My previous post generated a few emotionally charged comments. I wasn't surprised, and I feel that a few of those comments reinforced my point that making decisions based solely on emotions tends to result lack of education and unintended consequences.
I do want to reinforce my stance on this issue. I am very reluctantly in favor of it, but only as a last resort, when all other options have been exhausted. Once a better alternative is available, I will turn anti-slaughter without a moment's hesitation. However, now that all such facilities in the U.S. have been closed, I am not in favor of shipping them to Canada or Mexico. The conditions in the shipping trailers are horrifying, and only make a bad situation worse.
When I first learned that slaughter facilities existed for horses, I was repulsed. In my opinion, no other animal, save the Eagle, symbolizes the United States of America more than the horse. Although they were imported from Europe, they are part and parcel of the history of this great country. How could we actually continue to slaughter them in this day and age?
Not being one to form opinions without researching the facts first, I learned why they exist, and reluctantly accepted it as a necessary evil.
I found a copy of the May 2009 issue of Horse Illustrated laying around yesterday (apparently Che Buckskin has a subscription). To my surprise, I discovered an article entitled "Unwanted Horse Solutions". It is part 2 of a series. I searched about for the April issue, which contains the first article, "The Unwanted Horse Problem". The article regarding the solutions was of the most to me.
While the closure of these facilities as led to a glut of neglected and abandoned horses, there is a silver lining in the cloud. According to Horse Illustrated, many of the breed associations are actively addressing the problem head on. The American Quarter Horse Association is working to educate members on the problems with irresponsible breeding. The Jockey Club, the breed registry for Thoroughbreds in the U.S. is allowing rescue and adoption agencies free access to racing tattoo information, to allow them to better assess the horses they have.
Many animal welfare organizations are working to reduce the number of unwanted horses, through education and support of the many equine rescues in existence. From Horse Illustrated, "Another example of organizations working together to help rescues is a proposal drafted by a faculty organization at the University of California, Davis. Under the proposal, a template outlines how communities across the nation could create shelters for horse in much the same way as small-animal shelter have done".
It has taken years for this situation to be created. It will take years to correct it. But, at least, the equestrian community is beginning to tackle the problem.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Problem of Unwanted Horses
Today I'm going to give you a glimpse into the dark underbelly of the horse world. This decision was prompted when I found this article on the Seattle Times website this morning. This subject is political, and gives some insight into the rule of unintended consequences. Please give the article a read before taking in the rest of this post.
I hesitate to use the term "unwanted", but that is the moniker that has been applied to horses that people can no longer keep, but are unable to find a new home for. The reasons horses fall into this category are are numerous. Some horses are dangerous. I suspect, however, that in the vast majority of cases, people simply can no longer afford to keep them.
Owning a horse is not an inexpensive endeavor. As domesticated animals, they depend on us for nearly all of their needs. They must be fed, watered, and receive regular hoof and veterinary care.
The cost of hay has doubled in the past two years. The price of grain has increased. As discussed in this post, horses require regular hoof care. In this area, a trim with a new set of shoes costs $100, and, on average, is required every 8 weeks. Horses don't have Blue Cross, and veterinary costs are pay as you go. Last fall I paid $200 for four horses to be vaccinated and have their teeth looked at. We are $400 into Ellie's leg injury.
The vast majority of horse owners are regular folk, probably living paycheck to paycheck. Now take that paycheck away due to a lost job. It's not long before they can't afford that bale of hay. They need to sell the horse. But so do many other people. Look at Craigslist. People can't even give good horses away right now.
Make no mistake, I don't like the idea of sending any horse to slaughter. It's a sad end for these noble creatures. But I don't wear rose colored glasses, and I realize that it is a far more humane end than slowly starving to death because the owners cannot afford to feed the horse.
Animal activists promote euthanasia as an alternative. The one quoted in the article states that people can pay for the euthanasia and rendering in installments. Horse puckey. Every large animal vet in this area requires payment at time of service. Period. The same goes with the rendering plant. Our county forbids burying of animals, therefore rendering is the only legal option. If the folks facing this choice can afford the cost of euthanizing and rendering the animal, then it is very likely they could afford to feed the horse, at least a little longer. I know many horse owners who would eat ramen and rice before they would stop feeding their beloved equine friends.
Two years ago, animal activists succeeded in shutting down all horse slaughter plants in the U.S. Currently, horses that are sold into slaughter are now packed into cattle cars and spend two or three days, without food or water, being hauled to Canada or Mexico. Now they want to eliminate even that as an option.
As with many single minded activists, they achieved their goal, but failed to offer any viable alternative. They aren't the ones left to deal with the consequences. Horse rescues are full. They depend upon charitable donations for their continued operation. Not surprisingly, donations to most charities are in the tank right now. Many rescues will tell you, "we can't save them all, so we save the ones that have the best chance."
I don't have the answer to this problem. But eliminating choices does not fix anything.
I hesitate to use the term "unwanted", but that is the moniker that has been applied to horses that people can no longer keep, but are unable to find a new home for. The reasons horses fall into this category are are numerous. Some horses are dangerous. I suspect, however, that in the vast majority of cases, people simply can no longer afford to keep them.
Owning a horse is not an inexpensive endeavor. As domesticated animals, they depend on us for nearly all of their needs. They must be fed, watered, and receive regular hoof and veterinary care.
The cost of hay has doubled in the past two years. The price of grain has increased. As discussed in this post, horses require regular hoof care. In this area, a trim with a new set of shoes costs $100, and, on average, is required every 8 weeks. Horses don't have Blue Cross, and veterinary costs are pay as you go. Last fall I paid $200 for four horses to be vaccinated and have their teeth looked at. We are $400 into Ellie's leg injury.
The vast majority of horse owners are regular folk, probably living paycheck to paycheck. Now take that paycheck away due to a lost job. It's not long before they can't afford that bale of hay. They need to sell the horse. But so do many other people. Look at Craigslist. People can't even give good horses away right now.
Make no mistake, I don't like the idea of sending any horse to slaughter. It's a sad end for these noble creatures. But I don't wear rose colored glasses, and I realize that it is a far more humane end than slowly starving to death because the owners cannot afford to feed the horse.
Animal activists promote euthanasia as an alternative. The one quoted in the article states that people can pay for the euthanasia and rendering in installments. Horse puckey. Every large animal vet in this area requires payment at time of service. Period. The same goes with the rendering plant. Our county forbids burying of animals, therefore rendering is the only legal option. If the folks facing this choice can afford the cost of euthanizing and rendering the animal, then it is very likely they could afford to feed the horse, at least a little longer. I know many horse owners who would eat ramen and rice before they would stop feeding their beloved equine friends.
Two years ago, animal activists succeeded in shutting down all horse slaughter plants in the U.S. Currently, horses that are sold into slaughter are now packed into cattle cars and spend two or three days, without food or water, being hauled to Canada or Mexico. Now they want to eliminate even that as an option.
As with many single minded activists, they achieved their goal, but failed to offer any viable alternative. They aren't the ones left to deal with the consequences. Horse rescues are full. They depend upon charitable donations for their continued operation. Not surprisingly, donations to most charities are in the tank right now. Many rescues will tell you, "we can't save them all, so we save the ones that have the best chance."
I don't have the answer to this problem. But eliminating choices does not fix anything.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Deer, Beer, & Human History............
I received this via e-mail from a fellow retired Chief Petty Officer. I felt it was worth sharing.
For those that don't know about history ... Here is a condensed version:
Humans originally existed as members of small bands of nomadic hunters/gatherers. They lived on deer in the mountains during the summer and would go to the coast and live on fish and lobster in the winter.
The two most important events in all of history were the invention of beer and the invention of the wheel. The wheel was invented to get man to the beer. These were the foundation of modern civilization and together were the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct subgroups:
1. Liberals, and
2. Conservatives.
Once beer was discovered, it required grain and that was the beginning of agriculture. Neither the glass bottle nor aluminum can were invented yet, so while our early humans were sitting around waiting for them to be invented, they just stayed close to the brewery. That's how villages were formed.
Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals to B-B-Q at night while they were drinking beer. This was the beginning of what is known as the Conservative movement.
Other men who were weaker and less skilled at hunting learned to live off the conservatives by showing up for the nightly B-B-Q's and doing the sewing, fetching, and hair dressing. This was the beginning of the Liberal movement.
Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women. The rest became known as girlie-men. Some noteworthy liberal achievements include the domestication of cats, the invention of group therapy, group hugs, and the concept of Democratic voting to decide how to divide the meat and beer that conservatives provided.
Over the years conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant. Liberals are symbolized by the jackass.
Modern liberals like imported beer (with lime added), but most prefer white wine or imported bottled water. They eat raw fish but like their beef well done. Sushi, tofu, and French food are standard liberal fare. Another interesting evolutionary side note: most of their women have higher testosterone levels than their men. Most social workers, personal injury attorneys, journalists, dreamers in
Conservatives drink domestic beer, mostly Bud. They eat red meat and still provide for their women. Conservatives are big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, firemen, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, athletes, members of the military, airline pilots and generally anyone who works productively. Conservatives who own companies hire other conservatives who want to work for a living.
Liberals produce little or nothing. They like to govern the producers and decide what to do with the production. Liberals believe Europeans are more enlightened than Americans. That is why most of the liberals remained in Europe when conservatives were coming to
Here ends today's lesson in world history.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Cujo, Talk to the Hoof
One of the highlights of Summer these days is the camping trips that I take on horseback. Each year, my friend Derek and I go will painstakingly plan a trip, haul our horses to some remote trailhead, and then vanish into the backcountry for three or four days. We carry only what we can fit in our saddlebags. Thusly:
Due to modern lightweight gear designed for backpackers, we are able to carry a few luxuries that were not available to the cowboys of lore. Most important amongst this gear, IMHO, is the one man tent, weighing in at a paltry 2.5 pounds. While it is akin to sleeping in a coffin, it is preferable to sleeping out in the rain. And since the weather guessers in this region are frequently wrong, we have encounterd rain on this trips.
This tale concerns a trip that was taken two summers ago, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, an area that we had traveled before. On the second night, we set out to reach Fryingpan Lake. This is a beautiful lake, with lush green grass for the horses to graze upon, and excellent spots for setting up camp and high lining the horses.
The weather was perfect. We arrived at the lake in the early afternoon. Upon stopping to pitch camp, the first order of business is always to tend to the needs of the horses. We unsaddled and led them down to the lake. After they had drunk their fill, we hobbled them, hung a bells on thier necks (so as not to lose them!) and turned them out in the grass to eat to their hearts content.
Once the horses were settled, we pitched camp, and collected firewood. The rest of the day and evening were uneventful. This fishing was unproductive, although at least we didn't leave the worms in the trailer, as we had the year before.
After a tasty meal comprised of freeze dried Mountain House meals, and more than a few snorts of sippin whiskey, we elected to call it a night. After watering the horses one last time, and tying them up to the highline, we turned in to our respective tents, fully ready for a good nights sleep.
Around midnight, I was awakened from my slumber by a yelping noise. A lot of yelping noise. Of the kind that can only be made by members of the canine family. And it was CLOSE! From the next tent over, I heard "what the f**k?", and the horses stamping around. Coming fully awake, the situation hit me. They were being attacked! I had to get out and help them!
I challenge you to unzip a mummy bag and get out of a one man tent in a hurry. Especially when your adrenalin has kicked into overdrive. It seemed an eternity before my hand settled on the zipper pull. And of course, it was stuck. After much tugging and swearing, it finally unzipped. The next challenge was finding the tent zipper and getting it open. Another eternity passed before this was accomplished. Finally, I was free, and, flying out of the tent, I jumped into my boots, grabbed my .357 and a flashlight, and ran for toward the horses. Derek and I arrived at the highline simultaneously.
Now, it's midnight in the middle of nowhere, and here are two grown men dressed in nothing but skivvies and cowboy boots, each armed with a revolver, and ready to shoot anything that isn't horse or each other. Like a scene out of bad movie.
By this time the commotion had ended. There was no sign of intruders, but the horses were riled up and shaking. Using flashlights, we looked them over closely. They weren't hurt, only shaken up. Staying nearby to calm them, we discussed the events that had transpired. Coyotes? It seemed unlikely, but since the goverment hacks that are supposed to know these things tell us that wolves don't live in Washington anymore, it was the only logical conclusion.
Once the horses had settled down, we went back to bed. It took longer for sleep to arive this time around, but the rest of the night was peaceful.
That morning, we looked the horses over again before turning them out to eat, to ensure we had not missed any injuries. I discovered dried blood on one of Smokey's hind legs. Damn, was he hurt? Looking closer, I could find absolutely no sign of injury. This was not his blood. I called Derek over to confirm that I was not imagining things. He verified my observation. Obviously, Ol' Boy had decided to show one of those dogs exactly what he thought of having his slumber disturbed by their yammering. Score one for Smokey!
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. We did head back to the trailer a day early, as thunderstorms started to roll in. The weather had been cooperative up to this point, and neither of us could imagine ending it by staying up all night in a thundering downpour while trying to keep the horses calm.
Of course, their was the minor problem of the alternator going out on the trip home. But that's a story for another day...
POSTSCRIPT: A month or two after this event, I was discussing it with some old timers that have been packing in on horses in those mountains longer than I've been walking on this earth. They were emphatic that it was wolves, not coyotes. They have seen wolves in those mountains on numerous occassions, and, they pointed out, coyotes don't live at that altitude (5000 ft) in this state. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.
Due to modern lightweight gear designed for backpackers, we are able to carry a few luxuries that were not available to the cowboys of lore. Most important amongst this gear, IMHO, is the one man tent, weighing in at a paltry 2.5 pounds. While it is akin to sleeping in a coffin, it is preferable to sleeping out in the rain. And since the weather guessers in this region are frequently wrong, we have encounterd rain on this trips.
This tale concerns a trip that was taken two summers ago, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, an area that we had traveled before. On the second night, we set out to reach Fryingpan Lake. This is a beautiful lake, with lush green grass for the horses to graze upon, and excellent spots for setting up camp and high lining the horses.
The weather was perfect. We arrived at the lake in the early afternoon. Upon stopping to pitch camp, the first order of business is always to tend to the needs of the horses. We unsaddled and led them down to the lake. After they had drunk their fill, we hobbled them, hung a bells on thier necks (so as not to lose them!) and turned them out in the grass to eat to their hearts content.
Once the horses were settled, we pitched camp, and collected firewood. The rest of the day and evening were uneventful. This fishing was unproductive, although at least we didn't leave the worms in the trailer, as we had the year before.
After a tasty meal comprised of freeze dried Mountain House meals, and more than a few snorts of sippin whiskey, we elected to call it a night. After watering the horses one last time, and tying them up to the highline, we turned in to our respective tents, fully ready for a good nights sleep.
Around midnight, I was awakened from my slumber by a yelping noise. A lot of yelping noise. Of the kind that can only be made by members of the canine family. And it was CLOSE! From the next tent over, I heard "what the f**k?", and the horses stamping around. Coming fully awake, the situation hit me. They were being attacked! I had to get out and help them!
I challenge you to unzip a mummy bag and get out of a one man tent in a hurry. Especially when your adrenalin has kicked into overdrive. It seemed an eternity before my hand settled on the zipper pull. And of course, it was stuck. After much tugging and swearing, it finally unzipped. The next challenge was finding the tent zipper and getting it open. Another eternity passed before this was accomplished. Finally, I was free, and, flying out of the tent, I jumped into my boots, grabbed my .357 and a flashlight, and ran for toward the horses. Derek and I arrived at the highline simultaneously.
Now, it's midnight in the middle of nowhere, and here are two grown men dressed in nothing but skivvies and cowboy boots, each armed with a revolver, and ready to shoot anything that isn't horse or each other. Like a scene out of bad movie.
By this time the commotion had ended. There was no sign of intruders, but the horses were riled up and shaking. Using flashlights, we looked them over closely. They weren't hurt, only shaken up. Staying nearby to calm them, we discussed the events that had transpired. Coyotes? It seemed unlikely, but since the goverment hacks that are supposed to know these things tell us that wolves don't live in Washington anymore, it was the only logical conclusion.
Once the horses had settled down, we went back to bed. It took longer for sleep to arive this time around, but the rest of the night was peaceful.
That morning, we looked the horses over again before turning them out to eat, to ensure we had not missed any injuries. I discovered dried blood on one of Smokey's hind legs. Damn, was he hurt? Looking closer, I could find absolutely no sign of injury. This was not his blood. I called Derek over to confirm that I was not imagining things. He verified my observation. Obviously, Ol' Boy had decided to show one of those dogs exactly what he thought of having his slumber disturbed by their yammering. Score one for Smokey!
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. We did head back to the trailer a day early, as thunderstorms started to roll in. The weather had been cooperative up to this point, and neither of us could imagine ending it by staying up all night in a thundering downpour while trying to keep the horses calm.
Of course, their was the minor problem of the alternator going out on the trip home. But that's a story for another day...
POSTSCRIPT: A month or two after this event, I was discussing it with some old timers that have been packing in on horses in those mountains longer than I've been walking on this earth. They were emphatic that it was wolves, not coyotes. They have seen wolves in those mountains on numerous occassions, and, they pointed out, coyotes don't live at that altitude (5000 ft) in this state. I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Cat Herding
Our friends have a number of barn cats. And two, possibly three of the said barn cats are with kitten(s). Seems the appointment for spaying wasn't scheduled prior to the arrival of a stray tom, who apparently had his way with a number of the feline ladies.
I'm trying to convince them that we could put our horses to a new use:
I'm trying to convince them that we could put our horses to a new use:
Monday, April 20, 2009
Update on Ellie
The vet stopped by to check on Ellie this afternoon. Changed the bandage, and cleaned the wound out. The fluid that is draining from the site is burning her lower leg, which caused some swelling. That was cleaned too, and is something we will have to do everyday until it stops draining.
It's going to be a long road to recovery, with plenty of stall rest. Which is too bad, as she is very barn sour. She is a beautiful horse, but her manners are atrocious, and being kept in a stall won't help that.
Thank you for all your kind thoughts.
It's going to be a long road to recovery, with plenty of stall rest. Which is too bad, as she is very barn sour. She is a beautiful horse, but her manners are atrocious, and being kept in a stall won't help that.
Thank you for all your kind thoughts.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
"Horses Are Born To Commit Suicide"
I read that once. Although, for the life of me, I cannot remember where.
No, we didn't have any horses commit suicide today. But it certainly wasn't for lack of effort.
In this post, I introduced Ellie, the newest member of our equine family. Three days after her arrival, she managed to injure the deep digital flexor tendon in her left hind leg. This has required stall rest, and wraps on her hind legs, as seen in this picture:
Over the past two weeks the leg has shown significant improvement. Her behavior, on the other hand, left room for improvement. She was getting very barn sour. The weather was beautiful today, making it an ideal time to turn to turn her out so she could stretch her legs. We put her in a paddock next to Dozer, our rascally Paint gelding. Dozer wasn't gelded until he was nearly four years old, which is a bit late, and he clearly never got the memo that that his testicles were taken away by a veterinarian. As soon as Ellie arrived, he perked right up, his face clearly saying "Hey, Baby". She went over to him, they nosed each other briefly, and then young man gave her a "love bite" on the shoulder. This did not go over well. Ellie turned her ass on him, and fired both barrels.
This is when things went horribly wrong. The paddocks are separated by two strands of electric fence (thankfully it was turned off today). When her legs came down, they were on the wrong side of the fence. When she went to walk away, she discovered she was trapped.
A horse that feels trapped reverts to instant flight mode. Ten alarm panic. They will struggle to get out of the situation regardless of self inflicted injury. She struggled against the wire until it broke free, then ran. Mrs. BR ran into the paddock, got a lead rope on her, and calmed her down. Then we saw the injury.
It's difficult to discern from the above picture, but in the center is the common digital extensor tendon, at the joint, on the left hindlimb. Fortunately, the tendon was not injured, which would have compounded the problem immensely. We contacted our vet, who was willing to make an emergency farm call.
In order to stitch the injury, it was necessary to anesthetize her, and lay her down. The use of anesthesia in horses is a risky venture. As I understand it, the equine nervous system is poorly understood, and while most horses recover without any effect, some experience respiratory and/or cardiac arrest, and die. Needless to say, it's a bit nerve wracking, albeit necessary.
The vet injected her with the anesthetic. She slowly became drowsy, and then went down. Despite the best efforts to guide her down, she ended up on the wrong side.
This, of course, required two of us to grab her legs, and roll her over, whilst a third person guided her head. A friend helped me turn her, and in a moment of comic relief, he said "they always call me to turn the drunk girls over." Everyone laughed, which helped break the tension. Then the vet set to work sewing up the injury.
Her remained half open, and we were constantly watching for the next inhalation. It was always a huge relief to see her ribcage expand and her nostrils flare. Tell me she doesn't look dead.
Finally, the wound was sewn up.
We all cleared out, and waited for her to wake up. After what seemed an eternity, she suddenly raised her head, and looked around. She then struggled to her feet, resting in this position for about a minute.
Finally, she was up on all fours, albeit a tad woozy.
In order to prevent infection, she required an injection of penicillin, which, unfortunately, the vet did not have on hand in the van. I followed him up to his clinic, where he provided me with two syringes, each filled with 25cc of penicillin, one for today, the next on Wednesday. Upon returning, I waste little time administering the injection, preferring to do so whilst she was still under the influence.
When giving an injection of this size, it is necessary to inject approximately half of the quantity, then pull the needle halfway out, and reposition it. Fortunately, their are no nerves in the muscle tissue, so the horse does not feel this. The shot went off without a hitch.
She's going to be on stall rest for quite a while. The inury looks far worse than it is, although being right at the joint will complicate the healing somewhat. She is now up and moving around, favoring the injured leg only slightly. I will keep you posted on her recovery.
No, we didn't have any horses commit suicide today. But it certainly wasn't for lack of effort.
In this post, I introduced Ellie, the newest member of our equine family. Three days after her arrival, she managed to injure the deep digital flexor tendon in her left hind leg. This has required stall rest, and wraps on her hind legs, as seen in this picture:
Over the past two weeks the leg has shown significant improvement. Her behavior, on the other hand, left room for improvement. She was getting very barn sour. The weather was beautiful today, making it an ideal time to turn to turn her out so she could stretch her legs. We put her in a paddock next to Dozer, our rascally Paint gelding. Dozer wasn't gelded until he was nearly four years old, which is a bit late, and he clearly never got the memo that that his testicles were taken away by a veterinarian. As soon as Ellie arrived, he perked right up, his face clearly saying "Hey, Baby". She went over to him, they nosed each other briefly, and then young man gave her a "love bite" on the shoulder. This did not go over well. Ellie turned her ass on him, and fired both barrels.
This is when things went horribly wrong. The paddocks are separated by two strands of electric fence (thankfully it was turned off today). When her legs came down, they were on the wrong side of the fence. When she went to walk away, she discovered she was trapped.
A horse that feels trapped reverts to instant flight mode. Ten alarm panic. They will struggle to get out of the situation regardless of self inflicted injury. She struggled against the wire until it broke free, then ran. Mrs. BR ran into the paddock, got a lead rope on her, and calmed her down. Then we saw the injury.
It's difficult to discern from the above picture, but in the center is the common digital extensor tendon, at the joint, on the left hindlimb. Fortunately, the tendon was not injured, which would have compounded the problem immensely. We contacted our vet, who was willing to make an emergency farm call.
In order to stitch the injury, it was necessary to anesthetize her, and lay her down. The use of anesthesia in horses is a risky venture. As I understand it, the equine nervous system is poorly understood, and while most horses recover without any effect, some experience respiratory and/or cardiac arrest, and die. Needless to say, it's a bit nerve wracking, albeit necessary.
The vet injected her with the anesthetic. She slowly became drowsy, and then went down. Despite the best efforts to guide her down, she ended up on the wrong side.
This, of course, required two of us to grab her legs, and roll her over, whilst a third person guided her head. A friend helped me turn her, and in a moment of comic relief, he said "they always call me to turn the drunk girls over." Everyone laughed, which helped break the tension. Then the vet set to work sewing up the injury.
Her remained half open, and we were constantly watching for the next inhalation. It was always a huge relief to see her ribcage expand and her nostrils flare. Tell me she doesn't look dead.
Finally, the wound was sewn up.
We all cleared out, and waited for her to wake up. After what seemed an eternity, she suddenly raised her head, and looked around. She then struggled to her feet, resting in this position for about a minute.
Finally, she was up on all fours, albeit a tad woozy.
In order to prevent infection, she required an injection of penicillin, which, unfortunately, the vet did not have on hand in the van. I followed him up to his clinic, where he provided me with two syringes, each filled with 25cc of penicillin, one for today, the next on Wednesday. Upon returning, I waste little time administering the injection, preferring to do so whilst she was still under the influence.
When giving an injection of this size, it is necessary to inject approximately half of the quantity, then pull the needle halfway out, and reposition it. Fortunately, their are no nerves in the muscle tissue, so the horse does not feel this. The shot went off without a hitch.
She's going to be on stall rest for quite a while. The inury looks far worse than it is, although being right at the joint will complicate the healing somewhat. She is now up and moving around, favoring the injured leg only slightly. I will keep you posted on her recovery.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Introducing Smokey
Shortly before my retirement from Uncle Sam's Navy, the family BR trekked to Yakima to visit the Cowboy-in-law. While there, he took Mrs. BR and DN2 on a horseback ride in the hills behind his farm. I, on the other hand, went to KFC and picked up dinner. At some point in the dinner conversation, he mentioned that if Mrs. BR wanted to start riding again, he would gladly donate one of his horses. That seemed to be the end of it.
Now, I knew full well that Mrs. BR was an avid rider as kid. However, up to this point, I had not one inkling that this passion was merely dormant, as opposed to extinct. Imagine, if you will, my surprise when one day in May, 2005, the Cowboy-in-Law shows up with a horse trailer containing a retired team roping horse named Blue Boy, which he promptly deposits, and then drives off.
Mrs. BR, DN2, & DN3 threw themselves into this new activity with a passion. I would occasionally go out and watch them, but, truth be told, at this point I was fairly unenthused, and left them to their own devices.
Several months later, Mrs. BR purchased a mare named Taylor (a story for another day). The herd was growing. I was still decidedly uninterested in these rather large hay burners.
Quite honestly, I am unable to recall the moment or the reason that interest in horses took hold of me. I don't know if it was a "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" situation or what. Just suffice it to say, that by the Fall of that same year, I was on the search for a horse to call my own. With no real knowledge to speak of, and utterly uncertain of what I was looking for, the search got off to a rather difficult start.
Then I came across an advertisement containing this picture:
I wanted that horse. No questions asked. There was just one minor kink in the plan. His price tag was just a bit too steep for my wallet. Back to the search.
But, wait!!! Via a little bird, I learned that the asking price had been lowered. Within my budget to boot. Salvation.
Long story short, within days I was the proud owner of a 16 year old Appendix Quarter Horse, with the registered name of Master Alamo Joe, aka Smokey.
This picture was taken two days before I signed papers:
What a sad sack he was, apparently. Although I don't recall him looking this bad. I just remember that in my eyes, he was the perfect horse. An opinion that hasn't changed in the ensuing 4 years.
This is Smokey two days ago:
More on Old Joe in the next post.
Now, I knew full well that Mrs. BR was an avid rider as kid. However, up to this point, I had not one inkling that this passion was merely dormant, as opposed to extinct. Imagine, if you will, my surprise when one day in May, 2005, the Cowboy-in-Law shows up with a horse trailer containing a retired team roping horse named Blue Boy, which he promptly deposits, and then drives off.
Mrs. BR, DN2, & DN3 threw themselves into this new activity with a passion. I would occasionally go out and watch them, but, truth be told, at this point I was fairly unenthused, and left them to their own devices.
Several months later, Mrs. BR purchased a mare named Taylor (a story for another day). The herd was growing. I was still decidedly uninterested in these rather large hay burners.
Quite honestly, I am unable to recall the moment or the reason that interest in horses took hold of me. I don't know if it was a "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" situation or what. Just suffice it to say, that by the Fall of that same year, I was on the search for a horse to call my own. With no real knowledge to speak of, and utterly uncertain of what I was looking for, the search got off to a rather difficult start.
Then I came across an advertisement containing this picture:
I wanted that horse. No questions asked. There was just one minor kink in the plan. His price tag was just a bit too steep for my wallet. Back to the search.
But, wait!!! Via a little bird, I learned that the asking price had been lowered. Within my budget to boot. Salvation.
Long story short, within days I was the proud owner of a 16 year old Appendix Quarter Horse, with the registered name of Master Alamo Joe, aka Smokey.
This picture was taken two days before I signed papers:
What a sad sack he was, apparently. Although I don't recall him looking this bad. I just remember that in my eyes, he was the perfect horse. An opinion that hasn't changed in the ensuing 4 years.
This is Smokey two days ago:
More on Old Joe in the next post.
Monday, April 13, 2009
About the Light (read: non-existent) Blogging
Just wanted to drop everyone a quick note about about the lack of blogging during the last week. I haven't given up. Work is just keeping me busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, and I've been to pooped to write by the time I get home.
I should be back at it later this week, to regale you with tales of old Smokey Joe and his friends.
Hope everyone had a good Easter!
I should be back at it later this week, to regale you with tales of old Smokey Joe and his friends.
Hope everyone had a good Easter!
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Girl and Her Horse
If you haven't heard any music by Carbon Leaf, you really should.
As 3 out of 4 lady denizens of Che Buckskin are cowgirls, I find this song by the band to be rather apropos:
As 3 out of 4 lady denizens of Che Buckskin are cowgirls, I find this song by the band to be rather apropos:
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tragedy Strikes, Part Duh...
Monday night I set out to program the coffee maker such that I would have fresh brew upon arising from bed at oh-dark-thirty.
A quick glance revealed that something was amiss. There was no clock display. I verified that it was plugged in, and attempted to turn it on. No response. I made certain that the GFI was not tripped. Pushing down the knob on the toaster, which was plugged into the same outlet, quickly yielded glowing coils of heat. That ruled out a tripped breaker.
Growing desperate, I moved it to another outlet. Still dead. Saddened, I accepted the grim reality that there would be no coffee for me Tuesday morning, short of spending $3 at a latte stand, where the closest thing they have to coffee is something called an Americano, which tastes to me like diluted coffee.
Tuesday morning was rather grim.
Tuesday night, I happened to peer at the aforementioned coffee maker while I was in the kitchen. The clock was on. I quickly turned the knob to the on position. The red light was now illuminated. Salvation!!
Needless to say, I enjoyed a warm cup of joe during my morning commute. All was again right with the world.
I have no idea what was wrong on Monday night/Tuesday morning. Do appliances take vacations?
A quick glance revealed that something was amiss. There was no clock display. I verified that it was plugged in, and attempted to turn it on. No response. I made certain that the GFI was not tripped. Pushing down the knob on the toaster, which was plugged into the same outlet, quickly yielded glowing coils of heat. That ruled out a tripped breaker.
Growing desperate, I moved it to another outlet. Still dead. Saddened, I accepted the grim reality that there would be no coffee for me Tuesday morning, short of spending $3 at a latte stand, where the closest thing they have to coffee is something called an Americano, which tastes to me like diluted coffee.
Tuesday morning was rather grim.
Tuesday night, I happened to peer at the aforementioned coffee maker while I was in the kitchen. The clock was on. I quickly turned the knob to the on position. The red light was now illuminated. Salvation!!
Needless to say, I enjoyed a warm cup of joe during my morning commute. All was again right with the world.
I have no idea what was wrong on Monday night/Tuesday morning. Do appliances take vacations?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
One In, One Out
After 3 years of playing Show Mom to DN2 & DN3, Mrs. BR decided that she would like to enter the amateur horse show circuit herself. She enjoys showing, and does not want to become one of those Mother's who suddenly has no purpose in life when the children are grown. After all, the youngest is 15, so we aren't that far out.
The type of showing she has chosen is called Western Pleasure. After two months at the trainers, it became apparent that her horse, Brenna, is not a Western Pleasure Horse. She is fabulous horse, as can be seen in this picture:
What you probably can't tell from the picture is that she is very tall, 16.1HH (HH= hands. 1HH = 4 inches, therefore she is 65" tall at the withers). Her long legs give her rather fast gaits, which is not suitable for the slower gaits required in Western Pleasure. While it may be possible to slow her down, it actually may not be good for legs. Just like humans, individual horses are built differently, physically as well as mentally. Therefore, individual horses are not always suited to do all things.
Last Sunday, Mrs. BR, her trainer, a friend, and the horse trailer drove to Battleground, WA, to see this horse:
Needless to say, she did not tow an empty trailer home. Her name is Ellie, and she is an American Paint Horse. She's five, and apparently already quite accomplished in the Western Pleasure circuit. She is on a one year free care lease, with the option to buy at any time. Free care lease means that we are responsible for all the care and costs, without ownership. This is actually good in this case, as it gives Mrs. BR a year to determine if this is the right horse for her. If, at any time, she feels that Ellie is not the perfect horse, she can return her with no penalty.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, we are trying to trim the herd, not grow it, so selling Brenna became a bit more urgent, which is not necessarily a good prospect in these trying economic times. But, fate smiled down upon us. The original owner, the breeder, wanted her back. We took a bit of a loss on her, but with few interested customers in the last month, the amount of loss would only have grown the longer we kept her. And this, of course, satisfied our requirement that the horse go to a good, safe home.
Thus, one in, one out. Equilibrium maintained.
The type of showing she has chosen is called Western Pleasure. After two months at the trainers, it became apparent that her horse, Brenna, is not a Western Pleasure Horse. She is fabulous horse, as can be seen in this picture:
What you probably can't tell from the picture is that she is very tall, 16.1HH (HH= hands. 1HH = 4 inches, therefore she is 65" tall at the withers). Her long legs give her rather fast gaits, which is not suitable for the slower gaits required in Western Pleasure. While it may be possible to slow her down, it actually may not be good for legs. Just like humans, individual horses are built differently, physically as well as mentally. Therefore, individual horses are not always suited to do all things.
Last Sunday, Mrs. BR, her trainer, a friend, and the horse trailer drove to Battleground, WA, to see this horse:
Needless to say, she did not tow an empty trailer home. Her name is Ellie, and she is an American Paint Horse. She's five, and apparently already quite accomplished in the Western Pleasure circuit. She is on a one year free care lease, with the option to buy at any time. Free care lease means that we are responsible for all the care and costs, without ownership. This is actually good in this case, as it gives Mrs. BR a year to determine if this is the right horse for her. If, at any time, she feels that Ellie is not the perfect horse, she can return her with no penalty.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, we are trying to trim the herd, not grow it, so selling Brenna became a bit more urgent, which is not necessarily a good prospect in these trying economic times. But, fate smiled down upon us. The original owner, the breeder, wanted her back. We took a bit of a loss on her, but with few interested customers in the last month, the amount of loss would only have grown the longer we kept her. And this, of course, satisfied our requirement that the horse go to a good, safe home.
Thus, one in, one out. Equilibrium maintained.
Friday, April 3, 2009
I'm Not Going to be Very Popular
Kenya is no longer a part of our horse family. There. I said it.
Before I explain what led to this turn of events, I will tell you that she is at a good home. I gave her to my farrier, with full disclosure. When he heard that we were seeking a new home for her, he called immediately. He's young, and a very good hand with horses. He is more than up to the challenge she presents, and, most importantly to me, will take good care of her. I will never let a horse leave my care without 100% certainty that he or she is going to a safe place.
The decision was based as much on economics as it was on my personal safety. Over the course of the week, the other denizens of Che Buckskin expressed their misgivings with my bullheadedness at wanting to continue. They were more than a little concerned that I would end up dead, or worse, paralyzed.
As the week progressed, I began to think more rationally. Smarter people than me pointed out that I don't have the experience to tackle a problem of this nature. As I sit here, still nursing the physical pain from her attempts to use me as a lawn dart, I acquiesce to the reality of the situation. This is a hobby. I do not make a living from my horses. At no time is it worth placing myself or a horse at risk of severe injury or death.
One can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from my family and friends. I can be a bit stubborn and single minded at times, as well as a bit loathe to give up, even when the battle is clearly lost.
Economically, the need to trim the herd has been present since the Fall. To properly care for and feed a horse is not inexpensive. I won't bore you with a detailed breakdown of the expenses, but suffice to say that having five is even harder on the bank account.
This was not an easy decision, but I am surprisingly at peace with it. I still have my gelding Smokey. Riding him is akin to putting on an old pair of jeans. Comfortable, and a great fit. I haven't blogged much regarding Old Joe, yet. He's been my #1 horse buddy for over 3 years now, and there are plenty of tales where he is concerned.
I want to thank all of you for the support you have shown me while I tried my hand at this endeavor. I hope that you won't think any less of me, but if you do, I understand.
Before I explain what led to this turn of events, I will tell you that she is at a good home. I gave her to my farrier, with full disclosure. When he heard that we were seeking a new home for her, he called immediately. He's young, and a very good hand with horses. He is more than up to the challenge she presents, and, most importantly to me, will take good care of her. I will never let a horse leave my care without 100% certainty that he or she is going to a safe place.
The decision was based as much on economics as it was on my personal safety. Over the course of the week, the other denizens of Che Buckskin expressed their misgivings with my bullheadedness at wanting to continue. They were more than a little concerned that I would end up dead, or worse, paralyzed.
As the week progressed, I began to think more rationally. Smarter people than me pointed out that I don't have the experience to tackle a problem of this nature. As I sit here, still nursing the physical pain from her attempts to use me as a lawn dart, I acquiesce to the reality of the situation. This is a hobby. I do not make a living from my horses. At no time is it worth placing myself or a horse at risk of severe injury or death.
One can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from my family and friends. I can be a bit stubborn and single minded at times, as well as a bit loathe to give up, even when the battle is clearly lost.
Economically, the need to trim the herd has been present since the Fall. To properly care for and feed a horse is not inexpensive. I won't bore you with a detailed breakdown of the expenses, but suffice to say that having five is even harder on the bank account.
This was not an easy decision, but I am surprisingly at peace with it. I still have my gelding Smokey. Riding him is akin to putting on an old pair of jeans. Comfortable, and a great fit. I haven't blogged much regarding Old Joe, yet. He's been my #1 horse buddy for over 3 years now, and there are plenty of tales where he is concerned.
I want to thank all of you for the support you have shown me while I tried my hand at this endeavor. I hope that you won't think any less of me, but if you do, I understand.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Video from the First Ride
As promised (finally), here is 2:42 worth of the video, which is fairly representative of the ride.
Sadly, depending on your point of view, neither of my "rodeos" has been captured on film. If it should happen to pass that one is, I will of course post it.
Sadly, depending on your point of view, neither of my "rodeos" has been captured on film. If it should happen to pass that one is, I will of course post it.
Crossroads Part II
I've had a night to sleep on it. My left shoulder and hip are mighty sore today, but hey, pain lets us know we are alive, right?
I'm not one to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. But I also realize that to do the same thing repeatedly, while expecting different results, defines stupidity.
To assess this problem, I first need to assess what I am doing wrong. It's a rather long list, but if we don't make mistakes we don't learn.
1. Lack of consistency. I can't ride her on Sunday, Wed, and Saturday. I have to ride daily, least five to six times per week, at least one hour per session. I've allowed the other demands of life to interfere. A horse being started for the first time needs constant repetition.
2. My riding skills are rusty. I have not ridden Smokey very much this this winter. I could offer a list of excuses, but they are just that, excuses. While I have never been aboard a horse that reared, I have ridden horses through bucking sessions, and have never ended up in the dirt before. I should have been prepared and able to deal with both of her bad behaviors.
I am going to step back, and return to square one. I am going to ride Smokey at least five days per week, to polish my riding skills. I am going to return to ground work with Kenya, 5 to 6 days per week, until that area is finely honed.
The trainer I talked with is going to help me with a technique known as Ground Driving. I'm not real familiar with it, beyond knowing that it is part of the technique used to teach horses that will pull wagons. Apparently, in this case, it can be used to find out if rearing his her natural response, and if so, to possibly train it out of her.
That's where things stand for now. I'll keep you all posted.
Here's a video I found of Ground Driving:
I'm not one to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. But I also realize that to do the same thing repeatedly, while expecting different results, defines stupidity.
To assess this problem, I first need to assess what I am doing wrong. It's a rather long list, but if we don't make mistakes we don't learn.
1. Lack of consistency. I can't ride her on Sunday, Wed, and Saturday. I have to ride daily, least five to six times per week, at least one hour per session. I've allowed the other demands of life to interfere. A horse being started for the first time needs constant repetition.
2. My riding skills are rusty. I have not ridden Smokey very much this this winter. I could offer a list of excuses, but they are just that, excuses. While I have never been aboard a horse that reared, I have ridden horses through bucking sessions, and have never ended up in the dirt before. I should have been prepared and able to deal with both of her bad behaviors.
I am going to step back, and return to square one. I am going to ride Smokey at least five days per week, to polish my riding skills. I am going to return to ground work with Kenya, 5 to 6 days per week, until that area is finely honed.
The trainer I talked with is going to help me with a technique known as Ground Driving. I'm not real familiar with it, beyond knowing that it is part of the technique used to teach horses that will pull wagons. Apparently, in this case, it can be used to find out if rearing his her natural response, and if so, to possibly train it out of her.
That's where things stand for now. I'll keep you all posted.
Here's a video I found of Ground Driving:
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Crossroads Part I
I ate dirt twice today. But not because I was bucked off.
Kenya reared twice. And I don't mean that she just popped up a little in the front. I'm talking Hi Ho Silver. The whole event, from first rear, to second time in the dirt, elapsed over less than 2 minutes. I got back up on her both times, although the second time took some strong encouragement from Mrs. BR. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared to get on her the second time. I'm 43, and have long since entered that phase of life where I am aware of my own mortality. I'm not in a rush to reach the hereafter.
Rearing is DANGEROUS. No other word describes it. While it may look cute to see a Silver rearing with Roy Rogers aboard, that was a horse and rider who were trained to do it in a safe manner. In all other instances, there is a high risk of severe injury to the horse or rider, due to the horse flipping over backwards. Riders have been killed from this.
Why did she rear? I'm not entirely sure. In both instance, she reared immediately after I applied leg pressure, the cue to move forward. This was not new to her, and had always yielded the desired result, before today.
The first time I think was out of fear, although of what I do not know. I'm inclined to think that the second time was a result of her discovery that she could get rid of me by doing so.
I cannot say that I am entirely surprised by this behavior. In the past she has show a tendency to be a bit light in the front end, rearing up at things that scare her. If this is her initial reaction to fear, what happens if I am 50 miles out in the backcountry, something scares her, she rears, and throws me onto a rock, or off a cliff?
The problem is this: once a horse develops a habit of rearing, it is difficult, if not impossible to train this out of them. That's not just my personal opinion. I talked with a professional trainer, and also with my father-in-law, who is Old School Cowboy, and has been riding and training horses for over 60 years. The consensus seems to be: This can get me seriously injured, if not killed, and there are too many good horses out there to spend time on a dangerous one.
This causes me great pain. I really like this horse, and I do not want to be one of those people who cuts and runs at the first sign of trouble. However, it would irresponsible to knowingly place myself in such danger, particularly with a family who depends on me.
I have not decided the outcome of this, yet. I did feel that my readers deserve to know that things are currently amiss. I will let you all know more, when I know more.
Kenya reared twice. And I don't mean that she just popped up a little in the front. I'm talking Hi Ho Silver. The whole event, from first rear, to second time in the dirt, elapsed over less than 2 minutes. I got back up on her both times, although the second time took some strong encouragement from Mrs. BR. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared to get on her the second time. I'm 43, and have long since entered that phase of life where I am aware of my own mortality. I'm not in a rush to reach the hereafter.
Rearing is DANGEROUS. No other word describes it. While it may look cute to see a Silver rearing with Roy Rogers aboard, that was a horse and rider who were trained to do it in a safe manner. In all other instances, there is a high risk of severe injury to the horse or rider, due to the horse flipping over backwards. Riders have been killed from this.
Why did she rear? I'm not entirely sure. In both instance, she reared immediately after I applied leg pressure, the cue to move forward. This was not new to her, and had always yielded the desired result, before today.
The first time I think was out of fear, although of what I do not know. I'm inclined to think that the second time was a result of her discovery that she could get rid of me by doing so.
I cannot say that I am entirely surprised by this behavior. In the past she has show a tendency to be a bit light in the front end, rearing up at things that scare her. If this is her initial reaction to fear, what happens if I am 50 miles out in the backcountry, something scares her, she rears, and throws me onto a rock, or off a cliff?
The problem is this: once a horse develops a habit of rearing, it is difficult, if not impossible to train this out of them. That's not just my personal opinion. I talked with a professional trainer, and also with my father-in-law, who is Old School Cowboy, and has been riding and training horses for over 60 years. The consensus seems to be: This can get me seriously injured, if not killed, and there are too many good horses out there to spend time on a dangerous one.
This causes me great pain. I really like this horse, and I do not want to be one of those people who cuts and runs at the first sign of trouble. However, it would irresponsible to knowingly place myself in such danger, particularly with a family who depends on me.
I have not decided the outcome of this, yet. I did feel that my readers deserve to know that things are currently amiss. I will let you all know more, when I know more.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Friday Night Music
Andy's post with the music form The Gaslight Anthem inspired me.
Here's a song I have always liked, for no particular reason.
Yea, I'm lame. Sitting home on Friday night.
Here's a song I have always liked, for no particular reason.
Yea, I'm lame. Sitting home on Friday night.
How's a Guy Supposed to Surf the Internet...
...when he has to contend with this?
Darn varmint, anyways!
Darn varmint, anyways!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Visit from the Farrier
A horse's hoof is, IMHO, the most complicated part of there anatomy. Proper and regular hoof care is one of the key ingredients to maintaining a healthy horse. Click here to see some excellent pictures of hooves from cadavers.
The person tasked with caring for the hoof is known as a farrier. They are so titled because their work and skills go far beyond just simple shoeing. They must have a firm knowledge of the inner working of the hoof. The hoof is prone to any number of ailments and diseases, therefore a farrier must be skilled in diagnosing and correcting these problems. Proper trimming and shoeing goes a long way towards preventing these problems.
A farrier must be willing to work when the weather is cold, or when it is hot. They may occasionally be called for an emergency on the weekend or at night. They spend most of the day bent over, and are constantly at risk of being kicked by a horse. A good farrier accepts all of these as hazards of the trade, and will most likely develop a very loyal clientele.
Our farrier is a young man named Jacob. He is 22, and has been caring for our horses feet for about a year now. He is the most talented farrier we have come in contact with. He is patient, and makes a detailed assessment of the horse's feet before starting his work.
Today Bailey, Smokey, and Kenya were his customers. Bailey was well behaved as always, getting a new set of shoes. Kenya only received a trim. I won't start shoeing her until I am ready to ride her out on the trail. Going barefoot in the soft dirt of the arena should not cause her any problems.
One of Kenya's feet, post trim
Using my hand as a size reference, compare to Smokey's foot, below.
Following her trim, I tied her to the rail in the barn. This was intended to give her practice at standing quietly and patiently while tied. This decision, of course, provided the only brief excitement of the night.
While Smokey was getting his shoes reset (re-using the old shoes, as they were not excessively worn), someone leaned a shovel on a post near Kenya. Horses being naturally curious, and prone to finding trouble, she managed to knock it over. CLANG!!! Trying desperately to get away from this horse eating monster, she backed up pulling for all she was worth on her lead rope. I dropped Smokey's lead rope, got her attention, calmed her, and moved said shovel. The incident was soon forgotten (their memory is only about 3 seconds long), and she stood calmly after that.
Shoeing Smokey in the wet winter months is a little more involved than the average horse. His sire is a Thoroughbred. One of the by-products of this is the fact that his feet are a) BIG, and b) his soles get really soft when they are constantly wet from the rain inherent to the Pacific Northwest. This softening makes him prone to abscesses of the hoof, which are rather painful for the horse.
To combat this, a pad is placed between his foot and the shoe. It is packed with a compound known simply as hoof packing, to prevent the area from becoming a breeding ground for any bacteria. The finished product looks thus:
The black goo coming out from the back of the pad is the aforementioned hoof packing.
After Smokey's feet were done, I returned the Two Buckskins to there paddocks, where fresh grain and alfalfa awaited them.
The person tasked with caring for the hoof is known as a farrier. They are so titled because their work and skills go far beyond just simple shoeing. They must have a firm knowledge of the inner working of the hoof. The hoof is prone to any number of ailments and diseases, therefore a farrier must be skilled in diagnosing and correcting these problems. Proper trimming and shoeing goes a long way towards preventing these problems.
A farrier must be willing to work when the weather is cold, or when it is hot. They may occasionally be called for an emergency on the weekend or at night. They spend most of the day bent over, and are constantly at risk of being kicked by a horse. A good farrier accepts all of these as hazards of the trade, and will most likely develop a very loyal clientele.
Our farrier is a young man named Jacob. He is 22, and has been caring for our horses feet for about a year now. He is the most talented farrier we have come in contact with. He is patient, and makes a detailed assessment of the horse's feet before starting his work.
Today Bailey, Smokey, and Kenya were his customers. Bailey was well behaved as always, getting a new set of shoes. Kenya only received a trim. I won't start shoeing her until I am ready to ride her out on the trail. Going barefoot in the soft dirt of the arena should not cause her any problems.
One of Kenya's feet, post trim
Using my hand as a size reference, compare to Smokey's foot, below.
Following her trim, I tied her to the rail in the barn. This was intended to give her practice at standing quietly and patiently while tied. This decision, of course, provided the only brief excitement of the night.
While Smokey was getting his shoes reset (re-using the old shoes, as they were not excessively worn), someone leaned a shovel on a post near Kenya. Horses being naturally curious, and prone to finding trouble, she managed to knock it over. CLANG!!! Trying desperately to get away from this horse eating monster, she backed up pulling for all she was worth on her lead rope. I dropped Smokey's lead rope, got her attention, calmed her, and moved said shovel. The incident was soon forgotten (their memory is only about 3 seconds long), and she stood calmly after that.
Shoeing Smokey in the wet winter months is a little more involved than the average horse. His sire is a Thoroughbred. One of the by-products of this is the fact that his feet are a) BIG, and b) his soles get really soft when they are constantly wet from the rain inherent to the Pacific Northwest. This softening makes him prone to abscesses of the hoof, which are rather painful for the horse.
To combat this, a pad is placed between his foot and the shoe. It is packed with a compound known simply as hoof packing, to prevent the area from becoming a breeding ground for any bacteria. The finished product looks thus:
The black goo coming out from the back of the pad is the aforementioned hoof packing.
After Smokey's feet were done, I returned the Two Buckskins to there paddocks, where fresh grain and alfalfa awaited them.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Ride Number Three...
...was not nearly as eventful as the second ride. And for this I am thankful.
We did have one minor bucking episode, but I was not about to eat dirt a second time. She helped out by not bucking as hard as last time, although I'm fairly certain that, given enough time, we'd have been going for the 8 second bell. Without delay I reached down, grabbed the left rein close to her head, and pulled.
As soon as I had her nose on the fender of the saddle, she stopped. I released her, and sat up straight to assess the situation. My hat was on the ground, and my forehead felt as though I'd been smacked, but that was the worst of it. For the life of me I cannot recall what whacked my noggin.
Without ceremony I started her moving again. She kept looking at my hat as though it might be a horse eater, so I dismounted, shook off the dust, donned it, and climbed back in the saddle.
In retrospect, the mistake I think I made was failing to keep my hands moving, touching her neck, the saddle, and her hip in repetition. This keeps a young horse cognizant of the fact that the rider is up there. I realize now that I forgot to do that, and it's possible that she forgot I was there, and then got spooked when she subsequently noticed me. I'll chalk it up to another part of the learning process.
The rest of the ride was uneventful, and I am again happy with the results. I do have the video form the first ride, and as soon as I have time to edit and upload it, I will get it posted.
We did have one minor bucking episode, but I was not about to eat dirt a second time. She helped out by not bucking as hard as last time, although I'm fairly certain that, given enough time, we'd have been going for the 8 second bell. Without delay I reached down, grabbed the left rein close to her head, and pulled.
As soon as I had her nose on the fender of the saddle, she stopped. I released her, and sat up straight to assess the situation. My hat was on the ground, and my forehead felt as though I'd been smacked, but that was the worst of it. For the life of me I cannot recall what whacked my noggin.
Without ceremony I started her moving again. She kept looking at my hat as though it might be a horse eater, so I dismounted, shook off the dust, donned it, and climbed back in the saddle.
In retrospect, the mistake I think I made was failing to keep my hands moving, touching her neck, the saddle, and her hip in repetition. This keeps a young horse cognizant of the fact that the rider is up there. I realize now that I forgot to do that, and it's possible that she forgot I was there, and then got spooked when she subsequently noticed me. I'll chalk it up to another part of the learning process.
The rest of the ride was uneventful, and I am again happy with the results. I do have the video form the first ride, and as soon as I have time to edit and upload it, I will get it posted.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Submarine Involved Collision
As a retired submariner, it pains me to hear of this.
Initial reports are that while 15 sailors aboard the USS Hartford were injured, none of the injuries were serious. If that is the case, then that is the silver lining in the clouds.
Seems like there has been a significant increase in the last few years in the number of submarines involved in collisions of one sort or the other.
Keep these guys in your prayers, if you do that sort of thing.
Initial reports are that while 15 sailors aboard the USS Hartford were injured, none of the injuries were serious. If that is the case, then that is the silver lining in the clouds.
Seems like there has been a significant increase in the last few years in the number of submarines involved in collisions of one sort or the other.
Keep these guys in your prayers, if you do that sort of thing.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I Do My Own Stunts...
Yep, I got bucked off tonight...but, let us go back to the beginning.
I saddled Kenya up, and went through the usual round penning exercises. Before long I was in the saddle. I was working without a helper today, making the transition to taking cues from the rider. At The sequence of events to motivate the horse forward is as follows: Apply leg pressure, by squeezing the horse's sides with the calves, cluck, and then pop her on the rump with the leather popper on the end of the reins. Within minutes, she was moving off at a walk from leg pressure and the cluck. Satisfied with this, I felt that it was time to proceed to the trot. So, at the walk, squeeze, cluck, spank...bucking.
Bucking???? I don't remember that being part of the video!
According to those who witnessed the event, her skills as a bucking horse are very respectable. All four feet off the ground, back legs nearly vertical as they reached skyward. From my vantage point, I suddenly found myself looking at the ground underneath Kenya's head. This alternated with views form the horizontal, for what seemed an eternity. I tried to pull her head around, but I was completely unseated by this time, and having difficulty getting any leverage.
The whole event took perhaps five seconds to unfold, but from my viewpoint seemed like five minutes. Oddly enough I was calm through all of this. Those watching told me that I never uttered a sound. At first I was confident that I would recover, and all would be well. After the third time looking facing the dirt, I was well over her neck. It was at this point that I came to the realization that I was no longer sitting in a saddle, but, rather, and ejection seat.
Now I'm in the air, ass over tea kettle. Performing the age old "tuck and roll", I landed with a thud, ending up on my back. Not knowing where Kenya was, I immediately leapt to my feet. She was now standing calmly. I had to walk it off, but I knew at this point was that it was absolutely imperative that I get back on her. I calmly walked up to her, and got back in the saddle. I proceeded to walk and trot without further difficulty, even using the popper. I did have Mrs. BR come in and assist me with some of the maneuvers that she wasn't responding to as well as I'd like.
After about another 20 minutes, we called it a night. Despite getting bucked off, I chalked this up as a successful ride.
Mrs. BR told me that she was glad that "you didn't scream like a girl". I'm not quite sure how to take that.
I'm going to be really sore, tomorrow.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Day I Discovered Oil
As the observant reader can readily deduce, I spent 21 years in the Navy, specifically in the Submarine Service. In the Navy, enlisted job specialties are called Ratings. My rating was Machinist's Mate (abbreviated MM). MM's operate and maintain the ships propulsion equipment, including, but not limited to, steam turbines, distilling plants, air conditioning plants, lubricating oil systems, etc., etc. Oh, btw, as a graduate of Naval Nuclear Power School, and Naval Nuclear Power Training Unit, I and my cohorts also operated and maintained all the mechanical systems in support of the submarines nuclear power plant, 1 EACH.
Submariners are a rather eclectic lot, and among other things, we usually end up with one or more nicknames. The basis for these nicknames is as varied as the names themselves. I, of course, acquired more than a few of these along the way, some of which are probably not repeatable in a family friendly blog, but I'm certain were well earned.
Today's tale relates to one of the two nicknames given me aboard my first boat, the USS William H. Bates (SSN-680). The first nickname I received was Bob. It was the name that stuck the longest. In fact, people who reported to the boat after I did truly thought that Bob was my first name, and I was always slow to let them in on the truth. The source of that name is for another day, perhaps. Because the story of how I got pasted with the second nickname is far funnier.
It was 1987, and I'd only been a member of the crew for perhaps five or six months. My underway watchstation was Engine Room Lower Level (ERLL), (not so) affectionately known as "The Pit".
One of the many duties of the ERLL watch was to shift clean and inspect the strainers in the lube oil systems, once per watch. This involved putting the other side of the strainer in service, draining the off service side, removing, and cleaning the strainer. After reinstalling the strainer element, the cover was replaced, a bar swung down over the top of the cover, and a large screw in the bar tightened to hold the cover in place. The strainer was then refilled by opening the vent, and cracking open the shift valve until oil issued from the vent. Close the valves, clean the mess up, and move to the next task.
So there I am, shifting a strainer. The Auxiliary Electrician Aft, whom I will simply refer to as Mike, was visiting me whilst this evolution was in progress. So needless to say, I was paying more attention to the conversation, than to the task at hand...
I reached the step where I began filling the strainer with oil. This oil is under pressure, as it just so happens. This is when I made the discovery that I had missed one step. Sadly, for me, it turned out to be the one that involved tightening the cover.
Without warning, the cover popped up about 1/4", and I found myself with Old Faithful on my hands. Doh!!! I quickly shut the fill valve to stem the flow, but not before I was soaked head to toe in oil. Oil covered every nearby surface, and was dripping from the overhead. Mike had vanished, apparently fleeing at the first sign of trouble.
By all rights, I should have been in the deep darks over this. However, the command figured that I had a valuable lesson, and most of them found the whole affair too funny to be very upset over it. It took me the better part of two hours to clean up the mess, although oil continued to drip from the overhead for months.
The COB (Chief of the Boat) immediately sent me to the showers, and had the cooks save some dinner for me. I threw away all the clothes I was wearing.
A couple of my creative shipmates immediately began setting my ordeal into a song. I can't remember what I had for breakfast today, but 20 some odd years later, I can still remember parts of that song.
Sung to the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies":
Let me tell you the story about a boy named Jed.
A nubbly lower level watch who nearly lost his head.
He tried without direction, to shift, inspect, and clean.
Opened up a valve and out came a stream.
Of lube oil, that is, 2190 TEP.
Next thing you know, Jed’s got it in his hair.
The COB said, “Jed, get the hell away from here.
In the shower is the place you oughta be.
Well save you some chow, yea…”
And thus, my nickname became "Jed".
Submariners are a rather eclectic lot, and among other things, we usually end up with one or more nicknames. The basis for these nicknames is as varied as the names themselves. I, of course, acquired more than a few of these along the way, some of which are probably not repeatable in a family friendly blog, but I'm certain were well earned.
Today's tale relates to one of the two nicknames given me aboard my first boat, the USS William H. Bates (SSN-680). The first nickname I received was Bob. It was the name that stuck the longest. In fact, people who reported to the boat after I did truly thought that Bob was my first name, and I was always slow to let them in on the truth. The source of that name is for another day, perhaps. Because the story of how I got pasted with the second nickname is far funnier.
It was 1987, and I'd only been a member of the crew for perhaps five or six months. My underway watchstation was Engine Room Lower Level (ERLL), (not so) affectionately known as "The Pit".
One of the many duties of the ERLL watch was to shift clean and inspect the strainers in the lube oil systems, once per watch. This involved putting the other side of the strainer in service, draining the off service side, removing, and cleaning the strainer. After reinstalling the strainer element, the cover was replaced, a bar swung down over the top of the cover, and a large screw in the bar tightened to hold the cover in place. The strainer was then refilled by opening the vent, and cracking open the shift valve until oil issued from the vent. Close the valves, clean the mess up, and move to the next task.
So there I am, shifting a strainer. The Auxiliary Electrician Aft, whom I will simply refer to as Mike, was visiting me whilst this evolution was in progress. So needless to say, I was paying more attention to the conversation, than to the task at hand...
I reached the step where I began filling the strainer with oil. This oil is under pressure, as it just so happens. This is when I made the discovery that I had missed one step. Sadly, for me, it turned out to be the one that involved tightening the cover.
Without warning, the cover popped up about 1/4", and I found myself with Old Faithful on my hands. Doh!!! I quickly shut the fill valve to stem the flow, but not before I was soaked head to toe in oil. Oil covered every nearby surface, and was dripping from the overhead. Mike had vanished, apparently fleeing at the first sign of trouble.
By all rights, I should have been in the deep darks over this. However, the command figured that I had a valuable lesson, and most of them found the whole affair too funny to be very upset over it. It took me the better part of two hours to clean up the mess, although oil continued to drip from the overhead for months.
The COB (Chief of the Boat) immediately sent me to the showers, and had the cooks save some dinner for me. I threw away all the clothes I was wearing.
A couple of my creative shipmates immediately began setting my ordeal into a song. I can't remember what I had for breakfast today, but 20 some odd years later, I can still remember parts of that song.
Sung to the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillies":
Let me tell you the story about a boy named Jed.
A nubbly lower level watch who nearly lost his head.
He tried without direction, to shift, inspect, and clean.
Opened up a valve and out came a stream.
Of lube oil, that is, 2190 TEP.
Next thing you know, Jed’s got it in his hair.
The COB said, “Jed, get the hell away from here.
In the shower is the place you oughta be.
Well save you some chow, yea…”
And thus, my nickname became "Jed".
Saturday, March 14, 2009
First Ride!
The rain is falling, the wind is blowing, but Mother Nature be damned! I was going to get the first ride over with today! No excuses, just results.
I saddled Kenya up in the barn. Saddling has become a non-event, which always starts us off on the right foot. Then off to the arena, and into the round pen.
I spent plenty of time just trotting her in the round pen. I wanted to be certain that her mind was in the right place, and wear down any excess energy she had. She was being a little stubborn at first, turning to the outside, which is verboten. After a few gentle reminders she "remembered" how this is done, and all was well.
I like this picture of today's action in the round pen:
Notice that I'm standing, and she is trotting. It wasn't like this in the early days. It was as much a workout for me as for Kenya. Now that we have refined the process, I spend much more time standing.
At this point I was satisfied that her attention was on me, and that she wasn't distracted or feeling skittish about anything. It was now or never. I put the training hackamore on her head, and readjusted my cinch. It was decided that I would using a mounting block to get on, just to keep things simple. I stood up on the block next to her, banged my hand on the saddle a few times, and then leaned over across the saddle so she could see me from her right eye. Not a flinch. Without further adieu, I put my right leg over, sat down, and put my feet in the stirrups.
With the aid of my trusty assistant, Mrs. BR, we immediately began working on one rein stops. This is accomplished by pulling the horse's nose around to your foot, and putting pressure against their ribcage, such that one back leg crosses over in front of the other. When a horse is forced to do this, they can't buck, rear, run, or present any other bad behavior (hopefully!). They can only turn in a circle. This is a safety technique. At this point she is still yielding to the pressure from the stick, but by adding leg pressure, she should start associating that with the need to disengage her hindquarters.
About halfway through the maneuver:
At this point it was time to move on to walking and trotting. Again, she is still responding to the cues from the person on the ground, and I am, in essence, little more than a passenger. I am, of course, adding the verbal cue of clucking and applying leg pressure when I want her to move. This begins the transition into responding to the rider.
At the walk:
I'll admit I was a bit tense at first, but I relaxed pretty quickly. We progressed to the trot in short order. Occasionally she would just stop. The first few times I was caught off guard, and thrown forward in the saddle, but that was a case of me not being prepared. Her trot is a wee bit rough, and my back is a tad sore right now. Admittedly, few horses have a smooth trot, but Kenya definitely has room for refinement.
I did notice in the above picture that my legs are too far back. I need to raise the stirrups a little, and concentrate on keeping my feet forward.
At this point, Mrs. BR suggested that it was time to call it a good first ride. Giving in to reason, I dismounted. I could not be happier with today's results. Better than I could have hoped for.
There is a horse show tomorrow, so I think it will probably be Tuesday before I can put in a second ride, although I'm hoping I might be able to squeeze it in tomorrow evening, depending what time we get home. I'll keep you posted.
A friend video taped the event. She's going to burn it to a CD for me. Once I have that, I'll post some portions of it.
Sorry for the long winded entry.
I saddled Kenya up in the barn. Saddling has become a non-event, which always starts us off on the right foot. Then off to the arena, and into the round pen.
I spent plenty of time just trotting her in the round pen. I wanted to be certain that her mind was in the right place, and wear down any excess energy she had. She was being a little stubborn at first, turning to the outside, which is verboten. After a few gentle reminders she "remembered" how this is done, and all was well.
I like this picture of today's action in the round pen:
Notice that I'm standing, and she is trotting. It wasn't like this in the early days. It was as much a workout for me as for Kenya. Now that we have refined the process, I spend much more time standing.
At this point I was satisfied that her attention was on me, and that she wasn't distracted or feeling skittish about anything. It was now or never. I put the training hackamore on her head, and readjusted my cinch. It was decided that I would using a mounting block to get on, just to keep things simple. I stood up on the block next to her, banged my hand on the saddle a few times, and then leaned over across the saddle so she could see me from her right eye. Not a flinch. Without further adieu, I put my right leg over, sat down, and put my feet in the stirrups.
With the aid of my trusty assistant, Mrs. BR, we immediately began working on one rein stops. This is accomplished by pulling the horse's nose around to your foot, and putting pressure against their ribcage, such that one back leg crosses over in front of the other. When a horse is forced to do this, they can't buck, rear, run, or present any other bad behavior (hopefully!). They can only turn in a circle. This is a safety technique. At this point she is still yielding to the pressure from the stick, but by adding leg pressure, she should start associating that with the need to disengage her hindquarters.
About halfway through the maneuver:
At this point it was time to move on to walking and trotting. Again, she is still responding to the cues from the person on the ground, and I am, in essence, little more than a passenger. I am, of course, adding the verbal cue of clucking and applying leg pressure when I want her to move. This begins the transition into responding to the rider.
At the walk:
I'll admit I was a bit tense at first, but I relaxed pretty quickly. We progressed to the trot in short order. Occasionally she would just stop. The first few times I was caught off guard, and thrown forward in the saddle, but that was a case of me not being prepared. Her trot is a wee bit rough, and my back is a tad sore right now. Admittedly, few horses have a smooth trot, but Kenya definitely has room for refinement.
I did notice in the above picture that my legs are too far back. I need to raise the stirrups a little, and concentrate on keeping my feet forward.
At this point, Mrs. BR suggested that it was time to call it a good first ride. Giving in to reason, I dismounted. I could not be happier with today's results. Better than I could have hoped for.
There is a horse show tomorrow, so I think it will probably be Tuesday before I can put in a second ride, although I'm hoping I might be able to squeeze it in tomorrow evening, depending what time we get home. I'll keep you posted.
A friend video taped the event. She's going to burn it to a CD for me. Once I have that, I'll post some portions of it.
Sorry for the long winded entry.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
This is Gonna Be a Tough Sell...
I'm a bit of a Trekkie, as it were. I don't have a set of pointy ears, or clothes, or anything like that. I don't attend conventions. But I do love Star Trek, specifically the original series and movies.
It's hard for me to imagine any other actors portraying the characters from the original series, but I'll give them a chance. They just better get it right the first time.
H/T: CDR Salamander
Monday, March 9, 2009
Let it Snow??
I honestly cannot remember it ever snowing this late in the year in this part of the world. But it is, so I took the opportunity to take some pictures about an hour ago.
Smokey sez: "Global warming is hoax!"
Kenya sez: "Got any treats, Dad?"
Bailey (DN3's horse): "Aren't I photogenic?"
Dozer (DN2's horse): "Leave me alone, I'm eating!"
Blue Boy, the retired roping horse, "This ain't nothin' sonny. I remember the winter of '89!"
Mrs. BR's dun mare is up at the trainers barn, so, sadly, no pics of her enjoying our dose of global warming. Will get some up when she comes up.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Thwarted by Mother Nature
The first ride was a no go on Saturday. As Andy can probably attest, the wind, she was a blowin' in this part of the country. I'd say at least 20mph in my neck of the woods. When that happens, the arena becomes a wind tunnel. Here's the view from the arena looking into the wind:
The steel trusses were creaking and groaning rather loudly, and all of the horses, particularly Kenya, were rather skittish about the noise. Here she is with a look that seems to say "are really sure you want to do this?"
Ummm, no, now that you mention it, I think not. One of the key things, in my opinion, is to be certain that everything is right before moving on. The noise and the wind were giving her the vapors, so I decided that, no, the time is not right. Which is a shame, because I really had myself in the right frame of mind for the event, and had been looking forward to it all week.
The weather today wasn't much better. It was one of those times where, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. Rain, snow, hail, sun, you name it. When it was hailing so hard that you couldn't have a face to face conversation in the arena, Mrs. BR suggested (rather wisely too, I might add) that perhaps today was not a good idea, either. Drat!!
I'm going to shoot for next Friday, although it could happen sooner. Hope I don't sound like a big weanie for not gittin' r' done! this weekend.
Meanwhile, here's a picture or two:
The steel trusses were creaking and groaning rather loudly, and all of the horses, particularly Kenya, were rather skittish about the noise. Here she is with a look that seems to say "are really sure you want to do this?"
Ummm, no, now that you mention it, I think not. One of the key things, in my opinion, is to be certain that everything is right before moving on. The noise and the wind were giving her the vapors, so I decided that, no, the time is not right. Which is a shame, because I really had myself in the right frame of mind for the event, and had been looking forward to it all week.
The weather today wasn't much better. It was one of those times where, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. Rain, snow, hail, sun, you name it. When it was hailing so hard that you couldn't have a face to face conversation in the arena, Mrs. BR suggested (rather wisely too, I might add) that perhaps today was not a good idea, either. Drat!!
I'm going to shoot for next Friday, although it could happen sooner. Hope I don't sound like a big weanie for not gittin' r' done! this weekend.
Meanwhile, here's a picture or two:
Friday, March 6, 2009
Training Notes from Mar. 4, 2009.
I was plum tuckered out by the time I posted regarding the new filly, so I didn't comment on the nights training with Kenya.
I started her out with the usual round penning to shake out the wiggles and giggles. Following this, and without ceremony, I saddled her up. And yes, this time I triple (or maybe quadruple) checked the cinch, being not of the mind to repeat of Sunday's rodeo. Thus assured that no harm would befall horse or saddle, I sent her off at the trot.
After several revolutions, she veered a bit too close to the rail, and with a loud clang, the left stirrup smacked the metal railing. Herself did not take kindly to this sudden turn of events, and she began humping up and dancing around in her best rodeo bronc imitation. As this event was not nearly as traumatic as Sunday's goings on, it only took seconds to get her settled down. For good measure I checked the cinch again, and sent her off for more.
No further incidents occured, and after a good brushing to dry the sweat, I put her out with her grain and alfalfa.
If the stars align correctly, I plan to take my first ride tomorrow. Provided 911 is not involved in the event, I will be sure to post the results.
I started her out with the usual round penning to shake out the wiggles and giggles. Following this, and without ceremony, I saddled her up. And yes, this time I triple (or maybe quadruple) checked the cinch, being not of the mind to repeat of Sunday's rodeo. Thus assured that no harm would befall horse or saddle, I sent her off at the trot.
After several revolutions, she veered a bit too close to the rail, and with a loud clang, the left stirrup smacked the metal railing. Herself did not take kindly to this sudden turn of events, and she began humping up and dancing around in her best rodeo bronc imitation. As this event was not nearly as traumatic as Sunday's goings on, it only took seconds to get her settled down. For good measure I checked the cinch again, and sent her off for more.
No further incidents occured, and after a good brushing to dry the sweat, I put her out with her grain and alfalfa.
If the stars align correctly, I plan to take my first ride tomorrow. Provided 911 is not involved in the event, I will be sure to post the results.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A Baby was born Today
This filly was born about 3pm today, to our friends mare. DN2 works at the farm, and had gone to check on the mare, and discovered there was a baby on the ground. She called for reinforcements, and they quickly got mom and baby into a nice straw filled stall. Thankfully, mom is one of the most trusting mares in the world. This is mom:
I'll get more pics in the next couple of days. I wanted to keep my presence to a minimum, so they could rest.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Here's to ya, Buck!
The first day at the new job was great, although it felt like drinking from a fire hydrant. As a reward to myself, I'm enjoying a couple of these:
Which of course brought to mind that find Blogger Buck, whom I know to be a fan of the New Belgium Brewing Company.
Which of course brought to mind that find Blogger Buck, whom I know to be a fan of the New Belgium Brewing Company.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Shopping for Clothes
I'm starting a new job tomorrow. This is a good thing. There is one small problem, however. The dress code for this job is Business Casual. A quick inventory of my wardrobe revealed that while I definitely have "Casual" mastered, the "Business" aspect presents a challenge. Up until now, deciding what to wear to work has never been a concern. For the first 21 years of my adult life, it was always the Uniform of the Day. In the job I've worked at since I retired, it was black Carhartt pants, and the company issued shirt. No decision making required.
Despite waiting for the past two weeks, as of this morning, the problem had not remedied itself. Drat. The solution to this, however, involves two things I hate. Shopping and...shopping.
So I drug myself to the store, and after a painful couple hours, I've got enough clothes to at least make it through the first week. Which sadly, means I'll probably be shopping again next weekend. Ugghh!
I do have one question. Why does each item of clothing that I purchased have at least 5 tags and/or stickers on it? Size, cost, SKU, you name it. Isn't one enough?
Despite waiting for the past two weeks, as of this morning, the problem had not remedied itself. Drat. The solution to this, however, involves two things I hate. Shopping and...shopping.
So I drug myself to the store, and after a painful couple hours, I've got enough clothes to at least make it through the first week. Which sadly, means I'll probably be shopping again next weekend. Ugghh!
I do have one question. Why does each item of clothing that I purchased have at least 5 tags and/or stickers on it? Size, cost, SKU, you name it. Isn't one enough?
First Saddling
I decided today was the day to put a saddle on herself.
Started out with basic round pen exercises to get her mind right. As usual, no problems. I put the saddle and pad on the rail, so that she would get to see them each time she ran past. She never shied away from them, and as usual, round penning went well.
Now it was time for the saddle. I put the saddle pad on, and she didn't blink. This was expected, since she wears a turnout blanket all the time, so something lightweight on her back was nothing new. Next, I gently placed the saddle on her back, working on the offside, to avoid any problems from the cinches banging around. She looked at the saddle once, but again, seemed unconcerned with the whole thing.
I walked around to the near side, to begin cinching her up. The 30" cinch that I ordered for her hasn't arrived yet, so I was using a spare 32" cinch. Remember this. It will become important later.
I pulled the cinch around underneath, ran the latigo thru and gently tightened it up. As expected the cinch was too long, and while it didn't quite reach from one side of the saddle to the other, it was darn close. But I still had enough latigo to reasonably tighten her up. And since I wasn’t planning on riding her, it didn’t seem like a big deal. I buckled up the back cinch, and let her stand for a few minutes. All was well.
I forgot to bring the camera with me, but I'll get some pictures of her saddled later this week, so I can post them.
Started out with basic round pen exercises to get her mind right. As usual, no problems. I put the saddle and pad on the rail, so that she would get to see them each time she ran past. She never shied away from them, and as usual, round penning went well.
Now it was time for the saddle. I put the saddle pad on, and she didn't blink. This was expected, since she wears a turnout blanket all the time, so something lightweight on her back was nothing new. Next, I gently placed the saddle on her back, working on the offside, to avoid any problems from the cinches banging around. She looked at the saddle once, but again, seemed unconcerned with the whole thing.
I walked around to the near side, to begin cinching her up. The 30" cinch that I ordered for her hasn't arrived yet, so I was using a spare 32" cinch. Remember this. It will become important later.
I pulled the cinch around underneath, ran the latigo thru and gently tightened it up. As expected the cinch was too long, and while it didn't quite reach from one side of the saddle to the other, it was darn close. But I still had enough latigo to reasonably tighten her up. And since I wasn’t planning on riding her, it didn’t seem like a big deal. I buckled up the back cinch, and let her stand for a few minutes. All was well.
I grabbed the stirrups one at a time, and slapped the fenders up and down until she stopped flinching. It took longer for her to quite shying at the noise than in the DVD, and my arms were pretty tired after slapping the fenders up and down for what felt like an eternity.
Time to trot her, so she could get the feel of the saddle. I checked the cinch to ensure it was still tight, and then sent her off. The first couple trips around the pen were accompanied by the expected bucking and crow hopping, but she settled down fairly quickly.
Then it happened. The saddle slipped, and began to roll down her right side. She exploded, bucking and rearing for all she was worth. It was a sight to behold. If this doesn’t work out, she may have a future as a rodeo horse.
By now the saddle was entirely on her right side. If this continued, it would end up underneath her, and then things would get really ugly(!). This is where the work I’ve done to this point paid off. I got her attention focused on me, and used the cues to get her to stop and face me. She did. She was shaking, but clearly looking to me for help. Talking in a calm voice, I gently approached her, and rubbed her on the neck. Satisfied that she had calmed down enough for me to fix the problem, I grasped the saddle, and pushed it back up in place. I then tightened the cinch up further, until I was satisfied that it would not slip again.
I let her stand with me for a few moments until she was relaxed again. Then off at the trot, and even a little loping for good measure.
While this could have had some unfortunate consequences, it turned out for the better. Mistakes are part of the learning process, and I learned (or re-learned in at least two cases) at least three things:
1. ALWAYS use the correct equipment.
2. Make darn certain the cinch is tight.
3. This mare trusted me to get her out of a bad situation. Which can be oh so important once I start riding her.
I forgot to bring the camera with me, but I'll get some pictures of her saddled later this week, so I can post them.
Jingle Bob
Took DN2 & DN3 to a Schooling Show at the Tacoma Unit yesterday. A schooling show is a show that is really just for practice. Ribbons are awarded, of course, but it isn't necessary to wear show clothes, use the fancy saddles and headstalls, or, for that matter, even clean your horse. They are usually put on as a fund raiser, and provide a great opportunity to train your horse in the show environment.
I don't show by the way. I'm just not into prettying up my horse to ride in a circle. Give me a wilderness trail any day.
Anywho...there was a young lad of about 18 or 19 there. To cut to the chase, this lad is a cowboy wannabe. I know a few cowboys (I'm not one by the way), and he was clearly a poser. He had a big goofy feather in his hat, a very large belt buckle that I'm certain he bought, as opposed to winning as a trophy. And cue the Washingtonian trying to talk with a Texas accent. Since no one else in his family talked like that, it was clearly contrived. That's not a dig at Texas accents by the way...just at people who try to fake it.
The way to tell he was a poser was simple. All I had to do was watch him ride his horse. Actually I got to watch him ride two. He had absolutely no control of these rank nags he was riding. At one point when his horse was bucking and rearing, he shouted out "Boy, he's acting like he's a stud colt". No...he's acting like that because he wants to use you for a lawn dart, since he's tired of you riding like an asshole.
But the icing on the cake was his spurs. They looked something like this:
It looked more like he was wearing a pair of circular saws than spurs. Note the two little items hanging from each spur. Those are called Jingle Bob's. They cause the spurs to make that noise you hear in the movies when you walk. I don't anybody that actually wears them. Or at least I didn't.
When he was riding, they sounded like sleigh bells. LOUD sleigh bells. They echoed through the arena. I heard more than a few people in the stands make snide comments about them. They were annoying and distracting to the point that, after a few classes, the judge made him remove them. I did not witness this, but apparently boyo threw a bit of a temper tantrum.
At least the arena got quieter.
I don't show by the way. I'm just not into prettying up my horse to ride in a circle. Give me a wilderness trail any day.
Anywho...there was a young lad of about 18 or 19 there. To cut to the chase, this lad is a cowboy wannabe. I know a few cowboys (I'm not one by the way), and he was clearly a poser. He had a big goofy feather in his hat, a very large belt buckle that I'm certain he bought, as opposed to winning as a trophy. And cue the Washingtonian trying to talk with a Texas accent. Since no one else in his family talked like that, it was clearly contrived. That's not a dig at Texas accents by the way...just at people who try to fake it.
The way to tell he was a poser was simple. All I had to do was watch him ride his horse. Actually I got to watch him ride two. He had absolutely no control of these rank nags he was riding. At one point when his horse was bucking and rearing, he shouted out "Boy, he's acting like he's a stud colt". No...he's acting like that because he wants to use you for a lawn dart, since he's tired of you riding like an asshole.
But the icing on the cake was his spurs. They looked something like this:
It looked more like he was wearing a pair of circular saws than spurs. Note the two little items hanging from each spur. Those are called Jingle Bob's. They cause the spurs to make that noise you hear in the movies when you walk. I don't anybody that actually wears them. Or at least I didn't.When he was riding, they sounded like sleigh bells. LOUD sleigh bells. They echoed through the arena. I heard more than a few people in the stands make snide comments about them. They were annoying and distracting to the point that, after a few classes, the judge made him remove them. I did not witness this, but apparently boyo threw a bit of a temper tantrum.
At least the arena got quieter.
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