Riding, the Canadian Way...

I came home from work today and decided to ride my horse. Now, most of you know by now that there aren't enough words in the world to describe how much I love my horse, so I won't preface this post with a one hundred word ode to the joy I feel in my soul when I spend time with my horse.

I've been impatiently awaiting the riding ring in my front yard to dry up so that I can once more start perfecting my leg yields and ten metre circles. As it was today, I managed to walk awkwardly from the quarter line to the track a couple times, and we weaved around in a shape that might be the equivalent of a cirle in some cultures: Sadly, they weren't circles in this culture.

I was pretty excited to ride today because I thought that for sure the ring would be dry enough, the footing would be grand, I could work the horse and myself into a lather-y sweat, and come in exhausted. But the moment we stepped foot in the ring, the much squooshed up beside Zydo's feet and he began slip-sliding around. It wasn't any better once I was on him, either. I ended up tearing up the track where he rides, he stumbled every three steps, and whacked my knee into a fencepost.

And the horse? The horse was perfect, because that's what my horse is, PERFECT. I was all hot to trot (HAH, I just said hot to trot while I was making reference to riding my horse. Hee.) and the wind was low, the sun was out.

But because of the eighty six freaking feet of snow we got this year, and the on-again-off again rain we've had this spring; because of the lack of winds and complete dearth of warm weather...

I CAN'T HAVE AN ENJOYABLE RIDE ON MY DAMN HORSE.

Dammit. I need to move to like, California or something. But I hear the cost of living is higher there, and I can't imagine what it would cost to trailer a horse from the ends of the Earth to California.

Sigh.