|bobby was feeling fresh and feisty.|
|memphis was feeling fancy. as always.|
|no effort required.|
|he hasn't stopped at it once! but he is clearly impressed with it.|
Bobby and I did a line uphill to the big log, bending line to the ditch, bending line to the hanging log. Memphis and Sarah followed suit, doing the big log to the ditch before circling and doing the hanging log on its own-- only Memphis picked up on Sarah's "Ehhh"-ness and had a dirty stop right in front of it and Sarah went tumbling down. She really is the most graceful dismounter ever. I salute you, Sarah!
That was really about all the jumping we did until Hubby told us to go jump something else because we were boring him. I was like, "I'll go jump the gate since Bobby hates it!" Because that sounded like a really good idea.
After about ten minutes and a failed lead from Memphis (Memph didn't fail--Bobby just refused to take the bait), I trotted him towards it off a crazy angle and he deer leaped over it. I was all, "YAYYYY!! YOU IZ THE SMARTEST HORSIE EVER!!!" and he was all, "I am not participating in this celebration."
|"you shut up, lady. i hate you."|
I went to walk him by it and he had a random meltdown where he frozen in place and refused to move an inch. He would not scoot one foot over. I didn't want to pop him with the whip because I know he hates it, but I did have my spurs on. He didn't care.
|having a pep talk about forward motion.|
Hubby finally came over and led him forward and we had a little walk all around the jump to show him that its mere existence wasn't going to kill him.
The four of us trotted down to the end of the field for a finishing run up the hill. Bobby thought it was best to go like a llama until we got to the fence, and then he thought it would be best to go sideways into the tree branches until I got sick of being whacked in the face and just let him go.
After he got all cooled off, hosed off, and put away, I started putting my stuff away and Hubby pointed out Bobby's apparent distress about life. He was standing with his head against the stall door, kicking out hard with his back legs. Of course I jumped to the colic conclusion, but his gut sounds were strong. I fly sprayed him to death and when that didn't stop his kicking, I had BM check his gut sounds, too. She assured me they were fine before groping his unmentionables whereupon something gross fell off of his sheath. I couldn't find it in the shavings once it fell, but it might have been a tick which would have explained the pissy kicking. I hand fed him some hay for awhile before he decided he was no longer close to death and could eat by himself.
Such a drama llama in so many ways.