So let's just jump right in to a quickie on this fabulous holiday!
Flatted quickly in the wet, half dragged arena for a warm up, then moved right on to a cross rail.
|we really are not that good at cross rails anymore.|
We went over that a couple of times without any real incidents. Bobby just doesn't feel like putting forth much effort into such small jumps any longer. Hopefully he never becomes as rude as Red Pony who would straight up refuse anything below 3'. He was seriously the naughtiest horse on the planet. Sometimes I wonder why we got along so well.
Anyway, we pretty promptly added in the 3' vertical. Bobby was jumping it with his typical "Clear all the things!!!" enthusiasm, and I got so caught up not fussing with my hands that I just let my leg do its own thing.
|look at the cute pony, not the cray cray rider!|
Clearly it can't be allowed that sort of freedom because it was trying to bounce. Fuck you, leg. Get the fuck back here.
A couple trips around the vertical from both directions and off to the oxer we went. I didn't realize until I got off and moved the jumps so the arena could finish getting dragged that the footing in the perfect little square of our take off spot was so deep I sank up to my ankles in mud. Bobby, however, gave zero fucks.
|we came in a little underpowered and got deep the first time.|
but still SO CUTE.
I revved up the engine for another go-round and not-so-surprisingly the trip went a lot smoother. Especially since I was able to slow my spastic brain down a touch and keep my legs on the bandwagon. Those fucks.
|oh hey legs. welcome back.|
We did it one more time for video prosperity without any issues besides jumping the X looking slightly moronic once again and called it quits. He was jumping great, the weather was amazing, and the footing wasn't really that bad, but I'm not big on jumping a lot. That probably lends itself to how slowly we progress, but I'd rather have a sound horse way, way down the line than a crippled one. Just saying.
|good pony britches|
Also, I am loving the figure eight and elevator bit set up on him. He's like butter in my hands. I can pick literally any pace I want and he's down with it. Of course, sometimes I fuck up what pace we should be at (Who's surprised? No one!), but when I get it right we're ballin'.
Oh, right. I have video, too.
I think I need to shorten my stirrups about three holes one of these days. You know. When I feel like enjoying the burning sensation of stressed muscles again.