I spent most of the day on Saturday out at the barn for a Terry Myers Clinic and rode Mo for the whole three hours. It was hard work but I grinned like a fool the whole time and I’m very much more in-synch (Mr. Myers’ philosophy) with Mo than I have been. It’s humbling to be told that one is a green rider, and told this by an expert. I kept my mouth shut and did not pipe up protestingly, “But I’ve been riding for 3 years!” because if I’ve got to tell rather than show . . .well. There you have it. I hang on to Mopey’s head too much, just like everyone has done to him for all of his 26, 27, or 28 years (I’ve been quoted all three numbers for his age and I figure one of them has to be right eventually). And pray tell why do I hang on his head too much? Because I am so stiff and so tense and still so nervous (I mean, I heard about Sam Shepard getting his teeth kicked out by a horse, just heard about it when we went to hear the New Velocity Ramblers , and got scared to death to ride AND was made even more nervous when an acquaintance at the concert nodded with great sagacity and said, “Yep, that’s why we raise sheep!”) — where was I? Oh yes — still so nervous that I hang on for dear life even though this most basic of human survival instincts (“Hang on! For God’s sake hang on!”) is totally worthless when riding. But totally.