|How am I supposed to graze with the reins looped over the saddle horn?|
Right after I tacked up Rock, my friend texted me to say she couldn't come to clean up manure. I knew that with this heat it would be tough for me to both ride and clean up manure myself, but since riding is such a rarity for me, and since it always puts me in a good mood, I chose to ride. Screw the manure. Let the flies fester in it for a while.
Upon attempting to mount, I was befuddled. There was no way that I could step up and swing my leg over. I was trying to process the problem. Was I standing on the mounting stool? Yes. Did I have Rock standing in a ditch? Yes. Had Rock grown? No. Had I shrunk? No. You might say I had "mounter's block". I couldn't mount. I began thinking that perhaps despite working out every day, I am weaker than I was the last time I rode. That didn't make sense, though.
While I was riding, some jerk in a black jeep came roaring up the street, pulled right into my driveway like he belonged here, and then swung around the "U" out the other end. I could hear him spraying rocks as he went. The wall to the planter in the middle of the "U" needs to be repaired because people who drive too fast through our driveway kick rocks up into it and have been chipping away at the concrete. It may be time to install gates at each end of the driveway like we did at our old house when the neighbors wouldn't stop joy riding and parking in our driveway like they owned it. In the meantime, I might pick up some more construction cones at the hardware store to keep people out.
This sudden activity is hard to swallow when you consider that the only people driving on our street all summer were people who live on the street. Now we've got all kinds of undesirables doing as they please. Our street is kind of hidden off the beaten path, so I always wonder how they find us. I suspect someone advertised our street online or through word mouth as being a safe place to joy ride and drag race since it is straight, a dead end, and on the border between the city and the county, so you can quickly escape should the cops show up.
The first thing my husband said when he got home from work last night was, "Who was here? I see skid marks in the rocks on our driveway."
Apparently, the plumbers peeled out when they left. One of them asked me about our drag harrow. He wanted to know what it was called and what we use it for. I explained that it levels the sand in the riding arena and pulls up weeds on the driveway. He said, "I don't know these things. I'm a city boy."
It kind of reminded me of how different we are based upon where we live. Our environment dictates our lifestyle to a major degree. I have no doubt that these drivers who keep screwing up our driveway and our planters don't give their behavior a second thought, because in the city you have paved driveways and when you need to turn around, you have nowhere to go except into other people's driveways. But in my neighborhood, if they'd just look around, they'd see there are public turnouts specifically for the purpose of turning around. No need to mess up the residents' landscaping.
Overall, Rock was a good boy, as usual. He didn't want to be out in the sun any more than I did. He's such a perfect horse for me. I just wish he were half a hand shorter. It's going to be a sad day when I can no longer mount him. Every once in a while I see someone advertising a short, stocky experienced trail horse, but they always show little kids riding them. I'm not in the market for a horse, but I suspect that if I approached them about buying the horse, I'd have to lie and say it was for my grandchild, because most people wouldn't want to sell a short horse or pony to an adult. Unfortunately, with my arthritis, that may be all I will be able to ride someday, unless I can get a crane to lift me and drop me into the saddle.