I'm not happy with how my day off spent at the barn story is going... so, here's what happened a little over a week later (last Thursday):
I'd gone over, even though K, the instructor, had cancelled our lesson that morning. I spent a good deal of time gossipping with the girls (there'd been lots of drama since I was there last), and finally got around to tacking Tico up and taking him for a ride.
It was a crisp fall day, so we went out to the back ring for a bit. Dusty and Pongo are turned out in the paddock that wraps around one side of the ring; Stoney, Elaine's old boy, is across from them.
Dusty and Pongo were hanging out by the water trough; Stoney was off away from the gate but came over to say hi. Dusty had just had a big drink and was standing there with his tongue hanging out.
I should mention: this is how Dusty drinks. He curls his tongue up and slurps water through it. He then holds the water a while (I can only guess that he prefers his water lukewarm, so warms it in his mouth) before swallowing. While he's holding it in his mouth, his tongue hangs out.
I rode Tico over next to to fence and reached over to pat his head and say hi. He greeted me, tongue still hanging out; when I didn't offer carrots he lost interest, and we moseyed along to the ring.
I rode Tico outside for a short while, maybe 10-15 minutes, then went back in. At the time I didn't notice if Dusty was still standing in the same place as we rode by.
Later, after brushing Tico, taking off his boots, cleaning his feet, feeding him carrots, etc. etc., I walked out to see Dusty and Pongo with some carrots and an apple. As I approached them, Dusty was near the water trough, it looked like he was in the same place as before; Pongo was about 25 feet away, dozing.
Dusty had his tongue hanging out - I thought, wow, he's been thirsty! I called to him... no reaction. I started to get a bit concerned: "has he had a stroke or something? Why is his tongue hanging out for so long?" As I approached, calling him, calling Pongo, he still was not reacting. I walked a bit faster.
I got to the gate, opened it and went into the turnout with them - still no reaction to my presence.
This is *really* odd: the horses all know (even those who aren't mine) that there's a good possibility a treat is going to magically appear in my hand, and they all live in hope when they see me.
Dusty just stood there, tongue hanging out. It even looked a bit dried out - we had a fairly brisk breeze that day.
So I grabbed it. I wanted to see if he *could* pull it back, still working on that "stroke" theory.
He'd been fast asleep. He gave a start, pulled away, and did a thbaw! thbaw! with his tongue. I got the hairy eyeball, and he looked at me accusingly, as if *I'd* been the one who made his tongue feel so weird.
Through all this, Pongo was fast asleep.
I started feeding Dusty carrots (carrots make EVERYTHING better), and about 30 seconds later I felt a little nudge on my back. I turned around, and there was Pongo. He hadn't woken up when I was calling Dusty and talking to him, or calling both of them, but the crunch of carrots came through loud and clear. So I gave them both some carrots, and took bites out of the apple and fed them each little bits (Dusty turned his nose up at it until I did that; little bites is all the dentally-challenged Pongo can eat).
Dusty had been turned out in his sheet, and even though the air was a bit chilly the sun was warm, so I took it off. He'd been stepping right up for his share of carrots up until then, but then when I tried to give him more (the sheet still in my other arm) he acted like I was attacking him and hid behind Pongo.
WTF??
I finally figured it out: he thought I had some idea of putting his sheet BACK ON, and he was having NONE of THAT.
Meanwhile, I realized there was a chain-clanging going on in the background; behind me, Stoney was standing next to his gate, shaking it and rattling the chain holding it closed, trying to get my attention. It was pretty obvious he knew what was going on, and his thoughts were "Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" I held a few carrots back from the two grumpy and sleepy old men and went over to give him his due, as well.
Boys!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Oscar the Palomino
I grew up watching Rex Trailer a local TV "Cowboy". Rex had Goldrush, a gorgeous palomino. And of course there was Roy Rogers and Trigger, and let's not forget Mr. Ed. All beautiful palominos.
Oscar was a palomino, too. Well technically. He was kind of yellow, with a kind of beige-whitish mane and tail.
That's as far as his resemblence to the aforementioned palominos went.
Not to put too fine a point on it: Oscar was butt-ugly. He had a big head with a roman nose. If you've ever read the Terry Pratchett Discworld stories: Oscar was the equine equivalent of the Igors, without the stitches and scars. He looked as if someone threw horse parts in a pile, then asked a bunch of preschoolers to pin the pieces together to make a horsie.
However, Oscar had one HUGE thing going for him: he wasn't Zero.
Oscar was a bit over 15 hands, too - we'd graduated to a horse! We still sometimes had to ride Zero if someone else (actually his eventual owner) was riding Oscar - but we'd managed to advance a grade in the Buzz School of Equitation, which was heady stuff.
Not to say Oscar was well-trained. Nope, no one would ever have said that. Oscar was pretty typical of Buzz's herd of little-girl-dream-crushers: like Zero before him, he often seemed to be striving to destroy all the horse-as-magical-creature fantasies we might have had the misfortune to entertain.
We were stubborn little sods, though. We. Loved. Horses. And Oscar was certainly more... something, granted not magical, than Zero. Bigger? Less homicidal? Something...
Oscar lived in a straight stall - you don't see them much anymore. When he wasn't being ridden or let out to graze, he basically stood there. His manger was in front of him; he could twist around a bit; he could move forward and backward a few feet. It's possible, though I don't remember it, that he could lay down - I've seen some horses manage it in a straight stall.
The ponies were also in straight stalls; but being smaller they were able to turn and look out into the aisle, watch what was going on. For Oscar it was just too narrow for him to turn around.
It was however, wide enough for a girl or two to squeeze in next to him and brush him - which is what Cherry and I did one day. I was on Oscar's left side, near his shoulders; Cherry was on his right, near his rump. Karen being late to the party, was straddling the half-wall separating Oscar's stall from the next horse (I think it was Little Dick) on the same side as I, behind me and to my right. The wall to the right was a full wall - his stall was next to the tackroom. Oscar was probably dozing - I think life in the straight stall didn't offer him too much to get excited about.
I don't know why, but Karen apparently decided that she couldn't really brush him from the wall, so decided to hop on his back.
Her plan, not well thought out, was of course poorly executed. Squatting, balanced on the balls of her feet, teetering, with her left hand holding the post that the stall door was hung on, she tried to launch herself onto his back and swing her left leg over him.
But she was off-balance: instead of her leg going over his back she kicked him - pretty hard - right in the kidneys.
A horse generally will try to run away from anything scary or painful. Oscar, dozing only moments before, found himself being attacked - probably soon to be disemboweled - with nowhere to go. His only choice was to defend himself; jaws agape, he turned towards the monster on his left side.
And there I stood, happily currying his shoulder, humming.
A huge bug-eyed, curled-lip, bared-teeth, roman-nosed yellow head snaked at me, a blur of fear and anger and of course, teeth: I know I'm repeating myself with the teeth thing, but they were pretty memorable. He bit me right in the cheek. On my face. If I look for it I can still find the scar.
My mother was appalled: to add insult to injury, she made me get a tetanus shot.
It was a while before I forgave Karen for that incident.
I have at least one more Oscar story before I move on to Little Dick and Jetty. If you read this earlier, and you're confused about the new title: I decided to change it since this story doesn't even mention Buzz. The next Oscar story will.
Oh, by the way:
Just in case you don't realize it: we were doing a really stupid thing. We did a lot of stupid things. When I look back on it, it's a wonder I survived some of the stupid things we did.
Just saying.
Oscar was a palomino, too. Well technically. He was kind of yellow, with a kind of beige-whitish mane and tail.
That's as far as his resemblence to the aforementioned palominos went.
Not to put too fine a point on it: Oscar was butt-ugly. He had a big head with a roman nose. If you've ever read the Terry Pratchett Discworld stories: Oscar was the equine equivalent of the Igors, without the stitches and scars. He looked as if someone threw horse parts in a pile, then asked a bunch of preschoolers to pin the pieces together to make a horsie.
However, Oscar had one HUGE thing going for him: he wasn't Zero.
Oscar was a bit over 15 hands, too - we'd graduated to a horse! We still sometimes had to ride Zero if someone else (actually his eventual owner) was riding Oscar - but we'd managed to advance a grade in the Buzz School of Equitation, which was heady stuff.
Not to say Oscar was well-trained. Nope, no one would ever have said that. Oscar was pretty typical of Buzz's herd of little-girl-dream-crushers: like Zero before him, he often seemed to be striving to destroy all the horse-as-magical-creature fantasies we might have had the misfortune to entertain.
We were stubborn little sods, though. We. Loved. Horses. And Oscar was certainly more... something, granted not magical, than Zero. Bigger? Less homicidal? Something...
Oscar lived in a straight stall - you don't see them much anymore. When he wasn't being ridden or let out to graze, he basically stood there. His manger was in front of him; he could twist around a bit; he could move forward and backward a few feet. It's possible, though I don't remember it, that he could lay down - I've seen some horses manage it in a straight stall.
The ponies were also in straight stalls; but being smaller they were able to turn and look out into the aisle, watch what was going on. For Oscar it was just too narrow for him to turn around.
It was however, wide enough for a girl or two to squeeze in next to him and brush him - which is what Cherry and I did one day. I was on Oscar's left side, near his shoulders; Cherry was on his right, near his rump. Karen being late to the party, was straddling the half-wall separating Oscar's stall from the next horse (I think it was Little Dick) on the same side as I, behind me and to my right. The wall to the right was a full wall - his stall was next to the tackroom. Oscar was probably dozing - I think life in the straight stall didn't offer him too much to get excited about.
I don't know why, but Karen apparently decided that she couldn't really brush him from the wall, so decided to hop on his back.
Her plan, not well thought out, was of course poorly executed. Squatting, balanced on the balls of her feet, teetering, with her left hand holding the post that the stall door was hung on, she tried to launch herself onto his back and swing her left leg over him.
But she was off-balance: instead of her leg going over his back she kicked him - pretty hard - right in the kidneys.
A horse generally will try to run away from anything scary or painful. Oscar, dozing only moments before, found himself being attacked - probably soon to be disemboweled - with nowhere to go. His only choice was to defend himself; jaws agape, he turned towards the monster on his left side.
And there I stood, happily currying his shoulder, humming.
A huge bug-eyed, curled-lip, bared-teeth, roman-nosed yellow head snaked at me, a blur of fear and anger and of course, teeth: I know I'm repeating myself with the teeth thing, but they were pretty memorable. He bit me right in the cheek. On my face. If I look for it I can still find the scar.
My mother was appalled: to add insult to injury, she made me get a tetanus shot.
It was a while before I forgave Karen for that incident.
I have at least one more Oscar story before I move on to Little Dick and Jetty. If you read this earlier, and you're confused about the new title: I decided to change it since this story doesn't even mention Buzz. The next Oscar story will.
Oh, by the way:
Just in case you don't realize it: we were doing a really stupid thing. We did a lot of stupid things. When I look back on it, it's a wonder I survived some of the stupid things we did.
Just saying.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Oh Crap.
It turns out I wasn't as lucky as I'd thought when I invented the Superman dismount.
I cracked/broke an eyetooth that's part of a three point bridge - with a front tooth.
It happened that I'd been at the periodontist that morning, and was seeing the dentist two days later: I'm in the early stages of getting an implant for ANOTHER broken cap.
I'm pretty hard on my teeth.
I mentioned to the dentist that the bridge seemed a bit loose. He agreed, but hoped I'd just jarred the tooth a bit loose and that it would get better with time. However, he had his doubts and called the periodontist; I was back in seeing him a few days later.
He saw the crack, and sent me yet again back to the dentist... who agreed there's a crack, but can't tell how bad it is. Now I have an appointment next week where he'll attempt to remove the bridge to assess the damage, while trying not to do any further damage to either of the anchor teeth (the other one is loose, probably not being helped by being moved when the broken side moves).
He doesn't think it is going to go well. Sigh.
I'm looking forward to a few weeks of being a complete hillbilly hermit. Oh boy.
I cracked/broke an eyetooth that's part of a three point bridge - with a front tooth.
It happened that I'd been at the periodontist that morning, and was seeing the dentist two days later: I'm in the early stages of getting an implant for ANOTHER broken cap.
I'm pretty hard on my teeth.
I mentioned to the dentist that the bridge seemed a bit loose. He agreed, but hoped I'd just jarred the tooth a bit loose and that it would get better with time. However, he had his doubts and called the periodontist; I was back in seeing him a few days later.
He saw the crack, and sent me yet again back to the dentist... who agreed there's a crack, but can't tell how bad it is. Now I have an appointment next week where he'll attempt to remove the bridge to assess the damage, while trying not to do any further damage to either of the anchor teeth (the other one is loose, probably not being helped by being moved when the broken side moves).
He doesn't think it is going to go well. Sigh.
I'm looking forward to a few weeks of being a complete hillbilly hermit. Oh boy.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Dusty, ex-show horse
In Groton, there were apple orchards nearby where he could run, and trails to explore through woods dappled with sunlight. In the fall, the orchard owners let us take the "drops". There were two or three apple varieties planted: Macintosh, Delicious, maybe Cortland - I'm not too well-versed in apples. We would take empty bags over and as we were picking up the less bruised ones (for the horses - honest!) he and the other horses would be grazing in the treasure-laden grass, their steady chewing interrupted by occasional KERRRR-UNCHes as they found the half-hidden, juicy fruit.
One time we saw a deer in the orchard, standing at the top of one of the rows. Or at least I saw it - Dusty was giving the grass a loving glance. The deer saw us about the same time I saw her, stock-still, head high; the wind shifted and I think Dusty smelled the deer before he saw her. His head came up and he stared, mesmerized. I didn't know what to expect.
The deer turned and leaped away, and the next thing I knew Dusty was after her. I don't know if he wanted to say "hi" or if it was some long-latent cow-horse herding instinct kicking in, but it was exhilarating and fun and funny all at the same time. I hated to stop him, but the deer was far into the woods and whatever his reason for giving chase, it would have been fruitless. He obeyed, but kept looking back towards the spot he'd last seen her until we topped the next hill.
Dusty had become engaged with life; he cared that you groomed him, he loved his carrots and apples, he nickered at me when I came to see him. He'd calmed down and blossomed into the really sweet, trusting and loving horse he is to this day. The Lunatic Horse had morphed into a sweet and kind, loving and gentle good boy. I don't think it had been S's intention, but kicking us out had been the best thing she could do for Dusty.
Dusty at his barn in Groton:
Dusty on a trail ride. The trail had flooded:
In a postscript: S kept Bonnie for about 2 months, then sold her. After being unceremoniously shown the door for no good reason, and then hearing that she'd sold Bonnie when she had said she wouldn't, I stopped speaking with S for about 5 years. I learned Bonnie's fate later, when we were again on speaking terms.
The woman who bought her was well-intentioned but a newbie owner. She boarded her, and Bonnie had been turned out in a field where they had electric heated water troughs. The one in her turnout went dry and shorted out. She got shocked and then refused to drink for a number of days, but no one realized it until she had a bad colic. She never really fully recovered.
S eventually took her back after a few years, I'm not really sure why. When she got her back, Bonnie's hooves and feet - and Bonnie had had GREAT feet - were a complete mess.
We eventually spoke again (S admitting what a complete bitch she'd been went a long way towards reconciliation; she'd got her indoor ring and new barn in the meantime) and that was when I heard about Bonnie's situation. I visited with her, and she seemed to remember me - or at least the carrots I brought.
She'd been my first horse who would do the "Kiss for Carrots" trick (Dusty knows it too), and my face was covered with orange slobber by the time I ran out of them. I brushed her; she'd always had the most beautiful shiny blood bay coat. Even when she was filthy, that coat shone. She made all the appreciative faces I remembered as I found the "right spots". It was good to see her again. She seemed to be doing pretty well all in all, and I was glad S had got her back.
One day S told me that Bonnie was just in too much pain, that just standing was hard - she'd lost the spark in her eye and her interest in food. S was going to have her put down. Bonnie was 16 years old. She and Dusty were almost exactly the same age - 10 days separated their births. Was it really nine years ago? My gosh.
I got to say goodbye and overload her with carrots a few days before - for carrots, she roused herself. S wouldn't tell me the exact day it would happen, she didn't want me to be there crying, making her cry. She called me when it was done.
Soon after, I moved Dusty back with S, and we were there until I was thrown out again. :) Well, she decided she didn't want to be involved with horses any more, they wanted to sell their place, so Dusty and I had to move along.
One time we saw a deer in the orchard, standing at the top of one of the rows. Or at least I saw it - Dusty was giving the grass a loving glance. The deer saw us about the same time I saw her, stock-still, head high; the wind shifted and I think Dusty smelled the deer before he saw her. His head came up and he stared, mesmerized. I didn't know what to expect.
The deer turned and leaped away, and the next thing I knew Dusty was after her. I don't know if he wanted to say "hi" or if it was some long-latent cow-horse herding instinct kicking in, but it was exhilarating and fun and funny all at the same time. I hated to stop him, but the deer was far into the woods and whatever his reason for giving chase, it would have been fruitless. He obeyed, but kept looking back towards the spot he'd last seen her until we topped the next hill.
Dusty had become engaged with life; he cared that you groomed him, he loved his carrots and apples, he nickered at me when I came to see him. He'd calmed down and blossomed into the really sweet, trusting and loving horse he is to this day. The Lunatic Horse had morphed into a sweet and kind, loving and gentle good boy. I don't think it had been S's intention, but kicking us out had been the best thing she could do for Dusty.
Dusty at his barn in Groton:
Dusty on a trail ride. The trail had flooded:
In a postscript: S kept Bonnie for about 2 months, then sold her. After being unceremoniously shown the door for no good reason, and then hearing that she'd sold Bonnie when she had said she wouldn't, I stopped speaking with S for about 5 years. I learned Bonnie's fate later, when we were again on speaking terms.
The woman who bought her was well-intentioned but a newbie owner. She boarded her, and Bonnie had been turned out in a field where they had electric heated water troughs. The one in her turnout went dry and shorted out. She got shocked and then refused to drink for a number of days, but no one realized it until she had a bad colic. She never really fully recovered.
S eventually took her back after a few years, I'm not really sure why. When she got her back, Bonnie's hooves and feet - and Bonnie had had GREAT feet - were a complete mess.
We eventually spoke again (S admitting what a complete bitch she'd been went a long way towards reconciliation; she'd got her indoor ring and new barn in the meantime) and that was when I heard about Bonnie's situation. I visited with her, and she seemed to remember me - or at least the carrots I brought.
She'd been my first horse who would do the "Kiss for Carrots" trick (Dusty knows it too), and my face was covered with orange slobber by the time I ran out of them. I brushed her; she'd always had the most beautiful shiny blood bay coat. Even when she was filthy, that coat shone. She made all the appreciative faces I remembered as I found the "right spots". It was good to see her again. She seemed to be doing pretty well all in all, and I was glad S had got her back.
One day S told me that Bonnie was just in too much pain, that just standing was hard - she'd lost the spark in her eye and her interest in food. S was going to have her put down. Bonnie was 16 years old. She and Dusty were almost exactly the same age - 10 days separated their births. Was it really nine years ago? My gosh.
I got to say goodbye and overload her with carrots a few days before - for carrots, she roused herself. S wouldn't tell me the exact day it would happen, she didn't want me to be there crying, making her cry. She called me when it was done.
Soon after, I moved Dusty back with S, and we were there until I was thrown out again. :) Well, she decided she didn't want to be involved with horses any more, they wanted to sell their place, so Dusty and I had to move along.
Dusty, more history, Part Deux
Truthfully, I was enjoying riding him even though the shows were stressful, and though he could be flaky - my nickname for him at the time was "The Lunatic Horse". I was only allowed to ride him a day or so before a show - S would "tune us up". So there was no real "getting to know you" time, but still I could appreciate his level of training and his wonderful naturally collected gaits. And given how clueless I could be, he was a pretty forgiving horse - which I appreciated as well.
He didn't sell that year. And he was still having lameness problems. I'm not positive, it was a long time ago, but I believe she had his hocks injected again.
The following year our show career together didn't begin well. It was a blustery April morning, and just as we entered the ring the wind came up and the three flags on the entry booth, which was right next to the ring, snapped. It sounded like guns going off.
Our entrance was spectacular; I think we covered the entire circumference of that ring in about two seconds. I finally got Dusty down to a close approximation of a walk-jog; he was on his tiptoes with his eyes bugging out. He was definitely not the epitome of "push button".
They closed the gate, and the class started. I think it was "Palomino Pleasure".
"Trot or Jog, please."
As soon as the announcer uttered those words, we took off at a gallop again.
I realized that our pinning in this class was not to be, and when I managed to bring him back to a more controlled gait we moved into the center of the ring to get out of the way of the saner horses... where Dusty proceeded to rear and hop around about four feet from the judge. I don't think the judge was happy - he kept glancing over his shoulder, which no doubt made it difficult to judge the class.
In the interest of safety - the judge's in particular, and everyone else's in general, the ring steward let me out of the ring as quickly as they could.
Luckily for me, S had her own dramas going on with her baby, Tuffy. She'd put Halter Class makeup on his face and he'd proceeded to wipe it on her beige Stetson. She was NOT amused, but since I was on Dusty, her all-suffering husband took the brunt of the abuse.
Happily enough, the judge we nearly squashed, despite his brush with death, actually liked Dusty. He pinned us in the rest of our classes - though to be fair Dusty *had* settled down and was being his usual pretty-moving self, so it wasn't completely surprising.
Dusty and I muddled through that season, and we endured a little less abuse because S was showing Tuffy so didn't have the time to obsess about what I was doing wrong. About half-way through it, she made me an offer: she'd trade Dusty for Bonnie Scamp plus money. I didn't think I could do it at first; but she said Bonnie would have a forever home, I'd see her every day.
So I bought Dusty. And though we finished out the season and won Year End awards for Palomino Pleasure and Quarter Horse Hunter Under Saddle that year, he never showed again - and I'm pretty sure he didn't miss it. He was 13.
While all this was going on, around 1993 or so S and her husband had sold their place and bought a place with more land, further north and west in Massachusetts. She was supposed to get an indoor but they weren't able to afford it right away.
The horses were cozy enough in a temporary barn building, but that wasn't *her dream*, and she was making every one in her general vicinity miserable about it. I'm almost positive a lot of her behavior at horse shows and in private was due to her deep disappointment about not having her indoor and attached barn, and I'm truly surprised her husband didn't divorce her back then.
Anyway, in another fit of pique, she kicked Dusty and I out of her barn soon after I bought him, and I moved him to a place in Groton where he learned to be a regular horse. Though our first trail ride was less than auspicious, it was soon obvious he loved his new life.
Part Trois, to follow...
He didn't sell that year. And he was still having lameness problems. I'm not positive, it was a long time ago, but I believe she had his hocks injected again.
The following year our show career together didn't begin well. It was a blustery April morning, and just as we entered the ring the wind came up and the three flags on the entry booth, which was right next to the ring, snapped. It sounded like guns going off.
Our entrance was spectacular; I think we covered the entire circumference of that ring in about two seconds. I finally got Dusty down to a close approximation of a walk-jog; he was on his tiptoes with his eyes bugging out. He was definitely not the epitome of "push button".
They closed the gate, and the class started. I think it was "Palomino Pleasure".
"Trot or Jog, please."
As soon as the announcer uttered those words, we took off at a gallop again.
I realized that our pinning in this class was not to be, and when I managed to bring him back to a more controlled gait we moved into the center of the ring to get out of the way of the saner horses... where Dusty proceeded to rear and hop around about four feet from the judge. I don't think the judge was happy - he kept glancing over his shoulder, which no doubt made it difficult to judge the class.
In the interest of safety - the judge's in particular, and everyone else's in general, the ring steward let me out of the ring as quickly as they could.
Luckily for me, S had her own dramas going on with her baby, Tuffy. She'd put Halter Class makeup on his face and he'd proceeded to wipe it on her beige Stetson. She was NOT amused, but since I was on Dusty, her all-suffering husband took the brunt of the abuse.
Happily enough, the judge we nearly squashed, despite his brush with death, actually liked Dusty. He pinned us in the rest of our classes - though to be fair Dusty *had* settled down and was being his usual pretty-moving self, so it wasn't completely surprising.
Dusty and I muddled through that season, and we endured a little less abuse because S was showing Tuffy so didn't have the time to obsess about what I was doing wrong. About half-way through it, she made me an offer: she'd trade Dusty for Bonnie Scamp plus money. I didn't think I could do it at first; but she said Bonnie would have a forever home, I'd see her every day.
So I bought Dusty. And though we finished out the season and won Year End awards for Palomino Pleasure and Quarter Horse Hunter Under Saddle that year, he never showed again - and I'm pretty sure he didn't miss it. He was 13.
While all this was going on, around 1993 or so S and her husband had sold their place and bought a place with more land, further north and west in Massachusetts. She was supposed to get an indoor but they weren't able to afford it right away.
The horses were cozy enough in a temporary barn building, but that wasn't *her dream*, and she was making every one in her general vicinity miserable about it. I'm almost positive a lot of her behavior at horse shows and in private was due to her deep disappointment about not having her indoor and attached barn, and I'm truly surprised her husband didn't divorce her back then.
Anyway, in another fit of pique, she kicked Dusty and I out of her barn soon after I bought him, and I moved him to a place in Groton where he learned to be a regular horse. Though our first trail ride was less than auspicious, it was soon obvious he loved his new life.
Part Trois, to follow...
Dusty, more history
The first year S had Dusty, he was everything she hoped he'd be: they won class after class, and took home championships and year-end awards in AA rated shows, Massachusetts and New England. The following year was pretty much the same.
Dusty in Massachusetts, now owned by S:
Then Dusty started having lameness problems. These frustrated S, and she started to get irritable. At shows, she'd have temper tantrums by the trailer if anyone, human or animal, annoyed her in any way. One time, it was the night before a show, she was in his stall banding his mane. She had given him a flake of hay to keep him occupied and quiet.I was there in the stall with them, she and I chatting and Dusty quietly eating. It was a very pleasant evening; until Dusty, in quest of a more delectable bit of hay and in his own world, moved his foot... and stepped on hers.
The screech scared ME. The sheer volume hurt my ears. I think poor Dusty nearly had a heart attack, and he didn't know what had happened. He cowered in the corner, wild-eyed.
I've been stepped on before. Yes, it hurts. But good god almighty, that was simply uncalled for.
Her sudden outbursts were taking a toll on him. He started getting jumpy, and she started to not like him - he wasn't "push button" any more. She'd had his hocks injected in the off-season and he was still getting ribbons, but he always seemed tense, not sure when the next outburst would happen.
Then at one show he bucked her off outside the gate. I was at that show but not present for the wild west exhibition; she said he did it on purpose and she couldn't trust him anymore.
Oh, please. I truly believe he was stung or startled by something. He has never been mean, even when he was scared.
So that was pretty much the end of Dusty for her, even though she had him for a couple of years more. She rode him to the end of that show season, but her temper was always at the boil, and he was always on tenterhooks - as we all were - around her.
The following year she got herself a Palomino baby to show in hand, and she asked me to show Dusty for her, towards getting him sold. I did, but I've never been much into showing - Bonnie hated it and it was a lot of effort for... a lot of effort. And with S so focused on getting Dusty a buyer, if I wasn't doing what she expected of me she would scream at me from the rails, which was embarrassing. I only rode hunt-seat at the time, so the rest of Western Pleasure King Dusty's show career was English, not Western.
We still managed to pull in a couple of year-end awards, but with more reds than blues in total - and that was a disappointment to S as well.
I've decided to break this one up into pieces. Part 2 to follow...
Dusty in Massachusetts, now owned by S:
Then Dusty started having lameness problems. These frustrated S, and she started to get irritable. At shows, she'd have temper tantrums by the trailer if anyone, human or animal, annoyed her in any way. One time, it was the night before a show, she was in his stall banding his mane. She had given him a flake of hay to keep him occupied and quiet.I was there in the stall with them, she and I chatting and Dusty quietly eating. It was a very pleasant evening; until Dusty, in quest of a more delectable bit of hay and in his own world, moved his foot... and stepped on hers.
The screech scared ME. The sheer volume hurt my ears. I think poor Dusty nearly had a heart attack, and he didn't know what had happened. He cowered in the corner, wild-eyed.
I've been stepped on before. Yes, it hurts. But good god almighty, that was simply uncalled for.
Her sudden outbursts were taking a toll on him. He started getting jumpy, and she started to not like him - he wasn't "push button" any more. She'd had his hocks injected in the off-season and he was still getting ribbons, but he always seemed tense, not sure when the next outburst would happen.
Then at one show he bucked her off outside the gate. I was at that show but not present for the wild west exhibition; she said he did it on purpose and she couldn't trust him anymore.
Oh, please. I truly believe he was stung or startled by something. He has never been mean, even when he was scared.
So that was pretty much the end of Dusty for her, even though she had him for a couple of years more. She rode him to the end of that show season, but her temper was always at the boil, and he was always on tenterhooks - as we all were - around her.
The following year she got herself a Palomino baby to show in hand, and she asked me to show Dusty for her, towards getting him sold. I did, but I've never been much into showing - Bonnie hated it and it was a lot of effort for... a lot of effort. And with S so focused on getting Dusty a buyer, if I wasn't doing what she expected of me she would scream at me from the rails, which was embarrassing. I only rode hunt-seat at the time, so the rest of Western Pleasure King Dusty's show career was English, not Western.
We still managed to pull in a couple of year-end awards, but with more reds than blues in total - and that was a disappointment to S as well.
I've decided to break this one up into pieces. Part 2 to follow...
A bit about Dusty
Dusty is a double-registered Palomino Quarter Horse, registered name "Ima Cute Lad". He's 25 years old now; I met him when he was seven. S, the woman I was taking riding lessons with, and at that time leasing Bonnie Scamp from, bought him. She'd been showing in Palomino and Quarter Horse shows but not winning, and S didn't like not winning.
S was told about Dusty by the daughter of a friend of hers. The girl, K, was working at an Appaloosa show barn in Virginia as an apprentice trainer. K had worked with Dusty and liked him, and knew he was for sale.
This was Dusty with his former owner, before S:
S was desperate for a "winning" horse, and all she heard about Dusty made her think this was the horse for her. She was very excited about seeing him, and she and her husband drove down to Virginia - a huge thing, she *hates* to travel.
She didn't expect his color.
Dusty is not the flashiest of Palominos. He's sort of beige. In the winter, he's a uniform beige, mane, tail and coat; in the summer he gets a bit of a pink gold tinge to him so his mane and tail stand out a bit more.
S almost didn't buy Dusty because of his color. It was Virginia and hot, and his coat was almost completely bleached out from the sun. He didn't look like anything special, and certainly not like something that would catch a judge's eye.
But then she rode him.
Dusty *floated*. He was Western Pleasure trained, but this was 1990 so he didn't move in the abominable broken-legged-spider gaits that became "standard" a few years later. His poll was level, his nose wasn't dragging on the ground; he naturally collected and he just always looked happy: ears forward, long tail wagging. His tail dragged on the ground back then.
He was the "push-button" horse she'd always dreamt about. She even took him out of the indoor ring and out for a trail ride; he was willing and happy. She found out later that no one had ever ridden him for a trail ride around the property before.
He was even then a very sweet guy, and they used him as "Uncle Dusty" for the newly weaned babies. He'd take care of them but not take any guff from any of them. He helped them cope with being separated from their mommies and then, without hurting them, taught them the rules of the herd.
He was sweet, but he was reserved, aloof. S didn't want a personality though, she wanted "fresh blood", a horse she could show up with at the shows and knock their socks off.
So Dusty came home to Massachusetts.
I met him soon afterwards. I wasn't impressed at first: he was skinny and small and built like a thoroughbred and didn't look as flashy and chunky as her other Palomino had been, Mister Bid Hancock. I was shocked that she'd sell Bid (to a trail riding owner who absolutely loved him, so he ended up finding his niche) in order to buy *this* horse.
And Dusty was so tuned out - he seemed to not want any attention, Even more shocking to me: he apparently had never seen a carrot. Or an apple. Or any kind of treat.
Well, this was totally unnatural.
I had my Bonnie Scamp (I'd bought her) to give treats to, but I felt awful for this little beige guy who didn't even know he was missing an experience other horses completely prostitute themselves for. I'd offer him carrots; he'd sniff a bit suspiciously, and turn his head away. S and I would laugh about how this horse didn't have a clue what they were, and she'd say (though not completely joking) "don't you go teaching him about treats! I want my toy horse to stay a toy!"
I didn't give up though - carrots are a God-given right for horses, a reward for having to do what we tell them. One day he gingerly took a bit in his mouth and crunched. His big golden-brown eyes lit up.
I'd turned him to the Dark Side.
More about Dusty in the next posting.
Dusty on his 25th birthday, this past April. Some friends from work came out to help us celebrate with carrots and apples. Dusty's pal Pongo helped Dusty celebrate, too.
S was told about Dusty by the daughter of a friend of hers. The girl, K, was working at an Appaloosa show barn in Virginia as an apprentice trainer. K had worked with Dusty and liked him, and knew he was for sale.
This was Dusty with his former owner, before S:
S was desperate for a "winning" horse, and all she heard about Dusty made her think this was the horse for her. She was very excited about seeing him, and she and her husband drove down to Virginia - a huge thing, she *hates* to travel.
She didn't expect his color.
Dusty is not the flashiest of Palominos. He's sort of beige. In the winter, he's a uniform beige, mane, tail and coat; in the summer he gets a bit of a pink gold tinge to him so his mane and tail stand out a bit more.
S almost didn't buy Dusty because of his color. It was Virginia and hot, and his coat was almost completely bleached out from the sun. He didn't look like anything special, and certainly not like something that would catch a judge's eye.
But then she rode him.
Dusty *floated*. He was Western Pleasure trained, but this was 1990 so he didn't move in the abominable broken-legged-spider gaits that became "standard" a few years later. His poll was level, his nose wasn't dragging on the ground; he naturally collected and he just always looked happy: ears forward, long tail wagging. His tail dragged on the ground back then.
He was the "push-button" horse she'd always dreamt about. She even took him out of the indoor ring and out for a trail ride; he was willing and happy. She found out later that no one had ever ridden him for a trail ride around the property before.
He was even then a very sweet guy, and they used him as "Uncle Dusty" for the newly weaned babies. He'd take care of them but not take any guff from any of them. He helped them cope with being separated from their mommies and then, without hurting them, taught them the rules of the herd.
He was sweet, but he was reserved, aloof. S didn't want a personality though, she wanted "fresh blood", a horse she could show up with at the shows and knock their socks off.
So Dusty came home to Massachusetts.
I met him soon afterwards. I wasn't impressed at first: he was skinny and small and built like a thoroughbred and didn't look as flashy and chunky as her other Palomino had been, Mister Bid Hancock. I was shocked that she'd sell Bid (to a trail riding owner who absolutely loved him, so he ended up finding his niche) in order to buy *this* horse.
And Dusty was so tuned out - he seemed to not want any attention, Even more shocking to me: he apparently had never seen a carrot. Or an apple. Or any kind of treat.
Well, this was totally unnatural.
I had my Bonnie Scamp (I'd bought her) to give treats to, but I felt awful for this little beige guy who didn't even know he was missing an experience other horses completely prostitute themselves for. I'd offer him carrots; he'd sniff a bit suspiciously, and turn his head away. S and I would laugh about how this horse didn't have a clue what they were, and she'd say (though not completely joking) "don't you go teaching him about treats! I want my toy horse to stay a toy!"
I didn't give up though - carrots are a God-given right for horses, a reward for having to do what we tell them. One day he gingerly took a bit in his mouth and crunched. His big golden-brown eyes lit up.
I'd turned him to the Dark Side.
More about Dusty in the next posting.
Dusty on his 25th birthday, this past April. Some friends from work came out to help us celebrate with carrots and apples. Dusty's pal Pongo helped Dusty celebrate, too.
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