The last time I sat in the saddle of my horse was Friday.

Three days doesn't feel like a long time, but it really is.  I wonder how he's going to be when I'm able to ride again.  Tonight?  Tomorrow?  Thursday?

The weather.  The weather.  Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights have all had thunderstorms roll through.  I'm actually an evil person and laughed maniacally when I went to the barn last night and saw that the other boarder was starting her ride.  I knew it was about to rain.  She didn't clue in.  She was going on a trail ride and left all the windows to her vehicle down.

Husband took my bike back to the shop to have them fix it from when they fixed it.  Realigned the brake pad and ran it through the gears - evidently, nothing I do should pop off the chain.  I just thought I was special.  And gave me a free water bottle, which is a nice gesture.

What else?  Oh, didn't end up eating with the barn friend because they didn't go out until too late for me and my grandpa husband.  We got pizza and beer instead.  :)

Tonight, it's a hopeful ride on the kid.  A hopeful short bike ride.  Asylum "Strength" and, maybe, just maybe, a couple miles run around the neighborhood.  It'll be damn near impossible to do all four, but here's to hoping.

Oh, and I'm officially registered for the Savannah Rock-n-Roll Half Marathon.  Squee!

Except Saturday.  Saturday was just weird.

I worked at the vet clinic - they suckered me in to one last day - and then met my husband for lunch and went to a baby shower.

The vet's office was fine.  I broke a few rules and told the clients why I was breaking them.  MY LAST DAY IS YOUR LUCKY DAY, BITCHES!  Overall, though, it was a very nice way to end the career.  I worked with someone I like, we talked shit the entire time, and no emergencies came in.  I also got to flaunt my knowledge by quizzing her on random things that a receptionist doesn't need to know, while not once having to talk about fleas.



Hubs and I ate at Five Guys.  It was greasy and thick and absolutely delightful.  My little cheesy veggie sandwich oozed mayo and cheese and onions.  I was in absolute heaven.  And.. we're both addicted to Diet Vanilla Coke, which isn't made or bottled any more.  The Five Guys had installed one of those uber fancy Coke dispensers, so we got to have the vanilla with our fries.

And the baby shower.  I really like the girls from my soccer team, but I don't know them that well.  I tried very hard to be on my best behavior and I was given the task of taking photos.  I didn't get any super amazing candids because.. well, that's awkward.  Hi, I'm the chick in scrubs with a dSLR pointing at you.  When the subject got to child support and court systems, I changed it.  Fucking baby shower, guys.

I went home after that and ate a cupcake that possibly made me sick.  I know, I was horrified, too.  Or it was the Five Guys.  Either way, the day was shot.  Oh, and it thundered and when I wasn't feeling like crap, I had a black furball whimpering in my lap.

That's me.

Sunday, we got up bright and early (or not.  We rolled out of bed at ten) and got things ready to go bike riding.  D had to go through a twenty-step pre-ride mental checklist.  And then he got all sorts of pissed off because the back brake on my bike was rubbing the rim.  Evidently, this is a big deal.  I said, whatever, a little bit of friction will help build my speed.  Then he started spouting off about how the rim would have to be replaced if it rubbed too much, blah blah blah.  A little bike ride!  Just a little bike ride!

Forever later, after he made some adjustments and whatnot, we headed out.  We ended up doing six and a half miles with very few mishaps.  I somehow popped the chain off and almost got hit by a couple cars.  No biggie.  :)  But.. did anyone else not know that the sound of the wind from a nice canter could be recreated on a bike?

MUST FIX BICYCLE, DAMMIT!

It's Blue Midge!

As soon as the ride was done, we headed down town to eat brunch at Paula Deen's Lady and Sons.  I talked to tourists for a few minutes and made friends.  I don't know what was up with this weekend, but I think the theme was gorging.  We go to Paula's every six months or so, specifically on a Sunday, and just pig out on the buffet.  There are some fried dead things and some dead things tossed in with some green things, but what I particularly enjoy:  macaroni and cheese, sweet potato, creamed corn and the salad bar.  And the cheddar biscuits.  And the flapjack.  And the peach cobbler.  I think we waddled out of there.

OCD Mental Checklist 2.0.

And went directly to the beach.

Gingers need a lot of sunblock.

Husband is a ginger with very sensitive skin, so we bought one of those half-tent things that you sit inside of.  I swear to god, the entire beach watched and laughed as we tried to assemble that damn thing.  We finally did it, without blowing away, and sat the chairs in.  We hung out, drinking beer and sunning, for a couple of hours.  And then the wind changed and we both immediately had some warning bell go off and skedaddled.  I ripped in to some tourist who cut me in line for the shower.  Good times!

We drove home in a storm.

So, pretty much no riding this weekend.  I rode Friday and popped him over a couple of crossrails.  I'm getting a feel for how his back works.  He can't do jumping consistently yet.  And I can ask for the canter more often, so long as I stay off his back.  It was hilarious, though.  He's been trotting in and cantering out and taking the jump as an actual jump, until the last time.  Then he did that little lesson pony big step thing, where he just lifted each leg as though it were a trot pole and kept trotting out.

Tonight, we're supposed to meet the leaser and her SO for pizza and beer.  They're moving back to PA tomorrow.  I'm pretty sad to see her go because she was awesome to talk to and fun to ride with.

Hiding in the tent.

I like the reflection.

Oh, yeah.  So.. we found a nest outside our front door of brown widows, the fugly cousin of the black widow.  Equally as toxic, but less of a biter. We killed them all.  This is the sole survivor (at least, she was).

This gets a little weird to write.

Don't want to publish negative things about another person, you know?  Partially because she's influential and partially because of the karmic returns on something like that.

I went to the barn after work yesterday, like normal.  I've talked to the BO previously about leaving the stall doors open during the day, so the guys can go in if they want.  She said fine, but that she would be closing the stalls at night.  Every single day since then, they've been open at night and closed during the day.  When I'm there, I open them.  This was the conversation that was immediately followed by her declaration of a raise in board.

So, I got there yesterday and the stalls are closed and Arch seems fine - drenched in sweat, which is good.  At a hundred degrees, that's how I want him.  But he's also covered in various patches of edema, which I can't understand.  Lay down in an ant's bed?  Something with his condition?  Reaction to something?  I hosed him off and set him up in his stall to eat his beet pulp and beer.  I skipped the liniment given his skin being all swollen.

When I rode on Wednesday, I noticed that the water trough was low (to the bottom third tier).  And, granted this is the worst fucking time to do such an experiment, I ran a little test.  I didn't fill it up.  I didn't touch it.

And, on Thursday, this is what I found.

I was literally shaking when I called the BO.  Shaking.  I haven't been this pissed off in a long time.  There were about eighteen things wrong with this picture.  The lack of water, the lack of cleanliness, for starters.

I wish I didn't have to have a day job.  I wish that I could take pictures, ride horses and play with my dogs all day.  Occasionally read or write or something.  And nap.

I gave the horse the day off yesterday.  I went and fed him his beet pulp and applied his linament.  I guess I was a little forceful or maybe because I was applying it directly to a dry coat (versus wet, which has been the norm), but he gave me a HOLY MOTHER OF GOD reaction.  As hollow as that spine got, I'm sure the muscles got a little stretching.  So, yeah, alcohol and spray bottle have been acquired.

In lieu of riding, the husband and I did our Asylum workout (Cardio Plyo) early and then I headed out for a run.  That's where things got a little weird.

I was finishing the first mile when I noticed a chick go by me on the outside.  I immediately gave chase, only to have her slow down.  And then I realized that this chick was outpacing me and only had one arm.  Granted, the arm doesn't really impede her ability to use her legs better than me, there is a component of running that deals with core development and balance.  If she's been like this forever, then I imagine that she's adjusted.  If she's a recent amputee (which, given the stark difference of muscle tone between her two arms, I question the recentness), then doing anything with an imbalance is going to be difficult.

So I ran the next mile chasing her.  We both stopped for water and I actually cussed when she was done drinking and started running before me.  And then that last mile or so, I outpaced her.  And seriously, seriously wanted to vomit the entire time.  It was so stinking hot.

When I was done with my three miles, I turned around to walk back to my car and passed her.  Most runners, at least here, will give you a head nod or some sort of acknowledgement if you've been pacing together.  She gave me a smile and a wave.  I wish I had asked her running frequency because that was probably my best time, ever.  (32.03 for three, pace of 10:41)

The plan tonight is to take the Kid on a bareback trail ride, eat some Indian food, and do P90x's Kempo X.  And sleep.

Why, yes, my previously anhydrotic horse does sweat better than yours!

My husband would gladly testify that I have been supremely lazy of late.  Any justification I can get for doing nothing, I'll take.  In my opinion, nothing would be better than coming home from work, turning on the tv, making a mixed drink or opening a beer, and sitting on the couch for a couple of hours.

And, to be honest, I do a version of that every night anyways (really need to cut back on the alcohol!).  But my version doesn't kick in until I've done two work outs and it's nine and dinner is in the oven.

It's been like this for months, so I should be used to it, right?

I think I've been going through a burn out phase.  After six months of Insanity and Asylum, I needed some time off.  My husband gave me a week.  I took two.  Or three.  I lost count.

We started the work outs again on Sunday.  I don't have the same sense of enthusiasm that I had before.  It's work.  It's not fun.  I hate Shaun T.  I don't even want to run right now.  And I can't find it within me to really push Archie, either.  We bought the bike and I'm excited about that, but is something new and fresh.

I think part of it is that I'm not seeing any sort of difference in my body.  I'm killing myself, nightly, but other than slightly bigger muscles, there's no magic.  I haven't turned into a bikini model overnight.  I'm still chubby, the number on my scale hasn't budged (other than minor fluctuations up and down - that bitch), and my clothes all feel the same.  Oh, yeah, except my non-stretchy shirts are all tighter in the shoulders, which is awesome.  Except that by "awesome", I mean it fucking blows.  I count my calories, I try my best to balance my carbs and my sugars, I exercise religiously, I eat multiple small meals and drink no less than 100 ounces of water a day, and I'm not getting any smaller.

But I've committed to get back into it.  To keep pushing.  D gets really supportive in the midst of my bitching during a workout and I'll either flip him off or stop exercising and pout.  I'm signing up for the half-marathon, which has me about a tenth as excited as I was for my first 5k, so I'm planning to get back into my schedule. ..Yay.

Very hipster photo of me getting the Blue Midge.  (That's her name.)

Dropping Blue off at the bike shop for her check up.  Digging the plaid.

For an atheist, I have some pretty weird beliefs.  Some of which are hard to justify.

• I believe in ghosts.  The supernatural.  Dead man talking.
• I have, historically, read tarot cards.  This isn't something I do often because a lot of it is just an avenue for a person to talk about what's bothering them with an objective third party.  That's what your friends are for.  For the record, Ouija board scare the snot out of me and I've forbidden my husband from buying one.
• I don't believe in faith.  I believe in determination.  Alternatively, I do believe in luck.  If I see butterflies before I ride, I'm gonna have an awesome ride.  If I see wildlife when I'm riding, then we're pretty much going to be invincible. 

No, I'm not pregnant.  Fuck.  Now you've ruined it.


It wasn't anything major and I read his body so well the entire time, asking constantly if it was okay to continue and he kept giving me giant hooves up.  When a horse pulls you to the jump, I think it's a safe indicator that they agree with your idea of a good time.

I think he and I have both been bored senseless with the circles.  The chiro told me to hold off on doing small circles, so we've been doing large ones and figure-eights. 

After our trot work, I walked him over a crossrail.  Yeah, everything we jumped today could be walked over.  I'm not hating - I'm pleased as fuck.  After walking over the crossrail in both directions, I asked him to pick up a trot and we headed back over it.

He landed cantering and it was beautiful.

We did it a couple more times and then I took him over to a different part of the pasture where a few tree limbs had fallen and which I rigged into a ghetto jump.  We did that in both directions, too.

And then I took him over to another fallen limb, this one a bit trickier.  I've walked him over it several times, but never asked him to jump it.  It's not big or anything, but one side branches into two limbs and the other side gets really high, so you've got to be lined up for it.  We've never had a problem with that and didn't today.  :)

After the ride, I hosed him off and applied my newly-acquired linament to his back.  I got that shit on my bare hands and I can certainly testify to it's strength.  The directions say that you can mix it, so I think I'm going to put some of it in a spray bottle with rubbing alcohol and start spraying his major muscle groups, with maybe more concentrated medication directly on his back.

I laughed my ass off.  Multiple reasons, but the primary one was this:


No one can dictate what another person says or types or thinks.  No one.

I wholeheartedly agree that this sweet little grandmother has the right to not read what I write.  And she's within her right to say that she doesn't want to see it on her page.  But because I don't think she's technologically advanced enough to figure out how to unfriend me or how to block me from her feed, I made it easy.  I just unfriended her.  Big effing deal.

Because she can't dictate my use of the word "shit" but I can protect her right to not see it.

And I use a lot of obscenity.  Curse words just seem silly.  Why did society decide that certain collection of letters to form a word was so absolutely horrible that it had to be restrained in conversation?  I curse, daily, like an educated sailor.  If you're around me and I see you wince or you verbalize that my profanity is uncomfortable, then I'll stop.  I make that effort.  I do it every day at work where society has dictated that dropping the f-bomb would be unprofessional, so I am actually capable of peppering my speech with other less-offensive, equally-colorful words.  Readers, while, sure, yeah, they could say something, can just as easily stop reading.  You aren't a captive audience.

In other life news, I think I scared the house guest.

She gives the impression of being very sweet and innocent and we took her downtown for pizza.  We ended up running into the friend that recently moved her horse, her 100-pound French Mastiff, and her husband.  So, since I already had a table, I invited them to sit with us.  As far as my personal spectrum goes, the conversation didn't get that weird.  But for a sweet college kid?  Yeah.  Maybe.  Both my friend and I are covered in tattoos, her military husband has tattoos, and the dog was an absolute (sweet) beast.  And we were drinking. ...I think she might be leaving early today.  :(

When the husband got home yesterday, he saw that one of my kids had tinked on the carpet.  Both my dogs are stellarly house-trained, so this generally indicates illness.  In the wee hours of this morning, I was holding a paper plate under the likely culprit, collecting a urine sample while he held her leash.  It was a very "married" moment.  (And, as I'm writing this, I just got a call from the vet - "raging UTI."  Poor Savannah!)

...And, due primarily to being ashamed and anxious, I skipped out of going to the barn last night and instead ended up running into the BO this morning.  Me thinks I'll keep my mouth shut.

I'm a military brat.  I was born on base in Germany.  I toss military acronyms into conversation and today, used "snafu" in an email.  Which.. got me thinking that I knew what the term implied, but I didn't know it's origin.  And, man.. it's today.

Okay, I don't really think that they're inferior.

But they might be.

The husband and I normally (and, by "normally", I mean every stinking Saturday, seriously) go to a chain cupcake place:  Gigi's.  Franchises don't immediately fill me with glee, but I figure that previously, this was one person who worked his or her ass off and made some really intelligent business decisions that I could only one day hope to replicate.

Today, since we have company coming and my pantry (and by "pantry", I mean the measly cupboard that's dedicated to foodstuff) seems to only have ketchup and Clif bars, I thought I would get some cupcakes.  I didn't think I would have time to drive over to Gigi's after work, so I went to a locally owned, locally known bakery that specializes in wedding cakes and also sells cupcakes.  I won't give their name (Tier 1) because I'm pretty damn pissed.

Actually, it's probably just my fault.

I got these six gorgeous, light and fluffy cupcakes.  Key Lime.  Tahitian Vanilla.  Red Velvet.  Cookies and Cream.  Vanilla Peach.  Salted Caramel Apple.

And she put them in three little boxes, shoved them in a Wal-Mart grocery bag and sent me on my way.

Two blocks.  I didn't even take the stairs.

When I got to my office, I had this:

When I've mentioned to my dear hubby that I'd like such-and-such to visit or why don't we invite so-and-so over, I normally get the response of "No."  Emphatic no, at that.

It's not that he's antisocial or introverted or anything like that, really.  He just sincerely enjoys his privacy.  I remember, as a kid, never, ever going in to his house.  We've had a friend of mine over a couple of times, but primarily just as I finish getting ready to go out.  When I've offered up the idea of (buying a grill and then) cooking out with company, I get shot down pretty quick, too.  He banks on the fact that we live in a tiny townhouse and don't have the room outside to entertain.

Actually, thinking about it, I don't think that he likes crowds.  I'm not a giant fan of a mass of people, but I see the appeal.  I like hosting.  But on those occasions that we've gone out with other couples, it is almost painful to get him to engage the other men in conversation.  Never happens.  ...He only has ever seemed to warm up to my single female friends.  Huh.

:)

Imagine my surprise when he agrees to let someone that neither of us have ever met stay for a few days.  It's almost like couch-hopping, but I know her father.  And she's not doing it recreationally, but rather for educational purposes.

A veterinarian with whom I worked in Augusta contacted me because his aforementioned daughter is interested in becoming a physician assistant.  He asked if she could come down one day and shadow D.  After checking with my little pariah, I told him that his daughter was welcome to come and could stay with us.  Our first non-family guest!  I hope she's not the last.

I love entertaining.  Seriously.

She's going to come in tomorrow night and shadow D on Thursday (surgery) and Friday (clinic).  I told her that she was welcome to stay Friday night and be a tourist on Saturday.  What do I care?

We've been frantically cleaning for the last few days - trying to see the cluttered little townhouse from an outsider's eyes.  I have a lot of crap.  I should close my eyes and start purging.  And I've been sewing, straightening, napping when I'm supposed to organize my closet.  We keep a litter box upstairs in the bathroom in a space cut into the cabinetry.  It's always been an eye-sore, but I never knew what to do about it.  So, last night, I made little kitty curtains.

I'm hoping to skip working out tonight under the excuse of finishing up the guest room.  D is a very methodical person, but he doesn't have the aesthetic eye that I do.  Knick-knacks will be meticulously dusted and cleaned, but they'll be set down in almost a precise order, rather than grouped and arranged for visual appeal.  Yay, men.

In the horse-news, I rode the Archman bareback last night for about twenty minutes.  The ride itself was unremarkable.  And today, he got his feeters did.  I left a note on the check to cut his toes shorter and when I went to check on him later, it looks like the guy listened.  By week six, Archie trips over those damn toes.  Vet also said it would be better for the ring bone issue to have a shorter break over.

Is that a blood bruise on his hoof?

I sure hope it's a tilt in the camera that makes this appear so oddly balanced.

I gots dirty fly boots.

It's a foot.

Shorter toe (though.. could be shorter, right?) with a little rounding.

I think, like just about everyone else, I over-think things.  Like riding.  I get so focused on what the Kid could do that I'm not focused on what we are doing.

Here's a great example:

I took him on a little trail ride yesterday morning.  I don't normally trot on the dirt roads because there's a random sprinkling of clamshells (which will cut the fuck out of anything) and of bricks and it is bordered by barbwire.  So, when we get to the "meadow", I'll ask him to trot.  Yesterday, we went back and forth on the meadow, trotting.  And I caught a little video.  Then we went back up the dirt road and back and forth, with little bits of trotting where it was wider and safer.  We went up to the actual road and down the fenceline, where we encountered deadly garbage bags.  I went to grab my phone to shoot video of his retardation, only to realize that it wasn't in the holster.

And then a truck drove down the dirt road.

And then I panicked.

I pushed Archie into a beautiful forward trot down the scary parts of the dirt road.  He gave me the hairy eyeball a couple of times, but kept going like a champ.  Afterwards, it made me think of pushing towards jumps.  Except we were pushing towards some urgent and without the potential for a crash.  But the thought has been planted - I need to ride my horse towards a goal, rather than just ride him.

I found my phone at the very end of the dirt road, where it meets with the rooster house.  I hoped down, got it while the guy in the truck was turning around.  He stopped to tell me that he tried to straddle the phone, as he figured I would be coming back for it.  And then I tried to mount with a broken tree limb that ended up just flopping around under my weight.

So proud of my horse.

I think the saying is actually that time makes us fools, but a big component of that would be gravity.

Nothing disastrous happened, mind.  Just got reminded of things falling.  Thankfully, knock on wood, not me.

After a relatively unexciting day at work (I wish I were one of the lucky few that actually loves their job), I walked dogs and rode Archie.

He was okay to start.  Just so damn lazy.  I feel like a kid sometimes - kicking, kicking, kicking.  We get a pace and then he starts to slow.  So I end up kicking, kicking, kicking.  I shouldn't bitch.  I could fix the lazy problem, I could install that forward button pretty firmly.  I think one ride with spurs would do it, but I so hate spurs.  I'm really a freaking tack nazi.  Maybe a tack Puritan.  I keep it insanely simple:  snaffle, bridle, saddle.  Strong seat, strong legs, responsive hands.  When he's a giant shit, I'll pull out the dressage crop.  Occasionally, I'll break a branch off of a tree and poke him with it.

I just got into a conversation about why I support moonshine.  And it was a pretty conversation.  I learned a new word:  rotgut.

So, I'm riding, I'm kicking, I'm trying to get the little bastard to move forward at the walk, and a freaking tree branch falls off in the distance. I didn't get a spook, I got hyper-awareness and full-body trembling.  And then the trembling stopped, but I had a rocket under me for the rest of the ride.  Not awesome.  I never really got him to relax again.

Oh, what else?

I don't think I mentioned this, but I got a new tattoo on Saturday.  I say "new tattoo" and what really happened was that my half-sleeve was mostly filled in.  I see women with half sleeves all the time and it's hard to think that now I'm one of them.  Like I just got to join the big kids' table.

I don't think I wrote about this, but I wanted to harp on the whole tack Puritan thing.  Let me slowly segue into that.

Have I written about Archie's pasture buddies?  Probably not - I never intended this to be whole-horse, anyways.  Well, Arch goes out with two other bay thoroughbred geldings.  Odd coincidence.  Archie is the middle kid.  Sang is 28, 15.2h, too skinny, and has one white sock.  Duke is 11, 17+h, decent weight, and has three white socks.  Archie is 15, 16.2h, great weight, and has two white socks.  It's pretty neat to see them all lined up in age/height/socks.

I don't much care for Duke's owner, which is fine because I never see her.  I do occasionally see the chick who is leasing him and we're barn friends.  She's been talking to me a lot about his training and about the issues she's been having.  I offered up a stronger bit and some training advice.  She told me that the owner had acquired draw reins and what a great tool they were.

I was a little bit horrified because neither of these women have the hands nor the training nor the skill set that I think qualifies them to use draw reins.  I toss those suckers into the category of "exceptionally experienced."  Which, yeah.  No.  No, they aren't.

When she asked me if I'd like to ride him, I secretly jumped on the opportunity while also trying to contain my enthusiasm.  You see, I rode a Duke once.  A big, bay Duke.  Not the same horse in any other respect, but the fascination was there.  My enthusiasm was tapered because, as I said, I don't like his owner.  And I was wearing tennis shoes and jean shorts.  But I got my helmet, at least.

So I rode this Duke and felt the issues that they were having and just started asking him to do various things.  About this time, the barn friend starts extolling the benefits of the draw reins and was using my riding as an example of how they had changed this horse.  I told her, pretty bluntly, that I disagreed.  And then I explained about my leg and seat asking him to go forward while I also had a very gentle (and equitation-wise, horrible) touch on his mouth with my ring finger on either hand.  I showed her how I was very gently toying with his mouth while pushing him forward.  He knew what it meant and was giving it to me.  And then I was releasing in reward.

I just think.. anything you want the horse to do, you ought to be able to ask for with basic riding skills.  Not gimmicks or tools or contraptions.  It's learning how to correctly communicate what you want with your body in a way that your horse understands.

I finally got in touch with the lady at the new barn.  And I headed over there last night.

You can see where this is going, right?  Have I set the right tone?

Horses were all healthy-appearing.  Lady was pleasant enough.  Ring was gorgeous and jumps immaculate.  Fields were all clean and there were, seriously, almost no bugs.  There was a considerably amount of space in which to ride (I was particularly excited about the long-ass dirt road to the property).  There was one mare pacing in a back pasture, but the lady explained that she had recently been moved and was a little freaked out.

So here are the things I didn't like (because you knew where this was going):

• No shade.  Absolutely.No.Shade.  There was a tiny, tiny bit over hanging one pasture, which she specifically said that my friend's horse would be going into.  And one run-in.  Otherwise, everyone was standing in the sun.  Where would my historically anhydrotic horse go?  And when it rains?  And when the hurricanes roll through?  
• No barn.  This isn't as big of a deal, because I know that when I get my own place (ONE FUCKING DAY), the barn will probably be the last thing built.  But I guess what I really want is a place to pee and electricity.  I didn't see that.  I think there was a shed that she uses as a tack room, but she didn't show it to me.
• Ownership.  This one is harder to define.  I'm super possessive about Archie.  I get that.  It's a character flaw and one I'm perfectly okay to let fester.  In the six years that I've owned him, four other people have ridden him:  my mom, as I led her in circles; my husband, as I led him to a pasture; my trainer, to help diagnose his cross-cantering and bucking (I thought it was just me.  It wasn't.); and an old IHSA buddy rode him a couple times a week for a month or two (she didn't like him and he didn't much like her).  And this lady isn't interested in riding him.  She wants to groom him and give him treats and stuff like that.  But.. and I know this is weird.. that seems like too much.  I don't want someone else grooming my horse on a regular basis.  I don't want my horse getting affectionate with another person.  I'm just weird like that.  ..And she kept saying that she would treat him like her own. I don't want anyone else to treat him like they own him.
• Dogs on chains.  Tethering your dog is actually illegal in Chatham County.  The lady said that she had five dogs, all rescues.  And while I was there, I saw two large-size dogs on chains attached to cemented tires.  They looked well-cared for, but face it - no dog needs to live on a chain.  And the mobile home bit?  Yeah, I guess my friend was being generous because the lady lives in a camper.  

Exciting Thing Number One:  Rock'N'Roll Half-Marathon
I went to a training class this morning offered by my job in preparation for the Rock'n'Roll Marathon.  As I'm already a runner who has competed and primarily a voracious self-educater, I didn't learn a whole lot.  She did talk about how it would be important to carb out the 3-5 days prior to the race, rather than just the night before.  For my little recognized runs, I've always just carbed the night before, so that's a new and exciting concept.  I love carbs.

I also learned that my job will reimburse me the cost of registration.  I plan on doing the half-marathon. I was surprised at how many people (primarily walkers, granted) were clueless about the distance for the half.  Most of these people haven't walked multiple miles and have the intentions of grueling out thirteen of them.  I guess there's plenty of time to train, though.  And, hey, they did take out the Truman Parkway, so good-bye to the one "hill."

Exciting Thing Number Two:  Horseback Riding
The chiro told me to start working Archie's little butt off.  Really.  She gave me permission.  He seemed worse after increased work, but she said to go for it.  Today!  That he's going to be muscle-sore and to build up those muscles.  It's a scary concept, so I'm going to take my normal-Archie approach and advance slowly.  I figure that since he's had intermittent time off lately, it probably won't hurt to build from the ground up again.  We'll start with ten minutes of walking and five of trotting and a cool-down.  With lots of downward transitions to help that topline.  (For the record:  she said he had a great topline, but to build it even more we should do downward transitions.  This is news to me.)

Unfortunately, the increase in riding time is going to coincide with the increase in running time.  And the return of the fall soccer season.  Cross bridge later.

Exciting Thing Number Three:  Photography practice
I start at the Humane Society this weekend.  I'm nervous and excited.  What if I suck?  What if I get mauled?  Cat bites are a special form of evil.

(Side note:  I went to a coworker's house last night and trimmed the nails of all twelve of her cats.  I deserve a fucking medal.)

Exciting Thing Number Four:  New Barn
No, I suck and I haven't been out there yet.  The twelve cats took an hour and a half.  But!  My friend, who just saw this place on Sunday, is moving her horse there today.  I meant to call the lady on my shortened lunch break, but now I'm just hoping to meet my friend there tonight.  And it gives me a couple of weeks to see how she likes it.

I keep looking at the post on Craigslist and this chick really seems to have her shit together.  Current BO hasn't ever dragged the pastures or anything, but that lady dragged her freaking ring on a Sunday afternoon.  I might have a little crush.

Exciting Thing Number Five:  Baby Shower
Sure as shit not my baby.  But one of the chicks from my soccer team, actually, the one who broke her arm, invited me to her friend's baby shower.  I didn't know the friend's name for the longest time and only found it out about half-way through the season.  But this is exciting for two reasons:  1) it means that I have friends who (while benefiting from my attendance) like me enough to invite me to a party (even if it's a baby shower and I don't particularly care for babies) and 2) it makes me feel like a local.


Exciting Thing Number Six:  Old Archie Photos

This is, by far, one of my favorites.  His little hocks are up, his ears are forward, and I'm somewhat doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  Or something.

Once upon a time, a quarterhorse mare and I plowed through this fence, splitting a rail.

I loved this little fence.

Archie had his second adjustment yesterday.  It went considerably better than the first one, adjustment-wise.  And attitude?  He was affectionate and charming, to a point.  That point was his back end.  And then the little bugger lifted and gave warning.

Oh, I love my pony.
I dreamt about jumping last night.  About strides and fences and turns and flight and release.

I don't know if it was more "memory" or "fantasy."  Or a combination of the two.  It has been years since I've jumped anything higher than a cross rail.  And I dream of fences.

I've pretty much decided that I'm going to move Archie.  I'm tired of the bullshit at my current barn.  I'm tired of an almost-empty, dirty water bucket; of manure-encased stalls; of having to constantly go move branches and sticks so I can have a place to ride.  And I asked the BO to leave the stalls open during the day.  90+° weather, so I think, if the Kid wants, he should be able to walk into the stall with the box fan.  When I asked her about it, she said she was going up in board.  Nothing major - $15-20 a month.  But the fact that it came on the tail end of my request?

And she hasn't even left the doors open.

So, the new "barn" (I'm not even sure it has a barn, to be honest)...

• 15.5 miles from my apartment (roughly my drive to work, but west instead of north)
• Private pasture enclosed in hot wire and no-climb fencing
• Each paddock is 1.5 acres
• Seminole feed, bermuda hay, daily grooming, daily deworming and fly spray (also, barefoot trims every five weeks at no additional charge - but the Kid has front shoes, so I won't take advantage of that)
• Also included (and this shit sounds too good to be true) is the yearly vax and coggins (which.. Archie just had, anyways)
• Feed buckets cleaned daily, water refilled daily and water buckets cleaned twice a week.
• There's a 250x250 riding ring with 8 professional jumps.
• BO lives on property (in a trailer, but who am I to judge?)
• $300/month

The freshly-dragged riding ring, with jumps removed.

I've gotten a pretty positive response on facebook, so it's not just me being super excited about something silly.  Or, it's mass hysteria, which is okay, too.

I've worked in veterinary medicine for a million years, right?  Up until October, 2010 (same month I got married - whole lot of crazy shit happened around then), it had been primarily on a part-time basis.  Meaning, in Augusta, I left the salaried, shoot-myself-in-the-head day job and hauled ass to get the girls, change, and go to the emergency clinic.  The emergency clinic was bliss.

In October, I accepted a crappy-paying, no benefits, lowly receptionist position with a family-own veterinary practice.  In theory, I should have been somewhat happy.  But I was miserable.  And I have this little issue with stress and my bills weren't getting paid, which exacerbated the whole stress thing.  And I was sick with no healthcare.  All-around shitty situation.

So I got another grown-up, bill-paying, benefit-providing shoot-myself job.  My intentions were to just offer up a couple months' of work for the vet clinic and wean myself off.  It's addicting.  I know so much about vet medicine and I like sharing that knowledge.  So, at the same time that I was starting this new job, I signed up to be a volunteer with the local humane society.

Side note:  I think volunteering is a big fucking deal.  Lots of organizations wouldn't exist without people donating their time to help out.  If you don't have time, give a little money.  If you don't have money, give some possessions.  If you can't give possessions, then give a little thought and do what you can (social media is everywhere) to help spread their message.

My first volunteer gig was for Rape Crisis and Sexual Assault Services.  RCSAS isn't for everyone.  But it sure as shit was a character-defining opportunity for me.

Given that I was working at the vet clinic, working my real job, working out, and starting the dressage lessons... I never actually volunteered.

I'm pleased to announce the opportunity for change.  I'm on the listserve for the Humane Society and when the coordinator put out a call for a few photographers, I jumped.  Literally, jumped for joy.  I had asked about it when I signed up as a volunteer, but they already had a professional photographer.

I start next Sunday.  :)

Oh, and I thought it was an interview process.  So, I grabbed my gear (I have a lot of shit, too: the camera body; zoom lens, kit lens, portrait lens, blur lens and macro lens; external flash; and remote and various cords) and made a little portfolio of twenty or so of my "best" animal photos.  And, when I got there, I realized it wasn't any sort of interview, all five of us were welcome, and I was the only one to bring stuff.  Go me.

Am I the only one who immediately gets a little panicked any time the horse is down? Also:  AWESOME PASTURE MANAGEMENT, BO! Ps.  Wheel barrow in the field is the bane of my existence.

"Mom?..  Breathe, lady! Okay, okay, I get up."

"Good looking out, Mom!  I was too busy listening for Monsters to notice the clamshells."

"I'm not sure about this part of the woods."

"I'm not sure about here, either."

Yeah.  Footwear, for whatever reason, never seems as important when there are no stirrups.

Grass.

"I'm not sure about this, Mom."

"JUMP?!"

What I missed, photo-wise:  the end of this road, the locked gate, the turn-around.

Roosters are Evil.  Pony is Brave. (As a side note: there is a shower on this porch.  Awesome.)

Tried to get the marshland in the background.

Headed back towards the barn.

Isn't the ivy gorgeous?

"Monster....?!"

"MONSTER!"

Brave Pony gets a rewarding bath.