In the Valley of the Gods

by Laura Crum

Yep, that’s us, camped in the Valley of the Gods, near Bluff, Utah, close to the Four Corners. If you look, you’ll see a little bright red spot just behind the camper. That’s me, in my bright red hooded jacket, sipping my tea as the sun rose. And yep, it was incredibly magical.

We had a great trip. And in accordance with some requests, I’m gonna post a few photos and tell you about it. My apologies to those who expect a post about horses (!)

So that camper you see was home to five of us for two weeks. Myself, my husband (who is six foot six, mind you), my son, our old dog, and our new puppy. It was a little tight at times. It was also the puppy’s first road trip. Need I say more? We had our moments.

But overall we had a wonderful time. The first week out the weather was idyllic. Topping out around eighty, a nice little breeze, not too cold at night. It was incredible. Everything is fun in such weather.

Our first big adventure was driving 70 miles on dirt roads to camp in an isolated spot by the edge of the Grand Canyon. The last mile the truck was literally jumping from rock to rock—the road was that rough. I should have taken pictures, but you know what? I was way too white knuckled for the thought to even cross my mind. But once we got there it was amazing. The photo below shows our camp.

Here’s my terrace for margaritas at sunset.

Here’s the view from my terrace, including the margarita. That’s the Grand Canyon in the background. Not another soul around. Very restful.

Lest you think the whole trip was completely idyllic and get too jealous, we had our share of adversity. Like the time our local contact told us about a short (one mile round trip) hike to see some petroglyphs near town. Yeah, right. We wandered around the desert for an hour, confused as hell. The directions he gave us were crap. Finally found the darn petroglyphs, which were underwhelming. By that time my son and I were exhausted, frustrated, and both on the verge of tears. My old dog kept lying down and refusing to go on. You could read her expression perfectly. “Just leave me here to die in the desert, would ya? I’ve had enough.” My husband was annoyingly intrepid. The only one who was just fine was the puppy. My husband carried her most of the way.

Here’s Star (the puppy—she has a white star on her chest) visiting the petroglyphs—you can see one on the rock behind her.

We did so many magical things on this trip. We got to climb into kivas and ruins that dated from 500 AD on private property that we were visiting. And we got permission to camp in the Ute Tribal Park in a solitary spot where we could see petroglyphs and cliff dwellings from our camp—and examine them in complete solitude. The ground underneath was thick (literally) with Anasazi pot shards. It was incredible. Here’s my husband looking up at the petroglyphs.

Perhaps the most wonderful part to me was the space and solitude. The land and its feeling is so different from where I live—I just love it. Here’s my son and I enjoying a quiet moment of desert solitude as afternoon turns to evening.

I don’t usually wear such “big” jewelry as you see in the above photo, but my husband bought me a squash blossom necklace when we visited this area on our honeymoon, twelve years ago. So I thought it was appropriate to wear it for our return visit.

We spent the first week in just such amazing, magical spots as these, and then…the wind came up. For two days we drove around the Navajo reservation in a blowing sandstorm—so bad it was hard to see the road. After that we made a break for civilization and spent a night at the La Posada Hotel, in Winslow, Arizona—a truly elegant old hotel dating from the hey day of the railroads and Route 66. The food there was incredible. I highly recommend it.

After that we headed home down Route 66, camping in the desert every night. The weather was cooler—it even snowed on us once. We had a blast.

When I got home I was greeted by this:

And this:

Don’t you think Sunny looks glad to see me?

And what was the first thing I did after I got home? You guessed it. We took off on a trail ride. The photo below shows our friend/boarder, Wally, on Twister, and my son on Henry (and Sunny’s ears) as we head down the trail. Our horses were bright, lively, eager to go, and perfectly behaved after their two weeks off. What good horses they are. I am so grateful for them.

And what a contrast between our lush, green scenery and the desert. But I love both places.

And just like Shanster said before I left, I really appreciated my home and all I do here when I got back. Traveling always seems to put things in perspective.

Hope you all are doing well—I will try to catch up with your blogs. Cheers--Laura

Boots in the Tack Room

Yesterday I washed Gailey's boots, saddle pads, and polo wraps. I carried them out to my little barn and opened the tack room door. I gazed around the small room, looking for a place to store them because Gailey won't be needing them anymore, neither will I. At least not for the foreseeable future.

I thought I was okay with it. I really did, but a dull pain filled me as I looked at all the tack, different items I'd used over that past thirteen years of owning Gailey, and past twenty-eight years of having a riding horse in my life. An emptiness consumed me, the kind of which I hadn't felt since my divorce.

A week ago the vet checked Gailey yet again because of her on-going lameness. His pronouncement didn't suprise me. Her suspensories have finally "given out" and while she appears comfortable and still leaps and bucks in the paddock, she's not rideable. And won't be. Ever.

If I took her home, he said I could probably take her on short, leisurely trail rides at a walk. For now, she remains at the barn to see if she can have a baby. If she takes, she'll stay there through next year. If not, she'll come home. The vet didn't feel the pregnancy would be a big issue for her legs, just put in extra long bar shoes behind.

At first, I was relieved. Finally, I had my answer. Not having a horse to ride every day freed me up to work on my writing, finish several more books, and publish them. I devised a schedule for the various books I wanted to complete, believing in a year I might be able to earn enough money for an nice horse. The first book in my Seattle Lumberjacks Football Series, Fourth and Goal was released a week ago, my first Jami Davenport release in two years. I drowned myself in promo for the book and writing the sequel.

And I was okay with it, really I was. After all, I'd still be riding once a week in lessons, only on someone else's horse.

I brought home my equipment from the boarding stable--stuff I wouldn't be needing--and began the process of cleaning it and putting it away.

Yesterday as I washed and stored Gailey's boots, it hit me. No longer would I be putting these boots on her legs. I felt this enormous loss similar to when I divorced, this empty hole only a horse can fill. An entire after-work routine which I'd followed the past twenty-plus years was gone. No longer would I be going to the barn to saddle up my mare, put on her boots, ride around the arena talking to the other boarders, practicing dressage movements, while dodging other riders. Oh, I could still go to the barn, but it wasn't the same. I don't fit in. I'm not one of them. I don't have the same experiences as the other boarders do. I'm not readying myself for the next show.

Sure, I still have a horse. I can still visit her, let her graze at the end of the lead rope, brush her, and breathe in the wonderful, unique smell of horses. I just can't go through the routine of preparing to ride, riding, and cooling out. Not with my own horse.

To me it's a grieving process, and I'll survive because someday there will be another horse. I've had doubts I'd replace Gailey. Yet as I placed her boots in a plastic container and stored them in my tack room, I knew I would replace her eventually. Not having a horse to ride was not an option.

For now, I'll have to be content to ride school horses and visit my own horse after work.

But someday...

Semi-Floppy

No, I don’t have a new bunny. And no, Mr. Prescott is not in urgent need of little blue pills! Semi-floppy is an expression I coined Sunday morning describing the way I need to be when I ride Qrac.
I can see your puzzled expression. Trust me; I’ve been puzzled, too. In fact, for the past two weeks I’ve been beyond puzzled; I’ve been positively flummoxed. Of course, I knew from day one that my new horse is very forward going, that he has a big engine, and that half-halts are my friend. Sessions with my trainer went well, and my daughter rode him without any problem. I felt as though we were on the right track.

So I wasn’t particularly concerned when my trainer told me she would be unavailable for close to two weeks, traipsing around Europe coaching a couple of her higher-level students at FEI competitions. Qrac and I were doing ok, and I figured we’d just work quietly on our own, trying to stabilize the tempo. Over the past month one of my main concerns has been - and still is - his back. Initially I’d thought my Childeric saddle fit him fine, but after a couple of sessions it became clear this wasn’t the case. Not only was it pinching his shoulders, it was also slipping backwards. My other Passier saddle wasn’t any better, and pretty soon Qrac started hollowing while I groomed him. His back was bothering him. So I called an osteopath, switched to lungeing and managed to speak to my trainer about having Qrac fitted for a new saddle. Since the saddler she recommended can only come to measure Qrac next week, and seeing as I’ll have to wait two months for him to make the new one, one of my friends whose horse is off work following surgery has lent me her saddle, and although it fits him a little better, it still slips backwards so isn’t ideal. A sheepskin pad doesn’t help, nor does a gel pad. Qrac has an extremely short, somewhat flat back, and very high withers. I’m guessing he has narrow shoulders too, at least compared to Warmbloods. Saddle-wise, I’m in a bit of a mess.

Seeing as I’m a compulsive worrier, in the two weeks my trainer has been away I’ve worked myself into a total state over this, and I suppose Qrac picked up on my stress, because a few days after the osteopath intervened and I could ride him again, he and I became out of sync. All of a sudden he seemed to be ignoring my half-halts, chucking his head about, leaning on my hands, falling onto the forehand, going faster and faster. I’d transition into trot, and within seconds have to transition back into walk to as he’d just tumbleweed into a horrible rushed and clickety trot (when he “runs”, he tends to click his hind feet against his front feet). I tried shoulder in, shoulder out, small circles, bigger circles, serpentines, shorter reins, longer reins, soothing talk, all kinds of things, but to no avail. It was more than disconcerting, it was horrible. The more he ran, the more freaked out I became, and the more freaked out I became, the more he ran.
Finally, Sunday morning, my trainer came back. She met me at the stables, I saddled up Qrac and, having explained that he and I were experiencing problems, up she hopped.

Did he “tumbleweed”? Did he “run”?

No. He was perfect. Well, maybe not initially, but within fifteen minutes, he was trotting around, all prancy, round and reaching, as light as a feather while maintaining an almost constant contact.

I almost cried. I suck. I’m hopeless. He doesn’t like me. I should stick to knitting. Drama-queen? Yeah, but it was that time of the month.

“Your turn,” said Marie-Valentine, vaulting off cheerily.

Heavy-hearted, heavy-limbed, I lumbered up. As soon as we transitioned into trot, we began to tumbleweed.

“Stop,” called my trainer. We jostled back to walk, and ambled towards her.

I sighed, crestfallen. “It’s me. I don’t understand. What am I doing wrong?”

Marie-Valentine thought about it for a second or two. “You’re too…floppy,” she said, finally. “He’s super supple, you’re super supple, your seat is super supple, and it’s freaking him out. You follow his movement too closely, offering no resistance with your seat at all, so he thinks you’re asking him to go faster and faster.”

“But I keep half-halting,” I moaned.

“You need to think beyond half-halts,” she replied. “You need to stabilize your core, ride him more…well…more stiffly. Not like you’re in a constant half-halt, of course, as the half-halt involves a split second rein action too. You need to ride him with more engaged stomach muscles.”

I circled around her, mulling it over, hauling up my pelvic floor, sucking my belly button to my spine, and generally feeling self-conscious, not to mention constipated. I transitioned into trot and tested various abdominal scenarios, feeling my way.

And Qrac stopped tumbleweeding. Amazing!

“Mais, ouais!!!” cried Marie-Valentine, beaming. I beamed right back at her.

Okay, so it wasn’t perfect. I didn’t get the same result from him as she did, but hey, she’s a pro. She’s a Grand Prix rider. I can aspire, I can admire, but I can’t emulate. For now!

I transitioned smoothly into walk, delighted by the absence of jostling, thrilled that she’d pinpointed the root of my problem.“Basically, I need to ride him…semi-floppy,” I said, screwing up my nose, trying to describe the sensation.

She smiled. “Semi-floppy,” she giggled in her lovely French accent. “J’adore!”

I rode Qrac semi-floppy for her again yesterday morning, with encouraging results. However, having to use my body in such a different way for such a long stretch of time called for massive amounts of concentration, and by the end of the session I was knackered. Because, of course, it’s not just about working my core semi-floppy, it’s about working my core semi-floppy while doing everything else at the same time. And it’s hard, especially when coming off a horse like Kwintus who, with all his wisdom, patience and experience, always adapted to his rider, forgiving all the little cheaty things I do and the bad habits I have. If Kwintus didn’t understand what I wanted, he interpreted to the best of his ability, and generally got it right. My floppiness didn’t bother him; on the contrary, it helped me follow his giant bouncy trot. But there’s a new man in my life, and if he likes me semi-floppy, then semi-floppy I’ll become.

How about you? Have you found yourself having to drastically alter aspects of your riding to suit a new horse? Did it take you long to adapt? Boost my spirits by telling me about your experiences!

The concept of Time.

For many of us Time is such a fleeting, precious commodity it got me wondering about our animals sense of time and do they consider it as hard to come by as we do? God knows neither my horses, dogs or cats seem to stress about time like I do but, how much do they understand of its passage?

For example, now in my 50s I am often reminded of how many years have passed and so quickly. Normally it is only that daily look in the mirror that brings the reality of time crashing in, but then there are those other not so subtle reminders like an invitation to the baby shower of a student that you started teaching when they were not much more than a baby themselves. I often wonder where the time goes and muse at how fast the years whisk by. Are our animals aware of the same concept? Do they realize that they are getting older and that perhaps their time with us is getting shorter with each passing day.

My barn recently had a joint Birthday party (Yes I know I am a little bit crazy) for my horse Pete and my dog Morgan. Pete turned 22 in March and Morgan turned 11 on April 29 so we had a onesy/twosy Royal birthday party since it was the same day as the Royal Wedding. Morgan in particular relished being the center of attention and although I don't know if she understood that it was the day of her birth, she clearly understood that the occasion was for her. Pete on the other hand is an attention hog every day so he was just happy for the extra treats. But do they know that they are both middle aged or better?

I tend to worry and angst about how my animals are and if they miss me or get lonely when I am gone on long trips. My sister loves to tell me that animals do not have a clear concept of time so they don't know they difference between you being gone a day, week or a month. I don't think I agree with that. My dogs are always gleeful at my return even if I have just been gone an hour or two, but I notice a greater velocity to their response when I am returning from a longer absence. What do you think?

Maybe I truly am crazy but I worry about this especially because I have several beloved 4 legged companions that are getting up there in age and I recently lost my favorite cat to kidney disease at age 16. Every time I have to go out of town, are my animals aware that there is less time that we have to spend together?

Now I don't plan on being one of those people who calls her dog from the airport but is there something else I can do to keep my animals from missing me when I am gone. Between horse shows, teaching clinics and pony club testings, I travel a lot more in the summer so I am open for any suggestions. I have people the animals know take care of them when I am gone but they still sometimes act funny when I am gone for longer periods. The dogs get depressed and mope around and sometimes my horse Pete goes off his feed. The cats are the only ones that seem to do fine but they certainly lecture me when I return.

What do you think? Do you experience the same thing with your animals when you travel?

Stop and Smell the . . . Peonies

I love blogs about one well-developed topic, yet I find mine are always either random musings or stress-induced rants. Spring has been crazy-busy, so this will be no exception. My well-intentioned thought on writing about slowing down and smelling the peonies, has gone out the window in my rush to finish this and turn on the Kentucky Derby, chop meat for the crockpot (for tomorrow's Mother's Day dinner for MY mother. And where is my Mother's Day dinner? Good question!), pick greens for a friend's birthday dinner tonight, and feed the dogs--all before we go by 6:30. Will I make it? And what time IS the Kentucky Derby running anyway?

I need a schedule and an assistant but both will be too much work. Laura finished her deadline and went off camping for a month. I just finished a deadline and have a second one right on its heels. I am jealous of Laura, and yet I am not since I like being home. And I am not even complaining about deadlines. I know how fortunate I am in this crazy publishing business to even have deadlines, but sometimes I wonder why they--and kids moving home, and exams needing grading, and sons needing moving--all come when the weather is perfect to ride and the tomatoes have to be planted.

And really, I am NOT complaining because my husband just traveled through Tennessee and Alabama and brought home photos of the tornado devastation and there's a reason to complain! Yet those poor folks are probably too shocked to let out even a peep.

So I will go back to my earlier thought--I need to take time to smell my peonies . . . and iris and horse manure because life is full and exciting and my house still has a roof and my daughter will be home tomorrow from college because picking her up is what I am doing on Mother's Day! So please today or Mother's Day or any other time, rant away in the comments--it is very freeing. And now it's time to check out that Kentucky Derby!

Dogs and Horses

Dogs have been very much on my mind lately - ever since we decided to get a second dog as a companion to our lab mix named Homer (otherwise known as the Best. Dog. Ever.) On my personal blog, I listed our requirements, and along with stay home and love cats, one of the big ones is Be Good With Livestock.

Because we've all had our horror stories with dogs and livestock, right? (Well, maybe you've been lucky.) It's hard enough to raise up your own dog to not chase horses or other livestock, but often there are neighbors whose dogs are the problem. You know, the ones who just moved to the country and who think it's "cute" to see their dogs exhibiting a "herding instinct."

In most rural areas I've lived in, this "cute" behavior can be reason enough for the dog to be destroyed, either by the owner of the livestock or animal control.

Sometimes, even your own dog can be the problem. One of my most embarrassing incidents happened at a team-penning. I was there to compete, and had brought our little Heeler/McNab along, who was six months old. Like a lot of horse people, I tend to like these kinds of dogs, but their herding instinct is strong. I had the dog securely fastened to my horse trailer, and she was behaving (or so I thought.)

I was horseback, watching another team compete, when I noticed a flash of black and white, and suddenly a little dog was in the middle of the arena scattering cattle in every direction. With three horses trying to quietly pick out their animals from the herd, and cattle all of sudden bolting like crazy, it's a wonder someone wasn't hurt. Then I heard the announcer's voice over the loudspeaker: "Whose dog is that? Get that *&^%# dog out of the arena!"

*Gulp* I wanted to claim innocence -act like I'd never seen the dog before. But I called her, and she came, and I promptly put her inside my rig, where she couldn't get out. Gosh, I thought I'd never live that down. (And I left her home at future team-pennings.)

And you might have experienced the kind of dog-owners who drive up to your home or stable, and immediately (without asking) lower their tailgate and allow a couple of huge dogs to run all over - just because they're now "in the country." Bad idea, folks. Always ask, or better yet, leave your dogs in the vehicle or leave them home.

Oh, and as far as our dog search? We haven't found the right one yet. Found a wonderful older black lab who is great with our livestock, but she chases cats - badly. And that's a deal-breaker for me. So we're still looking - for another best dog ever.

How about you? What kind of dogs do you have, and are they good with your horses?

Ever had any bad (or embarrassing) incidences of dogs misbehaving around livestock?

It’s Spring, a Time for Love and Babies

Spring is traditionally considered a time for babies of all species to be born and for love to bloom. That’s never been so true for me as it is this spring.

First of all, my husband and I celebrated our fifth anniversary earlier this week. I can say without reservations our relationship gets better and better with age.

Gailey at a show a few years ago, Photo by Showcase Imagery

For the past several months, my trainer and I have been discussing the possibility of breeding my mare, Gailey. At this time in my life, I have no interest in breeding horses and raising a baby. Yet, I’d love to see Gailey with a foal. She’d have a beautiful baby.

A few months ago Kari asked if she might lease Gailey for a year to breed her. Kari has been out of the breeding business for quite some time, but Gailey is such a lovely mare, she’s decided to give it a shot. We made an appointment with our mutual veterinarian. After checking her over, he announced that she was ovulating nicely for an older mare and everything seemed to be as it should. As far as her big leg and other issues, he didn’t feel the pregnancy would add any undue stress to her joints or cause any additional issues with the leg.

While Gailey is an approved Hanoverian, Kari called the Dutch registry to inquire as to what it would take to get her approved as a Dutch horse. After reviewing her papers, they said they’d accept her into the Dutch registry based on her papers and the Hanoverian approval.

 Kari talked to Iron Spring Farms and faxed them a copy of her papers. So it’s all arranged, next month my lovely mare will be bred to the MOST gorgeous Dutch stallion. UB40 (weird name, I agree). The contact person at Iron Springs was quite excited with the match as they’d crossed him with a few other mares from similar bloodlines and the results were outstanding.



UB40, Dutch Stallion standing at Iron Spring Farms



Gailey and UB40 will make the most incredible baby. Who knows, I might even take a chance myself and breed her next year.

On a non-horse-related front, I have other joyous news to report.

I never had my own children, but my former husband and I did have custody of his son, Brandon, when he was growing up. Yes, there are times I regret not having any of my own, as I’ve always craved a big family, but some things are not to be.

My new husband has three grown children. My attempts to establish a relationship with them have been met with polite disinterest, so I’ve resigned myself to anything but the most superficial relationship with the three of them. I reached this epiphany last summer after a very painful and sad process, but it freed me to give my love to others who would return it, rather than shun it.

It also freed me to write again, and I’ve completed three novels since then. My football hero romance titled Fourth and Goal will be released this Tuesday from Loose Id. By the way, football is my other passion next to my husband and horses.

I have since established a closer relationship with Brandon and his wife, who live about five miles from me. Brandon is estranged from his mother and has been for years, which is a sad but true fact of his life. His wife Jade’s mother died when she was three, and her father never remarried. The lack of a mother figure in either of their lives has allowed me to fill a role I’ve longed to fill for years. Brandon’s father (my ex) and my husband have become best of friends. In fact, we introduced my ex to his current wife. Our ability to be friends with each other, has allowed us to morph into this odd blended family made up of ex’s and current’s and step relatives, and we all get along famously. Brandon is the biggest winner of all because he never has to choose between his dad and me. He gets us both and our respective spouses.

You’re probably wondering what I’m leading up to. Well a few weeks ago, Brandon and Jade had a baby, my first true grandchild. I am absolutely ecstatic to have a grandson. I’ve never been much of a baby person; but after holding the little guy in my arms, that’s all changed. I even stayed in the room and watched him being born. What a treat for me. My hubbie and I are already planning his football career. 

I hope your spring is as full of love and life as mine.