Dr. Lana is going to PAMP YOOOU UPPP girly horse. Legs and all.

Almost immediately, parts of Ms. V did begin getting a lot fatter.

Two specific parts - her hind legs. Ever since her bout of scratches back at Muddy View Acres, she had always been predisposed to stocking up in her hinds, especially the (anyone, anyone?) that's right kids, especially the white one.

However, this stocking up typically exhibited itself as a thickening through the fetlock and pastern that showed up after a night in the barn, and would be barely noticeable were her legs not thin little twigs at all other times of the day. An hour or so of turnout or riding completely eliminated it.

Not on the new Dr. Lana diet. She suddenly had cocktail weenie legs. All the time.

"You know" said Dr. Lana. "You should really have that checked out".

The stupid thing is, I really didn't immediately make the connection between diet and the weenies.  And when  a vet looks at your horse's legs and tells you that you should get them checked out, you do start to worry. The "good horse owner" fairy starts poking at you saying "if you loved her... you would..."

But then, the "good wallet owner" fairy speaks to you and tells you what a raging asshole you would be to spend money having your horse's legs examined when she is 100% entirely and totally sound.  There are people with dead lame horses who spend gobs of money trying to figure out why they are dead lame who can't get to the bottom of it. What on earth would you fork over cash to have someone probe around to find out why your horse is just so stubbornly sound?

But maybe the horse communicator can convince her to only shit in one spot in her stall!  Think of how nice it would be...it would be money well spent.  

These two fairies battle it out on a regular basis when it comes to horse care.  I think no matter how logical you are, any time you are having an issue with your horse and some other horse owner says "well have you thought of trying (insert something that you know in your heart of hearts is totally stupid here)", that fucking good horse fairy does whisper in your ear "what's the harm...maybe you should try it?"

Lucky for me, I am a skeptical and crusty curmudgeon, and the wallet fairy can usually bludgeon the little bitch into submission before I am convinced to try anything too stupid.  I would say the furthest out I have gone on the "stupid" limb would be trying Bowen Therapy on Ms. V, which to me sounded pretty much like massage therapy tramped up with a better, sexier marketing campaign.

Bowen Therapy treats the whole body, and its holistic effects are apparent in patients who find resolution to problems above and beyond those for which they have sought treatment, for example lack of energy, stress or emotional issues

For the life of me I don't remember what the specific reason was that Coach Ritenau decided we needed to try Bowen, but I do remember it set me back close to $600 for a series of treatments and I thought it made not an ounce of difference.  Ms. V still had lots of energy - enough to cause me plenty of stress, and relaxing with a glass of red when I got home from the barn generally took care of my emotional issues, for the sort term anyways.  Think of the wine cellar I could have started with that $600?  Or, I could have spent it on good training, which would have done more to fix whatever the underlying problem would have really and truly been at the time. Because thinking back, I am 99.9% certain it had nothing to do with problems of her fascia storing negative energy or memories or whatever it is that Bowen people say they are resetting as they do their little thumb circles and whatnot.

The legs Curmudgeon - what about the cocktail weenie legs

Ooops, I am off on a tangent again, aren't I.  Long story short, I came home, googled "stocked up legs" for a while, and read many an informative post on the subject... Oh, here is one...

WWYD - Rein Lameness. Hi readers, hoping you can help - I went to see the horse of my dreams the other day, who is - amazingly - in my price bracket. I think the stars have finally aligned!! I am so excited!  (will post pics soon).  However, when I rode him,because I am new to dressage, I immediately made him rein lame. So frustrating! How long do you think it will take for me to be able to ride this horse properly? I am taking a lesson each week with a good coach and do pilates.  Oh one other question - his front left leg is huge and hot. The owner says it is just stocking up and is nothing to worry about. Should I wrap his legs at night?

(Ok...This isn't real. I made it up. But would not be surprised to read something equally as stupid).

However during my googlefest, I came across something interesting - some horses stock up when fed Alfalfa. Rich beautiful green alfalfa that you might feed to a heavily lactating dairy cow.

Of course, Curmudgeon!! How did you not KNOW this.  

I swear to God, even in all of my years at school - I had never come across this issue in practice or in writing or anywhere.  How could that possibly be?  Did I skip that class? Was I asleep?  Both very valid possibilities, however I think the true answer is because...it is nuts. Textbooks and profs barely have enough time to hammer the things that matter on a day to day basis into your hangover addled 20 year old brains at school, there is no time to waste on "Unit 14 - Bizarre things overzealous owners might feed to horses".  Even one Unit would not really be enough time, it would have to be a whole course - Bizarre feeds 101.

Who the hell would feed straight alfalfa to a normal, everyday horse?  Horses just don't need that kind of rocket fuel.

Well, I bet you can all guess.  When I checked out the hay supply, there was normal - and their was weight gainer plus Alfalfa rocket fuel - for "bone racks" like Ms. V.

Don't you want to tell the 15 year old boys buying this stuff  to just give it some time?  Don't worry, young lad - soon you will be fat and 40 just like the rest of us. Weight gainer mission accomplished. 

Sigh. If she isn't wallowing in mud, she is wallowing in excess nutrients.  Why is middle of the road so hard to find in the horse world... ?  And so, with this information in hand - I planned for my non confrontational, good spirited talk with Dr. Lana - underlying message "just feed my fucking horse the way I want her to be fed".

Would you like to supersize your sweetfeed? How about a side of beetpulp with that hay...

Let's see, where to begin.

What was the first thing that was subpar about my horse.

I guess it would be - her body condition.  In the eyes of Dr. Lana, she was obviously much too thin. Which is, of course, why she felt the need to announce that she had the pelvis of a dairy cow.

Oh dear. This was not a good start. Little did Dr. Lana know that at the time, my entire life revolved around preaching the miraculous findings of something called "The Lifespan Study" to pet owners.  Nestle Purina had spent an insane amount of time and money proving that dogs fed 25% less food and maintained at a "lean body condition" lived longer than their pair matched littermates that were allowed to become chubby little labrador sausages, typical of what you might see in the neighbourhood dog park.

Summary - Lifespan Study

And so, as part of my glamorous career I went here, there, everywhere - to trade shows and vet tech colleges and pet store staff training events - showing people how to perform "the healthy hug", which was essentially a way of squeezing dogs to determine if they were at their "ideal body condition" and therefore likely to live "long, healthy lives".

Of course, over time the project was proven to be an abject failure.

The competition quickly twisted the results of Purina's findings into "Dogs live longer when they eat less Dog Chow", flushing any benefit of 14 years of careful data collection down the toilet. Yes, this was technically true based on the findings of the study, but totally irrelevant (since dogs live longer eating less of ANY food versus being allowed to become overweight).  However, the average pet owner doesn't get caught up in semantics, or the nuances of published research - they just want what is best for their dog.

Nice work, Purina - remember, no good deed goes unpunished.  Forget research. They would have been better off spending the gobs of money spent on this study on a lifetime supply of wild caught quail and fru-fru berries, because that is what really sells in the land of pet food.

"Surely this 18 year old at Pet Valu knows her shit, and yes, my chihuahua is very reminiscent of her timber wolf ancestors...sign me up for that $80 bag of elk and tapioca..." 

Anyway, forgetting all of that (and trust me, I really do try to forget)... the most intriguing finding of "The Lifespan Study" to me, as a horse owner, was the fact that dogs fed to a "lean body condition" had significantly reduced incidence of osteoarthritis at the age of 8 years old

Purina Lifespan Study - Osteoarthritis

"Food intake is an environmental factor that may have a profound effect on development of osteoarthritis in dogs"

Now I know dogs aren't horses, and we can't always extrapolate across species, but to me, it seemed like a no brainer to give this a whirl - how could it possibly hurt?  Anything that kept my horse sounder, longer, sounded like a good deal to me. Worst that could happen was nothing, I figured, and I made a commitment early on to keep Ms. V lean in hopes of staving off joint disease.

And so, instead of pumping her full of groceries until she had a jiggling, rippling, dimpled meatball of an ass as is expected with the average hunter or dressage horse, I had instructed the farmer at Lilliput to feed her to a "moderate" body condition score.  I showed him a chart with a little picture, explained how I wanted to be able to feel her ribs, and did not want to see spongy gobs of fat on either side of her tailhead - and voila. He did exactly what I asked.

Crazy, eh?

Actually, this is no easy feat when you are dealing with a horse in the process of growing a full hand between the ages of three and five, and thinking back, he did an exemplary job.

But Dr. Lana would have none of this.  Forget that study. She looks too thin. What would people think when they saw this bonerack in her stable?  This needed to be corrected, even if it meant she became a hobbling cripple somewhere down the road.

So which one of us was right?

Who knows. The research on the subject is really thin (pardon the pun), however the bottom line is that from a "literature review" point of view, when it comes to dressage horses as long as your horse isn't emaciated or exploding at the seams, anywhere from 4 - 7 on the Henneke body condition score chart is deemed to be "acceptable".

From a "catty dressage people whispering behind your back about what a lousy horse owner you are" point of view though, there is no doubt that thin takes the cake - a great number of horse owners are distressed by the notion that a horse has bones contained somewhere within its body - skeletons should apparently be hidden away in nice smooth layers of flab.

And so what if the flab erases half of a horse's athleticism - obesity has its benefits.  Freaking out and throwing your adult amateur rider to the ground is a lot of work when you have to haul a few extra hundred pounds around when you attempt to leap and buck. Why bother. For many riders, the sound of a plodding earthbound trot that causes the arena dirt to throb like a tuner car's subwoofer at a stoplight is the sound of safety.  As an added bonus, insulin resistance builds a nice cresty look so much faster than correct training alone.

So, I kind of see her point. Fat = happy in the mind of many riders, and since she was trying to drum up business for this new joint venture, housing skinny little horses was not in line with "good advertising"

But, as with many things relating to Dr. Lana over time, I actually don't think her intentions were all self motivated in a businesswoman kind of way. I really and truly do believe that she thought Ms. V looked too skinny - we just had different views on what constituted the look of "an athletic horse". Her heart was in the right place. It was just an entirely different place than mine. I think part of the problem was that I had been raised with thoroughbreds and loved the look of a tucked up lean horse, whereas Dr. Lana was more of a field hunter kind of woman herself - her eye had been trained to crave a horse with a meatier appearance.

Curmudgeon

Dr. Lana

Really, it is no different than with people - we all have our preferences when it comes to body type.  Apparently there are people out there in the world who think Gwyneth Paltrow actually looks good in a bikini. If I were a man, or switching teams, I would want to feed her a sandwich or two with a side of cupcakes so I wouldn't crush her if I rolled over in bed. But hey, she is apparently the "sexiest woman alive" so what do I know. And why does it matter. As long as she doesn't do anything stupid like feed her children bizarre elimination diets, who cares.

Annnyways, Ms. V was now residing in Dr. Lana's barn, and it made perfect sense to to her that we proceed to make Ms. V look exactly the way she wanted her to look, with no consideration whatsoever of my opinion on the matter. Logical, no?

And so began the ongoing battle of the bulge. Or lack thereof.

Damn you Scattails. Damn you.

Sorry, sorry, sorry... again.  I realize that I am one of the world's most delinquent bloggers.

But I have someone to blame it on this week.

It is all Scattail's fault.

Now, if you have ever rolled your eyes or stifled a yawn whilst a fellow boarder rants on about some aspect of their failure to accomplish (insert failure here) without taking any ounce of personal responsibility for (insert failure here), but instead blames (insert failure here) on their simple minded, hay munching, incapable of evil planning or forethought horse... get your eyes and jaw warmed up.

Because Scattails is an entirely inanimate boat. With even less ability to mess up my schedule or to take control of my life or to lead to my failure to do anything than any horse. But whatever.  I am still blaming this all on Scattails.

Although we are sometimes hard on ourselves when it comes to stupid choices we make with respect to our horses, we really should cut ourselves some slack. Whenever I feel down about my lack of success with horses, I pick myself up and think to myself "Curmudgeon, take heart. It is not all about horses.  You make stupid choices in other areas of your life as well". 

Which brings us to the story of the seats of Scattails.

Now, since this is a dressage blog, I am going to tell this story using comparisons we can all understand, as horse people.

If Scattails were a horse - he would be an aged quarterhorse (nee 1982) who had been living in a thistle filled paddock of a friend for approximately 20 years. A friend who desperately wanted to clean up the thistles but needed to get the horse's hairy ass out of there before they could accomplish the feat. In the case of Scattails, the field was a shed, but you get the picture. Motard was approached by said friends, and asked if he would like to pay a paltry sum for the honour of owning the beast (and getting him the hell out of their shed).

Well who wouldn't.  With all of the glee of a $500 horse shopper on Craigslist, Motard brought home his prize, shovelled out the copious amounts of racoon and rodent turds and gave the whole thing a good hosing down. He then proceeded to happily bash around the reedy shallows of Rondeau Bay in his new found toy, sending up rooster tails of silty mud behind him and stopping periodically to rip handfuls of green slime covered stuff off of his entirely fouled prop.

(The zoologists in the crowd are now nodding approvingly at my choice of name here)

The waters of Rondeau Bay inspire you to not fall while waterskiing

Over time, Scattails has proven himself to be the equivalent of the perfect trail horse. He is sound and happy enough to let you drive around like Relic on the beachcombers, outrunning freighters on the St. Clair river and whatnot. Were he a horse, you would ride him confidently over hill, dale, through rivers, down busy highways, and live that dream of going through the Tim Horton's drive through on horseback that we all secretly have...Yet at the same time, he so economical that if - in the course of being a maniac - you were to break his leg or run off a cliff or some other calamity befell you, oh well.  Not much is lost. RIP.

But, being the fussy dressage rider that I am, this was not enough for me. Not nearly enough.

"Motard - look a that thing.  The fibreglass hull is all dull and oxidized - and the glitter paint doesn't glitter anymore.  You tore out all of the carpet to get rid of the wet racoon turd smell and now the floor looks like hell.  And worst of all - the very worst by far - although I do appreciate that you removed all of the rodent nests from the foam within the ripped seats - you patched the rips with duct tape.  Now when the sun shines on them, my legs get scorched by the smoking hot black vinyl while being held firmly in place by the melted glue on the edges of the tape, like some sort of ass flypaper".  

This would not do.

"But Curmudgeon", said Motard. "Can't you just enjoy Scattails for what he is. A fun, cheap toy".

No.

It was the equivalent of riding around on a shuffling quarterhorse.  I became obsessed with fixing Scattails, just as I become obsessed with improving the "way of going" of any horse that I sit on. When I was done with him, he would be moving freely forward in a clear and steady rhythm, accepting contact with the bit.  Or at the very least not grabbing my thigh fat with his sticky seats.

Motard kept me at bay for the summer, however once he was out of the water and safely tucked away in our garage for the winter, I began my makeover process.  I decided I would sew new seats for Scattails.

Curmudgeon, what the hell do you know about upholstering boat seats?

Well.. nothing. But that doesn't stop people from buying green horses now does it?  And it didn't stop me from beginning a project that I had no skill or knowledge whatsoever to execute either.  Pfft, piece of cake. I checked out a bulletin board or two on the subject, apparently other assholes manage to get this done. I make stuff using "Very Easy Vogue" patterns all of the time. Really, how hard can it be.

And so, with all of the blissful ignorance of a horse owner preparing their crusty old "just doesn't want to jump anymore" 16 year old hunter for their new career as a "dressage horse"  (hey, how hard can it be!), I tore the seats out of Scattails and began my re-schooling project.

And, just as you have read about 100x on equine bulletin boards, a strange thing happened.  I found out that trying to do a job that most people pay professionals to do is kind of tricky to execute all on your lonesome with nothing but a $100 Sears sewing machine and a youtube video. And about 47 packs of broken needles. And 8 spools of heavy duty thread tangled into giant fluffy black bundles of something resembling pubic hair bunched up on every seam (no, no, not all neatly trimmed into landing strips.  Think '70's porn, not what you see today).

No problem, Curmudgeon.  Stay calm. It is December - you have lots of time to figure this out.  Just go back to Len's Mill store and buy a few more bolts of vinyl fabric and start again... January...February...March...April... 

I am sure you see where this is all going.  My time was up. I could only hide the evidence of my failure under the canvas tarp like a Boston terrorist for so long.  At some point Motard would be taking the boat back to Lake Erie, and he would expect someplace to sit besides a metal post with a few bolts sticking out of it.

I suppose my next step could have been to convince Motard that the perching on the metal post and bolt thing is actually the "classical" way to ride around in your boat, and that cushy foam filled seats are like razorblades in the hand of monkeys.  And that the resistance shown to me by the seats is actually an indicator of the cruelty of the artificial aid of the sewing machine.  However, since he is not a total idiot, sweeping the problem under the carpet as many a dressage rider chooses to do was really not an option.

And so, to make a very long story short - I have spent pretty much every spare moment of my time in the month of May desperately trying to finish these fucking boat seats.  Which has left not much time for the blog.

Damn you Scattails - you see?  It is all his fault.  I told you so.

Back to your regularly scheduled program soon.. I promise!

It's My Party. And You Can Get The Hell Out if I Want You To....You Would Cry Too, Dealing With You.

Oh ye readers of little faith.

Do you seriously think I can't put up with a little bit of control freak in the form of a barn owner?

Pffft...piece of cake.

Now, there have been very few barn owners along the way on my journey that I have felt I could trust 100%, without a single sleepless night, to do what they thought was absolutely best for my horse.  Dr. Lana was undoubtedly one of them.

In fact, Dr. Lana fell into one of my very favourite categories of barn owners - women operating under the...let's call it the, hmm, how do I put this...the "It's my party, and you can get the hell out if I want you to" philosophy.  And I truly do respect this position.

Perhaps you have one of these barn owners in your area.  Here are some clues on how to spot the signs:

Forty-something. Type A. Successful career. Lots-o-money.

These factors allow them to:
Build a beautiful barn, buy beautiful horses.

And most importantly - these factors mean that having you as a boarder is not at all essential to their financial plan. Your money is a "nice to have" but not a "must have". And the way you are treated does reflect this reality. Don't expect a lot of sunshine blown at your butt. Fair enough.

So why would someone like Dr. Lana bother with the likes of a Curmudgeon at all then, if they can live without the dough?

Well...as anyone who has had their own barn knows, riding all by yourself, night after night, is actually very lonely.

It is nice to have some other people around at the barn. If you fall off and break your spine, it is always a reassuring feeling to know that someone might hear your anguished groans. Someone with opposable thumbs capable of calling 911, and not just your horse who will only continue to run around like an idiot without you, thinking to himself "listen to her scream!!  I KNEW there was something horrifying in the corner, but noooo, she said, it is only your cooler slung over a standard, she said...she forced me to go in there totally against my better judgement, causing me to freak out like a ninny...and now it is killing her slowly. Why didn't she TRUST me!!"

It is nice to have some company, even during the good times, when you are putting away jumps together or sharing stories of training or frustrations. There doesn't necessarily have to be an ambulance involved to do some bonding with like-minded equestrians. These people help to keep you motivated to ride, especially when it is still snowing and freezing, halfway through April. Like right now.

However, that said... if your boarders are NOT essential to your financial plan, but are really only required for companionship and occasional comedic relief... well, as the saying goes, she who has the arena...rules.  Or something like this.  The minute boarders cross the line from entertaining comrade to nagging horse freak, these forty-something type A successful career lots-o-money owners have every right to kick you to the curb. And trust me dear readers, they will.

But hey, entertaining is my middle name, people!  When I went to tour the facility prior to moving in, I hit it off with Dr. Lana immediately. She was a little bit sarcastic. Slightly derisive. Fairly jaded.  Imagine Ms. Krabappel of the horse industry, and you are somewhere in the ballpark. And, as I am sure you can also imagine, you are in the presence of someone whom I would like very much.

How does one get to be this way in the horse industry?  Well, I think being a veterinarian can predispose you to it, just as being an elementary school teacher can. You enter into the profession fresh faced and optimistic, looking forward to helping horses, only to be faced by a bunch of nutbar owners who want miracles at a low-LOW price - actually free would be good - that slowly suck away your misguided enthusiasm.

What? You expect to be PAID for your time? But Patches was sick! You are supposed to love animals and want to help them as part of your very nature....What! You are failing Stormy on the vet check just because he is missing a LEG? Four legs is classic genetic redundancy, maybe if you had stayed awake in class while getting your DVM you would know this (I assume M stands for Moron in your case)...What? A snotty nose is NOT an emergency? Are you crazy? This could be some equine plague! You are not seriously going to charge me a call fee for trying to stop the plague? Get me my computer. This is going on EMG*...

Now, like an elementary school teacher, as a veterinarian, or a barn owner for that matter - your subjects will come and go, and you will have your favourites and your... well, not so favorites. This is only human nature, you can't help having preferences. Not everyone can be the teacher's pet now can they?  Fair enough.

But as any of you with a child, or a friend with a child knows, nothing is more heartbreaking as a parent than when YOUR child is for some strange reason, NOT the teacher's pet. Or even in the mid-pack of kids that the teacher is ambivalent about. Sometimes, for some strange reason unbeknownst to you, even though a child may have been under the radar at all of their other barns, or even liked by other barn staff - in certain classrooms, with certain barn owners - they are instantly branded the pariah freak of the group when the new year begins.  And this is really, very hard to overcome.

Oh, I am getting all confused here. Am I talking about teachers or barn owners? Whatever. It doesn't really matter.

Bottom line is, I knew as soon as Dr. Lana laid eyes on Ms. V and loudly proclaimed "she has a pelvis like a dairy cow!" that she would not be the teacher's pet. But I optimistically assumed that she could earn herself a spot somewhere in the middle of the pack.

Sigh.







*EMG - local internet bulletin board

They are looking forward to spending more time with their family. Travelling. Doing some consulting. Stuff like that. Uh..really.

And so, that was that.  We were no longer dressage show virgins. Training level was crossed off of the list of things I thought I wanted to do in my life, and to this day, I am not exactly sure why on Earth it was on there in the first place.

We had survived the mud and rain and inevitable horrific weather of Palgrave, (how is it that you can drive for an hour in the sunshine from Guelph, only to have dark clouds descend upon you in the hills of Caledon? Every time?), the purple troxels of Glanbrook Cadora, and everything in between.

I photocopied memberships and coggins tests and faxed before deadlines, mailed in money for overpriced stalls, shavings and to pay the man who can magically get your horse to pee in a cup...I ate wilted strawberries and melted vanilla guar gum foam posing as ice cream while trying to be "social" during a downpour in July...

Warning - actual product is absolutely nothing like what you see here

I searched the lists of scores on the wall fretfully with all of the other kids, wondering where the hell my result was (was I so bad they left me right off the list? Why aren't I on the list? I wasn't that bad, was I?), until I finally broke down and asked the world's bitchiest score-adding-up volunteer for assistance....

"excuse me - could you please help - I can't find my score" only to be snapped at... "can't you see the word PROVISIONAL?? That means the list is INCOMPLETE! (you moron, implied not said)", to which I responded "can't you see the words TRAINING LEVEL AMATEUR? That means I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I AM DOING" (you bitch, implied not said).

I bleached the living hell out of my white breeches then hung them out in the sun to try to remove the indelible clay splashes, leaving them weakened and sickly piss yellow - they punished me for this torture by ripping (mercifully, across my thigh) the next time I tried to climb aboard.  $250 well spent.

And so on, so forth...I am sure you are all mentally adding your favourite moments of horse shows here as well...

But... that was all in the past now.  Curmudgeon, I told myself - shake all of that off.  Bottom line - you survived. Time to sit back (no, no, not just metaphorically - sit BACK! And down!  Put your ass in the saddle, you are not a hunter rider any more Curmudgeon!) relax, and enjoy almost 9 months of preparing for ... FIRST LEVEL.  Right?

Errr.. no.  Of course not.  Nothing is ever THAT simple with horses, you fool.

Probably in...oh, September or October, I was futzing around, reading emails at my desk whilst drinking coffee and taking a break from the insurmountable challenge of trying to develop "communication strategies" to convince pet owners that *no*, in fact, your Chihuahua-in-a-handbag does not require the same ancestral diet as a gray wolf scrabbling for survival in the Canadian tundra... when the email from Coach Ritenau arrived.

I knew right away it was bad news, because she was not one to communicate...well, much of anything, besides the absolute nuts and bolts of Dressage 101.  This was 2005, and so to be fair, there was no constant stream of texts or BBM or facebook or whatever it is that barfs out info to us incessantly today from anyone, but she was less communicative than even the average twenty-something person in the early aughts...and so I knew something was up right away.

Yep - the email was professional and written with a flowery touch that I am sure did not come directly from the cranium of Coach Ritenau without some assistance... It had that faint whiff of a Googled "how to write a dismissal letter".

(No - no - not me - don't be ridiculous.  I was a $400+ per month meal ticket.  I would have had to have ridden around the showground naked and on fire screaming "Rollkur, me BABY! MORE ROLLKUR" to embarrass her enough to ditch ME.  Just watching your student score 53% or whatever might sting, but not enough to put in an application at McD's to make up for the income loss if one were to choose to unload her).

Nope - Coach Ritenau was packing up her bags, and leaving the land of Lilliput   She had a new "sponsor" of sorts, a local Veterinarian who had just built a wonderful new facility and was looking for a keen and fresh faced young up'n'comer to be her right hand woman. Yes, the doors were opening at the fabulous new facility Lana Acres, and Ritenau would be running the show.

She thanked Liliput for their years of dedicated service, and wished them luck in their future endeavors.

And added - oh, by the way Curmudgeon - sure hope you ditch them too and come along to Lana Acres with me.  

Oh for fuck's sake.  I remember sighing deeply and thinking to myself,"just what I need". And...of course "I wonder how much THIS is going to cost me".

But to be fair - I totally understood where Ritenau was coming from.

She wanted to make her mark - and move up and on in the world of dressage.  And as much as *I* didn't have a problem with muddy laneways and flapping coveralls, and rock hard grass rings, and thick black clouds of arena dust, and 50 cats peeing on all of my stuff  - most clients who are paying for full training really won't put up with this shit.

For many in the land of Adult Amateur dressage - the sizzle really and truly is more important than the steak.  And, when you are in Coach Ritenau shoes - with your star pupil wowing the world with big 53%'s it is pretty hard to convince people there is any steak happening at all, especially when backed up by a sizzle that is really not a sizzle per se, but more of a gurgle (the predominant sound of one of the 50 cats trying to breathe through the thick snot that they are about to sneeze out onto your cooler, which they have just recently peed on). Really - she had to get the hell out of Lilliput if she hoped to progress at all in the world of "dressage trainers".

Aghhh!  Really I had no choice.  After all of the time it had taken me to find a Coach who I could stand it would make no sense to stay at a trainerless Lilliput. My less than amazing show season had proven that I could not make a go of dressage WITH assistance, let alone on my own, no matter how many Lessons with Lendon I studied, executed, and totally fucked up.

But I did have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind - Dr. Lana's name was strangely familiar. I called up one of my very oldest friends, Pollyanna Obliviosky - yes, sure enough, my memory was correct - she had boarded with Dr.Lana once upon a time, long ago, when she ran a different facility.

And she told me to RUN. Far away.

Which was quite unsettling, because Pollyanna is undoubtedly one of the lowest key, least anal, non-fussbudget people on Earth - the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse could be performing some sort of death quadrille in the arena with her and she would fail to notice the anguished wails of her fellow equestrians if it meant looking up from whatever it was that was catching her attention at that particular moment.  She just did her thing. Whatever fucked up thing that might be, social norms notwithstanding   With this attitude...how could Lana Acres possibly not be a fit?  Feed, water, basic care... I thought the two of us were pretty much on the same page as to what constituted essential services. And beyond that in her world, just about anything went. So what was the problem here?

She will drive you insane, she warned. She nitpicks and nags - nothing is ever good enough.  You will feel like SHE is the customer, and you are blessed to be there at all... you will dread walking through the door at night...and so on.  So forth.

Oh come on! I told myself.  I can't imagine anyone wearing me down in this fashion.  I can get along with anyone - I am the easiest going person around (yes, I have come to realize this only holds true if I am trapped alone on some desert island).  And really, Pollyanna drives me crazy sometimes, with her irritating Obliviosky attitudes - what the hell does she know.  I am sure everything will be just fine.

I thanked Pollyanna for her input, totally ignored everything she said, gave my 30 days notice at Liliput, and emailed Ritenau back.  Lana Acres here I come.

It may only be one moment in time, but I see two chins...

Curmudgeon, are you seriously never going to show again? That's nuts! It sounds like the worst that happened to you at training level was a few scores in the 50's and some uninspiring judge's comments!

True, and really that is the worst that EVER happened to me, all the way along.  Repeatedly. I never fell off in the mud, or got eliminated, or jumped out of the ring... never missed a ride time or got chastised by a judge for anything other than wearing shorts while scribing.

So, what was it then, that sealed my fate and turned me into "person who never wants to show again..."

Well - it was the time. The money. The hassle.

Also just the fact that I had reached my goal (showing PSG) and I am certain had I continued honing my skills for the next few years, spending money, putting up with the wide world of dressage, I could have brought my mighty 55%'s up to maybe a 63% or 65%... but seriously, what is the fun of that?  A goal is only really a goal if you have some doubts about your ability to actually reach it.

It is kind of like getting to the end of your favourite video game.  For normal people, this means it is time to move on to a new game - spending hours going through the entire process again and again kind of just makes you a self flagellating nerd to everyone you know, except about 5 other similarly nerd minded people. No one I know except for dressage nutbars would even understand why I would be happier to get 55% than 65%, since to people used to the normal world of percentages where 100% is the goal still think 65% sounds pretty fricking shitty.

I know I can break 131590 next time...just give me 3 days!

But there were other, more subtle things that influenced my decision.

For example, I never, ever have to ride a horse in the rain when I don't want to ever again. I will never have to do any type of braids, blobby or otherwise. I will very rarely ever be put in a situation where I have to poo in a port-o-let. And perhaps most importantly of all, I will never be faced with the horror of seeing my white and pasty, puffing, double chinned face captured in 187 frames of online Actionpix photos.  Ever again.

But Curmudgeon!  I LOVE seeing gorgeous pictures of my horse taken at shows when he is all dolled up! 

Oh, don't we all. I love seeing the pics of Ms. V too. But the problem is these photos are always kind of like when you are stuck beside the willowy 5'10" office babe in all of your short and dumpy glory in the departmental photos.  Her beauty only enhances your... lack thereof.

Ms. V always looks beautiful in photos.  Me... not so much.

For example - who wouldn't want to see this beauty hanging on their wall...ridden by...errr...

Some sort of sad looking elf...or is it the eighth dwarf, Druggy?  Seriously, I look bad enough in the morning, do I really need to see this droopy face staring at me while I drink my coffee?  Or really, at any time?

What, me worry?

Or, sometimes, the elegant Ms. V appears to be ridden by a cadaver from the Victorian ages. Is this person dead?  Or just silently praying that nothing goes freakishly wrong. Maybe she is praying she won't die, when something goes freakishly wrong during this class?  Who knows.

Gorgeous horse...

 Puffing freak...

Now, there are some photographers that do try to help, bless them.  I actually bought this picture, and have it on the mantle at Motards Man Cave...

Which on closer inspection reveals the kind of hard-core photoshopping that you probably thought they only used to remove all of the rolls and pimples and tattoos from Victoria Secret models.  Unfortunately airbrushes can only do so much, and they can't stop a severe shoulder tilt to the left, but the artist did give it a valiant effort. I especially like the nice shimmery lipgloss that I wasn't actually wearing in real life.

Now, I realize that I am not the most photogenic person in the world. I have come to accept the fact that, like my distant relative Alfred E, I have non-symmetrical features and a squinty left eye, which according to Psychology Today, may be an early warning sign of the lunatic within.

With time, I have also come to understand why it is that the Curmudgeonly parental units refused to buy my grade 13 graduation pictures.

Thanks Curmudgeons

However, I just really do not think I am as horrifyingly ... horrifying as I come off in my dressage show photos.

I started to develop quite a complex about this whole affair. For the longest time, I actually had a picture on my desk at work where I had cropped my head off.  (I told people it was supposed to look artsy, but I think it just came off as weird). And it affected me to the point that, before entering the ring for my very last PSG test ever.. the cherry on the sundae, the last hurrah, whatever you want to call it...

I did not think of "getting horse more thru over topline" or "riding more precise figures or movements" or "allowing horse more freedom to move up and out..." or any of the other suggestions that the judges had given me in my collectives over the years.

My entire thought process was focused on one thing.  Get out of that fucking ring with at least one picture to hang on your wall where you do not appear to have a double chin.

Done and done. Let's call it a wrap.

Aim Low. Reach your goals. Avoid disappointment

Hands up - who among the office dwellers reading the blog today has ever been subjected to... Career Coaching.

Sorry, I know the phrase is kind of repulsive, I should have given more warning. I hope I didn't just make you throw up a little in your mouth.

For those of you who have missed this pleasure, let me summarize. This is when a consultant...who really knows nothing about your office, or the nutbars within, or the politics, or the challenging brick walls you face daily... drops by, tries to earn your respect by wowing you with a long list of vague credentials somehow related to doing something wow-worthy, then leans in with their clipboard, looks deeply into your eyes and says "how would you like to work with me take your performance to the next level".

Wait a minute - I guess I could just summarize it by saying the Career Coach is kind of like the hatted clinician of the office world. Is he or she there, every day, helping you to slog through the flowing stream of bullshit?

NO. Absolutely not.

Is he or she there, once every six weeks or so, to provide you with some great "enpowering" concepts to try, before waltzing out of the office (well, not before collecting a paycheque which is likely much more than yours will ever be for a full day, after doing only 60 minutes of work) and leaving you to struggle in vain on your own to implement whatever teambuilding or assertive communication techniques they suggested? On your cohorts who could care less about either thing and really only show up for the free coffee and paycheque?

YES. For sure.

Will they be back next time to start the cycle of hope, followed shortly afterwards by despair...

YES. Undoubtedly.

I am sorry to report that recently my boss tried to make me go to career coaching, and I said NO. NO. NO. I won't GO. GO. GO.

I warned him that I was uncoachable, just ask any of the Five People I will meet in Dressage Hell that have already tried to coach me. (Actually, there will be more than five of them there, but after talking to five - maybe just four. Three?  you will want to jump straight into a pit of molten hellfire or get gored senseless by a trident to end the torture).

But he insisted. It is such a great opportunity Curmudgeon. Dr. Nick will really help you!

Sigh.

And so, off I went to Career Coaching.

And I listened patiently to the "wow" speech, nodded at appropriate times, furrowed my brow a bit and tilted my head just a few degrees to the side to give the impression of "interested listening", and said "SURRREEE" when the gift of "next level performance" was lobbed to me.  "Let's DO IT!"

"Great. Now..Tell me, Curmudgeon..." asked Dr. Nick, pen poised above clipboard "What strategies do you use today to help you to deal with co-workers who you feel are underperforming and not helping the organization to reach its goals..."

Oh! Wait! I knew the answer to this one! I remember feeling a burst of misguided enthusiasm. "Dr. Nick, I TOTALLY used to struggle with this, but now I have the solution!"

I was going to ace this test, and it was all because of Dressage!

I explained to Dr. Nick that the best technique to use to deal with teammates that are underperforming, even though you knew they could do much better.. teammates that are totally oblivious to how much work and sweat and effort you are putting into whatever endeavor you are currently undertaking, and merrily go about their business driving your train of success off of the rails not because they are malicious, or hate you, or have any particular axe to grind, but just because they are who they are... had been thoroughly ingrained in me while becoming a dressage rider.

The answer is... LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS.  Right down. To somewhere around rock bottom.

Then - if your expectations are met - you are not disappointed.

But - if something good happens - your expectations have been exceeded!  When people ask you "how was the horse show this weekend!"  You can answer "GREAT!  We did much BETTER than I expected!"  Oh, what a feeling. What a rush.  I sat back, smiled, and waited for my pat on the back.

BZZZZZ - wrong again, Curmudgeon.

What actually happened was that Dr. Nick said he felt sad for me that this is how I choose to go through life. Very sad.

He said that by working with him, I could learn new techniques - ways to go through life without the starting assumption that the very act of being is by nature, a buzzkill.

"Curmudgeon, what do you say. Can we work together to change this?"

I said NO. And left. Long story short - I turned the "gift" of Career Coaching into a CLM*.

The saddest thing is that I seriously thought my answer was really good. It totally works. It is not easy for me, and sometimes I fail, but life is just so much happier when you make "AIM LOW" your mantra.  It is the only thing that gets me through many a day. (No, the irony here does not escape me - I had high expectations that this was the right answer to the question)

Blah Blah Blah Curmudgeon - you are supposed to be telling us about training level. Remember?

I am - seriously, I am.

You see the thing is, I didn't adopt this "rock bottom expectations" philosophy until only a few years ago.  Back in 2005 when I was showing training level, I still was a fool who believed that hard work, perseverance, and a great positive attitude would bring you all of the joy you deserved.

And also allow you to break 65% at every outing, every show, at training level.

BZZZZZ - wrong again, Curmudgeon.

In my memory - We had many a disappointing show. Almost every show was a disappointment, in fact. Thinking back, I remember the freak-outs. The shying. The riding off course. The wrong leads.

In the judges words, the "some resistance", the "quarters swinging out", the "strung out" and the "against the hand".  The reminders that "horse must be immobile in the halt".

We sometimes "lacked purpose", were "stiff" and "abrupt", and were "tight through back" (me? or Ms. V? not specified).  And yes, we were "fussy" yet again.  Also "hollowed" sometimes, which made me think of pumpkins.  We needed to be "more attentive"

Most of all we needed to "work on throughness to improve gaits and self carriage" Great tip, Judge Nobrainer. (next up - "practice breathing in and out to avoid dying of asphyxiation").

After probably a few thousand dollars, and according to my passport, five Silver or Gold shows where we rode in 12 different classes, my take home message at the time was that despite all of our hard work over the last year or so, we really pretty much sucked. I shoved all of my tests in a binder, compiled all of my video clips on one VHS tape which is now growing mold in a cupboard somewhere, and have done my best not to think back to this era for the last seven years.

But for you, faithful readers, I have unearthed the collection (well not the video tapes, I am not that much of a masochist). And with my fabulous new "rock bottom" goggles on, I can see a different story emerging.

Actually - for two absolute beginners to dressage, we really didn't do half bad.

We had lots of "nice departs". We were often "fairly obedient", which is no screaming hell, but still better than "disobedient" all the time. We received many an 8 on our free walks, with "good stretch and overtrack".  We were usually "active", sometimes "fluid", "lovely", "elegant" and were always "a nice pair",

My favourite comment in collectives... "just need time and patience".  Which I guess is really as much of a no-brainer as "work on throughness", but somehow it just seems less condescending and DUH.

The best part of all, which I never really noticed before..

Our very highest mark for the year was a 65.0% - and placed us first in the training level 4 class at the 2005 Western Ontario Trillium championships.

Our very lowest score for the year was 52.1% - which put us dead last in the training level 3 class at the 2005 Western Ontario Trillium championships.

Win some - lose some - sometimes at the very same show.

Had my expectations of how we might do during this first year of showing been appropriately low, I might have come out a dressage superstar in my own little pea brain.

In all seriousness, what I really did miss was the most important clue to what we needed to do to advance, and to be fair to the judges, a lot of them did provide this clue to me.

"Keep the aids on more securely"
"Use aids more consistently"
"Use aids to establish steadier contact"
"Maintain impulsion with each stride for better acceptance of contact"

They were watching me drive standard - gas / clutch / brake - they knew that if I kept this up the car was going to stall out. At first level.  And they were correct.

*Career Limiting Maneuver - When you do something stupid that can potentially cause you to never move up in the company