Moments appear when frustration overtakes me. I may appreciate life in a place where, for instance, I have piped water and the rubbish is collected regularly (at least when there is no snow). I may even sometimes decide that I like regular work for a large organisation that does, after all, pay the bills. However I object to the prevailing follow-like-sheep mentality, the view that one should not rock the boat, the bland acceptance of petty tyranny. Is there no room to be so much as subtly different? Apparently not, although the idiots cannot actually be consistent in their hands-tied stupidity.
The barn manager rents two pieces of land that lie a couple of miles apart. At one, where there are huge unused open spaces, no-one is willing consider allowing a bit of mounted archery practice. But I am allowed to keep a stallion restrained by two strands of electric fence tape. At the other, mounted archery is considered acceptable, but the insurance requires that arrows are fired from a mare or gelding, not a stallion. Are the arrows so phallic as to make him frisky?
Later, it became clear that the landowner at the first barn does not, in fact, allow stallions. However the barn manager decided to ignore the rules when accepting Doru. Given that everyone, including the landowner's sister-in-law, knows that Doru is entire, I guess that he cannot be too attentive so long as the rent is paid. Nevertheless, it's best not to ride past his house in case Doru's dick hangs out.
The neighbouring facility has an indoor school. But they only allow horses to be exercised if one of their people does the riding. I suppose that too is "because of the insurance".
Perhaps I might hire another indoor arena, though that is pricey? But Doru is going through a phase of "I don't want to load into a trailer". We spent two hours today with a natural horsemanship trainer basically watching Doru tell us: "screw M--- R--- headcollars, I'll go backwards if I wish". I guess that fourteen hundred pounds of stallion can very well say: "f*** this, your 'be nice' headcollar is for poofs". We'll get past this, but not necessarily this week or next. But that also is the sort of tough robust horse that works his way past a spavin problem and ends up sound. It was good to see that, during groundwork, the big roan beast circled tightly both ways and crossed each back foot respectively under himself. He wouldn't have done that a couple of months ago.
I could go out and practice in the fields. After all, industrial farming over here leaves people pretty thinly spread. But, in the unlikely event that the police do appear, the next thing may be application of the anti-terrorism legislation. (That's the law they use to harass train-spotters and, more pertinently, shoot innocent Brazilians with impunity.)
But I am bloody-minded after all of this.
I am very tempted to start posting notices at the local tack shops and arenas: Wanted - riders interested in mounted archery and equestrian nomad re-enactment.
The latter part is envisaged to include erecting yurt encampments where the nights will be spent in merriment and drinking, whilst our horses graze outside. That lifestyle I tasted on the Great Hungarian Plain, and very pleasant it was for a weekend. Some fellowship between eccentrics, riding that doesn't involve dressage, abandonment of the safety fetish - my goodness, that will upset the applecart.
I suppose that the target demographic will include any Hungarians who ride horses in the vicinity. Or even Hungarians who don't ride. Plus Tatars, Kazakhs, etc, But such do seem rather thin on the ground.
Life could yet turn out interesting. But only if insurance, self-censorship and so many other plagues upon this society are, however temporarily, cast to the wind, stamped upon and generally trampled.