Why I Have One Skinny Horse

By Laura Crum

Okay, I can’t resist doing this. I’ve been reading fugly horse of the day, and yes, I agree with her that its evil for people to starve their horses. I agree that if old horses are properly cared for they should not be thin. Then I went out and fed my old rescue gelding his seven gallons of equine senior. I stared at his skinny little self and thought about all those photos of skinny horses on FHOTD. I looked over my shoulder, hoping no one was nearby with a camera. If said imaginary observer took my old critter from the right angle, oh, and managed to include the top strand of barbed wire on the hogwire fence, I’m sure I could be the next asshat of the day. (For those who don’t read this blog, that’s what she calls those she’s picking on—often for good reason.)

And then it struck me. I may be a good example of something that’s worth pointing out. Not everything is quite as black and white as it may appear. So, let me tell you ET’s story, and you be the judge.

I rescued ET about ten years ago. I first saw him about twenty years ago, when a tough young team roper I knew slightly showed up at a roping I was competing at. The kid was just in from Arizona, where he’d bought this horse cheap. He unloaded the horse, saddled him, and entered the roping on him. I couldn’t help staring, and I wasn’t the only one. This was, bar none, the funniest looking horse I’d ever seen. To begin with, he had the longest back I’d ever seen, coupled with real short legs. This gave him somewhat of a dachshund appearance. Add to this a very long upright neck, which created a sort of giraffe-like twist. And the horse was missing his right eye-—just an empty socket remained. To say the least, he wasn’t pretty. We all wondered why the heck that kid had bought him. We found out.

Our tough little cowboy friend won the first pot he entered on the funny looking gelding, who turned out to be a spectacularly good heel horse. He could run, turn with the cow and stop as well as any horse in the arena. And he was a real pro. Nothing bothered him. Endlessly curious about horses as I am, I went up and talked to the kid about the little gelding. Turns out the horse was real well bred (for a rope horse)—he was a son of Two Eyed Jack (kind of ironic) out of a daughter of Blondy’s Dude. Not bad, if you know anything about those old Quarter Horse lines. It passed my understanding how he wound up so funny looking, but if you studied him, you could see why he was athletic. Despite his odd looks, his hip and hind leg were set on just right, his shoulder was perfect. I could only conclude that a long back and short legs do not necessarily make a problem, same for the high head carriage. The eye had been lost in a pasture accident, so his new owner had been told. He had named the horse ET—that movie had just come out. The horse definitely had a distinct resemblance to the little space alien.

I watched ET at the ropings for many years after that. The cowboy kid was a horse trader and soon found a way to make money on ET. All the young ropers traded him around among themselves. Anybody could win on him. Anybody could ride him, including little kids. He was obviously very gentle, well broke, and talented. He was always sound. He had every imaginable virtue besides looks.

As the horse got older, he was bought by some rough types. I once tried to get the toughest cowboy I knew to deck ET’s current owner, who was beating that sweet old horse up at a roping I was at. (The horse had done nothing wrong—the asshole of a rider had missed his steer and this guy always beat his horses up when he missed.) I realized that ET was being traded steadily downhill. He was in his late teens. No one had ever owned him who had cared anything about him. He was not going to be retired. I could see the writing on the wall. And no horse ever deserved to be retired more than that one.

The horse was still sound and a useful rope horse. He was once again for sale. I needed him like I needed a hole in the head. I bought him anyway. I loaned him to a friend who roped on him for several years and let his kids ride him. He kept the horse turned out in a big pasture with other horses. All seemed well. The guy gave the horse back to me when ET was in his early twenties. “He’s the hardest keeper that ever was,” my friend said. “He can’t live turned out on pasture and hay.”

Sure enough, the old horse, who was built like a snake, anyway, was too thin. I found a home for him with a neighbor woman who just wanted to lead her little girl around on him. The horse was still sound, and perfectly gentle. The woman promised to feed him well.

I checked on him for years. He looked good, for ET. (This long skinny little snake of a horse looks “good” if you can’t see any ribs.) The woman had his teeth floated, she had him trimmed and wormed regularly, she fed him well. So far so good.

I began to trust that ET was cared for. Years went by. I still checked him, but not so often. The woman lost her job (so I found out), her daughter grew uninterested, she reduced ET’s ration to just hay and declined to buy the more expensive equine senior that he needed. I went to see ET after a six months hiatus, and the horse looked terrible. Ribs and spine sticking up. To make a long story short, I took him back.

I turned him in with my old gelding, Burt, who was eating 5 gallons of equine senior a day (Burt was in his late thirties and had no teeth left—for his story, see Farewell To A Friend, June 08). ET’s teeth were fine, but he clearly had a difficult metabolism. On the five gallons of Senior a day, along with free choice pasture, he gained weight. In six months, he looked fine. We were all happy—though those two retired horses were costing me a bundle.

Then Burt died. ET pined. He wasn’t happy living in the 5 acre field by himself. He fell in love with the mares in the pasture next door. Owner of said pasture begged me to turn the pathetic old guy in with the mares. It was spring; the grass was long and lush. ET looked fine, weight-wise. I agreed to try it—though I doubted he could stay there forever.

Well, for four months ET was the happiest looking horse you ever saw. He loved his herd of mares, he thrived on the grass, all was well. But the season changed, the grass dried out. The mares looked fine, but ET began to get thin again. I knew I had to separate him, but I was having a hard time doing it. I also knew how upset the old guy would be.

I finally took him out of the herd and gave him my horse, Gunner, as a pasture mate. (Both of these horses are 28 this year.) Gunner was a little underweight, and I figured they could both use the senior. ET was thin again, and I felt bad, but was sure he’d rebound. To cut to the chase, it didn’t work out. Gunner got fat, and ET stayed thin. Though ET was dominant, Gunner was a faster eater. After a month, it was clear I’d have to keep my skinny little horse by himself.

So that’s where I’m at now. ET lives alone in his 5 acre field, and he has finally settled down to it and is gaining his weight back. He looks a lot better than he did a month ago. He still doesn’t look great. If you drove down the road and saw him, you might wonder what asshat owns this skinny little horse. And now you know the story.

Am I an asshat? Or a saint for rescuing this critter and caring for him? Or something in between. Do I have lousy judgement? Yeah sure, I should have separated him from the herd sooner. But what is life about, after all. That was the happiest I’d ever seen the old horse look. What do you think I should have done?

How We Deal With Issues In Our Books, Or Not . . .

The posts on Equestrian Ink over the last week or two have been thought provoking, to say the least. I’ve been thinking about the slaughter issue for quite some time, especially since the American Horse Slaughter Prevention Act (H.R. 503/S. 311) was introduced and is making the occasional headline. And this profound topic was going to be a part of my next mystery, although that has changed, but that’s a whole other story.



But research for that book took me to places I didn’t want to go, mainly to a video that I found on the web of a horse being killed in a Mexican slaughterhouse. I have a pretty good imagination, and this was so much worse.

Then, thanks to Laura Crum’s tip, I spent last night reading the Fugly Horse of the Day where I found examples of incredible human stupidity, laziness, and disregard for what is right and moral, as well as some admittedly funny stuff, too.

One reason so many horses end up on a slippery slope that may very well lead to slaughter is that so many humans breed inferior animals with poor conformation and unsuitable temperaments. They don’t properly care for and train the horses they do own, and they don’t take responsibility for them when they can no longer do their job, preferring to have them take their chances at auction where they are at extreme risk.

I owned my first horse until his death at age thirty-one, when I had to put him down because of old injuries and arthritis that anti-inflammatory medicine could no longer touch. He let me know when it was time to let go.

I am sad to say that, after him, I sold three other horses. They were all gorgeous, well trained, and athletic, and perfectly suited for their new owners, but I’ve lost touch with them over the years. And that was a mistake. If I ever purchase another horse, it will be for life.

Anyway, I have very strong feelings about human responsibility in the human-horse equation, and some of my opinions find their way into my mysteries. I don’t preach. After all, I write to entertain, but my character has his own opinions, and it’s only natural that he would consider them as the story plays out.



In DEAD MAN’S TOUCH, Steve gets his first look at the world of horse racing after working exclusively in the hunter/jumper arena. Here’s a short excerpt:

I flipped through my program and matched names to faces. None of the trainers looked younger than forty. Most were much older. One was a woman, and all of them were white. The grooms were easy enough to spot, wearing numbered pennies over tee shirts and jeans. They were a mixed group. Black, white, Hispanic. Old, young. Male, female.

The horses themselves were not what I was accustomed to. Nothing like the fat, glossy horses, essentially expensive pets, that resided at Foxdale. These animals were lean and hard. As I watched the bettors along the rail study the Form, I realized that the horses were viewed simply as a commodity. If they couldn’t earn their keep, they were out.

A signal must have been given, because the trainers legged the jockeys up onto the horses’ backs, then the grooms took them out onto the track.

The grooms peeled off their pennies and dropped them into a plastic bin as they slipped through the barricade. They walked back on the path I’d taken while the trainers went into the grandstand through a side entrance. A guard stood at a podium just inside the doorway, checking passes or ID’s of some sort. I retraced my steps. As I drew level with the barricade, I turned and looked back at the grandstand. A wall of sheer glass reflected a single line of cumulus clouds drifting across the horizon.

I walked back and leaned against the fence next to four of the grooms, three guys and one girl with halters and lead ropes draped over their shoulders.

A distant bell rang. The horses broke from the starting gate and surged forward in a rainbow of color.

Happy reading and riding,
Kit
www.kitehrman.com

The Fate of a Horse

By Laura Crum


As the author of ten mysteries featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, I’ve done plenty of writing about horses in my life. But until I was invited to participate in this blog by its founders, back in March of this year, I had never written a blog, or, for that matter, read one. So, for the last few months I’ve been reading various “horse blogs”, trying to find out what it is I’m supposed to be doing here, exactly. From what I’ve read so far, there seems to be great variety; some blogs are essentially just personal diaries, others have a particular theme…etc. The most popular one I’ve stumbled upon (judging by the number of comments) is essentially a rant against horses going to slaughter—also addressing the various reasons horses end up going to slaughter, including poor breeding and training practices as well as the basic inhumanity and stupidity of many in the horse industry. Now I agree with this gal’s opinions more often than not, though I’m not nuts about the “diatribe” format. I admit it can be entertaining to read her rants (must be why she gets so many readers). Still, the main point of “Fugly Horse of the Day”, as I see it, is how we as ethical horse owners can do the best for the horses in our care. And one question arises for me over and over again, which I would like to pose to the regulars on "fugly horse" (and anyone else who reads this blog); a question that really bothers me, and I welcome any insights offered
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I’ve owned horses all my life; I’ve trained horses, competed for years, rescued other people’s horses and retired them, retired my old horses…etc. I currently maintain eleven horses, only four of which we ride. One of the main things I have learned, after thirty-five years of owning, riding and training horses, is that if you truly care about the ultimate fate of a horse you have to retain ownership of said horse. And you have to check on the horse regularly if its placed with another caregiver. Even if that caregiver seems absolutely perfect in every way. (I could tell you stories.)

I have never had the experience of a horse that I retained ownership of coming to a bad end, but there were some situations that could have worked out that way if I had not owned the horse and checked on the horse regularly. The only horses I ever owned that may have had a sad fate were those I sold. And I never sold any horse that was not sound and well-trained (within the parameters of that individual—like people, some horses just have easier personalities than others). I have always tried to sell only to people I knew, who I believed were responsible, but the truth is, when you sell a horse you lose control of that horse. If the new owner decides to sell the horse, he/she can do that, and doesn’t need to consult you first (even if they promise you that they will). Once they have a bill of sale and you have the money, they have control of that horse’s fate.

At this point in my life, I’ve pretty much given up selling horses; if I take a horse on I’m responsible for its fate, and I take that seriously. Which is why I have eleven horses, only four of which are our riding horses. The others? Horses I owned who got injured or became lame or just got old and are now happily retired. Two horses that didn’t really fit me and are now being cared for and ridden by others (and are checked on regularly). One horse that I rescued many years ago and had to take away from the home where I placed him (which for many years worked well), when the horse got old enough that he couldn’t keep his weight on and the people who had him were unwilling/unable to fork out the money for the diet of “equine senior delight” that he needed. This horse now lives with my retired horses and is slick and happy. In fact, all my eleven horses are healthy and happy today, within the parameters of who they are.

The horses I feel sad about are the ones I sold. Now, I did not sell these horses when their using days were done. No, the horses I sold were all young, sound, and reasonably well-trained. And when I sold them, I thought I was selling them to good homes. But in some cases (not all) the horse eventually changed hands, and one at least did end up at the livestock auction, as I found out later.

No, this horse did not go to the killer buyers. At least not when I heard of her. Because she was a young, sound, pretty mare, well-bred, with papers, and broke to ride, she got bought by a local horse trader and sold to be a riding horse. He told me about this later (my name was listed on the papers as a previous owner—I was not the breeder), which is how I found out. I have no idea what caused her to end up at the auction in the first place.

To be honest, I’m not sure what I could/should have done differently. Lets face it, I sold these horses for a reason. One and all, they didn’t fit me; they weren’t the ones I wanted to keep and take care of forever. But I did want them to have good homes and I thought I had sold them to such. Thus I no longer sell the ones that don’t fit me; I place them in homes where they fit (and I check on them). But at the time I sold these other horses, I couldn’t afford this luxury.

I still wonder what happened to some of these horses I sold; I have nightmares about them ending up on trucks to the killers. At one time I owned them and was fond of them and agonized over their health and training. I certainly always wanted the best for them. Is the answer that one can never sell a horse? What is the ethical horse owner to do faced with this situation: I bought this horse, he doesn’t fit me, and I don’t really want to be his forever home. I want to give forever homes to horses I truly love and admire (and there are always more of these in the world than I can ever give homes to). It is a tough question, or at least I think so. I wish I knew what the right answer is/was. Thanks for your insights.

Laura Crum

http://www.lauracrum.com/