The Little Things

It's the little things I miss the most. The way he'd pop his head up and look when he heard my voice, or his very distinctive whinny. Little incidents that showed his character.

Recently I remembered being out in the field with him one spring - memory says it was the first or second spring we were together, but I couldn't find it in my journal entries. I had taken a shedding blade out to do some spring cleaning on the boys. My QH was very nosey about the shedding blade and kept turning his head to see what I was doing. I held the blade out to him and he sniffed it and then gently took hold and lifted it out of my hand. After waving it around a bit he dropped it and turned his head back to me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but the gist was an offended "Hey! Pick that up and give it back to me!"... and he did just that!

The Carnivorous Mouse Incident

or The Definition Of Courage

Every horseman or women knows that horses are flight animals. We all know they can overcome that flight instinct to a remarkable degree given a supportive environment and practice. I have always taken my horses hacking at night and after the initial adjustment period each fall, they were quite comfortable going out in the dim light at night. Some nights I literally could not see my horse’s ears, but I could see the trees silhouetted against the sky and I knew the trails we walked well enough to know where we were. I trusted my horses to see better than I could and enjoyed our night hacks immensely.

On a windy night early one November I took my boy out for a hack. It was getting cool but was surprisingly warm for November. We headed out across the road into the fields on the other side as usual. I couldn’t see his ears, but there was enough light to see the fence lines and landmarks I used to guide us. He was calm and walking forward on a long rein. I was relaxing and feeling my worries drop away, drinking in the comfort of my friend’s presence.

In a split second that peace was shattered and his world caved in. A small animal rustled the grass ahead of us at the edge of the field and he spooked, swapped ends and bolted back towards the barn. I came off and landed on my hip and felt the reins slip out of my hand as if I wasn’t even trying to hang on to them, and my horse was gone, the thunder of his hooves fading into the darkness. Heart in my throat and heedless of any injury to myself, I leaped to my feet and started walking quickly after him calling in a soothing voice. I wanted to run, but feared that if he had stopped or slowed I would scare him into further flight before I realized he was there. I fixed my gaze on the lights by the barn hoping to see him run through that patch of light, mentally calculating where he would be given his speed, and hoping desperately that no vehicle would barrel along the road at the wrong moment.

Sure enough, just about the time I figured he would be reaching the road a car came over the hill. It braked suddenly, and though I strained to see, I didn’t catch a glimpse of Tommy. I was afraid the car would have frightened him away from the barn, and running blind he could have ended up anywhere. My mind raced and I listened intently for the sound of bare hooves on the road.

The driver turned out to be one of the lesson student’s parents and he told one of the other boarders in the barn that the horse had gone “that way”, pointing down the road. When I heard that, my heart sank to my boots. The highway was “that way” and my horse had gotten himself lost once before after spooking and dropping his rider (in daylight that time) and running fear blinded. Within minutes we had three vehicles and several people out combing the area. He was wearing his splint boots with the reflective strips on them and would have been easily spotted if he were on the road.

After what felt like a hundred years of looking and calling while fighting an increasing panic level, one of the drivers came to find me. My horse had been found in his field. He hadn’t bolted down the road, but had gone through an open gate into the field next to his own and jumped the fence to get back to the pasture herd. By some miracle he had sustained nothing more than some lost skin and a couple of tiny nicks. One boot had a hole almost completely through the neoprene, but none of his other tack was so much as scratched. His worst physical injury was the loss of a patch skin over his right stifle the size of my spread hand.

Mentally was a completely different story.

The running joke with my horse had long been that he’s one quarter horse, three quarters chicken. His brain is hardwired for flight and he has managed to overcome it to an incredible degree in the time we have been together. After escaping the carnivorous mouse that had rustled the grass, he was starting back from square one again. For the next two days simply taking him into the wash stall to tend his injuries was enough to send his heart racing at least double time, his pulse clearly visible through the winter hair at the base of his neck.

The first time I took him out of the barn for a ride two weeks later, that pulse pounding was clearly visible from six feet away, and his body shook with the effort of not bolting as he tried to look in every direction at once. His fear was thick enough to taste, but he went where I asked, when I asked, and tried very hard not to spook. By early January I was beginning to wonder if he would ever recover. Riding him was like sitting on a ticking time bomb and being unable to see the clock counting down. I seriously considered leaving him in the field until spring.

But he was making progress, no matter how painfully slowly. We started in one fenced in field in daylight and gradually pushed out, walking the far side of the fence, then halfway into the next field, and finally all the way around it. He had good and bad days, and some days were so cold it was all I could do to take him out for fifteen minutes.

On February 17th we managed to walk twice round the mare’s field at night under a waxing moon – our first night hack since the incident. In April I was over the moon when he walked quietly and calmly on a long rein for SIX steps on a daytime solo hack! In June his triumph was a trot on a long rein on a solo hack, and my heart sang all the way back to the barn. He still had his bad days, days where he couldn’t help spooking at things I couldn’t see. But he was spooking in place, stopping his flight within the first six inches, and those bad days were becoming fewer. It took about nine months before I could say he was back to normal; it took about seven of those for me to realize what he was teaching me.

If courage is being afraid, knowing the dangers and then going ahead and doing it anyway then my horse was Courage incarnate. He knew the world was a dangerous place. He had been hurt by nothing more than a rustle in the grass. He was afraid. But he went ahead and did what I asked, went where I pointed him, and tried his best not to be ruled by his fear. His bravery, his courage and trust inspired me to face my own fears and I am more self assured and confident because of the lesson he taught me.

Horse, thy name is Courage.

Five Months Later

Tomorrow is my horse's birthday. He would have been nineteen and we would have had one more summer together had he lived to see it. Four years ago, in consultation with the vet, we switched to pain management for my horse. There was nothing else that could be done. Driving home that day I knew, somehow, that he would not reach his twentieth birthday.

In the last couple of days I have spent hours going through the digital photos I've taken in the last few years. There are so many photos, and so few really good ones. I want only the best or those that spark specific memories for the memory album I'm creating. Now I have to go through the older photographs. Unfortunately I will probably have to scan those old pictures as it is just about impossible to get film printed properly now - these days the negatives are scanned before the scan is projected onto the photo paper. They all seem to turn out like bad digital photos.

There is a recurring image of my horse, one taken again and again over the years. The way he would look at me when I went out to the field, ears up, eyes bright, poll slightly below wither level - this look is my horse to me. The most familiar image to be treasured.

Horsecare 101

Our vet of many years first met my QH when he was four. It was spring and time for the annual vaccinations. I had phoned around to the local clinics and asked about prices for the basics and ended up making an appointment with Dr. KB. The visit was uneventful, and Dr. KB had time to sit and answer some general questions.

One year later Dr. KB couldn't believe he was seeing the same horse I'd had the year before. Between the ages of four and five my QH grew up and matured. Between five and seven he muscled up and got wider. In full fit competition weight (ie. very slightly ribby) he hit 1343 lbs on the height/weight tape. Proportionally he was built like a classic working QH, but on a larger scale both taller and wider.

Over the years Dr. KB looked after my boys I learned a lot from him. I'd gone for several years with my first horse without needing much in the way of veterinary care, but my QH had a knack for finding new and unusual ways to injure himself. At first I called the vet for every bump and slice, but over time I grew comfortable with treating the problem and waiting for a day or three to see if it would improve. Dr. KB. almost always had some tidbit of information to share with me, some of which became useful later on. Something as simple as sugar for wounds, or as complex as the effects of various joint supplements, or as subtle as the results of a complete blood count.

Accident prone horses can be frustrating to deal with, but they (and their vets) can teach us a lot in a short period of time.

My Student, My Teacher

He was my first green horse. Pretty forgiving of my mistakes - and I'm sure I made a lot of them. When I bought him he could walk, trot, canter, steer, whoa, and stand for mounting - provided I didn't touch his butt when swinging my leg over. I did find that one out the hard way. He started bucking before my butt hit the saddle and I came off a few hops later. I was more careful when I mounted up after catching him again, but within a few days I had arranged for a helper to hold him still while I crawled all over his back and dragged my feet and legs all over his sides. After that the odd bump was of no concern to either of us - except that I always apologized for my clumsiness, and I always teach the babies I start that they must allow that kind of bumping without fuss.

He frustrated me many times, but it was all a part of the learning process. Young, green horses don't move in a straight line either in real life or along the training level. They wobble, the backslide, they leap forward, they forget everything they ever knew. Through it all he taught me that if I focused on the end result, on what I wanted to happen right now we could get there.

He showed me how horses tend to lose their finer control over their bodies when those bodies go through a growth spurt, and that he needed my understanding, encouragement and support to help him work out how everything worked together again. The up and down path of training helped me develop the mindset that allows me to think of and try various approaches to break down activities for a green horse to find understanding and success. I learned that sometimes we teach a response that is unexpected. Somewhere along the way my horse decided that "Good boy!" meant he'd done what was asked and so he could stop doing whatever it was. Most often on the longe after I asked him to "Trot up!" (meaning push more and go forward) he would trot on and I would approve with a "Good boy!" and then immediately have to get on his case again as he dropped back into his lazy trot.

Even as I taught him, trained him, he was teaching me. Those lessons are an integral part of my horse sense now. One lesson in particular carried over into the rest of my life - a story that deserves a post of it's own.

Special Delivery

I had heard of horsehair pottery and somehow imagined pots with horsehair embedded in the glaze on the pot's surface. I couldn't figure out how this could be done as glaze is fired at a high temperature and hair burns very easily. Once I started following links to horsehair pottery sites I quickly discovered that the ease of burning hair is the major part of the process. The hair is applied to a piece fresh from firing and as the hairs burn some carbon and ash are absorbed by the pottery leaving black lines and smoky areas unique to that item.
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After spending a fair bit of time searching for horsehair jewelry sites, and following links to various horsehair pottery sites on the internet I found Donovan Designs. In addition to the usual pots, vases and bowls Denise has various statues in her catalogue one of which is a Quarterhorse bust (head and neck). This looked sufficiently like my horse that I sent her an email and asked about the possibility of having my horse's markings painted on one if I sent photos with my order. Denise responded quickly that she would be happy to do so at no extra cost. I scrounged up some photos (lip spot photos were difficult to find), carefully pulled about thirty hairs from his tail bundle and mailed them off to Denise.
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At the end of last week I received an email from Denise to let me know she was almost finished and expected to ship my order out on Monday. I was excited and even though I knew it would take time to arrive I hopefully looked for a package notice on Tuesday after I saw a postal truck as I was nearing home. The box arrived yesterday and I could hardly wait to get it inside and see the result. Denise did a beautiful job and packaged the piece up securely to ensure that it would arrive safely.
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I cleared a space on my bookshelf immediately, but ended up carrying it around and setting up close at hand to whatever I was doing for the rest of the afternoon and evening just so I could glance up and admire it at any moment. The photo doesn't do it justice at all.
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Denise gave me permission to include a link to Donovan Designs website so here it is:
http://www.myhorseart.com

Fresh Reminders of What Has Passed

It snowed here about three weeks ago. The snow stayed on the ground, fluffy and deep enough to provide some cushion over the frozen earth. There's something special about the first few snowfalls that come before the first thaw. Hacking in the snow, or during a snowfall is just about the most fun that can be had with a horse. After the first falls there's no need to worry about hidden ice until the thaw comes. There aren't any layers of crusty snow and ice to scrape the horses' legs. Just a bouncy trotting horse spraying snow into the air as he asks for a gallop.

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My boy hadn't asked for a gallop for a long time, but we did a lot of hacking in the snow over his last few years. It was great exercise for his stifles. With the first snow came the reminder that I will never take him out for a hack in the snow again. He won't reach out as we pass a snow laden cedar and bend back a branch that will fling it's load all over me as it snaps back when he lets it go. We won't head out into the glow of a moonlit snowscape, or wander through a forest of bare limbed trees as snow gently falls.

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First snow hack without my boy. First Christmas without my boy. I miss him still. These firsts bring back the loss, but without the tearing intensity of the first days after he was gone. It's a bittersweet sadness as the first snow, first hack, first Christmas without him remind me of the times we had together.