I stuck Bobby's new elevator bit in his mouth because it was a new toy and I wanted to play with it. I was a little hesitant with the fit as it looked snug, but I figured we'd go out anyway and see how it was. Unfortunately, it was definitely too small and a new one is on its way.
|derp face. not a model.|
Now Bobby has galloped in the company of Sarah's other horse, Blackberry, many times before. He knows B is the Godfather and would punch Bobby right in the face if he ever tried to get in front of him. I guess Memphis doesn't really give off that vibe. Probably because Memphis is the reason warmbloods are called Dumb Bloods.
Memph was all out to keep pace with Bobby who I had bridged into a strong gallop. I'm not a fan of letting horses loose in fields. I see holes that weren't there before and broken legs with every stride. Bobby was some pissed at this decision. He's very, very polite to gallop and he didn't pull on me, but he had his head turned toward Memphis and was making the meanest faces at him. I pulled Bobby up just before Sarah which must have translated to Bobby that he had lost the race and he was FURIOUS. (Mind you, this horse never won a real race when he was actually on the track.)
He spent the rest of the ride randomly spinning in circles when he had to walk beside Memphis, and jigging sideways whenever Memphis got a step in front of him. If he was far enough in front where he thought he was "winning", he was fine. He plodded along on the buckle. Otherwise, forget it.
|"memphis, look at bobby!" "ok!"|
"bobby, come over here by memphis." "FUCK MEMPHIS!"
I did almost make it down the giant monster hill this time! I made it like... a whole twenty steps farther than I ever have before. I might have even made it the entire way except someone who is supposed to be my friend was like, "Hmm, it's kind of slippery. I might even get off." To which I responded with, "WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT TO ME?! Oh my God, Sarah. Oh my God. Ahhhhh!!! Oh my ahhhh!!! Sarah! Ahhh!!" And then Bobby got sick of me again and turned to the side and halted so that I could dismount. If that isn't the most blatant, "You're a fucking dipshit. Get down." I don't know what is. Maybe next time.
We finished in the arena with a few minutes of w/t/c just because he was being a tool. For as naughty as he was being, I was really pleased that with every sprint we did, his breathing was back to normal in under a minute. The perks of having a TB. Memphis was huffing and puffing almost the entire ride.
Tomorrow Robert gets poked and prodded and hopefully the vet will tell me I won't need to replace the caboose in my giant "racehorse".