Mouthy Monday

Here's a sad tale about the dangers of trust. While we should be able to our horse friends, it seems the "Buyer Beware" tag always apllies to the purchase of a horse.

 http://punkskidrock.blogspot.com 

Lemons

A friend of mine sold her crap car last Saturday, and it had a lemon title. She didn't know it had a lemon title when she bought it, which makes me think poorly of the person who sold her the car. At least be upfront about what you're selling; let someone knowingly purchase the lemon if they believe they can handle it, but letting someone buy it from you and then discover the issue is a shite thing to do. 

It occurred to me that the same sort of thing happened to me- purchasing something and only after receiving the title, do you realize that it has a "defect" that makes it challenging to sell to those in the know.

Rocky has a "lemon" title, and I didn't know until I had received his registration papers. Let's back up for a second to explain what happened.

On February 8 2009, my first horse, Honey, died. It was tragic and awful but that story should be saved for a different day. Suffice to say that I was devastated for so many reasons, one of which was that I no longer had a horse in my life. I felt lost and lonely for the void that being horseless caused. Normally when I am in a bad mood of some sort, I can go to the barn and by the time I leave, I feel much better. Horses have a way of doing that for me. 

By mid March I commenced my search for a new horse. I was still grieving the loss of Honey, but I knew that getting a new horse would help me through this difficult time. I tried out a horse that I found online, and she ended up bolting with me across a field with large patches of ice. She was a very different animal than her ad and owner had promised, and I left her with them. My mom suggested that I ask Rite (name changed) if she had any horses available.

Between the ages of 12-14, I took riding lessons from Rite. She also gave Honey 3 months of additional training right after I had purchased her. Rite liked to take in undernourished and ill trained horses to bring them to their full health, train up, and resell to a good owner. I knew Rite's training methods and knew that I would feel most comfortable on a horse that had been trained by her, and not have to guess at what a stranger's horse would know. 

I sent Rite a letter, briefly explaining that I had lost Honey but was looking for another horse. I outlined the characteristics I was hoping for and asked if she had any horses in for training that were close to being ready to go, or if she knew of anyone selling a horse with my criteria in mind. My criteria (as best I can remember):
-Between 14.1 and 15.2 hh, I wasn't looking for a tall horse-Able to walk, trot, and canter safely-Road and trail safe-Friendly, likes people-Between 5 and 15 years old-Around $1000, I didn't have much more than that

And I think that was it. I told her that I can work on ground manners pretty well so if things aren't perfect there, that's fine. Rite emailed me back asking if I remembered a colt that her mare had dropped in 2006. 
I had taken riding lessons on that mare- Amber- and while she didn't have the prettiest face in the world, she was smart and tried hard. She was a buckskin Quarter horse. The stallion was also one of Rite's horses, a gorgeous palomino Quarter horse named Checkers that I had admired for years. He was a sweet horse, loved attention, and as I said, was beautiful. 
The colt I had gotten to meet when he was about a month and a half old. He was black with white feet,
already showing off his round Quarter horse butt. 

Closer picture of Rocky, he's newborn here :) I also got to meet him when he was a yearling.  I had driven up to Rite's barn to visit, but no one was there I walked around to greet the horses anyway, and walked out into her pasture to see who was in it.  There was a young black horse that I was unsure of at first, and then I realized that it had to be Amber and Checker's colt.  He looked far too much like Checkers to not be. He greeted me pleasantly but he was more interested in grazing. He looked great. I had been dreaming out loud with Justin, talking about the black colt that Rite had.  I was sure she wouldn't sell him, he was the first foal from both of her horses.  I knew that he would be about 3 years old now, which was younger than I had wanted but I knew he would be worth it. This was a horse that would have been handled well from birth, including training and proper health care.  When Rite emailed me saying that he was for sale, I was ecstatic.  I called my mom, crying, telling her that I was crying because of good news so that she wouldn't be worried. I drove 5 hours to see him that weekend, and paid half of his purchase price that day.  Rite told me that she would mail me his papers when she received the other half of price.  That was pretty standard, so I agreed.  About 2 weeks later, my parents delivered Rocky to me where I was going to college.  2 months after that, I had fallen in love with my new horse and paid off the other half that I owed Rite.  Then I got his registration papers, and my heart plummeted.  It was just a series of letters on the right side of the paper, except that I knew it meant something bad.  HYPP N/H. He was a carrier for HYPP, which is a genetic defect.  It was passed to him from Checkers, who could pass it on to any of his offspring.  I had no idea Rite would breed a horse that carried HYPP; the thought had never occurred to me.  She had always seemed so caring and responsible, I never thought about the possibility that she would knowingly breed a horse that could pass on such a defect.  For those of you who don't know, symptoms of an HYPP attack can include: -Sporadic muscle tremors (shaking or trembling), weakness and/or collapse -Can be accompanied by loud breathing noises resulting from paralysis of the upper airway -Occasionally, sudden death can occur following a severe paralytic attack -Horses are aware of what is going on These symptoms can occur at any time and without warning.  Basically,  Rocky's muscles could constrict at any time, suffocating him or causing a heart attack.  And he would know what was happening the whole time.  This also poses a threat to anyone riding or working with Rocky, as he could drop to the ground having seizures at any time, potentially injuring anyone nearby or on him.  There is no cure for HYPP, but the best way to prevent an attack from happening is to have the horse on a low potassium diet (too much potassium can cause an attack).  Eating grass hay or pasture grass is best for this, as well as having access to regular exercise/movement. Where Rocky is now, all of the horses eat only grass hay or pasture grass, and he is out in a pasture all the time. Otherwise he's a wonderful horse and I love him dearly, but I have to warn anyone who wants to ride him of his genetic defect. I worry about him and the phone call I may get one day.  HYPP could be completely gone from the horsey gene pool if people stopped breeding HYPP positive horses.  There would be no need to fear potassium, seizures and choking to death.  This could happen in 1 generation of horses, but I guess some people don't think HYPP is that serious, or they don't care, or they don't know.  That's the lemon.

 

Bad Riding Doing Good

Recently, I read a post on FHOTD, or maybe Snarkyrider, where the readers were having a gay old time making fun of a rider on a sale video. Yeah, I know, it's a nasty addiction, reading those comments, like picking at a half-healed scab.

Thing is, I watched the video, immediately dismissed the rider, and enjoyed watching a very nice horse toodle around the arena. The rider wasn't very good, but she had the gelding moving along and showed how patient and clean-limbed he was. My thought was the video was supposed to show a horse someone might want to buy and it did.

It got me thinking about the importance of riding well, vs. the importance of well, riding. The horse in the video was motoring along pretty well, there was some head tossing and tail snapping, but nothing too out of line. It was like he was saying, "Hey there Missy, watch those hands!" Not a big show of pain or temper.

There is a good sized population of riders who spend every second of every minute they are with their horses being correct. From clothes, to grooming, to saddles, to their instructor, to the footing in the arena, everything is always correct.

This isn't discipline specific BTW, it's a mindset a person is sometimes born with, but is often trained into. Ir's easy enough to get there, horses are great, big, snorty critters, and lots of things can go wrong while we're trying to sort out how to go forward, turn left, turn right, and the ever important STOP.

In addition, there's so much to learn. It never stops, the learning, and there is always a better rider in the arena with you, no matter how far up the food chain you crawl.

Becky asked me once how I would define a beginning, intermediate and advanced rider.

This is what I came up with.

Beginning rider: Horse spooks, rider falls off.

Intermediate rider: Horse spooks, rider stays on, wonders what the hell just happened.

Advanced rider: Rider feels the spook coming, assesses the situation while settling in the saddle and handles the oncoming reaction as needed.

The bottom line here is when we begin with horses, we start with the mechanics. How to sort out all the buckles and straps. What a well shod foot looks like. What does a thin or fat horse look like. How to sit, how to steer, how to use our body as communication.

Eventually we get those things sorted out (one would hope) and need to move onto the next level of horsemanship, perception. The ever elusive ability to feel and read your horse. Just as important, to get your horse to feel and read you.

We need to ride well enough to keep ourselves mounted when stuff happens, so we can get lost in thought and sensation. During this period of time, none of us are riding really well. Our seat is secure enough, our hands are no longer using the reins as a balance point, our legs do more than flail around, but we haven't acquired the ease  you see in the riders you wish you were.

This is an important cross roads in becoming a rider. How do we get through it and onto the next level? By heading back to the arena, our instructor, our trainer? By forcing ourselves to step up and conquer the next step in learning? Some do, but I think they've just stuck a big mental roadblock in front of themselves, because what they've done is gone back to the mechanics instead of starting on their perception.

We're sucked into thinking the placement of our heels and how much our elbows flap are the reason we don't look like the better riders. But the fact is, lots of riding and feeling, without much thought, is how you will get your body in the right spot because that's where it works, when you can feel the nuance of your horse through the saddle, when the rhythms between you and your horse become almost indiscernible, then your elbows will settle, your heels will drop, and you will begin to really ride.

Guess how this comes about? By riding. Just getting on and going. Not getting shouted reminders and criticism, not dwelling on posture, where your feet are or which seat bone is doing what, but losing yourself into the horse and the ride, and trusting your training and muscle memory to take care of the mechanics.

I went on a beautiful, long trail ride on Odin with a good friend this past weekend. I wasn't working on anything more than having fun and exposing my colt to a little more of the world. We walked the first few miles, than picked up a long trot, walk, long trot way of going for the next six miles or so. Any time we were travelling uphill and Odin wanted to lope, I let him. It's my way of getting a youngster comfortable with loping on the trail.

When we came to the last couple miles, we were crossing some beautiful open fields and we had a nice long gallop. I wasn't thinking about my seat, my hands, nothing but the bottomless blue sky, the sound of the grass and weeds crackling and the feel of my steady little colt, when all of a sudden, there it was. So clear, so solid, so different than things have been the last few months, I couldn't help but, "Yip!"

You see, my seat has been off. Not terribly, but enough to bother me. I blame it on not being able to ride enough. I also blame it on being crooked, getting old, turning into a cry-baby-sissy-pants, the usual wah-wahs. All of these things are true, to a point.

 I've been working on it too. Trying to balance my seat bones, messing with my leg position, my shoulders, you name it. I was better, but not fixed.

Here I was, dinking along on a ride and playing, not thinking for even a second about impending horse shows  or people noticing how my riding has slacked off, and BAM! my seat was back. It felt great, wonderful, fantastic. Odin flicked an ear and smoothed out a bit, so he felt it too.

None of my tinkering in the arena was ever going to help. Because the mechanics can get in the way of our feel. I had mixed up the two, and was oiling the wrong parts.

During my visit with Tim this year, he wasn't worried about my horse or my riding.

"It's all there, you just have to tighten the screws. Don't go all obsessive on it (who,me?) just keep it in mind while you ride."

Great, I thought, here he goes, getting all esoteric on me, and I, as usual, have to pick out the meaning behind these two short sentences.

Of course, as usual, Tim meant  just what he said, nothing more or less. It took letting my horse go across a field to sort it out. I needed to ride until things fell back into place.

The key here is balance. Knowing when we need to work on mechanics and when to move on to perception. When we start out there are going to be big city block sizes of each to work through. As our experience increases we'll shift back and forth by the week, the day, the hour, the minute.

My trail ride reminded me how important it is to keep both in balance, and to know when to let go and just go ride -- no matter how I think I look. By the end of the ride everything felt right.

Now I can go back to the mechanics and start tightening some of those screws.

So Much Better

What a shot in the arm.

I should have fessed up a year ago.

Have to warn you, I'm not particularly affectionate, known to be a little cold, am actually quite frigid on the outside, pretty warm and lively on the inside.

I'm not much of a hugger, ask the kidlette, who, by a wicked, torment-her-mom twist of fate, was and still is, the huggiest, snuggliest sack of bones you have ever been elbowed by.  Karma has a sense of humor is all I can say.  I appreciate all the cyber hugs, even if I did get all stiff and constipated looking.

Thank you so much for the boost, forgive me if I get all awkward and shy, I'm much more verbal on the 'puter than I am anywhere else. I appreciate you all.

Got another gift from your supportive comments.
Check out this blog!

http://thewanderlywagons.blogspot.com/


The Wanderly Wagons -

Talk about living the dream, I'm having a blast reading through the adventures of Martine and Anne.

New terrain, unfamiliar tack and lingo, breeds of horses I haven't seen before, lots of dogs and a couple of great friends, what else could anybody want?

*********************************************************************************
Meet Jay


We were watching Clare work the little hinny. She rode without stirrups, knees bent and snug against the swell, and still her crazy long legs hung barely two inches above the ground. When the big-eared, bug eyed, quick footed hinny cut right or left, the side of Clare's boot would drag in the dirt.

"I need to get me a midget," Jay said.

"You need what?" I asked.

Clare snorted and started to laugh, the hinny skittered across the round pen and broke into a quick legged little lope. The sturdy, pony-sized critter, the hybrid of a stud horse and a jenny, settled quickly. So far, she had been a quick study.

"God Jay, PC much?" Clare asked him. "What you need, is a saddle with a cinch that fits a hinny." She jerked her hips back and forth to show how much slack there was in her cinch. The only thing holding the saddle on was a jerry-rigged britching and breastcollar. There was a lot of faith being put into baling twine.

"I don't mean anything by it, I just need to get me a midget," Jay repeated.

"Why in the world would you need a midget?" I was hooked.

"To start colts.I mean, look at Clare sitting on that little thing. She looks ridiculous. "

"You're crazy Jay."

He pushed back his hat and folded his arms across the top rail of the round pen. Jay is not a tall man, but his hard, ropy muscles and prairie bred leanness give the impression of height. He has a pleasant face, lined from a life in the unforgiving Colorado sun, and a ready grin. The owner of the barn where I stable my horses is quick to tease and stoic in his work, a typical cowboy and rancher. Where Jay is unusual is in his ability to survive as a horse and cattleman in today's fast changing world.

"I've been looking for a midget for twenty years," he continued. "I don't mean one of those lumpy ones..."

"Jay!" Clare said as she trotted past, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Jay looked wounded. "I just mean I need one built like a regular person, but real small, so he could ride."

"Why don't you go down to Pueblo and hire a jockey?" I asked.

"Too much attitude. Those boys think that just because they can stand on a horse they know something. Think about it, those midgets can't weigh more than fifty, sixty pounds, right?"

My good mare, Madonna, shifted her hind feet and played with the roller in her bit. She had her eyes fastened on the hinny, the not-quite-a-horse fascinated her.
Theoretically, I was sitting on her in the indoor while Clare got in her second ride, to give the hinny the comfort of another four-legged creature. In reality, I was watching over my daughter. She might be twenty-one, and better at starting a colt than me, but I still liked to be around for those first rides.

"You can find kids that ride and weigh the same," I said.

"Sure you can, but they're kids. If I had a midget, why then I could have an adult's mind and hands on my horses, without the weight. I could start my colts as yearlings, and by the time they were three, well, they'd be so broke it would be like riding a five-year-old."

"I think you do fine starting them the way you do."

"The market calls for them being a lot more broke at two than mine are."

We watched Clare transition the hinny to a walk, then a trot, then back to a walk with her seat. When the hinny stopped, Clare sighed and picked up her reins, putting a little pressure on the bit. Within seconds, they were tussling over backing a step. I would have waited a few rides to ask for that step, but I shut up. Her way of doing things seemed to work for her.

"Yours are still sound when they're ten," I said.

"That's my point, Janet, if I had a midget I could have the best of both worlds."

The hinny finally backed one grudging step and Clare released her reins, rubbed the sweat slick neck and went to step down. The saddle slipped and the hinny started to pitch before Clare got her leg clear. She slid back into the saddle and tried to yank it back in place with her weight. It didn't want to go.

The hinny bogged her head and cut loose.

"Clare, why don't you go ahead and step off?" I asked in a low, steady voice. My heart beat was calling for a shout, but I knew there was no help in that.

She didn't answer, she was busy. The britching had come loose and the saddle was up and over the hinny's withers. Two more good bucks and the whole package, saddle, Clare and a lot of bright orange baling twine, came off over her head. The hinny shook free, and spun away from the whole mess. Clare sat in the dust, looking confused, still sitting square in the middle of her saddle.

"Well shit," she said, "we were just about done." She stood up, dusted off her seat and went to catch the wide-eyed hinny. "Jay, I'll get her rode again, but I'm not riding her after today unless you get a rig that fits her."

Jay stared at her for a few seconds, I could see the wheels turning while he tried to figure a way around her argument. He finally shook his head and stomped out of the arena. Dust puffed up around his feet, hiding his boots, leaving a trail hanging in the air when he stepped into the sunlight.

"I'm telling you, I need to get me a midget."

Mouthy Monday

The Horse from The Wizard of Oz

This is cool. We're going to set aside any criticism towards the writer for breeding for color. She has a very valid point, when you get conformation and color, then why not?

" Have you ever seen a purple horse? 

I got a colt that turned purple. I bred my blue roan Appaloosa mare to a Cremello stallion, thinking I'd get a buckskin or maybe a palomino foal. Of course I bred for conformation first but with that in place, why not go for the color too?

WBX Komaan Commander was born black with silvery sides and a line down his back. When he shed his newborn coat he turned bright chestnut red all over, including his legs, but kept the black mane and tail. (I failed to get a good photo of that color.) That first summer he became metallic bronze with faint tiger stripes. Oh, how I wanted him to stay that way! But he turned bright redagain for his first winter. Anxiously I waited, hoping the bronze would come back. However, the following Spring he was a True Purple.

 I wrote to UC Davis to ask what it would cost to get all of the color genetic testing done; each individual test is a certain price and I didn't have much money. I sent photos. A woman wrote back that she'd test him for free; evidently she was intrigued. He came out to have, besides the LP gene that makes Appaloosa characteristics, the Black gene, the Red gene, the Cremello genewhich is a dilution gene, The Dun/Grulla gene, another dilution gene. Just about the only things he did not have was Agouti which causes bay. When Autumn rolled around he turned dark chocolate. I sold him then so I have no idea if he keeps on changing but I think he must do so. He must have a crowded closet in which he keeps his wardrobe!"

How Do You Keep Blogging?

This is such a bizarre situation.

I have finally realized what happened to me and my blog. The blog, which in many ways, I value so much.

They finally got to me.

The haters.
The trolls.
The crazy stalker.
The whiners and bullies.

In spite of the fact the majority of the people I meet on this blog are interesting, curious, love horses-- whether they have them or not-- and writing, and are willing to put up with my long winded opinions and way too long training posts. I am aware and flattered  most of  you come for the stories and are polite enough to read the rest of my ramblings, but there are a few who have stomped all over my desire to write in this form. Even when they consider themselves "fans," they'll still stick their spur in my sides at the weirdest times.

It's showed up in me with my bizarre unwillingness to finish the story about Tally.

Part of it would come from two specific comments. I can only give you approximations, I don't remember the exact words and I have no interest in looking them up..

One said: Blogs, on average, last approx. 4 years before petering out. So why don't you finish telling us about Tally and get out?
This wasn't friendly advice BTW, it was kinda nasty and demanding.
The second referred to a piece I wrote about a conversation between my daughter and I. It was about the power of horses to heal and make the weak stronger.
The comment went kind of like this: Great sharing of a moment with your daughter and her rehab, now could you get on with writing about Tally?

Gotta tell you, my heels dug in so hard it buried my rowels.

It took me a while to sort this out, but I finally realized what was going on.

I would have a training moment and think, I need to blog this, then I'd think, I really need to write a Tally post, then my mind would skitter off to, Wonder what I should make for dinner? That would be the end of my blogging moment.

I have stories I want to write about some of the new and interesting horse people I've met lately, thoughts I've had about old time training methods vs. new, safety around our horses, where we go as riders as we age and become debilitated and how to balance our horse life with our family when it becomes overwhelming at home.

But Tally stops me every time.

Then there is a vague uneasiness, maybe we should call it jumping at shadows, that has affected my willingness to share much. See, some of these shadows carry BB Guns, the little pellets only sting, but hell, if you're willing to pop me in the eye with a BB, then when will it be OK to move up to a shotgun?

It began with an uncomfortable situation that turned into an unsettling obsession, and now is classified, legally and by definition, as cyber-stalking. Nice huh?

I've been dealing with that one for going on four years, it should be like an old friend by now, and is easy enough to ignore, but of course it adds into my blog block.

I think the biggest mistake I've made with this forum was trying to write for FHOTD. SnarkyRider is doing an incredible job of keeping it going and my hat is off to her.

Personally, I found that place scary, sad and annoying, all rolled into one nasty little wad of mouse fur, hacked up by a rabid, one-eyed, stray barn cat. You know the one I mean, it's a big old Tom, he showed up in your hay barn. He's starved, you feel bad for him and think you should feed him, look at his ribs! Except, when you see him, he hisses at you. It's clear if he weighed just 100 pounds more he's happily eat you... and pus keeps leaking out of that empty eye socket. You can't help but hope he'll just move along.

I learned a lot over there. I learned about social prejudice, bigotry, ignorance covered up with hostility, trolls, spelling, and sentence structure. Not one damn thing about horses, but mucho much about some of the people who are involved in them. I learned I just can't start my day researching horse tragedies, bad writing, starving animals and making fun of other riders.

It also made me very aware of the freedom offered by the anonymity of cyberspace. Those nasty, rotten, garbage- induced-diarrhea-of-an-old-cattle-dog type people, who want to hurt others. What a dangerous place this can be.

Did I write that last sentence correctly? How about my spelling? Did you get my point? Good enough then.

I came back to the Chronicles shaken.

Then I read about a 15-year-old girl who killed herself, because of unearned, non-stop harassment, mainly on FB, which hounded her through changes of both schools and the towns she lived in. This poor kid killed herself because she felt the Internet caused hell would never stop finding her and ruining her life.

Trust me, I'm nothing like that girl, my experience has mainly been positive, and most of the people who share my little piece of the blog-o-sphere are great. Plus, I'm a grown-up and understand that some people suck. It's just that I also understand how she felt. I really wish I had never seen this side of people, that I had stayed in my naive little bubble of horsey fairies and flowers and didn't know this bile existed.

On my own side of things, I've also decided I'm much too secretive about much of my life. It's not that big of a thing, yet somehow, a threat of "exposing the truth" made me realize it seemed more interesting than it is. So I've decided to cough it up and lay that particular thorn in my side to rest.

Plus, it will give me more to write about.

You see, when I started my blog, I wanted only to be seen as  horse trainer. To be judged on my successes and failures as a horseman and only that. So I kept the extras out of it.

But I've come to realize, through writing, lots of therapy and more experience with this bumpy road, that many of the things I keep secret make up a huge part of my training philosophy and who I am as a horse person.

Plus, developing a kick ass friendship with Becky Bean (Blog of Becky) hasn't hurt. Hell, if the story is funny enough,she'll tell you what her favorite brand of tampon is and why, and she's still doing fine. So what makes me so special? Not a damn thing, that's what. My secrets kept screwing up my time line too, and you guys are too sharp not to have figured it out eventually.

So here goes folks, take me or leave me.

My beginnings with horses are pretty much an open book, if you read the Mort stories.

When I was in my late twenties, I got to play with the Big C. Yep, cancer. A nasty Fibrosarcoma appeared in my right palm and many, many surgeries and treatments later, my right hand and arm were amputated, just below the elbow.

I spent ten years playing with that one, add a very bad husband, my wonderful daughter and little to no horse interaction and you've got most of my thirties.

After getting rid of both the poisonous arm and husband, I started giving riding lessons at a small barn in Green Mountain Falls, CO.

The first horse I rode in almost ten years (sorry Bob) was Pepsi, a 16+hh (for reals), 3-year-old mustang filly. This was typical of me, I became a horse trainer at the same time I learned to ride with a prosthetic. I prefer to keep things exciting.

A few years later, I met the Big K at a clinic. I was on Sonita, trying not to die, and became hooked on reined cowhorse.

K became my instructor, my mentor and my friend. I ended up working for and with him and we had some great times, good times and horrible times. We always worked hard. We split, but now we've both grown and changed, have healed the breach and are good friends again.

K's name is Tim Unzicker.  He's become an outstanding horseman over the years and has always been a solid winner in the show pen.. Check him out at http://www.unzickercowhorse.net/.

Look carefully, we're closing in on the 2013 Mugwump/Big K Clinic and Ranch Party, to be held at his ranch. This clinic will be for the Mugwump Chronicle readers, unless you hate me, then please stay home. I'll have details posted soon.

I retired from training because I was fried. This you know. Part of the frying that turned me so crispy golden was learning I have Parkinson's Disease.

I quit training and became a writer for the Fountain Valley and El Paso County News.

Then my illness became worse and I had to cut back my hours. I applied for disability, got it and continued on. The, last year, my husband had a stroke.

Since that time, I quit the paper, except for a weekly food column (yeah, I cook too), and have become my husbands primary caretaker. Hence the spotty writing.

I think that's it. Oh wait, I also suffer from periodic, but nasty, bouts of depression. To which I say, "Well Duh."

So there you have it. Here I am.

OK, maybe not. This is really me.

Here's me and Madonna.
I don't wear a prosthetic anymore. Tim kinda, sorta, dared me to get rid of it. You know, get rid of the barrier of the mechanical arm and really ride. Always one to take a dare, I went for it.
Odin has been started from scratch with me one-handed. See what I mean? So much to write about!
When I ride, all of my PD symptoms disappear. Some call it a miracle, I call it muscle memory, doesn't matter which it is, I am so happy I am still in there swinging.

Hey Becky! There's my hat!

So tell me, how do I keep blogging? I think this may be the first step.
Screw those trolls, we have stuff to talk about.

Mouthy Monday

Hey Guys,
Yes, it's your long lost Mugwump, gearing up to come back to the literary side of the horse world. At first I didn't understand the burnout, until I realized I've been posting pretty steadily for the last five years...at least it will be five years come April...
Who knew I'd have so much drivel to commit to cyberspace! I'm not done yet, still have some stories to finish and share, and still think I have some training questions and answers to toss out there.
I'm going to ease back in with good old Mouthy Monday, but believe me, I've been thinking and working the horses, and still have a story or two left in me. Hope you've been well.

I love this story. the author, Faith, has one of the rare qualities that makes for a true Horsaii. She acknowledges her fear. She takes responsibility, then she does something about it.
How many times have we watched an over reactive rider, farrier, trainer or veterinarian, thumping on a horse for a mild or imaginary transgression? They then cover their actions with bluster, anger and justification, my favorite being, "Some horses need to get beaten once in a while."

Faith caught herself and deals with her issues with honesty, while keeping her horse's best interest at heart. My guess is she did a heck of a job training this horse.

Today

http://wyomingfaith.blogspot.com/2012_03_01_archive.html#6494708542083388152

I pulled Kitten out of the pasture today and rode her for the first time in months. Wyoming is bitterly cold during winter and previous years I hadn't had access to an indoor arena, so it's typical that I pull shoes and send her out to pasture with her buddies in about November. Then, as soon as it's warm enough to ride, her vacation is over.
My relationship with this horse is one of the greatest prides and joy of my life. She suits me down to the ground, and part of that is all the things we have gone through together. One of the biggest issues we had wasn't even about her, it was about me, but she showed me the way out.

Before I bought Kitten, I was helping at a rodeo camp. There was a little girl trying to figure out how to trot around the barrels, but her horse was just being a pig and would not for any reason trot. I took her and her horse over to a quiet corner of the arena and was making that horse trot in circles so that she could think about steering and posting and not having to spend all her energy on trying to get that horse to move. Well, he was getting pissed. I should have seen it coming, really I should have. He gave me warning, but I was focused on helping that little girl ride.

During one of the circles, as he was coming around in front of me, he swung his butt towards me and let loose both barrels. One of his hooves (thank God he wasn't shod!) got me right in the thigh. I honestly thought he had broken my femur. My leg swelled up so big I couldn't put my jeans on, and I have never seen flesh turn the colors that injury did! Right then a deep, gripping fear of any horses' back end started. I hid it pretty well, putting on a brave and careless face, but it was there, growing and taking hold.

Right about that time the bottom of the horse market fell through. I had been looking for a horse and my dear friend had found a good prospect. Kitten was a 2 year old at the time and she was awesome. Even as a two year old she looked great, tall and lean (for a quarter horse), and her breeding was fantastic. I bought her for $250 at a local auction and marveled at my good luck all the way home.
I began the training process with a friend of mine. This was the first colt I had ever trained and I needed all the help I could get! Things were going so well, she was very smart and kind, just so kind. Even when she tested me it was sort of half hearted, she couldn't bring herself to throw a real fit.

Unfortunately the fear was still there, freezing me up and making me mistrust this horse that had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. At that point I was riding her regularly and really enjoying her. But I had stopped picking out her back hooves. I avoided them. I reasoned and excused myself, thinking that she was just fine, her hooves were fine.

There came a point where I just couldn't excuse myself any more, so I decided I would force myself to use a hoof pick on her back feet. I crowded myself in as close as I could get to her flank, picked up a hoof she was more than willing to give, and started in on it. It felt like my insides were frozen. I was clamping down, forcing myself not to think about the power she had, about another horse that was willing to hurt me to get his own way. I was so tightly wound up inside that I was going to explode at any minute.

Then she did it. She shifted her weight over onto her other back foot and I blew up. I punched her belly with my fist- fear making me move quickly and strike as hard as I could. I will never forget it. Me panting, shaking,adrenalin pounding in my ears, standing a couple of feet away from her. Her breath had left her in a grunt and she had tucked up her belly from the force of the blow. She stood frozen on all four feet, not wanting to make another move in case I pounded her again. She had no idea what she had done, she was merely shifting her weight like a good girl to take the weight off my hands and make it a little easier for me and more comfortable for her.

Then she looked at me. That's another thing I won't forget. I don't anthropomorphize animals, but if she could talk, she would have asked:
"Why?"

Why indeed. This horse had so much try, typically she would give me all she had during every training time. Many times she wouldn't understand what I wanted but she always tried to understand, tried to get along, tried to please. I wasn't that good at communicating with her but she had bent herself in knots trying to get it right. She had never tried to hurt me. Never even thought about it, I'm sure. I had let out all my fear in the ugliest of ways towards her and she hadn't done a single thing to deserve it. It was me. It was all me
At that moment I thought: "I am going to grab this fear with both hands and KICK ITS ASS."

So began the retraining process of myself.

Every time I rode I made myself clean out her hooves first, slowly and thoroughly. I made myself stand behind her and brush out her tail. When I was done riding and just hanging out chatting with my friends I made myself stand by her butt and sling an arm over her. At first it was so hard, I would jump at every movement she made. I would only be able to handle a little bit at a time. Slowly, though, it got easier. Every time I saw her do absolutely nothing in response to me being behind her chipped away at my distrust. She hadn't done a thing to lose my trust, but she was building it back all the same.

It felt so great to control and abolish my fear rather than my fear controlling me. I attacked and attacked and attacked until that thing went away.

And that's just one thing she did for me. I don't know if I can even explain how I feel about her. I know she is an animal, a horse, but there is a connection between her and me that is precious to me. When she has those bad days, I'm willing to give her a little grace. Because over and over, in all my bad days, she's given me a lot of grace. She's gold to me.