A Success Story

                                               by Laura Crum

            When my son was seven years old and still reeling from the recent death of his pony, I bought an older rope horse that I knew well to be my boy’s new mount, hoping to both alleviate the pain of the loss and to make sure that my child could continue riding, which he was enjoying very much. And so, six years ago this October, Henry came into our lives.

            I paid five thousand dollars for Henry, which was considered a lot for a nineteen year old retired rope horse. But I knew Henry was sound and a reliable kid’s horse. One year after I bought him, Henry colicked, and I had to send him to colic surgery to save his life. So there went another ten thousand. At this point, I had a fifteen thousand dollar kid’s horse.

            Now I am not a rich woman. My husband is not interested in horses. Neither one of us really expected that horses would become my son’s passion—my kid liked to ride in a mild way, mostly because he grew up with/on horses, and hey, riding is fun. Still, my son was in no way driven to ride and compete on horses, the way many young people are—the way I was when I was young. So there really wasn’t any obvious justification for spending fifteen thousand dollars on a horse for him.

            But I did it. And my husband approved it wholeheartedly. And it was one of the best choices I ever made.

            My son grew up riding Henry. For six straight years we rode together two or three times a week. Mostly on the trails near our home, in our riding ring, and at my uncle’s roping arena. But also on the beach and in the redwood forest and up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. My little boy crossed busy roads (hundreds of times), rode steep, technical trails on multi hour loops through the hills, waded in the surf and crossed creeks, loped endless circles and galloped after recalcitrant cattle. Almost all of my riding time during these last six years has been spent escorting my son on his various horseback adventures.

            Many people assume that I did all this because I wanted my son to become a horse person like me. But this isn’t true. I wouldn’t have minded if horses had become his passion, but I didn’t expect this to happen. I didn’t even exactly WANT it. I just believe that growing up on a horse is a healthy way to learn to feel kind, empowered, and connected in a real way to the natural world. Riding horses is the number one therapy for impaired children. So how much good can riding do for any child? Also I wanted to share the joy I have always had in horses with my little boy.

            The downside of this equation is that horses are inherently dangerous. Since the era of the internet, I am able to hear about horseback disasters all over the world. It scares the shit out of me, to be honest. So many people, not always doing anything wrong, are injured and/or killed in a wreck with their horse. I tried to make good decisions, my son always wore a helmet, Henry was and is a VERY reliable horse. But I’m not dumb. Any horse can fall, there is no predicting the day you will meet an erratic driver when crossing the road, wasps can cause even the best horse to flip out, helmets do not protect you against every kind of bodily damage, including head trauma…etc. The risk is real, even when you are doing everything “right.” And I was taking this risk with my beloved only son.

            Still, I persevered. Somewhere in my heart there was trust that I was doing the right thing. And there was trust in Henry, and trust in my son. We rode together for six years straight. We did not have one wreck. We did not even come close to a wreck, in all the miles we covered during those six years. We had a LOT of fun. We saw some beautiful things.

            And now my son is a teenager. He is more interested in riding his bike and surfing on his boogie board and (sigh) video games than he is in riding. He’s also much more busy with schoolwork now that he is in a junior high homeschool program. He is still willing to ride with me, and we ride once a week or so, mostly fairly sedate (walk/trot) short rides.

            Because Henry is twenty-five this year, this reduced program seems to fit him, too. He doesn’t have a lot of enthusiasm for loping circles any more. But he is still sound, and is always eager to be caught, meeting us at the gate every time. I have no idea how much longer he’ll be able to be a riding horse, but we will keep riding him lightly as long as it seems to suit him, and as long as my son is willing to climb aboard his horse. And when Henry doesn’t want to be ridden any more, his home with us is secure for the rest of his life.

            Even if my son never rides much in his adult life, I consider this to be an incredibly successful horse story. We have shared so much joy together, and my son’s experiences of horses, and the lovely places we have ridden, have been virtually entirely positive. What price could you ever put on that?

            My take home message is this: Buy that older solid horse for your child, or for yourself, if you are a beginner. There is no way you can over-value the peace of mind that comes with riding a steady trooper. And the price of that horse is a good deal less than the bill for emergency medical treatment is likely to be. Let alone the emotional trauma. Horses like Henry are worth their weight in gold.

            Henry and my thirteen-year-old son last weekend—a real success story.

            Does anybody else have a “Henry?” If so, I’ll bet you can attest to how valuable these solid equine citizens truly are. And please, please, from the bottom of my heart-- when these great older horses are past their useful working life, don’t just pass them on, hoping they’ll get a good home. Take care of them, and give back to them for all the good things they’ve given you. I honestly think it is truly evil to sell/rehome a good older not-quite-sound horse, never knowing what becomes of him. Because they so often end up in terrible situations. (I do agree that finding a suitable home can be OK—if you keep track of the horse and are willing to take him back if the home doesn’t work out.) If any horses are deserving of a peaceful, happy retirement, it is the “Henries” of this world. My gratitude to our own Henry is boundless, and it is my pleasure to give him a happy home until he is ready to let go of life.

My Son's Horse

                                                by Laura Crum

            Sometimes you get lucky. I had no intention of buying Henry. I had known the horse for years. A reliable, good hearted, somewhat boring horse, I thought. I had no interest in him. For most of those years I rode more athletic horses that were sensitive and perhaps a little hot. Henry struck me as dull. And he was a sorrel—my least favorite color. He did not intrigue me and I had no desire to own him, though I knew him to be a good horse—a capable rope horse, always sound, willing to babysit a child. Just not my kind of horse.

            When my son was little (between three and five years), he rode with me on my horse, Plumber. And one day, when Plumber was lame due to being kicked while in the trailer by his traveling partner, my uncle, who owned Henry, offered to let us ride the horse. I knew Henry was safe, so accepted the offer—and I was pleasantly surprised. Though a lazy horse overall, Henry had a wonderfully smooth trot and gave me a good feel. I enjoyed riding him. And I didn’t think too much more about it.

            When my kid turned five, I bought him a pony. And for two years he rode that pony almost every day. At first with me leading him, and later with me ponying him from my horse, and after about a year, my son rode Toby independently, while I rode along with him on Plumber. Toby was a real jewel. He was a big pony, thirteen and a half hands, and I thought, if I thought about it at all, that my son would grow up riding his pony, as the girl who owned Toby before us had done, and that when my boy became a teenager I’d move him up to a horse—just like the previous owner.

            Sadly Toby died of cancer just two years after we bought him. It happened the same autumn we lost our old dog and an old cat that was my son’s special friend. All within a six week period. It was my child’s first real brush with mortality, and it was a tough introduction. I was desperate to do something to alleviate the pain. I couldn’t bring Toby back, but I could make sure that horseback riding didn’t disappear for us with the loss of the pony. If I could find the right replacement for Toby.

            I remember telling my husband that none of our horses were suitable to mount a child on—too sensitive, too spooky. It wasn’t worth the risk. “But I know of one,” I said. And I called my uncle up and asked what he’d take for Henry.

            My uncle has been a horse trader all his life. He wasn’t planning on selling Henry, but it was autumn and the roping season was coming to an end for the year. Now he would feed the horse through the winter and not get any use out of him. And Henry was 19. Though sound, his days as a rope horse were probably limited. And my uncle knew that I would give any horse I took on a good home. And so he named a price—a very high price for a nineteen year old horse that was to be used as a kid’s riding horse. I said, “Fine. I’ll take him.” And the next day Henry was in my barn.

            My knowledgeable horse friends thought I was nuts. “He WAY overcharged you,” they said. “Did you vet him?” they said.

            I shrugged. No, I didn’t vet him. I knew him. And I also knew that I could search forever and not find another horse I was sure about. Sure he was sound, sure he was safe. It was worth every cent to know that my kid could keep riding and that I wouldn’t have to worry. I trusted Henry.

            And so it proved. When I bought Henry my little boy had just turned seven. Toby the pony had taught him to ride, but we really hadn’t ventured out of the arena much. My son had just begun asking me to go on trail rides shortly before Toby died. And with Henry, we jumped right in. Below you see us on my son’s first ride at the beach, shortly after we bought Henry—it was Henry’s first time at the beach, too, I believe. In the photo we have just emerged from the trail through the sand dunes and are looking at the ocean. If I look a bit stern it’s because I was wondering how Henry would react to his first sight of the sea (he was fine). Plumber, my horse, never did care for the beach, which I think you can tell from his expression. But we had a good ride that day, and my son was hooked on riding “outside.”

            However in the months to come I realized it was time to retire Plumber, who was 20. Plumber was peggy on downhills and let me know he did not care for trail riding any more. Not to mention he was spooky. He spooked at every little rustle in the brush. This had never bothered me before, but now I had to keep my attention on my son. I needed a solid horse that could take care of himself and give Henry a steady lead. And so I bought Sunny.

            Sunny was as steady on the trail as Henry. Not much of anything bothered him. And my son and I, on Sunny and Henry, went on over a hundred trail ride adventures in the first year that we owned these two horses.

            Through the woods.

                               To the Lookout.

                                    On the beach.

                                 In the redwood forest.

Over the hills.

                         Henry was a trooper. He loped endless circles for my kid.

                                          He chased cattle.

            He was just a great horse. And then he colicked. It seemed, initially, to be a mild colic. We treated him. But every time the pain killer wore off, the pain came back. Henry never did seem to be in great distress. But he wasn’t coming out of it. After two days of this, we hauled him to the equine center. And there, after X-rays and ultra-sound, they told me that he needed surgery.

            I have to admit, I have always been one of those people who said they would never do colic surgery. Too much money, endless rehab, a lot of horses don’t recover, just too much grief for both horse and owner. So my inclination was to say no. And besides Henry wasn’t looking too bad. Just mildly painful. He didn’t look like a horse that needed surgery.

            But the vet convinced me that it was Henry’s best chance. And I couldn’t stand not to try. We’d lost Toby a little over a year ago. If I could help it, we weren’t going to lose Henry. It was a tough decision, and I drove away from the veterinary center with tears streaming down my face, not sure if I’d ever see Henry again.

            But I did. We all did. The very next day we drove to the center to take Henry (with a huge bandage around his middle) for a walk. And the old horse was a bit shaky, but bright-eyed. He nickered when he saw us and walked eagerly alongside my son and grazed on the green grass. And the vet handed me a cantalope sized stone they had taken out of his intestine.

            Henry recovered. The rehab was as long and time consuming and frustrating as I had feared, but we got through it. Six months later, Henry was back to full work and doing great. I will be forever grateful.

This was five years ago, and we have gone on hundreds of trail rides since. I have grown to love Henry as much as I have ever loved any horse. Not just for the gift he has given my son, though that alone is priceless, but for himself. For his wonderful, bright-eyed, tough little self. My son’s red horse. Who still carries my kid bravely on adventures, and is 100% sound and free moving at 25 years of age. Like I said to begin with, sometimes you get lucky. Thank you, Henry. You have a forever home with us.

My son and Henry headed back to the barn after a good ride--April 2013.

 Henry enjoying some post-ride grazing--April 2013

To Vaccinate...Or Not?

                                                by Laura Crum

            I’ve recently read some interesting posts on this very controversial subject (thanks Mel at Boots and Saddles blog—listed on the sidebar.) I’m not why this subject is such a hot button topic, but it is. Just trying hanging out with a mom group—as I have spent the last twelve years doing-- and start talking about your views on vaccination. Half the group will automatically hate you.  Because people seem to fall into two camps regarding this topic. Either vaccinations are evil and of the devil and all their kids are unvaccinated (and yours should be, too), or not vaccinating is evil and of the devil and all their kids are 100% up-to-date on ALL vaccinations (and yours should be, too).

            Animal people are not quite as rabid (oops, didn’t mean this as a pun) as moms, but there is still a tinge of this emotion in conversations about vaccination. “My horses are vaccinated for EVERYTHING!” (Implication being that yours should be, too.) Since my views are somewhere in the middle on this subject, I can be hated by both sides.

            Anyway, brave person that I am, I thought I’d post about my latest conversation with my vet on the subject of vaccinations. I will preface this discussion by saying that I no longer vaccinate my horses on a yearly schedule, let alone twice yearly or whatever is recommended now—so that those of you who are so inclined can begin working on your scathing comments about what a bad horse mom I am. I had my vet out last week to have a look at a large swelling on Henry that I thought was a reaction to a tick bite (my vet concurred). And once I had the poor vet here, I picked his brain about vaccinations.

To be honest, I told him what I was doing and why and asked him some specific questions. So here’s what I said:

“All the horses I have here right now are fifteen or older. They’ve all been vaccinated many times in their lives. I happen to believe that there is a downside to vaccination, in both people and animals. I have seen plenty of vaccine reactions in my life and have heard of many more. I am choosing to vaccinate these older horses only when I think there is a real need.”

And then I went on to talk about the actual risk that these particular horses have. They’re not being hauled to competitions, they probably have pretty good titers, due to being vaccinated many times in their lives, however they ARE exposed to wildlife and mosquitos. I asked my vet if he had ever seen any West Nile in his practice or any rabies.

The answer to both questions was no. In all his years of practicing in this community, he had seen neither—he had not heard of any other vet having a case. He was aware that both diseases were theoretically present here.

I then asked him if he was OK with my not vaccinating my horses—in line with my belief that vaccine reactions probably pose a greater risk to the health of this particular older horse herd than the diseases I would be vaccinating against.

He laughed. I waited, having no idea what he would say.

“I’ve got this one client with an older horse,” he began.

Uh-oh, I thought. He’s gonna tell me how she didn’t vaccinate and the horse died of something. I said as much.

He laughed again. “No. The other way around. Last year she had me hit this old horse with the whole barrage of vaccines. The horse colicked an hour later and almost died. We had to send him to surgery. He recovered, but it was hard. And this year? This year when the time rolled around, she called me to come out and give him his vaccinations again.”

“You’re kidding me?” I said.

“Nope. I tried to convince her of more or less what you’ve been telling me; I suggested we at least skip a few of them, but she wanted him to have them all. An hour later he was down. Colicked again.”

“Oh no,” I said.

“Yep. He got through it OK—he’s fine now. But I wish I could convince her that the downside of those shots is greater than the upside—in his case.”

“So you don’t have a problem with what I’m doing?”

“Not at all.”

“What about the rabies and West Nile?”

“It’s your call, but I have not seen a case in this county.”

I thought about it. I have seen so many horses get sick from vaccines. I’ve known horses to founder and/or get sore-footed. When I hear of someone whose horse gets sore footed every time it is vaccinated and still they persist in vaccinating for a disease that their vet has NEVER SEEN, well, it reminds me of a person who is so scared of being struck by lightning that they won’t leave their house. Never mind that living solely indoors is causing them many real health risks. Never mind that these risks are far more likely to do them harm than the remote chance lightning would strike them. They still persist in staying in the house.

So, with my vet’s blessing, I will vaccinate my older horses only when I see a clear risk. A disease that is actually causing trouble in our area. Mind you, I would vaccinate young horses if I had them. Much of what I am doing comes from the fact that I know my horses have been vaccinated many, many times. Odds are their titer levels are acceptable. But even if this is not so, it’s my call that the risk of negative vaccine reactions in the older horse may be more significant than the benefits of the vaccine’s protection.

On the other hand, if any of my horses got a significant wound, I would booster for tetanus. If there were known cases in my area of any disease for which there is a reliable vaccine --I would booster for that disease. My vet has agreed that he will let me know if there is any vaccine he feels my horses should have. So I’m not neglecting this issue. Nor am I cheaping out. I am happy to pay to give my horses the best possible care. I am making a considered decision—with my vet’s agreement.

So there you go—all of you who are firmly in the vaccinate-for-everything camp can feel free to give me your thoughts. I love a good discussion.

            

Le Blah

by Francesca Prescott 

I’m battling a case of the midsummer blahs. On the horse front, things haven’t exactly been pink and peachy over the past week; Qrac has had a horrid case of conjunctivitis, and doesn’t seem to understand that I’m squirting oozy ointments in his eyes for his own good. It’s a struggle, I tell you. But four days into the treatment my horse is looking a lot better, as when I turned up on Sunday the poor guy was oozing thick yellow gloop on a fiery red backdrop (behind his eye was red), so I knew immediately that bathing his eyes in black tea wasn’t going to cut it. I called the vet; he came on Monday morning bearing antiobiotic and soothing moisturising drops. By Tuesday the yellow gloop was already gone, but since I need to treat him for seven days, it would be nice if he’d stop doing his giraffe impersonation the moment I bring out the tubes of ointment.

Also, Qrac didn’t choose a good week to get sore eyes, as I was supposed to be going down to Burgundy with Olivia to visit Kwintus, our old dressage horse, who is now twenty-years-old and retired there. I didn’t want to delegate Qrac’s ocular treatment to someone else at the stables as something told me nobody but me would have the patience to spend ten minutes twice a day struggling with eye creams. So I asked my husband, who is on holiday at the moment, to go down to Burgundy with Olivia this time, thinking it would be a nice for them to spend time together.

I’ve written before about what a lovely place we’ve found for Kwintus’ retirement, and although my husband doesn’t know the back end of a horse from its front end, he likes Kwintus and was more than happy to drive down there with Olivia for twenty-four hours. Olivia was looking forward to seeing her old horse, even hoping to tack him up and take him for a little plod around the countryside, as the last time we visited him (in April) Kwintus looked fit as a fiddle.

Yesterday afternoon, soon after they got there, Olivia called me, fighting back tears.

It seems that over the past two weeks Kwintus has suddenly lost a lot of weight. His ribs are showing, and Olivia said he seemed very tired, and not at all his usual perky, curious self. I already knew that he’d dropped a bit of condition about six weeks ago when we got our first heat-wave, as Natalie, the owner of the centre had called me to tell me she’d been a little concerned for a few days, but she’d kept an eye on him and he’d picked up again as soon as the weather cooled down. But in the past two weeks we’ve had some pretty intense heat, which has really affected him. Kwint normally spends the days outside, and is brought in at night, but during the hot weather he seemed to want to stay out all night with his friends. As Natalie always tries to take the horses’ wishes into consideration, she let him sleep outside. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, as even if Kwintus might have enjoyed the cool night air, he probably missed being able to lie down and sleep in his cosy bed, and became over-tired. Add the stress of battling flies all day in hot, muggy weather, and the result is that all of a sudden poor Mr. Kwint is looking pretty bony.

Olivia got Natalie to call the vet, who came this morning, checked Kwint over and did a blood test. I spoke to Natalie about two hours ago; apparently the blood was very pale, which might point to anaemia. At this point, I don’t know anything else as we won’t have the test results until next week. Meanwhile, Kwintus is going to be made to come in every night whether he wants to or not in order to ensure he gets a good night’s sleep. He’s also going to get more food, and will be turned out alone in a field with slightly richer grass for a while (he doesn’t mind being alone).

Of course, I feel terrible about not having gone down there with Olivia, as my poor husband felt totally at a loss. At the same time, I don’t see what more I could have done. It’s just that I know Olivia was really hoping to be able to get that short plod around the countryside on her horse, as she was away at university in England when I was forced to take the decision to retire him. A short ride, even a few minutes, would give her a sense of closure, but she’s always said that she’d let Kwintus decide on whether or not he wanted her to ride him.

Olivia and I will return to Burgundy to visit Kwintus sometime in September, before Olivia goes back to University. The weather should have cooled down a little by then, so I hope that with adequate treatment and extra food he’ll have picked up again, and be back to his normal, somewhat rotund, perky self.

Have you ever had problems with older horses suddenly dropping a considerable amount of weight? Have you had horses with anaemia? If so, what caused it? How did you treat it? How long did it take for them to bounce back?

My Little Mystery and Goodbye for Awhile

by Laura Crum

Yes, I do write mysteries and I recently finished book number twelve in my series featuring equine veterinarian Gail McCarthy, but this is not one of my “made-up” mysteries, this is a real mystery involving a real veterinarian.

I've written before about my little trail horse, Sunny. Sunny has been a real champ for me, allowing me to lead my son on hundreds of trail rides in the last three years (with my son riding equally bombproof Henry) without one scary moment. In my personal book, that is priceless. I read of others’ accidents and fear issues and my heart really goes out to them. It is so sad to have a lifelong dream of a happy life with horses turn into a nightmare of emotional and physical distress due to injuries and/or fear. I myself have so far dodged this bullet—knocking on wood (literally). I haven’t been hurt yet and I am not fearful when I handle/climb aboard my horse. Not because I am such a good hand. Because I have a reliable, steady horse to ride. I know I have proffered this advice before, but I’m gonna do it one more time in the hopes that it will help somebody. If your primary goal is to enjoy horses without struggling with fear issues or getting hurt, buy a reliable horse in the double digits. A horse with plenty of years of experience in the event you wish to pursue. Not a horse you have to train, or worse yet, retrain. A horse that has been a steady babysitter for his previous rider(s).

I don’t know how many times I have heard someone say, “I don’t need a babysitter.” Very often this person has had far less experience riding/training young horses than I have. I always want to tell them, “I may not need a babysitter, but I WANT one.” I want to have fun on my horses now—I do not want to feel nervous. If you’re not afraid of getting hurt, and don’t mind the normal antics of a young horse or the recalcitrant behavior of a horse with some sizable holes in his training, more power to you. This advice is not meant for you. But if you, like me, are currently more concerned with being safe and worry free while you enjoy riding and handling horses, think long and hard when you choose a horse to work with. A reliable horse in the double digits is a far greater aid to staying safe and anxiety free while riding than any helmet in the world (not that there is anything wrong with wearing a helmet—and, in fact, despite my long and safe helmetless horseback career, I am now planning to go out and buy one, and its mostly thanks to what I have learned from other bloggers. Any suggestions on what brand/sort I should choose?).

(A small aside here—I recently read on another blog the statement that “if you think you own a pair of bombproof horses that will never hurt you, think again. Any horse can hurt you at any time.” This is, of course, true. But its like saying “anything can hurt you at any time. The asteroid could strike the planet at any time.” True, but not very helpful. The woman who made the statement had been hurt handling what she considered to be a gentle horse. From her description, my assessment would be that she wasn’t being careful enough, as the horse hurt her due to a habit that she already knew he had. So here’s the next part of staying safe—always be thoughtful in the way you handle horses. I wince when I read about people playing “games” with horses at liberty, or strolling along beside, or worse yet, behind a loose horse. This is, quite frankly, asking for trouble, no matter how gentle the horse is. When I handle my gentle horses they are caught and haltered and I remain alert. I am careful about the way I catch them and lead them and turn them loose. I groom them and fuss with them when they are under my control and in a safe place, not “at liberty” or God forbid, out in the pasture with other horses. And I am equally thoughtful when I ride them. And these are two very “bombproof” horses. Yes, any horse can hurt you at any time, but if you are careful in how you handle them and use safe practices, and the horse is reliable, it is not very likely. Most of the horsewrecks that I’ve known of involved green horses or horses with a problem habit, or a moment of carelessness on the part of the rider/handler, or following a practice that is just not safe. I understand how people get started doing these things—they are taught these practices by some horse guru or other and they are looking for that elusive “connection” with the horse. But I can tell you for a fact that many of these practices are quite dangerous, and there is a big potential for the horse to hurt you.

Of course, lets face it, people get hurt climbing out of the bathtub or stepping off a curb. Virtually anything can hurt you; life can and will hurt you. As we all know, no one gets out of this alive. However, I will stand by my statement that riding/handling solid horses in the double digits and using careful practices while remaining alert will do the most possible good towards keeping us safe and not fearful when we work with our horses. All right—I’ll get off my soapbox now.)

Anyway, Sunny, my reliable little horse that I just love, has given me hundreds of happy, relaxed trail rides. And here’s the problem. There is a downside to reliable horses in the double digits—and I’m now facing it. The soundness issue.

I’ve mentioned before that Sunny has been off and on slightly gimpy this spring. Well, after last week when we did several trail rides, I went down to feed him one morning and he was lame. Lame in the right front—the foot he’d been slightly off on from time to time. I called the vet.

The vet concurred that it was the right front; the vet agreed with me that there was no sign of a soft tissue injury—no swelling anywhere on the leg. Hoof testers showed some soreness on the sole. No sign of heat or laminitic issues. The left front was fine. The vet wanted to block the foot to see if the lameness was there. I did not want to block the foot.

I have an irrational hatred of nerve blocks because I knew a horse who was put down because he broke his leg trotting with a blocked foot in a vet exam. I know this is a very unlikely thing, but I can’t help it—it bugs me. Also, I’ve been around horses my whole life and I knew Sunny was lame in the foot—just by the way he moved. The hoof tester results confirmed this. (90% of front leg lameness is in the foot, anyway.) So I told the vet I wanted to shoot X-rays of the foot. I thought we might discover some sort of arthritic issue.

But the X-rays were clean. No ringbone, sidebones very clean, no navicular changes, coffin bone looked fine. The vet suggested the horse might be bruised. But we had pared the foot out carefully, and there was no sign of bruising. However we agreed I’d try front shoes and pads and see if it fixed the problem. The pads would be somewhat diagnostic. If the horse went immediately sound, he had sore soles/bruising type issues.

I have been running Sunny barefoot for three and a half years and up until this spring the horse has been quite sound. He has good, big, open feet—he doesn’t chip to speak of. I liked having him barefoot, but I went ahead and put front shoes and pads on him—just to see if it would help him.

It helped some—but it was not an instant cure. He was less lame, but still a little lame. I still felt it was in the foot. I called the vet back and told him to look at the X-rays again. He did. He consulted with another vet. And then he called me back and said he thought, he wasn’t sure, that he could see a tiny little hairline fracture at the very edge of the navicular bone. We discussed my options, IF this was the case. I thought the diagnosis fit the symptoms the horse had shown, so was inclined to believe it. It made sense that the trail riding made him worse. It made sense that the pads would make it better but not fix it. The vet thought leave pads on him, give him a month off, and then reevaluate.

The bright side to all this is that I will be gone for the month of July, so giving Sunny a month off is no problem. The dark side is that I may now be coping with soundness issues in my good little trail horse—for possibly a long time. But I have to say, even if this is so, I would not trade Sunny for any other horse. He has given me a huge gift and if I have to manage his soundness issues in the future, even if I have to retire him, those years of so many lovely rides in which I was never scared, let alone hurt, are totally worth the price of dealing with a sore foot.

Anyway, that’s my little mystery—has anyone else had this particular problem? I’d love to hear about it if so. I have no idea how Sunny injured himself—if this is the answer to his gimpyness. I have never had a horse with this problem. The edges of the navicular bone were very clean, so this is not “navicular disease”. I’m still a bit puzzled about the whole thing and am not sure if we’ve solved the mystery lameness or not. After several days with pads Sunny IS markedly better and trots almost sound in a straight line on level ground. Any thoughts?

And, I will be gone in July—gone from the computer, too, no email or blogs—and back to posting (and riding, I hope) in August. I’ll be participating in the summer book giveaway then—which Jami just announced. Hope you all enjoy it in the meantime.

Happy summer. Cheers--Laura

In Praise of Henry

By Laura Crum

Its sunny and we’re riding again. The horses have had two weeks off due to bad weather. Monday we saddled up and rode in my riding ring—walk trot only because the ground is not perfect yet. The trails will be too wet for some time to come. Both Sunny and Henry felt pretty good—who can blame them. And yet both little guys were well behaved for a fairly sedate session of walk trot work. I am so grateful for them.

So yesterday, as I was thinking about writing a post, I decided I just want to sing Henry’s praises and through him, extol the virtues of buying your child an old, solid horse. So often people opt in favor of the younger, less solid horse, and I know the reasons for this. But the absolutely wonderful, 100% positive experience my son has had with Henry is a good reason to consider that older horse when you’re shopping. And for those who are not the boldest older “re-riders”, this applies to you and me, too. Don’t overlook the “Henry’s” of this world. Let me show you why.

Here is Henry. Henry is a registered QH gelding, of mostly running bloodlines. He is 14.3 hands. I’ve known Henry since he was a young horse. He belonged to a friend of ours, Harold Warkentin, who team roped on Henry until Harold was 80. The photo above shows Henry as a six-year-old at Harold’s place.

Henry was always reliable for Harold and when Harold gave up roping in his 80’s my uncle bought Henry. Henry was 15 at the time. My uncle used him as a practice rope horse and to mount his grandkids on. I watched Henry be perfectly sound and well behaved for an assortment of people for four years. His only vice was being a touch lazy, and I consider that a virtue in a kid’s horse. Henry had smooth gaits and was absolutely reliable, in the pen and outside. When my son’s pony died three and a half years ago (my child had just turned seven years old at the time), I asked if my uncle would sell Henry. Sure he would. For the same five thousand dollars he’d paid for him four years ago.

My friends told me I was nuts. I shouldn’t have to pay five thousand for a nineteen year old horse. And I was perfectly aware that my uncle was cutting a fat hog at my expense. (He’d done this before.) But I knew Henry was the horse I wanted for my son. And he’s been worth every penny.

Since I bought Henry, my son and I have been on hundreds and hundreds of rides together (I kept track the first year—we went on 120 trail/beach rides that year, not counting arena riding). Not once has my kid been hurt or even scared. We have seen many lovely things that will be with us forever. My son has learned to be a confident and effective rider. What price could I put on that?

The photos below show my son riding Henry. They’re not the best pictures, since I took them while riding my own horse, Sunny. But if you look you will see the relaxed, confident demeanor in both horse and child. They are enjoying the world together. And look at what they get to see. I could not have taken my little boy all these places without a horse as solid as Henry.

Henry in riding ring.

Henry on the trail.

Henry at the beach.

Henry is twenty three this spring and still perfectly sound. He colicked when he was twenty and I paid for colic surgery to save his life, but that happens to horses both young and old. The odds are that he doesn’t have ten more years left as a riding horse, as a younger horse might have, but certainly many younger horses have more soundness issues than Henry—who currently has none. He is completely sound and goes barefoot. And if I lost him tomorrow, those last three and a half years are a gift I will value forever.

Henry—twenty three years old.

My son rode Henry yesterday—another pleasant walk/trot session in our riding ring, which still has some muddy spots. Nothing special. Took about twenty minutes. Just what you see in the riding ring photo, which was actually taken last fall. But I cannot think of one single thing that I consider a greater gift than this regular, pleasant, confidence-building interaction my son has with this great old horse. When my son was done he gave his horse a cookie (which we have taught Henry to take politely) and we turned him loose to graze in the ring (which has plenty of grass right now) for an hour. We were all content.

So thank you, Henry, for all you’ve given and are giving us, I will take care of you and love you until the end of your days. And to all of you who are looking for a horse and are offered a chance at a rock solid oldster—do not discount the pure joy available in the reliable ride, free of fear and struggle. Does this look like happiness or what?

Henry and kid—loping in the springtime (last year at this time).

Anybody else have an older riding horse you just love?

Teeth Trouble

I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but, over here in Switzerland, the importance of equine dentistry tends to be grossly underestimated. Proper equine dentists are few and far between, and the ones worth their somewhat stiff fees are almost impossible to get hold of unless you have “contacts”.

Of course, if you’re lucky, your horse can go through life with the dental bare necessities. A good vet can generally take care of tooth basics, and chances are you won’t need the services of a fully fledged equine dentist, because your horse won’t develop major problems.

Fingers crossed.

Crossing my fingers hasn’t been enough to keep Kwintus’ pearly whites (!) in mint condition. The day before I took my daughter to university in the UK, we found out that our poor horse needs dental surgery. Pretty major dental surgery as it turns out.

I’ve known Kwintus had a potential major dental problem for about two years now, because the last time the “super dentist” came to visit him he discovered Kwint had a broken tooth very far behind, high up on the left hand side. Back then, the dentist told me there was no point worrying about it too much because it wasn’t infected, and that it was perfectly possible for it to remain that way forever. “But,” he said, “if one day you notice nasal discharge, or that the horse develops dodgy breath, it’s probably because the tooth has suffered further damage and become infected.”

My stomach took a nosedive into the worry zone. “What if that happens?” I wanted to know.

The dentist pulled a face. “The tooth will have to come out, entailing a complicated operation,” he replied. “The tooth is so far back and so badly broken they’ll have to put your horse under full anesthesia, and extract the tooth by breaking through the outside of his jaw. All I can say is that I hope it doesn’t happen. Good luck.”

Well, guess what happened?

Kwintus had suddenly become unhappy with his mouth about a week before I was scheduled to go to England with my daughter. He started drawing circles on the walls of his stable with his front teeth. Steph had never seen anything like it, and neither had I. But there was no nasal discharge and his breath didn’t seem particularly smelly, although maybe I was gradually getting used to a slight stinky whiff. Anyway, we tried over and over to get hold of the “super dentist” who’d treated him two years ago at my previous stables. No answer. No returned calls. Finally, I asked my trainer, Marie-Valentine, whether she knew someone else who might be able to help. Instead, she dialed the “super dentist”’s number, left him a message, and hey presto, ten minutes later she was talking to him. Did I mention contacts help?!

Of course, super dentists have super busy schedules, and it took another four days for the dentist to come and see Kwint, at which point his stable walls were becoming reminiscent of the Lascaux caves in the south of France. The poor horse didn’t know what to do with his mouth anymore. But the dentist arrived with his two Swiss German assistants, got Kwint to open wide, moved in close and nearly keeled over. “Stinken”, he said, briskly shaking his wrist. I didn’t need an English translation.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the broken tooth that was making Kwint draw circles on the walls. His front teeth had just become too long and uncomfortable and needed filing down. But the broken tooth right at the back was a mess; there was gunk all around it, as well as clumps of semi-chewed food that had become lodged in the cavities. Kwint’s tongue was also irritated, with little white spots all over it. When they washed out his mouth with warm water the smell was pretty tenacious.
“It’s not good,” said the dentist, turning to me and shaking his head. “This tooth needs to come out. We’re looking at an operation.”

My poor daughter burst into tears. I held her tight, told her it would be okay, that we’d do what it takes to fix the problem.

“The good news is,” he continued, “that in the past two years there have been major improvements in this particular operation.” He told us there was a dental surgeon in Munich who could extract the tooth without putting the horse out completely, using a far less invasive technique, and who could perform the operation in any good equine clinic in Switzerland. First, however, we’d need to do x-rays to determine the extent of the damage.

To cut a long story short, Stephanie was kind enough to take Kwintus to an equine clinic a week later, while I was settling my daughter into her new life in England. The x-rays revealed that the tooth needs to come out as soon as possible; if it’s not removed it could infect Kwint’s sinuses. Steph phoned the “super dentist” on the way back from the clinic, but he hasn’t got back to her yet. I returned from England on Friday evening and have contacted him too, asking for further details on how to proceed, as well as for a financial inkling of where this dental debacle might be headed. No news so far. My trainer, Marie-Valentine, is currently in Germany, sourcing horses for a client. She gets back tomorrow evening, so hopefully might be able to speak to the dentist on Thursday.

Meanwhile, Kwintus doesn’t seem bothered by his broken tooth, and as the dentist told me to work him as usual, that’s what I’m doing. Of course, as you can imagine, I’m being particularly careful with his mouth.

The thing is, apart from worrying about whether Kwint might be in more pain that he’s letting on, I’m desperate to know what happens next. When will we be able to have Kwintus operated on? What will the recovery time be? And…how much might something like this cost? I get chills just thinking about it.

Have you been through a similar experience, or heard of this sort of problem? I'd be grateful for some feedback.