Grace In Motion (Now)

Have you ever seen a horse tip over whilst itching himself?

Take it from me...it's damn funny.

Chester merely tolerates his winter blanket...which is a HUGE improvement from shredding and/or eating it. Trust me.

Anyway, he is completely itchy whenever I take the blanket off to ride. Last week, after I tacked him up for a ride, he reached around to itch his shoulder and tipped s-l-o-w-l-y to the right. He caught himself, but was on two legs for a moment.

I have no room to talk about gracefulness (or lack thereof). I tripped over my own two feet a month ago, fell of my parents' deck, and broke my arm.

I'm thinking, just like stubborness and a dislike for authority, clumsiness is something else I share with my Spotted Beast.

A Kick to the Stifle (Then)

My little spotted boy was growing fast. He was happy, now out of his weanling funk. While I was glad that Chester was no longer depressed, I was not happy that he was now spunky, full of himself, and, well, an annoying little pisser. He was turned out with three mares - a National Show Horse who's pinned ears told Chester all he needed to know, a chestnut pony who couldn't care less so long as there was a pile of hay to eat, and a bay Quarab who took Chester's antics as a direct threat and saw it as her job to put the little spotted monster in his place.

Chester didn't speak the Quarab's language and her not-so-subtle hints were not working. Chester kept on annoying her - biting her, wheeling around to kick her, jumping over her head while she tried to enjoy a good roll in the dirt...you name it. The mare squealed, kicked back, pinned her ears, bared her teeth. Chester just laughed in her face and kept right on with his antics. Bad weanling.

I arrived at the barn one day to find Chester oddly subdued. I went to retreive him from his paddock and found that he had been kicked in the stifle. Lovely. It looked like Little Miss Quarab had finally landed one on Chester...in one of the worst possible pieces of his anatomy.

Dr. M came out, sedated Chester, cleaned the wound, and stitched it up. The slice was about an inch in length and took only a few stitches. I was worried about the long term effects. Dr. M, a man of huge talent, but few words, didn't dare to guess.

"Wow," I worried, holding up my drunk baby horse. "The stifle. Do you think he'll suffer any long term issues with that? I'm hoping to turn him into a show horse and..."

"Don't know. Hard to say," Dr. M offered. Comforting.

The prescription...a week of stall rest and then light hand-walking.

Chester made it two days before he tried to climb out of his stall.

I opened the stall door, slipped his halter on, and lead him out of the barn. Three steps out of the barn, he wheeled and kicked me...in my stifle.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch!" I could feel my knee throbbing and growing in size. Bad weanling.

At any rate, my little horse healed on the outside, but, to this day (at age 5), Chester is still a bit stiff in that stifle. It hasn't held him back much and he is on a daily dose of a maintenence joint supplement.

And no matter what happens to him, unless it is absolutely necessary, no stall rest is prescribed. It's just safer that way...for all involved. My stifle is still not right.

Collected Canter (Now)

Fun, fun, fun.

Three weeks ago, my riding instructor decided to have us school the collected canter.

A little background on The Bean's canter...

Right Lead: Like sitting in a La-Z-Boy recliner with a glass of wine and a copy of Cosmo...awesome. Just sit there and enjoy...in fact, the more I try to "fix" whatever it is that I think needs fixing, the uglier it becomes. Drop to your seat and let it flow.

Left Lead: Not so much...picture riding a 2x4 right off the rack at The Home Depot and taking corners to the checkout at 90 degree angles.

Chester tends to drop his inside shoulder at the canter on the left lead...badly. Therefore, trying to get him to pick up said shoulder, round himself out, and go in a frame is like asking a 14 year old boy to clean his room...pointless and frustrating, and he won't listen anyway. But, I digress...

My goal this winter is to soften that left lead and get my spotted boy to pick up that shoulder. He can do it, and does, but inconsistently. I want his left lead to be as uncomplicated as his right lead.

Our indoor arena is on the small side, which, at first glance, may seem like no fun. However, by the end of the winter, our horses are supple and soft to ride. The smallish indoor arena is a blessing in diguise. We WILL get that shoulder up.

Anyway, when my trainer asked us to collect the canter a few weeks ago, we started with the right lead. I dropped to my seat, softened my hands, and rode that pony to a wicked collected canter. Chester's ears were flicked back in my direction and, although he was by no means loving it, he was compliant and attentive. Down to the walk, stop, turn on the haunches to the right. No biggie.

Canter left lead...Oh, Kayeeeee. Chester got the transition up and I sat deeply into my seat. Chester gradually slowed, but decided that only camels canter that slowly on their left lead, and proceeded to travel around the arena accordingly - head up, hollowed out, and bouncing my kidneys into a dialysis-laden nightmare.

I made several futile attempts to soften The Bean...all denied. My instructor watched quietly, with that smirk that tells me that she has the answer and is just waiting for me to figure it out. I hate that smirk.

"Ugh. My kidneys..." I groaned, as my horse pogo-sticked around the arena.

"Uh huh," was the response. So helpful. That's why I pay her the Big Bucks.

I gritted my teeth. I tried to will my horse to collect, get on the damn bit, and quit (forgive the pun) horsing around. I'll admit...I got pretty heavy handed (not my style). Nothin' doin'. Finally, the Great and Powerful Oz spoke..."So. How's that power struggle with his face workin' for ya?"

I didn't answer, but, I'll tell you now, not so friggin' great. Then it clicked. What worked on the right lead? Deep seat, SOFT hands, and loooooong legs. So, if it worked then, why not now?

So, I tried it. Deep seat, soft hands, long legs. I got an ear flick. OK. Deeper seat, softer hands, longer legs. And a deeeeeep breath.

Chester softened, rolled to the bit, and cantered...balanced and soft all the way around the arena. Huh.

So, what did my spotted horse teach me THIS week? If it works for you, work it. Subscribe to the KISS method and Keep It Simple Stupid. Keep asking for the right thing the right way and you'll get it.

Killer Fly Spray (Then)

I had had Chester at the boarding stable for a few weeks. As a weanling in a new home, he was a bit sad and introverted. No whinnying or carrying on, but still sad in the eye and overly complient for a four month old. Just resigned to the fact that his equine mommy was gone and this human stand-in was a very distant second.
During this time, I was able to introduce Chester to the clippers ("Who cares?"), shorten and thin his mane ("Ho Hum."), and train him to tie ("Yawn..."). He was a sad little man and wouldn't care if aliens landed and turned his hay into pink fiberglass insulation. I was worried. I knew that newly weaned babies could sometimes become depressed, but this was so unlike the happly little baby with whom I had worked at the Breeding Farm. I had given him a couple of weeks to settle in before exposing him to any ground work, but holding off any longer wouldn't be good for him or me...especially me. Chester was growing fast and I needed to teach him the basics before he became big enough to really hurt me.
While wondering what I could do to make my little horse happy, I kept up with the ground work. One afternoon, I had him in the cross-ties. He was sad. I groomed him, picked his feet, and gave him love. Finally, I got out the fly spray to give him some relief from the late summer bugs. As soon as the mist hit his coat, Chester's knees crumpled and he sagged to the ground. I quickly unclipped the crossties and tossed the fly spray to the side. Chester immediately stood, shook like a wet Golden Retriever, and trotted out into the barn yard to the lush, green grass. He lowered his head and began munching slowly, contentedly even. I went to him, clipped a lead line to his halter, and let him graze.
After this incident, Chester's mood improved greatly. He trotted around with 'his' mares, whinnied in greeting to the 'feed lady', and rolled with vigor in any and all available mud puddles. It seems that my little spotted colt found something more horrifying than being in a new place away from his mama...fly spray. So long as the Killer Mist stopped, life was good again.

My First Post

I've decided to create another blog dedicated solely to my life with my horse, Chester. Our time together has had its fair share of...how shall I say?...interesting elements. Blood, sweat, and tears describes that time nicely, I suppose.

A little background...
I purchased Chester at a week and a half old. Note to Self: Do NOT go to a baby horse farm with a checkbook...bad idea. Anyway, I went to a Paint breeding farm about an hour south of Madison, where my husband and I were living at the time. I was actually going there to look at Chester's half brother, Ticado. While Ticado was cute, he was going to be too short for me. I took one look at Chester and knew he was mine. I put a down payment on him that day.

Over the next several months, I halter trained the baby Chester. He was easy in some ways, tough in others, and seemed to suffer from Transient Equine Training Amnesia (or TETA)..."You TAUGHT me this?! Well...I'm sorry, but I just don't recall that." Since that time, I have also re-named this syndrome Stubborn Paint Horse Syndrome (SPHS). More on that to come...in fact, you will notice a theme...

I brought him to the boarding stable when he was weaned and our adventures continued...this blog will go back to chronicle those adventures, as well as keep you all updated on the fun we have together as our training and show career progresses.