Barn Books

Want a book, or two, or six?

Over the last few weeks, I have accumulated a growing stack of books that were read at the barn during Mathilda’s rehab. Usually, I trade books through Paperback Swap but these are too abused. Covers folded back to hold with one hand. Bite marks where Rodney took an interest in what I was reading. Set down on the muddy aisle floor. Rained on. Questionable stains, although none of the books were knowingly dropped in anything vile. Overall, functional but not suitable for muggles. Imagine a older car with a strong drive train but rusted out fenders. Runs but no trade-in value.

I’m too lazy to list all of the titles & authors here. Some non-fiction of the info-junkie variety, think History of X. Much science fiction/fantasy of the light and engaging type, think Simon Green rather than Octavia Butler. If you feel like taking pot luck, LMK & I’ll send you a handful.

If you don’t want – after that rousing introduction, why would you? – can you help me think of anywhere that might be interested in them? I hate to throw books away but neither do I want the recipient to feel as if I’m passing on my trash. If I lived near the Appalachian Trail, I’d leave them in shelters for hikers to find. They’d look pretty tidy in that setting. If they were those imaginary cars, they’d make great farm trucks.

Any ideas?
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Beware the Lurker in the food dish

Massage Masterclass

Illustration by Sara Light-Waller
Flying Pony Studios

This weekend, the barn had a visit from Sharon Melnick, L.M.T. for people & horses. Although Sharon could easily hire herself out, she seldom works outside of her own critters. As a favor, she trekked from her remote patch of woods over to our remote patch. In addition to getting the the horses massaged, I hoped to improve my own technique.

The horses noticed the difference immediately. Mathilda loved it. She chewed. She lowered her head. Her eye got soft. This from a mare who all but grits her teeth when I poke at her. When I took her out for a graze later, she was square and strong on her weak leg. Our only problem now is how to convince Sharon to come back out & go over her again.

Rodney approved. You could see this from his eyes and the gyrations of his upper lip. However, he didn’t get into his usual yawn fest until 3/4 of the way thru. Mentally, he was balancing “I like” with “This is weird”. It takes a while for him to wrap his mind around a new idea. Sharon was properly aghast at his back scar. We had a moment of sympathy for the foal who was hurt so badly [Daddy Dearest].

I got at least as much out of it as the horses did. For example, I had gotten the wrong end of the stick for the “cross-fiber” maneuver. I was going back & forth over the muscle with thumbs in parallel, as one might move a tiny rolling pin ACROSS a counter top. The idea is to CRISS-CROSS the thumbs back & forth in each stroke, thereby spreading the muscle fibers. Watching Sharon was a reminder about good work habits such as posture and using bodyweight instead of arm strength. She used the stool occasionally but less than I do. Instead of standing over & bearing down, she used Rodney’s height differential to pull down. Much easier than getting up & down and constantly shifting a stool about.

The most amazing part was that Sharon worked for an hour & 1/2 per horse without collapsing in a heap. After 20 minutes, my energy is gone. Sharon worked steadily, feeling her way through the muscles. I tend to hit it with a blast of perky enthusiasm & then burn out. Not a surprise. This is how I address all tasks, from writing an article to greeting visitors at the zoo [Serve]. I need to keep the good parts of what I already do, but slow down & find a sustainable way to massage more often.

Metamessage: if you are learning, take classes. Once you have mastered a skill, take more classes.

What was your most recent masterclass (formal or informal)?

Sunset Years

Reigning Senior Dog. 16(?) years old.

After reading me go on & on about mare care for the last two months, a Loyal Fan suggested a post, “wondering what our geriatric years will be like as we watch our geriatric horses.” Here’s what I think:

You will need help. Either that means having people who care or paying people to care. Kids or cash. My grandmother chose both. Family members visited as often as possible, on a rotating basis. We were willing to do more, but she was happier in her own home with paid staff rather than moving in with family. Stubborn got her to the age of 91, so how could we argue?

There will be poop. Elderly dogs, stall-rested horses. Do I need to draw you a diagram? Tbogg handles the subject with eloquence in a Puppy Blogging post (be sure to read down to the brother’s comments). Back when Abby was old [Going], Hubby went on a business trip. He sleeps lightly. I would sleep through Armageddon. I certainly slept through the 3 am dog walk. When I woke up – every room in the house. I kid you not. Every room.

It will suck. Hubby’s dog required intensive nursing for 2 years. Previous Horse fell over with no warning one night. I’m torn on which is better. Watching beloved pets deteriorate bites the rotten anchovy, but you get the chance to say goodbye. A sudden incident leaves you twitchy for months, but there is the relief that the individual never suffered. I have a theory that there is a set amount of grief associated with such events. It’s either drawn out in misery beforehand or whacks you across the head in a lump afterwards.

So far Mathilda is three for three: help, poop, & gradual deterioration. I’m convinced that she will live through this crisis. She’s nowhere near done causing annoyance in my life.

Apologies if I crossed a line. Blame the Loyal Fan.

Can you share a happy elderly story?

What’s In Your Wheelhouse?

I’ve been thinking about ancillary skills and how they affect riding.

In Thursday’s post, Cur Tales talked about music [Talent]. Such pursuits have been on my mind latently. At the Alabama Phoenix Festival [FF: Push, Ghost, Yeller], I met the artist who draws The Devil’s Panties and discovered the world of webcomics. Now I want to draw my own. Unfortunately, my artistic ability ties with my musical talent for Things Not To Attempt In Public. Tuesday’s illuminated initial [Progress] is a direct result of attending artist panels at APF.

E261 Pump Panel

Part of becoming an adult is accepting what you are good at and what you should pay other folks to do for you. At the fire department, well-intentioned gentlemen insist that if I practice enough, I will grasp pump operations. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. I recall standing in front of our old Engine 261 and listening to the Chief explain how the terribly simple front-mounted pumper worked. I could feel – really feel – the information draining out of my brain as he spoke. Ironically, if you gave me a book on pumps and tested me on the contents, I’d get a 98% and be pissed that I missed two. Yet still be unable to operate one in the field.

Music would help with riding. Mechanical aptitude, not as much. So what am I good at? I’m great on a deadline. I’m clever. I’m good with my hands.

Grace under pressure helps in jump-offs and at shows in general. More than one instructor has been stunned at how much better I ride in shows than at home. The downside is that I stink at the day-to-day diligence that builds solid progress. Clever is good for building LEGO models and solving crossword puzzles, but not for riding. Early on, I had a riding teacher tell me that I had a fine mind, “Now stop using it.” Good hands are the hallmark of good riding. I’m good at most handicrafts: weaving, crochet, book arts, and so on. This translates well to groundwork & massage. Not so well to how I hold the reins. Perhaps because the rein hand is static in relation to the mouth & the finger motion is subtle, both of which are so far out of my wheelhouse as to be off the boat.

What are you good at & how does it help your riding or other hobbies?

Foto Friday: Gratuitous Kittycake

3 Reasons why I am having a hard time dragging myself to the barn or getting any work done these days. Rhyme, Reason*, and their unnamed sibling came to live with us last weekend. Hubby returned from the grocery store, placed the phone in my hand, put a phone number from the public bulletin board in front of my eyes, and said, “Free kittens. Call them.” Perhaps the kittens will lead the way for the Basset & third horse [Going].

I will resist the temptation to devolve into a catblog, mainly because I lack the photo skills to do justice to the cuteness.

[*from a song in the movie The Phantom Tollbooth, from the book by Norton Juster, illustrated by Jules Feiffer [1961].]

Marketing 101

Inspired by Jean Abernethy‘s artist card picked up in a previous year, I designed (I use the term loosely) and home-printed this 1/4 page flyer to hand out at the American Horse Publications seminar earlier this month [Day 0 – Permanence, Day 1 – FF: Old Grey Mare, Day 2 – Magazines & Me]. Since I didn’t do as much blog flogging as I had hoped in Williamsburg, I am repurposing it as a post. Never let text go to waste. While the flyer didn’t get me the massive bump in readership that I had fantasized about, I am still enchanted with my own cleverness. Particularly for one as graphically challenged as I.

OTOH, when I handed it to one person, she said she had seen one the day before, but didn’t know what to do with it. She was right. It has no call to action. No, “This is my blog. Come see it.” I had envisioned the flyer as an adjunct to conversation, not as a stand-alone piece. In the future: more marketing, less cleverness.

And yes, the naming contest is still on [Help]. Everything that is not mare care has been on hold.

What clever but cheap marketing have you done? (…That I can steal…)

Grazing

Hand-grazing a horse is almost hypnotic. We stare blankly at the moving parts and listen to the sound of grass destruction. We look, but how much do we see? Having done this a lot lately, we have come to a few conclusions. Others more than I.

1) Constancy.
Horse shovel the next bite in the front as the previous bite is ground up in the back. If I tried this, I’d be wearing my salad. Alas, I had to have this pointed out to me by a non-horse friend in college. All those years of being around horses trumped by 20 minutes of scientific observation.

2) Selectivity.
Mathilda likes low to the ground or the top layer. Not so much the middle. Between the rain softening the ground & M tying up our time, the pasture growth has gotten away from us. She enjoys biting the heads off a grassy, stalky plant that has sprouted (seeded?). This was hubby’s observation. He’s the chef, so he’s used to keeping track of what foods get eaten.

3) Mobility.
They take a bite or two & move on, even if the new grass is of the same type as the old. They don’t settle down & strip an area they way we would an ear of corn. I don’t notice this as much as hubby. I simply stick my nose in a book & follow her about. I’ll look up & think, Hmm how’d we get all the way over here? Plus he grazes her first thing in the morning, when she tends to be on a mission.

4) Dexterity.
I will watch M tear at patch of grass but leave one undesirable flower/weed standing. How do they manage with those fat noses of theirs? I couldn’t accomplish that with opposable thumbs and reading glasses.

What have you observed about horses grazing?