The great white north. Where 45 degrees is t-shirt weather.
The ponies are shedding hair faster than lazy people run from work.
The ticks have made their descent on critters and humans alike. They had gathered their armies and attacked before the last snow had even melted.
And me? I am tubby and out of shape, still suffering from cabin fever and a horrendous cold/flu.
But over there.. just past the horizon, is the possibility of Show Season. That glorious time where horse and human become one athletic team, stunning audiences with their grace and skill, wowing judges with their grasp of core dressage concepts, signing autographs for their adoring fans…
Oh wait, that’s other people…
I’ll be the chubby one on the plain brown pony who is desperately trying to ride a 20m something that should resemble a circle instead of an egg.
I hate to even suggest we might go to a show, or lesson, or whatever this year. It seems like every time I plan something, the horses end up lame. So finger’s crossed this year works out for us! I have high hopes, but I’m also a horrendous pessimist.
Actually, I’m beginning to get a bit superstitious about even mentioning I’m planning something. The moment I commit is the moment the horse goes horribly lame.
So, for now, I’ll leave you with the idea that if all goes well, then we’ve got fun times ahead of us!