palace of winds

First, a few May pictures I promised, from when Alex got his ride on Everett. He was unbelievably thrilled, and since then I’ve beaten Grandma in a few preference contests. Grandma was the queen for a long time so I’m not above a little smug gloating, even if it’s all down to Ev. I’m sad more of the pictures didn’t turn out, but it’s tough to take them in that arena (and even tougher if the camera’s been accidentally flipped to the wildly inappropriate ‘tropical’ mode).

I also finally got the pictures off my sister’s camera, so I have a few from the May 31 show/mudbath. I especially like the second one, with mud-flecked-feathers action:

Which brings me up to this past Sunday, June 29 — our second show, at the same arena as the last. I wasn’t super excited about that (it’s a long drive and the show starts at 8, which all translates to the alarm going off at 3), but the weather was worlds better. With all the stress at the barn lately, I decided to go very low-key. No three hours of braiding for me! And I went very low-fuss at the show — no hoof polish, no funky sprays. I didn’t want to put anything on him that I’d have to try to scrub back off at the end of the day (or for the next bajillion years in the case of the hoof polish).

My planned trail ride on Saturday was canceled for rain (which turned out to be a good thing since it poured buckets for a while), so we did our usual arena work. He was lazy lazy lazy. He’s not one that needs to be worn out before going places, though, so I didn’t push the issue too much, and Sunday morning we lunged 20 minutes tops (some of the other girls do an hour minimum — it gets terribly boring so I’m glad Ev doesn’t need it!).

Our first class was going well — Ev was pretty relaxed, mostly listening, and had picked up his left lead correctly — when we encountered The Pee Spot. In the class before ours, a mare had spooked at something, unseated her rider, and gone tearing around the arena. When a horse gets loose the rest of the contestants stop, and Porkchop had taken that opportunity to relieve himself. As we turned the corner and started down the long side I saw it immediately, and wondered if it was going to be a problem (Everett hates water, will not go through it thank you very much). We were off the rail to pass people (Everett’s canter is much more boisterous than most of the pleasure-bred quarter horse competitors), going straight for the little wet spot. But Ev didn’t look twice at it, and I (foolishly) thought that maybe it was small enough that he’d have no problem just going on about his way. Well, somewhere during the stride directly in front of it, he realized it was there. And took a huge, flying leap over it. I lost my stirrups, and he took off one way, and I took off the other and introduced my head to the arena.

I’m fine — a bit of bruised pride, though after watching the video back last night (J’s dad was there to tape her classes and kindly caught mine as well) I feel less bad. I watched it through twice, then in slow-mo; you can see his great big leap, and me coming up a bit, losing my stirrups — but I settle back down square, I am so totally in that saddle — and then he jumps again, and does this sort of buck/kick thing, and you see his back legs kick back to the right, his whole hind end twisting, and I drop off the side, howdy dirt, etc. Ev is not a bucker so I hate to call it that, but there was some funky bronc thing going on there that makes me feel a lot less bad about being unseated.

My maximum daily dosage of Aleve has also helped me feel less bad (I’ve had a headache more or less since Sunday morning and I am so over it now thanks much). And just let me say that I wear a helmet every horse, every ride, and it’s a damned good thing, and yesterday I went to the tack store and bought myself a new one even though it is so not in this month’s budget. I am a firm believer in helmets and think you should be too.

I am also a firm believer in getting back on, and I did as soon as they let me leave the show office. (Very sweet people but they kept asking me if I was okay, and if I could move all my fingers and toes, and peering curiously into my eyes.) By the time we were back at the in gate the next class was going — the 17 and under English equitation. The same mare who’d freaked out in the 17 and under English pleasure freaked out again, and off her rider came, and I looked over at J with a plaintive “I really don’t want to ride in this class.” I did, though, and Ev was great. He was listening even better, moving pretty well, nailed both his canter leads. I say he was moving pretty well because frankly he was a little lazy, and while his appropriate trot is probably too much for that type of show, we got passed at one point by one of the mincing quarter horses and I just had to laugh.

Anyhow, here he is, mohawky mane blowin’ in the breeze. I think I’m mid ‘kiss’ in that first shot; I’m not ashamed to use a verbal canter cue at a show at this point in his training. And look at him getting that lead to his hard direction on the first try!

He’s just getting ready to scratch his nose in that last one. He loves nose-scratchies.

No new news on the barn front — just a waiting game. I am really, really looking forward to the change, though, whenever it comes. To be perhaps too candid, my confidence is a bit shattered. In losing faith in my trainer I’ve lost a lot of faith in myself too; I’ve gone so long with feedback that I don’t trust 100% that now I don’t know what to believe. I’m not sure what over the last two years was true and what was just lip service, or easy, or the least possible effort. It’s a pretty terrible feeling, actually, and I’m just yearning for someone who can help repair some of that. I was never a fearful rider but more and more often I am feeling overwhelmed, unequal to this. Something far too close to fear. The move, the new barn and new trainer, can’t come soon enough.