What was months away is now just three days from today! My first ACTHA ride is this Saturday, and I am pumped! I had a great training session with Rocky on this last Sunday morning, and it feels like he has his brains back after getting a two and a half month vacation this winter.
He walked out of the pasture with his head level, calm eyes and a can-do attitude. We have been working on turns on the forehand and the haunches, and he has been doing much better lately. When I would ask for a turn on the forehand in the past, he wasn't rotating around one front foot very well. I discovered that if I tip his nose in, the movement clicks for him and he rotates like a champ!
The next challenge was getting him to turn on the forehand with his front legs in a square of logs. Rocky was confused, and kept trying to walk over the poles rather than follow the movement I was trying to achieve. I went back to ground work and helped him figure it out there by making him back up every time he tried to go forward. I also rewarded him and stopped him for each correct step, working our way up to rotating 180 degrees around the square. Then I got on him and did it again. After about 20 minutes I could rotate his hind end, ask for a side step on the forehand, then rotate his hind end again going both directions.
It also helps Rocky to get a break from doing exercises that are new and he has to think about a lot. Once he understands a concept, I am learning to do a less intense lesson like transition work to give him some time to process. After giving him some time away from the new lesson, I'll go back to it and make sure it sticks. So far this has worked really well for me and he seems to be retaining the information without becoming frustrated by too much repetition.
I think we have a decent chance of doing well this weekend, fingers crossed!
I've been thinking. It seems that wizarding schools only start taking pupils once they reach the ripe age of eleven. It made me wonder about a few things, such as, do wizards or witches from magical families go to muggle school until they're eleven? If not, is it up to their parents to teach them math, writing, reading, etc- all of the skills necessary to take magic classes- or is there some sort of non magical school for children who are magical but not yet eleven years old?
If magical children do not attend school of any sort before their eleventh year, what do their parents do about child care? Not everyone is wealthy enough to hire a full time babysitter, much less attract house elves or the like to watch their kids. I think in the case of the Weasley's, Molly was a stay at home mom while Arthur worked at the Ministry of Magic. What about single parents? I'm thinking about this too much, aren't I?
Still. I want to know. Who teaches the magical children the basic schooling required before they head off to Hogwarts or Durmstrang? I don't remember there being an "arithmetic" class, but at least basic math skills are required for classes such as potions. Harry, Hermione and Ron are always writing a few scrolls' worth of essay for History, but they all had to learn basic essay writing before Professor Binns could assign them such a task.
In Harry's case, he didn't know he was a wizard until Hagrid found him on that sad little island with the Dursley's, so he went to whichever muggle school the Dursley's sent him to until he came of age- same with Hermione. What about Ron? Or Draco for that matter, his family had money and could have hired a tutor or something.
In the end, I'm pretty sure wizarding schools took advantage of not accepting students until they had already learned the basic schooling required to start their courses. I'd imagine it is also easier to start teaching self control and discipline to eleven year olds versus six year olds like our muggle system.
I thought I would let you guys know... I have a new alias. I can now be known as (drum roll please):
Ginny Weasley. Or Ginny Potter, if you got that far in the books. (and my husband even looks a bit like Harry!)
I recently dyed my hair more red than the usual hint of red nature gave me. Some clients I work with declared that I look like a Weasley- specifically, Ginny Weasley. They looked at me for a moment, unsure if they had just insulted me or not. I think my grin and sincere, "Awesome! Thanks!" relieved their worries a bit, which then prompted a spirited Harry Potter discussion. So to celebrate my favorite new nickname, here are some fun Harry Potter things!
Alright, after the last two sad posts, I could use a little pick-me-up. Other than doing shots of Sour Apple Pucker, listening to rock music and making banana muffins, rotelle casserole and peanut butter chunk cookies. Not that I did that last night or anything. (Totally made me feel better, by the way.)
So! Here are some things that make me oh, so happy.
Okay, this is Jensen Ackles in an out take from Supernatural. Which, if you aren't already watching, GET ON THAT. It's on Netflix. Jensen is gorgeous, it's a good song, and if you don't appreciate the two, you should check your pulse.
In keeping with the Supernatural theme, here's a wonderful quote from a man I quite adore, Bobby Singer. Who wouldn't love being able to crap margaritas? It's a public service, really.
You may be getting a hint that I am a bit of a nerd. My last DnD character may have been a Dragonborn. Plus 10 EXP if you can tell me what that is, and 5 gold for being awesome.
I want this in my house. I may just purchase some sticker letters and make them myself...
Joss Whedon, creator of amazing television such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. If you haven't seen them, add that to your list we already started. You're welcome.
"Will you let me know if you hear from Sam? There were some explosions at the Boston marathon."
My heart clawed at my throat, giving me a thick, choking sensation. Tears pressed at the back of my eyes as I valiantly tried not to panic.
What the hell? Unfortunately, I live in a post 9/11 world and I knew in my gut that someone had intentionally done something to hurt the runners, the cheering crowds, whomever happened to be close enough to their destruction.
"What?! will do, please do the same for me!"
I started thinking, rapidly trying to calculate Sam's chances of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was in the third wave of runners, right? That means she should be okay, if they set the bomb off at the end of the race but when the first wave was finishing. Unless it wasn't at the finish line, and it was set off in the middle of the race sometime.
"You ok? please call or text asap if you can."
I darted downstairs and waited impatiently for my computer to start up. Sam had talked about being able to track her progress in the race online. I would find out what happened at the marathon and when, then go to her blogto find her race number and figure things out from there. I mumbled under my breath a lot, drumming my fingers on the keyboard while I gained internet connection.
And then...
"I'm fine I finished before all the chaos."
Big breath out. I stopped desperately scanning Boston marathon reports and closed the browser. I didn't want to hear about the people who hadn't been as lucky as me, whose texts were going unanswered. I forwarded Sam's response to our friend who alerted me to the disaster in the first place.
"Thank God."
That night, a television character I was very attached to died on the show, and I wept silent tears for almost half an hour.The next day, driving home from the barn I broke down and cried again, thinking about how easily Sam could have run 10 minutes slower, or her friend at the marathon could have been 2 minutes slower.
I am so, so glad the worst text I got that day was, "Will you let me know if you hear from Sam? There were some explosions at the Boston marathon," and not empty silence.
I saw this on a Facebook, and Cam Saliciano said it, but I agree wholeheartedly:
I don't want to know his name. I don't want to see his face. I don't want to know his life's history, his back-story, who his family is, where he went to school, or what he liked to do in his spare time. I don't want to know what "cause", if any, he was fighting for. I don't want to know why he did it, or may have done it, or what possessed him to carry out his actions. I don't want to know. Because that's what he really wants. I'll be damned if I'm going to give him what he wants. Put him on trial, but don't cover it. Tell me when you decide to jail him for three lifetimes - because that number matters. That's the number of lives he has to now pay for. That's all I want to know about him. Nothing else. Instead, tell me about the first responders who ran towards the fray, within seconds, fearless. Tell me about the ones wearing the yellow volunteer jacket, or the neon police vest, or even the ones in the regular everyday t-shirt who became a helper. Tell me the story about the first responder who held gauze over a wound until they made it to the hospital. Tell me the story about the volunteer who held the hand of the injured spectator until they got into the ambulance. In six months, tell me the story of those who lost a limb, who beat the odds, pulled through countless surgeries, and are learning to walk again. Tell me the story about the love, the compassion, and the never-ending support of thousands, millions, of people who support the victims here. Tell me their stories. Tell me everything you can, because they are the ones that matter. Tell me of the good that they have done, are doing, and will continue to do, regardless of... No, not regardless of, in spite of. In spite of that someone who would do them harm. Because that's what freedom in this country means. It means coming together in the hardest of times, even in the face of unfathomable adversity, to make life better for all those around us. Tell me the good stories. That's all I want to hear.
...can make the biggest difference. I'm really sad tonight, I got some bad news I was hoping would turn out differently.
Rocky's sister Philly has ring bone in her right hind foot. She's three years old and my Dad just bought her from the same breeder/trainer that I got Rocky from. Apparently last winter Philly kicked out in the round pen, hitting her foot on the steel bar and injuring her pastern. Since then she has gained extraneous bone growth around her pastern and going over her fetlock.
The vet says it is only a matter of time until she gets arthritis, and will need to have her pain managed on a regular basis for the rest of her life.
My Mom has made the decision to send Philly back to the breeder/trainer, as supporting a horse who will never be able to be worked hard or who will eventually live in pain is not part of the plan. It's too much money for a damaged horse who is so young.
I'm sad because a three year old filly with so much potential will never be able to be used for more than light riding, and there are not a lot of homes for horses like that.
I'm sad because at some point, she will get arthritis and experience some level of pain on a daily basis.
I'm sad that someday, she will likely have to be put down because the pain will become unmanageable, and she will not be comfortable as even a pasture pet.
I'm sad because I have been so excited to work with her, to spend time with her and get to know Rocky's sister. Now she is leaving for an uncertain fate.
I understand the decision to sell her back to her breeder and on a purely practical level agree with it. I just can't get her soft eyes out of my head.
