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

April Showers, Where are the Flowers?

Ah, spring on the East Coast.  Land of mud, rain, mud, snow, more mud, rain, snow, and did I mention mud? In case I was too subtle, there's a lot of mud.

Until a few days ago, I only owned a pair of half calf rain boots which has made it exciting to retrieve the hippo from her wallow.

A daily occurrence, both sides

I gave up on the short rain boots once I realized mud was consistently getting within an inch of the top, and that was staying on the high ground! The hippo?  Well, she seemed to have figured out my predicament.  In typical mare fashion, she's using the advantage with brutal efficiency.

Arrive at the barn, horse is by the gate.  Arrive at the field with a halter and ...

Were you talkin' to me?  Come closer, I can't quite hear you.

I swear I can hear her giggling when this happens. Sometimes, she waits until she sees me headed for the gate and then calmly strolls off.  When she's really trying to screw with me?  She'll move off so all I can see are cheerfully pricked ears as she hangs out at the bottom of the pit. The ears that say "Are there snacks? Do I hear a magic bucket? No? Then come back later."

But!!! Victory is mine!  I've given in and bought a pair of knee high neoprene boots that will take me across the sea of mud to the mischievous mare.  No more waving buckets, peppermints and peanut butter Clif bars in the hopes of luring her closer to an island, near the gate.

... or did I?  My wallet is lighter, that's not usually a win ...

Of course, now that I've bought the boots, the sun is going to emerge to shine continuously and the mud will vanish.  But we all knew that right?

What a Difference a Day Makes (and a Saddle...)

The night before the saddle arrives I notice something as I'm taking off the Hippo's saddle.

She's displeased, that's unusual. Not the displeased part, just the timing.  She's not usually displeased after a ride, normal is calmly pleased to be done.  I start poking/prodding to discover she's sore behind her shoulders, the current jumping saddle is causing sore spots.  Hmmm, how long have those been an issue?

Apologies to a big mare

Granted, this mare is weird about saddle fit and a bit of a stoic.  Very subtle about admitting something is sore. Even with this, all I got was a wrinkle between nostril/lip and slight glare.

Fast forward to the new saddle.  Longe, seems to be reaching more in front but that could be freshness.  Ride and careful back inspection, shoulders don't seem sensitive.  Yay!

Next ride.  Longe, barnmate comments on how nice she's moving. Ride, feels good even on the flat and over fences.  Yay x2

Several rides later, I don't know my horse anymore.  She is SO much rounder/forward that I'm having trouble telling whether she's 'just' round and forward or whether she's getting ready to blow her top. I mean, it IS spring after all and anything could happen.

All in all, its a win.  The horse seems thrilled with the new saddle, the blocks are helping me deal with occasional spring idiocy and overall I'm holding my position better.  Despite the fact I can't read a jump distance to save my life in the new saddle yet aka I'm trying to 'help' again, (For more hilarity, go back to my tale on helping)

I think its going to be awesome.

Ready? Game face on!

T-Rex HITS Ocala

Well, this year I finally gave in and ran away to Florida.  Not for long, just a week, but long enough to fill the old bones with a little more warmth and sunshine until spring truly begins.  So I spent some time baking my tail in the sun.

But seriously, how could I go to Florida without a tiny horse show detour?  What's a couple (ok, closer to three) hour drive to HITS?  Off we went for a day, T-Rex and husband.  Tunes were cranked, breakfast was eaten and silent prayers were offered by my husband against our financial extinction.

I was a MUCH better behaved driver than this.  I promise.

We found the show grounds after an uneventful and law abiding drive north, mostly due to the fact I purposely rent small cars with small engines.  (The T-Rex rule of rental cars: Big enough for the junk in my trunk, small enough to keep me from getting arrested)

This was when my husband's eyes got significantly wider, because the show grounds kept going and going ... and going.  He's seen old school multi-ring competitions with a couple show rings, a warm up and trailers/stalls, nothing like this.  Possibly his worst nightmare come to life; acres of horses, sunshine and my gleeful skipping towards the vendors area.

No idea why he seemed concerned

Then again, it might have been because I headed for the saddle booths first; Devoucoux, Antares, Voltaire, CWD called my name. My sitting in saddles to try them also might not have helped.  I thought he was going to cry for a second when I found my holy grail of a saddle.  A Voltaire monoflap of the exact specs to accommodate my sizeable tail, my short person legs and sticky leather to velcro my middle aged self to my horse as she powers over jumps.  It was ... perfect.  Even the calf blocks were in the exact right spot, instead of down by my ankles

This would be Mr. T-Rex plucking up a couple vital organs for sale while our credit rating burns in the background

However, sanity ruled the day and I did not go for it.  The one side of my brain screaming YOLO was shouted down by the part of my brain declaring YOU IDIOT.  So, off to watch some warm up rings and classes.  By this point, Mr. T-Rex far preferred the boredom of watching horses to the excitement of my shopping. I, on the other hand, was enjoying the lessons of the day.

• When in doubt, sit up and ride forward, at every level
• The level of riding at equivalent divisions, hunter or jumper, isn't much different between home and away
• With some spit, polish and 5-8k in tack, a good NS horse wouldn't look amiss in a Florida crowd. We need to get over the communal chip on our shoulder.
• The opportunity to watch a really skilled rider schooling is never wasted.   
• Neither is watching a girl with a prosthetic arm clock her way skillfully over a 1.40m jumper course. 
• Everyone loves a cheerful compliment to their horse and/or rider and a "Have a great round" as they make their way to the ring.  Even from a stranger, especially from a stranger.

Every round is someone's Olympics

#TBT: Who Cut My Horse's Brakes Lines?

So, I've told you guys a bit about my old pony and my old hunter/eventer/13 years of trying ro squash a square peg in a round hole.  I haven't told much about my old event/dressage horse. What a mare. Three quarters thoroughbred and one quarter percheron, built like a rugby fullback and thought she was a race horse.  She wasn't that far wrong either.  That mare could GO!

Which caused the occasional steering problem...

Like many mares, and women, she had some rather firmly held opinions and resented being told what to do. (Get your knickers out of a twist.  We women hate being 'told'.  I know it, you know it, let's just sip some wine and move on)  There's an old saying. You can tell a gelding, but ask a mare and discuss it with a stallion.  Damned if it isn't the truth.

Go ahead, TELL a mare, I dare you

After moving the old guy on to a semi-retirement home that I wanted to move into myself, I started the inevitable horse hunt.

Criteria:
1) NOT A STOPPER (can't imagine why. hey?)
2) Eventing experience ideal
3) Decent jumping form
3) Accomodate the T-Rex's tail

Which led me to the eventing mare; solid, forward, not huge.  I try her out with my sister there. Its winter, we're in the indoor. Walk/trot/canter, jump a few things. Mare is taking me to the jumps, not stalling, YAY!

Barn Owner "She can ride, can't she?"
Sister "Yup"
Barn Owner "And no concerns jumping towards home? Gutsy"
... This is when we both should have paused for a second...

Ride mare a few times, like her, buy her, take her home.  Notice that she tends to 'build momentum" on course, but we're still in the indoor so no big deal right?  Then we move outside in the spring.
Bigger ring, more space, more ... ummm... momentum?

Mare has a philosphy "Sit down, shut up and hang on", combine this with an apparent lack of brakes in her snaffle ... and an irresistible love affair with the long spot. It was the beginning of some interesting lessons.

Otherwise known as the "Hail Mary Long Spot"

Which brings me to this:

Dear Eventing Snaffle purists, aka 'snaffle nazis', there exist some horses for which no amount of 'flatwork' will provide a ridable horse over fences once a jump appears in front of them.  I know you will squawk vocally that this is a rider issue. That all horses should be able to jump in a snaffle, preferably a loose ring, french link.  I would invite you to ask for the opportunity to demonstrate this miracle on one of these jumping 'attack machines', preferably XC.  I will cheerfully attend this demonstration, drink in hand as you waterski off into the sunset.

Just much ... much faster

Festivus in August

which brings me to...

5 days and counting before the Hippo's eventing debut and the packing prep has started in earnest.  I just unearthed my old pair of white full-seat riding breeches. Oh boy, those suckers have seen better days. Son of a bitch, this means I need to buy a pair of light beige or white breeches without which one may not compete in the dressage or eventing stadium rings.  

Because, nothing says 'athlete' like the sight of white or similar shade spandex stretched for dear life across a middle aged ass. 

Just not in these pants...

Its a look that is barely passable on a runway model! Seriously, who's dumbass idea was this and WHY haven't we had this rule changed?  Riding is a sport that is primarily outdoors, in all weather, with mud and a propensity to end up in it. Seriously?

Tradition, tradition, screw tradition. If we were so traditional, we women would be competing sidesaddle. I don't see anyone clamoring to make THAT mandatory. So it's not about the tradition. 

"But, its just so elegant."  Yup. nothing more elegant than mudspattered white breeches as your horse galumphs through a puddle.  Never mind the washing and re-washing hoping the stains come out, if they come out.  Even better?  The sudden display of one's underwear to the judge when your breeches fo from white to transparent in a cloudburst. (Hey look!  That one's wearing a thong! With butterflies and little hearts!)

Of course, how better to showcase the green streak(s) of slime your horse managed to deposit on your leg as you leap on?  Karma's payback for every grass stain your mother ever had to despairingly scrub out of the knees of your clothes as a kid?

My solution? Conservative color breeches, short or long sleeve shirt with collar (solid colored if you want to be fussy), tall boots or short boots with half chaps of matching color in black or brown.  Clothing, 3 phases, done.

How hard is that?

But you know I'm right

Saddle Shopping ... What's a T-Rex to do?

Ah, the saddles of the English riding world.  How do I describe the hell that is saddle shopping? 

 Imagine you are shopping for the PERFECT pair of jeans. You know the kind: perfectly fitting, not too loose, not too tight and comfortable for prolonged periods of time. Not prone to pinching or rubbing you the wrong way, if you get my drift. (As in owwww, not ohhhh). Now, expect those jeans to fit two different species equally well.  

Welcome to the rider's dilemma.

I mean it's tough enough for the stereotypically slender rider with a small tail. When you're a T-Rex?  On a budget? Sweet Jurassic. 

Years ago I was lucky enough to find a dressage saddle that fit horses like a dream and accommodated my tail beautifully.  And 2nd hand to boot. And it was adjustable. God, I loved that saddle. I was keeping that saddle until I fossilized. Seriously, trying to suggest a different saddle would get your head bitten off.   

And then it got stolen out of my car, which meant saddle hunt (Yes, I drive. Even a T-Rex has to get around).  

So, several saddle trials later  I finally found a reasonably priced replacement of ... the same brand and model I had before. 

Evidently, saddles have evolved on a different path. Take up archeology. Way easier, possibly cheaper. 

T-Rex out.