My cute ponies: Clue, Spot, and Sadie. Do you even have to ask how they're cute?
Friday, April 27, 2007
The Third Hip at Conception
Well, here it is. I can't remember for sure now, but I believe this photo was actually taken a week or two after conception. See the unblemished middle there? That's the third hip. Cute.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Photo Worthy Bruises (AKA My Third Hip)
Being a Horse-Girl means having lots of bruises. Half the time when I change clothes, I look at my legs and think, "Huh. Did I have that bruise yesterday?" or I spend several minutes cataloging my day's activities to see if I can pinpoint what exactly might have caused that one (like the new bruise on my inner thigh. It didn't take me too long to figure out it's from riding with no stirrups and the stirrup buckle digging into me. I kinda remember thinking it hurt at the time). Sometimes I do something (like walk into a retaining walk whilst looking the other way) and I tell myself that I must remember, when I discover the new bruise, how I got it. I might be a little bit of a masochist too, because sometimes I think, "Ow, what I'm doing right now really hurts" (say, riding in jeans) but I keep doing it anyway (what am I supposed to do? get off, change pants, and get back on?) and then I'm stupidly surprised when I put my pajamas on and see I've got jean lint stuck to my shins and then I realize that's because I've got oozy, rubbed-raw spots on my shins. Make real nice scars, rubbed raw spots do. Other times, like when Teacup shoved her way out of the horse trailer by slamming the divider directly into my nose and squishing me against the wall, I have no trouble remembering why body parts are bruised.
However, none of these bruises can ever compare to the most amazing bruise I have ever seen (no, not even the one my dad received at the hooves of Spot... see below). Not only was this bruise the largest bruise I've ever seen, extending from upper thigh (almost buttock) and nearly to knee, but it also had a glorious mingling of the rainbow of bruise colors: deep purple, violet, blue, red, yellow, green. It was the kind of bruise that when people saw it, they said, "OH MY GOD!" or a long, low "wowwww..." or just looked in stunned silence. And lucky me, the bruise was mine. All mine. If I can ever figure out how to put pictures on here, I will impress and astound you all. Really.
The Most Amazing Bruise in the Whole World has turned into the Third Hip, as I affectionately call it now. I have a nice half-of-a-tennis-ball shaped lump on my upper thigh. Given the fact that the bruise came into being a year and a half ago, I think the Third Hip is here to stay. Dammit.
So, how did I get this lovely modification to the shapeliness of my thigh? Well, a horse bit me. Really really hard. Excruciatingly hard. Hard enough that I swear I could feel the tissue tearing and blood vessels individually exploding. I don't think I deserved the magnitude of the pressure that Kanan put into the bite. I was just tightening his girth. I admit, I was in a bit of a hurry. I was helping my friend Mariah get ready to ride her dressage test and we were running late. But really? Did he have to bite me and then clamp down, with vice-like strength? And it's not like I was wearing shorts and the horse got me in an unprotected spot. Even with the protection of jeans, I had individual tooth marks evident in the bruise patterning, surrounding a nice, comparitively un-blemished center where the Third Hip now resides. The most annoying part about the whole experience (because, I admit, I had a great story to tell) was that the bite hurt so bad, I couldn't even retaliate. No, instead I hunched over in the stall and said "ow! that really hurt." I did manage to weakly swat Kanan, way after the fact, and right before I had to leave his stall to walk off my injury-induced nausea. It hurt so badly I spent the rest of the day icing the instantaneous bruise and popping Advil.
Now if only I could post that picture....
However, none of these bruises can ever compare to the most amazing bruise I have ever seen (no, not even the one my dad received at the hooves of Spot... see below). Not only was this bruise the largest bruise I've ever seen, extending from upper thigh (almost buttock) and nearly to knee, but it also had a glorious mingling of the rainbow of bruise colors: deep purple, violet, blue, red, yellow, green. It was the kind of bruise that when people saw it, they said, "OH MY GOD!" or a long, low "wowwww..." or just looked in stunned silence. And lucky me, the bruise was mine. All mine. If I can ever figure out how to put pictures on here, I will impress and astound you all. Really.
The Most Amazing Bruise in the Whole World has turned into the Third Hip, as I affectionately call it now. I have a nice half-of-a-tennis-ball shaped lump on my upper thigh. Given the fact that the bruise came into being a year and a half ago, I think the Third Hip is here to stay. Dammit.
So, how did I get this lovely modification to the shapeliness of my thigh? Well, a horse bit me. Really really hard. Excruciatingly hard. Hard enough that I swear I could feel the tissue tearing and blood vessels individually exploding. I don't think I deserved the magnitude of the pressure that Kanan put into the bite. I was just tightening his girth. I admit, I was in a bit of a hurry. I was helping my friend Mariah get ready to ride her dressage test and we were running late. But really? Did he have to bite me and then clamp down, with vice-like strength? And it's not like I was wearing shorts and the horse got me in an unprotected spot. Even with the protection of jeans, I had individual tooth marks evident in the bruise patterning, surrounding a nice, comparitively un-blemished center where the Third Hip now resides. The most annoying part about the whole experience (because, I admit, I had a great story to tell) was that the bite hurt so bad, I couldn't even retaliate. No, instead I hunched over in the stall and said "ow! that really hurt." I did manage to weakly swat Kanan, way after the fact, and right before I had to leave his stall to walk off my injury-induced nausea. It hurt so badly I spent the rest of the day icing the instantaneous bruise and popping Advil.
Now if only I could post that picture....
The Horse and I Go for a Spin
before
the rustle became a roar,
there were 4 feet firmly planted.
The horse statuesque,
coiled to spring,
Panic fluttering like careless leaves.
the spring unleashes
energy roaring through muscle.
grey whirling dervish dancing,
edging along the ridge
of sanity,
firm ground
becomes
firmament.
2 feet firmly plant
as 4 go flying
and the body leaves the mind
behind
the rustle became a roar,
there were 4 feet firmly planted.
The horse statuesque,
coiled to spring,
Panic fluttering like careless leaves.
the spring unleashes
energy roaring through muscle.
grey whirling dervish dancing,
edging along the ridge
of sanity,
firm ground
becomes
firmament.
2 feet firmly plant
as 4 go flying
and the body leaves the mind
behind
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Welcome to the Illustrious Falling-Off Club!
One of the worst things about horses (aside from snot on every clean shirt you ever owned, innumerable bruises you don’t remember having gotten, and scabs you’re obligated to pick whether you want to or not because if you don’t they’ll turn into proud flesh [my husband does not believe this. He thinks I just like to pick scabs. Which is also true.]) is falling off. If you ride for any length of time, falling off is inevitable. Because of its inevitability, we equestrians have all kinds of stories we tell ourselves to make falling off OK. Sometimes, at gatherings of horse people, we tell our favorite (aka worst) falling off stories. It’s kind of like the “man, this one time I was so drunk…” stories except far more entertaining because the storyteller actually remembers the details of what happened. Because we all fall off, there are also cute little phrases we repeat to convince ourselves that falling off is actually good. The Falling-Off Maxims go something like this:
1. If you’re not falling off regularly, you aren’t really challenging yourself.
2. If you can still actually count how many times you’ve fallen off, you aren’t a real horse(wo)man.
3. Everyone falls off. Even Olympic riders. Especially Olympic riders (hence, the membership to the Illustrious club).
4. Falling off itself isn’t bad. It’s just the thinking about falling off that’s bad.
5. Falling off is inevitable.
And then there’s that membership to the club thing. Membership to a club always makes one feel better, right? Of course, there are some problems with the membership requirements. For instance, does it count if you unintentionally dismount your horse but land on your feet? Does it count if your horse was at a standstill when you parted ways? What about if your horse falls and you just happen to stay on until he hits the ground? Are there special perks for falls that result in injuries? Or perhaps for falls that should have resulted in injuries, but didn’t?
And then there’s my own list of falls. I (sadly? I do so want to be a real horsewoman…) can still count my falls. Except that I remembered another one several days after I started thinking about this topic, so maybe I can’t actually remember them all and only think I can. So let’s see…
1. My horse Doc (see post below) spooked when a cat jumped out of a bush. We just happened to be walking on the road. He just happened to slip and fall. I stayed on until he hit the ground. In fact, I guess technically he landed on my right leg, although I was able to get “off” him while he was still on the ground, Damage? a hole in the knee of my pants.
2. Jumping bounces, I was “bounced” off Sahara. I landed on my hands and knees in the arena sand, which probably tells you something about my position in the saddle right before I fell off. Damage? Zero.
3. Teenagers like to do dumb things. I decided “once” to sit on my horse Spot with my butt in the saddle but my knees over the front of the saddle (ask any teenager, it’s really comfortable). That wasn’t the dumb part. The dumb part was forgetting that Spot has a wicked sense of humor (really. She does.). I decided to give Spot a hug while in the aforementioned position. Spot (wicked wicked horse) decided at exactly that moment to put her head down. Who knew a horse’s neck could turn into a slide? Who. Knew. Damage? Just my pride (it’s no fun when 10 other teenagers laugh at you).
4. Once, on a trail ride, Spot spooked when a deer jumped out of a bush (do you see a pattern here?), spun around, sent my dad, who had been walking next to her, and me, who had not been planning on anything other than heading straight, flying. I landed on one leg with the other one in the stirrup. It was only when I kicked my foot out of the stirrup that I fell on my butt. Damage? My dad got a really nice, photo-worthy bruise somewhere near his butt. (photo-worthy bruises are a whole other story)
5. Once, on a trail ride, Kharma (thankfully not my horse) spooked at rustling in the leaves. She really wanted to bolt. Bolting just happens to be my least favorite horse activity of ALL TIME. I took evasive action in the form of forcing Kharma to make a very small circle, but I neglected to remember that she was trained as a reiner (I still don’t understand the purpose of this training. At. All.). Thus I was very surprised when she went into a reiner spin and showed no signs of stopping. I made an untimely retreat when Kharma spun off the edge of the trail. Damage? My approval rating of reining training dropped to negative numbers.
6. My worst fall ever occurred when my horse Clue decided to bolt (ugh) at a horse show. Have I mentioned he used to be a race horse? He can run reeeaaaallll fast. In a complicated maneuver to avoid running over the open platform upon which the judge was sitting, Clue ended up slipping on pavement and spinning (hmmm… more patterns…). His spin sent me flying, which was a darn good thing because then he got stuck between the platform and a wall and proceeded to flail about. Damage? cuts, scrapes, a concussion, and a semi-permanent suspensory ligament injury for Clue. Blood-stained show clothes for me. (who decided white breeches were a good idea? Who??)
7. Jumping over the biggest jump I’ve ever “jumped”, I misjudged the speed, distance, and just about everything else one could possibly misjudge. Lady, the horse I was riding, did her best but clipped the jump (a nice, immovable, solid cross-country jump) and stumbled on landing. I went flying, did a nice somersault. Damage? Does getting the wind knocked out of me (my worst “injury” to date) count?. Lady cut the inside of her lip.
8. Jumping my horse Sadie, she dodged a jump (pattern anyone?) and I flew off in what is called a Zig Zag fall, as in my horse zigged and I zagged. Damage? None, unless all that sand in my mouth was bad for my teeth.
9. Jumping Sadie again, she got going too fast and got too excited and we jumped a tiny log. I was expecting a tiny jump to match, but Sadie sometimes likes to jump reeaaaallll big. She did and I went flying. Damage? My pride again, damnit!
So there’s my catalog of falls. Only 9. I’d better get working a little harder. Well, I did almost fall off today, jumping with no stirrups. I don’t know why my husband thinks I have a death wish….
1. If you’re not falling off regularly, you aren’t really challenging yourself.
2. If you can still actually count how many times you’ve fallen off, you aren’t a real horse(wo)man.
3. Everyone falls off. Even Olympic riders. Especially Olympic riders (hence, the membership to the Illustrious club).
4. Falling off itself isn’t bad. It’s just the thinking about falling off that’s bad.
5. Falling off is inevitable.
And then there’s that membership to the club thing. Membership to a club always makes one feel better, right? Of course, there are some problems with the membership requirements. For instance, does it count if you unintentionally dismount your horse but land on your feet? Does it count if your horse was at a standstill when you parted ways? What about if your horse falls and you just happen to stay on until he hits the ground? Are there special perks for falls that result in injuries? Or perhaps for falls that should have resulted in injuries, but didn’t?
And then there’s my own list of falls. I (sadly? I do so want to be a real horsewoman…) can still count my falls. Except that I remembered another one several days after I started thinking about this topic, so maybe I can’t actually remember them all and only think I can. So let’s see…
1. My horse Doc (see post below) spooked when a cat jumped out of a bush. We just happened to be walking on the road. He just happened to slip and fall. I stayed on until he hit the ground. In fact, I guess technically he landed on my right leg, although I was able to get “off” him while he was still on the ground, Damage? a hole in the knee of my pants.
2. Jumping bounces, I was “bounced” off Sahara. I landed on my hands and knees in the arena sand, which probably tells you something about my position in the saddle right before I fell off. Damage? Zero.
3. Teenagers like to do dumb things. I decided “once” to sit on my horse Spot with my butt in the saddle but my knees over the front of the saddle (ask any teenager, it’s really comfortable). That wasn’t the dumb part. The dumb part was forgetting that Spot has a wicked sense of humor (really. She does.). I decided to give Spot a hug while in the aforementioned position. Spot (wicked wicked horse) decided at exactly that moment to put her head down. Who knew a horse’s neck could turn into a slide? Who. Knew. Damage? Just my pride (it’s no fun when 10 other teenagers laugh at you).
4. Once, on a trail ride, Spot spooked when a deer jumped out of a bush (do you see a pattern here?), spun around, sent my dad, who had been walking next to her, and me, who had not been planning on anything other than heading straight, flying. I landed on one leg with the other one in the stirrup. It was only when I kicked my foot out of the stirrup that I fell on my butt. Damage? My dad got a really nice, photo-worthy bruise somewhere near his butt. (photo-worthy bruises are a whole other story)
5. Once, on a trail ride, Kharma (thankfully not my horse) spooked at rustling in the leaves. She really wanted to bolt. Bolting just happens to be my least favorite horse activity of ALL TIME. I took evasive action in the form of forcing Kharma to make a very small circle, but I neglected to remember that she was trained as a reiner (I still don’t understand the purpose of this training. At. All.). Thus I was very surprised when she went into a reiner spin and showed no signs of stopping. I made an untimely retreat when Kharma spun off the edge of the trail. Damage? My approval rating of reining training dropped to negative numbers.
6. My worst fall ever occurred when my horse Clue decided to bolt (ugh) at a horse show. Have I mentioned he used to be a race horse? He can run reeeaaaallll fast. In a complicated maneuver to avoid running over the open platform upon which the judge was sitting, Clue ended up slipping on pavement and spinning (hmmm… more patterns…). His spin sent me flying, which was a darn good thing because then he got stuck between the platform and a wall and proceeded to flail about. Damage? cuts, scrapes, a concussion, and a semi-permanent suspensory ligament injury for Clue. Blood-stained show clothes for me. (who decided white breeches were a good idea? Who??)
7. Jumping over the biggest jump I’ve ever “jumped”, I misjudged the speed, distance, and just about everything else one could possibly misjudge. Lady, the horse I was riding, did her best but clipped the jump (a nice, immovable, solid cross-country jump) and stumbled on landing. I went flying, did a nice somersault. Damage? Does getting the wind knocked out of me (my worst “injury” to date) count?. Lady cut the inside of her lip.
8. Jumping my horse Sadie, she dodged a jump (pattern anyone?) and I flew off in what is called a Zig Zag fall, as in my horse zigged and I zagged. Damage? None, unless all that sand in my mouth was bad for my teeth.
9. Jumping Sadie again, she got going too fast and got too excited and we jumped a tiny log. I was expecting a tiny jump to match, but Sadie sometimes likes to jump reeaaaallll big. She did and I went flying. Damage? My pride again, damnit!
So there’s my catalog of falls. Only 9. I’d better get working a little harder. Well, I did almost fall off today, jumping with no stirrups. I don’t know why my husband thinks I have a death wish….
Monday, April 9, 2007
Broken
Blink and it’s there again…
the grotesque horror
the tortured panic.
Close your eyes but it won’t
Blink away.
All power and panic,
the horse pummels the ground:
Escaped. Free.
But he slides
and plummets
and pounds and pounds and pounds
until he flails himself upright.
Blink your relief,
only to open
to the macabre horror
of maimed beauty.
Fragmented foreleg flapping
like laundry
on the line.
After, waiting for the execution
we blink tears,
she weeps and moans for a gun.
There is nothing to be done
and if there were,
the damage couldn’t be undone.
Later:
Our abject human ring
holds up the horse,
watches the blood bead
and encircle the shattered leg,
a necklace of grief around
our shattered hearts.
Our dogs circle,
licking bloodstained earth
as headlights highlight
the mercy killing.
Fervent wishes won’t save him
and he falls again tonight.
But every blink brings him back.
The flapping sock of foreleg.
The crumpled forms
(His and hers).
The broken hearts
(ours).
There are a myriad of ways that a horse can break your heart. As we stood encircled on a chilling fall night, that much was clear. As we leaned into each other and into the pain, each of us wept for the horse in front of us and the horses that still danced in our memories. The circle of pain encompassed real heartbreaks and ones that might have been, and although none of us could plumb the heartbreak of the prostrate woman in front of us, we each knew more about the depts of that pain than we wished. We floated in a haze of our own memories as theinterminable minutes drifted past... as we waited for the horse's pain to end... as we watched the life ebb and flow from him... as we silently begged for it to be over soon...
the grotesque horror
the tortured panic.
Close your eyes but it won’t
Blink away.
All power and panic,
the horse pummels the ground:
Escaped. Free.
But he slides
and plummets
and pounds and pounds and pounds
until he flails himself upright.
Blink your relief,
only to open
to the macabre horror
of maimed beauty.
Fragmented foreleg flapping
like laundry
on the line.
After, waiting for the execution
we blink tears,
she weeps and moans for a gun.
There is nothing to be done
and if there were,
the damage couldn’t be undone.
Later:
Our abject human ring
holds up the horse,
watches the blood bead
and encircle the shattered leg,
a necklace of grief around
our shattered hearts.
Our dogs circle,
licking bloodstained earth
as headlights highlight
the mercy killing.
Fervent wishes won’t save him
and he falls again tonight.
But every blink brings him back.
The flapping sock of foreleg.
The crumpled forms
(His and hers).
The broken hearts
(ours).
There are a myriad of ways that a horse can break your heart. As we stood encircled on a chilling fall night, that much was clear. As we leaned into each other and into the pain, each of us wept for the horse in front of us and the horses that still danced in our memories. The circle of pain encompassed real heartbreaks and ones that might have been, and although none of us could plumb the heartbreak of the prostrate woman in front of us, we each knew more about the depts of that pain than we wished. We floated in a haze of our own memories as theinterminable minutes drifted past... as we waited for the horse's pain to end... as we watched the life ebb and flow from him... as we silently begged for it to be over soon...
Hee hee!
I got comments! I got comments! Woohoo! And they made me giggle. Well, not the one about pushing my husband over to the dark side... but I don't think he reads this so hopefully I'm safe, seeing as how he does like to push boundaries.
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