Five Books to take to your grave

   I am a reader. The easiest way to drive me insane is to put me in a ‘please take a seat and wait’ situation without something to read. I have been known to read such drivel as “Golf Digest” when that was the only thing available in my dentist’s office.

   I take a book everywhere I go. I carried three of them in my rucksack when I deployed to the Gulf War. I take a book when I go on vacation. I don’t necessarily read it, but I take comfort knowing it is there. OK, I don’t carry a book when I’m riding. But between me and my husband’s equal addiction to reading, we have, at last count, over 3000 books. And treasure each one.

     I know I am going to die someday. Being atheist, I don’t believe in a god, but I do believe in some sort of afterlife. I have tried to live a good life so I’m sure I’ll be going somewhere nice, but nevertheless, I’m taking something to read with me.

   I read mostly non-fiction, these days. Science is expanding so very fast and I like to keep up. It doesn’t mean, though, that I didn’t read a lot of fiction in the past. I just don’t have the time anymore for fiction. However, when it comes time to die, I want my favorite novels with me, for I will have plenty of time, then.

    I have a number of books that have become more than just ‘something to read’ for me. They have become a part of who I am. They are silent treasures, waiting for me when I seek escape from the present world.  In most cases, they are novels that opened my childhood eyes to a world far beyond that of the city life I was enduring. They made my life better, happier, more complete. Books led me into times, countries, the minds of other people…and animals…that I would never have imagined or experienced any other way.

   I intend to be cremated, which will make carrying a few books with me a little easier. Intermingling my ashes with beloved books is a fitting way of entering the cosmos.

   I invite you, (if anyone reads this) to list five books enshrined in the library of your soul. It is one of the few times I open my blog to just anybody, as I don’t like being hit up by anonymous commenters who are merely doing so to get me to mention their blog.

   The list must be comprised of a book that so enchanted you, so encouraged you, so satisfied you, that you have read it several times. It can be any book, novel or non-fiction, with a few exceptions:

   

   1. No religious books. This means no bible. No koran. No torah. Sorry, but NO. This is my blog and the bible, while fiction, is not a book. No, I don’t want to hear it. I don't want stories about how you were saved or born again, or want to save me. I am fine, thank you very much. The folks who say that their religious book is the only one they have ever read are far too closed minded to be trusted.  Besides, if you believe that your religious book is true, and you are convinced you’re going to heaven, why take it when you’re going to meet the guys who wrote it?

  2. It can be any sort of book other than the above. A text book. A how-to, do it yourself. A children’s book. Roger Tory Peterson's Guide to the Birds of America. One written several thousand years ago or one published yesterday. The complete works of Shakespeare. It can be your teenaged diary; the gift from your mother; the paperback that inspired you to be what you are today.

  3. The books must be ones that you have loved so much, read so often, that you know exactly how it comes out but you still read it, just for the love of it.

  4. No porno books. Porn isn’t a novel, it’s merely a literary vehicle by which men titillate other men’s minds. I don’t care if you read it, I just don’t want it littering my blog.

   5. No more than five books. Were I to be buried, I could fill a casket with the books I love, but I’m keeping it at five. Oh, hell, just burn my entire library with me in the middle. No, that’s not the idea here. Five books. This also serves to make you really contemplate how important, how integral the book was to what makes you you.

   When you list it, put down how many times you’ve read the book or make your best guess. This will help you realize that it is, truly, a Most Beloved Book.

   Herewith is my list of Five. If you notice, three are by the same author. That tells you how much they affected me, as I read them as a child, and still read them once in a while, despite knowing exactly what the story is and how it ends. I get something new out of it each time I read one of the Five.

1. The Jungle Books-by Rudyard Kipling. (at least a dozen times)

2. Kim-by Rudyard Kipling  (six times?)

3. Captains Courageous-by Rudyard Kipling (five times)

4. The Horsemasters-by Don Stanford  (six times)

5. Shogun-by James Clavell (eight times. I loved it so much I tried to learn Japanese).

   I have paperback copies of all these books. They will be on my chest, along with a few other items, when my body goes into the flames.

  Have fun!

The OMG moment

     Most of my life was spent thirsting after horses, not actually riding them. 

   As a city kid with few opportunities to ride, I learned to ride  by the following method:

1. Find a western saddled horse whose owner is sufficiently stupid enough to let a green kid get on it.
2. Climb on.
3. Hang on
4. Get off.  

   Even when I finally was able to own a horse, I didn't ride Jordan all that much. He was beautifully trained and I kept him home, where I had no place to ride for the vast majority of the year, due to rain, rain, and last but not least, rain. That's where I learned that a covered arena is one of the finest things a rider can have. Not having one meant that one had perhaps a few weekends in the summer to ride...but with gardens, jobs, a household to keep and a lazy, high maintenance husband (not my current one) it doesn't leave much time for riding.

  I have spent an enormous amount of time afoot, learning to handle, massage, breed, teach (as opposed to train) horses, but it wasn't until 2011 that I began to seriously want to learn to ride. This was after my divorce, after my remarriage to a normal man, after I'd been laid off for the last time, after I lost hope of ever finding a decent paying job again,  and finally accepting the fact and begin enjoying retirement.

   Thus I began leasing horses, which in four cases was a expensive exercise in masochism. My "owners' (those who owned the horse) were whack jobs, shysters, or outright psychopaths. I had given up on leasing a horse after two years of pain and frustration when out of the blue, Sue offered me the use of Raven. For free. It works out beautifully for both of us: she works full time, I can do things during the time she's working, (i.e. have the farrier out or the vet check), sort of be her Girl Friday. (doesn't that date me. Now it's Personal Assistant. Whatever). I started blogging about it, too. I was truly lucky, but Sue took her time...a VERY long time...before she allowed me to ride Raven without her being present. I promised her I would not ride him without her permission.
One woman at the barn said, 'why don't you ride Raven?" I said, "Sue doesn't want me to ride him without her being here." "I won't tell. She'll never know." "True...but I will." 

I could have snuck in a ride when she was at work, but when I give my word, I KEEP it.

  When I decided I wanted to REALLY learn to ride, I realized that the best way to acquire the necessary balance and self confidence so vital to properly learning to ride could only be done by riding bareback.

   When you're ten years old, rubber boned, and convinced that you will never die, you learn to ride by osmosis.
  When you're in your late fifties, are brittle boned and all too uncomfortably aware that there are things worse than death: paralysis from the neck down, for instance; you learn to ride by conscious effort and a great deal of trepidation. And a helmet.

   Thus I embarked on learning to ride by going back to basics: bareback. 

   I don't ride every day. Perhaps I would have come to this moment sooner had I done so, but there again, I have a Life. It is full to bursting with things that have nothing to do with horses. It means I ride maybe two times a week. 
  Thus the OMG moment I had a month ago took..oh, four years.

   But it was worth the wait. 

   Last month I was riding Raven alone in the arena.  (I was given free rein ((pun fully intended))to ride whenever I chose several years ago.)  I felt comfortable. I asked, inadvertantly, for collection..and GOT it. It was an incredible feeling.

  I've held off writing this till now. First, Life got in the way, but also, I wanted to BE SURE.

  Within a week of that collection ride, I was riding..again, alone, bareback..and felt the connectivity I'd only felt a few fleeting times. This time, though, it lasted the entire ride. I was 'plugged in' to Raven. Our spines were connected. I felt comfortable, balanced, at home. I felt SAFE. I was relaxed and assured. I realized I had achieved something, very quietly, very softly...I had learned balance. I was one with Raven. He proved that to me within moments by shying suddenly and I rode it out..as I usually have...without a problem. I waggled my lower legs. I was as secure on his back as if I were locked on. There was two of me..the bottom half was horse and the upper half was human.

  That was thrilling, but I've learned to not expect too much. However, it has remained. I went a week without riding, then me, Sue, Gretchen, her daughter JJ, and another woman who was riding her QH..were all in the arena.  Everyone was swapping horses. Raven is the only warmblood and JJ had stars in  her eyes after riding him. "He's Fun. He's like a rock star" she oozed.

I know the feeling...warmbloods will do that to you. 

I got aboard first and he was HYPED...there was so much energy going on in the arena and he fed off it like a sponge. Really, if there'd been no one else, I wouldn't have risked it. He as that much horse. But perhaps that was perfect, because without warning, we were trotting. I was relaxed and happy. Comfortable, balanced, steering without hanging onto the reins. 
 I was sitting his big booming trot bareback. Sue was on Gretchen's mare and her face said it all: LOOK AT  YOU!!!! oh my gosh! 
Oh my god, I thought, that was so easy. It was my eureka moment, but I'll type OMG because..well, it's 2016. Nobody has any idea what 'eureka' means anymore save us oldsters.
  
   A week later, she insisted I ride in her saddle. We are going to trot, she said, and I was ready to try, after my first two successes. But Raven can be lazy. He's got a long back and consequently is always on the forehand unless he's been suitably warmed up, as he had been by Sue. This time he was more than warm, he was hot as a pistol and ready to rock. I asked for a trot and began posting his trot like I'd been doing it all my life. Up down up down and I was even on the correct diagonal. It was easy. It was HIM doing the bounce, tossing my butt out of the saddle just enough. I have to keep my hands low, now I know, but I wasn't hanging onto his face. I was balanced and comfortable.

  Today summed it up. Sue is on vacation and I have Raven to myself. I was in the arena when Missy came in with her grey Saddlebred/Arab cross, Jester. And the barnlord came in. Was she going to give Missy a lesson? Because if that's the case, I will evacuate. I don't mind leaving if someone is paying for a lesson. But, no. She's just there to watch us ride.

 Now that I know what being balanced and in harmony with him feels like,  I had felt something amiss with Raven's walk, so I asked the barnlord to spot me. Is he off on his right fore? She demanded I trot. So ...I trotted. Sitting his trot bareback, I went down the arena, again...comfortable and balanced. I don't think the barnlord knew that I have only recently been able to sit the trot. She had me go round and then said, no, he's okay. 

  Like it was an everyday thing for me, to sit the trot bareback. Like it was an every day thing.

   IT IS STICKING. I am on my way! I can truly say for the first time that I am learning to ride, and I can credit riding bareback for it all. I have learned balance, harmony, and most of all, self confidence. It can be a long slow trial for older folks...I am 61 now, soon to be 62, but we CAN learn to ride. It just takes time and the right horse. And the willingness to accept that starting at the beginning is usually the best way, especially if you go bareback.

   I CAN RIDE!!!

Paying it forward

     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. 

  
 

After a year of farrier science.

    Last year, (2014) we realized that we had to do something about Raven's feet. I've documented it before. 

    He was trimmed last month, I've just now gotten around to writing it up.

    With good trimming, and supplementing his diet with biotin, Raven's feet have improved immeasurably.

    I wish I had started taking decent pictures of them in November 14, when we first began a dedicated course on fixing his feet. Thus, the pictures that are usable begin in January.

  It's been a year. Here is what we began with in January 15, and what we have now:

Left hind outside post trim Jan 15

Left hind outside post trim Nov 15

Left hind inside pre-trim Jan 15

Left hind inside post trim Nov 15

Right Hind outside pre trim Jan 15

Right hind outside post trim Nov 15

Right hind inside post trim Jan 15

Right Hind inside post trim Nov 15

     As the television ad used to say, isn't that amazing?. With the exception of the RH outside, these are now normal hooves. The RH outside seemed to have weaker hoof growth.Not sure why, but horses feet are individuals. So Mark plans on putting shoes on the hind feet for maybe two trims, just to bolster that last bit that needs to grow out. 

   Over and over again, I am amazed..and grateful that we ditched the old farrier for Mark. Old Farrier was over his head with Raven's feet. They were so very bad...the pics in January don't do it justice. We cleared up the white line disease. We got rid of the thrush. Little by little, Mark has reshaped the hoof, bringing the lines back into alignment, putting those heels back on the ground where they belong.
Raven is going much better now. I'm sure he's forgotten how bad his feet were. 

   Will I take more pictures on his next trim in February? Probably, but whether I post or not, I don't know. After all, with the exception of the RH outside, these are GOOD FEET.