I went out to the barn late last night to check on the Kid.  My hopes were that I wouldn't encounter anyone because I still feel really awkward about the trail ride.  I'm not sure exactly why and think maybe it's something I should chalk up to my anxiety rather than that I did something wrong.

So, yeah.  People were at the barn.

I first saw the other TB rider, who was blanketing her pony.  She said that Arch was being an ass and chasing all the other horses away from the new hay bale.  I told her that I hope the novelty wears off and he can be his normal self.  I'm not sure how quickly that'll happen - dude hasn't seen hay since we switched barns in August.

She said that she had some pain in her neck from her fall, but that was about it.  Her horse was fine and bore no ill marks of our adventure.  I asked her about heading out on our own and she's game, but she's also going to continue going on the group trail rides.  Seriously, her pony was a seasoned endurance horse compared to my Kid.

I pulled Archie out of his pasture and he seemed happy to see me.  The weather had dropped significantly and he was acting up a little bit.  I checked him over from head to toe and only found a few little spots.  His butt was super tight and he got a little massage there.  His neck wasn't tight, but was warm compared to the rest of his body.  I think that's more from grazing and moving his head.  He had a little bit of warmth on the back of his ankles, with a little cut on that hind left fetlock.  It was more like a little scratch, which could have happened in the field.  Overall?  Seemed perfectly fine and had no issue dancing in the crossties or screaming like a banshee when I walked away.  I plan to ride him tonight and give him a little workout to see how he goes.

Part of the group from Saturday actually trailer in for lessons on a different horse, so we talked briefly about the replacement of T3.  She said that they were going to be trying out four different trainers.  She was very friendly about it - saying that my input was important, too.  I appreciated that, but I will probably just let them decide and maybe watch a lesson or two.  I'm holding on to hope that T3 will make a magical reappearance.

Or, remember that time I rode my horse for about four hours?  And occasionally it was raining?

It started out so peacefully.  There were four other riders.  Then we picked up two more.  And somehow, within the first five minutes, I mutually offended and was offended by this man toting a gun and making jokes about shooting my "mule".  And I'm pretty sure it all went downhill from there.

There were three gaited horses and they took the lead, racking off into the distance.  The other five of us paced, occasionally trotting and catching up.  And then we got to the wooden bridge.

Archie was a freaking champ crossing this bridge.  I've never taken him over one, I've never ridden over one.  We get to the other side, where wood meets gravel, and I hear the other TB rider (she needs a nickname) coming behind me.  We are, of course, bringing up the rear and everyone else is around a bend.  And then Archie starts to spin and I see her getting up out of the gravel (OUCH!).  I yell a "HOLD HARD!" to the rest of the riders and immediately dismount.  This is what you do, right?  You dismount and you check the person getting up from the ground to make sure they are alright.  She doesn't immediately remount and I don't take the time to, either.  We just walk and I make sure she's okay and we catch up with the group.

That dude I mentioned earlier?  "Why'd you even tack them up?  You should have just brought leashes."  Yeah.  Way to get a full understanding of the situation before you made someone feel like shit.  I ignored him, we mounted, we kept going.  He tried to make nice and I continued to try to ignore him.  I think it was mostly ignorance that he couldn't understand a horse that was solely a lesson/training/show horse not being completely trail-sound.  Oh, and did I mention?  By this point, we were at a sports field and there were at least two games going on.

The rest of the ride sort of blends together.  We got left a lot.  We went for a really, really long fucking time.  I asked prior to the ride how long the BM thought we would be out and she wasn't sure, but thought it would be like last time (2 hours).  When we hit the two hour mark, I asked her how far we were from the barn.  Answer:  very far.

We made it to the destination (?) and turned around.  This required that we traverse a parking lot/road with limited place to ride off the road.  The rest of the group hits this asphalt and racks/trots/canters off, leaving the other TB rider and I in the back, by our lonesome.  At this point, Archie's brain is completely fried.  He can't handle walking, he can't handle straight, and he can't handle the herd being broken.  In lieu of walking like a sane gentleman, we are doing the tightest collected trot, haunches out, next to the other horse.  If I straighten him, he turns his ass to the other horse.  And then goes back to crooked.

I thought he would be better when we got to the woods again.  He wasn't.  I finally told the other TB rider that I felt like I was going to be bucked off, so I dismounted and let Archie just jig next to me.  This went on for about a half mile, until I felt comfortable getting back on.  We finally caught up with the rest of the group and it.. uh.  Didn't get any better.  If we caught up with the gaited horses, they did their little smarmy speed-walking thing off into the distance.  And, fresh from trotting, we would trot to catch up.

At one point, it became a group run.  The other TB rider and I started cantering.  I called to the guy that I was passing him and I let Archie open up.  It was amazing.  It wasn't the fastest gallop, but it was a hell of a lot faster than I think I've ever gone on him.  I could hear the other TB rider on my left and we quickly caught up with the gaited horses, whose riders looked shocked to see us.  That little bit was the best part of the ride and still not enough to redeem it.

After that, unfortunately, I had a really hard time keeping Archie calm.  He wanted to be in the front, I guess, but isn't conditioned enough to keep up with horses that ride that far regularly.  Or rack.  He was drenched from head to toe.  There was lather on his neck, on his chin, and the other TB rider told me that his butt was completely foamed.  The gaiting horses had ridden off in to the sunset (seriously, I never saw them again) and we didn't know how far behind us the rest of the group was.  So I looked at this foaming, jigging beast beneath me that couldn't comprehend what the fuck was going on, and I dismounted.  And I promptly walked him in hand the last half hour/mile plus.  Does it suck that I returned on hand?  Yes.  Was my horse cooled and relaxed by the time I returned to the barn?  Yes.  So was it worth it?  Absolutely.

If it wasn't raining, it was really, really hot.  I was dehydrated when I got back to the barn.  I sent D a text that the ride had gone long and begging him to have some water in the fridge for me.  I hosed Archie off, felt him for heat, checked his soundness, linimented the fuck out of him, beet pulped him, and turned him out.  He promptly trotted off to the brand-new round bale.  And then he rolled.  So, I figure that he's fine, but I'm going to give him tomorrow off.

We rode for four hours and ten minutes and covered 14.81 miles.  Our fastest pace was 21.97 miles per hour.  That would be that gallop.  I think every single horse was sweaty and we were all a little bit sore.

See how things were escalating until I dismounted around mile 13?

D and I talked about it a little bit when I got home and recovered (I showered, walking gingerly on my bruised feet, drank a gallon and napped for an hour).  While I think that these rides in new places are good for Archie, I don't think that the format is beneficial for us.  He isn't learning that it's okay to be away from the other horses, he's just getting more and more worked up.  Moving in a group is awesome, but I would like a group that hung together a little bit more.  So, yeah, I'm going to ask the other TB rider if maybe she'd like to go out on Sundays or something and just trail ride together.  She's completely accommodating to my crazy beast and we walk at the same pace.  Also, she doesn't enjoy being out for so long.

Dom, I have so much more freaking respect for your endurance rides.  Thank you, no.

Photo dump:

The other TB rider and me.

Not the bad bridge.

Random and really pretty.

Parking lot.

Car in the parking lot.

On the way to pick up the other two.

Very start.

1. This list.  I think I might be Twilight Sparkle.  And I'm okay with that.

I'd never say "doggone it" and we all know that.

4. Healthy Horse.  This is an Apple app.  Sorry, dudes that don't use it.  I'm not going to say that this is the BESTEST APP EVER.  It's not.  But it's functional and mildly addicting.  You select the body type from a very limited and somewhat generic list, measure your pony, and it spits out an approximation of weight.  I did Archie and of course I didn't save any of that shit, but I agreed with the results:  the Kid is skinny.  I'm definitely not saying that this should be used as a replacement for a veterinarian's recommendation or how a horse appears on the Henneken Body Condition Scoring System.  But if, like me, you have no freaking clue how much your horse weighs, it's good for a ball park until you can get him on an actual scale.

I.. um.. never knew my TB was a "Stock" horse.

Look at his dainty little legs.

5. Supportive Significant Others.  Where would I be without my husband?  Oh, yeah.  Still living in Augusta, still chilling in my one-bedroom/one-bathroom <700 square foot apartment, still walking dogs three times a day and praying that Scarlette would just find a spot and shit already.  Working three jobs to feed the addiction (DIBS ON THAT SHOW NAME!), trying to find time to ride, wash clothes, and sit down.  What friends?  Unless you mean coworkers, because that's the only time I saw anyone.  Oh, yeah, and I hated the salaried job, loved the job that paid shit, and would have quit everything else to do the job that paid nothing.  /misery

Dude and I had just started dating and he'd already been dragged into this crazy.

But not really.  I had my "last" lesson with T3 last night.  In talking to her, though, she explained that the job is currently only contracted for a three month trial before she gets an offer to make it permanent.  And her husband is still living here.  She said that she would be coming back on weekends that they (I'm assuming it's a college, because she's taught at colleges before) weren't showing and could potentially do lessons on those weekends.  So all hope isn't lost.  Just.. indefinite.

Here are my reviews of the last lessons:  fourth, third, second and first.

The lesson with the kids ran about half an hour late and T3 was clearly eager to get started.  Archie got a little warm up, but we made up for it with a shit ton of trot work.  My first exercise, after I got him going properly, was to post as small as possible.  I don't know why this has been such an issue for me.  I post like, two feet out of the saddle.

Oh, did I mention that I wore my fresh-from-the-box boots?  For the first ten minutes or so, my ankles were in a fiery, painful hell.  And then the boots remembered that they were synthetic and started to relax around my legs.  Magical.  But, needless to say, lowering my heels was difficult initially.  I refused to make it an excuse and just pushed them down.

The small-posting brought to light that the giant posting was fucking up my hand position, so while doing these tiny little posts (which, fuck, I need to get used to), I had to work on the line from my elbow to the bit.  My hands would raise and break the line, which she said was a habit from pumping my arms as I take my giant posts.  The chant for the flat work was "elbows, wrists, reins, bit", interspersed with "TOO HIGH!" and "push your knees into your heels!".  She also explained that when I was pumping my arms, I wasn't giving him anywhere to go.  Goes back to that chokehold I used to put him in while trying to get and maintain contact.  So, softer hands, straighter line, to the bit with less movement out of the saddle.

From there, we moved into canter hell.

There were several standards and jumps in the ring and she made a serpentine pattern out of them.  I trotted through in once, and then went through it at a canter.  It was down the straight on the left lead, turn in and go straight, downward transition, simple change to the right lead, bend right on the rail, turn back in, go straight/simple change back to the left lead, bend left and get back on the rail.  Here.  I drew you a pretty picture.

The black stars are standards.  Blue is left lead/bend.  Orange is transition.  Purple is right lead/bend. And that blue star?  Where T3 decided to stand when I kept cutting that corner.

The transitions were butt-ugly.  It was horrible.  We were slow to get them and we'd be in the turn by the time he picked it up.  A lot of this was just my fault.  We had to have several reset moments, because I would be bending him the wrong direction and he would pick up the wrong lead.  After butchering it several times in this direction, we switched and went the opposite direction, which was 800 times easier.

This guy.

I know people.  Or, rather, I know people who know people.

L. Williams and I were talking ponies.  We often talk ponies.  But we were talking about our racing ponies and the subject of photo finishes came up.  I've often lamented the fact that in the eight years or so that the Kid has been in my life, I haven't been able to master Google to the point of finding the finish from his one win.

L. Williams is Red from Shawshank Redemption.  She can get things.  She contacted Allison, who is a magical person.  Allison was able to point me towards the exact right person to get the crack photo that I was looking for.  Dude.  I've never spoken to this chick and she might be my new best friend.  Expect a Christmas card!

I sent the photographer an email and tried my damnedest not to ooze desperation and twelve-year-old-pony-love.  I kinda sorta figured that he didn't give a shit about my relationship with my horse.  I just said, "Hey, do you have the photo of this winner running this race on this date at this track?  BECAUSE HE'S MY HORSE!!!!"  Yeah.  Something like that.  Except nicer and more professional because occasionally I hide my crazy.

The photog (or photog minion?) was super prompt in his response and stated that he probably did have the photo I was looking for (cue tears of joy.  for reals.), but wouldn't be able to give me a definitive yes or no until the following week.  I waited somewhat patiently and didn't blast him eighteen emails.  As soon as I got that affirmative from him, I called him to throw money at him.  $24.  Worth it.

Look at those legs!

I feel like this is a huge puzzle piece from Archie's history.  The first person to work him.  What he looked like.  What he rode in.  His stance and body language.  So this is what I've surmised:

• Archie ran in a Dexter bit.  Never heard of it?  Yeah.  I only knew of it as the cousin to the Chifney, which is an anti-rear bit.  The Dexter isn't for the same thing, but it is used as an additional means of stopping/controlling a "strong horse".  
• Archie also ran in a blinker hood.  This limited the visibility primarily of those horses behind him, in an effort, as I understand it, to keep him focused on running forward.
• Archie also ran with a shadow roll.  This inhibited the visibility directly in front/below him.  It serves two possible purposes:  to keep him from spooking at shadows by inhibiting him from seeing them, or to get him to lower his head (otherwise he couldn't see anything).
• Archie still had donkey ears as a baby horse.  (He was four.)
• And he looks tense as fuck.
• But he still wore blue!

Dexter.

Chifney.

Maybe he did this stuff? (Not my pony.)

I'm sort of surprised that he went from racing to 4-H, especially considering that his previous owner/trainer thought he needed all that extraneous crap on his face.  I mean, I get that he's an asshole at heart.  I adore that about him.  Maybe people don't appreciate assholes as much as I do.  Um.  Anyways, I'm open to being educated by those who know more about general practices with racehorses/racing paraphernalia.

So, again, many thanks to L and Allison for hooking me up with something I've been dying to find for nearly a decade.

THANK YOU!

On a serious note:  thanks for the condolences about my cousin.  It's hard to articulate, but as much as I want a cure for cancer and wish that he had lived long enough to see one, I'm also grateful that he isn't suffering anymore.

I wasn't in the right mindset to write a "Friday's Five Faves", because it would have been things like morphine drips, stem-cell research, medically-assisted suicides and strangers in England who donate bone marrow. I'm probably still not in the right mindset to write, but I no longer think that matters.

On my back and tumbling, down that hole and back again.

The Eventer took this photo and I thought, "Hot damn, I've got a handsome horse."

Oh, man.  As much as I love my horse, moments last night had me wondering if even attempting to ride was a bad decision.  I got to the barn at about six, but it looked like midnight.  No lights were on, so I blazed everything.  I knew BM was around somewhere, but never really saw her.  Every single sentence written above has a comma.  In case you wondered.

I went to get Archie only to realize that the pastures had been switched.  And he'd been moved to the big pasture.  Of course, he wasn't with the closer gathering of geldings, but rather in the back forty being antisocial.  I haltered him, took him back to the barn and did a super quick groom.  Threw on my brand-spanking-new-to-me "riding rug" and his bridle and walked him out to the mounting block.

He flicked his ears when I ripped the velcro on the rug open in order to wrap it around me.  That was about it.  Fifteen minutes of just walking in circles in the ring, in the bitter cold (...uh, for Georgia).  I didn't let him be a goofball about the chair that's been in the corner for a month now nor the horse being hand-grazed on the opposite corner.

This... looks weird.  Sorry about that.

Then it was just a matter of blanketing, putting up my mountains of stuff, and feeding.

No saddle, so no stirrups, so no freaking boots/half chaps!

I feel like yesterday's WW was a teaser post.  I've started reading both those books.  "Started" because I only made it one chapter in Equine Fitness before I had a fucking eureka moment and cried for a highlighter.  Today, I read a little bit in Rider Fitness and started marking the workouts that I'll do tonight.  There are seven of them and nothing new for me.  I'm interested to put it all together and see where it takes me.

After working out, take a nap.  Occasionally look up to see if anyone is bringing you chocolate, beer, or a new pony.

When I was back at the miserable Old Barn, with my one crossrail that couldn't really be adjusted and the cluttered pasture in which I rode... can we take a moment and remember how miserable we were?..., the Archer surprised me one day by dragging me to that little crossrail and pounding over it.

I take this horse for granted.

I like to think that the love I have for him oozes from my pores, that people can see it from miles away.  Be it the bell boots, the shiny coat, the arrogance in his walk.  But sometimes, I fear that I don't show him enough how much I appreciate every step he takes for me.  How do you show something like that to an animal?  Treats, an enthusiastic "good boy!", a pat, a loose rein.  What else?  What more can I do?

Because I had yesterday off, I opted to ride earlier in the day.  Let me back up:  the dogs were taken on a walk, I ran a couple miles, I downed a few beers while catching up on Instagram and eating nachos, and then I rode.  In hindsight, the running and the riding should have been reversed, because I had no legs.  None.  I'm sure the beer helped.

I could eat Mexican and drink Miller Lite every day, every meal.  The subsequent weight gain might be worth it.

I set up two crossrails, a little bit higher than the ones we'd been jumping.  They were at about the height of the low vertical that we jumped in the last lesson with T3.  He had a stop at a crossrail earlier in the week - his first stop ever, if I can even call it that.  It was more like we broke from a trot to a walk and then ponderously ambled over it - and I was concerned that the Kid wasn't respecting the small questions I asked.  So let's ask harder questions.

I derped on video set up, but here's a complilation of what you can actually see me jumping.  The fences were almost aligned on different sides of the ring and I would trot one, pick up the canter, canter the second and canter around to the third.  Thrilled.  Just fucking thrilled.


So here are some screen shots from my geriatric Mac.  I saved you from having to pause to gander at my (lack of) perfection.

Sproing!

Contact without toooooo much contact.

Who cares about perfection?

I just love this.

You can't tell me that he doesn't love to jump!

This blurry shot?  Because his knees are actually together.  I'm a sack of moldy, festering potatoes, but, dammit, my horse is hot.