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. :(
Thursday, April 15, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)