Carrying my saddle, walking down the aisle, I stop to open the saddle rack and place my prize possession onto it. A couple years ago, my friend jumped Elliot in her saddle. I climbed on him to cool him out.
“WOW, this is how the other half live”, I said out loud. I had a nice saddle. But I didn’t have a high end, broken in saddle. One that envelopes you into position and hugs your leg with front and rear blocks. It took over a year of prowling the internet to find that exact saddle and when I did, I snapped it up.
Cleaning tack is a chore I love to do. It’s relaxing and a time to gossip with barn buddies over a bucket of water and bar of soap. I take pride in the state of my tack. So when my buddy stopped chatting and pointed at a dirt jockey on my saddle flap, I was horrified.
“You have dirt jockeys” she said chuckling, knowing it’d throw me into a tail spin
“What? What are dirt jockeys?” I asked having never heard the term before.
Using her fingernail, she scraped off a little polished pimple of dirt. I scrubbed but made little progress. Glycerin soap was no match for those free riding jockeys of filth.
After whining about my predicament, my friend The Cleaner, who visits the barn to take care of the barn cat that purrs like a dove said, “oh Max, that’s nothing…just use a bit of dish soap and scrub it off”.
It worked like a charm.
Today there are no dirt jockeys free riding on my leather throne. Routinely I inspect and scrub them away.
“Hello Elliot” I say hoisting my saddle onto his back. Then stand back to admire it and smile until I hear Coach yell, “stop dawdling…I don’t have all day”