Yesterday, King had a very tiny girth rub from our ride the day before. So I elected not to ride him. I’ve pulled out the sheepskin girth cover that we used last year which should help.
Never having used a girth cover before I bought that one, it never occurred to me that there was any reason not to buy black sheepskin. I only used it a couple of times last fall. But here’s a word to the wise… never put a black sheepskin (unless it’s from a black sheep I guess) on a white horse. When the horse gets wet and sweaty, the dye transfers. And it’s permanent dye. He had a charcoal blue stripe around him for the whole winter.
I put it through a bunch of hot water rinses last night. But every change of water is still bluish black. Even this morning after soaking all night. It’s probably going to end up washing out to grey and STILL be transferring dye to King’s hair.
One of King’s spooks on Thursday was a hard stop. He excels at those, stopping so hard it feels like he’s being yanked backwards by his tail. Puts his head down to see what’s scaring him during the spook too. So he not only stops, his front end drops. This tends to catapult the rider right off the front end. A friend of mine calls it “being lawn darted off your horse”. Thus the australian saddle with blocks in front of the thighs. Those blocks are wonderful for keeping me on top of the horse. But with a really hard stop, I stop hard too. Gives me bruises on my thighs. And when he stops hard enough (like this time), I sort of do a face plant in his mane. I’ve learned to get my face turned a bit sideways so I don’t bash my nose (it’s happened!). I think it must give me mild whiplash sometimes. Yesterday, my back was killing me. Just minor muscle wrenching, and much better today. But I was kind of whiney all day at work. Linda was laughing at me and suggested that I should maybe bolt something to the front of my helmet… like a spike. That way King would learn not to stop so hard when I jabbed him with the spike. I suggested that probably it would scare the hikers to have a great big wild-eyed (not to mention blue-striped) grey arab gallop towards them on trail with a spike-helmeted rider yelling rude things like “Stop it! WHOA you rank bastard!” Linda suggested that more likely it would result in me being fired off my horse at some point and being spiked right into a tree and dangling there for the entertainment of the passersby. Sounds like a scene from Monty Python doesn’t it?