Instagram.

Snapseed.

For y'all that weren't collegiate, that's the Intercollegiate Horse Show Association*.

I got to reminiscing about my old show history.  (Because I miss showing.  I also miss riding a horse who isn't cranky, jumping fences that aren't just poles, cantering a line, and kicking ass in a flat class.)

I went to a small, local college.  When I saw that they had an equestrian team, I went to the informative meeting to see how to get involved.  I shortly found out that it was about $200/month out of my non-existent budget.  So, I forgot about it.

Come January, my second semester at college, and the people leading the team reach back out to see if anyone is interested.  The stipulations have changed.  I don't need to drop $ for team fees or attend X number of lessons.  So I sign on and, now, my best friend has transferred to my college.  I become the team prez and she's the vice prez.

I realized later that the reason the changes were made, in order to actually get people involved, was because there was still a "school team", but it had no riders.  And it was still hosting a show in February.  We managed to get and maintain a small team for the four years I was the president.  We weren't ever high in the points, but we had a good time trying.

When the time had come to decide where I would be starting, I sorta got my feelings hurt.  They'd asked about my show history and how long I'd been riding and all of that.  And, even though I'd champion'd in one recognized show, the team captain and secretary (who later became my farm family and refined me) decided that I would do best in Advanced Walk/Trot/Canter.  It was a blow to my jumping ego.

Colleges in our division included:  the University of Georgia, Clemson University, Berry College, Landers and... I think.. the University of South Carolina.  Maybe.  And some other tiny colleges, like ours.

I ended my IHSA career (until I finally cough up the money and time to try alumni) about two points shy of pointing out of W/T/C and into the jumping classes.  Le sigh.


In no particular order, show photos!

I loved blue show shirts. And wasn't fond of belts.

Trainer, bestie, me.

Somehow....

..I won the class on this little appy.

Huh.  I guess I've always sat more on the left.

Bestie, me, teammate who got to jump,  WTC teammate.

Team mate who showed cows, team mate who jumped, trainer, me.

*I suck.  Here's what was special about IHSA:  the colleges that had horses brought some of their horses to the show, wherever it was held.  The horses were organized based on their skill level, the skill level of the person who could ride them, and any height/weight restrictions (165#).  Then you were randomly assigned a horse based on those restrictions.  There was a "cheat sheet" that told about that horse: color, gender, breed, and any issues, like crop needed or sticky left lead or doesn't like to bend.  And then you got on the horse, adjusted your stirrups and went immediately into the show ring.  No warm ups allowed.

Camera Bag.

So, thankfully, the chiropractor called me back yesterday afternoon to schedule.  She's pretty booked for the rest of the month, but I explained what he was doing and she's going to squeeze us in on Saturday.  There was only mild chiding on her end for waiting so damn long.  (She last came in November and told me to schedule in about 6 weeks... this will be about twice that.)

I did some mad Google Research (because it's totally legit if it's on the internet) about what the Kid was doing.  On Bits and Bytes (where my old IHSA buddy got the mare that I vouched for), they actually have a section specifically for "does my horse need chiropractic care."  I didn't google chiro stuff.  I googled butt scooting and bolting, which was another aspect of the ride on Sunday.  So, between the chiro (who I might not be in mad love with, but who I absolutely respect) and the internet, I feel like I have a better handle on this.

So, let's share other shit that happened this weekend/last night, but didn't leave me in tears.

• Successfully went to the gym twice and failed my first StrongLift rep.  I was (attempting to) bench press 85 pounds.  I got 24/25 reps.  Yay?
• We know I rode the pony three times.
• I never ran.
• I did get my hair cut.  I actually also got it shampooed and deep conditioned.  Hair cuts are a big deal to me because, until I was 21, my hair was to my ass crack.  Seriously.  I pathologically hate hair cuts and feel like they're always taking off seven inches more than I wanted.  But this time wasn't so bad and I can really appreciate the clean, healthy ends.  Sorta.
• Chewbacca got two eye brows again.
• I dragged my husband to Ulta, 20% off coupon in hand, and bought false eyelash singles (that's a fixation), my sulfate-free shamp/cond, and some manly shave lotion ..stuff.
• Thift shopped!  A workout tank, two skirts, the top I'm wearing right now, and a pair of jeans.
• We ate Mexican twice.  I had a beautiful margarita.
• Photographed at the Humane Society.  Everyone else has dropped off again, so I've signed back up for my Thursday fly-by's.
• Bought a new, larger Crockpot.
• I got my antique stirrups from my Grandma.  I have no idea how people rode in these and am sort of tempted to attach them to my saddle and see.

Here's a close up my eyeball.  See the little falsies on the end?

I'm a grown up!

Seriously.  They're huge.

Snapseed.

I feel like even writing this is going to tax my cool, collected work façade.

Friday, I barebacked the Kid for about fifteen minutes before the light really started fading.  I wanted to make sure that we ended on a spook-free good note.  We worked on flexing and counter-flexing and moving off my leg.  It was a good, short ride.

Saturday, I pulled a pole from the cross rail to make a little trot pole exercise, with opposite ends raised.  I surprisingly got the distance pretty okay.  We warmed up at the walk, trotted two laps regularly and then three laps with our fifteen-stride trot and downward transition for a few steps.  Then, without giving him an opportunity to think about it, I asked him to canter.  At this point, I came to realize that BO had walked into the pasture.  As we went by her, her dog also came running in.  As soon as I saw her, I started pushing Archie to keep going, so that by the time the dog darted in, his entire mind was just on "forward".  Profuse praise was given.

And then we started in the other direction.  The trot work was fine.  And then I asked for our single lap of sitting canter.  I knew he was cross-cantering, which has always been a giant fucking issue.  He was on the right lead in the front (we were tracking right) and the left lead in the back.  We got to the tighter turn (it's not that tight), and he switched in the front.  That would have been fine, I was prepared to ask him to fix it, but I guess he was feeling particularly assholish because as soon as he switched, he pogo'd up on the front end a few times.  Like... baby rears.  Crow hops.  As soon as we got that nonsense stopped, I asked him to pick the canter back up and we continued for another lap.

Something like this.

Sunday, I specifically rode before we went to the gym because it was going to be a leg day and I thought I might need my legs on the Kid.

Tracking left, everything was relatively okay.  I took the trot pole thing down and just left one pole out.  About two laps in to the trot, Shithead decided to spook, so I immediately pushed him into the canter.  I thought maybe that he was back sore from me sitting during the canter, so I stayed in two-point and pushed the distance.  I brought him back down to a trot and finished our laps, with praise.

...And then we changed direction.  He was evading the bit, hollowing, acting like a giant shit.  He spooked, hard, one time.  And then it was like every single time we passed that area of the pasture, he spooked.  Hollowed, ran his ass down.  One point, he nearly tripped over the trot pole because he was too busy fighting and spooking.  I asked him to canter out of a spook and that resulted in bucking and more crow hopping.

And I have to admit:  I didn't handle it well.  At some point after the giant spook, I was frustrated to tears.  I wanted a crop to beat the snot out of him, but I was glad I didn't have a crop.. because I would have beaten the snot out of him.  So, my face is leaking and I'm frustrated and he's being a giant shit and all I can do is push him forward, which he is fighting.  I'm growling at him when he starts to duck his butt and I'm riding with a very, very deep seat (more for protection than anything else).  Finally, after pushing and growling and finally praising, singing his "Good boy...!", we got one solid lap of reasonable, asshole-free trot.  I praised and called it a day.  Walked back to the barn, dismounted, and proceeded to burst into tears again.

Proof of our front-end fly ups.

I left a message with the chiro on Friday.  Here's hoping that we get a call back soon and can get him adjusted ASAP.  I feel like pain is the primary concern here, not just my horse being a giant shit.

I doubt I'm the only person who is like this, but having such a horrible ride sets the tone for the rest of the day.

Annnnd... a five-pound bag of organic carrots that I had lovingly chopped and snapped for the Kid, immediately before our Sunday ride from hell.

Camera Bag

Husband took. Like the side light. Instagram.

Snapseed. Out of all the carriage drivers, I dislike this guy the most. He constantly trots the horses on the pavement.

After work last night, I spent a few minutes playing chase with my pony.  In my work clothes.  As he bared his teeth at the Skinny Guy.  Oh, love.

I look tired.  :(

His nose isn't really that Roman.  He was chewing.

This is sort of a strange interlude, but I felt it a fitting time since I mentioned clothing:  one of my coworkers said that I looked nice yesterday, like a lady, because none of my tattoos were showing.  This isn't to harp on the super-obvious fact that inked women can look nice, but rather... I was pleased that he felt comfortable enough with me and with our relationship to cross socio-economic and other demographic barriers.  I won't go into details, but I had to work really hard to be approachable to some of the staff.

/pleased monologue

The hubs didn't get home from work until after seven, so we didn't go to the gym last night.  I did nothing but lounge around on the couch in the tights and tank that I'd worn under my biz clothes.  It was quite nice.

The plan for this weekend:  ride the pony (x3), go to the gym (x2), run (only once).  Get my hair cut professionally (D has been trimming the ends for me since April, 2012).  I'm thinking the bangs are going to be more prominent.  Bigger.  Maybe.  I have a big forehead and a square jaw - slants are important.  Thrift shopping, closet cleaning, bargain hitting.  Eyebrow waxing (D starts making the Chewbacca purr when I know it's time).

Oh!  And photos at the Humane Society!  I had to share this because I think it's stinking awesome and I have to wonder how many other times I've had my photos in the NEWSPAPER!

I took all the photos in the left column.

Instagram.

I love random things:

A)  I know shit about my grandmother's family.  I probably need to work on that.  B)  Now I also desperately want to know when and why he went to Spain.

Macro wave. SOOC.

My husband got an injection in the butt.

I feel like that's a good opener.

Even better, his boss injected him.

I giggle nonstop thinking about it.

So, given that he inflamed something in his butt cheek, last night was supposed to be a light night at the gym.  I'm sort of surprised with the changes in our workouts - a year ago, we did Insanity nonstop, I ran constantly and I rode when able.  Now it's like... we're allowing ourselves to relax.

I ended up pushing some dude off the squat rack who was alternating between it and the Smith machine, so I could do my squats, overhead press and deadlift.  Woo.  Muscles.  Then it was the adductor, abductor, glute kickback, angled calf raises and the sliding leg press.  Husband doesn't want me to use the linear leg press any more because he said that the higher weights have a tendency to pop out vertebrae given the positioning of and pressure on the spine.

Learn something new every day.

As far as other world things, nothing exciting has happened.  I desperately need to buy Archie a new blanket because his little tocks and chest are sticking out of that thing I bought two years ago.  I guess he's muscled up some.  Or it shrunk.  Or I suck at purchasing blankets and have only just realized.  The sheet fits great, though!

Speaking of His Muscled Butt (not to be confused with His Injected Butt), I started talking with L.Williams about anhidrosis (or anhydrosis) (or that non-sweating shit that fucks up everyone's lives).  I mention it on his page, but I don't think I've ever gone really in-depth about it.  I've only personally heard of one other horse who was afflicted by it, so I think we're still in the minority (SmartPak says "1 in 5 horses.").  So let me educate you on my experience.

It was a Tuesday.  I can't remember what I wore yesterday, but I remember that it was a Tuesday in the summer of 2010 and I was feeding.  I went to get Arch and immediately, immediately, knew something was wrong.  His head was as low as he could comfortably get it and he was taking huge, gasping breaths.  Then I realized that he was completely dry.

This is Georgia.  From April to September, horses are never completely dry.

I don't remember if I knew about anhidrosis prior to this happening to us.  Maybe I'd read about it.  But I had seen heat stroke in the emergency room at the vet's office at which I worked.  So, I put my tortured horse into the wash rack and started hosing and scraping.  I hosed him for a while, scraping off the warmed water to cool his skin.  Then I grabbed every standing fan in the barn and plugged in each one in front of him.

A call to my trainer resulted to a call to my vet, which then resulted in a trip to the vet's office the next day.  Because they'd seen it so often, no exam was required for them to dispense medication to me.  We started Archie on beer, One AC, a bronchial dilator and another medication (I can't remember what!).

Every single day was like that first one.

For the duration of summer, my horse would spend an hour or so recovering from his inability to handle the heat.  If I wasn't working, the other feeder would do it for me.  And I would try to squeeze by between my other two jobs to check on him.  At first, there was no improvement.  Months of torture.  Sometimes, I wonder how I valued twenty-some-odd hours of okay-ness over the fucking misery that he encountered every day.

Riding was completely out of the question.  He spent the heat of the day in his stall, in front of a fan, only to be pulled out when he started blowing.  His gorgeous coat became dry, brittle, and bald in patches.  Was it wrong of me to hope?  Was I being selfish?

This continued on.  D and I moved in August of 2010 to Savannah.  Archie spent ten days in Augusta without me before my trainer was able to haul him down to Savannah.

His first day in Savannah, the beginning of September, my horse sweat again for the first time in months.

I cried.

My friends used to make fun of me for talking about his beer so much.  But none of them really understood that I was at the point of making the decision to euthanize my partner.  That something in his brain was off-kilter and I wasn't sure that it would work again, that he could be comfortable and thrive again.  So here's where we are now with his anhidrosis:

• Archie stays on One AC year-round.  He gets a half-dose in the fall and winter and a full dose in spring and summer.
• The Kid gets two beers a day during the summer.  So much of the year is hot and humid here that as soon as it breaks 90º regularly, he gets the beer.  I used to buy the expensive stuff, but when you think that he'll blow through a twelve-pack in less than a week, I started buying the cheaper stuff.  And, anyways, I think Steel Reserve has more stuff in it to appeal to a horse.  (The ideal recommendation is Guinness.  No joke.)
• The summers of 2011 and 2012, Archie sweat like an average horse.  Some days, he would be drenched.  Others, just average.  BO once told me that I could probably take him off the One AC.  I said no, while cursing her in my head.
• If Archie is drenched, I don't hose him off.  I don't want to interfere with his mind and body and their functionality.  It seems counterproductive, but it's what I've got and it's been working thus far.  Knock on wood.
• I am hyper-sensitive to his sweat patterns.  Seriously.  If you're a friend of mine on facebook, prepare yourself for pictures of his sweaty butt.  I get excited.  I get emotional.  I get thankful.  

When he first moved to Savannah.

First sweat.  To answer your question, fuck yes, I took pictures and posted them to facebook. You can see how dry his coat was.  Bald patches on the withers.

Shit yeah.  Sweat.

Big Lens.

Oh, man.  This is going to be a long one.  I can feel it.

Where to start?

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

Horsie.