Kidnapped by hill folk

Ah, Western class, you are so much more bearable now that I'm not getting stuck on Heza, bending my not-designed-for-this pelvis in half trying to squeeze him forward like the last squizzle of toothpaste. It's become clear that the issues I have with him are only in part my own; the arthritis in his hocks is the major culprit. MkII is unhappy, to put it mildly, because although she's been given the okay to retire him down to Tennessee when she leaves (which won't be until her husband finishes school...a year, maybe? she's been vague, and I'm not sure she's got any plans to teach or rejoin her EMT crew set up), she doesn't have a facility ready for him. But he needs to be retired sooner rather than later. He moves stiffly and will eventually buck to show his discomfort; that's not a horse that belongs in a teaching barn, and it seems cruel to keep him here.

Simon, however, is in fine fettle and fetlock. He is, as mentioned, a chestnut, about 15 hands, with one white sock and one white stocking on his hind legs. His front hooves look big and ringed to me, like maybe at some point they were allowed to grow out too long, but he picks them up promptly and doesn't pull away, so apparently there's no trauma he's worrying about. His body is pure QH, but his neck is long and goosey, his head is very delicate, and his mane is very wavy, suggesting that there might be a little Morgan or other crossbreeding in his background. His muzzle and mouth are so small, in fact, that the barn's having trouble finding a bit to fit him; they may end up trying him in a hackamore or bitless bridle, although God knows what the insurance would say. Anyway, I volunteer the barn for the hassle of finding proper tack, because his canter makes me want to sing and utter cheerful blasphemies and flee into the hills with him. His walk is fine and forward, his trot not a true Western shuffly jog but also unlikely to bounce a rider out of the saddle, his hand gallop fast but not frightening. But his canter, oh sweet merciful heavens. Surely MkII would say something if he were genuinely gaited, but that's the closest comparison for feel—there's just no impact at all in his canter, as close to floating as any QH I've ever been on. Mwah. Love it.

I learned about his hand gallop by accident, cuing too strongly the first time. It wasn't a problem in my case, but later the other instructor took him out for a lap. She too got the hand gallop at first, and as she was trying to bring him down she encountered the bitting issue just as he encountered an unexpected herd of deer. He went sideways fast, and after a second of fighting for balance she went otherways and down. She popped up with nothing worse than a cracked dignity, some bruising on her ass, and grumpy knowledge that today is likely to involve lots of muscle soreness.* After running around in a panic for a few seconds, Simon calmed down and came over to be reasonable. Once we were sure he was mellow, I got back on and walked him back to where he'd seen the TERRIBLE HORSE-DEVOURIN' MONSTAHS so that he wouldn't end the lesson on a scary note. The deer THDMs were gone and he didn't act spooky at the spot, which is good—some horses will always have the vapors at the place where they saw something narsty, but he's evidently not one of them—and that was the end of the excitement. Well, except for me acting like I just saw a Beatle. New horse! New horse!

* Oh, and she'll have to bake something. The rule here and at several local barns is that anyone who takes a fall during a lesson must bring in homemade baked goods before the next lesson. I think it's meant to displace some embarrassment: If you're on your ass in the dust and everyone is cheering because now you have to bring them sweets, you don't feel so much that they're judging you as a rider. You do, however, feel somewhat persecuted.

PS If anyone's looking for a pony, one of the boarders is selling her QH/TB eventer. FOR FIFTEEN THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS. Not that I'm in shock.