i take requests...

woke up to an email from sara: "how was the gymkhana the other day? i want details." ask and ye shall receive. non-horsey people, check back on another day.

woke up in the freezing cold at six on sunday, looked at the duffel bag in my room (on top of which was piled western rowel spurs, my faithful (trampled) straw cowboy hat from running games on the app circuit (read: six years ago), long underwear, runner's layers, scarves, and two northfaces. what the fuck am i doing? i went out two nights in a row and spent twelve freezing hours in the barn on saturday. i am currently trying to handle the client load of 2.5 employees. eep. again. what am i doing?

went to the barn, alex laughed the whole time while we brought mary kay (also for sale) and sir out to the trailer. "what are we doing?" she asked, "this is insane. we're not gamers." sir got bug-eyed and snorty - i think he anticipated a permanent move, and he's a smart guy - life is pretty good at alex's. a little bribery by craisins and sir was on the trailer, but once the reality of the situation dawned on him, he swung his big head around, whacked it on the divider, scared himself, and jumped up in the air - landing full blast on my right foot (clad in danskos).

alex knew disaster had struck when she heard "fucking assface fucking broke my foot you dinkhead! i'm so fucking good to you!"

alex: "uhhh, al, do you want to not go?"

me: "get me the bag of peas, he's going to RUN TODAY!"

thus, i sat in the truck and sulked for the majority of the ride to rhode island, cooking the frozen peas with my swelling foot. two hours later, we rolled onto greene field farms, which was quite pretty, and packed with trailers and horses streaking by, spinning, and tearing back down the length of the grounds. show people will tell you what happens when someone who's obviously green around the gills appears at your event - generally, the other exhibitors won't give the greenie the time of day. not so at a gymkhana. everyone was friendly, warm, and welcoming. the cowboy parked next door, elliott, was quite nice and directed us to the entry booth. he explained that this was his second greene field gymkhana, so we were essentially in the same boat, and his first with his new horse, jack daniels. (jack's a gorgeous bay and built with rocket boosters, i'm pretty sure.)

sir stood quietly while i gimpily tacked him up (a friend had lent me her barrel racing saddle, which is essentially a western saddle with a shortened, deepened seat, impossible to fall out of) and schooled him, and before i knew it, we were being called into the arena for barrels. (sir had never been on the grounds, never been in the arena, and all of a sudden i was digging in and asking him to tear through the door, into the arena, and past the laser sensors. god bless him. he went for it.) as everyone runs, their times are announced, but i couldn't keep track of the times for each horse (there were about 75 on the grounds divided into four different divisions), let alone who was in each division and the fastest overall gamers. quite an experience - as you scream into the arena, people are yelling, "look up! get it! get it! sit down! push him! run, girl! HOOOOORAH! spin 'em!" it's insanity. sir ATE it up. he pranced, he arched his neck, and he stood like a gentleman and waited for each turn patiently. by the end of the day, and four events later, he had a crowd of admirers. the announcer kept referring to him as "sir for sale", which certainly helped things, as three or four people are coming to alex's to try him out this week.

the highlight of my day came when sir and i finished our last event, arena race, and clearly spanked a lot of the professional horses, including elliott and jack daniels. they congratulated us, and a salty old cowboy rode up beside us. "ma'am," he said, "you ride that horse with a pair of brass balls and a ponytail, and we like that. come on back anytime."

at the end of the event, everyone rides into the arena, and the top six times for each event are announced. sir was third in barrels, second in poles, third in keyhole, and second in arena race. kicked ass and took names. the owner of the farm asked alex and myself if we'd consider joining the barrel horse association, and if we still have sir (or another project) we'll certainly come back in the spring. the farm volunteered to profile sir on their website (which i still can't find, so if anyone is a good internet researcher and feels inspired, let me know), and elliott the cowboy left his number for me in alex's truck. debating about whether or not i should call, and what would i possibly say? we did beat him - twice. :) happy ending for our little sirhead, and my foot appears to be horrendously swollen and bruised, but not broken. i laugh, because now i'm in charge of schooling merv (the irish warmblood/draft who comes with a passport), hank (my boss' horse who's beginning to learn dressage fundamentals - we're acquiring knowledge together), and the safest barrel horse in the world (who'll rev up and streak into an arena now like nobody's business, stop, put his head down, and walk away. that's my boy).