Jump Crew
Well, this has been a happy little corner of the universe lately. I’ll aim for more cheerful today.
After lunging, Hubby jumps Rodney over a few cavaletti, partly for training but mostly because it’s fun to watch him jump. Although I haven’t done courses, Rodney seems about average in knowing that the jumps have been raised.
Previous Horse was constantly surprised when a jump changed. We would jump over a fence. He would watch Hubby change the height. I would walk him over and let him sniff the fence. We would pick up a canter, aim at the jump, and PH would be totally unprepared for the new height. At shows, I had to be sure to warm up over the highest level he would see in the ring.
On the other end of the spectrum was the fabulous, if crazy, jumper mare [pictured here] I had the privilege of riding. Our first successful ride is documented in “Talking with Animals” Horse Illustrated, August 2012 (Plug. Plug. [Talk To Me]). At our first show, her owner rode her in a hunter division. I brought her back for the jumper classes. Her internal monologue ran along these lines:
Fence 1: ‘This one is bigger. Great.’
Fence 2: “This one is also bigger. Great.’
Between fences 2&3: “Wait a minute. They’re ALL bigger. COWABUNGA!’
That was the last moment I had positive control over that mare. All I did from then on was make sure I pointed her at the jumps in the correct order. We had a marvelous time.
Later: back in the present day, we finally ran a hose to the barn. Now we don’t have to walk to the water trough to fill the barn buckets. However, Mathilda would not drink the result until I let the hose run for 1/2 hour to get rid of that New Hose taste. You wonder why I call her a picky cow [Line]?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
The Rest of the Story
The details of our colic episode [Long Night].
Round 1
At evening meds, Rodney is covered with mud and refuses his carrot. One advantage to Hubby being a carrot pusher, we have immediate notification when one of the horses is feeling poorly. Rolling + lack of interest in food = possible colic. So I listen to his fat belly. Gut sounds present but weak. Let the walking begin.
Downside
Rolling
Pawing
Not eating
Looking punk
Gut sounds not robust
Was the back-up thermometer registering correctly?
Upside
Not sweating
Not frantic
Minor gut sounds.
Not hard to keep from rolling
No fever
After 20 minutes, an hour, some interminable number of laps back & forth in the moonlight, Rodney is happy, seeking carrots, and gurgling like a steam engine. I go sit for 15 minutes, congratulating myself on our low-tech solution to the problem.
Round 2
You see it coming don’t you? When we got back to the barn, Rodney was halfway back to where he had been. Break out the Banamine and call the vet.
Vet thought we had it under control for now & was not inclined to come out. What do people do who don’t have an inhouse medic?
Banamine & walking perk him back up. Rodney goes into an bare stall. We watch him while eating our belated dinner. Then, we arrange shifts and go to bed. At first check, he had pooped. We stand down. At second check, I take him for a walk. He feels well enough that he wants to gallop into the darkness. After all, there is nothing in the stall for him. One more check & up early to be sure. During the day, Rodney is running about, kicking and remonstrating that he wants something to EAT!
Overall, a standard mild colic with positive outcome. However, there were two weirdnesses:
Weirdness #1: When Hubby went to give the Banamine iv, Rodney kept pulling away & shaking his neck, not just his head but his whole head/neck assembly. He acted as if he was either afraid of the shot or didn’t like how the alcohol felt on his skin. Shades of the liniment experience [EEEE-ouch!]. What a cupcake.
Weirdness #2: During round 1, Rodney was pawing the ground. During round 2, he would throw both legs forward and then rock back as if stretching the front end assembly. I’ve seen horses do this to stretch but never as stomach relief.
Finally, Mathilda was doubleplusdispleased at three hours of activity at the barn that did not result in a single carrot for her.
Epilogue
The next day, I sent Hubby an update:
Subject – Patient ….
… is so pitiful that he is standing at the compost pile eating leftovers.
To which one of his co-workers responded:
Dumpster Diving!
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
Long Night
Colic scare.
Lots of walking.
Lots of checking.
Little sleep.
Why do these things always happen at night?
Rodney’s fine.
Going back to bed.
See ya tm.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic
To enter this house is to become content. Your raygun eyes will not save you.
And Yet More Existential Blathering
As you might have suspected, I told the story of my first reverse epiphany for a reason. A week ago, I had another of my Rodney-inspired tailspins. Hubby was lunging & Rodney was being a dork. His behavior might even have been considered progress. The dorkiness was more from TB enthusiasm than tension. In spite of this rose-colored interpretation of events, I was overwhelmed with the idea that I would never be able to ride this horse. Too much had happened to ever allow me to get comfortable with him.
I’ve sung this song before [Explosion]. Probably more than once. Apparently I don’t believe myself. This one feels more permanent that the others. In response to my whining yet again on this subject, one of my ever-patient friends gently suggested:
“If you want to event, Rodney isn’t likely to get you there. For whatever reason, and I don’t really think it matters why, the two of you haven’t managed to have the sort of horse/human relationship you were expecting.”
After uncurling from the fetal position & crawling out from under the covers, I had to admit that she was right. No matter who did what to whom, the reality stands. Despite an awesome start, this was not where I had planned to be two years on. So what to do about it?
She went on:
“If it were my place to make suggestions, I’d suggest that you call a cease and desist with the boy and find him another home. Not sell him! Don’t be silly. I have been listening to you this past year. …. why not find Rodney a person who can deal with Rodney while Rodney is still young enough to have a career and free lease him, with a contract that you get him back when they are finished?”
Not gonna happen.
In addition to our inability to let go of anything, we are of the opinion that it would be too easy for Rodney to fall into the wrong hands. Yes, I can accept in theory that there are people who have exactly the right balance of understanding and pressure to bring out the best in Rodney. We have clearly swung too far in the understanding direction. However, such stellar horsefolk are outnumbered by the large mass of us who stagger along doing the best we can, often to the detriment of our horses. We’ve all seen the pictures on the Internet of horses – usually jumpers – whose bridles look like moving tack shops. I’m not judging (much). I’ve know horses who give as good as they get. I had to get in Previous Horse’s face on more than one occasion. More tack isn’t going to help these situations but such is the ego on this sort of horse that it’s not going to hurt them either. Rodney is not one of these.
Plus I know virtually no one actively competing. Maybe if I lived in Horse Central and had good friends &/or trainers I admired, and I had seen them interact well with Rodney, I might, possibly, maybe, consider a more functional home for him. As it is, I would have to rely on the opinions of others. That’s a sure way to horse/rider mismatch.
BTW, I blame the mare. If she hadn’t scared us spitless & then sucked up all our energy, I would have had more time to work Rodney this year. Well, if I’d *really* wanted to I could have found the time. She didn’t make easier.
Mathematically, we are not eliminated from the race. However, I can’t think that way. Tending such dreams for that last 2 years has resulted in the waves of frustration that kept crashing over my head. So, I have finally accepted that Rodney is a gorgeous, sound, happy pasture ornament.
Things that I have gained:
No time pressure. If I accept that Rodney will be in exactly the same place in a year, it no longer matters that he flings his head up in panic when I approach his head with a brush. If one is not going anywhere, there is no hurry. As far as the activity on a given day, I can chose grooming, a heating session, lunging, ground exercises, or nothing. Mox nix.
No performance pressure. In competition, progress can be measured. You have a good round, you win, or – in an ideal world – you do both. If the question is, what relationship will I have with this horse, the only answer is the one he & I come up with. Even my judgmental, hyperanalytic brain can’t find a way to give that a grade.
It sounds as if I have lost hope [Pandora’s Horse]. I like to think that I have lost false hope, delusional hope, hope that wasn’t really there. I’m feeling more peaceful. We’ll see how long it lasts.
Snaps to Hubby for taking care of the horses all day following my tailspin. He did all the chores & feeding while I sat in the house & wallowed. I didn’t go to the barn once that day. Neat trick when the barn is 100 feet away.
Whoa There Cowboy
I was having a seriously bad day on the cross-country phase of a Horse Trials [Reverse]. My horse had come out of the start box on his hind legs and had subsequently acquired a number of stops at a variety of fences. I was furious. I was fuming. I was determined that we were getting over the next fence. I came around the corner and some fool, some idiot, was between me and the jump. I put my leg on my horse, hunkered down, and thought,
“Lady, get the HELL out of my way.”
I galloped straight at her for 2-3 strides before it dawned on me that she was waving a set of red flags.
Another stride. Red flags = stop.
Another stride. They meant ME.
I was on a Training level course after three or five stops, whatever the rules were at that time. Imagine the focus of a rider at Rolex with a chance at winning. When I’m doing crowd control at an event and want to underline the need for pedestrians to stay out of the galloping lane, I tell them:
It’s not that they can’t stop.
It’s not that they won’t stop.
They don’t even see you.
What is the most focused you’ve ever been in competition?
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Gratuitous Cat Picture
Reverse Epiphany
Photo by Kathie Mautner
An epiphany is a moment of cosmic harmony. The sudden realization that you are at one with the universe. A reverse epiphany is when you finally admit that the elephant is not only in the room but that tapping sound is the trunk whacking you repeatedly and vigorously. It is the death of denial.
I had one on my last cross-country trip with my first horse. First Horse had looks, movement, jump (see photo), and absolutely no desire to press the envelope. Although he could jump 3’6″ courses, his comfort zone stopped around 3 feet. If Adult Hunters had existed, he would have been fabulous.
We were riding at Training level in Eventing and Schooling in Jumpers. I was still under the delusion that horses could be taught to event. HA! We would have just enough success to entice me to continue the head to wall festivities.
If I had to do it over again, well, I would have bought a different horse. Short of that, I would have dropped us back to Baby Novice until he was more comfortable. But a) BN had just started up. It was very much a division for kids & ponies. Adults didn’t do it. Even more so, b) I was caught up in the Eventers Never Quit mentality. To go back was to admit defeat. In hindsight, I see the silliness. At the time, I was thinking kick on, kick on.
Among the many things FH didn’t like was jumping into water. Because of this, he was actually quite good in the jumper ring about going *over* water. If it meant getting his feet wet, No thank you.
The centerpiece at our final event was a large lake. The start box pointed straight at it. We weren’t jumping into it. Our course skirted the edge. FH did not know this. He saw a body of water in front of him and pitched a freaking fit. I had punched my wrist timer, so I know for a fact that he spent 20 seconds on his hind legs after the word Go. You can imagine how the rest of the course went.
We were finally eliminated. (Which reminds me of a story, more tomorrow.) I walked off the course, tears pouring down my face. I was heartbroken. This was my first horse. It was time to admit that it was not working out. I was boarding, therefore unable to accumulate pasture ornaments. I sold him shortly thereafter.
I can still feel the moment of realizing that my world sucked. That it had sucked for a while. That it was time to recognize the elephant.
Ideally, I’d ask for your reverse epiphanies, but I have enough hopeless moments of my own. Instead, what is the most colorful horse you have ridden?
Virtual Brush Box 