Memory Monday: The Buck Stops Here

Random throwback picture of the SFF as a yearling (two years ago)

This memory monday was quite some time ago and of course, as I get older, the details fade.  I was still in high school and was working at the summer camp.  Traditionally, both the kids and staff were assigned to ride a certain horse for the week.  If a horse was injured or was sore, some horses could be shuffled around to make sure everyone was covered.

This particular morning, my usual steed had been commandeered by someone else.  I looked across to view my remaining selections.

Not much.

Cool.  

I was also running out of time, so I had the hard choice between a very arthritic, ancient Quarter Horse gelding or a tall, 16.2hh Palomino gelding.  I chose the big guy since my group of kids were going to be doing some more trot & canter work and I thought it would be nicer than working the old gelding too hard.

I managed to belly up on the big gelding bareback and caught up with my group that was getting ready to head out.  The palomino felt fine as we meandered out.  He had some time off as he had some off and on soundness issues, so I was a little concerned for his behalf, but he seemed fine.

The lessons in the field went well.  Capture the flag, discussing canter leads, a mini trail ride were all part of the adventure.  I was cantering back when the gelding's head dropped between his knees.

Egads.

Now, I have dealt with a lot of stupid horse behavior, but not so many buckers.  I really didn't have much of a clue how to push one through it.  Rearing, sure.  Bolting, adept.  Spooking, second nature.  Bucking=??

So, it was easily determined in the 2.3 seconds I had to think about it that my steed was bucking.  No saddle though.  This was a big horse in a hilly field.  It was probably going to hurt.

Another friend was nearby on her horse and I remember my desperate plea:  "What should I do?"

I'm not sure what my exact logic was in asking someone else, since I obviously had more immediate goals at the moment.  I remember pushing myself off of his mane and back onto his back for a few follow up bucks and then he settled down without a further peep.

At the end of our ride, I dismounted and ended up laughing as I picked the long white hairs off of my pants.  I literally had stayed on by the seat of my pants.

How about you guys?  Do you remember some of your first encounters with misbehavior in your horses?  How did you handle the situation? 

Memory Monday: The Auction

If anyone reading doesn't know my past, I grew up riding in the camp world on horses that were donated to the program.

As I grew older, I was more involved in their care and networking horses that needed a home as well as helping new horses find their way to camp.

There is an annual horse auction at one of my former universities.  It's usually horses in training that are sold, but they sell lesson horses as well.  I am not quite sure how it happened, but a friend and I decided we should buy a horse and give it to the camp, since they could use another solid horse.

I talked to people involved in the program and picked out one or two that were promising.  However, during the actual auction, the prices went too high. 

Then an Arabian gelding went through.  I didn't know a lot about him, but his rider had said he had been shown in 4H.  He looked cute.  We took a chance and purchased him for a couple hundred dollars.

What did we buy?

His name was Alex.

I had a bridle back in my dorm room, so I hopped on him bareback with this snaffle bridle.  He seemed pretty solid.  He was quick and agile.  I had high hopes and off to camp he went.

Fast forward time (as time always seems to go) and he has been incredible.  The best horse carrying small children on trail rides.  My first choice for leading out horses to the furthest fields.  An ideal horse to learn flying lead changes on.

He has been in the riding program there for nine years I think now.  Barefoot, sound, and full of spunk.

He is 25 now.  I hope he has many more happy years ahead of him!  I'd say he was a once in a lifetime, unintended auction purchase.

Memory Monday: I Can See Clearly Now...

The rain is gone..

Another old memory.  We needed to take the herd out.  They were restless.  It was storming and the paths were getting slick.  The rain pelted us, soaking through the little clothes we had on in the relentless summer humidity.  Oh Midwest, why does it have to be so humid?  Finally, a short break in the storm, but the heavy rains continued.  We were brave folks.  We'd do our jobs regardless.

We needed to go to a farther pasture.  The horses had eaten down all the grass in the close fields.  Time to go further.  I was nervous: a further run and more chance for trouble of course.  Trees to run into, horses to avoid jostling.  They liked to buck and run and trip while galloping out to fresh grass.

I chose a reliable horse.  Several of us liked to call him Meatball, although that really wasn't his name.  Your typical stock horse.  Good gaits and smooth and steady in the herd.  I didn't particularly want to sit a bucking horse on that run in soaking weather.

I bellied up onto his warm, wide back.  He was comfortable to sit on bareback, an added bonus.  He wasn't always the fastest horse, so I decided to sit in the middle with the herd as they went out.  Leading was always my favorite, but this was fine too. 

The horses milled around anxiously in the corral waiting to be released.  The leader left with her steed.  The herd burst forth, like a river overflowing its banks.

I went with them, like another salmon in a mass migration.  My job was fairly simple: make noise and keep the energy of the herd up and moving.  If the herd stopped, stragglers would break off and leading them out would be nearly impossible.

The first few moments of the run went well.  His strong hindquarters bunched up easily underneath him as we set off in a slow canter.  Rain pelted my eyes and made it hard to see.  However, I knew what was next.

I was not a fearful rider, but this moment made me hesitate just a bit.  Part of the path which we needed to take was a fairly steep downwards slope through a gate that opened to another field.  Horses usually would gingerly pick their way through on a meandering trail ride.  However, it was not especially wise to slow down too much down the hill while guiding the horses out.  The gate was narrow and a slow horse would be intimidated, bitten, or kicked by a more joyous free horse, as well as slowing the pace would lose any energy of the herd, causing individual horses to splinter off.  Exactly the opposite of what was desired.

I looked down at the gate, my wet slippery hands trying to grasp my smooth leather reins.  Meatball was ready to do his Man From Snowy River impression.  I sat back and let him have his head.  He would keep himself safe and be smooth and true.  

I closed my eyes.

I felt him sit down on his haunches and slide down the muddy hill.  He kept moving quickly and was at ease with himself in his environment. 

And just as soon as we hit the bottom, I opened my eyes.  He has carried me safely and did his job well, for he was one in his environment and I was determined to be one with him on that wet and wild afternoon.

Memory Monday: Lola

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star
Tony always tended bar
Across the crowded floor, they worked from 8 til 4
They were young and they had each other
Who could ask for more?

When I first started my university education, I joined a horse related club on campus.  While, I didn't show, I enjoyed the meetings.  I had the chance to "foal watch" pregnant mares on campus and fell in love with some of the beautiful broodmares.

There I met Lola.

She was one of the foals born.  Very friendly, sweet, and lazy.  She was a reining bred foal.  

After I left campus, she was gone.  I was told she went back to the person who had her dam.  Sweet little Lola.  I hoped she would grow up and make us all proud.

Then a couple years later, I was in another equine class, learning to draw blood on a very sweet, young two year old filly.  She stood stock still and was patient, quiet, and sweet as I fumbled with a needle, trying to find her jugular under a mountain of hair. 

It was little Lola.

She was growing up.  My understanding is that she had suffered some type of injury, precluding her from athletic endeavors, so she was donated back to the university. 

I graduated, but always wondered what happened to sweet Lola.  I still had great friends that would give me updates on her.

The greatest coincidence happened.  One of my friends was assigned Lola in her reproduction class and foaled her out.

She named Lola's daughter Mandy, after another Barry Manilow song.

But like many good things, they can come to an end all too soon  I think a piece of my heart broke.  She was never mine, of course.  I was just there for her little baby steps and as she grew up. 

I had always hoped I would be able to see more of her foals do well.  Quite unrealistic, but I had always hoped to go find one to breed a nice half Arabian reiner. 

"Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl..."

Sweet dreams Lola.  

Memory Monday: Mother's Day

Two and a half years ago, it was mother's day.

Seemed suitable.

The semi feral mare of course, had to try and break the typical mare rules.  She foaled on day 329 (earlier than "average 342").  She foaled at approximately 8 in the morning.  She foaled with an entire entourage watching.  She foaled during my finals week on my work day for the week. 

Leave it to the mare to try and be difficult.

But she was an excellent mother.  A good memory indeed.

MM: Reflection

As previously mentioned, I grew up riding in a camp environment, primarily western and bareback.

I had a few brief encounters with other disciplines, like the time I went to a Saddlebred barn and rode a 5 gaiter.  But that's a different story.

But in general, just western.  I really didn't have a major understanding of what various disciplines required, since the internet didn't exist (or not as we know it!), so all these other things just existed in books and pictures.  ;)

So one lovely day, a friend was riding a Lipizzaner gelding that been donated.  He was big and noble with a roman nose.  I didn't really understand the extent of his training, but he was a good soul, if not a little goofy.  So when the friend mounted him and took him out in the field, I took another look.

Here was the big, almost goofy looking horse working in tandem with his rider.  She has asked him to give to the bit, round up, and was doing pretty leg yields, collected trots, and half passes.

The beauty of watching the team in motion was something that reverberated to my core.  Two beings truly understanding and communicated and almost dancing.  This gelding looked so much like a cart horse when ridden on a loose rein and let to plunk around with an inverted topline, but just bridled and filled with energy, he sprung up with enthusiasm and beauty and poetry in his steps.

Sadly, the person in question took her life a few years ago.  The gelding died from bastard strangles.  Both were tragic circumstances.  But I try and reflect back to happier days when the sun was shining, all was good and right, and I was truly inspired to look into a different type of world where man and horse could move as one.

What was a horse moment that has truly stuck with you? 

Memory Monday: Jumping In the Deep End

Most people have seen a photo or seven of the filly.  There is one if you haven't.

Well, let's go back a few years.  I wanted to breed my mare.  It wasn't a passing thought and she is a very well bred, proven broodmare.  I thought about my goals and I wanted a "sport horse".  OK, a little ambiguous, but I wanted something that could comfortably do dressage and be shown on the Arabian sport horse circuit. 

A friend and I sat online and chatted for hours about various stallions we liked and pros and cons.  I went ahead and visited a local stallion and was impressed by his accomplishments and his movement.  He was bred for trot, a la Arabian english pleasure style, but had a good strong body and good engagement behind.  

So there you go.  But in talking to the stallion owner, I learned that he was nominated to a futurity program.  The idea being that if the resulting foal was nominated in-utero, it would be eligible to enter this competition and be eligible for payback money.  I was able to purchase the auction breeding (more selective and more potential money to win) and off we went.

Let's fast forward a little.  The filly was born and husband and I still wanted to go to this futurity.

Only problem is I had never even shown a horse in halter.  Ever.

OK, step one.  Found a halter trainer.  Her trainer was kind and focused a lot more on showing sport horses in hand which is cool because really, while I wanted to show at this futurity, I didn't want a horse that would just stand and quiver whenever a whip was present.

OK, at least the horse was getting trained.

My husband went ahead and decided to show her at a schooling show for experience.  He is pretty proud of the fact that he beat other horses, including a young child.  He had actually never even seen a halter class until he showed up that day.  Goof ball.

We packed up the yearling filly, the equipment, and headed out an epic journey.  Unfortunately, the trainer had a conflict so it was just going to be us.  Oh geeze.

You know normal people work on going to schooling shows first and then do say, you know major events later in their career.  I apparently decided to do things backwards.

We survived.  We had good compliments and a few people were very surprised on her breeding as she is bred to be quite an athlete, not just primarily "pretty".  ;)  

I was happy to get through it with the help of a very kind gate keeper and ring steward.  The judges were pretty cool too.  The thing is I am hard of hearing and I didn't realize how much you truly do have to hear to even stand a horse up in the arena, let alone a major event with online streaming and international attention.  So, in a hobbled together kind of way, we made it work.  :)  I didn't place, but it was a very large, very deep class with major money horses.  It also lasted forever, or so it seemed.  I think it was about an hour or so. 

So there you go.  That was my first show and class ever.  I survived, horse survived, and it makes for a good story. 

We did end up showing in another halter class and won.  OK, so we were the only entries...but hey, we were still there! 

How about everyone else?  How did your first show go? 

Memory Monday: Riding Aside

I have had the luck of meeting some cool people on the internet.  When I was in university, I took a leap and packed my bags and headed to Nova Scotia to visit some horsewomen I had just known online.

It was pretty cool.

Up until that point, I had solely been exposed to western riding, riding bareback, and generally, I could stay on pretty much anything with four legs.  Through this group of savvy, helpful women I began learning about other disciplines and cool horsey things they did, like driving, barrel racing, dressage, hunter/jumper, and riding sidesaddle.

One beautiful farm I visited had some wonderful Morgans.

My photo doesn't do this handsome fellow justice

In typical Morgan fashion, these plucky little equines did a lot of everything.  I was offered and had the chance to ride sidesaddle.  

This was a big leap for me.  I didn't ride any sort of English discipline, but I was game.

Look at that look of intensity.  

OK, much less intense here.  Much more clueless.

What a fun experience.  It made me far more acutely aware of balance.  I also realized why people often carry a whip in the offside hand too.  This poor sweet little gelding kept drifting right.  Oops, guess I should be more aware of that left leg, but with the crop and some instruction we figured things out.

I would love to own a sidesaddle horse someday! 

How about everyone else?  Anyone ever try riding sidesaddle?  Or what's the most "different" discipline that you've done?

As for the rest of the trip, I had a great time.  So great, that I went back and would love to go back again.  Too bad, I have more of a clue this time around how to ride some of these great horses properly this time.

I also blame this trip for bringing the idea of switching to English up in my brain.  Definitely not a negative thing and I have no regrets!

Memory Monday: Like A Fish Out of Water

Last winter, I had a really enjoyable task set before me: I had the pleasure of helping a friend search for her first horse.  I love horse searching because I like the chase of a good find, but more importantly, if I am helping someone else search, then I am not doing the actual buying.

Very good indeed, especially from the point of view of my pocketbook.

So last winter, the goal was to find an eventer and I dutifully sorted through all kinds of classifieds, memory of random horses I knew, and more.  I had found a couple promising leads in a nearby state so one day, I got off early from work and off we went.

The gelding of interest was a seven or eight year old Thoroughbred.  I don't really remember the details, except he was supposed to be a nice mover, experienced at jumping, and was in the expected price range of an eventer.

As I found out, there were several surprises on this trip. 

The first one was when we pulled into the barn.  We had been to several other barns already and I have been in a plethora of facilities over the years.  However, this one was different.  It looked like a movie set with perfectly groomed paths, plants, and the rare well groomed and blanketed horse standing in a all weather paddock.  Never mind, that it was the middle of winter in the Midwest. 

We were escorted into the barn which was heated to a temperature warm enough that I felt compelled to peel off the five extra winter layers I was wearing.  Then I noticed the custom artwork on the walls of the barn.  This was the first barn I've ever been in with leather furniture and artwork in the barn aisles.  It was absolutely magnificent. 

And I was more than outclassed at that point in my work clothes complete with barn jacket and winter boots. Nevertheless, we continued on as my friend tried out the horse.  I made myself cozy in the enormous indoor arena, settling like a lizard under the heat lamp.  This was also the first heated indoor I've ever been in that had heat lamps available for spectators.  Amazing.

Another spectator made himself comfortable next to me, as he watched a lady school a upper level dressage horse in the indoor.  He kindly told me that the attached lounge had a Keurig and bagels if I was hungry.  Well, I do share an insatiable love of coffee and food, so I wandered in to look at the surroundings.

As expected, the lounge was majestic.  Leather furniture, beautiful artwork, carefully placed magazines made for another picture perfect image.  Were there really horses on this property? 

I carefully stirred my coffee and enjoyed flipping through a few magazines.  I was a little surprised when another person stopped in, introducing herself politely and asking me if I was capable of using a Keurig or if I'd ever seen one before.  I was a little surprised.  I wasn't Keurig class that day.  :) 

I do actually own and use a Keurig at home.

That aside, I made myself back at home under the heat lamp, basking away happily while videoing the bay Thoroughbred.  My lizard like happiness was once again interjected by another visitor asking me if I needed help finding someone and if I had something to do. 

Note to self: dress code is a little more formal than I had expected.

Back to the Thoroughbred.  He ended up being a bit of a strong horse.  Maybe more like a runaway nut.  In such a pristine environment, he was a difficult ride and seemed out of place.

On the positive side, I did happen to see the cutest short stirrup pony.  I was informed by the other spectator that it was one of the top ones in the country.  Good thing I have good taste in coffee and ponies.

My curiosity got the best of me when we were back driving home.  How much for such grandeur? 

$1200 a month, not including extras.  

Egads. 

Back to the semi feral life for me.

Memory Monday: Another Good Horse

I tend to write as if I am accident prone.  Or just lucky.

And now that I think about it, that is probably the case.  

It was summer.  The herd was in a far off pasture filled with several steep hills.  I don't remember why I chose the horse I did.  I think it was because he was new to the herd and easy to catch.  The older ones tend to get a little smarter and go hide in the trees instead of waltzing up to you like "Hey, you got a carrot?"

But I do remember scrambling up and down some of those hills.  The horses were being obnoxious and were more like herding cats that day instead of herding cattle.  I could see his bright copper ears perked forward.  He enjoyed this job.  I was happy to see him settling into the herd.  

A few gnats settled down on his ears and he shook his head.  Oh crap.  This gelding just had one of those heads that crownpiece would slide right off.  And off it slid. I froze for a second to see what would happen.  He ambled along, just doing his job.  I waited to see how long he would hold the bit in his mouth.  He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was pretty much free to do the whole Man From Snow River Impersonation without any say from me.

But he didn't.  He was a good boy and quietly stopped.  I managed to reach forward and wrangled the bridle back onto his head and finished the job.

Note to self: different bridle for that horse.

Secondary note to self: How on Earth do I manage to have these experiences?

Memory Monday: In the Presence of Masters

A year and some months ago, I was a lucky person.  It came about by being friend with an even luckier person that wins a lot of things.  Seriously.  I have never won a raffle or drawing to save my soul, but J does.  But as it comes about, it has its perks.

See, J and I had attended the horse fair together and entered every drawing we could pretty come come across.  My husband came along too with the sole purpose of trying to win things (and I'm pretty sure, to make sure I wasn't whipping out the credit card).  Husband went and had labels all printed up with the information for the three of us so we could go entering contests in record style.

But as it turned out, only J won that year.  As I recall, won two drawings.  One, however, was a breeding to a stallion that she didn't use.  But the other drawing was for attending a symposium.

I am not sure I had ever been to an official "symposium".  Clinics, sure, but I had no idea what was in store for us.  It was supposed to be similar to a clinic with live horses working in various disciplines with "masters" interacting and teaching the riders, but more importantly interacting with the audience and showing us cause and effect on these horses and what we could do at home with our own horses, our own habits, our own lifestyles to improve whatever the scenario was.

I also didn't really know most of the people presenting.  OK, so I had heard of Richard Shrake and Lynn Palm.  I had vaguely heard the name Gayle Lampe referred to by the saddleseat folkst of the world.  But sadly, I had to google who Denny Emerson was. 

I was really missing out there.

The symposium was wonderful.  The hosting facility was beautiful and it was neat to see a mixture of saddleseat horses, dressage horses, eventing horses, hunters all being critiqued and educated by four people across disciplines.  Multiple forms of input and even Gayle with her masterful saddleseat knowledge could look at the hunter and offer some suggestions in fixing a little of this.  Lynn Palm was pretty insightful showing how correct saddle fit affected the movement of a pretty little gelding, and so forth.

But by far, my favorite part was talking to the "masters" during dinner.  J & I were a little shy.  It was just the riders, the hosts at the farm, the masters, and ourselves at this dinner and I pretty much wanted to be a fly on the wall.  I am not usually outgoing in a lot of situations and this was a good example of one where I didn't know how to go about and say anything. 

But the farm host was very sweet and gracious.  She tracked down Richard Shrake, sat J & I down and told us to go ahead and talk.  OK, that's cool.  Now what.

But he was a very nice guy.  I don't know a lot about his industry since I don't really participate in the stock horse side of things, but I could appreciate the candid conversations we had about the state of the horse industry, past trainers, our current horses, where the horse industry was going and so forth.

We ended up talking to Denny Emerson at some point as well and he was great.  I have to say, I think he is my absolute favorite of the crew to talk to.  Anyone that can break his neck and then be back on a horse in their 70s is my hero.  There are some days that I have to think about crawling up on a horse in my mid twenties.  Talk about an absolute idol.

But he was very candid and humorous as well.  We talked about how he did the Tevis cup.  He really likes referencing how doing endurance on an Arabian is like pole bending without the poles.  Probably true some days!

He was pretty insightful about offering his opinions on the increase in falls in cross country.  The decline of riders overall.  The lack of horsemanship seen in different situations.

I came away with a whole new respect for someone I had just briefly met!  I then discovered his book "How Good Riders Get Great" and enjoy reading that as well.  Almost as good is subscribing to his updates on Facebook.  He is certainly is a person with opinions, but a lifetime of experience to back it up.

Plus, how often can I say I met a Gold Medal Olympian?  Ok, not too many.  However, an algebra teacher in my old school was a bronze medal wrestler if that counts.

Back to the subject.

Lynn Palm was also very passionate during dinner which was interesting.  She could seem a little more distant during parts of the symposium, but during dinner she was very involved in all the conversations.  The Rita Crundwell/Dixon embezzlement case had just broken, so we were all discussing that for a while.  Some interesting insights on that.

But what was sad to me was how candidly abuse in the show ring was being discussed at the dinner table.  I mostly follow one breed circuit and there is a very bad rap for aspects of it, but just listening from multiple stock horse judge's perspectives (Shrake and Palm) about finding people just causing bloody marks on horses and so forth in warmups and stewards or new judges looking past it due to intidimation.  How much "credit" do you have to have in an industry before you can be like Lynn who stepped in (while on a judging assignment) and told a person that it wasn't appropriate, while the other newer judge with her was clearly uncomfortable and didn't want to exist.

Gayle Lampe was also adorable.  I don't know how else to describe her.  Her absolute zest for all things saddleseat and educating the majority was easy to see.  She brought some beautiful footage of Saddlebreds and was more than happy to talk to all of us about them.  Plus, she has such colorful phrases.  I wish I could remember them all, but my favorite was talking about a lower intro type show horse as being a "nickle pickle" type of horse.

A "nickle pickle" horse

Love it.

I also had some insight on J's mare's pedigree.  She is a half Arabian/half Saddlebred and while I know the Arabian side, the Saddlebred side was news to me.  Good news is that that side had a very famous, very athletic stallion.  Bad news is that he was a bit of a handful.  I say that lightly.  Apparently he required multiple people to handle at any point on the ground.  Egads.  Good thing J's mare is a very sweet, former youth show mare.  :)

So, quite the memory from a happenstance.  It was a great weekend adventure and good thing I have a lucky friend to take me along on such adventures!

Denny Emerson and Richard Shrake center

Memory Monday: The Compromise

It seems that a lot of my memories are about falling off.  And that's true, because they all seem to be memorable occasions.  Good thing there aren't that many falls, so folks, there will have to be a new topic on Mondays.

But without further prolonging my inevitable agony.

Remember Alex, the cute Arabian gelding I liked to ride?  Yeah, he is once again the star of the show.

It was a run out to the far fields again.  Alex loves to lead and so leading we were.  The thing about leading is that it's not always as simple as it seems.  A fast enough pace must be maintained to keep the horses from slowing down and grazing, but slow enough that the slower horses don't wonder where the leader went and quit running.

Add in a further run and fields with some grass between point a and point b and the level of difficulty increases.

So, off we went as leaders.  Unfortunately, I lost half of the horses partway through and had to turn around and run back to the field where we left half the herd

.  Part of the run was through a heavily forested area.  There were clear paths that the horses often took with thousands of hoof print etching themselves onto the roots.  There was one fork where someone could turn left or right and essentially go around the same tree.  

Not the actual tree

I wanted to go left.  Alex wanted to go right.

We compromised.

And hit the tree dead on at a full gallop. 

I don't actually remember hitting the tree.  I remember the "Oh crap" thought about .02 seconds from impact.  I then remember hearing my walkie talkie crackle with people asking me where I was.  I am fairly certain that there was a time lapse in between.  Actually I know there was lost time. 

To my amazement, Alex was still standing next to me waiting.  I jumped on and we continued our run back out and finished the job.  Little did I realize later with the one heck of a back-and-headache what had actually happened.  Then, the following day, an astute kid pointed out there was a hoofprint on my sweatshirt, which happened to be the one I was also wearing the day before.

What is with horses stepping on me??

But my sage advice is this:

When you come to a fork in the road with a horse and there's any sort of speed involved, let the horse pick!  Compromise isn't always a winning solution.

Memory Monday: I Spotted A Problem

And it was an Appaloosa.

Don't get me wrong.  I think Appaloosas are adorable in an old grandpa type of way.  I love their crafty, thinking ways.

But this particular day in my life, there was a particular spotty problem in that leopard Appaloosa gelding.  I needed a comfortable horse to ride to go check the fences and gates on the pastures.  There is quite a bit of acreage and I was going out bareback with a pair of friends.  My friends had chosen a couple of my favorites: an Arab and an Arab cross, so I settled on the Appaloosa.  He had a smooth canter and gallop and had a wide, flat back which is much better than riding a shark finned, narrow horse.  If you've never had the luxury of riding a shark finned horse bareback, try it once.  You probably won't try it again without some extra padding.

So Appaloosa in hand, I mounted comfortably, clipping a walkie talkie to my belt.  We typically carried walkie talkies while out and about in the far recesses of pasture in case of emergency or trouble, we could radio up for help.  No big deal.

Or in this case, it did end up being a slight problem.

I comfortably galloped along with my friends and realized my horse was a little fat and slow compared to the Arabians.  It was OK though.  It was a beautiful May day and my spotty fellow was trying his hardest to catch up.  And then the problem.  My walkie talkie dislodged from my belt and started falling through the air (or possibly accelerating towards the Earth in a way that would make my physics professors proud).

The Appaloosa spotted this out of the corner of his left eye.  What then transpired was something like this.

I too, apparently needed a lesson in the laws of physics and the effects of gravity on my mass.  I remember thinking on how much that was going to hurt before hitting the ground and seeing his bedazzled hiney six feet away before I hit the dirt.  He took off towards the other forty acre pasture like my coworkers leaving work after a twelve hour shift. 

Too bad it was a nice warm May day and the dirt couldn't have been say...a little softer than rock hard.

What then transpired also belonged in a cartoon.  As I lay there trying to figure out where my arms and legs were, as I had somehow landed in a pretzel formation, I realized something.  He was back.  Oh cool, my ride was back and I wouldn't have to hoof it all the way back on foot.

Or not.  He was back already.  Back long enough to run me over and then run away again.  No lie, I still have an indentation on my calf where he hit me and then he took off.  

Fortunately, he did catch up to those Arabians in the other field and my friends realized that there was a horse without a rider and came back for me.  I got back on and we rode again, finishing up our jobs.  At the end of the ride, we stood talking with a neighbor who was lameting about her new horse: a half Arabian.  She eyed up our mounts, stating on how she would definitely prefer to ride the one I was on.  Hah.  Too bad I wasn't too witty at that moment.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I did have a fairy severe concussion that I paid for the next morning, along with realizing how classy my road rash and bruises were.  I also learned what one of the functions of the cerebellum is, as I apparently bruised it.  My lack of coordination was more than a little amusing.  But hey, I always got the questions regarding the cerebellum right in my later anatomy and physiology classes...

So there you go.  Once upon a time, I spotted a problem when my spots spotted another problem in the form of an innocent walkie talkie.

How's that for a tongue twister. 

Memory Monday

It was a warm, sticky day in July.  The air hung heavy with humidity, but not as heavy as my eyelids.  I was in a new relationship and had spent too many hours up talking late into the night and not too many hours sleeping in my sagging summer camp cot.  I was a wrangler, riding hours each day and teaching dozens of children, leading numerous trail rides for campers, outside groups, and girl scouts. 

And this was ride number four of the day.  I looked across the group of horses and selected a small bay mare.  I liked to rotate horses so the favorites weren't used as much and so I settled on Ana.  She didn't have much in the way of redeeming features in my opinion, since she was a bit scrappy and prone to either biting other horses at will or throwing in a small, happy buck.  But she hadn't been ridden that day, so Ana it was.  She, in typical feisty fashion, had gotten into a scrape and had a bite mark in her cinch area, so she couldn't be saddled.

No worries.  I hopped onto her bareback and was ready to head out on the ride.  The group wasn't my favorite, but I wasn't paid to give my opinions, so everyone was safely settled aboard their steed and out we went.  I decided to lead, as I yawned and scratched Ana's neck.  The group was quiet and we set about enjoying the scenery of a green Wisconsin forest.  The horses quickly snatched leaves from the trees as we meandered and ambled. I yawned again and then urged Ana back forward.  She was leading and I would prefer her to keep her mind in the game and not be too enthusiastic about this task.

A moment later I looked up at my surroundings.  We were heading back towards the home trail.  What the??  I thought we had just headed out moments before and then I quickly checked my watch.  No, somehow I had managed to lose a good twenty minutes.  Twenty minutes?  How had I managed to not be aware of the time and trail for twenty minutes? 

I realized that I had managed to fall asleep.  On a horse.  Bareback.  On a horse that occasionally bucked.  How was this even possible?

I still don't know.

But I smile warmly upon that summer day when things were simple, riding was all I needed to do, and in desperate times, a nap could be had on the back of a little bay mare.

Love A Little Love

Some memories are incredibly precious.  Here is one and just in time for the holiday season is a fuzzy tale to warm our hearts.

It's about a princess of a red mare named "Love".  My part in this story began when I was in school.  I was not an equine science major or anything along those lines, but for kicks and giggles, took the  intro to fences riding course my senior year, last semester.  Perfect for a senior in full throes of senioritis.

One other back story here.  I have a bad left knee (among other things).  That was a horse injury, but it meant that some horses were much more difficult to ride than others due to the jostling in a rough trot.

The original horse I had been assigned to ride had a bit of a brutal trot and I thought I would possibly die or at least saw off my leg if I had to keep riding him, so I was reassigned to a chestnut mare that I would later know as Love.

What I would also learn is that Love, while smooth gaited didn't really know anything about fences.  We did some interesting type maneuvers in that class, while not always clearing said obstacles. But still, I could tell she was a good mare and had been well trained, if not misunderstood at the school.

I graduated and moved with the Semi Feral Mare in tow, but never forgot the red mare.  I had a friend still at the university keeping tabs on her.  The thing is, that many people don't realize is that university horses are just another piece of property.  It depends school to school on how they get rid of them, but most are pretty slick and just call up a horse dealer/seller/whatever and off they go.  Some just dump the horses at auction with no information and so forth.  There is no calling the donator to see if they want said horse back or offering the horse for public sale or whatever, which is a shame because so many of these horses were high end horses at one point.  I knew this and am a bit of a soft person, hence trying to keep in the loop on what was occurring.

Well, I got my chance.  Fortunately, my friend had heard that the red mare's days were numbered.  I also happen to have some of the best friends that are also a little soft, so between a group of women, we managed to get the mare paid for, transported to my new boarding barn, have a place to live at said boarding barn in exchange for doing lessons, and so forth.  Amazing how quickly things can come together, as if it were meant to be.

I should also say, I had found out after I graduated who this mare was.  She was a mare that one wouldn't think would be casually discarded, having won many ribbons up to the National level.  Safe, sweet, sane, and sound.  I also managed to find her owner who donated her to the university and I realized that she had no idea what happened to donated horses.  She was and is still incredibly helpful with everything regarding her youth show mare.  She thought that this mare would be an incredible lesson horse since she had a lot to offer, which was true, but often donated horses are at a whim of a certain person's approval or disapproval and it seems that the red mare didn't fit the desired look of the university herd.

Also falling into place was the fact that my best friend J (who keeps making regular appearances on this blog!  Soon she'll have to do a guest entry or something, geeze) was working in the area for the summer.  Since I now had three horses and not much time...could she please come ride?

A couple days after she came down from the university.  She began to literally brighten up with her new surroundings.

I'm sure everyone can guess what happened.

It's hard to not fall in love with a horse named Love.  J took her home.

This past summer, Love returned to the Class A Arabian show ring with a person who had never shown at the recognized level.  Actually, correct that, she carried two people into the show ring: one being her owner and the other myself.  She came home with ribbons and looked so incredibly different than when I first met her in the muddy school field.  She was regal, proud, and majestic.  She strutted and danced. 

See Clueless rider. That would be me.  ;)  Her owner is a lot more competent I think. 

What a star of a mare who almost ceased to exist. 

And that my friend is such a precious memory and who couldn't love a little Love?

Thank you to everyone who helped with Love's rescue, placement, recovery, and continued endeavors.  I am so grateful to have been a part of this. 

Memory Monday: Why Balance Is Importance

Instead of "one time at band camp", it seems to progress to "one time...at summer camp..."

And this Monday, it's no different.  However, this memory was the day I realized that having good balance and a good seat was important.

See, I had subconsciously started to figure this out when I was younger and more stupid and willingly rode horses that needed some fine tuning.  Perhaps fine tuning is attributed too much to me as a riding, since it's implying I had some mad skills.  More like, I was the WD-40 that woke the horses up and asked them to please not try and be idiots on a daily basis.  Just please walk, trot, canter and go the direction you are asked with the proper number of hooves on the ground and in a period of suspension at the correct time.  Nothing more, nothing less.

So back to the story.

It was time to go round up the herd again.  Being horses, they eat a lot and there are lots of fields to send them out to graze upon.  Some are closer, some further.  The one involving the little Arab was a close field.  The one on this particular day: not so much.  It was pretty much the furthest point that one could go. 

However, the horse staff did get a little wiser.  If the fields were close, we would walk out on foot and catch a wiley steed which could be entertaining in forty-plus acres of woods at any point and time.  This location was so far that we had left some horses back in our home corral so we could saddle and ride out in the morning.  Saddles were also a new idea, but not a bad one considering we had chosen some "interesting" horses to leave behind, as it wasn't always fair to use the steady eddies.

I don't remember who I had originally rode out the night before, but it was a pretty reasonable horse.  My friend had chosen and rode out an off the track Thoroughbred.  I love them.  They are pretty cool, but understandably, can occasionally loose their marbles galloping in a large group until pretty well schooled.  This Thoroughbred was in the not-yet-well-schooled category.  Friend had saddled him up and on the way out, realized that this may be a bad idea. 

I try to be a nice person, so I offered to switch.  I reflected about 35 seconds later that may also be a bad idea.  After all, I had already had a major concussion earlier that summer.

Too late for second guessing oneself, right?

The group and I cruised on out to go find the herd of horses.  The saddle on my steed was a little uncomfortable and in typical lazy Semi Feral fashion, I hadn't bothered to adjust the stirrups.  Who the heck needs those.

The herd was eager to come in and pretty quick.  Some days, they move slower than oxen in Texas heat, but not that morning: unfortunately.

Steed and I spent a mile or two galloping mostly at a 45 degree angle to anything we were intending, exerting way too much effort for the task at hand.  I did find myself for once wondering why I didn't have stirrups.  Eh, just an afterthought.

At the end of the ride, I slid off the big gelding and realized something.  Somehow in the chaos of the morning, the cinch hadn't been knotted or done up properly.  I hadn't checked it when I got on because I had assumed original rider had and you know how these things go.  What I found was just a latigo run through a couple of times, giving the semblance of a cinch being on the saddle, but just barely.

It was the equivalent of one of those fancy belts on dresses actually serving a purpose. 

My next thought was how on earth was the saddle still on the horse?  We had galloped up and down a few hills, did a mile or two (or seven as I imagined in my overly active imagination), and not on an easy ride.  Someone else proudly exclaimed that it was the mystical term "Balance".

So, perhaps on that day, I found out why being balanced on a horse is important.  Of course, at that point I wasn't thinking beyond "Cool, I didn't get another concussion."

I also insist on trying to bring my own luck in these situations too. 

One more stepping stone on my path to someday being a good rider.  ;)  

Star Runner

This may be longer than a typical post and I'm sorry if so.  I haven't planned this out yet.

But it seems appropriate on Memory Monday to introduce another major character in my life, my sweet mare Star.

She was a gift my grandmother and father and I never had the chance to say thank you enough.  There's always something about your first horse.

But I learned a lot.  Growing up, I worked with a lot of horses with issues: buckers, bolters, rearing horses, herd bound, body sore, etc.  But I never usually had one that didn't know a lot, but was a gentle soul.  Star was that type.  She didn't do force, like many Arabians.  The more you forced, the harder she was going to hand it back to you.  I had unfortunately learned a little bit more of force with dealing with some thick headed horses and dealing with their vices.

I learned about introducing a horse to water crossings.  She just didn't know.  Patience won out and she became quite reliable about crossing water.  The photo above was her first introduction.

A short time later, she was quite reliable.

Like many teenaged girls, I liked to dress my horse up a little.  She wore plastic bags on her feet, a rain slicker and a helmet.  Safety first.

And I was able to keep learning.  We did a sanctioned trail trial, which was pretty cool.  I had never done one before and didn't know what to expect and it was my first time taking her out by myself.  It was hot, but we survived and we learned.

Unfortunately, I went to university in another state and wasn't able to bring her back with me.  It's always something I regret.  But at the same time, I know she was well cared for by my family.  

I went back on summer break and decided to do more typical things I thought would be fun like jumping.

And Star obliged.

Don't think she was push button, because she wasn't.  But she was always enough of a challenge to make me think a little, but not dangerous to play around with.

But unfortunately, I had to face reality at some point.  She had Degenerative Joint Disease in a knee that was affecting a hind hock.  Soundness was a concern at time. 

So I focused more time on just hanging out.  I decided one summer that I wanted to teach her to do a turn on the forehand.  Should be easy enough, but I didn't grow up on horses that knew lateral work.  My usual experience with horses while younger was trying to do variations of walk, trot, canter, and gallop with bareback in a large herd being the ultimate goal.  I was actually in college before I ever actually rode a horse that knew any kind of lateral work at all, so I was quite smitten with the idea of a turn on the forehand (or haunches, or leg yield, but I digress).

So turn on the forehand it was.

And so I diligently taught her how to do such a turn on the ground.  Then one day, I climbed aboard when she was feeling spry and gave it a go.  Much to my amazement the button actually worked.

I wish I could say there was an idyllic happy ending and she is in my backyard now hanging out.  But heartbreak and horses often go hand in hand.  I regret not being there, but I'd like to think she still knew of my love and kindness.  

So sometimes, it's just another lingering memory of a first horse.  A sweet horse to whom I owe much experience in lessons of compassion and horsemanship.

Thank you Star Runner

1991-2012

Flying Without Wings

Cliche I know.

But it's true.  I like to look back retrospectively and I found myself thinking about the few times I've jumped.  It's on my bucket list to get another jumper, but seeing as how my current horse has had a good ligament injury, hock arthritis, and a sprain/strain/fracture in the hind end in the past few years, it's safe to say that anything over cavaletti is probably off the list.

So interjection over.

I wrote the other week on how I accidentally jumped Alex over the log wall.  I suppose that was probably one of the first times I jumped.  I'm trying to remember.  I think I had rednecked it before that with a bamboo pole and some buckets, but nothing seriously.

While in college, I had the chance to take a riding course.  Part of the course was an introduction to fences.  Cool, right?

Well, I rode a half Arabian mare which was right up my alley.  Only part not up the alley was the fact she'd never been over fences.  Our jumping was often more of a skitter, plunge and go through the obstacle rather than over.  In my own world, I would have just let her go through a jump chute or something on her own without the WTF frog human on her back to figure out how to do her job since clearly, I wasn't going to assist her in it.  She was also a horse that preferred to canter over a jump.  When my professor was inside giving a final exam to other students, I finally just let her canter over some jumps outside and we got something more respectable like this.

The human aspect of it still sucks, but hey, I was kind of used to trying to hit the poles or more often than not, stopping and stag leaping.  I realize now that it probably would have helped if I didn't have an incessant problem of looking at the ground.  I still have that problem.  

Along the same vein, I have (had?) an awesome friend/mentor/etc kind of person that suggested I play hooky one nice day to go ride.  I was a good student and I think I can count the number of times I can skip class then...on one hand.

But no regrets.

This horse is a saint.  Ask anyone.  What a good first horse to jump cross country on.  

Then during finals week, this was an appropriate way to study.  I had a riding final right?

Best finals week ever.

And a great memory.  I hope at some point that jumping can be more than a memory.  I certainly appreciate the technical side of dressage and have realized that fixing my posture, lack of core strength, bad habits (looking down anyone) and so forth is so critical to my success as a rider, but there is something to be said about the sheer enthusiasm and skill it takes to navigate fences.  All I even did were baby ones and I still appreciate it more than ever.

So who knows.  Maybe the little feral filly will take a fence or two.  :)

At a month old: "I'm not sure about those stripes."

 

Memory Monday

The Auction Horse

In 2006, I bought my first horse at an auction.  Technically, a friend held up the bidder's card, but I wrote the check, which same friend later reimbursed.  We purchased him to donate to a summer camp at which we were working as they needed a few more solid, dependable horses.

Meet Alex

I am sure I will have many stories about Alex on the blog here over the years, but I suppose I should just tell one for today.  Alex is a purebred Arabian gelding who had been shown in the 4H level and done a bunch of trails.  He's a solid, good natured in a hyper Arab way kind of guy.  And I love him quite a bit.

The summer camp has theme weeks which a special "theme" day once a week.  Western week is when all the crazy men and women who work with the horses get to shine as we introduce the horses all to camp, usually with a storyline of how bandits are in camp and we need to catch them.

Pretty fun game.

Usually.

It takes a special horse to handle the hoopla of three hundred plus children and assorted staff talking, interacting, and being around you at once.  I thought Alex would be up to the job.  Plus, he is a fast fellow and perfect for chasing a bandit or two.

So on cue, we raced onto the "stage" which was a built up wall next to the waterfront.  The bandits had been stealing the flag or something along those lines.  I don't really remember that part.  We did our best chasing impression as the children were herded backwards, flying across the built up "stage".

Visual prop here.  Different year, same stage

Coincidentally, Alex is on the far left again.  He gets drafted a lot for these events.

See how there is a rock wall in front.  Well, I knew that part.  What I forgot is that there is a rock wall for a couple feet on the far edge that curves around.  So imagine taking off at a quick canter and looking down and realizing something.

There is a rock wall.  I panicked.  I had no idea if Alex could jump or not.  I just thought I was going to get shishkabobbed on the western saddle in a dirty stop.

But Alex's version of the event was something more like this.

Well this is interesting.  All these tiny humans looking at me.  Look we get to run.  I love to run.  Look at my tail when I run.  Oh look!  Something to jump.  What is that person looking at up there?  Who cares?  Let's run AND jump.  Hurray!

And that was that.  So, by being unobservant I managed my first cross country jump in a western saddle on an Arab in front of an audience of almost four hundred people.  

Memory Mondays

I always enjoy telling stories, however, I always worry when I begin to forget those memories that were so vivid, so potent, and so incredible.

So I am trying to create "Memory Mondays"where I post a memory.  Fun ones, sad ones, and those that I just like to share.

Hope you enjoy.  Let me know what you think and share some of your own.

(Back story:  I volunteered/worked over the years at a summer camp where horses are run/lead in and out of large grazing pastures in the evening when the work was done)

Running the Herd

I was still young.  I remember being a little apprehensive about running the herd, so this must have been after my first fall.  Not just first fall while galloping a horse bareback in a large thunderous group, but first fall ever.  Don't worry self, there would be more to come. 

I remember sitting and looking across the corral to decide who were were riding.  Some of the other people must have taken pity on me.  I remember the hour was going later and it was getting dark.  While we were checking gates earlier, the sun had begun to set.  I remember sitting atop a horse on a tall hill and looking all around at the world's most beautiful panoramic picture.  Just an incredible sunset full of vivid colors that were just surreal.

I selected my mount.  He was a little Arabian gelding: chestnut with white feet.  Comfortable, small enough for me to get on bare, and very smooth.  An ideal horse to take the herd out in because he was so utterly dependable.  So Louie, it was.

As we opened the gate of the corral, dusk had fallen.  The pasture was close-by that we needed to get to, but still we had to push, or the horses would never leave the home corral.  So off we went.  I was in the middle in a perfect introductory-to-running-in-a-big-herd kind of way.  We galloped smoothly across the home field, up the hill, across the camp road, and up the main path.

I remember it getting dark enough that I could barely see Louie's ears.  I asked him quietly to keep me safe.  He kept on, smoothly and steadily.

As I looked around, grasping to see anything in the darkness, I saw an incredible display.  Sparks flew from where horseshoes hit the gravel on the path.  I could see little glimmers through the darkness lighting a path to our destination.

And then we arrived, safe and sound a few moments later. 

Louie had kept his promise and had given me a short, sweet, yet long lasting ride.  Thank you old man for letting me see that in the darkness, there will be light.