The stinker took advantage of me when I probably should not have been taking a lesson on Monday and did another big spook. Again, I did stay on, but because I wasn't feeling well, it took me a bit more to get it under control. I also came out of contact with the seat because I got pulled forward and, apparently, I hit him with the whip.
I've been repeating the word Whoa! a lot. Gayle said I totally forgot it and I finally yelled it at him. He did stop when he heard it from me.
Clearly, this is the new evasion to avoid real work. It was a successful strategy in the past (Rod Bergen is so wrong about horses being unable to strategize), but I'm not going to be put off by it again. Eventually, he'll have to try something else. I'm much less bothered when he decides that a collected back up will work.
Gayle did say that I had a great collected canter underneath me when he took off. All I can say is, he feels like a whole lot bigger horse when his back is up under me. There's a lot of power when that engine is engaged.
Gayle asked me if Ashley could ride Ace in a dressage clinic at the end of the month (actually, it's June 1, I think) and, of course, I said yes. I'll go and watch. They'll be sharing the spot with the warmblood and rider they often take lessons with. The mare is about a hand and a half taller than Ace and proportionally bigger. So it is quite entertaining to watch them keep up or or slow down to stay with each other.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Riding the Spook
I had another great lesson on Saturday, including the moment when Ace saw a dragon (neither Gayle nor I saw it, of course) and took off across the arena. He was on a loose rein when it happened, but my hands were in the right place, so a finger on the pommel kept me balanced as he dropped the right shoulder. I never lost contact with the saddle, got him back under control, turned him and made him go right back to work. That obviously wasn't his plan, but he got the message.
Earlier in the lesson, I was letting him walk on a loose rein while I was pulling on a glove. Gayle commented about how relaxed I was, letting him move freely while I tried to get the glove on. After the spook, she said she couldn't have handled it any better than I did. She was pleased that we just went back to work after something we both knew was bound to happen at some point.
Knowing that he took off at a canter and I just sat there makes the thought of approaching the intentional canter less scary than it has been for quite a while. Gayle and Ashley both keep telling me that he has an awesome canter (as has anyone who's ever ridden him--he looks like a rocking horse.)
He's moving off my leg so easily these days that I regret that I wasn't able to find the right trainer sooner. Of course, I really wouldn't have been able to afford the training program I am in when I first got him. It does help to have him worked by Gayle and ridden by Ashley and I'm really glad that I don't have to longe him every time before I get on his back.
I dropped by Gayle's place when Ashley was riding him in a group lesson last week and Gayle told me that when the lesson was over, Ace was very confused that I was no longer there. He had noticed when I came in but didn't see me leave. I guess he knows who he owns.
I have seen him block other horses at the barn if they try to get too friendly with me. If he's with a group out in the arena and I'm in his run, he'll guard the gate and keep the other horses away. God forbid I open the door and someone beats him to his treats.
Earlier in the lesson, I was letting him walk on a loose rein while I was pulling on a glove. Gayle commented about how relaxed I was, letting him move freely while I tried to get the glove on. After the spook, she said she couldn't have handled it any better than I did. She was pleased that we just went back to work after something we both knew was bound to happen at some point.
Knowing that he took off at a canter and I just sat there makes the thought of approaching the intentional canter less scary than it has been for quite a while. Gayle and Ashley both keep telling me that he has an awesome canter (as has anyone who's ever ridden him--he looks like a rocking horse.)
He's moving off my leg so easily these days that I regret that I wasn't able to find the right trainer sooner. Of course, I really wouldn't have been able to afford the training program I am in when I first got him. It does help to have him worked by Gayle and ridden by Ashley and I'm really glad that I don't have to longe him every time before I get on his back.
I dropped by Gayle's place when Ashley was riding him in a group lesson last week and Gayle told me that when the lesson was over, Ace was very confused that I was no longer there. He had noticed when I came in but didn't see me leave. I guess he knows who he owns.
I have seen him block other horses at the barn if they try to get too friendly with me. If he's with a group out in the arena and I'm in his run, he'll guard the gate and keep the other horses away. God forbid I open the door and someone beats him to his treats.
Sick Day
I took a sick day from work today. My sore throat reached that feeling of glass going down with a swallow. Fortunately, I've got my doctor's home number and he immediately said "infection" after I described the symptoms. Len went off to the pharamcy and 12 hours later, I could swallow again without pain. Aren't antibiotics wonderful?
There are four advantages of "employment" over "self-employment:" a regular paycheck (which allows you to budget, even if you could make more money in less time if you are self-employed), health insurance (prohibitively expensive if you are a sole proprietor), paid vacations, and paid sick days.
Although this was not a good day to take off, with all the things I need to do for Thursday's Bike to Work Day, the world doesn't end if I don't show up. In a sole proprietorship, if I don't work, it doesn't get done. I spent several San Diego Comicons working on pleadings for lawsuits when I should have been on vacation. That I don't miss at all.
There are four advantages of "employment" over "self-employment:" a regular paycheck (which allows you to budget, even if you could make more money in less time if you are self-employed), health insurance (prohibitively expensive if you are a sole proprietor), paid vacations, and paid sick days.
Although this was not a good day to take off, with all the things I need to do for Thursday's Bike to Work Day, the world doesn't end if I don't show up. In a sole proprietorship, if I don't work, it doesn't get done. I spent several San Diego Comicons working on pleadings for lawsuits when I should have been on vacation. That I don't miss at all.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Licenses & Micro-chips
Two years ago, I had an opportunity to get Ace micro-chipped at the college. I also had to pay for a license, which is more about counting horses than anything else. I'm glad I got the micro-chip, although I've read some scary things about them. Ace seems to be doing just fine with it. Since horses don't have collars on all the time (unlike dogs), I haven't quite figured out what to do with the license tag. If I were Ace, I'd hate to have it banging against my cheek if I put it on his halter.
The other day, Gina asked me if Ace was licensed, because they need to have all of the horses licensed in order to get a conditional use permit for the barn. I managed to dig up my license, which expired, and now I've got to drop by the Department of Animal Services to renew the license. I noticed the paperwork has the wrong address and it uses Ace's call name rather than his registered name. That's probably not as important.
The City of Los Angeles recently claimed some sort of ignorance about how many horses are in the San Fernando Valley, saying there were less than 500. That was based on license sales. Lots of horse owners gathered to let the City know they were quite wrong about that, but there is now a push to get the horses licensed.
The other day, Gina asked me if Ace was licensed, because they need to have all of the horses licensed in order to get a conditional use permit for the barn. I managed to dig up my license, which expired, and now I've got to drop by the Department of Animal Services to renew the license. I noticed the paperwork has the wrong address and it uses Ace's call name rather than his registered name. That's probably not as important.
The City of Los Angeles recently claimed some sort of ignorance about how many horses are in the San Fernando Valley, saying there were less than 500. That was based on license sales. Lots of horse owners gathered to let the City know they were quite wrong about that, but there is now a push to get the horses licensed.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Len's Latest Acheivement
Wizard Magazine published its 200th issue this week and came up with a list of the top 200 comic book characters. Beating out Batman, Superman, and Spiderman to come in at #1 is Wolverine, created by my talented husband, Len Wein (with art by John Romita, Sr.), in about 1973. In addition to Wolvie, Len's other X-men contributions, Storm, Nightcrawler, and Colossus (Dave Cockrum was the artist on them--and Dave's redesign is the costume most people think of for Wolverine) made the list and Swamp Thing (Bernie Wrightson did the art) did, too. Five characters in a list that covers 70 years of comic book history, with thousands of characters to choose from. Not a bad achievement. Even if Wizard didn't bother to list the creators' names.
Do as We Say, Not as We Do
Does anyone remember how the Bush administration refused to allow much needed aid for Hurricane Katrina victims from foreign governments? Isn't it the height of arrogance for Laura Bush to chastise the Myanmar government for refusing to allow aid from the U.S. (and we're offering an embarrassing low level of aid) for their recent disaster?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Sometimes It Is the Small Stuff
Len and I were on our way to a party Saturday night. We pulled out of the driveway and noticed the legs of two men on the sidewalk that passes our home. They were reaching up into our mulberry tree and grabbing as much fruit as they could stick into their mouths.
First, I need to describe how our house is situated. We are on a cul-de-sac and we own one of the two houses that has a driveway on the cul-de-sac and a section of land which keeps the cul-de-sac from being a street to the major north-south avenue which is on the eastern border of our property. There is a sidewalk between our house and the one to the south of us, and both of the houses have a plot of land. Our mulberry tree, along the south wall of our garage and a bit of the slump-stone wall that forms the eastern border of our back yard, intertwines with some form of cypress and some branches overhang the sidewalk along the major street. We also have a strip of land closer to the street than the sidewalk is, for which we pay gardeners to mow. Unfortunately, the trapezoidal spit of land is not walled or fenced and people seem to think they are entitled to help themselves to the fruit of our Persian mulberry.
Often, the thieves are English-as-a-second-language folk who pretend to not understand as I tell them they are stealing. But they all seem to understand when I say "I will call the police if you don't stop now." It is a violation of California law to steal produce. I looked it up one day.
Not only did these two, middle-aged, white guys refuse to stop, they came at our car yelling at us about how it was their right to take the fruit and we couldn't stop them--it was on public property. Then, one of them got on the phone while the other one said "tell them it's Officer___," then they got hostile about my license plate, "are you a lawyer? What's your bar number? You're a liar. That's not your bar number." I pulled out my phone and I did call the police. I also pulled out my camera to take pictures of them. One reached toward the window to block the camera, at which time Len said "if you stick your hand in here, I'll take it off at the wrist."
I spoke to an officer and told her what was going on. She went to speak to her partner about whether these bozos were allowed to take the fruit off of my tree. While I was waiting for her return, the creeps kept circling the car and saying things like "she's not really on the phone to anyone." Finally, the officer came back on and said "they can pick up anything that falls on the sidewalk--that's public ground--but they cannot take the fruit off of the tree. That's a misdemeanor, and we can come out and arrest them. I told her they'd probably run off before the police could arrive, and they did go off, continuing to yell at me and grabbing more fruit as they left.
Typical bullies.
I worried they might do something to the house while we were out, but that didn't seem to happen.
You'd think to well-to-do middle-aged white guys would be smart enough to leave well enough alone, but no. The taller of the two schmucks was back again the next night, pulling down the higher branches of the tree to eat berries. I saw him as I turned to go into the driveway. I immediately drove out to get on the main street where I pulled out my camera and yelled at him to get away from my tree, that he was a thief, and probably a few other things I would have been better off not saying. He yelled at me that I was a black-hearted bitch, black-hearted just like those berries, and that I should die--he wanted me dead. Real nice guy. But pulling out the camera did send him on his way, yelling as he did. I turned the car around and followed him, snapping pictures, and then turned again when he crossed the street until he ducked into another cul-de-sac and disappeared before I could find him.
I went back home and sprayed the branches over the sidewalk with Bitter Apple. I thought about using cayenne pepper spray (which I have to keep horses from chewing on wood), but I was afraid I might actually cause some hurt to someone whereas bitter apple will only make them regret the taste.
As I said, sometimes it is the small stuff that can really set you off and you forget about "don't sweat the small stuff; it's all small stuff." We rarely get a chance to enjoy the mulberries because people steal them before we have a chance to get to them.
I am sorely tempted to make up wanted posters and leave them in the neighborhood to find out who this bozo is and have him arrested. The photos aren't that good, but I have this feeling that public pillory is some times the right punishment for the annoying crimes. Len thinks I'm making more of this that it deserves. I should probably be concerned that the prick lives in the neighborhood and likes to take his evening walk past my house.
The mulberries aren't worth that much, but most people cut them down because birds eat them and the droppings are nasty to clean off cars. I like having the tree there for the wildlife. They are welcome to what I don't want.
Well-off white guys can buy their own.
First, I need to describe how our house is situated. We are on a cul-de-sac and we own one of the two houses that has a driveway on the cul-de-sac and a section of land which keeps the cul-de-sac from being a street to the major north-south avenue which is on the eastern border of our property. There is a sidewalk between our house and the one to the south of us, and both of the houses have a plot of land. Our mulberry tree, along the south wall of our garage and a bit of the slump-stone wall that forms the eastern border of our back yard, intertwines with some form of cypress and some branches overhang the sidewalk along the major street. We also have a strip of land closer to the street than the sidewalk is, for which we pay gardeners to mow. Unfortunately, the trapezoidal spit of land is not walled or fenced and people seem to think they are entitled to help themselves to the fruit of our Persian mulberry.
Often, the thieves are English-as-a-second-language folk who pretend to not understand as I tell them they are stealing. But they all seem to understand when I say "I will call the police if you don't stop now." It is a violation of California law to steal produce. I looked it up one day.
Not only did these two, middle-aged, white guys refuse to stop, they came at our car yelling at us about how it was their right to take the fruit and we couldn't stop them--it was on public property. Then, one of them got on the phone while the other one said "tell them it's Officer___," then they got hostile about my license plate, "are you a lawyer? What's your bar number? You're a liar. That's not your bar number." I pulled out my phone and I did call the police. I also pulled out my camera to take pictures of them. One reached toward the window to block the camera, at which time Len said "if you stick your hand in here, I'll take it off at the wrist."
I spoke to an officer and told her what was going on. She went to speak to her partner about whether these bozos were allowed to take the fruit off of my tree. While I was waiting for her return, the creeps kept circling the car and saying things like "she's not really on the phone to anyone." Finally, the officer came back on and said "they can pick up anything that falls on the sidewalk--that's public ground--but they cannot take the fruit off of the tree. That's a misdemeanor, and we can come out and arrest them. I told her they'd probably run off before the police could arrive, and they did go off, continuing to yell at me and grabbing more fruit as they left.
Typical bullies.
I worried they might do something to the house while we were out, but that didn't seem to happen.
You'd think to well-to-do middle-aged white guys would be smart enough to leave well enough alone, but no. The taller of the two schmucks was back again the next night, pulling down the higher branches of the tree to eat berries. I saw him as I turned to go into the driveway. I immediately drove out to get on the main street where I pulled out my camera and yelled at him to get away from my tree, that he was a thief, and probably a few other things I would have been better off not saying. He yelled at me that I was a black-hearted bitch, black-hearted just like those berries, and that I should die--he wanted me dead. Real nice guy. But pulling out the camera did send him on his way, yelling as he did. I turned the car around and followed him, snapping pictures, and then turned again when he crossed the street until he ducked into another cul-de-sac and disappeared before I could find him.
I went back home and sprayed the branches over the sidewalk with Bitter Apple. I thought about using cayenne pepper spray (which I have to keep horses from chewing on wood), but I was afraid I might actually cause some hurt to someone whereas bitter apple will only make them regret the taste.
As I said, sometimes it is the small stuff that can really set you off and you forget about "don't sweat the small stuff; it's all small stuff." We rarely get a chance to enjoy the mulberries because people steal them before we have a chance to get to them.
I am sorely tempted to make up wanted posters and leave them in the neighborhood to find out who this bozo is and have him arrested. The photos aren't that good, but I have this feeling that public pillory is some times the right punishment for the annoying crimes. Len thinks I'm making more of this that it deserves. I should probably be concerned that the prick lives in the neighborhood and likes to take his evening walk past my house.
The mulberries aren't worth that much, but most people cut them down because birds eat them and the droppings are nasty to clean off cars. I like having the tree there for the wildlife. They are welcome to what I don't want.
Well-off white guys can buy their own.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Progress
Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in a rut with my riding and sometimes I feel like I'm making great progress. The spill last summer really put a damper on my riding for months, but I seem to be getting past it now. It helps to have a trainer who is sympathetic to this older rider and isn't forcing a time-table on me.
We had a great ride with our trainer on Saturday. It didn't hurt that we had managed a lesson for six days in a row--no rain, no wind, no holidays, nothing to interrupt the work while we were making up lessons for all of those occurrences. Ace was relaxed and ready to go, and even the "Day of the Horse" events taking place across the street didn't bother him--much. The static feedback from the microphone and loud speakers sounded like firecrackers and his ears perked right up. He got over it and I got on.
I had him ready in time to spend around half an hour warming him up before Gayle got to the barn, so we were able to get a lot more done in the alloted time. I took only the first hour of my 7:45 yoga class, but thats when most of the stretching gets done, so it worked out well for me.
The extra work outs Ace is getting from Gayle and Ashley are really paying off. He's moving off my leg and I can get him to trot without holding a motivational tool in my hand. He really feels far more forward than he has in a long time. He's keeping his back up and his head down and when he starts reaching under himself, he's got a very powerful trot. I'm still having a little problem falling forward, but I'm working a lot harder at leaning back and engaging my abdominals to stay in the saddle. One of these days I know I will have to go back to the Schleese and won't have the false sense of security of the western saddle.
We've learned we cannot say "Good Boy." Ace has decided those words mean he can stop. He's done a good job and the job is over. Not exactly, pal. He can be quite adamant about not moving forward after hearing those words. When he is moving, he'll take any direction in the general vicinity of his hoop to mean "oh, I can go inside the hula hoop and be safe and get treats." I've gotten much better at keeping him from going into the hoop when I don't want him to. He is very funny. You cannot convince me that horses don't have a sense of logic and can't plan their actions.
When we were finished working, and Ace had a chance to romp in the arena on his own, I got his weekly bran mash ready. I added a lot of water, so it was a very soupy gruel. He went diving in to find carrots and I swear he had slop all the way to his eyes. I have no idea how he keeps the stuff out of his nose. He nickered at me between forays to the bottom of the bucket and I just kept telling him "keep that dirty nose away from me." He stained his sock when he wiped his mouth on his left front leg.
We went to a birthday party on Saturday evening where I had a long talk with a friend about the Kentucky Derby. She knows a lot more about Thoroughbred breeding than I do and said that Eight Belles' sire is producing big, fast babies that break down at an alarming rate. She can't understand why anyone would breed to him. That information makes me even more upset by what happened, as has the more explicit reports of what happened to the filly's legs. One can't help but think that money means more than anything to people who engage in this sport. Kay also thinks that it will be a freak if Big Brown wins the Triple Crown. She and I are both waiting to see what the reports on his feet are coming out of the Derby. I haven't seen or heard anything yet.
We had a great ride with our trainer on Saturday. It didn't hurt that we had managed a lesson for six days in a row--no rain, no wind, no holidays, nothing to interrupt the work while we were making up lessons for all of those occurrences. Ace was relaxed and ready to go, and even the "Day of the Horse" events taking place across the street didn't bother him--much. The static feedback from the microphone and loud speakers sounded like firecrackers and his ears perked right up. He got over it and I got on.
I had him ready in time to spend around half an hour warming him up before Gayle got to the barn, so we were able to get a lot more done in the alloted time. I took only the first hour of my 7:45 yoga class, but thats when most of the stretching gets done, so it worked out well for me.
The extra work outs Ace is getting from Gayle and Ashley are really paying off. He's moving off my leg and I can get him to trot without holding a motivational tool in my hand. He really feels far more forward than he has in a long time. He's keeping his back up and his head down and when he starts reaching under himself, he's got a very powerful trot. I'm still having a little problem falling forward, but I'm working a lot harder at leaning back and engaging my abdominals to stay in the saddle. One of these days I know I will have to go back to the Schleese and won't have the false sense of security of the western saddle.
We've learned we cannot say "Good Boy." Ace has decided those words mean he can stop. He's done a good job and the job is over. Not exactly, pal. He can be quite adamant about not moving forward after hearing those words. When he is moving, he'll take any direction in the general vicinity of his hoop to mean "oh, I can go inside the hula hoop and be safe and get treats." I've gotten much better at keeping him from going into the hoop when I don't want him to. He is very funny. You cannot convince me that horses don't have a sense of logic and can't plan their actions.
When we were finished working, and Ace had a chance to romp in the arena on his own, I got his weekly bran mash ready. I added a lot of water, so it was a very soupy gruel. He went diving in to find carrots and I swear he had slop all the way to his eyes. I have no idea how he keeps the stuff out of his nose. He nickered at me between forays to the bottom of the bucket and I just kept telling him "keep that dirty nose away from me." He stained his sock when he wiped his mouth on his left front leg.
We went to a birthday party on Saturday evening where I had a long talk with a friend about the Kentucky Derby. She knows a lot more about Thoroughbred breeding than I do and said that Eight Belles' sire is producing big, fast babies that break down at an alarming rate. She can't understand why anyone would breed to him. That information makes me even more upset by what happened, as has the more explicit reports of what happened to the filly's legs. One can't help but think that money means more than anything to people who engage in this sport. Kay also thinks that it will be a freak if Big Brown wins the Triple Crown. She and I are both waiting to see what the reports on his feet are coming out of the Derby. I haven't seen or heard anything yet.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Heartbreaking
I couldn't bring myself to watch the Kentucky Derby last year. I was still feeling grief for the loss of Barbaro. After today, I may never watch it again.
We set the DVR as we ran out for lunch and when we came back home, it was just as the TV showed Big Brown as the unofficial winner. I wish I had waited a few more minutes before running back 90 minutes to the build up for the race.
My heart was with Eight Belles, a magnificent 17 hand filly. And what a race she had. And then disaster as she collapsed after coming in second. The camera showed her down on the track and then she was surrounded by the vet trucks. She was put down right on the track, both her front ankles broken.
Big Brown threw his rider when the filly collapsed near him. He ran a great race, despite whatever problems he may have with sore feet. But his race is overshadowed by the death on the track, one of many this year.
Is it that the Thoroughbreds are so in-bred that they are breaking down? If so, isn't it time for them to breed back in some Arabian blood to strengthen them? Or is it that the horses are raced too young in the U.S. and it is time to ban such early trauma on these animals.
Whatever the reason, the Triple Crown has dulled for me and I don't know if I can hold a Belmont Tea if Big Brown takes the Preakness.
We set the DVR as we ran out for lunch and when we came back home, it was just as the TV showed Big Brown as the unofficial winner. I wish I had waited a few more minutes before running back 90 minutes to the build up for the race.
My heart was with Eight Belles, a magnificent 17 hand filly. And what a race she had. And then disaster as she collapsed after coming in second. The camera showed her down on the track and then she was surrounded by the vet trucks. She was put down right on the track, both her front ankles broken.
Big Brown threw his rider when the filly collapsed near him. He ran a great race, despite whatever problems he may have with sore feet. But his race is overshadowed by the death on the track, one of many this year.
Is it that the Thoroughbreds are so in-bred that they are breaking down? If so, isn't it time for them to breed back in some Arabian blood to strengthen them? Or is it that the horses are raced too young in the U.S. and it is time to ban such early trauma on these animals.
Whatever the reason, the Triple Crown has dulled for me and I don't know if I can hold a Belmont Tea if Big Brown takes the Preakness.
Friday, May 2, 2008
To the Moon, Really
NASA is gathering names for its "Send Your Name to the Moon" Project and you can join by clicking on the link. After you type in your name, you get to download a certificate of participation which would be pretty cool on a color printer. I figure it is the only way I'll ever be that close to another heavenly body (well, I have been much closer to Hugh Jackman, but you know what I mean.) I'm thinking about adding Ace's name to the list. How long do you think it will take for anyone to wonder about the sanity of naming a child "Auspicious Comet"?
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