Yes, folks, we actually cantered yesterday, Mr. Blondie and I. In the hunt field. More than we have cantered during the entire season to-date, cumulatively :lol: And with a minimum of cussing (well, sort of).
With the trip to Sonoita looming, I decided that yesterday was going to be my Rubicon - if I couldn’t get out there and canter his blonde butt behind our midget beagles, I had no business even thinking about trying to follow those foxhounds in that wide open country down south.
Unfortunately, our little guys found a jack almost immediately after we set out yesterday, and we were off! No chance to get any ya-yas out with long trot stretches up & down hills first. Of course, cantering in our country is seldom a non-stop process - there’s almost always something popping up in front of you to slow you down (or at least cause a sudden change in direction). So we would canter a bit, down-shift briefly to negotiate down into and out of a wash, then scramble up the other side (with a head-toss at the top to show the world just what Hot Stuff we were), dodge a cactus, shoot forward for a bit, screech to a halt where Prozac Pony had just squeezed between two thorn bushes (<ponykick ponykick ponykick> exasperated sigh and eyeroll from Mr. Blondie as he deigned to go between the pokie things), then dash forward frantically with head flailing madly at the thought of Being Left Behind… on and on it went.
In that first run alone, we cantered more than we had cantered the entire season to-date (which tells you (a) how long the run was for us and (b) how little we have actually cantered). Our cantering finally ended when Mr. Blondie’s head-tossing shenanigans became simply too much for me, and a string of expletives burst forth from my dainty lips - sufficiently loud, vehement, and obscene that rivenoak was moved to drop back from her position 20-30 meters ahead of us and come back to join us at a slower pace. But a nice run it had been, up until that point :D.
[Tack note interlude: I had decided after our last hunt that the Myler combi-bit was perhaps too much bit for him, so I experimented with a french-link 3-ring with 2 reins, just trotting in the neighborhood with rivenoak & Prozac Pony. He seemed to lean on that too much, so I switched to a Happy Mouth mullen mouth 3-ring, curb reins on the bottom ring and snaffle reins on the main ring. I rode him primarily on the snaffle and kept a very light - if any - contact with the curb reins. That seemed to work well. I didn’t feel the slightest guilt about hauling on his face with the snaffle reins when he was being a stinker, but it was comforting to think that I had those “emergency brakes” available if necessary. Not that I ever needed them… in fact, most of the time I could ride him with a pretty light contact. When we were cantering/galloping/whatever it was he was doing out there, I had a firm contact on the snaffle rein, but he wasn’t curled up or fighting me. A success - for one day, at least. And I DID shorten the between-the-legs strap on my breastplate 
]
After that run and fall-back, we stopped to make an adjustment to Prozac Pony’s noseband, which had become twisted (he was in a figure-8). And to let rivenoak breathe for a bit. She probably should have been home in bed, but… it was her BIRTHDAY!!.. and I had brought chocolate cake for the breakfast, so even though she had spent the previous day tucked up in bed with a migraine and was constantly horking her lungs out, I guilted her into coming hunting. And then, of course, PP decided to be not exactly on his best behavior. But after a while, we figured out what the problem was. Now that they have been fieldmaster, he has decided that his proper place is at the front of the field, In Charge. With everyone else behind him. And when he’s not there, He Is Not Happy. There really wasn’t a fieldmaster yesterday, so the times that we caught up with the hunt and were close enough that he could feel that he was where he belonged, and Mr. Blondie was trucking along behind him, he was MUCH better behaved than when we were off away from the hounds. Silly pony.
Anyway, there was some more wandering around, and then one more nice run, with us tucked right up PP’s butt, and then we were done. Probably just as well, considering the shape of rivenoak’s lungs, but I must say that I was vaguely disappointed that we couldn’t have “just one more” canter set 
As for next weekend, I just have to remember to be brave, and let him go.
Be brave, and let him go.
Be brave, and let him go.
Be brave, and let him go.
(Oh - and at one point while the huntsman was… lifting?.. the hounds, one of our members commented to our founder and former MB, who still rides with us - she’s at least in her 70s - how proud she must be to see her hunt still going, and to see everyone so nicely turned out. And I looked around, and she was right. It was a lovely sight.)
