The Dressage Curmudgeon

Cognitive Disannoyance: The act of annoying someone with your inaccurate version of reality.

2018-03-08T10:44:00.000-05:00

Now wait a minute Curmudgeon... there are plenty of amateurs with amazing horses who are amazing riders...

Of course there are.

We just call them "riders" and they blend seamlessly into the sea of other disgustingly talented riders we all aspire to be one day.

At what I think was the same show where the woman was kind enough to entertain everyone on COTH for 2 weeks with her Frosty riding skills, Canada's own Jill Irving was kicking the asses of the likes of Diane Creech and Tuny Page in Class 502 - FEI Grand Prix CDI3. (I didn't spend a lot of time stalking this so I may have my facts on the exact show incorrect, but the ass kicking part is true).

Victoria Winter would be another person who comes to mind in this category. Not a full time dressage pro - still an amazing rider. I am sure there are countless examples in the U.S as well. Jessica Springsteen is an incredibly talented International showjumping competitor. Does it help that she has the best horses money can buy? Yes. Do I think I could get on one of them and get around even a 3'6" course? Likely no.

One can't help noticing that Winter and Irving have done their best riding on horses that other people have already ridden in the Olympics. I don't think I am catty to say this does give you just a teensy bit of a leg up. But - THEY STILL HAD TO RIDE THE HORSES. VERY WELL.

So I know full well that we cannot use the simple equation here of money + horse = trainwreck when it comes to dressage and adult amateur riders. And no, I don't have any particular issue with these people. Godspeed and good luck.

The person you must endeavour to never, ever become, after you win the lottery and go horse shopping with Charlotte or whoever, and come home with your prancin' dancin' partner ready to head on out to the Olympics... is Milos. From the Seinfeld episode.

Curmudgeon! You oldie olderton. No one watches Seinfeld anymore

Yah I know. I can't remember the last time someone greeted me with a hearty "Hellooo NEWMAN!" But bear with me. If you remember the episode in question it totally captures my frustration towards this group of riders.

In summary - Seinfeld goes to a fancy private tennis club. While there, he runs into Milos - who scoffs at his tennis racket, says he wouldn't be caught dead playing with a piece of crap in his hands such as the racket Jerry possesses. So Jerry, feeling that this guy must know his shit seeing as he is at a fancy private club, forks over cash for an overpriced racket.

Surprise! Jerry later finds out that Milos is all talk and is in fact, a horrible tennis player.

Hilarity ensues as Jerry agrees to help Milos save face with his girlfriend by allowing him to win a match, even though he really sucks. But - the stupid fucker can't just have a normal civil game - he has to showboat and carry on and expects Jerry to suck it up and play along. Jerry of course eventually snaps and other shit happens, the three storylines of the show come together in some crazy way like they always do in episodes of Seinfeld, yada yada yada.

Jerry and Milos

Anyway, the relevant portion of this rambling recount of a Seinfeld episode is this - money + horse = trainwreck, category 2 women tend to be so fucking irritating for exactly this reason.

You never seem to sit beside one in a director's chair on the sidelines or at a clinic and have a discussion regarding how difficult dressage is. Or how frustrating it is to see the trainer get on your horse and make something look effortless, then get on the horse yourself and struggle to do the simplest things. Or that regardless of how much money you spend or how hard you try - dressage is still too difficult for you to master. And although you may be able to do bits and pieces of a I1 test someday, actually pulling it all together in the ring is a dream that you may never realize. Ever. No matter what you do. Unless you set reality aside and head on into the ring and give it a really awful, embarrassing try. Like the woman live streamed from Wellington.

Instead, I find that should you decide to sidle up to the majority of these women, you are instead expected to play by Milos' rules as described above. As they pontificate on the joys of riding a piaffe, or executing a perfect pirouette - a ha haaa, oh, all in the course of an average everyday ride - you must smile, nod, and agree with the pontificator. Oh yes, Clarice. It must be fabulous to experience this. Mmm Hmm.. Yep... Ha ha ha... Oh, that crazy Steffen Peters. Blah blah etc.

And as your inner Jerry Seinfeld screams out "MENTION TO HER THAT SHE CAN'T EVEN SIT THE FUCKING TROT LET ALONE PULL OFF A LINE OF TEMPIS"... you know that you are too nice a person to do this. So instead you continue to smile, nod some more, and make a mental note to never, ever sit beside this woman again. Perhaps you can find out her schedule, and add a layer to this mental note to never ever attend the stable at the same time as her again. Or pack your trailer and drive the fuck right down the laneway and on to another stable.

Now don't get me wrong. It is not that I want to hear about how tough things are for these women so I can snark about them losing a battle that they can't buy their way out of. If I really had no compassion whatsoever, I would unleash the inner Jerry Seinfeld and let them know- that I know - that they are full of smoldering bullshit.

In actuality, I feel really badly for them because it does suck to have a dream, and to try really hard to do something well, and find out you can't actually do it, no matter how the deck is stacked in your favour. I totally get this, and I don't wish this on anyone.

But as with so many other avenues of life - I just wish these people would be honest with themselves and those around them. Maybe people wouldn't be doing horrible I1 tests livestreamed on Facebook if they realized that it is entirely normal and OK for middle aged women to find dressage really fricking difficult, no matter how hard they try. We could have a rational discussion about the things we are working on, what is challenging, how frustrated we can be - and we could all do it in person, face to face, instead of internet stalking bulletin boards to see if we are normal, like teenagers sprouting our first pubic hairs and reading Judy Blume books.

But instead, these people put on this fake shell to try to convince us that all is well and on track. Despite what reality is showing the world.

At least if they want to live in the special world of Cognitive Dissonance, where no one notices that the words coming out of their mouths don't match the reality riding the horse - I wish that they will go away and never talk to me. Ever.

But alas, my frustrating tendency to smile, nod, zip my lip - and no matter how much lava pours out my ears as my brain melts down with frustration, my compulsion to avoid making people look like assholes in public makes me an irresitable target. If only I were more like Jerry Seinfeld.

I am an FEI rider... I am an FEI rider

So, let's review - I can't sit on the chairs beside the rich ladies who don't ride. I can't sit on the chairs beside the rich ladies who ride horribly.

How about that one over there - the one beside the parent of the budding equestrian wunderkid, getting ready to qualify for NAYRC*? How bad can that chair possibly be?

*North America Young Riders Championship

Girl, look at my horse (He's turned out!) - I'm clueless and I don't know it

2018-02-15T10:40:00.000-05:00

Ok, I am not proud to admit it, but sometimes I watch Family Feud.

I know, I know. It is not high-brow TV. But it is something good to have on in the background while you are making dinner or lying around in the bathtub, or whatever else it is you are doing that only uses half or less of your brain.

That said - I did actually enjoy an episode the other night. It was "Celebrity Family Feud" (where the word "Celebrity" is used very generously). In this instance, the Celebrities were NBA versus MLB All Stars. So they really were relatively famous and talented people (versus Bachelors versus Bachelorettes. Or Paula Deen's family versus some other alt-right Celebrity family all vying for a chance to redeem themselves by doing something light hearted and charming with Steve Harvey on TV).

The channel caught my eye because one of the NBA players was Muggsy Bogues. Why would I care about this? Well, he was a point guard for the Toronto Raptors, which is somewhat interesting to me, however the real story here is that he is the "Arab / Appaloosa pulling off a 70%+ Grand Prix Freestyle" of the NBA.

See if you can guess which guy he is in the Family Feud lineup.

The answer to your question is... 5'3"

Now I could just spend some time writing about how, although Muggsy made it to the big leagues - literally - you are an idiot to think that he is living proof that there is no genetic advantage to being tall in the NBA, or some other obvious story line that ties into the fact that yes, Arab/Appaloosas can sometimes do dressage but picking a purpose bred animal is a much better bet. However - the more interesting part is - although it was Muggsy who got me watching in the first place- it was Pedro Martinez who got me to stay with the game right through to Fast Money.

Poor Pedro. He did everything wrong.

"Pedro! 100 average Joe Americans surveyed... their top answers are on the board!"

"Name a word that rhymes with Mommy!"
He proudly announced his answer was... MY-YUMMY! (as in, the CSI infested city in Florida, said with a thick Dominican accent)

"100 men surveyed - how many fist fights have you been in!"
Pedro's answer - said with conviction - "15!"

Here is Pedro taking down the 72 year old manager of the Yankees

"Name someone who you have to negotiate with"
A-HA! - he had a great answer for this one too... "My Manager!"

I don't need to tell you the total count for his answers were 0 - 0 - 0

But even though he was possibly the shittiest Family Feud player I have ever watched and he fucked up the chances for his team to win the Fast Money for charity - he did it honestly. With a smile and charming demeanor.

The problem wasn't Pedro - it was that he was oblivious to the fact that he lives in a different universe than the rest of us.. who have never punched anyone (even during times we have really, really wanted to), and have no one to manage anything in our lives (if I did, I wouldn't be wasting my time blogging, I would be working on something constructive). He lives in a World where understanding the nuances of English literacy is not a must and having a crazy strong Dominican accent has no bearing whatsoever on your success in life. If you are a MLB All-Star, you can rhyme your favourite US Cities with whatever you would like, and no one cares. Until you go on Family Feud.

It isn't that Martinez didn't work hard to get where he is today. He came from very humble roots. And had to play for the Expos.

It is just that if you take him out of his world where he is a phenomenal success, and put him into an arena where we know more than he does, he comes off as a little out of touch and quirky. You might possibly think he is an idiot. Or, if you are less generous, a cocky asshole (really - who would assume anyone else has a Manager, let alone 100 people surveyed at a Mall in Springfield anywhere, USA?). And sure, we could blame it on the fact that he made more money in a season than I will in a lifetime. But really, he is just using a different frame of reference for the world.

And this, my friends, is how I found the Category 1, director's chair riding horse ladies to be.

They were a little quirky. And more than a little out of touch with what I was up against, as a Category 2, subset 2 rider.

But not once was one of them anything but over the top nice to me during my time spent coming and going from full training barns.

And why would they have any reason to NOT be nice? We were not in any sort of competition whatsoever for - well - anything.

They got all of the trainer's attention - whenever they wanted it. (I was once told that weekday morning lessons were out of the question for me, because the morning was dedicated to this type of client. Oh well, I told myself - just one more reason to trundle off to the office - Day Care is not open to the plebes between nine and noon).

They had the most beautiful horses - so there was no need to put Ms. V down in sly, passive aggressive ways to make sure I knew that their horse was nicer, further along, better moving etc. It was obvious.

And they had no desire to become great riders. So the fact that I could actually sit the trot after months and months of trying, or do a canter transition without drama, or any of the other things that I had fought for and won - mattered not a whit to them. They had no jealousy of anything I had or would ever accomplish with Ms. V.

What they were, was irritating and sometimes clueless. Just like Pedro. It wasn't that they wanted to be this way - they just were, because of their point of reference to the whole situation.

If the trainer dropped me like a hot stone to help them with - well - absolutely everything they needed to have done - leaving me with an excuse disgused as a directive to "finish up with some free walk work" or something else that you knew meant "finish up with something you can't possibly mess up even if you are all on your own" - they didn't hear this. They heard "oh great, Curmudgeon is just finishing up her lesson! What great timing I have! That means the trainer is ready to dedicate their attention to Me ME ME!"

It isn't their fault that net neutrality doesn't exist in the barnyard. Or probably, in many arenas of their life. If everyone always hustles to help you out, you assume it's normal.

They also were not cognizant of the impact of the cost of things on my ability to pay for them. "Great news Curmudgeon! Clarice and I had a pow-wow and decided that we really need TWO tack stalls and a grooming bay at the next show! And one stall to put our wicker furniture in so we have a dry place to drink wine when it rains (because it will. It always will)". What do you say when you are on a budget and your cut of the cost of the "great" things others have agreed to as a committee without you show up on your invoice?

(Question - is there a politically correct way to say "if I keep my tack in the trunk of my car, and braid in my stall - do I still have to pay for all of this extraneous stuff?" Answer - no).

Beyond the perks which money can buy - they were irritating in other ways too. Not because they wanted to be. It just couldn't be helped. If someone has not tried to do difficult things on horseback - they have no appreciation for what difficult things on horseback are. Or what might make it even more difficult for someone to do them.

So, as they pop in and out of the arena without warning trailing saddle pads or blankets, or up and down out of their director's chairs like targets at a redneck shooting range - they do not relate the fact that your horse is spooking to the fact that they are wandering around willy nilly in an unpredictable fashion. "Oh, I guess Ms. V is just feeling HOT today! Is she like this all the time?" (No. Not when your ass stays in the chair. Or you are not here).

And so on. But, none of this was done with malice or jealousy or any other intention that was in any way directed at me personally. Or meant to make anyone feel badly, or anything else I could possibly feel catty about.

Sorry to disappoint.

So, as much as I am sure there are a lot of you out there that would like to hear that I hated these well to do bitches in their little Pikeur suits (really, who the Hell struggles into sweaty tall boots with no intention of ever riding? That's just weird), really I didn't. Because for the most part, they were good at heart.

It was no different than spending time with my friends with kids who don't understand that watching impromptu ballet performances, or being interrupted every three words by your darling child any time I try to speak, or being cajoled into buying yet another box of shitty frozen steaks for the latest hockey tournament or whatever just isn't my thing, but because you are generally nice people, and I enjoy your company more than any alternatives I have at my disposal - I will look past it, smile, and let it slide.

But make no mistake. The minute one of these ladies decides to belly on up to the mounting block and become a "rider" - uh..well, things seem to change a little.

Note to service providers who have satisfied customers - you are jerks. FYI.

2018-02-12T16:24:00.001-05:00

People ask me, Curmudgeon, now that you don't have a horse, how do you spend your weekends?

Well, I sleep in more. I lie on the couch and watch CNN (they have this really good sit-com on right now - it is about a billionaire who takes over the White House and chaos ensues. You should check it out. It is entertaining when it is not terrifying). I eat things I shouldn't. I drink Mimosas while lying on the couch and eating things I shouldn't, because for some reason beyond logic, society has decided it doesn't have to be five o'clock anywhere to enjoy them.

If only there were some sort of Adult Day Care I could attend. Maybe it would cost about the same as daycare for a real child, $1000 + a month. With fun activities. Maybe horse riding.

But I guess there isn't (or I didn't think there was, in any case) so instead... I am embarrassed to admit it... I sometimes go to the mall.

It is actually the same mall I went to as a kid (I remember going to the door-crasher grand opening event with my Mom and her suburban housewife friends, and hanging out in the video arcade as a teenager). Back in the day, malls were kind of one-size-fits-all. Now, they are tailored to a demographic.

This particular mall is now one of the "Luxury" malls in the area - pimped out with a Saks Fifth Ave store and a Pandora line that is never less than 50 people long - and all of the cool fountains are gone, which is really too bad.

I guess after a grueling shopping session for overpriced shoes and bracelets (I loved the recent SNL skit on Pandora), one's body screams out for overpriced fruit juice to complete the trifecta, and so there are also a lot more health and wellness type stores filling up the halls now as well.

It was at one of these stores that I saw this:

What the hell is it, Curmudgeon? A giant cup of pablum?

Excellent guess. But no. It is in fact, a Golden Coconut Bliss Smoothie with Turmeric.

Apparently, this beverage "delivers a delicious, creamy, lightly sweet profile and is sweetened coconut milk and nature's candy - dates (dried apricots are likely totally pissed off that dates are so full of themselves that they feel they can claim this title. Jerks).

Beyond all of this, "the golden hue comes from turmeric which is a spice known for its anti-inflammatory properties". The smoothie is also made with one whole banana, is gluten friendly (thank God, gluten needs some friends, everyone is trying to throw poor gluten under the bus constantly these days), is dairy free and vegan.

How much did this miracle cost? I can't actually tell you, because who buys JUST a Golden coconut Bliss Smoothie with Turmeric? You have to adorn it with a wheatgrass blast shot, or whey protein boost, or something else which will run the value up another few dollars and jack around the price as advertised on the board.

Bottom line is, by the time you walk out with your Bliss on, you are looking at around $5.00. And 300 kcals.

But take heart. While I sat on the bench squinting my eyes at the menu board trying to determine if I was imagining things or if this was really real (and also wondering why, if turmeric is so miraculous, people who eat a lot of curry aren't all physically exceptional specimens, or why anyone would choke back a banana curry milkshake instead of actually eating an awesome Southeast Asian curry specialty of some sort) - I noticed something strange.

Customers entered the store.. the people in the store sold them EXACTLY WHAT THEY WANTED - and they left. And everyone was happy.

Except me. I wanted to run up to each idiot that spent $5.00 on a banana curry milkshake and smack the stupid thing out of their hands and tell them to get half a brain, because drinking 1/2 tsp. of something whipped into a fancy fattening beverage when you could buy a kilo of the same thing at bulk barn for the same price is totally moronic. And expecting it to do anything for your health other than expand your bum if you slurp too many is even more idiotic still.

No - no - wait. What I REALLY should have done is run into the store, and told the person who was merrily blending up smoothies, making their customers happy - that they SUCK. Who except a demonic evil minded person would sell someone exactly what they want, and makes them happy, if I personally think it is a bad idea and a horrible business model? That is fucking crazy talk.

And if running a successful business using this model and satisfying customers allows them to live a comfortable life, with a nice house, and support their family - well, screw them. They should have the ethics to toss those bananas and overpriced vita-mix blenders right in the trash and do something honest for a living for once. And only make smoothies that are really healthy, not bullshit fake frame, monkey razor blade healthy (i.e. - not make smoothies at all, but open a fruit stand).

So in any case, to head on back over to dressage - I took my mind off of the horror of $5.00 banana curry milkshakes, by pondering a question posed by a COTHer.

If developing horses and teaching clients isn't the professional horse trainers job, what is?

Very expensive adult day care?

And, I am going to say that in my experience, if we are talking Dressage - the answer is kind of - yes.

Because really there are only a few types of customers at a professional Dressage trainer's barn. They are all adults (or their nearly adult children). They mostly come out during the day. And they expect to be showered with a lot of love and care. (Just like daycare, with no diapers. But since you have to pick up horse turds, it is pretty much a wash on the poo front).

Let us review them.

First - there are people who can afford amazing horses, but choose not to ride these horses themselves, but instead ride director's chairs wearing dressage inspired clothing. They expect their chosen trainer to ride an unpredictable creature, in a flawless manner, while keeping it sound and healthy. Their role is to smile and enjoy the show. What if the show is not what as expected? Well, then, watch your back trainer - if anything goes wrong - your fault or not - they will take their toys elsewhere, and walk out the door with $1000 ++ of your monthly income before expenses.

Second - there are the people who can afford amazing horses, and want to attempt to ride them themselves. These clients expect exactly all of the same things as the first group - but they also expect the trainer to transform them into riders, regardless of their natural skill level or how much effort they put into the project

Third - there are the people who expect all of the same things as the second group, but instead of transforming themselves into riders, this group expects the trainer to transform their darling almost adult teenage children into riders, regardless of THEIR natural skill level or how much effort THEY want to put into the project - which may be next to none on both counts.

Now - add a subset of each of the above categories. Replace the phrase "people who can afford amazing horses" with the phrase "people who cannot actually afford this whole exercise, but are doing what they can to trick everyone into thinking they can and pull off the gig anyways"

Then - one final subset - Replace the phrase "people who can afford amazing horses" with the phrase "people who cannot afford amazing horses but have ordinary every day horses that they expect to perform as well as amazing horses, but still can afford to pay the bills". (if you have any doubts here, Category 2, subset 2, would be where you found yours truly).

The last phase of this exercise, now that we have our categories defined, along with subsections - ask yourself - if you are a dressage trainer, which of these people would YOU most like to deal with?

Remember, you have only 10, maybe 20 stalls. So you can mix and match here, but whoever you choose, you are limited. Every client that walks in - or out - of the double dutch inspired doors is a huge chunk of your livelihood.

And - depending on where you live, there are only maybe 500 of these clients roaming the streets, and 50 trainers vying for their money (or lack thereof, unbeknownst to you, in the case of subset number 1 - If you mess up and wind up with anyone in subset 1, you have just kissed goodbye a lot of time, money, and possibly turned away an actual paying customer because there were not stalls available. ).

Go ahead! Pick the best ones!

I don't know about you - but as long as the 20 people I wound up with were pleasant and reasonably normal and paid their bills, and treated their horses well - I would be pretty up to offering an exceptional daycare experience if it made everyone happy - i.e - if in their eyes, I was developing horses and teaching clients.

And if I did decide to paint on a smile, offer up a carafe of Pino Grigio in my viewing room, say Braaavvv!... as long as the horses and clients were all happy as a Millennials sipping a curry banana milkshakes at the mall - would I really be doing anything wrong? If I worked in any other profession on Earth, offering exactly what the customer wants in a way that makes them feel happy and special is pretty much how the gig of "making a living" goes.

Any customer service role is really Daycare for someone, who wants something, and wants to feel really good when they get it. Not sure why it should be any different for Dressage Trainers.

Anyway, I could go on and on, but let us break down these segments in a little more detail, over the next few posts and few months that I spent with Coach C....

Don't go changin'.. to try to please me..(Oh wait - you haven't)

2018-02-06T12:09:00.001-05:00

Hmm. Let's see. I haven't gone on COTH forums (Chronicle of the Horse) in about a year. I wonder what is up over there?

How much has changed in the world of dressage and message boards, I wondered to myself on this slow and snowy Tuesday. Dum de dum dumm. Hmm. Hmm Hmmmm. La la.

Oh my lord. Woah.

Answer to my question - nothing. Not. A. Thing.

This is the second time I have used this image. Which tells us something about dressage.

Well if you too have been there within the last few weeks, I don't need to tell you of what I speak here today. If you haven't, and if you are up to it.. I am referring to the spills, chills and thrills of the Del Mar Livestream debacle.

Del Mar Livestream Debacle

I haven't even made it to the Dropbox "Ladies of Iron Horse" rebuttal. I really think I need wine for that, and although I do agree that it is always five o'clock somewhere, it is still before noon here and I will adhere to social norms today.

(Coles notes version for those of you who don't have the strength to go wading through the muck - very weak rider on stellar, confirmed in the 70%'s GP horse puts in horrible yank-n-spank I-2 test. Test is live streamed, along with commentary. Scores 50% then eliminated. Chaos ensues on COTH).

Why on Earth was I snooping around on COTH in the first place, after a year, you may wonder?

It is a bit of a long story, however the crux of it is that I ran into a reader who asked me why I quit, and if I ever considered finishing the story, as people would like to know how it all ends.

The answer is - I think about finishing the story all of the time. It makes me sad to think I had this fun project going on, and now, it sits stagnant, with so many people still to be mocked. I read over some of the old posts I made, and remember fondly the stupid shit that happened to me, and wonder what masochistic part of me made me keep on going. I thank God or Aliens or whoever runs the universe that I never ever again have to haul a horse trailer every time I see one rolling down the road, and remember the shipping boots... And so on.

But you know, this Del Mar Livestream thing may actually help me stay on the project this time. Because it so accurately personifies the remainder of my story. I think up to this point, the story has been - if you don't have much money, how do you get to be a dressage rider? From here on in, the story changes to - if money is taken out of the equation - who gets to be a dressage rider? And who has the fortitude to deal with people who are willing to pay to succeed?

The other thing that may help me to stay on the project is that it has been almost 5 years since Coach Costly died. So maybe enough time has passed that I can take another shot at the story.

Yes, huge spoiler alert here. One of the reasons I am really struggling to write this next section, and in fact, the whole rest of my story, is that not only was he a coach and a friend - which makes writing a fun and sarcastic blog pretty difficult to begin with - but he also died somewhere along the way, which makes it pretty much impossible. One of his good friends that I had a run-in with (ha, won't this be a fun post, I told myself..he heee, just wait until I get to THIS!) - well he died too. No so fun any more, is it, Curmudgeon.

I don't know the details of why / how he died (but I have my strong suspicions, as do all people who knew him even casually), but suffice it to say that any time a healthy person in their 40's passes away, something has gone horribly wrong. And in his case, I do think trying to work in an industry that expects perfection from the people at the top of the sport, but gives them tools that are horribly inadequate and frustrating and unreasonable with which to do the job is a good recipe for disaster if you are at all inclined to issues with mental health or addiction.

Cringing through that I-2 test, then reading the comments I was reminded of all of this - and how at this point, choosing a side does get pretty difficult. Should she be showing? I am sure she is doing her very best, has tried very hard, is crushed and frustrated and humiliated to see this online (wow, so glad I was never live streamed). I actually did not watch the whole test because I felt so badly for her. But - no doubt - she was not ready for the test. So who's fault is it that she was in the ring? Should her coach be embarrassed? Is this her first coach? Or - were there five other coaches she kicked to the curb when they told her not to show? Has this coach been blowing smoke up her butt and she is stunned to find out she isn't good enough? Or trying to subtly, gently, encourage her to drop down a level without losing a customer and for all we know, her ability to pay her mortgage or something else? And above all - is it any of our effing business? Is bad riding the very worst thing that can happen to a horse or rider?

Thank goodness no one is trying to make this horse do tempis with a swinging lower leg!

Who knows. Not me. But this is the first time in a while I have felt at all inspired to write, so maybe we can keep the momentum going here.

I will ask a favour though - If at any time, anyone feels that I have crossed a line in telling the story of Coach Costly (and I know many readers knew him personally) - please let me know immediately and I will edit the post. And, if you see a post get edited, please be understanding. I am not trying to sugar-coat or hide anything, but only to show respect to Coach C.

Wish me luck...

Hoping Santa brings peace, joy, and some duct tape for that client's mouth. Christmas at Coach C's

2015-12-11T09:08:00.003-05:00

Season's Greetings everyone,

You will have to excuse me if I seem a little worn out. The new man in my life has a strange addiction. One possibly more expensive and time consuming than horses.

He loves Costco. Just driving into the parking lot is like entering the gates of Hell to me, but somehow being a part of the crush of walking dead zombies pushing carts through the giant roll-up garage style doors gives him a thrill. So, I did my best to join in to the fun. I am now exhausted from all of the raw, unadulterated consumerism in action.

Luckily I can always find my companion in the crowd at Costco in Brampton as he is the only one who is 6'1 and Bart Simpson blond.

Being a condo dweller now, I was able to resist the pull of Christmas decoration club packs (for example "pine made of plastic" door thingys in large multi boxes. Just how many doors these people have? And how much time do they blow on make-work door decorating projects?) but did leave with enough toilet paper to wipe my butt through 2016 and a huge 1 kilo tub of grated Parmesan cheese sufficient to bog my colon into producing only small hard goat poo niblets for the foreseeable future - thus reducing my need for toilet paper. Ah, Costco, you trickster you.

Where was I going with this - oh yes. Barns. And Christmas. And Ms. V's new home at Coach C's.

On arrival back in Canada, probably the last week of Novemeber or so, not only was I once again allowed to ride my horse, but I was also invited to attend the annual Coach C Christmas party.

The timing was perfect.

First - I had only been there less than a month, so I escaped the strange tradition of having to purchase an extravagant gift for my service provider. Since really, I had received very little service thus far.

For some reason I do not fully understand, in every other customer/service provider relationship in my life, it is the role of the service provider to purchase a Christmas gift for their customer, to thank them for their year's worth of business.

For example, I will return to Costco sometime next week to hastily purchase $500 or so dollars worth of meaningless decorative baskets which I will then spend a day or two driving all over the GTA to hand out to my customers. I will note, while dropping off my uninspired choice of gift, that these customers have already received at least 40 other decorative basket thingys from 40 other sales people in the industry, as we all seem to be obliged to partake in some sort of chocolatey Christmas inspired payola scheme.

Upon my departure, the buyer that I left my payola with will perhaps crack open the basket and eat the chocolates or other good bits, then leave the shitty hard candy and tea bags for other less fortunate office dwellers (I know this, having been one, and scavenged the dregs of Christmas basket loot along with others desperately searching for something chocolatey), and presumably when even the least appealing items have been picked clean, the glitter coated watering can or whatever strange item the stuff was shoved in will get tossed in the garbage. Ahhh, Christmas.

But just like so many other aspects of the client/service provider relationship - in the horse world, things are different.

Only once have I ever received anything bigger than a Christmas card and a cookie or something else trivial from a coach (one took pictures of everyone's horses and gave customers framed prints - nice thoughtful idea, probably didn't cost much).

Not that I am complaining, I am not a Joy-Joy-Joy person and I could care less if I do get a gift - but it would be nice if this tradition of non-giving at Christmas went both ways.

Because for some strange reason in the equine world, the expectation is that although you have spent $15,000+ on board and whatnot this year keeping your service provider in business - you will now be expected to buy THEM something for Christmas. (Coaches out there - do you actually expect a gift? Or is this just some peer-pressure inspired thing that clients do to themselves?) Watch for it on COTH (if it hasn't already started)...threads on "what to buy my coach for Christmas" It is bizarre.

Sure, I played along. I bought the obligatory Keg gift card or two. But really - think I gave my coaches a whole year of a very special gift, each and every day - I paid my bills, and did not whine about trivial bullshit. When I decided my program didn't fit with theirs - I packed my bags and got the Hell out without a fuss. Merry Christmas. You are welcome.

More importantly though - the Christmas party gave me the chance to get to know my stablemates. And their families. And dogs. Etc.

Oh. My.

I seriously cannot imagine a job I would be less suited to than the coach/stable owner at a full service training facility (especially one where you also live on the premises somewhere, or in poor Coach C's situation, where one's home is joined right on to the barn).

It is like having an irritating extended family of in-laws in your face, at your house, every day, expecting you to be simpering and engaged and drippy sweet friendly 24-7.

But wait, I am getting ahead of myself, aren't I. Back to the Christmas party. There were hors d'oeuvres and wine, decorations, music and lots of conversations dominated by people you would not listen to, given a choice, in any other social situation. And peals of that showy, hearty guffaw type laughter that says "I am way fucking funnier and happier than you will ever be". Yep, typical Holiday fun.

Motard was with me at the time, telling the chin-up story, which of course got a lot of said hearty guffaws, since the horse world is much akin to high school, and hearing about something weird that someone in a competing clique did is always great fun. Having just returned from our near-death sailing experience, we also gave the loudest and most pontificating parent the opportunity to let us know that:

A. He knew more about sailing than we did and would have easily managed the tropical storm, probably with a shaken not stirred martini in one hand. Maybe both.

B. Because of his exceptional nautical skills he would have bought himself beautiful sailboat long ago, but instead purchased his lovely daughter a Young Rider horse

C. In case we were too slow to extrapolate this out all on our own, he pointed out that this meant their horse was VERY EXPENSIVE

I said TWO olives! TWOO!

And so on. And through it all, Coach C had to jump around replenishing cheese and crackers an pouring wine, and checking in on each and every guest, as any good host does. To top it all off, horses were prepped and ridden during the events as entertainment, so not only was he expected to eat, drink, and be merry along with us, but also to cajole a piaffe or two out of a stone cold Warmblood or get a Dutchie who found the whole party atmosphere just a tad on the terrifying side to do something elegant and impressive without losing its shit. All while laughing and smiling being his imp-like over the top friendly self.

I was incapable of dealing with even one set of in-laws without wanting to punch Big Jud the Motard mom in the mouth many, many times, let alone a whole gaggle of this sort of twisted "you have to be nice to me, as I am entitled to your suck-up skills no matter what sort of ninny-like behaviour I exhibit" fun. I have no idea how any of these trainers deal with it, along with all of the other stresses of running a business, without turning to alcohol or harder drugs, or having mental breakdowns.

Well actually I do know the answer - the answer (which has recently been proven to us all again) is that fairly often, they don't.

Eureka. There is a nice horse hiding in there somewhere..

2015-08-20T08:30:00.003-04:00

And thus began the start of my first full-full training experience. Well, the first one that actually lasted longer than 30 days (plus of course, 30 days notice).

Sure, I did give it a try with the Frau. You may recall the few thousand dollars better spent at Casino-Rama.

Why did I stick it out this time? I think this is due to a few different factors.

First factor - (and really, this always is first when it comes to horses and their less than gifted riders) - in the few years that had passed, I had beaten at least a portion of my cognitive bias known as the Dunning-Kruger effect into submission. For better or for worse. I think those who welcome a big dose of Dunning-Kruger into their lives are such a happy disillusioned lot - oh, how I envy them.

To recap - as I think I covered this before - if you are not familiar with what the Dunning-Kruger effect is, read the Wikipedia page and prepare to be depressed. It explains why the majority of the bosses that you have hated over the years seemed to be overconfident, totally incompetent idiots. You know the ones, the big talking gas-bags that have all of the answers in meetings and get promoted, but somehow can't even figure out how to do an email attachment or find the any key. Science has revealed the answer - it was not your imagination - they really were overconfident and totally incompetent idiots. Thanks for that depressing info, scientific method.

Incompetent people are too incompetent to figure out that they are incompetent

The jig was up. I most definitely knew all of the things I did not know. They were pretty glaringly obvious at this time. (Even now, I still do not have an understanding of why my horse was supposed to respond better when being yelled at in German than just being yelled at in English. But then, what fun would life be if I had all of the answers).

The important part though is that I was at the right point in this tale to willing to hand over my ego to someone who had a shot at sorting this all out. I had left the blissful "Unconsciously Incompetent" rung of that "Learning Ladder" thing that coaches always show you, and was hanging out embarrassed and frustrated on the horrible "Consciously Incompetent" step, swearing that I must somehow climb up to "Conscious Competence" come hell or high water, and make a commitment to never return to this depressing place again. (Writes the woman who either tops her ball or digs a trench with her fairway wood repeatedly, yet refuses to leave the club in the bag).

Image not to scale. At most stables in the GTA, the red step is like a giant platform, crowded with many loudmouth people

But I was also a more receptive player this time around because I had the right horse for the gig - and also because Coach C was just such a truly gifted rider and fun person to be around.

Did he make me get a new saddle? No. I did not hear a word about it. I had by then moved on to a Stubben Juventus (if you are a shorter rider, do give this one a try) - he either crammed his ass into it without complaints if he had to hop on when I was present, or on days I wasn't riding, he used his own.

Did he suggest I get a different horse? No, partly because he could get on Ms. V from day one, and make her look like a million bucks. And, he seemed to enjoy riding her to boot. She was small and hot and took next to no strength or energy to get rolling, unlike some of the other amateur's big oaf like warmbloods, and with his feel and tact she just seemed to do what she was supposed to do.

Did he make me do a chin-up - alas dear readers, much to Motard's disappointment - no. No chin-up.

However, after I had ridden with him for a week or two, he did kind of give me the "alone time" discussion - namely, that progress could be made without me much more quickly than if I insisted on riding as well.

Once again, the stars did seem to align, as Motard and I were already booked on a holiday at that very time, and would be gone for a little over a week (the "sailing during a tropical storm - if your S.O asks if you are going to die, always say NO, even as your mast is digging into the sandy bottom of the Caribbean sea" vacation mentioned in a previous post)

So off we went to crap our pants on the high seas, while Ms. V and Coach C. worked on bonding.

And, dear readers, I am happy to report I came home to an entirely different horse. Seriously - after only one week.

A mare that could not shorten a stride of canter without a hissy meltdown had suddenly transformed into a little china doll rocking horse doing pleasant 10 metre circles without debate. Or at least with very little debate. Even the debates were not very spirited - they consisted of a few seconds of NOOO... followed by... oh that? Oh. Well, that's not so bad. Never mind. Let's carry on.

A horse that had tight little steps and was chompy in the contact was now booming around doing a forward steady working trot, complete with "flying feet" as Motard would say.

And most strangely of all - I suddenly had a horse that the other owners seemed to actually accept as part of their clique. That is not to say that they felt she was EQUAL to their own special snowflake horses - come on now, that would be crazy talk - but they considered her to be a nice horse, that belonged in a FEI trainer's stable. Sure, they made comparisons between her and their special snowflakes that were gentle, backhanded disses targeted at things not relating specifically to dressage performance - "oh Curmudgeon, Ms. V really is lovely. Too bad she is so tiny. Detektiv is such a desirable horse because he is the perfect size for so many riders" But nothing was ever said to imply that we were out of our league in the crowd. When Coach C. got Ms. V going well, even those on the red platform described above could clearly see there was a talented horse in there somewhere.

The other reason we were accepted as part of the FEI bound clique was because no one had any reason to think otherwise. When Coach C. was asked what her breeding was, he would just say "she is Dutch or something" and add "wow, these new bloodlines that are winning are HOT!" then carry on. Because really, why was it any of anyone's business? For all they knew she WAS imported from somewhere other than Arva Ontario, and had cost mid 5 figures or whatever a "contender" would have cost at this point in time.

When it comes to horses my friends, I am sure I don't have to tell you - perception is everything. My perception at this moment in time was that Coach C's barn was the most amazingly happy place on Earth to be riding if you had the right horse and didn't mind kissing all of your disposable income goodbye.

In all honestly - it was the best time of my entire riding career.

On the road again. Hold on to your hats.

2015-07-23T13:23:00.002-04:00

I know there are people out there that get really riled up about the fact that social media allows their frenimies to craft an alternative reality. Some sexy and exciting persona to put on display for others, allowing them to portray themselves in a funner, richer, more appealing light than reality offers them.

Well, yes. Undoubtedly. Who doesn't have the friend that you have removed from your Facebook feed because you are so sick of seeing only the wonderful, none of the nasty.

However I do think that social media gets kind of a bad rap, because the motivated among us have been putting forth an impression of non-reality to wow bystanders for years.

I always have to remind myself that one can image craft in the real world too, no need for the internet. With readily available knock-off everything from China, and BMW base models that cost less than well equipped Toyota Camrys, and "warmbloods" that are "imported" from PMU farms in Alberta - it is easy to present a magical tale of something that is not actually what you and your net income can support.

As an added bonus, stir in some horse folks that have no qualms about boarding somewhere they absolutely cannot afford for a few months, falling far behind on their bills, then disappearing into the night...well, these assholes can keep up a really good appearance of living in the fast lane and making you feel like you are on a tricycle on the sidewalk. For a period of time, in any case.

Although the year was 2006, and Facebook had just barely expanded beyond its original goal of helping nerds get laid, when I pulled into the drive for my first visit to Coach Costly's facility, I felt as though I had just surfed into a perfectly managed profile page. Tinkling fountain, cobblestones, horses with heads stuck over half doors, etc. Before I even stepped out of my 475,000 km, rusty paneled (but fully paid for) 1995 Honda Civic I had already convinced myself that everyone I would come across within the joint had their much more expensive shit, much more together than I did.

In such situations it is easy to feel like you are the only person in the equine world who is not independently wealthy, or supported by a fabulous spouse or parental units, isn't it.

In fact - Exhibit A was riding that very morning. Let's call her Debbie Dubai. She was everything I knew I was not at the time. And I immediately felt a little lost.

Middle aged woman, maybe 50, no helmet and a bouncing bob (as was the style at the time), and a nice little Pikeur riding suit.
Schoolmaster effortlessly tooling around doing extensions, stiff but clean changes, halfpasses - he looked a little long in the tooth, but regardless - making things look easy for the rider.
Slightly older, slightly paunchy and grey, proud new husband on the sidelines.
Coach Costly on a stool somewhere around E, smiling as always and chirping out little pointers now and then that the pair easily followed, or asking questions - "how's your bend on that circle?" or, "did you lose his haunches around that corner this time" and whatnot.

Picture what Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes might be like as an adult, and you will have a pretty good picture of Coach Costly. Chipper, cheerful and a bit mischievous. Big grin. Or at least he had one at this point in time.

Bend! More Bend!

And hey, why wouldn't he? He was a short listed dressage rider - "A" list, kids, not the big long rambling "B" one. He had just sold his star horse for what I heard through the grapevine was a mid six figures price. He was heavily involved in the Young Riders program, coached the majority of the team and may have even been the Chef d'equipe that year - don't quote me on this one. And, to top it all off, he had a beautiful, funny wife, and an adorable set of children.

Actually even in recounting this now, I wonder to myself again why I felt I belonged in this environment, at that point in time - this all seemed very out of my league. Why would he want me and my nutty horse as clients?

I stood quietly off to the side, not wanting to interrupt Debbie Dubai's lesson, and not yet realizing that there were not lessons per se at Coach Costly's stable, but just a constant watching eye. All the time. Any time you got on your horse. (Many nights I thought he was busy on the phone in his office, paying no attention to my bad riding, only to hear the little window into the arena slide open and have him yell out "why not try a quarterline! Get off the fricking wall for a while!" or some similar thing, followed by window sliding shut.)

So, when you rode there, you didn't get your 1 hour slot where Coach C fed you a list of things to do in sequence, using the aforementioned obligatory droning coach voice. You were expected to figure this out yourself based on how your horse was doing on any particular day - and if you didn't, he would ask you what needed improvement, and how you planned to go about fixing it. If at that point, you didn't know, or were executing poorly - he would provide you with ideas, and expect you to try them. If you were not able to get a result - he might hop on and demonstrate. And so on.

I don't know if you have ever ridden with a coach who worked this way, but once you have, it is hard to go back to the standard recipe lesson. It just makes so much more sense. Why would we work on pirouettes today if I don't even feel I can do a good 10 metre circle? If I don't feel my horse is properly warmed up in 15 minutes, what is the advantage of moving on with the lesson other than the fact that it allows us to pack some interesting goodies into 60 minutes?

The other nice thing is that you can then be riding with 4 other people, all at different levels, and learning from their lessons too. The Coach can help you through a good shoulder-in or whatever, then turn around and help a more advance student do tempis while you have a walk break and watch and learn. Forget auditing clinics, at Coach C's barn, every Saturday morning at any given hour, you could see bits of anything and everything from green to GP all riding and being coached at once.

Most important of all - it forces you to use your brain. You are not being fed a set list of cookie cutter exercises to do. He expected you to be riding around doing something constructive - which he could then add to and improve - not to be wandering around waiting for someone else to feed you your dressage pablum.

Nom-Nom-Nom... mmm Half Pass.

Really, I have no idea why all dressage barns don't work this way. It is so much more conducive to actually learning to ride. When I win the lottery, then get struck in the head and develop amnesia so that I totally forget that I never want to be associated with dressage nutbars again, then open my own fabulous training facility - we will use this coaching method at my stable.

I will let you know when this all unfolds so you can get on my waiting list.

Sorry, I am on a tanget as usual, aren't I.

After D.Dubai was finished riding, and I heard all about her darling husband and how he had bought her the horse of her dreams, and how she was hoping to show third level next year even though she hadn't been riding long (blah blah etc. - she was actually a very pleasant woman, but had evidently read the book on "What to Expect When Expecting to Look and Talk the Part at a Dressage Stable") I showed Coach C. a few clips on my video camera to give him an idea of what he would be dealing with, and much to my relief and slight suspicion, (remembering the Frau's enthusiastic acceptance of the Platypus, and hoping I was not walking into another bait and switch) he nothing but was totally supportive.

By the time I left, I was all set to move in following my (anyone - anyone?) that's right, 30 days notice.

How did the 30 days go? Actually, surprisingly well. All three parties (boarder, coach and barn manager) were pretty much onside that things were just not working out. Kind of like a conscious uncoupling or whatever the hell the fashionable word is these days for mutually dumping others in your life.

When the time came to leave, I packed my things and horse in the red rocket, then thought I would be courteous and say bye to Lana one last time, obligatory handshake and whatnot.

And there were no hard feelings at all, she smiled and shook my hand with a caring look in her eye. "So glad everything is working out for you, Curmudgeon" she said. "You will be so much happier once you get rid of that horse".

Thanks for the support Lana. As usual.

Yes. I am still out there somewhere.

2015-06-25T08:25:00.001-04:00

Yes, I know - I am not writing at all. Again. Sorry about that.

Actually I have had thoughts of my blog, and dressage, and horses in the last while, but just haven't made the effort to sit down at the computer and share.

Back in February or so, God or the Aliens or whoever it is that transmits warning messages to me telepathically did send me a quick and friendly reminder (Currrmudddgeon... stay awaaaay from horrrseeess). I went riding with a friend who insisted that once I smelled the amazing aroma of horseflesh I would weaken and try to yank my Cavallos onto my winter-fat calves in a desperate frenzy to get on her horse whist freezing in an arena in February. Very serious longshot, I thought to myself - (to clarify - boots fitting, or riding her horse? Actually both longshots) but I attended to humour her and also she promised to make good soup for dinner when we got home. I like soup a lot.

Just as her ride finished up and I headed back to the barn to thaw out my toes while she wandered around the arena with her horse and a pitchfork picking up freezing turds, I heard the unmistakable sound of a scrambling cast horse - accompanied by the freaked out "woah - woah - easy" panic of a twenty-something stablehand.

Long story short - after about an hour of the three of us trying to get old Stormy to his feet without getting our heads kicked off, we succeeded only to find that his leg was dangling from the hip. Driving home I had to break it to my friend that no, visiting the barn with her that night did not make me nostalgic for the utter heartbreak and crazy vet bills associated with horses.

(No, Stormy did not make it. RIP).

In March - I joined a private golf club. As the salesperson gently explained the financial commitment involved in being a GOLD member (it will run me approximately $600 - $800 per month, depending on how much beer I drink) all I could think was - pfft... isn't there a PLATINUM level I can sign up for? Maybe DOUBLE DIAMOND or something? This is a fricking bargain versus owning a horse...

(You will be happy to hear that although my leisure venue of choice has changed, the nutty women seem to be the same - my very first day hitting balls I was informed by a member that my pants were inappropriate. I checked with the Pro and he said perhaps the 80 year old member who commented didn't share my fashion sense and would not be caught dead wearing Rickie Fowler inspired orange, but the pants were technically just fine).

Next April - the month which officially marked the anniversary of the final "yes she is actually really and truly gone, and I am fairly certain she is not coming back" sale of Ms. V - came and went without any particular pangs of nostalgia, or anything else noteworthy.

Then, in early May - I went to see Cavalia - yes I know, I am possibly the last "dressage" person on Earth to attend the show. How did I like it? Well, I knew the magic of "the three P's" was really and entirely gone for me when I spent more of the show wishing I had those springy feet things on so I could jump over 3 foot high fences than wishing I was riding the upper level horse during the finale. Trying in vain to execute clean changes while splashing around in a giant puddle was just a bit too reminiscent of horse shows I had wasted money on in the past.

(I do recommend the "RendezVous VIP" Experience if you go, where you get to sit in a lounge during intermission and eat shrimp on a stick and drink champagne. Still much, much more economical than actually attending a horse show, and I think I was able to down at least $47 worth of small cups of Haagen Dazs to offset the cost of the ticket. Apparently you can visit horses at the end of the show too, if that still lights your fire).

Usually when you find yourself upside down over an oxer it is a bad thing. Not with these springy feet things.

So I am not sure what the rest of June and July will bring to dissuade me from ever riding a horse again, but I am sure there will be something. Pan Am games are just around the corner too - I bet CBC will do their best to keep me out of the saddle with some awkward "get to know dressage" broadcasts. (No one will ever bring dressage to the masses the way Colbert did..)

Colbert Does Dressage

Actually it is the Pan Am games that bring me to write my post today, as I am doing a little stalking of the Canadian riders list... hmmm... hmm... a few of the usual suspects, but also a few notables missing.

Two people who are not on the list are the two riders who I was choosing between back in 2006 or whenever it was that I had to pick a new trainer.

Coach #1 - is missing for a very obvious reason.

Coach #2 - is missing - but I have no idea why. I know I read an article a few months back indicating that he was definitely going to try to qualify for the games, and was on the Dressage Canada Short List with not one, but two horses.

Did he have horse issues? Sponsor issues? Health issues of his own? Did he decide Pan Am games are stupid, since when it comes to dressage, they are essentially the Canada US games, so why bother?

Who knows, not me, I am hopelessly out of any loop of gossip or factual information for that matter.

Coach #2 was not on any lists whatsoever back in the day when I called him up looking for a new gig - he was still a "sometimes seen at Silver shows" kind of guy, with a few nice horses and riders who did not seem like nutbars, including one with a horse at a similar level to mine who seemed to be a really nice woman, based on our very limited interactions (I never did meet or get to know her, but from a distance she seemed to be someone who I could see riding with without having to wear an ipod to drown out her voice).

And even with my limited knowledge I could tell at that time that he was a good bet to go all the way. Not only was he an elegant rider, but he was approachable and nice, and smiled, and, well - didn't seem like a self absorbed asshole.

What could possibly go wrong here?

Well, nothing really. Other than the fact that the exact moment I contacted the man, he was in the throes of having to change barns, because he did not have his own place, but was one of the many nomadic coaches in the area, struggling to share barn space with others all while playing nice.

And we all know how well that typically works.

As I recall, he had just been given his walking papers and told to pack up his little troupe of riding ladies and move on to - wherever he could find someplace that could fit them all in and was in driving distance for the majority. Actually, I continue to be amazed at how sucessfully coaches manage to uproot everything and do this. I guess there are some fixed amount of barns with 10 - 12 available stalls and decent arenas, and all of the nomadic players in the game just rotate around in some version of equine musical chairs and trade places.

I had caught him just as the music was playing... and he had not yet rushed to sit down, while kicking some other person in the legs to slow their progress to the free stable, or smushed his ass and hips down on the chair with more force than the other less desperate candidates, or whatever the horse world equivalent is of nabbing the best free seat in the musical stables game is before you and your students all wind up out in the cold.

Sure, he told me all about a great new place called BerryDrive Stables over on Highway 6 he was sussing out - looks promising, think it might be a fit... eeek. EEEKKK! The thought of a new coach, at a new barn, struggling to work out his own "fitting in" issues while I tried to deal with mine was just too much for me right then.

In retrospect - it was a good call on my part on staying away from BerryDrive Stables - as I don't know a thing about the place other than the fact that I don't think any coach ever stuck it out there, although the curb appeal is good. In fact, I think Coach Ritenau did a stint there as well somewhere along the line later in time...

But was it a good call on my part to not stick it out with Coach #2, maybe follow him around to a few disaster barns until he settled at his own place (which he eventually did...)? Hmm, I will never know, will I. But if I were to name points in my journey where if I were to do them again, I might have chosen differently - this would quite possibly have been one of them. I think Ms. V would have turned out at least as good if not better than she did. I don't think he would have given up on her because she was a little bit nutty and hot. Or me either, for the same reasons.

But the main reason I am sometimes sad I didn't try harder to make things work well with Coach #2 is that I then wound up with Coach #1, who I loved very very much, just like everyone else. Well, maybe not everyone. If only he had loved himself more, maybe this part of my story would have a happier ending.

So, after about 5 or 6 back and forth calls to Coach #2 - I thanked him for his time, and called up Coach #1, who was friendly and welcoming and told me to stop by to chat and we could make plans for my move.

Ugggh... I still felt I wasn't right for this environment. I prepared myself to be more FUN and SOCIAL and to EMBRACE the culture I was about to enter. The full training experience. Come on Curmudgeon, I said to myself...prepare to be made to feel awkward and unimportant by people you don't even really want to hang out with in your spare time, while spending lots of money. You can DO IT!

Actually, it was good preparation for the world of private golf too. The skills I learned are not totally going to waste, even if I never ride again.

Dear Dressage Trainers. My condolences. Really.

2015-01-25T07:38:00.000-05:00

The one thing that was true for sure at this point in time - I was in a much better place for coach shopping than I had been in the past. After hanging out at shows for the last three or so years, I really did have a good picture of who was available, who I would be able to stand listening to for a few hours a week, and whether or not they were likely to be able to help me on my way up the levels.

I had now witnessed some of my "oopsies" from the days of trying out bad coaches - and no, it was not just me. None of them would have been suitable if I had stuck it out long term. I am adding Coach Ritenau to the pile of course. (Hindsight is always 20/20 as the saying goes).

For example - Time Machine Schoolmaster woman gave off the impression of being someone who is actually in the game at higher levels - but although she has a lot of nice horses, and appears to have a lot of parental money backing her up - she has not yet had a lot of success in the FEI sense of the word. Which is too bad, and as I have harped on about already, dressage is not easy - but if with all of that going for her, she is still kind of in the backwoods, it is unlikely she would have been the one to help a less endowed rider such as myself.

Limpy's owner has the country's finest PSG Arabs - all two of them. So, I guess she deserves some credit. But there was just something about her horse's way of going that seemed off to me - they looked tight and miserable. I knew how to make a horse look tight and miserable - all on my own - so paying her to help me do it better seemed unnecessary.

Also - she only showed higher levels at breed shows. I feel a pro who expects to be paid for training your horse should show up in the ring at a recognized show at least once in a while as well. Sure, breed shows are better than not showing at all, this is true, But come on now - get out and get into the game properly. Claiming on bulletin boards that the reason you don't play with the other kids is because of breed bias and the high cost of showing gets kind of old. If you can cart your Arabs all over North America to attend congresses or whatever it is you Arab people do - you can foot the bill for one show at Palgrave.

Now, the one coach on the pile that I know COULD have definitely brought us up the levels was of course Frau Trainerin. No doubt in my mind - she would have gotten the job done.

So why didn't I give her another try? Simply because she snubbed me in the stir-fry line? Sure, she seemed to be kind of a stuck up or socially awkward person, but if I had showed up with my $1200+ in hand every month, I bet she would have turned that frown upside down in a hurry... She was undoubtedly located the closest to my home out of all of the contenders (I could have ridden my bike there if motivated)...and I knew for sure from watching her at shows and coaching others as well as riding herself that she was truly the real deal in terms of FEI trainers...

Why did I reject even the thought of returning to her with Ms. V?

Well, this brings us to kind of an interesting turn in my story - the point where I stopped feeling like the horse owning customers were always getting the shitty end of the stick.

Somewhere around this point in time, it began to dawn on me. Being a dressage trainer is really a tough gig. I would never wish this fate upon anyone.

When you are at a mixed bag barn, or a hunter barn with a few dressage riders, or any of the other barns that I had been up to thus far - you get a little bit of a mixed bag of people. As much as I complained about the folks out at Muddy View Acres, there were enough sane ones stirred in there to make life bearable. Lana Acres had a few teens, and eventing people. There was a balance of sorts.

But when you go hard core, all-in dressage - there is one demographic that dominates above all others.

Crazy, type A women, with lots of disposable income, who think that because they can afford nice horses, and expensive coaching - they are somehow entitled to act like total bullies, or mind-fucking ninnies.

Is Aschwipen all warmed up? Because I am READY TO RIDE, Coach!

And - they don't always come alone. The ones that are not actually riding themselves bring along their entitled ninny children, all unique and special just like every other child, and all hell bent on attending NAJYRC (North American Junior and Young Riders Championships)

Watching the dynamics between clients and coaches in the stable areas of horse shows, or listening to clients on the sidelines revealed the most terrifying side of choosing my new barn. I was wading into the territory of hard core, nutcase dressage clients. I would commit to doing my very best not to be one - but could not avoid the others already in attendance.

And the Frau had a doozy. Loud, pretentious, in your face - and to make matters worse, she was a holistic nutritionist who hawked dubious "natural" supplements everywhere she went - which, as a real nutritionist, was also blood curdlingly irritating.

The thought of dealing with being in her presence (and hearing about the miracles of magnesium or whatever shit she was on about on any given day), after a long day of work was too much to bear. Because of her, I eliminated the Frau from contention.

(But no worries. You won't miss the fireworks. She catches up with me later).

I also eliminated a nice young couple that trained together from contention - because they had a barn full of pre-menopausal high maintenance ladies. As someone who is still menstruating, I felt it was a little early for me to join the hand wringing, obsessive horse owning but non-riding lady club.

(But again - fear not. We will circle back here too. Even though I do continue to menstruate, I was not able to escape this fate. Double whammy).

Which left two good candidates in the 50km radius / seemingly tolerable club. Both were easy on the eyes, and both had good, biblical names. How could I go wrong?

Coach #1 was short listed - which I figure meant expensive - and extraordinarily charismatic - the kind of person you saw from a distance and wanted to get to know. He was always surrounded by a gaggle of people, and most seemed to be having a good time.

Coach #2 was more up and coming - a little more subdued - but was very friendly and gracious, and seemed to have pleasant, sane students who were progressing nicely.

I decided that I would start with the more low key option. I wasn't entirely sure I wouldn't get bulldozed by all of the fun hanging out with Coach #1.

I am, after all, a Curmudgeon.

I am sure the people on the Apprentice feel the same way after having to put up with Donald Trump..

2015-01-15T06:39:00.001-05:00

Now as a person who considers herself to be a trained scientist, I do my best not to be swayed by bullshitty things like chance, or superstition, or of course my favouites, coincidences.

Hey, who can argue with any of this shit. Sounds like me alright.

However it was really hard at the time to not think that some alien force was on my side as the "I am leaving - hey, me too" stars aligned. I started to merrily consider my options for my next dressage coach, and I can remember feeling a boost of positive energy towards my riding for the first time in a really long time. All signs were pointing to an exciting new phase in our dressage "journey"... new coach - and hopefully a new breakthrough - and just maybe some real progress after a solid year of drought.

And hey - let's be honest here - I bet Coach Ritenau was feeling the same way. When I told her that I was moving on, I am sure she went home, cracked open a nice bottle of red, and slid into a hot tub, thinking to herself "ahh... never again do I have to try to solve the problems of that nutty horse and her hopeless rider...All signs are pointing to exciting new students... "

I have been fired from a job or two in my day, and no matter how much you hate the job, packing your bags and walking away from money is never easy. However - the sigh of relief you feel when someone puts their foot to your ass and pushes you out the door is oh, so satisfying. I bet the Coach felt this "ahhhh...hhhh...hhhh" big time when I broke the news.

I did attempt to present the parting to her somewhat diplomatically - first, I asked her what her plans were for her students once she left Lana Acres we all became coachless waifs (no plans...nice, nice...that made things easy). Next, I said that I understood where she was coming from with respect to life being easier for me with a new horse - but even if the two of us were destined to be together without Ms. V, I felt that a second opinion was warranted. I would be moving to a new coach for at least a few months to get some fresh input.

As I recall, she took this all in perfect stride. (Again, a pretty strong sign she was already dreaming of that Valpolicella and bubble bath).

Ahhh... now let's see - Chapter 1. How to find students that are not insane..

I am pretty sure that at the time, she thought I would pack my bags, head out to a big ticket trainer, her assessment of our potential to go on would be validated, Ms. V would be sold, and I would continue on with another horse.

Which, as you know, is not how things shook out.

And if you are wondering.. yes, Coach Ritenau is also fully aware that this is not how things went down. The horse community is small. I saw the Coach many times after we parted ways and Ms. V and I continued to struggle our way up our lopsided and pathetic pyramid. Our interactions were always cordial but not cozy (but really, our interactions were always pretty much like this, even at our very closest times) so I liked to think that she had shrugged, said "huh - guess I called that wrong", moved on, and that was the end of that.

Which would have been fine. And not weird. But then...

At my last show ever, one of Coach Ritenau's students who I knew from the Lana Acres Epoch approached me early in the day to let me know that the Coach and her students would be on the sidelines with their popcorn to watch me attempt to show PSG later that day.

It was an awkward moment - I wasn't sure how to take this news.

If Ritenau intended to make a point to watch my ride (and really, who makes a point to watch Adult Amateur PSG? Parents, and judges and coaches who are being paid to do so - no one else. Maybe masochists I guess.) she could have, at any moment in time, put down her hose or pitchfork (I could see her across the yard at that very moment, going about her horse prepping business) and wandered over to shoot the breeze, congratulate me on making it to PSG, said she was going to be on the sidelines to cheer me on...any or all of this would have been normal. Hearing second hand that she planned to watch my test in a stalker-like fashion - with her students - was weird. Actually - it really bugged me.

No worries Curmudgeon, I told myself. She probably doesn't want to make you nervous. Once you complete the test, I am sure she will come by and congratulate you. Or exhibit some other behavior that is similarly professional and classy in nature. You are being paranoid.

And so, I went in, saw her sitting in the stands, rode my test, got 4's on horribly ridden tempis as usual and had a few other bobbles here and there but had an otherwise sane, sensible and unremarkable test - (got a score of 57%)..came out to the cheers of a huge crowd of 4 stablemates - with Coach Ritenau nowhere to be seen.

She vanished. Without a word.

You are probably also wondering if Coach Ritenau really had the skills to get any horse to PSG, and if the combo of me and V was just an unfortunate outlier that didn't fall within her area of expertise. Well, it is difficult to stalk how someone's students are doing, so for all I know she has stableload of up and coming stars and I just don't know their names, having been out of the loop now for a solid year or more.

However - stalking her own results on Equine Canada - since we parted ways in 2006 or whenever it was, she has done a kickass job of bringing several horses as far as First or Second level, and a few further than that - but has not had personal success in returning to Grand Prix or even PSG.

This could be due to many factors, as we all know, that have nothing to do with her riding ability. Horse soundness is a huge one, and I know she has had some tough breaks in this department. Time, money, inherent talent of the horses that are sound... all tough hurdles to overcome.

All of the same hurdles that I would have had to overcome, had I given up on Ms. V as per her recommendation. As a trainer, she has had several shots at it with client horses and STILL not found the magical combo to get her up to being competitive at FEI levels again.

Which just goes to show how the deck would have been stacked against me.

Anyways... putting that all behind us... let's carry on, as things do begin to get even more interesting now. The next few chapters in the story will be difficult to write, as those of you who know me in real life will understand (and yes, you will all understand eventually...) but let me see what I can do.

Ooooh I'm DYIN' again... First Level, take II

2014-12-08T06:49:00.000-05:00

Well, I would love to be able to tell you all that I went home from that last show, regrouped, carried on doing exactly what I had been doing, and made a dazzling jump to second level in 2007, wowing all 3 spectators in attendance at our first show.

Alas, dressage just isn't like that, is it people.

Oh, some parts of the statement are true. The part about regrouping and carrying on doing exactly what I was doing - yah, that is pretty much accurate.

But how does the saying go - insanity is expecting new results from the old inputs? I am generally in agreement with this, but in fact with horses - old inputs do actually bring new results. That is, if your old inputs are so incredibly irritating to your horse that she gets a little more frustrated with each ride. Soon, lucky girl, those old inputs produce a new, tenser, tighter more pissy horse than ever before. Because of this, it is not actually accurate to say you are stuck at first level. You really only appear to be stuck on the macro level. Like a glacier. On the micro level, you are actually digging your trench a bit deeper every day / week / month you continue on doing things poorly.

I thought a bit about how much depth to go into regarding this wasted year - and decided the least painful route to take for all of us is to essentially skip right over it. Sure, there were the crazy co-boarders who got kicked out, and the teenage daughters did irritating things. There were other adult amateur women, struggling with their horses as well, and in fact thinking back - one who was having very similar issues but at a lower level - which should have been a flashing neon sign that perhaps Coach Ritenau was not the person to be working with hotter horses.

And there was another disastrous show season at First level.

One bad season - ok, I was able to chalk it up to being green, and needing more experience. But when Ms. V started to melt down at every show - no, not because of flags, or port-o-lets, or mud, or that water tanker truck thing spewing water out of its face in the ring next door - but just because everything I did seemed to annoy the hell out of her - well, that is pretty hard to rationalize. I felt like Bugs Bunny in that cartoon episode where he undertakes the challenge of returning the little ice skating penguin to the South Pole, only to find he is from Hoboken. I was on some harrowing journey and when I got to First level, it was pretty obvious I had reached the wrong destination.

When I had one of my post-show discussions with Coach Ritenau, in tears and utterly frustrated, she shared with me her thoughts on the way to solve the problem.

Anyone - anyone?

Did she say "Wow. This isn't working. You seem to be a relatively competent rider, and you have a sound, sometimes sane horse. So, the problem could be that I am just not the right coach for you. Why don't you try going to a new trainer. Based on the problems you are having that I don't seem to be able to solve, I think Coach Jones might be a good fit. Let me give him a call and discuss your challenges with him and see if he agrees, and can fit you into his program."

No. She did not.

Instead, she suggested that I might find riding less frustrating and more rewarding with a different horse. Sure, she knew of instances where people had worked through these challenges and wound up with a nice horse in the end, but really, it didn't seem likely in my case.

Now, don't get me wrong. I see where she was coming from. And I do agree. I do think, to this day, that life at that very moment in time would have been much less hair-pullingly, screamingly, awful if I had sent Ms. V packing and spent my time with a calm, cool, "what-evah" type horse.

But I knew this wasn't the right answer.

At this point - I am going to do something entirely uncharacteristic. I am going to thank you, bulletin boards. Yes, UDBB and COTH with all of your crazy posters - you helped me to make the right decision here.

Because of you, I may have wasted money on shitty classical clinics and schoolmaster lessons and other assorted stupid activities and items, but I did learn one thing as I read the same story posted by different people, again, and again, and again.

Sure, my journey might be easier with a different horse. Or, alternatively, and much more likely - it might be non-existent. Or perhaps history will just repeat itself. Because as we board stalkers all know - although the story of people ditching their horse and getting a new one is extremely common - the story of people ditching their horse, getting a new one, then having everything work out perfectly is very rare. And the tale about someone selling a disgruntled first level horse with many scores in the 50's for any amount of money that allows you to buy a better version sometime within the lifespan of said horse, and before any profits are eaten up by board and training - also not a story you read about often on any bulletin board not dominated by pathological liars. This whole scenario sounds good on paper as the saying goes, but something seems to be a little tricky in the execution.

As proven by the prevalence of the other story...the one about about getting a new horse, and discovering an exciting new roster of issues or lamenesses. Or getting a wonderful horse with no issues at all.. but quickly recreating the same issues as you had with the first horse. This version of the story is really not so hard to find. Sure, sometimes you have to look past the flowers and rainbows but it is there...(I knew Sofakissen's calling was to top out at first and be a broodmare, from the moment I paid $$$ to fly her over from Germany! Things are working out perfectly...la, la, laa)

And so, I found myself sitting at my desk at work... planning my exit strategy. No, not from my horse, as per Coach Ritenau's recommendation. Coach Ritenau was no longer right...now. Time to move on.

Now the good news is...fate did throw me a bone. I was spared the awkward moments of "its not me, it's you" or whatever conversation I would have had to cook up to get the hell out of my current situation. In fact breaking the news that I was going somewhere ended up being much less painful than I had anticipated.

As I had been engrossed in my own problems, I failed to notice that the Coach had problems of her own. Whereas I was only subjected to the "my way or the highway" management style of Dr. Lana for an hour or two per day, Coach Ritenau had to live it on an eight hour per day basis, which I can't imagine having done for a week let alone two years. But even a saintly polite and quiet person like Ritenau can only take so much. The dream team was folding, and the Coach was packing her bags and moving out.

Ahhh...HA! So the escape hatch was open - I could painlessly slip away as well.

Where to go next - hmmm... hmmmm.... well, that still needed to be worked out.

(P.S... yes of course the chestnut cutie is the Platypus!)

What is the difference between being "stuck".. and not moving on purpose?

2014-11-19T05:36:00.001-05:00

Good morning to all, or afternoon, or whatever time of day it is you have decided to blow here on the Curmudgeon Blog. In the spirit of an annoying co-worker who always feels the need to say some self important bullshit at the beginning of every snooze-inducing meeting, I would like to begin today with some "housekeeping issues".

First - I see we have a lot of new members to the party which is great, welcome one and all. However - if you made it here by way of my bitchy Forrest Gump post, I would like to recommend that you stop reading now, and start at the beginning - because you may or may not have figured out that this is a Chronicle of the Horse described below. Like - seriously - a real chronicle. Not some website of strung together news stories and bulletin posts, but an ongoing history of Ms. V. So you should really go back and start from the start, as we are already about three years into the story.

The beginning of the story

Secondly - I will mention that if you do follow along, at some point in the heap of posts, there is actual video footage of me riding Ms. V. So, if you are one who enjoys a good spoiler, dive in and find it.

Lastly - for those of you who have been following along, I would like to share a picture of an absolutely adorable little hunter pony I found on Facebook. Is he a cutie or what? Maybe when I get back into riding I will buy one of these. Looks like more fun than dressage, doesn't it.

But now...back to our story - today is brought to you by our ostrich moment.. errr, perhaps I should say our first ostrich moment.

Or as some might like to call it - the early days of being stuck at first level.

Curmudgeon! You just decided to step back and concentrate on your show season, then resume your journey towards collection in the fall. I hardly call that being "stuck". You made a reasonable choice.

Yah, sure, I agree with you to some point. However, the passage of time just sort of sneaks up on you slowly. And as many of you who are stuck at first level can probably attest to - then one day you find ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run. You missed the starting gun.

Really, the fact that we were hitting a wall at this point in time should have been a huge red flag. I should have left the jacket in the dry cleaner's bag and figured out what the hell was going wrong. But I didn't. Hey, I wanted to get out there and show! That is what all of the cool kids were doing.

Well, not all of the cool kids. The actual pro riders who were training their horses with FEI levels on the brain weren't out slogging around at first level. They were at home. Working through these problems and solving them. They were not putting on the brakes and patching up any hurt feelings or misunderstandings on the horse's part well enough to do a respectable leg yield and a lengthen trot. With the exception being those who had the goal of getting a client owned horse in the ring and finely tuned so that said owner could then ride first level forever ad nauseam, in a safe and sane fashion.

My pyramid is the one on the left.

(Note that this is not the same population as the other people who were not showing - those who felt that the horse gets to dictate progress on their own schedule. Since any sort of transition or "up the levels" related activity has the potential to stir up moments of "loss of harmony" with their equine partner, for this group, progress must often be slowed to a halt. Trail rides ensue. Followed by pithy bulletin board posts. But I think I covered them in my last entry, so I will skip that for today).

But what is the problem with a little showing? It is a great idea to get out there and get the opinion of others.

I totally agree, 100%. We should all show. Nothing is more irritating that someone who goes on about how they have mastered level (insert level here) without ever having taken it on the road and proving it.

However, the problem with first and training (as I have gone on about before, so please excuse me for the repetition) is that the things that are rewarded are important, but not necessarily reflective of where you are headed on the journey in the big picture of things.

And so by shelving my efforts to introduce the little bits of collection required for the canter-walk transition, and instead showing and working with the feedback I received - I essentially spent another 6 months rewarding Ms. V for tuning me out the minute she understood the mission at hand and enthusiastically tooling around doing the things she naturally did well. (What? you want a big forward canter - no problem!... You say rumour has it judge likes "Energetic" trot - yes! 7 coming your way. I got it Curmudgeon, sit back and enjoy!)

Now I don't think this attitude was all wrong or bad. Her general mindset was correct for eventually being able to be "in self carriage"and far preferable to a horse that was on auto-pilot just because they don't give a flying fuck about anything the rider has to say at all (and there are lots of these out there). Her translation of the phrase "self carriage" at this point in time was just a little to literal, She wanted to just carry me off at the slightest of aids to wherever she felt we needed to go at the time.

Overall, this lead to scores that ran very hot and cold - as in, they tended to be mid to high 50's or low 60's, composed of 6 and 7's rewarding these energetic, forward gaits, with dings here and there for moments of tension - usually during the "easy" things, like walk transitions. We could do everything well at any given time - but generally speaking, not all in one test. And the judges comments usually reflected this - lots of talk of "potential" and "elegance" and "athletic" and other positive indicators of good things coming our way on the horizon once Ms. V did a little maturing in the mental department, and I did a little improving in the "wear the pants and actually ride your horse" department.

The troubling part was that these decent scores with variation within the test were intermingled with total meltdown low 50's for the tests where I decided to exert a little more influence on things, only to have Ms. V say "woah..woah..woah..what the hell was that? I though we covered this during those stupid canter-walks - things go better when we do things MY way, Curmudgeon..stop with the interfering. Did we not just get a 7 on my most awesome forward canter? The judge and I know our shit, lady".

You see, I think the most unfortunate part of our fail and retreat on the "up the levels" front was that it introduced some lost debates into our riding equation. Whereas up to that point in time, the Coach and I had pretty much been able to finesse compliance out of Ms. V all along the way, after this attempt at greater things, we had given her a glimpse into the world of NO. Which is never a good thing with horses. As we all know if you lose too many debates, the horse is bound to figure out you are a little soft 130 lb. blob trying to rule the life of a big meaty horse and eventually has a Sandra Dee moment of her own.

The real key to "riding in harmony" isn't to never ask. It is to be able to ask in a way that your horse never sees this world of NO, and thus your request is never rejected. Simple, right? (ha, ha, ha....haa..)

Also unfortunate was that the prescribed cure for this inconsistency by most of my circle of friends and advisers was - more shows. And more riding at the shows. Because, as the theory goes, the more a horse gets out and about, the less things like flags or port-a-potty doors flying open, or other horses freaking out in the warm up will cause them to flip out. And - when you go to more shows, enter more classes. Every test of choice, every class - warm up early in the morning, mid-afternoon, and again, right before you ride... show show show... ride ride ride...spend spend spend...

So not only did I shelve progress and show - but I drilled the hell out of first level.

And our scores did not get better. In some instances they got worse. It was like some agonizing form of expensive self torture. What was that "perfect practice" saying again? Well whatever it is, we were not doing it. So I guess it really doesn't matter, does it.

Should I have showed training level again? (I will ask the question on your behalf since I know at least one of you is thinking it). I truly don't think this would have made a difference, since there wasn't any component of the first level test that was particularly difficult for Ms. V - it was the act of stringing movements together while still paying attention to my aids that was the issue. In fact, the more boring training level test might actually have made this problem worse, since there was less to do.

When I made the anal spreadsheet thing that is sometimes recommended by anal riders - the one where where you list out all of the different movements and your scores on them, and see where the weaknesses lie - there was no real area of "weakness". It wasn't like we never got 6+ on leg yields or transitions or lengthens ever. It was more like there was a thin layer of dorky young inattentive horse spread all over everything, (spook here, misbehave there...).and no authoritative pilot aboard to scrape it off with some sort of spatula of competent riding (rider score was often 5, with "effect of aids" underlined).

Mmm... am I the only one who can almost taste cake batter while looking at this photo?

I was seriously so pumped to show that summer, and so convinced that we would be superstars. It was extraordinarily disappointing. I really tried to stay positive, but to be honest, I think I did cry a little at every show. As I recall I skipped the last Gold show, wrapped the year up with a halfway decent Trillium performance where we managed to score over 60 both tests - then packed it in for the year.

I had a whole winter ahead of me to get back on track. To start back at my "one level per year" progress, and master that fucking canter-walk transition. We would be superstars, uhh, next year. At second level.

Get back at it, Curmudgeon, I told myself. FEI is just around some corner. Somewhere. I think. Maybe.

I feel just like Forrest gump. Only more bitchy.

2014-10-28T21:30:00.001-04:00

I hope you all know how much I love your comments. Even the haters usually make me smile. As the saying goes, the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy.

But I got a comment yesterday that actually tied in with some thoughts I have been having over the last week.

My most prolific commenter, Anonymous, wrote:

There's a fascinating thread on UDBB right now in which a "purist" decries modern competitive dressage at the international level, but cites a pony walk-trot test performed by a 5 year old as a test that she admires. With video. I can't tell if she is actively insane or not, but it makes for hilarious reading.

Well who could resist that juicy lure. And when I clicked over to the Ultimate board, I was not disappointed. Even the title of the thread is so concise, clear, and easy to understand in this crazy dressage world of travers and renvers and tempis and other weird lingo you need to figure out if you want to sit around and snipe at a clinic with the other ladies while not actually riding your horse... "I can't stand to watch competitive dressage anymore" - ahh. I get it. I get exactly where this person is coming from. Even if I think that place is fucking nuts.

Now, I did try to watch the video in question. But I just couldn't do it. I knew my little pea brain would not be able to hang in until the bitter end the moment I saw that the test ran 6 minutes long, and nothing had happened 30 seconds in other than the fascinating spectacle of a very small child on a fluffy white pony moseying around a ring, complete with that irritating wind sound that comes with most homemade videos. (But come to think of it - adding some inspirational classical music or the theme from Frozen as some enamoured parents might have done would have irritated me even more).

I totally folded once I heard the parent not only perform the duties of reader, but also add a liberal dose of coaching and clicking, and waved her arms around wildly with test in hand in order to get old Cottonball to give trotting another go.

So, admitting that I did not watch to the end - so perhaps Cottonball banged out a line of ones, or showcased the three P's just to really put a fork in it at the end, and I just missed it all - and also admitting that I am a barren spinster who has zero interest in children, or any of the apparently adorable things they do posted online (Jimmy Kimmel's I ate your halloween candy ones aside..) - I cannot possibly imagine why anyone would use this video as an example of something to watch instead of the horrors of competitive dressage. Because... call me crazy, out in left field... but it IS NOT DRESSAGE. It is a video of a five year old displaying riding skills typical of a five year old who's parents have enrolled them in horseback riding instead of dance, or soccer, or whatever this five year old's friends are doing somewhere else online, in videos that their parents have posted. I am not being critical or hating on this kid. It is just an unremarkable video.

Anyway... usually I would just let this pass. But as I mentioned at the start, this stupid and unfortunately often repeated thread fits perfectly with something that has been bothering me for a while this week.

Why are dressage riders so incredibly fucking mean to anyone who puts themselves out there and TRIES to do things, in the generally accepted "competitive" fashion. Especially when they do it to the very best of their ability, yet still really, really suck at it. Do the incredibly fucking mean people think that people who really, really suck are doing it on purpose? Because they enjoy moments lacking in harmony or whatever it is they are apparently doing wrong?

And the reason this comes to mind is that I ran in my very first, (and I am betting pretty strongly at this point in time, very last) marathon.

Now, I am sure most of you know about as much about marathons as the majority of the population knows about dressage. You may not know it involves running for 42.2 kilometres (that is 26 miles if it helps). Contrary to what you may remember from pop culture, it does not necessarily involve having your cavities probed by an insane dentist as a form of torture, however around 35km I was so fricking bored of running that I think the pain associated with dental work, or maybe some light waterboarding, would have been a welcome distraction.

You may also not know that the world record for running a marathon is 2:03. The winner of the marathon I was in finished in 2:08. And, as you can see, I ran it in 5:04. Wow, am I slow. I really, really suck at running for long periods, at a fast pace.

This winner guy could have left the race, driven to the airport, cleared customs and been on his way back to Kenya before I even finished.

Because as you likely do know, there are some countries that excel in creating great marathon runners, and some people have a genetic predisposition to being freakishly better runners than I do. Just as with horses and riders and dressage - that is just the way it is.

If you decide to become a competitive marathon running person, hold onto your hat and get ready to have your ass kicked by people who are just naturally good at it, and then dedicate their entire lives to becoming the best at it that they can possibly be.

But the funny thing about running, and really the majority of other sports that are not dominated by catty middle aged women...somehow when these running type people do this.. we don't begrudge them for being insanely fast athletes, or suggest to them that they are taking the easy way out. Or bitch that If they REALLY wanted to experience a marathon, they should try being short chunky legged 44 year old Canadian broads who only started running a few years ago, and take 5 mind-numbingly dull hours to slog though a marathon. Yah, that is REAL running, assholes.

If I am not happy with this 5 hour result - I don't go home and decide to create a new version of marathon running. One that allows you to employ a scooter at 500 m intervals, or ride on a skateboard, because it is more harmonious.

I don't decide to run only 5k races for the rest of my life because I am generally pulling off fairly respectable times at this short and easy distance. Better to stay at a lower level forever looking good than try something a little more difficult and come in last...

I don't assume that all top runners are on steroids, even if we know that some of them are. I assume that some people are just awesome. And astronomically better than I am.

I don't decide to stay home from races forever and just tool around on the local nature trails, being my own special star in the backstreets of Brampton, claiming to run faster and better than any of those assholes trying to qualify for the Olympics...

What - you have never run a marathon? Well then, I would like to think that you don't sit by your keyboard scanning the results and cattily say that all of the runners that can't get their assess across the line in under 3 hours really should drop down and only do half marathons, as they evidently were not ready for the full. Because what do you know - maybe they really thought they were ready, and trained for ages, and really, really did their very best - but unfortunate shit hit their fan the day of the race. Or maybe they just had a goal to run a marathon, come hell or high water, and your opinion is really not of any importance to anyone.

And I want to hope that you most certainly do not post videos of cute little 5 year olds running around enjoying themselves in the playground and then declare that THIS - THIS is true marathon running. Because that would be fucking idiotic.

But really that is not my only point.

My other point is this. If the winner finished in 2 hours, and I finished in 5 hours, It takes me 2.5x longer to get across the finish line.

Now, let's pretend we are at a dressage show now, instead of a marathon. Assume this is a Prix St. Georges test, and convert the results accordingly. And, for argument's sake, say a really awesome person shows up and blows away the competition, winning the class with an 80%, which really never happens in my neck of the wood, even the best people are usually in the high 60's but whatever. My equivalent score would then be... 32%

Ok, now walk back to the barn with me. I have just spent 5 YEARS training this horse - and at least $50,000, likely more, and that is ignoring the purchase price of the animal. I have just accomplished something that probably 95% of the people wandering around at this horse show will never, ever accomplish, even if they give it their very best try, and spend even more money and more time, since what I have done is REALLY FRICKING HARD.

So how proud am I of this accomplishment? Well, after I finished my marathon in a relatively shitty 5 hours, every complete stranger I came across at the finish like congratulated me, told me I did a great job - even the people 500 metres out were cheering me every step of the way. A very hot young Quebecois guy ran with me for about 200 metres somewhere in that final stretch, encouraging me with his sexy little accent "come on Ste-fa-neee, you caaan dooo eeet" (I noticed as I was leaving that he did this with every woman running in that he could...so hey, it wasn't all about me, but I still appreciated the effort) Every friend, every co-worker - everyone - made a point of telling me how awesome it was that I actually put in the time and effort to train for, and run a marathon.

Just like the when you put in your very best effort at a dressage show. Right? Now where were we... walking back to the barn.

Well, actually - wait - rewind. I am probably not walking back to the barn at all. I am probably still in the port-o-let crying, and embarrassed to show my face in the ghetto tent city stable. Because although I am trying to compete in an Olympic discipline, just like marathon running - and although I am your typical average everyday middle aged woman, spending her time working for a living and trying to make enough money to pay for an average everyday horse... for some insane reason, I am expecting to be right up there with the equestrian versions of the Kenyan marathon runner. Or at very least to qualify for Boston. (I would have to run a Marathon in 3:45 minutes to do this - which would equate to a dressage score of 50% or something in this exercise. I think I hear this person crying in the port-o-let next to me). And I know that if I don't crack 60% - people will not cheer me on. They will think I failed.

Which is really depressing, isn't it.

Long story short - competitive dressage people, you are way too hard on yourselves. Any time you show any level that is difficult for you - you should be proud of yourself. Even if things go horrifically wrong. I wish we could all be as supportive of each other as strangers were of me when I ran a molasses slow marathon.

And if you have chosen to drop out of the "competitive" lane and have decided to putter around doing whatever floats your harmonious boat - great. Enjoy your Zettl clinics or Wessage or whatever it is that brings you joy. But how about you bugger off and stop insisting that it is superior to what the very best riders in the world are trying to do?

Oh, the humanity.

2014-10-03T07:34:00.002-04:00

Because it has been a while since the actual events described below occurred in real life, I decided to peruse the bulletin boards to bring back to mind the challenges I faced at the time, by reliving them through others.

(Peruse - this has been one of my favourite words, ever since I mis-spelled pursue on a resume, and instead of pursuing new opportunities, I had written that I was perusing them. I got the job, and was never questioned about my interesting choice of verbs. And, with the way my career has gone, it is now pretty clear that this was not an error, but was actually psychic foreshadowing).

Question to be answered: Was the process of learning canter-walk-canter transitions really all that painful? Is anyone else out there making the same non-existent progress that I was at the time?

You COTH*'ers were no help whatsoever. The bunch of you have really migrated towards the practical and factual. "Where to buy saddle x". "Has anyone tried bit Y". "Do I really have to buy the shadbelly that makes me look like Bib the Michelin man with my biggest roll sticking out in the middle". The closest I found to anything that might start a multi-page, classical versus competitive debate was..."How are your green beans"

Why thanks for asking. Mine are totally delicious and ready for use in a Caesar. Or two. This is what happens when you sell your horse, folks. You find the time to coat things with vinegar and stuff them in jars, which then sit in your cupboard for years, and make your friends laugh nervously when you shove one in their drink and say "No, seriously. Your odds of getting botulism from my home preserves is really, sort of fairly low".

(Hey it is October - so here is a timely question. Which is more likely to kill you - Halloween apple with razor blade, or Fall harvest preserves made by your somewhat senile 90 year old neighbour. Hard call, isn't it).

So, I had to turn to Ultimate Dressage instead. I knew I could rely on them to shed some light here.

Bingo. Second thread. Eleven pages long. Seat aids for "canter to walk"

Wow. I have to admit I didn't make it past the first page. I felt my eyes rolling back in my head and had the urge to flirt with death by preparing and eating some low-acid fruit without a pressure canner to end the agony. My God. My pain has been relived. Mission accomplished.

And best of all, the totally incomprehensible descriptions of correct aids provided by the usual suspects on the ultimate board are being described in such a way that I presume the horse in question must already knows how to execute canter-walk-canter. Really, really freaking well, in fact, to decipher what the hell is going on as per UDBB*.

Which, as you may recall, I found a challenge about a year before this. And I had not really practiced since. And I was now trying to recreate this muddle of aids on a horse that had no clue what I wanted. (Welcome to my world, at least 80% of you have just muttered...)

But Curmudgeon - you had already shown training level by this point in time, and as I recall, got some halfway decent scores (intermingled with the nutty nutbar ones). How bad could your transitions have been? Did your preparatory steps up the pyramid not prepare you to develop great canter-walk-canter transitions seamlessly?

Build! Build on your pyramid, Curmudgeon!

Answer - No. No can do (or could do, seeing as this all happened in the past).

Oh sure, for Training level, my transitions were just fine. Halts were generally good enough for a six, or maybe seven now and then. They were sometimes "a little unsteady", or "not quite straight", or suffered from "off contact after halt". The biggest challenge was usually "not immobile in halt" which I told myself is preferable to way too immobile. Or, preferable to total lack of mobility on centerline, ever, at any point during "X-halt-salute".

The sequence of trot - canter - trot is really not all that bad to execute either, especially with the level of precision expected at training level. It is essentially every canter transition a hunter person ever does, even though they insist they are cantering in and out of the walk.

And don't even get me started again on the transitions contained "within the gait".. a.k.a the stupid stretchy circle or nose dragger walk exercises. Seriously, I don't even consider these "transitions" in the true sense of the word at all, but almost more exercises in obedience. Or, deception. For me, they usually involved shortening the reins without Ms. V noticing what was going on, until they were where they needed to be for me to put my leg on and go from stretchy into working without any steps of jigging. It was kind of more like playing Operation, or Wacky Wire at the CNE than actually executing dressage... eaaaasy...eaaaaasy now Curmugeon... creep those fingers forward - genntttly...don't touch the sides...

My brother could not half pass his way out of a paper bag, but he is one hell of a Wacky Wire expert.

As time went on and I got more strategic in my training, they became drills - walking around the arena was free walk - collected walk - trot - working walk - free walk - extended walk - free walk - ad nauseam, mixing things up so much that Ms. V really had no hope of predicting what was coming next, and therefore had to wait for my aids. If I were a classical person, I would call this "correct training", as the horse should always be obediently awaiting your aids.

Personally, I like to think of it as a kind of equine mindfuck. Whatever.

Sorry, where was I.

So forgetting about these party trick transitions - even the jump from Training to First level just adds some lengthening transitions within the gait - but the backbone of the test with respect to the between gaits transitions is pretty much the same. Trot - halt - trot - canter - trot - walk...

And we were ready for all of that, heading into the spring of what would be our show season #2, and our First level debut. But progress doesn't stop just because show season is here does it? And besides, if you are showing First level, you should be training Third, since one always wants to be schooling at least two levels higher than they are showing, right? You are all doing that, I assume. Perhaps dabbling in changes and half steps, and whatnot, while also preparing to wow an r judge at a schooling show at First on the weekends. Right?

(Ha ha, ha, haa... people make me laugh when they say this. Because it is an oh-so realistic generalization for the average adult amateur showing First. Not).

Quite seriously, in my freakishly optimistic mind which had "one level per year" drilled into it by reading bulletin boards, there was absolutely no reason to slow down for us. We were not about to just hang out in a leg-yielding, canter-trotting rut perfecting our stupid stretchy circle. We needed to push on, and begin introducing the next elements on down the road in our journey.

And the worst of these elements was...by far. No comparison. No contest.

Canter. walk. canter. And boy, was it ugly.

In fact, I contend that this movement is really, beyond sitting trot, beyond trying to morph the leg yield into something more shoulder-inny - is the reason people have trouble making the jump from First to Second level. Doing this transition well is really not easy. Well it wasn't for me in any case, and based on my scribing experience, it isn't for others either.

What it all boils down to, in my "what the hell do you know" opinion is that the real difference between First and Second level - the screaming, can't be faked movement - is the simple change. And the reason is that it requires both a level of finesse on the rider's part, and ability to collect on the horse's part that most of us will never obtain.

And, if this first stage of collection is not obtained, instead of that leaf like flutter to the ground, you get a mixed bag of propping on front legs, hopping behind, and a whole lot of equine WTF middle finger as you try to jam on the brakes as the horse is merrily cantering around the arena, doing exactly what they have done and gotten rewarded for for the last two years, starting the confusion in their little walnut brain. Then reapply the gas sending the horse blasting forward, and yanking on their face unintentionally as they do and you fall behind the motion, thus completing the confusion in the little walnut brain.

As the saying goes, perfect practice makes perfect. Perfect practice was most certainly not what Ms. V and I were doing together.

It is also not what coach Ritenau was doing when I watched her ride either, as she seemed to make no more progress with the exercise than I did. Why not, you ask? Was she doing a poor job of trying to install this button? Or was I just fucking up any traces of the button so seriously every time I rode that my efforts totally obliterated any small amount of progress she made in my absence?

Hmm, good question. I don't really remember, and to be honest, I was probably so ignorant of what should have been happening at that time that I would not have been able to spot the faults in any case.

So, who knows.

The bottom line is that between the two of us, we set up the foundation for a horse that really, really hated canter-walk-canter transitions, and crashed down and blasted upwards if your aids were not perfect. Every time. Forever.

"Sit her back! She is croup high. You will never get a soft downward transition until her hind end is underneath her".

Oh, the humanity.

*COTH - Chronicle of the Horse
*UDBB - Ultimate Dressage Bulletin Board

I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my Grandpa (not screaming like the passengers in his car).

2014-09-07T08:32:00.001-04:00

Actually, I forgot - one other transition has occurred. The one that actually brings to mind the horse world in some ways.

I bought a new car. I call it - Raging Bull (bonus points to the first reader who knows why.. yes it is red.. annnndd...).

I have learned a few things since this transition.

First - I have been informed several times since my purchase that Subarus are the automobile of choice for lesbians. And secondly, WRX STI's are the hot rides of many a 21 year old man/boy's dreams. As a result, I have left those around me wondering if I am switching teams, or gearing up to become an Uber-Cougar.

I will leave you guessing as well. There is of course a third option, that I just needed to buy a four door car for my job and decided that I wanted something a little more wild and crazy than the standard issue midlife SUV that my fellow women co-workers seem to be drawn to. But that option is much duller than the first two, isn't it.

The next thing I have learned is if you are a 40+ year old woman who suddenly on a whim decides to buy a 300+ horsepower car to toodle around the 'burbs... the same model that has just broken the Isle of Man TT race record for cars, driving an average speed of almost 120 miles an hour through crazy twisting turning roads and small villages, you hear a familiar narrative. You might recognize it from such places as, oh, your local dressage barn filled with catty middle aged women.

To my face, it is fine. "Oh nice car, I love the colour". But I know what people are saying behind my back. If I had to keep my car at a car boarding stable, instead of in the underground parking garage... the chatter would go like this.

"I can't believe she bought that car. That poor, poor car.

It will never reach its potential NOW! Even if she takes it to a track day, that car could go PSG and she will barely be able to putter around at first level with her driving skills.

Sure she can drive standard, but in a fake, false, spank-n-crank type of way. I bet she can't double clutch her way out of a paper bag when the time comes to really ask for the performance that car is capable of. She needs to drive Raging Bull FORWARD! Not be riding the brakes into turns. Let it go! Let go of it's face! (No, no, she shouldn't actually let go of the the steering wheel. I am speaking metaphorically here)"

It is weird, when I take my customers out to lunch, they never let me drive. Even though I have four doors now.

Even the guy at the dealership asked me if I really needed the STI, when I was unlikely to even push the base model WRX anywhere remotely near its performance limits. You know things are bad when a car salesman tries to talk you out of spending money.

So - yes. I know. I have officially become the automotive world's equivalent of a horse petter. The woman who buys the imported warmblood schoolmaster, and hopes someday to show Grand Prix. Or at very least, canter while not attached to the longe line.

Which I don't think is fair, really. Had I bought a 1992 AstroVan no one would have expected me to fill it with children and go to soccer games. Come to think of it - when you buy a $500 Quarter horse at the auction, no one scoffs and asks when you plan to herd cattle on the plains of Alberta. You are allowed to aim as low as you want without stirring up any eye-rolling. Just don't put on a show that implies you may someday achieve pretentious things that are far beyond any limits of reality.

But it has left me thinking a bit about the similarities between learning to drive a performance car, and learning to ride a performance horse as well. For example, if the gold standard of a beautiful hunter round is to ride a horse that makes it look like you are doing nothing while the horse floats you effortlessly over the jumps, then I guess the car equivalent you would buy would be a big BMW M series sedan or something similar that is admired by your grandfather.

However, if you want to make it around the Isle of Man without T-boning a quaint stone wall and dying, it is all about lightning fast acceleration and deceleration and overall handling when things get hairy. In other words - it is really about the transitions.

Just like in dressage.

I have no idea what became of my test book during my move (probably collecting dust at Value Village with the truckload of other possessions I could not be bothered to cart along with me), but as I recall from scribing, the most often repeated whisper to the judge during a day of sweating your crotch off in long pants is "uhhh...mark for transitions?".

Judges often forget that they not only have to come up with a score and something pithy to say about the fact that the rider's extended canter looks exactly like their collected canter, and both closely resemble whatever plain old canter the horse in question is likely to offer up given his choice of gaits... but also must elaborate on the non-existent differences as the rider makes some sort of a show out of transitioning from one of these states to the other.

Transitions are big. And this is reflected in our dressage tests. Adding a separate line to score transitions enables the judge to ding you not only for doing things poorly one at a time, but also for the fact that you can't even string together your clusterfuck of errors with any amount of admirable chutzpah.

And, one thing that was becoming evident to me as I toiled away trying to move the dial on Ms. V's progress from training level to - uh - something beyond training level - was that although having a "sensitive", "hot off the leg", "responsive" horse is a lot more pleasant a lot of the time than having something that requires more effort to get rolling - doing a smooth transition with such an animal is a lot more difficult than doing them on a horse that breathes a little less fire.

You know all of that stuff about "timing of the aids" and "leg before hand" and "ride every stride"... well sure, you need to do all of that while you are cruising around every time you ride, in every gait, blah, blah, blah. However - the time that the fact you are no Anky really shines through the brightest (or am I supposed to say Charlotte these days?) is when your hot horse either flops on her face during a downward transition with not enough leg, or nearly bursts out of her skin during and upwards one with too much leg - or actually does both during one transition, as you try in vain to patch things up mid-way into your bumbling effort. There is just so little room for error.

There is a reason big, slow, lumbering old school warmbloods still have their huge fan base. They are just so comfy and easy to ride, and if you are not doing anything requiring split second reactions, they are really your best bet. Also, if you are showing any dressage level where the transitions can be "through walk", or even a level where they can't - but a step of something weird and tense looking is likely to be punished more harshly than an also incorrect lingering semi-comatose transition (and let me tell you - it almost always is) well, old Eis-Eis-Kindskopf the 25 year old Hanoverian is probably your best bet here too if you are dreaming of a brag worthy score.

Yes, yes, of course - you will be the one laughing when the time comes to teach your fire breathing dragon horse to piaffe or passage or do anything else requiring more go than woah. I know this, you are totally correct. Just keep telling yourself that as you read the comments on your first level tests through the tears.

Bottom line - transitions can really be a bitch on a hot horse.

As is the case with cars.

Ask yourself - when is the last time you saw grandpa stall his Oldsmobile at a stoplight, then be angrily honked at by 5 impatient drivers before he is able to get the sucker fired up again and herky-jerkily drive away, chirping his tires on the pavement as he pops the clutch and gives himself whiplash?

The answer is ..never. Ever.

Now ask yourself - when is the last time you saw Curmudgeon doing all of that while driving to the office in Raging Bull. If you happen to live in the GTA, the answer might be Wednesday.

Transitions...

2014-08-18T06:48:00.000-04:00

Curmudgeon! You haven't written in forever! Where have you been!

I am sorry, I know I should have called, or written, or kept in touch...my bad...oops...

I keep on saying this. I know you probably feel that the words mean about as much coming from me as they do when said by your self absorbed asshole friend from high school.

The one who routinely calls you when she wants to talk about her daughter's Mensa worthy intellect (incredible, really, for a 4 year old) or something else freakishly positive and brag-worthy. Yet is strangely mute-absent when you phone to talk about any positive event in your own life and says "I am sorry, I know I should have called, or written, or kept in touch...my bad...oops.." to explain why she never returns your calls...

But really I am. The problem is that I have been working on my transitions.

Actually, on second thought - you should count yourself lucky, I think, that I have not come on here to whine about each and every transition looking for your support and validation (as that other self absorbed friend from high school does, the one who wants to explain to you in detail how her slow descent from prom queen to crack whore status has nothing at all to do with her own personal choices, and everything to do with the world around her in general).

Anyway - it really is true, I have spent the last 6+ months transitioning many elements of my life.

Now as dressage riders, we all know the importance of transitions. Equisearch tells me they are "the secret to balanced riding".

We all know they should come from behind (No, not in a kinky porn way. Stop it). And downward ones should be light as a feather dropping to the ground. Maybe a leaf. (Under no circumstances should they be like a coconut or other large fleshy fruit dropping to the ground). We need to prepare-prepare-ask. To jump-jump-sit. Or any other triad of words that lights your fire and implies something other than falling into a heap of horse and rider unpredictably. Transitions must be energetic and instant. But not abrupt. And above all, your timing must be..*impeccable*.

(Great. As if anything in my life is or ever was impeccable).

I found this helpful guide. I have no clue what it means, however I am sure I have executed all of these transitions. Within one dressage test. At training level.

So, you may now ask - what are these transitions I have been working on, and how successful was I with my impeccable execution?

Well, first - I no longer live at the idyllic (on the surface) 1/2 acre "country in the city" property that I have called home for the last 16 years, surrounded by quaint gardens and rolling lawns and quirky retired schoolteacher neighbours. I have transitioned to a small condo in my hometown.

This transition was executed with the kind of elegance and poise that one observes when watching an eight year old ride a sour school horse from walk to canter. While clinging to the horse's face and flailing their little legs around in some attempt at stirring up some forward momentum at the same time. Actually, I think this is called the trot-trooot-trrrrooot-geeetttt GITTT - cluck - cluck - cluck - GITTTT - cluck - cluck - GITT UP THERE (insert cracking longe whip and running coach here) CANTER transition. I executed this well, in a long and dragged out, painful to onlookers fashion.

What Curmudgeon! Your place was awesome! Who would give that up!

Yah, yah, I know. It WAS idyllic for the first, oh, 14 years or so. The problem was the final 2 years of the 16, that I spent mowing these lawns, and weeding the gardens, and shoveling the length of driveway that it takes to reach the back of a 1/2 acre lot during the never-ending winter of 2013/2014...all under the watchful (read - spying/prying) eyes of the quirky neighbours. One day I woke up with the nearly uncontrollable compulsion to slowly turn that lawn mower in their direction and run unpredictably right at them (perhaps while growling GITTT - GITTT!), and mowing them all to pieces. And hopefully taking down that fucking lemongrass perennial that someone gave me in 1996 without warning me about its impending non-stop invasive attack on all things soil covered in my yard on the way.

(Did you ever see the youtube video where the seemingly placid beaver casually turns and attacks a man's genitals? (No, this is not a sick Canadian porn joke. It really happens) Well, kind of like that. Imagine this beaver is pushing a lawnmower and that the person behind the camera is giving the beaver random, unsolicited advice on some aspect of its life. That will give you a pretty good idea of how I was feeling).

These neighbours are all in their late 70's or early 80's now, so I could easily tip them over and hold them down with my foot while making a few passes with the mower.

So far I am liking things in my old hometown, which is now nothing like my hometown since I haven't actually lived there since I was 18. But as I run through the streets (No, no. I realize the place is a little shiftier than when I left but I am not being chased. Usually. I am training for a marathon), now and again some tiny piece of the past shows itself and I feel like I am home.

For example - the Sword 'n' Shield with the grammatically incorrect Foxxes Den for ladies and Bottom's Up Cabaret for the gentlemen is long gone (Somehow "Foxxes" was spelled just so wrong it seemed artsy but I never got over the apostrophe in Bottom's. Did one of the dancing ladies within actually manage to purchase the club using the power of her impressive booty alone, such that her bottom actually had possession of the the "Up Cabaret"? ). Where this all stood, there is now a clean and shiny looking Days Inn. If Sword 'n' Shield were a horse, we could say it has executed a transition of sorts.

I never cease to be amazed what you find when you Google random things. Photo credit SSTUDIO Samuel Bietenholz

But Sonny's Drive-In remains frozen in amber. Transitionless.

I actually never, ever ate here because urban legend when I was a kid indicated that they made their burgers out of cats. If they are still in business after all of these years, it must be a very delicious cat recipe so I think I should at least stop by and give it a try.

"Why Curmudgeon - why did you finally break into canter and start running after 16 years" you may ask?

Well, if you have read Eat Pray Love, or suffered through it in the form of a Julia Roberts movie, I am sure you can figure out transition #2, as it is really kind of a cliche for middle aged women these days. I will not be eating in Italy though (see above - Sonny's is in walking distance and I will save a lot on airfare). Being an atheist, I will probably skip the pray part altogether (although I must admit I do sometimes pray that that the loser in the condo next door will turn down her music and find a way to stop her dog from whining...). Love is yet to come, however I was contacted by a Peruvian millionaire on Match.Com and that is pretty close to Brazilian businessman as per the book. He had a faint aroma of catfish about him right from email #1 so I decided I was not ready to live the life of a South American princess just yet. Maybe next week.

Transition #3 - well, you know a bit about this one. Are you familiar with the application of the pulley rein to stop a horse that is madly running forward towards a cliff, or a barn door that is low enough to swipe off your head, helmet and all? That is pretty much how this went down. WOAH - WOOOAHH - WOAAAHHH - please WOAH and make it STOP...

Ms. V has - finally - officially been sold to a new home. After 3+ years of trying what seemed like everything, and feeling as helpless at many steps of the process as the rider above feels while whipping around the arena applying that pulley rein, and with just as many railbirds yelling out advice (Soften inside! You are pinching with your seat! Sit back! Have you tried Parelli?)

It is a wonderful home where I know she will do well, and be loved - and it has been about 4 months now and I have heard not a peep from the new owner, and when it comes to horses, I am a big believer that no news is good news.

Hopefully I am not jinxing myself by typing these very words.

So, now you are back up to speed on today - and all I can say is that transitions are more difficult than they seem. I guess I would have known this had I just done a search on COTH Forums*. Apparently Podhajsky said you must do many - 50 a day or some shit like that - in order to master them. Whew. I am worn out after just 3 major ones.

But the good news is - sitting in the sun and drinking coffee on my balcony, with not a blade of grass that I am responsible for mowing anywhere in sight - I now have ample time to continue on with the story. Where were we again? Somewhere around 2007? Level 1? Oh yes, it is all coming back to me.

And yes, transitions really were something of a concern at the time then as well.

*COTH - Chronicle of the Horse Forums

Abracadabra... Half Pass. Welcome to fantasy land, population no one.

2013-10-10T07:10:00.000-04:00

"Curmudgeon - seriously. Why did you even bother with leg yield? The dressage masters don't. You should just move right into shoulder fore / half pass".

Yah, yah, got it. Thanks Anonymous. I read that book too. It was one of the toilet library collection, circa 2005. And I do totally agree - just leg yielding around for the hell of it really doesn't serve a lot of purpose, other than impressing people who are very easily impressed.

And we all know, from a purely practical point of view, the reason we North Americans must bother with learning to execute a perfect leg yield (shoulder just slightly leading, steady angle and perfect rhythm all the way from K to X then back to H, just a whiff of flexion off of straight through the jowl)... is not for any reason relating to the mastery of dressage per se.

It is simply because if we hope to show 1st level, we are required to execute a generous serving of leg yield with a healthy side of useless nose dragging stretchy circle (which I have already bitched about, so I will save you the repeat rant here).

Stupid Stretchy Circle

And I would say for many Oragami Saddlepadders, this why the effort begins, and as a result is where the adventure ends. Because if this is your motivation - you really don't get what it is we are doing when we are teaching the horse to leg yield. And I am not saying this to be some superior bitch, because I don't think I did either.

If I get on someone's horse now, (after all of the time and money I have wasted in my useless pursuit to become a "dressage rider"), I would say the things that I am most amazed by is how many people's "dressage horses" don't go forward when leg is applied (and keep on going) - and secondly, how many horses do not move off the leg laterally when applied - two basic buttons that I can't imagine how someone can possibly ride their horse with any level of enjoyment without installing. Well, realistically, I do know - I know because I did exactly this for many years - as the saying goes, you don't know what you don't know.

I think part of the problem is that - just as with the conundrum previously described as "psst...what is a half halt anyways, and can you help me find my clitoris" (The Half Halt) - for those of us coming to dressage after many years of doing some other sort of riding, taking a big step back to deconstruct what the hell it is we are trying to accomplish here as a "dressage rider" because really, we have no foggy clue - is embarrassing.

And coaches don't want to embarrass their meal tickets, and so as a team, we sweep this ignorance under the rug and try to muddle through with whatever level of competence shows up for the ride. "Good, Suzie, GOOD! You had some steps there where Stormy was really crossing over (when he tripped and struggled to regain his balance as he sidled on over to the rail with his head cranked at that awkward angle)".

Nice, Suzie, NICE! I really like the level of activity, he is really stepping through.

Ideally, if the horse is in full training, the coach can work behind the scenes to secretly install these buttons and will only have to deal with the pushing of them by the hapless student. Wow! Leg yield was a snap. On to half-pass...

However, since the majority of people who are stuck in the mud somewhere in the swamps of first level are not in full training - if no one takes the time to say "hey, maybe it's just me... but your leg yield exercise is looking more like a head tilting diagonal line exercise - just a crazy thought, throwin' it out there, brainstorming here - can you actually get your horse to move his quarters around at a halt - ever? Dismounted? - In the cross ties? - Anywhere?"

(One of my favourite poorly executed exercises has to be the "spiral in / leg yield out". Or, more accurately described in most cases, "spiral in /drift on back to the rail with horse's nose cranked to inside" exercise")

The whole reason leg yield is important - why it becomes useful for all of the reasons often spouted on bulletin boards etc. - is because if you cannot move your horse around - front / back / sideways - at will, any time, any place, bend in / bend out, no debate - you have no hope in hell of ever getting the horse straight. And as much as I like to make fun of the pyramid, this actually is pretty important.

So my advice to you, is stop thinking of leg yield as a "thing" and start thinking about the fact that your horse should move willingly off your leg, wherever it is you tell them to move. And, if you are a smug classical dressage person, stop telling people that leg yield is useless an we should all move on to shoulder fore, because I promise you, if someone cannot make their horse move sideways in some obedient leg yieldy fashion, they are not going to be able to magically pull a shoulder fore out of their ass either.

You see, it is easy. Just keep the elbow macaroni in the trapezoids, and everything will be fine.

Things seem to be going a little bit sideways...

2013-09-13T12:41:00.001-04:00

And what exactly was it that was so rosy on the riding side?

We were finally starting lateral work. My very favourite work of all. (Incidentally, all of my moves at work tend to be lateral as well - coincidence? Hmm... I just don't know)

The good news is that beautiful half passes, once you learn how to do them and when mounted on a horse that is up for the task, are easy. Really. Nothing is more therapeutic to me now after a long day of doing whatever it is that I might do in a day that I don't enjoy than riding a nice tight little 10 m circle (no Bullit-esque fishtails)- shoulder in - 10 m circle - half pass (which you may recognize as parts of the beginning of our current PSG tests).

No No NO! Weight should be on your INSIDE seatbone

Sure, it doesn't have the flash of a line of tempis. But whereas tempis have always felt lumpy and awkward and confusing to me (you have to move your legs and count for Pete's sake - too much like work), if you set up your half pass correctly (establish correct bend during your circle, sitting in the direction of travel, forward as always is key), and your horse has been schooled to know what the hell this all means, you just get to sit back and enjoy the ride, with only minimal pilot input required.

In fact, I would say that if you ever find yourself straining during a half pass - if you are ever swinging your leg so far back that you poke yourself in the ass while trying to get that aid "behind the girth"...if your saddle pad is all folded up into an intricate series of pleats like one of those towel origami things they put on your bed at all inclusive resorts in Cuba ...if your horse is doing a big beautiful, booming trot around the arena, but then decelerates to a dust kicking shuffle when asked to move sideways... you are doing it really, really wrong. Just like lots of other people.

Honey! Look! Someone has been riding shitty half passes on our bed. Isn't it beautiful!

I don't know why there is such a monstrous abyss between "beautiful lateral work" and "horrific sideways stumble with horse's neck cranked in some direction, and a toe out, heel in spur gouge". But, being a horse person on the internet, I will take a stab at explaining something on which I have no true knowledge with an air of authority. It's what we do, right?

We have already covered several of the terms that you will want to include on your "things coaches yell out to clueless beginners" bingo card - things like "half halt", and "bend through the jowl" and "did you feel that?". You will definitely want to add "leg yield" to a corner or two of your card, as it is always on the list of pithy advice that is barked at the riders of board stiff, dum-de-dum school horses as they plod around doing the same shit they have done for the last 15 years, with little regard for anything the rider may or may not be attempting to execute up above.

In fact, a quick surf of our favourite bulletin boards shows that the leg yield is such an important item on this bingo card that it is the go-to solution used to cure a wide range of problems that the average horse might face - and not just in the dressage ring either. Bolting, overbending, failure to pick up a desired lead, inability to change leads, pulling on the bit, rushing through courses, falling souflees, impotence, crab lice - yes, having this one little tool in your toolbox can help you to turn just about any arab cross into Hickstead, if you just know when to apply it.

Which is great news.

The part that is a bit frightening is that when you actually look for information on "how to leg yield" - things get a little foggier. As with the half halt, there seems to be the perception that horses and riders are born with the innate ability to move smoothly sideways at just the right angle, shoulders leading slightly. Very little time seems to be dedicated to explaining to the rider - or the horse for that matter - exactly how the hell this is accomplished. As a rider, you are just supposed to magically know where to sit, pull, poke - and when.

I do think most of us can blame this on our origins as hunter / jumper riders, because I don't think there is a h/j person out there who will believe you if you tell them "your horse cannot leg yield", just as 99% of h/j people bopping around with draw reins or a chambon clipped to their pelham think you are just being a catty DQ if you announce that their horse is not really "on the bit". (And come on, you kind of are. Polite dressage riders avert their eyes and shut their mouths, then slam their h/j friends on bulletin boards).

But the truth is - most of them can't - well, not in the dressage sense of the word in any case. And I don't think anyone notices or cares. I once attended a BNT hunter clinic where a group of about five 12 year olds on sour faced ponies were instructed to "shoulder in down the long side". Hey, call me a Curmudgeon but I think his request was a tad on the optimistic side - or conversely, on the "what the hell, it is a clinic and I will never see these people again, let me throw out some juicy instructions to wow them, who cares if these little wanks even know what it means" side. You can pick.

So - if like me, you have this foundation in place, and you come from a world where as long as your horse was drifting somewhere in some fashion, while you pulled on a rein or dug in a spur, you were deemed to be "leg yielding", and crab stepping up the long side was "shoulder in" - you may find lateral work to be a challenge at first. Just like connection. And sitting trot, and ...and...and...and...(insert various aspects of dressage here).

Now I am not saying that there are no tips at all on the internet to help explain the mysteries of the leg yield. For example, I found a site that promised to teach you how to leg yield in 14 easy steps. Here is an excerpt:

With your core muscles, lighten the seat bone which is on the hind leg that you want to cross over. For example, if you are leg yielding to the left, lighten your right seat bone by scrunching up the right side of your core, making sure that you keep your upper body straight.

A-ha. Makes perfect sense, no? In my books, this advice does get points for using the key dressage words "core", "lighten" and "seat bone" all in one sentence, along with the no doubt classically inspired term "scrunching". You don't see that every day. I must also point out that this was not the first step in successfully executing your leg yield - it was somewhere down near number 14. There were other preparatory steps early on, such as #2 - mount your horse. Huh. Good tip.

Now after that -if things start going a little sideways - well, we will know it is working.

P.S - Happy Friday the 13th!

Now the barn owner don't mind.... and the boarders don't mind... Please, please stay, a little bit more.

2013-08-28T05:57:00.001-04:00

And so, with Regumate and a box of rubber gloves on order each month, finally the clouds parted, the sun shone down, and happiness reigned at Lana Acres. Dr. Lana loved Ms V, now that she was a squeal free, fatty weiner dog eunuch horse.

Right?

Cue the Angels! Cue the Angels!

Not her again. Is she for real?

No, of course not.

Over the next year or so I stayed at Lana Acres, and my horse managed to somehow stay, unloved, at the bottom of the pack.

She apparently could not get along any other horses - so only got turned out with the crustiest old gelding, in the paddock with the manure heap (while other horses frolicked in rolling green hilly feilds). She cowered fearfully in the corner and was a pain in the ass to get out the gate without a whip in hand to keep Alligator Face from attacking during our escape.

(She has since been on group turnout with many different mares - even on 24 hour turnout at one point in time - without incidence).

I arrived one day to find the clip on my halter wrapped in duct tape because it was "impossible" to get the strap over her ears, so only the buckle on the crownpiece was to be used - who knows what happened to inspire this judgement, but I removed the tape when I moved to a new barn, and everyone has used the clip ever since.

And so on. So forth. Dr. Lana just had a dislike of my horse that never quit.

The upside was I noticed a really big difference in the way she went under saddle on Regumate! Wow! Oh wait, no. That's wrong. I am confused again. There was absolutely no difference in her way of going under saddle at all - she was still the same old "good some days, goofy others" horse that one might expect when riding a 5 year old.

The real only difference I noticed was in the amount of money I was forking out in vet bills - the Regumate was costing over $200 per month.

But hey! Being the eternal optimist that I am, I must say there was a few perks associated with this whole debacle. On the plus side - when the day came to rationalize the cost of my move to a full training barn, this $200 was like a justification bargaining chip - I could spend it on the "training" part of training board, instead of as some freaky offering to appease the Gods of Lana. Totally makes sense, right?

Also on the plus side - when we hit the "progress up the levels" wall with Coach Ritenau, pinpointing the cause was a little quicker than it otherwise would have been. Once we bought the new saddle and tried the Bowen Therapy - we saved a few months in the process of systematically investigating "reason your horse is not progressing that have nothing to do with the fact that I am not experienced enough to help you move to the next level" since we already had "maybe her ovaries are sore" covered.

I said it before and I will say it again - "silver lining, every cloud". Have another glass of wine if you don't see it. It is there somewhere.

Dinner's almost ready, Ms. V

Curmudgeon, you moron. Why - oh - why did you stay?

Well, you have to remember that although Ms. V was not a favourite - Dr. Lana wasn't exactly giving anyone else a free ride either. And all in all, this made for a pretty pleasant riding experience on the human side.

The other boarders were all very normal people, because the blowhard, know it all weirdos got kicked out in short order. And it is worth at least $100 in Regumate to me to not have to deal with weirdo boarders after a long day of dealing with weirdo pet owners.

There were a few neat and polite teenage girls who were pretty much always accompanied by their moms, who were almost my age and were a pleasure to spend time with while laughing and grooming. There was another woman in the same age bracket who was working on backing her dream horse, a Lusitano she had bought in utero - who was also fun and funny and made evenings at the barn enjoyable.

Dr. Lana herself was also great to shoot the breeze with - the same no holds barred honesty that she brought to telling you your horse was (insert negative horse characteristic here), she brought to all of her conversations, which sounds bad, but is actually very refreshing.

All and all- once I made it through the gauntlet of control freak barn owner-isms, I really liked Lana Acres

I think sometimes along this horse journey I have lost sight of the fact that the horse and I are in it together - A barn where the horse is perfectly happy but I am not enjoying my hobby is no better than one where I am enjoying myself and the horse is miserably cowering on a manure pile being and bullied by Alligator face. Sorry to depress you, but you must add the challenge of finding a barn you can both stand to the almost impossible mix ... trainer, horse, ability, money, barn free of wackos...

(But seriously, I do think Ms. V has gotten the better deal most of the time. I have put up with a lot of wackos).

And - for the most part - her training was coming along very well at Lana Acres. I felt that we had successfully made the leap from "Green Horse" to "Green Dressage Horse", as in, someone watching from the sidelines could probably tell where we were headed, even if we still had a long way to go. It would have been hard to give up on the situation at this point in time, when everything under saddle was looking so rosy.

I think I am slowly losing my marebles.

2013-08-17T09:21:00.000-04:00

Ok team. I am feeling energized to write today.

Finally, after humming, hawing and generally being a whiny little down in the dumps "why me" sap about my horse situation since January, I filed a small claims court claim against the people who I am alleging broke their lease-to-own contract with me. I have my "Settlement Conference" date in October.

Am I the pig?

Or the person who shouldn't wrestle with pigs, because you only get dirty and pigs like it?

Well, if George Bernard Shaw was here I would tell him I am not really sure. I do know I have paid the equivalent of a month's worth of board to have mud slathered on me and be wrapped in saran at a foo foo spa in Quebec for a week - and it was pretty fucking fine. Granted his time the slatherer will be barking at me in a German accent, not coooing softly in French... but I think I might enjoy it just as much.

Will the courts see things my way? I have no idea (again, at this time - I am alleging - judge could decide I am delusional). But win or lose - it is time to go Sandra Dee again. I am happiest when the bridges are a-blazin. Turning the other cheek has never been my strong suit, and giving it a go this summer has just been really draining.

Curmudgeon! No one is EVER going to want to do business with you again if they find out you took someone to small claims court! Bad move! Everyone is going to think you are a money grubbing nut!

Yah, maybe. So be it. That's how I roll.

But - as my very favourite song lyric of all time goes... "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose". I am free. I am enjoying having my horse back, at a small stable, no trainer, no lessons, no pressure. I tried the high commission, high profile, high price sales route - and it flopped miserably. I have now come to terms with keeping her forever. Or, alternatively - should the absolute perfect person walk through the door with a few bucks in their hand and a starry look in their eyes that says "I dream of someday riding a flowing halfpass"- dropping her price to a mere mortal level to make their dream come true if it suits me.

I have nothing left to lose.

Yah, yah...I know, I know. You all knew this would happen, even though I keep insisting I want to sell her.

I just can't quit you, Ms. V

So! Long story short - I have to make this Long Story short so I can someday report to you on "SCHWEINWRESTLE FEST 2013". Exciting, isn't it?

Where were we. Mare acting like a mare. Barn owner acting like no other barn owner, past or present.

Curmudgeon! Please tell me that you packed your things and got the hell out of there!

No. No, I did not. Why you ask? Did I have a screw loose? Had I lost my marbles?

Perhaps. To this day, I can not explain to you why insisting that I find a way to transform my normal, hoochie mama mare into a female eunuch seemed to be a reasonable request, and why I did not just thank Dr. Lana for her time, pack my things, and leave.

However, I can assure you that what I had certainly not lost was my Marebles. I had ordered them on the internet for the low LOW price of only $18 dollars each.

What, pray tell are Marebles, you ask?

Well, I don't know all of the details, so be forewarned - my story may not be entirely accurate (surprisingly enough this event is not covered in bible, which was kind of the National Enquirer of the day as I understand it). Apparently, once upon a time, long ago... a camel driver sitting around waiting out a sandstorm blasting though the Sahara (or doing whatever it is that camel drivers do during their down time) got really bored. So bored in fact, that an interesting thought crossed his mind. "I wonder what would happen if I shoved an apricot pit up my camel's hoo-hoo"?

(Maybe I just have a warped mind, but I suspect this is probably not the first thing a bored man in the desert shoved up his camel's hoo-hoo. But that is another story all together).

Well lo and behold, as legend would have it - the camel drivers found that camels with apricot pits in their uteruses (what is the plural of uterus? Funny, I don't think I have ever attempted to use this word before in my life) no longer exhibited signs of "oh hot, baby, hot for you" estrus. Which was a good thing, I totally get this. I can see how being trapped in the desert for a month or two with a whole camel drive full of hormonal female camels living together and fighting over the male camel would be a bit tiring. Kind of like "The Bachlorette" for camels.

Anyway, fast forward to today - although we have modern medicine and technology, somehow the idea that "if it is natural, and has been done for thousands of years - it is better than anything your so-called "science" comes up with" prevails.

Enter - the Mareble. A clean, shiny, autoclavable version of the apricot pit, ready for implantation into your mare's uterus, which apparently works to supress estrus naturally. (Well, as naturally as having something other than a foal shoved in your uterus can be, in any case). So, whereas the obvious solution from a vet medicine point of view was a daily dose of evil, pharma generated Regumate, which is tried, tested, true (as in "truly expensive", as with all horsey things it seems) - if you love your horse in a natural, holistic, way - you knuckle down and get out your aggies.

Of course, Curmudgeon - it is an IUD for horses! Why wouldn't it work!

Oh come on now. We all know why it would not work. Because nothing in the horse world is ever simple, effective, and costs only $18. That really should have been all of the information I needed to reject this treatment as a possibility.

But I did look into it a bit more. A girl can dream, can't she?

And, what I found basically eliminated the Mareble from contention.

Sure - it is kind of an IUD for horses, and IUD's do work in people. The only difference is that effective IUD's for people are coated in birth control type hormones or copper that fucks with the sperm's minds. Perhaps their mere presence in the uterus does have an effect as well, but they are not just blobs of inert glass that show up and say "Ta Da! Bet you think I am a baby!" So really on further inspection, they are kind of nothing like IUD's in humans, other than their place of residence.

Next - I did some research and found that while natural, holistic, bulletin board prone people insisted that Marebles were a valid alternative to proven science - they also reported that Marebles seemed to emit strong waves of placebo effect that worked well to control heat cycles throughout the winter, but that they strangely seem to lose their power as spring approached. Or worse still - that they did horrible damage to their horse's reproductive tracts. Or were impossible to remove, without doing horrible damage to their horse's reproductive tracts.

So, although they were beautiful and fun to play with - I did not try the Marebles route.

Since this time a lot more research has been done into "The effect of intra-uterine devices on the reproductive physiology and behaviour of mares" and as far as I can tell, the jury is in - it doesn't work.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19709909

That said - if you are a bored camel driver in the Sahara looking for ways to pass the time and your friends catch you elbow deep in a camel - I think you could still save face by telling them you are implanting an apricot pit in her uterus. It is worth a try.

If you can't be with the one you love, love the wall you're with

2013-07-17T17:57:00.000-04:00

As I am sure you are well aware, the battle of the bulge never quite disappeared. It became one of those passive aggressive barn topics that lingered around until the day the trailer rolled out of the driveway. I poked my fingers into Ms. V's spongy fat tailhead with a critical look on my face when I thought Dr. Lana was in eyeshot. She beamed with pride when the farrier said how good Ms. V was looking - and so on, so forth. We smiled and joked about it on the surface, but I know each of us secretly thought the other person was way off base, totally wrong.

But never fear. The fun had not ended. Soon, project porker morphed into something new. Project...uh...pork'er. As in, my horse was apparently a raging, nympho slut.

As a border, it is easy to forget that your horse has her own little social life gig going on during the 22 hours per day you are not in her presence. Apparently, a few weeks of the year Ms. V liked to spend these 22 hours polishing the stall walls with her ass and screaming out for love like a 13 year old Justin Beiber fan. (No, no. They don't do the polishing part. I don't think so, anyways. Just the screaming).

Now, I kind of had an inkling this was the case, as the top of her tail often looked kind of like she had been electrocuted. And, her hocks sometimes were a little on the crusty side - nothing a little leg hosing and a stiff brush couldn't fix. But in all the time I had owned her up until then, that was about the extent of my exposure to her nympho slut tendencies. She was no different when I rode her, so frankly, I really didn't care if she wanted to get busy with - whatever - when I was not around.

Neither Muddy Acres nor Liliput had mentioned anything to me about this "problem" other than in passing (hey, your mare is in heat, eh? Why yes. How about those Blue Jays. Etc.). No barn has had a huge issue with it since either - it has been managed by choosing a stall in the corner, or next to a crabby old gelding who has long since forgotten he ever had testicles. I would likely have never ever known that my horse was a sex starved nympho slut...

But then... we met Dr. Lana.

Actually, I was first made aware of the problem by Miss Lana, one of the Dr's daughters, on my return from a week long business trip to Kamloops or someplace equally as fascinating.

"It is a good thing you are back. Ms. V has really missed you. She cries all the time".

Oh, how sweet. This little urchin thinks my horse is pining for me. I smiled and said "oh, well - no worries. I am back and I have lots of carrots. She will feel better now". And I thought that was the end of that.

Well, no. It was not the end of that at all. The carrots were the right shape, yet not quite the right size for what Ms. V was really pining for.

Oh! Oh! I know Curmudgeon - Ovarian Cysts! Ms V. had Ovarian Cysts!

No. And no. Mares do not get ovarian cysts. Don't post this in the comments.

Nor do they act like wingnuts when you ride them during their heat cycle due to feeling "crampy", like a 13 year old Justin Beiber fan trying to skip gym class. Don't post this either, it drives me insane when people say this. It doesn't even make any sense. If you don't know why - well, you should have paid attention in sex ed when you were a 13 year old Leif Garret fan, we don't have time to review this now. Besides, you likely don't have time to read a review anyway - you are probably busy taking care of your 18 children conceived while using the rhythm method of birth control.

Now don't get me wrong - I do think mares can be more tricky to ride. All the time. Every day. And some people just aren't cut out to ride mares.

But I suspect that much like "poorly fitting saddle" or "in need of chiropractic adjustment", many instances of riders reporting that their mare is"not herself during her heat cycle" are actually due to kind of an equestrian nocebo effect - i.e. I have been told that mares are idiots when in heat, my mare is in heat - therefore thus - she must be acting like an idiot. Suddenly normal spooking or resistance to do whatever it is you are asking them to do is not due to lack of rider skill, but instead is is all due to the MSG in chinese food. Or gluten. Or your mare being in heat.

I just can't seem to do a decent transition today. Either this guy is in heat, or those windmills are fucking with me again.

But what do I know, I don't have any well researched proof of this, and the anecdotes of many horse owners on bulletin boards all over the internet say I am wrong - which is almost as good, right? I am probably just being my Curmudgeonly self. Maybe your mare really does morph into a board-stiff angry hateful bitch when in heat. My condolences. I have never once noticed any difference in Ms. V's way of going at any time of the month or year (other than in the winter or spring due to lack of turnout as a result of excessive ice or mud).

But I did notice a difference in Dr. Lana's way of going immediately. She let me know that under no circumstances was this acceptable or normal behaviour. I had to get to the bottom of this problem right away. There would be no sex starved nympho mares at Lana Acres.

Sigh.

I realized that I was not a vet.. but I really and truly thought I did know what was at the bottom of her behaviour. Ms. V wanted some hot loving and baby birthin. That's what animals generally want out of life. I really didn't see it as a topic in need of an investigation.

Wrong again, Curmudgeon. I may have gotten away with riding around on my totally sound horse without investigating her cocktail weenie legs, but Dr. Lana was the vet. I was not dissing her knowledge twice. I needed to get a repro specialist in right away to do an ultrasound and investigate.

Lucky for me... I happened to know one. Otherwise I most certainly would have been too lazy to do the work involved in hunting one down to deal with a problem that was in my mind, non existent. The prof over at the vet college was a friend and she agreed to do a field trip with some students out to see Ms. V and determine if there was anything abnormal going with her ovaries that could explain her sex starved nympho behaviour.

Five or six students showed up, told me how good my horse looked (shut up already!), quizzed me on the life and times of V and her VeeJay, got busy with the K-Y jelly type stuff, poked and prodded with the ultrasound wand, and eventually reached a unanimous decision as to the crux of my horse's problems.

It seemed that Ms. V's sex starved nympho behaviour was due to the fact that she is a mare. Her symptoms could be cured by introducing her to a sex starved nympho stallion, or reasonable facsimile. Or - they could just be ignored, since acting like sex starved nymphos is generally what mares do when they are in heat.

Done and done. Right?

Well, no. Because the bottom line was that it was still Dr. Lana's barn, and if she didn't want a wall polishing urine squirting whore in the joint squealing the night away, that was her perogative. I had to fix the problem or move out.

And so it begins... Again. Groundhog Day Dressage

2013-07-12T07:21:00.000-04:00

Good morning readers - are you all still out there? Or have you died of old age waiting for my next post?

I must apologize for my delinquency, yet again. Unfortunately, the happenings of the last few months have really taken the wind out of my proverbial sales. Ooops - did I really type that? It is an honest Freudian Slip. Because as any of you who enjoy virtual shopping on Warmbloods-for-Sale already know, Ms. V is back. And I am trying...again...to find her the "perfect home".

Up until now, I have done fairly well at poking fun at my misfortune, and in fact I started this blog as kind of a cheap form of therapy to help myself talk through the insanity... but I really am kind of bottomed out right now.

I kept hoping I was going to pull some fairy tale ending out of my ass to share with all of you, but alas, this will not be the case. In less than a year, I have lived through a "sale" gone horribly wrong ("didn't anyone tell you not to trust those people?"... Said several incredulous acquaintances after the dust settled, not seeing the irony in the fact they they did not tell me not to trust "those people" either...is that actually ironic? I am always paranoid to use that word after everyone mocked Alanis Moressette ), and a lease gone horribly wrong (stay tuned for my rants on young riders entitled "PSG is hard. Who knew").

The good news is of course that I lived through these things. The worst news of all is that the one person who I would call up and bitch to when the nutty world of dressage was too much for me to handle - the person who could always make me laugh no matter how whacked out things in the horse world happened to be... has died. I still really can't believe he is gone.

So please bear with me. Don't worry - you will get to read about all of this someday.
I am sure I will get my shit together and get back to merrily mocking my life soon.

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

2013-06-04T06:57:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The legs Curmudgeon - what about the cocktail weenie legs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2013-05-13T06:09:00.002-04:00

Let's see, where to begin.

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

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

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

Summary - Lifespan Study

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

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

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

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

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

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

Purina Lifespan Study - Osteoarthritis

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

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

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

Crazy, eh?

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

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

So which one of us was right?

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

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

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

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

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

Curmudgeon

Dr. Lana

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

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

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

Damn you Scattails. Damn you.

2013-05-09T06:32:00.001-04:00

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

But I have someone to blame it on this week.

It is all Scattail's fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This would not do.

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

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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