The Neck Bone's Connected to the...Oh, Whatever.

When Trainer told me the equine sports therapist was coming today, I got a little excited. I'd heard about this guy from several people, who all had rave reviews. Trainer was pretty certain Therapy Guy could get Rain in while he was at the barn, so even though we didn't have an appointment, Rain got to take her turn having her body manipulated and adjusted.

She was a little resistant to the whole process at first. Some of the horses that got done ahead of Rain where returning clients, so they knew the drill. Guy rubs you all over, guy pulls at your head, yadda yadda. No sweat. Rain was like "Oh sweet mother, why are you turning my head like that?! Why are you touching me there?! Animal cruelty!"

I was pretty fascinated by the whole process. "So what does pushing there do? So that muscle ties in to that vertebrae?" And so on.

He did sing my mare's praises though. At least about her physical appearance. Her lack of standing still left something to be desired.

"Her coat looks great," he said at one point.

"She's got good muscling," he announced at another.

"She's gorgeous. She's put together really well."

I halfway wanted to preen and titter like a mother hen. Like I planned the breeding that resulted in her. Like I haven't had a shit-ton of help to get her to where she's at.

Apparently her 5th vertebrae was out of alignment, and he popped that back in. But other than that, no major issues. He did have to do some decompression on her neck vertebrae. At one point, you could her her neck pop. I know how nice it feels when my neck pops, so it must have felt wonderful to her.

He asked me how old she was, and about her breeding. I told him, Storm Cat on top, Mr. Prospector on bottom, and she just turned 5. At hearing Mr. Prospector, he nodded his head sagely. "I've met alot of horses bred that way from working on horses at the track. They take awhile to mature."

I cringed internally. "Oh?" I queried.

"She probably won't mature mentally till she's 7 or so."

At that point, I wanted to bang my head against the wall. In my head I was thinking, 'Oh sweet baby Jesus, how am I going to live through another 2 years? I'm struggling half the time already, and I've only had her 6 months!'

"Oh, jeez," I responded. And forced out a chuckle. I wanted him to think I found that humorously exasperating, not terrifying.

"I bet her knees aren't even closed yet." He did something to her knees. "Nope! Not closed yet! She's still got some growing to do." He eyed her withers. "I bet she grows another half a hand."

It was then that I was ready to do more than bang my head on the wall. I was pretty sure I might just ram my head through it. Two more inches?! No! She doesn't need to be any taller. She's already the tallest horse I've ever ridden. I told him that I hoped to God she would not grow two more inches. He laughed at me. In my head, I'd gone fetal.

And that's pretty much how I'd left the barn today. Two more years, and two more inches. She's got more growing to do, and I've got more big-girl-panty-putting-on to do.