Playing Hardball

My day was filled with stubborn red Cobs. First Comrade.
Peggy is leaving for awhile so we had to get his paperwork together for the breed show. Easier said then done. Welsh age 6 or older have to be measured at the shows. Once they get two measurements the same from two shows, the owner can apply for a permanent measurement card. Comrade's came in the mail a month ago. He is officially 14.1 and 3/8in. Anyway, Peggy had to look everywhere for the card. Finally, after an intensive search it was found.
At that point I gathered all the paperwork to finish filling out later and told Peggy it was time for a trail ride. Peggy rode Addie and I was on Comrade. Most horses are more comfortable with a buddy. Comrade decided that he needed to A. show off for Addie and B. the bogey monsters were out in spades. We went down the killer hill and walked by the creek. Then back up the hill. Addie is not in shape so I had Peggy trot her up the hill. The higher she went up the hill, the higher Comrade's head went. Silly goose. He tried to rush up the hill and catch up to Addie. Sorry bud, not happening. Transitions instead. Redirecting the energy helped a lot. I definitely do not want him taking control. He has done that with Peggy before I started riding him and she ended up on the ground.
I used all the little jumps scattered throughout he woods to focus him. And I even jumped a much bigger log for the first time. He did well, after I set the boundaries

Who me?

Next was Roscoe. He really pouts with his muzzle, but he is not ready to eat grass full time with out it. I told Mom I would let him have an hour of muzzle free eating. Then I had an evil thought. He needs his mane shortened. Which if you have read this blog for any length of time, you know Roscoe is a nightmare to deal with when it comes to his mane. So I decided to play hardball. I put his rope halter and lead on, brought him out to the pasture and told him "You can eat, but I am working on your mane." It took him a bit to realize I meant business, then he settled into eating. Armed with an old clipper blade I set to work on his crazy mane. Normally I prefer a dirty mane for pulling/thinning, but in Roscoe's case I found his clean mane easier to work with. He had his moments, withers and behind the ears, that caused us to have discussions. In the end his want of grass overruled his dislike of his mane being shortened. I made such good progress, I let him have the last fifteen minutes for just eating. I still need to do a little more and I have to undo his braid holding his fly tag and shorten that piece. Considering I was working on an angle, it is pretty even.

Before...

After

I know I am close because I see his color spot. See the tail of his fly tag braid?

My red Cob day ended better than it started. Whew, playing hardball is hard on me too.