Kindergarten begins now. Be all you can be. Do not pick your nose, try not to pee your pants

And so, we settled in to life at Liliput and began to put together a training program with Coach Ritenau. 

Since Ms. V was only just turning three, and I had that mortal fear of RUSHING MY HORSE firmly instilled by bulletin board nutjobs (see earlier post), based on their guidance I decided that my goal would be to work with her for about 30 minutes, 3 times per week. Apparently any more than this, and her brain would turn to soft scrambled eggs and plop out her ears in chunks.  (Or something. I forget what exactly the problem was. Something frightening).

These three rides would include one lesson session with Ritenau.  And - in addition to all of this - I would also continue taking a lesson per week on Swiffer, the pony I had already been riding now for the last month or so.

Why so many lessons, Curmudgeon?  I understand the "hunter rider deprogramming" sessions on the dressage pony, but surely you could have taught Ms. V basic walk, trot, canter yourself. 

I don't think there is a single rider out there in the world who takes lessons, who has not had at least one person say to them "Hey - I thought you knew how to ride - why are you still taking lessons".  (Usually said by someone who looks like they need to take some lessons). 

I do think there is more than one answer to this entirely obnoxious question. I can think of at least three.  Number one would of course be... why is it any of your fucking business.  Second answer to obnoxious question would be that you are striving to learn and improve your riding.  (But really, anyone who is enough of a dork to ask you this in the first place really deserves answer number one). 

The third, and less obvious reason to take lessons with someone - even if you pretty much know what it is that you are doing and how to accomplish it - is that it officially puts you in a relationship where you are giving another person permission to tell you that what you are doing... is weird.  Ineffective, Just not all that hot.  Or downright sucks. Without there being any hard feelings attached. If you only ever ride by yourself and never take lessons - well, that would be kind of like never having sex with another person, yet thinking you are quite the dynamo in bed.  If that makes you happy - well, who am I to judge. But sometimes it is nice to get a second opinion. 

(For the record...getting a third opinion from another coach behind the back of your first coach will cause just about as much strife in your life as getting third opinion from another man about whether or not you are, in fact, a dynamo in bed.  Maybe more)

I have often wished I had one of these people just in my general everyday life as well.  To help me to be all I can be. Someone who would take an hour of their time to study me intently, then announce "you have a hair growing out of your ear" or "there is a big blackhead on your cheek" or "you absolutely cannot wear those underwear with that dress".  This becomes increasingly important as I get older and my vision gets worse, and my attention to detail with respect to personal grooming is admittedly not all it used to be.  Luckily  Mr. Motard is pretty forthcoming with his critiques of just about everything, but I am so used to tuning him out most of the time, that sometimes I miss the important messages.  (Which might explain why I left the house one morning with an unnoticed lump in the leg of my pants, only to have a pair of panties from the last wearing drop out onto my foot and into the hallway halfway through the day). 

It is hard to be all you can be. 

The easiest way is apparently to join the army, (and I saw how much that girl in Officer and a Gentleman sucked at that and she is younger and fitter than I ever have been. This is my second reference to a Richard Gere movie, isn't it.  Mr. Curmudgeon is going to be so disappointed in me).  A distant second in the race to excellence is to pay someone to gently put their foot to your ass and keep on pushing you, a bit more, each day.  

This was essentially Coach Ritenau's role when it came to helping me with Ms. V.  Most of the time she watched quietly, gave a few pointers now and then, but her keen eye was trained more on pushing me out of the comfort zone and into the realm of someday accomplishing something.

Like - riding down the longside now and then, instead of staying on my safe little circle.  Or - cantering.  Or - getting on Ms. V without longeing her first. 

Professionals who put sixty days or "w/t/c" on a horses are forced to accomplish clearly defined and time driven goals, even if they feel that they may die doing so. Owners starting their own horses are more likely to go entirely the other way, and slowly and surely accomplish absolutely nothing.  We fall into the trap of "oh, she is only a baby.  It is ok if we don't canter for the next year" or other coddling modes.  A popular version of this story is, of course "it is important that my horse is exposed to all environments, so I will just trail ride for the first year to be sure we are very solid in our "walk around aimlessly" skills before we start any real work".

And so, to be sure this did not happen to us, Coach Ritenau gently pushed us to try new things, and would also climb aboard and do these things herself, just in case I thought she was just a sadist with some sort of secret death wish for me.  Voila.  They can be done. 

We also set a goal to attend a walt-trot class at a local show by the end of the summer, to up the ante just a bit.   Which of course, made me quite happy since this would not likely have been a goal if Coach Ritenau thought we were lucky to both emerge from six months under saddle alive. 

hummala bebhuhla zeebuhla bop - Life goes on... without me

Meanwhile… back at the blog…

You may wonder – what ever became of Muddy View Acres? 

Well, the horse world is no different than any other ecosystem, or maybe the juice in the container in your fridge.  Over time, all of the different bits and pieces filter out and find their right niche.  No matter how you might mix up the silt and gravel or pulp and watery orange stuff, they always work to return to their proper place in the hierarchy over time.  People who expect blanketing and boots go to barns where you pay for blanketing and boots.  Or, they change their standards to match their pocketbooks.  Or, they hang around whining about the situation, until everyone is wishing they bought “pulp free”, or at least one of those containers with the built in stirring thing so you could try to flagellate them into…er, somewhere else.  Anywhere else. 

And MVA is in exactly this same situation – it has found it’s own sedimentary layer of boarders who don’t mind mud, nicks, cuts, burrs, absence of boots and blankets for turnout etc. etc. etc.  if it means they can actually afford to own their horse.  And there is nothing wrong with that.   Actually, I drive by it about 2x per week, and it appears to be thriving.  The owners were fairly ignorant when it came to caring for horses, true.  However it was as though construction was in their blood.  They have since built row upon row of beautiful outdoor shelters, contained within decent safe looking fences, round bale plunked in the centre…and they have become one of the “outdoor pasture board” havens of the region.

I would say there are probably 50 horses on the property, which makes me wonder what sort of horror show the arena is now, but it is probably not bad at all – In reality, I would guess that out of that 50, maybe 5 are owned by “serious” riders that do much beyond petting, grooming and hitting a trail now and then.  The rest are likely just people who love their horses.

They also don’t seem to have a website, or a lot of advertising – so I am assuming they are full or not hurting for business, anyways.  

Also I did want to clarify – please do not think that I am implying that MVA had an exceptionally exceptional batch of railbirds.  No, not at all.  I would say every barn with more than 10 boarders – some with more than 5 – have at least one or two people who you just would love to silence with duct tape. 

(I have of course been fortunate enough to run into one of MVA’s new generation of hot railbirds at a dinner party a while back, and listening to her talk, one would assume it has transformed into some sort of breeding ground for future World Cup riders.  Mr. Motard was intrigued – wow, MVA has come a long way since you were there, Curmudgeon!  Me, uh...not so much.  Luckily, the red wine was plentiful and not from Ontario, and by using it as an invaluable tool I was able to more or less dull the pain of listening to her voice).

And, it is not just the equestrian world either.  For example - for some reason (*cough*Mr. Motard*cough*) I attended a radio controlled airplane show a few weekends ago (Yes.  Really.) and paid $5.00 to bake in an open airfield while watching grown men play with their $2000 toys.  (How stupid is this, says the woman with the $100,000 pet).   I eventually ended up behind some big sweaty radio controlled airplane enthusiasts in the food line.  I recognized one of them as the owner of one of the fastest, fanciest jet planes in the show

(I don’t know a single thing about the radio controlled airplane circuit, but he was from the U.S as were several other exhibitors, so I am assuming this was a fairly decent show - but based on the venue, no World Cup.  Maybe like a Palgrave Gold show).

The line was hot and freakishly slow, and so I got to hear more about the politics of radio controlled airplanes than I ever wanted to hear as the two of them gossiped.  Well, come to think of it, I never wanted to hear anything on this topic, so it was really an overload.  (What would have been really interesting to know is why the big sweaty dude felt he needed 2 hotdogs plus fries and a soft drink, but that is just the nutritionist in me being horrified by mankind and expecting that there is some sort of reasonable explanation.  There never is).

The point of my story is… you could have taken out key words like “Yak 54” or “ARF” and replaced with “Dutch Warmblood” and “Schoolmaster” and you would have thought you were at a dressage show.  The same gossip themes abound everywhere

“Oh, yah.  That Joe is quite a piece of work.  He fixes up crappy ARFs people have given up on, then expects premium price after he puts in a little time.  I am on to his game”

(Translation – he buys poorly started horses and flips them)

“Sure, sure, the Yak 54 he bought is a nice plane, I am not arguing with you on that. But the bottom  line is.. he still is going to have to know how to fly it or it is garbage”. 

Sit back!  Sit back!  

(Translation – she may have imported a nice schoolmaster, but she still sucks as a rider).  

Yep, the toys may change, but the human operators don't.  We just have different stretchy pant uniforms.  

Which reminds me… it is time to start talking about how my lessons with Coach Ritenau were coming along, isn’t it.

Karma. I want to shove a stir-fry in your face

I am going to ask today that you indulge me a little, and let me depart from the typical chronological events format of my blog. 

Also, I must warn you that I might not be very funny, because, well, I am not feeling happy tonight.  

Somewhere, back in the history of my blog, I covered what I like to call the "Pretty in Breakfast" syndrome.  This is my scientifically created term for the fact that in our sport there is a large contingent of self important assholes who, although they have done nothing in particular of note in their dressage careers (or even if they have), grow some sort of poles up their tight little sphincters and decide that they are simply too special to even acknowledge the lowly adult amateurs in this sport (unless - of course - these amateurs are, at that particular moment, actively involved in placing money in the hands of said ass-rodded people).  

These sorts might involve Gha-mann coaches who have no problem taking +$2000 of a client's money to pretend to train obviously untrainable ponies. While at the same time pushing expensive dressage horses upon them instead. Then later refusing to even acknowledge the presence of life beside them in the stir-fry line at Palgrave.  

Or, they might be cocky jerk riders who decide to wander off with volunteer whipper-in's schedule lists.  They are important and busy, and need to know what is going on, right?  And because of this, they are entitled to create panic among volunteers, and then look at them like they are dirt when (after searching crazily for their list for 5 minutes) they ask desperately for their return so they can keep the show running on schedule. And, as an added touch to lighten things up, the cocky jerk riders have the right to make fun of the volunteers to make their friends laugh.  Don't they? (oops, haven't told that story yet, have I).  

But there are, out there, a few dressage pros who apparently didn't get the memo.  And so, they are strangely nice, for no particular reason. 

When I was first starting out at shows back at training level - putting in awful, amateurish training level tests - I am sure most coaches (including my own) were more than prepared to totally ignore me, lest anyone in the immediate vicinity get any impression that they were at all responsible for my scary riding. 

But there was this one guy out there - I could never remember his name, he was short, good looking, and had dark hair (but as mentioned earlier there is a whole flock of these here in Ontario) who always smiled.  And said hello.  While working patiently with other horrible adult amateurs like me.  

If I was scribing - he looked me in the eye, and said hello.  

Stir-fry line - hello. 

Disgusting mud washstalls at Palgrave - hello. 

Tent ghetto stables - hello. 

It was almost eerie.  He was nice.  And friendly.  For no apparent reason, other than because that is just what people who aren't jerks do. (I would have thought maybe he had a "thing" for me, but I am pretty sure I am not his type). 

So anyways, when the time came eventually that I knew I had to change coaches - I of course decided that he was #1 to consider.  I had to figure out his name to accomplish this - and his name was (if you haven't figured it out by now) David Marcus. 

But, the stars did not align, as I recall he did not have his own barn at the time and deciding to jump ship to join a nomadic coach is generally not a good move.  And so, after a few pleasant conversations on the phone, I decided to head another direction - he supported my decision, said it was a good one and said nothing but complimentary things regarding the coach I chose instead.  He wished me the best.  And I really felt he meant it. 

A few years later on - when Ms. V and I were practicing overcoming our fears of trailering and overnighting in new places (probably more on my part than Ms. V's I am not too proud to admit), my coach at the time suggested that I contact David Marcus and ask if Ms. V and I could create our own "mini-clinic sleepover party" type deal at his beautiful new barn to get some exposure.  He happily obliged.  We spent an excellent weekend there, had a few great lessons, he rode Ms. V and was nothing but positive about her or her potential to continue advancing up the levels... and to top it all off... he charged me an absolute pittance for the whole affair.  Who knows, maybe he owed my coach a favour, or something deeper than I knew was going on behind the scenes that I was not privy to.  But really - I don't think so.  I think he is just a genuinely nice person.  

And even later on - when things turned ugly where I was, and people had to make decisions on where to go instead... uhh...well, you will have to wait and see how it is I decide to unwind this one, because even I am not sure yet.  As the guy on "Tales from the Riverbank" used to say.. "that's another story"

Are you sure this is England?  It looks like Switzerland.

Long story short - David Marcus came through for many people. I stuck it out where I was, and to this day, do sometimes wonder..what if. 

So, anyways...when his whole fairy-tale came true, and he got a fabulous new sponsor, amazing horse, and was off to the Olympics... I was sure that the bitch Karma finally had things right.  She was going to pay him back for all of the times he was nice.  And normal.  And friendly.  She would show those fucking stir-fry snubbers.  

But, this is dressage.  And horses are horses.  And life, for the most part, can be so incredibly disappointing.  I am imagining the sinking feeling of my very worst ever dressage test (ridden in front of probably 5 spectators, only 2 of whom actually gave a flying fuck about what was going on and only because they are my parents and feel obliged to do so) and multiplying it by some large number.  Even then, I am not sure I have it just right.  

Arrgh.  Like Mr. and Mrs. Curmudgeon said in my last post ..."nobody said life had to be fair".  Sometimes I really do resent recent events.  And - just to be clear - I am not saying all this because I am super close to David Marcus, or hang out with him in my spare time,.  Really, he probably has no idea who I am, other than being some person that he says Hi to.  Just like he does to everyone else.  

Now..this being dressage - not everyone has this opinion. It takes a long time to shove that angry rod up your ass, and hey, you earned it, right?  And so, if you are among the "I didn't make it to the Olympics yet, and David Marcus did, and I deserved it way more than he does" crowd, you may smugly be thinking that Karma is right on track.  

You are assholes.  Get a life.  

Good Luck tomorrow Canada!

That's all I have to say tonight.

Resent Events. My favourite spelling error of the week.

As the trailer drives over from MVA to Lilliput, I thought I would take a bit of a story detour.  Because I think it is important...

It is show season!  And we know what that means - thaaaat's right.  It's time to be confused. Perhaps a little depressed.  Or even (feel free to insert your favourite "resent events" emotion here.  I like pissy, but I am sure you have some good options you could share as well).  Especially my friends, if you are reading this blog because you are following in my footsteps and working with a young horse (yes, I realize this is pure coincidence, not intentional, and you are not a creepy stalker).

I am here today to remind you of one of the life lessons oft repeated to me by my Curmudgeonly parental units:

"Nobody said life had to be fair".

(They also really had a thing for "If it was supposed to be fun, they wouldn't call it WORK").

Nowhere is this more true than when it comes to showing your green horse at training level.

Dear hoarde of Adult Am readers, bringing along your first dressage horse - please repeat along with me.

If I show my 4 year old neon green horse training level, and he behaves like he is 4 - I will get a crappy score
If I show my 4 year old neon green horse training level, and he behaves like he is 4 - I will get a crappy score
If I show my 4 year old neon green horse training level, and he behaves like he is 4 - I will get a crappy score

There.  Now that we have that out of the way... let's continue on with the rationale behind this.

What!!  Curmudgeon - If a horse is going to make it to PSG by 8 or 9 - which is absolutely the norm these days - they had better be well on their way up the levels by 4 and 5!  Go read the bulletin boards ... 4 = training, 5 = first, 6 = second, 7 = third, 8 =  PSG (because who the hell shows 4th anyways?).


FOUR is the age horses SHOULD  be showing training level!  So surely the judges aren't expecting perfection. 


Yep, yep.  This seems totally logical.  And you are right - judges aren't expecting perfection.  Or anything in particular really, beyond some form of lunch, a non-wobbly chair and a scribe with neat handwriting who knows enough to shut her trap during tests.  Some sort of paycheque at the end is probably on the list too.

But is it realistic?  If you show up with your four or five year old, for their first show, and they oogle around, shy at the judge, get strong, slow down while pooing, toss their head during a transition, come off the contact at the halt, or one of the millions of other things a horse with less than a year under saddle ridden by an amateur without an impeccable leg-to-hand (or hand-to-face, depending on the skill of the pro) terminator-like death clamp on the horse.... the judge won't mind, right?  That is what they are expecting, right?  After all, the test says:


Purpose: To confirm that the horse is supple and moves freely forward in a clear and steady rhythm, accepting contact with the bit. 

If the horse does this, oh, 70% of the time... I am going to get a 70, right?

Well, yes.  You are absolutely right.  The judge won't mind at all. While scribing, I can honestly say I have never seen a judge get annoyed by a generally well prepared, well ridden green horse doing green things.

(They do get annoyed by eyeburningly bad tests by people who haven't bothered to figure out what exactly dressage is all about, but hey, they read the test and Stormy can pull that shit off.  These people are identifiable from afar, in the warmup, long before their pierced and tattooed caller in muffin top jean cutoffs yells out AAAYYYE - ENNNNTRRRRR - EEEXXXXSS - HALLLLT - SALUTE.  For some mysterious reason I have yet to comprehend, this rider is typically wearing a purple troxell with plenty of hair puffing out, and usually riding an off breed, off the aids, off to the races, and off course (much to the obvious annoyance of the slouchy, shrugging caller), and later blames her bad score on breed bias).  


It sounds cornball, but really, judges are on your side.  In fact, in my experience, many times they are on the edge of their seat riding along with you, hoping beyond hope that none of these things happen, and saying "DOH" right along with you when they do. 

But they do. And the judges have lots of nice words for these events, like "some resistance", "hollowed", and a good dose of "unsteady in contact".  Maybe "2B rounder".  Don't forget "low in poll".  And the ever popular "more 4ward".  And since the horse is only 4, there is no shame in a "disobed" here and there now, is there? I scribed for one judge who was big on "some disturbance" which appealed to me, as made it sound like something supernatural was going on with the space-time continuum out in the dressage ring.  I kept expecting Carol Anne to drop from the sky covered in slime. 

Yes, you will get all this, and more, decorated with 5-6 and maybe a few 7's, which will all average out to a high 50, and - ta-da!  Although your coach has told you you are doing wonderfully, you are right on track, nice work, he looks great....you will probably be dead last in your class.

What?  That is crazy Curmudgeon.  We are all in this Training level class together!  With our greenies!   Struggling with the same issues with our green horses and amateur busy life timetables and skillsets, or lack thereof?

No.  No, you are not.


Lucky for you guys, I hurt my knee this weekend and cannot do anything but sit around and feel badly for myself, which gives me lots of time to stalk things on the internet, post on a few BB's, fritter away the moments that make up the dull day.  You know.

As part of this fritterage, I decided to do some research into the age of horses being shown training level by adult amateurs at a recent Gold show.  Since it is training level, and we are all "moving up the levels" - one would expect the class to be chock full of googly greenies getting their feet wet in the ring.  (Since I was looking at Palgrave results, and every show must be accompanied by at least one torrential downpour - this part was pretty much a given).

Here is what I found - Champs of Training Level, Adult Am division:

1 - 14 yr old TBred
2 - 4 yr old WBlood
3 - 5 yr old Westfal
4 - 13 yr old Arab
5 - 10 yr old Oldenburg
6 - 11 yr old WBlood
7 - 10 yr old Friesan
8 - 5 yr old Oldenburg

Well - maybe all of those RIDERS are green - I am sure the PRO's are showing the 4 year olds...uh, maybe not.

1 - 5 yr old unknown
2 - 6 yr old Hanoverian
3 - 6 yr old Trak

You get my point.  NO ONE - with the exception of one horse - is out there strutting their stuff at the age of 4.  Even though "progression through the levels" tells us that you better damn well be working on it at home.  No, in fact, the field is being lead... by a 14 year old horse.  And I absolutely know nothing about the particular 4 year old in this class, I have no idea, I am speaking in general terms here, he may well be a droolworthy piece of dressage flesh ready to become the next Totilas,  - but the fact that he did not behave like a total ass or even a partial ass at a show at such a young age, as many horses do, might also mean that he doesn't have the reactivity to continue on up the levels.  It is too early to say.  Just because your horse flips out in the ring at 4 doesn't mean you are doomed to fail, but at the same time, just because you are a quick starter doesn't necessarily mean you are GP bound.  


(Kind of like the girl who got the big jiggling rack in grade 5 and needed to wear a bra when everyone else was still pancake flat.  Sure, maybe she turned out to be the hot playboy babe all of the prepubescent boys were envisioning... more likely the big boobs were just a sign of the big butt and big calves and big everything else on the way.  Nature is cruel sometimes).  

The good news is - there is apparently no breed bias going on here - there is a bit of everything entering the ring, and the popular kids are not all coming out on top just because of their sexy brands.  The bad news is - if you have a 4 year old, and you want to get ring time, and your horse acts like a 4 year old... let's all repeat again...

If I show my 4 year old neon green horse training level, and he behaves like a 4 year old - I will get a crappy score

Now, don't get me wrong.  I am not saying that a 14 year old horse should NOT enter training level.  Maybe that rider was very green - it could have very well been their first horse show ever, I have no idea, I don't know them at all.  I am by no means saying they have cheated, or done anything unsportsmanlike.  Because the rules are such that anyone, can show any horse, any level.  It is no one's business but their own.

I am not saying that the judges did anything wrong either.  I am not a judge, nor do I play one on this blog, but if a 14 year old horse can't smoke a 4 year old horse in the Purpose: To confirm that the horse is supple and moves freely forward in a clear and steady rhythm, accepting contact with the bit department, something is seriously amiss.  They have to rank you all somehow, and they can't give you 70%, even if your horse was perfect 70%  of the time, and then give the 14 year old horse 117% to indicate that it is kicking the living shit out of directives designed for a horse 10 years younger in age.  


In fact, in the bizarro world of dressage scores, anything over 70% is perceived to represent stellar, which the 14 year old horse probably is not.  And so, they squeeze you all into a little 10% range, you get high 50, they get high 60... done and done.  


What I am saying is that the whole bulletin board story... the one that says you must score 65 at each level to progress, and if your scores are not 65+, you better take a long hard look at your training because it sucks, and while you are at it - fire your coach, buy a new horse, and take up curling....or worse still, make that beautiful 4 year old into a hunter... just might not be entirely accurate.  Instead, I am saying... get out there and show anyways.  Sure, a score in the 50's is depressing.  But showing a 14 year old at training level with no one to beat when you score 62 -  even more so.  Help them out, friends.   


Well it has taken me so long to write this post that my knee is now better.  I have to get out there and go running.  I was that girl in grade 5, and that big butt is waiting to sneak up on me the minute I let my guard down....

One step forward. Two steps backwards. Shake those pellets like a polaroid picture.

We can all name many "tsk-tsk-tsk" moments in the horse world - ones that come along with the pithy and fucking irritating know-it-all statements.  The ones usually preceded by "well you know what they say,.."

A popular one is:

"If you are schooling at the show, you should have stayed home and schooled there, long before the show..."

Which never entirely made sense to me, since a good portion of shows are called "schooling shows".  One would think schooling there was the goal.  No, no...not if you are a catty onlooker observing a good train wreck. No schooling allowed.

(Actually here in Ontario, they are called "bronze" shows.  As in...maybe this live action moment should be cast in bronze, like one of those tacky rearing horse statues that western people own).

Disobedience - 2

(It might also have something to do with the Olympics).  


Or, they are called "Discovery" shows - where you discover you don't know what the hell you are doing. 


Regardless, another "school at home, long before the event, not at the event" (tsk-tsk-tsk) moment is, of course, loading your horse on a trailer.  

(And, it is worth saying (so I will say it) - just like Al mentioned, way back on page 63 of Complete Horsemanship or whatever it was... when it comes to trailer loading, while schooling at home, or after the event, whenever really...if there is any potential that you may lose your cool and whack your horse with anything, do it out behind the barn.  On a Thursday night at 9:00 pm or something, when no one is around. Not on a Saturday morning.


And - advice to lady of  "Trainer Beats Horse at Fair and No One Stops Her" video  fame... most definitely don't storm around waving your arms like a rabid freak and trying to hit a line drive to centre field using your horse's bum as a ball when you try to get him on a trailer coming home from a horse show.  Maintain a calm zen-like appearance, (try not to let anyone see the lava dripping from your ears.  Maybe wear a hat or kertchef.  Visor?  Babushka?),  speak in a European language if you can, (it makes you sound knowledgeable - try to make that brrrrr noise a lot), and crack his ass raw with a longe whip instead.  Don't ask me why - it is one of the world's great mysteries - however this is for some reason an acceptable form of "motivation" in many people's eyes, whereas weilding a plastic bat just makes you look like a lunatic to everyone).  


Where was I... oh yes...The bad news for me was...regardless of the date or time I chose - when it was showtime-goodbye-we-gotta-go-time - in March, at MVA - the mud was so deep I would never have ever gotten the trailer pulled out from behind the barn with a 2-wheel drive F-150, unaccompanied by a tractor and some good chains. So, as sound as Al's advice may be, it was simply not an option.  Any loading related whacking would unfortunately take place on that sunny Saturday afternoon of the event, in the rutted gravel lane, in plain sight of everyone.  


But do not fear, dear readers - I did not intend to do any whacking at all.  Seriously!  I  had a plan.  I would take my time and school my horse, teaching her to load, AS I loaded her onto the trailer.  I had all day!  What could go wrong here.

And to help me with this... I had a secret weapon (no, no - not a plastic bat).  I had Dressage Today's "teach your horse to load" issue, taken straight from its place of honour right beside my toilet.  I was well read, and ready to load my horse using their step by step, stress free method.  Kumba-yaaaaa my lord....Kum-baaaa-yaaaaaaa

You AGAIN?

Oh Dressage Curmudgeon... how could you possibly THINK you could school your horse patiently on trailer loading, while ACTUALLY trailer loading, without the input of 20 railbirds.  You fool. 

Sigh.  Damn you, italics person. You are right again. 

I was googling around this morning to try to find the link to this golden oldie online, but alas, no luck.  And I long since passed my 50kg box of back issues on to someone else. So, unfortunately I can't exactly share this program with you today.

But as I recall, the gist of it was something like this -

1. All forward motion in the direction of the trailer is rewarded with copious patting and treats, no matter how miniscule the effort may be. 
2. If horse does not move forward - you give him irritating little tap-tap-taps on the hip with a dressage whip until he does. 
3. When you get sick of giving irritating little tap-tap-taps - you then make him march backwards - yes, backwards - wherever.  Then, begin again. (tap-tap-tap)
4. If horse plants on the ramp - back him out.  And start again, (tap-tap-tap) lavishly rewarding each little forward gesture.  
5. If horse doesn't plant on the ramp - well, back him out anyways.  Mix it up a little.

It is kind of an equine mindfuck strategy. Tap-tap-tap...irritate, back up, repeat...and ultimately hope to reward sometime before you both die of old age.  Long story short - horse never gets to make the decision to NOT move. Somewhere.

Now - if horse WANTS to go backwards - you make going backwards very unpleasant, by going backwards for a really long time, until he wants nothing more than to go forwards.  Every step forward (or weight shift in a shoulderly direction, somewhat cooperative look in horse's eye, whatever) is rewarded enthusiastically.  Any step backwards earns the horse a Vulcan skin pinch in the chest and maybe some shanking, followed by 50 metres of backing up.

After a while of this low grade irritation and backing up...horse eventually decides that you are a big pain in his ass, and really he wants nothing more than to flee into the trailer where it is quiet and hide from you with the tasty looking haynet and pail of pellets.  (Or, I guess if he is prone to striking... until the Vulcan skin pinch / shanking leads him to rear up and knock your head right off of your shoulders.  I don't remember how this was covered in the Dressage Today article, but in 2012, the mantra is always "wear your helmet" so let's go with that).

Well, I am sure you can see the problem here.  None of the T(rail)er birds had read the article.  I guess really I should have had some sort of an education session before the event - with the PowerPoint, Mission Statement, and lots of talk about Testicles and other Low Hanging Fruit.

Because every time Ms. V tentatively approached the trailer, stopped, planted - and got asked to move backwards by me after only limited tap-tap-tapping and absolutely no hellfire raining down upon her... My self designated Guru Grandpa MVA ran at her, waving his arms to get her to go forward again.  And every time I tried to politely tell him to fuck right off, I had a plan - he began explaining to me that the goal was to get the horse to go IN the trailer.  IN - IN - like, as in FORWARD.  What the hell are you backing her up for?? (the "you moron" part was understood, not actually verbalized).

At which time the engineering mind of Mr. Motard would engage, and start explaining to me that yes, it did make more sense to get a horse to go IN a trailer, by moving her FORWARD. 

Well, that made two against one.  And so, joining in on the fun, the crowd at MVA began enthusiastically arm waving, asking if I had a longe whip, shaking pellets etc.  

No amount of "I am TRYING A CONCEPT HERE, PEOPLE".  Or "GO AWAY, ASSHOLES" (politely worded) would help.  Every time I tried to move her backwards (instead of adhering to the tried and true and well accepted strategy of letting her plant and yanking away at her face from inside the trailer while they flailed around behind her) was met by mass confusion and sideways glances meant to convey the message "WTF is this woman doing???"

I am sure you can imagine the reaction when I backed her out BEFORE she planted a few times - ("whaaah the faaaakkk - she was going in! She was almost in!") I think they were preparing the straight-jacket for me in the tackroom. 

Well, I tried, Dressage Today.  Really I did try.  But - I am afraid to say - I am only human, and having a lot of patience with other humans has never been my strong suit. It was just all too much to handle and I decided that if I EVER wanted this strategy to work, I had better just throw in the towel now and try it again at a much later date, in a much quieter venue.  And so - I gave up.  I let the throng descend upon us and GRRR- CLUCK -CLUCK-CLUCK-SHOO-SHOO-SHOO-Craaack!- CAAM-ONN her up into the trailer, slammed the doors shut, and off we went to Liliput.  Sorry. 

Now, in defense of the article - I must say that I did park the trailer securely at Liliput on our arrival, and over the next few months, schooled at home using the method described for a few minutes each evening - and EUREKA - it totally worked.  To the point where I was eventually able to self load Ms. V and head off to ship-in lessons on Friday afternoons, with only minimal amounts of stress and Diarrhea.  For either of us. 

But I can still remember the sight of Grandpa MVA in the rearview mirror, his arms up and shaking his head, in the universal gesture of  "good riddance to that fucking moron woman". 

Ahh, a horse trailer - parked on memory lane...

Wait a minute ... How hard could it have been to get Ms. V on the trailer - you obviously got her to Muddy View Acres without incidence just a few months ago (because surely if there had been a story to tell, Dressage Curmudgeon would have told it).

Yep, that is true.  She walked on and left her birth home without a second look.  So, one less familiar with horses (like, say, Mr. Motard) might expect that this would happen again.  And again, and again. And be totally perplexed when the horse suddenly grows roots.

In practice, though, we all know that this is rarely the case. 

There are different theories on this. 

One is that when a horse sees a trailer for the first time, it just looks like an elevated stall, and they figure "Hmm.. you REALLY want me to go in there?  Well, how bad can it be.  There is hay, and you seem to be shaking a pail of pellets.  What the hell".  And in they go.

It isn't until they actually start driving around and witness the horror of the creaking, rattling vibrating stall, that they realize it was a fairly stupid idea to step in, and commit to never doing it again.  Like me, and the Tequila shooters, back at South Residence.   

(If you have never ridden around in a horse trailer, you should give it a go.  It does make you wonder why a horse ever gets on there a second time.  Really it is a miracle). 

I have another theory - one that revolves around the concept that the personality of dogs and horses does begin to resemble that of their owners over time. 

And, if you know a bit about my history with horses and trailers and the combination of both - you would realize that giant glowing green waves of DANGER DANGER DANGER seem to eminate from me like bad gas whenever it is time to trailer a horse.  Wait - now that I think of it - I do actually get bad gas, accompanied by diarrhea, when I have to trailer a horse.  So maybe it is not just a "seeming" thing.

There are many times when the sayings "ignorance is bliss" and "you don't know what you don't know" are absolutely perfectly applicable when horses are concerned.  And trailering is most definitely one of those times.

But I did know what I knew.  And sure, I am pretty ignorant.  But not when it comes to this subject.  I knew what could happen... oh yes, I knew.

Picture if you can, for a moment, the life and times of the Curmudgeon family back in the 70's.  With our poor, horse trailering patriarch, Mr. Curmudgeon.

Mr. Curmudgeon.  (actual product may not be identical to image shown)

Unfortunately, back in the 70's, good fathers who knew absolutely nada about horses were nonetheless expected to hitch up spooky steel two horses to their Mercury Monarchs (until the transmissions got blown out, at which time they had to upgrade to monster woody Wagoneers like the one Skyler White drives on "Breaking Bad") and take their own little ponies, to little shows, to watch their little children cry after not winning pathetic little ribbons.  Good times!

Now, new millenium fathers typically just hand over big sums of cash to have all of this done by their child's smiling coach, (who drives a rig worth more than many people's homes in order to get the job done).  I am sure they have their problems too, but part of the fee involves keeping this all on the down-low, behind the scenes, medicating here and there as needed, and cleaning up any mess before the parents have a chance to notice.

But back in the day, all of this fell on the shoulders of our old school dads.  Together, they learned to link arms and took turns shoving each others evil ponies onto their spooky two horse trailers -  luckily, a determined 35 yr old man and another fatherly friend can pretty well pick up a 600lb, 13hh pony and lift the bugger off all four feet, so bad loading manners didn't really come into play as much as when the horse is 1000 lbs heavier.

They learned how to manoeuver their little rigs effortlessly, so that on the somewhat regular occasion when  a hot horse show twentysomething babe got her own rig hopelessly stuck in the mud or jacknifed, the horse show dads could spring into action and show off their backing-up, turning-around prowess, rescuing her and making waking up at 4:30 am almost worthwhile.

Really, they did remarkably well for people thrown into situations not of their own making, when they secretly would have rather spent the time and money golfing with friends.  Or anyone really. 

But what these Dads could not control, (much to the alarm of their children - who at the time, thought Dads could do it all and did not fully appreciate the unstoppable power of the stupidity of some equines) was what it is the evil little bastards did once the doors of the trailer were shut.  Or opened, really.  Because standing behind a pony and lifting its ass into a trailer while staying safely off to the side is one thing.  Seeing its flailing forelegs coming at your head, and getting hung up in the partition the second you open the front mandoor is entirely another.  Watching as a fleet of people armed with ropes and blindfolds and plenty of ACE arrive to help you to pry the pony out of the trailer without killing it is also entirely another. 

Or, driving home from a horse show with the pony scrambling like a mix master, yanking the entire Woody Wagoneer rig around on the road, with a car full of crying children would be another experience that a 70's Dad would not anticipate when looking at that shining Cherokee two horse in the Bahr's parking lot.  Once again, prying the pony out of the trailer, this time from beneath the partition instead of on top, would be an unexpected ...uh... adventure.

And these are the sorts of things that happened as we were growing up and transporting our ponies across Ontario.  I still have the mental scars. It got to the point where when we were pony shopping, the first question dad asked wasn't "is he sound" or "can he jump", but instead "can he stand on four fucking legs in a horse trailer without falling over or having a mental meltdown".

To make matters worse - Mr. Motard and I had a little trouble coming home from Cape Hatteras once upon a time...there was an incident involving a construction zone, a flat tire, decorative safety chains, and several hundreds of dollars worth of destroyed windsurfers.  Let's just say it did not build my "Trailering stuff...it's FUN" confidence level. 

If you are wondering what Mr. Motard is saying, as I recall it was something along the lines of "oh, my love, I am so happy we are ok and no one was hurt".  No, wait... I am confused.. maybe it was  "Put that fucking camera down before I shove it up your ass".  

Now, I know there are adults out there who have had a horse for a total of  6 months, and a trailer for 6 weeks, who merrily proceed to load up old Trigger and ship the sucker all over hill and dale.  They stop for 4 course meals with cocktails here and there along the way, while Trigger munches hay peacefully in the parking lot. I envy these people.  I will never be one of these people.  Like I said - you don't know, what you don't know, and until Trigger decides to jump through that front window one day, the thought just doesn't occur to you that he ever might be stupid enough to do so.

I really do think I have made progress (more on this later, when I make a concerted effort to do so), however I think my nervous vibes did transfer to poor innocent Ms. V and freaked her out a bit.  That, and Grandpa MVA of course, who was a scary thing at the very best of times.