After having had four days off, Archie was a little pistol last night.  We went on a little walk to the river after working briefly and he chomped at the bit the entire time, prancing on his toes and twitching when frogs jumped.  The benefit to all this energy was that his canter transitions were the best sort of explosive.  I felt that outside hind come underneath and just pound the ground and propel us upwards.  Yay for fitness.

I'm sure my laughter could be heard at the shot-gunner's house.

Three of the days, I didn't even see my little wonder pony.  I don't like going that long without seeing him.  It's part of a ramped up anxiety and part of a complacency.  I don't want to ever get accustomed to not spending time with him.

One day, I had krav maga.  I woke up with a raging headache that morning and it lingered in the back of my head most of the day, only to fuck me over when it came time to practice hammer strikes.  Something is wrong somewhere with my form because I shouldn't be able to feel the impact resonating in my skull.  ..I just thought I was really strong.  :)

Another day, I had Zumba.  Here's to naughty dance moves in a darkened room full of overweight, sweaty and enthusiastic women.

On Independence Day, the hubs and I opted to go to the beach.  We didn't want to go to our local beach, Tybee, because it's small and has a shit-ton of traffic and never has enough parking spaces.  We'd thought about going to Folly Beach in Charleston, simply because we've never been there.  But Google told us the traffic sucked and that it only had one way in.  Finally, we decided on Hilton Head.  We had an absolute blast and the water was perfect.

Hi.  I'm going to brag for a moment.  My husband, my dear, sweet ginger husband, might just be the hottest fucking guy on the planet.  Which begs the question:  how the fuck did I get so lucky?

Dorks.

SmartPak sandals.

When I finally saw my Pony on the fourth day, it was thundering and lightning.  I had been optimistic and wore my breeches, but no luck.  Shortly after I pulled him in to the aisle, it started pouring.

I opted to pull his mane instead.

So, for 20-plus years, I've always thought that the little aluminum combs were it.  All a respectable horsewoman could use on a willing horse.

But I lost mine.  I'm thinking maybe I thought about taking it home to engrave, but never... did?

Then I thought I would try one of my regular combs.  Nailed it.

This.  Just not as pretty anymore.

Started in the middle to see if it made a difference.

Nope.  By the time I got to the top, he was a little shit.

This schedule that I'm finagling now has me abandoning my pony for three days straight.  Needless to say, I don't like this.  I'm gonna make some changes, so I'm only abandoning him for two days.  It heightens my anxiety to think of him sitting in a pasture, even though I trust my BM to call me (see: The C Word) if he starts acting wanky.

Anyways, Tuesday my ass went home and spent ninety minutes mowing every bit of grass we've got.  We'd let it go too long and it was like taming a freaking jungle.

Wednesday, I hauled ass to the Humane Society and photographed three litters of kittens and a solitary dog.  Walking to the desk to get my list, a young woman stopped me to ask if I were the photog.  I said yes and she told me that I was doing a great job and to keep it up.  Given the work bullshit that's taken over my mind, I needed that.  So badly.

This says, to me, less "Adopt me, I'm adorable!" and more, "Adopt me, I'm hopeful!"

Trouble.

Then it was off to Krav Maga.  We worked on more holds and, of course, more punching/kicking/and kneeing.  I've accidentally hit every single person that I've spared with and Wednesday was no exception.  Whoops.

I accidentally kneed my trainer in his femur.

Because I'd freed up some time on Thursday, I was able to attend a Zumba class.  Now, I think 90% of Zumba classes are for shit and that it depends solely on the creativity and ability of the trainer.  This trainer has mad skills and feels more like a dancer.  I loves her.

This is all to say that I haven't any pony updates.  But here are some photos I took a few weeks ago of the Kid and some I got of the girls last night, while we grilled.  Blogger ate some of the quality, but I'm okay with that.

I call this, "Love Me, Dammit."

Not my best silhouette.

I love this one.  I don't know why.

I added light leak to this and I don't love it.

But I love this.  This is my spry old lady.

Eleven years old and she will still jump up on a bench and a column, then gracelessly allow me to pick her up and put her back down.

Someone didn't want to lay for the treat.

Savannah.

1.  I brought my camera to work with me today, in an effort to expand all the shit I shoot (like puppies! TFS, totally getting that on a shirt now).

2.  Krav Maga has fucked with my life schedule.  I need tips.  How does everyone else balance All The Things?  How many times do y'all ride a week?  Do you feel like the worst horse owner in the world if you miss a day?  Or cut a day out completely?  Once upon a time (really, when was this?), I rode five times a week.  Now I'm good if I get four.  I feel like Archie needs as much time under saddle, to assist with his muscle tone and soundness and flexibility and mind.  But I also feel like some time off benefits everyone.

Current Schedule.

I think I can take photos before Krav Maga.. today will be the test! This schedule also makes me lose a gym day.. technically, I'm still working out at KM. Harrumph.

3.  While my preference will probably always be trotting in to fences, I'm trying to make myself canter more.  It can't get better unless we work on it.  I can't get more comfortable with the feel of it unless I do it a million times.

So.

If you follow a couple of your fellow bloggers on Instagram, you might have seen a little bit of my smashing-metal-into-metal work yesterday.

I was sitting there, last Friday night, prior to leaving for a day trip on Saturday, going through my collection of little metal bits and my alphabets and just completely flummoxed as to how to make something for Steph at Hand Gallop for that little contest she won.  Two ponies.  Both with short names.  And it might not be the actual case, but I feel like the chestnut gelding is the favorite.

After having fucked up one tag (how important is the letter e and kerning, anyways?!), I had this weird little epiphany.

Steph.

Have I seen this before?  Probably.  Almost certainly.  But did I ever think about changing my methodology and trying something new?  Nope, nope, nope.

My husband can attest that after having successfully made Steph's "Hand Gallop" tag, I was.. stricken.  It was all I could do to think of more things to hammer, trying to piece things together from my dwindling supply of metal (I fuck up a lot.. there's no cmd Z with metal and it is not forgiving).  He went off to bed and I stayed up, hammer tapping.  The next morning, sitting in the car with my supply box at my feet, piecing more things together.

So a couple other of my blogging buddies were the recipients of my attempts.  I might sell this stuff in the future, I might continue to randomly gift it for upcoming birthdays, shitty months, contests, etc.  You know, if I have your address.

Hillary.

(Ps.  I stole y'alls photos.  And passively invited everyone to go to your feeds.)

High Number One.

High Number Two.