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Sunday 30 January 2011

Bugrit

:sigh: T is still not right, after all. We had a very light in hand assessment session yesterday and he seemed ok, though not precisely 100%. I thought he would be ok for a very gentle physio type session with Mandy, so it was with much anticipation that I took my time prepping him, even going so far as to brush his mane and apply bandages, lest a small amount of support would be called for. He didn't step away from the saddle like he did last week, or otherwise make any point at all: happy days, I thought, here we go. Started our warmup on the right rein and to begin with he looked rather leaden in front, but not unlevel, just as though he was sruggling to get himself off the forehand, which is unusual for him. However, with the application of free walk and jig jogg transitions going large, he loosened off and was producing his usual lovely bendy stretchy work and even offered canter. Happy days, I thought. Left rein: different story. A little tense to begin with and in trot, unlevel :( I've put a call in to Tessa so hopefully she can get over to us asap. Not being able to ride him has made me realise just how much I do want to ride him. Fingers crossed it is something minor that can be easily fixed. He was pretty much ok earlier in the week so I am forced to conclude that rest is needed and to leave him alone to do that.

The upshot of all this is that I had a lesson on Q each day this weekend. Yesterday he was excellent; warmed up well even offering to use his abs (!) and coming willingly to the party knowing full well that energy and stretching would be the order of the day, so I was very hopeful for a good lesson. It was a good seat day too so it felt pretty nice. Mandy is getting after me about my legs, trying to address the fact that they creep forward when I'm not looking. The focus was to get the neck and poll out a bit further and maintain that through a series of transitions within and between the pace, using straightness to encourage throughness over the back and right through the poll. This is where Q's ability to samba his way around my exhortations to get him straight really come to light, whether it's a small but significant poll tilt, haunches in, throwing a shoulder, whatever. Twas ever thus. The focus for me was stretching the leg and using it to lift him up to a collected trot and hug him there, encouraging the use of his back. The challenge was to get the desired improvement in both legs at the same time. Releasing forward, all the time keeping in mind the relation between length of rein and energy required to maintain the contact and not let him plop onto the forehand.

He was a little nonplussed to be dragged at speed from his field and tacked up at a hitherto unknown velocity today, when it became clear that T was not able to take part in the lesson. Perhaps as a consequence, the expression on the back of his head was priceless when I cmabered on, seconds later. "Oooh, mares!" "Oooh, a rustle of wind through the top door of my stable!" "Oooh, the unexpected bleat of a goat!", anything to find for a little spookette. Our remedy for this is lateral work so we went through LY, SI, HI, HP with Mandy offering adjustments and comments, then to an exercise whose name I forget but which involved going from A to B or C to E in a straight line, the exercise being to focus on straightness. He was quite slippery today, and less willing to be through, so we had minor braces of the brachio as well as his usual bum in, shoulder out, tilt the poll doings, so it was quite the challenge to get him straight. Rather than making a series of corrections I was to ride him forward with more energy and that was much more effective. Repeated the exercise in trot and finding it quite hard to get the connection and the straightness, but very clear when it happened. Final exercise in canter was to set off in our most comfortable gait and look to send the poll out a few cm more while maintaining activity. This produced a very nice feel on the left rein and someething that oscillated between ok and ack on the right, always his more difficult side. Thinking the slightest counterbend without changing the aiding and being much more conscious of the conenction through my left side was what did the trick and produced something much more balanced. Finished there.

Otherwise, out with the dogs for a tramp around the field, which was nice. Now to get the girls in and feed round, and find a recipe for salmon en croute.

Saturday 22 January 2011

A day of two halves

Well what a great day. Firstly I feel much more energetic as a result of the new routine, which is splendid.

Knickers and I had what might be described as a "girly" morning which neither of us are particularly accustomed to, tootling off to the hairdressers in the morning for the ceremonial chopping of locks, followed by a trip to Tenterden for shopping and lunch. Marvellous.

This afternoon was horsey time and I was determined to make the most of it. Q was quite lively and in view of the fact that he wasn't ridden since last Sunday I gave him a quick lunge first before riding. We began with lateral work; shoulder in, travers and half pass on both reins; up to trot, active and focusing on straightness, then repeating the laterals in trot. He was feeling really nice. I had a mind to begin preps for changes again as we haven't done this for a while, so put in lots of walk-canter transitions and he was offering a very nice collected gait, which was just divine to sit. Canter-walk began with several trot strides between but we whittled it down to  something more approaching a direct transition. On the left rein walk-right canter was a bit more tricky as always but we got it and I capitalised on the fact that he's not so keen on this to get the change. Very pleased with that. We got three changes altogether, only one of which I asked for :) Anyway he was ace, it was a really really good ride.

Next, Mr T, who also hasn't been worked since last week. Ordinarily I'd work him in hand on a Saturday but feeling puckish, I was determined to ride. We had a nice warm up and all seemed calm and lovely. The mares were loitering by the gate and Q, like a big Luso book end, loitering at the other end of the school. T was frowning at the girls and tried to bite me as we went down to their end to remove the cavesson and get my hat, so he got a wallop for that and we carried on regardless. On board, we did shoulder in and milling on a large circle, before going up to trot. We're developin his abiltiy to stretch to the contact and he's getting better, so I was very pleased that he maintained the contact to a greater extent through some transitions. Repeated on the right rein and again very soft and nice, with only occasional forays above the contact. Had to finish there as it was practically dark.

Cookathon tonight: monkfish tagine, French onion soup and cauliflower gratin, constituting my cooking for the week all in one go.

Tomorrow: horsey doings in the morning, including a lesson with Mandy, and a visit to a local establishment to see a clinic in the afternoon, that I'd like to take one of the boys to next time.

Sunday 16 January 2011

Giant catch up

So again, I blink and two weeks have gone by, dammit. On the plus side we've managed not to acquire any more creatures, which is good. Also, Willow is now officially Dora's mini-me, now that Dora's got used to the idea of sharing us with another pooch and we have accustomed ourselves to the fact that a great deal of alarming-sounding growling, ear biting and grunting is completely normal. It's very sweet :)

Horse-wise things have been proceeding well with good lessons on both boys, although we're all looking forward to longer daylight hours. Even an hour at the end of the day helps take the pressure off. Speaking of pressure, we're developing more of an organised routine for all the daily doings, as I really was completely and utterly tatered at the arse end of last year and realised that something needs to give. I am therefore officially having a lie in every Saturday, which is bloody marvellous. Not only that but I am thoroughly reconciled with it, which means that I can enjoy it and work around it and absolutely not concern myself with all the things I should be doing, which is one of my bĂȘtes noir. So that's good isn't it.

Speaking of horses and that whole juggling thing, I had a very weird dream on Friday night. I was riding Totilas, probably the most famous dressage stallion of the moment, in the car park at Goldies outside the main building.This would be strange enough on its own, but there was also a horse transporter in the same car park, loading a mare. I remember very clearly thinking that if I rode him near to the mare, it would add expression to his piaffe (it did). The guy loading the mare wanted to borrow my lunge surcingle so that he could attach some padding to the mare's chest (?) but I was reluctant to lend it to him because then I wouldn't be able to lunge Toto before I rode him and it would interfere with our training (!). Next thing, a work colleague from HR appeared at the far end of the car park and called me over, so Toto and I did a very creditable extended trot (I know, I know) over to her. Next thing, as is the way in dreams, I was walking down the corridor with her talking about saddles and was getting anxious because I'd left Toto just standing there in the car park, and there was the mare there. It was about then that I woke up. This is what my brain comes up with in response to the mulling I've been doing concerning how I might get the boys out and about while juggling all the other balls I have to juggle.

Today Knickers and I went to Bluewater, our local shopping mall. This is something we try to avoid where possible, but every now and again it has to be done. One of the main challenges for such an endeavour is trying to find suitable civilian clothing that is not encrusted with mud and/or horse shit, and believe me this can be a challenge of epic proportions unless specifically planned for. There are work clothes and yard clothes, and between the two there exists a gaping chasm occupied only by a single pair of jeans (for best) and a jacket that stays resolutely in the porch with the work gear, well away from the array of other jackets and fleeces, all of which are covered in mud and/or horse shit, and therefore unsuitable to be worn in the company of regular folks who don't understand these things. The reaction one gets, should one wear such items in such a setting, reminds me of the reaction I used to get back in the day when as a student I would deliberately court such by virtue of shocking pink or purple hair. That is to say, small children pointing and staring, and old people muttering about how there's just no respect for common decency these days.

I had an opticians' appointment first thing, which I wasn't looking forward to as I knew where it was going to lead, sure as eggs is eggs. I kept saying to Knickers, what if they tell me my eyes are no good and they'll have to remove them, until she threatened to cut out the middle man and do it for me with a rusty spoon :) So the upshot is I now have my first pair of glasses. Mmmph. Middle age beckons. What next? Things will begin to sag and fall off and soon I won't be able to remember my own name, or what it was that I went upstairs for.
 
And finally, Knickers has discovered a new dessert: "panna concrete".

Saturday 1 January 2011

The Wrong Puppy

The last day or so has been a rollercoaster of excitement, expenditure, fatigue and a sprinkling of emotions along the lines of "wtf have we done?" You may recall I mentioned in a blog from a few weeks back that I'd sent Sid and Knickers out to get a new chain for the chain saw and they'd ended up at Pheel's, who has the tools to make his own chains (:hail: Pheel) in his handsomely stocked workshop. What I didn't know (or I'd never have sent them round there) is that there were a litter of newborn Lab x Springer pups in close proximity to said workshop, and the unwitting, ripe for the plucking duo were cordially invited in to see them. Much cooing ensued and frankly, by the time they got home, the deed was done and we were going to have a puppy whether I liked it or not. My only recourse in such a situation was to sigh gustily and make sure everyone knew that I personally have more than enough to do as it is and will not be taking an active role in puppy husbandry. Uh-huh. Right then.

Fast forward a few weeks and we all troop round to Pheel's to choose a puppy. I leave this to Sid, of course, mainly because it's his puppy (let's be clear) and also because he has a very good track record in choosing animals - or recognising when animals have chosen us. The puppies are glorious little chocolately sausages of loveliness; unbearably, unfeasibly cute. We all die a little of cute overload and, little girl puppy chosen, troop out again, pausing only to consider why one man, even one such as Pheel, would need two arc welders, to visit the cold room full of geese and turkeys, and to make off with a brace of pheasants.

Fast forward a few more weeks and Sid is becoming unbearable - that is to say, more unbearable than the simple expedient of being French can explain away - wanting to collect his puppy. We arrange with Pheel to go round on the appropriate day (now a couple of days back) at the appropriate hour (6pm) to collect her. Puppies are now the cutest, chocolatiest, chunky little buggers imaginable. We are handed our puppy, exchange the relevant formalities and make off to the homestead, Sid cradling his little one in his arms and me driving as though the car is made of bone china.

Much cuteness  was had throughout the evening although, rather disturbingly, we couldn't help but notice the complete and utter absence of any of the normal signs that the puppy is about to "eliminate". Ha! Such euphemisms. Sid made the mistake of leaving the puppy unattended in the lounge for a couple of moments, whereupon there followed the rapid fire application of several wees (one on the sofa) and, rather incredibly I thought, three little puppy poos upon the carpet. Unfortunately for Sid he only noticed one of them when he stood in it, **in his socks**. I then had to rescue a hysterical Frenchman while attempting to contain fits of uproarious mirth, by removing the offending sock from his outraged foot and running quickly from the room with it to the bin, after the fashion of Inspector Closeau with a bermb. It's ok, we shrugged, surely the puppy will soon show some signs to give us a clue as to what will be imminently unleashed. It's just the settling in period.

Bed time arrives and we troop up and down the stairs, bearing an array of puppy beds, water bowls, puppy pads and other small hound paraphernalia. Puppy's opening gambit is to poo on the bed. We quickly opt for caution being the better part of valour and go fetch one of the large cat boxes, hitherto used by the meehoos for curling up next to the radiator. Puppy spends the night in the cat box, on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. We are awoken several times during the night by general whining, howling and the application of faecal aromas to the sensitive linings of our nasal passages. Sid takes to sleeping with his head at the foot of the bed, with a hand hooked into the cat box which is by now taking on the status of a Pandora's box of cuteness, perfectly juxtaposed with the noises and aromas of Satan's puppy.

The alarm blares its way into my consciousness a mere 5 minutes after I've closed my eyes and I proceed from the bed, bog eyed, bleary and assailed by rancid odours. All of my concerns and fears about having a puppy have been not so much realised as comprehensively whoopsied under my nose. What are we to do? Arrgghh. Still, vitnery coming shortly to do T's vaccinations so I'll ask her why said puppy is not giving any signs of immediate elimination. "Ah", she said patiently, looking upon me as one might a poor unfortunate fuckwit with a peanut for a brain, "the trouble is, they don't all read the text books." Kthx, very helpful I'm sure. Thanks vitnery.

The day proceeds (the day being the 30th) and as it does so Sid and I do a good job of convincing ourselves that the cuteness factor just about outweighs the random pissing and shitting marathon that is taking place. During one of a number of such instances, I remark to Sid that puppy's undercarriage looks suspiciously like a boy's to me, and surely that there is a very small pair of bollocks in the making, and isn't that a willy? All I really got was mirth in response - this is because I have never been allowed to forget wrongly sexing one of the kittens who turned out to be more Slim Jim and less Trim Trudy. So my track record wasn't really outstanding and to tell the truth I was a bit embarrassed to call Pheel and say look, are you sure this is a girl? However, it was when I saw (and felt, all over my hand) wee emerge from the suspiciously willy-like appendage beneath the belly that everything fell into place. I text Pheel "are you sure this is the right puppy?"

Ten minutes later, Pheel appears at the window. Upon entry into the house it transpires that he has a puppy under his arm and a very apologetic expression on his face. It turns out that there's been an almighty cock up and he has our actual puppy under said arm, while the one we've been nurturing and cleaning up after is actually destined to go with his brother to be a working dog for a farmer in Ashford! Much jollity ensues and Pheel leaves us to it it, taking Winky (as we have agreed to call him) back home with him and leaving us with the real Willow. Sid and I look at one another and consider the night we've just been through, and the very real possibility that another very similar scenario is awaiting us now that we are staring down the barrel of Having To Start All Over Again. We resolve that this time, she's definitely staying downstairs in the meehoo room.

After a couple of hours of being utterly bowled over by the megawatt cute factor of the real Willow, we nevertheless find ourselves trooping upstairs with an array of puppy paraphernalia, and settling little Willow on her bed on top of the ottoman at the foot of our bed. We can't help but notice small but appreciable differences - she doesn't shit on the bed, for one thing, or whine insistently. There follow a few moments where eye contact is not made in order to discourage further interaction and miracle of miracles, she settles down in her bed! And goes to sleep! In very short order we too are asleep, and bugger me if we don't all sleep through the night and wake, a little more refreshed next morning, noting the tiny but telltale lack of pungent aromas, bleeding eyes or melting mucous membranes. Now that's rather better. We begin to feel quite self-congratulatory. Jubilant, even. Positively cock-a-hoop! Not only that but she very definitely does show signs of needing the loo and we've already made quite startling progress in terms of the number of number twos undertaken outside and the generally smoother running of things indoors. The cats are wary but she will stay in the meehoo room without whining, and is quite definitely another ramp up on the cuteness scale: now we have our puppy.

So to recap: we now have 4 horses, 3 goats, 5 cats, six chickens and TWO DOGS. That's 20 creatures.