You too can go on a trail ride with me!
Click on the pushpins on the left, you'll be taken to the location on the map. Cool!!
Monday, October 4, 2010
So Near, and Yet So Far
Although Dunstable is, compared to Lowell, "the country", there aren't a lot of places to trail ride near where I keep Dusty and Tico.
There are some small trails out behind the back fields, winding through the woods for about a half mile or so, but after a while it just seems a bit boring - even if occasionally, 1 or 2 or twenty wild turkeys show up wanting to share the path.
There is one trail though - out at the far end of the big field behind the Crystal Farm property, across a small street, along the power lines - that has been beckoning, just out of reach.
Over the years we've managed to get through and over the huge logs surrounding a 4 foot high 2 foot wide berm, across a tiny brook that Tico feels the need to leapfrog some - not all - of the time we cross it (he likes to keep things exciting), and onto a small street that people drive on as if they're practicing for the Monaco Grand Prix.
We've crossed the street, ridden down it for about 25 feet, cursing at drivers who won't slow down when they see a horse and followed a rutted, muddy path widened by ATVs,lined by scruffy shrubs and reeds, into an area that's really, most of the time, a nasty swamp.
And usually, we end up turning back because our horses hate getting their tootsies muddy.
Not that we let them get away with it - there would be discussion. Tico would, in his efforts to avoid the nasty black rutted wet goopy dirt on the path (which was at least partially packed down by the ATVs) dance sideways into the nasty black wet goopy dirt OFF the path, which he couldn't actually see was nasty black wet goopy dirt because it was covered with dead branches, roots, swamp grass, sad excuses for bushes, reeds, and other bog flora. It was however, in his mind at least, *safer*. Never mind that he'd sink in knee and hock deep - he'd rather thrash around in the underbrush than walk sanely across Oh My God MUD.
And to continue in the "keep things exciting" vein, he would occasionally walk up to one of the wetter mud patches, nose down and appearing to be mulling actually walking across it like a Big Boy, before gathering all four feet together and leapfrogging that as well.
So far, he has yet to deposit ME in the mud, but it's been close.
Why were we putting ourselves (and our dainty little flower equines) through this unpleasantness? Because, just past one last nasty wet deep pool of sludge and water, just beyond it, are real honest to goodness, DRY trails following the powerlines. Nirvana!
So...
This summer has been very dry and hot. We hadn't ventured out that way for a while -the deer fly population doesn't seem to mind dry heat; as a matter of fact they seemed to thrive on it. Suffice to say, being chased home by swarms of deer flies as thick as your worst nightmare about killer bee swarms is not enjoyable.
But about a month ago one of the other boarders, Elaine, and I, thinking that what with the fact that the other short trails (which had had some muck and water here and there as well) were now bone dry, it might be fun to give the Path to Nirvana another try.
We crossed the log and berm area, across the (now dry) tiny stream, managed to survive the Speedway, and started along the uneven path.
As we came upon the first of the previously formidable horse-eating areas, we started to rejoice. It was dry! The next one, the same. We wove around some more scrappy brush, and again, and again; except that the "trouble spots" were dry dirt and not grassy, you'd have not realized there had ever been a reason for equine vapors here.
But then we came to the Big Kahuna of muck. Not as big as it had been, though big enough to be heartbreaking: brackish standing water, dark mud, and who knows what all *in* the water that could grab hooves and cause injuries.
It may as well have been the Grand Canyon, there was no way we were going to get them into that, and at least in this instance we agreed with them. It's never a good thing to ask a horse to step into water that is probably barely a foot deep but so nasty you can't see what's underneath. At least you can *see* and avoid roots and broken bottles on dry ground.
We turned back, saddened but not defeated: Elaine had a plan...
There are some small trails out behind the back fields, winding through the woods for about a half mile or so, but after a while it just seems a bit boring - even if occasionally, 1 or 2 or twenty wild turkeys show up wanting to share the path.
There is one trail though - out at the far end of the big field behind the Crystal Farm property, across a small street, along the power lines - that has been beckoning, just out of reach.
Over the years we've managed to get through and over the huge logs surrounding a 4 foot high 2 foot wide berm, across a tiny brook that Tico feels the need to leapfrog some - not all - of the time we cross it (he likes to keep things exciting), and onto a small street that people drive on as if they're practicing for the Monaco Grand Prix.
We've crossed the street, ridden down it for about 25 feet, cursing at drivers who won't slow down when they see a horse and followed a rutted, muddy path widened by ATVs,lined by scruffy shrubs and reeds, into an area that's really, most of the time, a nasty swamp.
And usually, we end up turning back because our horses hate getting their tootsies muddy.
Not that we let them get away with it - there would be discussion. Tico would, in his efforts to avoid the nasty black rutted wet goopy dirt on the path (which was at least partially packed down by the ATVs) dance sideways into the nasty black wet goopy dirt OFF the path, which he couldn't actually see was nasty black wet goopy dirt because it was covered with dead branches, roots, swamp grass, sad excuses for bushes, reeds, and other bog flora. It was however, in his mind at least, *safer*. Never mind that he'd sink in knee and hock deep - he'd rather thrash around in the underbrush than walk sanely across Oh My God MUD.
And to continue in the "keep things exciting" vein, he would occasionally walk up to one of the wetter mud patches, nose down and appearing to be mulling actually walking across it like a Big Boy, before gathering all four feet together and leapfrogging that as well.
So far, he has yet to deposit ME in the mud, but it's been close.
Why were we putting ourselves (and our dainty little flower equines) through this unpleasantness? Because, just past one last nasty wet deep pool of sludge and water, just beyond it, are real honest to goodness, DRY trails following the powerlines. Nirvana!
So...
This summer has been very dry and hot. We hadn't ventured out that way for a while -the deer fly population doesn't seem to mind dry heat; as a matter of fact they seemed to thrive on it. Suffice to say, being chased home by swarms of deer flies as thick as your worst nightmare about killer bee swarms is not enjoyable.
But about a month ago one of the other boarders, Elaine, and I, thinking that what with the fact that the other short trails (which had had some muck and water here and there as well) were now bone dry, it might be fun to give the Path to Nirvana another try.
We crossed the log and berm area, across the (now dry) tiny stream, managed to survive the Speedway, and started along the uneven path.
As we came upon the first of the previously formidable horse-eating areas, we started to rejoice. It was dry! The next one, the same. We wove around some more scrappy brush, and again, and again; except that the "trouble spots" were dry dirt and not grassy, you'd have not realized there had ever been a reason for equine vapors here.
But then we came to the Big Kahuna of muck. Not as big as it had been, though big enough to be heartbreaking: brackish standing water, dark mud, and who knows what all *in* the water that could grab hooves and cause injuries.
It may as well have been the Grand Canyon, there was no way we were going to get them into that, and at least in this instance we agreed with them. It's never a good thing to ask a horse to step into water that is probably barely a foot deep but so nasty you can't see what's underneath. At least you can *see* and avoid roots and broken bottles on dry ground.
We turned back, saddened but not defeated: Elaine had a plan...
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Getting Old Ain't for the Faint of Heart.
I went to see my dad yesterday, and we watched the “Saturday Matinee” together. They get a Netflix movie in every Saturday, and the old folks at the assisted living facility he lives in watch it in the Common Room.
So we’re all in watching “Night at the Museum”, with Ben Stiller (and a small part with his mom, Ann Meara playing a job counselor), and half the old folks are having a hard time following the plot. My dad is a bit confused by it too – I think when there’s a lot going on, they just can’t keep up. Then again, it may be that, like my dad they none of them really use their hearing aids correctly, so can’t actually hear it that well.
But one little old lady was really struggling: “Does anyone know what’s going on?” “Oh! That scared me, too!” "What just happened?"
She started to get more and more agitated.
The aides were both off doing other stuff – not all the residents go in to watch the movie, but those that do, they pretty much don’t have to worry about for a couple of hours. It's the ones who don't, who are scattered around the facility, that they need to check on individually, who are a bit more worrisome.
Most of the old folks watching the movie are sitting in these really comfy upholstered swivel/rocking chairs. Once they sit in them, they all pretty much are stuck until someone helps them out of them. Having had to drag my dad out of one a couple of weeks ago, I’d put him into a comfy chair that didn’t move around, and sat in another next to him.
I looked over at the old gal a few times – she seemed to be getting upset, and kept wiping her nose, almost as if she was crying, though she didn’t appear to be. She would exclaim about something, everyone would look over at her sympathetically, but she otherwise was fine so we all would turn back to the movie.
Suddenly, she decided she wanted to stand up. There were a couple of old guys sitting behind her. “Hold the back of my chair, I want to stand up!” she demanded. They held it, but she got really petulant – “Hold the back of my chair!” “We ARE!” they said. "Well, hold it STILL!" she demanded.
She stood up, slightly hunched over, almost teetering forward. Slowly, she started pulling on her skirt, bunching it up in her hands. Pulling, bunching… those of us who could see her, sat there, curious, watching. I initially thought perhaps it had gotten wrinkled and uncomfortable underneath her, and she was trying to pull it straight, slowly strugging with arthritic fingers to make it right.
But no: with each scrunching of her skirt it came up higher, up over her knees, up to her thighs. We all watched, transfixed, as she grabbed the hem and lifted it up, pulling it over her head.
She was wearing pantyhose (thank goodness). I don’t think she had any underpants on. Now that she had the skirt up over her head, she wiped her nose on it, then started arthritically picking at the band of the pantyhose.
There was a floor to ceiling support in between her and my dad – he couldn’t see anything. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Nothing dad – watch the movie.” I sat there, torn between keeping him company or going over to her and trying to settle this poor thing down, and help restore her dignity.
My own discomfort kept me anchored to my seat. I feel shame for that - I wish I could have acted compassionately and ended the spectacle sooner.
At that point, the daughter of one of the old guys behind her walked in to the room, saw what was going on, and went to find one of the aides. Nini, the aide, came in and persuaded the old gal to go back to her room.
I am sure that this sweet old lady would have been mortified had she realized what she was doing. I suppose there's some solace in the fact that she didn't know what she was doing, and certainly won't remember doing it.
But that doesn't make it any less sad.
So we’re all in watching “Night at the Museum”, with Ben Stiller (and a small part with his mom, Ann Meara playing a job counselor), and half the old folks are having a hard time following the plot. My dad is a bit confused by it too – I think when there’s a lot going on, they just can’t keep up. Then again, it may be that, like my dad they none of them really use their hearing aids correctly, so can’t actually hear it that well.
But one little old lady was really struggling: “Does anyone know what’s going on?” “Oh! That scared me, too!” "What just happened?"
She started to get more and more agitated.
The aides were both off doing other stuff – not all the residents go in to watch the movie, but those that do, they pretty much don’t have to worry about for a couple of hours. It's the ones who don't, who are scattered around the facility, that they need to check on individually, who are a bit more worrisome.
Most of the old folks watching the movie are sitting in these really comfy upholstered swivel/rocking chairs. Once they sit in them, they all pretty much are stuck until someone helps them out of them. Having had to drag my dad out of one a couple of weeks ago, I’d put him into a comfy chair that didn’t move around, and sat in another next to him.
I looked over at the old gal a few times – she seemed to be getting upset, and kept wiping her nose, almost as if she was crying, though she didn’t appear to be. She would exclaim about something, everyone would look over at her sympathetically, but she otherwise was fine so we all would turn back to the movie.
Suddenly, she decided she wanted to stand up. There were a couple of old guys sitting behind her. “Hold the back of my chair, I want to stand up!” she demanded. They held it, but she got really petulant – “Hold the back of my chair!” “We ARE!” they said. "Well, hold it STILL!" she demanded.
She stood up, slightly hunched over, almost teetering forward. Slowly, she started pulling on her skirt, bunching it up in her hands. Pulling, bunching… those of us who could see her, sat there, curious, watching. I initially thought perhaps it had gotten wrinkled and uncomfortable underneath her, and she was trying to pull it straight, slowly strugging with arthritic fingers to make it right.
But no: with each scrunching of her skirt it came up higher, up over her knees, up to her thighs. We all watched, transfixed, as she grabbed the hem and lifted it up, pulling it over her head.
She was wearing pantyhose (thank goodness). I don’t think she had any underpants on. Now that she had the skirt up over her head, she wiped her nose on it, then started arthritically picking at the band of the pantyhose.
There was a floor to ceiling support in between her and my dad – he couldn’t see anything. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Nothing dad – watch the movie.” I sat there, torn between keeping him company or going over to her and trying to settle this poor thing down, and help restore her dignity.
My own discomfort kept me anchored to my seat. I feel shame for that - I wish I could have acted compassionately and ended the spectacle sooner.
At that point, the daughter of one of the old guys behind her walked in to the room, saw what was going on, and went to find one of the aides. Nini, the aide, came in and persuaded the old gal to go back to her room.
I am sure that this sweet old lady would have been mortified had she realized what she was doing. I suppose there's some solace in the fact that she didn't know what she was doing, and certainly won't remember doing it.
But that doesn't make it any less sad.
Friday, June 25, 2010
It's Amazing What a Little Sleep Can Do
Not that I got caught up particularly quickly - I have some issues sleeping, or at least staying asleep. But, a couple of days later, I was almost feeling human.
I had a whole lot more written, and then the internet connection crapped out mid-save, which meant nothing saved. :( Things have been great, We've done a bunch of dives, and I'll write more later. I just didn't want to leave it at "Vacation from Hell" because though it started out a bit roughly, things have been wonderful since and I'd only written those first few posts to give some background to the whole Wow, Things Are GREAT Now theme.
Later, dudes...
I had a whole lot more written, and then the internet connection crapped out mid-save, which meant nothing saved. :( Things have been great, We've done a bunch of dives, and I'll write more later. I just didn't want to leave it at "Vacation from Hell" because though it started out a bit roughly, things have been wonderful since and I'd only written those first few posts to give some background to the whole Wow, Things Are GREAT Now theme.
Later, dudes...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Vacation in Bonaire - Inauspicious Start, Fini
As we dragged our luggage along, we checked the numbers on the doors and stairwells. In our overtired and overwrought state, it was as if we'd entered the Twilight Zone: 96, 98, 92, 94, 88... well, we found the one we would be spending two weeks in, unlocked the door, and dragged ourselves and our luggage in.
The room was a bit... used looking. As a matter of fact, it appeared that at some point in the not-too-distant past, someone had set off a bunch of firecrackers in the bathroom and entryway: the tiles were pocked with what looked like little burn marks. I went into the bathroom and noticed there was no shower curtain. The closet space still had the unmistakeable smell of ocean funk lingering. "I'll be buying some Lysol before I hang my clean clothes in there" I thought. I'm actually amazed I had such a coherent thought, I was so tired. The AC however was working like a champ and was cranked way up.
We dropped our stuff, and I walked back to the front desk to ask about a shower curtain. I was really looking forward to a shower. I got back to the room and Geoffrey was sprawled out on a bed, nearly asleep.
Unfortunately, I was now WIRED: Must Get Things All Sorted Out Before Resting. I dragged Geoffrey out to walk down the street to buy some Lysol and a couple of other things, and we spent some time at some of the shops.
When we got back, there was still no shower curtain. This time as I walked into the room I noticed the artwork on the wall for the first time.
I was beat. I read it as "HELL"
The room was a bit... used looking. As a matter of fact, it appeared that at some point in the not-too-distant past, someone had set off a bunch of firecrackers in the bathroom and entryway: the tiles were pocked with what looked like little burn marks. I went into the bathroom and noticed there was no shower curtain. The closet space still had the unmistakeable smell of ocean funk lingering. "I'll be buying some Lysol before I hang my clean clothes in there" I thought. I'm actually amazed I had such a coherent thought, I was so tired. The AC however was working like a champ and was cranked way up.
We dropped our stuff, and I walked back to the front desk to ask about a shower curtain. I was really looking forward to a shower. I got back to the room and Geoffrey was sprawled out on a bed, nearly asleep.
Unfortunately, I was now WIRED: Must Get Things All Sorted Out Before Resting. I dragged Geoffrey out to walk down the street to buy some Lysol and a couple of other things, and we spent some time at some of the shops.
When we got back, there was still no shower curtain. This time as I walked into the room I noticed the artwork on the wall for the first time.
I was beat. I read it as "HELL"
Still Exhausted
We wandered back to the front desk after eating breakfast. We were still shuffling hollow-eyed things, but we weren't hungry zombies anyway.
Our room still wasn't ready. Sigh.
We hung around in the office where there was airconditioning, and so we could at least dry off the sticky sweat. They had wifi, and I soon got my netbook connected.
Dive orientation would be at 9AM. The dive instructor to do the orientation wanted us to postpone it - Holland was mid-match in the World Cup and he was sitting at the bar watching it. Hope that our room would be soon available sprung eternal though, so we declined. Since the orientation would be taking place nearby to the TV at the bar, he could still see the replays if anything big happened. No, we aren't football fans. :) He was gracious about it.
Dive orientation over (with a couple of World Cup interruptions, but not too distracting), we again wandered over to the front desk. Our room was still not ready, and our strength and stamina was fading fast. We plonked down in the chairs in the office once again and waited.
"Soon!" the girl at the front desk said.
We joked with her, and asked after people we knew, and passed the time.
Finally, the room was ready. We dragged our luggage out of the back room and headed over.
Our room still wasn't ready. Sigh.
We hung around in the office where there was airconditioning, and so we could at least dry off the sticky sweat. They had wifi, and I soon got my netbook connected.
Dive orientation would be at 9AM. The dive instructor to do the orientation wanted us to postpone it - Holland was mid-match in the World Cup and he was sitting at the bar watching it. Hope that our room would be soon available sprung eternal though, so we declined. Since the orientation would be taking place nearby to the TV at the bar, he could still see the replays if anything big happened. No, we aren't football fans. :) He was gracious about it.
Dive orientation over (with a couple of World Cup interruptions, but not too distracting), we again wandered over to the front desk. Our room was still not ready, and our strength and stamina was fading fast. We plonked down in the chairs in the office once again and waited.
"Soon!" the girl at the front desk said.
We joked with her, and asked after people we knew, and passed the time.
Finally, the room was ready. We dragged our luggage out of the back room and headed over.
On Vacation: an inauspicious start
So, pretty much last minute (one month before takeoff) we decided to go on vacation to Bonaire again. The primary motivation being that it would be Captain Don's 85th birthday; the secondary being that I hadn't had a *real* vacation for 3 years and was starting to snap. All work and no play makes Susan a psychotic girl.
The flights were challenging, but they always are. It's just not easy getting to Bonaire. I ended up booking a 3-leg trip: Manchester NH on Friday afternoon through Cleveland, to Houston, and then the red-eye from Houston to Bonaire. My reasoning: with this itinerary, we'd have an extra day on-island.
I was a little concerned about making all the connections, especially the last as we only had 50o minutes between arrival and departure in Houston. It turned out I had nothing to worry about - there was a handicapped diving group, "Eels on Wheels", also travelling on this flight, so by the time they were all loaded we didn't actually take off for about an hour after the scheduled time.
One thing I hadn't banked on was just how grueling travelling for 12 hours really was.
Yes, checkin was it's usual unpleasant but grin and bear it experience: both Geoffrey and I have had both our hips replaced so we always end up being poked, prodded, and peeled. Then our luggage contains lots of electronic and camera attachment stuff which apparently look a lot like bomb-making instruments, so it's unpacked for us while we're being scanned and swiped. Then we have to repack it all, and try to fit everything back in. All this is time-consuming but once we clear security it's generally over with. We were able to stay in the secure areas for the entire journey, so once we got through that it was relatively clear sailing.
Maybe I'm just old, or maybe it's because I have a really hard time dozing on a plane, but after the half day schedule of fly-wait-change planes-fly-change-planes-wait-fly, I was a complete wet noodle when we landed in Bonaire. Where it was about 90 degrees at 6AM, and not a lot of air movement.
We gathered up our checked-in luggage, got a taxi to the place we're staying, found out that our room was still occupied. Not totally surprising, since checkout is around noon, so we piled our luggage in a back room and went wandering around. However, for whatever reason she couldn't ecen tell us the room we'd be in.
We were both zombie-like in our sleep deprived state. Not to mention, sticky, smelly, and getting grumpy. All we really wanted to do was get into our room and settle in, then go for dive orientation. We wandered back to the front desk and were told that the people in our room had checked out, but the maid hadn't cleaned it for us yet, so we'd have to wait.
Soon the restaurant was open and we wandered over.
We'd been here before, so knew it was a buffet breakfast. "Room number?" the cook asked. "We have no idea!" we told her, and explained our predicament. She remembered us from our other visits, so let us go through. As a matter of fact, she was able to determine our room number, and told us. The people here are beyond compare nice.
The flights were challenging, but they always are. It's just not easy getting to Bonaire. I ended up booking a 3-leg trip: Manchester NH on Friday afternoon through Cleveland, to Houston, and then the red-eye from Houston to Bonaire. My reasoning: with this itinerary, we'd have an extra day on-island.
I was a little concerned about making all the connections, especially the last as we only had 50o minutes between arrival and departure in Houston. It turned out I had nothing to worry about - there was a handicapped diving group, "Eels on Wheels", also travelling on this flight, so by the time they were all loaded we didn't actually take off for about an hour after the scheduled time.
One thing I hadn't banked on was just how grueling travelling for 12 hours really was.
Yes, checkin was it's usual unpleasant but grin and bear it experience: both Geoffrey and I have had both our hips replaced so we always end up being poked, prodded, and peeled. Then our luggage contains lots of electronic and camera attachment stuff which apparently look a lot like bomb-making instruments, so it's unpacked for us while we're being scanned and swiped. Then we have to repack it all, and try to fit everything back in. All this is time-consuming but once we clear security it's generally over with. We were able to stay in the secure areas for the entire journey, so once we got through that it was relatively clear sailing.
Maybe I'm just old, or maybe it's because I have a really hard time dozing on a plane, but after the half day schedule of fly-wait-change planes-fly-change-planes-wait-fly, I was a complete wet noodle when we landed in Bonaire. Where it was about 90 degrees at 6AM, and not a lot of air movement.
We gathered up our checked-in luggage, got a taxi to the place we're staying, found out that our room was still occupied. Not totally surprising, since checkout is around noon, so we piled our luggage in a back room and went wandering around. However, for whatever reason she couldn't ecen tell us the room we'd be in.
We were both zombie-like in our sleep deprived state. Not to mention, sticky, smelly, and getting grumpy. All we really wanted to do was get into our room and settle in, then go for dive orientation. We wandered back to the front desk and were told that the people in our room had checked out, but the maid hadn't cleaned it for us yet, so we'd have to wait.
Soon the restaurant was open and we wandered over.
We'd been here before, so knew it was a buffet breakfast. "Room number?" the cook asked. "We have no idea!" we told her, and explained our predicament. She remembered us from our other visits, so let us go through. As a matter of fact, she was able to determine our room number, and told us. The people here are beyond compare nice.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Dusty, Partly Shed Out
The Grumpy Old Palomino...
I shaved off that pork-chop sideburn thing he has going on on his ribcage. Of course, then the temperatures took a nose dive...
Monday, May 10, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
mugwump chronicles: Missing Horse#links
mugwump chronicles: Missing Horse#links
A really cute horse and a really cute little kid who's heartbroken... If you live in the area, keep an eye out, and hope this horse hasn't already gone over the boarder to Mexico. :(
A really cute horse and a really cute little kid who's heartbroken... If you live in the area, keep an eye out, and hope this horse hasn't already gone over the boarder to Mexico. :(
Friday, April 9, 2010
Happy Birthday, Dusty!
On this day in 1983 in Richmond, VA, a scrappy little palomino QH colt was born. He was shown by his Ammy owner at AQHA shows for a few years in VA, doing pretty well and amassing some 40-something WP points along the way. He was also thrown into an AQHA reining class to fill it and make it count; having never been competed in reining, he nevertheless took second in that class.
Dusty in Virginia
When he was 6 he moved to Massachusetts and started wowing them at the North Shore and South Shore Horsemens Association shows, consistently winning Quarter Horse Hunter Under Saddle and Palomino Pleasure classes(ridden western) and Massachusetts Horsemens Council and New England Horsemens Council Year End Championships. I met him then, and introduced him to carrots, a treat he'd never seen before. I also introduced apples to him. He learned to love them both. :)
A few years later he bucked off his then owner at a show, not out of meanness; though I couldn't prove it, I'm pretty sure he was stung by something. She never forgave him, and I started riding him at the shows towards getting him sold. I didn't ride western at the time, so we took our ribbons in Palomino Pleasure in a hunt seat saddle. He won, despite his rider's lack of show experience or enthusiasm for showing - he was that good.
I finished out that year, rode him a bit in shows the next, and ended up buying him myself and "retired" him - to trail riding, which he absolutely loved. He was 13, and I've had him ever since.
On a trail
We've been through a lot together. So today (like most days when I go to the barn to play with my boys, to be honest) he is going to be stuffed full of carrots and Kashi bars, petted and loved on, and told what a wonderful old thing he is. A funny thing: one of his old curmudgeon idiosyncracies is that he's lost his taste for apples; a horse who used to lustily chomp into any and all varieties of apple now sniffs them and turns his head away - so apples won't be on the menu... or at least not for him. Tico still thinks they're quite nice.
Dusty has changed in many ways since I first met him. He mellowed out and calmed down considerably - he'd been a very nervous horse when he was owned by his previous owner. He never used to grow much of a winter coat, but that was another thing he apparently learned to do, too. :)
He's started to shed, but is still really hairy despite my best shedding efforts, and we had a string of warm to hot days last week and early this week. So last weekend, I did a really rushed clip job on him, knowing that the barn was going to be closed for Easter (they close Easter and Christmas) and he'd be in his stall all day when it was going to be warm.
Here's a photo, after I did the clipping. I've since cleaned it up a bit.
After the clipping.
Aesthetically, he could have looked better. There was a kind of plucked chicken look to him at the end... but a friend said he looked like a big, well-loved plush toy with worn spots from the hugging, and that seems fitting.
Happy 27th, Dusty!
Postscript: some videos from a bit more than a week later:
Tracking right, ignoring me
Tracking left, still ignoring me
And still tracking left, doing whatever the heck he wants...
Dusty in Virginia
When he was 6 he moved to Massachusetts and started wowing them at the North Shore and South Shore Horsemens Association shows, consistently winning Quarter Horse Hunter Under Saddle and Palomino Pleasure classes(ridden western) and Massachusetts Horsemens Council and New England Horsemens Council Year End Championships. I met him then, and introduced him to carrots, a treat he'd never seen before. I also introduced apples to him. He learned to love them both. :)
A few years later he bucked off his then owner at a show, not out of meanness; though I couldn't prove it, I'm pretty sure he was stung by something. She never forgave him, and I started riding him at the shows towards getting him sold. I didn't ride western at the time, so we took our ribbons in Palomino Pleasure in a hunt seat saddle. He won, despite his rider's lack of show experience or enthusiasm for showing - he was that good.
I finished out that year, rode him a bit in shows the next, and ended up buying him myself and "retired" him - to trail riding, which he absolutely loved. He was 13, and I've had him ever since.
On a trail
We've been through a lot together. So today (like most days when I go to the barn to play with my boys, to be honest) he is going to be stuffed full of carrots and Kashi bars, petted and loved on, and told what a wonderful old thing he is. A funny thing: one of his old curmudgeon idiosyncracies is that he's lost his taste for apples; a horse who used to lustily chomp into any and all varieties of apple now sniffs them and turns his head away - so apples won't be on the menu... or at least not for him. Tico still thinks they're quite nice.
Dusty has changed in many ways since I first met him. He mellowed out and calmed down considerably - he'd been a very nervous horse when he was owned by his previous owner. He never used to grow much of a winter coat, but that was another thing he apparently learned to do, too. :)
He's started to shed, but is still really hairy despite my best shedding efforts, and we had a string of warm to hot days last week and early this week. So last weekend, I did a really rushed clip job on him, knowing that the barn was going to be closed for Easter (they close Easter and Christmas) and he'd be in his stall all day when it was going to be warm.
Here's a photo, after I did the clipping. I've since cleaned it up a bit.
After the clipping.
Aesthetically, he could have looked better. There was a kind of plucked chicken look to him at the end... but a friend said he looked like a big, well-loved plush toy with worn spots from the hugging, and that seems fitting.
Happy 27th, Dusty!
Postscript: some videos from a bit more than a week later:
Tracking right, ignoring me
Tracking left, still ignoring me
And still tracking left, doing whatever the heck he wants...
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Evil that Llamas Do
Tico and I can have disagreements, but they're not knock-down-drag-outs and once he's expressed his opinion (and I've vetoed it), we go from there with little more than a tail toss in my direction to show he really thinks he was right, but heck, it's not worth fighting with The Provider of the Carrots and Kashi Bars.
He's also generally a pretty cool customer: once riding him bareback with nothing but a halter near the barn, a barn girl, not looking, threw a bucket of dirty water out the door, missing
Tico's head by inches. He didn't flinch. He's pretty unflappable, generally.
However, and I'm ashamed to say this... my very brave, look everything in the eye and spit, look at me - I'm a cowhorse! a cat-herder (the poor barn cat got out of there as fast as it could) and
a brick shithouse (what the blacksmith exclaimed about him when he first saw him), has met his arch-nemesisisisisis... and it's name is LLAMA.
Late fall a year or two ago, a llama and his gang of sheep, which had been in an adjacent field for at least a year, dammit, was moved. It was still in that same field, but closer to the stone wall that separated it from the field we rode in.
It was a very windy day and the wind was coming off that field. Tico, walking along on a path we've gone on hundreds of times before, suddenly noticed ... A Not-a-Horse-but-it's-Big-and-Hairy-and-Smells-Funny-OMG-Awful... EMERGENCY!!! RED-ALERT!!!!!!
Yup, he went into a serious meltdown - leaping, twirling, and attempting to high-tail it (I now know what that means) for the barn.
So after he piaffed, levaded, and caprioled around in his western tack for a few minutes I climbed off.
Let me explain: when I was younger and had all my original equipment (i.e. my hips weren't made of ceramic and titanium), I would have "ridden it out" - or at least attempted to ride it out - I fell off a hella lot when I was a kid.
But when you have hip replacements, calming down a horse seems more prudently done off the horse, particularly after a few minutes of attempted persuasion from the saddle results in nothing more than said horse attaining even higher altitude.
Yes, you could get knocked down, but the landing won't be as bad as from say 7 feet off the ground with the horse rapidly exiting, stage left. Been there, done that, didn't like it much - and that was before the metal and ceramic.
So... I figured this was a good chance to teach him to trust me about scary things. I'd lead him slowly, diagonally, towards the llama, stopping, letting him get ok with it, moving a bit more... he'd see it was harmless, and we'd move on.
However, he was having none of that; instead continuing in his effort to prove that QHs can collect and elevate too - and if necessary, can do a passable imitation of a giraffe.
I'd attached a training fork to his reins that day, a very mild one with stretchy surgical tubing for the forks, attached to metal loops that the reins go through. The other end of the training fork was attached to his girth, under his chest between his front legs. I was using split, not joined reins. Looks like this, when everything is set up.
When I'd dismounted, I'd grabbed the reins near his face, and the rings of the training fork slipped off the ends. So the training fork was now dangling down underneath him and flailing around wildly as he danced, leaped, and yes, stepped on the ends of it, stretching them. Of course, once he moved and stepped *off* of them, the ends snapped up, whacking him hard in his belly.
I no longer had a horse at the end of the reins, but something more resembling a kite in a stiff wind, herky-jerky back and forth, and barely touching the ground.
And let's not forget the llama. The attack from below was just further proof of the total evil nature of that... that...
What in God'S NAME IS That! IT's LOOKING AT ME!!! Why is it LOOKING AT ME??
You see, the llama, being curious, had come closer to the fenceline to watch the show, and was now standing right at the edge of the stone wall.
He didn't appear to be blinking. Big, staring llama eyes. A big, standing Very Tall and Making Himself Look ENORMOUS, staring, llama.
I know when I'm licked. I realized that what I'd originally seen as a Training Opportunity had degraded into a situation where the Horse Brains have Left the Building, so I decided to just get him out of there as calmly as possible.
First I managed to remove the training fork - no small feat, considering - and then I led him away, still piaffing beside me and throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure that the Horrible Creature From Hell wasn't following. About a hundred feet away I remounted, and we continued our ride in another field.
We went back the next day. The llama and his gang were still there in the same area, but were all laying down.
It was a complete non-event. He walked by, head low, ears relaxed... what llama? I took him by from every direction, he was Mr. Cool.
I suppose (and it did occur to me that it could be Bad News for me) that had they all decided to suddenly jump up and stretch their legs we could have seen what he was really made of... but he was spared that ignonimity: they stayed prone.
To this day he still occasionally casts the hairy eyeball in the direction of the approximate last-known location of the Creature - even when we're three fields away and he can't possibly see it, or smell it either. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen either the sheep of the llama for quite a while - I think they've moved on.
Tico remains unconvinced.
He's also generally a pretty cool customer: once riding him bareback with nothing but a halter near the barn, a barn girl, not looking, threw a bucket of dirty water out the door, missing
Tico's head by inches. He didn't flinch. He's pretty unflappable, generally.
However, and I'm ashamed to say this... my very brave, look everything in the eye and spit, look at me - I'm a cowhorse! a cat-herder (the poor barn cat got out of there as fast as it could) and
a brick shithouse (what the blacksmith exclaimed about him when he first saw him), has met his arch-nemesisisisisis... and it's name is LLAMA.
Late fall a year or two ago, a llama and his gang of sheep, which had been in an adjacent field for at least a year, dammit, was moved. It was still in that same field, but closer to the stone wall that separated it from the field we rode in.
It was a very windy day and the wind was coming off that field. Tico, walking along on a path we've gone on hundreds of times before, suddenly noticed ... A Not-a-Horse-but-it's-Big-and-Hairy-and-Smells-Funny-OMG-Awful... EMERGENCY!!! RED-ALERT!!!!!!
Yup, he went into a serious meltdown - leaping, twirling, and attempting to high-tail it (I now know what that means) for the barn.
So after he piaffed, levaded, and caprioled around in his western tack for a few minutes I climbed off.
Let me explain: when I was younger and had all my original equipment (i.e. my hips weren't made of ceramic and titanium), I would have "ridden it out" - or at least attempted to ride it out - I fell off a hella lot when I was a kid.
But when you have hip replacements, calming down a horse seems more prudently done off the horse, particularly after a few minutes of attempted persuasion from the saddle results in nothing more than said horse attaining even higher altitude.
Yes, you could get knocked down, but the landing won't be as bad as from say 7 feet off the ground with the horse rapidly exiting, stage left. Been there, done that, didn't like it much - and that was before the metal and ceramic.
So... I figured this was a good chance to teach him to trust me about scary things. I'd lead him slowly, diagonally, towards the llama, stopping, letting him get ok with it, moving a bit more... he'd see it was harmless, and we'd move on.
However, he was having none of that; instead continuing in his effort to prove that QHs can collect and elevate too - and if necessary, can do a passable imitation of a giraffe.
I'd attached a training fork to his reins that day, a very mild one with stretchy surgical tubing for the forks, attached to metal loops that the reins go through. The other end of the training fork was attached to his girth, under his chest between his front legs. I was using split, not joined reins. Looks like this, when everything is set up.
When I'd dismounted, I'd grabbed the reins near his face, and the rings of the training fork slipped off the ends. So the training fork was now dangling down underneath him and flailing around wildly as he danced, leaped, and yes, stepped on the ends of it, stretching them. Of course, once he moved and stepped *off* of them, the ends snapped up, whacking him hard in his belly.
I no longer had a horse at the end of the reins, but something more resembling a kite in a stiff wind, herky-jerky back and forth, and barely touching the ground.
And let's not forget the llama. The attack from below was just further proof of the total evil nature of that... that...
What in God'S NAME IS That! IT's LOOKING AT ME!!! Why is it LOOKING AT ME??
You see, the llama, being curious, had come closer to the fenceline to watch the show, and was now standing right at the edge of the stone wall.
He didn't appear to be blinking. Big, staring llama eyes. A big, standing Very Tall and Making Himself Look ENORMOUS, staring, llama.
I know when I'm licked. I realized that what I'd originally seen as a Training Opportunity had degraded into a situation where the Horse Brains have Left the Building, so I decided to just get him out of there as calmly as possible.
First I managed to remove the training fork - no small feat, considering - and then I led him away, still piaffing beside me and throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure that the Horrible Creature From Hell wasn't following. About a hundred feet away I remounted, and we continued our ride in another field.
We went back the next day. The llama and his gang were still there in the same area, but were all laying down.
It was a complete non-event. He walked by, head low, ears relaxed... what llama? I took him by from every direction, he was Mr. Cool.
I suppose (and it did occur to me that it could be Bad News for me) that had they all decided to suddenly jump up and stretch their legs we could have seen what he was really made of... but he was spared that ignonimity: they stayed prone.
To this day he still occasionally casts the hairy eyeball in the direction of the approximate last-known location of the Creature - even when we're three fields away and he can't possibly see it, or smell it either. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen either the sheep of the llama for quite a while - I think they've moved on.
Tico remains unconvinced.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Some Days are Just Magic
There are days when nothing goes right... and then there are days when you laugh and realize you're the luckiest person in the world.
I love walking into the barn. I usually visit the front area to see if there's anyone there to say hi to, then go through the front tack room and down the aisle past a few horses and the cows (the barn owners pets), and peek into the indoor ring. There's usually someone to say hi to, and catch up with.
Today I got there at the same time as Dorothy, though by the time I'd collected all the stuff I was going to bring in she'd already gone inside.
As I came around the corner after checking the indoor, I saw Jean and Ebony, Ebony all tacked up and ready to go. We chatted a bit; Ebony'd fallen last week and hurt himself, his right gaskin, but seemed better today. She was going to throw him on the lunge line first before riding him though - he's a high energy horse.
Dorothy took Pongo into the indoor for his pre-ride roll, then brought him back in and started brushing him.
None of the horses had gotten out much this past week, between the rain, snow, then more rain and wind. The wind had been so bad some of the nearby trees had crashed through the skylights in the indoor; there were buckets and wheelbarrows catching the rain yesterday and they were there today, though not really needed: it was overcast but dry. They provided a prop to use to make things more interesting: figure eights around the wheelbarrow, then around the bucket collection. Reverse, and again, then big oval around all... a bit less boring than constantly circling along the wall.
So having been inside for so long, Tico had been pretty perky yesterday. I rode him in english tack, and we had lots of energetic canters, most often his idea rather than mine. I like when Mr Moseyalong has some gumption, so though it's a bit naughty of him to just volunteer it without being asked, I encourage him to continue and get his ya-yas out.
Today, I'd decided to throw the western tack on him. I am the worlds slowest groomer, and though I was trying to go fast, Dorothy had tacked up Pongo and started riding and Jean had taken Ebony out to lunge him and I was still cleaning Tico's feet. I peeked in to watch Ebony and he looked like he was going along well; I went back to getting Tico ready.
Then Jean came back into the aisle with Ebony. He'd gotten a bit rambunctious on the lunge line and taken a bad step, and seemed to have reinjured his leg. I'd thrown Tico back into his stall quickly - he and Ebony don't like each other - when she came in; concerned, I started to walk towards her, talking.
I'd neglected to shut Tico's stall door.
"Tico's loose!" Dorothy said. I turned to see him giving me the horsie-finger - his tail up over his back - as he pranced out the back door. I grabbed a leadline and some carrots, and headed out into the mud to follow.
He looked so smug - head up, tail flagged, big trot through the mud, swinging his head side to side to look back at me - I had to smile. He pranced around to the right and then strolled into an empty turnout, the whole time with his butt to me and his tail in the air. I was navigating the mud and still about 30 feet behind him.
"Ha! He turned himself out!" I said to Dorothy, who'd peeked out the back door to see how things were going. But as I approached, he seemed to have decided he hadn't had nearly enough fun yet. Back out the gate he came, and around to his left, heading down the path to the back ring. Tail up over his back as he splashed through the mud, taunting me, swinging his head to the left and right to make sure I was following - I was getting a horsie raspberry, definitely.
I started down the path he was prancing down. He stopped about 20 feet down, and looked back at me, still facing away.
"I have carrots!" I said, and showed him the handful of cut up pieces.
That was all she wrote. Pigsley turned around and trotted up to me, still head up, ears pricked forward, mane flying and tail flagged. He looked like something out of a romance novel. Even though I knew it was carrot-induced enthusiasm, I felt a thrill watching this beautiful animal running up to me. I attached the lead rope as he gobbled the carrots and led him back in, still prancing. "It's a good thing you're cute!" I growled at him.
The rest of the cleaning and tacking up was uneventful, though by the time I was ready Dorothy and Pongo were already done. I headed out to the indoor, where Frani and Jan were practicing some reining moves; Frani on Boomer and Jan on Newman.
Tico was energetic again today, though not as much piss and vinegar as yesterday. We trotted and cantered around a bit, then I stopped near Frani to watch Newman do some slides. Reining really is fascinating, and definitely requires a sensitivity and timing that I don't think I'll ever manage. I love to watch them.
When they were done, Frani and Jan led Boomer and Newman out and I had the ring to myself. I put Tico back to work, got a nice working trot going.
As we came around the corner near the front of the ring, a couple of barn swallows flew down, chattering and twisting around in the dirt a bit to our right. I felt Tico turn all his focus onto those birds: he pinned his ears and snaked his head down, and darted at them.
Only Tico would try to herd barn swallows.
We worked only a few minutes more after that. I rode him over to face the mirror and played "which side is the carrot on" stretching exercises: showing him the carrot in the mirror, then bringing it down behind my leg and asking him to stretch his neck around for it, alternating sides. We did that until we ran out of carrots (in my pocket, anyway), then I brought him back in, pulled off all his tack, rubbed him down and threw him in his stall with carrots and Kashi bar crumbles in his bucket.
Dusty is starting to molt. I brought out the shedding blade and got some of the hair off him, but he's still holding on to it pretty much. Still, we had a nice time hanging, as I rubbed him down, cleaned his feet, fed him copious amounts of carrot bits, and finally put him out with Pongo, who'd gone out to the turnout a few minutes before. I'd thought of throwing him on the lungeline, but I'd done that yesterday and he'd had a good old time for himself bucking and farting and running around, but ended up getting sweaty - not a good thing for a horse with a yak coat in the winter; it's really hard to get him dry and he can catch a chill. So I figured he'd be happy to go hang with his bud, and I wouldn't have to cool him off and leave him wearing a cooler so he'd be warm and dry.
I raked up the hair (Tico had contributed a good amount of the pile as well), swept up the aisle where we'd been, and went to dump the muck that I'd swept up into the manure pile. When I headed out the door, I saw that Pongo was running laps around Dusty, periodically reaching over to bite him; Dusty was standing there, looking annoyed and put-out.
They are grumpy old men, but I have no idea what had gotten into Pongo. I went out and split some Kashi bars between them and told Pongo to leave Dusty alone. He slobbered on me. I hugged Dusty goodbye, navigated the mud one last time back to the barn, said my goodbyes and handed out the last of the carrot bits to everyone.
Sometimes, the world is just *perfect*.
I love walking into the barn. I usually visit the front area to see if there's anyone there to say hi to, then go through the front tack room and down the aisle past a few horses and the cows (the barn owners pets), and peek into the indoor ring. There's usually someone to say hi to, and catch up with.
Today I got there at the same time as Dorothy, though by the time I'd collected all the stuff I was going to bring in she'd already gone inside.
As I came around the corner after checking the indoor, I saw Jean and Ebony, Ebony all tacked up and ready to go. We chatted a bit; Ebony'd fallen last week and hurt himself, his right gaskin, but seemed better today. She was going to throw him on the lunge line first before riding him though - he's a high energy horse.
Dorothy took Pongo into the indoor for his pre-ride roll, then brought him back in and started brushing him.
None of the horses had gotten out much this past week, between the rain, snow, then more rain and wind. The wind had been so bad some of the nearby trees had crashed through the skylights in the indoor; there were buckets and wheelbarrows catching the rain yesterday and they were there today, though not really needed: it was overcast but dry. They provided a prop to use to make things more interesting: figure eights around the wheelbarrow, then around the bucket collection. Reverse, and again, then big oval around all... a bit less boring than constantly circling along the wall.
So having been inside for so long, Tico had been pretty perky yesterday. I rode him in english tack, and we had lots of energetic canters, most often his idea rather than mine. I like when Mr Moseyalong has some gumption, so though it's a bit naughty of him to just volunteer it without being asked, I encourage him to continue and get his ya-yas out.
Today, I'd decided to throw the western tack on him. I am the worlds slowest groomer, and though I was trying to go fast, Dorothy had tacked up Pongo and started riding and Jean had taken Ebony out to lunge him and I was still cleaning Tico's feet. I peeked in to watch Ebony and he looked like he was going along well; I went back to getting Tico ready.
Then Jean came back into the aisle with Ebony. He'd gotten a bit rambunctious on the lunge line and taken a bad step, and seemed to have reinjured his leg. I'd thrown Tico back into his stall quickly - he and Ebony don't like each other - when she came in; concerned, I started to walk towards her, talking.
I'd neglected to shut Tico's stall door.
"Tico's loose!" Dorothy said. I turned to see him giving me the horsie-finger - his tail up over his back - as he pranced out the back door. I grabbed a leadline and some carrots, and headed out into the mud to follow.
He looked so smug - head up, tail flagged, big trot through the mud, swinging his head side to side to look back at me - I had to smile. He pranced around to the right and then strolled into an empty turnout, the whole time with his butt to me and his tail in the air. I was navigating the mud and still about 30 feet behind him.
"Ha! He turned himself out!" I said to Dorothy, who'd peeked out the back door to see how things were going. But as I approached, he seemed to have decided he hadn't had nearly enough fun yet. Back out the gate he came, and around to his left, heading down the path to the back ring. Tail up over his back as he splashed through the mud, taunting me, swinging his head to the left and right to make sure I was following - I was getting a horsie raspberry, definitely.
I started down the path he was prancing down. He stopped about 20 feet down, and looked back at me, still facing away.
"I have carrots!" I said, and showed him the handful of cut up pieces.
That was all she wrote. Pigsley turned around and trotted up to me, still head up, ears pricked forward, mane flying and tail flagged. He looked like something out of a romance novel. Even though I knew it was carrot-induced enthusiasm, I felt a thrill watching this beautiful animal running up to me. I attached the lead rope as he gobbled the carrots and led him back in, still prancing. "It's a good thing you're cute!" I growled at him.
The rest of the cleaning and tacking up was uneventful, though by the time I was ready Dorothy and Pongo were already done. I headed out to the indoor, where Frani and Jan were practicing some reining moves; Frani on Boomer and Jan on Newman.
Tico was energetic again today, though not as much piss and vinegar as yesterday. We trotted and cantered around a bit, then I stopped near Frani to watch Newman do some slides. Reining really is fascinating, and definitely requires a sensitivity and timing that I don't think I'll ever manage. I love to watch them.
When they were done, Frani and Jan led Boomer and Newman out and I had the ring to myself. I put Tico back to work, got a nice working trot going.
As we came around the corner near the front of the ring, a couple of barn swallows flew down, chattering and twisting around in the dirt a bit to our right. I felt Tico turn all his focus onto those birds: he pinned his ears and snaked his head down, and darted at them.
Only Tico would try to herd barn swallows.
We worked only a few minutes more after that. I rode him over to face the mirror and played "which side is the carrot on" stretching exercises: showing him the carrot in the mirror, then bringing it down behind my leg and asking him to stretch his neck around for it, alternating sides. We did that until we ran out of carrots (in my pocket, anyway), then I brought him back in, pulled off all his tack, rubbed him down and threw him in his stall with carrots and Kashi bar crumbles in his bucket.
Dusty is starting to molt. I brought out the shedding blade and got some of the hair off him, but he's still holding on to it pretty much. Still, we had a nice time hanging, as I rubbed him down, cleaned his feet, fed him copious amounts of carrot bits, and finally put him out with Pongo, who'd gone out to the turnout a few minutes before. I'd thought of throwing him on the lungeline, but I'd done that yesterday and he'd had a good old time for himself bucking and farting and running around, but ended up getting sweaty - not a good thing for a horse with a yak coat in the winter; it's really hard to get him dry and he can catch a chill. So I figured he'd be happy to go hang with his bud, and I wouldn't have to cool him off and leave him wearing a cooler so he'd be warm and dry.
I raked up the hair (Tico had contributed a good amount of the pile as well), swept up the aisle where we'd been, and went to dump the muck that I'd swept up into the manure pile. When I headed out the door, I saw that Pongo was running laps around Dusty, periodically reaching over to bite him; Dusty was standing there, looking annoyed and put-out.
They are grumpy old men, but I have no idea what had gotten into Pongo. I went out and split some Kashi bars between them and told Pongo to leave Dusty alone. He slobbered on me. I hugged Dusty goodbye, navigated the mud one last time back to the barn, said my goodbyes and handed out the last of the carrot bits to everyone.
Sometimes, the world is just *perfect*.
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