I gotta go

Riding.

Hang on. I'm trying to rekindle something that died again today.
Why, what, was this day supposed to be called? A day I can't even talk about. It's unspeakably ridiculous. My life as a bad movie, I tell ya, the tickets I could sell.

I must go.
Riding.

I'm trying out a 16 hand TB Stallion, raced until he was six, won almost a quarter million dollars. Looks a lot like his Daddy & Granddaddy, just a little rangier. He is straight as an arrow, build like a kite, ready to catch some wind and fly. His movement is elegant and fluid, easy reaching forward, fore and aft. Everything like silk banners, effortless undulation. He has enough neck, well set up high, to see the future ahead of him, looking to it for joy.

Oh, his head. Large, kind, calm eye, brimming with old knowledge of turf and wind and cheering crowds, silks and jockeys and hot-walkers and bedlam. I groom his coat to a mirror finish, and admire the depths of shimmer of a "plain dark bay" .
Oh, his eye. He looks inside, and checks my baggage, clearing me for the honour of his relaxed back.

I swing up, sink down light, like an eider puff, and feel his barrel filling out my leg surprisingly well, as he's not that tall. At least, I'm not all that short. My confidence builds with his size and his balance and his sure feet. His foot, so round and well-angled and under him. Sound as a bar of gold, this horse.

Actually sounder.

A horses' wisdom is in his feet. This horse has an encyclopedia in four volumes.

Sound sure footfalls harmonize us both, as we walk out on a loose rein. He snorts, and asks if he could do a little canter dance. I let the rocking canter build for a bit, as he rolls into his comfort zone with this strange rider, sitting lightly on his back. But my stirrups are not jockey length, and he's far too wise to ignore that. He chuckles another little snort, with every other rollicking stride, then every stride, then a long low sighing snort, as he settles down into the rhymes and reasons in his hooves.

Welcome back into trot, my mind thinking slower, his body the banner I catch with my weight and shoulders and hands. They touch the last of his canter, and trit-long-trotting we go, his stride floating easy across the ground. Quiet. We breathe our lives in unison, and look for things to do. Oh, let's! What about this? Okay! He asks to spook at a plastic bag, and instead I ask him to attack it. Fun!

to be continued.

what a day.

Broke To Dead

Remember my darlin' schoolie Sparky? Here he is at an HSE show in 1983. I love this picture. Yes, they left way long, and yes, he's stretching/flat-backed to clear the back rail, but they look utterly happy and confident. Look at Sparky's ears. This rider was one of my favourites. A once a week rider, more than capable, more than hard-working. She listened and learned from everything we did.

She loved to ride. It showed:)
Look at the deep healthy gleam to his coat.
(sigh)

It was wonderful reading of Nicely Dun's successes with her Dun, and I remembered correcting her impression that GoLightly was broke to death. That's exactly how Peter described him one day, but it was said admiringly, not dismissively.

I think a lot of people think of broke as boring. Somehow, less exciting. More of a challenge to ride the unbroke, or the badly broke, isn'ta? Makes for much more exciting reading/watching, that's for sure. It bores the heck out of me, of course, because all of these horse problems pretty much stem from being broke to dead.

Dead-sided, dead-mouthed, dead, emotionally. Dead to the aids. Deaf and dumb, horses become, if you rattle on them hard enough, for long enough. Any horse will build up a callous around whatever part of his unfortunate anatomy you're pounding on, including his brain.

It's a bit of a paradox, the beginnings of training. At first, all you really want is for them to go. You work on go, for a while. Leading reins, go that way. Go. Be forward, be relaxed, learn to be your own metronome, horses live to move to rhythms, anyway. Let the metronome mesmerize both of you.

Go a little faster, until the horse says, Oh, I'm tired, and then the horse discovers that the balance will still be there as he slows down. You the rider stay light on his back, out of his way. That's when bit pressure can be carefully introduced, as the horse slows down on his own. It's a positive reward, that way. Always always, a bit's pressure should be timed as a positive reward. This is crucial, in early training.

Rinse and repeat the go in all situations possible to be found, and for heavens sakes, vary what you do. Hours and miles take time. Patience. Muscles:)

Rein pressure applied harshly, early, badly, deadens your fragile connection to the horse. It's hard to re-grow those delicate nerves in the horses mouth. Trust is key.

With Mr. No-Mouth Gray, super-heavy on his forehand, expecting/leaning into the pressure, constantly, his surprise at my softer hands was palpable. I didn't WANT to hold him up. He was freakin' heavy. I had "held" up horses with my hands for years, until GoLightly explained the balancing errors I was committing.

As soon as I straightened/lightened my way of going, voila. Take the mouth of a broke-dead horse as you could a feather, AFTER a firm half-halt. Let him feel the lightest touch possible. Eventually, he'll take it, if you keep giving it to him.
Eventually. It can take a loooong time. For the truly, truly nerve-damaged, I think a side-pull and some form of extra leverage would be helpful. I never had to resort to that, but for safety reasons I can see it being a handy accessory. But only with pretty quiet hands, of course. Soft.

I saw a new soft in Sunshine's hands/arms in her latest videos she shared riding sale horses. It has everything to do (in my cranky opinion) with how much Sunshine's own "carry" of herself has improved. Sunshine looked relaxed and focused. Voila, so did the horses.
OH, except for the dirty little duck-out the draftie made. I'm glad coach nixed him.
Sunshine had just tipped her body a smitchen right, as the draftie wiggled and waggled. Sunshine corrected it well. But he didn't strike me as an honest sort, to do that. Most drafties I've known would drag you over fences, they LOVED to jump. He didn't seem to, so much. But hey, he coulda had a bad day, too.

Don't we all.

Anyway, I'm huffing and puffing on the old GoLightly light, it's flickering/sputtering, buffeted by those things in my life I cannot control.
OH, I have more incredibly exciting video of the girls!!
HUGE file, sorry, you dialer-uppers.

Any techies out there reading?? Please explain how an asian comment could get through my new word verification protocol? My computer is capable of making me feel dumber, every single day.

PopulationalOpinions

I'd like to tell a story about cats that is so gross, I think it drove BlatantAnimalRelatedIdiocy into running a private blog. I wrote this in her comments, poor thing. I got to thinking about this story again, after reading about the closure/re-opening of the kitten nursery at THS.

I was acquainted with a couple up the road from us, here in mostly country land. She owned a couple of old horses and he liked to build stuff. Highly intelligent, both of them. She was very into animals, he was not into animals at all. She owned a beautiful Doberman, loved that dog to bits. She had a few screws loose, but her history explained/excused that. Believe me. She truly had an evil mother. She was sweet, funny, blonde, pretty.

She had a couple of barn cats, and did not neuter them, any of them, for four years. At the end of those years, her little barn was literally swamped/crawling with cats. EVERYwhere. Inbred, sickly, feral, wormy. Breeding, breeding, breeding. Kittens, kittens, kittens.

Her husband begged her to do something, as the stench coming from the little barn was starting to infiltrate the house, 300 yards away. She kept putting it off. Finally, husband snapped. He took his gun out to the barn, and not-very-humanely killed all of the cats, but one.

He brought the little female that had started the explosion into the house, sparing her, and ordered his wife to spay her immediately.

She told me this story, sitting at her kitchen table, smiling at her sole survivor.

I've never forgotten her expression. Dreamy. I wonder what my expression was.
Horrified, no doubt.

Remember how I said you can do anything you want with your animals?
That includes breeding them to their deaths. Private homes are still private, you know.

This was/is not a cruel woman. She adored all of the cats. Why she couldn't spay them is unknown.

Kittens are SOOO cute/helpless/adorable. Funny. They turn into cats, and bingo, they are not wanted. It saddens me terribly. Nothing more pitiful than a sick kitten. They fire up our motherly (hopefully!) nurturing instincts, and that's great. But where will the cats go?

There are not enough educated, caring homes out there as it is.

Of course, I'd love to say save them all. But saving them for what quality of life ahead, is the question.

Animals deserve a quality to their life.

Just my opinion.

Letter to John Tory re: OSPCA

We'll see how, or even IF, he responds.

Dear sir.

I wish you had not fallen onto the "OSPCA is a bunch of idiots" bandwagon. Your completely inaccurate take on the subject has seriously undermined the cause of the OSPCA. I have extensive animal science knowledge, experience and common sense. I was very saddened by the media's coverage of this tragic event, which I've known about since February.
Please, know what you are talking about, before you call the kind people of the OSPCA "murderers".

This is sounding entirely like a Toronto Humane Society "get even with the OSPCA" ploy.

I personally spoke to Tim Trow/THS, back when Bandit was first "saved from euthanasia". I stopped my support for the THS that day. Tim was obviously not mentally stable. He allowed that dangerous dog to attack and injure more people and animals, before the dog was finally, mercifully humanely euthanized.
The OSPCA Board, while certainly not perfect, has their hearts set firmly upon a very correct path. The THS lost that path, when Tim took over.

I have worked in shelters, I know my animals, I know my diseases. This disease is nothing like athlete's foot in humans. To report this is irresponsible. People already have very limited scientific knowledge. Even my husband believed that it was/is easy to treat. It is, if you are a human, if you are not stressed, if you are not old, if you are not in a shelter. Fungus are acquiring drug resistances, too, you know.
Do you truly believe a aged, stressed, homeless cat will enjoy 1) being in a shelter, as lovely as the OSPCA is. 2) Given baths three times a day, and not allowed to groom, for two weeks?

That is inhumane to an older cat, especially when the treatment fails repeatedly.

Gentle, Humane Death can be kinder to these animals, John. It is a sad fact. There are far too many of them in shelters. My husband has the completely misguided impression of "shelters being a safe haven for animals". I've worked in animal shelters. They are not safe. It is not a haven. It is a warehouse for the stressed and neglected. Disease is a terrible problem for shelters, always. That is not their fault. It is the fault of the previous owner of the animal, so carelessly discarded/neglected.

I was at the OSPCA several times this past half year. Every single time, it was clean, it smelled clean. Those animals are well-cared for. I've been there, I've seen it. I cannot say the same for the THS. I was there. It was very bad.

Ringworm can be carried by an animal with no symptoms shown. These are known as asymptomatic carriers. How can the OSPCA guard against this? Impossible. We are not dealing with happy family pets, in these cases. Animals with any of these issues take lots of time. The OSPCA has many jobs. Looking after our messes is one of them.

We rent a property out in the country, we always know when the shelters are full. The "dropped off by the side of the road" animals increase.. Over-Population makes these animals sick. Not the OSPCA.

I will support the OSPCA. I wish you would reconsider your statements.
My husband admires you. Your inflammatory rhetoric made for a very unhappy household for me, that evening. Of course, that's not your fault. But as I am the sole income earner in this family, it was quite difficult to come home to such anger at my disagreement of your stance. John Tory thinks so! He MUST be right. I don't believe "veterinarian" is one of your accomplishments, John. Correct me if I'm wrong.

(eta My husband went to school with John Tory. My husband is a ruefully, regretfully retired farmer. His ire with the current state of our country is pretty severe, at the best of times. It was difficult to disagree with him, but I did. Husband later apologized, as he realized what I was saying. The power of the media, the respect my husband has for JT, the power of good rhetoric, ("murderers!"), caused husband to leap onto that bandwagon, too quickly, as many others did.)

I'm not saying the OSPCA is perfect, at all. But as a very very picky person, I have found that shelter to be ship-shape. My nose knows, you know.

It was doubly saddening to hear that Bill Carroll was allowed to speak about the OSPCA. He once said on his morning show "I'd save my wedding ring, and leave the dog, if my house was on fire".
I called him immediately to tell him how wrong that was. And I stopped listening to him, that day.

Thank you.

July 15, 2011
ETA.
Lots has changed since that letter was sent, as some of you know. I no longer support the OSPCA. I support the idea of an agency with the OSPCA's mandate. I hope, someday, they will actually follow that mandate. The Lesage-Meek report brought out many serious deficiencies in the uppermost management of the OSPCA. It is time that people with animal knowledge were in charge there.
I have known for many years that animal "shelters" are death-row for most animals. I am glad that the OSPCA ringworm debacle brought that simple truth into the light. Animals die in these places, every single day. Do not blame anyone. The blame lies with us all.
Do not buy an animal from a pet-store. Do not buy an animal on impulse, because a puppy/kitten is sooo cute. When you acquire any living creature, you owe that creature the best care you can manage. Please, if you cannot do that, don't get ANY animal.
Stick to plants.

Hey, Chief

The brilliant brevity that is haiku has always eluded my typing. (stares disconsolately at fingers..)

I had a riff going the other night in my head, it was brilliant. I think. It's completely disappeared, so for now, a little exercise in some of my favourite lyrics, with plagiarism. This isn't my favourite by Floyd, but it seemed to fit.

Pink Floyd's "Hey You", by Apalachian Chief.
Percussion graciously provided by Chief's rhythmic cribbing.
Hey, Chief. Out there in the garage,
standing cribbing, stare at walls.
Can you hear me?

Hey Chief
Waiting in your "stall"
with softened feet and sodden walls
Chief, I hear you.

Hey Chief, don't let them burn up your sweet light
Don't give in without one bite.

Hey Chief, out there on your own
Standing chilled down to the bone
I will hear you.
Hey Chief, with your eyes against the wall
Waiting for one/any other
just to call out
Hey Chief, would you let me help carry that load?
Open her heart, you're going home.

(I'm totally skipping the worms eating his brain part.)
Hey Chief, standing on the road
sweetly doing what you're told,
You astound me.
Hey Chief, out there beyond the stall,
Breaking records, hung on the wall,
Who can help you?
Hey Chief, don't give up, there is hope for all
Together we'll stand, divided we'll fall.

To Keeping It Kind, people.

This was a test signal of the GoLightly Broadcasting System. Do Not adjust your screen.
Regular GoLightly programming will resume at the sound of the tone...

EcoLogical Fail

This is a picture from May 10, 2010. Now that his door is wide open, I can drive past, point and shoot. My camera never ceases to amaze me. I can zoom, and not see anything, and click. The camera has way better vision than I do. Fair enough, I guess, I am a few decades older than my camera. Okay, more than a few:)


Hmmmm. Verrrry interesting.. Hmmm. Flip is considering several options, one of which involves a nap.
Excuse the weird background, my ugly abode shines. I have to take a picture of the picture that gives Flip that tan-coloured "ruff" on the left. That's a round bale.. Picture taken.. Well, you'll see. If I remember anyway. It's one of those gifts from an ex-landlady, that you put in the corner of a room, and hope it goes away. Still hasn't yet.
Dratted FoamCore, it just slowly departicalizes, over time. Hard to notice, in my house.
I'll try to keep this blither really short, because I've found some people seem to skip key words that are important in my admittedly incomprehensible sentences.

Horses are chickens.
because.
Both are considered animals. Laws in place allow for the absolute minimum of care. Food, water, and shelter are all on the books as law. That's a good start. But to continue logically, we must factor in the minimum required ecology for that animal. An environment that is not conducive to daily health should be illegal. It ain't.

There. Did that make sense yet??
sigh. Probably not. We don't seem to give a rats' behind about people and ecology and environment, why should animals be any less important, or even important, at all?

That's the crux of the animal welfare debate. How much is "too" much welfare? How much is too little? Why care at all, with all of the troubles besieging the world?

Voluntary good management/sound practices that benefit the animal, while still benefiting the producer, are easily obtainable through the literature our government so generously offers. Ignoring these practices is not illegal.

You can do anything you want to your animals, in the comfort/privacy of your own home.

It is none of my business what other people do with their animals, in those circumstances. But as the person I am, what choice do I have when I see this picture, every day, in front of my face/house/where we've chosen to live?

never mind. Purely rhetorical question there. Gotta Bitch, I do. Anybody else love Gene Kelly when he sang "Gotta Dance..."
You gotta do what you gotta do.
ayup.

Canine Tangents.
When I worked that half-year in Animal Control, I responded to a cruelty complaint of a dog locked in a store.
When I arrived, I saw a LARGE glassed in store front, and a grinning doberman cross on the other side of the glass. The owner met me there, furious that he'd had someone call AC in, and I placated him with the usual, "We have to respond to every complaint, even when they are groundless" line.

We went into the large store, floor to ceiling glass windows on the entire one side, the area full of large sheets of newspaper and cardboard. Clean, not smelly at all. Lots of water, air-conditioned. Toys of many descriptions were buried under piles of paper/board.

It was a busy area, and lots of pedestrian passers-by. Happy dog demonstrated his latest job of following passers-by with a wad of paper in his mouth, grinning from ear to ear. I wished the dog had more company, but all in all... The owner took him home each night, and goofy dog "guarded" the front of his store everyday.

Dog had a pretty good gig, all in all. At least he had something to do, that was not bad for him to do. None of his behaviours gave me any cause for alarm. Nothing repetitive, nothing aggressive. He was a happy, friendly, goofball, with a good job.

If chickens are eventually mandated to be able to move about and preen and act like chickens, without basting in their own excrement, talk to me about horses.
Of course, they'll have to fix the genetics of the factory chickens first, seeing as how they bred aggression and extreme cannibalism into them. Yes, chickens can very naturally be that way. But in a more natural ecology and with "normal" aka older genetics, they are not, normally.

Cribbing...
In AC's natural ecology, he didn't crib. Don't forget, it took him three days in the garage to show his stress by cribbing. Now it is once again a stereotyped behaviour, more embedded than ever.

You have to start SOMEwhere, with welfare for all domesticated creatures.

Why not mandate proper care/humane and educated treatment for them all?
Rhetorically out:)

Okay, Okay!

I've been wanting to review some basics that are the foundation of any training, with any animal. The building blocks that are hurried through, or skipped altogether.

The boring stuff. Simplifying riding a horse is a rather inexact art, isn'ta? But distilling it down is exactly what GoLightly pointed out to me, right from the start. I'd never had instant obedience to an aid. GoLightly's long neck and back seemed to be it's own compass, a constant course correction. Old Lightly was my navigator, and yet my pilot. I was the point. I was the tip of his mast, if GoLightly had been a sailboat.
The big bay did a realignment of my entire ideas on riding, just by being so straight.

I recently devoured "My Horses, My Teachers" by Alois Podhajsky, mesmerized, fascinated, a little ashamed I've never read it before. I HAVE to quote this, I just do:)

"The initial work with a young horse offers little distraction to an accomplished rider, and above all, no opportunity to impress any spectators with spectacular exercises. It is the stage of making straight and riding forward in which the rider tries to ride his horse briskly on, avoiding turns and, at the rising trot, making him used to carrying the riders weight."
(bolded highlights mine)

Man, I've said that somewhere. But the point as well, is that it's those boring hours and miles we must accomplish first, for the horses' future comfort, that will ultimately allow him to be happy in his work.
Part of that is avoiding too much turns/bending/noodling the neck. The amazing thing about GoLightly, was that he ALWAYS went back to straight, when released.
And they Always should.
People, too, really. We are coiled springs of energy, as horses are.

My own slight crookedness, built from years of defensive posture, had to straighten, or GoLightly was immediately not. He would reflect however I sat. Tight through the left side of the neck? So was he. If I softened, loosened, became fluid, he was perfect.
He was amazing:)
You knew that, though.

In any difficulties arising from riding, the best place to go back to is making straight and going forward.

The same can be said of any training, of any animal. With my girls, I keep their basics sharp. It doesn't take long, and it allows them the joy of an easy job well done.
Well, I can say that, but Flip is still in charge when it comes to certain types of distractions. Perfection is a bore, and Flip loves to remind me of that:)

Irony and Asymmetry

What did you say??
Blaze has been learning to count. She's up to four, and then she really starts giggling. Blaze loves to run huge ovals around me, my nucleus to her electron. "Get the Geese!" is the latest bugle call for her inspiration. She reaches Mach 7, her ears whistling and whirling, I point down, and she drops into a shoulder roll, from about her chest height. She's a tackler of ground. Gotcha!
If she's looking directly AT the geese, and starting to slink/stalk them, a "get the geese" from me elicits her instant attention and hilarious offers of more silly behaviours, the geese completely forgotten. So, I have no idea what "Get the Geese" means. But it's exciting!

Derby Weekend for AC, you know, the horse in the neighbour's garage.
Well, Rebel 4, whomever you were, thanks for getting old AC mucked out last weekend. Thanks for giving him the extra hay net. Where are you now? AC's garage door is now wide open, very good for air purposes. Doesn't change the air flow down low, but hey, allowing more air is good. It's free, too.


A lone, lonely horse is just the wrong picture. Horses are sad. So is old Chief. Horses are HERD animals. Companionship is crucial is just about all warm-bloods of any species. Heck, cold-bloods too. Nothing wants to be alone for long stretches of time. (Well, except me. This is due in part of the growing up with an incessant talker, my older, shorter sister. I blame her for EverYthing.)

So, that's what I see as I drive in my driveway, what I drive past, to get home. Kinda hard to ignore/invisiblize. The wrong picture.

I'm managing, though. I couldn't help noticing that it was 8:30pm, as I typed this, and neighbour hadn't been here since I got home. His net was empty at 2pm. Meh, he's a chicken. His weight isn't any worse, thank heavens. All the phone calls, maybe. But give her time. Oh, Good! There she is.
Still no hoof sign, and I keep hoping to find some.

His expression breaks my heart, lets leave it at that. Despair. Quiet, withdrawn, cribbingcribbingcribbing. Staring at the wall, he was, when husband came home tonight. Dreaming of paddocks with grass.

Rebel 4? Come back, take him home? He needs room to move. He's a horse. You know? All they know is in their feet. Their feet are what keeps them alive. Stop their feet, you stop their life. Sooner, or later.

Just my opinion. According to horse industry normals, they can stand for the rest of their lives, and it's to be expected, if they shrink a bit.

Thanks for this link, Paddy.
Perils of Stall Confinement You would think it was just common sense, wouldn't you?
So frustrating when common sense is an oxymoron.

With people like that in the animal owner world, something must be terribly wrong in the universe.

Considering the terrible stories of the day, a horse in a garage is really NBD. It's just more of the same "there's something wrong" reminder.

Good luck to the Gulf of Mexico. Greece. The Planet.

Does anybody else think our mother earth is sloshing just a bit? Maybe if we all stomp our feet at the same time... We could tamp this sucker back down.

Let's try a synchronized stomp, tomorrow, May 7, 7pm eastern time.
What the heck, it couldn't hurt:)

May Day!

That was just the most interesting April, wasn't it?

Shall I describe Apalachian Chief's expression? No. I guess not. Wouldn't want to burst anybody's pretty bubbles of their horsie ideals. I've been staunchly defending the industries, all of them. Even though I may not agree with everyone's ideas of horse-keeping, I think there's a very obvious minimum standard.

But, guess what, I was wrong again. I guess (quoting AC's seller) a "loss of muscle tone is to be expected". Atrophy, meh, what the heck. Horses go on stall rest all the time. This is the skewy horse business that I've been avoiding like the plague that it is, for the horses.

This keeps finding me. Why IS that? What am I supposed to say honestly in response to the seller's e-mail?

"Yes, quite right, so sorry, other than his "bed" and his (atrophy) loss of muscle tone, all is just peachy keen fine. Thank you for going to see him, so that another pair of objective eyes could look at him. Cheerio, what, what."
Wow. I mean, REALLY. Talk about bursting bubbles in Lah-Dee-Dah Horse Land.

But since all of that illuminating correspondence, more hay has forthcome, and lo/behold, he was actually mucked this weekend. Hallelujah, saint simons be praised. Chronic bitches do sometimes get something done. Just freaks me out that I'm preceived, HAH, I like that, received with the wrong perception, preception..
Just toying with some words there, sorry.

I have always been a PITA, as a a neighbour, if you don't care for your animals properly. My standard is not impossibly high. Food water shelter reasonable exercise clean environment. How hard IS that?

We know how high my clean standards are by now, I hope?
Not that high.

EVERYthing starts with responsible ownership, and realistic expectations of the animal's future. That responsibility was not demonstrated by my neighbour, in this instance.
In my not so humble mentally paused opinion.

Seems I'm a minority. Along with my patient, ferocious reader.

So, AC's cleaner, and getting better fed. Maybe one day he'll get outta there, for good. I'll keep fuming, but quietly. Like him. I get too red-headed about things.

I wish I was dark bay, sometimes.

Ridiculous Fact Reporter Out.