February 24, 2010

I'm beginning to form "iron legs." What this metallurgic metaphor means is I'm starting to develop enough technique in my legs such that the horse listens - really listens - to them regardless of whether I'm wearing spurs or not. The result is an increase in my control over Nikita and an improvement in our way of going. We can now produce several FEI-quality shoulder-ins at the trot down a single longside as proof of our harmony.

Like the first time I corrected a child and she actually listened, I'm dumbfounded by the fact that a 1500lb animal actually does what I tell her to do. I urge her forward to tell her to GET THOSE HINDLEGS UNDERNEATH YOU NOW, and she responds by increasing her engagement. This is the point of dressage, to create a malleable temperament, to render submission and sophistication in an otherwise wild animal. And apparently, that's an achievable goal.

Yet, I constantly feel like my control is an illusion, that one day Nikita will just stop listening and stand immovable, like the teenager who realizes she has a will of her own. If I were her, that's what I'd do. Regardless of the quality of the movement we produce, I still feel like I've gotten away with something, pulled a fast one on the mare, and that it's only a matter of time before Nikita realizes that her compliance isn't necessary.

Nicole, the Trojan War, and Humanism: February 10, 2010

Nicole has spent the past 2 weeks (during which time no one could ride, because during the interim between snow storms, the temps were below 30*) playing in 3 or so feet of snow, breaking electric fences (that one was partially my fault), and doing that particular thing she does so well: acquiring boyfriends. Ah yes, she will not allow another mare near her, but she will let her male courtesans admire her Helen-esque presence with abandon.

Her sorry addiction to this attention is self-evident: I separated her from her current favorite courtier for a grand total of 15 minutes to feed her (yes FEED her), and she responded by calling ceaselessly and throwing herself against her stall door. There was some piaffing involved, during which time I made sure to point out to my trainer that yes, indeed, piaffe is in the mare's vocabulary.

Nicole's introduction to her current herd has started a Trojan War of the equine kind. Much like Paris, Nicole has stolen the object of another mare's affection, stirring up an epic mayhem only a mare can commence. One sees factions occurring among this equid crowd; all's fair in love and war, and Nicole employed the "divide and conquer" approach, and divided the males right over to her encampment (the allure of romance helped). The delicate balance that existed in this herd was blown to Sirenum scopuli when Nicole channeled Aphrodite to beguile and charm all the masculine attention towards her queenly self.

Nicolbria would actually fit into ancient society quite well, where the mightiest is at the top of the food chain. It's an idea of the Humanism Age that all men are created equal. Nicole adopts the Ancients' theory of equality, which is to say that anyone who ain't Greek ain't fit to be around Greeks. The Ancient Egyptians had a similar outlook: if you aren't Egyptian, human rights aren't happening. In accordance with Bronze Age idealism, if you aren't Nicole, you better be a male and quite besotted, because otherwise, forget you have any right to be in her presence. And I mean, you had better be on the other side of the field unless you want a whole lotta siren whoop ass to be your punishment!

I'm actually surprised she's acting this cold to other mares; it's not really like her to be this independent. Nicole was a "follow the crowd" horse, and I'm interested to see if she integrates better into her new herd. Perhaps this is a sign that her mentality has evolved as a result of her extensive dressage education?

Nicole, Ms. Alpha Mare, and the Cut Boyfriend: February 4, 2010

Nicole has a new boyfriend. Which she stole from another mare. Who happens to be an alpha mare. And now she and Ms. Alpha Mare are actually peeing all over each other, in some sort of equine cat fight. And this stud-muffin boyfriend is a gelding. Yes, you know what that means.

Yep, that's my FEI-level horse.