What Have I Done?

I went to a NRCHA horse show last weekend, just to watch mind you, I wanted a dose of horses I understand.

I saw old friends, got some hugs, and was so happy to be back in my comfort zone, I pretended they were welcome.

I watched a bunch of fence runs and began to feel a twitch in my hands and a funny feeling in my gut. For once it wasn't the PD. It was longing. It was a sharp reminder that my fat hairy mare is actually a finished bridle horse who loves those cows as much as I do.

I was standing at the rail, watching runs with an old friend and asking about new stuff I was seeing. The horses are running their circles with a low head and loose reins --very reinerly.  I don't like it.

A straight up bridle horse needs contact and support from the riders hand. In order to find a neutral position with the spoon off the roof of their mouth, they need to travel with their face on the vertical - get it? Straight up in the bridle? Those dang cowboys with their tricky terminology.

Every movement is supposed to be directed between the leg and the hand. Signals should take little more than a squeeze of the reins and are limited to about a four inch square centered above the saddle horn. Every movement is supposed to mean something.

Low head, loose rein on a reiner. Hand gives direction with dramatic cues to communicate through the reins to the horse. A good reining horse carries himself correctly and follows the hand itself, with the touch of the reins coming in as a secondary cue.

Straight up in the bridle - Light contact, rein hand directs with a squeeze.

No, I don't know what's up with the rider's leg. I do see from the bend in his wrist he's tweaking his rein hand down, instead of lifting up. This tells me he's trying to compensate for his forward, useless leg by bringing the horse's nose. 

Trust me, I know from experience, all that's going to happen is the very nice horse will tip his nose toward his chest, fall onto his forehand, string out behind, and the Big K will yell, "What ARE you doing? Last time I checked you're missing an arm, not a leg!" Oops. I digress.

While I was expounding to my friend on my theories about how screwed up this new style of dry work looked to me, a loud, bright voice was directed at me from the bleachers.

"I know you!"

I turned and saw a woman I vaguely remembered, maybe, kinda sorta. I couldn't put her face to a horse, so I couldn't place her. I smiled and gave her a half wave.

"You used to ride cow horses, years and years ago," she said. 

She beamed at me with the indulgent smile of a great, great grand-niece visiting Granny in the old folks home. It was clear her  mama had told her to shut up and listen to my old windies--but she wasn't having it.

"It hasn't been that many years," I stammered. 

"Sure it has," my new best friend said. "Do you even ride anymore?"

I felt old. I thought about how out of shape I am, how slow and lazy Madonna has become. I thought about my fat, fat self, at least until a sudden burning fire filled me from stem to stern.

"Of, course I still ride. I'm going to show this year."

I remembered that fire well from my younger years, the fire of brash stupidity.

"Really? How exciting, when?" This bitch was relentless.

"Um, well, uh..." I found myself wishing I'd skimmed a show schedule at least once in the last year or two.

"Psssst," my friend hissed, "Estes Park."

"I'm showing at Estes," I said.

So there it is, Madonna and I are legging up to show at the NRCHA qualifier, the CRCHA Mountain High, in Estes Park, June 1st.

May I have an Oh Shit?