Escape to the beach

Sweaty, shiny, happy ponies post-beach ride. 

I admit it, my house did not get cleaned this last weekend. I thought about it, really I did. It just hit the lowest priority on the "things I need to do" list. There was work and there were bored ponies. Bored ponies, as I've said other places, can cause problems.

Saturday, I had a call with my side-job boss to plan out what needed to happen on the website we're working on. Right after that I met with someone to help them figure out Constant Contact for their email marketing. Since I'm having a lot of fun doing what I'm good at, it's really not like work, but then suddenly it was Sunday and I really wanted to get out with the horses.

They wanted out, too. Calabar has been exhibiting symptoms of extreme arena fatigue for weeks now, as has Lena by all accounts, and neither of them had gotten enough work with the Sacramento/Miata fiasco. 

But I knew I had work to do on the website and the house was also in dire need of some sprucing up so I had a bit of a moral dilemma on my hands.

The house lost, but the horses won. (So did the website, but this is not Spotty Website News.)

They ware so anxious to get away from the arena, loading was a breeze. Bar went in first without any hesitation--none, zip, nada--with Lena prancing around anxiously until I got the divider fastened. I just barely ducked out of the way fast enough!

"Uh, I guess you guys are ready to go?"

We just went out to Doran Beach and wandered through the deep sand to the end, skirting the waves and watching the activity around us. Then we turned around and trotted back, adding a canter or two on the way. (Plus one buck on Calabar's part when he didn't want Lena to pass him and I had the audacity to insist he slow down.)

Then came the best part as far as Calabar and Lena were concerned.

We un-tacked at the trailer and walked back to the beach, the horses snuffling the ground at every third step. "Just hang on, we're almost there!"

Post-roll, sandy Thoroughbred shark-fin withers in the background

We walked them onto the sand and the rolling commenced. One side, then the other, then the first side again. Then one more pass. I was holding the end of Calabar's lead rope when he went down for his last pass. I watched as he dug his back deep into the sand and when he became vertical--feet to the sky--I could barely believe it. To my knowledge, he has never been able to roll all the way over because of his shark-fin withers. He tries, oh how he tries, but I've never seen it happen. 

He teetered, all four feet up in the air, then "fwump" went over on the other side. I cheered. People looked at me like I was crazy and I didn't care. He got back up and shook, looking surprised and quite pleased with himself--then gave me a big, sandy, slobbery kiss.

And today? Today I got a very forward and enthusiastic horse in the arena. "Sure, we can keep trotting, no problem! So what if it's dinner time, let's work!"

Best decision I've made in a long time. Even if the house still needs sprucing.

Except now Calabar wants his own sand pit. Preferably a very deep and soft sand pit. Negotiations have begun.

Weather-induced Thoroughbred antics or ?

Looking for that perfect spot..

Calabar and I have a routine. He likes our routine, it soothes his OCD-like tendencies. I like it because it can help me see trouble before it starts.

Can does not equal always.

It's simple, really. We go down to the round pen and if he's saddled, (better for him to carry it than me, right?) I remove the saddle so he can roll while I make a pit stop. His trot, though it's improving, is murder without having to contend with full bladder. He either rolls while I'm in the bathroom, or he waits until I come back so I can watch over him. Sometimes both. Sometimes he doesn't appear to roll at all--usually when it's a nice day out and he's not blanketed and has had the chance to lay in the dirt in his paddock.

Aahhh, that's it

After that, I let him warm up without the saddle for a few minutes, then saddle and warm him up a tiny bit more (you know, until the cinch actually fits right), then get on and ride. If this seems like a long time, it's usually not, and it lets me see where his head is on any given evening.

The operative word in that last sentence is "usually."

The other day, the wind was blowing cold in front of a storm front and all the horses were a little on the wild side. But not Bar, nope. He went with me calmly and we got all the way through the routine to the re-saddling part. I sent him out to warm up and he decided that was the time to roll. With the saddle on. Which he hasn't tried in, I don't know, years?

"What are you doing?!" I may have sounded vaguely exasperated.

Snort, squeal, buck, spin. Paw, paw, paw, round back, knees bend.. "NO!"

I kept him moving, changing directions, until he stopped trying to maim my saddle and calmed down enough to come to me. I admit it, I took off the saddle and checked the pad--we were trying a new one--and he went right over and rolled. Then came right back to me and let me saddle him again and proceeded to be quite well-behaved.

That is likely not the best training I could have done but it was how it played out and he hasn't tried it since. Maybe it was the pad, maybe it was just him being weird. And maybe it was just his answer to the universe at that particular second.

Life with horses--full of constant enigmas to unravel and new twists to the story. I can only imagine what might be next!

The season of serious rolling has begun

Lena earlier in the year enjoying a dust bath

Calabar, Lena, and Forrest all love a good roll, and they all have plenty of room in their paddocks to indulge in this important horse activity. Forrest particularly likes to coat himself thoroughly in his own, um, leavings. And it's all good until the rain starts and the blankets come out.

Nap time disturbed by photo-snapping owner

They all still lay in the mud, at least when it's not actually raining, but the rolling isn't nearly as satisfactory when their most itchy spots are wrapped in Gore-Tex. So part of my winter-time deal is to always, always allow for rollage before we start to work. I've tried, and succeeded, to ride without this ritual, but since I can totally sympathize from within my seven layers of clothes it seems like a small concession to make.

Winter gear -- good for rain protection, but not for itchy horse bodies

It was pouring rain when I got to the barn the other night. Pouring. Rain was streaming off Calabar's ears and neck as he ate and his very first desire was for me to rub the back of his ears and his head and under his chin. I think I need to renew my supply of old, gross towels at the barn again for just this sort of occasion. 

Ahhhhh.... 

Not thinking, I took his blanket off before heading down to the arena. And even with my apparently "I melt if water touches me" Thoroughbred dancing beside me, urging me to hurry up and get his delicate self out of the rain, he was plenty soggy when we got to the arena. Naturally, he wanted to roll as soon as he felt the soft dirt under his hooves in the arena, but I convinced him to at least wait until he was inside the round pen. His satisfaction, upon rolling at least five times on each side and coming up looking like a cocoa-dusted chocolate truffle, was palpable. I did get most of the arena dirt back on the ground and made a note to keep him blanketed on the way down next time so at least he'll only get a necks-worth of coating. Unless, of course, I insist on the stylish neck covering that he only wants when it's really bad outside.

Bar's idea of heaven. Slightly muddy, but sunny. Perfect wallowing weather.

It was the driest December in California in a long time, so the rain is welcome. Mostly. As long as I make time for itchy, trapped-in-Gore-Tex-blankets horses to roll, says Calabar.