A Black Horse is requesting I remember him next.

The First/Worst barn was a pretty "dramatic" place, because I have so many memories that keep coming back, quietly asking for their turn. There were many firsts, at F/W. Beautiful Arab Gelding, Hai Mirath's painful colic death, his kick to my knee his kindest blow, for my stupidity walking behind him. He didn't kill me. Poor horse, died a painful death, we weren't allowed to ask why. Why no vet? I still wonder, although I know the answer. $$

I remember a barn fire at another stable, terrible thing, and several horses got loose, running through downtown (tiny at the time) Markham. Our barn was recruited to go round them up. It was a lot of fun for us kids, yahooing through back yards and catching these poor terrified critters. The one horse that F/W kept was a black Quarter Horse gelding, he was called Black Snake. Old style, to the max, set low to the ground, massive back-end, really a beautiful type. All the right angles and the good feet were there. Star & a snip, and a dishy head. Little white on his feet. Smallish, tidy, tight ears. Always STRAIGHT forward, as he'd blow at you.
WhooooRuuu.

He could also flick out your eyelash with his front hoof. "Snake" could snort and blow lower, louder and longer than any other horse I've ever known, before or since. To catch him in his stall, you needed to know what you were doing. He was the toughest horse to catch during the round-up, which is probably why F/W ended up with him. Riding him was like riding a fast, powerful tank. A barely broke, yet wow was he talented tank. He was supposed to learn to play polo & jump. It wasn't going well.

Tough as bloody nails, Black Snake. Move slow, or he'd kill you. Smart and powerful. Ready for a fight, but ready to listen. That's how I remember Quarter Horses. Now, this must have been not long before I left F/W. Black Snake, being ridden by F/W, was having "issues", and F/W, very drunk (aka the "issue"), had gotten off and roughly grabbed Snake's bridle. Black Snake went straight up, and caught F/W's wedding ring in the hook of the curb chain he was abusing him with. Black Snake broke his finger very neatly. I remember ThaT.
Thank you, Black Snake. Light on your feet, yet low to the ground.
Goodboy! I am sorry to say that's all I remember. I did leave not long after that..

Hey, SWA!! (waves..) Thanks for being there, hon. I am honoured to know you, through this miracle of communication I've finally discovered. Takes me awhile, but I get there.

(Have I typed about Black Snake before?)
I get deja vu, a LOT:)

To the old-tyme Quarter Horse. Bred for anything.
Treat him well, or he'll remove your eyeball.

ForEverySeason, there's some darn reasonPart2

Hey! That sounds good! How original;) Must be brief, no sleep, tummy dog again, ready to commit Flipdogicide at 1am. Get to work early as I'd needed to plan, FLIP, then my Dad calls, his big bro' had passed away at 11am. I loved ya Uncle. Sorry we weren't that close.

That's the thing with divorce, isn'ta? You get to pick sides a little too early. My Dad's Mom was a completely different kettle from my Mom's mom. Surprised they could even sit in a room together. They avoided it where ever possible. IntrovertedHardWorking/ExtrOvertlyWealthy. Yeah, nice mix:)

Strained mix. Have another cocktail! My Dad's mom was a pianist of equal genius to Oscar Peterson, by his own admission, and she'd never learned to read music. Oh, she had a temper too, I remember. Don't blame her much, she had a pretty tough life. She was appalled by her middle son's children's behaviour, while Mom's mom would keep throwing candy and presents at us. We never stood a chance, against Affluenza. Give me more! I wish I'd known her better, I was skeered of her. So was Mom. I can play the piano by ear. But not well. She had no luck teaching me, no patience for this flibbertigibbet.

Dad's brother was an artist, a WWII vet, a hard working business guy, and also had three wives. That I remember. Three cousins by his first wife, my favourite peoples. I kinda wish he had had more kids, now. Rest easy, dear Uncle. I am, as always, oddly unmoved. I didn't "know" him. Can't explain it. Felt the same way, years ago, when Dad's mom passed. Some grief lies quiet.

What is it with divorce? That's why I snerked about waiting to get married. I ReallY didn't even think it was possible. Really, really. Pareally:)
I'd watched my families on both sides split, and split, and split. My husbands parents never split. They sure seemed tense, though. I was surprised by their tension. Jeez, and you stayed together 50+ years?? Hmmm. It's been confusing..
Growing up:)

January is alMOST over now, peoples. YEAH! Sending springtime out your way, now.
Anything happen? Now?? Drat. I'm freezing here. minus 5 FahFahFahrenheit. My dogs are cold.

The fugly horses 3 that I've worried about on my drive home, and called OSPCA about, are now 1, and he's pawing away at the snow today. He has a round bale, and "shelter". He looks okay. Of course, he's bay. Where are the other two? I guess, I don't want to know.

To Horses, well-fed, and well-loved. Treated fairly, kindly and sensibly. For the critters we love.

Oh, should I post the update from defendhorsescanada.org? It's just a recap of 2008. Not that it's new news,or anything. Creeped me out to read about CBER and the Horse Welfare Alliance. Yet, the CHDC site also has links to rescues whose descriptions are a bit suspect. Some of the horses rescued are described as very "dangerous". Would you rescue for the rest of his miserable life a psycho horse?

I wouldn't. I'd humanely shoot him, with care. If I knew how, and I had a gun, and I knew how to shoot it, and I had a psycho horse. And a barn. And hay. And a squeeze chute. PROPERLY kindly, fitted. Oh, if I was Prime Minister. I'd be rich.

I think horses should learn to accept the squeeze in their younger lives, but it never happens with the unfit owners. Just for the training, gawd what an awful thought. But it would make it easier for them in any event. For trailering, for racing, for lots of instances where the horse should stop and stand still. Flighty, smart, noble critters, all. Not going to happen in Mexico, of course. Maybe, Only in Canada. gah. Here's the CHDC link. It's your call.

Canadian Horse Defense Council

youknowwhatimean.

Amen to you, kind reader.

HorseBooks.Some Facts, Finally.Touch & Timing.

One of the many books I read was "Effective Horsemanship", by ? Jackson, darn it was there a minute ago. The book was pretty much incomprehensible to me for the first 115 years that I owned it. Then, I rode GoLightly. Lightly opened, and explained the book. Almost word for word.
Today, as usual, I go to mugs blog, and she's describing what I finally "got" from a perfectly well-trained SchoolMaster. Truly lining yourself up with your horse. Riding your horse square to where you want to go, even when on a circle. Having the touch and the timing to sculpt and create what you want. Lining up. Yes.
It's all in the touch and the timing. The touch, not the yell. The timing means everything.

I'd been listening to the great riders write for many years as well. Bill Steinkraus, George, Wynmalen, Pat Smythe & Flanagan, Muesler, as many books as I could beg, borrow or birthday. More are in the "office", but I won't cheat:) Christilot, Gordon Wright, so many, I read them over and over. And over. Watching great riders helped. Riding a lot helped. Still something was missing.

The trainer I worked for at GoLightly's barn's was/is Peter Stoeckel, and he had trained with Michael Matz. He's still training and showing today. Haven't seen he & his wife Debbie in centuries. He's still pinning at the shows. Peter looked and rode like Matz. I learned a ton just watching this guy ride. It was very difficult:) :)

Anyway, after Peter took over the barn, a few months later GoLightly became available for riding until he could be sold. I was probably pretty obvious to Peter, in my interest in the big bay. I don't remember how I actually ended up with him, but I did, as a "lease". I was always really shy with people, don't forget.

A very cheap lease, considering the quality of training in this horse.
GoLightly could jump a Modified Grand Prix Course, and he would have tried his darndest. He could do derby classes. He could do two-tempis, if you asked him right. I never asked for one-tempis (flying change every stride) he was a jumper, after all. But he could do them. He could travel perfectly straight, which I'd only very rarely felt in previous horses. Mostly badly trained horses I was fixing. I was always having to bring them back on "line". GoLightly's tack was a plain, D-Snaffle, and a cavesson. That's all you ever really need. I knew that, but he showed me why. He carried his bit like an egg in his mouth. Gently. He traveled in a line, that you shaped with your body and your direction.

I think those lessons I gave his early beginner owner were the first time he'd EVER been "banged" in the mouth. He looked so confused, but he held his head high, which helped. His early owner was pretty light and weak. (in the head, did I say THAT)

He was six years old, bright bay, 16.3 imported IrishBred, Swiss trained, wonder beast. He was worth $30,000.00 when I was leasing him, this is years ago. He was worth every single cent. And more.

All the movements I'd read about, watched, half-pass, renvers & travers for warm-ups, just by following where we both wanted to go. OH, ThaT's what that is! The doors of my mind flew open, that first day I sat his back. It had taken me awhile, but I did get there. Thanks to GoLightly.

It was all in the touch, and the timing. The straight channel that exists between the two beings, that can then become one. Whoa, heavy.
I don't think this is finished yet..


Oh, and a P.S. for those who wonder, an apology. I'm great at that.
Dammit, I am a stubborn, slightly contrite red-head. Of course, I'm in my down cycle right now. Here's my explanation, and I'll stick to it. I wrote it not long after a Dr. finally "labeled" me.
(With Apologies to the Non Hyper-thyroid)
I can worry about just about everything & feel incredible anger & despair & sorrow in my bad moments. I can also feel incredible joy and elation, in the good. It makes me a bit difficult to live with sometimes, speaking for myself. My energy levels are down, way down, up, then way up. I'm a real time PITA. It's been a part of my nature for as long as I can remember. I can blurt out just about anything, it's outrageous sometimes. I admit it, freely:) Since I was a kid, I've been a blurter.

I'm now officially mentalpausal too. I have no intention of taking medicine to cure that which "ails" me.
I don'tthinkthere'sanythingwrongwithme:)


But I do feel silly, sometimes. I wish I could "take it back". I will continue to lurk, on the mugs. But I feel too damn silly to say anything. No great loss, right? That way, I won't worry about offending anyone. I hate doing that. It's in my nature. I will bitch on my own blog, only. I promise, mostly...

Hmmm, I must be food deprived. Even I have lost what I'm stumbling over saying:)
Dinner's almost ready.

Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts, Jethro!

When my puking, pooping, peeing darlin' silver tabby cat Jethro would start his retching regime, usually just as Hill Street Blues (MOM's & mine favourite TV show) was about to start, or just at a crucial part in the plot, Mom and I would plead "Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts Jethro!!"
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

I still cajole myself on days when I need to, with that silly little chant. Sometimes it works. Sometimes, not so much.

I had this "great" post all going, and my battery died it's last gasp, so I'm starting all over aGain. I can NOT remember what it was about, 12 hours later.. Oh, well. New battery = no new tape-recorder:( Dammit. Hello, brain?

I'll riff a bit on Jethro, and his brother Simon, for my happy place. They came home from the shelter full of diarrhea producing coccidiosis. They were the poopiest kittens ever. I was forever cleaning up after them. They did get better, Jethro more slowly than Simon. The day Jethro finally used his litter box properly was a banner day! He loved to eat string, not that he was supposed to. He came prancing up to me one day, with a piece of twirled poop all the way up his tail, like the stripe of a barber-shop pole. It unwound off his tail quite tidily, thank goodness he'd started to solidify by this point. But how the heck did he do it??

Simon was the quiet type, a plodding, serious, sweet cuddler, while Jethro was the outrageous clown. Simon liked elastic bands and ear wax. Eeeew, you say? Simon, the first time he saw me clean my ear, startled, brightened and InsisteD on having it. When he was old and senile, he'd waken me in the night, purring and drooling in my ear.

Jethro had a wide, surprised, striped & unevenly marked face. Huge gleaming yellow Cheshire eyes. A laughing cat's face. A "Kliban" cat. (That's a cartoon artist, B. Kliban) He'd play hide-and-seek, peek-a-boo was his favourite, pull any/everything out of drawers, push everything off of the tops of fridges, steal ANY food of any kind at all. If you didn't notice, he'd run past you with the prize in his mouth, making his MrrOup laugh. Oh, he could make me laugh. His fascination with beetles, big black suckers, carried in his mouth, and mrrrupped at. He was the only cat I ever met that couldn't land on his feet if/when he fell from things, like chairs, counters. I swear he did it for the effect. He was born with great slap-stick comedy timing. Jethro & Simon followed me everywhere. They'd be waiting at the door when I got home.

Of course, since he was our cat, he had all kinds of interesting problems as he aged. TextBook Vet surprise, I hate it when the vet says, Well, this is unusual. Yeah, tell me about it. All my animals have been unusual. Vets must read up, knowing pets like mine are out there, with silly questions from their owners. Oh, get this. Jethro had urinary blockages, as most neutered males can. He had to be catheterized, hospitalized, urinalyisisized, specialized food.. I called the vet all worried one night, Jethro's pee-pee was blue. Poor Doc! Dr. managed to convince me that Jethro was well enough to wait for his next vet visit.

Jethro ripped his hind claw almost right off one Easter Sunday. He liked to roar around the house, and leap onto furniture to see what he could scatter. He'd caught his claw on the lip of some linoleum stripping stuff, as he liked to go barreling down the stairs, and skid as he slid off the edge. The blood was everywhere. Wouldn't stop. Called Vet, who said, Oh, is the claw really ALL the way off? Hopefully, as if I was kidding him.
Get to the Vets for Easter Sunday visit, Doc says, yes, well, he DID rip his claw (& toe) almost right off. I think Doc'd wished for even more.. Jethro was such an expensive cat. Worth every penny, for every laugh he gave us. Did I mention he was a projectile vomit-er? What a cat:) He had so many quirks and foibles. I've written them all down somewhere, these are the highlights I can easily rewind on. The theme song of Hill Street, if whistled, made Jethro sing, and meRRrow, and finally he'd jump on your lap, and gently paw at your face, begging you to stop. I guess he really didn't like that tune:)

Jethro did indeed save our lives one night. I was living at University, home with Mom and cats on weekends. That weekend, a train had derailed, close to Mom's home. We were ordered to evacuate. We drove to my dorm, with the cats in cardboard carriers. Quiet for most of the trip, Jethro suddenly started rocking and rolling, and Mom asked me to pull over as he started to explode from the box. JUST as I pulled over, going up a hill, a car on the wrong side of the road whizzed past, just missing us on the shoulder. We owed our lives to Jethro and his timing.

Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts, My Jethro!

We lost him to an enlarged heart (cardiomegaly) when he was only nine. Hardest thing I ever did, being there for him. Jethro chuckled gently to me as he passed. He had been suffering, and he knew he could soon laugh again. His tummy and his vomiting and his bladder and his diet gave him a taurine deficiency, brought on by the special vet food. The Vet Food was discovered to actually cause this condition, four years or so (?) after we had to put him to sleep. Yeah, read all about my animals! Veterinary TextBooks everywhere, with Jethro's case files the thickest. I still have the vet's records for Jetharoses somewhere. They chronicle a journey we'd never have expected, and wouldn't have missed, for the world.

Happy Thoughts, to you all.
Find a happy place, and just hang there, for a minute or too. It helps me, when I need to just stop. I think of Jethro. And I laugh.

A is for Affluenza,and an Ode to George Carlin

This particular post has also been bubbling in my brain stem for some time. Years ago, I watched a PBS special called Affluenza. It was (to me) a fascinating documentary about how our society has reached a point where it cannot be satisfied without a constant influx of newer, better, more amazing stuff. Ever heard of (recently sadly deceased) comedian George Carlin? He did a monologue on "Stuff" that can still make me roar with laughter. He was doing a riff on Affluenza, in my opinion.
Google "George Carlin Stuff". He'll make you laugh. Especially his earliest bits. He is the most intelligent comic ever born, IMO. He got angrier and more abrasive, as he got older. I don't blame him. He understood where comedy comes from.

Affluenza is the definition of lower vs. middle vs. upper financial class, really. All of the financial classes have Affluenza. ALL of them.

The Upper Class are rarely, if ever, satisfied with their impressive accumulation of stuff. They always have the newest, best stuff. Cars, houses, clothes, gadgets, cottages, boats, etc. etc. But the Upper Class are always unhappy, unless they're getting more stuff, or feeling superior to people who don't have as much stuff as they do. I've known many wealthy people, and unless they're getting more stuff, they really have nothing to talk about. The wealthy people that I've known, anyway, are not nearly as happy as they should be, considering how much stuff they have. But when is enough, enough? That's Affluenza. They NEVER have enough.

The Middle Class have way more stuff than the Lower Class, but way, way less than the Uppers. They suffer from lack of wealthy stuff, but they can afford enough stuff to allow them to sneer upon the Lower Class's lack of any stuff at all. They love to talk about their stuff, and how much they paid for the stuff, and what a good deal they got on their stuff. The Middle Classes are really the strongest driving force behind stuff. They want more stuff. They work hard to get more stuff, but they never really have enough stuff. The government takes back lots of their stuff, through taxes, and gives it to the Lower Class.

Yeah, SURE, they do. The Government has the worst case of Affluenza, but that's another post.

The Lower Class have no stuff at all. They wish for stuff. They need stuff. The government gives them stuff. They usually don't take good care of their stuff, because it is given for free. If a Lower Class person wins the Lottery, they spend it all on stuff, and then wonder how they got to be so broke, again. They don't know what to do with stuff. They've never had it before. The Lower Class never has enough stuff either.

Any of this remind you of the horse world? It sure does for me. Horses are luxury stuff. They used to be a farmer's stuff. Farmers never suffer from Affluenza, unless they started out super wealthy, and allow themselves to feel the pang of "not enough stuff". You know the type of "Farmer" I mean. They really shouldn't be called Farmers. Land Barons, maybe. Stewards of the Land, no.

Sons/daughters of wealthy people. They are often the worst sufferers of Affluenza.
I have only my experience to go on, people.

I'm adding below some of the comments I deleted from mugs. Horses will benefit, the more we talk about how to ride them, not how "they are supposed to" be ridden.
Me: "I get so frustrated watching novices with a miserable, dead mouthed horse, thinking they've collected their horse. No-one seems to ride forward, into their hand, any more. It is backwards. I think the forward ideal has been superseded by the "collection ideal". I agree, of course, collection is much more demanding of the horse. But lengthening helps to loosen the spring:) You can't collect, without having a really good forward button, first.
Very few novices are taught forward first, IMO. Not having been in the ring for some years, can you tell me, are lengthenings required before shortenings, in lower level tests? Or are both expected? The "Training Scale" of dressage, asks for forward and working first, yes?"

Here's the training scale, with the DQ's comments.
"The German training scale is:
Relaxation
Rhythm
Contact
Impulsion
Straightness
Collection
But actually, they are entwined and depending on each other.
The first three are what you are aiming for when starting the horse."

And that's where I started to disagree, AGAIN. Oh, well. Because by entwining them, you confuse the heck out of the horse. The first three have to be absolutely safe, and perfectly understood, in the horse's tiny, flighty mind. Christilot's description of the training scale, at the clinic I audited, mentioned balance and FORWARD. DQ's did not.

Me: "Thanks for the training scale. It is exactly what every rider needs to learn first. It's like a pyramid, yes? I think there are too many people jumping, before they understand the flat work that is so necessary, for the horse's comfort. I don't think people feel dressage is scary, just boring:) And unnecessary, which it is NOT. It is training, pure and simple. Not that I find dressage boring, but even I started to get sleepy after 4.5 hours of Olympic TV Dressage Coverage. I agree, the notes of the training scale are intertwined, to a degree. BUT, many many novice people entirely skip those first three notes. Collection is the highest note, but many riders just pretend they are playing that music:)"

The DQ never mentioned extensions in her description of dressage, ever. That is the biggest error riders of ALL disciplines are making, today. In my ever so humble, cowering, grovelling opinion.

To Horses that listen to our music, and gladly play it with us.

And to the abolishment of Affluenza. You can't take stuff with you.

Do I make any sense, at all? Oh, well. I really am designed for the mature audience, aren't I.

WhatNo-OneWillAdmit, and other bad things Biology 101

I'm going to talk really basic biology here, ok? All readers not having reached puberty should look away, NOW. Or not. Wish someone had talked to ME.
Horses for girls versus horses for boys. Okay, lets break this down into the bare bones of anatomy, people. Are you ready? I got to thinking about this, of course, after a fugly comment thread. Why are women so nutty about horses? Why are men so abusive of horses? Why are horse people so crazy? Why are people horse crazy? I don't think it's changed much, since I was a kid. Thousands more girls fall in love with horses, than boys. Hmm, now, why would that be? Hmm, think about it now. Basic Anatomy Bingo. B is for breasts, I is for insides, N is for nether, G is for generation, O is for, okay, you know what O is for.

Ever notice how the dirty old men always leered at you, as a kid, hitch-hiking to the barn, if you said you rode horses? I learned to say nothing. Oh, yeah, baby, Ride that horse. Grossed me right out, thinking "That guy thinks I ride horses for the "sex" feeling only?" I'm 14 or so at the time, still wondering WTF happened with Mr. Worst/First. Yeah, first, alright. Nice GUY.

Eeeeew. But, again, thinking biologically, and totally dispassionately, which I can now, because sex isn't driving me anymore, there are very simple biological forces and facts at work.
(This is one of my nuttier theories about crazy horse people, anyway. Horses are passion. Horse People are passionate about their horses. Horses are LIFE. Women go crazy for horses.)

Women are built biologically/anatomically (and comically), to ride and enjoy (if they choose, and often if they don't) horses sexually. The only tiny thing that can hurt can also "tickle" in a REALLY, really good way. I landed on mine once, over a fence. All I can say, is OW. You want to DIE. For boys, square the pain, and add in the feeling of being kicked in the stomach. No WONDER they get a little more defensive when they ride. No wonder they don't have the same instant "feelings" women have for horses.

Men look at a horse, and think, okay, where the heck do my gonads go? What will happen to my TWO jewels? Women think, ooh, yeah. I could fit THAT nicely.
Hey, they do, sorry. Young girls, well, they don't know WHAT the heck they are feeling, really anyway, but man it feels good. No-one will explain the simple facts of sex to kids, of course, so the girls simply become madly enraptured of the horse. The boys sensibly move on to things that aren't so dangerous for their generational jewels.

Why not? The horse is a living vibrator. He is Love, in it's purest biological form. Pleasure for the senses. Mature women, starting out riding, must think "Where has the horse BEEN all my life??"

Guys look at the horse, and think, okay, I can't compete with that! I'll just tie his head down, and spur the snot of him, for revenge. Men are jealous of horses.
You all know me well enough, I hope, to realize that I'm painting the broadest possible picture here. It's just a fact of life. It drives the horse industry. Horses equal sex which equals power. Men HATE that, biologically speaking.

Nobody likes to talk about biology. It's gross. We become like the animals.
Hey, we ARE animals. It's frickin' NORMAL.

Okay, how many completely disagree? Or think I have now completely gone around the Mad Cow mentalpausal bend? No surprise, there.
Just a curiosity I have. NO, I am not saying women ride for sex. But they can, and believe me, some do. Men can't, and it pisses them RIGHT off. Of course, I am HUGELY generalizing. I'm great at that.
I am not saying you love horses just for the sex, OK? Dinners are nice, too. Box of chocolates, I'm there.
I'm just being coldly, biologically, logical. Think like Mr. Spock for a minute.
Have at it.

To Horses. There is nothing wrong with that.

I don't want to be quiet!

kestrel! I blame today's blog, entirely on you:) All kestrel's fault if you don't like it. I found some more info on wry nose....Scroll baaaack.

My ex-sister-in-law sold me her leather couch and 2 lazy boy recliners, when they were renovating. I am wearing the "Lazy" mechanism out. I will pull my legs in, make the mechanism work as I then slowly straighten/extend my legs out. I keep my heels down, of course. I've been doing that for 42 years, the heels down part. I love my Lazy-Boy! My Ex-SIL, too. Lazy-Boys are great for napping when ya got a migraine. I know, I'm letting my English grammar sink into the abyss. I drawl when I'm nervous, and I'm in the hyper part of my cycle through time and space.

I'd be scared of going backward on a big old ball, I've tried one, briefly (little sis had one). I'm not as good "riding" them, I'm afraid. I get dizzy spells, sometimes. I have to trust what I'm play-riding:) The Old Green Leather Recliner, man, he's a goood boy. Ha, and the ball was my sister's!! The last time I'd let her ride, (years before) the horse (arab, what else) deposited her very neatly. I didn't trust that ball, it might have come from Arabia:)

I think, after riding is always the best time to pin-point what area needs the most work. Whatever is sorest, needs the most work:)LOL!
But there's NOTHING like the real thing, you lucky sheeple, you:) Och, at this barn I tried riding at, after about a 6 month? or more? break, I had a lesson on a high-headed, sparkly chestnut QH. He liked me. (I forget his name!) Afterward, every single particle/molecule/atom of my body hurt. It felt GREAT! I can't imagine how crippled up I'd be after a ride today. It's been too long. That's for sure! The school horse place is still there, right handy, but the "A" Show winner/Trainer guy smokes in the barn, oh that's another story. He buys horses from auction for his schoolies, the younger and wilder the better. I don't mind that, but for beginners?? Oh, yeah, so safe. (darn, still can't remember chestnut QH's name)

This is the place where I also rode a gorgeous buckskin gelding, I remember HIS name "Raven". This horse was the walking, breathing, living definition of safer than a house. Getting him to move was a truly epic challenge for your legs and seat. Really, an impossibility. A crane might have helped. Indoors, it was like riding a rock. Outdoors, a very-slow-rolling rock. He needed momentum to move. He was so low&level headed, it was odd to me, and kind of sad. What had he done? What had been done to him?

I was told he'd been a champion Western Pleasure QH, but the sad fate for him was this. He was owned by a, shall we say, fabulously wealthy gentleman, who was/is renting the property to the trainer. Old, like 70, Fab$$ Guy (never having ridden) fancied himself to be John Wayne. He was a very fit hiker. You know the type. Raven was his horse, safe as a church. I had to quit riding there, didn't like the trainer, but I spoke to Fab$$ Guy's wife, a year or so later, and asked after Raven.

Fab$$ Guy and a riding "friend" were GALLOPING HOME ON A FRESH GRAVEL ROAD, (I know the road) and Raven bucked him off, hurting the old guy pretty badly. Now, really, I almost cried right there in front of her. How stupid are people? That stupid. Poor Raven. I can't imagine how much the old $$guy must have been hurting Raven, for him to buck! I guess that's why I forgot sparkly chestnut's name, Raven's haunts me. Raven was sold after that, wife didn't know where:( I think I would have bought him, if I'd known he was for sale. (Have I told this story before?) Maybe on fugs? (tape-recorder) Yeah, I think I have, DARN! Oh, well, blame kestrel.

Please, give all your horses loving scritches and rubs for me? Maybe a carrot, if they're good, and even if they're really not? Just say it's from me, not YOU.
I think I have to go sniff my old bridle, that I still can't bear to part with. My chaps, too. Me 'at. Ok, ok, me 'elmet. I gave my saddle to my old student. You've seen a part of her barn in one pic I posted. My Saddle's still teaching:)

My buddy the old DQ Guy, after his horse passed (a great super-clean, long life he had too, Old Gent), DQ Guy sold all his equipment on e-bay. He's a smart guy! I like to hang on to the leather/horse/sweat/smell.
This entire post is such a great example of what keeps me poor. Oh well. Mom would understand:)

Colour Picture today is supplied courtesy of CorelDrawx3. I'm trying to draw BHM out of hiding. Yeah, pictures are easy to upload.
The b/w is art I found on-line, free, a cartoon of an inept rider jumping a horrified horse. The two are not connected, physically. I've done that on bright bays. Bright bays, the colour and silk of fall sunshine.
The colour picture of the pinto horse is a big old Shire type guy, maybe a gypsy vanner, showing off, all feathers flying. The Flower Picture is my dark blue Lightning Iris. (I'm cowering before the genius of Latigo Liz Photography.) Flower picture taken with a free digital camera, that unfortunately learned to swim in the pond, and still works! Just cuts off the top of all your pictures... The flowers smell like licorice. Purple licorice:)

Thanks for inspiring me, y'all.

Dancing for Horses, for AndalusiansofGrandeur

Balance & Trust work together.
I promised I'd post a description of the exercises in Christilot Boylen's book.
Here goes.

The section is called "A Free Dancer's Approach to Dressage". All of these exercises are easy, unless warned otherwise.

"Pelvic Tilt". Easy.
1) Top Picture, Lying Flat on the floor, legs straight, knees bent comfortably to the angle you usually ride, arms out straight, palms down on floor, but nothing forced. This is a "relaxed pelvis". Notice the hollow behind your back.
2) Bottom Picture, flatten your back to the floor, chin will raise slightly, heels will go down. Knees stay bent. This is a "tilted" pelvis. By flattening your back to the floor, you shorten the back of the neck and raise the chin. That's all:)
Repeat, one, two, one, two, if it hurts, stop.

No, I haven't posted a picture. No Scanner, yet, plus I need to get permission from Christilot, for my own peace of mind.

Do every exercise slowly and gently! Feel the work, but don't overdo too much.

"Posting on the Floor"- little harder.
Kneel, feet out behind you. Butt to heels. Raise your butt, BUT, keep it in line with your shoulders and heels. Hands behind your neck. Keep everything straight, in line. Keep your back flat. Don't raise butt too far too fast! It'll hurt! Feel that?

"Hardest Exercise EVER". Christilot just airily calls it "The Correct Seat" (the back kept completely straight, and the leg muscles active). Yeah, no KIDDING! It's not for the faint of heart.
Okay, this one's a toughy. Have a wall or a rail at straight arm's height in front of you. Something solid you trust. Know the "bar" Ballet Dancer's use? Like that. It's your balance, projected ahead of you. Don't fall back, always "fall" forward, it's safer! The bar is there to help. Ok, first really hard one, stand on the balls of your feet, toes as flat to the floor as possible, for their work-out. No scrunching of feet. Then, make the rest of your feet as straight up as possible, starting at the balls of your feet. Like wearing really high heels. Impossibly high heels:) Arms Straight Out in front of you. You can vary this part, but keep them coming straight out of your shoulder sockets in front of you. If you get this far, and need to stop, that's okay. Try again later. This is HARD. Believe me, start with arms out straight, first. Vary arms later. Trust me:) Use the bar to catch yourself, you will need it.
OK, super-dooperTrooper! hardest part, bend your knees (yes, you are still on the balls of your feet). And hold, until you squeal in agony, kidding, take it EASY, this one is HARD! Takes tons of practice.
Keep your heels straight in line with your hips and your shoulders and the back of your head. Back Flat. Tummy, just ignore it. Try to keep it sucked in. You'll find you'll fall over if your tummy isn't pulled back, anyway. It'll hurt, anyway. Remember how your neck stalk works, keep your head in the middle like kestrel said before. It's a screamer-hardest one, and if you have to work up through the steps, so be it. Do NOT hurt yourself! No Pain, No Gain, is very true. BUT If your body INSISTS on stopping, LISTEN. Only do it in gradually increasing increments of difficulty/time. You'll find your balance with this exercise. Your core and your strength are all connected. These exercises help the connection. BE CAREFUL, go slow !
I've survived another day. Hope y'all have too. Oh, and for the mugs record, I never had any issues with my temper, (after I grew up, at 18) with horses, ever.
I have indeed lost my temper with people. Horses, not so much. I'd never, ever lose my temper with a horse. What on earth would be the point? I'd be saying something totally wrong to the horse, is all.
To The Horse.
This post is for Andalusians of Grandeur, especially. Absolutely. kestrel, if I've described something a bit, or a lot, wonkily, PleasE chime in?

I promise to be quiet for awhile. Busy week ahead. Och, why am I LYING?
Business is dead. I mean, it's a floating sea-kitten in a bowl. I guess (face reddens, shuffles feet) I could shamelessly promote my business on my blog, what can it hurt? Heck, NCcatnip said she might. I couldn't believe it!! I am doing more price sheets this week, my FAVOURITE job:(

Why doesn't my link work?? Gah.
www.macgraphics.ca
I'll just type the darn thing then, fine thanks Blogger! (all embarrassed)
I am a link loser.

Screw it, next commercial, I just wish I didn't feel so, so. Corporate.
Again, why no link?? www.macgraphics.blogspot.com
Ditto.

Maybe I'd be able to afford the durn things again, someday... I "hate" money. I mean I hate not having enough money of course, but I hate the "well, without THIS amount of $$$$, you'd be hard pressed to really get ahead". I'm GREAT at math. I get interest rates. It pisses me right off:)
I'm always trying to be the good guy, I don't like to "blow my horn". I'm over generous and honest to a fault. I mean, a big fault. Who ever heard of an Honest Salesman?

Buy from me, I can't "sell" to you. I suck at it, unless I feel I'm in a certain "state", which is a rare state for me. I'd much rather teach people what to do.
i.e. I'm too bossy.
I'm hoping Madeline Pickens is a blogger, and needs NamePlates for her 10,000 mustangs:)
I'm hoping for really wealthy lurkers:) I think most of my dear friends here have some of the same problems I have. People that aren't VanderBilts/Gates/(who else-Och, blank mind) with horses have enough expenses to struggle with.

The Volcano Sleeps. AND, I'm still HERE. Glad y'all are, too. The CIA/AQHA laser blast did me no lasting harm. Ha, need more firepower than that, you WP/HUS cowfolk. KIDDING!ihope.
Play Amazing Grace for me, someday, AofG. I'll cry, unless of course, you're playing them FOR me:)
How Sweet The Sound, of Horses.

"Please, let's all be careful, out there."
Hill Street Blues Desk Sargeant's Heartfelt 'send the troops out' line, oh what was his name in the show?? Mom?? She can't remember either:) Kidding, Mom and I watched that show, every Sunday Night, my old puking, pooping, peeing big old silver tabby Jethro Cat draped over the entire tiny little B/W TV. Sometimes Old Jethro would vomit, all over the TV. I loved that cat. Jetharoses, noses, toes-es. He was the funniest, sweetest cat. He saved my Mom's and my life one day. Sorry, I'm REALLY blathering now, time for the week to resume. All the best!

(face beeet red, shuffling away, wishing for a pot of gold, for us all)

*arns, *itches, *ullsh*t, Rant #3

NOT!!




The more I thought about it, the madder I got. It's one of my more dubious character disorders. Let me quote what made me so mad.
My question, to Mugwump, regarding videos of reining and cutting "masters" that she had kindly posted. "mugs, is the palomino dead-tailed, as someone said?
Or is he what I've seen in some old-tyme qh's, a real quiet type?
I still liked him better. He is a racin' car. The chestnut looked more TB to me. Not that there's anything WRONG with that:)
If the low-head carriage is what places first in reining, why is Laura bashing on it?
Is there a divide in the western idea of "ideal"?
LOL!!
My word ID is EQUITER.
how ironic:)"
(Laura had said she didn't like the low head set of reiners.)
Laura's oh so snooty response "I think that if you are talking about something of which you have very little knowledge, its best to frame your comments/questions respectfully. Perhaps your more appropriate response would have been "Laura (or Mugs if you want to ask her), why does the horse with the naturally high headset have some advantages as a head horse, when the reiners want the horse's head so low?"

So, if I ask a question, I need to preface it with "Kow-towing, genuflecting, on my knees slobbering respectfully. I know sweet f-k all about the western world"?? GAWD! I deleted everything I said in that post, in a completely red-headed huff of indignant pique. Laura's asking the question she wants to answer, NOT THE QUESTION I ASKED. And, she seemed to skip over the fact that I ASKED mugs!!!
Y'know, I don't think I WANT to know anymore. It's obvious that if you do ask a question, you are stupid. If you don't ask a question, you don't learn anything. How do I start from here? I'm staying the heck away from that kind of attitude. Honestly! I've been watching WP & HUS classes, for some time now, thinking WHY? Why is the head so low? Quick answer, I guess, is "WHO KNOWS?" Laura doesn't, and mugs wants to stay politically correct, I guess. I've thought to myself, "Are they breeding for that low head?" Turns out, yes,they are. BUT WHY? Makes zero sense to me. Does that make me stupid, or what??
That I'm not riding right now, for sure, gets the old noses stickin' up, too. OH, you DON'T own a HORSE?? Sniff. I still have to say, the Western Folk are even scarier than I thought. And, they pack weapons. It's the good ol' boy mentality, I guess. I've watched Stacy Westfall, and thought, yes, that makes great sense. Then mugs, whose opinion I respect, posts a super-low-headed reining champion that she thinks is the best in the business. Why wouldn't ya ask? Oh, right, you're supposed to KNOW, already. The exact same thing happens in English, don't get me wrong. If you have to ask, you are dumb. If you don't ask, you NEVER learn. No wonder the horse industry is all screwed up. You are assumed to know everything, and if you don't, boy, are you DUMB.
kestrel, I couldn't agree with you more. Teaching for the long run, and teaching for the horse's comfort and well-being, isn't happening at the school barns. Not enough money to be made, teaching horsemanship. My biggest competitor, when I was teaching, was a lesson factory, where the kids riding six months taught the beginners how to jump. I "captured" a few of their students, the ones that wanted to learn, and knew they weren't getting it there, but not that many. Hard to compete with a barn that'll turn ya into a professional with one year's experience.
My next post, (if I survive), will be on my idea of the perfect school barn. I will hope that out there somewhere, one actually exists, for the horses.
I gotta quit posting for awhile, kind friends. I'm afraid the CIA/AQHA/NRHA/NRCHA is going to drop an ICBM on my lonely, isolated house, to shut this mentalpausal ranting red-head with the stupid questions UP! I am on wireless at home, they're probably zeroing in on my signal right (KABOOM)

GAH! It was there a minute ago!

I do dislike my neuronal fizzlings. My neurons are morons, sometimes. I was given a general anesthetic at like 3 years old, twice, bloody heck, 50 years ago. Of course, I've read since then, anesthetic can affect memory in childlings. Yeah, tell me NOW.
A little late, hmmm?? The first time was getting my thumb end squished in a car door. Hey, I was dumb! Second, I'd gotten a splinter of wood under my thumbnail, they had to knock me out to pull it off and get it out. Oh, right! I crimped a fingernail, too. There was a few painful awakenings. But why did they knock me right out?? I was probably screeching. My big sis and I trained our baby sis to some ear-piercing solos, so I guess I was an accomplished soloist, myself.. Bratz. I was always outside playing. Or being told to "Go PLAY OUTSIDE, stop being so noisy!" Who, ME? I was very noisy until the age of 12 or so. Shut RIGHT up after that.

Check out my company's custom made cow, offered up in penance for offending MadameLauraCrumbs. People take themselves so darn serious:) I can't help feeling sorry for cows, but I like to eat them. I know that's a holstein, OK? I just laughed my fool head off, when I finally saw some good western stuff being ridden.
I told you, it takes me a while, but I get there. WP/HUS, wow, they WANT that. They have actually bred for that. I did not know that!! Shoot me! That's why the western folk skeer me. They carry guns.
I'll just play alone, then. FinE! Hufff. I promise to be good:)
(Throws snow in the air). Can't remember what I wanted to say, anyway.
Oh, yeah. The Great Divide. Glad to know I'm not alone.
To Creepy-Eyed Cremellos. I Still Like That Guy, TrexX!! Just so wrong in colour and BREED:)
To Fugs, Too.
I remembered, then forgot again. Oh, RIGHT!! Exercises for riders who aren't currently riding, but want to get fitter. Tune in next time, on the Bitzy Ditch Blog:)

Okay, Okay, here's a horse pic, too. With armour, for just in case.
Dogs are sighing, time for food.

Horses & Hearts & Humans

The choices we make with people have little to do with the choices we make in the horse world. The different directions our destinies travel all relate to what has happened in our lives, with horses. The Great Divide I get so angry about, has forced some good people to get out of the horses. Like me.
I'm going to make some huge, sweeping generalizations. I'm great at that.

Horses are sad, because the industry can't hold onto the people it needs the most. Why? The Great Divide, which includes the different disciplines, and the GIANT socio-economic factor. Hey, not bad eh? Sounds like a thesis for a Ph.D. dissertation.
I miss teaching, terribly, can ya tell? Poor Andalusians, never ask me a question without expecting about a ton of information. I'm like a darned geyser, I love to spout what I know. I love to learn what I don't know. After GoLightly was sold, I slowly got out of the horses. It took a long time, gradually. With each further disappointment/heartbreak, my desire to be with horse people flagged. My desire to be with horses never has. But I do need to eat.

After GoLightly sold, I continued teaching, and riding other people's problem horses. I was teaching an older wealthy couple, whose daughter was a boarder at the barn. Spoiled, nasty brat she was! Anyway, older wealthy couple wanted their own horse, as my dear schoolies didn't suit their desire for a fancier horse. (Never mind that the couple weren't exactly gifted.) I helped them find a lovely gelding, and the "promise" was that I'd be able to use said horse for my advanced students, in order to keep the horse well-exercised and safe for the couple. I was thrilled at the thought that finally, my advanced students could ride something that was actually younger than 18 years old, without major soundness/conformation issues. The arrangement lasted a week. Then, wealthy older couple decided that their horse wasn't low-class enough to be used in the school. The gelding became very difficult to ride, as he wasn't being used enough. I quit in disgust, about a month later.

I had my old boss (where I was teaching, and where GoLightly was sold from) sign a fantastic reference for me, when I did finally give up.
I was working in the big bad city, the culture shock just about killed me in the first few years. I was working very close to a Riding School. I applied for a part-time position, with my resume, because I missed teaching terribly. They were thrilled with my qualifications, but my salary demands were too high. I wanted a whole $20.00/hour, which I'd been earning before.
I had previously made $150-$200 bucks a week, tops, though. I wasn't paid for the hours between lessons. I had looked after "my" schoolies for free. My old boss fed them, mucked them, and paid for the not often enough farrier. All other expenses were picked up by me. Tack repairs, carrots, lesson plans. Brushes. I also paid him $200 per month to lease GoLightly. I was so poor. It was the final reason I had to quit. At 30 years old, with a degree and student loans to pay off, I had to start earning real money. 

With GoLightly gone, and no prospects to offer my good students, I lost heart.
This new barn charged $80.00/per person/per group lesson. They had a minimum class size of 4 or 5. But, ooh, I was too expensive. Never mind that my resume clearly indicated that I'd built "my" prior business from 5 students to 75 students in under two years. The profit margin had to be maintained. It was their loss, and mine too, of course.

I could have worked for $10.00/hour. I was just too proud to go backwards in salary. The Great Divide. If you are wealthy, you can have horses. But you can't buy talent and knowledge and desire and sense. In horses, that is not considered added value in an employee. A barn owner prefers the cheaper worker, and wonders why his horses suffer. My old boss had no idea how hard I worked for the whole barn. His barn workers were, um, not good. I did night check, and often found problems left by the workers. One poor mare, I came in, after teaching, and her water bucket had a dead mouse in it. She'd been shivering and nodding at her bucket all day, I'll bet. No-one noticed, but me. No-one appreciated it, but the mare. I never said anything.
Given the choice, the barn owner would rather pay $10.00 an hour. It's cheaper.
But the horses are sad.

Why do horses make me cry?

I mean, I know I'm seriously hormonal right now, but I've always cried, watching the great ones ride. I even cried watching the Roadsters at the Royal one year, these little speed demons racing around, fearlessly working for their drivers. They just bring tears to my eyes. I don't cry a lot, normally, whatever THAT means.
The first time I walked into the barn where I started part-boarding, I cried. The smell of horses makes me tear up, no, not because of the ammonia smell! It wasn't that bad of a barn, just the wingie-dingy boarders were bad.
I never cry watching say, a boring hunter round. A boring dressage ride. A bad jumper round. If the horse doesn't look interested/happy, neither am I.
Horses are my heart.
When I see a brilliant rider/horse combination, water-works galore. At the Christilot Clinic, I was wiping tears frantically, as I watched the baby steps of piaffe, from a horse gladly offering his soul to his soft, kind rider. Sorry I'm typing this again, tape-recorder mode kicked in. I wish I'd videoed it, now.
It's the expression on the horse's face that brings me to tears. The expression of the rider, the concentration and rapture in their face, as they sit their wonderful horse.
I just watched a bit of a reining clip on mugs. SOB! I had to stop watching, because if the phone rings, people can hear the catch in your throat, and they'll wonder what the heck is wrong with this woman? Horses, they make me feel right.
I gotta buy more kleenex. If/When, darn right I'm going to, see BHM's Trooper, I'll bring along a whole box. I'll be prepared.
Betcha I'd cry, watching AndalusiansofGrandeur ride. (hint, hint)
Betcha I'd cry at anyone of you riders kind enough to read me. On your amazing good days. I don't have unreasonable expectations:)
Greatness comes from the try of the horse and rider together. That always makes me weep.

Sheesh. (deep breath, wipes eyes, trudges back to work.)

And another thing, Rant #2

Just to clarify how I have proof that Dressage Queens don't like to listen. Here's the proof. At the 2008 Olympics, we got GREAT TV coverage from a channel I receive. Hours and hours of dressage. Boring, deadly, for most. I even got tired of it after a few hours. BUT, here's the deal. The commentating was done by an FEI Dressage Judge, named Cara Whitham. The Dressage Forum I used to visit groaned and moaned that Cara talked too much. I caught all kinds of hell from the DQ's when I said "Um, you're NOT interested in a Judge's opinion? You don't think it was a great learning experience?"
Nope, they were not interested, and no, they wouldn't learn anything.. They'd rather watch, and not learn, because.. They already know it all! Yeah, right.
I was totally fascinated, watching the greats, and listening to Cara's extremely learned opinion. The DQ's got positively huffy with me. Oh, well. Wouldn't you be interested in the opinion of someone well-known, and well-respected in their field??
Ok, I'll shaddup now. (Deep sigh of relief from the DQ's)

Us and Them, a Rant in Several Stages

Why is it that once you start talking about how the horse carries himself, people get all "different" about it? I'm so tired of Dressage Queens. They've been around for years. They are perfectly, mostly nice people. They can't ride their way out of a paper BAG. Sorry, Mugwumps always interests me, because of the typed training tips. It's been really cool, learning some more "classic" western. The topic of lead changes starts becoming, oh you ride english, or western, as if there is a huge difference in HOW the HORSE goes. The comment one DQ made, "The western horse is more comfortable, easier to sit." Yeah, right. Uh, huh. Betcha dollars to Donuts that DQ NEVER rode a good cuttin' harse. Or a Porsche Polo Pony. Betcha not. It's like once you're sitting on a giant WarmBlood, everything else goes out the window. A QH can deposit you more handily than a WB. Yes, I've ridden BOTH. There is one difference. Paltry. You cover more ground with each stride. There is a Gorgeous movement going on. SO?? What does the DQ do?? OMFG, please, work on the halt again. Theze DQ's are juuuust chicken. Berack, brack, brech. Forward, WHOA!! That skeered me. Where's my big-ass bit?

Grrr. The worst DQ's never, ever leave the arena. How the horse stays sane is again, a tribute to the equine kingdom. And of course, often, the horse is um, happy to get out. Eeeeeek. Let's work on some halts and turns on the forehand, REALLY annoy the horse. Round and Round and Round. Gah.
We've bred these incredibly athletic horses, and wonder why they are so powerful in their movements. "Hard to Ride??" What?? Helllooo?? Not really. They want to go forward, and jump. This is a GOOD thing. Why can't Anky halt her horse? (she won at 2008 olympic dressage, for those who don't know)
Funny, not many seem to be able to ride the darn things well. Belinda Trussell is brilliant, of course, I'm talking the lower levels. When did hauling on the mouth become so de rigeur... Anyway, DQ's get their leads, "flying changes" just like the QH's poop, same as ALL other breeds of horses.
It's the same. Only different, by breed. Jeeeesh.
Horses, Let them run and jump, or go home. The Driving Harses? That's another story, altogether. I've ridden them too, they're frickin' built to move that way, again I'd love a DQ to ride an ASB. B'bye:) I think you are pushed back, by them, it's the way they are built, in my humblest opinion.

Holy crap, where the heck did THAT come from? I will mention Bunny ain't No Kind of Riders blog, again, although she's disappeared. Cause she gets it, too. That's her pic of "Fabian" & Reiner Klimke. I hope, cause Steve didn't elect to answer my perviously blatherings.
Wow. (shakes head, off for dinner check)
Did I type this somewhere before? It sounds familiar.. TapeRecorder..

BOO! Did I scare ya? kestrel is the salt of my blog. FernValley, that's the cinnamon..
I'm hungry:)

Uh, oh.. I did it again...

I've managed to scare people away. Am I really? Gosh, why the heck do I type here? I will go back to my corner and hope for the best. I wish my fingers would be quiet sometimes. I knew it, I knew it. Never let them see ya sweat. Stay within bounds. Don't say anything. Don't. Keep life flip, keep it light. Life is tough enough out there. Everyone has problems. Deal with it. Square those shoulders, jut that chin. Sit that trot! Drop ye'er stirrups, Lass!

I had a long chat with a dear customer/friend Friday. She's planning on leaving her husband. I was able to bitch to her a bit, but it didn't help much. What, do I attract this shite? Maybe I do. I feel like I'm dug in, like a badger, or maybe a mole:) I've always felt a little "jinxed", for lack of a better word. Tried to hurl my jinx at SarcastaB, don't know if it worked:) I don't want bad things happening to good people, just bad people. I should have been a lawyer/judge.

My Autistic Side of Life was directly influenced by My Affluenza. Or was it the other way 'round? That I'm a nutbar, is nothing new. I may get back to that. Temple Grandin helped me understand myself a bit better. I was a tape-recorder, too. Trying to re-wind/erase isn't always easy.

Stayed home and worked today. On Friday, I had to leave early, as the auto fumes from our neighbour's almost made me faint. How do people ever get used to that?

I want to delete everything, and start over. My fingers whine at the thought though.

Horse Tales - At F/W barn, there were some really nice Arabians, that ""t"" had won lots of ribbons with. Gorgeous, tall animals, unusual. I still remember all of their names. Hai Mirath, gelding that would do anything for you, 16.0 hands of chestnut love. Siraya, chestnut mare, dam of Gaydonna and Nadir Azim, the kicking/biting beautiful homicidal foal. None of them had particularly smooth gaits, Gaydonna being the choppiest. Hai Mirath could jump, but like a deer, with no height. Baska, half Arab, incredible jumper. Gentleman Jim, a tall bay runaway. Whippoorwill, another tall, big bodied bay, whose girth snapped at the apex of a 4' jump, I rode the saddle all the way to the ground. Learned to check my tack, after that:)

I'm sorry if I'm scary. I've never gotten used to my effect on people. That it can happen when I type as well, scares the crap out of me, too.

I was born close to Hallowe'en:) Ha! Maybe THAT's why:)
Better get back to work, I've almost finished my current re-pricing project.
Just thought I should apologize...
For what, I don't know.

Do I make a little more sense now?

After posting, I thought, hmmm, am I an R-Rated Blog now? I don't think so, as this did happen when I was a KID. It's such a taboo subject, which explains why it happens. Nobody wants to admit/talk/anything about it. See, I won't name "it" again. My skin crawls. It makes big nasty headlines, but never for very long. F/W ""teacher" had three kids. Two were girls, 5 & 3 when I met them. I said prayers of gratitude when ""t"" died two years after I left, drunk at the wheel.
Parents said "Oh, here's the invite to the funeral". I went with (as usual, much older) friends from the F/W barn, but asked them to let me out, before the cemetery, and I walked to the barn (#3 by this point) from there. I had no idea how I was "supposed" to feel. Starting skipping school, and hitch-hiking to the barn, not long after that. Started the angered slide. I must have been at least a little smart, because my grades didn't really crash for a few more years. Och, this is too heavy, isn'ta? I just hope "it" evolves OUT of the human population. It does us no favours. None, Nada, Nowt. I know just enough genetics to get that.
I remember the good & great horses I rode at F/W. Mike, BelgianX gelding, ran back into the barn with me the first time, later to win me ribbons in jumpers. The first horse I rode, the first to win a ribbon on.
Grey Squire, a little cranky smarty pants, who was brilliant, if you were juuust right with him. He humiliated me at our my first show, cantering happily past the fence I nervously hadn't pointed him at properly. The kind that could scare you away, in his stall, if he sensed ANY weakness. Oh, he'd shake his head, pin his ears, throw his butt, and grind his teeth! All sweetness and light would shine from his big old intelligent eyes, if you stood your ground, and laughed at him. SqueeGee wasn't much more than a pony, but he thought he was an alligator, too.

F/W was a harse dealer, too, see, supplied lots of auctions. He was rough, and harsh. Novice Riders are Herd Animals. I'm quoting me on Mugwump's blog there:)
I was an obedient sheeple pupil, great word, thanks to the FuglyHorseOfTheDay blog comment board!!!
Remind me sometime, there are many more memories. However, this isn't a book, it's a BLOG:)

Deeeep breath. Ok, Second/Worst barn was an improvement both in shorter distance for Mom and lack of deviant behaviours. #2 trainer was a nice, dumb, ignorant guy who loved horses. He'd chopped several toes off in a lawnmower, to give you an idea. He needed a rider for his myriad horses, and I became the head trainer. Yeah, as IF!! I had been riding all of two years, but I did win ribbons. (I beat Jim Day, once, but believe me, it was justa schooling jumper class).
2ndWorst's schooling area was an old apple orchard, my jumps were varying heights of downed logs etc. The etcetera was anything you can think of, you name it, I jumped it. He had a lovely TB/Draft cross (guess!), yup, bright bay mare, that I messed up over a year of my beginner training. Oh, I shouldn't say that, I'm surprised by the one pic I have. I look pretty good. BUT, we also have an old! home movie at a schooling show. I had shown and won all the morning classes, and the afternoon classes weren't nearly as productive. That, of course, is immortalized on film. I cringe when I see it. (My Hands! GAH!!) Poor BayMare, so tired, but 2ndW and I were stupid and greedy. I smile at how ridiculously long my stirrups were, and how my leg was good, but uneducated/noisy/nagging. I know how little I learned.
I had my fifteen minutes of fame, in the Globe and Mail newspaper, me riding bare-back+halter over a fence at a schooling show. Big time, people, big time:) I was riding a solid red dark chestnut stallion, named Red Harrison at this show, he was my #2 horse. Yes, I had my own hunter/jumper string:) Then, of course, 2ndW sold them. HeartBroken #2.
My parents actually started to feel sorry for me, and bought me my first horse, with help from my Mom's Mom. Really annoyed dear old Dad, the exorbitant costs of horses. Mom's Mom and Dad became firmer enemies over me. I was 14. How many years ago is THAT!
Hey, but of course, that's for another day, what colour First Horse Ever was:)
If you've managed to read all the way to here, without snoring, I thank you.
Smiling gets ya triple bonus points:)

and a yellow star.

First/Worst Barn, in stages

The two years I spent at First/Worst barn have been in my memories for a long time. I don't dream of it as often as I dream of later barns, thank goodness. My family had finally landed in a new, freshly manufactured, uniformed suburbia. I was ten and a half, and had been moved with family 4 times by then. Our last place of residence had been Vancouver, I REALLY didn't want that final move back east. Mom was thrilled, because she missed her family, terribly. I loved living in Vancouver. I had tons of good friends, and then whoops, time to move. At that age, making friends is a little tougher. I made few friends, and the new east kids were just appalled by my western bravado, which was brought on to mask my insecurity and shyness.
I started walking to the F/W barn that first summer. My parents couldn't really stop me, as I was good in school, and good at home. They paid for one riding lesson per weekend, and I put in 16-17 hours of horse time. IF I'd walked a further 2 miles, I would have found a great Best/First barn. I didn't even know it was there, until it was "too late". Parents didn't do much research. After about six months, the F/W barn had to move, much further away, which meant I had to beg Mom to drive me at dawn, every weekend. I put in so many hours of free labour at the barn, that my F/W ""trainer"", what do I call him, ex-RCMP guy, volunteered that I could have free lessons on Tuesday as well. Later, I got all my lessons free.
I had to bum rides from other students for those trips, not always successfully. Poor Mom, I'd start trying to wake her at 6am, every weekend morning. How good she was to me! If only we'd known, just by turning right, we could have saved 50 miles, and years of heartache, just by finding a different barn. I became a master of cajoling rides from other boarders and riders at the F/W barn. My first foray into logistics:) My grades stayed up, and parents really had nothing to complain about, other than the cost, which I kept as low as possible.
Anyway, the F/W barn is where it all started. F/W is where I learned about, well, everything a kid needs to know about life. Just a little sooner than necessary. My parents remained blissfully unaware and still don't know, to this day.
Alcoholism. Pedophilia. Sex. Deceit. Sexual Abuse. A grown-up abusing the trust of a child, love-struck as I was by the horses. Cruelty and ignorance, all in two years. Wow, I grew up so quick. Years later, I still get angry about it. Too bad ex-RCMP died. I'd kick his arse, today. The confusion factor of pre-pubescence kept me silent. My grades started to slip, just a tiny bit. Mom, stressed to the eyeballs by her tense, bitter marriage and her spoiled rotten children, never guessed the truth. I never felt the need to hurt her with the truth, later. No Mom needs to know that kind of truth. It was during those years that I decided to never have kids. I couldn't bear the thought of having to endure what Mom went through. I despised how cruelly Dad teased Mom, and how we were all encouraged to do the same. Didn't seem very fair, to me. Plus, what good were grown-ups anyway? ""Teacher"" had been my idol, my ideal person, with his untold vast sums of equine knowledge. He called me a liar, to his poor, patient wife, in front of my face. I left in tears, never to come back. Then, I went to Second/Worst barn, almost as bad as First/Worst, but sans the pedophilia. I gladly took what I could get. F/W ""Teacher"" got me the gig of riding the horses at Second/Worst Barn. Guess he owed me that much. I was 13.
Hey, where's the horse talk?? F/W barn is where I rode sidesaddle, western, broke wild ponies, cross-country jumping, cooled polo ponies, hacked on the country roads to go swimming in nearby lakes, and jumping into gravel pits, jumping without saddles/bridles/loose, jumping 6 feet, mucked and mucked stalls, cleaned tack and learned the art of gossiping. It wasn't all bad. Horsemanship skills just weren't high on the list of things that needed learning. Riding was easy:) I was the envy of my peers for my natural seat and balance. Long-legged, short-waisted, long gangly arms, broad shouldered, huge hands/feet/nose, I'd force my heels down before sleep every night, stretching the back of my calves until they ached. My hands were as hard as hell.
I shudder now, at what I did to Musket's mouth. I remember being humiliated in one lesson with Brown Derby, I'd been fighting him all the way to the jump. ""Teacher"" put his best rider on Brown Derby, and showed how she could drop the reins, and he'd calmly, quietly jump the jump. OH, the anguish. Oh, the humility! ""Teachers"" best rider rode with her toes turned in, which I also practiced, before sleep each night. I'd sleep in the tackroom, waiting for my ride home, wakening covered in dust and spiders, one leg numb from an awkward position. I was in my own Horse Heaven, with conditions attached. I was a red-headed fright, according to my overly affectionate F/W ""teacher"".
Yes, I saw therapists, later. No, they didn't help much. I'm too ornery for a therapist! I'd much rather write:)

Oh, the memories..
I've read they can fade as you write them down. Here's to fading the memories we don't need anymore, and enhancing the ones we want! I think that's why I need to be in JUST the right humour for GoLightly's facts. I need the facts to be exact, for my reference, and to keep them from fading.
I always firmly believed I'd never forget any of my horses names and stories. Most of them are still there, waiting for me.

To Your Horses.

p.s. Picture is of Flip dog, trying to herd an uncooperative turtle:) Flip is into reptiles, she's forever harassing snakes.
(edited to correct the age I was when I left F/W)

More Bright Bay Memories

It's strange how the mind will offer up more memories, when you start scrolling back through time. After Brown Derby, sold to who knows where, the next bright bay to take care of me had the ugly old name of Musket. He was a snorty, trembly, weedy TB/StdB?/brumby cross, with no white on him at all. Musket was a very safe jumper, packing me around, always in the ribbons at the schooling shows. The "big-time" shows were usually out of our league, but First/Worst (golly, what do I "name" him? I don't like thinking about him) decreed that we were ready for a class "A" show, c/w traveling to another city, and motels, and everything!! I (almost 12 years old) was over the moon with excitement. Our little band of riders did uniformly badly, looking like the rough-riders we were. But, in the last big class, the Jumper Stake, I was clean coming down to the last fence. As Musket and I took off, I let out a victory "Whoop!" and Musket dragged his hind end through the fence. Oh, so close, and yet so far. A learning experience, with a dash of humble pie thrown in. Never cheer your jumps before they're cleared, people:)
Musket was a scaredy little guy, as I said. He'd always have to snort & blow low, and cower up to you, caution/flight ready in every muscle. You know, how they face you, head straight to you, eyes wide, and blowing "hoooo, are yooouuuu?" Musket's ultimate departure involved First/Worst, drunk, taking him for a gallop up a paved road, and foundering him. Musket spent a few weeks in a mud stall, as I recall, and he did end up with a place for me to go visit him, once. I still have pictures of him, ancient crumbly things. I think if I scanned them, they'd powderize. LOL! There are many more, like Boomer King, QH, brilliant little guy, but I'm skipping ahead a few years. Need to rewind, and re-sort:)
A memory is a funny thing.

Ohhh, bright bays.

Aaaaah, aaaah, aaaah Affluenza & Moving Pictures

Yes, I will type something/anything to get my pictures lower down. I love seeing Rusty dog, but as of Tuesday, her picture was on HGTV! (ok, for 0.75 seconds, twice! Still!) So rather than be hounded by the paparazzi, because of my oh, so famous now sadly deceased dog, I'll post whatever I can type. Don't need people wanting my autograph when I go to the post office:) "Pure Design" on HGTV - my Sis got a new kitchen/living room! So proud of her! The cameraman also zoomed in on a picture of my nephew taken oh, 10 years ago, standing in husband's wheat field. Oh, my, way cool. Sis is a great photographer. She took the pics at our wedding. She's an artist, and annoyed my MIL by taking some Polaroids with weird colour filters, that made MIL look a little corpse-ly. I know that's not a word. Ooh, I'll post a b/w pic of nephew she took. There, I have to get some sleep. Not to worry, I won't let the "fame" go to my head.
Oops, still haven't done Affluenza. I'll keep reminding myself.
That bright bay stallion Champagne Til Dawn? My Tad Plaid looked a lot like him, but for the white. I am such a sucker for a bright bay. The first horse that was "my" special, favourite schoolie at that first, worst barn, was a bright bay hackney gelding named "Brown Derby". I learned how to sit a trot, bareback, on him. He also had a rather disconcerting habit of occasionally falling through his jumps. I remember one bad fall, where I watched his body rolling towards me, thinking, I wonder how heavy a horse is? Nice old bright bay, he missed me tidily. I'd come up for my lesson, and see a yellow sticker on his butt. I was so blissfully unaware. He was the first horse I ever fell off of, just by turning into the centre of the ring, at a canter. Plop. Bright Bays, no white. Can you tell that's what I like? I know, I know. That's my "colour", not so flashy, but oh, so safe. Funny, huh? Hey, I'd never turn down a great horse with appy or pinto or white markings, but give me two exactly the same, but for the colour, I'll go with plain bay. I must have been Amish, in another life:) My old schoolie, Sparky, "grade" Morgan, bright bay, no white. Solidest, sanest, smartest, toughest horse I ever knew. That he had textbook jack spavin, ringbone, both high and low, fazed him not. He had the weirdest "caterpillar" four-beat canter, (sometimes 5 beats, how did he do that??) but he could teach kids rudimentary flying changes. I never worried about Sparky, "show" name Spartacus. A truly gifted baby sitter, with a kind heart. The cutest, tightest knees over jumps...
Didn't I say I was going to sleep?
Warm, drying winds, to the PNW.
To Bright Bay Horses.

Introducing..... Me.

After that post yesterday, curiously, I wanted to go and hug my husband. I did. I hadn't wanted to, for a while. I'm still figuring it all out. I thought, to be exceptionally brave, I'd post two pictures of me, as in the real me. One is of my wedding day, in 2000, with my red dog. That's about as good as I can look:) The other is taken the day I picked up my Tad Plaid, in 1989. This is the horse that foundered, and had to eventually be euthed, in 1993. Just thought you'd like to put a face to the words. I do have a great singing voice:) Fern, I went to TrailBoss's blog, and realized that my "story" isn't all that unusual. I mean, I knew that, it just helped to read of other's struggles with this world we have. Helped me realize that telling my story can maybe help someone else. Kestrel, wow, just wow. What strength of spirit you have. Thinking of you both. Thanks for reading. You help, so much. I hope I can help you all, somehow, too.
That's really what it's all about, isn't it?

Faith, Hope & Affluenza

Okay, trying this post again, maybe more coherently, maybe not. "We must not indulge in unfavourable views of mankind, since by doing it we make bad men believe that they are no worse than others, and we teach the good that they are good in vain". walter savage landor. I liked that, don't know why.

My Christmas visit with my step-daughter SD and husband's Ex, and of course husband, became a little rankly (afterward), when I was the only person who wouldn't "believe" in creationism. Because, SD had asked a really great question about the evolution vs. creative design debate.

She's at an age that I know is a time of really correlating what the heck life is going to be like, and what it's been like, in a cosmic sense. My step-daughter SD is a great kid, her mom has done a wonderful job of raising her. Lots of good things have happened for them at their church. I feel churches are wonderful for communities. SD is almost 17, works at Timmy's, gets good grades, and minds her mom. Get this. Ok, my husband's ex's ex, (they split up last Christmas) is a very strictly church-going guy. The Bible is the Word, and the Law.

Ex's ex was also abusive to my husband's ex. Ex & Ex met at church. I know, it's a sitcom. I believe in the science we've learned, and I have my own faith for how we might come closer to the higher powers that I do believe exist. (deep breath). I don't believe science and faith in God have to be on opposite sides of a fence.

I remember driving somewhere with husband, early in the courting ritual, we were listening to XTC's "Dear God" song, which I'm sorry, but I love. Husband threw the tape out the window. Guess I should have realized then, eh? A line from the song "people fighting in the streets, 'cause they can't make opinions meet, about God" has always stayed with me. I believe in forces much more powerful, more advanced, more intelligent than anything we may even dream of. More than the best science fiction we've dreamed up. I do believe in that.

That I won't name that power as God, guaranteed me a really crummy Friday night:( I feel the rhythms of the earth, the swirling of spirits, the energy that is life. The day Mom died, I saw something fly upward, out of the corner of my eye. Mom was a thousand miles away at the time. I know my husband was right, with his last point, that the debate can be resolved by exclaiming that the two ideas (evolution & creationism, if the reader is still awake) don't have to be mutually exclusive of each other. 

There are some deeply religious people in the sciences. They feel no conflict of interest. I admire that thinking. There are people that have done terrible things in the name of their deity. That I don't admire. I have known people with no sense of morals, devoutly. I've found that, for some, I do not say all, going to church can "make bad men feel they are no worse than others." I don't think you can give up on hope, and still have faith.

My husband says he feels hopeless, but he still has faith. I don't understand that. I feel hope, is that faith? My love for all things outdoors, is a faith I have. I answered my husband's daughter's question flippantly, in his mind. I am very often flip, especially when I feel cornered, or I sense the mood should be lightened. Doesn't mean I'm doing it right..

It keeps the conversation light, at least it always has with the SD & Ex. I see them once a year. They seem to like me. My husband nearly blew a gasket, when we got home. I think as long as I'm speaking, I'm doing ok. My darlin' husband. He's a beaten down ex-farmer. Ok, that's too many ex's in one post, I might get linked to the wrong type of site.

See, when I say anything, I'm in trouble. When I don't, it's still trouble. I'm still thinking about this. Affluenza will have to wait. I may come back and edit this, when I've eaten:) There, that's better. I mean, I tremble to even bring up such words, which strikes me as odd. How can we bridge the chasms surrounding ourselves, our cultures, our religions? How can we learn to get along? Why are people still killing each other? How can words like "ethical treatment of animals" have such a broad range of definitions? Such a different meaning, for different people.

Hoping for Horses. I hope for us all. As George Michael sang, Ya gotta have Faith.