The Conception of this Blog

Eagle? "Training"? As an eight year old, any horse, logically, should be a well-behaved citizen of whatever discipline's society they partake in.
Of course, if we all existed in such a pleasent eutopia, trainers would be out of business everywhere.

The victim:
Eagle.
An eight year old thoroughbred, seventeen hands.

The problems:
Everything?
Something like that, anyway. A notorious rusher, running at fences and taking off after them. Coming behind the bit, sticking on the left leg. Becoming unbalanced at the canter. Rooting for the reins. Lack of standing at the mounting block.

The people:
Elle. The owner. Me.
Eighteen, soon to be nineteen (June 2). I've owned Eagle since February of 2008. He was my valentine. I've ridden on and off since the age of eight, seriously since the age of twelve and leased a horse from 15-17. I stopped leasing just after my seventeenth birthday. Six(ish) months later, I got Eagle.

Diane. The trainer.
A twenty-odd (Twenty six? twenty seven?) former eventer, she specializes in dressage. And in beating me up.
And in just being an amazing rider, all together.

Molly. The mother.
Or the 'cool down' chick. She aspires to hop on Eagle once we're all done riding him to cool him off. My own personal groom!

Mary Rad.
Eagle is her "God horse". She spoils him. Relentlessly. Someday, I will see her on him. I will. Just you wait.

Guilleremo.
The "omgwtf" dude. Freaky good at dressage. He gives Diane her dressage lessons. Is notoriously in love with Eagle, has attempted to buy him before. Hopefully will be involved in this process. (???)

Brigitte.
Also one of Diane's coaches, she's the barn's main 'event' coach. I school with her when Diane doesn't feel like coming out all over northern illinois with the other event kids. I'm one of her only showing students.

And hopefully, between all of these veritable forces of nature:
A star (or at least, a proper citizen) shall be born.

Me? I'm not willing to bet on it.