My Boy Pete by Janet Huntington

I just came back from a peaceful, beautiful ride . The air was sharp and Colorado clear, with snow clinging to the sides of the mountain trail, and the sweet promise of spring pulled us into the hills. There was a faint shimmer of green under the gray winter grass and a subtle change in the light, winter is coming to an end. My good horse Pete huffed and snorted as he trotted up the steep incline, his ears pricked forward and his tail swinging in a cheerful rhythm as we went.


Pete is not the kind of horse I write about on my other blog, Mugwump Chronicles. He has never been a wild -eyed bronc. He isn't a mega-star in the show pen, although I believe he could hold his own. He is a cute, but not stunning, solid bright bay, 14.3 hh and has a nice, solid build. He has slowly but steadily grown into the sort of horse who will let his rider relax and enjoy a warm winter afternoon.


When I pulled up to the barn and got him out, I stopped to visit with another boarder while I groomed.


"You're not going out alone are you?" she asked, with a little concern in her voice.


I looked down at my sweats, tennies (they're skater shoes actually, I'm quite proud of them)
and grungy sweatshirt, and said, "I'm not really dressed for company."


"Well next time call me, I'll go with you."


I appreciated her offer, but I really wasn't in the mood for companionship. There aren't that many horses in my life I feel totally at ease just heading out on, but Pete is definitely one of them.

I don't own Pete. He belongs a good friend of mine who invested in him to help him out, and me. He is the last horse I have to sell.

Pete was bred by a man with a serious interest in cowhorses. He is by The Smart Smoke and out of a Doc's Oak daughter. If you're into cowhorses that's enough to make your mouth water a little.
He named him "Oak's Smokin Gun" and sold him as a prospect to a client of the trainer (Big K) I worked for. This client liked to train his own horses. Pete was supposed to be his next futurity prospect. For reasons only known to the client and Big K, this guy disappeared. Left all his horses, (close to $100,000 worth) at the Big K's and locked himself in his house.
Pete had maybe 10 rides on him. He languished at the Big K's, along with the other horses, for the next year and a half. Finally things got straightened out enough to start selling off these horses. The breeder took back the now three-and-a-half year old Pete, because it turns out he hadn't actually been paid.

Pete's owner came to me and asked if I would like to ride him. Because he was fast approaching four, the Big K wasn't interested in him. Pete was too old to make it as a snaffle bitter or a derby horse and would be too far behind to win as a bridle horse for several years.

The offer was I would ride him, then sell him and we would split the money. The little bay colt had always had a look to him I liked, so I agreed. He became known as Pistol Pete, and finally, just Pete.

I hate to rush a horse. So I approached him as I would a two-year-old, slow and quiet. By the time Pete was approaching five he was a nice, green-broke colt. He could stop and turn around, had a nice lead change and would look at a cow. He was a little lazy, a little too laid back for the tastes of the folks I rode with, but I got on with him fine.

I took a job with a quarter horse breeder and ended in kind of a tough place with Pete. His owner wanted him sold. I did too, but I really liked the horse. I didn't want him just sent down the road. He was too much horse to be just dumped, to my mind. And dumping him was in the wind. Pete was facing being fitted for a sale.

Enter my good friend, who wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other.

"I'll buy him. You keep riding him, sell him and we'll split the money."

I carefully explained the horrible odds on making money on a horse. She was OK with it. We bought out the owners half interest in Pete and I took him with me to the new place.

Pete progressed nicely. Sweet natured and fun, he kept getting better. I got him where I felt he was ready to go. Safe, solid and sane. Pete stood a good chance in the non-pro world. I put him up for sale.

Then he colicked. A long, stressful sand colic. He survived, but came out 100 lbs under weight, weak and withdrawn. He struggled to regain his weight. I'm not one to push a horse who's on the road to recovery, so Pete was taken off the market and turned out for several months.

Winter came and Pete was ready to be fitted up and put back up for sale. We began riding again and if anything, he was better. Willing and quiet, I was beginning to like him more and more.

Then the horse market crashed. Well, everything crashed. My back and my heart gave out, I quit training and took a job as a writer for a small paper. I turned my horses in training back to their owners. Except Pete. Here we were again. What to do with Pete.

I owe my friend and this little bay horse a fair shake. I like them both too much to treat them unfairly. So I have taken him as my personal horse until we find the right home for him. My beautiful yellow mare is out on pasture (and loving every minute of it) until I find a buyer for Pete.

I miss my lively and spirited mare. I want to be taking her on these mountain trails. Riding her in the cuttings. But we'll have time. I'm in it for the long haul with her. In the mean time, I can take my kind and gentle Pete into the hills. I can trust him to explore the trails with me. He'll get better on cattle, better at his maneuvers and eventually his real, final owner will come get him.

You may be noticing that I'm not the sharpest salesman in the world. True. But this is the kind of horse that could fall through the cracks. Odds have not been in his favor. But I am. I am in his favor.

The Art of Hanging In There

Hi Everyone!

I've been so impressed with the interesting, informative posts by my fellow Equestrian Ink authors on the process of getting published. I thought I would share the circumstances under which I worked up my courage to send in my query letters for A Dangerous Dream.

As some of you may know, I wrote my first novel, A Dangerous Dream, while I was on bedrest with a twin pregnancy. I had never written fiction in my life but had always dreamed of doing so. My poor husband had lost track of which novels he'd already bought me among the stacks piling up in my bedroom, so in desperation I started making up my own stories while I lay there with the approximate mobility of a beached whale.

In between cravings for ice cream and lobster (my husband got major kudos from my family and friends for the amount of take-out lobster dinners he served me in bed), I started pecking away on a laptop (which was a considerable balancing act seeing as I had no lap). Before long my page count started growing even faster than my belly, which is really saying something.

Needless to say, when the obstetrician said we aren't going to hold off the grand entrance of the twins any longer and I delivered my two amazing boys, the nearly completed novel went on the back burner. It was a rude awakening (no pun intended) to realize that our newborn twins were not in sync on night time awakenings. Despite all attenpts to try for 12:30 and 4 AM, night feedings often were more like 11, 1, 3, and 5 AM. A few months later, when my brain was approaching the consistency of oatmeal, a friend suggested I join a group of some kind which was unrelated to my mommy job.

I was so involved with the kids the thought of doing something for myself seemed completely alien. The only other interest nagging at the back of my mind was the novel I had written. I joined Romance Writers of America and with absolutely no idea what I was doing sent off a couple of query letters to agents and got polite rejection letters.







My husband, bless his heart, encouraged me to keep going on writing so I went to an RWA meeting and was told about an organization called PRO for writers who completed a novel but hadn't sold one yet. She told me I needed a rejection letter from a publisher to join so I figured that would be easy enough to come by. In my sleep deprived state it didn't occur to me my two agent rejection letters would have sufficed, so onward I trudged looking for a publisher to send my book and get a rejection letter for a PRO application.

I learned that the turnaround on queries was generally fairly quick with epublishers so I quickly wrote out a query letter and sent it off to two epubs members of my local RWA chapter had published with and found to be reputable. About two months later, when my boys sleep schedule was finally stretching out, I was up early checking email and I saw an email from one of the epubs I'd queried. The subject line said contract so I took a sip of my coffee, blinked a few times, and tried reading it again. It still said Contract so I took a deep breath and opened it.

There it was. In place of the expected rejection was a contract offer. I jumped up and realized that for the first time in a long time the whole family was asleep. Drat! I looked at my heroic husband and didn't have the heart to wake him so I had to wait for the boys next call for food. My daughter, by the way, learned to sleep through just about anything. It didn't hurt that her baby brothers had her wrapped around their little fingers.

When Eric awoke and repeated my blinking re-read of the email we had a decision to make. We had never dreamed of having the opportunity to publish so soon and I was very concerned that the book could be made much better with more time and attention. Eric came up with the point that finally decided us. He reminded me that most authors wind up putting their 'learning book' in a drawer. Here was an opportunity for us to keep learning from it.

And learn we did. I had the opportunity to learn web design, online chats, an array of marketing and promotional venues, and the all important review process. Best of all, I got wonderful feedback from readers and the opportunity to be a part of Equestrian Ink. The epublishing market did not bring in revenue as a traditional publisher would have, but the learning experience was invaluable.

I suppose my story is that great things can come when you least expect it. I thought our miracles were complete with our beatiful, health three children, but we got a bonus. A second career and here's the best part - my husband is working with me on my current novel. It's a contemporary fantasy where the structure and function of an international society of witches mirrors that of the real life intelligence community. My husband was the TA in graduate school for a course titled Intelligence and Covert Operations. He never guessed he'd be using that background to help his wife write a novel!

The paths to publication are many and varied but never give up. Your own miracle might be just around the corner!

Cheers,
Mary

The Slaughter Issue, Con't. . . .

by Kit Ehrman
After the last equine slaughter plant in the United States was closed down, the plight of unwanted horses actually became worse, not better. Unwanted animals were hauled even greater distances under appalling conditions to slaughter houses in Canada and Mexico where the process is not as well regulated as it had been in the U.S. The method used in Mexican plants is particularly grisly. As it turned out, a bill that, on the surface, appeared to help horses actually had the unexpected effect of making the end of their lives more brutal.

So, a new bill was introduced that would make the transport of horses for slaughter illegal in the United States. HR 503, the federal Conyers-Burton Prevention of Equine Cruelty Act, would eliminate horse slaughter nationwide and prohibit the export of horses for slaughter. Seemed like a great idea.

The bill stalled.

Meanwhile, with the economy in a downward spiral, poor hay yields, and grain costs escalating along with everything else, the plight of unwanted horses grows more precarious with each passing day. More horses are bound to suffer.

Now, the pendulum is swinging the other way. Twelve state legislatures are considering measures to support or actively encourage the reestablishment of U.S. horse processing plants.

Resolutions opposing the HR 503 bill are either under consideration or have passed in:
Arizona
Kansas
Minnesota
North Dakota
South Dakota
Utah
Wyoming

Bills amending state law to promote slaughter plant development are pending in:
Arkansas
Illinois
Missouri
Montana
Tennessee

This about face was engineered by Wyoming State Representative Sue Wallis and South Dakota State Representative Dave Sigdestad in a resolution submitted to the National Sate Legislatures Agriculture and Energy Committee with the intent of generating jobs and addressing the issue of unwanted horses.

And that is the issue, really – unwanted horses. The key here is for each and every horse owner to think long and hard before breeding their animals.

The racing industry, in particular, is at fault in this regard as they seem to need to produce a whole lot of horses to come up with winners, but at least they are taking measures to curtail abuse in their own backyard.

Magna Entertainment Group has adopted a company-wide policy promoting the humane treatment of racehorses. Any trainer or owner stabling horses at one of their tracks who directly or indirectly participates in the transport of a horse to a slaughterhouse or auction house that sells horses for slaughter will be prohibited from having stalls at the track. Having stalls onsite is a big deal, so this is definitely a deterrent.

Magna Entertainment Group tracks:
Golden Gate Fields; Albany, Calif.
Gulfstream Park; Hallandale Beach, Fla.
Laurel Park; Laurel, Md.
Lone Star Park at Grand Prairie; Grand Prairie, Texas
The Meadows; Meadow Lands, Pa.
Pimlico; Baltimore, Md.
Portland Meadows; Portland, Ore.
Remington Park; Oklahoma City, Okla.
Santa Anita Park; Arcadia, Calif.
Thistledown; North Randall, Ohio

Suffolk Downs also has a zero tolerance policy. Track management will deny trainers stalls if they sell a horse for slaughter. They’ve also partnered with the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation and CANTER and have set aside ten stalls for horses that need care until they can be moved to a farm or retirement facility.

Finger Lakes Racetrack has its own horse farm and adoption program. Visit the link: http://www.fingerlakestap.org.

Legislation isn’t going to save horses. It’s up to each horseman to make smart decisions and take responsibility for their horses.

They give us so much. It’s our job to look after them.

Happy reading and riding,
Kit

http://www.kitehrman.com

I Love This Horse

Recent posts by a couple of the ladies on EI about medical issues with their horses made me pause to think about Gayliena, aka Gailey, my Hanoverian mare (If you're into breeding by Grusus/Grunstein out of EM Apfiel, Akzent/Cavalier.)

I'm not one of those dressage riders with unlimited funds. This will probably be the only horse I'll ever own of this quality. I would be devastated if something happened to her, not just because I couldn't replace her monetarily but because I'm so attached to her.

Granted, I haven't been the most dedicated rider this past year. I'm lucky to get to the barn 2-3 days a week, as opposed to 4-5 days a week before I became a published writer.

Regardless, I adore MY horse. She is my horse of a lifetime. This year she turns 14. I bought her as a green-broke 3 year old. If you've been following my posts on this blog, you know that she and I have been through a lot together, including trailering traumas, lamenesses, and various other issues over the years.

Yet, through all the ups and downs, I wouldn't sell her for any amount of money, and I did turn down some lucrative offers in her younger years. To be honest, I know she would have gone far in dressage with a better rider. She'd have won a lot of ribbons and probably easily been a Grand Prix horse. To give you an idea of how wonderful of a smooth mover she is, a doctor friend of mine told me once that if I would have just sold her my horse, she could have ridden up until she was 8 months pregnant.

Instead, she's stuck with me. I'm not a bad rider. I mean, I've been doing this for a couple decades. But my body isn't really coordinated, and this dressage stuff is hard for me. But I keep plugging on. Once in a while, I forget to try too hard, I relax, and it all comes together.

Like a former trainer told me once, the horse doesn't care if it wins blue ribbons or scores high. It only cares that its treated well and ridden kindly.

So Lately, I've been pondering how lucky I was to have known this beautiful creature for eleven years. Last Thursday night, it was really driven home to me. I've been on deadline for a book. The only time I've managed to ride in the past few weeks was during my lessons. So I mounted up on Thursday night, feeling pretty good for the first time in several weeks. It was one of those all-too rare rides that all you can say is "oh, wow."

The second she started out in the walk, I knew we were in for a good ride, and we were.

When I think of dressage, I think of these moments. I hope that everyone who has ever tried dressage has had the good fortune to experience such moments when everything comes together. When your horse is up in front of you, eager to go, but waiting for your aids. When such raw power surges under you that you're in awe. When it takes the slightest pressure from hands, legs, and seat to perform the movements.

That's how I felt. As we moved into a trot, she started to fall on her forehand and plow into the reins. I caught her with some well-placed half-halts. She rocked back. Her shoulders came up. Her butt tucked under. I sat in. It was like sitting on a big comfy couch, yet with incredible controlled power. I can't explain it, but I wish I could. If you've felt it, you know what I'm talking about. I came across the arena in half pass. For once, my legs, seat, and hands actually did their respective jobs. I weighted my inside hip bone, kept my inside leg on, kept her bent around my inside leg, pushed her over with my outside leg. I stayed straight instead of twisting and kept some tension on the outside rein. Oh, wow, over she went like it was nothing!!!

Okay, now we're going to canter. Lately, she's been dumping and taking off. I asked for the canter. She lifted into this beautiful uphill canter, light on the reins, collected but ready to go. We did shoulder-in, half pass, haunches-in like they were the easiest things on earth. We came down the diagonal and changed leads. Again, easy as can be. Uphill and clean. We slipped from a canter to an uphill forward walk. She sauntered around the arena on a loose rein, quite pleased with herself, as she should be.

Wow! Wow! Wow!

I needed that boost, that encouragement to keep at this, to remember why I do this.

I love this horse.

Rescuing Horses---Freddy's Story

By Laura Crum




Whenever I read Joe’s Thoroughbred Friends blog, I am overcome with the desire to rescue a few horses in need of homes. And right now, as I think all readers of this blog know, there are many, many horses in need of homes. What holds me back? I already care for twelve horses and am stretched to the max making sure that every one is cared for appropriately. See my post (“Happy Stories For the Season” Dec 08). In general, these are all horses that I rode and/or trained myself. I retired them and care for them because they are my legitimate responsibility. I have owned enough horses in my life, that just taking care of all of them is a fair amount of horses, so I don’t often rescue other horses. (And recently one of my horses colicked and had to go to colic surgery to save his life, which brought home the financial truth in spades—responsible horse ownership can be very expensive—see “Colic” Feb 09.)
I have never been in the business of rescuing horses. And, in fact, I have never driven down to the auction and bought a horse that was unknown to me, just to save him. Maybe I should, but I haven’t. The horses I’ve rescued were horses I knew, horses that I liked (see “Why I Have One Skinny Horse” September 08), or horses I felt sorry for (see “A Happy Ending” June 08). In this latter category was Freddy, a horse I rescued many years ago. Freddy is dead now, but I’d like to tell his story here, in the hope that it might inspire a few people.
Freddy was a rope horse. Not a particularly great rope horse, but a decent rope horse. He was a medium sized bay (about 15.2) with some white on his face, a nice eye, an absurdly short tail carried high, not much butt, a deep heart girth, and straight, well made legs with plenty of bone and not a bump on them. Like all horses, he had good points and bad points. He was completely sound. He would really stick his leg in the ground when you turned a steer on him. He could cover country outside in a fast determined walk that left most horses in the dust, and he could keep it up all day. He could run across broken ground faster and more sure-footedly than any horse I ever knew. He was great on a gather. He was also a nut case.
A friend of mine bought Freddy as a seven year old green rope horse. He roped on the horse for several years. All would go well until some little thing pushed Freddy’s panic button. The things that pushed this button were unpredictable. Freddy wasn’t like a normal spooky horse. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he would panic. When he did he was violent, willing to run right through an arena fence, rear straight up…etc. My friend put up with this for a couple of years and made excuses for the horse as being green, but in the end, quite wisely, decided that Freddy was going to get him killed and determined to get rid of the horse before that happened.
And this is where I came in. I’d been around Freddy the whole time, and I felt sorry for him. He really was a nut case; he didn’t want to be a panicky idiot. He couldn’t help it. He had fear issues that sprang from somewhere deep in his past—a horrific looking scar on one pastern might or might not have had something to do with it. He was a pretty good rope horse when he wasn’t panicking. My friend was planning to price him cheap, and I knew some team roper would probably buy him. I also knew if he was bought by another team roper, he would either hurt the guy or find himself seriously beat up, sold to slaughter…you name it. No team roper was going to put up with Freddy’s aberrant behavior. I looked into those big brown eyes and made the choice. I bought Freddy.
I had ridden Freddy several times and I really enjoyed him as a trail horse, but I knew better than to think that I could get along with this horse on a regular basis. To be frank, I was scared to try. But I had a cowboy friend who could handle a tough horse and who kept his horses turned out in my sixty acre pasture. So I gave him the horse. I explained what he was. And my friend used the horse for many years. He team roped on him, gathered cattle on him, branded calves on him, rode him through the hills…etc. Freddy was one of the best head horses this guy ever had, and considered the best horse “outside” in that part of the world. Tales of him outrunning cattle who were headed in the wrong direction in rough country abounded. He never put a foot wrong. He was in great demand on gathers. My friend was often hired with the request that he “bring that short-tailed horse”. But Freddy remained a nut case. My friend had several close calls when the horse panicked. We discussed the horse many times. It was a tough choice. But in the end my friend gave Freddy back. He was too dangerous, even for this fairly tough cowboy.
I turned Freddy out for awhile. I didn’t know what to do with him. He was in his teens now, still sound and healthy. Another friend approached me, and asked if he could use Freddy. He wanted to rope and go to gathers and brandings. I explained exactly what Freddy was. This guy agreed to try him and be kind to him. In the end, he found he could get along with him (getting older helped Freddy a lot). Freddy was still a nut case. He could still do a good day’s work. I asked the guy to retire the horse if he kept him and used him and he agreed.
That was ten years ago. This last roper kept Freddy and used him successfully for many years. I saw them at the ropings, and Freddy looked good. He even had a long tail (a first for him—his tail just never seemed to grow). His new rider even appeared to be fond of him and to understand him. In the end, he was retired to the pasture. They sent me photos of him at Xmas. Last year I was told that he was having so much trouble getting up and down that they euthanized him. I thanked them.
The point of this rambling story? I stepped forward for Freddy out of pity. He was a horse that I knew, a horse that I was sure needed help. And I was the one person who was in a position to know his problems and want to find a solution that would work for him. Freddy had a decent life because of me. I’m glad I was able to make that happen.
If more of us were willing to do this, just as much we can, and step forward for the horses we know who need some help, a lot less of them would fall between the cracks. The true rescues, like Joe at TB Friends, wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. I offer my story as an example of what can be done, by all of us, one horse at a time. (And see Janet’s previous post about Pete for another example.)
If I could afford it, and had the room, I’d love to take on some of the horses that Joe and Cathy Shelton are rescuing, horses that are doomed, except for the intervention of TB Friends. I encourage everyone to check out this website and for those who are able, to consider adopting a horse from TBFriends.
To Joe, and the good work he is doing….
Laura Crum

Colic

By Laura Crum


All of us who own horses have dealt with colic. At least, all of us who’ve owned more than a few horses and for more than a few years. Colic is relatively common in horses, and by far the likeliest cause of death. And yet some of us skate through many years of happy horse ownership without ever facing that dreaded situation—the horse who is about to die of colic. I was one of those someones until five years ago. At that time I lost my great horse, Flanigan, to colic. Surgery was out of the question for Flanigan, because he had the pre-existing condition of a diaphragmatic hernia, diagnosed a year previously. So the decision to euthanize him came fairly easily, though it caused me much grief.

The next five years passed without another serious colic. My son’s horse, Henry, a reliable, bomb-proof mount, much loved by us all, had a couple of mild colics that resolved easily with a little banamine. And then…

Several weeks ago Henry had another mild colic. I treated him, but the symptoms returned. I had the vet out. We oiled Henry up, gave him fluids, more painkillers. But the symptoms returned. Henry was never very painful. His heart rate stayed normal. His breathing wasn’t much elevated. He wasn’t ever sweaty or distressed. He was merely uncomfortable. He looked at his sides. He stood camped out. He wouldn’t eat his hay. He wanted to lie down.

We spent thirty-six hours (and two sleepless nights) treating Henry. We walked him, we kept him from rolling, we gave him banamine and fluids. Every time the drugs wore off the symptoms came back. I cannot describe how helpless and depressed I felt. Henry is my son’s beloved horse. I desperately wanted him to get better. But he didn’t.

Early Friday morning, Jan 30th, we hauled Henry to the closest equine center, convinced that despite the apparent mildness of his symptoms, something was seriously wrong. At the equine center, X-rays showed what they said was a large pocket of “gravel” in Henry’s large intestine. Surgery was recommended. I stared at Henry, who still looked calm and relatively normal. Was this really a horse who needed surgery? The surgery is both expensive and also a danger in itself. 20% of horses that go through it have serious complications. I had no idea what the right choice was. In the end I asked the surgeon to look me in the eye and tell me what I should do.

He took off his sunglasses, met my eyes (pretty tear-filled by now, I will admit), and said “If he was my kid’s horse I’d operate on him right now. I wouldn’t wait.”

“Okay,” I said. And I left Henry there for colic surgery.

Do any of you know exactly what colic surgery entails? I didn’t. I do now. The vets at the surgery center explained the process to me very carefully. After lying the horse down, they open his belly, making an incision from belly button to near the sheath (in a gelding). Man, it’s a long cut.. Then they take the large intestine out of the horse’s body, drag it several feet away and open it up (This is to avoid contaminating the body cavity and the subsequent risk of peritonitis). In Henry’s case they found a section full of one gallon of black sand and small enteroliths (these are stones the horse makes in his gut—they looked like river rocks) ranging from two inches to one quarter inch in diameter. This is what they expected to find. But in the course of cleaning Henry’s large intestine out, they found another stone, in a place they hadn’t expected it, much further up the colon. They had to make a second incision to take this stone out. It was bigger than the biggest grapefruit you ever saw and weighs over fifteen pounds. I kid you not. It is on my desk as I type this.

While all this was going on, I was at home, alternately biting my fingernails, leaking tears, and trying to appear relatively normal for my son’s sake. Four hours later I got the call that Henry was coming out of the anesthetic, shaky, but okay…for now.

Henry stayed at the equine center for five days. The young vet who took care of him called me every day to let me know how he was doing. Henry, as she said, was a “rockstar of a patient”. He recovered smoothly, had a good attitude, was easy for them to handle. Our family visited him several times at the equine center and took him for walks. It cheered us all up to see how normal he looked, even just one day after his very major surgery. They showed us the bucket of sand and stones that came out of him and gave us the big stone to take home. It cheered me up to realize that I’d made the right decision. Henry would never have survived without surgery. It was his only chance.

I examined the bucket of “gravel” that was removed from our horse. The black sand never came from our property. There is no sand that looks like that here. We have owned Henry for a year and a half and my son has taken him on over one hundred rides. Three hour trail rides over many hills. Twenty minute loping sessions in the arena. Henry has always been sound. He had plenty of strength and air. He never showed the slightest sign of weakness. And yet Henry was packing that load of sand and stones, not to mention the big stone, on every single one of those rides. It boggles my mind.

After five days we were allowed to bring Henry home. He had a big “belly band” around his middle, supporting his incision and keeping it clean. He had to be fed four small meals a day. He had to be kept in a stall. He had to be hand walked for ten minutes two to three times a day and allowed to graze on green grass. I’ve been keeping quite busy with his care, especially since it has chosen to rain pretty much non-stop since I brought him home.

But I’m getting it done. Henry’s bandage stayed clean, he got his walks and meals and grazing. At his first re-check he was said to be healing well. He is still not out of the woods. He will have three months of rehab before he can return to normal use. We still have the risk of potential hernias and future colics to get through. But I am grateful we have come this far. We’ve given Henry a chance.

For any of you who ever face the same choice, I can only say that I’m glad I listened to the surgeon. I had Henry operated on before he was too far gone to save. I will be eternally thankful I made that decision.

Here’s to Henry…
Laura Crum

When it Rains it Pours

Tough week for Krissy and me. First off we have been getting some weather down in sunny San Diego. Last week's rains made put all of the arenas under water, so the best we could do for the horses was hand walk them through the muck when we had a few moments of reprieve. Then the rains stopped and things started to look up. By Thursday I was able to use the back arena and make a track that didn't land me in the mud. Then, my trainer noticed a small cut that was fairly deep on Krissy's fetlock. Looks like she clipped herself in the stall. The vet comes out and gives her a few stitches, a pressure wrap and antibiotics. Good deal.

Friday I take her out for a hand walk and no problem. Saturday I visit her and she seems depressed, lethargic and just not herself. At this point I'm simply thinking it's because she hasn't been out much. She loves to work so it would stand to reason to me that she could be feeling mopey due to the lack of exercise. That evening as I am heading out to The Southern California Writers Conference where I was teaching some workshops over the weekend, and I get the call from one of the trainers that Krissy isn't eating, and she didn't want to get up. Change of plans! I head out to the ranch. My trainer has had her up and walking and grazing. She'd been given a shot of Banamine and pooped! Yeah!

Not so fast. Yesterday while in a workshop, I get a text that she has 105 temp. I finish the workshop and head out. Lucky for me, everyone at the barn is on top of it and the vet had already been out and buted her up, oiled her and what not. The vet determines it's a virus. This morning 5:30 I can't sleep and so I head out to check on her. Thankfully, the fever is down, she has perked up and she wanted breakfast. All good signs. Fingers crossed she stays the course and continues to get better because at this point I think my vet could start a nice little vacation account and then some.

It's always something, isn't it? For the love of horses, I tell you. A friend was joking with me about all the money we spend on the animals and how we could probably have weekly massages and wear Monolos and take fantastic vacations. I laughed and know she's right, but I wouldn't trade the love I feel and the pleasure I get from my horse for any amount of designer shoes, and she gets the chiropractor far more often than I do! May sound crazy to some, but I know everyone here can relate.

Have a great week.

Michele
http://www.michelescott.com

P.S. If you want to see a slideshow of Krissy, visit my other blog at http://adveventuresnwriting.blogspot.com I would post it here, but I didn't post it on that blog (a friend did) and I'm not sure how to do it.