The Hardest...yet the Only..Decision

It's never easy to write the following words.

Raven was put down today. At about 0930, he began showing signs of colic.

The vet came out and worked with him until noon, when it became apparent that this wasn't colic.

It was a twisted intestine. 

I got there about 1100. He was drooling like a leaky hose. You could see that he was in pain. But he still…believe it or not…asked me for carrots. 

I held his lead rope…completely unnecessary, and sang to him. I sing to my animals when they're anxious or in pain. Whether it made a difference or not to him, I don't know, but I like to think it did. 

At noon, it was decided to take him to the vet's clinic. Despite being in pain, Raven willingly loaded. Sue was with him.

No, I didn't go. I've been ill and am on medication that needs to be taken at specific times.

She'd said in the past she wouldn't put him through surgery. 

When it was found that it was definitely a twisted intestine, Sue made the decision. 

There was no need to put him through anymore pain.

As they walked out to the back pasture of the clinic, Raven reached down and snatched a mouthful of grass.

Raven was a wonderful horse. He was just perfect for someone like me. He taught me so much. He put up with my fumbling. He taught me what collection feels like. He was my friend.

He was 25 years old.

Thank you, Raven. I love you.

Raven  Hanoverian 1994-2019

Learning riding secrets the hard way

"The best thing for the inside of a man is the outside of a horse."  Winston Churchill

Sometimes, you learn about riding in unusual ways. Or painful ones.

I have been extremely ill the last two months. Out of the blue, I was hit with upper intestinal bleeding. I woke up with this immediate need to hit the bathroom, and instead of the runs, I passed 'coffee ground stool', blood clots, and black blood. LOTS of it. For 18 hours. I was hospitalized for two days, had to do a colonic cleanse despite the fact that it was 'obvious' it was my upper intestine or stomach.

That wasn't all. Whatever demon had invaded my digestive system had many more evil tricks to play.

I developed dysphagia. If bleeding out is immediately life threatening, dysphagia can kill you, but far more slowly and miserably. It means inability to swallow. Yes. I could not swallow anything solid. I'm told there are people who live for years with this, but to me, it's not living and I was despairing that I'd never eat again. The idea of being fed through a tube in my stomach was not something I wanted to even contemplate.

But the demon wasn't done! After a few weeks of blending everything, I could swallow again, but then I was hit with regurgitation. This isn't vomiting. No, its one step below. Whatever you swallow doesn't stay in your stomach. No, it comes back up into your esophagus to rest in your throat or just behind your sternum. Up and down it goes, or just hangs there for hours…sometimes days. The only way it goes into your stomach and stays there is to eat ramrod straight, do not bend over or do anything sudden for 45 minutes, and even then, hours later, it still might come back.

I had to worry most about inhaling the stuff that liked my throat better than my stomach, and when you inhale food, you develop pneumonia and have to take antibiotics…that kill the good bacteria in your gut, so you get C. Difficil.

Did I mention the pain? Despite the fact that it was my stomach and gut acting up, something in the mix decided to send pain to my chest and shoulder. Nothing touched it: not aspirin(which, I am now forbidden to use), none of the other 'pain killers', nothing. It gets worse at night, and the only way I can sleep is with an ice pack on my shoulder. Even then, the pain is such that I'm only getting about 3 hours of sleep a night. I have moved into the guest bedroom so that my dear husband can sleep.

I've had several blood draws, all of which say I'm anemic. Ya think! when one's red blood cell count drops to 9.0 because of a bleed, you're instantly anemic.

Oh, and I've lost weight. Yup, who would have guessed? I dropped 12 pounds in two weeks, and it doesn't look as if I'll ever get it back.

And through it all, I have yet to talk to a gastroenterologist…the doctor who looks in your stomach and  gut and diagnoses whatever it is that is trying to kill you. That's because my insurance company, the one I pay a lot of money in premiums to every month, can't decide if hemorrhaging for 18 hours constitutes an 'emergency'; is still trying to decide if I was truly admitted into the hospital as an "inpatient' or was I just 'under observation in a hospital' as an outpatient, which, of course, means they don't have to pay. That, and not being able to eat or sleep is something they don't consider 'medical'. But damn it, get that premium in or we'll cut your ass off. Can't lose a dime, now can they!

 

But that's not why I write.

A few weeks ago, I was feeling well enough to go to the barn. Sue (who's an RN) insisted I ride Raven bareback, as I always love to do.

You've heard that old saying, "just what the doctor ordered"? It's true. That first ride…after two months of illness, feeling like death warmed over, staying indoors and trying to stay alive through blending every atom of food into a liquid, being atop a horse was …incredible. Raven, always intuitive, was VERY careful with me, he knew something was wrong. It felt so good to be on his back. It felt so good to be in his mind, feeling him responding. What astounded me was…me.

I had 'forgotten' how to balance. No, actually, I had NO balance. Losing 12 pounds caused me to lose that 'set point' for balance I'd developed over the years.  I weighed a lot less than before and that, apparently makes a difference!

But…unlike my other problems, twenty minutes or so of riding bareback helped my mind re-adjust to the new me (no matter how unwelcome it is) and I recovered that sense.

Today, …I am feeling so much better, and I'll tell you how in a minute…I rode him in a saddle. Again, something is new. I haven't gained an ounce back, but my balance was there. And…for the first time in my adult life, I found I had thighs that fit the saddle. Up until this weight loss, my thighs have always been, ahem, Rubinesque. Okay, let's call them for what they were.  Thunder thighs. I never could 'put the flat of my thigh' on the saddle because I didn't HAVE a flat thigh. They were nice and round. Fleshy.  Fat.

But now? They're gone. No thighs. Well, yes, they're still THERE, but there's no meat on them…and now, I can put them on the saddle. It makes a HUGE difference in how I ride. I am astounded at how much difference there is.

Which is sad, because most women I know have thighs that are like mine were. It's just how we're built. Thunder thighs kept us women alive during the Ice Ages.

Is it fair to say, then, that the top notch riders have no thighs? Or thighs that are nothing but bone, like mine are, now, 'correct'?  Damn it……

Honestly, I'd rather have the weight back. I refuse to go out and buy all new pants/jeans/etc. I swim around in my jeans. My belt ran out of holes. But I do like the way it feels to sit in a saddle, with thighs 'flat' on the panel.

Now how, do you wonder, have I healed whatever it is that caused me to bleed? Well, I still have the pain, but I can eat now, slowly and thoroughly chewing my food and it goes into my stomach and stays there-and comes out the other end without blood.

My acupuncturist…who IS willing to see me, and if you have never had acupuncture, let me tell you, it works, told me my gut was tissue paper thin and I need to build up my levels of iron and protein. I needed to heal my gut. How to do this?

Bone broth and collagen.

So I've been drinking a lot of bone broth and ingesting beef collagen. It's a tasteless powder that one can put in soup, or a glass of water. I am convinced it has brought me back a lot quicker than could be hoped. No, I've not seen a gastroenterologist yet, but when I do, and they do an endoscopy to find out what the hell happened, hopefully they will find I've healed.

Hopefully. Hopefully I never have another bleed, because it was bad.

Because, while seeing what seemed endless gouts of my blood going down the toilet, I thought I was going to die. Then I was afraid I WASN'T.

I didn't. And I learned that one's weight has a great deal to do with riding, and a bony thigh makes all the difference in the world to riding.

The Hollywood Horse

Sometimes, you know right away when someone buys the wrong horse.

Recently, a longtime friend of the Barnlord bought a horse for her 10 year old daughter.

The friend, Tessa, had ridden Western equitation and drill team for years, so she was an experienced rider (in an arena). Her daughter, Emily, though, was just starting out. She'd taken a few lessons from the Barnlord (who, in my opinion, is hidebound. You ride according to HER ways. She knows only one way to teach and is completely unwilling to adapt her training to each individual's ability.).

 I got the distinct feeling from Emily that she liked horses, but wasn't really 'into' them, like you and I. (yes, if you're reading this, it's because you're horse crazy, just like me.)

I witnessed the ''pre-sale' ride. Two women, one, the owner of Recks, had trailered the bay, 15 year old  QH gelding to the barn. Several of the barnizens were there. I got there half way through the 'try out' of the gelding. Barnlord was NOT there. The story from the sellers was that Recks had done drill team for several years, but had been stuck in a pasture for 'a while'.

What I saw scared me.

Tessa was at the gate end of the arena, shouting instruction to Emily, who was perched atop a sullen and resentful Recks. His ears were pinned, his tail swished. He was pissed.

She tried to get him to trot to the left. He backed up, tossed his head, and refused. "Turn him to the right," Tessa yelled and Emily obeyed.  Recks willingly went to the right but his trot got faster and faster.  He kept tossing his head and veering into the center of the arena rather than staying on the wall. He had his chin against his chest. This was NOT due to Emily's reining.  As this horse had been trained "Western Equitation", the girl had NO contact with the snaffle bit. The reins flopped against the bay's neck. You couldn't blame the girl for hard hands. No, Recks had learned a long time ago that his neck was far stronger than a human's arms. And his will was his own, too. No one was going to tell him what to do.

He began to run. Another person was riding her Arabian gelding on the wall and he barged in on them, almost hitting them. The person stopped her horse. Recks stopped too, wanting to chat with the other horse. "Kick him!" Tessa yelled and Emily, much against her will, kicked Recks. He spun around in a circle then took off again.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I was standing next to another of the barn's boarders and she was just as scared for Emily as I was. Emily wasn't riding. She was a passenger atop an out of control horse. I fully expected her to come off. But somehow she stayed aboard. 

Recks was galloping full speed along the arena wall.

Finally, Tessa and another person ran into the gelding's path, waving their arms and yelling "whoooooooooooa" to get him to stop. (another thing I'd NEVER do.). I believe he stopped only because he was tired. He was fat and out of shape. He stopped because he'd accomplished his goal. The girl on his back was now visibly terrified.She was pale and shaking. Tessa ran up to her and congratulated her for "GOOD job!" and…believe it or not, "You stayed on him!"

So she had expected her daughter to fall off TOO!! What kind of mother is that? What sort of woman allows her daughter to be put at risk of possibly death because the horse is a real deal? I'll tell you why, in a minute.

The two sellers didn't find Recks's performance (in my opinion, misbehavior) to be 'odd'.

"Well, he's been stuck out in a pasture for four years," was their excuse.

You know, I've met plenty of horses that were pasture jewelry for years. Most of them needed some of the rough spots smoothed out, a bit of retraining, but they weren't like Recks. This horse wasn't pasture jewelry. He had an attitude. A bad one. 

I said to the barnizen standing next to me, "If anyone can take the knots out of his head, it's Barnlord". One of the sellers glared at me. I had figured it out, and she was pissed because I might just get through to Tessa and convince her that the horse was NOT a horse for Emily. He wasn't in pain. He wasn't green. He was a horse with a truckload of vices, a horse who knew exactly how to get rid of the person on his back.  

THEY knew he was crazy and wanted nothing more than to get rid of him. They didn't give a shit that this was not just a horse who's been loafing for four years. No, this horse had been stuck out in a pasture for that long because he was dangerous. And they KNEW it.  They had no morals. They were willing to sell him to a child. I wouldn't have taken him had he been free.

Even if they'd thrown in the trailer AND the truck to go with him. 

There are too many good horses out there, even ones who've been in a pasture for years, to waste time, money and health on a bad one. 

WHY was Tessa so willing to overlook the obvious problems with Recks?

Recks was a Hollywood horse. He was drop dead gorgeous and a beautiful mover.  That's what sold him. Despite the ashen look on Emily's face, Tessa was smitten. The horse was ostensibly for Emily, but it was really because Tessa wanted him.She wanted him badly.

She bought Recks.

In the days after the sale, Recks settled in. He cribbed and wind sucked. He pawed holes in the stall mats. He proved to be a problem right from the start. Even giving him the benefit of a doubt, being in a new barn full of new people and horses, he created problems immediately.

Barnlord, being who she is, refused to admit the horse was problematic, because she and Tessa had been friends since childhood.  Nor did she pay attention to the things he did to her, her help and to Tessa. He would pull when tied. He did not want to stand to be groomed. He didn't want his feet picked out. When asked to do something, he would strike or cow kick.

Barnlord was accustomed to handling rank horses, but Tessa, and especially Emily, were not.

On the one occasion I saw Tessa riding him. He refused to stand to be mounted.  Instead of standing quietly, he cowkicked at her. She put down a crossrail to force him to stand next to the mounting block and when he sidestepped, she cracked him with a crop. He bucked, but finally stood still to allow her to get aboard. Tessa could ride but he was completely uncooperative. He tried to run away with her, as he had done with Emily, but Tessa could handle him. It took her fifteen minutes to get him to take his left lead, proving that he DID know his leads. He just didn't WANT to.  He wasn't in pain. The saddle fitted him. He never had problems moving to the left when he was not under saddle. No, it was just Recks being ornery.

Barnlord tried to work with him. He reared when she asked him to go forward on the lunge line. When she put him in the round pen, he immediately began to run and refused to trot or even slow down.

So I was not surprised in the slightest to learn that Recks was up for sale. Again.  "Emily is afraid of him," Barnlord explained. No doubt about THAT.

Matt, my farrier, showed up to trim Raven. Barnlord barged in on us and wanted Matt to take a look at Recks. "He's a great trail horse," she said. I said, "But he's not a horse for beginners." (which Matt is NOT). Barnlord shrieked at me, "shut up, you don't know what you're talking about, you're stupid," and walked off to get Recks.

Matt looked shocked. I said, "That's what I get from her all the time."

She wanted him gone just as much as everyone else. But screaming at me wasn't going to accomplish it. All it did was show Matt what kind of person she is.

But he'd already figured that out about her years ago. He trusts my judgement more than hers.

 

Last week, I was at the barn when Barnlord took Recks out of his outdoor pen and tried to get him to go through the gate into the round pen. He reared and backed up on his hind legs, pawing, but finally calmed down enough to enter the round pen. Once he was there, he began racing around at top speed. To the left.

I knew what she was doing. She was wearing him out so he'd behave for a 'buyer' who was coming to look at him later in the day.

She succeeded. He was wet with sweat when she finally took him out of the pen.

I left. I didn't need Barnlord's wasping me.

The buyer showed up later that day. He took one look at this gorgeous bay QH gelding, the one with the Hollywood looks-and bought him.

I hope the man knows how to handle a rank horse. Who knows, perhaps he might be the kind of horse that can be dominated by a man.

All I know is that I am very glad he's gone. 

The Hollywood Horse 

Where would you live in Fiction?

     I read a LOT of books. Being that I am a scientist, the vast majority of what I read is termed ‘non-fiction’ and is almost always hard science, natural history, or, lately, history. For instance, the last non-fiction books I read are “The Third Horseman” (about the Spanish flu epidemic), “Spooky Action at a Distance” (regarding quantum physics and entanglement) and “A Genetic Switch” (precisely what it says: the mechanics of a genetic switch. The last two being so thick and chewy that I had to read the first several chapters of both of them three times before I ‘got it’. )

     My husband reads, too. His specialties are anything natural history and photography. Consequently, most of our furniture consists of good reading lamps, some comfortable and well worn easy chairs under them, and 14 or 15 bookshelves stuffed with (at last count) over 3000 books. Any burglar breaking into my house is going to be sorely disappointed as there is nothing to steal.

     After the New Year, tired of having to swallow a diet of shock, disgust and dismay at the destruction wrought by President Moron and his Republican suckups, I needed a break. As a kid and young adult, I read a lot of fiction, most of it devoted to animals in general, horses in specificity, some historical fiction, and science fiction. “Shogun” was my favorite, but Kipling’s “Kim” and “The Jungle Books” will probably be three of the five I intend to have cremated with me. Got to have something to read in the Great Beyond, right?

     Thinking that I’d enjoy retreating from this insanity of real life, I picked up a trilogy I’d not read in years…Anne McCaffrey’s “Dragonriders of Pern”. Then I found that she’d written a finale volumn titled “All the Weyrs of Pern.” A Trilogy Plus One.

     I immersed myself in the four books. Oh, my, what a wonderful vacation!

    You know that the book was a good one when you miss the characters (and their world) when you finish the book(s).

    I miss the dragons. I miss the agrarian world that is Pern. I miss a world that has plenty of technology but no guns.

    My stars, if I could, I’d live on Pern. I don’t care if girls aren’t supposed to ride anything but goldens or green dragons, I’d want a brown. Big enough..like my horse..to be effective but not so silly or hormonally addled as a green, and not a breeding female like a gold. I’m picky as to who I sleep with and I’m not interested in being Weyrleader.

That, and I’d want a fire-lizard, too.

This is Ruth, a mutation of the regular dragon. The others are much larger.

These are the relative sizes of dragons. A horse is just about the same size as the white.

     Can't you just imagine what it must be like to be telepathically bonded to an intelligent creature like a dragon? Honestly, McCaffrey took a lot of what horses are now and added wings and telepathy to create her dragons.

Ultimately, were I able to live in a fictional land, it would be Pern.

    So here is my question to you:

Considering the fiction you’ve read, if it were possible to dive into the pages and into that world, where would YOU want to live?

And why?