I’m back in the saddle and as sore as a city tourist at a dude ranch. The only difference is I haven’t been riding in a Hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, and Tevas. My custom chaps don’t feel so custom anymore, or at least they must have been customized for my eviler, more active twin. I popped a little Quarter Horse/Arab cross over some fences today and felt like the growth-spurt kid at the horse show whose parents are too cheap to buy her a bigger horse. To top it off, I was convinced that I was sliding all over the place and burying every distance. Thank goodness animals can forgive and forget too. Despite this, my trainer made a point of complimenting my riding in front of two teenagers who for some reason or another, still look up to me as second in command. “Jess doesn’t like flatwork either but she’s a much better rider than you because of it.” *Teeth gritting, looking away, smiling sheepishly* Apparently everyone had been closing their eyes when I was jumping around five minutes earlier. Either that or they were too polite to say anything.

My favorite Sharks fan stopped by the barn today and gave me a ride in her Mercedes to Atherton to see the new filly. The foal was cute but I was more enamored of a rescued Italian Greyhound the family had at the house. I’d like to find a way to take him back to Pittsburgh with me. Sure, he has virtually no hair, and he’s rather emaciated looking, but if I can survive a Pittsburgh winter, I figure, so can he. He just needs some pink thermals to match mine and we’ll be set.