Haiku's First Haiku

It's a crazy plan
Of playing genetics with
A man in a can.

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What up, readers?

Today, I looked at my blog's stats just for fun. 841 views in February!

I was all happy about this and relayed my excitement back to my mom.
"Yeah, at least half of those were your parents.."

At least a fourth of them were probably myself, editing or trying to find some inspiration. Or egotistically reading my own work... :)

But for that elusive 25% of you, this is a thank you for reading. For those of you that comment or email me or remind me in class or mention it at the Backyard Barn.. It's awesome to know someone's reading about my teenaged reasoning and ill-behaving horses.

Yes, I am a bad blogger.. Somewhere Down the Centerline's level of activity is a bit like a roller coaster. But roller coasters are fun, right? Right?

Oh, and make sure to send me your own blogs. As you all know, I'm a procrastinator to the max, and blogs are the perfect way to pass the time.. :)

Later! -- Girl

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Cantzing and Other Exciting News

1 hour 21 minutes ago, a big day ended.

Now, to horsemen and women of many years, whoop de freaking do. Canter isn't that exciting. For a seven year old.. Totally different story.

"And if you ride really balanced for me today..."
"I get to cantz." She whispered, as if afraid to say it any louder. As if any loud noise might change my mind.
"Canter, and yes."

Cantzing before today has been a mystical, magical thing that the "big people" do. Despite her excitement, she has her reserves.

"On the longe line?"
"Yes."

And with that satisfaction, she goes to buckling her girth.

Later, I hoist her up in the saddle, noting that she's growing. Again. You don't realize how much munchkins grow until you throw them up into a saddle every week. Granted, her legs still don't go past the saddle flaps. I notice this as I adjust her stirrups, feeling slightly queasy.

She's ready, she's ready, she's ready. I breathe out. Am I?

I wonder if this itching fear goes away in time. There's a precarious balance with kids and ponies, and there's a huge responsibility when you have someone else's baby on an 800 pound animal with a mind of his own. Now, I know they're going to fall. That's inevitable. (The first and last time this Little fell, she bounced back up to my arms, clinging monkey style and sobbing.)

Even then, you want each first time to be the best time and to build from solid basics. When you introduce something new, you get a definite feel for how secure that foundation is.

I hope her foundation is unshakeable.

We start doing stretches and no stirrups. Trotting in airplane, hands to the sky, hands on her hips. She trots stirrup-less, no hands. We both swallow our concerns.

And she canters a step, nerves ricocheting in every directions. I think some of them might be mine. "Tell you what? We can play games if you promise me you'll canter at the end of your lesson."
She nods, mouth in a solemn line.

At the end of her lesson, the barn is crowded. Another rider came to play in some of our games; more wandered out to watch. Five or six people, eyes trained for her first real canter. But after an hour of silly games, she and her pony are relaxed and ready.

I clip on the longe line, reminding her about her heels. Fussing with her stirrups.
And she canters and she canters.
Until I say, "Time for free time!"
"Can I canter more?"
"Uh, no? You already cantered."

The whole barn high-fives her as I thank the big Man upstairs for another quiet beginning.

Cantz? Check.

-- Girl

ps, Baby Mama just came today to be bred.. If you didn't know, the baby daddy is Sir Sinclair from Iron Spring Farm. The baby will be born in the H year and will be named Haiku. (That's Baby Mama's name backwards. Horse's name is her mother's name in Old German.) Everybody think pink!

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The Reason Why

Tiny girl, tiny pony,
Round and round they go.
Tiny girl, tiny pony,
Too fast and then too slow.
She says whoa, and he speeds up,
A kick and he slows down.
Keeps going straight when asked to turn.
When coaxed forward, he turns around.
She begs for right, and he turns left;
She pulls left, and he tugs right.
If she gets him on a circle,
He counterbends just in spite.
A plastic bag becomes a ghost,
But whips have no incentive.
He can only stand a fly at most;
Flailing kids ain't so momentous.

And in the middle of the ring,
Holding her breath and feeling heady,
Is a Girl with a whip in hand,
Tilted back and at the ready.
She stares at uplifted heels
And powerful prancing pony,
Slumping shoulders, open fingers,
Bending elbows, still so bony.
And she worries, and she fusses,
Fixing stirrups countless times.
Tries to signal to the pony
To be supple, sweet, and kind.

Tiny girl, tiny pony,
Round and round they go.
Tiny girl, tiny pony,
Too fast and then too slow.
And then one moment cuts in time,
Where they stop and walk and trot,
Sublime.
And in the moment, love is found.
A breath expelled.
A truth, profound.

Thelwell again. Go look him up.

I need to stop procrastinating papers. But until then.. :)
-- Girl

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