“What is it about women and horses?,” my non-horse friends ask. “I just don’t get it.”
I have a theory, but it’s untested, so perhaps it’s only a conjecture. Regardless, I can sum it up by saying that men like machines. They love the reliability of having an object respond to them consistently (unlike their wives) and without any fuss. Turn the key and the motorcycle, car, boat, or plane starts. Step on the gas and it goes. Your vehicle reliably turns in the direction you prefer. Press the brake and it stops.
It occurred to me that if I’d posted only those photos of my horse and I doing well at our most recent show, the response would have been enthusiastic but much less entertaining.
When I posted the photo of Micah taking a poo at M (for Manure) in my Walk to Poo Transition post, the response was terrific. My friends laughed with me as I sat through what felt like the longest nature break in history.
Following is a replay of that glorious moment, followed by my attempts to regain composure and continue the test. As you can tell, I couldn’t quite believe what had happened. It was definitely a good lesson in letting go and carrying on.
Today’s posting is from one of my favorite humor writers: Bob Goddard. Bob’s been writing horse humor since 1991. His blog will celebrate its 4th birthday this June.
I met Bob when I was owner/editor of Flying Changes magazine and thoroughly enjoyed publishing his work — so it’s really fun to be collaborating once again! He currently publishes a humor column for Trail Rider Magazine and is the author of ‘Horse Crazy!’
After spending many years as a Horse Show Dad, Bob decided to take up riding himself. His blog www.horsecrazy.net/bobsblog/ documents Bob’s perspective from the saddle.
On Lesson #114 we attempted to recreate Lesson #113: a perfectly pleasant winter’s day ride. However…
The temps were actually single digit – this time without the benefit of literary license. These days, we’re happy enough if we don’t see the minus sign in front of our numbers. As Gerry (on Habakuk) and I (on Windy) discovered as we followed Karin (on Charley) lemming-like through the Kiddie Trail, the footing was less than ideal. Discretion being the better part of valor, we headed inside. The Chicken Part of my brain – science calls it the cerebrum – insisted.
Within the confines of the Great Indoors, Windy and I performed some dressage moves. These included “Snappy Salute at X” and “Precisely Perfect 20 Meter Circle.”
Anyone who knows anything about dressage knows that after you enter at “A,” you proceed to “X” and make a Snappy Salute. Anyone who knows anything about the English alphabet knows that “X” should be “B.”
I’m wondering if the letter-sequencing discrepancy has something to do with the roots of dressage itself. While the Germans and miscellaneous Europeans developed dressage into the sport/art form we know today, it was the Greeks that first came up with idea. Way, way, way back. Its origins are in fact attributed to the writings of a gentleman named Xenophon who was actually an army guy. Xenophon and the Greeks had their own take on the alphabet with letters that were simultaneously very pretty and very confusing to look at. Kind of like the script you might see on the back of the One Ring to Rule Them All. The one that Karin wants.
A raku pot sits on my dining room table, a reminder of the little quarter horse I owned for a year. My mother made the pot and had it raku-fired with some hair from Chief’s mane and tail. It’s lovely.
Unfortunately, by the time I got the pot at Christmas, I’d given up on Chief (more on that soon) and sold him. Fortunately, selling Chief was one of the best things I could have done – despite the fact that I dearly loved him.
Chief had been trained Western but I thought he’d make a good dressage horse. He had nice enough movement and was willing in the initial (key word) stages of our work. He liked change, going new places, and mixing it up in the work. He was a confident, excellent trail horse except …. Continue reading…
Micah’s not vain about his looks. Probably because he’s a manly sort of horse, who revels in rolling in the dust and strolling about the pasture as if he owns it.
He does own it. Micah manages to assert himself as herd boss with merely a glare and ears pinned in warning. He rarely lifts a hoof or bares his teeth to back up his superiority. He clearly thinks that looks are for sissies.
I’m the one who frets over Micah’s disheveled appearance. He’s a truly handsome horse hidden under a a seriously shaggy winter coat.