Equestrian Ink

The Young Horse

2012-02-01T05:01:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

Lately I’ve been thinking about a very real peril of horseback riding that doesn’t get talked about much. In fact, it seems to be ignored by many people. And yet it is virtually 100% true in my experience. Its pretty simple. Young horses (by which I mean horses less than eight years old) will “misbehave” from time to time. No matter how good they are overall, they will have some significantly difficult moments. Disregarding this truth gets a LOT of people hurt. So today I want to write about this topic.

I am going to be the first to admit that I get seduced into this temptation just like everyone else. Despite the fact that I know my horse training days are behind me, I still allowed my friend/boarder to talk me into accepting his three year old colt as a mutual project. And even though we sent this colt to a damn good horse trainer for a year, and Smoky was/is a very gentle young horse who behaved perfectly 99% of the time, he did manage to spook and drop my friend Wally on the ground, seriously injuring Wally’s shoulder, and eventually threw such a huge fit tied to the trailer one day (we never knew why), that the colt ended up upside down underneath the trailer with his foot caught in the safety chains and injured himself so severely he was never 100% sound again. This story has a happy ending because I found Smoky a good home, but it illustrates the point I want to make. Folks, Smoky was/is a really gentle horse by nature. He was/is well trained. Now eight years old, he is being used to teach little kids to ride (he’s sound enough for walk/trot—not hard work). That’s how easy going and gentle and well trained he is. But still…at four, five, and six, despite what a nice horse he was, he had those moments—and as you can see, they resulted in some serious damage. And this is mostly how it goes.

Over and over, in my real life and in horse blog land, I watch as a reasonably experienced horse person decides to buy a new horse. Said person wants a well broke, drama free mount. Over and over I watch her/him select something four or five years old, thinking that the horse will have many more useful, sound years than an older horse. Who can fault that thinking? Over and over I watch as the carefully chosen, well broke, good natured young horse acts just like a broke older horse—sometimes for a long time. But inevitably it happens….eventually there is a day when the young horse acts up. Horse spooks or bucks or bolts—person is dumped and hurt, or just scared, and things are never quite the same again. Person has lost confidence in horse and perhaps horse has lost confidence in person. Sometimes confidence is regained, sometimes not. But overall, it’s a predictable story that could easily be avoided.

Mind you, I’m not saying there is anything wrong with choosing a young horse. I spent twenty years choosing, buying and training young horses. I had a great time. I was not at all worried or upset when my young horses acted up. Once in awhile they dumped me, and though I didn’t like that much, I accepted it as part of the deal. As my horses got older, they got solid. It was all good.

Now? Now I don’t want to get dumped. I’m aware that I’d come off easier, I’m aware that I’d hit the ground harder and break more readily. I don’t really have time to get hurt right now. I’m sure some would tell me that if I don’t want to get hurt I shouldn’t ride. And that any horse can dump you. I’ve heard that one before. And yes, in a manner of speaking its true. But no, my broke trail horse is not likely to dump me. I’m probably more likely to get in a wreck driving my truck, to tell the truth.

Despite the “any horse can dump you” wisdom, the fact is that if you’re an experienced rider riding a solid horse you know well on easy trail rides, you are not very likely to get dumped. In hundreds and hundreds of rides over many years, I have not once hit the ground from one of my broke horses. (Knocking on wood.). Yes, it can happen. No, it ain’t likely. Were I to buy myself a four year old my odds of hitting the ground would go up about a hundred times. Even if he was the nicest four year old on the planet.

The point of this post is not to run down young horses or anyone who has chosen to ride a young horse. Far from it. I admire and applaud you if that is your choice. The point is to make it very clear that there is a huge difference between a well broke horse of eight years old or older and a well broke horse of less than eight. Many, many very sweet four year olds go through a big “waking up” stage around five or six. Its not a bad thing—many a lazy young horse shows his potential to be a real “star” at some event or other right around this time. But so many people who chose a “gentle” three or four year old are very unhappy when this horse becomes a very much livelier five and six year old. Unfortunately, this change is pretty much the norm.

So today I just want to put this truth out there in plain language. If you want a no-drama horse, choose one that is eight or older. If you choose a younger horse, be sure that you are Ok with some “dramatic” moments. Because you are very likely to have them.

Not all older horses are drama free. There are many reasons why a particular older horse can be a lousy choice. Not all older horses have been competently trained. Some older horses have been abused—pushed too hard in the show ring…etc. Some older horses have been hurt or have physical problems such that they never going to be sound or truly usable as a riding horse again. Some older horses are just not of the right personality type to make a solid horse—this can be genetic—it doesn’t always come from poor training. So just being older is no guarantee that a horse is a solid riding horse.

BUT…if we are talking about two well broke, sound horses, of a good disposition, and one is ten and the other is four, your odds of a peaceful, drama free riding life go way up if you choose the older horse.

Again, I think choosing a younger horse is just fine if you are up for the occasional bit of drama. In my twenties I bought three year old Gunner, who was/is a sensitive, reactive, spooky horse. I was happy riding him; I knew he spooked; I could deal with it. One day, gathering cattle in the wind, I kicked four year old Gunner up to the high lope to turn the group of cows, who had taken off in a direction I didn’t want them to go. To my complete surprise, Gunner put his head down and started bucking. Now Gunner didn’t buck—he just never did. So this caught me completely unprepared. I lurched forward over his neck and almost came off, saving myself by a grab at the mane. Gunner wasn’t bucking very hard (more crowhopping than bucking) and my angry “whoa” caused his head to come up. I pulled myself back in the saddle, kicked him up to the lope again and off we went.

This is what I mean about young horses. Gunner didn’t mean to buck me off—he just felt good and it was windy, so he acted up a bit. But I damn sure came very close to hitting the ground, because he caught me by surprise. And now, in my fifties instead of my twenties, I would come off much easier and be much more likely to break something. This is why I don’t ride young horses any more (though I still have and love Gunner—and he’s still a big spook at 32 years old). The horse I ride now, Sunny, who is a very calm-minded critter in his teens, would not bother with such an energetic burst of bucking under any circumstances, wind or no wind. And this is why I ride him.

Anyway, the point of this post is not to discourage anyone from choosing or riding a young horse. Its just to put out a basic truth for all horse people to consider. If you want drama free, an older horse is a better choice. Young horses are growing and changing and coming into their own, and like young people, it is natural for them to test the limits at times. I have known several horses that grew a couple of inches and filled out to the tune of a couple of hundred pounds between five and eight. The amount of energy and the upwelling of “life” that goes with that growth can be surprising and unsettling if you’re not prepared for it. Again, its not a bad thing, but it is a thing to keep in mind.

Hopefully this post will spare someone somewhere some drama/injury he or she wishes to avoid. And I welcome all of your insights on this subject.

PS—For those who read on Kindles, my first novel, “Cutter”, is now available on Kindle for 99 cents. "Cutter" introduces equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy in a mystery that revolves around the intrigues of the cutting horse world. More descriptions and reviews are available at the site or at my website. Here is the link. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Passages

2012-01-28T06:20:00.000-08:00

There have been many posts on the death of an animal family member, mostly horses, so I don't want to repeat the sentiments of everyone who owns and love their critters: we outlive our pets and know at some point that we will have to deal with and make decisions about their deaths no matter how difficult. Thursday, however, we had to put our lovely Labrador retriever down, and the sadness is still on my mind. Dozer had been on two pain medications for over a year, yet his arthritis continued to get worse. The past several months, he struggled to get up, his hind legs often collapsed, his breathing was labored, and he limped on his front. Still he greeted us cheerfully, ate heartily, and although he couldn't handle our long walks, he refused to give up our twice-a-day short walks with me and his other two dog buddies. Until last Monday.

I knew something was off when he vomited breakfast. Without meds, his pain quickly increased, but when I tried to entice him with pills in cheese (his favorite) he refused with clamped jaw. A first. Unfortunately, my husband had just gone out of town for work, and I knew I would be handling this alone. Which isn't easy with a one hundred pound dog. Thinking illness (yeah, I know. Such denial!), I managed to load him in the van and head to the vet. $400.00 later the vet told me what I already knew--he had congenital heart problems along with everything else and his lungs were filling with fluid. One more medicine to add to the daily dose.

After I got him home, he speedily went downhill. He fell several times and could only get up with a towel sling I used to lift his middle. Then on Thursday after class, I came home to find him flat on the garage floor where he'd fallen and hadn't been able to get up. He'd waited patiently and quietly but looked at me with trusting eyes as I helped him to his feet. Well, you can imagine by Thursday, I'd about cried myself dry because I knew the decision was being made for me. Luckily, it was a beautiful day, so I got him on his bed in the sun, where he lay with his one buddy, Jake, until my husband came home late afternoon (there had already been many teary phone calls) to say goodbye and wait for our wonderful horse vet who came to the house. I gave Dozer a last hug and kiss, and like a giant coward, left to teach class. When I came home, I helped Bruce dig a grave in the pasture and we buried him.

While we dug, my husband and I talked about how part of the difficulty of losing Dozer, other than he was a great friend and 'child', was his leaving the family marked a sad passage in our lives in other ways. Dozer grew up with our children--they were eight and ten when we got him--and now they are grown and making decisions about new lives and places to live, and will soon be leaving us, too. When my kids headed to college, although it was a tough transition, they came home often, and we all adjusted. Now my daughter is graduating and thinking of moving west with her boyfriend. We also see our son, who is working about two hours away, less than we used to and know that one day, he may move away to follow a dream or career. Which is what we want, I know. We can't cling to our children forever and our beloved pets die before we do. Each change, each passage, for me is gut wrenching. I slowly adjust and try find new passions because I realistically know that this is how life works. Still, it's just dang hole-in-the-heart hard.

Thank you for letting me share!

An Equestrian Hiccup?

2012-01-26T08:57:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I took a lesson with a French Olympic rider who comes to my stables once a month to coach two other ladies. One of them, Nicole, rides or lunges Qrac for me once in a while if I’m away or can’t make it to the yard. I’d only ever seen this trainer once, a few weeks ago, when he gave Nicole a lesson on her three year-old, big moving German Warmblood mare. But since I was riding Qrac while Nicole took her lesson, I didn’t really get the chance to watch.

Nicole raves about this man, as does the other lady, so when they invited me to take a lesson with him I was excited. I looked him up on the Internet because, although I’ve been into dressage for a long time, I’m not familiar with many international riders. This man’s track record is very impressive; he’s been French champion at least once, has won numerous Grand Prix’s, and participated in the European Championships, the World Equestrian Games and the Beijing Olympics.

So early last Saturday morning, I saddled up Qrac and lead him into the arena. Nicole, rosy-cheeked and sweaty, was winding up her lesson on her young mare. I walked Qrac around the arena on foot for a couple of rounds, then climbed into the saddle and headed towards the trainer. “What do you want to work on?” he enquired, to which I replied, “Well, pretty much everything.” explained how I have problems getting Qrac to take the left rein, particularly in canter where he tends to lean onto his inside shoulder, still occasionally switching leads. I told him I try to work my horse in shoulder fore, using a ton of inside leg, but that it’s really hard work. I also told him that I try to keep the tempo slow and regular in all three paces as Qrac has a tendency to fall onto the forehand and run. So, lots of things to work on. Lots of basics.

The trainer asked me to pick up my horse and begin my warm up session. I took my time as I always do, concentrating on the tempo, on getting him between my inside leg and my outside rein before asking him to trot. Qrac is a Lusitano. He’s very short-backed, extremely supple, and loves to escape by wiggling. I have to really work on keeping him on the contact, but it’s a work in progress (and I must say we’ve made a lot of progress since I bought him last April). He tries to evade by coming above the bit, or by dropping behind the bit, or by wiggling around somewhere in between. Often he’ll transition into a beautiful trot for two strides, then ruin it by coming above the bit, which is what he did on Saturday when I asked him for the first walk trot transition. I worked on getting him slow and round and regular on the left rein, but only had the chance to do about two or three rounds on a big circle before the trainer told me to switch rein, which somewhat threw me. I did as I was told, concentrating on trying to get Qrac to take more contact with the outside rein, but before I knew it, the trainer told me to switch reins again and to move into canter.

Canter?! Already?! I usually work Qrac for at least fifteen to twenty minutes in trot before I canter because I’ve found that it helps him stay in rhythm, helps me keep him balanced and focused and quiet. I’ve found that if I canter too soon, when I go back into trot he has more of a tendency to fall on his forehand and run after his feet. But, last Saturday, I wasn’t going to argue with an Olympic rider, so I did as I was bid.

It was awful. When I asked for canter, Qrac got all flustered, wriggled, went above the bit and fell into a fast, rushy trot. I steadied him, asked again, upon which we managed and ungainly, croup high trot canter transition. We did about two rounds, and were then asked to transition back to trot and change the rein. The right lead canter felt choppy, but at least we didn’t do any uncalled for flying changes. But I was disconcerted, out of my comfort zone, unsure. I was also already dripping with effort.

After a few rounds of right lead canter, the trainer told me to transition to walk. He told me Qrac needed to be more active, more regular in a more forward cadence. He told me to transition into trot, and clearly wanted that transition RIGHT NOW, IMMEDIATELY, whereas, as I mentioned earlier, I like to prepare my walk trot transitions for as long as it takes to get Qrac ready. Yes, I probably prepare them for too long, but at the stage Qrac and I are at, surely there’s a happy medium? Nevertheless, I obediently transitioned, and set upon steadying Qrac between the outside rein and the inside leg, working towards a slow, regular rhythm. But the trainer didn’t want “slow”. He asked for more activity, for me to ride him far more forwards. Uh-oh, I thought, doing what I was told. Sure enough, Qrac’s trot immediately became choppier, rushed, running after his own feet. I lost his back, lost his concentration. “Ten metre circle at every other letter,” ordered the trainer. But that’s all he said. He didn’t offer any detailed advice, the way Marie-Valentine does. It was simply “ten metre circle”.

We skidded around. I felt horrible. Qrac felt horrible. I did my best to try to recuperate the rhythm, trying to get Qrac to relax into this quicker rhythm, but it didn’t feel right. Soon the trainer asked us to canter again. Off we went, both of us dripping with sweat. It felt uncoordinated, ungainly, unattractive. I felt like a beginner. Qrac felt nervous, unsettled, stressed out.

“Ten metre circle at every other letter,” ordered the trainer. “Balance him. Balance him. Keep him active. Keep him in front of your legs.” But again he didn’t give me any personal tips on how to balance him.

To cut a long, sweaty story short, by the end of the session, Qrac and I had managed decent ten metre circles in trot and canter on both reins. And the final left-rein shoulder- in felt very good, with Qrac light on the contact and very uphill. When I asked him to stretch into the cool-down trot I thought he felt easier to balance than usual and that his trot felt bigger and a tad loftier. But maybe it just felt bigger and loftier because he’d felt so choppy and rushy in the beginning. I don’t really know.

The weird thing is that I came away from the lesson quite enthusiastic. I felt like I wanted to work with this trainer again, which is strange since my general impression during the lesson was “oh dear me, I’m really not sure about this.” But I’m a person who likes to please and who tends to think that other people know best. Besides, who was I to question an Olympic rider?

Later in the day, I went to watch him teach more lessons at another stable close to where I live. He was friendly and charming with me, a real gentleman, and all the riders seemed to idolize him. Yet I couldn’t help thinking that, compared to the way Marie-Valentine teaches, he wasn’t precise enough, wasn’t involved enough. It was repetitive, all “ten metre circle”, or “shoulder-in” , or “pirouette”, but with very limited technical advice on how to actually perform or improve the movements.

I looked forward to riding Qrac on Sunday, as, when it comes to riding, you often reap what you sow on the following day. Unfortunately there was a lesson going on, as well as quite a few other people riding at the same time, and someone lunging, too, so I didn’t really a good idea of whether or not the session with the French trainer had been beneficial.

However, on Monday afternoon, when Marie-Valentine came to give me my lesson, Qrac made it clear that Saturday’s session had not been beneficial. He ran after his feet, wouldn’t settle, fell on his forehand, fell on his inside shoulder and generally felt super-stressed. The canter was such a nightmare that I finally asked Marie-Valentine to get on and tell me what she felt. Being a brilliant, sensitive rider, she soon worked him through, but got very sweaty in the process. “Wow, shoulder-fore is a real workout,” she gasped, working away. This was reassuring; clearly it wasn’t just my crappy skills in shoulder-fore!

After ten or fifteen minutes, she dismounted and handed Qrac back to me, encouraging me to get back on for a couple of rounds to see if he felt any different. He did, of course! I always feel as though my horse has grown by ten centimetres after she’s ridden him. And he was far more balanced, far softer. Much nicer to ride.

She and I talked about the negative effects of the Saturday session, both of us agreeing to mull over the different approach, and to discuss it over the phone over the next few days. Marie-Valentine has no problem with her students working with other trainers, and is always interested to hear what they have to say, what they suggest. But we soon both agreed that the French trainer’s approach hadn’t worked for Qrac and me. I can’t help wondering whether he’d have a different approach the next time I took a lesson with him, whether he’d have thought about how my horse reacted to being “rushed” into the exercises, whether he’d be willing to try things from another angle. I feel that a true professional should be open enough to do so, but then again, I’m an amateur, and he’s been to the Olympic Games, so clearly his method worked pretty darn well for him! Nevertheless, when he comes back in February, for the moment I’m not chomping at the bit for an encore.

Have you ever done a clinic with someone with amazing credentials, yet with whom you didn’t click, “equestrianly speaking”? Would it be a shame to give up on this trainer so quickly? Would it be more sensible to try it again and see how it goes?

The thing is, when I think of the session I did last October with Bernard Sachsé, the ex-stuntman confined to a wheelchair since 1994 following a terrible horse riding accident, who has since been French Champion several times, and who participated in the Para-Olympics, there is simply no comparison in the quality of the coaching. Like Marie-Valentine, Bernard offered personalised advice every step of the way, and didn’t just content himself with ordering a series of ten-metre circles. Lessons with both Bernard and last Saturday’s trainer ended with Qrac moving nicely, but Bernard’s route to the nice movement made far more sense to me, and I’d definitely jump at the opportunity to do further sessions with him (I think he’s coming back to my area in March).

Of course, it’s good to be challenged, to try new things, to step out of your comfort zone. But the more I think about it (and writing about it today has really helped), the more I believe that when it comes to horses, you have to choose one path of training and not stray too far off it, especially if the path you’ve chosen seems to be working for you. After Monday’s intense “fix-it” session with Marie-Valentine, I took the pressure off Qrac for two consecutive days by lunging him in a slow, gentle cadence. Today, when I got on him, he felt like himself again.

What do you think? Am I over-analysing the whole experience? Could part of my reaction to the Saturday lesson be ego-related, highlighting my short-comings as a rider? Or is it simply a case of what works for some riders and horses simply doesn’t work for others?

Confessions of a Horse Trainer

2012-01-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

Lately I’ve been reading some interesting blog posts about “lightness” in a horse and the general subject of communication between horse and rider. I’ve heard some neat ideas—and I have some thoughts of my own to offer today. What follows may not be a concept that most will agree with, but I’m not shy about bringing up controversial subjects, because I believe the discussion that sometimes results can be very productive. So here goes: In my experience it is sometimes the very concept of “training” and often the agenda that goes with a “horse trainer” that gets in the way of the communication and harmony we are trying to achieve with our horses.

Now I’ve spent many, many years in the company of horse trainers, and learned a lot from them. And then some of it I had to unlearn. I’d venture to say that at this point in my life I get along with my horses better and “read” them better than I ever have in my life. And a lot of what I do now is quite contrary to what those horse trainers taught me. But there’s plenty that I owe to them. Today I want to discuss the process of outgrowing a “training” mindset, and what that can sometimes do to improve communication between horse and rider.

My own path has gone like this: I rode for many years in my youth without instruction and learned to be comfortable with my horses and get along with them. I did many things that some might consider ambitious—jumping, trail riding for long hours in rough country by myself, galloping across big open fields, riding bareback…etc. All of it—my ability to stay on, my degree of relaxation, my ability to communicate with the horse-- just evolved and was largely instinctual. Eventually I decided I wanted to compete, and in my 20’s I got very passionate about cowhorses, and I began to take lessons from and then work for various cowhorse and cutting horse trainers. I learned enough to be able to competently train a horse on my own. I progressed as a horseman. In some ways, anyway.

Here’s what actually happened. You be the judge. The very first cowhorse competition I ever entered, I was 19 and I rode one of my uncle’s rope horses, who was a pretty good cowhorse in a very workmanlike way. This was a ranch cowhorse class, which, in those days, meant that you did the cow work portion of a bridle horse class and not the dry work. Which was a good thing, because my rope horse mount could no more have done the dry work than he could have flown to the moon. But he would work a cow.

Now, I didn’t take any lessons to prepare for this class. My sole bit of knowledge came from watching a few bridle horse classes in the past and practicing at home in the roping arena. My lack of experience cannot be overstated. I really knew nothing. I had entered in our local county fair, there was a buckle up for first place and at least twenty entries, some of whom were riding pretty fancy horses. I had no prayer of placing, realistically.

I won the class. (If you don’t believe me, say so, and I’ll post a photo of the buckle.) It was the first buckle I had ever won, the first cowhorse class I had ever competed in, and I was hooked. I wanted to learn everything about this wonderful sport, and I wanted to do lots more of it.

(If you are wondering why I won—and a few other people wondered that at the time—the answer is simple. The judge was a rancher who was looking for a horse you’d actually like to use on a ranch, and the fancier turns that some of the other horses made did not impress him as much as the solid way my horse worked. My focus was simply on getting the job done. I also drew a good cow. When a gal riding an ex-bridle horse protested at the placing, the judge’s response was “I’d rather have that roan son of a bitch than your flashy black mare on my ranch any day, so that’s how I placed em.”)

Anyway, from this beginning I went on to work for half a dozen cowhorse and cutting horse trainers and I learned a lot. I also unlearned a lot. I was taught to sit deep, rather than the somewhat forward stance I’d evolved from riding with ropers; I was taught training techniques I’d never heard of, and then techniques that were the exact opposite of the first techniques; I used fairly severe bits and training devices that were all new to me and eventually became old hat, and I competed for ten years and only won one other buckle. Oh, I placed and won various awards, but I did not become any kind of superstar in competition. During this time I started at least fifty colts myself and helped train probably a hundred others. I was definitely getting a lot of experience with horse training.

Eventually I got burned out on judged competition, for a whole lot of reasons that I’ve written about before so won’t belabor now. I started competing at team roping (a timed event) and I trained quite a few horses to be competent team roping horses, using the techniques I’d learned from the cowhorse and cutting horse people and combining them with the knowledge I had of roping and rope horses. I made some pretty nice horses. Two of which (now retired) are still living with me (and sound). I’m pretty proud of what I accomplished. But at a certain point I was ready to be done training horses. I didn’t want the stress, I didn’t want to get hurt (too old to take the rough knocks), and--I’m finally getting to my point—I was kind of sick of the whole “training” process.

Don’t get me wrong. There is a definite need for horse trainers and horse training—but there’s a downside, too. When you are training a horse you are perpetually in the “teacher” role with that horse. The dialogue goes something like this. “No, I want you to depart in this lead, not that one.” “No, you need to check when I pull on the reins, not raise your head and bull forward harder.” “Yes, that’s right, that’s what I wanted,” (appropriate release/reward). Even when you take your young/green horse for a trail ride, you are teaching him the behavior you want. “Just relax, its not that scary, yes, you must walk by that bush…etc”. There is an adversarial aspect to this because your student isn’t always keen to learn every aspect of the job you are teaching him, especially when certain things are genuinely difficult to do and require effort and hard work. Thus horse training, though it can be very rewarding, can also be stressful for both horse and rider.

There’s another problem, too. Horse training requires that the “trainer” be constantly “telling” the horse what is wanted. And this is a two-edged sword. If a person gets too deeply absorbed in this mindset, virtually all his/her riding time becomes a “lesson”—both for themselves and the horse. And a lot of the joy, as well as the intuitive communication, can go out of the process. And, as I was starting to see, this “trainer” attitude can, at a certain point, actually take a horse backwards.

What do I mean by this? Well, let me give you an example. A certain older man who rode with our small group of ropers considered himself to be a trainer. He frequently gave advice –both to those who asked and those who didn’t—on how to re-train rope horses in order to make them better “broke”. It wasn’t lost on me that those who tried to follow this advice almost always ended up with horses that did not work as well as they had previous to the re-training. It wasn’t that the advice was so much wrong, as I came to see. It was more that the horses didn’t need training.

So this was my first sticking point. I was tired of this trainer mindset: “You need to keep improving, both yourself and your horse. Take lessons, keep training, even on a broke horse.” I could see that this didn’t really work. I knew I was sick of the ego involved in that point of view. But what was the alternative?

I have to admit, I stumbled upon the answer more by chance and laziness (and maybe instinct/intuition) than by any logical progression. Sick of trainers and training young horses and the whole training mindset, I bought two broke horses for my son and myself to trail ride and just went to enjoying them. I absolutely did not “train” on them in any way. They both knew their job; they both had their idiosyncracies. I devoted myself to meeting them in the middle. I expected them to do the job I had for them and to be obedient; I did not pick on them about unimportant details or try to retrain them. I respected them as competent partners who could do the work I had—and didn’t demean them by treating them like colts. And I achieved a very different relationship with them than what I had had with the horses I trained.

As I said, this situation arose partly from my own laziness. But another factor was all the harm I had seen done by trying to re-train broke horses. The older man I mentioned above was the catalyst who taught me this very important lesson. He would buy a broke, competent rope horse and immediately go to retraining the animal. Most rope horses tend to carry themselves a little rigidly (its helpful in the job they have to do), they like to lope in the left lead (they need to be in this lead to make the turn on a roping run), and they are often a bit high headed. This man would take a twelve year old horse that was a solid competitive horse, put a snaffle bit on him and try to correct these “faults”. He would insist the horse “give” his head, lope in the right lead…etc. Some horses accepted this (eventually) and learned to do these things the guy wanted. Some became more and more frustrated and eventually blew up. You couldn’t even rope on them any more. But all of them grew far less confident as rope horses and began having problems they hadn’t had before. It was easy to see that the “retraining” had undermined their confidence in themselves and their understanding of their job. Overall, no matter what it achieved, it was a negative for them emotionally.

My own approach became very different. It was based on respect for a horse that could do a competent job. With my two bombproof trail horses (who were ex team roping horses), if they wanted to lope in the left lead, I just loped to the left. I let them pack their heads how they wanted, as long as they went where I told them. I made no effort to tune up their rather lazy responses to cues for a turn on the haunches in the arena. I insisted on obedience—if we said lope, they were to lope. If we said cross the creek, they were to cross. But as long as they were obedient, solid, safe riding horses, I did not correct them to speak of on technical details. And I was absolutely amazed at the harmony we achieved.

These horses very soon made it clear that they WOULD meet me in the middle. Many of their small negative behaviors simply fell away. They became very relaxed and their degree of reliability, always high, just went up and up. They trusted us and they were confident in themselves and what their job was. They faced any situation that came up out riding with their confidence intact. We seldom argued about anything. My palomino gelding (Sunny) went from a horse my friend called “Small Nasty” to a horse he admitted was a really nice cooperative citizen. And all these good things came about from a LACK of “training.”

I have read some interesting things on other horse blogs (Horse Genes, Mugwump Chronicles, A Year With Horses, Hick Chic—all listed on the sidebar—to name just the posts I happened to see) about “lightness” and I find it fascinating that Sunny and I have achieved a certain sort of “lightness”, albeit not what most people mean by that, through our non-training approach. Sunny is not light in the bridle, he is a clunky mover in many ways, and he just ain’t technically “light”. But this tough minded little guy has become such a willing partner on the trail that when I approach an obstacle, say some rock and logs that we must cross, I can think “the left side looks easier” and the horse will make for that spot. Virtually every time. I am riding him on a loose rein, in a hackamore, and the most I ever have to do is touch the opposite side of his neck with that slack rein and the horse is right where I want him. In that sense, on the trail, he is light. He somehow “hears” my thought and aligns himself with my intent. We work together almost without a physical cue.

There has been quite a bit of discussion in the comments on other blogs about how this sort of “lightness” can be achieved, and I can say that in my particular case it came about through my non training approach. This approach can be boiled down to 1) respect what the horse knows, and 2) remain in charge. In short, though I don’t pick on my savvy old horses about unimportant details, I also don’t brook any insubordination. I remain the boss. Most of the problems with broke horses arise (in my opinion) from over “training” and/or by not staying in charge (not being a good leader). There is a very big difference between allowing a rope horse who is uncomfortable in the right lead to lope in the left lead, and letting that same lazy horse refuse to pick up the lope on your cue. There is an equal difference between “listening” when your trail horse lets you know that a section of trail or obstacle looks/feels dangerous to him, and allowing a horse to balk at an obstacle and refuse it—particularly one you know is safe. (For those who want to know, in the first case the horse sends the message “I’m worried about this but I’ll do it if you tell me to.” In the second case the horse sends the message “I don’t want to do this and I’m refusing." Two different messages.)

Now I am the first to say this non-training approach is not going to work in all situations. Young horses need to be taught to do their job. Horses with a dangerous, problem behavior need retraining, if possible. But a great many older horses really benefit from being met in the middle this way, given a job they understand and are let to do, without being picked on (otherwise known as trained on). So now I want to go back to the statement I made at the beginning of the post.

If you have a green horse, you may need help training him. If you have a problem with your horse, you may need help training him. If you want to compete successfully in a certain event, you may need help from a trainer who is experienced at that event. But if your horse is doing the job you need him to do, you may want to consider not messing with success. You may want to resist that trainer/horseman who is so sure you need to “teach” that old pony to take his right lead, or give his head. You may want to think twice about the advice to take your solid older horse and put that snaffle bit on him and treat him like a colt. Because that approach, in my experience, is more likely to send you backward then forward, and is very capable of giving you problems that you don’t currently have.

Sometimes you’re better off just to enjoy what your horse can do and simply ride him with an uncluttered mind (thanks Kate), focusing on getting the job done (whatever your job is), and not always trying to “perfect” or improve your horse’s performance. Sometimes “training” can get in the way of that intuitive communication that results in “lightness.”

(One example of this that happened for me was when -in the midst of my training days- I began riding a broke rope horse I had not trained myself. This was Flanigan. Flanigan had certain strengths and faults, as all horses do, and just as I have done with my trail horses, I simply met him in the middle and tried to get along. I insisted he do his job--every horse will need the occasional reminder-- but I didn’t sweat over or try to correct his minor peculiarities. I considered him a “made” horse and I knew darn well that he understood a good deal more about the job of team roping than I did. I certainly didn’t try to “train” him in any way. We achieved an extremely harmonious partnership, and in some ways I was able to work with Flanigan more easily than the horses I had trained myself. Why? Because I wasn’t in “trainer” mindset with him. I wasn’t trying to be his teacher. And he wasn’t relating to me as the trainer/teacher. I was the boss, yes. Not the trainer. It made a subtle but important difference in how we communicated. The funny thing was that my friend, Wally, riding Gunner, a horse I had trained, found Gunner to be amazingly light, responsive and “in his hand”—but then, he didn’t train him. He just roped on him.)

So there’s my insight on lightness/communication. Sometimes its best not to train—just ride. This isn’t going to be helpful in all situations, but if you, like me, are riding a broke horse in the double digits, I think its worth contemplating a little. (And Terri, when you talked about the difference between the horses you rode in Africa and your show horses at home, I am thinking this is where some of the difference comes from. What do you think? )

I know a lot of people will probably disagree with the statements I’ve made in this post, and I am very happy to hear your thoughts. Please feel free to state your own approach to this subject in the comments.

My Pony Days with GallopNYC

2012-01-24T06:47:00.000-08:00

by Natalie Keller Reinert

Around here, Wednesday is Pony Day.

On Pony Day, I put on my barn clothes (old flare-legged jeans I never wear anywhere, green t-shirt, Aeropostale zip-up someone once gave me, apparently believing that I was a seventeen-year-old high school student) and my Ariat paddock boots (which, in contrast, I wear all over the city) and hop on Florence, my purple bicycle, to ride over the mountain to the stables.

It's not really a mountain, but when you have grown up in Florida, having to ride up the ridge that bisects west Brooklyn really feels like conquering Mt. Everest. When I get to the summit, at Prospect Park West, I expect to see Victorian-mustachioed mountain climbers celebrating their victory with their sherpas, but it's really only the Italian bakery and that French place with the "fromage" sign in the window.

Riding down the hill on the other side is an exercise in faith: faith that one's vintage bicycle has modern brakes; faith that no one will decide to open the door of a parked car at just the wrong moment and flip you heels-over-head. It's a very steep hill, with a blind curve.

The view in Prospect Park

Then there's the pedestrian bridge over Ocean Parkway. Can you bicycle up and over a pedestrian bridge? Answer: if you stand up on the pedals and nearly kill yourself in the process.

All that should be adventure enough, but my destination lies just at the foot of the pedestrian bridge, and after I've fought with my bike lock for five minutes, it's time to actually get down to work.

Because friends, there are ponies in that there building!

I think one of the coolest things about my neighborhood is that it's a ten-minute bike-ride from a stable. I can't ask for a lot more than that. There aren't very many stables in New York City anymore, did I just get lucky? There's even a dressage arena in the corner of the park where we enter. So nearly every time I go to the park, I get to eavesdrop on a riding lesson.

(It's a real chore not to offer suggestions, too. The tragic life of an ex-riding instructor.)

Rider and volunteers in the ring at Kensington

The ponies of Pony Day live at Kensington Stables, where I volunteer with GallopNYC to do, well, pretty much whatever they want me to. I help move the carriage out of the "arena," a small square space where horses can get a little free time, roll in some dirt, and riders can almost execute a twenty-meter circle. I groom horses before their lessons. I seek out lost girths and match up stirrups and leathers. I do gloriously horsey things.

Then the students arrive.

GallopNYC is a therapeutic riding organization that operates out of two riding stables in New York City: one in Brooklyn, and one in Queens. Most of the students have developmental disorders. They might not speak clearly (or at all), or be obsessive about odd things and find it hard to focus, or have other symptoms that make it impossible for them to lead an independent life.

I think the only logical thing to do with someone who never gets to feel independent is to put them on a horse.

I mean, what do horses make us feel? What magical keywords show up again and again when we gush about why we ride? Here are three: Freedom, and exhilaration, and flight. Here is another: power.

Yes, I've walked this big mama!

Imagine those feelings to someone who is always being minded, someone who will always have to be cared for and guided and instructed like a child. It must be like rising up on their own wings.

The biggest and brightest thing you see during a therapeutic riding lesson is the smile on the rider's face.

The second brightest thing is the smiles on the volunteers' faces. We get an almost unfair amount of pleasure out of this work. Oh hi, I groom horses, hold them for a boy while he and his instructor saddle them up, and then walk and trot the horse around the ring while he practices posting and two-point and throws beanbags hilariously all over the arena. I know, I know, I'm a hero.

Or I am just having a really great time?

The only thing better than waltzing around the tiny arena at Kensington is walking a tacked horse down the street and around an elaborate traffic circle at the southwest corner of Prospect Park (on a marked horse-and-rider lane, mind you) and into the trees of the park. There, a beautiful meadow called Bowling Green has been set aside for GallopNYC. This is a real treat, because with all the space, riders get to trot more than a tiny circle, and I have found that my riders really like to trot.

No matter how worn out and grouchy and behind-deadline I am (and I am usually all three of those things) after two hours at the stable, I'm completely revived. There's so much energy, and enthusiasm, and excitement crammed into those two hours. There's so much happiness and accomplishment.

I used to think that therapeutic riding required skills I didn't have. It turns out I couldn't have been more wrong. No, I'm not in anyway educated or certified in working with developmental disabilities. But I can walk a horse. And, believe it or not, not everyone can do that!

GallopNYC has a great Facebook page, by the way, full of horsey content. Give them a "like!"

Winter "Wonderland"

2012-01-21T22:14:00.000-08:00

I'm no stranger to snow. After all, I was born and raised in Eastern Washington.

For those of you whose only exposure to Washington is Seattle and rain, Eastern Washington is quite different. Once you cross the Cascade Mountains everything changes. The Douglas Firs give way to Ponderosa Pines. The dense underbrush turns to sagebrush and cactus. The wet turns to dry in the summer and snow in the winter.

So I grew up with snow and learned to drive in snow. That doesn't mean I like it. Oh, yeah, it's pretty--for a while--then I've had enough of the stuff. I've never been a cold weather person. In Western Washington, you have all sorts of complications when it snows which I didn't have in Eastern Washington. For one, the traffic is a heck of a lot worse. People aren't used to driving in snow, nor are cities and counties used to dealing with snow. Crazy drivers seem to think that four-wheel-drives stop faster or have some magic way to get traction on ice.

This past week, we've had the snow storm of the decade in Western Washington. Luckily for us, the snow was mostly an inconvenience. It could've been much worse. Mother Nature gave us fair warning, starting with a preview of 2 to 3 inches last weekend, then a few more at the beginning of the week. On Wednesday, the main event brought ten plus inches of snow in about eight hours, piled on top of the existing snow. That's a lot of snow, even in areas used to handling snow. The encore came in the form of an ice storm with freezing rain and high wind warnings.

It could have been so much worse. I missed a few days of work but was able to telecommute and do most of my job from home. My husband only missed one day and had the roads to himself on his drive to work the second day. We lost power for only six hours, while many unfortunate people still don't have power. Several of our trees lost their tops during the ice storm portion, but nothing hit our house, the fences, or the barn.

Our animals fared well. The cat, a creature of comfort, refused to go outside for three days, while the dogs loved the snow.

I spent a lot of time breaking ice from the water trough and hauling buckets from the tack room to the stall. I couldn't get the wheelbarrow through the snow, so the stall needed a good cleaning today.

Gailey had had enough of being cooped up so I opened up the pasture gate and let her run. I happened to have my camera in hand as the dogs and I stood outside the gate and watched as she ran laps around the small pasture. She'd rip along the fence line, wheel around, and gallop back toward me. With move that'd make a reining horse jealous, she'd slide to a stop inches from the gate, snow flying. She'd wheel around again, bucking and rearing and race back across the pasture. Her sheer joy over her freedom was a treat to watch, and I thought I'd share some pictures with you. I hope you enjoy them.

The Billy Dal Gang

2012-01-20T09:21:00.000-08:00

I have posted this short story in the past and it is also in an anthology that I contributed to, which was edited by our friend Verna: Why We Ride: Women Writers and the Horses in Their Liveshttp://tiny.cc/o81xx

This is a fun story for me. It is what my childhood was all about and why my passion for horses and writing continues to be so strong still today. I hope you enjoy!

Have a wonderful weekend,
Michele
http://www.michelescott.com

P.S. Anyone with a Kindle can download my book THE CARTEL for free for the next 24 hours. There are a couple of horses in the book, and one character who has a goal of going to The Olympics. (she happens to be my favorite character. Hmmm...) http://tiny.cc/r8h5w

The Billy Dal Gang

Michele Scott

We called ourselves “The Billy Dal Gang.” Four ten-year-old girls, their horses and my dad.

My dad Dal was, of course, Billy Dal. There was Billy Stace, Billy Renee, Billy Laura, and me Billy Shell. While grooming and saddling up our horses, we’d get into character. Billy Dal would set up the scenario. “Okay, girls, we got three bad guys, and I mean bad guys on the run. They stole a lot of money from that there bank.” He’d point to our house. “Now we gotta go find them and arrest them, and bring ‘em back.”

“Yes we do, Billy Dal!”

“We gotta be real careful and sneak up on ‘em. They’re armed and dangerous.”

We would giggle at my dad’s silly antics, but once we were up on our horses it was a different deal. We were playing the roles. Dad had a sure-footed Quarter horse named Smokey that led the gang. He was a horse with sharp instincts. Several times as we would wind down single file from the mountain, the thick chaparral smelling sweet and earthy, surrounding us on the rocky trail, and occasionally, Smokey would stop on a dime. Billy Dal would turn around bringing a finger to his lips, his blue eyes tinged with a stern warning for us to not move. Our adrenaline pumping as we’d come to know before we ever heard the zing and rattle of the snake that Smokey had spotted a rattler.

We would wait for the snake to back away before clucking the horses forward, as Billy Dal’s constant rule was to leave nature alone. He didn’t believe in killing the snakes out on the trail as many others did. “They were here first,” he’d say.

Making it down off the mountain we would ride through what we learned was former Indian grounds in San Diego county. As we descended into the foothills, we passed a crumbling stone wall built hundreds of years ago, ancient remains at the bottom of the mountain. Danger lurking around every corner, on every trail. It always seemed as if a slight breeze was blowing through that passage, even on days when there was no wind. It was the kind of breeze that carried a whistle on it, and would make the hair on the back of the neck stand on end. It was easy to let our young imaginations get the best of us, wondering if someone was watching us as that feeling of an other worldly presence remained strong until we got down onto the flats. We would all grow quiet passing through the open crevice in the stone wall. In a word, it was spooky. And Billy Dal loved to add to the mystery of it all.

Once we past the cobblestone wall and entered the flats, Billy Dal would again bring a finger to his lips and shake his head. We all understood that this time it wasn’t a snake. He’d point straight ahead and mouth, “Bad guys.” In retrospect I think my dad was just trying to get all of us little girls to stop yapping our mouths because we could make a lot of noise, particularly my friend Billy Stace and me.

Billy Stace and I had a kind of competition between us. It was called, “My horse is faster than your horse.” This debate could take up the entire three hour trail ride if we didn’t have the distraction of The Billy Dal Gang. Stace had a petite grey Arabian mare named Zelle. Zelle was a little loose in the brain. Okay, she was nuts much of the time, but, yeah, she could run. My horse was definitely faster, though--definitely. I’d had the good fortune to raise this mare from a yearling when my dad had her delivered for my sixth birthday. He bought her for a hundred dollars without ever seeing her. He coined her ugly duckling when she stepped off the trailer. But to me she was the most beautiful horse in the world, and she was by far one of the most patient animals I’ve ever had. This mare as a two-year-old would let me lay on her back while in her corral. I’d climb all over her. I have no clue what my parents were thinking, but thank goodness the horse was as sweet natured as she was.

Full grown Dandy stood over sixteen hands. She had only two spots on her rear, but apparently that was enough to be a registered Appaloosa, and this horse could haul butt! Stace and I liked to get down to the flats and race each other. I can still hear the argument now. “I won, Shelly. I did. You started before me, so technically I won and you cheated.”

“No way. I started when you started and I won fair and square. My horse is faster than yours,” I’d say.

“No she isn’t.”

“Wanna make a bet?” And this was how it went. We started bringing stopwatches with us, but the argument to this day (thirty years later) still has not been decided. Both Stace and I (we are still great friends) have agreed to disagree on this count. Dad wouldn’t let us race each other when he was with us, but on those days when he couldn’t go, we were all about getting down onto the flats and moving out.

Dad also liked speed and, as Billy Dal, he added a bit more tension to our game besides only seeking out the bad guys. My father, as you’ve guessed by now, is quite a storyteller. We’d be riding along down on the flats with cottonwood trees on either side of us. Many times cotton would blow in the wind and we might suggest it was snow falling, even in eighty degree weather. Each of us with long hair hanging down our backs, our faces turned up to soak in the sun, and all of a sudden Billy Dal would say, “Oh no. Oh no. We gotta get outta here!”

“What? Why?” the Billy Dal Gang would squeal.

“It’s the hoop snake!”

“The hoop snake?”

“Oh yes. The hoop snake. You don’t know about the hoop snake?”

“No,” we would all sing out.

Billy Dal would point up. “Look up there at the top of the ridge. Don’t you see it? He’s the color of coral with black rings every few inches on his diamond back skin. He’s related to the Diamond Back Rattler, but he’s much deadlier. And he’s after us.”

“What do you mean?” one of us would ask.

“I mean he’s spotted us and in a minute if we don’t get out of here, he’ll be down off that mountain so fast and bite your horses and have us all for dinner.”

“He’s a snake, Billy Dal. He can’t eat us all for dinner.”

“He’s not just a snake. He’s the hoop snake. He rounds himself up like a circle, takes his tail in his mouth, and rolls down the hill. His prey are horses and their riders, and believe me he could eat us all up. We gotta go. Now!”

Billy Dal would put Smokey into a gallop and we’d all follow suit, laughing and squealing and carrying on about how we’d better hurry so we didn’t become snake food. I don’t know how many times we played out this scenario. It could have been a hundred or more. It didn’t matter. It was so much fun and we’d add to it, change it up a bit, but it always came down to pure ecstasy and freedom on the backs of our horses.

After a good gallop and getting away from the hoop snake, there were all sorts of other “enemies” we had to keep an eye out for. There was a pack of hostile Indians we had to watch out for who, if we weren’t careful, could track us and we’d wind up scalped. We had to watch out for all sorts of wild animals and of course, those bad guys. Any chance we had to “getaway” from anything considered an enemy, we did, and we did it quickly.

Our trail rides typically wound up at “the saloon.” We’d ride along a trail that would take us through a golf course. We’d only go onto the course if it was later in the day and Billy Dal scoped it out to make sure there weren’t too many golfers on the course. I still have no clue how we never got kicked off that golf course. We’d ride through on the cart trails and on up to the bar, where Billy Dal would order us all Shirley Temples and he’d have a beer. I think part of the reason we didn’t get kicked off is we were sort of entertainment. I’d learned how to stand up on Dandy in the saddle and I was even able to do a headstand on her back. We were like a regular circus show. Looking back, I have to wonder how I made it out of childhood.

“Okay, gang, we’ve had our refreshments and now we gotta get back out there and track those bad guys.”

“Yes, sir, Billy Dal!” And we’d be off again and back out onto the trail. If the day was a hot one and the river bottom had water in it, we’d many times head over to the river, we’d untack the horses, slide off the their backs as they went into the water and hang on to their tails and swim with them. Of course there were always “dangers” in the river bottom, too.

“Watch out for that crocodile, Billy Shell,” one of the other gang members would yell.

“Yeah he’s gonna eat you.”

Fits of laughter would break out amongst us as we truly were having the best times of our lives.

We also had names for our trails. Our favorite was the jumping trail. My mother would never allow me to jump as a kid (guess what I do now?), so I’m pretty sure if she knew about this trail she’d have come totally unglued.

The jumping trail was covered with brush and cottonwoods. Talk about a cross-country course! Jumping the trail was always precluded with another story, like almost everything we did as the gang. The best part is that with all of the trees and brush there were shadows that filled the area. Imaginations ran wild, and even on days my friends couldn’t join us, I could come up with all sorts of fantastical story ideas. As far as I was concerned, fairies hid underneath the rocks that lined the trail, elves played in the shadows, and trolls hid underneath the logs we jumped, waiting to surprise us with their snaggly teeth and green, grotesque faces. They never did, but it was great to imagine that they might.

And of course, there were the horses who were characters in their own right. They tolerated our fantasies. Dandy was never one to spook or do anything flighty. She was calm, strong, and patient for a young horse. Smokey was the leader, like Dad—both wise. Billy Stace had Zelle who ironically enough was a lot like my friend—both a bit hyper and strong willed. Billy Renee had an older Thoroughbred who tolerated whatever was tossed his way without much ado, and Billy Laura had a Buckskin gelding who wasn’t the best mannered animal of the group (loved to nip others’ rear ends), but all the same he followed the pack and no matter what, we knew when we set out on those horses with my dad that we weren’t going to be disappointed.

The only disappointment came when we heard those words, “Well, Gang, we better head home. The mother folk will have dinner ready and it’s getting dark.”

A collective sigh would ring out and we would head back up the hill and into our neighborhood.

There are days now, as I learn more about the horse than I ever learned as a kid, that I wished I’d participated in Pony Club or horse shows, other than the little backyard shows I’d occasionally do. At times I feel ignorant about these amazing animals. But as I reflect back on my childhood and how horses were such a huge part of it, I realize I wouldn’t change it for the world. I may not have understood the mechanics of the animal, the right feed to give them (we were known for feeding them coffee cans filled with grain daily with their hay—the horses loved it), what the right lead was, or the right diagonal, or any of that. That all came as I grew into an adult. But what I did learn, what I do understand, is that to me the horse represents far more than being an animal who tolerates me up on his/her back. To me, the horse represents family, friendship, imagination, and total fantasy. The soul of the horse has driven me to explore who I am as a creative person and that comes from the animals I enjoyed as a kid and the father who was never too old to be a kid himself, but always wise enough to be safe, loving, nurturing, and fun.

Magical or Foolish?

2012-01-18T06:36:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

Warning: for those of you who enjoy my upbeat posts about what is good in my life with horses, this is not such a post. Every now and then I like to keep it real by calling it as I see it when it comes to some bit of what I consider to be dangerous silliness that is circulating around horse blog land. (Or that I see in real life, for that matter.) Sometimes this stuff is coming from what most people consider to be “reputable sources” and I notice that, for whatever reason (maybe folks are intimidated), nobody seems willing to speak up and say, hey, I don’t agree with this. So, I’m speaking up. Mostly because I do believe some things are truly dangerous and should be avoided by all but the most experienced horse people. The downside is too great. Those who disagree with me on this one, feel free to say so in the comments. I am always Ok with hearing a dissenting point of view. I like to raise “difficult” questions and issues because sometimes the discussion that comes out of this is very interesting and productive. For those who would rather not hear my fairly strong opinions on the subject of horse training methods, please click on the “x” now.

So here’s my rant:

Not too long ago I read a couple of blog posts written by two very different women who both call themselves horse trainers. There’s not too much these two have in common, other than that general classification. But yet they both wrote lyrical pieces about “playing” with a rearing horse at liberty. And I have to admit I winced.

Both of these pieces were well written; though they come from very different perspectives. One woman was advocating (and offering to teach) this sort of thing. The other was merely writing about something she’d done in the past. But both made the “game” sound downright magical. Had I not had as many years of experience with horses as either of these gals, I might have been tempted to try such a thing. And all I can say to that is, yikes(!)

Let me just put this simply. Playing games with a rearing horse at liberty is foolish and dangerous for most people. Maybe these two trainer gals have some extra special skills that protect them from harm. Or maybe they’ve just been lucky. But I am here to tell you that won’t necessarily happen for the rest of us, and the downside is huge.

Not long after I first began blogging, I read a post in which a woman who had been playing such liberty games with her horse was kicked hard in the chest and suffered a heart attack. I read that and my first thought was, “Ouch. This is just the kind of life threatening, completely unnecessary wreck we horse people DON’T need.” My second thought was, “Who teaches these people to do these silly things?” Having been raised by traditional horsemen, I would no more play “games” with a horse at liberty than I would lie down in front of one and try to get him to step over me (and yeah, they probably do that, too).

(I would like to add as an aside here that I’m sure that there are positive, relatively safe ways to work with horses at liberty, aside from round penning—I’m quite familiar with that-- and I’m equally sure that some of you can explain them to me. I do know that some training methods rely on these liberty games and some people think highly of them. I am not an admirer of such methods, but I totally respect everyone’s right to their own approach. If you’ve studied this stuff and you are an expert, more power to you. What I am trying to point out in this post is that there is a big, big possibility of getting hurt if you are not totally on top of your “game” in this area. This is not something to play around with because an online “trainer” that you admire has talked about it.)

At one point, in a discussion with one former horse trainer on a similar subject (interacting with horses at liberty while feeding), I said, “Well, that works until it doesn’t.” And boy did I catch hell for saying that. I had disagreed with the mighty trainer and put forth an opinion that assumed I might know as much as she did on this subject. And that didn’t fly at all. But folks, I am standing by what I said. These kinds of games work until they don’t. And when they don’t, the horse has just double barreled you in the chest.

How do I know this? Because I’ve spent plenty of time watching horses play with other horses in the pasture or paddock. And yes, they rear and play bite face and run about, having great fun. Until eventually a non-dominant horse thinks this might be his moment, or a dominant horse decides the other horse has stepped out of line. And whammo, here comes the double barreled kick. And its not playful. Its powerful.

Plenty of horses have been seriously injured this way. Plenty of horses have had to be put down due to a broken leg—some I have known. A few horses I knew of were kicked square in the head and died on the spot. Yes, it happens. And if you don’t think it can happen to you when you’re playing with a horse at liberty, interacting with him like you are another horse, then I think you’ve been drinking too much of the Kool Aid.

The one woman who advocates these games goes on and on about how you can deepen your relationship with your horse by doing this sort of thing and brags on the magic that is possible. There are photos of her in EXACTLY the wrong position to be in with any loose horse. I’m reading away wondering what she puts in that Kool Aid to get folks to suspend their common sense, when I come upon the icing on the cake. This woman recommends that you play these games before you ride your horse. Every time. And if your horse doesn’t want to “engage”, then you shouldn’t ride the horse that day. I mean, seriously?

Now if this person wanted to reply to me, I’m guessing she would say that she stands in these oh-so-vulnerable positions with a loose horse because she has developed a relationship of trust with said horse. And that this is all part of the magic that is possible. And my reply to this would be just what I said before. It works until it doesn’t. And at the point where the horse decides he’s not in the mood for your game—well, you’re back to being double barreled in the chest. And yes, this happens to experienced horse people. And yes, they do get badly hurt. Again, the downside is too great.

OK. Here’s my thoughts on the magic that is possible with horses. And I absolutely have this magic with my horses all the time. If it weren’t so simple to achieve, maybe I could set up as a horse guru myself.

Magic is walking down to the corral and having your horse meet you at the gate and put his head in the halter. Magic is grooming and saddling with no issues and climbing aboard. You’ll notice I don’t mention round penning or lunging or any other “ground work” first. We just climb on and ride off—on two relaxed well-behaved horses. We walk until they’re warmed up and these horses carry us willingly and reliably wherever we want to go. Along the beach, through the woods, across the creek, up the steep, narrow path through the trees…you name it. Magic is feeling completely relaxed and comfortable as you ride along by the surf on your equally relaxed and comfortable horse. Magic is being free of anxiety, let alone not being scared or hurt. Magic is doing this over and over again, hundreds of times, with the same pleasant result. That’s the kind of magic I have with my horses.

My horses nicker when they see me, they meet me at the gate to be caught, as I said before. They do what we ask when we ride them. They are calm and reliable. I believe that we are all happy with each other. And this is the magic I have—and the magic I want. I cannot imagine a system that involves giving up a proposed ride simply because Fluffy doesn’t choose to engage in the liberty game today. In my eyes that’s not magic. That’s silly.

How do I achieve my brand of magic? Its simple, and I’ll give you the secret right now for free. I interact with my horses as a competent, kind, firm, consistent, traditional horseman. And I thoughtfully chose two solid, broke, experienced trail horses in the double digits for my son and myself to ride.

Its not tricky. I don’t play games with my horses. I do catch them at times to turn them loose to graze, I do make sure the rides are well within their capacity, I make sure they have plenty of space to move around 24/7 and I feed them carefully such that they are at the right weight. I feed three times a day. I don’t ride them if they are sore or off in any way. I care about them and retire them when their working days are done. My horses take reassurance from me and accept my leadership. They trust me. Just as I trust them. But I still treat them as a traditional horseman treats a horse.

What does this mean? It means I stay in charge. I remain the boss. A kind and thoughtful boss, but the boss at all times. I am a boss who is willing to listen to another opinion (cause yeah, I pay attention when my horses try to tell me something). And I don’t fool around playing games with loose horses. (Yes, I’ll go in the corral or pasture and rub on a horse or whatnot, but I remain carefully aware of staying in a safe position at all times and I keep a watchful eye on the horse’s body language.) I’ve seen too many wrecks in a lifetime spent with horses (fortunately very, very few of these wrecks involved me), to want to take an unnecessary chance of getting hurt. You horse gurus feel free to comment and tell me what I’m missing. I’m here to say what I’ve got. A solid track record for staying safe, having lots of fun on horseback (and not spending my time dinking around with my broke horse on the ground, which I don’t enjoy), and keeping both horses and people undamaged and happy. That’s poetry to me.

And playing games with a rearing horse at liberty? That’s foolish/dangerous in my book. Perhaps the gals who wrote those lyrical passages can manage to do it safely…most of the time. But they are doing no one any favors to describe such a thing in a way that encourages naïve young girls and equally naïve and not-so-agile middle aged women to see this as a fun/magical thing to do with a horse. Even with an experienced “trainer,” I’ll stick with what I said long ago. That sort of thing works until it doesn’t.

Feel free to give your own take on this in the comments. I’m aware that some folks I respect are more partial to these liberty games than I am and I am happy to hear where I might have something to learn. I always like hearing others’ ideas.

Here's to the Retirees

2012-01-16T16:51:00.000-08:00

By Terri Rocovich

Blogs in past weeks by Laura and Alison; and the worry that Francesca went through to get Qrac settled into a new home; got me thinking about retired horses and how important it is that we remain responsible guardians throughout their lives. On one of her past blogs Laura commented about her heard of equine retirees, that we, at the very least, owe horses a happy and peaceful retirement. I could not agree more!

I have never been one to sell or pass horses along when they need to slow down or retire completely because of age or injury. This is not to say that others should not, sometimes finding a semi-retired horse for a beginning rider is the best thing that benefits both parties as well as the horse. Several of my students have horses that were formerly high level competitors and these horses, now in their teens and twenties, are now gleefully teaching their riders jumping and dressage at a lower level. However, I also tell my clients who are lucky enough to get one of these wise and accomplished horses that, when the time comes for full retirement, they are responsible for that horse’s care for the remainder of their days. It IS the least we can do.

As for me, I have sold only 1 horse in my lifetime. This is partially because I get far too attached to my horses to let them go and partially because as a trainer, my semi-retired horses have an invaluable use as schoolmasters. On the occasion when horses due to injury can no longer work at any level, I let them live out their days in pasture but with the same level of health care as any of my competition horses. Horses not in work still need regular farrier care, deworming, vaccines etc., and somehow people forget this when horses are no longer in full work.

As hard as it is in some ways to watch out animal’s bodies’ age (I feel the same way when I look in the mirror), it is fun to watch their personalities change, or not, as the years pass. My personal herd of retired or semi-retired horses include Pete, my 23 year old thoroughbred, Tahoe, my 30 something lesson pony, Charlie, my 32 year old retired event horse and Hank, my 12 year old Paint, sidelined because of progressive Sidebone. Pete and Tahoe still have careers as schoolmasters while Charlie and Hank are not ridden at all.

I have had Pete since he was 9 and his personality has not mellowed much as he has reached his golden years. Even though he is definitely creaky, especially on cold mornings, he still thinks and acts like he is in his prime. The running joke in the barn is that he thinks that 23 means 2 plus 3 equals five and that is how he should act. He is still known to spook at invisible demons and leave the ground at inopportune times, especially if someone dares to hang on the bit while riding him. He is good hearted about his acrobatics and rarely does anyone come off of him, but he does get rider’s attention as if to say “I may be older, but I still have it.” In spite of his age, he still has a huge extended trot, albeit not as through as it used to be. His flying changes are a bit stiff but he now often throws a buck in the middle for some added flair.

Tahoe on the other hand relishes in his role as the elder statesman and is renowned for his sweet temperament and his talent for building any rider’s confidence. At 30+ years old I don’t allow much jumping for Tahoe, other than very small ones, but his value lies in easy trot and canter that even the smallest of kid can feel comfortable on. This is not to say that Tahoe has always been perfect. He could be quite the bad boy when he was younger and sent my niece flying on more than a few occasions that would then result in “Aunt Terri” tune-ups on appropriate behavior. Today though Tahoe takes his job as a babysitter very seriously and will walk the minute he feels a kid off balance and wait for them to right themselves. He loves being in the center of attention with the kids and will stand patiently for hours being groomed, giving kisses and begging for treats.

Charlie is a mare that I bought as a 3 three year nearly 30 years ago back in my barrel racing days. She is an appendix quarter horse and was bred for speed which I thought made her perfect as my next barrel racing prospect. She was fast and could spin and turn on a dime, the only problem was that her dislike for running barrels was only matched by her dislike of cowboys, ropes and rodeos in general. Needless to say I started looking for another career for her which is what led me to the sport of Eventing. Charlie was a cute mover and could score very well in dressage when she chose to be calm. She also loved the running part of cross country and was a very scopey jumper when she chose to be. Detect a theme here? It is amazing that I love her as much as I do considering how often I flew through the air like a missile off of her. Charlie could easily pop over a 4 foot oxer one moment and then dump me on a small cross rail the next. It all depended on the day or the minute. Can we say moody mare!!
She did have a somewhat successful career as an Event horse but it was definitely hit and miss but regardless, when a suspensory injury ended her jumping career, I kept her eventually sending her to live in pasture at my sister’s gorgeous farm in the Santa Barbara area. Charlie is now 32 and has cataracts in both eyes that significantly impair her vision but she lives in a pasture with a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean. Geez, I want her retirement.
Hank is the adorable Paint on which I am pictured on the side bar of this blog. He was rescued from Mexican Charros and even though his past abuse still keeps him from trusting anyone completely, he was a great lower level Event horse and rose to 2nd level dressage until Sidebone, probably stemming from past abuse, calcified to the point that I just could not keep him sound, even for flat work.

Hank was miserable just hanging around my barn and would sadly watch me ride the other horses not understanding why not him. I finally made the decision to let him live at one of my client’s facility and be a barn mate to her horse. Hank is happy and healthy and is a great buddy to Faleno, Sandra’s horse. Hank and Faleno play and hang out together and Hank has recently taken to jumping out of Sandra’s arena when turned out (a 4’ fence) so he can go graze in her avocado orchard. Not great for his Sidebone, but try telling him that.
The other retiree at my place is Krissy, Michele Scott’s mare. Krissy suffers from a mild neurologic “wobbler” syndrome which prevents her from being worked. She can be ridden as long as she stays quiet and does not over flex her neck but that is not always an easy feat. She still thinks she is a sweet young thing and when not trying to be the “cougar” to every young male horse on my property, she is bucking as playing in the turn-out like a 2 year old.
Sadly not every horse enjoys the happy retirement that they deserve and even some of the most accomplished and famous of equine athletes have been cruelly discarded once they are no longer of “use” in other words, making money, for the human that controls their destiny. One such case was Ferdinand, an incredible thoroughbred race horse that even after winning the Belmont and being exported to Japan as a breeding stallion, ended up at the killers when he was no longer of value to the syndicate that owned him. It all comes down to the ethics and scruples of these horse’s human guardians.

This brings me to another equine celebrity who IS living the kind of pampered retirement that they deserve. Anyone who even remotely follows Dressage knows the name Brentina. Brentina was one of the greatest dressage horses of all time and she and her rider, Debbie McDonald, accomplished what no other U.S. horse/rider dressage partnership had done before. Their accomplishments are too many to list, but Debbie and Brentina were one of the first to really put the U.S. on the global dressage map. And I am happy to say that Brentina receives the same level of conscientious care today as she did in her competitive years. How do I know this?? Well I am proud to say that, at least for this Winter, Brentina is a resident at my sister’s farm in Santa Barbara, a fact which gives my sister gloating rights over me, probably for life.
This past Christmas, I got teased when, upon arrival at my sister’s place on Christmas eve, I stopped by her barn to meet Brentina before going up to the house. My sister Christi, chided, what you go to see Brentina before me, to which I answered – well it’s BRENTINA!!!!

To add to my star struck delight, I even got the opportunity to bring her in from pasture and groom her. What an amazing horse she is, even several years retired, she is still gorgeous and loved all the attention I showered on her. She loves her face to me rubbed, especially her eyes, and is VERY serious about her food. Debbie McDonald chose my sister’s farm for Brentina to spend this winter because of the grass pastures, a 16’ stall with attached paddock, their ability and willingness to soak her hay and feed several small feedings per day, plus the farm’s proximity to Brentina’s regular vet. I think I can safely say that in retirement Brentina receives a higher level of care that many people do let alone horses. In a world where competition horses are often discarded and/or even put down when no longer of competitive value, Debbie McDonald’s devotion to Brentina’s care and happiness is both refreshing and gratifying. It is as it should be.
I only wish that every horse in their “declining years” could live this kind of life. Like Laura said – we owe them at least that much. Do you have a retiree? I would love to hear about them.

A New Passion!

2012-01-14T12:45:00.000-08:00

I've been negligent lately about commenting on the blog, updating my Whirlwind Facebook page, dusting, brushing my teeth, grading papers (you get the picture) because I am suddenly pursuing a new passion. No, it's not washing clothes and hanging them on the line. I'm auctioning and thrifting in preparation for opening a booth in the local antique mall. What??? you ask. Where did THAT interest come from? And how are you going to fit it into your already crammed life of teaching, writing, riding, blogging, and poop cleaning? Good questions, so let me try and explain it to you (and me).

I have always loved auctions, antiques and vintage anything, but in the throes of raising a family and establishing a career, those interests flew out the door along with the extra money needed to actually buy at an auction. Now, however, my son has graduated college and has a good paying job. My daughter is in her last semester and the prospect of her leaving the nest has sent me into a panic. When she went back to VA Tech after Christmas break, we both boo-hooed like babies. I knew last summer when she left for college that something was missing in my life and that I needed to find a new passion to lessen the pain of Beth setting out of her own. Writing has temporarily fizzled. After sixty books and too many proposals to count, I am worn out. So when a friend suggested an auction in November, I heartily agreed and was instantly hooked. Since then, I have decided to become a business woman, albeit one who has never been able to do math. I've gathered goods with gusto, talked to the tax man, met with other booth renters to pick their brains, and am gradually preparing to DO IT.

We who live in the land of plenty are fortunate to be able to reinvent ourselves. I am astounded at my excitement at this new path. The photo of vintage aprons thrills me as much as finding Arcoco plates at Goodwill for 25 cents a piece and a Royal Doulton figurine for a dollar. I know I won't make a profit for months at a time, but right now, the fun outweighs the reality. Now the big question is: what passion would you like to pursue that somehow got lost in your life? And are you ready to go for it? Or are you already pursuing that passion?

Oh, and PS if you're cleaning out your attic and basement and find some odd/cute/vintage collectibles, I'll pay shipping and even make an offer!

All the Pretty Things

2012-01-12T01:32:00.000-08:00

I’ve always loved fashion and clothes. It’s genetic; my grandmother owned a shop filled with fabulous women’s wear, so my mother grew up with first hand access to the latest styles. As a child, one of the highlights of going to visit my grandmother in the north of England was diving into a big wooden trunk filled with dozens of party dresses my mother wore to dances in the nineteen-fifties, selecting something twirly-skirted and fabulous, then wiggling into it before catwalking up and down the long hallway that overlooked a big square patio. Sometimes my friend Jillian would come over from across the street and we’d play on the swing in the garden, enjoying the way the wind whooshed with my mother’s satins and silks. In fact, until recently I still had a beautiful black lace outfit my mother wore to a particularly special party, but since it didn’t fit me or my daughter, I gave it to my slinky-figured younger sister who wowed the crowds when she wore it to a party last summer.

As I get older I don’t buy as many clothes as I used to. While lovely little designer dresses still tug at my heartstrings once in a while, most of the time I’ll just give them an amorous fondle and put them back on the rail, because chances are I’d wear them once in a blue moon, so what’s the point? My wall to wall wardrobe is filled with clothes that I’ve had for years but hardly ever wear, because - most of the time - my lifestyle revolves around jeans and jodhpurs and sweaters and tee-shirts. Where do I go day, after day? I go to the stables, and I go grocery shopping. Apart from occasional weekend evenings when my husband and I will see friends or maybe go to a restaurant, that’s about it.

Nevertheless, wherever I go, whatever I do, I always like to look nicely put together. And since the thing I do most is ride, I like to look nice while doing it. Although I tend not to be organized enough to match my clothing colour scheme to my horse’s colour scheme on a day to day basis (I have a friend who is!), I’m picky enough to switch a red fleece blanket for a navy blue one if I happen to be wearing my plum riding coat instead of my dark green one. I wouldn’t want to give Qrac, myself or anyone around us a colour-clashing induced headache!

I’m gradually developing a pretty impressive collection of colour-coordinated saddle blankets and bandages. It’s probably a dressage thing, but I love to see Qrac elegantly decked out. I love grooming him until he’s super-shiny, painting his feet with black hoof oil, and spend ages brushing out his long, thick mane and tail, occasionally using a dollop of Cowboy Magic (I love that stuff! They don’t sell it here, so I brought a huge bottle back from America when I visited last summer) for a super-swishy effect. When it comes to tacking up, if I don’t have bandages to match a particular saddle-blanket, I’ll compromise with white or off-white. I go through phases when I like to dress him in bright colours, such as the bright turquoise he’s wearing in this photo…

Most of the time, however, I prefer more subdued, classical colours. Last weekend I bought a lovely sandy coloured saddle-blanket edged with white and pale blue, which is great as it works with quite a few sets of bandages. I also bought a vanilla coloured one edged with blue striped piping that will look gorgeous with matching vanilla bandages! I also ordered a lovely black one edged with silver, which I’m considering having embroidered with his name. It probably sounds really silly, but when I’m driving to the stables, I often find myself planning Qrac’s “outfit” for
the day. Shall I dress him in the dark grey with the white edge? The chocolate brown?
How about bright red? Or maybe that nice old brown and blue saddle blanket? He’s not worn that one in a while. Hmmm… Decisions, decisions!

How about you? Are you interested in clothes? Do you like to play dress-up with your horse?

The Light

2012-01-11T07:06:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

We’ve been riding quite a bit this winter, as the weather has been great. 60 degrees and sunny, most days. I know we need rain, but the truth is we can’t influence the weather by wishing or complaining…so I’ve just been enjoying it. And I’ve been meditating on what is so special about these winter rides.

Its the light. Pure and crystal-clear and sharp, winter light is like no other light. Illuminating the bare trees and dark water—a chilly, brilliant sparkle. Look at the photos below, taken from Sunny’s back on a recent trail ride, as I follow my son on his sorrel horse, Henry, following our friends on two dark horses, down the side of the canyon to cross the creek at the bottom. Doesn’t the light just speak to you?

And again, riding on the beach, awash in blue-- surreal, thrilling winter light, with a breeze tossing the horses’ manes and tails around.

The above photo shows my son on Henry, riding towards Moss Landing, a small town on California’s Monterey Bay.

Of course, much as I love the winter light, I delight equally in the soft green/gold light of spring, and the mellow, full-bodied, dreamy light of summer. Oh, and I love the long, golden slant of autumn light. I cannot say that I have a favorite season. I can say that I love the brilliant light of winter.

I guess light is a subject best illustrated with images rather than words. So here are a few more winter moments from my world with horses.

My barnyard at morning feeding.

Winter roses—this is Crepuscule, that reliably blooms this time of year in my garden, shot from Sunny’s back. The name sounds ugly in English, but means “evening” in French.

My son took this photo of his horse, Henry, coming up our driveway after a ride on New Year’s Day.

Riding down the trail on my fuzzy little yellow horse on a misty day last week. The light is softer, but still has that frosty-white quality.

How about you guys? I know you live in many very different climates—is there anything special about riding in the winter for you? Or is winter just a huge negative, and riding pretty much impossible, or unpleasant at best?

My trail riding here in the winter usually gets shut down by rain. Our trails are all hilly, and if they’re wet they can be slick. And I am, let’s face it, a big baby about conditions. I want to feel safe and uhmmm, reasonably comfortable. So I won’t go riding if its too cold or very windy, or, oh well, you get it. Feel free to call me a wimp.

Today is supposed to be sunny and 65—I’m off to ride the trail that goes down the canyon to Aptos Creek (shown in the first three photos). It’s a nice ride on a reasonably warm day. Since it goes through the redwood forest, it’s a little too cool and shady most winter days. But we’re not having a normal winter (so far). And I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Happy trails!

The Grey Horse

2012-01-10T01:00:00.000-08:00

by Linda Benson

I’m reading Jane Smiley’s TRUE BLUE right now, which is about a grey horse that is quite lovely, except for his habit of occasionally spooking at something, as if he’d seen a ghost. I’m enjoying the book, because it reminds me of a grey horse I owned for a short while that behaved in the same fashion.

This happened many years ago, and I remember going to look at a grey horse for sale, and I was quite taken with him. He was a dark steel grey with dapples and a black mane and tail. Not a large horse, maybe fifteen hands, but he had a lovely head, was compact and put together so nicely that he’d turn heads. The kind of horse that was just balanced all over, so you wanted to keep looking and looking at him.

He was a little green, and was being ridden out in a field by a pretty good cowboy - a young man who might also want to buy him. I went because I knew the people involved, and I was also in the market for a new horse to ride. The grey gelding just glided across the field in a nice slow lope as several of us stood around and watched, and he had his feet underneath him at all times. I was quite taken with him, thinking to myself, boy, I’d sure like to own him, but surely this guy riding him will buy him.

Then, out in the middle of this plowed field with everyone watching, and in less than the blink of eye, the grey horse spooked at some unseen thing, jumped sideways and unseated the young man riding him. The cowboy didn’t lose his hat, immediately stood right back up again, reached for the reins and remounted, but was a little embarrassed because the horse had caught him (and all of us watching) totally off-guard.

Well, long story short, that cowboy passed on the horse, and because I was a bit prideful in those days and thought I could ride him, I bought the horse. He loaded right into my trailer, came home and settled in fine. He was easy to be around, easy to saddle and climb on, and never gave me a lick of trouble. At first.

After riding him a few weeks and finding him to be just fine, I hauled him a long ways to a big trail ride over by the ocean, and tied him up and blanketed him overnight while everyone had dinner and got ready for a the ride the next day. Sometime after dinner, for no apparent reason, the grey horse threw a little wing-ding fit, pulled back, didn’t break loose, but proceeded to kick violently at everything around him. He even connected with (and broke) the headlight of a friend’s truck, which we would have swore was out of reach of his back feet. The horse came unglued, causing such a ruckus that everyone in camp came over to see what was the matter. I didn't know.

I suspect now he was just upset at being tied up. Knucklehead. So it was with some trepidation that I got on him the next morning and started the ride, during which he was absolutely good as gold. We rode for most of the day - down on the beach, and on some great trails at Point Reyes. We even got a bit lost, and had to bushwhack through some narrow passages to regain the main trail – all the while this horse behaved excellently, and I got many comments on what a nice horse he was.

Well of course, I was pretty proud of myself that I had taken a chance on this horse and he was turning out so good. But the thought still niggled in the back of mind, that every time he shied or misbehaved, it came out of nowhere. And it was hard to relax on such a horse.

He continued to shy occasionally, from unknown spooks, and when he did, he didn’t jump in place, or a foot or two sideways. He was so nimble, so quick-footed, that he could almost spin out from underneath you, or jump about ten feet to the side with no provocation (that I could ever see.) Western people have a name for this kind of horse, and the nice version is “you coyote son-of-a-gun.” Basically, untrustworthy.

At that time in my life, I was a single mother of a daughter younger than ten, and my pride at being able to ride this horse (and to my credit, I did have a good seat and never came off of him) was balanced with imagining what might happen if I did fall off and get hurt. In other words, I was finally getting some sense into me.

The last straw came after a very long ride, when I’d had the grey horse long-trotting on some good trails down along the river, that I could ride to from our corrals. I’d given him a really good workout, and he was plain wore out, and so was I. We only had a short ride home on the side of a curvy busy road, maybe ¼ mile at most. Almost home, plain tired out, and again for no reason that I could see, this grey horse shied violently across two lanes of traffic in just a heartbeat. I was so mad I could have spit. He was not fresh, there was no provocation, and the horse seemed almost as if he’d seen a ghost. There were no cars coming at the time (thank God) but the entire scenario spun before me of what ‘could have happened’ if there had been any traffic at all.

I decided I could not take the chance of this unpredictable horse dumping me, even though he never had. What’s the old saying? Discretion is the better part of valor? Because I could never fully trust him, I decided he wasn’t worth the risk, because it felt like it wasn’t “if” I might get hurt on him, but “when.”

The dark grey horse was such a looker, I knew I’d have no trouble selling him. But he certainly wasn’t a beginner’s horse, and I’d be careful who I sold him to. I put an ad in the paper, and was honest about the kind of horse he was. A man came to look at him, took a shine to him, and the horse loaded right up in his trailer. I was quite glad to see him go, and the buyer was a pretty good cowboy.

Have you ever owned a horse that you just never trusted?

Or one that you decided to part ways with before you got hurt?

The Best Presents aren’t Wrapped

2012-01-08T15:49:00.000-08:00

I planned on posting this on Christmas day, but the time gotaway from me and I never did.

Over the years I’ve been married to Denny, I’ve never kept ahorse at home. I’ve always boarded her. It was with some trepidation that Ihauled Gailey home last September.

My former husband had grown to resent my horse and the timeand money I spent with her. Though he’d originally been supportive, he’d never beenoverly thrilled regarding my horse addiction. I think a lot of women will agreethat horses are a sore spot with their husbands in one form or another. Over theyears, I think my dedication to horse and horse showing and his dedication tohis boat and boating caused too many conflicts. When we finally went separateways, we did so as friends and are good friends to this day.

When I started dating my new husband Denny, I made sure heunderstood that the horses and I are a package deal. He didn’t seem to mind. Infact, he jumped into the horse show life with gusto and enjoyed it as much ormore than I did.

Regardless, I wasn’t sure how Denny would handle having ahorse at home. We’d gotten in the habit of taking frequent weekend vacations atthe spur of the moment. With a horse to care for, this wouldn’t be so simple todo.

After I brought Gailey home, I vowed to make the transitionfrom horseless to horse-keeping as transparent as possible for my husband. Thefirst day I came straight home from work with plans to clean the stall andpaddock and feed the horse. Denny gets home a half-hour before I do. I foundhim in the barn, manure fork in hand as Gailey happily chomped away on herdinner.

The next day the same thing happened, not to mention abucket of apples from our apple trees sat near the stall.

A week later Gailey had a bout of cellulitis. I can giveshots to a horse, but I’m not thrilled about it. After a few days, I justcouldn’t do it anymore. Denny took over, not having any problem giving hertwice daily shots. In fact, I had to go away for the weekend, and he took careof her, giving her meds and shots as prescribed by the vet. Of course, I’llgive Gailey some credit. She’s a great patient. Most of the time, you don’teven need to put a halter on her before you treat her.

It continues to amaze me that Denny is so into taking careof the horse and our little farm. He loves coming home in the evenings andtaking care of the animals. I find his love of and dedication to the animals inour care is one of the greatest presents I could receive.

I hope your new year is filled with such priceless gifts andprecious moments.

Breyer World

2012-01-06T08:48:00.000-08:00

Big Bro with Little Sis with just a few of the Breyers

My little girl is all about horses. She lives and breathes horses. If she isn't with the pony or at school, she is in her room with her world of Breyer horses.

Watching her play with those models brings back so many fond memories from when I was a kid and used to do the same thing. I could be in my room by myself with those models for hours. I made up all sorts of stories that fueled my imagination. Sadly, when I went away to college my mom packed up the model horses and put the box in the garage. There were a couple of little girls who lived up the street and they discovered that box when they came down to visit the live horses living there. My dad told them that they could play with the models. I guess they interpreted that as play with them in their room at home because they all disappeared over time. That really stings now with the investment I have in the models I buy for Kaitlin. I would have loved to have given those models to my daughter. But I do hope those girls had as much fun as I did with the models.

Now that Kait has a bazillion of them and her room seemed to be shrinking, my husband built her a loft bed over the holiday break so that she had more room to play. He also built her a twelve stall barn with cross-ties and everything to boot. He is still working on getting electrical into the miniature barn. You walk into the room and Kaitlin has it all set up. She has a cross country course, arenas, pens for special horses and the barn stalls for the really special ones.

I have to admit that at first I frowned a bit. Let's face it, with age comes a desire to have your house in order and with all those models and jumps, etc on the floor in her room it isn't exactly the original vision I had for a sweet little girl's room. But after watching her and listening to her create stories around her model horses, I came to realize I wouldn't have it any other way. The facts are that Kait is going to grow up and go to college in only 7 short years. I know how quickly that time goes as I have teenage sons--oops, only one now. The other one is twenty! With that perspective in mind, I look around at the horse world now created in my daughter's room and I realize that I wouldn't have it any other way.

Cheers,
Michele
http://www.michelescott.com

P.S. My skills are quite lacking as a camera person and my cold doesn't do much for my voice, but if you would like to take a look into the Breyer World in our house then please check it out.

To Sunny

2012-01-04T07:46:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

Four years ago, on New Year’s Eve, I brought home a little palomino mutt of a horse that I intended to use for trail riding. He had a few bad habits that I thought I could deal with, and he was known to be a truly solid, bombproof horse outside, which is what I was looking for. In the past four years we have been on hundreds of rides—I kept track the first year I owned him and came up with 175—for that year alone. We’ve ridden through the hills and on the beach, alone and with friends, we’ve gathered cattle and plodded through mud, crossed creeks and waded in the surf, and scrambled up some pretty tricky bits of steep, tangled, brushy trail. We’ve had a blast together and I’ve grown to love my opinionated, intelligent, sensible, lazy, and very reliable little yellow horse. Today I’m going to post some photos in honor of our partnership, showing our life together (including some from a recent winter ride on the beach). I hope you enjoy them.

Below you see Sunny at his best—mid-summer.

Sunny in his winter color. I think this horse’s personality shows perfectly in this photo.

From Sunny’s back—going through the sand dunes toward Santa Cruz, Monterey Bay to our left.

Headed down the beach towards Monterey with my son on Henry and our friend Wally on Twister.

The end of a good ride.

Going down our nearby trail through the woods.

That same trail, from a different perspective—Sunny and Henry carrying me and my son through the green world.

Below I am gazing at the Monterey Bay from Sunny’s back, looking north towards Santa Cruz. We call this place the Lookout—it is about a two mile ride from my front gate, and one of my favorite spots. The ride to the Lookout and back is the one I take most often (we did it yesterday). The trail through the woods in the previous two photos leads to this place. This is the photo we used for the new Equestrian Ink banner, but unfortunately the view of the Monterey Bay had to be cropped out to make the picture fit the banner.

Sunny turned loose to graze.

Eating breakfast in his corral.

A ride through the autumn hills.

Sunny and me in very non PC garb.

My little yellow mule.

Here’s to you, Sunny. You’ve been a great horse for me, enabling me to do just those things I really wanted to do right now. I will always be grateful to you for the gift you’ve given me. You have a forever home.

Goodbye to a Banner Year and Resolutions for the New One.

2012-01-02T17:21:00.000-08:00

By Terri Rocovich

2011 was a banner year for me in more ways than I can count. My training and teaching business has never been healthier, my horses are healthy and happy,

my students achieved many of their goals, and

my amazing niece (who will soon be 25 and it seems like yesterday that she was 9) completed her first One Star Event.

I bought a new "horse of my dreams" - Uiver

and I made a check off my bucket list by going to Kenya.

In addition to all of the horse related joys in 2011 it was also a great year for family, friendships and just enjoying life. I guess that one of the benefits in getting older (I turned 53 just before Christmas) is that you finally realize that it is the simple things than bring the greatest joy and, when you give to others or animals you receive love and satisfaction back tenfold. That is one of the things I love about my job. I get to be a mentor and second parent to my students and not only receive the gift of their love and respect in return but also the gratitude and friendship of their parents. There are times that I complain to myself that I have little privacy, I don't set clear enough boundaries and rarely get a true day off, but when I weigh the positives and the positive impact I can have on my students it is all worth it and then some.

We all know that family can drive us crazy, and I am no different, but I am blessed with 2 sisters who support my every venture and love me unconditionally. Knowing I was going to super nervous, my sister Marta came down and spent the entire weekend of my first show with Uiver just hanging out and keeping me grounded.

So what about 2012, how will anything ever top this past year?? Who knows but all I can do is make my resolutions, plan and of course, dream big. OK so here goes -

Resolutions for 2012

1)Get better organized. My office more often than not looks like a paper bomb has gone off in it. I am open to any and all suggestions on how to make this happen. Of course there are not enough hours in the day, but I often waste time and spin my wheels looking for something buried under "to do" piles of paper. Please for those of you with God given organization skills - HELP!!!

This also includes organizing my time. I am notorious for double and even triple booking myself and over-committing myself at times to the point of burn out. The first part of 2012 is no exception. Between training, shows, speaking at the USPC Annual Meeting, The USPC National Examiners meeting and paperwork for taxes, I basically don't have a day off until April. Yikes!!!! I don't think ahead enough and always think I can do more than each day allows. Any suggestions? Perhaps commitment therapy? or maybe I should just be committed.

2)Finish my book!!!!! Michele is holding my feet to the fire on this one. She has reviewed much of what I have written so far, has given me great advice and bugs me daily about how many pages have I written. I am so grateful for this, even if it is overwhelming at times.

3) Continue my journey with Uiver. We have another show in a few weeks at Prix St. George and have started working on 2 tempis (change of lead every 2 strides) which is the next step we need for Intermediare. This isn't a resolution really, it is a joy (or for those of you who remember Disneyland in the old days - an E ticket ride) every time I ride him. Whether we go up another level or not, it is all good and I couldn't love him more.

4) Volunteer. Now, I am not quite sure how I will find the time to fit this in, perhaps when I get better organized, but I am so blessed in my own life I feel that I should be giving back more. I tried volunteering for the Humane Society a few years ago but would drive home every time in tears because I couldn't take them all home, so now I just donate. But either by helping at a homeless shelter or maybe Habitat for Humanity, I plan to do something.

5) Spend a few minutes each day just counting my blessings. I have made a conscious effort over the past several years to be more positive and to take each day as it comes. As we all know, this is easier said then done on some days but every year I resolve to keep up the process. For me it is like personal growth training. I believe in karma, the concept of "paying it forward", the power of faith and positive thought and with all the good things that happened in 2011 I have to believe it all works.

Like Alison mentioned in her post on Saturday, I wonder why I am so fortunate when so many others are enduring tough times. I don't want to tempt fate or seem ungrateful to the powers that be, so I will simply remain keenly aware and appreciative of my good fortune and, as always, pay it forward when I can.

What are your resolutions for 2012???

Grateful

2011-12-28T07:24:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

As the year draws to a close, I always think about what I’m grateful for. And lots of it is obvious. My family, our home, our animals, my happy life. But I will admit, I sometimes fall into the trap of thinking my happy life is a bit, well, boring. I contrast my life with others, who seem to be doing much more, and I think that my own life, while peaceful and pleasant, is dull.

So today I really started to think of all that I have done in 2011. I started going through my photos. And I have to admit, it really opened my eyes. Suddenly it seemed as though I’d seen and done many memorable things. Maybe my life isn’t terribly exciting, but its beautiful.

In this post, I want to show you some of the lovely things I’ve been doing in the last year. I’m very grateful that these things have come my way. And I would encourage all of you to stop and look at your own photos and really take stock of what the year has brought you. Sometimes its pretty cool.

Here, in no particular order, are some things I did this year.

Swam in Lake Michigan at sunset.

Camped in the Valley of the Gods (and other lovely places in the Four Corners area) with my family.

Rafted down the Poudre River in eastern Colorado with my family.

Adopted a terrier Chihuahua cross puppy from the animal shelter.

Took many happy trail rides with my son on the trails near our home.

Listened to my husband play the bagpipes in various settings (here at our local cemetery on Memorial Day).

Looked at lots of petroglyphs with my husband and son (These are in the Ute Tribal Park, in the Four Corners Area, near the place we were allowed to camp, miles from anyone else.)

Rode on the beach with my kid and our friend, Wally.

Rode to the Lookout—two miles from our place, overlooking the Monterey Bay.

Visited the fields where my husband grows begonias.

Spent many happy hours looking at the world past my horse’s ears.

So there you have it. The list is far from complete, but it still makes me smile. Maybe my life isn’t so boring after all. Maybe my life is just perfect (for me). I hope you enjoyed the photos—I realize this is kind of a narcissistic blog post. But try this exercise yourself; you might like it. And I’d love to see the images you choose to represent your year.

Happy New Year’s Everyone! I have really enjoyed your comments and reading your blogs. Thank you to all of those who have connected with me over the past year. I wish you and yours all the best in the year to come.--Laura

A Year on the Ground

2011-12-27T10:07:00.000-08:00

Well, this is it.

My longest drought since I got into the game.

People ask me how I manage.

"I stay busy," I reply.

Christmas Day marked 365 days since I was on the back of a horse, and I can hardly believe it. Not in a where did the time go? kind of faux-nostalgic way, because years are long, and the only reason why people think they are short is because they don't want to admit that they put off their Christmas shopping until the last week of December again (you know who you are).

Years are long.

Especially when you haven't been on a horse.

But I stay busy, as I say. I don't want to go so far as to say that 2011 was my best year ever because I didn't get on a horse, but then again, my knees, ankles, lower back, and ring fingers are all simply thrilled with this turn of events, so there is that. My middle-section was less than enthusiastic about the sudden lack of exercise, sparking my decision to go on a diet which I never would have considered were I still flinging manure and posting trot for miles on end, and since said diet has left me healthier than I have ever been in my life ever, there is that, as well.

Now, this isn't too say that I don't think about horses. I think about horses roughly 75% of the time. I just think about them differently. More abstractly.

Instead of puzzling over Gelding A's mysterious lameness and Mare B's chronic rain rot from hell and Colt C's addiction to biting, I think about horses in the plural. Hundreds of thousands of horses. I worry over them. I research them. I write about them. I obsess over the horses of the world much the same way I used to obsess over the horses in my field.

I'll always be a horsewoman. You can't take that out of a person. But we all have different ways of contributing to the horse world. For me, right now, it's to spend my days at a desk, puzzling out how to turn retired racehorses into gold medalist Olympians. I spend so much time on Retired Racehorse Blog, I have to figure out a blogging schedule that will stop it from interfering with my fiction writing. In fact, when I have weeks like last week (ten thousand page views as the whole Thoroughbred world came to back up my post "Show Jumping's Wake Up Call") it's hard to think how else I could be of use to horses.

And I have to admit, I like the hours I'm keeping much better now. I never was a morning person. As Robert B. Parker once wrote, "Racehorses get up early as hell." Like, right around my preferred bed-time.

This year's goal, though: get on a horse. A couple of times. Maybe once a month. Dressage lessons in Prospect Park would suit me just fine. It's going to take a few more book sales to make that happen, though. So I guess I better get back to my novel.

What a Kid with a Horse Learns About Life

2011-12-24T09:42:00.000-08:00

This was up on Eventing Nation not too long ago, and I loved it so much I wanted to share it here. It is how my Dad felt about getting me a horse as a kid, and why he started in on me about making sure our daughter had a horse (he started in on me when she was a baby).

If there are any parents out there contemplating buying a horse for your kid(s), then read this.

Happy Holidays!

Michele

A Father's Explanation of Why He Had Horses for His Children

My daughter turned sixteen years old today; which is a milestone for most people. Besides looking at baby photos and childhood trinkets with her, I took time to reflect on the young woman my daughter had become and the choices she would face in the future.

As I looked at her I could see the athlete she was, and determined woman she would soon be. I started thinking about some of the girls we knew in our town who were already pregnant, pierced in several places, hair every color under the sun, drop outs, drug addicts and on the fast track to no-where, seeking surface identities because they had no inner self esteem.

The parents of these same girls have asked me why I "waste" the money on horses so my daughter can ride. I'm told she will grow out of it, lose interest, discover boys and all kinds of things that try to pin the current generation's "slacker" label on my child. I don't think it will happen, I think she will love and have horses all her life.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has compassion. She knows that we must take special care of the very young and the very old. We must make sure those without voices to speak of their pain are still cared for.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned responsibility for others than herself. She learned that regardless of the weather you must still care for those you have the stewardship of. There are no "days off" just because you don't feel like being a horse owner that day. She learned that for every hour of fun you have there are days of hard slogging work you must do first.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned not to be afraid of getting dirty and that appearances don't matter to most of the breathing things in the world we live in. Horses do not care about designer clothes, jewelry, pretty hairdos or anything else we put on our bodies to try to impress others. What a horse cares about are your abilities to work within his natural world, he doesn't care if you're wearing $80.00 jeans while you do it. -

Because my daughter grew up with horses she learned about sex and how it can both enrich and complicate lives. She learned that it only takes one time to produce a baby, and the only way to ensure babies aren't produced is not to breed. She learned how babies are planned, made, born and, sadly, sometimes die before reaching their potential. She learned how sleepless nights and trying to out-smart a crafty old broodmare could result in getting to see, as non-horse owning people rarely do, the birth of a true miracle.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she understands the value of money. Every dollar can be translated into bales of hay, bags of feed or farrier visits. Purchasing non-necessities during lean times can mean the difference between feed and good care, or neglect and starvation. She has learned to judge the level of her care against the care she sees provided by others and to make sure her standards never lower, and only increase as her knowledge grows.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned to learn on her own. She has had teachers that cannot speak, nor write, nor communicate beyond body language and reactions. She has had to learn to "read" her surroundings for both safe and unsafe objects, to look for hazards where others might only see a pretty meadow. She has learned to judge people as she judges horses. She looks beyond appearances and trappings to see what is within.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned sportsmanship to a high degree. Everyone that competes fairly is a winner. Trophies and ribbons may prove someone a winner, but they do not prove someone is a horseman. She has also learned that some people will do anything to win, regard- less of who it hurts. She knows that those who will cheat in the show ring will also cheat in every other aspect of their life and are not to be trusted.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has self-esteem and an engaging personality. She can talk to anyone she meets with confidence, because she has to express herself to her horse with more than words. She knows the satisfaction of controlling and teaching a 1000 pound animal that will yield willingly to her gentle touch and ignore the more forceful and inept handling of those stronger than she is. She holds herself with poise and professionalism in the company of those far older than herself.

Because my daughter grew up with horses she has learned to plan ahead. She knows that choices made today can effect what happens five years down the road. She knows that you cannot care for and protect your investments without savings to fall back on. She knows the value of land and buildings. And that caring for your vehicle can mean the difference between easy travel or being stranded on the side of the road with a four horse trailer on a hot day. When I look at what she has learned and what it will help her become, I can honestly say that I haven't "wasted" a penny on providing her with horses. I only wish that all children had the same opportunities to learn these lessons from horses before setting out on the road to adulthood.

Panicked

2011-12-21T07:21:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

First of all, happy holidays to all on this winter solstice. From now on, the days get longer. Yippee!

And second, I am posting this from my ancient computer (thirteen years old, uses Windows 95), as the new one gave up and is in the shop. For some reason, I can’t seem to comment on posts, so if I don’t reply to something you say, its because I can’t (and on my previous post, too—I would like to thank all of you who gave me such insightful comments—and White Horse Pilgrim, I really appreciate your thoughts and your blog). I do read and very much enjoy all comments, and hopefully will get myself back in working order here soon. And really, such minor setbacks as computer woes are a small thing when you think about it. My family and critters are thriving, and I’m very grateful for this. My 12^th mystery novel comes out in the spring, allowing me to achieve the goal I set for myself many years ago—to write a dozen published books in my series featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy. I’m actually pretty amazed that I did it. And I recently accepted a job teaching at our local community college, so overall, things are going just great. I can handle a few computer woes.

I had in mind to do a sort of year end wrap up post with lots of photos, but this computer would pass out if asked to post a photo, so instead I thought I’d tell you about my latest equine adventure. I’m hoping this small story may help someone else avoid a similar problem.

So, anyway, we’ve been riding two or three days a week and all has gone very smoothly. My son has been teaching Henry to pop over (very) small jumps. Big fun. But most of my energy lately has been going into fixing-up-the-place type projects. I’ve been living here--and keeping horses here—for twenty years, and some things are starting to wear out or get overgrown. I replaced some feeders that were falling apart last week and decided to cut down a euchalyptus tree that was in the wrong place on the ridge above the corrals and barn. Euchalyptus are an invasive, non-native species here and they grow very fast. If I had left this one in place it would soon be towering over my barn in a threatening manner (they come down very easily in storms). So I asked my neighbor, who is a tree trimmer by trade, if he would cut it down for me.

Well, he was glad to, and refused to take my money; he said he’d “drop by some day; it will only take ten minutes.” Okey-dokey. I bet some of you can see where this is going already.

Sure enough, my neighbor came by with his chainsaw one afternoon last week. I pointed out the tree on the ridge above the corrals. Not being a complete idiot, I said, “Let me catch the horse that’s closest to the tree before you start.” And I headed down to the barn to catch Twister, my boarder, whose corral is nearest the tree. And my neighbor headed up the ridge toward the euchalyptus.

By the time I got to the barn it was already too late. Twister, who can be a very flighty horse, was already in full panic mode, just from hearing my neighbor crashing through the brush above the barn. He couldn’t actually see what was making the noise, which was intensifying his fear. All the other horses had their ears up but were calm. Twister was bouncing off the fence panels like a pinball, and I could tell from his demeanor that he was going to try to jump the fence pretty soon.

Instantly my mind flashed back to the last time I had seen a horse do this particular thing. Fifteen or twenty years ago we had four two-year-olds in a round corral on a hot June day. Not a breeze was stirring. One of the horses began to act the way Twister was acting now. We all stared at this gelding in consternation, not understanding what could be wrong. The other three two-year-olds stared at him. This went on for a minute or two. And then, simultaneously, two separate things happened. The wacked out young horse tried to jump the fence and essentially went right through a pipe panel, destroying it in the process, and a big oak tree that overhung the corral went crashing to the ground.

The other two-year-olds followed the first one through the wreckage of the panel in a panic and we all stared at the oak tree that had suddenly given up the ghost in amazement. Shaking our heads, we agreed that the one colt must have heard tiny noises that warned him the tree was about to fall. And we all desperately hoped that none of the young horses was badly injured. Eventually we got the colts caught and found that scrapes were the worst of it, which was incredibly lucky. It would have been very easy for the broken pipes to have done some serious damage to the horses. And I knew I was looking at the same possibility here with Twister.

I can’t tell you how fast my heart went to the pit of my stomach when I saw the blind panic in that horse’s eyes. I hollered at my neighbor to freeze, even as I tried to get Twister’s attention, just get him to acknowledge my presence. No go on either front. My neighbor, not a horseman, shouted cheerfully back that he wouldn’t start the chainsaw until he heard from me…and kept on crashing through the brush toward the tree. Twister kept bouncing madly off the fences, his eyes bugging out in panic, his nostrils as wide as they could get. Great. Just great.

I stepped into the corral, thinking to myself that I was going to be seriously pissed off if this horse ran me down and hurt me. I don’t have time to be hurt. I’ve organized my horse life for many years such that it is very low risk. And here I was, about to catch (or try to catch) a horse that was out of his mind with fear.

Once again, I yelled at my neighbor to please freeze, hold absolutely still. This time he heard me, thank God. “Oh,” he said, “You want me to hold still.”

When the crashing in the brush stopped, Twister eventually paused in his frantic charging about. For the first time, he looked at me. He was still mighty scared, shaking all over, but he was looking at me.

OK then. I talked to him and moved steadily toward him. He stayed where he was, looking at me. I could tell he was taking some reassurance from me. I got my hand on his neck and patted him, told him what a silly critter he was, and reached up to get the halter over his nose. This was not a pleasant moment. Twister is high headed at the best of times (and this was not the best of times), and I am short. I had to stand right under him to get the halter on him. I felt like I was catching a wild giraffe. I crossed my fingers he would not choose this moment to panic again and charge over the top of me—and that my neighbor would keep on holding still.

I got the halter fastened. Now I just had to lead the beast away from here. It was a lot like leading a kite on a string on a windy day. Twister bounced around on the end of the leadrope, as skittish as a barely halter broke colt. But he knew enough not to try to drag me, and I got him over to a place where he could see what was going on, but wasn’t too close to it. He could also see the other four horses—who were not panicked. It wasn’t going to get any better than this. Tying Twister up was not an option—he’s known to pull back--hard. I just needed to hang on to him. I told my neighbor to go ahead.

One thing I can tell you for sure. Horses do not like the sound of trees crashing to the ground. Something deep in their DNA warns them that this is a danger. Not one of my horses, including Twister, batted an eye at the sound of the chainsaw. But the sound of the tree crashing down (and it was a multi-trunked tree, so this happened maybe a dozen times) did not go over well. My calm horses ran about a little, not panicked, just alarmed. Twister’s eyes bugged out again and he thought hard about leaving. I talked to him and kept a hand on him, while I watched to be sure no other horse looked like freaking out. I successfully kept Twister from departing the scene. He was scared but held it together. We did OK. Eventually the tree was down. We all heaved a huge sigh of relief. No harm done.

But…if I ever have more trees dropped, I am darn sure going to be prepared and have all the horses where they are not too close to the action (and by the way, they were all perfectly safe in reality—the felled tree came nowhere near the fence or barn, as I had known it would not), and I am going to make sure Wally is there to supervise his spooky gray gelding. The main thought that went through my head the whole time is “I am never going to forgive myself if this horse gets hurt on my watch” (and because of my dumb decision). Fortunately it didn’t happen. But I’ll remember to take felling trees a little more thoughtfully in the future. Always something new to learn.

Hope you all are having a happy holiday season. Cheers--Laura

All I Want for Christmas is a Horse!

2011-12-19T17:05:00.000-08:00

I recently posted this photo (which was used on a long ago Christmas card to benefit Brooke, a charity for retired horses) on my Whirlwind Facebook page with the question: Who wants a horse under their Christmas tree? I received more comments to this photo than any I've posted all year. There were 100 likes, 32 comments, and 20 shares. Most commenters simply wrote "Meeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!" or "I doooooooo!!" And I totally understood. I have been loving horses since I was four-years-old and can't imagine a life without them.

However . . . a life with horses is not without challenges (as every horse owner knows and which makes for wonderful blogs!) especially financial ones. So what would the reality be if you DID find your dream horse under the tree? Hopefully, you would also find all the necessary tack and equipment wrapped and ready; otherwise, you'll be spending some big bucks. I am still using tack from a decade ago, so I hadn't priced saddles and bridles in ages. Saddles from the Stateline online catalog ranged from $400 to $2,000. These weren't custom made or custom fit, so if Santa brought you a horse with an odd back, you'll be spending even more. Bridles ranged from $30 to $180.00 (most without the bits) Helmets went from $40 to $130. Then there're halter and lead rope, brushes, hoof picks, and buckets. Those are the absolutely necessary items if you are going to ride a horse. That doesn't include board.

I've pared down my horses' needs to a minimum. We have seven acres of grass, reasonably priced and easy to get hay, and two easy-keepers. Both get a small amount of grain, but Relish gets an expensive supplement for his hooves since I keep him barefoot (which keeps farrier costs down to $65.00 every six weeks for two.) BUT we had to invest in a barn--$25,000 ten years ago--granted it's large enough to house our tractor, which is important for mowing those seven acres, and my husband's car parts and equipment--as well as good fencing--$5,000.

Are you adding this up all you "wishing for a horse" folks? That's the price tag if you keep a horse in your backyard. I live in a rural area, and the nearby barn with indoor arena charges $250 a month IF your horse can be used for occasional lessons. I know it is much higher in urban areas. Ouch. If you go for riding in a big way there's also trailering, lessons, show gear, entry fees . . . And don't worry, your horse WILL need a vet, even if it's just for yearly immunizations, which run about $175 per horse in my area.

On top of financial realities, there are also huge time and energy commitments. Horses need at least twice a day care. If you are doing it by yourself, it is a responsibilty that can not be forgotten EVER. If you are paying someone to care for your horse, see the above price tag. And lastly, when you ride horses, note that "helmet hair" was not a description coined by soldiers, and that you will always have manure on your boot soles and hay clinging to your clothes.

Now: Who wants a horse under their Christmas tree? If you are still screaming "I do!!!!" you are one of us--the truly horse-obsessed!

Merry Christmas and may you find the gift of love and laughter under your tree this year!

Book Review: Keeping Secrets by Maggie Dana

2011-12-18T10:58:00.000-08:00

When Maggie Dana contacted me a few weeks ago and asked me to do a review of her horse novel written for young girls, I didn't hesitate. Growing up, I gobbled up every horse book I could find. I still hold a soft sport for this particular type of book. So as far as I was concerned, reading a book like this gave me an excuse to return to my childhood. Also since it's Christmastime, I figured our readers might be interested in this book as a gift for a young girl.

Keeping Secrets (Book 1: TimberRidge Riders)

Ages: 8-12

A valuable horse is dead, and it’sall her fault, which is why 14-year-old Kate McGregor has put horses and ridingout of her life. Forever! But her new summer job as a companion to HollyChapman, a former riding star who’s now confined to a wheelchair, takes herback to the barn where she’s forced to confront her guilt.

Can Kate keep her terrible secretfrom Holly, who is fast becoming her best friend? And, more important, can shekeep her secret from Angela Dean who lives for only two things: winning ribbonsand causing trouble?

http://www.amazon.com/Keeping-Secrets-Timber-Riders-ebook/dp/B0069E39NG/ref=cm_cr-mr-title

* * * *

I loved this book, and I plan to read the rest in the series. It's one of those rare books in which the characters stick with you long after you've finished the book. In fact, it's even inspired me to consider writing my own young adult horse series, an idea I've toyed with in the past.

I fell in love with the two main characters, Kate McGregor and Holly Chapman. Kate believes she is responsible for the death of a beloved horse. As a result, she cannot bear to be around horses. Holly survived a terrible accident in which her father was killed. She's been unable to walk since and is in a wheelchair. When Kate takes a summer job as Holly's companion, she never planned on the job including horses, but it does. Holly's mom is a riding instructor who is readying her team for a big competition. When one of the girls sustains an injury and can't ride, Kate finds herself taking her place. The villain of the story, Angela, pulls out all the stops to keep Kate from winning during the competition.

The ending left me wanting to read more about Holly and Kate. I immediately checked Amazon to see if the next book in the series was available. Sadly, it's not out yet.

This is a book about the healing love of horses and the developing friendship between two girls. If you have a pre-teen girl on your gift-buying list (or a horse lover who enjoys a trip back to her childhood), I strongly recommend Keeping Secrets.

* * * *

Maggie Dana's first riding lesson, at the age of five, was less than wonderful. In fact, she hated it so much, she didn't try again for another three years. But all it took was the right instructor and the right horse and she was hooked for life.

Born and raised in England, Maggie now makes her home on the Connecticut shoreline, where she divides her time between hanging out with the family's horses and writing her next book in the Timber Ridge Riders series. She also writes women's fiction and her first novel, Beachcombing, was published in 2009 by Macmillan, UK.

Visit her web site at www.maggiedana.com.

Qrac and Me: A Work in Progress

2011-12-16T10:11:00.000-08:00

It’s amazing what a difference a good indoor arena makes. Until I moved Qrac to my new stables, miles and miles away from my house (I’m putting a thousand kilometers per week on my car, which is a bit of a drag), I’d never worked him in a proper rectangular arena as both arenas at our previous yard were oval. Consequently, Qrac and I had never worked corners properly, because even when you improvise corners, or imagine “pretend” corners, it’s simply not the same. So I’m loving the four corners of our new, massive, wonderful indoor!

Not that Qrac and I have become corner experts in the six weeks we’ve been there; I still have a hard time pushing him into them. However, they’re fantastically useful for working on shoulder fore, especially in canter. I’m currently obsessed with shoulder fore as it’s really improved the quality of the canter. I’m able to collect him more and he’s more rounded, more springy, especially on the left lead, which is the one he prefers. Working shoulder fore on the right lead canter is still ultra-tentative; although he’s seriously improved and no longer feels like he’s falling onto his inside shoulder, I still have to be ultra concentrated, totally focused on where I’m sitting and where my inside leg is, making sure he stays in my outside rein, keeping him bent around my inside leg. Transitioning into canter is also still tricky; if I use my outside leg too much he’ll tend to stick to it and buck into canter, so my trainer is really working on getting me to work the transitions using my inside hip. Getting the timing right is really hard, but when Qrac and I get it right our transitions are really harmonious. I like to use my voice to help him understand the subtle shift in my position (“Qraaaaac, gaaaalop!”).

The more I get to know my horse, the more I’m amazed by how generous and willing to work he is. Qrac really tries, sometimes making me smile with his funny little effort-grunts! I think he sometimes gets frustrated with himself, trying really hard yet not quite managing to do what he knows he’s supposed to be doing. For example, during a lesson with my trainer about two weeks ago, we worked on medium trot for the first time, and Qrac found it really difficult to stay in a constant rhythm and got a little flustered and agitated (it was like he was saying, “for goodness sake, I should be able to do this!”), but I could tell he was trying extremely hard and was thrilled with the three or four nice strong strides he gave me. Like most Iberian horses, Qrac doesn’t have a fabulously expressive trot, but we’re working towards developing it as much as possible, slowing down the rhythm, getting him to reach for the bit and get him more active behind without rushing in front. To build a little more expression in his trot I’m working on the idea of passage, slowing him with my seat and getting him to work more upwards by thinking “up” with my ribcage. Maybe it sounds a little strange described this way, but it definitely helps. Until recently, Qrac’s trot tended to get quite rushy after the canter, and even now there is the odd day when he works himself into a bit of a state, becoming somewhat sewing-machine-ish, making himself hollow. By using the idea of passage I can now usually get him back into a slow, rhythmic trot again. If this doesn’t work, I just bring him back to walk, and do a gazillion half-halts until he’s attentive and relaxed enough to resume work.

Basically, since we moved to this new place we’ve been really been able to challenge ourselves and work on all sorts of things. We’ve done miles and miles of leg yield to get him to take more contact on the outside rein, and we’ve really improved our shoulder-in. Even the trot half-passes are beginning to come together, although I tend to be a little too timid with my outside leg, concentrating too much on the shoulder-in part of the exercise and not daring ask for too much (I’m so nice!). But when I do, he’s a natural-born half-passer!

I’m so thrilled with his progress that I’m beginning to consider the remote faraway potential possibility of entering him in some shows next season, which is really saying something since I’ve never been a big fan of shows, always getting way too nervous. Of course, neither of us is ready yet; we need to be more rhythmically steady in all three gaits, better our transitions and really improve the canter before contemplating going out in public. I don’t know how it is in other countries, but Swiss dressage judges tend not to like Iberian horses, so chances are we won’t get very far. However, I love my horse so much, find him so jaw-droppingly beautiful and am so proud of him that I’d like him to show everyone that Iberians can be just as good as northern European Warmbloods. I told Qrac about all this the other day after I’d dismounted, while we were pottering around the indoor, picking up pooh. He nuzzled my shoulder and gazed at me lovingly with his almond shaped eyes. Maybe he wants to show those Swiss judges, too!

Virtual Horse Friends

2011-12-14T16:44:00.003-08:00

by Laura Crum

My blog post last week about a very sad experience I had in the world of horse bloggers (“Is This a Good Idea?”) generated some insightful comments and really got me studying on the whole issue in a more general sense. So today I’d like to pose some questions about “virtual relationships” and see what others think. Because I suppose you all engage in this sort of thing, or you wouldn’t be reading this.

My own experience of virtual horse friends began when I first started writing for this blog. Previous to that all my email correspondence was with people I had actually met, or it was nuts and bolts business type stuff. I had never had a friend that I “met” online. People did write to me to say they liked my books (or didn’t like them), but none of these very brief correspondences ever developed into an online friendship. To tell the truth, I was wary about this. I felt a little uncomfortable writing to people I didn’t really know and kept the notes brief and polite, never shared much about myself. Then came blogging.

I started blogging with the simple idea that I would do it to publicize my books. I don’t do book tours, and it seemed like an easy way to reach new readers. I doubt I would have thought of it on my own, because I wasn’t in the habit of poking around on the internet. I didn’t read blogs, or do facebook or anything like that. But Jami invited me to join Equestrianink, and my publisher begged me to do it. What harm could it do, I reasoned. I could do it from home. Well… I never would have predicted what actually happened.

When I first started blogging, I clicked around on various horse blogs just to see what blogging amounted to. I learned a lot right away. I started commenting on blogs I thought were interesting. In a very short time I was no longer blogging solely as a way to reach new potential readers for my books. I was interested in the horse bloggers I had “met” and enjoyed reading their blogs and discussing things with them. I began corresponding with some of them. And I struck up a pretty regular correspondence with one that I admired immensely. For the very first time in my life I had a “virtual friend”, someone I’d never met in real life, that I only knew through our internet correspondence.

Now if you read my previous post you know that this relationship did not work out, and I don’t want to belabor the details. But I do want to explore the parameters in a general way and think about what is and isn’t possible with virtual horse friends, people we meet through the blogosphere. Because I engaged in my first friendship in a completely well motivated but very naïve way. I thought that I had found a “magical friend”, and I guess I sort of believed that we could go beyond the boundaries of “regular” friendship. We weren’t limited by needing to take time to go for coffee. We could talk many times a day while we did the things we needed to do in between. It seemed like our minds were directly in touch. And there was something very seductive about the physical distance. We could share things we would probably never have felt comfortable sharing face to face unless we’d known each other for years. And that’s exactly what we did. We shared a ton of stuff with each other. I thought it was amazing that I’d found such a wonderful thing. Like I said, it was magic.

Without going into the details of why the relationship failed, I want to point out that we never met each other. We never even talked on the phone. I never had the experience of feeling her “energy” in person. I’d never even heard her voice. In the end our communication broke down and I became very confused as to why this was happening. What I think now is that it had a lot to do with the medium. Just how truly close is it possible to be with a virtual friend? Is it necessary in some way to be in a person’s physical presence to know them? When you only connect in cyberspace, even if everyone is being as honest as they can be, isn’t some essential piece of who we are missing?

I don’t know the answers to these questions, but after writing last week’s blog post, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about them. I’ve come up with some ideas, which I’d like to share, and hopefully some of you will give me your insights. Because more and more now, virtual friendships are becoming the norm. And I for one think it is very worthwhile to explore what this really amounts to and how it does and doesn’t differ from in-person friendships.

One thing I did learn. After my first internet friend wrote me off, I saw a video she posted that showed her talking and interacting with friends. It was a huge eye-opener for me. Suddenly, in a small way, I could feel her energy (if you will) and I knew right away that if I’d ever met her or talked to her earlier in our relationship I would have been much less trusting. Lets just say that she reminded me very much of another horsewoman I know who is a perfectly nice woman but whom I would never choose for a close friend. The energy I felt on that video made me uncomfortable. It was nothing like the energy I thought I had felt coming from her through typing away on our keyboards.

But….that said, there is a kind of energetic “footprint” that comes across through email and such. I recognize the particular tone that each of my blogging friends has. They wouldn’t have to sign their emails or comments—I know who’s talking. So what is that that I feel? It isn’t the same energy or aura that I feel when I’m in the room with someone. That’s composed of body language, tone of voice, physical appearance, conversation and something indefinable…just the basic energy of that mind/body/spirit. I feel it like I see colors or smell scents. I can’t explain it but I feel it very strongly. What comes across on the internet is different. My first friend had a very different “energy” talking to her real life friends than the “energy” that came across to me through her emails and posts. But the “personality” I felt through cyberspace was a definite thing. So what is that thing?

This is the mystery I’m interested in. If the persona we connect with online is not the “real” person, it is still a definite persona. I think at times it may be VERY different to the real in-person person. And maybe sometimes its pretty similar. But either way, what the heck goes on? What is it I’m connecting with when I connect with someone online? Is it just the pure mind, divorced from the energy of body and spirit?

I got very curious about this after my first online friendship ended. I had several other horse bloggers I corresponded with and I became quite a bit closer to one of them due to sharing some similar family issues we were having. This time I was much more careful in what I said, having learned a lesson from ex-friend (with whom I was very open and unguarded), and this second connection was a very different person. Not touchy at all. Truly kind and unaffected. No conflict ever arose between us. It was an entirely positive relationship. But my curiosity really went to what it would be like to meet her in person. Would she be anything like I imagined her? Would she seem like or unlike the energetic footprint I felt when I corresponded with her?

Eventually the opportunity arose, and I took my courage in hand and made the effort. She and I had talked about how different people were in person from what they’d appeared to be online, and she had had this experience before. I wondered if she’d be disappointed in what I was like in “real life”. I wondered if she’d be anything like the way I sort of imagined her to be. I’d seen her photos online so I knew what she looked like. I have to admit I was pretty nervous. I think she was a little nervous, too. But we went ahead and met. And it was good.

Her home and critters were exactly as I had envisioned them from reading her blog. And she was different. Prettier, younger looking, with a lighter, sweeter voice and energy than I had somehow imagined. And at the same time I could feel that she was my same online friend. Nonetheless, her energy in real life, though I found it very pleasant, was not exactly the same persona I felt through blogs and email. I’ve got to admit, I was fascinated. I felt like I was exploring a whole new dimension to human interactions.

Anyway, our visit was short due to time constraints, and when we were both safely home and facing our computers, I asked her what she had felt and asked her to be frank. I’d gotten comfortable enough with her (online anyway) to trust we could be frank and it would be OK.

Turns out she had felt that I, too, was both different and the same as I was online. My voice was lower, she said. For me, the voice thing was big. She said she felt a little uncomfortable, thinking of all those intimate things we shared, and here I was, and in person, so to speak, we were strangers. But overall she was comfortable with me and sensed that I was an OK person. We both agreed that a brief hour-long visit was not enough time to loosen up and really get to know each other face to face.

The whole encounter was interesting and pleasant and our online friendship continues. I learned that you can meet people online and they can be consistently who they seem to be and be very nice in real life, too. But I didn’t have enough time with her to sense whether we could have become “real life” friends. And she felt this, too. So, interesting, a positive experience, but inconclusive.

Then I turned it around. I took my real life best friend, who is a lovely person, and tried chatting with her online. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t like it. The things I love so much about her did not come through online at all. You could tell she was a nice, upbeat person, but she sounded sort of superficial. Which she isn’t. So that was enlightening, too.

So far I’m still concluding that the persona we connect with online, though “it” has a distinct personal flavor, is not the same thing as our true human personality. And I’m still wondering what it is we connect with online if its not the real, complete person. Can we change this phenomena? I’m thinking not. I think it’s a function of the medium. I’m guessing that the more straight forward someone is in real life, the more they will be who they seem to be online. People who are withdrawn and who somewhat hide their thoughts/feelings in reality, will be very hard to “know” online.

I’ve valued many of the people I’ve met online and would like to believe that we can become true friends “virtually”, just as we can in person. I love chatting about horses with my blogging friends. I love hearing about their adventures. And they’ve offered so much kindness and support. And yet I remain puzzled, no stymied, when I try to work out what is and isn’t possible when it comes to forming real, lasting friendships (such as I have with quite a few people in “real life”) with folks I’ve only met online. Perhaps my one very bad experience has made me unduly careful. I don’t know. Does anybody else have any thoughts on this subject? Can one truly know another online? Or is that impossible? Did anybody else besides me ever try to forge a close friendship online? Did it work out? And do some of you think that making friends online is no different to making friends face to face—the same problems and pitfalls apply? Or are there unspoken rules that apply especially to virtual friendships? If so, does anybody know what they are?

The Horse Ornament

2011-12-13T10:58:00.000-08:00

If you are like me, your horse-crazy gene has carried over into the decorations of your house. I have equine pictures, equine sculpture, equine pillows, equine statues everywhere. I've read so many equine books, my Goodreads Page even has its own section for horse books.

This time of year, when our house looks like the Christmas hurricane has hit, filled with wrapping paper, sacks of bows, and decorations to put up, I lovingly bring out my boxes of ornaments to decorate the tree. (Ours is fresh cut, soaking up water in a stand in the garage, and we'll probably bring it inside the house later today.)

My ornaments consist of a motley collection passed down through generations, including some that my daughter made in school, some I remember hanging on our family tree when I was a child, and of course, an entire box marked "Horse Ornaments."

Here are some of my favorites:

The Rocking Horse Collection.

The White Horse Collection.

The Stained Glass Horse.

The Engraved Horse Ornaments.

One of our contributors, Natalie Reinert, even makes personalized ornaments - some with horses on them. Here's a link to her Etsy page: http://www.etsy.com/shop/nataliegallops?ref=si_shop

Do you decorate your tree, your house, and your life with horses?

Tell us about it. And Merry Christmas everyone!

And the Winner is . . . .

2011-12-12T17:40:00.000-08:00

TBA you are the winner of the Great Holiday Book Giveaway! Please email me at alisonatalisonhartbooks.com (please place the @ sign in the email) so I can get your address and which book you have chosen for under your tree!
And don't forget horse lovers, support reading and books! I was excited to host this giveaway because I truly believe that books make the best presents for everyone on your list. Happy Holidays!

Christmases Past

2011-12-11T09:28:00.001-08:00

I grew up horse crazy since the day I was born. I can't remember a moment in my life that I wasn't crazy about horses. Unfortunately, my family did not have money for a horse, and we lived in town. I had to get my horse fix on friends' horses and with surrogate horses--Breyer models.

Of course, my Christmas wishes revolved around a real horse. Even though I knew I'd never get a pony for Christmas, I did have an over-active imagination. So every Christmas eve, I'd fall asleep dreaming of a pony in my front yard when I woke up on Christmas morning with a big bow in his mane. I hoped for a rich golden palomino with a luxurious cream-colored mane and tail--which I knew wasn't going to happen--so I asked for the next best thing.

When Christmas morning came around, I shook boxes and ripped open packages, hoping among hopes that I'd get the latest and greatest Breyer horse models.

Breyer horses dominated my bedroom shelves. I cut up cardboard and made fences on the floor of my bedroom, used boxes for stables, and green rugs for pastures. At one time, my herd numbered over one hundred horses. They all had names. In order to remember them all, I actually put masking tape on their bellies with their names. My all-time favorite was the Man o' War model. Man o'War was my horse idol. I read everything I could get on him. I had C. W. Anderson prints of him and his progeny on my bedroom walls.

I remember getting the Walter Farley book on "Man o' War" for one Christmas and how I loved that book. I also devoured The Black Stallion series. To this day I have every Black Stallion book Walter Farley ever wrote.

To me the perfect Christmas growing up involved a couple Walter Farley books and some new Breyer models. Clothes and dolls were an immense disappointment when it came to gifts. All I wanted was horses, horses, horses.

Over the years, the Breyer horses have been replaced by real horses, but my ideal Christmas gift still revolves around horses. I've never been one to want jewelry. Give me a new bridle, saddle pad, or breeches, maybe a pair of riding boots, and I'll be the happiest woman on earth. Give me diamonds, and I'll pretend to love the jewels. In the end, they'll be in my jewelry box collecting dust because jewelry just isn't practical around horses.

What were your favorite Christmas gifts?

My Friend, Valentino

2011-12-10T10:47:00.000-08:00

Please enjoy this guest post from Lisa Wysocky, therapeutic horse trainer and consultant, about a horse that is very special to her.

Horse lovers know all horses are special. We also know sometimes a horse comes along that is more extraordinary than the others. Valentino is one of those horses.

I first saw Valentino as a three-year-old. He was a black Tennessee Walking Horse cross, 13.2, skin and bones, pacing back and forth with his nose raised above the top rail of a round pen. Valentino’s human “family” had moved away when he was a yearling and abandoned him. Neighbors threw hay when they could, but Vali might have starved to death had he not been rescued by Knoxville’s Horse Haven of Tennessee when he was three.

At the time, I was the equine trainer at a therapeutic riding center near Nashville. Several of our instructors visited Valentino at a horse fair where he was in a trailering demonstration. Next thing I know I was turning this neglected rescue into a therapy horse.

Having lived entirely on his own during his formative years, Valentino did not know how to relate to people or to other horses. I called several veterinary schools that suggested I put him in a paddock by himself where he could watch people and horses interact. Done.

In the meantime, center volunteers and I began to teach Valentino to lead, tie, pick up his feet, and accept a saddle and bridle. I also began a desensitization process, for here was a horse that had never experienced much of anything.

Over the next months I became amazed at the intelligence of this horse. He was often fearful (of entering a strange building, of people he didn’t know, of things he had never seen, such as a carriage) but he rarely backed away. Instead, he’d visibly shake as he carefully smelled the person or object and then slowly let out a deep breath. Over and over, Vali became comfortable with new objects and people and I watched his confidence grow.

Eight months after his arrival, Valentino was turned out with an older gelding whose paddock bordered Vali’s. They became good friends. A month later he was turned out with several other horses. By this time our thoughtful little horse had gained several hundred pounds and grown four inches.

Before I knew it Valentino had begun therapy lessons. About a year later I had the opportunity to adopt Valentino, and I included him in demonstrations in several clinics. He is a featured horse in my book and DVD, My Horse, My Partner: Teamwork on the Ground, and has a chapter in Cheryl Dudley’s book, Horses That Save Lives. Other trainers requested him for clinics and videos but I knew Valentino was a born therapy horse. He has now, at age nine, been at Therapeutic Animal Partners for more than four years.

I become angry when I think how Valentino’s original family threw him away. How could anyone do that? Yet it happens all the time. I have now come to trust Valentino implicitly in lessons. He is the first to let me know a rider is off balance. He also knows if a rider needs help following a set of instructions, which he carries out on his own, or if the rider needs to work for it. We helped one rider visually by throwing a Frisbee and having the rider ride to it. Once there, Vali would drop his head and pick the Frisbee up in his mouth. Comic relief can go a long way.

Valentino’s story does not end here. I, with the help of staff, volunteers, and riders at Therapeutic Animal Partners, nominated Valentino for PATH (Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship) International Equine of the Year. On November 12, at an international awards banquet in Lexington, Kentucky, it was announced that our little rescue horse, Valentino, had won this prestigious honor.

Every day, Valentino inspires me. If he can survive abandonment, then I, too, can survive difficult things. If he can overcome his fears, then so can I. And, so can everyone who is inspired by Valentino and his story.

Wow. Thank you so much, Lisa, for sharing Valentino's story with us! Amazing. To learn more about Lisa, as well as her brand new novel called THE OPIUM EQUATION, please visit her website at http://www.lisawysocky.com./

Baby Blankies

2011-12-09T05:40:00.000-08:00

I am no trainer by any stretch of the imagination. I grew up with five horses in the back yard of our one acre property. I was fortunate enough to have a dad who took a group of us kids on regular trail rides. I wanted to show horses, but at the time my parents didn't have any extra money, as they were investing everything into a little company they were growing as my dad continued to work his "day job." If you ever wnat to learn a little more about their story, here is a link. My parents are truly American Dreamers who were able to live the dream. http://www.profchoice.com/our-story/our-beginning/

Anyway, back to my little story here. As I said, I am no trainer. My dad used to tell me that you need to be compassionate, you need to listen, and you need to set boundaries with them. They are a lot like people but usually better than most of their human counterparts." In my opinion, my dad has turned out to be right on all of those thoughts.

To be a bit more exact, horses are a lot like kids. Each one with their quirks and unique personalities. Having three almost three-year-olds I have been slowly educated a bit more over the past two years just by the fillies alone (and, of course Terri). Each filly is her own self. Kaia is my little grey who is easy going and will allow me to basically do whatever I want to her. Bronte is my chestnut who was somewhat timid for a time but after living with an old gelding who has taught her some lessons she has turned out to be a very special girl. And then there is Mia my big bay filly. Well, she would be my toddler who crosses her arms and says, "No!"

The past two weeks as the weather has grown cold and has even gotten down into the low 30's at night (I know all you East coasters are shaking your heads right now) I decided that since they were coming three it was time to do winter blankets. (Last year we decided to let them build some immunity). Kaia was easy. Tossed some treats into her feeder and the blanket was on in five minutes. She immediately fell in love with it and now my ten-year-old daughter blankets her. Bronte was my next victim. She took some time (2 days). I rubbed her with the blanket, let her sniff it, chew it (I know--bad mom) and just check the thing out. I rubbed it on her face, neck and finally smoothed it down her back. Five minutes later it was fastened and the next morning it was still on and she seemed pretty pleased and warm while her sister Mia was cold. Mia continued to be cold for another week. I tried the same tactics as I had with Bronte. We would get close but when it came down to it, she would simply say, "no." I would leave the barn and yell back, "Fine, be cold! Ask your smart sisters what they think."

Then two nights ago, I knew this game had to end. I was done allowing Mia to win the game, which is sort of what it had become. I put the halter on her, started with the usual tactics and then made a decision to get it on her. See for yourself. Here are the results:

I hate you! I look like a donkey

Hey look at you! You got one, too.

Oh fine since it looks like you're gonna feed me!

Have a wonderful weekend!

Michele

Kwintus Moves to Burgundy

2011-12-08T10:12:00.000-08:00

If you read my last post you might recall that, just over two weeks ago, totally out of the blue, I was informed that Kwintus, my sweet old retired dressage schoolmaster, could no longer live out the rest of his days in the company of his friend Coconut. Go figure why two dignified old gentlemen needed to be split up when there were no logistics problems involved, and they weren’t doing anyone any harm. I was devastated, hated having to break the news to my daughter Olivia (Kwintus is really her horse) who is at university in England, hated hearing her sobbing on the other end of the phone. Angry and upset, I decided I needed to find Kwintus a nice new home and get him out of there as soon as possible. My friend Maya (who owns a tack shop I seem to practically live at) recommended I call her friend Nathalie, who owns Domaine des Hugaux, a centre for retired horses in Burgundy, about a two and a half hour drive from Geneva. Maya’s old horse retired there earlier this year; she says he’s loving it.

With my heart in my mouth, I called Nathalie to see if she had space for Kwintus. Most nice retirement places for horses tend to be permanently full in this part of the world, but when I explained the situation and mentioned I’d got her number through Maya, Nathalie told me she could work something out. Of course, I wanted to visit the place before I made a decision and decided to drive down to visit on Thursday.

My mother was kind enough to come down with me, patiently listening to my mental dilly-dallyings about whether or not it was a good idea to take Kwintus somewhere so far away. It took us longer than expected to get there as my GPS (sat nav) was clearly off its trolley, booting us off the highway far too early and sending us through minuscule picturesque villages blanketed in thick fog. I worried and fussed; surely I could find somewhere closer suitable for Kwintus?

My misgivings began to melt into the mist the second we turned into Nathalie’s driveway. The property is straight out of a movie-set. Set on the top of a hillside, the old stone house overlooks miles and miles of rolling hills. Dozens of horses graze contentedly in endless pastures edged by hedgerows. Both sets of stable block (one old, the other brand new) are immaculate. Nathalie and her friend Monika bought the 32 hectare property two years ago, completely underestimating how fast their retirement home for horses would take off simply by word of mouth. They now provide a home for 25 horses, most of them OAPs, but also a couple of brood mares, two donkeys and a Shetland pony. There are also four mismatched, very friendly dogs, a couple of cats, and loads of chickens, geese and turkeys. Nathalie gave us the grand tour while Monika kindly prepared lunch, and I knew Kwintus would be fine here. I sent my daughter some photographs, spoke to her on the phone, assured her the place was perfect, and made arrangements to bring Kwintus three days later.

My friend Heike from my new stables (where Qrac now lives) said she’d keep me company during the drive down on Sunday, which was mega kind as she lives about an hour from my house and would have to wake up super early so that we could load Kwint around 9.15 a.m in order to make it to Nathalie and Monika’s in time for lunch.

Kwint’s friend Coconut was out in the field when we arrived at my old stables, clearly anxious having been turned out without his best buddy. I prepared Kwintus for transport, fitting him with leg protections, telling him we were going to a really nice place where he’d make lots of new friends. I felt terrible as I lead Kwint down the hill towards my trailer. Coconut watched, whinnying repeatedly as Kwint walked into my trailer like an old pro. I hauled back tears, said a quick goodbye to S. and drove away with a hole in my stomach. I was glad to have Heike’s company as she soon started chatting about this and that, which helped take my mind off all the horse drama. I also had to really concentrate on the road as insanely thick fog made a large part of the drive seriously hairy. Thankfully, after a couple of hours the visibility increased, and although it wasn’t a bright sunny day, at least Heike - who’d never been to this area of France - was able to enjoy the gorgeous countryside.

It took us just under four hours to get to the Domaine des Hugaux. We’d have been there earlier if my GPS hadn’t gone psycho on me again and sent me straight through the centre of a small but bustling town on market day! I so hate maneuvering my trailer through narrow cobbled streets, and almost gave myself a hernia sucking in my tummy. I don’t know why but I always suck my tummy in and clench my buttocks when I have to squeeze my car and trailer through narrow spaces! Do you do that too?

When we finally arrived, Kwintus carefully backed out of the van and looked around, wondering where he was. Nathalie suggested I take him straight to his stable so he could have a pee, and sure enough, he relieved himself immediately and settled down, chomping on a mountain of hay. I chatted to him for a while, relieved that he didn’t seem too perturbed by his new surroundings. We left him to relax for a while, and after about half an hour Nathalie suggested we put him out in a pasture by himself, next to another pasture with five horses.

Kwintus ambled around his field, casually grazing, making his way nonchalantly towards the horses in the field next to him, but not too bothered about making contact. When they squealed and pulled faces at him and showed him their bottoms and back feet he just ambled away, nonplussed, far more interested in sampling the Burgundy grass. Maybe grass is like wine, with better varieties in different areas of the world. If that’s the case, Kwintus should be in luck!

Heike and I had lunch with Nathalie and Monika along with some other people who had come down from Geneva for the weekend to visit their horses. The food was delicious (salad, home-made lasagna followed by a massive plate of cheeses, then stewed apples and pears infused with a vanilla pod) and the atmosphere lovely and warm. There was plenty of horsey talk of course, which is always nice. I love how horsey people are quick to whip out photographs of their horses at the slightest excuse!

This being France our meal went on for quite some time, so I excused myself during coffee and went out to check on Kwintus who was still peacefully sampling the local green delicacies. I called him and he lifted his head and ambled up to me immediately. I scratched his neck and kissed his soft velvety nose and told him I loved him, and that he was going to live happily ever after in this beautiful tranquil place.

Night was falling as Heike and I got back into the car and headed home. I felt tired, but surprisingly calm and at peace. When I spoke to Nathalie the following day she told me that Kwintus had been very relaxed in his stable overnight and had even lain down to sleep, which was most reassuring. I called her a few times over the next couple of days to see how he was doing and was a little upset to hear that he hadn’t yet made any friends. There was also an incident where he came face to face with a couple of donkeys and a Shetland pony and got totally freaked out, galloping around the field at top speed until Nathalie finally managed to catch him and calm him down. But over the last couple of days Nathalie tells me he’s made friends with a gentle old skinny gelding who arrived there a month or two ago virtually a skeleton and who is slowly gaining weight, gradually returning to the land of the living. I pray those two will really click and that Kwintus will find a “new Coconut” to share his life with. He deserves to be happy. All horses do.

My daughter is coming home for the Christmas holidays this Saturday, and she and I will drive down to visit Kwintus over the next couple of weeks, staying overnight in one of Nathalie and Monika’s pretty guest rooms. I stopped by Maya’s tack shop again this afternoon (Qrac put a foot through his reins this morning and broke his bridle) and she suggested she and I go down to Nathalie’s in the spring time for a nice relaxed girlie weekend. Although distance makes it difficult to visit Kwintus as often as before, the fact that Nathalie and Monika also offer bed and breakfast (and lunch and dinner too!) in lovely surroundings turns a weekend visit into a mini-holiday. And although my husband isn’t particularly fussed about horses, he does enjoy pleasant surroundings and good wine. If I can sell him visiting Kwintus as a romantic, wine-tasting getaway in Burgundy maybe we could go there every couple of months.

Quite frankly, the most important thing for me is that Kwintus is well looked after, and, from what I’ve seen, I’m confident this will be the case. Chances are his life in Burgundy will be more comfortable than his life was with Coconut; Nathalie has more land, more horses, and Kwint will definitely get more exercise, pottering up and down all those rolling hills day after day. Everything happens for a reason, so I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out the real reasons behind this emotional upheaval.

Is This a Good Thing?

2011-12-07T08:19:00.001-08:00

by Laura Crum

Warning—there is a rant ahead. If you don’t want to hear me whine and pose some difficult questions about horse blog land, please click on the x.

We’ve been riding on the beach. The photo shows my son on Henry and Wally on Twister and the tip of Sunny’s ear in the lower left corner. Riding on the beach is a good thing My old horse, Gunner, is home and doing well. That’s a good thing. My kid and I are having lots of fun with our horses. That’s a good thing, too. The horses themselves have been rockstars of steady reliability. Sunny even walked calmly down a very LONG, narrow, funky wooden bridge through the sand dunes. And the one thing Sunny doesn’t care for is funky, narrow, wooden bridges. That was a very good thing. Things are going very well in general. However, I recently had a really sad and negative thing happen in blog world. Someone who was once my friend and who turned against me years ago, refusing my every effort to heal the breach (and I did everything I could do), has finally forced me to realize that she simply is not the kind, compassionate person I always hoped and believed she truly was at heart. It has really given me a negative feeling about what kind of friendship/knowing is possible over the internet. I obviously never knew this woman…because I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she would never treat anyone in the cold, unkind way she has behaved toward me. And now I’m wondering whether reading horse blogs is such a good thing. Maybe you all can help me sort it out.

First off, I’m not a person who has chosen to be sitting in front of a screen much. I don’t own a TV and haven’t ever owned one. I don’t do facebook or Twitter. I’ve never sent a text in my life. My cell phone resides in my car and is used strictly for problems—I probably make ten calls on it a year. You get the picture. But…

As a writer, I’ve learned to type my manuscripts on the computer. Yes, I used to write them longhand, but have finally caved in to the obvious reality that it makes more sense and is far more efficient to type that first draft into the computer. Then, for years now, many/most people prefer email to phone, so I’ve learned the routine of checking email a couple of times a day and communicating with many folks through this medium. Finally, roughly fours years ago I was invited to join the newly formed equestrian ink blog and learned (slowly) about the connected community of horse bloggers. And this has proved to be a two-edged sword.

I really like reading horse blogs. I like it in a way I never liked TV. Yes, I’m still sitting in front of a screen, but in many ways it’s the opposite of TV. TV is big business trying to program us, blogging is the little individual able to bring his/her personal voice/opinions to the world. It really tickles me to hear the thoughts of folks from different places and different disciplines.

And horses are the common ground with horse bloggers. We all love horses. Most of us own horses. But those who don’t, still love horses and are endlessly interested in them. As one blogger said to me, you meet a better class of woman when you hang around with horsewomen. I find that’s true, both in real life and on the internet.

There are some blogs that almost always make me smile, and others where I feel such sympathy for what the blogger is going through. There are bloggers who seem to lead wonderful horse lives or live in wonderfully exotic places (to me) and I am mildly envious, but also very much enjoying their tales. There are training blogs that make my hair stand right up as I feel they are advising absolutely the wrong thing, and training blogs that are (in my view) very insightful and helpful. There are blogs that are entertaining and well written, though I may not agree with the point of view. I like reading them all. In fact, I’m addicted to reading them.

I’ve learned a lot from reading horse blogs, and quiet moments in my day have often been filled with some interest because of them. I’ve corresponded with several bloggers and found them to be really delightful. I also had the bad experience that I referenced earlier of a long correspondence (hundreds of emails over more than a year) that blew up in my face, with the blogger, who I believed was my friend, refusing to “speak” to me again, despite my efforts to somehow mend the breach. This left me sad and also sort of bitter. I felt for awhile that perhaps everyone I “met” in the blogosphere might prove as dramatically different from the person they appeared to be on their blog as this one blogger had proven herself to be. Because call me simple, but I thought she WAS the wise, compassionate persona she presented on her blog, despite much evidence in her emails that this wasn’t the case. The whole experience left me very disillusioned, and I felt that perhaps horse blog world was not the pleasant place it had once appeared to be. However, I kept on reading horse blogs, because… well, I don’t know why exactly.

Because I’m addicted to this form of entertainment, maybe? Because I was/am sincerely interested in the different horse bloggers out there and their horses and adventures? Because I have connected with some neat people and have had some wonderful and rewarding correspondences that have restored my faith in folks I might meet through the blogosphere? Because I appreciate good writing? Because I’ve learned a lot? Because I love horses? Because I love talking about horses with fellow horse people? Because I hope some horse bloggers might try my books?

I guess you could say that all these things are true. It’s the addiction aspect that bugs me, though. If I have a moment, I’ll wander over to the computer and see if one of my favorite bloggers has posted something new. Or if something interesting has been said in the comments. Oh, the comments. Don’t even get me started. I love responding to comments, but, of course, it takes time. I enjoy commenting on others’ blogs, but, of course, that takes time, too. I get confused. I’m spending a lot of time at this. Should I be doing this at all? Wouldn’t I be better off outside?

Yes, I ride several times a week, I homeschool my kid, I volunteer at his homeschool program, I am teaching a class at the local community college, my 12^th mystery novel will be released this coming spring. Its not like I’m just sitting at the computer reading horse blogs. But still…I probably spend an hour a day feeding my “addiction.” Is this a good thing?

I know, I know, it isn’t black or white. There are aspects of positive and negative here, and I recognize that. I’m just not sure how to sort it all out. I feel very conflicted, which is telling me that there is something I need to work on. Because I’m not conflicted in other parts of my life. I feel clear about what I want to do (with my horses, for instance) and am able to get it done and am satisfied with it. Not so with the blogging world.

I enjoy writing posts and responding to comments and if I just stuck to that, I’d probably be fine. But I am sincerely interested in others and so I read their blogs and often am moved to comment and all of a sudden I’ve been at the computer an hour and the dishes aren’t done. And the inescapable thought arises—I would have been better off to do those dishes.

The worst of it is when I feel frustrated because I’ve tried to interact in horseblog world and it hasn’t worked out as I hoped. Maybe I’ve pissed someone off by being too direct (my big failing), though I only meant well, or maybe someone has (probably unintentionally) hurt my feelings by their response or lack of response to something I “said”. And then I began to wish I wasn’t involved with this at all.

Of course, far more frequently I have those moments of connection with fellow horse people all over the world and I think that this is just a wonderful community and I’m tickled to be a part of it. And then I sit at the computer another half hour typing comments and replying to emails. When I finally do get up and go do something else, I wonder if the positive emotional content outweighs the negativity (in my mind) of all that time spent facing a screen. I just don’t know (can you hear me wailing here?).

Because though I know that all of you are just as real as I am, and I really do take pleasure in your joy and mourn your sorrows and feel connected to you and your horses, time spent “with” you equals time spent facing that impersonal screen. And I’m still not sure if this is a good thing.

Does anybody else go through this? Do you have suggestions, insights, a path that works for you? Because I am truly confused.

I do realize that this is a very minor problem in the big scheme of things. My life is good and peaceful, I love my family, my critters, my home, the things I do every day. I am a very lucky woman and I realize this. I am truly grateful for my life. A little confusion and angst over how to relate to the blogosphere is not a big deal. But I also know that whenever this feeling of discomfort nags at me it is trying to tell me to look at something. I felt it when I was ready to give up competing on my horses; I felt it at many other times when I needed to make a change. And I’m feeling it now. But what is the change to be?

I don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater. I have had very many pleasant and enlightening moments because of horse blogs and horse bloggers. I feel connected to many of you, not least the authors who write for equestrianink. But I am still conflicted about my “addiction”. In many ways I feel conflicted about the whole concept of social networking via the internet. Life seems to be changing so fast. I actively dislike facebook. And yet, I feel as if I know many of my fellow horse bloggers that I’ve never met in person and I’ve learned so much and found so much support.

And then there has been this one woman who I was once so fond of who has treated me in a way that I wouldn’t treat anyone. She’s a very charming, plausible, much loved blogger who is an extremely talented writer. She advocates many things that I agree with on her blog. I first became friends with her because I admired her so much. In many ways I still do. I certainly admire her writing skills and think she sticks up for some good things. And yet I have had one of the most negative encounters of my entire life with her…despite the dozens of emails I have in my files where she thanked me profusely for my friendship and support. Not to mention all the emails confiding her darker feelings and stories. I’ve kept all these things secret for a very long time, because I only meant her good. Since the end of our friendship I have tried very patiently to let her know that even if we were unsuited for close friendship (which we were), there is no reason not to be kind, polite and supportive toward one another, and I am totally willing to do my part. The only response I ever got was one of the coldest, nastiest pieces of work I’ve ever seen. And yes, I snapped at her the other day when she bragged about her kindness toward all. I guess I’ve just had enough of the hypocrisy. And no, a clean, if sarcastic, comment representing a disagreement with what this blogger said about herself does not make me a spammer. Just sayin.

Do I sound bitter? I guess I am. At least a little. What I’m really doing is putting it out there because I’m tired of inwardly holding the hope that some day I could at least have a cordial relationship with this gal. I wanted to believe in her basic personal decency in the worst way. At one time, we seemed to have such a great connection. But she has a long history of writing folks off and never speaking to them again, so I suppose I should have known that it would inevitably happen with me. As a person who has never done this (there is absolutely no one, in the blogosphere or in my real day to day life that I have ever written off and not spoken to again, nor has anyone else—except this one woman—ever acted this way toward me), I simply don’t understand this behavior. I haven’t talked about it before on this blog because I had hoped that it would eventually mend, at least to the degree that we could be polite and cordial in some way. I had no illusions that we would ever be close correspondents again, nor would I want this. But keeping the whole thing to myself is just increasing the sadness I feel. What a sad, ridiculous business. And completely unnecessary. Will somebody please explain to me what could possibly be bad about my wanting us to be polite and kind to each other? Cause I really don’t get it.

(In the interest of fairness I would like to add that I made a HUGE mistake in this relationship. This woman was my very first internet friend and I went completely overboard. I thought she was wonderful. We had so much in common. I believed we could have this special, honest, intimate friendship that was solely founded on truth. Now, she “seemed” to be on the same page, confiding her life story, writing me many times a day, asking that I always keep writing to her…etc, and I’d still like to believe we were honestly very fond of each other at this point. The only thing I can be sure of is that I was sincere. But there were a lot of red flags in her emails, and I wouldn’t heed them. The worst problem was that we were very different people; I am completely open and I don’t mind disagreeing. I don’t mind being told that something I did didn’t work for someone else. I’ll do my best to work through it. This woman described herself as “not an open person”. In the end she found my desire for an open, direct sort of to and fro very threatening, or so I think. What I failed to understand was that internet friendships, in general, won’t hold up to such intensity, and that this person, in particular, couldn’t handle it. I wish I had understood this then and perhaps we’d still be sort of friends. But in fairness to myself, my mistake was in wanting us to be as fine a thing as we could be, which to me meant openness, honesty and trust. My motivation was entirely positive, but we both (in the end) found the other’s way of communicating very frustrating. Once she decided she didn’t want to be friends any more (and to be frank, I did not want that relationship any more as it was), the only thing I ever asked of her was that we be polite, kind and supportive of each other. As in, you know, the occasional brief email saying “I enjoyed your post; hope you’re doing well,” and “Thanks, you, too.” And her response to this request was extremely hostile.)

And finally, I would like to say that if this gal ever replies to this post on her own blog, which I doubt, I can faithfully predict that it will be in the form of the “high road putdown”, which is her specialty. “I’m the good guy, you’re the bad guy,” is the gist of it, very cold and quasi-polite, and she’s very clever at evading the actual issue and putting forth that agenda. As in those who disagree with her and don’t care for her attitude are mean girls and “malcontents”. She will imply that I am bashing her or some such thing. The truth is that if I could have just one wish of her it would be that she would write and say, “OK, let’s be kind.” And you know what? Despite everything, I’d be happy to write back, “Yes. Let’s be kind. I wish you the best.” I’d love to think she really does have kindness in her, just as she always claims.

As for me, I’m perfectly willing to forgive and forget and move on. In honor of the many, many happy afternoons we passed writing our thoughts to each other, if nothing else. And I still hope she has the success that her writing deserves. What I don’t understand is holding a grudge. How does this fit with kindness and sympathy toward all? How is this a good thing? Particularly when you’re talking about someone who only meant you well, and who isn’t asking anything of you but common politeness—the internet version of a civil handshake. The whole thing makes me feel sad, but I’ve finally come to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried. I’ve tried very patiently for a long time. Now I’m letting go of it. And I’m letting go of keeping it buried inside me. I think the most important thing for me right now is to acknowledge the truth and move on, unfortunately carrying the knowledge that someone that I cared about feels very bitterly towards me. And this is a hard thing for me to do. I meant her only good and did many things to help her during our long correspondence, and I wanted us to be in a place where we could regard each other in a positive, if distanced way. But I don’t think its gonna happen. So I’m trying to accept that I can’t mend this. If I need to write more about it in order to heal up from it, I will.

This was a very difficult post for me to write, but I think it will help me to move forward. In the meantime, I’m not so sure any more what the best path is through this brave new internet world. Any ideas on a good course to follow? Has anyone else dealt with an extremely negative encounter through horse blog world? Any advice on this subject is welcome

PS—You can feel free to respond to this post with criticism or disagreement; I won’t push the spam button on you.

PPS—If I don’t respond to comments or email, its because my computer has been very problematic lately. I’m not ignoring you.

Dipping my toe in the big pond.

2011-12-05T13:32:00.000-08:00

You know the old saying - big frog in a little pond or a little frog in a big pond - well I have never been one to be OK with staying in the little pond. I may be crazy, or stupid, or a gluten for punishment (or a little bit of all three) but every time I reach a threshold I want to push beyond it rather than staying happy and comfortable with where I am.

Well a few weeks ago, my new horse Uiver and I dipped our toe in the big pond and I would like to say we were little frogs, but when you compete Dressage in Southern California -(land of the former Olympian/world class rider) - I would say that we were more like guppies in the ocean. But non the less we survived our first competition at the first rung of FEI - Prix St. George. For those not familiar with the levels of dressage, Prix St. George is the first of 3 levels in FEI (Federation Equestrian Internationale). Although I don't have any delusions about going to the Olympics or world cup, I have dreamed about making it to FEI for many years now.

This is where I go back to not being satisfied, or smart enough, to stay in the little pond. As some of you might remember, I just bought Uiver this past June and, especially in Dressage, it usually takes a while (generally 6 months to a year) to "click" and form a solid partnership with a new horse. I bought Uiver through a very well respected trainer in San Diego named David Blake. I have known David for several years and was very happy when I saw that he was brokering the horse because I knew that he was honest and ethical which we all know is somewhat rare in the horse world. After buying Uiver I decided to train with David for several reasons. I knew that I would need help getting to know this extremely talented horse as well as further both of ours education and since David had already been training Uiver for the preceding 8 months, and Uiver clearly liked David, it was a logical choice. In addition, the other pluses were that David trains out of a gorgeous facility, Arroyo Del Mar, with great footing, which is also the home of Stephen Peters with whom David trains. I cannot afford to ride with Stephen and am certainly not at a level (yet) that would merit his high level of input, but it is nice to know that although David is very accomplished in his own right, there is also some influence from Stephen (who is indisputably the top U.S. dressage rider) as well.

The other unexpected positive has been that everyone at Arroyo, has been gracious, kind and supportive and make me feel welcome every time I am there for a lesson. There is such a happy, positive vibe to the place it is no wonder that all of the horses seem so happy to work and that the trainers are so successful.

After buying Uiver I started a routine of hauling to David once a week for lessons. Uiver and I clicked and bonded quicker than my wildest dreams and in August David suggested that we go to our first show and try our hand at 3rd and 4th level. Part of me thought David was a little crazy but the other part trusted him and felt confident in Uiver so to the show we went. Well I could not have dreamed a better result and would not even put it in a book because no one would think it plausible. Uiver and I rode 3 classes over 2 days, Third Level Test 3 and Fourth Level Test 1 on 2 different days. We won all 3 classes with scores of 70% at 3rd and a 66 and a 68% at 4th. What all these numbers really mean is that I was walking around the show in shock pinching myself to know that this really was my horse.

Uiver was amazing. As you all know, you never fully know a horse when you buy them and never really know how they will handle the stress of competition until you go. Uiver was a gentlemen in the often hectic warm-up and the minute he realized we were heading to the ring for our test, he puffed himself up even taller, pricked his ears and put on a show. The moment we started down the center line it was as if he said, watch me and my new Mom. The test was not without a few mistakes, they rarely are, but it was one of the best of my career especially considering we had only been a pair for about 2 months.

So, instead of staying comfortably at 4th level for a little while, David thought we should try our hand at Prix St. George just 3 months later. How did we do, you say? Well, it was not perfect by any stretch but we did not make fools out of ourselves either. All in all it was a respectable start but it would have been even better if I could count right. The dreaded "Tempi" change (a series of flying changes on a designated stride count) was my nemesis and as a result we only got a 58% one day but improved to a 64% the second which earned a 5th place in the class. Not horrible but we definitely have room for improvement.

Am I crazy? Should we have stayed comfortable at 4th for a while? Uiver does not seem to care one way or the other. He is happy to work as long as he knows there will be grass pasture time or a chance to play with his pony afterward. Uiver has become very attached to Michele's daughter's pony Monty and they either play or take naps together when they are not being worked or turned out. They are a bit of an odd couple since Uiver is 16.3 hands and Monty is 14.1 but they are happy and that is all that matters.

I do plan to stay at Prix St. George for most of 2012 and our winter training will focus on getting the count right on Tempi changes and refining everything else. With a little luck I hope to be a little less of a guppie in the ocean and maybe even make it to little frog status. No matter whether the sharks get us or not, I am just happy to be living the dream.

On the First Day of Christmas . . .

2011-12-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

. . . my true love gave to me, an Alison Hart book that was free.

How is this possible, you ask? It's the Great Holiday Book Giveaway! Books are the best gifts for any reason, but they're especially wonderful under the tree or in a stocking.

Many of you mentioned that money is tight this season. So with a quick comment about which of my books looks just right as the perfect gift, you are entered to win something free. No standing in lines or shopping with crowds. Simply click on my website www.alisonhartbooks.com and choose which book you would like for someone you love (ah hem, that can include yourself). I have historical fiction such as Emma's River, choose your own endings such as Dive Right In! or page-turning mysteries such as Return of the Gypsy Witch.

Your choice, no postage needed, and I will be happy to personalize the book.
One of the wonderful things about this blog and its members is that the love of animals and BOOKS shines through in every post and comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you are wishing for this holiday season. For me, it's a day of peace and relaxation with a good book to read!

Enjoy the Great Holiday Book Giveaway! and Happy December to all!

THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES Winners!

2011-12-01T12:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone who entered the contest to win an ebook of my brand new novel THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES.

As announced, there are two winners - and they are:

Once Upon an Equine and Coral Russell.

Please contact me linda (at) lindabenson (dot) net with your email address, so I can get the book to you.

And if you're not a winner, THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES is available on Amazon.com, where it's consistently been in the Top 100 New Releases for Children's Horse books, as well as the Top 10 Hot New Releases for the same. And it's perfect for horse lovers of all ages, not just kids! It's also available at Musa Publishing, Smashwords, Omnilit, Bookstrand, and Barnes & Noble.

Thanks again to all who entered, and may your holiday reading bring you joy!

Gunner Comes Home

2011-11-30T05:27:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

The photo above shows my 31 year old horse, Gunner, (and me) fourteen years ago. Gunner was 17 and had been retired from competition for a few years at the time the photo was taken, but I still used him for light riding. As you can see, he was happy to pick up the lope in my riding ring, for the local newspaper’s photographer. I’ve used this as the author photo on a couple of my books, and yes, before anybody else says it, I looked a lot better 14 years ago, pre-baby and minus twenty pounds.

Gunner and I have had a very long partnership. I bought him as a three-year old- with ninety days of riding, and did the rest of his training myself. We competed at the Snaffle Bit Futurity and placed in the ladies division and the non-pro, and then I went on to show Gunner as a cutting horse until he was eight, winning a few buckles and year end awards. When Gunner was nine I taught him to be a team roping head horse and competed on him at team roping until he was fourteen, when I retired him from competition due to various arthritic complaints. I used him for light riding until he was about twenty, when I turned him out to pasture. He’s stayed comfortably sound for eleven good years in the pasture, and I was happy to see him running around on the green grass with his equine buddies. In the last few years he lived in a separate field, next to another old horse, so that both of them could be fed a supplemental ration of equine senior feed that worked for each individual.

I brought Gunner home from the pasture on Thanksgiving Day. We had euthanised his longtime companion, ET, previously (see my earlier post “Sad”), and I didn’t want Gunner standing alone in the winter storms, even with his blanket on. Besides, I missed him. I kept him turned out in this pasture five miles from my place for all these many years because I thought it was best for him. In the last few years, either Wally or I drove out there every day to supplement Gunner and ET with the equine senior feed they needed to thrive. Eventually ET was not thriving, even on free choice equine senior and lush pasture, so we made the choice to euthanise him. And this made me come to the decision that it was time to bring Gunner home.

There were a lot of factors involved here. For one thing there is no shelter, other than trees, in the pasture where we’ve been keeping these horses. In our climate this works fine for healthy horses in good flesh, and the two horses we still have turned out there (Danny and Gray Dog), who are in their teens, look just fine. But horses in their twenties and thirties usually need a little more help, and last winter I was out there all the time blanketing Gunner and ET for winter storms and taking their blankets off when it was sunny. It will be a lot easier for me to take good care of Gunner here where he has a shed to stand in when it rains, and I can monitor his condition closely and feed him exactly what he needs.

Another factor is company. I had to keep Gunner and ET in separate small fields in order that each got enough equine senior feed to thrive, but they were right alongside each other and could see each other at all times. The other horses, in the bigger pasture, are frequently out of sight of the small fields. I felt that my poor old horse would feel lonely and left behind by the herd if I kept him alone like that. Here at home he has horses all around him, his corral is big enough to run around (and he does) and I have already noticed that his demeanor seems happier.

And then, I missed having him with me. Letting ET and Rebby go was hard, and really woke me up and brought home to me that if I wanted to spend time with my special old friend, I needed to do it now. And I honestly think that Gunner has already shown that he appreciates the attention and interaction with his human friends, as well as his equine friends. He seems very engaged and interested in everything going on around him, and there is plenty to keep him interested.

Besides the fact that I feed three times a day, we are often down in the barnyard just to hang out with the horses, even if we aren’t catching the riding horses to do something with them. And I often turn the horses out to graze on my property. And, to be honest, my son and I spend time just rubbing on the horses and feeding them cookies. I know, I know, I never used to feed treats as a practice, and I still don’t believe in this as a training aid, nor would I do this with young horses who need to learn what right behavior is, but my kid so wanted to give his loved horses cookies that I caved. (My karma ran over my dogma, you could say.) I simply taught the (all older, well-broke) horses to take the treats politely and now we have a little cookie feeding routine. Gunner loves it.

I don’t have a current photo of Gunner in the computer (as a matter of fact I haven’t been able to download or upload—I never know which it is—any recent photos because my computer is so spazzy I’m afraid that something as traumatic as photos might give it a knock-out punch, so the most recent photos that I can post are from this summer), and it is impossible to get a very flattering shot any more. Gunner is sway backed and peaked rumped, and his face looks old. But there are no ribs or hipbones to be seen or felt, and he has a decent amount of fat on the crest of his neck and over his whole body. He’s in pretty good flesh and his always very fuzzy winter coat is thick and shiny. He’s sound and his appetite is good. I’ve been happy to see that he moves around very freely in his big corral and throws in a buck when he feels like it. Gunner is doing OK. And he’s getting lots of love around here.

Below you see my son snuggling with Sunny in our barnyard—and Gunner is getting his fair share of such attention, too. I think he’s happy that he’s home.

If any of you have some tips or advice about how you keep your very senior equine citizens happy, healthy and engaged with life, I would love to hear them.

It's a Maybe: The Retired Racehorse Book

2011-11-29T09:39:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I think that my greatest talent is coming up with awesome ideas and then sticking them on the back-burner until I have "time." (As if "time" were something I was ever going to possess, to clench in my fist, to cackle a villainous laugh over. I've got you at last, Time! Probably not.)

Stuck on my backburner I have various art projects (what to do with that charming little Sam Savitt paperback before it decays entirely? Something amazing. I'll look it up later), an entire manuscript imaginatively named The Eventing Novel (I'll completely rewrite that eventually), and, most annoyingly of all, the Retired Racehorse book.

I've been planning the Retired Racehorse book since the day I started Retired Racehorse Blog. You might know it, a little WordPress project that made me moderately Internet Famous amongst a small proportion of Thoroughbred enthusiasts and got me a lot of Facebook friends. (Hi Facebook friends! xo) I meant to just keep training Off-Track Thoroughbreds and blog about their training as I went, and eventually put it all into a lovely retraining manual, since it can be difficult to consult a blog before you go out to ride.

YOU PROMISED ME A BOOK

But it spun all out of proportion and somehow I ended up a writer in New York City. I attribute this development directly to Retired Racehorse Blog, and I still want to write the book, out of appreciation, at the very least! The blog deserves its book!

The problem, of course, is that I'm not training horses anymore, and I can't just make up fixes for problems. I don't have a set curriculum for a horse. I'm not Natalie Keller Reinert Horsemanship MasterClass, Inc. My blog posts were mentally composed as I was riding, thinking through the problems that the horse was presenting me as I tried to trace them to their roots in his early training as a racehorse.

And then yesterday I was in the basement of the Strand Bookstore, which is one of my favorite places to be (certainly it's my favorite basement) and I found a gorgeous little vintage hardcover of Ahlerich: The Making of a Dressage World Champion, by Reiner Klimke. It's basically a detailed—incredibly detailed—training diary of one of the most wonderful dressage teams we've ever seen. Just wonderful.

I didn't buy it, because it was $40 and my price limit for books is closer to $1.

But it did remind me that I had a perfectly good diary of training a retired racehorse from racetrack to amateur eventer in five months, and I really ought to pull the Retired Racehorse Book off that back-burner.

Except I still really don't have time.

And then today I saw a WordPress plug-in called Anthologize, which is supposed to make your blog into a book automagically, and I thought, this is the sign! I'll do it today!

But then I read the instructions, and it doesn't work on WordPress.com hosted blogs. (i.e. dot wordpress dot com blogs, aka free blogs.)

So I pulled out my hair for a few minutes (it's really long and I can spare a few strands) and then took a deep breath. I'll still do the Retired Racehorse Book. Just not at this exact moment. When I have time.

The Trials of Horsekeeping at Home--Stall-Cleaning

2011-11-26T22:35:00.001-08:00

I've had Gailey at home since September. I've kept her at home before, but it's been years. So far it's not been much of an inconvenience. Of course, my husband and me can't take off for weekend trips at the drop of a hat like we once did. Still, I'm fine with that. Think of the money we save.

When Gailey lived at home previously, she was the tidiest horse a person could ask for. She never made a mess in her stall unless it was raining hard enough to launch an ark. If nature came calling while she was eating hay in her stall, her head would shoot up and she'd be out the door, heading for the same corner of the paddock each time to her personal outhouse.

After years of being boarded in a stall with no attached paddock, she's picked up some annoying habits. The most annoying one of all is that she's turned into a pig. I mean a full-blown P I G. I'll spare you the gory details. She leaves messes all over her stall, including on top of her fresh hay and in her water bucket, even in her feed bucket.

In the past, if I stripped the stall of shavings down to the rubber mats, she'd stop making a mess because she didn't like laying down in it. Not so this time, she didn't seem to care. She'd turned into an equine pig pen.

I was at my wit's end and resigned to my fate which included cleaning her stall two to three times a day. On Thanksgiving I threw a bale of shavings in the stall, figuring that she'd completely soil it within hours.

Well, go figure, it's now three days later, and her stall is pristine. She's using the outside facilities, rather than the stall. I haven't had to clean it three times a day or even once a day. I'm not sure my reprieve will last, but I'm enjoying it while I can, however long that might be.

In the meantime, I'm off to the feed store for more shavings.

I'm a Collector

2011-11-25T18:09:00.000-08:00

So, I know I haven't been here for awhile as things in my world have been a bit topsy turvy. I am grateful that I have the support of this group and that they have been so patient with me. I will be back from now on every other Friday.

Now on to my world of horses. There are 9 of them. Yes--9. I can only refer to myself as The Collector. Not sure what that says about me, but am pretty sure it does say something. At least they aren't stud colts (one is but he will be gelded). I don't know if any of you have watched Buck (the movie), if you haven't you should. We watched it last night while in the after math of turkey dinner in a comatose sort of state. I loved it but there was this woman who owned 18 stud colts! I'm like, who the hell does that? Buck asked the same thing. I won't spoil the movie for you, but if you watch this I am sure you will find yourself angry with the stud colt collector. She definitely got a reaction from my family.

My collection consists of 3 almost 3 year old fillies--Mia, Bronte, and Kaia, 1 sweet middle aged mare who sadly is a Wobbler (she happily resides at Terrie's with her many boyfriends, 2 old quarter horses Hobbit and Mouse (who I have renamed Pig due to the fact that he is consistently covered in mud and can not seem to keep himself or a blanket clean). Hobbit and Mouse are like the odd couple. Hobbit has a corner in his corral that is his bathroom. He does not go anywhere else but in that corner. Not Mouse (I mean Pig). I now have Will who is the horse that I am riding these days. Will has some anxiety issues and seems to think he owns all of the fillies, however, Hobbit strongly disagrees with Will. Hobbit claims he is King of the Barn. I tend to agree with him. Any horse who is as neat and clean as he is gets the King vote from me.

Finally there is Little Cruise. His registered name is High Octane Formula (Terrie named him). He is an Appendix colt that my cousin has at her place and that yes I agreed to take him because he is soooo pretty and well behaved and most likely my next riding horse--and oh yes, also because I am crazy.

Then last but not least we have the super pony Mr. Monty. Monty is my daughter's pony and he is the most fabulous pony in the world. This pony and the kid are quite a pair! He fuels her Olympic dreams and teaches her a great deal along with Aunt Terrie.

My mother and my husband keep asking me which ones I plan to sell. Ummm...... Sell a horse? I just sort of smile and say, "I don't know. Maybe the grey one or possibly the bay one." They both shake their heads and probably realize that I am not selling anyone!

Am I crazy? Probably, but they make me happy and all I can say that throughout all of the crazy that truly exists in my world it's those silly 9 horses that keep me grounded.

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Good to be back.

Cheers,
Michele

Cruise

The Girls and me

Hobbit

Turbulence

2011-11-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

Are you superstitious? I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly superstitious person. I don’t have a meltdown if I come face to face with a black cat, or a crow, or if I have to do something important on the 13th day of the month. I’d classify myself as “superstitiously aware”. For instance, I wouldn’t purposely tempt fate by walking under a ladder if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, and maybe I’d experience a nanosecond of doubt and hesitation should I rope myself into doing something major on a Friday the 13th. But I never throw salt over my shoulder, and can't recall spitting on my chest three times. Nor do I hang garlic to ward off vampires, not because I’m particularly impressed by Robert Pattinson (although I do think that Damien in “The Vampire Diaries” is rather yummy!), but simply because I’d rather cook with it.

How about the old adage of bad things happening in series? Do you believe in that? As far as I know, there’s no scientific evidence of crap thwarting people in multiples of three, but when I look around or think back to my own experiences, it sure seems to be the case. For instance, for the past few weeks I’ve definitely been experiencing a bout of turbulence. During the first week of November, in the space of four days, I moved Qrac, my Lusitano stallion, to two new stables, each diametrically opposed to my house (for all the woeful details about the first stable moved him to, see my last blog, “The Giant Pickle”). I’m happy to report that,after almost three weeks in his brand new stable, Qrac is doing better than ever and that I’m loving the fabulous indoor arena, loving having my trainer, Marie-Valentine, come twice a week, loving interacting with people in a friendly atmosphere, loving the compliments constantly being sprinkled on my horse! I’m not particularly enamored with the 45 minute trek out there, but the facilities make it worth it. Besides, Michael Buble’s new album has been injecting the journey with plenty of Christmas cheer.

However, last Friday, after the “law of series” blasted me with two major bummers in the space of two hours, even Michael Buble couldn’t cheer me up. Bummer number one (which really counts as bummer number two in the proverbial sequence of three, seeing as the original bummer was finding myself in a damp and dismal riding stables) hit around 11.45, when I handed my orthopedic surgeon three freshly developed x-rays of my right ankle. He wrinkled his nose. I knew it wasn’t good.

My right ankle has been bothering me for about two years now. The pain probably stems from a double fracture I sustained just over a decade ago, following which my surgeon had to insert titanium rods into my lower leg, with pins placed just below my knee, as well as into the inside of my ankle. The rods and pins were removed about twelve months later and all was well until I fell down the stairs carrying the laundry basket three years ago and tore the ligaments in the same ankle. I rested my foot, did physiotherapy, but from then on my ankle never has felt completely right. In the past year, it’s gradually got worse, to the point where I’m not comfortable walking anywhere in anything other than good trainers, or sturdy hiking boots. Heels? Forget it! And as much as I love my Ugg boots, I don’t feel like they offer enough support. I’ve been meaning to go and have an x-ray since the spring, but there have always been far more important or pleasant things to do, and the pain has been more or less bearable. On bad days I found different ways of putting my foot down when I walked, and I carried on with my life, hoping to wake up one day all shiny and new. Well, it didn’t happen. Lately, night after night, I’ve been stinking out the bedroom, slathering my ankle in anti-inflammatory gel, until last week I finally caved and made an appointment for an x-ray at the hospital. I thought the x-rays would reveal a little arthritis which could be resolved by some cortisone infiltrations.

Turns out I have a massive cyst on the outside of my ankle which needs to be surgically removed. Not only does it need to be removed, the ankle needs refurbishing with good bone, which my surgeon will probably take from my hip. Furthermore, to ensure the pain I’m experiencing isn’t also linked to ligament issues, my surgeon has scheduled an MRI this Friday morning. I’ve a sneaky feeling my ligaments might be a bit dodgy, in which case the operation will be more complicated. Either way, according to my surgeon, I’ll be out of equestrian action for between four and six weeks, potentially more, which totally sucks.

But this wasn’t the worst news I received last Friday. After I left the hospital, I headed up to my old stables, where my now-retired and mega-beloved Kwintus lives in peace and happiness with his also retired best-friend-forever, Coconut. Coconut belongs to S., who owns the stables and who promised me when I first moved Kwintus to her place almost two years ago that, once retired, my horse would be able to spend the rest of his life there. I retired Kwint last autumn, when the arthritis in his 5th and 6th vertebra really started bothering him. He’s spent most of the year out in his field, super-glued to Coconut. Separate them for a couple of minutes for one reason or another and they holler their heads off. They’re in love.

Last Friday, at approximately 12.30, S. calmly finished eating a banana, looked at me across her kitchen table and told me I had to find another home for Kwintus.

My stomach filled with ice water. I couldn’t believe my ears. Why? For what reason? It’s not as though she has no space for him; most of her stables are empty, Kwintus is the only horse on the premises who doesn’t belong to her. Recently she’d been complaining about everyone having left because she hadn’t been able to get her indoor arena built before the winter, and, consequently, of no longer having any income. I still paid her pretty good money every month for Kwint’s retirement. Sure, it wasn’t as much as I used to pay her for Qrac, but considering Kwint spent from mid-May to the end of October living in the field, his upkeep hasn’t exactly been labor intensive.

With tears in my eyes, I asked her why she was kicking him out. Her answer? “It doesn’t fit the concept”.

Frankly, I could pick holes the size of the Grand Canyon in her aforementioned “concept” but have too much integrity to do so on a public blog.

I offered her more money. With tears in my eyes, I begged her not to separate Kwint and Coconut. I asked her to imagine what it would to them. “They’re only horses,” she replied. “They’ll get over it.” Yes, I suppose they will, but it seems so pointless, so unnecessary. But it’s her place, and it’s her decision, and there’s nothing I can do to change her mind, so I went home and immediately started making phone calls to try to find other possibilities for Kwintus.

Later this morning I’ll be driving to a village outside the town of Cluny, in Burgundy, to look at a place that comes highly recommended by Maya, an old friend of mine who owns a tack shop close to where I live. Maya recently retired her daughter’s horse there, has known the lady who runs the place for many years, and tells me wonderful things about it. Burgundy is much further away than I’d like, but it’s difficult to find nice places to retire horses in my area. I live in a beautiful part of the world, in the countryside just outside Geneva, Switzerland, but we’re stuck in a narrow stretch between the lake and the mountains and, consequently, land is exorbitant, which makes keeping horses exorbitant, too. There is one very nice place near me that caters to retired horses, but not only is it full, it’s also crazy expensive, costing almost as much per month as I pay for Qrac. Most local places seem to be small, sad, depressing dumps, and after everything Kwintus has given, whether it’s to me, to my daughter Olivia, or to his previous owners, he deserves so much better.

If I like the place in Burgundy, I’ll be hitching up my trailer and hauling him there this weekend. Just writing about separating him from Coconut makes my eyes tear up, so I dread to think of how I’ll be feeling as we drive away on Saturday or Sunday morning. I keep telling myself that he’ll soon make friends with other horses, and live a wonderful life in acres and acres of rolling fields in another
beautiful part of the world. If he goes there, Kwint will be just over two hours away, a distance that rules out weekly visits, but seeing as the facilities also offer guest accommodation (it’s a registered “chambre d’hôtes”, a small rural hotel), it would be nice to visit him once in a while at weekends, particularly in the warmer months. Of course, I really wish I didn’t have to uproot to my wonderful old horse, but crap happens, people disappoint, and what choice do we have other than to make the best out of bad situations?

I’m really hoping this place in Burgundy will be perfect for Kwintus, that I’ll get a good feeling from the lady who runs it, and that I’ll be able to trust her to take good care of Kwintus during his golden years. His welfare is the only “concept” that matters to me, to the point where I’m actually more upset about separating him from Coconut than I am about needing surgery on my messed-up ankle. Hopefully, finding Kwintus a nice new home will end this current cycle of gloom, and I’ll be able to start New Year with a lighter heart.

What about you? Have you had any runs of bad luck recently? And, more importantly, what is your experience with uprooting retired horses?

Sad

2011-11-23T06:45:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

I’m very sad today. My horse partner made the decision yesterday (with my agreement) to put down our two pasture pets who have been going downhill for the past year. ET was 31 and Rebby was 27. Despite our best efforts at feed and care these two would not maintain their weight—ET could not see or hear much any more. With the winter storms coming and both Wally and I completely maxed out on the expense and time involved in trying to keep these horses in borderline OK shape, he finally decided it was time. We both felt terrible, but I couldn’t really argue with him. He very kindly agreed to hold them while they were euthanised—I don’t think I could have done it. I took care of these horses for over ten years and tried very hard to give them a good quality of life in the pasture. Neither was ever my personal horse, but I did train Reb (who belonged to Wally). It is so hard to draw an arbitrary line like this. Neither horse had an acute failure going on. They were just skinny old horses who were slowly failing, despite the fact that we were putting out about $500 a month in supplemental feed to try to help them. ET had a constant mildly snotty nose. Both horses looked pretty rough. Nothing was going to get any better. I don't think we were wrong. It's just very sad.

Staying true to the goal.

2011-11-21T18:15:00.000-08:00

After spending my last several blogs gushing (and hopefully not boring everyone) about my trip to Africa I decided to shift back to my seemingly endless journey as a writer. After reading Alison's great post about the book fair and the challenges of promoting her book, I found myself re-energized in my quest to publish my first full length novel.

In addition to teaching and training horses full time, as well as my own competitive career in Dressage, I have spent much of my writing career producing non-fiction articles (usually horse-related) and promotional materials for other companies. It has done a good job of paying the bills but distracts from my own personal quest to publish a novel. In past blogs I have solicited and received great advice on how to be more disciplined in the time I measure out to write "my stuff" and input on keeping the plot organized when having to take breaks from writing in order to make a living.

Like it seems for all of us, life and finding quiet time to write is an ongoing juggling act. I get that, but for me it also comes down to setting the right priorities. I am very guilty of being too available to my clients some times and not defining clear enough boundaries. I tend to spin my wheels trying to be all things to everyone rather than simply saying no once in a while. Well, today I started a new trend. I turned off my phone, locked my doors, turned on my head phones and wrote for 3 hours nearly uninterrupted; if you don't count the cat trying to sleep on my computer keys a couple of times. And I feel great for it!!!! For a long while now I have felt the need to make changes in my perspective. Maybe it is menopausal 50's or maybe just me finally growing up, but I have been feeling a sense or urgency to do the things, like Africa, and accomplish the goals, like my book and my new horse, that have been a part of my consciousness for so long.

Well I am turning the page (pun intended). I am not abandoning my job as a teacher and trainer, (I love it too much), and I am not going to completely stop my non-fiction pursuits, (bills have to get paid), but I am going to scale back significantly. Right or wrong, I put much of my personal life experiences and characters in my real life into my writing. One of my horse characters is very similar to a "problem-child colt" I had in training a few years ago and the adolescent girl in the story has a little bit of every teenage girl I have taught over the years. So becoming a hermit to just write would not work for me anyway and I think I would go a little stir crazy.

I have though, set out a schedule for myself of milestones I want to reach over the next 6 months. Do you think this is a good idea? What works for all of you to keep yourself on some sort of a deadline? I have always worked best under pressure which is really just a way of enabling my tendency to procrastinate. So, I am open to any and all suggestions.

On a separate note, this past weekend I took a big step toward to another big goal on my "bucket list" of sorts - compete at the FEI level in Dressage. Well Uiver, my new horse, and I competed Prix St. George (the first rung of FEI) this past weekend. We, or I should say I, made mistakes on my tempi changes, but we were fairly competitive in a big open class. I will have photos and more details on my next blog. In the meantime any words of advice to keep me on my schedule would be greatly appreciated!

Beyond Writing

2011-11-19T12:42:00.000-08:00

I meet many writers who have a story in their heart that they are dying to publish. Most have written the novel, short story or article, queried, sent them out, been rejected . . . You get the picture. Publishing is a tough business if you want to break in to the big name markets, which is why most writers I meet are also venturing into eBooks, small press and self-publishing. However, no matter how your book is published or in what format, you--the author--will need to promote it-unless you are J.K.Rowling. (My daughter informed me that every 30 seconds someone opens a Harry Potter book.) This is the work that goes beyond writing, and for me, it can take up much of my time and effort.

Last week I drove to Kentucky for five days of book promotion. I did two school visits, spoke at The National Middle School conference, and spoke and signed books at the Kentucky Book Fair. Before leaving, I filled book orders, answered fifty student emails (from the eager sixth grade readers I would be visiting)and planned five different talks on top of finishing up teaching responsibilities, packing and getting the 'house' and animals settled so my husband's caretaking job would be easy.

The trip was a success. I didn't get lost, technology worked, books were sold and signed, and students were lots of fun. One school visit was especially rewarding: the sixth graders had read Gabriel's Horses in their class.

They'd written reviews, emailed me, and were totally engaged with the book. They were excited to meet a real author, and I was peppered with questions about Gabriel's story as well as the writing process. The best thing about school visits is getting kids who do not usually go to the library, a book fair or bookstore pumped about reading and writing, and it's a chance for me to interact with real readers.

Because I teach, I keep my away-from-home time to a minimum. Most serious authors spend days and weeks traveling to school visits, book fairs and conferences. Loretta Ellsworth, my tablemate at the Kentucky Book Fair in Frankfort and author of YA (her newest book is Unforgettable, a great teen read)travels over a week every month, but she knows authors who travel to promote half the year. I was exhausted after five days, and I am embarrassed to say that I have not caught up at home and school--I still have books and bags in the trunk of my car! Of course, one of the things that is fun about book fairs is schmoozing with other authors. Loretta and I shared online promotional tips and discussed what worked and didn't work. Both of us agreed that no matter how much and how hard we promote, there is no guarantee that a book will be a success.

Promotion is tough and it's hard to tell what works to sell books. But watching a young reader's eyes light up when she saw one of my American Girl books or hearing a reluctant reader tell me he couldn't put Gabriel's Horses down were huge rewards.

What works for you? What questions do you have about promoting? I'd love to hear from you.

The Cowboy Way

2011-11-16T06:34:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

How do we choose the background/setting of our novels? I was asked that question the other day, in the course of a class I’m teaching at the local community college about “How to Write and Publish a Mystery.” Of course, I can’t answer how other authors make their choice. But for me, it was easy. I wanted to write about horses, specifically western horses, because horses have been my life. Horses and the cowboy way.

I was raised (in the horse biz, anyway) by a bunch of team roping cowboys, and their particular mindset really shaped me. I notice this quite a bit when I interact with folks that don’t come from that world. There often seems to be a sort of disconnect between us. I was thinking about this the other day and wondering why, and I had a light bulb moment. Its all about the cowboy way.

The cowboy way isn’t something you can learn from a book. Its something you have to live. Its easy to say that its about horses and cattle, and that’s true, as far as it goes. But it really amounts to a lot more than that.

Defining the cowboy way isn’t easy, but I’ll try. It has to do with being willing to get the job done, not whining about cold fingers or mud or dust or heat (or all the rest of the weather that Mother Nature can throw at you). It has to do with a sort of matter of fact physical courage and team spirit as well as an ability to read livestock accurately. Cowboys aren’t usually too chatty (until they’ve had a drink) and they are often pretty blunt. They have both a sense of pride and a sense of respect. They stand out when you put them somewhere in the modern world. They draw the eye. They don’t look much like suburban office workers, even if they choose to wear chinos and T-shirts and sneakers. There is an air of dignity about them.

In truth, a description like this doesn’t make much sense, which is why I spent a good deal of time in my first five novels trying to portray the cowboy way. The old “show not tell” approach. My desire to paint a portrait of the cowboy life as I have known it is a lot of what motivated me to write my mystery novels in the first place.

You might wonder what mysteries have to do with cowboys, and other than the fact that mysteries can be set in pretty much any venue, the answer is quite simple. My favorite mystery author was Dick Francis—not least because of the authentic horse lore that was so often woven into his stories. His jump jockies resembled, in many ways, the cowboys I grew up with and worked with and for-- practical, tough, understated guys who could both take a hit and loved working with horses. When I was thirty years old, I decided to try to write a mystery novel based on my background in the horse biz, in flagrant imitation of Dick Francis (who by the way corresponded with me for years—I sent him my books and he never failed to write back with both praise and helpful suggestions).

Having grown up with the cowboy way, I tend to admire folks like this. I’m also disconcerted by those who wear pristine white sneakers that are several years old. Sneakers that have never stepped on anything dirtier than a sidewalk. These folks are dismayed at the thought of walking through horse poop, or God forbid, cow poop, and the notion of wading through such muck to toss some alfalfa hay at the livestock gives them palpitations. Let alone the idea of climbing aboard a horse that might want to buck you off. They can’t imagine why anybody would want to do that.

Since all of my shoes probably have a little dried dung of some sort adhering to them somewhere, and I wade through the dust and/or mud every single day to feed my horses (not to mention I’ve been bucked off more than once in my life), I am in a pretty different space, and my conversations with these folks tend to veer off into mild incomprehension. (I think all you fellow horse people, cowboy oriented or not, will understand this.) As in sitting in a room that is perhaps mildly cool, the well dressed lady to the left of me fusses endlessly about the need to turn the heater up, and bundles herself up in her fancy coat and scarf. She looks at me, wearing a light (and very unfancy) sweater and asks, “Aren’t you cold?”

I think about it. I just can’t get my mind around the idea that she thinks this ever so slightly cool room is something to bother about. “Not really,” I say, “it was a lot colder when I was feeding the horses this morning in the rain and wind.” And the thought that goes through my mind is that she needs to try gathering cattle on a blustery day if she wants to know what uncomfortably cold feels like.

I realize that the well dressed ladies of the world probably think I look quite rough and uncouth and they no doubt imagine that I am envious of them, with their high heels, manicured finger nails, shiny little sports cars…etc. But nothing could be farther than the truth. That tidy suburban world holds no allure for me. I like my rough and messy life, full of animals and plants.

As a homeschooling mom, I’ve made many choices concerning what I want my son to learn. I want him to learn to read and write and do math, of course. I want him to learn how the world works. I want him to be able to get along with people…and understand the natural world. I want him to be kind. And I’ve thought a lot about how best to teach him these things.

Currently my son and I go twice a week to a practice roping at my uncle’s small ranch. Here we help gather the cattle out of the pasture and drive them through the chutes. We haze and chase cattle and help the ropers—a group of men ranging from 30 years old to 82. I’ve known these men all my life and used to rope with them, until I gave it up when I got pregnant in my 40’s. But they still treat me like part of the gang.

I don’t agree with them about everything—in fact I disagree with them about lots of things—I would not even bother to discuss politics with them, as we have rather opposite points of view. But I want my son to learn something these men can teach, and most kids don’t get a chance to learn it. To put it simply, I don’t want my son to learn pushy, unkind kid manners from the local suburban soccer team as they play on artificial turf; I want him to learn to be a man among other men. Men who know how to handle horses and cattle, who are in touch with the natural world.

I watch as my boy meets the 82 year old cowboy’s eyes and greets him politely and confidently, “Hey, Burt, how are you?” (And you should see trim, still athletic Burt rope a steer—at 82.) I watch as my child gathers the cattle as part of the team of adults, riding across the big meadow in the sunshine. I watch as he answers promptly, “Yep, I’m ready,” when asked if he’d chase a steer down to the pen for the men. And then he gets the job done. I watch him ride his horse effectively and get a friendly word of praise from 30 year old Mark, who is a handy horse trainer. I watch my kid smile quietly and say “thank you.” My son is learning the cowboy way.

And I believe I am giving him a gift.

Below you see us headed out to gather the cattle. My son, on his horse, Henry, is following 79 year old Wally, riding Twister.

And here is my kid bringing the cattle up the alley on Henry. Next to him on the black horse is our friend Mark, riding Coal. Sorry the photos are blurry. I have a hard time taking good photos from my horse’s back.

PS--My "new" computer has failed a couple of times lately, so if I don't respond to comments or email, or fail to post on my regular Weds schedule, that's why.

A New Book - and a Giveaway!

2011-11-15T01:00:00.000-08:00

I'm pleased to announce the release of my newest book, THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES, which just came out from Musa Publishing. It's available right now as an e-Book, and hopefully next year in print. I am giving away two copies - with details at the bottom of this post!

Of all the manuscripts I’ve written, THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES is probably dearest to my heart. I’ve always been passionate about horses, and this is a story about the bond between horses and humans. But it’s also a story about culture and society, and how easily we could lose important knowledge from the past. Could the world really forget the ancient bond between humans and horses? Could one girl’s dreams make people remember? Here’s a summary of the story:

Several generations into the future, Sahara travels with her clan in a barren environment where recyclables are bartered for sustenance, and few remember horses or their connection to humans. But Sahara has recurring visions of riding astride on magnificent animals that run like the wind.

With the help of Evan, a young herder from the Gardener’s Camp, Sahara discovers a crumbling book containing pictures of humans riding horses and learns her visions are real. Confronting a group of hunters led by hot-headed Dojo, Sahara rescues a wounded horse, but the animal escapes before it can be tamed.

Sahara is labeled a foolish dreamer and almost gives up her quest. Following horse tracks into a remote ravine, she finds wild dogs attacking a dying mare, and must drive them off in order to save the foal. Now she must attempt to raise the young animal, finally convince her clan of the ancient bond between horses and humans, and learn the secret of her true identity.

I searched through my journals recently, and found the exact spot where I got the seed of inspiration for this story. It was six years ago, right after Hurricane Katrina, when I believe all of us were realizing how easily nature, or some other catastrophic event, could wipe out almost everything about the world as we know it. At the same time, as a horseperson, I was aware of the dire fate of many horses in this country. As fewer people seem to have the knowledge or economic situation to own a horse, many are being shipped to slaughter, and reports of horses actually being turned lose to fend for themselves are common. Also, a few years prior, I had done a college research project on Women and their Passion for Horses – and more specifically, where this passion comes from. All of these factors triggered a story in my head – What if people actually lost all of their knowledge about horses? What then?

After living with this story for so many years, (and a very long journey towards publication involving some near misses and almost happens) I was thrilled when Musa Publication picked it up for one of their earliest releases from their brand new YA imprint called Euterpe. It’s a story perfectly suited not only to young adults, but horse lovers everywhere, as well as those who enjoy adventure stories set in an imagined future. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES is available now, ready to gallop into your e-readers!

It's available for $4.99 at the Musa website (in formats for all e-readers) on Amazon.com, Smashwords, OmniLit, BookStrand, and it should be available on Barnes and Noble soon.

And now for the contest - If you'd like to win a copy of THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES - and I'm giving away two copies - simply leave a comment below to enter. It's great for readers from ages 9 to 99, and available in many formats. I can send you a PDF version to read on your computer, or PRC, mobi, or ePub if you have an e-reader.

Contest is open internationally, and I'll pick the winners on December 1, 2011.

And please check out the facebook page for THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES, where I also post lots of cool horse links: https://www.facebook.com/Girl.Remembered.Horses.LindaBenson

Good luck to all who enter! Hope you enjoy this great horse story set in the future!

Thar be Whales--Three Times Blessed

2011-11-13T14:09:00.001-08:00

I promised this post months ago, and ending up posting other items. While this doesn't have much to do with horses, I'm hoping you'll enjoy it just the same.

Orca Whales (also known as Killer Whales) have long resided in the Puget Sound area. Right now there are three resident pods of whales (a pod being a family and resident meaning they don't migrate elsewhere). Unfortunately, their numbers are dwindling each year for various reasons, such as a decreasing food source and pollution.

As a one-time boater, my former husband and I made many trips to the San Juan Islands. Each time we were fortunate enough to see whales. Usually, we didn't look for them, they seemed to find us. Sometimes, we'd see huge groups of whale-watching and personal boats off in the distance searching for whales, while we'd be sitting in the middle of a large group of them as they cavorted and played around us.

This summer, my husband and I took a trip to the San Juans with some friends on their 43-foot Tollycraft yacht. Both my husband and the wife of our friend had never seen whales in the wild. We hoped to see them, but as responsible boaters we were also aware of the effects of crowds of people in boats harassing the whales and the current laws requiring that a boat stay 200-yards away from the whales if at all possible.

With that in mind, we came out of Mosquito Pass and headed out into the Straits of Juan De Fuca and down the side of San Juan Island. A whale-watching boat passed us and headed toward the middle of the Straits, while the other boats hugged the edge of the island. Since the whale-watching boat's behavior was a little unusual, we figured he knew something we didn't. We followed the whale-watching boat on the off-chance they knew where they were going. They did.

We saw the huge fins of whales in the distance and shut down our engines, binoculars ready, and well over 200 yards away. At first. The entire pod headed straight for us.

An hour later, we were still surrounded by whales. Every time we'd start our engines another group would swim by and we'd shut down again. After two hours of being entertained, we finally powered up and went on our way. A week later on our way home, we happened upon the whales again. Then a few weeks later on a family trip to the San Juans, we went on a whale-watching tour with my stepdaughter and her boyfriend. Again, more whales. All in all, it was a good year for whales. And an incredible year for those of us privileged to witness them.

I started to write a passage about how the whales affected me and all those fortunate to see them in person. Instead, I grabbed a passage from one of my first books, The Dance. In this passage, Rico is a cynical celebrity dragged along on a whale-watching expedition against his will. How Rico feels about these magnificent creatures, pretty much sums it up.

From The Dance

Rico slouched against the stainless steel rail, observing the whales with disinterest. Several Orcas of differing sizes circled the boat, moving closer with each pass. They frolicked in the water, giving Rico and Mariah a private show. Eva must have sent them—the guardians of his soul. Sure. What crap.

One of them leapt out of the water with amazing ease and grace, coming down so close to them that he backed up a step for fear of getting wet.

He had to admit that the huge black and white suckers were impressive.

In spite of his perceived boredom, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Their lives seemed so simple and pure, his was so complicated and messy. They probably worried about catching their next salmon and keeping their babies safe.It’s not like he’d know. He wasn’t a whale researcher. How the heck did whales do it, anyway?

Another large Orca surfaced within twenty feet of the yacht. The animal’s fin appeared to be as tall as he was. The huge beast rolled on its side and stared straight at him with one large eye. Rico leaned over the rail for a closer look. He stared, mesmerized.

Nothing made sense, yet everything made sense. He felt disembodied, as if he observed everything from a remote position, as that large sea-going mammal worked its magic. It called to him, spoke to his soul. All those things that troubled him so deeply seemed so insignificant. In one profound moment, he realized that nothing mattered as much as moments like this.

Rico held his breath, afraid to break the spell. A delicate thread connected him to the world around him. He clung to it, like a dying man clings to his last breath. In a flash of insight, he understood the simple complexity of life and the delicate balance that held it together. Peace and contentment he’d never known filled him, surrounded him, cradled him. He floated free of his human burdens.

It was too much. The depth of his feelings frightened him. He looked away, breaking the contact. Shaken, he gripped the railing. The intensity of the experience seemed surreal.

The Orca launched out of the water with amazing dexterity and grace. It landed with a huge splash, sending salt water flying everywhere, including on his face. Rico swore the damn thing laughed as it dove under the boat and breached on the opposite side. He’d never forget the sound it made as it blew spray into the air. He swiped at the water on his face.

The large Orca gathered his pod together and swam away from them. Their fins glistened in the evening sun. Water lapped at the hull of the boat.

Rico wiped a tear from his face as whales cavorted in the distance.

Mariah dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Rodrigo, Aren’t they awesome?”

Her unrestrained enthusiasm was contagious. “Yeah, they are, baby. Breathtakingly awesome.” This time he meant it.

They moved him in ways he couldn’t put in words. The whales had penetrated his cynical armor and left him humbled.

Book Review

2011-11-12T09:05:00.001-08:00

by Laura Crum (and son)

My son just finished reading Alison’s book “Risky Chance”, and very much enjoyed it. I read the book, too, as I do most every book my son reads, and thought it was perfect as a read-alone book for a child my son’s age (11) or as a book to read aloud to a younger child. The book is told from the horse’s point of view (a la Black Beauty), and Alison’s knowledge and love of horses shines through very clearly. The story was realistic enough to be believable, but the sad/difficult parts were redeemed (for a child) by the happy ending. I especially enjoyed the details about the southern California racing scene during the Depression. The illustrations were also very good. So here is my boy’s review/book report, in his own words.

Title: The Horse Diaries: Risky Chance

Author: Alison Hart

Time: 1935-1940

Subject: Risky Chance is about a Thoroughbred horse who is a racehorse. He was born to run. He meets friends, Marie and Lanny. But also enemies, Bugsy and a money sucking owner. This story has both dark and light in it. And in the end light wins. Risky Chance tells his story in his own words.

My rating: Four stars!

In Memory of Pistol

2011-11-09T06:20:00.000-08:00

by Laura Crum

It was right about this time, five years ago, that we lost Pistol. So today I’d like to tell his story here, in memory of a great horse.

Pistol was a horse I fell in love with at first sight. I guess all you fellow horseman know that feeling. You see the horse and think immediately, wow, I want to own that horse. I still remember the first time I saw Pistol, heeling a steer at a little roping arena near Salinas, and how he took my breath away. I turned to my friend Wally, who was looking for a heel horse. “You need to buy that horse,” I said.

Wally boards his horses with me, and though I could not afford another horse myself at that time, I knew that if Wally bought Pistol, Pistol would live with me. And I instantly wanted this in the worst way.

Pistol was a flashy horse, a bright sorrel/roan/paint with a flaxen mane and tail, over the knee white socks and a bald face. Well-made and solid looking, he definitely took your eye. But his looks were not the reason I fell in love. It was the way he moved. And the way he tried.

The intensity with which Pistol came around the corner, covered the steer, and slid to a stop was like nothing I’d ever seen in a heel horse before. Pistol was a cut above any rope horse in that arena—he shone very brightly in the crowd of jackpot ropers and their mounts. Pistol looked like he belonged in the big time.

Well, come to find out, he did. John, the roper who owned Pistol (he had just bought him from our local horse trader), was a friendly guy, and he told us the horse’s story. Or what he knew of it.

It seemed Pistol was raised on a ranch in (I kid you not) Death, Nevada, and the rancher who raised him was pretty proud of him. He didn’t intend to sell the horse, but two rodeo cowboys came through on a horse buying expedition and took a liking to Pistol. They offered a high price for the then four-year-old gelding, and also offered to buy four other colts—but only if the rancher would sell Pistol.

So Pistol went to live the rodeo life, and by all accounts he was a success. He was hauled by some rodeo greats and competed in some famous competitions. But by the time he was seven, he’d landed at the horse traders, why we never knew. It probably had something to do with being broke, which is a common condition with rodeo cowboys.

At any rate, the horse trader had made a deal to sell the horse to a wealthy team roper for a LOT of money, when the man decided to chase one last steer on the horse and test the gelding’s ability to run. He picked a hard runner and made the horse late and Pistol ran for all he was worth—and pulled up dead lame at the end.

The deal was off, and the horse trader, who wasn’t prone to spending money to fix trading horses, hauled Pistol to the veterinary hospital, figuring this horse was worth the repair bill. Apparently Pistol had a bone chip in his knee. Surgery was done to remove it, and… they operated on the wrong knee. Then, of course, they had to operate on the correct one. So now Pistol had two recovering knees.

The horse trader healed Pistol up and turned him out for the recommended six months, then legged him back up again. And promptly sold him to our friend John, with the very clear caveat: “If this horse comes up lame, its your problem. I told you the truth about him. He’s yours.”

Pistol appeared to be completely sound, but in the weeks to come we often noticed John flexing the horse’s knees and looking worried. Other ropers commented that John had been foolish to buy a horse who would almost surely break down. Me, I wasn’t discouraged. Pistol had the prettiest way of working that I’d ever seen. I kept telling Wally he needed to buy that horse.

To make a long story short, Wally kept offering to buy Pistol and eventually John agreed to sell him. I think John was influenced by worry that Pistol’s knees would bother him. Wally bought Pistol for the same very reasonable price that John had paid the horse trader, and he brought this great horse home to my place.

To say I was thrilled would be putting it mildly. All our friends told us we were nuts. But both Wally and I believed that Pistol, then eight years old, would be OK. And almost from the beginning, Wally and Pistol were a great match.

I couldn’t wait to ride and rope on Pistol, but I soon found out it wasn’t as easy as it looked. Because, to be quite frank, Pistol and I were not a great match. Oh, I could ride the horse, all right. Pistol was pretty broke and I had no trouble with him. But I could not rope on him.

The reason is something I never thought of until I was faced with it, but perhaps some of you will understand. Pistol was a pro—he had always been ridden by very effective ropers. He ran to the right spot and expected that his rider would throw the rope. As a beginning roper, I often hesitated, wanting to take an extra swing, and this didn’t work for Pistol. He simply moved on and ignored all signals to go back to the “rating” position. You could almost read his disdain. I gave you the shot, pal, was implicit in his body language. Pistol did not tolerate fools gladly.

This frustrated me, as determined as I was to rope on this great horse. But I soon found out I was not alone. Wally lent Pistol to others who were much more accomplished ropers than I was and they couldn’t rope on him either. One and all they said the same thing. Pistol did not listen to the rider in the course of a roping run, He simply did the job he knew to be right…and expected the roper to do his part.

This didn’t work for most jackpot team ropers (me included), who wanted to tell the horse what to do. But it worked for Wally, who simply wholeheartedly embraced the notion that Pistol would be where he needed to be. From the very beginning, Wally was able to win on Pistol.

I gradually acknowledged that I couldn’t rope on Pistol, and stuck to my horse, Gunner, even though Gunner was developing arthritic issues. Eventually Wally bought a rope horse named Flanigan, that I bought a half interest in. But I still loved and admired Pistol, and when we decided to take a pack trip in the mountains, I asked to ride him.

I knew Pistol had been raised on a ranch and ridden in the mountains a lot, and I figured that this was where I would really be able to enjoy him. Wrong again.

Because Pistol, true to form, had a very clear notion how to scramble up and down rocky passes and did not feel he needed direction from me. Thus when I tried to correct his choice of drop offs that I thought were too steep and aim him at the easier part of the trail, Pistol threw his head in the air and stumbled, bringing my heart into my throat.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked Wally. “I thought he knew how to go in the mountains.”

“He does,” Wally said. “You’re getting in his way. Just leave him alone and let him pick the route.”

“But he wants to go the wrong way,” I said plaintively. “I just want to steer him where its easier.”

OK. Fast forward to the ride out. I absolutely refused to ride Pistol, and instead rode Flanigan, who had been raised in the Midwest. This was Flanigan’s first time in the mountains and he was obviously very unsure about the creek crossings and the rock. But I figured I could cope with this better than Pistol and my ongoing feud about which route to take.

Wally rode Pistol the whole way out on a completely loose rein. If Wally had had a book, he might have read it. That was how little he worried over, or even paid attention to, Pistol’s choice of route. Pistol never put a foot wrong. He did not throw his head. He was perfect.

Me, I rode Flanigan, directing him all the way through the rough spots. “No, don’t step on that rock, it looks wobbly, step on this one.” Flanigan allowed this, he even seemed to like it, changing his footfall in mid-stride at my direction. He crossed the creeks for me with little fuss despite his inexperience. I loved him. Wally and I had each found the horses we would ride on many, many pack trips through the mountains. Flanigan and Pistol carried both of us to some of the loveliest spots on earth, and though we crossed many, many steep and rocky passes to get there and traversed many a tricky trail, neither horse ever got so much as a scratch.

One of the strangest stories about Pistol occurred at the very last big roping we ever took him to. Pistol was suffering from ringbone and we knew his competitive days were almost over. We took him to the finals in Reno, guessing it would be his last major event. To our surprise, as we walked out to feed the horses early in the morning the last day we were there, we saw a man sitting with his back to Pistol’s stall door. At 6:00 AM. He got up when we approached and looked at us. “This is Pistol, isn’t it?”

Wally and I stared at this middle aged, well dressed cowboy and agreed that it was Pistol. The man introduced himself. He was the same rancher who had sold Pistol to those rodeo cowboys ten years ago. “And now, “ he said, “I’d like to buy him back. I always liked him.”

Wally and I looked at each other. Pistol was effectively crippled and running on bute. We planned to retire him soon after this roping. And here was a chance to get rid of him, get Wally’s money back, and hopefully sell him to a good home. But almost instantly we both shook our heads.

“You don’t want this horse,” Wally said. “He’s crippled.”

“We’re going to retire him,” I added.

The man said, “I have a nice pasture where I could put him.”

Again, we looked at each other. It was almost too good to be true. This guy wanted him to retire him?

But again, after a moment, Wally shook his head. “I owe this horse,” he said. “I want to keep him.”

“We’ll take good care of him,” I told the man.

The rancher looked at Pistol and patted his neck, nodded, shook Wally’s hand and walked off without a backward look.

Now it may sound strange, but the fact that I really couldn’t ride Pistol didn’t make me love him any less. I took care of this great horse for many, many years and considered it a gift. Wally roped on Pistol and rode him in the mountains until Pistol was fifteen years old, when we retired him. It wasn’t his knees that got him, either. But eventually he had ringbone in a front foot and navicular in a hind. The combination was too much and Pistol became a pasture pet.

We worked hard at keeping him comfortable in the pasture…at one point we nerved him. At other points we gave him bute every day. He had good periods that lasted years where he needed no pain med at all and ran and bucked and played and looked completely sound. We were able to give him ten happy years in the pasture.

Eventually Pistol grew so lame in one front foot that he began to have chronic abscesses in the other front foot. He was twenty-five years old. We had to give him painkillers morning and evening to keep him comfortable, and there was no hope he’d improve. The time had come.

Wally scheduled the date with the vet. The evening before it was to happen, I went out to give Pistol Banamine and some equine senior. After the meds were given and Pistol fell to eating eagerly, I stared at him sadly. Other than being lame, which was masked by all the drugs we were giving him, Pistol still looked great. It was hard for me to come to terms with the fact that he needed to be put down.

And then Pistol looked up from his feed and looked me in the eye. After a minute he left the feed bucket and walked purposefully to the middle of the field. He looked back at me and then lay down…flat on his side. He remained like that for maybe two minutes, not moving. Then he got up, looked at me again, walked back to his feed and resumed eating. He didn’t appear to be colicked, though I realize that is the likeliest explanation for his behavior.

However, I took it as a sign. Pistol was telling me that he was ready, and indeed, the next day he lay down calmly and quietly, showing no resistance to the drug, and died peacefully. That was five years ago. I still miss him.

Thank you, Pistol, for everything. You were a great horse and I am so grateful I had the privilege of knowing you.

The photo below shows my friend Sue Crocker heeling a steer on Pistol—I am heading on Flanigan. Like most of us, Sue found Pistol a bit intimidating to rope on, but she heeled two feet on this run and we placed in the roping.

More of Africa

2011-11-07T19:53:00.000-08:00

In addition to the amazing wildlife we encountered in Kenya, the horses we rode made the trip just as memorable. Their resilience, willingness, bravery and toughness will stick with me always. In my previous two blogs I told you how we crossed the Mara river between groups of hippos and were charged by elephants. Through it all the horses were keenly vigilant but never panicked or fled. It was on our third and fourth day that the full scope of their toughness was revealed.

After spending 2 nights camping on the escarpment with breathtaking vistas from the top and long rides that included galloping with Zebras and Wildebeest, we descended the escarpment to traverse the long grass plains for Lion Camp. Our travel across the plains was filled with encounters with all measure of gazelle, antelope, giraffe, cape buffalo and wonderful herds of elephants that were thankfully not aggressive. It had rained hard the day before so the air and sky were so clear and bright and everything had that fresh, after the rain smell.

Our original plan was to cross the river a fourth time but when we reached the river it was significantly deeper and the current very swift. In addition the hippos were in abundance and were bobbing in water right in the part of the river with banks safe enough to cross. Tristan, our guide, started across to test the depth while the rest of were staring at the hippos in terror.

Within feet of leaving the bank, Tristan’s horse was up to his neck in the water. Tristan quickly turned back and we scrapped the river crossing much to everyone’s relief even though in meant adding 10 miles or better to our ride before reaching Lion Camp. Let’s see a longer ride and sore behind versus drowning in the Mara River – a no brainer.

Our long way around to the bridge crossing was uneventful and at times even a bit boring. The horses didn’t blink at walking across a concrete bridge with no rails over the rushing Mara River. I don’t think I could get my horses to walk up to that bridge, let alone cross it without freaking out. After the bridge the scenery once again turned beautiful with green grass dotted by trees and an abundance of wild life. After cautiously passing another herd of elephants, Tristan and his son Archie spotted lions in the rocks of a small hill.

As we rode within range I was amazed when Tristan and Archie casually rode within feet of the lions lying amidst the rocks. Tristan knew the lions well, they were several adolescent males and an young female that Tristan had watched grow up over the seasons of bringing Safaris to this camp. The young lions were keenly interested and seemed to be in a crouch position but neither Tristan, Archie or the horse’s seemed to be concerned. Archie and Tristan beckoned for the rest of us to ride closer so I timidly asked my horse Sage to step toward them. Sage moved forward obediently completely undaunted by the proximity of predators in front of her.

The fact that the lions were apparently not hungry, they were used to the presence of people and horses and that the horses showed no fear, we were able to stand safely admiring the lions for several minutes from only a few feet away. We encountered the same pride of lions 2 mornings after with the same disinterested reaction from both lion and horses. This experience cemented my respect for the horses especially considering we witnessed this same pride of lions takedownand devour an Impala the next evening.

The weather here in California has turned to winter far too soon for my taste and horses are acting silly and spunky to say the least. Halloween weekend I started to shave my competition horses like every year and within days the temperature went from 80 degree days to 50 degree days and night lows in the 40s. As a result, my new horse Uiver started to spook at phantom demons, horse eating leaves and jackets on railings that were near to eat him. This got me thinking. Why is it that my prissy show horses go bonkers and become paranoid at a simple change of season and the horses in Africa stoically and calmly deal with deluges of rain, wind, swimming rivers, extreme terrain and standing within feet of a lion. What is it that made the instincts of the same species so different on different continents.
The horses that we rode in Africa were a variety of breeds. Most were thoroughbreds, mostly from Argentina, and some had Arab and Irish draft breeding. My Thoroughbred can be stoic and sensible about some things but let a bird fly with 10 feet and he will come unglued. So what do you think? Is it survival instincts, de-sensitization, feed, training that make the horses so different.

An Exciting Life . . . Not

2011-11-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

My life is, well, boring. Busy but boring. And at my advanced, creaky-kneed age, I am happy for the UNeventful days. That doesn't say I don't do A LOT. I write, teach, volunteer, travel some to promote books, take care of animals and home, ride, garden, read . . . All of these activities take planning, time, creativity and thought but lately, none have been blog-worthy or discussion-worthy. Sigh. So what am I going to write about this week?

Sometimes equine or writing-related topics, which I think others might be interested in, hit me before it's my turn to post. Other times, not. Today is one of those days. My kids are here for the weekend for their dad's birthday and both are healthy and thriving in school and jobs. My horses are winter-ready with thick coats and a hay-stocked run in-shed. I have even ridden all week in the chilly but clear weather. My dogs are lyme-free with all their shots up to date. Dozer, our old Lab, is happy on two types of pain pills for his own creaky joints, and has even joined Jake, Fang and me on a few walks. The cats are, well, cats.

Teaching and volunteering continue to challenge me and feed my need to give back to others. Writing is going okay. The fever to write and publish that bestseller or Newbery winner has changed into a quiet joy in having written a body of works that I am proud of. The house is getting as old as I am and needs as much work, but you know, we can do a little at a time. The vegetable garden is under newspaper and mulch waiting until next year, and the annuals which were killed in the first frost are on the compost pile.

I guess the topic of this blog is not just my boring life, but my peaceful life. I find that when I am content and drama-free, I can give to others: my CASA child, who I advocate for, needs someone who is always there and who will not judge; my students at the community college, who have multiple problems and dilemmas, benefit from a teacher who's able to encourage and value them; my kids want a mom who is a sounding board and who will listen and help when it's needed. I know many people who are addicted to drama. When I was younger, a roller-coaster kind of life was exciting and easier to deal with--and believe me, I still LOVE amusement park roller coasters. I just want to be able to get off when the ride is over.

Next week I am off to Kentucky for two school vists, a two-day book fair, and a conference. My fingers are crossed that it will be an uneventful trip. I don't need the drama of driving in a freak snow storm (already did that a week ago), flat tire, my husband calling with a--God forbid--family member's medical issue--or wrong turn. I want to concentrate on inspiring young readers and teachers, getting them excited about books and writing. Then I want to make it through West Virginia and safely home to my family, animals and boring life.

How is your life these days? Just right? Or are you working hard to hold on to that bucking bronc of drama?

Equestrian Ink

The Young Horse

Passages

An Equestrian Hiccup?

Confessions of a Horse Trainer

My Pony Days with GallopNYC

Winter "Wonderland"

The Billy Dal Gang

Magical or Foolish?

Here's to the Retirees

A New Passion!

All the Pretty Things

The Light

The Grey Horse

The Best Presents aren’t Wrapped

Breyer World

To Sunny

Goodbye to a Banner Year and Resolutions for the New One.

Top Stories of 2011

Grateful

A Year on the Ground

What a Kid with a Horse Learns About Life

Panicked

All I Want for Christmas is a Horse!

Book Review: Keeping Secrets by Maggie Dana

Qrac and Me: A Work in Progress

Virtual Horse Friends

The Horse Ornament

And the Winner is . . . .

Christmases Past

My Friend, Valentino

Baby Blankies

Kwintus Moves to Burgundy

Is This a Good Thing?

Dipping my toe in the big pond.

On the First Day of Christmas . . .

THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED HORSES Winners!

Gunner Comes Home

It's a Maybe: The Retired Racehorse Book

The Trials of Horsekeeping at Home--Stall-Cleaning

I'm a Collector

Turbulence

Sad

Staying true to the goal.

Beyond Writing

The Cowboy Way

A New Book - and a Giveaway!

Thar be Whales--Three Times Blessed

Book Review

In Memory of Pistol

More of Africa

An Exciting Life . . . Not