The Return of the T-Rex

So, its been a while.

The Hippo and I are still here, but there were plans in the works that required serious attention. (Pause for dramatic effect)  End result?  We just bought and moved onto our own farm.

Yes, you read that correctly.  We bought a farm for the horse that was SUPPOSED to have been a resale project.  Well played, big mare, well played indeed.

This, of course, expands the cast of characters and also the potential for mayhem.  So, let me introduce:

• Aaron, my infinitely patient husband, farm caretaker and baker.  Animals love him but don't respect him, there's a LOT of animals...
• Elliot, the English Cocker Spaniel aka 'The Tiny Tyrant'.  He tries to loudly rule the world but really only rules Eddie and annoys the cat.
• Eddie, the English Setter aka 'The Spotted Dork'.  He's an adolescent whirlwind of fur, hugs, chewing and enthusiasm; when he's not sound asleep on his back.
• Klein, the ancient cat aka 'Mr Peepers', who REALLY wishes the Tiny Tyrant would stop with the flying tackle pounces
• Jasper, Essie's companion, aka 'The Ghetto Unicorn'  Mashing burrs into his mane and forelock isn't just a game, its a calling. He won't stop until he has a giant burr-filled dread lock that stands up on its own in a strong wind. 

And now?  I need a truck, a trailer, and a farm name

Aaron?  He needs a ride on mower, and soon

Jogging

The apocolypse is nigh.  I've started jogging. 

I'm not designed for jogging.  I have a (pre)history of tripping and falling on flat ground, at a walk. (Scuff, SPLAT, "She's down again...")  I've even managed to sprain an ankle while standing still.  And yet, here I am ... trying to jog ... again.    Last time I tried jogging was with my sister.  1 min walk/1 min jog alternating.  I made it to the 2nd jog segment and *twist* *snap* *crash* "SONOFABITCH!"

Then, WHY?!?!" you ask?  2 months until eventing season starts and my gasping words at the end of XC still resound in my head, "I need ... to take ... up ... jogging." (wheeze, pant, pant, gasp)  I tried the gym this winter but overdid the bodyweight training and there went the shoulders.   And the cardio machines? They bore the snot out of me.  Besides, its lower body fitness and endurance I need anyway and the dogs need exercise ... so jogging it is.

Of course, my version of jogging is more like most people's slow speed walk.  I move with the speed of a glacier and the elegance of an earthquake, but whatever :)

Welcome to Adulthood, my dear Hippo

August marked a full year with the Hippo, the first consistent year she's ever had.  With the end of her first year comes the transition to being asked to behave like an adult who has to work for a living.

The tone of our rides lately:
Yes, adulting is hard
No, adulting isn't optional
Yes, you may have an apple afterward

I hear you, dear horse

I mean, I get it.  Adulting is highly overrated.  But if I can work full-time to keep her sheltered, she can suck it up to work 5+ hours per week.

But this transition to adulthood has to happen. Now we're transitioning to fall, so aptly named.  Its a season of crisp temperatures, shorter days and increasing equine dumbassery.  And the Hippo is feeling much more full of herself.  Evidently the temptation to spook at everything/nothing for sheer entertainment purposes has been irresistible. However, I appear to have found a solution!

Welcome to the Samuel L Jackson school of attitude adjustment, where spooking results in an instant Pulp Fiction-esque response.

Or in our case "Spook again, Hippo"

Lest you think I am unreasonably harsh, I did give her 5 months to acclimatize in the ring + 24/7 turnout + regular work + hacking + majority roughage diet. And did I mention that the behavior was almost absent at horse shows?  Hippo logic, spook = distract = don't have to work so hard.

We're approaching the point where I see my darling mare eyeball or tilt an ear at things she usually spooks at and decide "It ain't worth it."

Not worth spooking? Good decision

Thank god for that, because she's usually spooking at the arena itself.  You see, we're in a cover-all type ring ... on top of a hill ... on the ocean ... going into winter. The end walls of the arena wiggle, waver and 'flap' randomly and with increasing frequency.   And its a very, very long time until spring.

The flapping, like these adorable ears ... with more 'exciting' results

How to Traumatize Your Horse in One Easy Step

Well, the Hippo has been continuing her campaign to jump instead of the push/lift/concentrate tedium of flatwork.

Flatwork: Hey look over there!  Did you see that out the door? *spook*  OMG, I heard something dangerous outside the door! *scoot*

Jumping: Hang on lady!  I got this.  Why you look at the door?  Seems fine to me!

We did have one legitimate day of terror after our new footing arrived.  All the jump equipment moved out the back door.

*insert scary ghost moans here*

So I ride down near the end of the ring to let her 'process' the changes.  Cue the peanut gallery thoughts, "You should have handwalked first, don't you know anything?"  If you think I'm putting myself in the path of 1500lbs of get me the hell outta here horse, you are crazier than I am!

Horse:1 Me:0

Horse:  *puffs up* * stands on tiptoes*  I must SNORT! and look suspicious ... and flex muscles like a competing bodybuilder.

Me: ... *looks at watch and yawns* *wishes that butt would stop going numb*

Repeat for the next 20-30 minutes, at which point, I completely traumatised my horse.  Can you guess what I did?  Huh? Huh?  Come on, guess.

I ... scratched her withers.

This ... 1500lbs of it

I guess she forgot about me up there or something.  How that happened I have no idea.  Seriously, I'm a t-rex, not a termite!  All I know is that when my fingertip touched her, I got this reaction "HOLY SHIT! What the HELL was that!"

Because ... wither scratches are HELLA scary.  That's why I love horses, I learn something new every day.

All My Horse Wants for Christmas, Is For Me To Stop Helping

I disappeared for a couple weeks to prep for our (likely) last show of the season. But hey, new material right?

Choices, choices.  With the choice of a dressage show or a jumper show, I decided to take the lessons of the horse trial into consideration.  Jumps = more to keep the hippo's mind busy. No jumps = mental space to obsess over the invisible gremlins (with purple spots) she insists exist to terrify (entertain) her.  Jumper show it is, meaning work on courses and stretching our (my) comfort zone.

My current coach is a great fit for this horse.  There's no time for boredom.  Did the jumping exercise right once? Change it! Need her to focus?  Its a sea of poles for her to pick her legs through.
My job? Sit up, hands forward and leg.  How hard could it be?

Either you're new here, or you know this is a trick question.

I'm a fixer.  Have a problem? I like to fix it, fiddle with it and come up with a few options.  Broken piece of tack?  Here borrow my spare reins/stirrup irons, girth, helmet, saddle pad.  Something loose?  Here, duct tape.  Cell phone acting weird?  Here, I'll take a look.  See a pattern?

So, when we come cantering into a sea of poles with trumpets blaring, I have a tendency to try to fiddle and 'help'.  I also tend to get especially 'helpful' when there are spread jumps ... you know, oxers. 'Round the turn we go, 3 canter poles ... I fiddle, horse says "WTF?" and proceeds to canter through the poles like an epileptic spider due to my aforementioned 'help'.

That is help?

Coach:  Stop doing that.
Horse: Stop doing that.
Me:  I was helping!
Horse and Coach: STOP HELPING!

Right.  Sit up, hands forward and leg.  'Round the turn we go, 3 canter poles then same with a non-spread fence. Good stuff.

We got this!

Coach:  Yeah! Like that!
Horse: Yeah! Like that! 
Me:  Awesome!

All right, we've got this shit!  Sit up, hands forward and leg.  'Round the turn we go, 3 canter poles and a spread fence. I stare at the oxer instead of the poles, we get in funny to the first pole and....

FIDDLE
Horse turns back into the epileptic spider over the poles, leaps at what seems like her only distance choice while I scream SHIT! at the top of my lungs as we proceed to bulldoze the top poles of the jump.

Coach:  Stop doing that.
Horse: Stop doing that.
Me:  I was helping!
Horse and Coach: STOP HELPING!

Funny thing?  When I stuck to the plan, the hippo sailed through without a care in the world.
I really need to learn to stop helping.

#TBT: Leaving Room For Interpretation

Oh look, its thursday!  Time to dive back into prehistory again.

One of my favorite sayings is "What I said and what you heard weren't the same thing".  This proves true repeatedly when you start learning to ride ... scratch that ... during your entire riding education. Its understandable when you think about it.

A rider is trying to coordinate their limbs (all 4 of them) and balance on a moving surface, while coordinating the horse's limbs, and trying to hear what their coach's instruction over their own struggle to breathe at the same time.   It might be easier to juggle pitchforks and flaming torches while reciting Shakespeare, on a surfboard.  So, a little mis-interpretation at the time is understandable.

Friggin' Amateur

Just a sidenote, but I refuse to adapt to this 'trainer' shenanigans.  If you pay the person to educate your horse, they are a trainer.  If you pay them to educate you, they are a coach.  If their primary job is to teach you, they are not a trainer, unless you are a seal...  Unless you happen to be a competitive horse riding seal, at which point, carry on! (And send video, I'm begging you, because I need to see this) Rant over and back to your regularly scheduled T-Rex

The truly epic incidents tend to happen when your coach isn't there, you're riding independently and have had time to process.

One of these incidents was back when I had my first pony, the aforementioned 'perfect pony'. There were two instructions at work that day.

1. If she does 'x', use your stick
2. When you can't stop, point them at the wall.  Then they'll stop.

You might be able to guess where some of this is going... stay with me.

Pony does 'x', I use stick.  I don't remember what 'x' was. I do remember the acceleration underneath me, vividly. Pony shoots forward like the proverbial scalded cat.

Not good, need brakes.

No brakes.

Pony is galloping off with me indignantly, as she has taken great affront. So, I point her at the nearest piece of the fence line of the outdoor ring while riding in the (ever so classical and elegant) water skiing position.

Did you know that 'wall' and 'arena perimeter fence' don't mean the same thing to a pissed off pony mare?

I mean, I still don't but then?  Wow.

Because I sure did when I felt her front feet lift off the ground to clear the arena fence line, which happened to be between 4' and 4'6" high. To this day, I still don't remember why I used my stick. I sure as hell remember picking myself up off the ground on the wrong side of the fence line uncertain how I got there, with my pony standing beside me inquisitively.

The main difference? Mine jumped the whole damn fence, and I was a kid.

And to this day, I haven't used a fence line as an emergency stop, which brings me to my next favorite saying.

Pain teaches ;)

Again and again ... and again

TBT - A Tale of the Giant Chicken

Since Throwback Thursday is a thing now, I think I'll use it to tell some older stories of times and horses past.

Back in the swamps of time, when I was a much younger T-Rex, I rode the Giant Chicken. He was big, with mottled grey plumage and utterly unpredictable about jumping.  You know those amazing horses that can jump from anywhere?  His gift was that he could stop from anywhere, including ON takeoff.  The Chicken could (and occasionally did) stop standing on his hind legs partway through launch sequence.

Failure in launch sequence is disturbing

Of course, I did what any young T-Rex would do.  I learned slowly, verrrrry slowly.  I was sure I could fix the Chicken.  With enough positive experiences, re-training and encouragement, I could convince him that jumping was the way to go!

Come on Chicken!  Jumping is fun!!! 

And maybe changing the environment would help too?  He wasn't reliable in a ring, with jumps that fall down.  How about we switch to eventing?!?  I'd always wanted to do eventing! Cross country looks super cool!   With a rider inexperienced at XC riding and a chicken of a jumping horse, what could go wrong?

Seriously, SO stupid

And go eventing we did! The one serious advantage was that there was no penalty for trotting jumps. This was awesome because when a horse isn't reliable over fences, speed is NOT your friend.  The faster we went, the faster he could stop/prop/spin, the more likely I would end up a doing a good impression of a lawn dart.

Remember Lawn Darts?   They were awesome.  Best Darwinism experiment ever!

Canter canter canter, trot trot trot, kickkickkick. Come on Chicken!  Off we'd go. Spook at the photographer in the bushes. Hop this, evil eye that, usually with at least one stop around course.  Both of us sweating from anxiety.   Me: Is he going to jump?  Him: Am I going to jump?

Then came our shining moment in eventing.  Heading out on XC with my coach's word's ringing in my ears, "If he tries to stop keep your shoulders back, leg on and kick him over.  He'll jump it"  She really should have said "When he tries to stop" but bless her for being positive and supportive no matter what. (See Reg?  I still remember)  We get about half way around the course to a 2'9" solid gate.

SCREECH! On come the brakes. SqueezeSqueezeSqueeze KickKickKick Its not a refusal if he doesn't step backwards/sideways.  And then the miracle happens! He goes over the gate!

Except not the way you think.

 I feel/see him lift up one front leg, wave it in the air and then put it down on the other side of the fence.  Oh ... crap.  Now he is straddling a solid fence. Vet bills and crutches wing through my tiny brain as I continue to push forward, if he goes into reverse we're screwed.

Up comes the other front leg, wave and place on the landing side of the fence.  And repeat for back half of his body.

I sigh, we continue around the rest of the course. Canter canter canter, trot trot trot, kickkickkick. Come on Chicken!

At the finish, my coach's words?  "When I said to kick him over the fence, that's not quite what I meant"

You think?

Did I mention I had the Chicken for 13 years?  Yup, I was that slow to learn.

We Have A Problem

Have you ever noticed that you have a 'type' that you gravitate to as a rider?  You know, the kind of horse you look at and ...

Did you SEE the trot/jump/ass/canter/"fill in the blank" on that horse?!?

Don't lie to me.  We've all seen at least one (dozen) where we've groaned indecently and plotted what organ to sell, how many and who we could get away with harvesting from. I've done it, you've done it, we've all done it. More than once, a significant other has been in the room wondering why you've never made that particular sound looking at them.

Horses, they're a drug.

We're addicted.

You could plaster them with labels like cigarettes.  "Warning. May cause financial, mental and physical injury.  Can be life threatening. Visit your health provider before buying horses and associated paraphernalia"  We'd rip off the labels without batting an eye to get a better look at the animal underneath and sizing up what gear would look best.

Family of horse people:  There's no rehab.  No intervention that will last.  Its lifelong. Get on board or get out of the way.  It COULD be an actual drug habit, you know, like nicotine, cocaine or heroin. (Note to self, heroin is nicknamed 'horse'.  Perhaps not the best example)  Granted, an actual drug habit MIGHT be cheaper in the long run but less socially acceptable.  Also, in theory, horses are less likely to land you in jail.  That depends on the choices you make to support your equestrian habit.

You know, as riders, we're picking 'the other hand'? Right?

I mean, how many of us are doing this?

Years of training, loads of $$$$$

And how many of us are doing something closer to this.

Years of training, loads of $$$$$

And yet, when we have a breakthrough, or a particularly fun ride...  the rush?  That flood of adrenaline and satisfaction? That glorious feeling of unity between two partners that see the world totally differently and yet communicate in sync for that brief time? Its a high that takes days to come down from and we'll spend months chasing it.

Is it worth it?  Abso-friggin'-lutely.

Think I'm nuts? Meh, screw it.  Don't care. I'll be over here training my hippo to dance, who's totally my type, which I'll explain another day.

Don't ask which one of us this should be.  Seriously.

T-Rex for Dinner, Party of Millions!

What a beautiful weekend it was.  Bright, warm, a few days without rain.  Perfect for a ride to the beach for the T-Rex and her trusty steed, the Dancing Hippo.

Have I introduced the Dancing Hippo yet? Big, gorgeous, solid and athletic; with the bonus that she makes my T-Rex tail look smaller.  The end goal is the dressage ring, but cross training is a good thing.  (She's also nicknamed the Dramatic Hippo, but I'll get to THOSE stories)

The dancing hippo has moves 

Anyway, back to the weekend, head off for the beach with a friend.  We head down hill and over dale (Sorry 'bout that Dale :D)  and to the woods path shortcut that takes us off the road.

Remember how I tend to forget one little detail here and there? I forgot my bugspray.

And people think an angry TRex is scary!

The hippo?  Her's lasts for days,she's good.   I forgot my bugspray COMPLETELY. And the shortcut is close shrubbery, and swamp, and rocks.  So, its walking only. The hippo is picking her way along the trail happily, I am flapping my tiny arms like a maniac.

AHHHHH!!!!

Do we turn back?  Of course not. There's beach riding to be had, hills to rampage, ditches to jump, tourists to startle and dogs to antagonize!  But, of course, there was the return journey with a tired hippo taking her sweet ass time moseying along.  In the meantime, its time for the second course of T-Rex for the mosquito hordes.

So, if anyone is looking to jump start a T-Rex cloning program.  I would recommend the collecting mosquitoes in the East Lawrencetown area.  Verrrrry good change of DNA there.

Soooooo itchy....

T-Rexs Don't Understand Electricity

Two great things about the barn I am at:

1. The horses aren't afraid of T-Rexs.  Always a bonus.
2. They're making improvements to things like the electric fencing.  Keeping the horses in their turnout area?  Double bonus 

Except that I have a loooong history with not understanding electricity.  I 'm positive my electrical professor in University gave me a D to be rid of me.  (I mean GAVE!)  He knew I wouldn't go into electrical.  The electrical portion of Physics courses was always hell too.

Oh, Daddy T-Rex had a loooong history of doing his own electrical repairs while forgetting to shut off the power and other such things. His electrician had to beg him to stop, but I digress.

New fencing goes up, new charger.  Horses go "Well shit!  That's worth keeping distance from."  I go trudge through the rain and the mud to get my horse who proceeds to shoot through the gate.  Huh, that's new.

Groom, ride, groom, go to turn back out. I make my horse stand while I'm opening the fence, she's jumping and twitching in time with the clicking of the fence.  (In fairness, she can be a drama queen about weird sounds)

Week goes on, she continues to be a dork about the fence.  The more dorky she is, the more I work on making her walk slowly in and out the gate. (without a ton of success I might add) And then we have a night where she bolts into the paddock (between clicks) while I'm unhooking the top wire.  

T-Rex is roadkill, on crutches the next morning and PISSED.  Everyone loves an angry T-Rex, don't they? Much muttering about "Stupid horse"

A few days later, the barn owner is there while a couple of us are putting the horses out.  She strolls over, looks at how the fence has been unhooked and spots the problem. Wires are unhooked and wrapped around the METAL fence posts.

Metal fence posts. 

God Damn It! 

Electricity flowing down metal posts, through wet ground and up through metal horseshoes...

Not so stupid horse ... very stupid T-Rex 

Anyway, I always miss some little detail about electricity.  (and managed to zap myself again just the other night...)

Adventures of a T-Rex

Last left you with mention of my tiny brain, which will be a recurring theme.

A couple weeks ago, I tried to ride my 17h horse under 17h-ish fallen tree.  For the non-horse world, I tried to ride 5'9" horse (at the shoulder) under a 5'10" fallen tree.

This is not what happened.  

This is what DID happen.

"Crap, crap, crap, AW CRAP!"  SPLAT! (did I mention that this was the squishiest section of mud on the ride?)

I mean, I did duck as low as possible over the horse's neck. But between the head and shoulders, there's only so much a T-Rex can do... There might have been some magical thinking at work.