What To Do?

                                                by Laura Crum

            I was recently faced with yet another horsey drama. I don’t know about you guys, but I HATE horsey dramas. This is one more reason why I am drawn to gardening and my pond…etc, these days, where the dramas tend to be a little more benign. But last week, I got a phone call from my friend/boarder/horse partner Wally, that pretty much made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

            “I got a call from T today, “ he said.

            “Uh oh,” I said.

            “Uh oh is right. The horses got out on the road last night.”

            “Oh no,” I said, and a nightmare immediately flashed through my mind.

            “The horses are OK,” Wally reassured me, “and the neighbor put them back in the field, but we’ve got a problem.”

            So now I have to backtrack and explain what horses these are. It’s kind of a long, complicated story, so you can either bear with me, or just skip the rest of this post.

            Over the last twenty years I’ve taken care of a motley collection of horses. My older retired horses, Wally’s older, retired horses, and some horses that belonged to friends and uhmm, acquaintances, that I took on because they were sweet old geldings that needed a break. Some of the time I kept these horses at a pasture that I own in the Sierra foothills (three hours from here). But that pasture is not a good place for horses in the summer and fall, when the grass dries up and the heat is severe. Horses that live there year round must be fed and fly-sprayed every day in the dry season. And I had no way to do this. My friend who caretakes the property doesn’t mind keeping any eye on the horses during grass season, but he doesn’t want the job of daily feeding and care that the dry season demands. So we brought the horses home every June and kept them in my corrals for the summer and fall, bringing them back to the pasture in December, when (usually) the green grass comes back.

            But I kept acquiring horses, and I didn’t have enough room at home for all of them. Wally had a friend named T who had been in the horse business all his life. Fifteen or so years ago, he was down to one old mare, whose companion, a pony, had just died. T approached Wally about finding a companion for the mare. And Wally and I decided this was the answer to our problem.

            Because T had twenty acres of pasture that grew good feed year round, due to a hillside that was irrigated by a spring. And T’s place was twenty minutes from us. So we put the three older retired geldings that we had no room for at home out at T’s place for the summer. And they did so well that we left them there year round.

            At first it seemed ideal. T was happy and we were happy. But, as is usual in life, there was a downside. The main downside was the fences. The fences were, in places, really crappy. Like several strands of sagging barbed wire. We picked them up and patched them up as best we could, but truly making the place a well-fenced pasture would have taken thousands of dollars. Both Wally and I preferred not to spend our money on T’s place. And T was not interested in spending money on the fences. So we limped along for many years, patching the fences as needed. Our horses did not get out. We had a couple of minor cuts, but nothing serious.

            We acquired a few more horses that needed homes. We retired a couple more horses. At one point we had seven horses at T’s place. And the field carried them pretty well. We fed them during the dry season, whenever it was needed. Overall the horses thrived and were happy. However…

            The median age of our little group of retirees got older and older. Half of them needed senior feed to thrive. T was not interested in feeding, or really, in anything but looking at the horses. Wally and I drove out there at all hours of the day and night to feed and blanket/unblanket our increasingly geriatric herd. We began to wonder if we were doing the right thing keeping this whole program going, as some of the horses were too thin, even with heaps of senior feed and free choice pasture. Three years ago we made a hard choice, and put two of the old guys down. I brought Gunner (then 31) home to give him the absolute best care I could.

            Both Wally and I were maxed out on the idea of putting our energy and resources and time into caring for horses at T’s place. T’s old mare was dead now. But three horses remained in the pasture. A bay gelding that belonged to me, a sorrel mare that belonged to Wally, and a gray gelding that belonged to neither of us, but that we were effectively responsible for. And we had no idea what to do with these horses.

            None of them were horses that either of us had spent much time riding. The bay gelding, Danny, I bought as a three year old. I rode him for six months and then I got pregnant. I gave Danny to a friend, and he did pretty well, but developed a bucking habit. Still, the friend was getting him through it, when Danny was severely injured in a freak accident (got hit by a truck). The friend would have put him down, but I took Danny back and rehabbed him. He never got completely sound, but he was sound enough to be a pasture pet. And a pasture pet is what he is today, at 18 years of age. Not sound, very sweet. Easy to handle on the ground.

            Wally’s mare is one that he raised himself, out of his old mare, Tiz, and by a good stallion that belonged to a friend of mine. Wally put the filly in training for the Snaffle Bit Futurity as a 3 year old, but she flunked out. He tried to use her as a heel horse, but she flunked out there, too. (I should add that she was willing and athletic but a little too inclined to prop when stopped hard—that was the only reason she “flunked” out.) He gave her to friends to use as a broodmare and she produced somewhere in the neighborhood of seven nice babies, all of whom sold for a good price. But then the bottom fell out of the horse biz and the friends gave her back. Wally found her a home with some other friends who wanted to raise colts, but they got a divorce and gave her back. So now the little sorrel mare is 19 and out in the pasture at T’s. Friendly, not quite sound, and a happy pasture pet.

            The gray gelding belonged to friends who didn’t want him any more. He’s in his mid-20’s, not quite sound, a very sweet horse and a happy pasture pet.

            Wally and I don’t know what in the world we could do with these three horses if we can’t keep them at T’s. Neither of us can afford to board them or “retire” them at a retirement farm. And I’m gonna be frank here. The five horses I care for at home (two of them retired, the others in their 20’s or late teens)-- all of these horses have carried me, or my son, or Wally, for hundreds of miles. All without one wreck, or even a bad moment. They have taken care of us and now it’s my turn to take care of them. They have EARNED their retirement.

            The horses at T’s place are not in this category. Perhaps through no fault of their own, but for a fact, they have not been the horses who carried us safely through so many hours in the saddle. I don’t owe them the way I owe the five horses here. And this is very clear in my mind.

            Also, I have five corrals, and there are five horses here. My small horse property is “legal” for five horses—no more. I absolutely cannot take another horse out here.

            So Wally and I both feel that keeping the horses at T’s, crappy fences and all, is the only option for Danny, Little Witch and Gray Dog. But it’s completely unacceptable to have horses out on the road. Wally went out that morning to find out what had happened.

            Well, it turned out to be the kind of stupid drama that is all too common in the horse biz. Unbeknown to us, T and the neighbor had gotten into a pissing contest. First the neighbor had felled a tree on top of the pathetic fence and flattened it. The neighbor rebuilt the fence, but put it on T’s side of the property line. T insisted the fence be moved. Surveyors and lawyers were brought in. And apparently, sometime in the last week, the pissed off neighbor just took the fence down. This little drama had been going on for awhile (no one told us). And eventually the horses walked through the now non-existent fence, across the neighbor’s property, and got out on the busy road—at night. Thank God no one was hurt.

            Wally locked the horses up in the one corral on the property, and fed them, and we pondered what to do. We really didn’t have any options for these horses, as I have explained. We were both sick of the situation, but the horses were having a good life. We didn’t want to put the horses down, and T was still happy to have them in the pasture. Wally decided that as he is the easy-going one between the two of us (and this is very true), he would try to negotiate between T and the neighbor.

            So this goes on for three days. First Wally talks to the neighbor, then he talks to T. Meanwhile the horses are living in a corral and must be fed AM and PM. We are all frustrated. Eventually (after much talking) Wally is able to meet with both the neighbor and T and get them to agree on where the fence goes. And several days after that the neighbor finally gets the fence back up. We are all heartily sick of the whole situation, but…the three horses are now turned back out in the pasture and are happy. We are hoping they can lead a pleasant life for just awhile longer.

            So yeah, I have no more patience for this sort of drama…but I AM glad that our three useless but sweet horses are still having a good life. Is there anybody else out there who is sick of all the drama that seems to go with horses? At least at my own place I can get it down to the inevitable tragedies that go with loving living creatures, but whenever other people are involved it seems to result in this kind of unnecessary grief. Any thoughts?

           

           

            

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?

            

An Old Woman and Her Horses

                                                by Laura Crum

            That is how I see myself these days. Sort of like a cat lady, only with an over-abundance of horses rather than cats. I know, many of you will protest that mid-fifties isn’t old, and in a way you are right. However, I am old in the way of hours spent in the saddle aboard a horse. I spent twenty-five years (from fifteen until forty) non-stop riding, training and competing on a wide variety of horses, in three different very-demanding events. Not to mention many hours on the trail and horse packing/camping in the mountains. My mystery series was born out of my desire to convey some of the magic and delight I found in all those years spent horseback.

            I took a break in my forties to have a child and raise him (oh, I rode occasionally, but it was always with a kid in the saddle in front of me or ponying my child’s leadline pony). Then, when I turned fifty, I bought two solid, older geldings and for five years my boy and I rode the trails non-stop. We rode at least two or three days every week through all kinds of terrain—our local trails through the coastal hills, the beach, the redwood forest, the mountains. And these years provided the inspiration for the last four books of my horse-themed series.

            And now? Well, the short answer may be that I’m tired. Those of you who have spent thirty years steadily horseback (and for many of those years I rode seven days a week), might understand. Or maybe you are in a different space mentally and are just pushing on to new horseback achievements. Those who are in an “earlier” stage of your horse life (at least in the sense of lifetime hours spent in the saddle) may find my attitude kind of perplexing. Because I still love my horses. I just don’t have a lot of motivation or ambition to ride right now.

            I’ve been through this before, and I’m aware it may be a stage. I’m not fighting my head about it (too much). I’m pretty accepting that this is how I feel at this point in my life. I still ride (maybe once a week), mostly here on my own property. I cruise my little yellow horse around the riding ring for awhile and then let him gallop the quarter mile up the hill from the gate to the house a couple of times. This seems to be enough for both of us at the moment.

            My horses are older, too. Sunny, my riding horse, is in his late teens (I think). Henry, my son’s riding horse, is 25. Both horses are sound, but both are obviously a bit stiffer and slower to warm up and move out freely than they were when I bought them, six years ago. They don’t seem to mind a lighter riding schedule—at all.

            My other two horses, Gunner and Plumber, are retired. A lot of my horse life right now is taking care of 33 year old Gunner. He’s got an arthritic knee that is getting worse and he’s having a harder time keeping weight on than he did a year ago. His appetite is not as good as it was. But he is still bright-eyed and perky and seems to enjoy life. I let him out to graze every day (which he is very eager to do), and I give him pain meds, and I feed him (and all the others) three times a day. Lately I’ve been blanketing Gunner every evening and taking his blanket off every morning, hoping to help him keep weight on. Along with all the regular horse chores (and all the other life chores), it keeps me busy.

But I don’t begrudge the time spent with my retirees. I enjoy it. I look at them and think how lucky I am. I bought both Gunner and Plumber as three year old horses. Gunner had thirty days on him; Plumber had never been ridden. I trained both these horses myself and went on to ride them all their working lives. Both horses won many competitions and carried me for many miles. They are still my horses today and greet me with eager nickers every time they see me. Plumber is twenty-four and I’ve owned him for twenty-one years. Gunner is thirty-three and I’ve owned him for thirty years. How many horse people can say this? If I did nothing but look after these two beloved horses, I would consider myself so lucky.

And then there is life. That sometimes annoying part of life that has nothing to do with horses. The truth is that I have had a difficult and emotionally draining autumn in many ways and I find my desire to be with my horses--watching them graze, or eat their hay, or just brushing them-- is stronger than my desire to hitch up the trailer and go somewhere, or even to head out my front gate and cross the busy road to get to our nearby trails. My son, at thirteen, is more interested in riding his bike than his horse these days, so I have been doing a lot of riding the trails with my husband and son on two wheels rather than four hooves.

Actually, riding a bike rather than a horse is probably a good thing, as I am, if not truly old, definitely getting stout and stiff, and pumping that bike up a hill is a hell of a lot more exercise than letting Sunny carry me up the same hill. So I ride my bike as much as my horse right now.

I’m not sure what the future will hold for me horse-wise, in terms of riding. I may ride a lot more in the new year, and I may not. I’m pretty sure I’ll ride at least occasionally—I can’t imagine my life any other way. One thing I do know, the five horses I have here have a permanent home with me and I will take care of them until their time is done. If this means my entire horse life is taking care of a bunch of retired horses, so be it. These horses have paid their dues and given me years of good times in the saddle, carried me for so many, many miles, taken good care of me in all kinds of “interesting” situations. Every time I feed them, or turn them out to graze, those many happy riding hours are present in the moment, as I run my hand over their shoulder or touch noses with them. Time past as present as time present.

Does anybody else out there share this feeling? I do sometimes feel like the only slacker in an internet horse world that is full of people busy doing lots of very active things with their horses. Not that there is anything wrong with having a busy, active horse life. Not at all. I was that person for many years, and enjoyed it very much. It’s just not where I’m at now. And I’m curious to know if there are others that share my current emotions.

Lame

                                                            by Laura Crum

            If you’ve owned horses for any length of time, you have dealt with lameness. It’s just a fact of life with horses. They go lame from time to time. If you’re lucky, it’s not permanent. If you’ve never had a lame horse, you just haven’t owned enough horses, or owned any horse a long time.

            So I’ve been really lucky when it comes to lameness. I can pat myself on the back and say it’s because I have great horse keeping/riding practices and I know how to pick the sort of horse that stays sound, and maybe this has something to do with it. But really, maybe I’ve just been lucky.

            As of last year at this time, I had five completely sound horses on my place, including my retired 32 year old horse, my retired 23 year old horse, my riding horse, my son’s riding horse and my friend’s horse that I board here. Today? Well, the boarder is still sound.

            I know, it sounds bad. But it is part of life with horses.

            I retired Gunner, my now 33 year old horse, when he was 18 because he had enough arthritic changes that I felt he would be more comfortable if I didn’t work him. I retired Plumber (now 24) at 19 for the same reason. Both horses became much more free moving after some time off, and would long trot freely and completely sound as retired barefoot pasture pets. And this made me happy.

            Last winter Gunner got cast and was down (I think) most of the night. I found him there at morning feeding. He was stuck in a hollow by the fence and we had a very hard time getting him up (took a couple of hours). He was in pretty rough shape when he finally stood up, and I thought it was the end. But my vet convinced me that the horse could pull through, and this turned out to be true. It took a couple of weeks, but eventually Gunner was trotting sound again. However, he was never as free moving as he had been before being cast. Still, he was sound, he ate well, his weight was good, he would buck and play—I thought his quality of life was good enough. Here you see Gunner this summer.

            Several months after being cast, Gunner fell while running around screaming for his buddy (who I had taken out of the corral). Gunner got up from that fall limping, and since then developed some very obvious arthritic changes in his left knee. And he was lame. When it became clear that this wasn’t going to resolve on its own, I had the vet out.

            To cut to the chase—yep, he had bad arthritis in his knee, and we put him on Previcox—a pain killer which works well for long term use in arthritic horses. Gunner got better. But he never got really completely sound. And now, as it gets colder, he’s a little more off on that left front, despite the drug.

            He still bucks and plays a little, he eats well, his weight is pretty good. But he’s definitely lame. Here he is a week or two ago—getting fuzzy for winter.

            Gunner will be 34 next spring if he makes it that long. Right now I think his quality of life is good enough. But if he keeps getting lamer, I will have a hard choice to make. I have buted older horses to keep them comfortable, and I could do this with Gunner, but I am not sure I want to push this 33 year old horse to make it through another cold rainy muddy winter (and he hates being confined so locking him up in a stall won’t work). The end result is the same. Eventually the bute won’t mask the pain, as the Previcox is currently starting to fail to do. Do I just want to prolong this so Gunner can stand in the rain? I’m not sure.

            And then, just for icing on the cake, three weeks ago I went down to feed and 24 year old Plumber was lame in the right front. Plumber has been sound and comfortable, so my first thought was an abscess or a bruise. It just so happened the farrier was coming that day, so we trimmed Pulmber and used the hoof testers and could find nothing. No bruise, no tenderness. Also no swelling, no heat, no sign of injury anywhere on the leg or foot. But lame in the right front. OK then.

            I did not call the vet because I have been down this road before. We had done most of what a vet could do. The next step was X-rays. I decided to wait and see if Plumber got worse or better. If he got worse it was probably an abscess and would become much easier to diagnose. If he got better, well, as we expert horsemen say, he just tweaked himself. Or, more accurately, he probably aggravated an existing low level arthritic condition (such as ringbone, sidebone or navicular).

            Every day I checked Plumber out. First he got better. Then he got lamer. Then better. Then lamer. And then consistently a little better every day. Right now you can’t tell he is off unless you jog him in a circle on hard ground. Trotting in a straight line in his corral, he looks sound. And that’s sound enough for his pasture pet life. We’ll see what the future brings.

            Here you see my son giving Plumber a little love.

            Ok, retired horses having soundness problems is par for the course. At least my riding horses were sound. We’ve been riding two or three days a week all summer and having lots of fun. I’ve particularly been enjoying riding in the redwood forest on Sunny.

            My son and Henry have enjoyed chasing cattle.

            My son started his junior high homeschool program three weeks ago, and we have been really busy getting up to speed with that. We took a brief break from riding just due to how busy we’ve been. But last week things seemed to smooth out and we decided to go for a ride. We saddled up and my son started to warm Henry up. Henry is 25 and though he is still sound, his hocks are getting stiff. He needs lots of walking before he is asked to do more.

            I led Sunny out on the driveway to climb on and dang, he looked lame. I jogged him. He WAS lame. Lame in the left front. I picked his foot carefully. No obvious problems in the foot. Also no injuries, swelling or heat in foot or leg. I jogged him again. Still lame.

            This was a big surprise because Sunny gallops around in his corral every day at feeding time and trots up and down the fence, and I had seen no sign of lameness. But he was definitely lame in the left front now—too lame to ride. I unsaddled him, let him graze a little, and turned him back out.

            I bought both Sunny and Henry roughly six years ago. They have both been completely sound virtually the whole time I have owned them, and taken us on hundreds and hundreds of rides. In the nearby hills, on the beach, gathering cattle—we even hauled them to the Sierras. They have been barefoot almost the entire time. As Henry has gotten older, we’ve quit loping a lot of circles on him, but that has been the only real change. These two horses have been sound, solid riding horses for six years and given us an amazing amount of use. Henry is 25—Sunny is possibly as old as 20. So I wasn’t entirely shocked to find that Sunny was having a soundness problem. To be frank, I knew this would happen eventually. And eventually just happens to be now.

            My horses are all older. This is what happens when you don’t get rid of your beloved friends once they get past their best working years. To put it simply: you have older horses with soundness problems. I accept this. That doesn’t mean it makes me happy. But I accept it.

            I am going to give Sunny some time off and see if his lameness will resolve (unless he gets worse, in which case I will have the vet out ASAP). But if he still gallops up the hill at feeding time and trots without a head bob in his corral (as he did this morning), I think his quality of life is OK. I’m not sure about mine. I am pretty addicted to going for a ride any time I feel like it.

            Anyway, it’s early days to make predictions. Sunny may be sound next week. Or I may have the vet out and we’ll put Sunny on the Previcox, if that seems like the right choice. Or maybe it’s an abscess. If so, it will show itself and I’ll deal with it. For the moment, I’m going to take a deep breath and be grateful for all the happy rides I’ve had on my good little yellow mule. I’ll turn him out to graze, and give him lots of attention and accept the fact that owning and loving horses means dealing with lameness. It’s not all about happy rides in the sunshine. Sunny has given me plenty of wonderful rides and taken really good care of me—now it’s my turn to take care of him.

           

            

Feeling Too Good

                                               by Laura Crum

            I am happy that Gunner, my 33 year old horse, feels good these days. But lately it’s been sort of a problem. The old boy wants to charge around, bucking and spinning and galloping up and down his pen at the drop of a hat. He especially likes to do this when I remove the neighbor horse from his pen. Gunner isn’t really worried—and there’s a horse on the other side of him. It’s just a good excuse to pitch a fit.

            The thing is, Gunner was never known for being sensible. A trooper yes, no quit in him. Friendly, kind, cooperative, playful…check. A heck of an athlete, yes. A tremendous amount of cow, super trainable…all of the above. But, sensible, no. My Sunny horse is sensible. Gunner is and always was the sort of horse who saw horse eating monsters everywhere. I believe the new term is a “sensitive, reactive” horse. I just called him a big spook. Also a goofball.

            So its not really surprising that Gunner, at the advanced age of 33, will choose to gallop madly down his sloping pen, slide to a stop at the bottom, spin round and race to the top, neighing wildly. Lather, rinse, repeat. All because the neighbor horse is out of his pen, grazing. Even though Gunner can, of course, see his buddy. He can also see the other horses. He just ain’t sensible. He LIKES getting all worked up.

            I watch these shenanigans, holding my breath. It’s fun to see that Gunner can still move so well when he wants to. But I fear these downhill charges will eventually result in the old, arthritic horse piling it up. I picture him breaking his leg or his neck, and yep, I go fetch his buddy and put the horse back in his corral. That’s how big a wimp I am.

            On the other hand, it’s not fair to Plumber, the buddy, if he never gets out. To my chagrin, I find that horses are very aware if they didn’t get their “turn.” The accusing stares and plaintive nickers that follow me when one horse does not get his turn out time speak louder than words. Plumber is a very people oriented horse and he lets me know he wants his fair share of the attention and grazing. So a week or so ago I turned Plumber out for awhile, and watched Gunner.

            It had just rained and the ground was slick. I had my misgivings. But I had not given Plumber a turn out in a couple of days. What’s a good horse owner to do?

            For awhile Gunner seemed OK. He could see Plumber grazing nearby. But then Plumber moved a little ways away, and the long unhappy neighs began coming from Gunner. He started trotting up and down the top end of his corral, sliding with every footfall. Shit, I thought. It’s too slippery.

            I caught Plumber and hustled back with him. But before I could get there, Gunner loped across the pen, slid to a stop, slipped, went down, and piled it up on the ground. He thrashed on his side, and seemed unable to get up, and my heart went to my throat. I will admit that I screamed, “Gunner!” like a teenage girl. I thought he had broken something.

            I have seen horses break their legs; I have seen them break their necks. I know what can happen. For that moment while my old horse thrashed on the ground, all these horrible scenarios flashed through my mind. And then Gunner got his legs under him and heaved himself to his feet. He limped off, but he was clearly not broken.

            I put the reluctant Plumber back in his pen and kept watching Gunner, who moved around and pretty soon walked out of his limp. He was Ok then. But my problem was bigger than ever.

            Because now I know that I am risking Gunner getting hurt if I turn Plumber out. And I just don’t want the old boy to die because I took the risk.

            What to do? I had the bright idea I might turn Gunner and Plumber out together. I don’t usually do this because my property is 1) Not perimeter fenced the whole way around, and 2) Full of places (like by the house or inside the shop or haybarn) where the horses COULD go, but I don’t want them to. There is good grazing on the verges of the riding ring, along the driveway, and in the barnyard area, and the horses usually stay where they belong. I shut (and lock) the front gate, and the back of the property (not fenced) is very steep and brushy and no horse has ever tried to escape that way (in twenty years). But…

            As a safety precaution, I turn the horses loose one at a time. That way they don’t tend to run and play and get in trouble, and I’m sure that the loose horse will not leave the others. However, I decided to try Plumber (24) and Gunner (33) loose together. Surely two old horses could graze peacefully side by side in the sunshine. Right?

            Bad idea. The very first thing they did was start farting around. Nipping each other, squealing, trotting off together, charging up the hill to the riding ring like a little cavalry brigade. Not at all what I had in mind. They just wouldn’t settle down and graze. They were having too much fun. Never mind that they can play around and nip each other in their side-by-side corrals and this was their one chance to graze on green grass. Nope, they had to go crashing about. And then the old farts wouldn’t let me catch them. Again, having too much fun. I did eventually get them caught and put away…and that was the last time I tried that.

            So now I feel kind of stuck. I turn Henry out.

                              I turn Sunny out.

                              I turn Gunner out.

            And then I catch Plumber and hand graze him, keeping him close to the corrals so that Gunner doesn’t freak out. It’s a solution, but not an ideal one. Plumber would prefer to be free, and I would prefer not to babysit him. But I worry about the downside. What would you do?

            

Old Horses and Mixed Blessings

                                                by Laura Crum

            This is Burt, the first horse I was able to keep until his death. I bought Burt when he was five years old. I was 21 and still in college. Burt lived to be 35—and though I had to farm him out occasionally, as I moved and went through life changes, he remained my horse at the end. He spent his last years turned out in a pasture fifteen minutes from my house, where I visited him as often as I could. He died one sunny winter morning five years ago. I was on my way out to feed him and the pasture owner called me and said that Burt had been trotting around and suddenly fell down. And now he couldn’t get up because he was caught in the fence.

            I got there within ten minutes and I got Burt out of the fence and rolled him over, but though we tried and tried to get him up, it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen. Burt was twitching and showing neurologic symptoms, and he wasn’t trying to stand up. He’d had a couple of seizures previous to this, but he’d recovered OK. However, I knew, as I looked at him on the ground that day, that his twitching/seizing was getting worse, and that this was the end.

            I called the vet, who was there within a half hour, and she concurred. We put Burt down as he lay in the sunshine, and his death was quick and peaceful. I was grateful, though I missed the old horse, and still do.

            Burt taught me a lot. He was a real character, and always made me smile—Burt was a horse with a zest for life right up until his end. It makes me happy to know he was trotting around (and sound) on the day he died. What makes me sad is I wasn’t there to watch his joy. Oh, I saw him often, but I didn’t live with him. I didn’t hang out with him a lot in those last years. I fed him and rubbed on him a little and made sure he was in good flesh and his needs were met, but I had a kid and horses at home and I was always on the run, always busy.

            Burt was, I think, happy in his pasture. There were other horses to socialize with and the pasture owner and neighbors gave him attention. I think he had a good life. He wasn’t the one who missed out. I was. And after he died, I was aware of that.

            Death is very final. I remember Burt with much affection and his photo is on the wall above my desk. I have many happy memories of riding him on the ranch in northern California where I worked for several years. I am glad that I cared for him until his end. I’m glad he had a long, happy life. But I wish I could just be with him again, and feel his particular upbeat energy. I wish I could watch him trot around, with the sun shining on his bright bay coat. And that isn’t going to happen.

            It’s hard to juggle several retired horses along with your current riding horses, if your space and budget is limited. My little horse property is set up to house five horses, no more. Over the years, I have often chosen to turn my retired horses out—in our 60 acre pasture in the foothills (three hours from here—looked after by an old friend who is an experienced horseman), or at that pasture fifteen minutes from my house, which belongs to a friend. It saved me both time and money to do this, and the horses had the benefit of living in a natural way, which I thought (and still think) is good for them. But the downside was that I couldn’t keep an eye on them and spend time with them.

            Losing Burt made me think hard about Gunner, who was living in the same pasture where I had kept Burt. When Gunner got to be 30 it became harder and harder to keep weight on him, and I thought he wanted more attention than what he got in the pasture. But more than that, I just wanted to be with him and spend time with him before it was too late. So I brought him home...as one of my two boarders had left me, thus making a space for Gunner.

            The good news is that after living at home for a couple of years Gunner DOES look happier. His weight is just right, and he has plenty of pep. It gives me lots of joy to take him for walks and hand graze him. Every time I watch him run around his big corral, bucking and spinning, I get a silly, infatuated grin on my face. Every time I rub on him and see how good he looks, it takes me right back to all our many times together-- gathering cattle, cutting, team roping. I remember the blaze-faced three year old gelding with thirty days on him that I started riding thirty YEARS ago. I remember hauling this horse all over the western United States (Arizona, Nevada, Oregon, Washington) to various events. I remember camping with him. We did so many things together.

            So, yes, I am very glad I brought Gunner home. And it gives me joy every single day to see him looking happy and healthy. The bad news? The bad news is it takes a lot of time to care for an old horse properly. I now have two retired horses (Gunner and Plumber) and my riding horse (Sunny) to care for. My son exercises his own horse, Henry, but my kid is still young enough to require some supervision and help. So, in essence, I’m now in charge of making sure that four horses all get the attention they need. And this is on top of a busy life as a homeschooling mom with a large garden. For those who don’t know, both homeschooling and gardens take a lot of time, too.

            And then Gunner got cast just before Xmas, and I thought it might be the end of him. Luckily my old horse has made a full recovery, but it was a wake-up call for me. I began prioritizing Gunner’s walks and hand grazing over everything else. And though this DOES give me joy, there’s a limit to how much I can do in a day. So sometimes Gunner gets a walk and the other horses get turned out to graze…and there is no time for a trail ride. It’s my riding time that has taken the hit.

            I don’t think Sunny really cares—he is happy to be turned out rather than ridden. My son often rides his horse while I do the other chores. And I usually manage to ride at least once or twice a week. But I can see that, essentially, I’m exchanging riding time for time with Gunner. In a way, it’s a tough choice.

            Still, it’s the choice I’m making now. Maybe because I’m older and I’ve been riding all my life…maybe its easier to put time with my old friend first? I don’t know. I just know that despite my occasional moments of frustration, this is what I am drawn to do.

            Anyway, I thought I’d ask if any of you have had to make similar choices. Any insights? Because my horse time these days often looks like this.

            Instead of like this.

            

A Thrill

                                                            by Laura Crum

            So the other day I got a real thrill. You know, where you get shivers down your spine? And yes, it was because of one of my horses. We horse people are easily thrilled by our horses. This time it was my old horse, Gunner, that gave me that thrill.

            I bought Gunner as a three year old, and accomplished quite a bit with him. Here’s a link to a recent post with photos showing Gunner as a cutting and team roping horse.

            Anyway, the thrill I got the other evening wasn’t exactly the kind of thrill I got in my youth, when I cut cattle on Gunner—which is probably the biggest pure thrill I’ve ever had on a horse. Getting it just right on a cow that sets up perfectly in front of your horse? It’s quite an amazing feeling. Team roping is a real adrenaline rush—it all happens so fast and you have to be absolutely focused the whole time. And traversing a steep, rocky pass in the Sierras is a pretty big thrill. Just loping up a nice long gentle hill is a thrill for me these days. But this was a different kind of thrill.

             Gunner is 32 years old now. These days he moves stiffly, like an old horse, even though he is sound. And our interactions with him are pretty sedate. We pet him.

            We hand graze him—he doesn’t see or hear well enough to be turned loose on the property.

            We just love on him.

            He does look like an old horse. A healthy old horse, but an old horse.

            But the other evening, when I went down to feed the horses dinner, Gunner was excited about something he saw—or thought he saw, as I said, he doesn’t see too well any more—up in the brush. His head was up and ears were pricked sharply forward, and he kept letting out those long, rolling snorts that horses use as an alarm signal. The other horses weren’t paying much attention, but Gunner started dashing up and down his two hundred foot run, at the high lope. I watched in amazement as he slid to a stop and doubled back, moving every bit as well as he had in his youth. And Gunner was the most athletic horse I ever owned, and one of the most athletic I ever rode—and I’ve ridden some good horses. Adrenaline was clearly giving him a blast of youthful energy.

            I held my breath as the old horse ran and slid and spun, and then came long trotting up the corral in that floating trot full of suspension—and a shiver went down my spine. For those two minutes Gunner WAS that incredible athlete that I had ridden for so many thrilling moments—cutting cattle, going down the fence, roping, riding in the mountains. He was this horse again—not an old horse at all.

            And I realized something that I know intellectually, but I can’t always connect to. Those past moments when Gunner and I cut cattle..etc, are very bit as real as the present moment in which he is old and I no longer ride him. If there is one basic truth about life, this is it. “Time is but a stream we go a fishing in.” (Henry David Thoreau) The past moments of our lives are as true and real as what we regard as the present moment.

            I know this may seem like an odd thing to say, but consider. My old dog Joey is dead, and the times and moments I shared with him seem as if they are past, while the times and moments I spend now with my little dog Star seem present. But when I come to die, let us say, twenty or thirty years from now (hopefully), Star will be long dead. The reality of my time with her and my time with Joey will be precisely the same.

            And in that one moment, standing by Gunner’s corral, I FELT the truth of this. Gunner and I were the same as we had been, all those years ago when I rode him every day. I could feel the thrill of his movement as if I were on him, as I had been so many times. And I know that when Gunner is dead and buried here, as Flanigan is, the truth of our reality together will be no less than it is now, when he is alive. Time past as real as time present. Time is not the bottom line.

            It was a very comforting –as well as thrilling—moment. And I’m aware that to some I will just sound like a kooky old horse lady, the equine equivalent of the neighborhood cat lady. But that’s OK. I think some of you will know what I mean.

            Another thrill…I just heard that our own Michele Scott (also writing as AK Alexander) is having a special promotion of her books on Kindle. This month only you can get a Kindle edition of her entire three book horse-themed mystery series for 99 cents! That’s a lot of fun reading for just shy of one dollar. Here is the link to buy the Michaela Bancroft series on Kindle.

The Has Been

                                                by Laura Crum

            Yes, I once used to be a pretty handy cowgirl. And my good horse, Gunner, would really watch a cow. Looking through my old albums yesterday, I came upon these photos. They made me smile, remembering.

Gunner and I cutting cattle at the family ranch. Do we look determined or what?

Roping on Gunner at my uncle Todd’s arena.

Gunner winning the cutting at the county fair.

            But these photos were taken maybe twenty years ago. Today Gunner is grazing peacefully on the lawn, as I rub his neck and scratch his withers. And we’re both happy in our has been status.

Gunner at 32 years.

            Gunner put in ten solid years as a competitive horse. I broke and trained him myself. I’m pretty proud of what we accomplished together. But what does it mean now?

            When I talk to my various horse friends, both in real life and on the internet, they are mostly pushing towards some goal. A competition they want to enter, a clinic they want to take…etc. Whether it be dressage, endurance, cowhorse, roping or just horse training skills, they want to progress as horsemen. And me? I don’t.

            Alone, it sometimes seems to me, among the horse people I know, I am content to putter down the trail on my solid horse, riding with my kid, knowing that my skills are, oh, about one-tenth what they were back in the days when I was training and competing. I still have the thoughts and opinions I developed over those years, and my ability to read a horse is as good as it ever was, but my ability to execute—not so much.

            I don’t train horses any more. I don’t even ride young, green horses any more. I don’t compete. I don’t cut cattle or rope cattle these days (though I still gather cattle and move them from here to there on horseback). I only ride solid horses. I am, in fact, quite happy to ride what my friends teasingly call my “plug.” And Sunny is, in fact, a laid back little plug of a trail horse. Guess what? I like it like that.

            I enjoy the relaxed tranquility of my horse life today. I delight in the freedom from anxiety and pressure, in the peace of it all. I ride two or three days a week and enjoy it very much, but if I had to choose my favorite aspect of horses now, it would be having them with me here at home, taking care of them, seeing them many times a day, turning them out to graze. Just what I do with my retired horses. The sight of a horse’s pricked ears at dawn means as much to me as anything.

            Don’t get me wrong—I love my trail rides on Sunny, riding along with my son on Henry. But my absolute favorite thing is just living with horses. And I take endless pleasure in the fact that I don’t feel any pressure or anxiety surrounding the horses any more, something that I wasn’t aware that I once felt until after it was gone. I still remember the day, not so many years ago, when it dawned on me that an inevitable tension, that had always accompanied my interactions with horses, had disappeared. After some thought, I realized that the tension had been a product of underlying anxiety. No matter how much I loved what I was doing, there was a basic anxiety composed of the stress of training unpredictable young horses, and the desire to do well at various events. With that removed, I found a whole new level of peace and joy with horses.

            Nowadays I ride without goals, other than to enjoy the ride. I don’t put much pressure on myself or my horse—we’re both relaxed. And it makes me happy. I think my horse is happy, too. Just looking at the beauty of nature from a horse’s back is more than enough for me.

            Sometimes I can’t help comparing myself to others and I always laugh ruefully. I’m the has-been. I’m not accomplishing much of anything. Then I think back to the twenty-plus years in which I trained and competed relentlessly, and I shrug. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt, or rather, belt buckle. I’m happy I spent those years achieving my goals. It leaves me free. If I hadn’t done all that, I think I would always wonder what if? What if I had pursued my goals?

            But I did pursue those goals, and achieved the things I set out to do. And now I don’t need to do those things any more.

            I’m not sure how this appears to others. At some level, I don’t really care. I’m doing what I want to do and it makes me happy. Maybe it seems as if a has-been shouldn’t be giving advice about horses (of course, when I do, you are all free to ignore it). Maybe I seem as if I’ve given up, or am just lazy. That I ought to try harder. Some have said that my life seems enviable, though I don’t mean to cause envy. In fact, my life with horses would be pretty boring for many of my friends.

            And there are days when I do question myself. I wonder WHY I don’t want to do more with horses now. I have many friends my age and older who are still competing. And some days I feel a bit lonely and isolated, disconnected from my horse friends who are still caught up in the passionate striving to improve as horsemen—whether it be for competition or for its own sake. I can no longer share in that camaraderie to any great degree.

            So, I sometimes wonder…are there other horsemen like me? People who have accomplished a fair amount with horses in their life, and are now content just to enjoy a relaxed ride from here on out. Or am I some sort of aberration? The truth is I don’t much worry over this—I’m happy with my life as it is. And I am very grateful to have (so far) survived a life spent very much on horseback with no serious injuries…and a continued joy in riding and horses. Not to mention the immense delight of sharing my horseback time with my son for about eleven and a half years now (yes, his first ride was at six months old, in front of me on my great old horse, Flanigan). So I’m Ok with being a has-been in the eyes of others (and for that matter, myself). But I am curious. Any other lazy has-been horsemen out there? Anybody else happy to just putter down the trail?