Amongst the women in our barn-well, let me qualify that. Every horseman in our barn is female. Husbands tread very warily on "our" turf. They know they are only enablers of our equine addiction. Like mine, the horse husbands of our barn keep the entanglement to a minimum. "I don't know anything about horses and don't want to." says my husband.
(yet he is an incredible photographer of horses:
Gretchen is a lovely person. She has The Eye of the Master. She's the one who caught Raven's last bout of 'colic' (I'm still not convinced it was colic but what the hell, we'll call it that.). (See my post, "Paying it forward")
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8891148204403682920#editor/target=post;postID=5220019618502159787;onPublishedMenu=editor;onClosedMenu=editor;postNum=6;src=postname
I (and Sue) are so grateful for her discerning eye. It takes a real horseman to develop that instinct of NDR- some animal Not Doing Right. (Not to boast, but I have that instinct, too.). As well, it is a pleasure to be in a barn where anyone who sees a horse-even one not her own-that she thinks is in trouble, can speak up and call attention to it. I've done it. I'd rather be wrong (and in our barn, not considered a fool for calling attention to something that ultimately is found to be inconsequential) than to be right but too afraid to say I think this horse is sick. I've been in barns where one doesn't dare to bring the owner's attention to her own horse, because then it will be YOU to blame..or worse, How Dare You Insinuate That I've Done Something Wrong. Or whatever it is that makes some women react as if you're blaming them for a horse's medical issues. (maybe it's because it usually IS their fault, and they don't want to admit it. Or realize it's that obvious.)
Gretchen's mare is a mustang. Sunny is a lovely horse, not mareish at all. She was captured as a three year old (we think) with a foal at foot. It took a great deal of time to tame her. The people who claim they can tame a mustang in an afternoon, like Monty Roberts the "Horse Whisperer", are charlatans. His so called 'Join-up' protocol is nothing but fraud, animal abuse, and out right lying.
Mustangs are wild animals and it takes a VERY long time to get them to 'tame'. Sunny, a mare with an awful lot of sense, and without the need to be dominant, would not let someone so much as enter her pen for the first six months without her trying (and more than once, almost succeeding) to escape by climbing over the 7 foot fence.
Gretchen tamed her, with love, patience, and a kindness that radiates from her. (She did not break the mare. That was done by an expert). Gretchen is the gentlest of souls.
but she's also, I think, afraid. Of Sunny. Or of falling, or of losing control.
She rides with an iron fist. This is more out of fear, I am convinced, than cruelty. She is afraid and so she hangs onto the reins.
She is like me in that I came to riding very late in life. She, like me, had to work for a living for years, moved every two years (as one does when one is in the military), and lived in military installations that had no room for horses. Unlike me, she had children. Her daughter Sadie rides like a centaur. Unlike her mom, Sadie was given the opportunity to ride from a very early age.
The difference between me and Gretchen, when we got back into riding, is that I gave it all up. All the things I'd learned from the handful of 'lessons' I had had, all the advice one reads in the books-I let it go. Other than keeping my ear, shoulder, hip and heel in a line, I 'forgot' all the rest. I figured, I might be old in body, but I am very green in my riding ability. Why not start like the greenest of riders? Start from scratch?
When Sue finally allowed me to ride Raven, all of it was (and continues) to be bareback. The first several times I rode, Sue led Raven. I was embarrassed, but I also wanted to really and for sure learn to sit on a horse with balance, not hanging onto something. So I shut my eyes...yes...and kept my hands behind my back.
I tuned my attention to the horse, and how he felt. Once I had her permission to ride him without her presence, it was much easier to direct all my attention the horse underneath me. It was just him and me. We developed a conversation that continues every time I ride him. As time has passed, I am more able to actually get into his mind, and he mine...and now we talk. I can feel him. He is a stern teacher. He won't do what I ask him, not out of meanness or stubbornness, but out of duty. He is my teacher. He knows this. I ask him to do something. If I don't ask correctly, he gently refuses my requests, but is patient with my fumbling about on his back. Sometimes I get off wondering if I'll ever learn, or if I even have any business being on a horse. I must ask him, the right way. When I do, oh my god, the reward is instantaneous and fabulous.
That was several years ago. I still ride him bareback. Now I can sit his trot without fear. I have learned harmony and balance. I seldom use the reins. I can drop them, and direct Raven with my weight, my leg aids, my head turns. Sometimes I touch his withers to tell him to turn.
Gretchen cannot bring herself to do that. She clings to her reins like they are lifelines. Poor Sunny, she asks, she pleads, please, give me my head. I want my mouth back. Please. Gretchen does not hear. Consequently, they argue. There is no happiness, no willingness in Sunny when Gretchen rides. On the ground, they are lovers. In the saddle, they are arguing.
Sue has very gently tried to tell Gretchen that she is too tight. The Barnlord, who is a professional trainer, has given up. Gretchen does not want to hear it. Is it pride? It shouldn't be. Look at me, I want to tell her, I'm not afraid to look foolish. No one here has ever laughed at me, or thought me a dumbass for admitting I was green. We all were novice riders at one time. No one will make fun of you for admitting you are afraid of a horse, or don't know what to do, or are worried you'll look foolish. It doesn't matter. Let it go.
Is it fear? I think so, but I wish to heaven she'd face up to it rather than cling tightly to the reins.
Sue, ever the diplomat, gently broached the subject. She got a terse excuse back.
I would dearly love to ask Gretchen if I may lead her on Sunny, bareback, eyes closed, hands behind her back.
But I don't think she will listen.
Sigh.
I know there are people out there who abhor the idea of 'boarding' their horse, or using a livery, or leaving their horse in the care of other people. Usually it's a matter of economics. Boarding isn't cheap.
I've kept horses here on my own property. I don't have a barn. I don't have cross fencing. I don't have the most wonderful thing of all, a covered arena. When I did keep my horses here, I had hot wire separating my five acres (2 ha) into three pastures with a sacrifice paddock, a 'run in shed' and a water trough. It was a lot of work constantly picking the manure up, no matter the weather; keeping the wire in shape, and it wasn't much fun to go trudging across mud to get to a wet horse (despite their blankets). Tacking up in the rain, subjecting my Very Expensive Saddle to mud/water/snow..........it really got to be a pain in the ass. It wasn't conducive to riding. I didn't do much riding because of it.
Yes, boarding is expensive. Sue is paying ~$450 US for the privilege of having Raven's bed made up daily, his breakfast and dinner supplied, daily turnout with a buddy, and the utter luxury of a covered arena. Thus much of our work is taken care of. We're lucky in that the barn lord is a good one. She gets on my nerves, but it's a small price to pay for peace of mind.
Which paid off in an unexpected way.
There are (counting on my fingers) ten women boarding at our barn. Three of them pay off part of their board by mucking out stalls. They're all experienced horsemen.
Two days ago, Gretchen was mucking stalls. She owns two horses, a mustang mare and an Arabian gelding. She is the nicest person, a German woman married to a now retired Air Force sergeant.
She noticed something amiss with Raven. I was only made aware of the situation after it was all over, but I'm betting it's the same thing that tipped me off two years ago.
Please see the post I made about it when I was blogging on my wordpress blog, Through The Bridle Lightly:
https://throughthebridlelightly.wordpress.com/2013/03/12/when-manure-matters/
Briefly, I was mucking Raven's stall, back in March 2013, when I realized that he hadn't pooped much. This is a horse who produces a great deal of manure, and there wasn't but a few scanty droppings. Alarms went off in my head. Ultimately, the vet was called and she found Raven in the first stages of colic. He was 'all blocked up'.
I think Gretchen twigged to the fact that something was amiss by not finding much manure when she cleaned his stall. She notified the barnlord who called Sue.
I wasn't made aware of it until yesterday morning, when a tired sounding Sue called me. She'd been up till almost midnight, walking Raven, with the barnlords' help. Raven had colicked. The vet (not ours, but still, a good one) had responded within minutes and between the two women and the vet, they pulled Raven through.
Sue was at work, would I be so kind as to stop by the feed store and pick up some electrolytes?
"Why didn't you CALL ME??" I begged, feeling a maelstrom of emotions..Raven. Colic. Resentful because she didn't trust me enough to call me? No, that can't be right, no, she knows I don't walk very well due to a war injury, ...."ah, of COURSE I will pick up as many tubes as you want." But why didn't she call me anyway? Am I being shut out? Have I transgressed in some way? But I don't know what, if anything, and she's always quick to rein me in when I have done in the past.
"I didn't want to bother you. Three people were plenty and it was late." That didn't make me feel any better but, it is what it is. No use arguing.
Gretchen, bless her, had caught Raven's colic early. In time. Again.
When I got to the barn with tubes of electrolytes, I met up with the barnlord and while I don't care for her (she treats me as if I were a moron), I thanked her for helping Sue. She blew it off, saying, "Thank Gretchen, she caught it".
Lucky for me, Gretchen was there, mucking out a stall. I gave her the biggest hug I could (she may not have felt it..it was 19 degrees at the time, so we're all bundled up like polar bears) but it was heartfelt, and she knew it. I didn't have to say much. She Knows.
I then went out to the paddock with a tube of electrolyte. Raven came to me, head down and a bit slower than usual. His eye was...tired. I haltered him. He seemed a bit lethargic. Understandably.
"Raven, what are you doing, scaring me like that!"
Like what?
"Don't you go getting sick like that,you need to drink more. You scared me. Colic!"
I'm just a bit tired. Mom kept me up all last night.
"I've brought you some electrolytes."
I know a wormer tube when I see one. No.
"It's not wormer. It tastes like apple. It will make you feel better."
He tried raising his head out of my reach (and he's already tall), but I stepped on the lead rope and he didn't try too hard to fight it. He's a smart horse, but was obviously still feeling the effects of the night's medical treatments.
With an experienced hand, I put it in his mouth, and he began to try and spit it out before I even depressed the plunger. I gave him the whole tube and he spit out just a bit...and then stopped.
That's tasty.
I then removed the halter. He stood there for several moments, then, inexplicably, walked away. I followed, wondering. What the heck? Oh. He, like so many geldings (and stallions) has a certain spot on which to poop. He raised his tail...and a fresh, steaming pile of NORMAL manure was deposited at my feet. Lots of green, moist, steaming, beautiful manure. He then turned and came to me, just like always. I love that horse.
Ride?
"Not today, my beauty. You've had a rough night. Mom will be here tomorrow. Maybe then. Right now I want you to drink more water and I'll see you. Be good, big horse. I love you."
I left the paddock.
Sue called me that night from work. My worries about being shut out were needless. She can't call me while she's working and I refuse to call her there unless it's a flat horse emergency. But she called me as soon as she legally could.
Later, she called me from her home. We discussed a Probable Future.
Raven will be 22 in March. We cannot realistically expect him to live forever, and I am probably not being overly pessimistic by thinking that we might be going through this more often in the future. Horses-big ones, like Raven-don't live as long as ponies. Sue said, he might go tomorrow, or he might be around for another ten years.
I don't want him to go, no one does. But it happens.
Fortunately, because we are a member of a horseman's village..one peopled by women who know horses, and are willing to Say Something when they See Something wrong with a horse not their own, Raven is going to be okay. We are lucky to be in a barn that supports that sort of atmosphere. There's not the usual gossip, not the conceit of a few drama queens/ divas lording it over the less experienced. No, not this time.
Keeping one's horse at home has its emotional advantages: seeing him from your kitchen window, having him right at hand at all times, is a wonderful feeling. But one has to leave the homestead for many reasons, and then who is keeping an eye on him? It is exhausting to never have a day off from mucking, feeding, breaking the ice on water troughs or putting on a fly mask. Having many eyes on your horse makes it far easier to keep tabs on him.
I will never look at another person's horse again the same way. I will always do it with The Horseman's Eye...is this horse okay? I will Pay Gretchen's action Forward.
