After reading about the issues that Carly was having with Bobby, I started thinking about my issues with my own jerkface:

1. Biggest one:  inconsistent canter depart.  Solution:  ask for that damn canter more frequently and stop holding his face!  Ask all the time, multiple times.  And praise!  He's a smart pony!  Build the muscles he needs in order to transition us smoothly.  I'm the only one making it an issue and then I'm letting my issue snowball.  FTS.
2. Getting pissed off when asked to work while tracking right.  Solution:  do not allow him to bulge his right shoulder and remember to shift the weight on my right side down.  I should feel my seat bone on the right side connecting with the saddle.  Do more serpentines and spiraling circles.
3. Focusing outside of our partnership.  Solution:  if I kept him moving forward, that little brain would only be able to think about our communication.
4. Random bouts of naughtiness.  Solution:  take as much of the environment into consideration as possible.  Use fly spray consistently, keep the tack clean and check our "ring" for issues.  Remember that the Archer has a big personality and has off days and ouchie days.  Offer variety so the boy doesn't get bored.

I'm pretty lucky.  I don't climb into the saddle scared shitless (often) (occasionally, yeah, that crap happens). And when he's naughty as all fuck, I no longer think that my death/mauling/loss of limb is imminent.  She may not remember this, but months ago I told L my secret fear that I was overmounted.  That my sweet, opinionated and gorgeous Thoroughbred was too much for me.

Her response?  You'd fall off more.

So simple and so true.  And it really stuck with me.  We count the times that we've busted our asses, but we don't count the times that we've held on and recovered.

I might seem really harsh on myself lately, what with all the chubby chatter and now this post.  It's not harsh; it's a realism and introspection creeping up.

Because we know I'm normally like this, anyways.

So, husband came out to the barn on.. Saturday and took some photos.  As a would-be, eventual, hopeful photog, it's a hard place to be in to know that you aren't going to get the best functionality out of your camera in auto but that the person currently using it isn't familiar enough with it to make the minute changes necessary as distance/speed/light/focal point change.  But whatever.  He's my husband and he's fucking awesome at taking photos of me and I love it.  We'll call a couple of these artistic.

A repeat on having no thumbs, but I like that his tongue is out.  It makes me feel like I have adequate contact.

Short-strided, but pretty.

When I went out to the barn last Thursday, I noticed that Archie had some new holes in his head.

Not gonna lie:  this freaked me the fuck out.

I'd taken his fly mask off because it was starting to rub a little bit in a few places.  In the twelve hours of facial freedom, he.. did something.  There was another mark on the opposite side of his head, so I can only think that he stuck his head through the fenceline and then got spooked.

The spots are mostly healed now, but I took ample precautions on our ride Friday and still haven't put a halter back on normally.

Gauze tucked into the ear bonnet.

Good pony!

Scrubbing off grossness.

Our rides of late haven't been much to write home about.  More cantering, which has an easier and friendlier depart when I (because it's always me): ask on a straight away, don't think about asking and don't demand instantaneous departure.  He's sixteen.  We'll learn new things, but we're also going to be respectful of age.  Yesterday's ride was just a walking trail ride.  There was a lot of this:

And I got mauled by our Siamese, spooked on my shoulder and launched off my face:

There was some boob injury, but I kept that to myself.

And a final shot of the Archer, looking adorbs:

Braided because I'm a nutjob.

I'm not giving y'all numbers or anything, but when I stepped on the scale this morning I was terribly sad-faced.  I want to write about ponies and puppies, not my poor pony's poor back after lugging my tubby ass around.

I've written before about how I felt that I needed to lose about twenty pounds.  Then that slowly became 25.  A loss like that doesn't put me at a traditionally "skinny" weight (y'all should realize that nothing about me is traditional), but it gives me a balanced body without being a bobble-head and eliminates the fat-hoards that my body makes (namely, my gut).

I had started losing a few pounds (I lost five) through diet - literally counting every single calorie that I ingested and adhering to a low-calorie diet.  But this recent three-day weekend blew that shit out of water.  Pizza?  Sure, let's eat two!  PAULA DEEN'S LUNCH BUFFET?!  Why, yes, I would like a fried green tomato with pimento cheese to top my veggie burger, perfectly complimented by some deep-fried french fries.  Oh, yes, let's do the vegetable tempura and the vegetable yaki soba.  With plum Sake, of course.  And a couple margaritas.  And some beer, because I like it.  Oh, and dinner's pizza would be best served with an entire bottle of cheap-ass, sugary Arbor's Mist.  That I polish off solo, just like the pizza.  Yo.

Today, I think my body is in shock.  A bagel with low-fat cream cheese and leftover lentil soup (frozen, from the same batch that I fucked up and then wore).  And unsweetened green tea and water, water, water.  I'll let myself have a diet Dr. Pepper as my 3 PM reward for not going Office Space on this place.  Dinner will be something cooked in lightness, made from scratch and controlled.  And, slowly, I'll get back to where I was and continue the plight.  I mean, fight.  Yeah,  continue the fight.

Which brings me to another topic:  fitness.  I may be chubby (I hesitate to call myself "fat", since that doesn't help my self-esteem and isn't completely accurate), but I'm fit.  Fit as fuck, actually.  Below my bits of jiggly, I have muscles.  I lift heavy objects, comfortably and repeatedly.  I run, maybe not super fast, but I can go the distance.  Almost every single day has some physical activity, between the riding and the lifting, or even just the .87 mile walk to my car every afternoon.  While I've been remiss in attending the last few weeks, I have started taking yoga to improve my balance and the simple cognizance of my body's movement.  How many times have you been told to drop a shoulder without ever having realized that said shoulder had risen, again?

Fit, but chubby.  Stocky?  Stout?

See the quad?  See the roll? (Ps.  This is my brother, who is one of the smartest people I know.)

I think the 13.1 would have been much easier if I had shaved off some plushness.

Skinny, not fit. (See.. I have no muscle tone.)

Fitness seems to be a transitory thing.  A process.  And as a fit person who eats too many sugar-laden calories (god, we just bought two packs of Twizzler's, too), my goal now is to be less fat.  I want these muscles that I've been busting my ass over to actually show.  And I think the Archer would appreciate the loss.  Also?  My previously-obese and now-gorgeous husband just gets better-looking every day.  It's motivational.

Today, after cantering my Thoroughbred down the dirt road, exhilarated at our partnership, I looked down at my iPhone to gauge the time.  As I was embracing my relationship with my horse, across the continent, another relationship was changing.

You never really lose loved ones.  Things shift.  I don't believe in god, but I believe in love.  I believe in the capacity of the human heart and the human mind.

Go hug your horses.

(and send some love to L.)

Serious.  It's a legitimate holiday.  (I started to type "legit" again and then felt like the muscles that make me inclined to use brospeak were taking over my brain.  No good.)

Strangely enough, I got a call at 7:45 AM by someone who had found an alligator snapping turtle in the road and wanted to know what to do with it.  I'm that person.  "Oh, you found a bird/kitten/puppy/snake/turtle/frog/squirrel/child?  Well, you can ____________."

So, while this post won't be entirely devoted to them, I wanted to talk a little bit about the terrapins in my life.  It's the lesser-known critters of the Burke clan (what's the German version of clan?  that's us).

Pinky & Pokey

I acquired my little reptiles from questionable sources.  The animal-lover in me hates that I perpetuated a market for breeding and selling these small critters.  Here's the breakdown:  it is illegal to purchase turtles with a shell length of less than four inches.  My guys were purchased when they were obviously still hatchlings.  The way the shop got around the illegality of it was by selling me the container and giving me the turtles.  Yeah, I did that.  :(

First-ever photo of the monsters.  I'm a master photographer.

These guys grew like beasts.

Perfect for macro photography.  This was my first attempt, with Pokey.

 They actually do have individual personalities.  Pinky is more shy, more reserved, and the smaller of the two.  Pokey is aggressive, a biter, and big.  So far, both appear to be female and I haven't had any issues with territorial spats or aggression.  I will eventually move them to a man-made pond, as soon as I devise a way to build it.  :)

---

I got to ride last night!  We did some basic walk-trot with a few crossrails.  I didn't want to push him too hard since he'd just had his feeters done and hadn't really been worked since last week.  I don't know if I mentioned this, but I got rear shims for my Contender II pad and I really think they've had an impact.  I had a round, flowing beast beneath me who asked for the contact and gave through his back end.  Roar, ponykins.  Roar.

Also?  My butt is killing me!

Darlin'.

When I went to the barn yesterday after work, BO was stressing out over the installation of a new keypad locking system for the tack room door.  I don't think she's very excited about the purchase - at least, not nearly as excited as me.

I checked out Archie's shoes while spraying him with fly spray.  And grabbed the old shoes to do Pinterest-inspired craft fails.  It's going to be amazing.

His hooves are looking better these days, which makes me want to kick myself for having taken him off the SmartHoof two months ago.  Money, money, where'd you go?

I also discovered that, in addition to the new bell boots (thanks for all the input, guys!), homey needs new fly boots.  I had them on when the farrier came and when I came back, the farrier had taken them off and BO had put them back on.  So, one wrap was scrunched around the ankle and when I found the second wrap, all of the velco straps had been ripped off.

Right front.

Left front.

If the flooding stops, the plan is to go ride after taking animal photos.  My butt and legs are killing me from the gym workout yesterday, but this different movement should help.

I stay pretty busy.  I think I've mentioned that ad nauseum on this blog.  So, yesterday, when D said that he didn't want to go to the gym and the ground was still wet, I opted to not ride.  Instead, I caught Mr. Wanderer, cleaned him up and gave him his beet pulp and a few carrots.  Since he wears the fly boots 24/7, I like to make sure that things haven't gotten trapped in there.

In my inspections yesterday, I noticed two things:

• Though the rain rot on his cannons has cleared, he has (had?) a patch above the outside of his right hock.
• The bell boot on his left front is rubbing, potentially from all the times he's thrown that shoe.

Davis Boots

I think everyone has used Davis velcro boots, right?  They're good for a little while and then they slowly start a painful death where the velcro either disintegrates or the thread/glue/magic dissolves.  But they're cheap!  $19!

Walsh Fleece

I've never used/heard of Walsh.  The reviews are 4/5.  What appeals to me is the fleece, though I question functionality because I'm not sure that it's the top that's rubbing and not the skinnier inner piece.  It's an option, though.  $30.

Horze Ribbed

These suckers are a whopping $14.  The reviews aren't great: short and cheap, which defeats the purpose.

Horze Neoprene

I'm not sure what I think about these.  I've never liked the idea of a whole lot of neoprene because of the potential to trap heat, but it probably doesn't rub.  $20.

Equi-Stretch Ribbed

$13.  Okay reviews:  the one with words says that she got them for her TB, that they don't rub like the harder ones, but probably wouldn't survive turnout.

Centaur Ribbed PVC

I think these would rub the snot out of him.  Love the colors, though!  $9.

Dover Fleece Lined

Someone make this decision for me.  Oh, wait.  I think the reviews on Dover just did:  no rub, holding up, great, etc. $19.  WINNER!

I meant to break this into a million little posts and might still do that.  Too much fodder!

On my ride on Friday, I was walking the Kid on the dirt road when a fellow walked from out under the pergola at the driveway across the street.  He proceeded to walk on the dirt road.  I'm not normally friendly to strangers beyond a smile and a hello, but something about the apron, the baseball cap and the smile made me chatty.

Or it might have been, "That's a nice beast you've got there."

Gah.  Quickest way to get me to talk:  say something pleasant about the Archer.

Anyways, I won't bore you will the details (chef, rode in Australia, etc), but I will say:  Archie stood like a fucking saint.  The legit fly spray is amazingly legit, so he wasn't being bothered by bugs, but he's also had an issue previously when asked to stand for long moments.  I was so proud.

We spent the majority of the ride working on our extensions at the trot.  I've always been taught that this is something you ask for rarely, because it's an awful lot of work with a big potential for muscle injury.  So we kept it to about fifteen strides and about three attempts.  The first attempt resulted in a rolling canter, which I have no complaints about.  I improved my method of asking for the second and third attempts, which were much better.  We never got a full extension, but we had some extension and a beautiful working trot.

During the turn-around portion, I collected that trot, sat firm in my right seat bone and asked for a deep turn on that right shoulder.  The first time, we didn't have enough oomph and he broke.  The second, though, reassured me that my horse has been playing me for a sucker and I need to ride better.

It rained on Saturday.

A Beautiful Mess app, hipster glasses and a skirt too short for work.

Sunday, after photographing the animals and playing soccer stupidly, I went out to ride.  There was still some rain, so I got a little.. creative.

Soccer jersey, shorts, tevas, two lunge lines (since I couldn't find my dressage reins) and his halter.  Keeping it classy!

I still stretch!

When I'd gotten to the barn, Archie was standing in the feed room, eating Skinny Guy's beet pulp.  After pulling him out, I saw that there was blood on the floor.

Mystery blood.

Beet pulp bucket.

Messy eater.

I checked both horses over - cleaning hooves, checking coronet bands, checking legs and lower abdomens - nothing.  I called BO, who said that she was on her way over anyways.  She wasn't as concerned about the blood as I was, but I told her that I'd be more comfortable if the door had a functional lock.  So she's working on that.

And completely off the topic of pony time, but back on to another favorite subject:  food.  I stuck this at the end so you can gleefully skip it.

Since my husband was sick a couple of weeks ago, I've been given his blessing to cook more and cook random.  His appetite hasn't returned for the food that he was sick with.  I don't have any photos of this stuff, but in the past week, I have made:  quinoa with a sauteed onion broth, veggie burgers from SCRATCH! (I watched him make salmon patty things and replicated the process with less-dead stuff), and zucchini lasagna.  It's amazing being able to look up recipes and think about the process of cooking and changing things to suit us.  He's also taken to eating fish more, which, on the sliding scale of animal ethics, I find slightly more permissible than eating chickens.  Who have personalities.  Granted, the two goldfish that my mother had for a decade also had slightly discernible personalities, as one was more aggressive and one more laid back.  Still.  It's like a small step for my secret plot to turn my husband into a vegetarian.

of, "Things at the Barn that Might Kill Me."

I have a weakness for wild blackberries.  To the point that I didn't wash these, I just blew them off and shoved them in my face.

Is this Poison Ivy?  I can never tell.  But you see the proximity to the berries, right?

I normally have no issue with spiders.  Except there isn't a functional light in the bathroom right now and this little guy startled the shit out of me.

On Wednesday, I went out to the barn to do a quick little bareback ride.  I'd forgotten my camera, so there was no going to the Humane Society to take photos.  I'd also forgotten to purchase more witch hazel and ACV, so I was completely out of fly spray.  I still haven't bought stuff, but I did get some legit spray from SmartPak yesterday, along with shims for the Contender II.  So the peaceful trail ride that I was anticipating through the woods turned into a stop/lurch/scratch/shake/fts ride.  S'ok.  I'll make it up today.

This makes me feel pretty okay about my positioning and pretty horrible about my grooming.

Bringing sexy back.

My little blue devil is just so damn handsome.

Except for the sudden rain rot on his rear cannons.  Gross.