Love Letters to Horses

I just realized, in an "I can't be believe I'm so vapidly profound" sort of way that I write love letters to horses. I should say, I love to write love letters to horses. You might have noticed. I've been known to do so right here somewhere in this blog. NO links provided. Edited to add that my blog is very Schitt's Creek. Start from the beginning, although in my case, you still may not get some of the references, as I was following a deeply disturbed horse blog at the time called "Fugly Horse of the Day", (FHOTD) where the best and the worst and the scammers and the horse-dealers all gathered to hurl anger about what's been going on in the horse world. Crappy breeding, crappy riding, general crap. More Schitt, if you will :) Some of it was relevant, some of it was... interesting. Some of it was sad, of course, and it was that anger and sadness that fired up my writing for horses. The GoLightly fictional story was started after GoLightly sold. 1984 to 2008, almost a quarter century, my horse write-light lay quiet. FHOTD hit, and bam... ANYway, that's all the back story I'll give.

Sorry, you have more time than I do. Anyway, my great and wondrous foray back into horse world is now on standby.. Currently weighing options, and not saying I'm quitting (again) just yet. I did tell my instructor I felt ready for a wee fence. Then, bam. Circumstances being what they were, I felt obligated to curtail (shut UP Moira Rose!!) my activities at the barn.

Hey blogger, labels due not to work.

Weird!

So, without further aboo, yet another LL2Hs.

Dear D, E, S and T,(RIP P and DI) and the rest of the schoolie crew,

I am so sorry I won't be coming back to love on you all. I was obliged to explain to your masters that they weren't being fair to you. You were so tired, over-used with unsympathetic eyes.

D, you grand Iron Lady. They hurt you so badly with their too-tight nosebands, I remember your whimper-whinny (when I finally could notice), at the end of the lesson, when I loosened it for you. It was so terribly, cruelly tight. No wonder you made such miserable faces on cross-ties. I hadn't checked your noseband for our first ride, because of those faces.  I said something then, and continued to check them at the beginning of each ride, and the NoseBands continued to be too tight. I of course loosened them for our rides, and you all remembered me for it. Hope you can come back sound, D. How they could lame you is obvious. Drilling, and a hard arena surface, and an older horse. Tah-freakin-dah.

Horses like people who love them, and notice things about them. It makes them feel special.

T, I hope they start helping your coat improve. You were thinner, but sounder for our second last ride together, the first time you could actually straighten your body out and carry me without pain. It was the first time I could feel the horse you can be. You even liked having your withers scratched, a first for us. I know you love kids and I understand why. Adults hurt you. Drill you, when you do not need any drilling at all. But the last time I rode you, they'd hurt you again, and you were back to tired. So glad I could give you an easy day. My purpose, I believe, was just that. Ride a schoolie easy.

S, you grand old man, you. Your back has flattened, and you're anxious to poles, rushing. Hard ground will do that, and a lack of a softer stall. Your kind face will be with me always.

DI, well, what can I say. A giant GoLightly, once a star, and then a schoolie. You were thin and spooky scared when I climbed on, still exclaiming at how 18 handed you were. I rode you twice, cantered you twice, and knew what a precious gem I was riding. You were only there two weeks, and then you too, coliced. But your owners didn't want to spend the money to try and help, like P, and so down you were put. I thought about how deep your bedding used to be, and how much weight/muscle you were capable of, and how clean and tidy and cared for you had been once. I felt your heart had probably broken.

E, I'm saving you for last, because the last ride we had together was the best you've ever gone for me. I hope your masters learn that you really don't need a rubber chambon and draw-reins and standing martingale (and tight noseband and flash) to be a good boy. I enjoyed ditching all that (as usual) for our last ride and I think you did, too. You are the youngest of all that I rode, I hope, I hope they learn that lesson sooner rather than later. Thank you for that last ride. You were so good, and tried so hard. Thoroughbred.

I love you all. I'll never forget you. 

Thanks for keeping me safe and sound.

Your biggest fan, Barb

2020, 2020, 2020 - Maybe if we all say it three times...

New Blogger format here, and I'm Terrified with a capital F. Just wanted to do a test run, as it were, let me know in the comments if anything seems weird.

How would I know??

Might be pretty ugly looking, layout wise, which has been the bane of my writing non-career, as I get lost in the type faces and colours and spacing and sizes and who cares??

One of the hazards of being a sign-trades-person-of-considerable-age.

Anyone noticed the world did a complete belly-flop. health-wise? Didn't I predict something to that effect ages and ages ago? No? Well, in my head I did... We crowd each other too much, we herd up way too well, and we cram real good into air-tight sardine cans in the air. So, yeah. Germs are a part of life, I KNOW I've said that before. What we've done to germs is part of our problem. Bacteria & viruses are germs, m'kay? easier to type.

Totally random thoughts... I need some. My brain feels like it's been vacuumed, and only the obvious remains. Or are my remains obvious?

Hey, need a picture...

Off to play with Blogger for a sec.

Hold on.

OH, before I forget, who are all you pingers?? I sure hope you aren't those spammer creeps, who insist he/she/it has compromising video of me. Send $$$ to this BittyCoin account. Seriously.

Read a book called "Daemon", super high-tech science-fiction-ISH thriller. The author's answer to all spammers is something I could get on board with...

My camera is covered up... Should I tell them? Whooops. Too late.

Okay, picture.

Hold on.

Hah, that wasn't too painful. I hope my old blogger pics are still around...

ANYway, here's a grainy, tiny picture of big ol' T, a selle-francais/TB cross, about a zillion hands. DANG, he's big. Gorgeous head, which you can barely see. Isn't he cute? Just squint, you can see the outline better.
Sorry. ProPhotogLittleSis hasn't been able to come up and take anything with details actually discernible.

Okay, where the heck is the publish button...

Aha!

10 Years After

I do need to move on, and I'm going to. I wrote a post about a year ago, and poofed it back into drafts because it was so raw and sad. 10 Years after, and the sad has, very slowly, lifted.

10 years ago, I failed to protect a horse. I tried. I'm going to forgive myself, and enjoy the horses I have always loved.

I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals. I cannot control how others treat their animals.

RIP, AC. You deserved so much better.


Thank you to all of my readers, I know how hard it was for you to deal with, too.

Pennys, from Heaven

As many of you may or may not know, horses were a large part of my life for many years.
My mother always said I wilted when I wasn't at the barn.
When I told my young nephew I was quitting riding, he said "Horses will be sad."

Horses are a tragic love story, every last one of them.
For me, anyway. I tried many times to quit the horse-life, and this last horse-free time was 20 years or so.
On a pure whim (helped by the fact that I passed the barn on my way home from work)
I decided to throw that leg over again.
Okay, maybe not a whim. A prayer. I guess I was starting to desiccate.
I had tried the barn years before, but wasn't impressed. At all.
Ownership had changed, and OH, was I impressed.
Happy, healthy horses. LOTS of them!

ETA - BUT a year later, and things changed back to bad. Very bad.

My first ride on Penny was my first time back in the saddle in a very long time.
My time-line after horses is easily muddied.

Penny was a 16.2+ bright-copper chestnut, the best colour.
Glinting with gold in certain light.
Gorgeous thick tail, multi-coloured, with the darkest shades a glorious red-burgundy.
Her coat was fine and soft. Penny didn't need clipping.
A kind eye, an expressive wide generous mouth.
Long ears, for intelligence, but not overly long.
Lovely long well-shaped neck and an intelligent head at the end of it.
Slightly long in the back, slightly goose-rumped, and oh, I liked her from the start.
Just enough uneven white on her face and good-boned sound legs. Trakhener.
A breed I'd thought was scatter-brained and flighty. Well.

The horses have stall fronts that allow them to hang their heads & necks out and look beyond their stalls.
Penny looked fabulous.

I learned she'd been used for driving, as well as H/J, as well as other divisions.
Penny was 12 years old, and clearly knew what the ropes of riding were all about.
I was just thrilled to be there in her presence.
She surprised me with her tallness, which I think amused her.
Getting on and off, both!
Penny's blasé attitude was just what I needed.
She wasn't all that thrilled about grooming, maybe my arms were weak, and not tuned to her likes and dislikes.
I did try her withers, but that seemed to be no big deal.
Penny was sizing me up.

I climbed on, and settled in, and felt...  home.
My stirrups were the right length (miracle, at a riding school).
I had no idea how my body was going to react.
I sat up, and asked her forward, and away we went.
No drum rolls, no fan-fare. I am not wilting, in the saddle.
I am not wilting, as I smell horses.

Walking, long strided, easy swinging gait, lovely for my old back, which did say a few surprised words.
I ignored those words, as most of my spinal cord was applauding.
My legs felt right, my body said "ah, yes. good."
All because this bright-chestnut mare knew just what to do.
I felt safe. We tried a trot, which she gently shuffled into.
I surprised myself again by posting on the second beat, and then knew what diagonal I was on.
Penny plunked along as my scrawny old frame slowly adjusted/stretched/relaxed into her movement.
You know I kept my reins loose, don't you? I did.
Penny didn't do the time honored school-horse duck-in-to-the-centre-of-the-ring trick.
Penny stayed close to the wall, while I sorted myself out.
The minute I heard louder words from my spine, I'd collapse a bit, and Penny would immediately walk.
She knew when I needed to take a break.
At the half-hour mark, the end of the first ride, grinning from ear to ear, I forgot how far away the earth was.

Subsequent rides were about 40% Penny, and the other lessons were on S. and T.
Those great geldings are wonderful in their own right, but that's another story.

Penny was quite (sorryPenny) lazy, during some of our rides.
She'd let me wiggle my legs ineffectually against her sides, while she maintained a minimal pace.
I finally asked for a "stick" (little bat is my go to "weapon"), and OH, Penny said.
Okay then. One should always carry a stick, taught Penny.
I had cantered both Star and Tucker by my 12th ride, but I hadn't cantered Penny. Ride #13.
I wasn't given much direction (and yeah, I probably wasn't listening, sorry, K).
I figured Penny'd be lazy about cantering, so I asked her from a walk, going towards home, from the far end of the arena.
It was lunch-time, and she'd been in all day for the farrier. Yeah. Talk about lighting up her life.
What should have been 10 or 12 strides was transformed into a galloping 7 strides, before I could aim her at the next wall for a whoa.
I had pulled on her mouth as soon as she started to Not-canter, saying whoa, but she was sure I'd asked for a gallop, and pulling was fine during a gallop, anyway!
Funny mare. Kinda killed my confidence, but a learning experience nevertheless.
I was glad my 13th ride was on Penny.

I rode Penny twice more, Not cantering, thank you very much, before C was able to convince me I COULD canter Penny.
C explained I needed to "throw the reins at her".
No arguing allowed as she started to canter, and it would be easier from a balanced trot.
And lo and behold, with a little pin of her chestnut mare ear, she "tiny-bucked" into the canter.
When I say tiny-buck, I mean millimicronic. Adorable.
We cantered both ways, with circles! Easy-peasy, because she was left alone to listen to what I wanted her to do.
She had a lovely, slightly-stiff-backed, canter. Easy to sit to.
My 17th ride. On a Friday.
Now, don't forget, it's my horse story, and you just know how they turn out.
Be prepared, because with horses, tragedy is always waiting.

My next lesson was Tuesday. Arrived, blooming with the thought of horses.
My heart twisted when I saw people surrounding Penny's stall, looked at seriously/sadly/tearfully by her owner and the vet and other barn workers.
Penny went to Ontario Veterinary College, where their track record was excellent with colic cases.
One week later, the decision to free her from her pain was made.
My heart, which I had truly believed was finally tough enough to withstand horses (otherwise why go back?) broke.
Again.

Thank you, Penny.
I'm so grateful I rode her first. I hope Penny liked me.
I didn't know I loved her, but she did.

Rest easy, sweet girl.

I will ride again, because I think Penny would want me to.
Her last lesson to me.
Horses are transient spirits on this earth, and the time we are given with them is a gift.
Never take them for granted.
Ever.