A day starts out well and then it says Not so fast. One of our Pathfinders croaked and is spending the night in a grocery store parking lot. They were great about letting us leave it there until it can be towed.
Money, and the never-enough of it, the pay-this, forget-that of it. Lately, I'm letting go of the worry of it all in favor of preserving my mental capital. I'll never get back to the days of my 20s when I shrugged off bills and paid them mostly when I felt like it, but I've come to understand things oscillate, no matter how tidy plans may be.
It wasn't enough to pull me away from Sunday School, which I had enjoyed so much only hours before.
Ground driving, second lesson. It was hot this morning, and Dar was moist here and there even before we began. It's always interesting to see how horses in training react to new variables, whether environmental or the task at hand. One thing that Dar seems to have realized is that school means school. He accepts that there is work to do and doesn't become distracted. Except, of course, for daydreaming his way into Whoa. Always working on that, now we say, "Dar. Dar. Dar. Whoa." He's not a forward horse, so his sluggish response is a little mystifying. My homework with Dar over the next two weeks is to work him on the lunge line, drilling the halt.
Maybe I'm wrong about this, but Dar is my second former joust horse, and I see a couple of critical similarities between him and Scout when it comes to training. They couldn't be more different in terms of temperament and nature, but they both display anxiety about learning, a sense of worry about figuring out what is being asked of them. Scout's reaction to that is to speed up and become incredibly tense. Dar reacts by checking with the trainer, asking Like this? Is this it? It isn't? Well, what is it, then? It's easy to know when to end a lesson with him. We stop before his brain fries.
This was a good lesson. Not just about the rein aids, it was also about bending and moving toward a specific target. Dar was listening to E's voice and the long reins. He's learned the ground version of leg aids -- really, he has them down -- so in a week or two, E will be up on his back for a lead-around with me.
What will it feel like when I get to sit on him for the first time? Will I be able to tell the difference between simple nervous excitement and the fear I found with Scout?
I don't know the answer, but I so want to get up on him.