Life Is A Zoo

Opening this = flashback to kidhood. This explains much.

Yeah! Second week in a row that I have been back to volunteer at the zoo [Serve]. I can’t go for as long as I used to and last week Hubby had to stay home, but it’s a small step toward reinstalling our regular routine.

Mathilda is past the 24/7 hoof-holding phase. She is self-sufficient in a wobbly, limited-space way. Our current conundrum is that our property was not designed to be a rehab facility. We were set up for a small herd to wander at will. We don’t have a range of stalls, lay-up stalls, small paddocks, and fields to offer an increasingly wider field of play as the patient’s mobility increases. Nor can we adequately separate two horses who don’t get along – or perhaps two horses who get along too well. (Silly slut!)

Back when I was on crutches after a foxhunting accident, I was astounded at how much stuff cluttered up our floors. It’s like that. We are having to retool mid-crisis. We have intentions of finishing the side field to use as a paddock but life keeps getting in the way. When life doesn’t, Mathilda does something spectacular and torpedoes the weekend.

Family zoo joke:
A man sees a friend in a car with three monkeys, “Why do you have monkeys in your car?’
His friend says, “They were left to me in a will. I don’t know what to do with them.”
The man tells his friend to take the monkeys to the zoo. The next days he sees the same friend, still with three monkeys in his car, “I thought you were going to take them to the zoo?”
“I did.” Said his friend, “They loved it. Today, we’re going to the movies.”
(Later – my mother says this joke is properly told with penguins. Google agrees. No idea where the monkeys came from.)

Know any zoo jokes?

Show Calendars & Sympathetic Magic

The website for the 2012 Alltech National Horse Show is up. No Adult Jumpers. The prizelist isn’t available but none last year AFAIK and the intro blat doesn’t mention it as a new event. That means I will either have to jump higher or the show will have to get bigger.

We will ignore the reality check of my current riding status – at this point, I might as well dream about Grands Prix – and ponder why we salivate over the dream of attending certain Big-Name shows.

Better Judging
At the one registered dressage show Previous Horse attended, I felt he was evaluated fairly as a short-strided, little Thoroughbred. We still nailed down the bottom of the class, but we lost for the right reasons. At a tiny, local dressage show, PH was excused for being too lame to continue. I’m still incensed:
a) Granted he moved like a sewing machine. Give him a 4 on movement and I will not breathe a word. Don’t tell me he’s lame because he doesn’t move like a Warmblood.
b) He was a jumper. He saw no point in a collection of circles. Put a jump in front of him and you will see plenty of “desire to move forward.”
c) This horse would take to a fainting couch with a cold compress if he suffered a hangnail. There was no way, no way at all, that he was bravely soldiering through the pain to finish Training Level Test 3.
But I digress.

Better Facilities
Bigger shows have better footing, better lighting, nicer stalls, fancier jumps, prettier cross-country fences, and so on. But beyond an acceptable level of safety, how much of this is necessary versus how much is bells & whistles? A well-run regional show can have the same amenities but less pizazz.

Just Because
Would I drive 8 hours, past several states to show Baby Novice at the Kentucky Horse Park? In a heartbeat.

The National has been peripatetic since leaving New York. If you replace all the boards in a wooden boat is it still the same boat? Well, the Alltech show still has the NHS orange and black color scheme that makes my Manhattan-raised heart go pitty-patty. So, yes, short of a revival at Madison Square Garden, this is the National.

Where is your dream show?

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].]