Sense and Sensibility

27 January 2011 3 Comments

In early December, Ro and I were cresting a wave. Our Very First Schooling Show Ever was scheduled for December 18, and we were prepared to astound and amaze the judge and both spectators.

Then it rained. The schooling show was canceled.

Then she got an abscess.

Then I had family visit.

Then winter arrived, it rained, winter returned, and it rained some more.

Suddenly it was late January. The rescheduled schooling show was days away. For the first time in ages, I was able to ride Ro two days in a row. I called my instructor and advised her that we’d be showing Intro instead of Training. The point of the show—especially given how much time off Ro had had—was just to get her out and about. Who cares what level we rode?

It turned out to be a moot point. The schooling show arena was still waterlogged and the show was canceled.

So on Sunday, Ro and I had our first lesson since December instead.

Unfortunately for us, the barrel racers were doing their thing in the front half of the arena. We were left with the back half, which shares a weedy, overgrown fenceline with the crazy neighbor.

The fenceline is scary on its own. The neighbor is scary and creepy. He likes to yell things randomly. He likes to rev his various crappy engines while horses are in the arena. He really likes to pull his cars and motorbikes out (if they are working) and run them up and down the road alongside the barn.

We make lemons out of lemonade and call it free bombproofing. It doesn’t make the neighbor any less obnoxious, but the reality is he’s going to do his obnoxious thing and we all have to deal with it.

Still: the fence is scary. Neither Ro nor I like it, and we usually cut off that part of the arena. Bad training, but he’s creepy and Ro and I agree on that.

However, with our lesson taking place in that half of the arena, we had to put our big girl boots on and deal with the fenceline. Which we did, and there were some really cool moments in that lesson. Fabulous canter. Show-quality stretchy circle. Flying lead change!

Yeah, ok, the flying lead change was not intentional and happened when Ro bounded over a low spot; the extra loft in that stride was just enough that she also threw in a lead change. We repeated it, just to show we could (or because someone didn’t steer correctly and hit that same low spot on the next round; I forget which). So Ro can do lead changes under saddle. God help us if she ever really figures that out—I think she’ll want to do them everywhere.

Then, on Monday, it rained.

Tuesday the world was still waterlogged. I got Ro ready to lunge and headed to the round pen, where I discovered a horse had been turned out.

Given our stretch of bad weather, we are all doing whatever we can to get horses out whenever we can. I could have put that horse in his stall while I lunged, but I was feeling lazy and decided I would just throw Ro out in the large paddock—it was muddy, but areas were firm enough that I decided she could deal with it overnight.

However, last night, that “tack up and walk to the round pen” thing somehow translated into “I worked Ro.” I hadn’t, but when I saw the arena was dry enough to work again, I tacked Ro up and headed out to ride. Why lunge when you can pretend the horse worked the day before and won’t be high as a kite?

About the time I got on Ro, I realized my mistake. That’s about the same time the creepy neighbor revved an engine, people at the nearby gun range went trigger happy, and some guys working outside the arena picked up a big plastic drainage pipe and poured standing water out of it.

The crazy neighbor we can deal with. The gun range we barely notice anymore. The water pouring out of the pipe was too much for Ro. She spun and took off.

You know how there are dirty spookers, who drop a shoulder so you fall off and the monster will stop to eat you, giving them more time to get away? And there are horses who kind of like their riders, and make sure to take the riders with them, so everyone can escape the monster in one piece? Ro is one of the latter.

So when we pulled up a couple strides later, no worse for the wear, my first thought was that if she turns like that during the barrel race, we have it in the bag.

Then I thought that perhaps I should lunge her.

Then I thought that perhaps we should learn to deal with noise everywhere. Bombproofing opportunity!

One of us had sense last night, and it probably wasn’t me.

We trotted figure eights, Ro working on dealing with a cruel, scary life, while I worked on regulating tempo with my posting and not constantly getting in her face to slow her down. And, I have to say, her coping skills are really coming along. She doesn’t behave stupidly—she’s not taking off in all-out, mindless bolts, and she tries very hard to do what’s asked, even when she makes it clear that she would rather run away fast. Eventually, I think she’ll be one of those horses who can keep working even as aliens invade. For now, I know we can work through being edgy and uneasy and get to someplace productive, and that’s good enough for me. “Eventually” will come along. Eventually.

After, I talked to my barn manager a bit. We agreed that shows were going to be a piece of cake. If anything, Ro is going to trot into an empty dressage ring surrounded by silent spectators (both of them) and freak out because it is too quiet. I wonder—can I bring someone with a motorbike and have them cruise up and down the arena if the quiet turns out to be too much for Ro?

Horses and Riding, Progress and Training, Training the Horse, Horses I Have Known, Ro

Comments

There are 3 comments for this entry. Add yours.