Guess what happened on Monday?

Yep, it’s true, Presto is an independent man now. Well, sort of. He and Liam are so obsessed with each other that it’s a little ridiculous.

It started out just by putting Presto and Liam in the double stall/run right next to Sadie, to introduce the concept of separation. Because really, there’s nothing worse than the destructive power of a mad giant hippo mare who likes to SadieSMASH. That went off without a hitch, although Sadie was still sidling up to the fence every once in a while to let Presto nurse. I mean, he’s 6.5 months old, you think she’d be tired of him and his crap by now, especially because she seems pretty uncomfortable when he nurses. She is really dedicated to the whole Momma thing.

There has been a thread going on in one of the breeding groups on facebook about “weaning by the signs”, which sounds either super hokey or semi credible, depending on where you stand on the subject of moon phases and it’s affect on people/animals. It just so happened that our timeline coincided easily with one of the “prime” weaning times, so we went with that. Hokum? Maybe. Gonna stack the odds in your favor as much as possible, especially when it’s easy? Yes. Either way, things seem to have worked out, because Presto was not particularly stressed.

It was discovered by day 2 of “Presto+Liam: Unsupervised” that Presto is indeed the more dominant of the two. Like to the point where he wouldn’t let Liam eat out of either bucket – instead he ran him off to the corner, where Liam just stood there licking his lips and looking like a Big Sad Dumb while Presto expertly monitored both buckets. So someone is kind of a jerk, and more creative feeding methods had to be adopted. Have to admit, I secretly kind of admire his “Bitch, please” attitude. The kid has this wordlyness about him, like he’s been places and he’s seen things. Or so he thinks, anyway. Cocky little turd. But I suppose that attitude is probably a big part of why he’s still alive, so I can’t really resent it now, can I?

The boys will go out to pasture and Sadie will go back with her BFF Lissa. The mares can focus on getting fat again, Sadie can focus on growing that Diarado baby, and they can enjoy a break from naughty little colts with flying teeth and flying hooves.

At some point Liam will be leaving, which will probably be the saddest thing ever for both colts. Granted, they both have other friends waiting for them that I’m sure will be almost as fun. And then Presto will be gelded (god, do you think that’ll take the cocky attitude down a notch?) once it gets cold.

It’s about time to buy him Baby’s First Rope halter, so he can start learning some real groundwork (with manners attached)!

 

Life has been a little stressful lately. Not the horse related stuff so much (omg knocking on so much wood right now) but personal stuff. Work. The future. A big crossroads that would completely and totally change everything. Ya know, light stuff. No biggie.

I’m not much of a talker, my standard MO is to internalize things until I’ve figured out the solution and have a plan in place, which I haven’t done yet. It’s very much a state of limbo, like I’m lingering on the precipice of some big life decisions, trying to decide whether or not to jump. As I said… light stuff. On the outside it’s a lot of this

but inside it’s more like this.

I’ll talk about it eventually. When I figure it out.

In the meantime the horses have been my refuge, so to speak, and I’ve kind of chosen to drown myself in them even more than usual. Cuz, I dunno… valid coping mechanism? I also may or may not have had a weak day while scrolling through Instagram last week. The good thing is that my retail therapy budget is basically nill right now, there was very little damage I could actually do.

But yeah, I’m sorry, I can’t resist dark purple breeches. Especially when the alternative is eating an entire roll of cookie dough or something. Breeches are better, right? These were stupid cheap anyway, AND I’ve been wanting to try this brand for a while, AND I’ve been waiting for someone to make a super dark purple for a long time, so I’m going to consider it totally justifiable. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong (jk, please don’t do that, let me have my dark purple breeches without judgment). I don’t know why these things make me feel better, but they do. They’re fun and they’re different, two things I’m actively seeking for myself. And, well… purple was my mom’s favorite color, after all. It’s as if the sheer act of owning them might somehow transfer some of her wisdom to me via spiritual osmosis.

Or maybe I’m just reading way too much into a pair of purple pants. That’s also 100% possible.

Do I actually have to even bother to justify these? I hope not. I stood no chance against the f-bomb socks. They really complement the inner turmoil nicely. Ok let’s be honest, they suit me perfectly regardless of life phase.

Never stood a chance against this one either. It’s great and it’s the truth and it’s something that quite suits the situation. The more I see it, the better. Also it was on sale, so.

Plus I totally just realized that in my stress-splurge I created a whole new ROOTD. Bonus.

I found a lot of inspiration in Maya Angelou last week when I listened to the audio version of her book “Letter to my Daughter” on my drive to Midland. It was so good I listened to it twice and then went on Thriftbooks and bought a hard copy ($4.99, Thriftbooks never lets me down). If you haven’t read it I highly highly highly recommend.

“My life has been long,

and believing that life loves the liver of it,

I have dared to try many things,

sometimes trembling, but daring, still.”

 

Melodrama aside, I’m all good. Things will work out and I’m nervous but excited to see what happens. And until then, I’ll be rocking some pretty rad purple breeches.

Anyone else had a little mini-splurge on something fun lately?

First, the “nice” versions of the pictures from Presto’s actual inspection last week:

But since the weather was so gross that day, Michelle was pretty bummed at how the pictures came out. She’s got a nice camera and takes actual good pictures (unlike, um… me) so she wanted to redo the whole thing. Especially since the boys are about to enter the weanling uglies, from which there is no return for like… years, really. This might be the last chance to get nice pictures before all of their parts start to look like they don’t belong on the same horse.

So as soon as the weather cleared up and the farm dried out, she braided Presto back up, and did a “redo” of the inspection photos. And these definitely came out much better. It’s amazing how much difference THE SUN (and a cooperative baby horse) makes.

Maybe I’m biased (I’m not) but he’s so cute. I continue to be really thrilled with how he’s maturing, and the quality of horse that I’m seeing. He’s just about everything I could have asked for in an event horse, so far.

Someone remind me of that in a few months when he looks like a giraffellamapotamus.

Presto also had something else SUPER EXCITING happen to him this week, but we’ll talk about that in another post.

I’m starting to think that Henry really IS in cahoots with the weather gods. It’s just not possible for a horse to get his way this completely, over and over and over again.

Somehow he found out that I had signed us up for two dressage classes at the local Thoroughbred rescue’s benefit show. They didn’t offer any jumping classes high enough, but they let you write in whatever dressage test you wanted, so I happily sent in our entry for USEA tests Training A and B. It’s hard to find schooling shows in town that will let you do eventing tests. This was going to be perfect practice.

Or it would have been, had it not started raining last Tuesday and kept right on going through Thursday night. The venue had no choice but to reschedule the show for November, and I swear I heard Henry snickering from his stall, 20 miles away. But a cancelled dressage show didn’t get him out of regular rides, so on Saturday morning I showed up ready to do a dressage school anyway. As soon as I got there the main barn worker told me that he’d been an absolute NUT in turnout the day before, galloping and spinning and leaping and whirling around for almost an hour. First thought: I wonder how many shoes he has left? Second thought: I wonder which part of himself he managed to hurt? Because this is Henny. Those two things are pretty reliable.

I got him out to find that he’d managed to keep all four of his shoes (small miracle) and he appeared to be free of obvious injury. Suspicious. Very suspicious. So I started currying, and he just about hit the floor when I got to the right side of his back. Aha. I knew there’d be something. Pretty much the entire length of his psoas on the right side was super tight and sore. Obviously all those airs above the ground had caused someone to tweak his back. I got to work and starting stretching, rubbing, stretching some more, and whipped out his massager. It got better as I went, so I decided to hop up and go for a long bareback walk to help loosen everything up. After that there was more rubbing, stretching, and massaging, and by the time I put him up it was significantly improved. Nice try, Henny.

On Sunday I had signed up to jump judge at a schooling horse trial a couple hours away, so I was at the barn at dawn to fit a ride in first. He was still tight in his psoas, but much improved, so he got a quick 10 minute massage and stretch, then we went out for a dressage school. He felt tight at first, mostly in the lateral work, but improved quickly and actually managed to give me some good work. More massage, more stretching, and I tossed him in his stall to have his breakfast then headed off to meet Bobby so we could carpool to the show.

I always forget how much I like jump judging. I wish these venues were all closer to me so it was easier for me to do it more often. Sitting in the woods for 4-5 hours with a walkie-talkie, watching horses go by… there are worse ways to spend a Sunday. I was also slightly horrified to find that the Prelim jumps did not look horrifying to me at all, even up close and personal. What. Is. Happening.

So while we didn’t actually get to show this weekend, we at least got to go TO a show, see some friends, and get some volunteer time in. Someday we’ll actually make it to a dressage show, despite Henry’s best efforts. Maybe.