late than never, though. In my defence, I was still on the farm, moving rocks, going for daily walks, gardening etc. etc. etc. The commuting and working kept me pretty busy too. But you get tight, if you don't stretch it all out, regular like.
Please ask me how I know :)

Can't remember if I mentioned I've started yoga, or not. Hey, I started yoga! Namaste, whatever that means.  Hexcellent way to keep the limberness idea alive. I came close to acquiring "adhesive capsulitis" in my left shoulder, much to my chagrin. Wake-up call, is what it was. Thank heavens for me taking a holiday, and having a dear friend/RMT I was visiting notice my pain. She got me pointed in the right direction, pretty much in the nick of time. (Flexes).

Now I have to ration stretches/flexions too, because of course I initially over-do. Worst thing you can do, is over-do. Such a fine line, isn't it? My yoga instructors have been mostly great, but I found out the painful way that it isn't their body they're stretching. I seem to take a day or two to show damages. So, I don't do the classes anymore, I just do my stretches as regularly as I can. My body always lets me know if I've forgotten to do them.


(It's still 2017, remember?)
Blaze, little wonder dog in her own witchy right, has become an older dog, almost over-night. She's over a decade old now, her nose a little gray, her agouti coat a little more gouti. I think she's going a little deaf, but it's tough to tell. Her mind wanders sometimes, but whose doesn't??

Now, it's 2021 again. I kinda like that about bloggerink. Timed travel. Blaze preferred my husband to me, if I'm honest, and I really don't blame her. She finally refused to go to work with me, she did hate the car, and daily, to the city?? No, thanks very much. She kept husband company, and she enjoyed his much less intense energy. With a back yard and a Frisbee, Blaze could be perfectly happy for hours.

Now my right shoulder is threatening me, with the same type of pain. 
You know what that means.
Namaste. Or in my case, Namastopstartstopstart. Must learn to stay.
Flexibly out!

Thursday, August 19, 2021

The Great Women's Modern Pentathlon Debacle

Final Division "Riding" (my quotes), Tokyo 2021 

by GoLightly's evil twin, GoDarkly.

Having watched the entire "show" beginning to end,with a few replays to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me, I have decided to pontificate about it, for my own amusement. Read at your own peril.

The first competitor in the ring had two crashes, the rider clearly over-faced both by her horse and the size of the fences. The warm-up preliminary crashes, if you will. 3'9" is a BIG fence! These riders had twenty minutes to get to know their horses and they were allowed 5 fences to warm up. Yes, I know heckquitation riders can be asked to do it. Not quite... the same thing. 
First Rider... This pretty much set the tone for the whole show. Variations on this theme were presented, i,e, Helicoptering etc. (Helicoptering = "Riding" horse jumps straight up in the air, hangs there for an unpleasant second or two, and crashes down, either into the jump, or just past it, if the "Riding" horse had any forward momentum at all.)

I've never watched this particular Olympic event before, it's evidently been been building to this extreme low in horsemanship for a few years. Huh, a "Riding" horse isn't like a "Fencing" sword? Who knew?

Here we are, biggest jump on course, take off (last stride) was WAY too close, "Riding" horse had to crash/stop. "Riding" horse was asked to crash/stop. Very confusing for the "Riding" horse.

It's So Deep It's Meaningless

Rider came off, poles flying every which way, her "Riding" horse pretty appalled by the whole thing. Then Rider, whooops, did it again. Kudos to Rider for getting back on the first time. But she hit the exact same wrong spot, again, "Riding horse" took off from the longer distance, (remembering of course, what JUST happened) and ejected her... Then she got in between "Riding horse"'s legs. Clever, clever "Riding Horse". Caliesiena, I think, was the "Riding horse"'s name. Mare appeared again with the men, so did survive well enough make it through. Her second rider could only have done better.


Different view - First attempt

Different view - First attempt - Hugs


Second attempt

Second attempt, Uh-oh...
Second attempt, Uh-oh & Ouch

Riding horse was saintly




Can't get much worse...

I managed to be allowed to view this link, not sure if you'll be able to, sorry :(
ModernPentathlon

I've railked (new word) about riding more than one horse (if you can) for yearz, anyway. These riders should be used to riding many sorts of beasts. Are there Equitation classes at the Olympics? I didn't think so. The striding was bizarre, or maybe it was just bizarre how everyone rode differently, and mostly catastrophically. It was a very trappy, very tricky course. Half-strides everywhere, so chocolate-chips were everywhere. Helicopters. Death leaps. Not pretty.

I've noticed: Horses are dull and boring to people that can't sit and watch horses for hours and hours.

I don't know what's wrong with them...

TANGENT!

I do draw the line at hours and hours of watching D/Stressage. I can watch a few. And come back, and watch a few more. I've grown tired of the circus trots. The piaffe pirouette is just...Boring. Difficult, for sure. Hard on the horse, and still boring. I remember when it was first performed... Meh. The first GrandPrixces entrant, an Analusian (BAHAH, I love that typo, sOrry!), did a lovely test, but man oh man. Paint, dry? Where's the expression? (I'll shut up about it, I've already riled at least 300 DQ's in the past month, and I haven't gone back to watch more p-d-ing...)

END TANGENT!!

Back in my ancient day, Max height for Ammies jumping 3' was an accomplishment, and 3'3"+ was really for the professionals and their up-and-coming beasties. That's another rant. "Jumpers" doing cross-rail classes. 0.6m "Jumpers"?? Bah! Go Fox-hunting first, in the home country!! Puh-leeeeze...

The MP sure was entertainment, and is comparable to what you may yet still find at any horse show, on a cool windy day, with nary a steady-Eddie plain bay in sight. Horse shows used to be exciting for this reason.  I'm glad no-one was seriously hurt. It sure was a perfect sh*t-storm.

Hope those horses will find it in their bottomless hearts to forgive us.

DANG, they were nice horses... SO.

Point 1) Those horses were freaking amazing. Gorgeous. Fabulous movers, I'd have gladly tried any one of them, back when I had riding muscles. I still HAVE them, they're just more mature. Okay, more wizened. ;) One lovely gray in particular, "Cristbal" (spellling not confirmed) packed his first rider around safely, as she was sensible enough to stay out of his way. The second rider wasn't soft enough on him, and and started acting as if she knew what she was doing. Since she wasn't a very good rider, she succeeded in getting in his way, every fence, and he finally crashed through an oxer, throwing her off. Tears ensued. By the rider, not the horse. Cristbal headed back to the gate, begging to be taken away from the madness. 

Which brings us to:

Point 2) is, these horses were WAAAAAAAY above these rider's pay-grades. Think of putting any 3' max. amateur up on Big Ben over a 1.2m course, while thinking that riding dear old schoolie Spartacus is a suitable skill equivalent. No offense, Sparky! These horses were SchoolMasters, but upper level schoolies do (and should!) have their limits, or they wouldn't be upper-level. These horses were dynamite, and the riders were used to cap-guns. Many of the riders came in with giant spurs and whips/bats, and the more sensible would drop their bats at least. But the spur size was an obvious issue for many of those very nice horses. What the heck were these coaches thinking?

Point 3) The exception was passable riding, not the rule. Most struggled, some dangerously so.

Leading to, Point 4th.

3'9" is a long way to fall from. Halfway through the "show", the ill-fated "Saint Boy" (aka Saint A Boy) was ridden for the first time, and showed a very serious out-gate magnetic tractor-beam. Saint Boy wasn't used to riders that were so far behind what he was capable of doing... Helicopter enough fences, and I can understand the horse losing enthusiasm. Saint Boy was afraid of those riders, and what they could do to his confidence, not to mention his legs. The first rider was able to break Saint Boy free from his magnetic home beam, but later ended up crashing into a jump, and Saint Boy refused to continue. 

A few other horses also threw in the towel, having had enough of ineptitude. There was lots of that. Again, being fair, what they were attempting wasn't easy, at all. The riders must have ridden to this height!?  The horses were extremely capable. Riders notsomuch.

3'9" mistakes can kill you, and the horses like to live too. Now, I don't know if this is true, I read the last, most ill-fated rider, had the choice to use another horse rather than Saint Boy. She chose to ride not-so-Saint Boy, crashed in the warm-up (I heard), and then tried to get the horse to move away from the in-gate. Tractor-beam was on full-power. The application of an instrument to break the field failed miserably. At no point did the rider turn the whip "business end up", which is how welts are made. She was waving the crop pretty ineffectually anyway. Wasn't working on the Saint, though. Such ironies in horses eh?? She wasn't looking to hurt the horse. What would you do, with that situation? I STILL don't get why... Anyway. She was crying like a child. It was pretty sad to watch.

She did manage to get him going, but then dashed his confidence again with impossible distances to very large fences.

Saint Boy stopped several more times, finally being eliminated. 

Final Fence, Did not jump.


The coach was ejected for punching the horse. In his hip-butt. The one place where any horse, already freaking out to the max, would feel nothing at all. Coach didn't "throw a punch". Coach was already inept, with the horse choice. It was obvious the horse was completely shut-down. Why did they use him??  Bizarre. 

Yes, it was a terrible display of horsemanship, but the display went on for (pretty much) the entire division. Had to be at least 80 if not 85% pure grade A shite. Which was highly entertaining to watch, admittedly, as I've been in most of the positions these riders faced. Chocolate chipping underneath fences, I remember GoLightly just demolishing a big oxer, because, well, I did tell him to. 

BUT, Pointedly fifth.

Complete stupidity to have used Saint Boy again. He'd already told them he wasn't up for the task. No-one listened :( 

I just started watching the Men's. OMG. They went, the day AFTER the women, on the same (mostly?) horses. A few new ones, like "Aerosmith", gorgeous gray, Fluoriet, lovely mare, did a great chocolate chip with the "looking good" comment. Farome, I ThinK was used both days,.very hot little chestmut mare "CrackyfyZ" was also used both days. She'd only crashed once ;)

No Saint Boy (surprise surprise) and no Cristbal :( Things improved, but that's I suppose because the women softened the horses up for the men ;) There were still some pretty hairy moments, but not like the women's. Much higher ratio of competent to DNFs. One giant plain bay GoLightly type "Far West" was just pooped for his third round. Reminded me of the big old bay, just carried his riders safely 'round, maybe knocking rails, but nothing surprising. Far West very gallantly did well in his fourth round, too.

The female announcer was a genius jinxer, especially with the men. Posh British accent, of course.

"Oh, that's looking better!" (rider flies off, crash)

"Looking good now" (horse crashes through fence),

"A little bit of confidence is being shown here". (horse stopped 4x and was out).

That last was Quidoso, a Mr. T. type, earnest and honest but so so confused. Felt so sad for the horse, he was really trying to be good, but then he realized he also wanted to live.

Cairo, a big solid red chestnut, high-headed, a little BigBen-ish, was surviving quite nicely, although the rider was heavy-handed, because his right rein broke, two fences from home. He needed to turn right to get to them... Rider was P*SSED!!

Ah well, like I said, highly entertaining for me to watch, being 1) an excellent armchair rider, and 2) pretty crappy in the seeing good distances department. So, I was mostly saying "Yes, done that too, ouch, Oooooh, yes, that too. OH, that quite a few times"...

However, the show was not particularly conducive to showcasing good "riding" skills. Riding isn't measured this way. afaik!

I'll keep ya posted if I can go back and watch more..

Having the women go first made me smile :)

HOLLY cow. Just found 2012. Jumped to 42minutes in, tah-dah, crashes galore.

So, this DEFINITELY isn't news...

2012 Debacled

 






Wednesday, June 9, 2021

All's finally quiet on the blogging front

 (looks around nervously)

My ping count went crazy there for a while, and I found it rather spooky. I wait until pings drop down to nada before I blog again.

Why? Not sure. I am the antithesis of a "toot your own horn" person, maybe because attention of any sort always makes me nervous. I found this absolutely hysterical site on (where else) FaceBook, a non-judgmental horsey site for people that don't mind laughing at how silly they (and their horses) are capable of looking. NO critiques are allowed, no negative comments. If you are an idiot, and break those very simple rules, out you are booted. It is SO relaxing!! It's a British site, so of course, the humour is perfect for me. Lots of profanity too! Awesome! I posted a link to Stormy's Cautionary Tale in the site, and the pings EXPLODED!! Yikes. Not doing THAT again.

Anyway, that's what I've been doing. Got my first shot, haven't died. Phew. My province of Ontario, Canada is struggling with stupidity at the moment, seems there are people in my little town that honestly forgot about basic common hygiene sense. I am so grateful my scientific brain was developed at an early age, and that I studied enough to understand WTFF is going on right now. I mean, since December 2019.

When you have adults carrying signs that say "UNMASK OUR CHILDREN!!", you know the stupid is getting pretty strong.

Anybody else have issues with remembering what day it is? Month? Year? I've been remembering by the dates of when I started riding again. December 12, 2019. I rode that fabulous chestnut mare, Penny. My horse brain kicked in again.

March 17, 2020, the province went into it's first lockdown, I rode T., and Penny was euthed after battling colic for a week. July 7, 2020, the barn opened up again, and we weren't allowed to groom or tack up anymore. That's when I figured out the barn had workers with ZERO clue on how to groom/tack up properly... AND that, except for my coach, and the heart-broken owner of Penny, not a heck of a lot of horsemanship was happening there.

November 27, 2020, last lesson with my wonderful coach, as the STOOPID barn fired him on November 30, 2020. I stopped going to that barn...

Kinda avoided horses/barns for the months of December and January, although I did keep my eyes peeled for any good-sounding part-board opportunities. Thought I found one, late January. Went to visit, it was a place right beside where I'd kept Tad Plaid, waaay back in the day. And back in the day, it was THE premier hunter/jumper facility on Ontario. I was all agog at the place, although it sure hadn't maintained it's pristine "look".

It looked very untidy. Barn smelled weird. But my old habit of being impressed by what was, rather than what IS, allowed me to ride the horse for a couple of months. The hacking was still terrific, but the arena was horrifically dusty. The horse I was riding had had a severe eye injury. The eye needed to be removed. Everyone agreed, except of course, the owner of the horse and the vet for the horse. The owner and vet are almost 200 years old, combined. Not being ageist, just pointing out a fact. The owner (it turns out) is very capable of owning too many horses.

The horse was in pain, and although the horse tried for me, I just didn't feel right about it. Soooo. Two months later, I was outta there. Sad for the horse, the horse was steadily getting more and more annoyed by any exercise questions, and I couldn't blame her. As my dear old blogger buddies said, the horse would eventually have to lawn dart me, and I try not do that anymore.

So, I found a new place, April 30, 2021, new horse to part-board, and so far, so excellent! I love this guy. He's 26 !!!!) years old, thinks he's a young fella. Gaits to swoon for. He has lordosis, which is new for me, and a bit of an adjustment, dismount wise. Gently kicked his croup as I was dismounting, the first time. Whooops. Apologized, and my lesson was learned.

Riding a couple of times a week, hoping for more, but trying not to over-do it, too. I lost so much weight last summer, riding during the hottest part of the day, and I'm not doing THAT to myself again.

His name is "Unforgettable II", Orry is his barn name. A chestnut Hanoverian gelding, 16.2 or so at the wither, drops down because of the sway, rides big. Quiet, but not so quiet that I have to work myself to death. Has his own motor! Heavenly gaits, but I said that already. Orry's owner has taken impeccable care of him, and it sure shows! Really like the resident professional, he's got all sorts of experience, and a real horseman. YES!!

ANYway... That's my latest news of the day. Pings have dropped down to almost zero, so, for the moment, I'm safe again :)
Picture of his wonderfulness, on his birthday, getting his birthday oats and apples.






AND video, even though I'm a little slouchy, which professional pointed out. Work is always in progress, a'horseback!!



Edited to add, because I realize how ungrateful I sound...
THANK YOU, to all who do read here. I do appreciate it. I love to write. ESPECIALLY about horses, as you might have noticed...

Saturday, December 12, 2020

Love Letters to Horses




I just realized, in an "I can't be believe I'm so vapidly profound" sort of way that I write love letters to horses. I should say, I love to write love letters to horses. You might have noticed. I've been known to do so right here somewhere in this blog. NO links provided. Edited to add that my blog is very Schitt's Creek. Start from the beginning, although in my case, you still may not get some of the references, as I was following a deeply disturbed horse blog at the time called "Fugly Horse of the Day", (FHOTD) where the best and the worst and the scammers and the horse-dealers all gathered to hurl anger about what's been going on in the horse world. Crappy breeding, crappy riding, general crap. More Schitt, if you will :) Some of it was relevant, some of it was... interesting. Some of it was sad, of course, and it was that anger and sadness that fired up my writing for horses. The GoLightly fictional story was started after GoLightly sold. 1984 to 2008, almost a quarter century, my horse write-light lay quiet. FHOTD hit, and bam... ANYway, that's all the back story I'll give.

Sorry, you have more time than I do. Anyway, my great and wondrous foray back into horse world is now on standby.. Currently weighing options, and not saying I'm quitting (again) just yet. I did tell my instructor I felt ready for a wee fence. Then, bam. Circumstances being what they were, I felt obligated to curtail (shut UP Moira Rose!!) my activities at the barn.

Hey blogger, labels due not to work.
Weird!

So, without further aboo, yet another LL2Hs.

Dear D, E, S and T,(RIP P and DI) and the rest of the schoolie crew,

I am so sorry I won't be coming back to love on you all. I was obliged to explain to your masters that they weren't being fair to you. You were so tired, over-used with unsympathetic eyes.

D, you grand Iron Lady. They hurt you so badly with their too-tight nosebands, I remember your whimper-whinny (when I finally could notice), at the end of the lesson, when I loosened it for you. It was so terribly, cruelly tight. No wonder you made such miserable faces on cross-ties. I hadn't checked your noseband for our first ride, because of those faces.  I said something then, and continued to check them at the beginning of each ride, and the NoseBands continued to be too tight. I of course loosened them for our rides, and you all remembered me for it. Hope you can come back sound, D. How they could lame you is obvious. Drilling, and a hard arena surface, and an older horse. Tah-freakin-dah.

Horses like people who love them, and notice things about them. It makes them feel special.

T, I hope they start helping your coat improve. You were thinner, but sounder for our second last ride together, the first time you could actually straighten your body out and carry me without pain. It was the first time I could feel the horse you can be. You even liked having your withers scratched, a first for us. I know you love kids and I understand why. Adults hurt you. Drill you, when you do not need any drilling at all. But the last time I rode you, they'd hurt you again, and you were back to tired. So glad I could give you an easy day. My purpose, I believe, was just that. Ride a schoolie easy.

S, you grand old man, you. Your back has flattened, and you're anxious to poles, rushing. Hard ground will do that, and a lack of a softer stall. Your kind face will be with me always.

DI, well, what can I say. A giant GoLightly, once a star, and then a schoolie. You were thin and spooky scared when I climbed on, still exclaiming at how 18 handed you were. I rode you twice, cantered you twice, and knew what a precious gem I was riding. You were only there two weeks, and then you too, coliced. But your owners didn't want to spend the money to try and help, like P, and so down you were put. I thought about how deep your bedding used to be, and how much weight/muscle you were capable of, and how clean and tidy and cared for you had been once. I felt your heart had probably broken.

E, I'm saving you for last, because the last ride we had together was the best you've ever gone for me. I hope your masters learn that you really don't need a rubber chambon and draw-reins and standing martingale (and tight noseband and flash) to be a good boy. I enjoyed ditching all that (as usual) for our last ride and I think you did, too. You are the youngest of all that I rode, I hope, I hope they learn that lesson sooner rather than later. Thank you for that last ride. You were so good, and tried so hard. Thoroughbred.

I love you all. I'll never forget you. 

Thanks for keeping me safe and sound.

Your biggest fan, Barb