Boot Verdict

The Friday before last, after work, I climbed aboard the Nutter for a quick solo jaunt.  I didn't boot him as his hooves seemed so hard and I was wondering what he would think about it.

He thought many things.

Mainly, I learned that he is a lot happier in boots.  While wearing them, he'll go down the center of rocky paths without a thought.  Without them, he was skirting the sides and generally unhappy when he had to cross a rocky bit.  The difference was so night and day that I knew that the boots had to be, even if they did cause some minor rubbing from the wings at the fronts.

During the ride, he was nervous in open areas.  The shadows were long, but it wasn't really dark yet, and we had ridden these fields many times.  However, he kept stopping, looking behind him, checking the woods to our right, the rolling hills to our left, and was uneasy.  To his credit, with some talking and gentle squeezes, he crossed the field without incident.

On trail, he kept trying to turn around.  I would just turn him right back.  Nothing dramatic, no fighting just a turn and then a turn back.  I didn't feel any emotion rising through the saddle.

We passed bikers, we passed runners, and we ran into Alex and Baskie going the opposite direction.  Peanut was good with all, until we got to the main junction that differentiates us just taking a short loop or heading out into the park.  As usual, I wanted to turn him down that trail, wait until he was settled, and then turn back.

Oh no.

He was not having it.

We had a battle, and I ended up giving in just momentarily so that I could get a bit of his brain back.  As soon as that happened as we headed towards home, I turned him around so that we could get down that damn trail, dammit.

He wasn't calming down, so I went to Plan B.

We started to do ovals on the trail which was wide enough for fatty to turn around comfortably.  I decided that we would do them until he stopped fighting the turn back down the trail.

So we turned.

And turned.

And turned.

I don't know how many times we did those damn ovals, but I finally... FINALLY... got one where he just turned around with leg cues and didn't resist.  I swear, at some points I practically had his nose to his shoulder to keep him from yanking that head to the outside and popping out of the turn.  As soon as he did turn like a gentleman, he got a click and treat, I turned him right around and we went home.

His mind seemed different on the way back.  He had impulsion, but nothing more than a regular horse's walk, methinks.  He had stopped being a pill, and was a nice, agreeable horse.  Maybe something clicked in his Peanut head somewhere.  Maybe he understood something.  I don't know.