Two weekends ago, Anne and I rode out on our respective mounts for a long, relaxing trail ride to take our minds over less equine matters.
OK, that's not quite how it happened.
I rode out on Peanut for a long, relaxing trail ride, and Mona planted for a long, not-so-relaxing glare at the road and the trail head. She would not move. Anne tried everything: sweet talking, encouraging, kicking, slapping with reins, and nothing. Peanut was a beauty and moved back and forth over that road and bridge as we would move behind her... nothing... try to to walk in front of her... nothing... tried to pony her... nothing but me almost being pulled out of the saddle... and then some good hard staring at her while wondering what to do. Rick had already put Gene away, so he tried leading her... nothing. He tried treats... hmmm... something.
After much time we got her to move onto trail with a combination of Rick leading her with cookies in the front and Peanut burrowing his nose under her tail behind. Whew.
On trail, I would keep walking along in front until things seemed a little too quiet. With a look over my shoulder, yep, she had planted again. After several times, I moved Peanut next to her butt and gave her a whack with my reins. Peanut, the dear, was a rock as Mona would drop her butt and move off. We had to repeat this many, many times, and, believe it or not, Anne had no idea of what I was up to. Eventually, she realized, and was glad for the extra little push for the horse that was ignoring everything else.
At one point I missed her butt with the reins, and they went flying towards Peanut's head. Of course he picked that moment to turn around and see what I was doing. The poor dear. He was upset thinking I had aimed them at him, and I ended up apologizing profusely while Anne wondered what was up because, at that time, she still had no idea that I was giving Mona an extra little incentive to scoot.
Finally we were moving on, and Mona was slightly pokey but ok. The ride was back on.
Until it wasn't.
Soon, it seemed that Peanut wanted to scratch on every tree we passed. I let him scratch his head and neck on a few, but he was getting so into it I was afraid of our balance. When we got into an open area, I started to realize that something was drastically wrong. I even had Anne halt Mona (after all that time spent getting her going!) as I ran my hands over and under his bridle and felt his girth. I didn't know what was off, but Peanut didn't feel right.
We decided to move on, and entered an open field. After a short time, Peanut started to throw his head back and nip at the saddle. How odd. I stopped again and started running my hand under every bit of saddle that I could, and nothing seemed wrong except he wouldn't stop trying to bite at it. I asked him to move on again, he dropped his head, and started Spanish Walking.
This horse has NEVER Spanish Walked under saddle before. However, I know that he will begin to paw when he is frustrated, at his wit's end, and I'm not listening to what he's desperately trying to tell me. So, there was a moment of elation at this new trick... followed by horror. Something was most definitely amiss.
Anne had moved ahead and was doing some dressage moves with the now cooperative Mona, then heard the stomping behind her. Peanut does not do a proper, lovely, dressage Spanish Walk. He does a heavy, ghetto Spanish Walk because I was never fussy or correct with it. Thud thud thud. She's sorry she missed it.
To hell with it. I dismounted and started running my hand under his saddle again. He stretched out his head, pushed out his upper lip, and made his oh-yes-that's-the-spot-yes-scratch-there face. Huh. I undid the girth, flipped up the near flap, and he made that face the whole time I moved my hand around where the pad had touched him.
I moved to the other side and did the same, with the same reaction.
Hmm.
He didn't seem to upset, so I regirthed him thinking we'd just ride back to the barn and call it a day. His mood had improved and he was back to acting like his goofy self. Groovy. We wandered to the closest wooded trail in order to find a place to remount. Yes... ever since moving to an English saddle I can no longer mount from the ground. Shaddup.
Anne followed us into the wood, and after a bit (and after watching Peanut desperately trying to rub the saddle off of his back with a tree) I found a fallen log with a semi-clear area next to it. The log was old, but seemed sturdy enough. I positioned Peanut, put a foot in the stirrup, and started to mount...
... and came back down as the entire saddle spun on his back.
Oh yes, I had a brand new wool fleece saddle pad on his back that day. I had actually mock-knife fought Rick for it, and was looking forward to using it. It was the same pad that I had, but so very fluffy as it was brand new and thus kept me from really tightening the girth without weight in the saddle. That, combined with a treeless saddle, leads to a suddenly sideways seat.
And yes, by this time I was fully blaming the new pad for whatever it was that had Peanut so upset about the saddle.
OK. After righting the saddle I'd find a new tree and remount. It was a couple of miles back to the barn, and thought Peanut would be ok with a short trek, especially pointed home.
As I was repositioning the saddle, I heard a buzzing. There was a bug between my chin strap and my jaw, so I absent-mindedly shooed it away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the black and yellow stripes as it flew back to the ground and thought, oh, yellow jacket. OK.
My eye wandered to the ground, and I saw a bunch of black and yellow stripes. Hmmm. Lots of yellow jackets. OK.
Oh.
I realized I was trying to mount from, and still standing on, a yellow jacket nest. Crap. Look at all the little buggers, and they don't look happy to see me.
I pulled Peanut away, and we went up the trail a bit. I looked at him and saw a yellow jacket actively stinging him behind his billet. I angrily brushed it away (oh the feeling of the release as the stinger pulled from his skin... ick) and made a decision: Fine. We're done. He'd had enough.
Honestly, if I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have known that he was being stung. He never reacted, although it did swell up angrily later on.
Once again, I undid the girth, but this time I threw it over my shoulder and pulled the saddle from Peanut's back. It may be a good way's back, but I'd just carry the saddle back. When did it get so heavy?
At that point I looked at Mona, who had managed to tangle a very large, very branchy branch in her tail. It was probably a good 5 feet tall, and she was upset as it dragged behind her. By this point, I had a saddle pommel thrust into my stomach, my two hands holding the cantle in front of me, a girth over my shoulder, and my arm through Peanut's reins just like you should never do. When she had briefly stopped, I grabbed the stick as best I could and realized it was tangled in her wavy hair all up and down its length. This would take a while...
Mona didn't have a while to wait. She started moving off into the trees off-trail and there was no way for me to follow her in my state. Well... what else is there to do? I just hung on.
Soon I was the owner of a large branch entwined in long, black Friesian hair. Mona didn't seem any worse for wear, but she was not calm. At this point Anne dismounted as well, then found that Mona was also being stung by a yellow jacket. She brushed it off, and I looked down to find one trying to sting me through my half chaps. My half chaps are thick leather, so I laughed at it, showed Anne, and got rid of it.
So, we now had two riders down, one horse without a saddle, and one rider carrying a saddle. What to do? By this point, this is what Peanut looked like:
I had loosened his nose band, I don't ride like that.
And, after some ingenuity from Anne-Marie, this is what Mona looked like:
Let's get a closer look at that, shall we?
Oh Mona, you little Pack Mule Friesian.
She was actually a very good sport, even with a tower of saddles on her back.
Thusly, we started the long walk back. We knew if we ran into any other riders that we would have quite a conversation. After all, we must have been quite a sight. I mean, come on, it was a mass of tack...
While we didn't run into any other riders, we did come across a few hikers. Obviously not horse people, they didn't give us a second look. One was a group of boys (teenagers on down) shepherded by two men. Afterwards, we agreed that it seemed like a cluster of at-risk kids out for a nice walk in the woods. And boy howdy, did we hear them before we saw them. Even the horses were wondering wtf.
They were very nice, and very happy to see the horses if a little nervous about them at first. They didn't notice our strange state at all, no, instead they just wanted to touch our critters. Peanut was in full licking mode, and licked a number of hands. Just like your dog, said a boy to the one being licked. Except about 80 lbs heavier, the latter shot back. Eventually they were moved on by the leaders, and we continued our trek, joking about the whole adventure.
As we decided, if you can walk away from a ride then it's successful, right?
When I got back to the barn and brushed off his back, I noticed something that I don't recall from the pre-ride groom:
He had a bald spot on his back, slightly raised. It didn't seem to hurt him, but at the same time it couldn't have been comfortable. I checked and double checked both the pad and saddle to find something that could have done this, but couldn't. I have no idea of what exactly caused the saddle issue, but he is not being ridden as the boo heals (it is currently a scab), the new pad has been given to Rick, and my old saddle pad has undergone a thorough scrubbing.
1 comment:
Hahaha, love the tower of saddles! I think Mona redeemed herself by carrying them back for you.
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