My first broken bone…

August 22nd, 2010

So here I sit with my left foot in a splint. Monday morning, I have to call the recommended orthopedist to be evaluated and fitted for a cast. I’m on crutches and I’m not happy about it one bit.

Let’s just say that after 30 some odd years of all things horse related, this is the first broken bone. I’ve been kicked, stepped on, bit, drug on my face and run down like a bowling pin. I’ve been bucked off, bailed off and involuntarily ejected from the pilot’s seat. I’ve had a horse rear up and fall over on top of me. I’ve been thrown from a carriage being pulled by a runaway horse. I guess this time Lady Luck said enough is enough.

I have this new great horse that I really like. Got him on trade. Picked him out myself. Something just clicked with me about his personality. He reminds me of my little Whiz Kid. Little bit of a boy in a sailor suit. Kind of timid, sort of a chicken, just needs to see the world some more. Extremely talented. Definitely National caliber.

I have taken him to our little local fairgrounds for some schooling sessions. This is asking something completely foreign of him. Normally, he travels great distances of several hours to a multi-day show. He stands in his stall at the shows until it’s time to get ready for a class. He may or may not get a practice session in the arena before his class. His division, saddle seat, requires a great amount of collection, controlled speed and pizazz. The little schooling shows require him to maybe stand tied to a trailer.They require him to get tacked then warm up lightly. Then he can stand quietly under the trees in the breeze while watching the ring of horses go by and waiting for his class. To say this poor little guy has some performance anxiety is an understatement. He wiggles, he prances, he trots in place. He hops, he panics, he wheels around on his hind legs and leaves the scene. It’s a sad state and only a patient and skilled rider will be able to advance him past this worrisome state.

It’s not his fault. He’s a softy with not a mean bone in his body. He is talented and thus has been asked to perform. Now it is my job to teach him that there is a time and a place for his performance. It’s my job to teach him that horse shows do not have to be a stress inducing event filled with fear and loathing. I know he can do it and I’m determined to get him through his phobia.

The Scene: Local one day show. Small venue, outdoors. All horses and riders are within eye shot. Arena, warm up and cluster of trailers take ups no more than 5 acres. Local club volunteer running the announcer’s stand.

The Play out: Time to get on for warm-up. Horse has not made a peep, having internalized his anxiety. Meanwhile, he has not stood still at the trailer for longer than 13 seconds before shifting around and nervously changing his vantage point. I somehow manage to get his gear on and stand ready on the mounting block to step up. He waits, albeit nervously, just long enough for my foot to get in the stirrup. As I swing up and over, he marches off in a staccato step with eyes rolled back. I check him back gently, again, again. He whirls then up, up, up on his hind legs. At this point, gut instinct and experience tell a good rider to grab mane and hang on. By the time I got hold of the situation again, we had come down and whirled our way about 50 feet up the driveway, my right foot still missing its stirrup. Well, I think, didn’t expect that one.

The day proceeds with lots of tension on his part and lots of cajoling for serenity on mine. I managed to steer him through two of the three intended classes before calling it a day and quietly slinking back to the trailer to pack up. The poor thing never had the peace of mind to stand still for longer than about 25 seconds under saddle. Not in the class line up, not under the trees for a rest, not for anything. Gotta move, gotta move, gotta move.

Fast forward to day two. Armed with my western saddle, we shipped down to the fairgrounds again. No classes, just a trial run through and some good old fashion work on waiting and patience. To say there was a marked improvement would not be giving the horse enough credit. He really tried. He was quieter at the trailer. He stood for mounting, only for a moment. Even though he walked right off, he did it much more relaxed than the day before. I only spent his work out time in the warm up arena. All we did was walk and halt. And he tried. He really did. I see clearly that this poor talented soul will have to be handled with kid gloves in order to teach him what I want him to learn.

As a high powered saddle seat horse, he is required to give his all every stride of every class. His work outs at home have probably been lots of operant conditioning to get that high powered performance. Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go…Somewhere in the brain, all this pressure without learning to come down has made a little fissure in his confidence. Just a little self doubt that all is not okay and performance is everything. Like an exterminator being deathly afraid of spiders. Let’s just get in the house, spray our chemicals all over the damn place and GET OUT!

The Scene: One week later, same fairgrounds, different one day show. I have arrived with some horses on Friday night to avoid the early Saturday morning scramble. I choose to let him chill, not taking him out for a ride or a walk. Nothing. Saturday morning, I take him out to the warm up for a short and uneventful lunge session so I can ascertain his attitude. He seems relaxed, more so than a week ago.

Time to tack up for the break. He’s quiet in his stall, happy, accommodating. I walk him out to mount up. There is the usual mild chaos of the local show traffic. I take my time, not getting on until he is focused. He walks off a few steps but stops on command. We make our way to the warm up and walk, just walk. Walk, walk, walk. The main ring is open now so over we go. It’s not more than 100 feet from ring to ring but his change in attitude is obvious. Quiet stock horses and their owners are milling around. It’s overcast with a breeze, not hot. No rush.

I make it one half lap at a walk around the ring when the first horse trots its ambling pace by us. He sucks up, tenses and starts to jig. I check him back and get a walk. We proceed through the turn and his head is rising, his heart rate climbing. Keep going boy, just wait for me. Half way up the long rail, he stops, freezes, looks wide eyed over the fence rail at…whatever. At this point, I see a rider coming up behind me. Not wanting to have a collision, I glance over my shoulder to check how close she is. I hear someone yell to her. Did I squeeze him? Did I work the bit a touch? Whatever happened in that moment, he throws his weight awkwardly up and flings himself to the left.

aaaannnnndddd here we go, I think to myself. My balance is off and I feel the pitching of my momentum up, over and out into mid air. I’m falling off, I think. Don’t let go, hang on to him, land on your feet. The best laid plans. I hit the ground and in an instant remember my friend who tried to hang onto the reins. She ended up pulling her horse’s hind end around herself and the horse stepped on her face. In the fraction of a second, I land on my butt, feel a strange clunk in my left foot and see his hind feet now pointing in the opposite direction from whence we came.

aaaannnnnddddd I fell off, I think.

Years in the saddle and a strong determination to be a professional will always separate your response from the average rider. When an average rider falls off, they experience fear. They often are stunned still to lay there, often crying or writhing in pain. Not a trainer. It takes a trainer just one more fraction of a second to ascertain this.

1. Am I dead? Can I get up?

2. Where is the horse?

3. Get back on.

And that’s exactly what I did. I was up before a single person had reached me. I had visual confirmation of him streaking across the ring into the waiting arms of the first person brave enough to flag him down. I was gimping across the ring towards him ready to get back on.

After an awkward leg up, I was seated again on this ball of nerves. I could read his mind. What the hell was that? What just happened? I’m so shook up! All the while on that one last courageous lap, I was keenly aware that I had very little control over my ankle. It hurt to put any weight in my stirrup. After a clumsy whirling twirling pass around the ring, I felt I had made my point to him. You must listen and wait for me. This is no big deal.

Could I show? Can I manage to get this ball of nervousness through a class? nope…

So I pulled up in the center and slid gingerly off him and landed one-legged. Just like that victorious little gymnast, what’s her name, who won the Olympics that year. Only I wasn’t even making the cut. I scanned the crowd from center ring looking for someone from my crew. Friends appeared out of nowhere ready to assist me out. At the time, I felt I didn’t need anyone to lean on. Just a sprain. Just twisted it.

It’s amazing the things that happen in a moment’s time. My father was there and met me center ring to take the horse. As he was leading him off in front of me, I see my father tensing up. His jaw is setting hard, his fist is clenching back. The horse is still completely frazzled and understandably is not leading off like the end of the trail. Dad is angrily muttering under his breath, fist cocked back ready to thump the horse a good one in his neck just for kicks.

“Dad, don’t. It’s not his fault”. Please don’t mess up my progress. It’s my fault I fell off, not his.

Like a true horse trainer, I wave off all assistance. It’s just twisted. I have a student with me today who is counting on my coaching to get her through some classes. (different horse, thank goodness) Back to the tack stall. I whip out the Vetwrap and tape up my ankle. Why is it clicking when I wiggle it? Then we wrap a bag of ice to it, jam my foot in a sneaker and head back to rail side for my student’s classes.

Three hours later, after the show, after my student wins two classes, after packing up, after making sure the horses are home safe, I go for an x ray.

      

spiral fracture of the fibula. Ohh La La

 

What?! Broken? And what is the first question I ask the ER doctor? You guessed it. Can I ride in a cast?

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Tips from Tommy…part two

August 22nd, 2010

I was extremely nervous about participating in this CPR clinic. I had no idea what to expect and I had real fears about the horse I was taking to it.

I had a really tough year in ‘09. I had fallen off more since having my son than I had fallen off in my whole life. Maybe babies really do cause irrepairable damage. It was like my internal gyroscope had gone haywire and it was messing with my confidence badly.  Then I had a realllllly bad carriage accident with a friend’s Haflinger mare. I had never been in a car crash but the carriage wreck left me battered and bruised up one side and down the other. When it happened, I had three weeks to the biggest national show of my life and I couldn’t ride.

One of the two horses I had qualified belonged to Maggie. Lulu was our go-to carriage horse. She’s young but she took to carriage driving and loves her job. Unfortunately for both of us, I had also qualified her for a junior under saddle class. She was much less prepared for that and here I was laid up. Suffice it to say that Arabian Sport Horse Nationals ‘09 will forever live on in the farm’s history as the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Lulu and I won the Carriage Driving Turnout Championship and two more Top Tens in Carriage Reinsmanship and Working. Highest of Highs.

Lulu also dumped me, hard, while trying to warm up under saddle for the first time in the new coliseum. And she stepped on me. Hard. With boruim shoes on. On my butt cheek…. It was decided through general consesus in the farm camp that I was not up for the task of showing her under saddle nor was she mentally ready to handle the pressure. We scratched our class and watched it from the stands. Lowest of lows.

Fastforward to the moral of the story. After three days with Tommy, I knew it wasn’t some uncurable phobia that Lulu had developed causing her to shy uncontrollably when she encounterred something new and scary. She was shying simply because I had forgotten to teach her not to.

Day one 9am-noon – Rope Halter, 15 foot lead rope, 4 foot bat crop. Tommy took us through a process of how to control our horses “go and whoa”. At first it felt incredibly foreign, trying to juggle this long rope and whip. I felt unsure of letting the rope out to Lulu, felt unsure of trusting her. She shared the same sentiments. Somehow I had to slow myself down, be patient, be particular with my cues and corrections. Through it all, everyone kept commenting on how Lulu locked on to whoever was training on her. She’s such an intelligent horse and so wants to please. Of course she was confused though as I had left her foundation full of holes.

Day one 1pm – 5pm – Saddle up. Gulp. I am embarassed to say that I went for the western saddle. As a professional rider, I should have felt comfortable in my abilities to handle this horse in a hunt saddle. But my lack of confidence told me to go with what I trusted. And I trusted that bulky saddle. We started out doing what felt like an impossible amount of tight circles. Several times, Tommy had to admonish me for position corrections or incorrect timing or just not asking enough of Lulu. The western saddle hid my tucked tail. All around me were other riders all struggling with different issues and I was probably the most experienced rider among the participants. Tommy cut me no slack and I was glad for that but boy, it was hard to stay positive when I knew I was doing so much wrong. And I realized on that day that I was babying the horse instead of just letting her live with the consequences of her enviorment. I wasn’t going into a new situation with a clear conversation with Lulu as to what was expected of her. That meant that she met new and scary things head on with no idea of what to do with them. Then I wasn’t sticking with her long enough in the proper support position to let her deal with the reality of something scary NOT being scary. Can you smell a snowball here?

But by the end of a long first day, we were all amazed at what we had accomplished. What amazed me was how Lulu just kept giving. It was a long hard day for her both mentally and physically. At times, we would take a break and she would just hang her head and check out. I can’t deny that there were times through the weekend that I was a tad worried about whether this was just too much for her. But Tommy helped me to understand that this was in fact part of my problem. I wasn’t sticking with Lulu long enough at a task. At home, many riders get something right a handful of times than call it a day. Tommy wants us to get it right 100 times, 500 times, 1000 times before calling it a day. He acknowledges that we don’t ride our horses long enough or hard enough to really challenge their skills and get them trained!

Here’s a bit of product review for a Tommy Garland item – The training ball.

Tommy has developed this super sized gigantically huge oversized horse ball. It’s enormous. It has a heavy duty bladder and a striped canvas cover with a spot for laces so you can even pick it up one handed. If we pushed those balls around on horse back once, we pushed them a hundred times. Tommy set up obstacle courses and raceways for horses and riders to battle it out. We guided our horses and had balls going everywhere. Lulu came to enjoy this game so much that we have continued it here at the farm. I point her towards a ball and say “ball”. She aims right for it and shoves it with her head or knees. Lulu, the horse who was afraid of her own shadow, now believes she had the power to move solid objects out of her own way. By clinic’s end, those balls could roll right up and bonk her hind legs and she would give it nary a thought. It was cool. It was okay. It’s not hurting me. Whatever…

 

How can I expect a horse to go out into the world and perform flawlessly for national titles if I haven’t even shown her that the world isn’t going to eat her?

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Tips From Tommy…part one

June 9th, 2010

So it’s been a couple of weeks since I went to the Tommy Garland CPR clinic. Had I had the computer with me, I probably would have blogged nightly but once home, I had to give myself some time to truly digest all I had experienced. This clinic was three full days of hands on horsemanship both on the ground and under saddle. Simply put, I can say this about Tommy Garland. He is the real deal.

I’ve watched and studied the techniques of many “natural horsemanship” clinicians that have been riding the clinic wave since Monty Roberts first got big with his Join Up technique. For the most part, the messages are good but the process (or lack thereof) and marketing propaganda really turned me off. So why decide to go to a clinic about basic horsemanship now? There is no short answer.

Tommy Garland has been training and winning on the Arabian show circuit for at least 20 years, maybe more. He mainly trains Western Pleasure horses with a few Hunter Pleasure horses thrown in for good measure. His walls are covered with ribbons. His name is synonymous with National Champions. And may I mention that he’s just an all around down-to-earth amazing person. Not that I knew this last little factoid going into the clinic but I sure know it now.

I heard about the clinic from Bill Rodgers of Freedom Farm. He himself is a nationally decorated trainer and a friend of Tommy’s. It was mentioned off hand at a meeting for our local Arabian club. At first the price had me slumped in my seat, thinking no way can I swing that. But it stuck in my mind. Then Equine Affaire in Columbus, Ohio finds me standing at his booth. A friend and fellow trainer was helping Tommy run the booth. I stopped to say hello and ask Tommy a couple of probing questions about some training issues I have been having with a few horses. His booth was tight and he was really busy but he gave me a few minutes of his time. The clinic came up again and I was told that there would be a discount if I signed up before the end of Equine Affaire.  hmmmm…..

After much powwow-ing, it was decide that I would take Maggie’s mare, Lulu. We split the cost and signed up. If I would have known how much I would have learned from this clinic, I would have taken every horse in the barn if I could have afforded it.

I’m going to blog this experience in several parts as there are so many angles to tell you about so keep watching…

here’s the link to his CPR website for those of you wanting to check him out.  http://www.tommygarland.com/

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Sweet Pastures…

May 15th, 2010

It’s been a long time since I had a good hard cry. Could have done without the crying we did today…

We lost one of the old guys today.

It’s the part of my life that just hurts. You know you have the grace to give these sweet and trusting animals their dignity. You can choose to let them go before the pain gets to be too much, before their life has lost its quality. But it still digs at your heart.

Louisa has been boarding with us for a couple of years. She was desperate to find a nice place that would take care of her old man. I get a lot of these. People want so much to trust the farm that is caring for their beloved horses. But too many places short cut or just plain don’t care.

I wasn’t raised that way. I’ve missed family holidays, meals, sleep and all manner of a social life to run our farm. You take care of the animals before you take care of yourself. Every horse deserves the same level of care. Every horse deserves the best we can give them.

What I know about Max isn’t much. He was a stallion in his younger days but was gelded late. He was also a contest horse. Pole bending, barrel racing, being rode hard and put away wet. By the time Louisa bought him, he was already pretty worn out. His pre purchase exam showed joints that were fried. Bone on bone. But he was sweet and she wanted him.

11 years. She and that old beat up Quarter Horse became pals. He toted her around for pleasure rides and she taught him all manner of tricks for treats. He was a bright sorrel chestnut with high white stockings all the way around. His face was common but the blaze that spread from one end to the other didn’t know the difference. He had some quirks, like most horses do by that age. And we just lived with them.

ahhh, that white face.

ahhh, that white face.

And that’s how Louisa came to know that she could go days, even weeks, and know that Max was happy. We fattened him up but not too much. We put him out with a mixed group of geldings both young and old. He’d never had group turnout in the years that Louisa owned him. He grew to really enjoy playing hard with his pals and that made Louisa happy to see it. Max would spar with all of them, young and old.

He was easy to catch and easy to handle. He never was really keen on being loved on the face but he tolerated all manner of haltering and blanketing. He and I came to an understanding about such things as wormer tubes, the vet or the dentist. I would just sneak it up on him and get him done first before he had a chance to turn his ass to me.

He was a good house guest.

But Mother Nature always wins. His legs were really hurting and turnout was making him hurt. Louisa and I had many a conversation in the last month’s time about his comfort. In the end, she made the impossible choice that so many horsemen have to make. Neither of us wanted him to suffer the indignity of life in a stall, riddled with pain. Arrangements were made. The date was set. Details were worked out.

I have been involved with more euthanasia than I care to remember. It never gets easy. I have already assured all of my boarders that when the time comes, their old boys and girls can stay here at the farm with us if they so choose. I know there are folks that don’t have that option or choose not to take it. I have no judgement. But when it comes to me and mine, they stay home. After you have taken care of a person’s love 24/7 for so many years, they become like adopted children. It just seems a fitting end that they be laid to rest with dignity in the last place they knew as home. And their owners, if they never own another horse again, can know they always have a place to visit.

And so it was. Max enjoyed one last romp with the boys this morning. His owner hand grazed him until his lips were green with grass juice. She said her last goodbyes through tear filled eyes. I looked at her before taking the lead and felt so terrible for her. I know the look. She was lost, so desperate. It’s a look of terror. To comprehend that a person can have the say over another life. It was tearing her in half. She knew this was the last time she would see her old boy alive and that she was literally sending him to his grave. We all knew it was out of compassion and caring. But there is always that intense doubt about whether it’s right, that it’s “time”.

I cried. My employee Kelly, who also loved Max so, cried. Even the vet was visably paused. Louisa trusted me to help Max through the process. I pride myself in having great strength and when an owner asks me to take over where they must leave off, I always feel honored. It’s a hard decision to make, not being there for the last moment. I respect Louisa for not wanting to see her big strong horse go down. There is nothing ceremonious about it. And I understand when an owner doesn’t want that as a last visual.

Thank you, Mother Nature, for giving us a beautiful sunny Saturday. There was a breeze and the grass was knee high. Max passed with a mouth full of it. He was there and then he was gone…

I’m not a religious person in any scope of the imagination. But I do believe in the cycle of Mother Nature. I have a superstition about the grave of a horse. There’s just something about burying a horse inside a fence line that gives me the heeby jeebies. It just doesn’t seem right. I feel like after all those years of gazing over the fence at the grass on the other side, they should rest in open fields so their spirit can be set free. Anything else would just bring bad karma.

His grave is at the top of a rise out in the field. We can see it from the barn but I know over time, the grass will grow and the ground will settle. I’ll know he’s there. Louisa will mark the grave with a steel cross tall enough to peak out over the brush. I don’t know if there is a heaven but somewhere out there is an white faced sorrel horse just running as hard as he can go…

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Our Wild Adventures

April 26th, 2010

Someday, I hope to have time to expound on some past out-of-town adventures but today I will tell you about our most recent Thelma and Louise, Laverne and Shirley trip.

My best bud Maggie and I have just returned from Pennsylvania. We attended the Martin’s Carriage Auction in Lebanon. This is the third time we have gone and let me tell you, it is a carriage lover’s dream. It’s a two day event held at the fairgrounds. Both days starts at 9 am with the sale of about 200 carriages and sleighs of all varieties. They also go through all manner of harness, new and used tack, carriages appointments, books, collectables, you name it. The first year we went, they had this strange lifesize paper mache horse! You never know what you will find.

The first year we went, Maggie and I stayed in a “roach motel”. We didn’t know the area at all and made reservations over the phone with no recommendations from carriage friends. Boy did we regret that! The hotel was seedy, dirty and down right gross. Saturday morning, we were in such a hurry to get out of there and back to the fairgrounds for the sale, we raced out of the parking lot like our tails were on fire. We had driven Maggie’s pickup truck so we had thrown the bags in the truck bed under the bed cover. Half way through town, I noticed a car tailgating me and flashing its lights. We pulled over to find that I hadn’t shut the tail gate and my rolling duffle had rolled right out of the truck onto the street in front of this nice lady! We were very thankful she was kind enough to chase me down with bag in tow.

That was the sale that Maggie bought a beautiful gig for Lulu and a natural finish road cart for Jake. We were officially o-ficial.

The second year, fall 2009, I drove our poor old junky camper down. Kevin and I had purchased this diamond in the rough earlier in the summer and thought we were getting a real deal on a used camper. Turns out all we bought was the rough. I will tell you all about Georgie Boy the RV in another blog. But suffice it to say, RVing in a vintage camper well past its prime takes patience and a good sense of humor. After a late start, a broken driver’s side windshield wiper, a forgotten bathroom bag, and a 10 hour trip we finally pulled in to the fairgrounds. Turns out all the camper spots were full so we parked longways across 9 handicapped spots and collapsed into bed. The fairgrounds didn’t kick us out and we managed to snag some good bargains but not before we spent the entire second day of the sale standing outside in the pouring rain. In our haste to get our waterlogged butts home, we left an important harness purchase behind. Several calls and much begging found a package on our back door two weeks later. Unfortunately, our trip calamities were starting to proceed us and we were getting a reputation as the two stooges.

Trip number three – we’ve got it figured out now! Off we go in the old RV. Kevin had made lots of repairs and the RV mechanics had humored us by taking our money and waiting till we leave to laugh at our purchase. Maggie and I are pumpin’ down the turnpike and patting ourselves on the back for getting out of town on time. Mid sentence, I hear a loud thumping off the right side of the camper. We exchange a look and immediately start guessing what has broken now. Next thing I know, the motor is backfiring like a cannon and we are losing power. Houston, we have a problem. I park it on the berm and poke my head out the door. No doors flopped open. I stick my head under the hood and all looks normal.

“Maggie, step on the gas and rev the engine.” Vroom, vroom vroom  putt putt pow pow PPPPOOOOOOWWWWWW!

Old Georgie was backfiring out the exhaust pipe like he was trying to break the sound barrier. We thought the poor guy was gonna blow up! After calming Maggie down and assuring her we weren’t going to blow up or catch on fire (I wasn’t that sure), I put it into gear and limped the last mile to a service station. We coasted into a spot and the engine putt putt powwed one last time and died. Okay then….

I am not a techie person but I have to give the inventor of the GPS unit a big hug. I punched in a search for auto wreckers, made a call and had a wrecker there in 30 minutes. 6 hours and 550 bucks later, we have the problem fixed. Apparently, when your starter cable lays on the hot manifold, that’s bad. Maggie’s wonderful hubby Frank drove out to the service station and sat with us until we knew we could get back on the road. My fantastic friend Eric offered the use of his RV for the weekend but we were able to continue on with Georgie. Granted, we were a little nervous the first hour but after that, we spanked Georgie’s backside and scared the heck out of 75 miles per hour the rest of the trip.

We pulled in about 10:30 pm, 5 hours later than expected. And wouldn’t you know it, someone had taken our handicapped spots! We finally found a plugin way up at the street. Again, old foam couch cushions never felt so good.

Up and at ‘em bright and early! Because we got in so late (once again!) we hadn’t seen the vehicles and we had no time to waste. We perused the selection, finalized our plan and sat down to bid on a vehicle or two. This year, Maggie was more the wiser and had a definate idea of what she wanted. With much goding from our gang, Maggie purchased a beautiful Brewster green four-wheel wicker pheaton. As auction neophytes, we both get pretty nervous about actually making a big purchase. There’s always an adrenaline rush then the exhausting let down after. Maggie decided around 9 pm that she was pooped and going back to the RV for a shower and bed.

This was the first trip we had hot water as Georgie got a much needed new hot water tank right before we left. I strolled in two hours later to find Maggie in bed. As I headed to my bunk, Maggie roused and informed me that the shower had no hot water. She was desperate and washed her lady bits with cold water anyway. What!! Well, I am going to bed. I’ll check it tomorrow. I had a good laugh the next morning when I determined that, in typical Georgie fashion, the hot water was controlled by the right knob. good to know…

Saturday at the auction is quite chaotic. It’s all outside, regardless of the weather. It didn’t rain until we were just leaving but we did have to beg someone to take Maggie’s new purchase home in an enclosed trailer. Wicker and rain don’t mix. I informed my mother that I will need a batch of perogies to get the carriage out of hock. Between that and trying to be at all three auction rings at once, it’s a crazy day. I unfortunately had to pass on purchasing either of the carriages I had in mind. After spending so much on Georgie, I was having a really hard time parting with any more money. I snagged some books but that was enough. Maggie had much better luck and managed to snag lots of great deals in the tack tent. All of her purchases will be used for horse rescue alongside the Medina SPCA. She bought lots of blankets, halters and fly masks. She really got into it. The tack sale is really fast paced and exciting. She really was bidding like an old pro.

After three trips and all the hilarity that follows Maggie and I, we can safely say that the Martin’s gang is starting to get used to us. They are a fantastic group of fun guys and gals. The ladies who run the desk are very accomodating and sweet. The auctioneers are top notch. We spend a lot of time cracking jokes and messing with them. In fact, I bid on and won a box of books on Saturday. Jimmy was the auctioneer and knows me well. In the short few moments it took me to walk from one side of the tent to the other to collect my books, he had sold me another box. When I got to the box, there was another box of books next to it. I hadn’t even bid! I looked up at Jimmy and said, “what’s this?”. He smiled, shrugged and waved me off. “I got it. I’m takin’ care of ya. $5!”, he says.

I am now the proud owner of 50 pounds of books and magazines….Never flirt with the auctioneers.

Maggie and I made it home that night around 10 pm. The RV made it home with little more than a broken generator and no working electrical outlets. No big whoop, right? We had a great time in spite of the ever-present calamities. Maggie and I never get to spend enough time together and we look forward to our little runaway trip together to Martin’s. I already have my repair list ready for Georgie before the fall sale. Maybe I should look into AAA?

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Just when I think I’ve seen it all…

April 26th, 2010

I know a lot of dirty little secrets of the horse training world. I hesitate to call it training. I have seen and heard of short cuts to get a horse to perform that would make your hair curl. I often wonder if I can ever compete in the big leagues against such blaintant abuse and cheating. I continue on because I refuse to let it squelch my competitive spirit. I just wonder how these folks sleep at night.

My most recent head slapper involves the Western division and the act of tiring out a horse’s jaw so that it stays closed and quiet in the bridle. Let me preface this explanation by telling you that the Western Pleasure division is very tough. Due to the slow nature of the gaits, the demands for perfection from the horse are set very high. No tail swishing, no mouth chewing on the bit, no movement of the head. Only quiet, robotic perfection. We all know the old standbys from back in the day. Some methods have been around forever, such as tieing a horse’s head up high for hours so it would be tired and keep its head low in the class. Blood letting to tire out the horse, keep it quiet. Late night lunge sessions lasting hours. But the latest craze has to do with forcing  a horse to hold his jaw wide open with a piece of PVC or block of wood for so long that once, released, the jaw is so sore and tired that the horse stays quiet in the bridle.

I was speechless when I heard this one. This tidbit came from a very reputable official of our breed as the evidence of such practice was recently viewed at an officials clinic. This far outweighs the monstrosities I have seen in the way of bits. Western cathedral port bits that rise unbelievably high up the horses tongue. Or the trainer who took the claw end of a hammer and welded it point side up on the port of a western bit. All for the sake of beating someone to the blue ribbon.

The drugs are the worst. I just received the 2010 Drugs and Medications booklet and it is a dizzying read. But I noticed it doesn’t cover a recent drug trick that is apparently untracable. Trainers have been shooting horses with natural adrenaline before a class so the horse has a high then a crash, thus entering the western class in a sleepy haze. Alcohol blocks of the ears and tails to keep them perfectly quiet, also undectable.

Why? Why does the human species take something so pure and innocent as the connection between horse and human and foul it up so bad?

I know I am being naive in one respect, thinking that a long-standing arena of competition would be void of foul play. But I continue. Many have asked me how I think I can compete in such a tainted arena. There are lots of times I doubt myself and my ability to train a horse to rise above.

And then I see what I saw at Ohio’s Equine Affaire. Craig Cameron’s Extreme Cowboy Race is a judged and timed over-the-top obstacle race. It puts any good horseman’s skills to the test. My husband and I sat and watched about half a dozen entries try their hand at the course. The obstacles were challenging to say the least. They included backing through a tight cattle shoot with a turn, flying lead changes, sidepassing through a curtain of fabric strips. Many horses did okay but one woman and her little sorrel paint blew me away. She had apparently done this before based on how the announcer spoke to her. What impressed me so much was not that she rode her horse in a simple halter and reins. It wasn’t that she did the hand gallop with her hands raised up over her head. And it wasn’t that she performed all the obstacles with ease. It was that the horse had a calm eye, an easy handle on what was asked of him. She had obviously spent a lot of time with this horse and they had a true partnership. Even her corrections didn’t rattle the horse’s calm demeanor. It was a breathtaking joy to watch and it reminded me why I do what I do.

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Inspiration…

March 26th, 2010

Why I love what I do…

http://vimeo.com/10181894  Driving Montage by Tim Malloy

This is a video montage of the sport of Combined Driving. I don’t personally participate in this sport but it is pure adrenaline, let me tell ya. I have a friend, Heather Raw, who has competed in the Single Pony divisions but we both know this video is a far cry from what she is doing at the lower, slower levels. What you are seeing in this video are the sport’s elite drivers and horses. This particular sport is divided into three phases: Dressage, Cones or Obstacles, and Marathon. This video shows up close and personal moments of high speed marathon action.

Yes, many of the shots are of four horses galloping in, around, and through the likes of bridges, water hazards and mazes.

Yes, that four stopped around the pole are stuck! around the pole.

Yes, those people are grinning, gritting their teeth and getting very, very wet.

Yes, the driver is often seat belted in with a safety Velcro seat belt so he doesn’t get tossed out.

Yes, those people are hanging off the back of the carriages like monkeys for ballast so the carriage stays upright.

No, it doesn’t always look this good.

But I love to find these artistic representations of our various horse sports. It renews my energy and reminds me of the majesty that is the horse. It takes a special skill to be so in tune to an animal that they will work with you and for you.

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Wherein Midwest Horse Trainers learn to be so tough…

March 23rd, 2010

I’m sitting here at the computer poking around my new blog and investigating the features. It’s March in Ohio now and that means weird weather. At this moment, the first thunder of 2010 is rumbling off in the distance. It’s too far away to worry about the power cutting off so I will blog on. The thunder has me thinking about why so many of the trainers in my area of the country look so weathered and worn.

Let’s start with the fact that a horse trainer can not possibly make a decent living in Ohio without an indoor arena. We have a saying that there are only three months of good riding in Ohio and they aren’t in a row. I pushed our indoor arena plans up by about three years due to this simple fact. It’s either raining, muddy, snowing, cloudy, sleeting, humid, buggy or dark too early. Let’s take a brief tour through the highlights of horse training in Northeast Ohio, shall we?

Winter – it starts around November. The rain is continual. The sky develops a perma-cloud layer that is unrelenting until April. The soil turns to slop and dry lot paddocks become slick, sticky clay pits. The temperature fluctuates from mildly balmy to damp and chilly. By December, we may see a smattering of snow but not the fluffy kind. It’s more like a 7-11 Slushy snow that just makes everything it touches wetter and muddier. The layering of clothes is a sport unto itself. Trainers must dress heavy for the morning chores, shed all but a sweatshirt to ride, bundling back up between horses. By January, the temperatures plummet. Water buckets freeze. Turds turn to frozen rocks. Horses are now sporting a thick filthy layer of winter hair that small mammals could nest in. February is usually when the big snow hits. This is typically a three day blizzard that buries everything in several feet of drifted snow. Barn doors must be cleared with the likes of shovels, plows and the occasional front end loader. The only saving grace is that the ground is frozen rock hard. Horses can go out without fear of being sucked down into the mud. Trainers use the temperatures of the day to decide if riding is even possible. Frozen toes, hands, buns and faces are a mainstay. Trainers also adopt a permanent scowl. 

How to "get hocks" in Ohio - two feet of snow!

How to "get hocks" in Ohio - two feet of snow!

Spring – Trainers count down the days until the time change. This is the official call of spring. The snow has melted, usually in a deluge, causing every inch of pasture to flood beyond recognition. Horses are supposed to be well into their spring conditioning and getting ready for the first shows in April. Unfortunately, the freezing temps and gloomy winter have ground the training enthusiasm to a jagged nub. While the paying clients have all had their horses worked, the Trainer’s own steeds look fat and wooly. The sun starts to make a regular appearence. This prompts Trainers to find a renewed energy. Unfortunately, the receding snow reveals six months of thawed manure deposits and hay remnants in the pastures. None of this can be dealt with until the ground returns to a solid state. Horses begin to shed. Trainers contemplate the daily arm-breaking chore of shedding a horse versus the two hour ordeal of body clipping. This body clipping decision is made based on whether Trainer wants to dispose of another horse hair impregnated bra.

Summer – By June, the temperatures have leveled out to a tolerable degree and horses are well into their show season. This is about the time where the dreaded horse fly emerges from its lair. Horse flies are approximately the size of a U.S. quarter and sport evil bright green eye balls and razor sharp teeth. They bite. Hard. And draw blood. Even the most sane horse will not hesitate to run screaming like a little girl when the horse flies start biting. The humidity will also be on the rise. By August, turnout is a thing of the past. Horses stand anxious at the gate or race dangerously down the fence, ducking the bugs. Deodorant sales skyrocket as Trainers try their best not to offend. The quest for sweat-proof horse show makeup is never ending. Trainers use the temperatures to determine is riding is even possible.

Fall – Trainers are now scrambling to get their own horses out to a show after putting off their training all year. The client horses have reached the year end shows but the shortened days have already caused them to grow winter hair. All who enter the barn are threatened with death if they turn off the lights before 10 pm. thereby messing up the precise schedule of light needed to keep horses’ coats short in time for year end. Trainer can’t afford more bras. The first half of fall is studded with a break from the humidity and bugs. The second half is entrenched in mud and rain. Trainers go through several clothing layers a day trying to keep up with the fluctuating temperatures. All barn inhabitants begin to dread the approach of another winter.

And so the cycle begins again.

Why don’t I move to a sunnier, more mild climate, you ask? What would I do with all these layering clothes? Besides, I only have two bras left…

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Welcome to our farm diary…

March 21st, 2010
always checking on "the ponies"

always checking on "the ponies"

The life of a horse trainer can be pretty lonely. Sure, you all think we live this rock star gypsy life. We spend our lives in the limelight of horse shows. We get to set our own schedule and be our own boss while the rest of the free world is busy slaving away for “the man”. But in reality, we spend a lot more time alone with our thoughts than you think. Crazy, funny, scarey things can happen and there we are with no one to tell. We turn around to say, “Holy smokes, did you see that?” and low and behold, there’s no one there but the field mice.

So with all these thoughts, observations and hilarity rolling around my brain, I have decided to send it out into the ethos. I have spent a lot of time in this business, almost 20 years. And the old saying, “the more things change, the more things stay the same” could not be more true.

Animal training in any format is all about communicating with another species in a language they understand. Oddly enough, it’s communicating with the horse owners that can be the challenge!

And so I hope you all enjoy this adventure I will attempt to journal. Sometimes it will be stories about the goings on at the farm and horse shows. Sometimes it will be a bit of training wisdom. And sometimes it will just be personal observations of the world around me. Regardless of the content, I hope you all are enlightened and entertained.

With that, I want to thank my new webmaster Scott Vercuski who has been the whiz to set this blog up for us. I think he and I will get along just great. I want to take this opportunity to show you that even my webmaster understands the strange world of horse humor. This is the blog example he sent me in my instructions.

My Shetland pony won’t sing anymore…

A customer asked me why her Shetland pony no longer yodels.

I told her that he’s ok, he’s just a little hoarse…

bada bing!

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