JumpCrazy

Jump Crazy Kid, 1967.
It's taken me a long time, but I've evolved, from the jump crazy kid I was, pictured above, 1966 or so, into this weird semi-pro anti-pseudo-pro horseless horse person. I think.

Jump Crazies

It's a common disease amongst most riders interested in English disciplines. They get hooked on the thrill, and the power, and the flight they can achieve with each jump. It's an adrenaline high. Addictive in young women, if left to their own devices. Trouble is, the horse only has so many good jumps in him. No matter what type of horse he is! I wish I'd known that in my youth. I thought they were bullet-proof, horses' legs. They ain't.

Jumping any horse, dayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterdayafterday, just shouldn't happen. Period. Variety is the spice of life. Variety is their life. Stumbling around the same ring, or the same pen, or the same arena, is a set-up for failure. They need varied footing. They need varied settings. They need variety! It's better for their movement, and their brains. And their HOOVES. Sorry, didn't really mean to shout. But good grief...

In my horse time (IMHT), hunter/jumpers were sound horses. There were unethical trainers, of course, but I'd learned to avoid them by then. One of the reasons these horses stayed sound? They were only jumped once or twice a week. They were not longed to death. They had turn-out.

I wonder, has that changed? Are lessons and schooling at the Schooling/Showing barns really all about the over fences portion of the program? That isn't right. It wasn't right when I was teaching, and it isn't right now. There isn't a horse alive that ShoulD be jumping every day.

I lost students to the big lessons barns, when I would refuse to let them jump at every lesson. But the students that stayed with me, became true horsemen. They wanted to learn horsemanship. It's the most important part of riding.
You know, the Horse.

At least, to Me. I get the feeling I'm a vocal minority, more and more. Oh, well.
I know my schoolies appreciated me. I had advanced students on set days through the week and on weekends. They didn't always jump. Really. Not a peep would you have heard, from any of them, with a complaint. Not because I was nasty, either. They were LEARNING about HORSES. That's what a SCHOOL is all about.


Spartacus, my Sparky.

He had most every kind of ringbone there was, and he'd proudly stand while we dissected his front legs, conformationally speaking. Not literally. Ew. High ringbone, Low, sidebone, too, all the way around.

My students bought their own Pony Club Manuals. They could not take a lesson until they'd proven they'd bought one. As they progressed, they were given written quizzes and tests, based on the old pcmanual, and on my own diabolical mind.

sigh. They were such fun to grade, and the comments I gave them kept them coming back for more. Always positive comments. Always helpful. Humourous. Okay, how DO you spell humerous? Nope. CRAP. Humorous. That's the American spelling, Blogger! Never mind. Frickin' gently funny.

You know, things like "What is ringbone?" Bonus Points if you knew "Do any of the our horses have it?" I worked out four "levels" of Horsemanship, which students could work towards. Their reward? They knew a lot more, after they started. The ones lucky enough to go on to horse-ownership do me so proud.

The really advanced, "poor" students, you know, pretty darn good for once a week riding, were able to show a few times during the summer, and my old boys (almost) always walked away with something satin. Colour didn't matter.

The really, really REALLY good kids, broke my heart. You know, the ones without enough capital or enough capital, but their purchase inevitably foundered, or colicked, or ate a strange blade of grass. One shot is all most of these people had.

See, I knew how they felt.

Brain is stuck on ringbone, for some odd reason. Old Spartacus, he had it. Sound as a dollar, once he got moving. Isn't that the POINT with horses? At least attempt to keep them moving. Or move them a LOT, so they want to stand and doze in their stalls for a few hours.
Uh, oh, I feel the rant petering out. Lucky for YoU!

Oh, WAIT! that's my bleedin' point, anyway. Spartacus wasn't "sound". Neither am I, for that matter. Very, very very few "perfectly" sound horses out there. Okay, Milton. Okay, there are many. LOOK at their danged conformation, what else would you expect? Be ready, be ready, PLEASE, before you attempt to salvage that "gasp" rescue, or that lovely, lovely coloured horsie. If you know what's wrong, you'll be ready. Always nice to be prepared, I always say. Learn all you can.

Drat, pinged right past my point again. Dang tangents...

Don't jump your dang horses too much! Manage them well, be prepared with knowledge of their faults, and they can and will stay serviceably sound, for many, many years.
(I looked up serviceably, blogger. Screw you, buy a dictionary).

Lets see, what can I end with that's guaranteed to get roars of outrage?
Rollkur is for professionals. Not pseudos. Pseudos have no idea what they're talkin' about.

TAHHHH, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Grumbling, and out.
OH, I forgot, we do need at least ONE more picture...
hmmmmm.

Three of "my" kids, 1981.

They weren't allowed to be jump crazy, either.

OH, this is apropos of absolutely nothing. For anybody that has hated ABBA, the Swedish group, for YearS, as I have, watch the movie "Mamma Mia". I LOVE musicals. This was hilariously funny, and the first real obvious use for ABBA music...

Mamma Mia, here I go again. Still, it's much less creepy than humming Sweeney Todd. Odd. I'm horseless, and I'm humming ABBA. Hell really Has frozen over..