10 years of Chestnut Mare under my belt… award please?

This week marks our 10^th year together.

A cold but sunny day in January, 2016.

I still remember the day Deli stepped off the trailer like it was yesterday. It was my first-ever emergency vet bill! We struggled for the first year and a half together as I worked with her on the ground, teaching her all the things a polite horse should know. I had trained baby horses before, but it was quite the challenge teaching an ADULT horse who’d had little handling how to do the basic things many horse owners take for granted. We also dealt with injury and illness during that time that put the STRESS in stressful.

Recent road riding around our barn.

But each year things have gotten better. We may be older and creakier with past injuries, but we are partners now. She turns 17 in May the day after I turn 32.

Road riding in February.

This horse is a huge challenge. But she also holds a piece of my heart that belongs to nobody else. Even knowing all the pain and hardship we would face in the past ten years I’d do it all again. I think she came into my life for a reason and vice versa.

I'm looking forward to the next ten years with this beautiful individual.

My husband made her a "mash cake."

Last time: PNER Convention Notes – "10 Things You Can Do Better" by Susan Garlinghouse, DVM, MS
Next time: Sharing my experience of the GHOST saddle prototype I tried out in February.

Happy 16th Birthday!

Today, May 5^th 2015 is Deli’s 16^th birthday. So happy birthday to her! I suppose this means she is now officially an adult. 

What is this "adulting" you speak of?

 Deli has certainly matured mentally over the past year. She has more confidence than ever – or maybe it’s both of us that have more confidence when we ride out alone.

"Cow hill."

 She learned (or at least, did. I suspect she knows these things before she tries them) how to unhook the aisle guard and let herself out today to eat dandelions. She also somehow scraped the skin off her jaw just behind her chin – a superficial but ugly abrasion. I think it’s her way of telling me, like the nice deep gash on a rear cannon she presented me with while I was farm sitting a month or two back, that even in a peaceful barn she’s still going to be accident prone. 

As if the resurgence of her insect allergies wasn’t enough to remind me how special she is.

 But a few scrapes are nothing and easy to doctor. Because, y’know, I’ve developed quite an impressive first aid kit after owning this beastie for over nine years. Yes, that’s right. I’ve had this wonderful creature for over nine years now and I’m looking forward to the rest of her life. A life that I hope will be long and full of only the good kind of excitement. 

To ride a horse is to ride the sky and moments with this horse have made me closer to my own spirituality than any other being I’ve known. So thanks, Deli, for that.

 (And everything else you’ve taught me about myself, you, and horses in general.)

Here’s to your next 16 years!

(And birthday mashes, apples, and udder-rubs.)

<3

2015 is going to be a year of change.

And dernit, I’m going to work as hard as I can to make that positive change, because 2014 was a new low in many respects.

Her expression is much softer now. Pretty pony still takes my breath away after almost 9 years with her.

Deli is doing well after our most recent move, putting on weight despite me dropping her extra weight supplements (mostly alfalfa pellets). This is all due to access to pasture/grass and higher quality hay. Along with this her somewhat saggy hay belly is lifting, and continuing bodywork from her massage-lady reports progress in her overall fitness and topline. She has her stretching regime that she looks forward to (particularly her tail stretches, which are her favorite).

The barn llama is always watching you...

And as of TODAY, we have reached the point in rehabilitation where she gets a bit nuts. This is expected as I have been at this point with my Hawk Mare before. The fitness level is just at that point she has energy and is feeling better such that her mind is very active. But we still have to  move somewhat slower than her hyperactive-but-lazy brain would like.

So, that's fun.

And we also work on straightness. The Crooked Pony hates working on straightness, and lets me know in her typical red-mare fashion. This work is really helping her move more comfortably, however, such that our first time cantering in our long rehab process this week went off without any fuss. Even a month ago there was no way she was going to be able to pick up her weaker lead.

Today we also went on our first official trail ride at the new place. 4.75 miles in just over an hour and mostly at the walk – LSD, go-pony! The footing is, of course, not good for much more than a plodding walk right now, but we did have a few brief moments when we were able to do a bit of trotting. Which Deli was happy to do!

The last stretch - down the long driveway. (And muddy ears because I live in the PNW.)

She was a bit of a dork on the way home and started jigging, which of course meant we got to turn around and do another short loop twice. She knows the drill, but when her head gets in that anxious/excited space she becomes a little airheaded (literally and figuratively).

Roll roll roll in the mud, piggy (itchy) pony.

Altogether, the ride had me grinning. And Deli really enjoyed checking out the new neighborhood and teasing the cattle in the field next to our future conditioning hill. It was perfect to get out and be alone with my horse on this brilliantly sunny winter day and reminded me why I LOVE horses, and my horse in particular, so much.

So here's to new beginnings of every sort, because today I'm in a hopeful mood.

Horses Who Made Me, Part 1

I won’t say I was one of those horse-obsessed little girls, because I wasn’t. I didn't have riding lessons as a young child; I didn’t go to horse day camps or do Pony Club. I didn’t play with horse toys. All the horse time I had was something I sought out myself. On the other hand every time I was around a horse I was happy, and I spent time with them whenever I had the chance. Their size and power fascinated me almost as much as their sensitivity and gentleness attracted me. Always the tomboy, I loved getting dirty and even the smell of a sweaty horse made me feel at home.

What I did get was summer camp. Looking back, summer camp was clearly the way my parents thought they could socialize me properly. It’s true that everything else had apparently failed up until that point. I very much preferred the company of myself and my pets as a child (my introverted parents should NOT have been surprised they had a super introverted and fine-with-it daughter), but I was amenable to the idea of being shipped off to camp and out of my comfort zone if it was a farm camp. With horses. The horses were required – I put my foot down on that one.

So I went to camp, and I loved it. I believe my parents thought my younger sister, who was the social butterfly of the two of us, would have even more fun than I did, but it didn’t work out that way.

The hill overlooking the barn where I spent my days.*

Camp also didn’t cure me of being introverted, but that’s a story for another day. 

I immersed myself in the barn even though there were lots of other activities I could have gotten involved in at Camp. I would wake up before everyone and go out alone to watch the sun rise and sit on the grassy hill overlooking the horse herd and watch them for an hour or two before breakfast. I would watch the herd dynamics, and take notes on what I saw. When the camp counselors came to feed them breakfast I would be there to help, a quiet shadow observing and absorbing everything I saw. I enjoyed some close relationships with particular horses over the years I went to summer camp, eventually becoming an assistant camp counselor myself before I “aged out” in high school.

Camp was the first place I really started taking riding lessons; but my favorite thing by far was riding out into the Trinity Alps on daily trail rides.

There was this ugly-as-sin mare, named Brandy, that I loved riding. She was an ewe-necked, sickle-hocked train wreck of conformation, and she grew hardly any mane and had a pathetic stringy tail. She was easy to identify from a distance, particularly since she was a washed out sandy dun in a herd of mostly bays and appaloosa horses. Brandy was also constantly harassed by the other horses and had a generally grumpy attitude toward life. She would bite if you tightened her cinch too quickly. She would stop and not move an inch (other than curling her lip in distain) if a kid was too rough with her. Brandy was an ex-barrel racer who had been quite successful at the sport in her youth. And though a patient and lovely lesson horse in the arena, I could tell she didn’t enjoy the arena work. The trails were a different story. I had tested into the “advanced” riding level for camp upon arriving (which is probably just an advanced beginner in the normal world – remember I was just a kid), and she was considered an “advanced” horse for the trails because she would occasionally get a bit excited.

I remember my camp counselor – the one I emulated in every way because she was a great horseman and OWNED her own horse (the height of accomplishments!) – teaching me about having an adaptive seat on Brandy. How after much frustration I suddenly GOT it while having a lesson in the arena, and discovered this grumpy old mare with the jarring trot moved off my seat beautifully. I remember trotting around the arena, focusing every single fiber on my being on SOFT SEAT, RELAXED HANDS while still trying to steer with my legs. And then I suddenly found the rhythm, somehow, and Brandy gave a sigh that clearly meant FINALLY and lowered her ugly head. I applied a touch more leg and she cantered. Beautifully. I don’t know what combination made that possible, but this horse with the ungodly comfortable trot had the most comfortable poised canter. And she could do it for days if the rider was quiet enough. If the rider flopped, she would stop and make snarly faces. Luckily, I didn’t flop. It was the first time I cantered on a horse and felt more than just along for the ride.

Sadly, the only photo I could find of Bandy (on the left). It does not show off the majesty of her fugly head.*

Later that week I was taken out in a very small group (again, looking back I think I may have been a favorite of the head horse counselor, because more than once I got to hang out with her and other counselors where I was the only “kid”), and I was given Brandy to ride. We went out on a long trail ride in the mountains, mostly walking. There were points where we got to pick up a faster gait and I remember my counselor turning around in her saddle and telling me that if I felt comfortable I could let Brandy canter since it was her preferred gait anyway. So we did. At first I asked for a slow canter (with my seat). This horse could have cantered in place, I swear, she was that athletic. Then when the other horses cantered I gave her a little nudge and we galloped. At one point we were allowed to canter in front of the group, and I felt like it was just me and her, alone in the world. A wonderful feeling. I felt completely safe and one with that mare. I don’t even remember touching the reins or giving her more than a gentle squeeze with my calves.

I’m sure other horseback riders can attest to this as well, but that trail ride was my first experience with that out-of-body horse-rider connection that we all crave. And when I say out-of-body, what I really mean is IN your body, but a different body than the one you inhabit normally. A more powerful body. A more beautiful body, because yes, Brandy was and still is one of the most beautiful horses I have ever known. There is no way to explain the feeling to those who haven’t felt it; I try and explain it to my husband all the time as part encouraging him to ride more.  

When we were done with the fast part of the ride I remember my counselor laughing and smiling and telling me she has “never seen that horse or you that happy”. She pointed out how Brandy’s ears were loose and relaxed, her neck soft. I guess I was grinning quite a bit as well.

That was the first time I felt the “click”. I’ve been addicted ever since.

Thank you, Brandy, for making an awkward kid who never felt like she belonged in her body, belong to something even better. 

*The crappy photos are scanned from my childhood diary, where I had them taped. I was not classy.

I should really just plan to scrap my plans.

Deli and I really were ready to hit the trails. I promise you: I had it all planned out. I’d charted how many miles we would have to average, on what kind of terrain and what kind of speed, to reach the level of fitness needed for some limited distance rides in spring 2014.

Right after I got her feet trimmed and a chiropractic adjustment for the Red Mare, had hind boots cued for purchase and an appointment scheduled for a saddle re-fit… Deli had another traumatic accident.

Long story short, Deli fell hard in the barn (ironically she’s incredibly agile navigating odd ground out in the pasture or trails) and got back up with a suspected pelvic and/or rib fractures. After the fall she went into serious shock necessitating emergency vet calls and concern that we would have to attempt to get her to the hospital. Luckily some hard core pain killers administered by my vet – who was also quite close to us at the time and was able to get to us quickly – stabilized her. 

After a couple days of stall rest I got the okay to move her out to a tiny paddock constructed in the pasture where the rest of her herd lived. Given the rate of her recovery my vet does not believe that any bones are broken – but just in case she needs to stay in a confined area so she can't make any "violent movements".

It looks like she may be ride-able again someday if I can keep her calm and healthy in her confinement. That's a big IF for a horse that does not do confinement well. I'm just not going to be back in the saddle anytime soon. With best possible results, I probably won’t be starting under-saddle rehabilitation for at least another three months. I’m certain she has several seriously pulled muscles and perhaps other soft tissue injuries as well that will be hard to diagnose while the area around her ribs is so badly bruised. Time in confinement will only serve to make sore muscles stiffer and tighter. We are doing hand walking now, about two weeks after the accident, and she’s doing well. But I can tell she’s frustrated. When I’ve been taking her on hand walks she wants to tug me up the driveway, away from the barn. I’m frustrated too. And disappointed.

It's going to be a long winter.

Her impressive edema makes it look like she's got an alien child brewing in her belly.

I’m also extremely thankful that she wasn’t more badly hurt. This is the third time with Deli that I’ve been faced with the possibility that she might never be ride-able again. Ironically I came to terms with this possibility during her second potentially career-ending injury: her groin pull that led to me starting this blog. It’s too soon to tell whether that is the case in this situation, but I know that this horse has come back from incredibly bad injuries with full soundness. Granted, she takes a lot of maintenance to keep her comfortable, but I’m on board with regular massages and making sure her saddle fit great (to me, these things come with owning and riding an athlete anyway).

Hand walking includes a bit of hand-grazing as well. It's good for the mind and the body.

However I have to ask myself: when is it too much? When has a body been traumatically injured too many times such that it can never come back? I face this same question with my own body every day as I struggle with my own fitness and daily pain. For me, the injuries I sustained when I was hit by a car nearly four years ago feel like insurmountable obstacles. More often than not, moving hurts. Of course, sitting around hurts just as much, so when it comes time to choose I will always choose movement. I hope the odds are more in Deli’s favor because she’s a natural athlete.

This question haunts me because it’s one thing to never know your horse will be ride-able again. It’s another to know that she will be sound for light riding when I’ve been having these dreams of competing in endurance.  I’ve come to terms with her being a pasture-puff. She’s certainly worth it to me even as a pasture-puff “pet”. She has taught me so much about horse ownership (i.e. being a slave to their whim) and riding, and the bond that we have after so many miles and trials with her, demand no less of a retirement for my heart horse. In reality, I never included plans that she would be more than a non-competitive limited distance horse anyway (25-30 mile races). But Deli’s getting older (she will be 15 next year) and losing what fitness she had during this rehabilitation process will be a HUGE setback for her physical comfort. Endurance riders I’ve spoken with about the issue have been encouraging – never underestimate a horse’s ability to heal, they tell me. Be patient, they say.

I’m patient. Just sad and disappointed in this year overall. And filled with that unsettled feeling of well-laid plans set aside. I admit it: I’m a planner. And there is nothing Deli and I like more than an open trail stretching in front of us. There is nothing that makes me feel more myself than moving through the trees with her. 

Now that she is injured I’m finding the same problem I had last time she needed constant care (because this horse won’t let anyone else handle her like she will me when she’s hyped up and in pain): I’m driving a LOT back and forth from the barn, and not riding or walking with her in-hand nearly as much. The time wasted driving, as well as the physical pain driving causes me (due to old injuries), means that I am getting out and running much less. My own fitness and health suffers when this happens. It’s already suffering. Of course, these issues would be solved if Deli lived in my backyard, so one of my solutions has been to really put my head down and try and find employment and connections somewhere where my dream of getting out of traditional boarding barns can be realized.

One thing that really made the difference for Deli when she injured her groin muscle was our move to a barn with serious trails. Instead of riding her through her rehabilitation I hand walked her through MILES of hills on good footing. We probably did about 10 miles of walking together in-hand through the woods every week, ramping up to 15 and then 20; all while I was also doing easy arena work and rehabilitation exercises with her. I have no doubt that the walking in-hand is what saved both of us – it was great to boost my fitness too for when I really started to ride her again. That next summer I conditioned her for an endurance ride I never got to attend because our trailer ride was canceled, and she was absolutely ready for an LD. Of course, at our current barn we don’t have trail access and I’m still trailer-less. The cards just don’t seem to be adding up for us this year.

I’m going to try not to make plans. Clearly making plans is something you do while life sneaks up to stab you in your plan-happy back. 

Someday I would like to make plans and have them happen. I love this mare and I never want to stop having adventures with her. I'd just really prefer our adventures to be out on the trail, forward moving.

When I sit astride her, I soar, I am a hawk.

“He leaps from the ground as if his insides were light as hairs. He’s a flying horse, a Pegasus, breathing fire out of his nostrils. When I sit astride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots on air. The earth sings when he touches it. The lowest part of his hoof is more musical than Pan’s pipe.” – William Shakespeare, Henry V: Act 3, Scene 7.

Horses inspire poetry because they are poetry. Today I sunk my fingers into Deli’s thick chestnut coat and thought: this is what home feels like. This is where I belong when the fear of the unknown threatens to unseat me.

Granted, I’ve been calling lots of things poetry lately. Legal contracts are poetry to me. Every word, and its placement, has meaning in a legal contract.  Horses are a different kind of poetry – an emotional rather than intellectual delight for the mind and body. Maybe we, as humans, need both types. I certainly do.

The things I do for my horse are somewhat less poetic. Today I paid to have Deli adjusted by a chiropractor, and then to have her hooves trimmed. Later this week she will get dental work and my saddle will be re-fitted to her changed shape. 

On top of those expenses, I’ve started running again with feigned gusto. It’s hard work and I’m not a naturally athletic person! I may not have the trail access I want (and arguably need) to condition Deli up for endurance competitions right now, but that’s no excuse for me to not condition myself up.

And hey, look! I’m barefoot and booted too. Like pony, like willing human servant. I’ve found these funny-looking Vibram shoes are my life-line to fitness: I can walk and even run without every step being painful in these shoes. For a while after being hit by that car I feared that I would never be able to hike or enjoy exercise again, given that every step felt like a knife being stabbed into my hip and knee. With these shoes, the only pain I experience is the good kind: muscles burning with fatigue.

Right now? I’m ready for more adventures. I’m ready to keep living the poetry that is belonging to a chestnut Arabian mare.

In other words: I'm ready to hit the trails and pound out some miles. I think Deli is ready, too.