Paint horse was a bubble brain when I got on him tonight. Not sure if it's cause he was used in a lesson yesterday, or because he spent a day in a tie stall, or if it was just a "white brain" blip (darned paints!), but he definitely started out a twit, leaping tarps, spooking at light beams, the corner, kids, the door, a bottle on the ground....yeah... as if he hasn't been broke for over a year now. He's such a dumbass (And I say that with great affection), sometimes. Then, he was much more resistant/heavy than usual.
But there were only two of us in the lesson, so we worked on supple-ing exercises and it really came along well... once he remembered that he did not have a 4x4 of steel implanted all the way down his neck. Overall, a good ride. It was exactly what he needed... a lot of the crap he was dishing out at the beginning of the ride magically disappeared.
Left him in overnight, since it forces me to go out tomorrow and ride him again. Maybe I'll find a way to schedule things so I actually start riding regularly. Hmmmm...
Of course, the only problem with that is somewhere along the way, I wound up LIKING the paint horse. So much so that it's almost too bad I can't deal his owner out of him. That was certainly not part of the plan. Ah well.
Kind of looking forward to riding tomorrow. Maybe I'll try and finangle a second horse to ride, too.
And at some point... I will need to get some pictures...
Friday, 22 July 2011
Leave It...
Lex needs a Leave It. She needs it NOW. I need to figure out how to put a Leave It On her. ASAP. Or I might just kill her.
Well, not really, but somedays it's a really good thing that at the end of the day, I see humor!
And it really needs to quit raining already.
Just sayin'.....
Well, not really, but somedays it's a really good thing that at the end of the day, I see humor!
And it really needs to quit raining already.
Just sayin'.....
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Sixes and Sevens...
I am at work. I should be working. But as I went to date my first working paper of the day, I realized ... It's the 20th. And tomorrow, the 21st, makes Seven years since I stood in the trailer with Singapore's head in my arms, his right front leg danging irreparably. I still remember... But it's not as poignant.
As time went on after that, I saw the things that would have happened had I not lost Singapore that night. I wouldn't have met G &R. Wouldn't have tried to buy Woody. Wouldn't have been talked out of it - by them. Wouldn't have gone looking for another thoroughbred. Wouldn't have pulled Poly off the track a short race before he was destined for a career in an Alpo can. Wouldn't have seen Sprout in that corral of weanlings. Would have never owned the horses that in turn owned my heart, and my soul.
Until six months ago...
Six months ago today, at this time in the morning, I was sitting at home with my stomach twisted up around my ankles, trying to convince myself - again and again - that I was doing the right thing. That I was strong enough to take those last few steps down the path that lost me the 3 things I loved most, outside of my family, in the span of 15 measly days. In a couple short hours from now, it'll have been six months since I stood in the tack room grasping at straws. He could stand on the leg - even long enough for his shoes to be pulled - maybe things weren't as they seemed?
But they were, and shortly after found me standing out in minus-bloody-freezing (-20C or so) next to a suspicious, Sprout-shaped snowcovered mound, my 16.3hh sedated thoroughbred's head shoved thoroughly in my stomach (Apparently, humans are meant to double as a pillow), waiting for the vet to walk out with the final needle. A few long minutes later - not quite the longest in my life, but close - I was salvaging Poly's few remaining tail hairs (the rest having been sacrificed to Border-Collie-Entertainment, because tails are great for swinging off of) and some mane to make up for the lack of tail... and walking away from 5 years of simultaneous joy and heartbreak.
Today there's still grief... and guilt... Guilt for making the decision, and guilt for the relief of not having to wonder - is he in one piece today? In some ways, he had more lives than a cat. There was some truth to my running joke that he was "Chronically lame, but never in the same place twice." And in some ways, spending those 10 days wrapped up in Poly made the first few days after Sprout marginally easier to get through, because I had something else to focus on.
And Sprout, well, I didn't miss the 9th. God forbid I get the relief of not noticing that date. I was cleaning my desk that day, and found a big stack of pictures from last years horse shows, stuffed under a pile of paperwork. That was enough to bring on waterworks. There are some great pictures in there. Nothing fancy, nothing wow... but a photographic diary of his training progression through the show season. I dearly regret not getting some really good pictures of he and I done last summer... but in truth... when you're sitting on a 5 year old horse... you've no reason to think you don't have years ahead of you. And I didn't think, because he SHOULD HAVE had years ahead of him. I was so looking forward to getting us going over fences, enhancing the flatwork, and he was well on his way to being a fabulous all around horse. Hell, he WAS A fabulous all around horse.
The things I remember crowd my mind, sometimes...
Poly, stepping off the trailer from the track... leading him through the arena to the barn... the instant realization that "he's perfect."
Cantering him...5 days after I got him off the track... in a group of horses... and Poly's decision that "Cantering's work. I'm gonna trot now..." (Yes, yes, this is why he did not make the cut as a racehorse. All Speed, All Talent, No Desire)
Baby, Runty little horse with star and snip, standing in corral of weanlings, million times shorter than anyone else, and the sudden "I want" factor. Yes, that is the runt that became Sprout.
First touching Sprout, sliding a halter on his head in the chute ... Wheeling him in on the shank, patting him for real...
Poly's first trail ride.
Poly's first attempt at walking through a tree. That singular event turned him into the equine bulldozer. "If I can't go under it, I can go through it!". Caused a few near misses for his rider, and plenty of entertainment.
Teaching Sprout to lead. Picking up his feet for the first time (in a box stall.). How quickly he came to like people. He was a quintessential "people person."
Poly's big fat knee. And how rich I'd be, had I bought stock in Penicillin and Sulfa before then...
Poly, falling on the ice on a trail ride. Valentines day 2005. Scary. My knee's never quite been the same.
Poly's rearing stage. Discovered that getting mad, jumping off, and kicking your horse whilst dragging after him by the rein across the yard really does sometimes fix things. Sometimes. Not usually. But Sometimes.
Trail riding alone, only Poly and I in the middle of a deer trail in the middle of the bush.... getting the tree caught under my leg...flanking him before my foot wound up underneath his tail... Poly's disgust that I was hanging off his side with my foot under his tail... as he just continued to walk along. Later, bouncing in place because his back feet were caught up in underbrush... That was probably our most entertaining ride.
My first ride on Sprout. G stopping him in the muskegy willow swales, looking back at me (on Cruise) and asking if I wanted to try him. A 5 minute trot, weaving through the willow swales. His 8th ride.
My first REAL ride on Sprout - our Christmas Morning trail ride. Better than presents. We survived the grouse popping out of the snow.
Walk-canter transitions on Poly. That was a great summer.
Sprout's first show. Peace River. He totally freaked when he smelled the sheep from his stall while the stock dog trials were going on. But otherwise, he was a star - for a greenie :)
So many nights at the barn with Poly... frustrating, joyful, and everything in between. Finally getting our shit together.
Poly's plight with White Line. Heartbreak and tears. And he used yet another of his nine lives. That was the end of his right front foot, though.
Giving up on ever having him consistently sound and rideable, "retiring" my eight year old horse to a friend's pasture, and bringing Sprout down to start on him.
Getting stuck in a snow drift on a big hill in the hay field. Good on Sprout for getting us out of that pickle. The snow in his ears from being sunk headlong in the drift was the most entertaining part. That and having no horse in front of me. Head and neck, Poof!
Falling off Sprout and landing on my head walking through the yard after a great trail ride. And that's what happens when both horse and rider are in la-la land.
SPROUT: A summer of hard work, sweat, a few tears, frustrations, and even exhileration. The magical disappearance of canter leads, first the left.... then the right.... then the left again. Then... we got it together. Steady progression and progress.
My stupid braindead moment... cutting into the tackroom behind Sprout..startling him...the dent that's still in my leg.
His first red (first in Canada), 3 days later, my left leg rather useless... in a class of 19 horses, under a respected judge.
As time went on after that, I saw the things that would have happened had I not lost Singapore that night. I wouldn't have met G &R. Wouldn't have tried to buy Woody. Wouldn't have been talked out of it - by them. Wouldn't have gone looking for another thoroughbred. Wouldn't have pulled Poly off the track a short race before he was destined for a career in an Alpo can. Wouldn't have seen Sprout in that corral of weanlings. Would have never owned the horses that in turn owned my heart, and my soul.
Until six months ago...
Six months ago today, at this time in the morning, I was sitting at home with my stomach twisted up around my ankles, trying to convince myself - again and again - that I was doing the right thing. That I was strong enough to take those last few steps down the path that lost me the 3 things I loved most, outside of my family, in the span of 15 measly days. In a couple short hours from now, it'll have been six months since I stood in the tack room grasping at straws. He could stand on the leg - even long enough for his shoes to be pulled - maybe things weren't as they seemed?
But they were, and shortly after found me standing out in minus-bloody-freezing (-20C or so) next to a suspicious, Sprout-shaped snowcovered mound, my 16.3hh sedated thoroughbred's head shoved thoroughly in my stomach (Apparently, humans are meant to double as a pillow), waiting for the vet to walk out with the final needle. A few long minutes later - not quite the longest in my life, but close - I was salvaging Poly's few remaining tail hairs (the rest having been sacrificed to Border-Collie-Entertainment, because tails are great for swinging off of) and some mane to make up for the lack of tail... and walking away from 5 years of simultaneous joy and heartbreak.
Today there's still grief... and guilt... Guilt for making the decision, and guilt for the relief of not having to wonder - is he in one piece today? In some ways, he had more lives than a cat. There was some truth to my running joke that he was "Chronically lame, but never in the same place twice." And in some ways, spending those 10 days wrapped up in Poly made the first few days after Sprout marginally easier to get through, because I had something else to focus on.
And Sprout, well, I didn't miss the 9th. God forbid I get the relief of not noticing that date. I was cleaning my desk that day, and found a big stack of pictures from last years horse shows, stuffed under a pile of paperwork. That was enough to bring on waterworks. There are some great pictures in there. Nothing fancy, nothing wow... but a photographic diary of his training progression through the show season. I dearly regret not getting some really good pictures of he and I done last summer... but in truth... when you're sitting on a 5 year old horse... you've no reason to think you don't have years ahead of you. And I didn't think, because he SHOULD HAVE had years ahead of him. I was so looking forward to getting us going over fences, enhancing the flatwork, and he was well on his way to being a fabulous all around horse. Hell, he WAS A fabulous all around horse.
The things I remember crowd my mind, sometimes...
Poly, stepping off the trailer from the track... leading him through the arena to the barn... the instant realization that "he's perfect."
Cantering him...5 days after I got him off the track... in a group of horses... and Poly's decision that "Cantering's work. I'm gonna trot now..." (Yes, yes, this is why he did not make the cut as a racehorse. All Speed, All Talent, No Desire)
Baby, Runty little horse with star and snip, standing in corral of weanlings, million times shorter than anyone else, and the sudden "I want" factor. Yes, that is the runt that became Sprout.
First touching Sprout, sliding a halter on his head in the chute ... Wheeling him in on the shank, patting him for real...
Poly's first trail ride.
Poly's first attempt at walking through a tree. That singular event turned him into the equine bulldozer. "If I can't go under it, I can go through it!". Caused a few near misses for his rider, and plenty of entertainment.
Teaching Sprout to lead. Picking up his feet for the first time (in a box stall.). How quickly he came to like people. He was a quintessential "people person."
Poly's big fat knee. And how rich I'd be, had I bought stock in Penicillin and Sulfa before then...
Poly, falling on the ice on a trail ride. Valentines day 2005. Scary. My knee's never quite been the same.
Poly's rearing stage. Discovered that getting mad, jumping off, and kicking your horse whilst dragging after him by the rein across the yard really does sometimes fix things. Sometimes. Not usually. But Sometimes.
Trail riding alone, only Poly and I in the middle of a deer trail in the middle of the bush.... getting the tree caught under my leg...flanking him before my foot wound up underneath his tail... Poly's disgust that I was hanging off his side with my foot under his tail... as he just continued to walk along. Later, bouncing in place because his back feet were caught up in underbrush... That was probably our most entertaining ride.
My first ride on Sprout. G stopping him in the muskegy willow swales, looking back at me (on Cruise) and asking if I wanted to try him. A 5 minute trot, weaving through the willow swales. His 8th ride.
My first REAL ride on Sprout - our Christmas Morning trail ride. Better than presents. We survived the grouse popping out of the snow.
Walk-canter transitions on Poly. That was a great summer.
Sprout's first show. Peace River. He totally freaked when he smelled the sheep from his stall while the stock dog trials were going on. But otherwise, he was a star - for a greenie :)
So many nights at the barn with Poly... frustrating, joyful, and everything in between. Finally getting our shit together.
Poly's plight with White Line. Heartbreak and tears. And he used yet another of his nine lives. That was the end of his right front foot, though.
Giving up on ever having him consistently sound and rideable, "retiring" my eight year old horse to a friend's pasture, and bringing Sprout down to start on him.
Getting stuck in a snow drift on a big hill in the hay field. Good on Sprout for getting us out of that pickle. The snow in his ears from being sunk headlong in the drift was the most entertaining part. That and having no horse in front of me. Head and neck, Poof!
Falling off Sprout and landing on my head walking through the yard after a great trail ride. And that's what happens when both horse and rider are in la-la land.
SPROUT: A summer of hard work, sweat, a few tears, frustrations, and even exhileration. The magical disappearance of canter leads, first the left.... then the right.... then the left again. Then... we got it together. Steady progression and progress.
My stupid braindead moment... cutting into the tackroom behind Sprout..startling him...the dent that's still in my leg.
His first red (first in Canada), 3 days later, my left leg rather useless... in a class of 19 horses, under a respected judge.
Overall High point at our last show. Ending the show season with a HUGE bang.
...cantering over tarps... working through trail equipment ... the tipping bridge... a lot of memories. Bittersweet, now.
Walking him around the arena...past the tractor... thinking that it felt like we were walking the green mile.......
..... I found out... in short order... that we were. Damned colic.
He was supposed to be with me for another 20 years.
Halt-canter transitions on Sprout. Trail rides, cow-chasing, barrel jumping ....
...Cutting Poly loose into a rolling gallop out in the strips in the back of the cow pastures back home... each stride doubling in speed and distance, until the trees were nothing but a blur, blinded by eyes tearing in the wind he created. Power, grace... and a rapidly approaching fence. Thank God for BRAKES!
I'd give anything in the world to head out to the barn tonight, give Poly a hug, and jump on Sprout for a ride.
And today, I woke up really missing them. Both my boys. All 3, really, but mostly, Poly and Sprout. Mostly, Sprout - because he was my future. I had them both for five years, almost to the day. In five years, I'll probably still miss them. Hell, probably even in 10 years.
Maybe writing about it is therapeudic. Maybe not. I guess we'll see.
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Teeming with Maggots...
So... I have to say, I have never quite understood the meaning of the term "teeming with maggots". I get it now.
This is not, perhaps, the best content with which to start out this blogging experiment... but then again, given that I am a born and raised country girl, living the lifestyle despite her residence in "Urbania," with the company of her sheep chasing, horse terrorizing, cat demonizing farm dog, perhaps it is the perfect content. But I would like to disclaim that this is not going to be typical content.
DISCLAIMER: Generally, blog will feature much more normal content! Sheep and dogs and...horses... and... weird stuff we do. Not generally disgusting. Promise!
DISCLAIMER 2: Kind of disgusting, farm related content coming right up. Because only on a farm.......
Tonight, after our agility class (Perhaps I'll blog about it tomorrow), I headed to the barn to drop off my camera so J can video two sale horses schooling rounds at Whitemud (Oddly, I'm going to try and get the afternoon off to go with. Save us some extra video/pictures at home if I can go too).
I left straight from class, and brought Lex along. Rather than leave her in the car... I brought her in. Given that there was a lesson in progress, I felt it wise to borrow one of the resident dog's crates and stuff her in there before heading to the arena, rather than have non-resident dog flaunted to all boarders/lessoners.
So I stuff Lex in - literally. She whined, and then howled, which is abnormal for her, but I figured she was just being clingy - because she gets like that sometimes. Then she was quiet. All seemed good. I head to arena.
40 or so minutes later, I'm ready to collect my dawg and head for home. I open crate. Dog rocket-launches at me faster than a speeding bullet. I stuff her back in her collar, and wonder at that odd smell coming from her. "Lex, did you do something bad in Doodles' crate?"
It should be note that she has never, not once, pooped in a crate. So I wasn't too concerned, but was curious about the oddity that was her scent. I looked in the crate and peered closely at an abnormality. Poo? Nope, doesn't really look like poo... It looks like... Ruh Roh.
I call J over - hey, looks like there's something dead in here! She looks in... Yup, something dead alright.
Five or so days ago, R's teenage boys were out shooting gophers. Doodles enjoys retrieving, despite being a herding breed, NOT a retrieving breed...and she kept a treasure sequestered carefully in her crate. Unknown to us hapless human-folk, of course.
And I, being fairly moronic at times, figured I should see just. how. bad. my dog smelled. So I stuff my nose in her fur. Somehow my stomach stayed where it belonged, but it took work. I won't be doing that again.
And all I can say there, is Thanks God for wash racks. They are not just useful for hosing off a hot, sweaty horse, or bathing muddy ones. They are equally useful for bathing rotting-gopher smell out of dogs. Lex was thoroughly unimpressed, and I was just thrilled that, hopefully, when she dried she'd smell like dog and shampoo instead of something a dog drug in. But truly, my dog was clean(ish), she wasn't going to bring her "the rotting dead" smell into my car, and I was happy again.
At least for five or so minutes.... See...after all this, J disposed of the gopher, and the blanket in the crate...and I helped her take it apart so she could rinse it...and for some reason it never crossed my mind prior to this vision, but it was CRAWLING with maggots. Teeming. It was TEEMING with maggots. Yup, I get it now. My skin is still crawling. We rinsed, bleached, and left the crate to soak in bleach and virkon overnight. Doodles got a bath too. Lex, well, is lucky she didn't get two more. And I will never forget that 5-days-dead = definitely maggots.
I guess I should brush her out - a third time - and then triple check her - a third time - for maggots before we go to bed. Ohhh, YUCK. My psyche can't take this! I am very hard to gross out. I was marginally grossed out before the maggots.
And this, I suppose, is the end of the first seven months with Lex, and the beginning of the next 10 or so odd years (or more, hopefully more!) of what I think perhaps I will call: Life with Lex.
This is not, perhaps, the best content with which to start out this blogging experiment... but then again, given that I am a born and raised country girl, living the lifestyle despite her residence in "Urbania," with the company of her sheep chasing, horse terrorizing, cat demonizing farm dog, perhaps it is the perfect content. But I would like to disclaim that this is not going to be typical content.
DISCLAIMER: Generally, blog will feature much more normal content! Sheep and dogs and...horses... and... weird stuff we do. Not generally disgusting. Promise!
DISCLAIMER 2: Kind of disgusting, farm related content coming right up. Because only on a farm.......
Tonight, after our agility class (Perhaps I'll blog about it tomorrow), I headed to the barn to drop off my camera so J can video two sale horses schooling rounds at Whitemud (Oddly, I'm going to try and get the afternoon off to go with. Save us some extra video/pictures at home if I can go too).
I left straight from class, and brought Lex along. Rather than leave her in the car... I brought her in. Given that there was a lesson in progress, I felt it wise to borrow one of the resident dog's crates and stuff her in there before heading to the arena, rather than have non-resident dog flaunted to all boarders/lessoners.
So I stuff Lex in - literally. She whined, and then howled, which is abnormal for her, but I figured she was just being clingy - because she gets like that sometimes. Then she was quiet. All seemed good. I head to arena.
40 or so minutes later, I'm ready to collect my dawg and head for home. I open crate. Dog rocket-launches at me faster than a speeding bullet. I stuff her back in her collar, and wonder at that odd smell coming from her. "Lex, did you do something bad in Doodles' crate?"
It should be note that she has never, not once, pooped in a crate. So I wasn't too concerned, but was curious about the oddity that was her scent. I looked in the crate and peered closely at an abnormality. Poo? Nope, doesn't really look like poo... It looks like... Ruh Roh.
I call J over - hey, looks like there's something dead in here! She looks in... Yup, something dead alright.
Five or so days ago, R's teenage boys were out shooting gophers. Doodles enjoys retrieving, despite being a herding breed, NOT a retrieving breed...and she kept a treasure sequestered carefully in her crate. Unknown to us hapless human-folk, of course.
And I, being fairly moronic at times, figured I should see just. how. bad. my dog smelled. So I stuff my nose in her fur. Somehow my stomach stayed where it belonged, but it took work. I won't be doing that again.
And all I can say there, is Thanks God for wash racks. They are not just useful for hosing off a hot, sweaty horse, or bathing muddy ones. They are equally useful for bathing rotting-gopher smell out of dogs. Lex was thoroughly unimpressed, and I was just thrilled that, hopefully, when she dried she'd smell like dog and shampoo instead of something a dog drug in. But truly, my dog was clean(ish), she wasn't going to bring her "the rotting dead" smell into my car, and I was happy again.
At least for five or so minutes.... See...after all this, J disposed of the gopher, and the blanket in the crate...and I helped her take it apart so she could rinse it...and for some reason it never crossed my mind prior to this vision, but it was CRAWLING with maggots. Teeming. It was TEEMING with maggots. Yup, I get it now. My skin is still crawling. We rinsed, bleached, and left the crate to soak in bleach and virkon overnight. Doodles got a bath too. Lex, well, is lucky she didn't get two more. And I will never forget that 5-days-dead = definitely maggots.
I guess I should brush her out - a third time - and then triple check her - a third time - for maggots before we go to bed. Ohhh, YUCK. My psyche can't take this! I am very hard to gross out. I was marginally grossed out before the maggots.
And this, I suppose, is the end of the first seven months with Lex, and the beginning of the next 10 or so odd years (or more, hopefully more!) of what I think perhaps I will call: Life with Lex.
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