When you expect whistles, it's flutes

It having been a while since Lear and I got to work together, I whinged until the barn staff put him on the horse list last night. They were a little dubious, because it was extremely cold and he hadn't been worked all day, a combination practically guaranteed to mean crazy spooking fun times. Hah, sez I to that, Am I not the person who was terrified to ride him not six months ago? What care I for his freakful fits?

By rights I should've changed my mind when it took five solid minutes to get him to stop periscoping his head and bring it down far enough that we could strap on the second cross-tie, which based on his shimmying and snorting must've insulted his momma. But we got it onto him eventually, and he wasn't egregious for the rest of the grooming and tacking up. As we walked to the ring, though, he grabbed for the rein, and once inside he tried several times to nip me ("Ptui!" "Yeah, you nitwit, it's a down vest") and otherwise made it clear that he wanted to frolic. No frolicking! Let merriment be bounded! We used the lunge line to remind him that the ring is for working and people are for respecting, and as I climbed on Pat reminded people to give him extra room.

We did have several small spooks, two of which turned into rather pretty dancing canters, but after I remembered that I've got an inside leg, it was as though someone had turned a switch. He yielded, he bent, he trotted calmly, he gathered into a frame, he played polo and waited at table. It was unbelievable. Even for our canter work, which given his sparky beginning had the potential to become disastrous (well, it always does), he held himself neatly, did perfect polite transitions, and cantered gently without once trying for a surreptitious hand gallop. I spent the final ten minutes of class stretching his neck on circles and composing mental thank-you letters to his trainer.