If you've read my minor bitching on IG, you might have noticed that I have a piss monster for a pony right now. Every ride over the last two weeks or so has included some sort of acrobatics, normally with an Archie head aiming at my face.
I love it. Really. Because it means I'm in the saddle, right?
|Not the most dramatic flail, but the only one with evidence.|
Like anyone else, I run through the mental list of Shit That Could Be Wrong:
- I have hulked him out too much for our saddle. Now his back is breaking.
- I've broken him and he's in pain and it's because I somehow did too much too soon.
- Something's wrong in his legs.
- Or his shoulder.
- Or his back.
- Or his fucking brain.
- Taking him off the regular SmartFlex Senior and putting him on the herb-free was the worse decision ever, because his joints were only being held together with my spit and Demon's Claw or Dragon's Claw or the brain stem fluid of a goat in eastern Maine, or whatever the fuck is actually in our SmartPaks.
- I'm not fit enough to keep up with his fitness (which might be the truest statement of my life).
- My aids have dissolved and when I think I'm trying to keep him from bulging right, I'm actually very politely asking him to crow hop on his front end a few times and bring his potentially-nose-smashing head ever closer to my face. The intermittent bucks are just a bonus.
- His chronic back-soreness has returned with a vengeance and he really misses his meh-chiro. And the vet. It's been too, too long since his regular bi-weekly vet visits.
- He's completely done with me and circles, thanks.
|Blue barrels covered by the crew, so as not to be seen in the shot. I'm sure screaming, "Trot, you mofo!" would have been edited out, too.|