It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that things are difficult.

The wisdom of Seneca.

(WHAT has the world come to when I search for an image of a perfectly good Roman Stoic philosopher of the First Century BC and I get THIS?)  I haven't even seen The Hunger Games...


Anyway...


The thought about things being difficult (or not) came to my mind this morning when my friend Serena asked if I'd like a ride on her pony, Ripple, another Connemara, aged 26, and with immaculate behaviour (apart from when he sees the ghost in the Leylandii hedge.)

Ripple Gillard-Hickman

I was wearing wellies and jeans (oooh, how painful the seams are!) but he went perfectly. I only had to THINK, let's turn left here, or let's jump over this wall and he did...no fuss. Then Peter (a non-rider) got on and Ripple cantered sweetly up the hill and things went very well until the saddle swivelled round under his belly with Peter's considerable weight when they were turning a corner. It wasn't a REAL fall...


What a contrast to riding either Poppy or Alfie!


The thing is...

It made me realise just how challenging my two horses are. And that I must be a pretty good rider with all the training they've given me. And that while it was a wonderful experience to float around on an obedient pony with no vices, I think I might eventually get bored. And that I wouldn't swap Alfie and Poppy, and all the highs and lows, and all the excitements and thrills, and all the tears and laughter...and cuddles...

...FOR THE WORLD!

Of course I'm a cowboy!

D'ya think I just found these spurs? Spurs? Eeeek.

For your information, I was looking up quotations about spurs, and apart from the sage advice 'Don't squat when you're wearing them' - everything seemed to be about a well-known north London football club and - sorry, nephew Jez and sons' friend Dustin - I'm not sullying my blog with any mention of THAT team.

Yes...spurs. Caroline the Cowboy.

(Blimey - you should see some of the images that come up if you Google cowgirl! I can assure you it would be most uncomfortable riding a horse in that sort of scanty attire...)

Yes...spurs. (Again)

Alfie has been going quite beautifully in the sand school ON HIS OWN (I mean, on his own with me riding him, not ENTIRELY on his own!) There's a dressage competition next week which, foolishly, I thought I might enter on both Poppy and Alfie, though not simultaneously.

With this in mind, on Saturday, after a good gallop on Ashdown Forest, we stopped off at said sand school where there were a number of other horses and riders practising.

Did Alfie go beautifully? Nope. He didn't go AT ALL. He didn't go when I spoke to him nicely. He didn't go when I kicked him politely. He didn't go when I slapped him smartly on the rear with the riding crop. He didn't go when I kicked him, slapped him and spoke to him less nicely all at the same time.

Hence - the spurs. NOT cowboy spurs. In fact, hardly spurs at all.

Did they work, this morning? I'm not sure really...we were on our own in the sand school. They didn't work when he refused to go past a gateway on the road but then, I was a little worried about using them forcefully what with passing traffic and so on.

I'm in two minds about whether or not using spurs is admitting defeat...or just being economical with my energy, time and stress levels!

How to make difficult tasks easier

There's loads of guff written about this on the interweb...

I'll just add some more guff then, shall I?

It's not so much about making difficult tasks easier, BUT...

Here's the thing. Poppy is an adorable horse. She's also hard work and challenging.

(Can't you just tell from the picture?)

She knows what she wants to do and when she wants to do it and it may or may not coincide with my intentions. It takes quite a lot of energy to get her going, keep her going, keep her going steadily without any bucks and bolts. If she feels held back then she'll simply dig her heels in and refuse to go AT ALL. Or she'll say 'You want me to go? I'll show you what going means!' and she'll explode in a chestnut and flaxen ball of pent-up energy.

I love her to bits AND she's hard work.

Today, my chest was dodgy. I decided to brave a lesson at the same time as my friend Katrina and her pony Milton, a sweet 13.3 palamino.

After a few minutes, Tessa suggested we swapped horses. Milton was NOT difficult for me, after Poppy. He was most obliging. He did anything I asked. IMMEDIATELY. I found it refreshingly easy. (He's not that easy, in fact. Quite a few people can't get him to go.)

Katrina did great on Poppy but she found her extremely HARD WORK and had to keep stopping to get her breath back.

Then I got back on Poppy. She was still hard work but suddenly it seemed easier. WHY? Because, having ridden Milton, I realised how difficult she really is and that it's not that I'm a pathetic, useless rider.

SO - one way of making a difficult task easier is to accept that it IS a difficult task.

Simple as that.

Thanks, Poppy.

The last thing you want to do...

is so often the very best thing that you could do.

Isn't life a contrary beast? A paradox.

I promised I wouldn't whinge today, so take everything I say as a statement of fact, not as a pathetic moan.

Last night I tried to sleep sitting up to prevent the phlegm from trickling down the back of my throat.

This morning I woke to find that someone had been scrubbing my upper respiratory tract with Brillo Pads while I was temporarily incapacitated.

The weather? Cold. Windy. Threatening rain.

Oh, how much I didn't feel like getting out of bed at 6 a.m. to go to the yard to see to the horses!

Oh, how much I didn't feel like saddling up Alfie and taking him for his exercise!

I did though. I started off telling myself we'd just go to the end of Perryman's Lane then come back...but by the time we got there, the sun had come out and we carried on.

My upper body feels as though it's been stamped on by a Large Boot...

...but in myself, I feel SO MUCH BETTER.

A canter is a cure for every evil.

...a spin and a bolt - possibly not.

Benjamin Disraeli said the first bit. I said the second bit.

...and Alfie said the third bit. Only it wasn't a spider. It was a small pile of snow that he was SURE hadn't been there the last time he went down that lane (it wasn't) and that he was SURE was Highly Suspicious (it wasn't.)

So the fight or flight response kicked in and the flight won.

I have to congratulate myself rather modestly for a) staying on b) not getting off after I'd stayed on c) getting us both home in one piece. Well, two pieces. Him and me.

In his defence, it was his first ride out since the snow hit on February 5th. Evidently, snow everywhere is Acceptable, patches of snow are Very Scary.

After that, when my heart rate had subsided to something like normal, I was wondering what my natural response is to perceived danger...

...and I suppose I err on the side of being the prey rather than the hunter - I flee rather than stand my ground. Not with physical danger though, but definitely with things that trouble my mind.

So I can't be too cross with Alfie. I wasn't anyway. Alfie is a bundle of insecurities mixed up with an unstoppable single-mindedness if there's food anywhere to be had.

I'm mostly just the bundle of insecurities.

...but wave an Apple Yum Yum under my nose and watch me FIGHT for it.

Just a perfect day

Drink sangria in the park...

No, I didn't drink any sangria but here was my yesterday - in pictures.

To the yard at 7, feeding and turning out all the horses and sweep-sweep-sweeping.

A long ride on Ashdown Forest on a well-behaved Poppy.

Down to Brighton - ran 4 miles straight and it was MUCH better - no searing pain anywhere (much!) and I felt good afterwards.

Home to a soaky bath with rose petal bath bomb (oh, and some water too)

 (No, this is NOT a picture of two scoops of ice-cream)

Started reading 'The hare with amber eyes'

Had a sleep.(Nothing to do with the book being boring because it wasn't AT ALL)

Out to dinner with Peter at Phish Bistro.

On to the cinema to see 'The Artist'

A great (but not the greatest) film - fascinating to see a silent movie, so very cleverly made, such wonderful facial acting!





And a very well-trained dog...

Home to a less well-trained but much more adorable dog.

And so to bed.

Oh dear, no writing. But everyone needs a holiday.

What oxygen is to the lungs, such is hope to the meaning of life

 My lungs are screaming at me this morning. Begging for mercy.






I blame Alfie. And the biting chill in the air. And the fact that I'm SO determined that Alfie should move forward during our lesson in the sand-school even when all he really, really wants to do is stand in the middle in a semi-coma, watching everyone else.

So - I over-exert myself. It might be less effort to give Alfie a piggy-back.

I've developed a peculiar high-pitched whooping sound to psych him up. That and the flinging my shoulders left-right, left-right in an energetic fashion to set him in motion. It's not pretty...but it works. (Tessa's comment was that if she ever felt the desire to promote her skills as a riding teacher, she wouldn't be choosing Friday mornings for her demonstration...)

Oh - the quote about oxygen and hope belongs to Emil Brunner, 20th century Swiss theologian.

I expect he had a horse like Alfie.

I must say that if I made half as much effort with hope as I do with oxygen, I'd be positively galloping round the sand-school of life.

Theories that go counter to the facts of horse nature are foredoomed.

Theories that go counter to the facts of human nature are foredoomed too, and that's the original quotation, by someone called Edith Hamilton, Latest American Writer I've Not Heard Of - the first of 2012.

I felt pretty foredoomed this morning, and so, I suspect, did Alfie.

A flatwork lesson had been planned. It was howling a gale and threatening rain. Me, I'm just too gung-ho for my own good. 'Yes, OF COURSE we'll go ahead!' I said, and set off with my long-suffering horse to the outdoor sand-school without first putting on coat and gloves. (On me. Alfie prefers mittens as he has no fingers.)

It was counter to human AND horse nature to be having a riding lesson in those conditions. Icy wind, one thing. Icy wind followed by pelting rain followed by more icy wind - another thing. I got drenched and then frozen to the bone.

AND we were trying to learn how to do counter canter.

For the dressage-uninitiated: "A counter canter is when the horse turns a bend on the incorrect leading leg. On the correct lead the inside foreleg would be reaching further forward than the outside leg. When counter cantering the outside foreleg is the leading leg."

I'm sure this diagram will make it all perfectly clear. As clear as mud, in fact. I showed the very same diagram to Alfie.

Poor old Alfie. After months and years of battling to get him to lead with the correct leg, he was being awfully generous to me when I was trying to get him to lead with the incorrect leg. You could hear his thought processes:

"Stupid woman. It must be the weather. She's obviously lost her marbles. She's going to look a complete idiot making me lead with the wrong leg so I'll help her out and change to the correct leg."

Such a kind and well-mannered chap! And now very confused. In fact, he's looking for a new owner.

Yep, counter canter...foredoomed.