Bobby lost a front shoe on our trail ride yesterday. My new bell boots are on their way (because I hate driving all the way to the tack store), so he will remain unridden until he gets a new shoe on Wednesday or until his booties get here. Probably the latter as I ordered them from Dover with a gift certificate I got from Bucks over the summer. Stupid Dover.
Here's a helmet cam video from the end of our icy, slippery, miserable trail ride. The boys got a lot of walking up and down hills work, but I would have preferred it if we hadn't had to do it on cement-like frozen tundra.
(P.S. Nothing happens in that video, so don't feel obligated to watch it unless you're really bored. I figured I'd just throw some media at you.)
I went to the barn this morning to make sure nothing had gotten into Bobby's boot, leave a check for the farrier, and to poke cookies down his throat. I went ahead and rode Spyder to make the drive worth it. (Though I'm sure my farrier will think it was worth it to have a check waiting for him.)
I spent some time tidying up Spyder Pants--banged his tail, trimmed his bridle path, and gave him a really good curry. Then it was down to the indoor where Barn Worker (oooooh, I dislike him!!) thought it would be a good idea to use the chainsaw to cut up firewood right outside the arena when he knew I was about to go ride and when J had just pulled in with her horse. It's like he waits around doing nothing until I'm about to Do Work, and then he intentionally gets in my way. He twice this year has barred me in Bobby's stall by throwing hay down and blocking the door. You know I'm in there, asshole. You can't wait two fucking seconds for me to leave?
Needless to say, J and I longed our horses for a good fifteen minutes to get the crazies out as they reacted to the horse killing demon saw they could hear but not see. I jumped on while J tacked her horse up at her trailer and went right to work. S still hasn't cantered Spyder because she's afraid of what he'll do (fair enough), so my main goal in riding him was just to canter him until he was polite.
Fortunately for me, Spyder doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He has lots of "I'm a silly, green, underworked young OTTB" bones, but he never does anything maliciously. The point being that he could have dumped me on my ass a few times, but he listened to my corrections and we worked through his bucks/scoots/lunges/"Look at me, I'm a racehorse!" prancey leaps. We had a little discussion about how to politely pick up the canter to the left--it did not involve spinning and leaping forward at the same time, by the way--and ended with some quiet trot work.
The ride made me appreciate A) What a bad ass I used to be. I found myself perched over rank, rude racehorses on and off the track daily for the three years I was in college and it rarely fazed me. Now I'm a little more aware of my mortality, but I still kind of have fun when a horse tests me. B) How well schooled Bobby has become. I take for granted that he knows how to move off my leg in every direction, and that he knows how to w/t/c in a straight line down quarterlines and the center line. I could barely get Spyder to walk in a straight line on the rail.
This won't be much of a riding week. I have things to do which happens rarely enough, and I kind of think my car is ready to do bad things again.