No Business Like Show Business!

I have just renewed all the memberships required to show in dressage in my little Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. To wit:

--United States Dressage Federation: Ka-ching!
--United States Equestrian Federation: Ka-ching!
--North Woods Dressage Association: Ka-ching!
--Central States Dressage and Eventing Association: Ka-ching!

All of which would really make me feel like a bona fide dressage rider were it not for the dismal evidence recorded in the schooling show photo above. I hope I have kept myself small enough so you can hardly see me.

Heads-up for the welter of excuses: "It was so hot that day! Montana slimed the waist of my riding pants so I had to have my shirt-tail out to cover it. The piano hands are my mother's fault: damn those mandatory piano lessons! The chair seat is my...office chair's fault. The slumped shoulders are the fault of my existential predicament: stuck at a horse show and forced to ride a test not of my own devising, oh the angst and horror, the horror. The bulging belly is the fault of the show food: fried cheese curds, dang you to heck!"

Only Montana looks cheerful, probably because he is yukking it up about my riding.

But hope springs eternal. That photo is 2 years old and oh how much my riding has improved hahahahahaha. So now around the barn when the girls ask, "Are you showing this summer?", I answer, "I hope to go to a couple of shows."

Translation: I hope to overcome my show nerves, fear of bolting, fear of hauling horses over the windy bridge to Wisconsin, reluctance to commit, reluctance to spend show fee money, inability to decide on a sensible range of tests, and complete lack of confidence and actually take my dressage horse to a dressage show. Why is it so hard?

The welter of emotions, that's why. Because alongside all the negativity and fear and loathing, there is this little dream of glory, this imaginary image: myself, floating around the ring, the railbirds not entertained this time but favorably impressed, my horse not a sainted martyr but a 'happy athlete' (from USDF show standards). I can dream can't I?

But meanwhile I have also renewed two fun memberships: Minnesota Trail Riders Association and MN Walking Horse Association (gaited horses really). These two groups are all about joy and they get out there and ride. I also dream of seeing this sight a lot this summer:


The days are getting longer and the sun is winning. Yay!

"Wake Up Little Susie!"

Montana was sound asleep when I went for my lesson a few days ago. He sleeps with his eyes open but glazed or clouded over, and he snores loudly. It is the creepiest thing waking him up.

John came to help:



Then here comes a miracle: 1000 pounds hoisted up into the air on those 4 little legs:



Resulting in eventually this: 'OK, you woke me up and put these boots on me, so let's get this over with."



Is there anything prettier than a booted up horse? What is so darn sexy about it?

Horses' Behinds, and the Women Who Love Them

If you had asked me 20 years ago: What part of a horse is the most beautiful? I might have said, Oh their soulful eyes! Or, Oh those graceful curving necks.

Never would I have guessed that I would come to admire most of all: Their magnificent posteriors. Every horses' behind is unique and tells a rich story: about lineage and genetics, about work and fitness, about current state of relaxation or readiness. These butts are pure poetry, in motion or at rest as you see Montana above, today after our little dressage escapade (more of that later).

Now how on earth did the phrase "horse's behind", or more crudely, "horse's a$$", come to be an insult? That is so wrong. It should be the highest of compliments.

Here's how it should be, in a more logical world:

Person A: "That guy is a real horse's a$$!"

Person B: "Agree! I have always admired him greatly."

Or

Person A: "You are a regular horse's behind!"

Person B: "Why thank you! You are too kind..."

Dressage Escapade Du Jour: Well school is out (weeping and gnashing of teeth) so the barn is a-hoppin with little girls. I tacked up Montana in a light snow but pleasant temperature (14 F) and moseyed up to the arena, from which bubble-gum music was blasting on the radio as we approached.

Arena was filled with young ladies riding, texting, chatting on phones to their parents 'I am not ready to be picked up!!', and the corker: a young lassie longeing her horse taking up half the arena. This would have been bearable if the horse had not been exploding in bucks and gallops. After awhile she decided to try some in-hand work and with a long whip, she touches his hindquarters KICK; she touches them again DOUBLE KICK, and so it goes on.

Montana watched all this with the greatest interest as if to say, "No you do not have my full attention so just learn to live with that fact and anyway, they are much more interesting". But we had a decent ride in amongst it.

So everybody rush out and call someone a horse's behind, in a good way!

Bless me, Dressage Goddess...

...for I have sinned. It has been 3 weeks since my last lesson. I have sinned by omission and commission.

OMISSION: I have not been riding my dressage horse Montana, and lo, I have not practiceth my arena work, half-halts, leg yields, transitions, and verily I have done a big Lebowski on all my responsibilities in this area. It has been too freakin cold for much of anything, but yes, every sinner thinks they have a good excuse.

COMMISSION: I have eateneth of the cheesecake, the pumpkin pie, the cheesy potato dish, the 7-layer jello (yes she did it again), the Black Forest cake, the fudge, the mixed nuts, yea verily even of the bento boxes have I made myself a gluttonous feast.
And sundry other sources of evil fat and calories have I touched with my hands and lusted after in my heart. The rendering of which is that I am a sad blob before thine eyes oh Dressage Goddess.

And so my penance was to wallow around in the arena on the back of an impatient and distracted horse, whose eyes were themselves tempted by amazing almost biblical visions outside the arena doors: the Four Horses of the Apocalypse galloping by repeatedly, the Lost Snow-Plow as big as an elementary school forging and backing on the road outside, the dropping of great wads of snow off the arena roof in a screaming high wind.

I have resolved to improve my ways. So lunch today was miso soup and an orange. But I got so much exercise peeling the orange that I feel a bit faint, and a slice of that cake on the kitchen counter would revive me so nicely...

Bow Hunters on the Trail Gaaaaahhhh!

Well I did not get a picture because I was otherwise occupied, but they did look just like this camouflaged dude.

Yesterday I did my obligatory dressage ride on Montana, and that is the way I think of it. I'm tuned out of dressage at the moment. Dressage and I are like two relatives who are sitting across the room not speaking to each other. Maybe we will become reconciled. Maybe not.

But after that I tacked up Johnnie and took off. I am leaving out his rude behavior at the gate for another day. Let's pretend it all went swimmingly. So we are past the human zoo part of our ride, the heavily used creek trail where we see bikes, strollers, dogs of all religions, and even co-workers for heaven's sake. And we are past the rather muddy woods part of our trail, just about to pop out into the beautiful golden galloping field.

When what to John's wondering eyes did appear, but two camo guys with giant packsacks and bows and arrows! They were rustling in the shrubbery and my first thought was "Army guys out on some maneuver?" and John's first thought was "Weirdo predators who eat palominos?" He believed strongly that we should turn around and run away. I called out to the guys that they were scaring the horse and maybe if they would just come stand in the clear, he could see that they are human.

Out they came. My first sight of true bow hunters. We have an in-town bow-hunting season to control the white-tail deer population. Their bows were not what I was expecting (think of Robin Hood), but small technical looking evil machines. Their arrows were metal (steel?) and it was their huge bags that really made them odd shaped.

I have never heard John snort like that, and would not have believed such sounds could come out of an anatomically normal horse nose. We got past them at a speed which increased exponentially and I decided no galloping for us today as it might come to an ugly conclusion. So we gaited across the big field, but then had to return the same way or else trespass.

Return trip: I was nervous, John was walking on eggshells past where the predators had been hiding. I decided to sing, and the only song that came to mind was one my mother used to sing in the kitchen: "I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls".

So picture me jigging along, making up words to this 19th century favorite ('I Dre-eamt that We-e did no-ot get shot"), shaking John's bear bells with my hand for maximum racket, and poor John's ears swiveling like crazed radar screens at all this unaccustomed noise.

We saw no trace of the camo guys, but we booked so fast through the woodsy part of the ride that I thought I was going to get seasick. It was not the relaxing Sunday afternoon ride I had pictured.

Maybe dressage isn't so bad after all.

Bear in mind that I have enough blaze orange to cover both John and myself: he has a quarter sheets and leg wraps, I have a helmet cover and jacket - we could look like a big orange Hindenburg floating out in the field - but I had none of it on us yesterday. Sigh.

'Oh Noes! Another dressage lesson!"

Yes today I finally got back into dressage lessons with my poor dude Montana who had been happily munching in the pasture for several days since our trail ride Saturday.

We worked on transitions from seat and leg. Some time in the past, I was apparently abducted by aliens and they installed evil little bad riding machines in my hands. These alien machines kick into gear whenever I want them not to. They really screw around with my riding by causing my hands and wrists to malfunction/hyperfunction when they are supposed to be doing nothing, nothing at all. I am so sorry I fell victim to this alien abduction because otherwise I am sure I would be a great rider with tactful quiet hands. Life is such a bitch sometimes.

Montana enjoyed his grain treat plus supplements afterwards:



And Johnnie acted out a bit, because he really wanted to do something today and I did not have time:


But then he got quieter and just looked at me from afar with guilt-inducing stare:



Funny dudes. A storm was blowing in and it has been raining a cool gentle rain ever since. Nice!!

RWD: Riding With Distractions

Here you may contemplate the tastefully decorated front yard of the property across the street from our outdoor arena. It belongs to a mother and two middle-aged sons who have come home to roost with mom and have brought along their collection of half torn-down vehicles. The young lads are pursuing career training in Recreational Noise-Making, with welders, blowtorches, steel hammers, enormous drills, and other important career props.

Today their mom joined in the fracas, deciding to do a little RV practice-driving on the front lawn.



For forty minutes she backed around & heaved forward without leaving her own driveway, keeping up a constant barrage of screams for directions at her welding and hammering offspring; she backed it into a tree branch SKREEEEK CRACK, she turned it laboriously around and managed to hit the front stoop somehow WHAM, and this all went on for the entire duration of my little dressage practice ride on Montana. Maybe she read some article about "take a vacation without leaving your home!" and kind of put her own spin on it.

It then became necessary to move some cars which lack various crucial parts like exhaust systems and hoods, so that she could maneuver her little toy into and out of their parking spots. Yes, the inmates were having a lovely Sunday morning.

RWD or Riding With Distractions is always great training for the horse and rider, that is if they can manage to concentrate at all! I didn't do too well. Partly, I am fascinated by these people, whose lives really do seem to revolve around car projects that never progress, not one iota, in fact the cars get more discombobulated by the month. And the strange cacophony of noises keeps me guessing: What on earth??!! But we did get some work done.

Here's my big orange baby having a cool drink after his hot muggy noisy work session:



And notice who is standing there with an accusing stare:



No Johnnie it is not your day; storm clouds were rolling up in the western sky by then, and within an hour it was dark as night. Then the most refreshing sky-cracking thunderstorm cooled off the world and drove the recreational noise-makers indoors (what do they do inside? I wonder); I love a good storm.

Horse-Crazy Girls in Ancient History

I discovered this Amazon on Horseback at Indiana University's Art Museum, special exhibit on horses in classical antiquity. The terracotta statue has never been fully 'published' - which for works of ancient art means a full scholarly article written about it and official photos taken by people who know what they are doing and don't reflect themselves and their camera in the pictures! It is part of IU's permanent collection, and I fell in love it with it on sight. If you click on the picture it will enlarge so you can see details.

Amazons! Great topic for mythology professors like me: women warriors who loved their horses and had horse-related names like Hippodameia ("tamer of horses") and Hippolyte ("freer of horses"). Maybe they were based on some historical reality, maybe they were entirely mythical, but the image of a wild woman on horseback set the ancient imagination on fire.

This Amazon is from southern Italy, 3rd century B.C. and horse people: isn't she doing a levade? Notice the parallel forelegs, the rider's balanced posture and leg back as if to cue, this does not look like a rear but something more requested and controlled.

Here's levade rendered in a digital painting by Stacey Meyer:



What do you think? I fully believe that the classical moves of dressage had ancient roots. I'm working on an article on Xenophon's treatise "On Horsemanship", trying to fill out the view of equine psychology that it presents, and the deeper I get into it the more I believe that an ancient form of dressage was developed for Greek war horses and had a practical side as well as the beautiful goal: "Nothing beautiful can be forced", Xenophon wrote. So true. So that's a little about my 'day job' and you see I manage to work horses into that area too!

Dressage and an Apple Tree

Doesn't he just look eager to hit the arena? I got up early and managed to be out at the barn and tacked up by 7:30, so I had the whole arena to myself. We worked on transitions, the bane of my existence. Dressage is supposed to be one smoothly flowing river, but I am more of the mind where life comes in segments. "Done!" "Next?" Kawhump. We got some good leg yield though, and all the other horses in the pasture came to the arena door to watch and make snide comments.

Since it is Father's Day I am thinking of my dear dad and my grampie, who taught me to appreciate flowers. When I was 3 years old, Grampie told me to look carefully into the face of a pansy and listen hard, because it is telling me something. I remember reaching up to hold his work-rough hand, and staring intently into the pansy's face, and listening for all I was worth:



I never heard the message, which was probably something W.C. Fields-ish like "Go away kid, you bother me". But it started me looking at flowers. And my dad was a rose gardener extraordinaire.

So I have planted a new apple tree, in spite of my unbroken streak of bad luck with fruit trees. If you look closely and listen you may hear this little tree saying something too:

Lookit Woopert getting so big

Charming little Rupert is growing like a weed. He has quite the independent streak and while this year's new filly sticks to her mom like a cocklebur, Rupert moseys about like he owns the whole place, and mom has to look for him sometimes.

Today in my dressage lesson we worked on transitions down. Generally speaking, when in a down transition it is not dressagey to plop onto your horse's back and drop all thought of riding. This is very subtle & nuanced but I am slowly getting it. I was glad to see that my horse got vein poppage, indicating that he did some real work.



And isn't he nice and shiny now that the winter coat is almost all gone? Putting on my horse psychic cap for a moment, this look translates: 'Stop mookin about and bring me my grain!'

Dressage Training Session

When I first got this horse 7 years ago, neither of us had a clue. I had been taking lessons at a barn where the trainer was a legend in her own mind, but not really very good at teaching or even interested in it. The combination of a green off-track thoroughbred and an adult beginner was not my most brilliant idea. So there we were! We spent several years scaring each other, and then moved to a new barn. In the video you see my current riding instructor working with Montana; I used his Jockey Club name "Who's Dancer" to be a little more private, as YouTube is such a large community.

He is a horse with great big emotions - an ardent heart, a wary eye, a finely tuned flight response, devotion to his favorite mares no matter how many times they call him a dweeb. His body has changed in the new regime of proper training and riding - his formerly angular hindquarters rounded with muscle, his neck thicker and curved differently. Physically, he is a good evidence of the benefits of dressage training. He is super fit. The effect this has on his mind is a bit more debatable. Some days he seems to me hotter and fizzier than I'd like. I don't really care for those windy days when, leading him down the road, I am walking and he is dancing, or leaping like a big orange trout. There has to be a happy medium, doesn't there?!

"Dressage...Sport of Masochists"

My break from dressage is officially over. My thoroughbred has been in training all winter and is baaaack, just like some evil imp in a horror movie. He is hot healthy and full of himself. I used to think the expression "racing fit" sounded good. Not so much, any more. Stronger and fitter for him = more reactive. I no longer know all the buttons he has installed. We get sudden sideways by accident, we get a ton of acceleration from very little aids. We also get spectacular reactions when a hunk of snow slips off the arena roof and foofs loudly. In addition, a fiendish family of pigeons has taken up residence in the arena rafters. Mom (or Dad?) swoops down periodically and causes a young thoroughbred to lose a year of life through sheer terrified mobility. I can ride out some of his spooks now much better than in the past, when I used to fall like a ripe melon; but I am still wary of the sudden sideways leap. I measured one of these once and impossibly enough, it was 18 feet from hoofplant to landing. I probably made it for 3 of those feet...

But dressage is great in that it is never-ending; you always have something to work on and you never actually improve more than an iota or 2, giving you a soothing sense of infinity. Somebody out there looks beautiful riding dressage (probably an android), and that image is enough to keep people going.

I attended a workshop on musical freestyles (just to continue my theme of "in-your-dreams-fool") Saturday morning. Since then I've been fantasizing about putting our rides to music and creating something unique. The clinician was Dr. Jane Linville and she was great, really inspiring. She emphasized that your horse has to like the music or he won't dance. This got me wondering what kind of music my hot off-track redhead would enjoy: I'm thinking a cross between Viking Metal and Sesame Street. What about your horse? If your ponies could hit the jukebox, what would they choose?