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Home Sweet Home! by The Pioneer Woman
6 years ago
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My sweet girl, she is so dignified.
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Canter
Thought to be short for "Canterbury gallop".
The western word for canter is the "lope".
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The canter is a controlled, three-beat gait that usually is a bit faster than the average, working trot, but slower than the gallop. The average speed of a canter is between 10–17 mph, depending on the length of the stride of the horse. Listening to a horse canter, one can usually hear the three beats very clearly, as if a drum was beat three times is succession. After the three beats, there is a moment of suspension. The faster the horse is going, the longer the moment of suspension.
In the canter, one of the horse's hind legs – the right hind, for example – propels the horse forward. During this first beat, the horse is supported only on that single leg while the remaining three legs are moving forward. On the next beat the horse catches itself on the left hind and right fore while the other hind leg is still momentarily on the ground. On the third beat, the horse shifts itself onto the left fore leg while the diagonal pair is momentarily still in contact with the ground, then, the horse rolls forward off the left fore, and is suspended briefly in the air while the right hind comes up behind to touch down again, repeating the cycle.
The foreleg that ends the cycle is called the "lead". In the case I just stated above, the horse was moving on the left lead. If you reversed all the legs, and instead began on the left hind, followed by the right hind and left fore, ending with the right fore, you'd be on the right lead.
Except in certain cases, such as the counter-canter (which isn't normally used for anything beside show), it is desirable for a horse to lead with its inside foreleg when on a circle, or turning. This way, they reach around the turn, which helps their gait remain smooth and balanced. This is especially important when a rider accompanies the horse, because a rider can hinder the reaching movement, putting the horse off balance and causing him to stumble.
This is an example of the left lead, which I talked about above:
Stage One. Stand-still.
(The canter is usually cued from the walk, or the standstill, because it's an easier transition, rather than speeding up from a trot.)
3O O2
/
2O O1
3O O2
/
2O
O1 First Beat
3O
O2
/Second Beat
2O
O1
3O Third Beat
O2
/
2O
O1
....Then a moment of suspension, and the right hind touches down again. As you can see, the canter is a rumbling short of gait, and is probably the nicest gait out there---in my opinion. Just something about it just feels right.
It's relatively easy to ride, as well.
To the ride the canter, you sit it out---which is easier to do than it is on the trot. It takes a little practice to find a position that feels right, and allows the horse to move while you stay in control. That's the tricky bit. It's easy to accidentally bounce in the saddle, or drop your reins. I've done it a multitude of times.
When sitting the canter, you must sit back in the saddle (not super noticeably, you just have to keep a "firm seat",) and let your hips, abdomen and tail-bone roll with the movement of the horse. Keep your heels down, and off the horse---you must have a light leg! It's a little hard to stay in the saddle. Your legs may wiggle around. To help this, envision bracing yourself down in the seat, but be careful not to swing the stirrups out in front of you and knuckle down. You don't use your legs much during the canter---in fact, you're really not supposed to except for the minor things that you'll always do during riding. You'll use your seat, and shoulders to stay in the saddle.
Clarification, the "seat" roughly means your bottom. Your weight. Your position in the saddle.
So that's why it helps to picture what you want to do, because subconsciously, you'll generally move your weight just slightly to match that. Sitting back---without slouching---helps too.
Sometimes, I sit up out of the saddle, which can be helpful if you're going uphill, or getting particularly fast and I need to adjust.
Just don't fall out unless you intend to! Beware of sudden turns or stops.
What about your reins? You must keep contact (not tight enough to pull the bit, but not hanging around his shoulders), and keep your arms off the horse, moving them with the horse. You want to retain the same pressure, so follow the horse's head with your arms, stay with him, like you do on the trot. You can't be hanging around in the background, watching him as you bounce about; you must stay "one" with the horse. And the force.
I absolutely love the canter, and though I haven't ridden in a while, I was teaching Jonesy to canter on cue, and he was doing pretty good then, (we'll see how he does on the 14th when I go riding with my Mom!)
It's very fun, and like I said, just feels right. If you're not scared of horses, and even if you are a little, it's one of the most enjoyable gaits, especially if you learn to do it correctly.
I'm still practicing, and often have to hang on to the saddle horn while cantering (NEVER hang onto the reins to steady yourself, instead, grab the saddle, or the horse's mane, but don't drop the reins.)
When cantering I usually end up holding the reins with one hand, pretty suave, and hanging onto the saddle horn with the other. I'm still using my upper body and seat to stay in the saddle, even if I have to support myself with the saddle horn often.
Tip: If you get unsteady, remain calm, and in your seat. Try not the fly forward, because depending on the horse, this can be different things---even "giddy-up". Slowly increase pressure on the reins to slow the horse. You have to give him the change to respond to a light pressure first, before you demand a response from him with a hard pressure.
Also, remember that if he doesn't slow down or stop right away, it doesn't always mean he's being disobedient. You could be sending him mixed signals, or he could be trying to get his balance.
(Left lead.)
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Walk
2O O4
1O O3
The walk is a four-beat gait, and each leg is moved separately. When walking, a horse's hooves fall in this sequence: left hind, left fore, right hind, right fore. Different breeds and individuals have varying smoothness to their walks. Ideally, when walking the advancing rear hoof will overstep the place where the respective fore hoof just landed. The more the horse oversteps, the smoother and more comfortable the walk becomes.
See that the left hind oversteps the “print” of the left fore.
2O O4
1O
2O O3
The faster walks are actually lateral forms of ambling gaits such as the running walk, singlefoot, and similar rapid, but smooth gaits. If a horse speeds up, and loses the regular four-beat cadence to his gait, he is no longer walking, and has swapped gaits.
You always sit the walk, and do not post. However, some riding instructors may have their students post at the walk to build muscle, or get used to posting without the momentum that comes from posting at the trot.
Trot
2O O1
1O O2
The trot is a two-beat, diagonal gait, with many variations and types, most of which are used for show. It is considered to be the second of the four most commonly thought of horse gaits, which are: Walk, Trot, Canter, Gallop.
The trot can be fast, or slow, depending on your horse and what he's trained to do. For example, harness racing horses move considerably faster than a western pleasure horse. However, the regular working trot averages 5 to 10 miles per hour.
The trot is where the diagonal pairs of legs move forward at the same time, making two beats. The left hind, and right fore. Then the right hind, and left fore. There is a moment of suspension between each beat, where the horse is completely off the ground. In some horses, this is barely noticeable.
The trot can generally be classified as “working”, “collected”, or “extended”, depending on the amount of engagement and collection of the horse. With riding experience, judging by the rhythm of the gait, one is able to distinguish a true, two-beat square-trot, from a four-beat intermediate ambling gait, such as the fox trot, or the “trocha” as sometimes seen in the Paso Fino horse.
There are three ways to ride the trot: sitting, posting, or half-seat.
Sitting offers the most of control of the horse, because the rider can influence the horse may using his or her weight, and seat. Personally, I prefer to post, which is when the rider rises on one beat, and sits on the second.
Half-seat is when you rise off the saddle, and remain like that. It offers the least control of the horse, but really frees up the horse's back. This position is rarely used at the trot, but is common at the canter, usually for jumping riders.
Sitting is preferred in show-ring western, and dressage, especially at the upper levels. When sitting, the rider can more efficiently ask for turns, slows, upward transitions and downward positions, but it can be very tiring for the rider. It is also a test of equitation, proving whether or not the rider can move quietly with the horse.
Sitting the trot can be uncomfortable and a hindrance for both the rider and the horse if not done correctly. On some horses, the trot can be very easy to sit, such as on western horses, whose prefer ed trot is the “jog” which is generally smoother and less bouncy then the working and extended trot variations of the English-style show horse.
Sitting the trot isn't as uncomplicated as it sounds. To sit the trot, the rider must remain firmly in her sit, without rising from the saddle. There is a slight forward and back movement of the lower back and stomach as the rider's hips follow both the up and down and side-to-side motion of the horse. To absorb the impact of the trot, the rider relaxes through the hips, the stomach and lower back, as well as the legs. The rider's upper body remains upright and quiet. The rider's hands remain steady. The lower legs remain relaxed and only come into play when the rider gives a leg aid, or cue. If the rider cannot properly sit the trot, then the posting (or “rising”) trot is preferred.
I've always preferred to post, but some people really don't like to. I rarely ever sit the trot, and it usually only for very brief moments of time, usually when disciplining Jonesy for trying to buck me off! I also rarely use “half-seat”, when you come up out of the saddle, except for climbing some hills, because I can better move my weight forward and stay with the horse.
Now, posting isn't just standing up in the stirrups, and sitting back down, which is how I used to think of it---maybe that's why I was always so tired after trying to post all those years ago when I first took lessons! Posting is actually more of a gliding movement. You never want to depend on your stirrups to get up, instead, you use the momentum of the trot, keeping your heels down, to bounce you out of the saddle. But you can't just hop around, you have to harness the momentum and remain in control. Jonesy has a swift, bouncy trot. He's a saddlebred---a show horse (though he hasn't much training), and picks his legs up high and long. When I lose control, or get on the wrong diagonal, he becomes noticeably harder to ride. You lose communication.
So, when beginning to post, imagine a string tied to your belt, or wrapped around your hips, pulling your forward. You want to move forward from the hip in a smooth, rolling motion. The biggest problem I see with beginner riders attempting to trot, is that they'll lunge forward with their shoulders and upper body, or just hop in place, landing heavily on the horse. The shoulders thing is understandable, you want to move forward, and that's the first method that comes into most people's minds, and when I remind them to keep their shoulders back, they'll simply just their chests forward instead, curling their backs and putting themselves and the horse off balance. Posting sounds tricky, but once you feel how smooth it is once you do it correctly, it's worth it. It's a simple, one-two, one-two movement.
Glide forward, and up just slightly. Many riders and instructors disagree with the mindset, saying you're supposed to be posting, not hip thrusting. These are the people that think posting is solely an up and down motion. It's not. The purpose of posting is to make the trot more comfortable and free for the horse, and more comfortable for you the rider as well. You glide from the hip staying with the horse. That is the key, to stay with the horse as you move, not getting in his way by bouncing way back on his hindquarters, hindering his hind legs. By moving from the hip, your back remaining straight, and your shoulders poised. Your legs remain light, because you're not lifting yourself up with your calves, your just using the momentum and energy the horse offers.
Also, remember not to smack back down in the saddle when sitting back down. The gliding motion goes both ways; you have to gently slid back into the saddle. But don't get excited and go bone-less. Be ready to glide back up again, but try not to be too tense. Slamming down in the saddle is a punishment to the horse.
Now, I won't pretend to be perfect at the trot. My posting is a bit sloppy, and I sometimes slip and flop back on the horse. But the trick is to recover yourself. Adopt a different trot position for a moment, and make sure your reins are in your hands properly. Then settle back into the correct position, or your favorite, and keep riding.
There is one other thing I'd like to mention about posting.... When sitting the trot, and using the half-seat position, diagonals don't really matter, but when posting (particularly when you're turning, or in show) it is very, very important.
The trot is a two beat gait, with two diagonal sets of legs moving at alternating times. One set, suspension, second set, suspension. Whichever foreleg is reaching out, is the diagonal you are on. So, if I'm riding Jonesy and he's reaching lifted his right foreleg, and his left hind leg, we are on the right diagonal. The reason diagonals are important is because of how the horse is wired to move. If he's going around a turn, and you're sitting like a burr in the saddle, and he can't move his legs, he's going to stumble, or stiffen up as he tries to keep moving despite the fact that you're making it very hard. So there is a saying in horse back riding, “post with the leg on the wall.”
If you're turning left, post on the right diagonal, and sit on the left one.
If you're turning right, post of the left diagonal, and sit on the right one.
This frees up the horse, and makes it easier for him to balance as he's turning. Also, if you post on the same diagonal all the time, it will wear the horse, un-train him, or create a sore.
If you find that you're riding on the incorrect diagonal, all you have to do is sit two beats, or posting two beats, then resume normal posting. I prefer to sit two beats, because I can more easily feel the rhythm of the horse, and am less likely to skip three beats, which would make me stay on the same diagonal I was trying to change.
It can be very hard, and quite confusing at first, trying to figure out the difference between the diagonals, and understand which one you're supposed to post on, but eventually it comes naturally, and becomes easy to feel when you're on the wrong diagonal. For beginner, look at the horse's shoulders. If the fence of the arena is to your right, look at his right shoulder and watch how it moves, when it goes up, and he reaches out with that leg, you must rise, and when he drops it, you must also drop. Reverse if the arena fence was on your left side.
If you'd like to see a fantastic example of posting, look up this YouTube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thpmgolDsbQ&feature=related
The lady in the video might even explain posting better than I just did! So if you're looking to learn how to post, I'd suggest you watch it. She puts it very simply, and it's very easy to understand.
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Currently: Just this evening, I gave Perry the Duck an injection of penicillin as the next stage in his treatment.
Previously: After my parents got home on the day I found him, I soon located his wound.
He has a tear in his right wing. It looks to me like a small predator, a cat maybe, caught him around the front of his wing, behind the wrist, and he jerked away, tearing the soft membrane between the humerus and radius, also breaking the thin ligament that spans this space. Through this tear, you can see the radius and the broken ligament, which is shriveled against his wing and looks like a wire.
I treated this area with the ointment several times, usually before bed, after he had another bath. Perry has been spending his time alternating between being held, resting in his kennel, swimming in the tub, and staying in a drop-pen outside---which is equipped with a choice blanket and a waterer for him to get in, and drink from.
He has been drinking well, outside from his dish, and in the tub. He moves well also, flapping his wing, and waddling and swimming. However, he cannot fly, and I doubt will ever be able to again. He is stuck being a pet duck, from now on, and I think that will go pretty well, because he seems to be warming up to us (me, anyway) and his situation.
I have two concerns right now:infection, and the fact that he is apparently not eating, or not eating well.
Looking at the food issue, I have given him greens and chick starter, along with various tidbits from the table and pantry. I have no proof that he has taken any of the greens (administered to him in his water and tub), though he might have taken some of the chick starter last night---I left the bowl in his kennel and he tipped it over and made a mess, however there were crumbs in his bill, and so maybe he got a bit down.
I've tried hand-feeding him, and just plunging his bill into the food, and while the latter method worked better, he still spat out pretty much everything I gave him. Viciously. Despite this, he appears to be getting along alright, and seems of normal weight.
Now, as for the infection problem: I noticed last night during his bath that the forearm muscles were hardening, and inflamed just slightly. It bled a little as he cleaned it during his bath, and I washed it and treated it as usual. This morning, it was even harder, and notably more swollen. So we opted to give him a shot of penicillin, which I just injected into his breast. I gave him 1 cc. Hopefully this will help. He's a fierce little thing, and his wing doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest, however if it gets any worse it will become a real problem.
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Oh, and he is officially a male ruddy duck, in winter feather-garb. It took me a while to decide, but I'm now reasonably convinced that's what he is.
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I'll post some pictures of him soon!
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Things have been going pretty good here, though nothing new has really happened. I could talk for quite sometime about how the riding has been going---though I'm sure most of you, if not all of you, wouldn't care to miss that, so I'll leave that out until something really astounding happens.
Speaking of astounding, I got a Facebook. Yup, intense stuff in that boat.
Also, my parents are out of town on a conference for my Dad's work. They're chillin' in Florida right now; I wonder if it's any warmer there then it is here? The nights have been very cold here lately, and tonight it's supposed to get near freezing, so I'll be taking a box with extra hay out to my Marans chicks, who have been moved to the chicken lot, in a separate pen from the other chickens obviously, and have a brood-light. But tonight I think they may need some more warmth. I really don't want them to get sick.
Because my parents are gone, our Grandma and the girls---Dolly and Jill---have been staying at the house with us. I think we've already worn them out! At least the dogs are tired anyway, it's a hard life hiding from our big, wily mongrels. ;)
In interest of more updating, I'll say I'm now 16, and little Rosie is now 6. Our birthday was about a week ago, and we spent it hanging out with our Arkansas cousins at Grandma's house. Jordan and them came down for a few days to work, and it was good to see them again. They got me the "Son of Neptune" book for my birthday, which is the newest Percy Jackson book. If you're into cheesy humor, that's certainly going to be a book worth checking out. Especially if your into fiction. It was real good, and quite funny, and I really enjoyed it.
In other news, I had a dream the other night that I was a rogue demon hunter.
Creepy much?
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I ended up going to the stable early yesterday---and so I got there at about 12:20 instead of 1:00. I got home sometime after 9:00.
It was very busy! Though I had a great time. I helped feed the horses, bring them in, separate them, and halter them---releasing the ones we didn't need. First, we had a group of five beginners to take out, and while we were out with them, we had two others groups of riders come by. (One group persisted of 3 people, and the other was just 2 people: a man and his daughter.)
So after we finished the ride with the first group, which was conveniently coming to a close, we took out both the smaller groups on the same horses. Miss Terre doubled with the youngest members briefly to make things easier, and though we had a few hectic moments, it all went pretty good.
I rode Jonesy, and was so pleased---he did much better than he had the day before! He only bucked a handful of times, and even started to trot fairly willingly. I got him to canter for just a tiny bit, but that didn't last long (because in the hunt seat English saddle I was riding in, I couldn't stay in as easily and got unbalanced enough to slow Jonesy unintentionally.) He also racked some, though I pressed him through it and into a trot, mainly because I wanted to focus on trotting and cantering at the time. However, after I get better at them---and he stops bucking so frequently---I will see if I can get him to rack.
I've been thinking about calling Miss Terre and asking if I can come up to ride Jonesy and help out some (if she's there,) but it's getting later now, and I generally stay there for several hours. I'd really hate to miss dinner tonight---because Mom's making Navajo Tacos!
But, I have cleaned the medium-sized saddle that we got from our Aunt Susie. We actually have three---of varying sizes, though I decided to start with the one that I would actually ride in. It's looking much better now, but wow is it squeaky! We're pretty sure that being worn will work some of that out, but I'm fully prepared to use some baby powder if I must!
I plan on taking it up to the stable sometime in the near future (we are going to get a cover for it) to see what Miss Terre thinks about it, and maybe try it out on Jonesy to see how it fits. It's still awful stiff, but now that I've cleaned it it has loosened up quite a bit, and I'll keep flexing the leather some to help loosen it further. :)
I going to ask Miss Terre and my parents if I can go riding tomorrow. I don't want to leave Jonesy without being ridden for too long, especially after I've seen that he can make progress quickly. Yesterday, besides a decrease in the bucking, he was easier to halter as well. I plan on working with him on all those things, and also "standing." Or even better "standing still." He doesn't always wait calmly to be mounted, and tends to try and stray when on a lead and being held from the ground. I will probably work on whoa-ing him on a lead, then working with standing for being mounted and groomed. Actually, grooming isn't much of an issue to far---he really likes it!
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This is the horse I rode/worked with yesterday, his name is Jonesy, and he has lots of spirit.
In the picture, you may notice that we are a little wet.
That would be because he laid down with me in the pond.
We always ride the horses into the pond while trail-riding because it is good for their hooves, and their legs, and so I went out there with Jonesy, and he kept walking further in, until the water was nearly up to his belly, then he kept splashing, and they're me, thinking---oh, he's just cooling off his belly.
Then he flopped down onto his side. On purpose, the little bugger! :)
I had to climb out from under him, and get him to stand. Then I led him out of there, wet up to my hips, with my boots full of mud and water. I had to take them off to drain them out! Meanwhile Miss Terre is laughing, and cursing herself for not getting a picture. It took me a while to get back on, because the saddle I was riding was English, and my boots were so muddy that I couldn't get up on up Jonesy's 16-something-hands self!
Want to know what else Jonesy likes to do?
Buck.
That little bugger bucked and fussed for a good part of the ride, mostly whenever I encouraged him to pick up his hooves and move. He's not ridden nearly as often as the other horses, mostly for this reason, so I'm thinking he could be worked through it. But after the trail-riders I was helping take out (there was five of them this time) left, and I cleaned out my boots a bit and got dry socks, and helped unsaddle the other horses, I went out into a different field with Jonesy, and he was really something. He was all over the place, refusing to pick up into a trot until I fought him for quite sometime, making him do circles---because he wouldn't go forward half the time. And I never could get him to canter.
There were only a few good big bucks that unsteadied me at all, the rest were just powerful enough for me to have to correct him fiercely enough to make him stop, which made out progress very difficult. But like I said, I think he can be worked through this. I do not consider him, like Miss Terre, to be a problem horse. He's just a big stubborn thing, but he really is a good boy.
Miss Terre actually offered to give him to me, because she's having a hard time feeding all of her horses for money reasons. It's very expensive, because there just isn't enough graze out in her fields. They all get hay, and a mix of two different feeds (sweet feed, and pellets of alfalfa, I think, though I may be mistaken). I'd just have to pay for feed and board, but he'd be mine, (leased to me for 99 years, because apparently she cannot actually quote: "sell" him.)
I don't think that's going to work---especially not yet. Maybe by next year, if we having fencing out here (so I wouldn't have to board or pay as much for feed, once he adjusted to grazing) I could get him. I'd also like to see if it's possible for him to be worked through his bucking issue.
And see if I can make it any easier to catch him to put his halter on. He trotted the whole length of the indoor stable back and forth several times before I finally went all horse-whisperer and was able to approach him.
Miss Terre has another trail-ride booked for 2:00 in the afternoon today, so I'll be going up there around 1:00 to help out again, and I may just see if I can ride him again. In a Western saddle, so I'd be able to hang on a little better!
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This is a picture of Blue and I that Miss Terre took during the trail-riding on Sunday!
The ladies that we took out all say they had a great time, so that's good. :)
Remember I said he has two glass eyes? You can sort of see that in this picture---and you can see that I possibly do not know how to smile properly---I look dazed. Plus, can you believe me in that helmet? Can you say: HOT? It just completes my glorious look. Also, I think it turned some satellites that are in orbit.
This is everybody at the pond:
(Paint, Saber, Sky, Foxy, and Blue.)
(Paint, Saber, Sky, Foxy, and Blue.)
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I may be going out riding with Sarah again today!
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The stable I'm now going to for riding lessons is excellent, and I'm really enjoying them so far! I've only been up there twice: once on Saturday (first lesson) and Sunday (trail riding), but it's been very nice, and already I have ridden four different horses.
Now, first off I'd like to thanks (again!) my parents and Grandma for buying me these horse lessons, because they're just great. :) I do like this stable, which is called Peavine Creek Farm. The instructor knows her stuff, and is quite the character; her horses are very nice, and so are her dogs which always make a fine point to greet you when you come by.
My first day there I was introduced to the instructor, Miss Terre, and one of her students who has been there for two years, and boards her own horse at the stable. Then after we haltered (funny how I was confused how to do that at first... I'd knew how---I read, you see---but had never done it,) the horses we, and also another student, would be riding, I brushed them down and she helped me tack up (never done that before either). Then we worked inside for a few minutes, while Miss Terre introduced me briefly to her assertive manner of informing the horses what you want them to do. I swapped horses (I had formerly been riding an old gelding named Saber) with the third student, Brooklyn (a nice little eight-year-old), and then we headed out quite promptly onto the trails.
Sarah and I trail rode (walk, trot, canter; up and down hills, through trees,) for seven hours.
I was very thankful to be able to ride for so long with Sarah, because she was able (in response to my many inquires) to help get my form up to shape somewhat before my "riding lesson" even began.
We went back to the stables to remove the tack from Sky (whom I was riding) and Sarah's horse Apollo, then I went to fetch Paint, Sky's full brother, whom I would be doing my lesson on. We tacked him up, and I rode for another two hours inside the barn.
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I could not figure out what to do yesterday.
After riding horses for nine hours, what exactly can you do the next day? I was very, very close to pulling out schoolwork (that way I would have extra done, and I was really bored) when Miss Terre called and said she had beginner trail-riders coming out, and that I was welcome to come as well.
So I went, knowing that she had been talking on the phone Saturday to a lady who had a group of eight beginners who wanted to trail-ride together. Luckily, they decided to split up, and only four were at the stable. These ladies were very nice, but had pretty much no experience with horses for around fifteen years. At Miss Terre's directions, I haltered the chosen horses and tied them to be brushed down and saddled. The whole while Miss Terre is talking to these ladies and getting their papers ready. I helped them fit their helmets on, carried tack around, brushed the horses, and checked their hooves quickly.
None of their horses that I have seen so far have shoes, and Miss Terre doesn't ever mess with their hooves, though I like to check them anyways if I have time.
So then I went around with each of the ladies, and introduced them to their horse, talked a little about their blind spots, where they liked to be touched, and so on. I also told them that two of the horses---Sky and Foxy---will kick at the other horses, and each other, so you have to watch carefully when riding. Sky also likes to be close to his brother Paint, if possible, who was also going out on the trail.
Miss Terre gave a ridden demonstration on the does-and-don'ts, then got everybody up on their horses.
Going around behind her, I re-explained everything she'd told the ladies (sometimes in a different manner, because Terre certainly has her own style :) ) and then helped them adjust.
Then for the next two-or-so hours I ran around with them each in the stable, correcting their hands and reins, explaining, re-explaining, giving pointers, and helping them move about some. Meanwhile, Miss Terre saddled up the horse I would be riding, who is easily spooked, and led him out. He is really a pretty thing; his name is Blue and he has two glass eyes. I mounted him, and rode him around a little to try and re-practice what I'd been working on the day before. Then I went back to the ladies and was able to show them much easier what to do, and we all went out on the trail.
We trail-rode for a couple hours with Terre on foot, and myself supervising the ladies. Then we went back to the stables, and got there about the time my Mom came to pick me up. We took care of the horses, and Mom and I left. I must have been there at least five hours that day.
So unsurprisingly, I waddle a little when I walk.
But oh, I am enjoying it. I've actually done extra schoolwork today, so hopefully I will be able to go back up to the stable again soon this week, even if it's just to brush the lesson horses for her other students and trail-riders. Miss Terre kept telling me yesterday that I was heaven-sent and that she really hadn't called me into work...but was it really work? I mean, brushing the horses and helping the newer riders? I was just happy to have something I knew how to do---and to be there also. It doesn't feel like work at all.
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I believe I they can fly--
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The movie night went great, and we certainly had a nice time---even though not many people came!
Andrew, Timmy, and John came, and so it was just them plus myself, Quinn and Dad.
Just enough people to sit around the fire with plenty of room!
The movie was really cool, and wasn't at all as "gory" and everybody made it sound to be. It was actually pretty funny, and I think I'm going to like these later-year movie nights, because we can start them so early! After we finished the Thir13een Ghosts, we started watching Sherlock Holmes (the one with Robert Downy Jr,) and watched that until everybody had to leave. We had lemonade, popcorn, candy, and cookies/root-beer on the courtesy of Timmy and John. It was certainly very fun, and we'll be having a double-feature "family" movie-night on the 29th.
Thanks so much to everybody that came!
Thanks so much to everybody that came!
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Also, I'm starting riding lessons today!
I hope it goes well. :)
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Also, I'm starting riding lessons today!
I hope it goes well. :)
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It's movie time!
Tonight we'll be watching the Thir13en Ghosts and will be dining fine on candy, lemonade and popcorn.
We will also have a fire, and hopefully people to watch the movie with!
Now I've got to go get some logs from the chicken lot to burn... We're all quite excited! (Okay, well, Quinn's not looking forward to the movie...but I am!)
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Dane trotted rowdily away from Luke Davis's secluded, well-trimmed house, and cut away easily into the forest, unsettling a few bushes as he forged his own path through the thick, untamed brush. It was apparent that Luke had long since given up on trying to handle the wild vegetation, for many dense blankets of vine hung from the tree branches and twisted among the hedge. But the unruly domestic rgobe was nothing compared to the deeper sanctions of the DragonDust Kingdom and everywhere else between. Dane had personally trudged through many more dangerous territories, and found no trouble getting his bearings and finding a decent trail to lead the trio towards his home.
They'd been traveling for nearly an hour when Dane paused, his head canted at an angel, ear cocked. “Do you hear that?” he asked, laying his palm against a nearby tree.
They'd been traveling for nearly an hour when Dane paused, his head canted at an angel, ear cocked. “Do you hear that?” he asked, laying his palm against a nearby tree.
They were stranded in a seemingly unrecognizable area of forest, where the trees were so tightly inter-knit and the leaves so lush that the fading light of dusk was filtered to mere glittering specks above. The only sound wafting on the grand, flavorful autumn air was the clandestine chirping of insect life, and the distant, high-above singing of cardinals and bluebirds. Dane was very at ease; this section of forest was as normal as any Outside nature park. Songbirds and crickets? That was nothing compared to what the feral black sanctuaries of Jjay Forest beheld.
“The river is close,” he told the girls reverently, slowly edging around the broad oak tree beside him, feeling the ridged bark as he slid his hand across the armored trunk.
“The river is close,” he told the girls reverently, slowly edging around the broad oak tree beside him, feeling the ridged bark as he slid his hand across the armored trunk.
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The “river” was no spring brook.
Was it even a river, really? Could it called that lightly? It was dark; a long, graceful swell of shifting, oily liquid colors, surrounded by lavish vegetation and twinkling white asters. The river had a fathomless presence, and though it was clean it held many mysteries, and you could see no bottom anywhere. It had a steady, drifting current that trickled and winked like bells. It was bewitching and exquisite.
Dane's eyes glowed as he staggered down the mossy ravine and towards the bank, which lie patterned with pebbles and small weedy grasses, lapped at by the lulling current.
Was it even a river, really? Could it called that lightly? It was dark; a long, graceful swell of shifting, oily liquid colors, surrounded by lavish vegetation and twinkling white asters. The river had a fathomless presence, and though it was clean it held many mysteries, and you could see no bottom anywhere. It had a steady, drifting current that trickled and winked like bells. It was bewitching and exquisite.
Dane's eyes glowed as he staggered down the mossy ravine and towards the bank, which lie patterned with pebbles and small weedy grasses, lapped at by the lulling current.
He squatted down and laid his palm on the water's sleek surface, obviously enjoying the frigid liquid luster. The dappled splotches of failing sunlight that spilled in between the leafy sky canopy seemed to be swallowed by the river, leaving a trail of glistening orange lights to drift solemnly underneath the surface like the drowned souls of a million fireflies.
“Isn't it nice?” Dane straightened, eying his damp hand.
“Isn't it nice?” Dane straightened, eying his damp hand.
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The lake was fed by the nursing hand of the River of Shades, and was---at the risk of sounding childish---a wonderland among waterholes. It was serene, nestled in the wooden ocean of greens, coppers and blacks. Its darkened waters held an infinite number of lights, flickering like candle flame beneath warped glass, blurred and haunting, but beautiful beyond human description. The air was heavy with the invigorating smell of pine, and the guided cloth of an early night washed the lake with a faint mist as the double suns from well past the seemingly endless field of ancient trees sunk into their midnight cradles. Dane took a deep breath, gliding down the bank, his eyes wide open as if he'd never seen before.
“The stars are even coming out,” he said, craning his neck to gaze towards the heavens. Between the clamoring tangle of branches, twine, and leaf, you could indeed see hundreds upon thousands of tiny pinprick stars peeking out from the dusky orange swill of sky, to be swallowed by the lake's black abyss, their reflections swirling.
“The stars are even coming out,” he said, craning his neck to gaze towards the heavens. Between the clamoring tangle of branches, twine, and leaf, you could indeed see hundreds upon thousands of tiny pinprick stars peeking out from the dusky orange swill of sky, to be swallowed by the lake's black abyss, their reflections swirling.
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It was lunchtime.
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“Awh man,” Dane groaned, slapping his palms down on the thick wooden bar, his green eyes squinted shut as if he was suffering some deep inner agony. “I...I can't believe this!”
The girl beside him laid a hand on his arm, concern flicking across her face as she carefully balanced a wide dinner plate in her other hand, adorned with a pair of spicy chicken tacos and a small salad.
“What's wrong, Dane?” she whispered in a low, tremulous voice that could only be heard by him; the large dining hall was full of rambunctious clamor, packed to the walls with students, teachers, and visitors, and nobody seemed to have noticed Dane's moan of defeat.
“I...” he whimpered, blinking, his vivid eyes flashing like jewels behind dark bangs, “they.... I can't stand for this. Melodia, back me up!” Impulsively, slamming a clenched fist on the bar, he jumped onto the broad counter and howled in a loud, authoritative, accusing voice that wasn't much like him---"OKAY, listen up!”
When only a few people turned their heads, he gritted his teeth, and pointed around the room, “HEY! LISTEN UP!”
Melodia covered her face and stifled a shaky sigh.
The room fell deathly quiet, and Dane Judge jerked his head back sharply, his dark, chestnut-brown hair brushing his neck, “now, I don't wanna hear no lies---that means tell the truth---because this is a matter of life and death. A serious crime has been committed here!”
The girl beside him laid a hand on his arm, concern flicking across her face as she carefully balanced a wide dinner plate in her other hand, adorned with a pair of spicy chicken tacos and a small salad.
“What's wrong, Dane?” she whispered in a low, tremulous voice that could only be heard by him; the large dining hall was full of rambunctious clamor, packed to the walls with students, teachers, and visitors, and nobody seemed to have noticed Dane's moan of defeat.
“I...” he whimpered, blinking, his vivid eyes flashing like jewels behind dark bangs, “they.... I can't stand for this. Melodia, back me up!” Impulsively, slamming a clenched fist on the bar, he jumped onto the broad counter and howled in a loud, authoritative, accusing voice that wasn't much like him---"OKAY, listen up!”
When only a few people turned their heads, he gritted his teeth, and pointed around the room, “HEY! LISTEN UP!”
Melodia covered her face and stifled a shaky sigh.
The room fell deathly quiet, and Dane Judge jerked his head back sharply, his dark, chestnut-brown hair brushing his neck, “now, I don't wanna hear no lies---that means tell the truth---because this is a matter of life and death. A serious crime has been committed here!”
Dane seemed oblivious to the growing tension in the room, and didn't appear to notice the teachers and hall guards walking towards the serving table he stood on, his sneakers hidden by plates of fruit, salad, and sandwiches.
As his voice slowly grew to a gravelly rumble, he shouted, “Who took the last tater-tots? Hunh? HUNH? Who did it? I've been waiting since breakfast to eat. SINCE BREAKFAST. And while in all my classes, I've been dreaming of those tater-tots. And now, after waiting in line like a civilized student to get my turn at the food, I find that they're GONE. Thanks a bunch guys, yeah, thanks, I hope you're satisfied you buncha dream-killers!”
Melodia was surrounded by still, silent classmates, her thin red hair hanging around her shoulders like limp cobwebs, her brown eyes wide and disbelieving. A laugh broke out somewhere towards the far side of the room, but she didn't know who it came from.
As his voice slowly grew to a gravelly rumble, he shouted, “Who took the last tater-tots? Hunh? HUNH? Who did it? I've been waiting since breakfast to eat. SINCE BREAKFAST. And while in all my classes, I've been dreaming of those tater-tots. And now, after waiting in line like a civilized student to get my turn at the food, I find that they're GONE. Thanks a bunch guys, yeah, thanks, I hope you're satisfied you buncha dream-killers!”
Melodia was surrounded by still, silent classmates, her thin red hair hanging around her shoulders like limp cobwebs, her brown eyes wide and disbelieving. A laugh broke out somewhere towards the far side of the room, but she didn't know who it came from.
All she was aware of was the deep, furious blush rising to her cheeks, turning her white skin an unusual pinkish color. She could feel the heat from her mouth to her ears, burning in her temples and jaws. Why did he always have to draw the attention of the entire school? It was so embarrassing! She'd only been living at the School of Learning for three months, and had become good friends with the fourteen-year-old joker who seemed to find a divine pleasure in making her miserable. Could he not just accept that she wanted to lie low under the radar?
Dane seemed to be holding back tears, “I don't know how I can go on with life, knowing that you---my supposed friends---have betrayed me like this! How could you!” His voice reverberated unnaturally off the stone walls, wavering in pitch as his words rose and fell, like it was searching for a way out of the place, which was a strange, but cultured mix of modern style and medieval essence.
Dane seemed to be holding back tears, “I don't know how I can go on with life, knowing that you---my supposed friends---have betrayed me like this! How could you!” His voice reverberated unnaturally off the stone walls, wavering in pitch as his words rose and fell, like it was searching for a way out of the place, which was a strange, but cultured mix of modern style and medieval essence.
"How could you?"
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Inkling stood frostily in her room, slowly taking in the plain, but comfortable bed, and the thick red drapes that hid the domed window and sunlight, clothing the stone walls in shadow. She was perched close to the door, her wings kept clasped near her body as her red eyes, glittering with steel, roamed the humble sanctions. There was matching wooden dresser, chest, and wardrobe, along with a broad, sturdy table of alder that looked as though it had seen much trauma. It's surface was scratched, and chipped in some places, but very clean. In fact, the whole room was polished immaculately; not a fleck of dust floated through the air, and the sleek floor shone a glossy orange color from the flicking candles that dripped hot wax on the wooden dresser, and from the single torch that burned on the wall.
She stalked with considerable disgust past the fires, swiping them away with a toss of her hand, which whisked harmlessly through the flames, extinguishing them. It was noon, and she'd asked them to close the window so she wouldn't be burned by the light, but their weak eyes hindered them in the new-found dark, and they'd lit the flames without her request. She could see fine, her razor-sharp, horizontal pupils revealing in the black. And besides, the heat from the blaze was unbearable. Much too warm for her taste.
She stalked with considerable disgust past the fires, swiping them away with a toss of her hand, which whisked harmlessly through the flames, extinguishing them. It was noon, and she'd asked them to close the window so she wouldn't be burned by the light, but their weak eyes hindered them in the new-found dark, and they'd lit the flames without her request. She could see fine, her razor-sharp, horizontal pupils revealing in the black. And besides, the heat from the blaze was unbearable. Much too warm for her taste.
She set her pack in a lonely chair near the table, and walked slowly, firmly, about the room for a moment, taking in the white sheets and the red quilt on the bed, and the ancient authority of the wardrobe, which was well-crafted, with elegant clawed feet. Taken by an impulse, she strode over to it and pulled it open to examine the inside. It was empty but for a long copper bar that would hold any articles of clothing she cared to hang there, and a silver plate that was clasped tightly to the inside door. A mirror. She stared into it for a long moment, then closed the door and turned away.
Some crazies said that you were never really alone as long as you had yourself. They were the ones in mental institutions, hunched in the corner, even clutching a mirror to their nose, staring into it with wide eyes, or they were the ones that feared their own reflections for loathing of themselves.
Inkling ran her hand compulsively over the budding horns that grew near her temples, and thought grimly that she really was alone in this new place. She knew nobody personally---she'd only heard of some of the teachers before, and knew none of her fellow students---and she was so far from home. She figured she would have to keep her wits about her, because without her mind and intuitiveness, she really was lost in this brand new end of her life. She didn't even know what she looked like, besides what she could see of her body with the turn of her head. The mirror would offer no comfort, no reassurance, no answer to her many questions, and she feared that she would lose herself in the crowd of unfamiliarity.
Some crazies said that you were never really alone as long as you had yourself. They were the ones in mental institutions, hunched in the corner, even clutching a mirror to their nose, staring into it with wide eyes, or they were the ones that feared their own reflections for loathing of themselves.
Inkling ran her hand compulsively over the budding horns that grew near her temples, and thought grimly that she really was alone in this new place. She knew nobody personally---she'd only heard of some of the teachers before, and knew none of her fellow students---and she was so far from home. She figured she would have to keep her wits about her, because without her mind and intuitiveness, she really was lost in this brand new end of her life. She didn't even know what she looked like, besides what she could see of her body with the turn of her head. The mirror would offer no comfort, no reassurance, no answer to her many questions, and she feared that she would lose herself in the crowd of unfamiliarity.
Inkling decided she would take the mirror down later, after she'd settled, because the thought of it being there bothered her. With it there, it reminded her that she could deteriorate and become a mere reflection of herself in this strange place, and that is---absolutely nothing.
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Inkling stayed in her room until nightfall, unpacking her few clothes and other possessions; but most of the time was spent storing away her few items in the dresser and chest, which she arranged to her liking across the plain, timeless room. She spread out her inks, pastels, markers and paper on the table beside a stack of old, well-used books from her home library which all had dark, musky covers and were inscribed in an ancient, foreign tongue.
She set about the remove the mirror then. Inkling inched her hard, sharp nails under the frame, then yanked it viciously from it's latches, splintering the door. With it in one hand, and her eyes diverted from its reflective surface, she strode to the formidable ruby curtain and threw open the drapes to reveal an impressive window which blurred her view of the shaded sky with bubbly contortions in the glass. She undid the primal lock, and pressed it open with a grinding creak that made her teeth grate painfully. It took an effort to open, but as soon as it did she felt more relaxed, staring out into the black sky with the full, unearthly silver moon, and her starred disciples.
Inkling stayed in her room until nightfall, unpacking her few clothes and other possessions; but most of the time was spent storing away her few items in the dresser and chest, which she arranged to her liking across the plain, timeless room. She spread out her inks, pastels, markers and paper on the table beside a stack of old, well-used books from her home library which all had dark, musky covers and were inscribed in an ancient, foreign tongue.
She set about the remove the mirror then. Inkling inched her hard, sharp nails under the frame, then yanked it viciously from it's latches, splintering the door. With it in one hand, and her eyes diverted from its reflective surface, she strode to the formidable ruby curtain and threw open the drapes to reveal an impressive window which blurred her view of the shaded sky with bubbly contortions in the glass. She undid the primal lock, and pressed it open with a grinding creak that made her teeth grate painfully. It took an effort to open, but as soon as it did she felt more relaxed, staring out into the black sky with the full, unearthly silver moon, and her starred disciples.
A nightly fall breeze slunk into Inkling's room, whispering around her body and tugging faintly at her dark wings, as if calling them into the air.
She watched the moon, her red eyes focused and intense. How strange it was, pale and ruined, like a dead woman rising from her tomb, looking down on the earth, seeking to sheath her form with a shroud of cold darkness, which gathered around her edges, littered with crippled star-flowers. Inkling admired their deathly beauty, for weren't most stars in the sky already dead? Nobody had informed them of it yet, and they continued to shine, blind to the truth, even if they were but misled ghosts.
Inkling Tenebrae took a deep breath, her ears tuned to the nightly melody. There was a song playing in the wind that called her into the open, where she could be lost in an endless void of sky and space. It sent a thrill through her blood, lighting her eyes with ardent energy, but she resisted the summoning, and with a heaving toss, slung the mirror out into the gloom, watching it spin, catching the moon's face and slinging the light to the ground. It hummed as it flew, then slowly began to descend into a chaotic fall before it cracked against the cobbles below, shattering in uncountable pieces of piercing gray dust.
Inkling smiled sadly, and leaned against the sill, listening to the nighthawk's cry reverberate in the distant gloom.
She watched the moon, her red eyes focused and intense. How strange it was, pale and ruined, like a dead woman rising from her tomb, looking down on the earth, seeking to sheath her form with a shroud of cold darkness, which gathered around her edges, littered with crippled star-flowers. Inkling admired their deathly beauty, for weren't most stars in the sky already dead? Nobody had informed them of it yet, and they continued to shine, blind to the truth, even if they were but misled ghosts.
Inkling Tenebrae took a deep breath, her ears tuned to the nightly melody. There was a song playing in the wind that called her into the open, where she could be lost in an endless void of sky and space. It sent a thrill through her blood, lighting her eyes with ardent energy, but she resisted the summoning, and with a heaving toss, slung the mirror out into the gloom, watching it spin, catching the moon's face and slinging the light to the ground. It hummed as it flew, then slowly began to descend into a chaotic fall before it cracked against the cobbles below, shattering in uncountable pieces of piercing gray dust.
Inkling smiled sadly, and leaned against the sill, listening to the nighthawk's cry reverberate in the distant gloom.
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I cracked open one of the last three eggs to find that embryo had stopped growing at a very wrong age, and by candling the other two eggs I found similar results---so those are out, and the incubator is shut down.
However, I do have eight beautiful new babies in my bedroom to accompany the other four!
I've got four Wheatens, (the yellows)
Three Splash, (the grays)
And one Black Copper, (take a wild guess.)
All are feathered-shanked, except for one splash chick (named Cloud).
There was some speculation on the survival of the second and third splash chicks, which had piped early and remained in their eggs without progress for a whole day. I ended up having to help each out of their eggs because there was some shrink-wrapping, but they're doing fine now.
If all goes well and these chicks survive to adulthood, I should be able to mix the black copper (male or female) with the splashes to produce more BBS chicks. While splash x splash = splash...splash x black = blue, though the copper gene (which colors the males differently, and puts an amber color around the hens' necks) may cause some throw-back color differences.
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