Moto Maintenance

Guess who got a fancy pedicure last week? Moto's feet had been looking a bit worse for the wear. Moto's hind shoes were removed in December when he started stall rest for his bowed tendon. He's more active now--plenty of walking and trotting. We have just a few weeks to go before he'll be cleared to canter. As a result of his increased activity but lack of shoes, his hind hooves had some unsightly cracks. I suspect that this caused his hoof abscess. (Thankfully, the abscess healed in just a few days.) Last Wednesday, the farrier neatly trimmed Moto's hooves and grooves and gave him four spiffy new shoes. We're one step closer to putting the six months of stall rest behind us.

Today Dr. Reese floated Moto's teeth, which is akin to annual routine dental work. Unlike human teeth, horse teeth continue to grow throughout the horse's life. Over time, the horse's teeth may develop sharp, painful edges that make eating difficult. During a dental float the vet sedates the horse and inserts a mouth speculum to keep the mouth open. The vet smooths the teeth with a file or similar tool. The process typically takes about 20 minutes and, because a horse's nerves end close to the gum line instead of inside the teeth, is not painful. Dr. Reese informed me that Moto had several teeth with sharp points, and he'll feel much better now that they're contoured.

Moto's Sweet Sixteen

It was Moto's birthday this week, and all he got was a hoof abscess! A hoof abscess is a fairly common affliction caused by a bacterial infection in the hoof structures. Although it's pretty painful for a horse, an abscess, when treated, typically heals in just a matter of days. When Moto's trainer attempted to ride him on Tuesday, she noticed he was lame. He didn't want to put any weight on his left hind hoof. When she led him back into his stall he opted to sit down instead of stand. By Wednesday morning, his pastern and fetlock had considerable swelling.

I arrived at the barn on Wednesday just in time to observe the vet making her diagnosis. Symptoms of a hoof abscess include lameness (check), swelling in the pastern and fetlock (check), and a pronounced digital arterial pulse (half-check--Moto's was only moderate). Dr. Reese prodded different sections of Moto's hoof to test his sensitivity to pressure. When she thought she had identified the infected area, she injected a nerve block to confirm. She would know that she'd found the infected area if Moto didn't react when she re-administered the hoof test. Unfortunately, due to the swelling, Dr. Reese had to inject the nerve block several times before she noticed a reduced reaction. She wasn't able to confirm with 100% certainty that it's an abscess, but she felt about 90% sure.

Treatment calls for a daily 30-minute hoof soak in Epsom salt and water (the Epsom salt draws the bacteria out of the hoof), wrapping in a special treatment boot to protect the hoof from dirt and manure, and a daily dose of medicine to reduce swelling. He seems to be on the mend. Hopefully, he will get the "all clear" on Monday.

We celebrated his birthday today at the barn with carrots, carrot cake cupcakes, and apples for all. Moto loved the special attention and ate it up. Literally.

Moto's Morning

I met the vet at Moto's barn bright and early this morning on my way into the office. I arrived just in time for the diagnostic ultrasound on his bowed tendon. Dr. Reese is the ideal vet: confident, competent, and genuinely caring. She is as good with people as she is with horses. She patiently explained the ultrasound images in detail. She didn't seem to mind my barrage of questions, many of which were probably stupid, but she never let on.

Moto is making excellent progress. He's completed his fourth (!) month of stall rest and his recovery is progressing as expected. He now can be ridden at the trot for the next two months. If all goes well, he can be ridden at the canter in June. I expressed my nervousness at moving to this next phase, but Dr. Reese explained that it's not only safe, it's also necessary. The gradual increase in weight on the tendon rebuilds the tissue--walking puts more weight on it than standing; trotting puts more weight on it than walking; cantering puts more weight on it than trotting; and the ultimate weight-bearing exercise is jumping. I don't intend for Moto to resume his show jumping career, so I think we'll be just fine once he is cleared to canter again.

Stay with me now only if you're up for a recap that screams Too Much Information. About once a year, a gelding needs to have his sheath cleaned. It's not the most pleasant thing to do, but it is essential. Smegma (dirt and excretions) builds up in the sheath, creating lumps or "beans" that must be removed. It was time for Moto's cleaning today.

The vet gave Moto a mild sedative to get him to, uh, relax his sheath, and we waited for the drug to kick in. It was kind of funny to be responding to work emails on my Blackberry while constantly glancing over to see if Moto had "let down" his privates. What's that saying--a watched pot never boils? Modest Moto had to be given another sedative to fully relax. It's always sad to see a sedated horse. They sweat, drool, and hang their sleepy heads. The cleaning took much longer than I expected. Although my horse books provide instructions for sheath cleaning, I've decided that I'm very happy to pay the vet to do this particular procedure. I haven't received the bill yet, but I feel certain that the vet earned every cent.

Cleaning complete, I thanked the vet and headed to the office. By 10AM, I'd mucked out a goat pen, witnessed a sheath cleaning, and prepared three documents for filing with the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. Some days are sorta weird.

The Wrangler Rides Again

This weekend the Wrangler decided to get in on the horse action and took a lesson at a nearby barn. It's sort of a long story, but the crux is that he rode a Peruvian Paso, which is a horse known for its exceptionally smooth ride. It has a four-beat, lateral gait instead of a trot and is usually ridden in a western saddle. The ride is so smooth that there are competitions in which riders carry glasses of champagne without spilling a drop. Since the rider doesn't bounce up and down, the Peruvian Paso has become a favorite for older riders with back problems.

Of course, while this all sounds pretty good to me (and my bad back), this makes the Wrangler a little uneasy. He's seeking manly cowboy adventures on a rugged trail, not champagne-glass-balancing exploits with arthritic and geriatric ladies in an arena. As I mentioned, how the lesson came about in the first place is sort of a long story, but the Wrangler was a good sport and seemed to enjoy it. I observed the lesson, and it was striking to see how the rider really does not move an inch up or down or front to back. It's almost as if the rider is floating atop the horse.

Other riders at the barn commented that the Wrangler looked like a natural on Junior, a beautiful Peruvian Paso who will be featured on the reality show America's Favorite Trail Horse. Hmm, is there a new reality TV star in the making?

Horse Poor

There are people who are "house poor." They spend all their money on their house. And there are people who are "horse poor." They spend all their money on their horse. Our realtor pointed this out to me as she tried to explain why so many horse properties around here have amazing equestrian facilities but not-so-amazing houses.

Well, folks, I think I'm headed down the horse poor path. Moto just had his 60-day check-up for his bowed tendon. (For at least the next six months, he will get a check-up and a diagnostic ultrasound every 60 days.) Thankfully, the healing process is underway, and the vet is pleased with his recovery so far. She recommended daily therapeutic ultrasound treatments, which can shorten the recovery period. If I rent the device, the vet will show me how to administer the treatment myself.

Guess what? Renting medical equipment is not exactly cheap. Moto is expected to make a full recovery regardless of whether he receives daily ultrasound therapy, so it's not like the treatment is absolutely necessary. I've been a horse owner for just two weeks, and I have to decide if I'm going to be the kind of owner who (a) leaves well enough alone or (b) goes the extra mile. I want to go the extra mile.

When it comes to my own health, though, I usually leave well enough alone. I dismissed ultrasound treatment for my own injuries last year as a charlatanish, pseudo-medical therapy--the rich man's Vicks Vapor Rub. Did it really help me heal? I was skeptical.

My lower back still gives me trouble. Quackery or not, ultrasound therapy might be worth another try. I'll have the equipment at my disposal for a couple months. I think you can see where I'm going with this. "Scoot over, Moto, it's my turn now...."

Rainy Day

It was a wonderful, refreshing, cozy rainy day here on the farm. This kind of weather makes me forget New England for a moment. The drizzle let up by early evening, so I met my riding instructor at the nearby barn where she keeps her own two horses. She splits her time teaching riding lessons at Moto's barn in Orange County and working for her family's nursery. She also tends to her horses for an hour or two every single day.

I'm trying to learn everything and anything about horse care, so I tagged along as she turned out and fed her horses. I was like a four-year-old kid who asks too many questions: "Why...?" "How...?" "What...?" My nonstop chatter disrupted the otherwise tranquil twilight, but my saintly instructor's patience never wore thin.

It was raining again by the time I got home. It would have been a perfect night for chili or stew, but I was so engrossed in horsey stuff that I forgot to pick up ingredients for dinner. I did stir up a batch of my homemade granola, so the house smells delightful if nothing else.

As I write this I hear raindrops on the roof, soft sighs from the pets, and the Wrangler's guitar. Life is good when it rains.

The Foster Farms

I spent part of the weekend traveling from barn to barn to check on my animals at their respective "foster farms." My first stop on Saturday was Moto's barn up in Orange County. It seems like everyone I know has asked me when Moto is coming to live with us on the farm. While I'd love to reply, "today," it's probably going to take years. Folks, I know next to nothing about caring for a horse! I can groom him and sort of ride him (I'm not going to be auditioning for the National Velvet remake anytime soon). I know what he eats each day: one flake of grass and 1/2 flake of alfalfa for breakfast and dinner, a bran mash with supplements for lunch, and about 10-20 gallons of water. (Don't ask me how much hay is in a flake, though.) I know that he needs new shoes every six weeks. And that's about the extent of my knowledge. So you can see why, despite the somewhat alarming bill for his room, board, and training, I'm quite happy keeping him at his show barn where we are surrounded by experts--horse trainers, grooms, riding instructors, veterinarians, farriers, and knowledgable friends. It's nice to have people around to answer my questions, and Moto enjoys being around his horse buddies too. Each day the barn staff ensures that Moto is blanketed, exercised, fed, and watered; his health is monitored; and his stall is cleaned. Someone magically produces the aforementioned flakes of hay and equally magically disposes of the 50+ lbs. of manure that Moto produces daily. I do want to be a hands-on horse mom, but I've got to know how to manage my new 1400-pound family member.

The Wrangler and I also dropped in on the goat girl to check on Elmo and Oscar. Nearly a week old, they are starting to get spunky. The kids hopped around, hid under chairs, jumped onto the playset, butted heads with the other babies, climbed into the hay feeder, followed their moms, nursed, and crashed in a heap under the heat lamp. It wasn't chaotic or crazy, though. It was more like a funny episode of goat TV.

We're close to adding yet another foster farm to our route. The Wrangler is working out the miniature donkey details. Our plan is to pay for their room and board at the breeder's farm until we're ready to bring them home.

And so our hobby farm dreams are coming along. We've certainly got the hobby part down. Now we just need the farm.

Martha Knows Best

Even Martha Stewart thinks that owning three adorable miniature donkeys is a good idea.

Equine Adventures

What a day! When we awoke this morning, the Wrangler and I had no idea that by day's end we'd have Moto's official registration papers from Sweden in hand...and three miniature donkeys on the way.

Our day began benignly enough. I was easing into the day with my morning chai latte when the Wrangler breezed in after his tennis match with the neighbor. "Want to go look at some miniature donkeys at a farm about a half hour away?" he asked.

"Ummm, let me think. YES," I answered immediately. The Wrangler promptly got on the phone to schedule our visit with Dick, the nice man who runs Palomar Vista Farm (a beautiful hobby farm with sweeping views of Palomar Mountain). While the Wrangler was talking miniature donkeys, llamas, and alpacas with Dick, my cell phone rang. Moto's owner was calling to see if she could swing by with his official papers. Again, I answered with an immediate YES.

By noon I had Moto's registration and pedigree from the Swedish Warmblood Association (alas, they are written in Swedish--Moto was born in Sweden in 1996), a small collection of photos documenting Moto's show jumping career, and well wishes from Moto's (now former) owner. It is surely bittersweet, the transferring of a beloved animal to a new, excited owner.

Within an hour the Wrangler and I were shaking hands with Dick at Palomar Vista Farm. The farm's motto says it all: of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt. The three of us sat in wood rocking chairs on the porch of Dick's log cabin. As we gently rocked, we enjoyed a warm breeze, stunning views, and good conversation. (All of the people I've met since moving to the country have such interesting stories and unique ideas.)

We first talked alpacas and llamas. Funny thing--the alpaca and llama business is somewhat of a pyramid scheme. More often than not, you'll start a herd and subsequently discover that there's no market for the fiber. The only way to make money is to find other people to start herds. I had suspected as much. When researching alpacas and llamas it seemed a little odd to me that so many farms offered free seminars on getting started in the business. Dick also noted that alpacas are like sheep--they are scared of people and will run from you. Llamas, on the other hand, are a bit more social. But for people who want extremely affectionate pets, miniature donkeys are the best.

Dick unabashedly loves his little herd of miniature donkeys--six jennys and three jacks. As soon as we entered the gate, the donkeys came strolling over to welcome us. The Wrangler and I found ourselves swarmed by friendly donkeys jockeying each other for the prime petting position. It was pretty much love at first sight.

We spent two hours at the farm, and time seemed to fly by. As we made our way back down the dirt road, we had plans to buy a pregnant jenny (the gestation period is 365 to 375 days!) and a former petting zoo jack. Note that it was just yesterday that the Wrangler brought up the idea of acquiring a donkey or two. Apparently, unlike me, he does not let grass grow under his feet for two years when he gets an idea.

Four equines in one day!

A Done Deal

I've been house hunting lately, and my dad called me tonight to inquire about the search. "So did you a buy a house this week?" he asked.

"Well, no, I didn't buy a house....but I bought I horse!" I braced for his reaction.

"You did WHAT?!"

I'm sure my mortgage broker will have the same reaction. He's warned me not to make any large withdrawals from my bank account until after closing on the house. But I didn't buy just any old horse. I bought the magnificent Mikimoto! After leasing him on and off for two years, he's mine, all mine, as of February 1--the day the change of ownership agreement becomes effective.

I never thought I'd have the opportunity to buy this handsome horse. After my very first lesson on Moto, I'd informed the Wrangler that we should set aside a chunk of change just in case Moto's owner ever decided to sell him. "He's amazing. I just have to have him if he's ever for sale."

A year later, the Wrangler saw Moto's owner at the barn holiday party and disclosed my plan. "My wife's set aside money just in case Moto is ever for sale," he told her. I was mortified! Moto's owner was kind but firm. "Moto was my first horse. I'll never sell him," she replied.

"How could you even bring that up?!" I hissed as the Wrangler and I walked away. "Why would she ever sell Moto?"

"I was just planting the seed," he protested.

"Well, you wasted your time. You heard her--she'll never sell him."

Fast forward one year. Times change, circumstances change, and perhaps the seed had indeed been planted. I learned that Moto was for sale--but only to me. Moto's owner has four horses at a fancy hunter/jumper barn--an expensive situation. She was willing to part with Moto so long as he would have a loving owner. The sale is conditioned on his return to her in the event that I can't care for him; he cannot be sold to anyone else.

I've never been so thrilled to write a check. Owning Moto is an honor and a privilege and a dream come true. If forced to choose, I'd much rather have Moto than a new house.

P.S. Want to hear something kind of weird? It was exactly--exactly!--two years ago today that I decided I wanted a horse. I blogged about it on January 28, 2010. And it was today, January 28, 2012, that Moto's owner and I spoke with each other and called it a done deal. I get a lot of random ideas in my head and often there's no follow-through. I guess when it counts, though, I stay the course--even if it does take a couple years!

December Recap

My posts were rather sparse this past month. Thankfully, despite the busy month at work, visiting family members kept the mood festive.

Some bad news: Moto will be out of commission for at least six months. His bowed tendon doesn't seem to be noticeably visible or causing him any general discomfort. His current rehab schedule allows him only one five-minute hand walk per day, which means that he's confined to his 12x12 box stall for 23 hours and 55 minutes a day! Poor Moto! It is very troubling, but at least his prognosis is excellent and he's expected to fully heal.

With Moto out of commission, I've been lucky enough to get my horse fix at a nice local horse barn that is hosting the two rescue Thoroughbred yearlings, Winston and Stewie. It's just down the street, and the owner kindly allows me to come by a couple times a week to spend time with the boys. I'm getting pretty attached to Stewie, a gentle, mild-mannered fellow who stands quietly, almost sleeping, while I brush him. If I knew even a thing or two about training young horses, I would adopt him in a minute. But it will be a few years before he'll be old enough to carry a rider on his back--he has a lot of training ahead of him, and he needs an experienced horse owner. Winston is a good boy, but he's still a little skittish. He puts up a small fuss when I approach him with his halter, and he tries to nip me while I'm grooming him. While some gals like the challenge, I've never been attracted to bad boys. I end up spending most of my time with good ole steady Stewie.

The barn is a pleasant place, especially with its family of five pygmy goats. (That's a few of them in the picture above. Rusty, the little reddish guy, is my favorite.) Although I am a sheep person, pygmy goats are irresistible. I'm sure that the Wrangler would love to have some of his own...which is why I bought him two for Christmas! They'll be born in late January and ready to come home seven weeks after their birth. We stopped in on Christmas Day to meet the goat breeder and to see the expectant parents. They live just a few minutes away, so we'll get to see the babies almost immediately after they're born.

Yesterday, the Wrangler and I met with the owners of a local wholesale nursery to discuss an initial order of approximately 7400 lavender plugs. This will be a small order for them--they recently grew 600,000 lavender plugs for a large retailer. The nursery owners (who are the parents of my riding instructor) patiently shared with us a wealth of information on lavender varieties that do well in this climate, as well as watering and planting considerations unique to this area. I've read literally every single book available on growing lavender, but these books focus on growing lavender in other regions--Provence, the Pacific Northwest, Australia, South Africa. There is no substitute for speaking with someone who grows it just a few miles away.

Tonight we will see some friends from Laguna Beach and help prepare and serve the New Year's Eve dinner to the residents of the Friendship House. We're looking forward to catching up with the Laguna crew and, as always, picking up some new cooking tips from our master chef John.

Have a fun and safe New Year's Eve.

Horsing Around

I have some sad news and some happy news. First, the sad news: Moto will be "on vacation" for a while. He's suffering from a bowed tendon. He started limping last week after cantering on the lunge line. I'll hear more about his diagnosis and prognosis tomorrow.

Now, the happy news: today I paid a visit to a barn (just 10 minutes from home!) where my riding instructor keeps her two horses. The barn owner is fostering two rescue yearlings. These timid little guys are so sweet and fuzzy and fun. I helped to groom them and watched them play with a ball during their turn out. It's so wonderful to know that they've been rescued!

Built Fjord Tough

While channel surfing I stumbled upon a show on RFDTV ("Rural America's Most Important Network") on the Norwegian Fjord Horse. As the spouse of a proud Norwegian, I paused to learn more about this small but strong breed that was domesticated in western Norway 4,000 years ago.

The Fjord horse is one of the world's oldest and purest breeds. Although ranging in height from only 13.1 to 14.3 hands, the Fjord is strong enough for heavy work loads, such as pulling timber or a plow. At the same time, the Fjord is light and agile enough for competitive riding. It is surefooted on rough terrain and considered to be an excellent driving horse. Its reputation makes it a good choice for riding schools and therapeutic programs. Fjords are good flock guardians and even can be taught to herd sheep. I can see why Fjords have been used for hundreds of years as farm horses in Norway!

The Fjord's distinguishing features include its light draft horse build and a thick mane with a full-length dorsal stripe. The mane usually is clipped to stand erect. I watched the footage of Fjords and their riders with interest. I suspect that, at approximately five hands shorter than Moto, Fjords offer their riders a much softer landing if they fall off--about two feet closer to the ground!

Fjords: they're good-natured, they can be safely ridden, driven, or used for hauling loads, and they work well with sheep...I'm sold.

Getting Moto Moving

I'm riding more often now that I'm leasing Moto again. It's wonderful to have something to look forward to several times a week. I don't even mind the commute to the barn, which has tripled since I moved to the farm.

Ah, Moto. Despite his size, I feel safe riding him because he is lazy. Although it's hard to get him going, I'll take a lazy horse over a touchy, spunky horse any day. Of course, his laziness necessitates the discussion of riding aids used to communicate with horses. Natural aids include leg pressure, voice, and hand and seat position. Artificial aids include spurs, whips, and crops (a very short and stiff variation of the whip). Although they sound severe, spurs, whips, and crops are commonly used as corrective tools. On the one hand, I know that it's important, for safety reasons, for the horse to obey and know who is (more or less) in charge. On the other hand, I can't help but think that only exceptional circumstances--such as needed medical attention--justify inflicting even minor pain on an animal. I have a hard enough time thinking about the bit and bridle and the fact that a horse has to tote me around on his poor back!

I don't wear spurs, and I don't use a whip. At my instructor's suggestion, I do carry a crop. Despite squeezing my calves against Moto's sides with all my might, I was having a hard time getting Moto moving. I've found that, even though I don't use it, just carrying the crop helps. Moto can see it out of the corner of his eye.

But the crop probably motivates me more than Moto. I've been told that a little tap of the crop on his shoulder feels like nothing more than a light smack on your bottom--it just lets the horse know that you mean business. Nonetheless, I don't want to use it. But if I can't get Moto moving with my legs, my instructor directs me to give him a tap with the crop. Thus, I put literally all I've got into making him move off my legs alone.

I end each session drenched in sweat and go home to soak my aching ab, thigh, and calf muscles in the tub. It's quite a workout, riding a lazy horse.

"Just follow your heart...that's what I do." --Napoleon Dynamite

When I'm on the fence about something and can't reach a decision, I, like many people, make a list of pros and cons. (Of course, my fastidious self takes this a bit further by categorizing and assigning weights to each pro and con before tabulating the results...on an Excel spreadsheet...yeesh...I know.) But sometimes the right choice defies logic and reason; sometimes it's a mistake to choose what looks best on paper. I supposes that a lot of people learn this the hard way in choosing careers or even spouses!

After my fall from the magnificent Miki Moto, riding sweet Francie seemed to be the safest and most logical decision. Francie is older and a little smaller, with a smoother gait, than Moto. Gentle Francie is beloved among beginners, and a great partner for a newly-timid, slightly gimpy, accident-prone, inexperienced rider like myself. Francie and I were to be quite the team.

But of this, a despair. It was a good match only on paper. I made zero progress over the past nine months. Francie knew I wasn't in charge. In June, I took a break from riding--partly because my awesome instructor was on vacation, but equally because I wasn't enjoying riding. It's hard to enjoy riding when you're scared off your you-know-what.

Two weeks ago, I decided to throw reason to the wind. It wasn't doing me any good anyway. I started riding again, but this time on Moto. So what if he's a giant with a rocking horse gait? He's the horse I loved to ride. And guess what? He still is!

More Moto

I just learned that, beginning this week, I'll be back on Moto! I haven't ridden him since I fell last July, but I'm not too concerned. After all, my fall wasn't in any way Moto's fault. I'm telling myself that Moto's size doesn't mean much. Really, does falling from a small horse versus a tall horse make that much of a difference? I'll probably get hurt either way.

I never was that comfortable riding Francie. She's a good girl, but more often than not, I felt frustrated and scared. This largely was due to my own lack of confidence, skill, and strength--I'm not the same rider that I was before the accident. But it also was because Francie and I didn't have a great partnership. I didn't trust her, and she didn't trust me.

And so I need to see whether I'm also frustrated and scared on Moto. If so, then I'll step away from riding regularly. Horseback riding will become something I do only when I'm on vacation. But if I feel comfortable back on Moto, then it's game on.

Gooaaal!

That's me as a fearless rider in last year's show.

It was a little bittersweet attending the home show at the barn today. In last year's home show I proudly placed third and fourth in the walk/trot flat classes. (My lofty goal was simply to not finish in last place.) This year I sat on the sidelines as a spectator. Far from having improved as a rider in the past year, I'm now much worse. Due to my lack of confidence and fear of breaking more bones, I've developed a slew of bad habits: hunched posture, timid commands, and improper hand and elbow positions, to name just a few. I wasn't ready for the show this year.

I haven't even tried cantering in the arena since the accident. I did lope (which is the same as cantering, but in the western saddle) a little on the trails in Montana last month, but it doesn't really count when you're gripping the saddle horn for dear life. If I'm going to progress, I have to canter again sooner or later. I was hoping that it will be much, much later than sooner, but the Wrangler is encouraging me to set a goal.

"When do you think you're going to try cantering again?" he asked, as we watched nine-year-old riders skillfully change leads at the canter in the flat medal class today. "It looks like a lot of fun."

"Well, you know, I'm just going to do it someday when it feels right," I answered. "No sense in rushing anything, right?"

"I don't know. You seem to do really well when you set a specific goal." In truth, I don't necessarily do "really well" when I set a goal, but I do accomplish more when I set one than when I don't.

"How about you set a goal and, when the time comes, if you haven't met the goal, you can just set another one?" the Wrangler suggested encouragingly.

Eghh, all right. I'll take the bait. My goal is to be ready for the walk/trot flat classes in the fall home show in November and to compete in the flat medal class (which includes cantering) at next year's home show in June. I guess it feels good to have a goal.

Thrills and Spills

I fell off Francie during my lesson on Saturday. Things had been going moderately well--I'm still pretty timid when I ride, and this is reflected in my posture. I've developed a bad habit of hunching forward as a protective mechanism, which actually does nothing to protect me and instead puts me at risk of losing control and balance. I'm scared to ride without my stirrups, which used to be a fun challenge and great way to build leg strength. When it comes down to it, the prospect of falling off again is ruining a once merry pastime.

Saturday's lesson was going okay, and I had just rounded the corner of the arena in a posting trot when Francie was spooked by a horse walking on the trail outside the arena. She spooks every now and then, usually at mundane things like a flag blowing in the wind or a person running down the hill. After a sudden lurch and slight rear--while I grab her mane and the reigns and hold on for dear life--she recovers. This time, she kept lurching a little longer than usual. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I didn't fight hard enough to stay on and found myself airborne. "Well, here we go again," I remember thinking, mid-flight. I braced myself for that horrible lifeless feeling when I broke my arm and sacrum last time. I landed in a heap in the sandy footing. Miracle of miracles, nothing hurt! I could tell immediately that I was fine.

"I'm okay," I yelled, and jumped to my feet. Francie, the little brat, was standing quite calmly a few yards away. I walked over to her, grabbed her reigns, and promptly began to cry. I was glad that her huge body shielded me from the stares of the other riders. (Of course, the riders in the advanced class were practicing jumps at the other end of the arena and witnessed my ineptitude.) My wise instructor comforted me but made me get right back on. After a fall, you really do have to get back in the saddle. We ended the lesson with some confidence-building walking exercises and just the slightest bit of trotting.

I landed on my right side, which proves that my broken arm is in fact now healed--it took the brunt of my fall like a champ. I'm still a little sore, but I suffered injury only to my pride and spirits. I get teary-eyed thinking about things. I'm sad that I'm not a more competent rider; I'm frightened by the certainty of future falls; I'm frustrated that I can't get over my fear; I'm mad that a pursuit that was once exhilarating is now terrifying; I'm puzzled by my inability to do something that even 10-year-olds can do quite nicely and with far less drama. But I. Will. Not. Quit. I am not a coward.

But I might be an idiot.

Hay Fever

I made five trips to the barn between Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I had a riding lesson on Friday evening and then returned later with the Wrangler to decorate Francie's stall for the holiday stall decorating contest. I didn't win, but I had an interesting time trying to think of sturdy, all-weather decorations, affixing them to a stall door, and keeping them out of the reach of a very curious horse. It was a chilly 46 degrees at 9PM on Friday, and we could could see the horses' breath as they peeked out of their stalls. Each horse was strapped into a thick winter coat.

I had another riding lesson on Saturday morning and then headed back for the barn holiday party. (I brought my cake pops, which actually turned out!) We made one trip today for the stable's Holiday with Horses event. The barn hosted a small-to-tall breed introduction (from miniature horses and wild ponies to Arabians and Fresians) followed by an impressive jumping demonstration with Grand Prix-level jumps. In addition, the stable hosted a natural horsemanship presentation (where the rider guided her horse through an obstacle course with no bridle), a Western cutting demo (with a flag on a pulley system substituting for cattle), and a dressage performance. Someone brought her pygmy goats in elf costumes. Perhaps next year I will bring my sheep in snowman costumes!

I'm Baaaack!

The Wrangler kicking back and watching my big comeback

There's been plenty going on here at the RDR, but I took a brief hiatus from blogging until I had some good news to report. Even I was tired of hearing about my aches and pains. For a while, it was looking like I might have the dreaded "frozen shoulder," but I've made some progress. (Ultimate remedy to frozen shoulder? Doctor unfreezes shoulder with force while patient is unconscious. Um, ouch?) My thrice-weekly physical therapy habit is beginning to pay off big time. Not only was I able to start playing the guitar again this past weekend, I started riding again. My mom pointedly ignores my emails discussing riding. She cannot be convinced that the doctor who cleared me for riding is anything but stark raving mad. My mom would prefer that I never ride again. She did mention a compromise of sorts...something about a miniature horse that is small enough so my feet would touch the ground when I ride. She did not suggest this in jest. Ahh, a mother's love and concern. But I had to get back on. I can't swaddle myself in bubble-wrap and sit at home the rest of my life.

I'm far from fearless, though. Truthfully, there are times when the thought of riding freaks me out. I clearly remember the feeling of hitting the ground and seeing my lifeless arm. I'm thankful everyday that my injuries were not worse. Unfooled by any bravado on my part, the trainers suggested that I regain my confidence on a very gentle 19-year old mare with an exceptionally smooth gait. I'm sad that I'm not leasing Moto; it wasn't his fault that I fell. But it's a long way to the ground from atop Mr. Moto. So, for now, I literally have a new lease on life with the slightly smaller, mild-mannered Francie. I think we'll be a good team. I hope to lease Moto again once I'm fully healed.

And thus things are resuming to normal around here. Most parts of the country are reveling in the full glory of fall, but for once I won't moan too much about the lack of seasons here in SoCal. I've pretty much used up my complaint allowance for the year--I definitely was not the angelic invalid cheerfully bearing her burdens with a smile, uttering nary a complaint. Beth March, I am not.