You can yomp eet at de walk

I was extremely relieved when the barn where I ride started offering a Western option rather than English. The advantage of the Western saddle is that lovely come-to-Jesus, oh-damn-it-just-went-pear-shaped button at the front, more briefly known as the horn. Cowboys use it to hold a rope when they're otherwise occupied, but for the student rider, it's a lovely crutch when you're startled. Unfortunately, it also presents certain obstacles if your horse decides that it's time to jump over something. The English saddle, lacking the horn, feels less secure, but if you jolt forward, it also won't take advantage of your virtue. But sometimes, especially out on a trail where a tree has been inconsiderate enough to fall across the path, you just gotta jump no matter what the saddle.

I've jumped in classes, albeit over tiny poles, and occasionally on trails I've had to clear trees or ravine banks. I've yet to fall off, but grace hasn't been a hallmark of the experience. The worst was in Argentina, where the horses, mountain-bred and canny, refused to jump until they could see the other side of an obstacle. We came to a huge fallen tree that completely blocked our way, and my horse reared up, put both hooves on top of the trunk, peered at the footing, and finally lunged over in a giant convulsive leap. In my effort not to thunk down onto his back end, I ended up flying forward and wrapping myself around his neck like a spastic lemur; he wasn't hurt or particularly fussed (although I would have understood if he were exasperated), and I was able to scootch backward into the saddle, adjusting my sheepskin and silently thanking God that I wasn't born a guy. The guide was kind enough not to snicker audibly, but I wouldn't have blamed him either.

All of which is to say that when my teacher announced last night that we were going to go over jumps in Western tack, I was both pleased and nervous. As it turns out, my partner Doc loves to jump; he's been known to sidle toward jumps when he gets bored, and just seeing the poles made him pick up his pace. We kept things low, not more than a foot off the ground, and since I'm used to his enormous rocking canter, it was easy to stay in place when he reached up to jump. I wish I had started enjoying jumping sooner, because it was thrilling, but part of the fun came from the lack of pressure; I just wanted to be able to handle an emergency, not line up for the Grand National. Kudos and endless affection to Doc, of course, and gratitude to Teacherwoman, who made it seem easy and stressless. There's no guarantee I won't end up making a fool of myself next time I'm on a trail jump, but it's nice to know that I'll have some semblance of a clue of how to stay on.

In other news, spring finally appears to have arrived, and it's time to go glory in the feeling of not being in the office. Muahahaha.