We had a buyer come look at Stormy today. It went pretty well, I think. I really do like this person as a horsewoman—for our horse or someone else’s horse. She’s being very smart and very long-range in her thinking, which I like. Which also means she’s being careful and thoughtful in her processes, so I have no idea whether it’s a match or not. She seemed quite pleasantly surprised at how “big” Stormy’s gaits really are—that stocky build fools you, and she was pretty impressed by how much leg he takes up with his giant barrel body and how much impulsion he has on those short legs. Happy surprise for her! She also liked his brain—it’s pretty obvious when he’s thinking and working out what you want,and she's a thinking horsewoman who wants a thinkng horse. So I don’t think she saw anything not to like, but after many years of training off-the-track thoroughbreds and young horses, she is at an age where she's decided she's about to buy her last new horse, and she’s being very careful. But it went as well as it could have, and we’ll just see.
Sherman was the real surprise hit of the day! He’s been a little shit for the last couple of weeks—- he had a growth spurt, timed with a reduction in work as we’ve been both busy and on Stormy’s case. The combination has, in the past, proven to produce a bratty little shit horse, and this time has been no exception. So he’s high on my list for work this week. Brought him in, and he was a SHIT for grooming—I was grooming with a brush in one hand, and a crop in the other he was so bad— paw, paw, whack! Nip, nip, whack! And so on. When I took the halter off to put his bridle on, he lurched forward and tried to run over me. “That’s it!” I said, “I’m going to work your ass off!”
So we went to the big ring and Pat lunged him for a while, and he pulled his usual round of silly escapades that follow a break in training— full headstand bucks at the crupper while trotting (and while cantering, without breaking stride—- he’s talented) non-stop, blasting through “Whoa!” and other 2-year old nonsense. He finally settled down into a working routine, but he had that teenage hands-on-hip, gum-smacking sneer about his body language—he was all but screaming, “I’m so bored with this routine; what is it with you old ladies that you don’t get how over this I am?”
So, Pat changed the subject. She went ahead and put the second lunge line on him, and lunged him a bit that way. Immediate change in demeanor. He was thinking. He was quiet, he was respectful. He was interested in the process. Totally what happens to teenage boy when you give him something interesting to think about… he stops breaking street lights and starts fixing car engines…
Then, we stepped behind him and just, viola, began long-lining. We’ve taken steps in this direction before, but with his “Wahoo!” behavior each time he’s had time off, we were thinking it’d be three or four sessions in this week before we got to this. But no, he just walked off like he’s been doing it all his life. “Walk on. Whoa. Gitup.” --all totally responded to, all sweet as pie. Completely different horse from both the biting, charging shit from before the work and the wild, bucking thing during the early work. And he hadn’t even broken a sweat at this point, so it’s not that he was tired out…
So, he was so good, we left the ring. Just marched out, around the garden, down the lane to the barn, up the lane to the house, back down to the barn and done. He was amazing. Other than a momentary desire to chase the chickens (he could be a cow pony!), he was perfect, like he’s been doing it all his life. Stood like a gentleman in the cross ties for un-tacking, walked out to pasture like a pro.
Little shit. My life with Sherman is going to be all about keeping him occupied and interested or else he’s going to get me in deep trouble…
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Knowing When They Need You
So my goal for this morning was to groom the Rouxster. No reason, other than just checking in with her and being too tired to really do much else. And I've been reading threads about some of the other Saddlebred Rescue horses who went to homes the same summer she did finally being put down. They've all had a few good years at home, but age and so many years of malnutrition and hard work have been catching up to her peers. So I'm feeling pretty sensitive about her, and just want to spend some time communing with her. So I get her out and get started grooming, and she’s all happy with that.
I get to the off side, and suddenly realize she has a huge softball-sized lump on the side of her throat, right by her jowl, sort of hidden in her winter coat and floopy ASB neck skin-- nothing you'd notice until you’re looking for it, and then there it is, large as life.
My first thought is Oh no, she’s growing a tumor.
Second thought is a resigned Crap, but this is not completely unexpected. Third thought is but, wow, it grew fast—I just groomed her last week, and it wasn’t there.
So I brush a little more, then start feeling the lump, which is very tender, and she doesn’t like having it touched very much. Poke around, feel around, pry around, and voila! I find a leeetle tiny tick attached. Probably already ate itself to death, but still attached. Not engorged, but clearly it has been recently. And the softball-sized lump is my poor, sensitive Roux's typical over-reaction to any bug bite.
So I slather it with goo & alcohol and eventually get the sucker pulled out, head and all, and Roux is very, very happy! Very relieved to have the thing off of her, very relieved to have me stop picking at her, and delighted to get an apple and go out.
So, evidently, she needed me to groom her today.
And this isn't the first time I've had a strange feeling about her, gone out to tend to her for no reason whatsoever, and discovered her in some sort of distress-- kicked by a pasture-mate, in the throes of an allergic reaction, something. She do have dat voo-doo, Roux do, and she do be tellin' me when she needs something.
Someone else in the barn is talking to us, too.
Tank, senior stallion, Sherm's dad, and farm patriarch was not so hot today. He's been declining slowly all summer, losing much of his eyesight, and, we suddenly realized about a month ago, most of his hearing. But he's been doing okay, living the solitary life of a stallion, at home in his home of 24 years-- he's been managing.
Pat saw him down in his pasture last week, which is unusual. He'll sleep flat-out on his side in his stall, but never outside. As a lone horse, he doesn't have a watcher to guard over him and let him sleep outside. So Pat's initial reaction was, "oh no..." and she watched and waited. After about five minutes, he picked his head up and got up, at about average pace for a horse his age. But he then staggered a bit and was very, very hesitant for another five minutes before he slowly moved off. She said he appeared to have no idea where he was, or to be unsure of his feet, or perhaps he couldn't see at all for a moment after sleeping in the sun.
In any case, it was a big leap forward on the path to the end of his journey. He's on our watch list right now, sad as it makes us. We're watching to ensure his safe, peaceful, and comfortable end-- for he deserves that; we owe him that grace, comfort, and dignity.
So this morning he was again off in his his behavior, and his return to us was slower than we'd like. When I went to get him to put him out for the day, he was at the back of his stall, resting in the sunshine coming in the window. He may have been asleep, or he may have been sort of checked-out. I went to get him, and he just spooked & trembled and looked at me with the scaredest face-- I don't think he was seeing me at all, possibly just a shadow. I backed off and waited for about five minutes, and he eventually made his way to the front of the stall, but he spooked again as I went to halter him. I did get him outside, but he went out, then came back to the door and seemed to want in. Pat and I scratched his neck and gave him a cookie and sent him on his way, but he’s really withdrawing from us. He's been on my mind all day, for I know that we'll be lucky to have him still with us by Christmas.
Tank really is the heart and soul of Foxwin. He has been the breeding stallion in residence since the farm came to this location. He came here as a two-year old and launched the second generation of Foxwin horses. He was injured in a pasture accident just after arriving, and the vet said that if he survived, he'd never be sound, never be a riding horse, maybe just a driving horse. Pat believed in Tank and in his potential, so she put him to pasture for four years. She started him under saddle at six years old, once he was fully, fully recovered. She took him to 3rd level dressage, made him her primary lesson schoolmaster, and bred him carefully to produce some of the finest Morgan foundation stock in the Northeast. His whole life was a miracle and a testament to the patience, wisdom, good judgment of good horsemen, and to the fiery heart that is a Morgan horse. Anyone who has known him, and especially those who have had the pleasure of riding him, has come away a changed and better person. We will never be the same again, and Foxwin will be truly changed when he is gone.
It is terribly sad to know that he may leave us soon, but this is the part of the deal where we must give back and know when they need us to kindly thank them and let them go after all they have done for us.
It won't be this week, and probably not next week. If we're lucky, it won't be for some time to come...but it's coming. And it's just sad.
But that's okay; he's an honorable horse who deserves a lot of tears and mourning. Anything less would be disrespectful of his greatness. And one thing Tank will always demand is respect. And some extra hay, while you're at it...
I get to the off side, and suddenly realize she has a huge softball-sized lump on the side of her throat, right by her jowl, sort of hidden in her winter coat and floopy ASB neck skin-- nothing you'd notice until you’re looking for it, and then there it is, large as life.
My first thought is Oh no, she’s growing a tumor.
Second thought is a resigned Crap, but this is not completely unexpected. Third thought is but, wow, it grew fast—I just groomed her last week, and it wasn’t there.
So I brush a little more, then start feeling the lump, which is very tender, and she doesn’t like having it touched very much. Poke around, feel around, pry around, and voila! I find a leeetle tiny tick attached. Probably already ate itself to death, but still attached. Not engorged, but clearly it has been recently. And the softball-sized lump is my poor, sensitive Roux's typical over-reaction to any bug bite.
So I slather it with goo & alcohol and eventually get the sucker pulled out, head and all, and Roux is very, very happy! Very relieved to have the thing off of her, very relieved to have me stop picking at her, and delighted to get an apple and go out.
So, evidently, she needed me to groom her today.
And this isn't the first time I've had a strange feeling about her, gone out to tend to her for no reason whatsoever, and discovered her in some sort of distress-- kicked by a pasture-mate, in the throes of an allergic reaction, something. She do have dat voo-doo, Roux do, and she do be tellin' me when she needs something.
Someone else in the barn is talking to us, too.
Tank, senior stallion, Sherm's dad, and farm patriarch was not so hot today. He's been declining slowly all summer, losing much of his eyesight, and, we suddenly realized about a month ago, most of his hearing. But he's been doing okay, living the solitary life of a stallion, at home in his home of 24 years-- he's been managing.
Pat saw him down in his pasture last week, which is unusual. He'll sleep flat-out on his side in his stall, but never outside. As a lone horse, he doesn't have a watcher to guard over him and let him sleep outside. So Pat's initial reaction was, "oh no..." and she watched and waited. After about five minutes, he picked his head up and got up, at about average pace for a horse his age. But he then staggered a bit and was very, very hesitant for another five minutes before he slowly moved off. She said he appeared to have no idea where he was, or to be unsure of his feet, or perhaps he couldn't see at all for a moment after sleeping in the sun.
In any case, it was a big leap forward on the path to the end of his journey. He's on our watch list right now, sad as it makes us. We're watching to ensure his safe, peaceful, and comfortable end-- for he deserves that; we owe him that grace, comfort, and dignity.
So this morning he was again off in his his behavior, and his return to us was slower than we'd like. When I went to get him to put him out for the day, he was at the back of his stall, resting in the sunshine coming in the window. He may have been asleep, or he may have been sort of checked-out. I went to get him, and he just spooked & trembled and looked at me with the scaredest face-- I don't think he was seeing me at all, possibly just a shadow. I backed off and waited for about five minutes, and he eventually made his way to the front of the stall, but he spooked again as I went to halter him. I did get him outside, but he went out, then came back to the door and seemed to want in. Pat and I scratched his neck and gave him a cookie and sent him on his way, but he’s really withdrawing from us. He's been on my mind all day, for I know that we'll be lucky to have him still with us by Christmas.
Tank really is the heart and soul of Foxwin. He has been the breeding stallion in residence since the farm came to this location. He came here as a two-year old and launched the second generation of Foxwin horses. He was injured in a pasture accident just after arriving, and the vet said that if he survived, he'd never be sound, never be a riding horse, maybe just a driving horse. Pat believed in Tank and in his potential, so she put him to pasture for four years. She started him under saddle at six years old, once he was fully, fully recovered. She took him to 3rd level dressage, made him her primary lesson schoolmaster, and bred him carefully to produce some of the finest Morgan foundation stock in the Northeast. His whole life was a miracle and a testament to the patience, wisdom, good judgment of good horsemen, and to the fiery heart that is a Morgan horse. Anyone who has known him, and especially those who have had the pleasure of riding him, has come away a changed and better person. We will never be the same again, and Foxwin will be truly changed when he is gone.
It is terribly sad to know that he may leave us soon, but this is the part of the deal where we must give back and know when they need us to kindly thank them and let them go after all they have done for us.
It won't be this week, and probably not next week. If we're lucky, it won't be for some time to come...but it's coming. And it's just sad.
But that's okay; he's an honorable horse who deserves a lot of tears and mourning. Anything less would be disrespectful of his greatness. And one thing Tank will always demand is respect. And some extra hay, while you're at it...
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