Life and Death

                                                by Laura Crum 

            To those who have followed this blog for awhile, I want to say that I am sorry about my recent lack of posts. Losing my husband in November has been the hardest thing that I have ever gone through and it is all I can do to get the things done that must be done. I am not writing to speak of, or riding at all. So I have nothing to say that pertains on a blog about horse-themed fiction.

            However I know that some of you have been interested in my horses and “knew” them through my books and this blog, and perhaps would want to know that I had to put Gunner down about two weeks before my husband died. I did not grieve over much about Gunner—he was 35 years old and had a very good life. He had been getting steadily lamer on his arthritic knee, harder to keep weight on, and more prone to anxiety, due to loss of sight and hearing and typical old horse dementia. So when I saw that he was lame in both front feet one morning at feeding time, I did not bother with diagnostic work. I knew it was time and my vet agreed. We both think the cause was laminitis, but it truly doesn’t matter. Even if it was an abscess in the “good” front, it just wasn’t something I was going to try to take Gunner through, under the circumstances.

            My husband was in the hospital at the time, and I spent all day, every day with him, but Andy totally supported me in going home to be there when Gunner was put down. I have been there for all my horses and I wasn’t going to fail Gunner, who had been my horse for thirty two years. I let him out to graze for a while that morning, and was happy to see that not a rib showed, and the old horse’s enthusiasm for grazing was undaunted, despite the lameness. Gunner was himself right up until his end.

            And his end was quick and clean. The vet tranquilized him and I petted him and told him how much I loved him and when he was ready I sat in the barn for the brief minute that it took for the kill shot to take effect and for Gunner to fall. There was no struggle. Gunner is buried where he grazed that morning and I am happy that I could give him a good life and a good death.

            As for me, I would at times be happy to have that good death, but that isn’t a choice that I will ever make for myself. My son and our animals depend on me and I am taking care of them. I may not be riding, but Sunny, Henry, Plumber and Twister are all thriving, sound, and in good flesh and happy—so nobody needs to worry. Dogs, cats and kid are all fine, too. The garden is tended. I’m doing what I know my husband would want me to do.

            I’m not sure what else I can possibly have to say right now. I walk through each day, one step at a time, getting things done that need to be done. I haven’t any interest in social things at the moment, including facebook and the social life of the internet…etc. I hope you all are doing well, but I cannot face chatting about every day, normal things. I appreciate the kind wishes that have been sent to me and I wish all of you the best. I especially appreciate those of you who have reached out to me and done what you could to show love. It helps.

            I will try to keep posting here, but my posts may be a bit random and are not likely to be very cheerful. This is just how it is for me right now. Those of you who have read my books may know that my husband was the inspiration for the character “Blue Winter.” Go re-read Slickrock or Hayburner or Forged if you’d like to get a small inkling of what a wonderful person he was and is to me.

Death is part of life. But it can be very hard to bear.

            

The Ongoing Dilemma

                                                            by Laura Crum

            I have a dilemma. It’s been this way for over a year now. And I am not finding a solution. I don’t think there is a solution. But it bugs me every single day.

            You see, I have a 34 year old horse that I love very much. This is Gunner. I have owned him since he was three.

 I broke and trained this horse myself and competed on him at many events. He’s been with me for over thirty years.

Here he is last summer—not looking too bad for 33.

But every day now I go through a roller coaster ride of emotions concerning Gunner. There are two “sides” arguing in my head. It’s not good horse owner versus not-good horse owner—it’s more like two types of good horse owner. Let’s call them type A and type B. They never shut up in my mind.

A: “You should put that poor old horse down. He’s limps every step he takes. He’s old and frail and it’s just a matter of time till he goes down and can’t get up. You should put him down now.”

B: “How can you put him down? He’s bright-eyed, eager for his meals, has gained weight in the last few months. The painkillers keep him reasonably comfortable. Yeah, he’s lame, but he still breaks into a trot voluntarily and he moves around his corral very freely. He gets down and rolls and gets up again every day. He doesn’t look unhappy. Why would you put him down?”

A: “Sure he trots, but you can’t stand to watch him do it. Because half the time when he trots he stumbles on that arthritic knee and almost goes down. You’ve watched him go all the way down half a dozen times and it almost killed you. It didn’t help him, either. He always walked off lamer. Even when he stumbles and catches himself he walks off lamer. Put him down before he falls down once too often and breaks his leg and suffers.”

B: “But he doesn’t want to let go of his life yet. Every time I go down to the barnyard he spots me and goes to his gate and bumps it with his nose to let me know he wants me to let him out to graze. He loves his grazing time, he likes being groomed and getting attention, he’s cleaning up as much senior feed as he ever has. He’s not ready to quit.”

A: “But maybe it’s time you made that choice for him. He’s got a lot of heart and he keeps trying, but do you want him to try and try until he CAN’T do it any more? Why would you put him through that?”

B: “I guess if it were me I wouldn’t want my life taken until I was ready to let go of it. And maybe he would rather keep trying as long as he can. Gunner doesn’t limp any more than our 80 year old friend Wally, and Wally can look pretty frail and shaky, too, walking along—and you’ve seen Wally stumble and fall several times. But Wally still enjoys his life very much—why would you suppose that Gunner is different? The last time I had the vet out here, thinking maybe I would put Gunner down, that old horse trotted away from the vet at a pretty brisk clip. I swear he could read my mind. And the vet said, ‘I don’t think he’s ready.’ That’s just it. I don’t think he’s ready. And I have to wait until he tells me he’s ready.”

A: “Are you going to think you made the right choice when you come down to feed one morning and find Gunner lying on the ground…and you know he lay there for hours in pain?”

B: “I don’t know. I know I have not yet felt it was the right choice to pick up the phone and call the vet and end Gunner’s life. Not when the old horse looks as bright as he does.”

A: “But you are afraid every time you go down to the barnyard. Afraid that Gunner will be dead…or worse. For every time that you smile when you see him playing with his neighbor, there are three times you wince when you see him take a bad step.”

B: “But he does still play with his neighbor. He does still enjoy life.”

A: “He’s a huge management headache. You can’t turn his neighbor/friend horse out to graze because Gunner freaks out. If Gunner weren’t here, all your other horses could be turned loose to graze virtually every day and they would have a MUCH better quality of life.”

B: “That’s true. But I can’t put Gunner down because he’s a management problem. I owe him more than that, and I love him.”

A: “Maybe you should make the hard choice out of love for him.”

B: “Dammit, I would, if I thought it was the right choice. But how can I give up on him before he’s ready to give up?”

And so it goes, on and on. Type A is the pragmatic, logical side of me and type B is the more sentimental, intuitive side. So far type B is winning, but it’s a struggle. I know there are valid points on both sides.

The thing is that I have never put one of my loved horses down until it was a clear cut thing. Flanigan colicked at 21 and didn’t come out of it after being treated for over 24 hours. He wasn’t a candidate for surgery because he had a diaphragmatic hernia. And if we weren’t going to attempt surgery it seemed clear that it was time to end his suffering.

Burt had a stroke at 35 and was down on the ground twitching and I couldn’t get him up. When we still couldn’t get him up after an hour of trying and the vet’s help (and the vet was clear she thought he wasn’t coming out of it), I had no questions about what to do.

Toby was diagnosed with a tumor in his kidneys. He’d had two previous run-ins with cancer. When I decided against surgery, I kept him as comfortable as I could with painkillers, and when he quit eating, refused treats, and began grinding his teeth, I had the vet out that afternoon. Again, I knew it was time.

            I’ve always waited until it was clear. I’ve never arbitrarily drawn a line in the sand. I watched my friend Wally do this with his good horse, Pistol, and though I understood and did not feel it was a wrong choice, I’m not sure it is the choice I would have made.

            So yeah, I don’t know what to do. I muddle along, day by day, waiting for Gunner to tell me. So far it hasn’t happened. But I look away when he trots, afraid that he will fall again. I wince when he takes a bad step. I walk down to feed every morning looking anxiously for Gunner, hoping that he is OK.

            Yes, I smile when I see him playing with his neighbor horse, or dozing companionably alongside his old buddy, muzzle to muzzle. I try to get him out to graze as much as I can, and it’s clear that he is very keen to do this. I’m happy that his spirit is strong and he’s cleaning up his feed. I watch him roll and get back up and think, well, OK, then. I’m very grateful that he’s still with me and still bright-eyed and willing to engage with me and the other horses. But still…I wonder. I wonder if I am doing the right thing.

Payback Time

                                                            by Laura Crum

            I was recently discussing my horses with an acquaintance, and after hearing my litany about keeping weight on my old guys and keeping them sound and giving them lots of turn out time and grooming and attention, she asked me, “But what are you DOING with your horses these days?”

            I had to think about this. “Well, I still ride,” I said, a little hesitantly. “But not a lot, right now. I’m busy with a lot of different things, and just taking care of the horses takes time.”

            She then said, “It doesn’t sound like you’re having much fun with your horses any more.”

            I was a bit stymied by this. This gal knew me when I showed cutting horses and trained horses and competed at team roping and went on several horse packing trips in the mountains every year. You get the drift. From her point of view, my horse life looks like one big, boring drag, compared to what my horse life used to be. And really, I can see her point. But it doesn’t feel that way to me.

            I could go on and on about how I’ve reached a different stage of life and just hanging with my horses and tending my garden seems delightful to me. And I’ve talked about this before. But there’s something bigger here, and it is this. It’s payback time.

            Even if I still wanted to spend my time and money competing at some horsey event (which I don’t), the horses who carried me for so many miles, and in so many different competitions and trail rides are older now. Gunner is 34, Plumber is 25, Henry (my son’s horse) is 26 and Sunny is (I think) 19. Gunner and Plumber are retired. Henry and Sunny are still carrying us faithfully on short rides, but both are less than happy about steep hills (Henry doesn’t like the “ups” and Sunny doesn’t like the “downs”). Based on what I see (they are both sound on level ground) I think they have the slight arthritic changes that are typical of older horses. So we avoid steeper hills these days. The thing is, it’s time for me to pay these horses back for all that they have done for me. And I am glad to do this.

            Yes, I could send them to some retirement pasture. But I don’t have the money for a really first class operation, and I have seen first hand what turning these senior horses out in a pasture with very little supervision really amounts to. The older they get the harder it is on them. And eventually they are thin, lame, shivering in storms, fly bitten in summer heat, and picked on by other horses. If I want my older guys to have the care they deserve, they need to live with me, where I can make sure they get fed the supplemental feed they must have to thrive, pain meds as needed, blankets in storms and fly spray in fly season…etc. Not to mention grooming and attention that they love. So that is my first priority right now.

            Because these horses have earned this. Not only do I love them, but in all fairness, I owe them. Gunner gave me ten straight years of faithful work.

            As a cutting horse.

                    As a rope horse.

            As a trail horse.

           

            Plumber wasn’t just a rope horse (for fifteen years), he babysat my kid and me for several years as well.

            He was my pony horse for my son’s first ride at the beach.

            I could never put a price on all that Henry gave my little boy in the seven years that we have been privileged to own him.

            And Henry is still giving my son great riding experiences. What a good horse he is.

            Sunny has been a huge gift, enabling me to ride with my kid without any worries.

            We have been on literally hundreds of trail rides.

            So many happy cruises down the beach together, without one wreck, or even a really anxious moment.

            Yes, it’s payback time. And I am nothing but grateful and happy to do this.

            Thank you, my wonderful horses. I love you. And I am glad to spend my time taking care of you, in honor of all the times you took good care of me.

            I am so lucky and blessed to have you in my life.

Anybody else in this place in their horse life? Or can imagine yourself being here?

            

Never Rains But It Pours

                                    by Laura Crum

            This would be us. After months of no rain and lots of whining about drought, we got five inches in one week. I am not complaining—we needed that rain. Still, it has created a new problem for me. Because the drought was what was allowing my 34 year old horse, Gunner, to make it through the winter.

            The sunny, seventy degree days and the dry ground were stress free for my old horse, who has severely arthritic knees and is pretty shaky and fragile overall. He was eating well, not too lame, seemed quite content. And then the storms blew in.

            Overnight we went from sunny and dusty to our usual winter conditions—cold, wet and muddy. And the obvious solution-- put Gunner in a run with a shed--won’t work.  Gunner’s anxiety and old-horse dementia has gotten more pronounced and he gets very upset if ANYTHING is changed. He is only comfortable if he is in his big, open corral, with Plumber on one side and Henry on the other. If I change anything, Gunner worries. If I catch Plumber to have him trimmed, Gunner begins running around in a panic, afraid that I will remove his friend. It’s becoming very difficult to cope with.

            Because if I let Gunner run around these days, particularly in the mud, he always falls down. And falling down is how he tweaked his already arthritic knee last spring and transformed himself from a sound old horse to a lame old horse. Not a positive change. Ever since then I have had to manage his lameness issues, along with his lessening appetite and his old horse dementia. It’s a challenge.

            I don’t in any way begrudge the time, energy and money that I give to taking care of Gunner—I do stress when I worry that his quality of life just isn’t good enough. If he is too lame, too thin, not happy…well, there comes a time when it is kinder to put him down. I am walking a line here, and I want to try very hard not to err on the side of keeping Gunner alive when his life is no longer any pleasure to him. On the other hand, I don’t want to take his life until he is ready to let go of it. I try to do for him what I would want done for me.

            So I double blanket Gunner and check on him endlessly as the rain pours down—to be sure that he is warm and dry under his blankets and his eye is reasonably bright. I worry that he eats about half of what he was eating before the storms started. I worry that he is miserable and that this is no life for an old horse. But I know from experience that he will be even more unhappy if I put him in my small covered shed where he would be out of the weather. If I change anything it upsets Gunner. I cannot put Plumber in the covered shed because I can’t move him or Gunner freaks out, so I blanketed Plumber, and then Gunner was upset because his buddy looked different with a blanket on. It really is getting very difficult to manage.

            And yet, I just lost my old dog a couple of weeks ago—I don’t want to lose my old horse if I can help it. My son was so sad when Jojo died—she’d been part of his life ever since he was born. The same is true of Gunner. We love him very much. So I persist—doing the best I can to take care of him, and worrying that it’s not enough.

            I know that those of you with older, much-loved horses will understand. This is a hard path to walk. But…and I always remind myself of this…it’s a far better path (in my view) than losing a young horse unexpectedly, or a horse in the prime of life. Gunner has had a very good, long life, even if he dies tomorrow (which I hope he doesn’t). Just like our sweet old dog. And that’s a good thing.

Gunner and Plumber last summer.

            

My Old Horse

                                                by Laura Crum

            They say “old age is not for sissies.” I would add that keeping a very old horse is not for the faint-hearted. It sounds easy enough. Just retire your old friend and let him be a pasture pet until he dies. Simple, right? Well, in theory simple, in practice not quite that simple.

            I have taken care of two of my much-loved retired horses into their mid-thirties. My first forever horse, Burt, died at 35, and my current old boy, Gunner, is 34 this spring. And I am here to tell you that somewhere past 30 both of these horses became quite a bit more challenging to care for. Right now Gunner is doing pretty well, but it’s been a real roller coaster ride for the last year.

            About a year ago, Gunner got down and cast—I think he was down pretty much all night. I found him in the morning at feeding time, trapped in a low spot with his back against the fence. It took us several hours and four strong guys to get him out of the hole and on his feet. He was shocky and in deep distress when we finally got him up, but the vet convinced me he would be fine. It took a month—a month in which Gunner’s appetite slowly returned, and he eventually quit pacing, and I hand walked and grazed him every day-- and yes, about a month later he seemed back to normal. But a month or so after that, he slipped and fell when running around his corral, and limped off. It became clear that he’d tweaked his left knee, and since then that knee has been giving him trouble.

            I had the vet out to look at the knee, we settled on a regime of painkillers, and all seemed well enough. Gunner was no longer sound, he was harder to keep weight on than he had been in past years, but still, he seemed to be doing OK. Here’s a photo from September. Pretty good looking 33 year old horse, yes?

            But a few months ago I came down one morning to feed to find Gunner pacing and uninterested in breakfast. It took me awhile to sort it out, but I concluded that something traumatic had happened—Gunner wasn’t colicked, and he wasn’t obviously injured, and he wasn’t significantly lamer than he had been. But he was in a lot of distress. I thought/think he must have gotten “stuck” down for some part of the night and had managed to get up before I came down to feed.

            I had the vet out, and I was very close to putting Gunner down. But I gave the horse some bute instead, and he looked pretty bright, and I just couldn’t do it. Since then, well, it’s been a challenge.

            Gunner is lame. He has a big left front knee that hurts him. I give him painkillers, and it helps, but he’s still lame. He’s lost weight through this, and though his appetite has improved quite a bit since the last setback, he is still thinner than I would like. His vision and hearing are lousy, he’s hard to handle due both to this and a sort of old horse dementia that I’ve observed in other 30 plus horses, and he’s incredibly spoiled. This is my fault, I know, but I cannot bring myself to reprimand the old guy, so he tugs on the leadrope to let me know where he wants to go, and makes gentle but obvious attempts to push past me when I come to his gate to catch him. I cannot blanket him without a helper to hold him, because as soon as I go round to the back leg straps, he just walks off. He is a spoiled old pet of a horse, for sure. And this has begun to cause a problem.

            I can handle Gunner all right. I know him and he knows me, and though he will push on me because he knows I’m unlikely to reprimand him, he also won’t defy me. His training goes too deep. But his “spoiled” behavior is causing a new and real problem. For the last few months I’ve been getting Gunner out to graze him, and he now thinks it’s his due. He is very resentful if I catch another horse for grazing, rather than him. The last time I got a different horse out to graze, Gunner ran around screaming and bucking (yes, he’ll still run despite being lame) in a temper tantrum fueled by jealousy until he slipped and fell down. I will admit that I screamed “Gunner!” in a panic as my old horse hit the ground. Gunner got up, thank God, and limped off—no lamer than before, I don’t think. But I definitely had enough stress for one day. And I put the other horse away. It’s just not worth it.

            As it so happens, it hasn’t rained this winter—virtually at all. So Gunner is leading a relatively comfortable mud-free life in his big corral. There’s also almost no grass to graze on, so I’m not bothering to get horses out very often—thus no need for Gunner to pitch a fit and fall down again. But it is still a difficult situation. I walk down the hill to feed every day hoping that Gunner will be on his feet and looking OK, and worried that he won’t. I am actually afraid to get another horse out to graze without grazing Gunner first—I don’t need a repeat of the temper tantrum and crash. I have nightmares about the old horse going down and breaking a leg or his neck.

            Gunner is still bright eyed and interested in everything I do, he’s cleaning up his senior feed, he can still eat hay, he hangs out with his favorite buddy horse in the sunshine and looks content. He lies down and rolls pretty much every day—and gets back up again—a little staggery, but successfully (so far). When he feels like it he trots and gallops and spins and bucks. He meets me at his gate every time he sees me coming towards him with a halter, and grazes on what little green grass we have with enthusiasm. But that left knee hurts him despite all the painkillers and it’s slowly getting worse. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot sometimes. It kills me to watch him do this.

            I love Gunner from the bottom of my heart, and I will stay the course. He’s going to let me know when he’s ready to let go of his life—I believe this. It is still very hard for me to watch him get stiffer and lamer. I had the vet out to see him just a couple of weeks ago—simply because I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t deceiving myself—that Gunner’s weight really was OK, that he wasn’t so lame that I really ought to put him down. The vet said that he thought Gunner looked great for 34. He told me to up the dose of painkiller past the recommended amount—if it gave the horse ulcers, well, that would be that. So I upped the dose. But Gunner is still lame.

 And I have to say that the endless fussing with diet and meds and the worry and the setbacks, well, it’s not the “fun” part of horsekeeping. At the same time, every time I look into Gunner’s eyes, all the many adventures we’ve had together are brought back to me and present in the moment. I’ve owned this horse since I was 25 and he was 3. We have seen a lot together.

            But I will repeat that keeping a very old horse is not for the faint-hearted. It’s worrisome and time consuming and frustrating and emotionally draining. Even though you love that horse with a whole heart. You agonize over what the best course of action is, you wonder if you are doing right by keeping your old friend going despite the fact that he’s lame. It can also be some of the sweetest moments you have ever spent with a horse—as you rub his neck in the sunshine and he leans his head gently on your shoulder, or rests his muzzle against your cheek. At some deep level you know that the two of you are both—equally and mutually—acknowledging the long bond between you. But its also hard, folks, it’s very hard. Those who want to argue with me must have kept a horse well into his/her thirties. I have mostly had very good luck with horses in their twenties, and my 25 and 26 year old horses are no trouble at all. Somewhere past thirty it gets much more difficult. Or so I’ve found. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

            

The Difference Between People and Horses

                                    by Laura Crum

            Horses are honest. If a horse looks mad or scared or happy or hungry or curious or excited or what have you, he is. Once you learn how to read a given horse (they’re all different), you can pretty much tell what he’s thinking most of the time. You may not be sure how you want to respond to him to get the results you’re after (this would be the skill of horse training), but you know where he’s coming from.

            People on the other hand…people are deceptive. The smile and act as if they like you and it often means nothing. Inside they might feel quite negative towards you, even as they mouth those pleasant phrases. A lot of the time they aren’t even honest with themselves about how they are feeling, and so it is literally impossible to have an honest conversation with them. They don’t know how. Not only can you not read them, they can’t express an honest emotion.

            And then there is that particular sub-group that are drama queens. Not only are they not able to be honest and straight forward, but everything is ALWAYS a big deal. They express a lot of emotion all the time but none of it is particularly honest. They are usually not speaking to someone or at odds with someone in their immediate context. The drama changes, but there is always a drama. They seem to feed on this.

            At this particular moment in time I am fed up to here with the dishonesty of people and their silly dramas. This isn’t exactly a relevant subject for a blog post on an equestrian and writing themed blog…or then again, maybe it is. I am betting that many of you horse people out there know exactly what I mean and possibly even feel this way yourselves from time to time.

            Speaking for myself, I relate to the world more like a horse than a person. I know, that sounds weird, but it’s true. If I smile at you and say something friendly, I feel friendly towards you, if I look sad, I am sad, if I look annoyed, I’m annoyed…etc. I don’t pose, and I don’t pretend to feel what I don’t feel. If I don’t like a person I mostly avoid that person, but if the person chooses to confront me, I am honest about how I feel on any given subject. I try to respect other people’s space and their feelings as I would like to be respected, but the bottom line with me is honesty.

            This doesn’t always work out too well. Some people like me because they always know where they stand with me, and others find me too blunt. I’m OK with this—the ones who find me too blunt aren’t usually people I am drawn to, anyway. I like direct people. I like people who are like horses, if you see what I mean. Easy to read. What you see is what you get.

            Usually when I get a “false” vibe from a person, I avoid being involved with that person. But sometimes life circumstances force a relationship with a person who doesn’t give you a good vibe. And in my experience this always leads to trouble.

            Whether it is a co-worker, or your child’s teacher, or the new barn manager at the barn where you have always boarded, that niggling feeling that “this person isn’t being totally honest with me,” is always a red flag. But it is sometimes very difficult, verging on impossible to avoid said person.

            My recent experience with this sort of situation has just blown up in my face, causing me to reflect once again on the fact that I do much better with animals overall than I do with people. Thus I have a lot of sadness, and a good deal of bitterness in my heart this morning…and thus you get this blog post.

            I am trying hard to focus on all the good things in my life, and there are really so many good things. Gratitude is the right response. I’m also trying to believe (and I actually do believe it) that this particular door is closing for a reason and that it will help guide us to the path we are meant to be on. I’m aware that the bitterness will pass. I am, in general, a happy person, and my husband and son are also happy. This is a small thing in the big picture. But at the moment I prefer horses to people, thank you very much.

            Anyway, on that note, I am grateful every day that my 33 year old horse, Gunner, is still with me. I don’t know how long this can last—his arthritic issues are getting worse as he gets older. But I give him pain killers and hang out with him, and I learn a lot from his honesty. He’s still playful and spooky, just as he was as a young horse, and yet there is a deep wisdom and acceptance there, too. Looking into his eyes reminds me that all I can do is be honest myself and roll with the punches as they come along. Tomorrow is another day. (I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere before.)

            And so, I give you Gunner’s gaze. I think this photo says it all.

           

            

FREE Book!

                                                by Laura Crum

            Since its fall, and some of us read more in the fall and winter (I know I do), I thought I’d offer a chance to start reading my mystery series featuring an equine veterinarian for free. If you like these novels, you’ll have some fun horse-themed books to read all winter long. So for the next three days you can get Cutter, the first book in the series, for free as a Kindle edition (Oct 23^rd through Oct 25^th). Click on the title to find the link to the free edition. And then next week you can get Hoofprints (the second book in the series) for free, starting Weds the 30^th (I’ll post here about it). This will give you a good start on the 12 book series for free. You won’t have to spend a penny to see if you enjoy these novels or not.

            Of course, I’m willing to bet that you will enjoy my mystery series, especially if you enjoy this blog and my posts here. Particularly if you have horses or are interested in horses. Because my mystery novels are very much about horses, and, if you read this blog regularly, you will definitely recognize some of the horse “characters” in the books.

            The stories center around the western horse world here in California, and some of my friends from other horse disciplines and different parts of the world have said that they have really enjoyed learning about these various cowhorse events that I have competed in over the years. Horse people of all sorts can relate to trail riding through spectacular country. There is also plenty of danger, the requisite number of dead bodies, and some absolutely thrilling horseback chase scenes. The one thing I can promise you is that all the horse background is absolutely accurate, and came straight out of my forty years of owning/training/riding horses.

            Here is the one-sentence blurb for Cutter, to give you a sense for whether you might enjoy this book. “Veterinarian Gail McCarthy thought cutting horse trainer Casey Brooks was being paranoid with his stories of poisoned horses and sabotage, but when his blue roan mare returns riderless and Casey is found dead, she isn’t so sure.” For more info and to see many reviews, as well as the opportunity to get the free Kindle edition, click on the title. Cutter is rated 4 stars on Amazon.

            For those who are interested, the artwork on the cover of Cutter was based on a photo of Gunner and me cutting a cow. Gunner is 33 years old this fall, and after a setback a few weeks ago that I thought might be the end of him, he is once again doing well. Here we are fifteen years ago.

            And here is Gunner last week.

            Gunner has aged a bit, yes. And so have I. But despite being round, middle-aged and not in the best of shape (to put it kindly), I still enjoy a good gallop up the hill on my current riding horse, Sunny.

            So, please, if you have any interest in reading mysteries on Kindle, take me up on the free book offer. And next week you can collect the second book, Hoofprints, for free also (its currently only 99 cents). And then, if I’m lucky, you’ll be dying to read the rest of the series—all ten of these books are just $2.99 each as Kindle editions. The order is Roughstock, Roped, Slickrock, Breakaway, Hayburner, Forged, Moonblind, Chasing Cans, Going Gone and Barnstorming.

            Those who have read my novels, feel free to give me some reader reviews in the comments. And yes, I can take a bit of criticism as well as praise. And I deeply appreciate every kind comment— especially if you are willing to put said comment on Amazon or Goodreads as well. Not to mention the wonderful blog posts I’ve read about my books over the years. These positive reader reviews are SO important to authors nowadays. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who have taken the time to do this. I very much appreciate it.

The Hardest Choice

                                                by Laura Crum

            We all face it if we love our animals. When to let them go? I am facing this now with my beloved 33 year old horse, Gunner. I wrote in my last post that he was getting steadily lamer and the Previcox wasn’t controlling the pain any more. But he was still eating well, playful, alert…etc.

            The day after I put up that post (Monday) I went down to the barn in the morning to feed and Gunner was in a state. Agitated, sweaty, pacing, not interested in his equine senior food (which he has been scarfing every day). I spent a lot of time with him and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t colicked (turned out this was right) and that I thought that he had somehow aggravated his painful knee. Maybe he fell, maybe had trouble getting up, who knows?

            Gunner couldn’t get comfortable. And Gunner’s response to pain is agitation. So he paced, or rather hobbled around. I grazed him and he ate a little, I called the vet, who said to watch him. I watched him all day (and petted him and grazed him). He paced. He never ate his equine senior food. He nibbled hay. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to be comfortable in any position. This was all completely different from the day before, when he had been lame but cheerful, with an unimpaired appetite. Something had changed in a big way. At the end of the day I decided he was just too uncomfortable. He could not live like this. Rather than call the vet that night, I gave Gunner two grams of bute, on the off chance that he might seem much better in the morning.

            I checked him before I went to bed and at midnight. He was much less lame, but still agitated and pacing. The next morning (yesterday) I had the vet out first thing. I meant to put Gunner down. I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want him to be in pain. At 33 years old I didn’t think I ought to put him through any pointless suffering. It wasn’t as if I could cure his bad knee.

            But Gunner looked a lot better than he had the day before. Still lame, still uncomfortable, but not agitated. Nickered at me to come get him, ears up. Still not interested in his senior food, but going after his hay with some enthusiasm. The vet and I watched him and checked him out and basically agonized, but neither of us felt right about putting down such a bright-eyed old horse. So we didn’t.

            We both agreed it would be soon. Maybe even days, not weeks. But the vet thought I should try him on a regular dose of bute and see how he did. Both the vet and I share the belief that euthanasia goes more smoothly if the animal is really ready to let go of life—and Gunner wasn’t sending that message.

            So now its one day at a time…and I worry endlessly. I graze Gunner and pet Gunner and watch him and bute him and I know it won’t be long now. I don’t want him to suffer. But I don’t want to end his life before he’s ready to let go of it. As long as his eye is bright and he shows enthusiasm for hay and grazing it seems to me he’s still enjoying life at least a little. The weather is currently lovely. The bute has made Gunner more comfortable. I know he probably will have to be put down before winter. Any day may be the day that I decide he’s in too much pain now. I’m just trying to find the line between too soon and too late. And trying to find that line is the hardest choice of all.

My Life With Horses--Part Five

                                                           by Laura Crum

            I was in my early thirties when I decided to train my nine year old cutting horse to be a team roping head horse. Never mind that Gunner was solid in his role as a cutter and that being a head horse required completely different skills. Never mind that I had never trained a horse to be a competitive team roping horse before. I was sure that I could get this done. (Are you beginning to see a pattern here? See Parts One, Two, Three and Four.)

            I started showing up at the practice roping on my cutting horse, and swinging a rope. All I can say is I don’t recommend this approach. Gunner was (of course) afraid of the rope and he had been taught to move sideways (hard) when a cow even flinched, rather than chase it and provide a steady platform to throw a rope from, and he was, above all else, a big spook. I had never been good at ball sports and roping is very much about hitting a target. The gear is completely different from the tack/gear used in cutting, the position in the saddle is completely different, the way you hold the reins, the amount of contact…I could go on and on. The two events had NOTHING in common other than both involved cattle and western saddles. Seriously.

            In short we were totally lame. So bad that my uncle took pity on me and said he would train Gunner to be a rope horse, while I practiced throwing the rope at what is affectionately known as a roping “dummy.” I had to learn to rope the horns before I was going to be able to teach my horse to be a rope horse.

            Well, it sounded like a good plan. My uncle was a heeler, and once we had gotten Gunner somewhat used to the whirling ropes, my uncle tried to make a heel run on him. Gunner was willing to chase the cow, and when the header turned the steer my very cowy horse stayed right with the animal. My uncle stood up to throw the rope, the steer scooted to the left, and Gunner moved hard and fast to the left, as a good cutting horse should do. But cutters ride sitting deep in the saddle and team ropers must stand in the stirrups to throw the rope with force. Just try riding a cutting horse while standing in the stirrups…I dare you. My uncle landed flat on the ground. But he wasn’t discouraged.

            The next afternoon we went back to the arena and again my uncle tried to heel on Gunner. Same result. The next afternoon, again, the same. (I’m actually not kidding.) But this third time my uncle picked himself up off the ground, led Gunner over to me, and said, “I’m never riding this horse again.” And he didn’t.

            So it was back to square one. Fortunately my friend Wally was game to give a try at helping me train Gunner, and we discovered that Gunner was a lot more “stable” when he was on the header’s side. Within six months I was heading cattle at the practice arena on Gunner and having a fine time.  And Gunner was doing great. This kind and talented horse had allowed me to train him to do three different (and very demanding events), none of which I knew how to do when I set out to train him. Again, I don’t recommend this approach. Gunner was (and is—he’s 33 and munching hay happily in his corral on my property as I type this) an exceptional horse. Here we are heading a steer for my friend Sue’s dad, Bob.

            In order to help me progress as a roper, Wally let me rope on his good horse, Flanigan. And here, for the first time in my life, I discovered how much EASIER it is to learn a horse event when I was not trying to teach the horse the event at the same time. Because Flanigan knew his job and he did not need my help. All I had to do was my own part and Flanigan would do the rest. He was a wonderful horse and I fell completely in love with him. Here I am on Flanigan turning a steer for my friend Sue (riding Pistol) at the local jackpot roping.

            So life was good. I enjoyed roping; it was affordable and not political. I bought a half interest in Flanigan, and I had Gunner and Flanigan to compete on every weekend. My whole life was arranged around roping…I thought of nothing but the next practice and the next competition. (I’m sure all my friends who are passionate about endurance, dressage, eventing…etc will grasp this mind set, if not the team roping event itself.) I started training young horses for Wally and my uncle Todd—getting them started as rope horses. I bought a three year old colt for myself (Plumber) and broke him and began training him to be a rope horse. I’d known Plumber since he was born, so this was a special project for me. (Baby Plumber and his mom, Bucky).

            To top this off, I finally achieved another long held dream. A major New York publisher, St Martins Press, bought my mystery novel featuring an equine veterinarian and set in the cutting horse world (Cutter). I had always wanted to be a published author and now I was one. In short order I sold the second book in the series (Hoofprints—about reined cowhorses) and the third (Roughstock—about team roping.)

            I was able to buy a piece of land and began to develop it into a horse property. Everything was going well—or seemed to be, anyway. But life had a few twists in store for me. (To be continued.)

PS—Click on the book titles to find the very affordable Kindle versions of the first three books in my mystery series. Cutter and Hoofprints are currently on special for 99 cents each, and Roughstock is just $2.99.

My Life With Horses--Part Four

                                               by Laura Crum

            So at this point I had two horses-- my ranch horse, Burt, and my expensive new three year old colt, Gunner. I was twenty-six years old and working for minimum wage for a well known reined cowhorse trainer, and I could barely afford to own one horse, let alone two. But the trainer was so impressed with Gunner that he offered to board and train the colt for free if I would let him show the horse. That’s how talented Gunner was.

            There was just one slight problem with this program. And it was that I could not bear to let the trainer torture Gunner.

            I had seen first hand how hard the three year olds were pushed to make them competitive at the Snaffle Bit Futurity and I didn’t want to do this to my colt. I had about had a bellyful of seeing horses pushed too hard in order to win…on all fronts.

            So in a fit of anger, sensible or not, I quit the trainer and took Gunner home—to get him ready to show at the Snaffle Bit Futurity all by myself.

            This was a pretty unrealistic concept. I had never shown at the Snaffle Bit before and I had never trained a horse to be a successful reined cowhorse. But I had ridden for the big time cowhorse trainer for all of a year, and I thought I knew enough. Remember, I was twenty-six years old.

            So I loaned Burt to a ranching family that I knew, and I spent all my time and all my money training Gunner. I practiced with my colt at our family ranch. Here we are, cutting cattle.

            I took lessons from trainers as I could afford it. And I rode Gunner every single day (poor thing). He was a really talented horse and I made a lot of progress with him. But he was still a homemade horse and I was very green at showing. Virtually every other non-pro at the Snaffle Bit Futurity was on a professionally trained horse and had many more years of experience than I had. So I’m actually proud to say that we placed in the non-pro and the ladies division. I didn’t win enough to earn back my entry fees and I made some dumb mistakes, but overall we did OK. However, the whole experience really soured me on the reined cowhorse business.

It was just too hard on the horses and too political, and I thought (I believe rightly) that I wasn’t ever going to be much of showman, especially in the reining part of the contest. If I didn’t have a cow to focus on, I wasn’t happy. So I took up cutting instead, and began hauling Gunner to cutting competitions.

By this time I was working for a well known cutting horse trainer, and I knew quite a bit more about training a horse to be a cutting horse than I had known about training one to be a reined cowhorse. I hauled Gunner to all the small local cuttings that I could. Sometimes we did pretty well. But almost every time I went to a larger show we bombed.

Obviously the competition was tougher. But there was something else, too. Whenever I pulled into the parking lot of one of these bigger shows, I was the ONLY half-ton pickup towing a two-horse trailer in the entire parking lot (older pickup with a shabby old two horse trailer, at that). I am not kidding. Every other rig was a shiny dually towing an equally shiny multi-horse trailer, many with living quarters. By which you can see the difference between my degree of wealth and that of the other participants.

Cutting is a rich man’s sport. There are a number of reasons for this. Cutting horses are expensive, cattle are expensive, entries at a cutting are expensive. But there’s more to it than that. Cutting is one of the few horse sports where you really CAN buy your way in. A rich man can buy a well-trained cutting horse, he can keep it in training with a good cutting horse trainer, he can take the occasional lesson, and he can climb on that horse at a show and have his trainer coach him through a run…and he can win the class. Unlike the reined cowhorse world, you can be a pretty poor rider (by which I mean you could never survive going down the fence or manage to cue a horse for a good sliding stop), and still ride a polished cutting horse who knows his job and—with a little coaching—perform pretty damn well. And thus, the cutting horse world is populated by a lot of VERY rich people who don’t actually ride very well. But boy do they have nice horses.

When I showed up at the bigger cuttings, not only did I usually have the only “humble” rig in the parking lot, I was frequently the only non-pro on a homemade horse. Every other non-pro kept his/her horse in training with a professional trainer, who was there to tune the horse up and coach the non-pro through his/her run. As you can imagine, I seldom beat these people. Partly because the professionally trained horses were more solid than Gunner overall, and the other non-pros were usually far more experienced at showing. But there was another element in play.

I had taken up cutting not only because it was easier on the horse than cowhorse, but also because I thought the judging was less subjective. If you lose a cow, you get marked down a specific number of points. Same for switching a cow, or bumping the bit…etc. A judge cannot just let any horse he likes win a class. But…if two horses both have clean runs and neither gets a whole lot more accomplished than the other, well, a judge marks them higher or lower as he pleases. I did occasionally have a pretty good run, but guess what? It wasn’t often marked high enough to win. And there’s a reason for this.

The judges were usually trainers. They all knew each other, they all knew the rich clients who typically circulated around from trainer to trainer. They knew who had money and was worth cultivating because some day that person might put a horse in training with that judge. They knew if they marked a trainer friend’s client high enough to win a class that trainer friend might return the favor. So if a non-pro with no money and no trainer has a run that’s more or less the equal of a non-pro who is the wealthy client of well known trainer, who do you suppose will get marked higher? And yes, it does work like that. Not all the time, but a lot of the time.

So I placed a little and won the occasional class at a smaller show and collected some trophy buckles and headstalls, but I began to find cutting frustrating. I’ve already explained about the judged element and how political it was, but there were other things. There weren’t many local cuttings near me—I usually had to haul at least three hours (one way) to get to an event. The entries were very expensive, several hundred dollars per class at a large show. In order to practice effectively, one needed access to fresh cattle, and no matter how you attempted to arrange this, it was expensive (believe me I know all about this). And finally, except when you are actually showing, or watching someone else have a good run, cuttings are like watching paint dry. An endless amount of sitting around while the herd is being settled and the arena is being drug for the occasional few seconds of brilliance on the part of a good horse, and one’s own two and a half minute run, which was frustrating as often as it turned out rewarding. I just plain got burnt out on it.

And finally, I had progressed as far as I thought I was going to go on Gunner at this sport. Gunner was a solid cutting horse. Two local trainers had told me he was a good horse and I had done a good job on him…but he wasn’t going to get any better unless I let a trainer ride him. One trainer had offered to train and show him for free (he obviously liked Gunner) if I would pay his entry fees. One trainer had offered me $10,000 for Gunner for a wealthy non-pro client who wanted a gentle all around horse that he could win the occasional cutting on. And every single trainer told me that if I wanted to improve and “go on” at cutting, I needed to move on to a different horse. A smaller, cattier, fancier kind of horse. But I didn’t want to sell Gunner. And I was getting tired of the politics and logistics of this rich man’s sport.

So in Gunner’s nine-year-old year I resolved that my last cutting would be our local county fair. And what do you know? We marked a 72 and a half (about like an A-) and won the class. I got a big fancy buckle and that was our last cutting event. Here we are, winning the county fair cutting.

But Gunner’s career wasn’t over. Far from it. The poor horse was bred to be a reined cowhorse, and he was pretty damn successful as a cutter, considering that I trained him myself every step of the way. But all my friends at this time were team ropers, and team roping is timed rather than judged (no politics—yay!), and boy howdy does it move along compared to cutting, and the entry fees are SO MUCH cheaper. Not to mention that my uncle had a practice arena where my friends roped together twice a week. And so I decided that I would train my long suffering horse to do yet another event. He was about to become a team roping head horse. (To be continued.)

Parts One, Two and Three of this story are here.

And if you would like to read a more colorful description/rendition of the cutting horse world than I can provide in a blog post, complete with the driven trainers, wealthy clients and amazing horses that I knew (names changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, of course), try my first mystery novel, Cutter, on sale as a Kindle edition for 99 cents. Click on the title to find the book.