Gallop
I had such a glorious ride with Connie today.
It’s a muddy, murky, heavy sort of day, with just enough rain to be annoying but not enough to do your plants much good. After getting utterly squelchingly soaked walking through long wet grass with hellhounds (and just enough rain to render my glasses opaque) I rang Jenny and asked if she still wanted Connie ridden on a classically colicky day? Because Connie had had a touch of the digestive devils last Sunday. And Jenny said yes, absolutely, there’s no point in worrying, you just have to get on. So I went over there, trying not to borrow trouble, not-borrowing-trouble not being one of my skills.
We went up to the schooling ring first, to warm up and to see what kind of a humour Connie was in–and also, out hacking, you’re never quite sure what your opportunities are going to be between footing, tigers, and mood of the moment, and I wanted to work a little, and see if I could get some of that nice forward motion stuff when it was just her and me without Jenny to harry us. Yes.*
We’d had the school to ourselves to begin with but then a pony with an anxious little girl came in and started cautiously walking around the dressage ring at the bottom, waiting for Jenny, so we stayed up at the top where our mad snortings and thunderings wouldn’t give the pony any ideas.** The funny thing was that we were also up where the fences are and Connie obviously thought, oh, goodie, we’re warming up to jump. Er, no. I imagine we’ll get around to jumping lessons, but I wouldn’t dream of jumping someone else’s horse without prior permission. Or quite a few more recent hours in the saddle first.
But Connie was doing her telepathic leg-change thing*** and waiting for me to stop sidling past everything and aim her at something. There was one point where we were going diagonally between the first and second fences of an in-and-out–which is two fences very close together–and she was obviously fully prepared to be asked to pop over one, even at that sharp an angle: which is of course an old seconds-shaving show-jumper trick. I am not used to this level of training in a horse I get to ride. And I wouldn’t have known how to ask her properly anyway.
I saw about ten minutes of her lesson with Her Other Person last Thursday–hellhounds and I were passing, and I could hear Jenny’s voice, so I decided to see if she was teaching anyone interesting, and–whoops–that’s my horse! It was great to see her working at a distance, so you can see what it all looks like. The O.P. was having a jumping lesson–all that grisly seeing-a-stride stuff, so you know when to ask or to be ready for your horse to take off, including making any adjustments to your approach in time–and Connie actually stopped at a fence she could just about have walked over. Which is to say she’s the right kind of ‘schoolmaster’–the kind who does honestly what you tell her, so you can learn how to ask correctly. Just like her rubber-snake shoulder-ins, my first lesson.
Anyway. When Jenny† came in, we went out, and strode off down the road toward the pigs.†† This is another of those dragging-myself-back-in-the-frame things, I’ve mostly forgotten where the bridleways are around here; I think in terms of what I can get hellhounds over/through/around, not a horse. So we had already turned for home and I was thinking, drat, I’m not quite ready to go back yet, what are my options? And as if some good-natured fairy said, oh, okay, we found ourselves walking past A Large Mown Hayfield. Hmmm. So we turned in through the gap in the fence and Connie said Ooooh, and I said, okay, we can have a nice little trot along the hedgerow and then turn around and come home gently, so we had a nice little trot along the hedgerow–and this was a very nice forward engaged trot, if we’d been in a show ring we’d've been racking up serious points–and then, it being a very large field, Connie was saying, you know, we could have a nice little canter, so we had a nice little canter, and then we got to the corner and turned uphill and Connie said GAAAAAAAAAALLOP, and if you’re going to gallop, uphill is good, so we galloped. Gosh. Before I moved to England where there is actual countryside you can gallop a horse over, I didn’t have much experience of galloping, and it still astonishes me, that extra gear. You think, gallop, fast canter, no difference, but there is; it’s a whole different gait, and you respond to it differently. I’m not sure if you ever sit a gallop?, someone with more experience can tell me, I imagine you sit it in certain competitive situations as communication and collection, but if you’re just covering landscape, your butt comes lightly out of the saddle of its own accord, to give your horse’s back and quarters as much freedom as possible. You almost float there, because a gallop is the easiest gait there is, once you get over the shock of how fast you’re going.
We got to the top of the hill and turned again and Connie said, Yaaay! Flat! We can go FASTER! And at this point I said, no, we are not galloping hell-for-leather into the next county†††, we will now canter, and so I shortened the reins and dug my butt into the saddle and we cantered, while the veins stood out on my forehead like Hercules strangling the Nemean Lion, and I blessed both hellhounds and all the heavy bells I’ve ever rung, and then we got to the next corner and Connie said, Ooooh! Downhill! We can go FASTER! And I said we will TROT downhill. And we trotted. I’ve said rash things about liking a horse that’s a bit heavy in the hand?? Connie thinks I’m a spoilsport. But we came home past the pigs on a nearly-loose rein with a bare flicker of disagreement.
* * *
* Beam.
** Although my impression is that it was the sort of pony chosen and bought not to have ideas.
*** A girl could get spoilt. Then you put me back on a dressage horse and I’ll have forgotten how to ask.
† I asked her if she’d had any inquiries about Horse-for-sale. None plausible. One woman wants a bombproof horse to ride with her daughter and her pony. Please. He’s a thoroughbred, he’s advertised as a thoroughbred. TBs don’t come bombproof, even the quiet ones, which Horse-for-sale is. (Usually.) Although I have a lot of trouble with the whole bombproof concept anyway, when applied to horses. No horse is truly bombproof, unless dead. I’ve said this before, and doubtless will say it again: Horses are prey animals and they have the appropriate instincts. Live with it, or stick to Breyer.^
^ http://www.breyerhorses.co.uk/
†† But we turned off before we got there. We went past the pigs on the way home. I’m not entirely foolish.
††† Or possibly the English Channel
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Wow! What an exciting ride! Connie must be a truly amazing horse. Galloping, woo!
No horse is truly bombproof, unless dead.
Yes. When I read she wanted a *bombproof* horse, I started thinking maybe she should look into getting her daughter a stick pony or something. One of the machines you put quarters in at the supermarket. Both my boys were pretty steady horses, but it’s always surprising to see the things that scare them. Bicycles!
Bombproof prey animals probably *are* dead.
More pet peeves: bicyclists that come tearing up behind you, shout BICYCLE! and hurtle past. Fortunately Connie does NOT seem to mind. *I* mind. (I am a prey animal . . . )
. . . Or merrygorounds. For people who want bombproof. :)
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So let me understand… You’re having fun with your horse?
Um . . . is there a checklist, so I can be sure I meet the standard?
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I think it’s a combinatorial formula of some complexity. You have to factor in:
Number of times you find yourself grinning like a loon while performing said activity.
Number of paragraphs used to describe said activity.
Number of times you find yourself paused in the middle of something you ought to be doing, contemplating the said activity.
And it is inversely proportionate to:
The frequency with which you attempt to put of or stop said activity.
The negative comments made about the meants and/or medium of said activity.
I am sure in-depth research could reveal more factors influencing the formula…
Aaaugh! I don’t do maths.
Let’s just assume I’m enjoying my horse. :)
How marvellous! Hacking out alone, just the two of you. I’d never thought about it but yes, I’ve always assumed jumping position, firm (FIRM lol) grip when galloping, so I think it must be pretty automatic. I try to keep looking ahead as looking down past the shoulder makes me dizzy at that speed… and several of my instructors over the years have said “Where you look is where you go!”
Thanks for the Breyer link – it brought childhood back so vividly altho we had Julip ponies http://www.juliphorses.com/ .
And now I have to save for my next connemara – http://www.breyerhorses.co.uk/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=182&Itemid=184
You are such a bad influence!!! But thank you for the connie updates, I love hearing all the horsey details :)
You are such a bad influence!!!
******** Oh thank you, thank you, it’s all I ever wanted! :)
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Sounds wonderful. You must have got past the sore muscle stage, too. I am stiff but glowing with virtue, because I finished the daylily bed reclamation project *on schedule*, amazing. I’m not sure the daylilies are happy about it–they are largely supine after the megaweeding–but at least they look civilized and supine.
We have news from the puppy front. The litter sired by the Alpha Bitch’s brother was born a week ago: two boys, three girls, all doing well so far. I have managed to locate some pictures of two bitches from the previous litter (this one is a repeat breeding) and am not overwhelmed by the fronts I see. I would really like to see the boys, even though they are somewhere between 12 and 18 months old, a bad time to look at boys. So my enthusiasm is somewhat tempered.
A.B.’s sister played SURPRISE and started whelping puppies this morning (Saturday), all by herself as she wasn’t due for a couple of days. So there was some scrambling to get her into the box, with puppy #1, etc. etc. She was hiding more than the four puppies seen on ultrasound and ended up whelping eight–would you believe seven girls and one boy. He is small (because Sister surprised the breeder, there was no scale, so I don’t know how small), but that’s OK as long as he nurses. Hopefully we’ll find out more tomorrow. Hopefully he will do well. We have been promised some pictures and I will post them when they arrive.
PUPPY PICTURES! **Anticipatory panting**
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*****I shortened the reins and dug my butt into the saddle and we cantered, while the veins stood out on my forehead like Hercules strangling the Nemean Lion, and I blessed both hellhounds and all the heavy bells I’ve ever rung, and then we got to the next corner and Connie said, Ooooh! Downhill! We can go FASTER! And I said we will TROT downhill. And we trotted. I’ve said rash things about liking a horse that’s a bit heavy in the hand??*****
(*grin*) Strong horses make Pilates completely redundant.
Judith
Oh, is THAT what Pilates teaches you? :)
I tried THREE TIMES to answer yours about your horse a few days ago, and WordPress ate it every time. I said, approximately–now let’s see if this one disappears too–that I could probably cope with 17.1 (was it?) and that while I’m a pretty moderate rider at best generally speaking, I’ve been known occasionally to be more successful with tricky horses than better and more talented riders are because I’m TACTFUL. Yes, I’m a wimp too, but it’s not only that, or so I want to believe.
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*****Oh, is THAT what Pilates teaches you?*****
Well — core strength: the abs and back muscles and stuff that you use INSTEAD of your arms, or IN ADDITION TO your arms when holding in a strong horse that wants to gallop downhill contrary to your self-preservation instinct. :-)
*****I’m a pretty moderate rider at best generally speaking, I’ve been known occasionally to be more successful with tricky horses than better and more talented riders are because I’m TACTFUL. Yes, I’m a wimp too, but it’s not only that, or so I want to believe.*****
Same here. My first serious summer riding, I used to ride in a lesson with two men who were rather advanced, and one of them owned this massive, snorting Appaloosa named Hannibal. He seemed almost impossible to hold in, and he used to charge his fences and generally struck me as a terror. One day in the middle of the summer, my instructor said she was going to put me up on him. I looked at her in horror. Me? Hannibal? I’m a BEGINNER, for god’s sake! But she had a gut instinct about it, and it turned out to be right. His owner rode hard, and I was a tactful, albeit wimpy, rider, and Hannibal and I hit it off beautifully. Because I used very light aids, he was calm for me, and he and I used to jump courses beautifully. I was shamelessly smug about it. ;-)
Judith
I was shamelessly smug about it.
******* Been there, done that, me too. Good for us. :)
What is your current beast? I assume some kind of warmblood?
*****What is your current beast? I assume some kind of warmblood?*****
I have two, actually, although one is a pasture pet because of injuries and navicular problems. The pasture pet is a Trakehner, and a little crazy. I came off him three times and got hurt three times. I started to try to get up on him again after being laid up for six months from a car accident, and I was too afraid. He would spook unpredictably and it was extremely difficult for me to stay on him. If I had discovered Mary Wanless’s riding techniques while I was still riding him I might have done a better job of staying on, but… (I got up on him once when he was seeming a little less lame and after I had learned Mary’s techniques, and it was wonderful — I felt very secure despite his rubbery feel and tendency to spook.)
I decided to buy a second horse around then, and my first one became unrideable shortly afterwards. I made it a pretty strong requirement that the second horse be as close to bombproof as is equinely possible, and I got it. This guy is a Hanoverian, and, while my first horse would bolt when he was afraid and then go faster from fear when he felt me get unbalanced, my second guy may jump, but he actually slows down when he feels me come unbalanced. It’s been eleven years and I’ve never come off of him.
Both horses, of course, are extremely sweet and cuddly. Funny — all my dogs and horses have been extremely popular with people no matter where they go — boarding barns, veterinary hospitals, etc. And I’m as introverted as people get….
Judith
That slowing down when he feels you losing it is the BEST.
I’m not used to having extroverted critters–the hellhounds are all over *everyone.* They can’t be mine! :)
Sounds brilliant!
Question: How do I contact BlogMom?
a link to blogmom is at the bottom of each page if you scroll right down as far as you can go and then further – I only know cos I’ve needed help so often :)
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I have a long history of head injuries and have always stayed off horses since it seems probable that I will go flying off one and hit my head, again. I also do not ski for the same reason. But all this talk of Connie is making me want to take lessons. Connie seems like a very nice but still exciting horse. Your ride sounded lovely!!
*More pet peeves: bicyclists that come tearing up behind you, shout BICYCLE!and hurtle past. *
Ooh, this is so irksome. I currently live in Philadelphia (I’m moving to Kansas City in a month), which has really small, over crowded streets. All the bicyclists ride on the sidewalks and are very agressive. I’ve almost been hit several times.
I hope the hellhounds’ digestion is better.
I don’t know about your head injuries, but riding helmets have come a LONG way. Nothing is proof against, say, a horse falling on you, but you can fall off on your own head as much as you like–so long as you CHANGE your helmet every time it takes any damage, OR every eighteen months-two years, whichever comes first.
Bicycles on sidewalks/pavements ought to be bloody *arrested.*
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*****so long as you CHANGE your helmet every time it takes any damage, OR every eighteen months-two years, whichever comes first.*****
Hmmm. I hadn’t heard about the 18 months-2 years thing. I’m still riding in my mid-’90s helmets. What’s the deal about that? Foam decomposition?
Judith