Take a greasy whore, a rollin' dance floor. And no pine shavings. 30 Days notice

And so, with a few lessons on ponies which seemed competent and a coach that seemed to be somewhat sane under my belt, I decided to give my notice and get the hell out of MVA.  At the end of the month.

What's that you say - you just felt a chill run down your spine at the very thought of giving notice at a stable and not fleeing the exact same day?  You are already fearing for Ms. V's life, knowing that I plan to leave her in the hands of the incompetents for another 30 days?

Ha ha, yes. The dreaded THIRTY DAYS NOTICE.

(here is a soundtrack you can play this week if you aren't in the office reading this on company time.  I have always liked this song, even though I have absolutely no idea what this guy is mumbling on about, other than the "30 Days" part.  Pretend it is about shitty boarding situations).

Now, I know I did touch upon this subject way back somewhere in the blog... but I totally forget where, or what I said, and so please forgive me if I repeat myself.  But then, really, it is a topic that begs to be repeated.  Because if you have a horse, and you have boarded this horse... there has been a time when you have lived through the 30 days notice.  And actually, if you have owned a horse for any length of time, you have probably repeated it yourself too.

There is nothing more awkward than saying to the barn owner, and indirectly, to all of their existing customers once they hear you are jumping ship... "see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya".  Which, unless you have a pretty rock solid reason for leaving, is the way the message comes across - regardless of how you try to finesse it. 

Now I do want to point out that this is not just a dumpy stable problem.  I have left very very nice barns, and the story is the same.  The minute word is on the street, other disgruntled boarders (even ones that haven't bothered to talk to you for the last 5 months and you are surprised to find that they even know your name ) come crawling out of the woodwork to commiserate with you about how much THEY wish THEY were leaving as well. 

And these stories aren't only told to your face - they are told behind your back too.  Before you know it, you are some sort of folk hero who has pushed all of the injustices and crappy stable management in the barn owners fockin' face and has suddenly morphed into a ballsy boarding renegade Wonder Woman, with everything but the cape and boobs to fill the suit, when all you have really done is handed over your last cheque, along with a sniveling lame "it's not you, it's me" type tale and then tried to lay low for the next thirty days.

I know you don't put his boots on for turnout.  Don't make me use the lasso of truth.

It is tempting to blame this lack of professionalism on the fact that some players in horse industry (yes, barn owners and boarders too) lack professionalism.  However, my experience has been that the work world is exactly the same.  When you quit a job, the very best thing a company can do is lock you in your office immediately until they can round up your blackberry, laptop and company credit card and pry all three out of your evil claws, then escort you to the door with their foot on your ass, taking the "two weeks notice" hit and paying you out to get the hell out.  This puts them in the driver's seat to post an ambiguous "pursuing other opportunities" HR notice that no one is quite sure is related to firing or quitting.

The worst thing possible that a company can do is to keep you around for the next two weeks, (spreading dissent unintentionally as the people who wish they could get their shit together and quit too - but just don't have the skills or balls to do so - throw you luncheon parties and bring you cupcakes, and write cryptic witty Facebook posts to honour your saucy nature).  But this is what companies typically choose to do. Bad move.

Really, if your documentation is in such a mess that they can't figure out what the hell you did in a day without you actually being there - what difference will two weeks of  "responsibility transfer" make.  They should have started with that "keep your records in a state such that, if you won the lottery and never came back, we could soilder on without you" mantra long before you decided to quit.  (This used to be the "got hit by a bus and died" mantra, but apparently this is not politically correct).  Both offices and boarding stables should give you your money and send you on your way, and end the pain quickly for all parties involved. 

But Curmudgeon - why did you bother staying?  What was the advantage  - why not just pack it in?

Yah, I would usually agree with you totally on this matter.  But the thing about MVA wasn't that they were bad people.  In fact, I never got this vibe at all.  They were just clueless people.  Clueless people who wanted to make relatively pain free money, and who probably saw me as a pain.  By this time, we all knew that we didn't belong together.  I was fully confident that a huge sigh of relief was more likely than any hard feelings, and that no covert sabotage missions would be undertaken.  (This would have taken thought and planning, and would have been just too much work to coordinate).  Seeing me walk out the door would be like watching the pus spurt from a non-life threatening but totally irritating boil or something.  Ahhh....so strangely satisfying.

And in the months I had spent there, I had learned how to work around their cluelessness to the point that it really didn't phase me anymore.  I had developed a little network of friends that took off Ms.V's halter (that was constantly left on), sprinkled some shavings when I couldn't make it out (knowing I would return the favour), and filled her bucket at night.  She would be fine.

There were two distinct advantages to digging in and staying for the dreaded Thirty Days.

First - the thought of handing over $400 free dollars (or whatever the board was, I don't really remember) to the incompetents and leaving the scene really bugged me.  If Ms.V's life was in danger, or the unpleasantness of the situation made matters unbearable - fine.  But that wasn't the case, and so - they would at least have to work for their money (using the term loosely here) for the next 30 days.

Secondly - as much as the place drove me insane, Ms.V was quite happy there - horses like routine and sameness.  And, since she was now turning 3 and I was ready to start riding her on a regular basis - I figured that some routineness might be a nice compliment to go along with the WTF moments she was likely to experience as we went from longing to riding.  Moving to a new barn AND saddling up might actually be more stressful to her, even if it would be nicer for me.  And it is all about the horses.  Right?

And so, while taking my weekly lessons in the land of Lilliput, I got serious with the business of putting a solid "30 days" on Ms. V at the same time.

Checkpoint #4 - did you learn anything, Curmudgeon?

A few months ago, I was asked to do a talk on "Dressage" for a local pony club group.

Being asked to do a talk on "Dressage" to a local pony club group is probably sort of the same as being a dentist and being asked to do a talk on "The Magic of Flossing" to... well, just about anyone.  You have to accept right from the get-go that your audience will be underwhelmed.

But  you can't take it personally.  In my case, the audience was thirteen years old, and thrived on Prince Philip Games (whacking your pony in the head with aforementioned wooden fish on a stick and whatnot) or blasting through cross country courses, or executing really bad stadium jumping where they get to fly around at mach-5 jumping 2 foot  high fences, using levels of skill and finesse that would leave them dead or paraplegic if the fences were 3 foot high -  why the hell would they want to hear about something as dull as dressage. Or flossing.

But it was the middle of February and I had nothing better to do, so I gave it a whirl.  What did I have to lose - even if they all said I sucked once I left, it would have absolutely no impact on my life, and I really could care less.  And, I was promised there would be cake.

And so, I prepared...

I spliced together a bunch of video clips shamelessly stolen from YouTube in an attempt to show off things like "horse with impulsion" vs "horse without impulsion" and "leg yield" versus "drifting horse with head cranked in one direction" and "person with steady contact" versus "person with really long reins and busy hands way in her crotch, who looks like she is pleasuring herself".  (No, I didn't really say this.  I just thought it quietly in my head while watching the video clip).   


I think my favourite clip of all was a really wonderful "classic" dressage bit, where a woman did a series of perfect, slo-mo, set to dramatic music 4-tempis, every one of which was late... I guess that is what made it "classic" (as in "woah, man, this is classic!  I can really help these kids understand what a late change looks like!")

I took a dressage whip and did that de rigeur thingy that every coach everywhere feels compelled to do at some point in time - you know, the one where you push the bendy end of the whip into your palm, showing how riding "back to front" creates a nice round bendy horse.  Or something.

I brought a snaffle bit and some reins, and did a demo that involved a child holding the bit and me putting my foot on their ass and pushing them "into the contact".  It seemed to make sense at the time.  So far, no charges have been laid against me, so what the hell - maybe it actually did make sense.

But I think the point I wanted to get across most of all was the thing that I remember being very significant to me when I started riding the ponies in the Land of Lilliput.


If the ponies were ridden correctly - forward, into steady contact, using the concepts introduced to me way back when I learned about the mystery of the half halt... they went on the bit and stayed there, swinging along, in a forward and pleasant fashion.  While I did nothing but sit pretty, monitor the situation, and adjust as needed (a little leg here, a squeeze of hand there)....yes, as bizarre as it seemed, after years of hunchy-chicken neck-jabby-jabby-see-saw hunter riding - there was this strange possibility that I could ride around someday without having to kick-fuss-pull-wiggle every fricking step of the way.  


It dawned on me after a few lessons that this bizarre concept, taken to the extreme...yes, Curmudgeon, this general idea just might someday morph into...self carriage.  As in - when horse does stuff without you holding them up, nagging them constantly, and muscling them through every manoeuvre. 


At the risk of having someone tell me that I should learn to ride from riding horses and not reading books on the toilet, I will say that Kyra Kyrklund gives a good analogy of this in her book "Dressage with Kyra", where she talks about the fact that a rider should not have to influence their horse all the time, and that riding a horse is like riding a kick-sled.  Kick-go-relax and enjoy the ride.  No more kicking until speed decreases.  

(I actually used this analogy with the Pony Club kids, but I changed "kick-sled" into "skateboard" and used a picture of Bart Simpson to make it seem more hip.  Nothing like really putting the icing on the "old boring woman doing talk on dressage" cake like referring to a cool toy of the 1800's)

Woah!  Who needs an Xbox when you have a Kicksled!

Oooh, but Dressage Curmudgeon!  We must constantly be rebalancing our horses!  I do 1000's of half halts every ride!

There seems to be some pissing contest thing going that requires one to blather on about just how many half halts one does during their average ride.  Or just how one must execute these half halts.  Ass or abdomen?  Lifted, or level hand?  Zzzzz... 

Honestly, you sound like idiots.  Bottom line - there is no magic number, or magic method - you just have to play around and learn, with good eyes on the ground to let you know when you are doing it right.  But every moment the horse understands, responds, and trucks along doing exactly what you want, in a balanced fashion without your input - even for a second - is an amazing moment.  And I do remember being quite excited by this when it first came to life for me while riding the ponies of Lilliput.

(Developing the sensitivity and timing to run these moments all together into a seamless and invisible ride...uhhh, well... another story all together.  Baby steps, eh?)

Annyway to wrap things up - the cake was carrot cake - and I felt it was fairly delicious and worth the drive to Fergus.  I have no idea if the kids learned anything about dressage, or were just left wondering how Bart Simpson fit into the whole picture.  But I hope that someday at least one of them is bopping along doing a nice big booming trot, just sitting back and enjoying the ride, and says to herself... HEY - maybe this is what that crazy woman was talking about back in 2012...

Baby we can have some fun tonight...Enter Coach Ritenau

I guess what my whole blathering post last time was really about was this:

Sometimes a coach may not be, for the long haul, Mr. or Ms. Right.  You may find yourself riding with a stepping stone of sorts.  Like I did.  We will call her Coach Ritenau.

Curmudgeon, how stupid was that.  You have told us yourself to go out and find the best, watch the best, learn from the best... 

Yah, yah, I know.  And I totally agree with the wise, yet somewhat catty words (not that there is anything wrong with that) of Anonymous 4 June 2012 21:51 (gotta love these creative usernames).  If you want to see how things should be done, go to Tom, Belinda or Ashley.  Or whoever your local Mr. Right is. Tada!  Problem solved.

Err...maybe not.

If you are a beginner with a 3yr old $6000 saddlebred cross, doing so will most likely earn you a giant board cheque and a standing date with a working student.  Mr. Right will stride or ride by, notice your existence periodically and politely inquire as to what's up when he does.  Kind of like the dentist during a checkup... you know he earns 3x what the hygenist does, but she is the one scraping the shit off of your teeth and dealing with 45 minutes of halitosis - he just pops his head in at the end, stares in your mouth authoritatively then prances off to the next cubicle.

Not that I am blaming him - not at all.  Because Mr. Right got to be Mr. Right by making logical choices and being a good business person.   Riding a young crazy horse - one that could hurt you and put you OUT of business - really and seriously not a good business decision.

Spending lots of time with a beginner client who is obviously never going to have the bucks to become a sponsor - or buy a six-figure horse full of commission - not a good business decision either.  No, I am not going to the Young Rider World Cup or anything else prestigious or even mildly interesting.  Sure, I am money coming in, but not much, and I am in no way a beacon of positive advertising.  And so, the time and effort that should be put into retaining me as a client should realistically adjusted accordingly.

This is no different than the thought process that any good business or business person goes through - "how do I allocate my resources to maximize returns".

Now, if I were starting again today - I would probably do this anyways.  Yep, even though I know full well that the likes of me would probably be put on the back burner.  Why?  Well - because I can.  Back in the day - money was tighter, and I really didn't have the option.  That was one reason I didn't even try this approach.

(Ok, I am ready to hear 15 stories from people who did take their economical horses, thin wallets and poor riding skills to top stables, and were treated like first class royalty by Olympic riders...proving that I am a bitchy curmudgeon. GO!)

But really, the main reason that I didn't even try was that after my experience at Frau Trainerin's I was petrified of being told my horse was not good enough.  That I needed to sell and buy something big ticket.  That the perfect horse for me was right here, right now.. for sale.

I really felt a the time that I had done the very best I could with what I had, and I wasn't about to put myself in a situation where I would be told this wasn't good enough.  Even though my situation was not perfect, I really believed (and I think, correctly so) that we were totally well suited and prepared to ..uhh.. errr... well, maybe not take the dressage world by storm... but at least to start having some fun.  Tonight.  And from what I saw, this could totally happen with Coach Ritenau

Checkpoint 3:  The Coach (let's try this again)

I liked Coach Ritenau immediately.  Let me see if I can put my finger on why.  Oh yah, I remember now.

She was quiet and polite and did not seem to be entirely full of shit.

Yep, I decided she would do just fine.

Checkpoint 3 - The Coach

“Curmudgeon, you have spent a lot of time and money learning to ride.  Why don’t you start teaching lessons now?  You know at least as much as most of the crappy coaches out there.”

Hmm.  It's a good question.

And it is not that it hasn’t crossed my mind.  After all, I was responsible for technical sales training for a multinational company a few years back.  One would assume I do have the ability to teach someone something.  But really it is not even in the same realm.  

All I had to do in my trainer role was put together a nice PowerPoint slideshow to present whatever “key platform” or “value proposition” we were focusing on that quarter  Then, over the course of the presentation, ensure that the sales team was able to correctly pronounce a few important technical words so they didn’t sound like total morons in front of clients.  Lastly, I added enough cheesy jokes and entertainment to the whole shindig to keep everyone awake for 50 minutes.  Usually, this was something witty about dog stools or vomit.  My typical day was kind of like bad night at Yuk-Yuks, with a focus on digestion.  

Come to think of it, I was more like a clinician.  No deep or lasting improvements were really expected.

Braaav, Carol!  You remembered how to pronounce Colon!  Nice work.  Next we will tackle Duodenum. 

The cashier at Loblaws explained to me that they refer to this as "FENNEL".  It is much safer that way.

Now... standing in an icy arena, at night, after a long day of being nice to people at my real job –  that is a whole different bag.  The thought of staring catatonically at someone circling me on Senor Fluffbunny , silently thinking “Wow.  That is some mighty bad riding” while desperately trying to pull out of my ass some words.. any  words… the first clue or hint on what to tell them to start doing – something, anything – that might make a difference – and that they might actually, physically be able to execute…yikes, the very thought of having to do this is just too depressing.  I don’t have the skill set.  And I am too lazy (or perhaps honest) to pretend that I do. 

I think lots of coaches do pretend.  I notice this especially while watching hunter lessons now, because I am kind of removed from the gig and realize how primitive the understanding of things like “shoulder-in” or “cadence” or “bend” are to most hunter folk – and therefore how entirely stupid it is to use these terms while instructing this population of riders.   And really, for the standard of performance required to win at lower level hunter shows – how entirely unnecessary.   Sorry to sound like a DQ, but seriously.  It is true.   Watching a beginner adult rider trying desperately to pilot a half-lame 20yr old piece of equine ¾ inch plywood around a 2’3” course, careening through motorcycle turns, while hearing tips like “ask him for a bit of flexion through the joooowl – good, niiiiice, muuuuuch better – did you feeeeel that?” or some such thing is really quite entertaining.   (Always must be said with that slight coach-drawl, a blend of boredom / condescension that all hunter coaches seem to magically acquire).

(And don't forget "Waaaait, Waaaait, Waaaait, Waaaait..." If you were blind, you might think you had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up at an Evangelical Christian Abstinence convention...)

Anyway, this whole long blah-blah intro really did not start out with the intention of gratuitous hunter bashing (but it is so hard to resist) but was really initiated just to bring us to the last checkpoint.  And to help you to see that it is not that I am entirely unsympathetic to the challenges faced by the other participants in my own personal drama.   

Checkpoint 3 – The Coach

I don’t think it is a spoiler to let you know that over the course of the eight years that I have owned Ms. V, I have had more than one coach. 

Why?  Am I an unteachable cretin?  Yah, some days that is probably it. 

But really - as a hunter rider with no dressage experience…   sticking with your very first dressage horse -that you selected yourself - from backing to PSG is not an everyday occurrence.   Sticking with one coach AND one horse from backing to PSG would be heading into immaculate conception-like miraculous territory. 

(Conversely.. .sticking with one coach and cycling through several horses – well, that would be moron on an internet bulletin board cliché #7835 – WWYD – Coach says my horse is no good, but she has the perfect one to sell me!  Again!)

Let’s see… what would it take to pull it off this immaculate conception of horse training…

First…you would need to find someone who has the patience to work with a beginner rider.  No, not a real, fresh faced beginner, without a clue... that would be easier.  No, it is typically a beginner to dressage, who thinks they already have several clues.  Unfortunately all of them really bad, and probably wrong, but they don’t know it yet.   

I am going straight and forward!  The answer to this mystery called dressage is on the way!  I think my horse is wearing a rubber mask that we can easily remove.  

Yes, the coach must be someone who has mastered the concept of watching this beginner ride around executing something that looks nothing at all like dressage, on a horse that looks nothing at all like a horse that will ever be a dressage horse – while coming up with something, anything positive to say that might begin to penetrate the impermeable crust of suckage.  

Someone who has the insane patience to try to make the simplest, mind numbingly boring concepts sound interesting day after day, even when they feel like pulling out their hair and crying.  Or becoming sarcastic, or fakey-fake smarmy.   Or condescending assholes.  There are only so many meaningful and enlightening analogies on how to tell someone to put their shoulders back, sit their ass down in the saddle, and stop yanking on the inside rein.  Or whatever. Again.  And Again.  Without ever saying FUUUCKKKK!  

But wait – there’s more!  They also have to want to climb aboard 3 year olds, who are consistently ridden by this beginner rider – the exact same one who cannot master the simplest, mind numbingly boring concepts.  And as part of their high paying gig (ha ha being funny here), try to sort out the tangled spaghetti of bad habits that the two of them have worked so hard to develop together.

Does the fun stop there – NO, don’t be crazy.  Of course there's more, much more. Because they have to want to keep on doing it – for years.  Regardless of accomplishments. Or lack thereof.   Or the excuses, or the cancellations, or waiting through the lamenesses…

And the minute something goes wrong - stalls, falls off the rails, no money, no progress, no time, (insert life circumstance of rider that has absolutely nothing to do with coach here...)... bye!  See ya!  Out the door walks a large percentage of the coach's earnings.  Because one can only suffer through so many life sucking clients at a time... 

But don’t worry about coaches – they usually have received extensive training to prepare them for this rewarding life.  Like college degrees in… uh… typically nothing relating even remotely to any of this.  No courses on adult education, sports medicine, psychology.

They have learned all they know from other coaches – who have taught them, while trying not to pull out THEIR hair, become fakey fake smarmy, or turn into condescending assholes.   

Oh wait - my post is done, and so is my wine, and I haven't told you anything at all about the coach.  Damn!

There is always tomorrow. 

Checkpoint 2 - The Ponies

First, I must apologize - my comments got their first dose of spam. I guess it was only a matter of time, what with the references to porno and hot plate and what have you.  Sorry about that to anyone who clicked and got redirected to sites focused on riding things other than horses. 

If it is any consellation to you, I did click the offending link while using my company laptop, and so will now probably spend Monday in HR trying to explain my passion for blind porno dressage, and how it will in no way interfere with my ability to do my job in an effective manner.

I am still going to leave comments open, partly just because I am too lazy to vet them all before publishing, and also because I know it is just not as satisfying to post a comment without being able to see your witty banter up on the screen immediately.  Should things turn ugly again, I will reconsider.

Anyway, back to the story. Where was I... oh yes, the ponies.

Checkpoint 2 - The Ponies

Now I know that after my bad experience with the Platypus and my rants regarding the pathetic state of the hunter pony world, some of you probably think I have some bile spewing hate vendetta going on against ponies in general. 

Seriously, I don't at all.  I love ponies. 

Ponies are, for the most part, the cynical curmudgeons of the equine world.

If I was an equine being, I would be a pony.  Not only because I am short, but because I have the right outlook towards work.  My motto at more than one of my many jobs has definitely been "I will do it, and do it well, but don't expect a fucking smile", and this pretty much sums up the attitude of many ponies as well.  If aliens came to earth and began gathering humans for personal use on their home planet, I think this might be my schtick. 

(Which brings to mind a particularly awkward moment with fellow graduate students, while doing my Masters.

A practical minded Nigerian PhD candidate, fresh off the plane and eager to make friends by way of interesting and thought provoking conversations, was hypothesizing about each of our relative values should aliens come to earth to harvest us for assorted human breeding programs back on their home planet.  Being large and sturdy, he assumed he would be chosen for meat or draft purposes.  I am small, but muscular - he felt I might be suited for meat production as well, especially if resources did not support the growth of larger framed animals.  All seemed very logical to me. 

However things turned ugly when he eyeballed another female grad student and announced to the group "if mammary size is genetically linked to lactation potential - you will most certainly not be chosen for milk production.  And you would not be good to eat.  You had better hope for "pet".  

Let's just say she wasn't happy with his assessment, and I had to spend some time with him afterwards explaining the North American fixation with breast size or lack thereof). 

If shit flows downhill, as is often quoted, the very best ponies are situated right at the bottom of this hill, mouths open, ready to receive the very worst that this world has to offer - beginner children riders.

At least beginner adult riders typicallly know that they suck.  And, fear and self preservation generally keeps them from doing anything too extreme with their patient school horse mounts.  If they can trot over 3 poles and an X in an uneventful fashion, they are happy as clams, and eternally grateful to these horses for not trying to kill them.  Because as adults, we know that if they decided to do so, they undoubtedly could.

Nine year olds on ponies, especially in today's world of entitled "everyone's a winner baby" parenting style - feel they are entitled to not die. Regardless of what it is they as riders do, or don't do, while riding around on the automatrons they often consider their ponies to be.  And so as they spank, crank, yank, ride over hill, dale... the gold standard of ponies is one who will suck all of it up and come back for more.  Who can blame them for having surly looks on their faces, or being generally cantankerous and ill tempered. 

Should a pony go renegade and say "thanks, but I'd rather not..."  well, their future career choices are pretty limited.  With a horse, you could potentially find a talented adult who would patiently engage in a debate with the horse regarding pros/cons for years to come (trying chiro, accupuncture, new saddle, reiki etc. all along the way) and work tirelessly to eventually find a middle ground.  Not so much with ponies - parents have no time for this, children are only short for so long.  If the pony can't suck up the terrible riding to some degree, their future is pretty bleak - the child will outgrow them and move on to obsessing about Justin Beiber long before they actually learn how to ride well enough to deal with any problems.  And no one wants to buy someone else's problem pony. 

I think if you want to see how truly saintly the best ponies are - you  have to stop by a Prince Philip Games competition some day.  At least the pretty barbie doll ponies with "big steps" and "tight knees" wind up in the hunter ring where sure, they have to jump stuff and do lead changes, but really the gig is pretty good. 

At PPG - you will see where the ugly, relatively unskilled, yet unbelieveably patient ones wind up.  It is kind of like watching the meth addicted, street walking hookers of the equine world in action - they are willing and functional at what they do, even if what they do is nasty, hard on the eyes and entirely lacking in any glamour.  You want to hang off of my mane with your foot on my ass while I gallop around because you can't actually vault your lumpy 11 year old butt up 13 hands - be my guest.  Whack me in the head with a flag or pole with a wooden fish on the end?  Why not.  Yank on my face until I come to a sliding stop so you can drop random vegetables into a bucket - sounds fun.  They do it because they have to do it, because there is no other choice.  The fact that they put up with any of it at all is truly incredible.

So, long story short - really, I have an incredible amount of respect for ponies, because the deck is really stacked against them.  They are damned if they are good, damned if they aren't.

The ponies in the Land of Lilliput were New Forest Ponies, and this was actually quite appealing to me.  Our family had owned a New Forest Pony when I was young.  He was not "my" pony, but my sister's, and for those of you who happen to know both of us, this was fitting. 

My own pony was an Arab / Hackney cross, who was hot, freaky, opinionated and likely to stomp off in a huff at the slightest provocation.  Like me.

The New Forest Pony was a more Spicoli like in his demeanor - unflappable, chilled out, and relatively oblivious to the world about him.  More like my sister.  He just trucked along, kept on keeping on, and got the job done.  Dum-de-dum....Although this is not at all what I look for in a horse long term, this sort of "whatevah", bring it on personality seemed like it might be a good fit for my current situation.  I was feeling mentally challenged enough

So I was pretty optimistic based on my perception of the breed.

(What?  n=1?  And so it means nothing?  Seriously people, get on board. This is the Internet, and so you should totally respect and agree with my anecdotal evidence, giving it as much clout as you would if the results were from a clinical trial at a major university, published in a leading edge, peer reviewed journal).

And in fact - this is pretty much what I found.  There was 3 solid and athletic medium ponies for me to choose from, depending on the lesson of the day.  None of them were "hunter ring" Barbie dolls, or brain dead children's ponies - they were more the type which you would feel entirely confident heading out on a cross country course with - functional, bold, and forward.  All were actually eventers, not dressage ponies per se, but that meant they had all put in some half decent dressage tests somewhere along the way, in front of real people and an actual judge, and weren't just classical legends in their owners minds and backyards.

Yes, this could definitely work out fine.

Now how about that coach...

Dressage in the land of Lilliput

Then, one day I got a tip from someone – I forget who – that a hot “Young Rider” who had gone abroad to train with some Dressage foreigners that I have never heard of (but, hey , whatever – does it matter?  Being foreign, they must be superior to anything local, it goes without saying, right?) was returning to these here parts to begin her own program.

A local barn would be her base – and, wait for it, wait for it… the even more exciting news was that they had experienced dressage horses I could use for lessons.  Exciting, no?

Err.. well – that was not entirely accurate.  On further investigation, they actually had dressage ponies.  Experienced up to 2^nd level.

Now don't panic.  This was not a bad thing.  Finally all of those years of looking at group photos and wondering who the pathetically short person standing beside her statuesque friends was (and realizing with some horror that it was, in fact, me) were about to pay off.  Bring on the ponies, hold the roller skates.  It could just work.

And so, I set up a lesson and off I went to investigate the potential of experiencing dressage in the Land of Lilliput.  

Oh Curmudgon… will this be the magical place where the impossible triad of decent digs, a decent coach and a horse to take lessons on that is not half dead actually coagulate together?

Well – kind of.

Checkpoint 1:  The facility 

The barn was…uh…rustic. 

Especially after Muddy View Acres, where everything was brand-spanking new, walking into a typical “built 30 years ago with the battle scars to prove it” type facility does underwhelm you a bit.  Which makes no sense at all.  Just like many other things in the horse industry.

Now - really - barns are like everything else in life, aren’t they. 

The people in charge of deciding what’s hot, what’s not, have to keep moving the target.  Who would want to move to fabulous NEW barns, for fabulous NEW prices - if really nothing had changed.  So, we must poo-pooh the old, embrace the new, and crack open the wallets.  If we really loved our horses, we would.  Right? 

Although it is hard to put in words what exactly it is that makes a barn look tired and dated - there is something - you just know it when you see it.   And it is not simply a factor of time in and of itself.  It is an accumulation of little trendy stylistic things that all add up to say... yikes...this is not a barn of the new millenium.  It is kind of like Jessica Simpson in mom jeans.  Not hot.  You just know it.  How?  You just...do.



Make fun of my jeans all you want, I still have one hell of a nice rack!  Take that, biatches!

And so just like concert shirts with white bodies and black arms, or mullets - there are stable design nuances that were fine and  hip and hot and trendy 30 years ago…  But now – even if you were dropped from a time machine into a stable of the 70’s, even in its hottest, hippest, trendiest heyday, even when it was brand spanking new… you would just KNOW it was a stable of the 70’s.  

Think back to the first barn you ever took lessons or boarded at.  Remember how excited you were!  Every horse was beautiful, and the place was palatial.  Right?

Remember stalls with that 1 inch mesh stuff stapled into the openings on the doors and fronts?  Now – ghetto. 

Deep brown creosote everything – ghetto. 

Ahh, the smell takes me back...I can almost feel the skin peeling off of my hands as I imagine painting all of the chew marks on the stall walls

10 x 10 stalls?  Once the norm.. now – ghetto (this one is probably due to the fact that a horse that is under 16 hands high is now considered by many to be – ghetto). 

Arenas with small windows made out of that corrugated see-thru green plastic stuff – chewed up wood fencing instead of electrobraid – plain plywood kickboards – grooming in crossties instead of a specially designed grooming cubbyhole – no heated wash stall – dusty little viewing rooms with smeary plexiglass windows and chairs too low to sit in and actually see out at the same time, and yellowy piles of “the Corinthian” dating back to 1979 (what? Sympatico is DEAD?) - incandescent bulbs encased in little cages to prevent breakage so your horse won’t electrocute himself when he goes bananas in the crossties (since he is not in a special grooming cubbyhole) and whacks his head into them - all now considered to the signs of a horribly, pathetically old-school ghetto stables. 

(I am kind of in the swing of things now, but there was most definitely a point when I got back into riding where I would go to a new barn, and be paralyzed with fear that I will do something unacceptably 70’s, and wind up having some bitchy blogger making fun of me behind my back).

And so this was exactly the vibe I was getting as I toured Land of Lilliput Stables.  There was absolutely nothing wrong with anything I saw there.  If the year was 1980.  Or if I focused solely on function over form, which would be the logical thing to do. 

The arena was a coverall, and I must admit, they are not my favourites, for a lot of reasons, none of them have to do strictly with functionality, but instead are based entirely on the vibe you get from coveralls.  Which is stupid – but true.  They are flappy and noisy, and make that freaky ziiipppp sound when the snow falls off them.  Sure, on a sunny winter day once in a while, they heat up and you can wear a T-shirt while riding (and feel guilty as your horse melts in a pool of winter coat hair and sweat).  As is usual with coveralls – it was not actually attached to the barn, which meant you had to walk through some assortment of mud / slush / ice to get to it for a large portion of the year. 

But there were definitely positives as well – the barn was owned by former farmers (need I say more).  Former farmers that now worked for a fencing company – so although the paddocks weren’t huge, they were safe.  The stalls were of average size, with rubber mats and fresh clean bedding (oh, how novel!), and the fact that each one had a different door design could be interpreted as…charming.  I think.  The hay was clean, green and dust free.  The footing in the coverall was firm and sandy, not the typical fluffy brown stuff which is composed of who knows what ... but really, if you have to choose, firm is better than deep and suspensory sucking.  And for the care they were promising to provide (and I was giving the benefit of the doubt here, and assuming they would deliver) the board was insanely cheap. 

To summarize… I was not sold on the facility..  But for no reason relating to anything other than pure unadulterated cosmetics.  It looked safe and comfortable.  Homey even.

Come on Curmudgeon.  Get over yourself!  Ms. V doesn’t care about the aesthetic appeal of her digs.  If she is warm, dry, and not sleeping on concrete, who cares if the cats outnumber the horses here by at least 57. 

For once you speak the truth, italics person.  This is true.  Very true.  If I were blind, I would have been totally pumped about the place.  So, I put my snobbery aside, and soldiered on.  Let’s try the lesson. 

(Again, I thank whoever it is that I am supposed to thank to prevent enternal damnation that I am not single and internet dating, because I am sure that is a whole new dimension of underwhelming, but in the same general ballpark).

Sunshine. Lollipops. Rainbows. Meltdowns. Be sure to experience them all.

So... What are you saying, Dressage Curmudgeon... if I don't spend time and money in a BNT barn, I won't know what pornography is?  That is ridiculous.  I can always look on the internet and see many examples...


You know, that is actually a really good question.  For sure, regardless of what your activity may happen to be, from Dressage to Extreme Ironing, there are many more examples and resources available to you on the internet now, versus back in 2004, and my connection is actually fast enough that I can watch them if I get the urge.

He is twisting through his body and not keeping his weight centred.  He will really need to  go back to basics to correct these position flaws if he hopes to advance up the levels. 

Nothing needs to be a mystery or a misunderstanding any more these days.

(Case in point - when a single male co-worker once told me he was having difficulty finding the right woman, I asked some "open ended" questions to find out more and see if maybe I could help.  The "right woman" apparently had to be into "hot plating".  I commiserated, told him to hang in there, and thought to myself, yes, it would be hard to find a woman who wanted to live life without owning a real stove.  However surely the right girl would see past this.  Eventually she could convince him that they should visit Leon's together, and would skip out blissfully as the owners of a new range.

That was then, this is now.  Thanks to Urban Dictionary, I now realize that he will undoubtedly die alone, masturbating in front of his computer, while I feel slightly kinky every time I wrap leftovers in Saran).

Where was I...

Oh yah.  Well it is most certainly easier to find examples of fabulous dressage.  Case in point - I hope you all got a chance to watch the video of Charlotte Dujardin and Valegro on TopDressage before it went poof.  (There is still a YouTube filmed-from-a-computer-screen version that you can watch if you aren't prone to seasickness) As far as I can tell, even the militant competitive dressage haters should like this pair.  (Disclaimer:  Haven't looked on UDBB yet, but I am going to assume even the totally crazy Classical gals are on side.  But I have been wrong before).

The other great thing about seeing all of the top riders / horse combos on the internet - and a bit of googling can find you an example of just about anyone - is that you do start to get a feeling for the fact that yes, top horses must be incredibly athletic, fabulous movers.  However - really, the limits within this description are quite wide - compare Totilas (extravagant freak of nature), Fuego (non-warmblood kicking butt), Pop Art (non-extravagant still in the game via precise riding) etc.

So it is easy to see the very top of the sport.

Depending on where you live - you can probably also venture out and visit some local dressage shows, and see a cornucopia of different things there.  Some good.  Some, most certainly not.

And you can, of course, scribe.

Hi Barb and John!  Porky told me you are looking for scribes!  Sign me up!

 

The problem with shows is that you don't get a chance to really see how the glorious FEI horses once upon a time started off floating on down the Nile towards the mythical dressage pyramids.  You see them only at the end of the story.

And - I am about to share with you one of the GREAT REVELATIONS that did not dawn on me until about half-way through my dressage journey.  Maybe I am just totally dense, and you all already know this (but if you are a catty heckler who wants to post in the comments that I am a clueless idiot for not realizing this anyways, please, be my guest.  Don't let me take away your fun).

Top GP riders virtually NEVER show lower levels on their hot, up and coming young horses. 

Yah, yah, sure.  There are exceptions.  But for the most part - if you see a top rider showing a lower level - it is most likely not a horse that anyone expects to make it to GP.  It is probably a dull tempered sale horse - one they have brought in from Europe specifically to flip to a starry eyed adult amateur, or one that they have decided is not worth spending time on, since it won't make it to the end.  Or the horse is actually a 12 year old stopper ex-hunter that they are trying to move for a friend.  Alternatively, they might be putting in some remedial ring time on a surly 17 year old, 17 hh tank that knows who means business and who doesn't, and therefore has frustrated the living hell out of their 55 year old, 100 lb. soaking wet adult am owner.

You might luck out and catch an up and comer being shown just to get a little bit of ring mileage before the 4 or 5 year old classes so they don't have a full on meltdown when the big day comes.  But this is kind of like spotting sasquatch - you need to be in the right place, right time (and apparently without a camera phone).

So, when perusing the typical show (in these here parts, in any case) you are left with the cream of the crop at the FEI levels, and some sort of coffee-mate amalgamation of who-knows-what sediment from there on down.  Not a nice even cross-section of beautiful horses, as you move from one ring to the next looking at the different levels, as you might expect.

Which is kind of disappointing as an onlooker.  Or - actually, as an onlooker new to the sport of dressage - just really fricking confusing.  You find yourself wandering the showgrounds, wondering "How on Earth does THIS motley group of horses morph into THAT in the next two years?"

Answer - it probably doesn't.

Dressage Curmudgeon, you just aren't trying hard enough.  YouTube is there for us... did you not watch that fabulous Steffen Peters / Janet Foy Symposium!  Or pay a little for DressageClinic.com... there are lots of nice young horses there....

Yahhh, sort of.  Maybe.  Kind of.

But it is still not the same as immersing yourself in the day to day riding at a barn with a mixed bag of everything, all trying to move somewhere in a forward direction.  You need to see the good, yes - but also the bad and the ugly.  There aren't a lot of meltdowns on DressageClinic.com (yes, I am a subscriber).  Everything is pretty sunny and nice, and neatly sanitized.

Which in some ways, only makes actual life harder, and more confusing, as you are sweating it out dealing with reality.

So, my advice to everyone would be - find yourself some way, some day, to spend time at a good barn.  Even one month of full training would help.  Will it make a big difference to your horse - maybe not.  But once you have paid the price of admission to the show - spend as much time there watching EVERYONE ride as you can (good, bad, awful), and this will make a big difference to your understanding of  what you are going to have to do to move up the levels, if that is your goal.  Sit down (try to find the seat nowhere near the insecure blabbermouth woman that insists on letting you know why everything she does is bigger and better than whatever it is you are doing - unfortunately the empty seats are probably next to her), shut up, and watch.

Seriously - it will be worth it.