We've had rain the past few days, so while Archie would have normally been on ride number for four the week, he's only had two.  And, man.  What an ass he was last night.

I got to the barn and there were a shit ton more cars than normal.  I don't normally ride on Thursdays anyways, so what do I know.  I walk up to the barn and realize that there is a farrier working on a couple horses.  I've never met this guy and I had no idea that multiple farriers came to our barn.  The owners were holding their own horses, so I guess that says something about the situation.  Nice enough guy, even if I did take points off for his pibble having cropped ears and testicles.


So I pull the old man out, and get ready to ride.  Kids are screaming next door.  No movie vehicles, but now Archie knows they're back there.  Obstacles are littered everywhere, because, oh yeah, it's time for summer camp.  And don't forget the farrier, pounding nails.  No big deal.

Except Archie's tense as fuck, so I'm tense as fuck, so Archie's tenser than fuck, so I'm a ball of nerves, allowing him to hollow and to look and llama himself around while trotting almost in place.  It was beautiful, lemme tell you.

He spooks one time, but it's fine because I was actually just working on seat depth, thanks, and had my legs wrapped solidly around him.

Then we're about to canter and a branch or a limb or a tree or a house falls somewhere behind us, and my left hand is holding my iPhone and my right hand is holding the crop and a bit of the rein, and my brain is holding nothing, but my legs are holding on enough for the rest of me.  And he spooks.  A majestic spook.  A note-worthy spook.  But I stay on, somehow.

Except my brain shoots into overdrive and for the first time that I can remember, I have an anxiety attack on his back.  Crying?  Sure.  I've cried tons of times on him.  Almost daily, back at the old barn.  But the hyperventilating, dying, head pounding, eyesight dimming experience, while on him?  No.  I don't remember that.  I likely wouldn't.

And then I slowly collect myself, finish resetting the time on my phone, and we canter.  Bold.

While there actually is a Wintec running martingale residing somewhere in my garage/auxiliary tack room, I've opted not to put it on Archie.  I'll probably regret this decision once I look like Owen Wilson's love child and I will give you all free rein to mock me.  My thoughts run something like this:  three steps out of a thousand, he explodes.  I don't feel like that's enough to put something on him that may or may not piss him off even more.  Fortunately, other than being a little tense, the big guy has been pretty good for our past few rides.

And here's a link to a super-timely and informative post on explosive ponies.  Horse Nation, are you reading my blog?

Which brings me to my excitement:

WE CANTERED!*