Survivors

So it's 10pm and I'm blogging with a bowl of popcorn. I usually have a rule against eating things past 8pm. It's amazing how much weight just drops off on its own when I cut out the nighttime snacking habit. But tonight my willpower is down and it was either popcorn, ice cream, or cookie dough. I chose the lesser of the three evils and went with Healthy Pop, which tastes like cardboard but is giving me something to munch on.

Moving on.

This last summer I kept my horses pasture-boarded while I finished up my clinical rotation for school. While we were there, I had many life-altering "moments." First of all, this place had NO arena. None. Anywhere. There was a small round pen. That was all.

I happen to be an arena baby. I looooooove the arena. You know, with good footing, and corners, and straight walls. Virtually all of the training I do involve either the corners, the walls, or center/quarter lines. I have no idea what to do out in a field other than goof around for a nice easy hack. Kind of like a trail ride, where the only thing I want to accomplish is completing the ride with minimal drama.

So I solved that problem by not riding much all summer. Sure, I tried to ride in the round pen. It was fun for about 3 minutes and I quickly got bored.

Then one day out of the blue I decided to take the pony out for a "real" ride in the 40-acre hay field. Why I suddenly felt that she was ready to take on the big, open world at that moment still to this day mystifies me. I'm also not entirely sure why I felt that was the day to ignore my hatred of riding the tiny little 13.2 hand dainty pony. I always feel like I'm going to a.) squish her or b.) fall off the second she takes a misstep because there is nothing substantial about this pony to hold me up.

But I'm an impulsive person, so I went for it. Besides, I had ridden her in the round pen a few days earlier and she was only a *little* herd-bound, and we both survived.

I got her tacked up, led her to the gate, and she stood still like a good girl while I mounted and fidgeted with my stirrups. I was feeling a sense of confidence that my pony had, indeed, woken up one day and decided that she was going to become magically dead broke.

Off we went at a nice, calm walk. I was inwardly congratulating myself for my mad skillz at training the psycho pony. Then, approximately 20 feet from the gate, the Drama Pony must have realized that her friends were in a different field. On the other side of the barn. And that we had NEVER been in this field. She planted the brakes. I managed to boot her on until we were continuing in a tense, prancy jig, but at least it was the direction I wanted.

Another 20 feet later I got a spin-and-bolt attempt. Supposedly the bushes we were passing by were of the pony-eating variety. Thank God that in all my years of riding I have perfected the "You Can't Bolt If I Yank Your Head Around To My Kneecap and Spin You In Small Circles" maneuver. At this point I was livid. How DARE she try to run back to her friends! I decided there was no way in h*ll I was letting her move her feet back in that direction until she was being obedient. I don't need calm per se. I do need her to listen to me and not try to take matters into her own hands- er, hooves.

More prancy-jiggy crap. A few more spin-and-bolt attempts. A few times she planted her feet and refused to go forward at all (note: it is absolutely imperative to me that this pony ALWAYS go forward when told. When we first got her, she liked to rear as an evasion. I have seen her on multiple times rear so violently she flipped herself over. The rearing has gone away, but I've seen her do it, and I know she is capable. Therefore forward is a BIG DEAL- they can't rear if their feet are moving forward). Eventually I got her trotting in roughly 15m circles. It was hot out, she was out of shape, and got tired quickly. When she would trot politely in a full circle without trying to sidepass towards the barn, I would let her walk. As soon as she started being nutty again, back to the trot.

It was a long, hard ride, but she finally gave in and we walked back to the barn on a loose rein. As we were walking, several things hit me at once:

1.) I rode out the worst this pony has ever thrown at me and stayed on. I am not going to fall off the damn pony in a strong breeze. I *do* have good balance. I *am* a skilled rider. Several really bad falls off of a couple of previous horses has made me a timid/cautious rider. I don't need to be. I just need to get over myself.

2.) Pony was genuinely scared being out by herself, but even in her spin-and-bolt fits, not once did her front end leave the ground. I don't even think rearing crossed her little pony brain. It's amazing how far she's come since Katie and I first picked her up.

3.) I have ridden horses who have literally lost their minds when scared and there was no getting it back (refer to revelation #1, above). Horses are flight animals. It's what they do. The fact that the pony wanted to flee but eventually came back to me speaks volumes about her. She's a sensitive, nervous type anyway. The fact that we could still communicate with each other is huge for her.

This incident was several months ago. We have since moved back up to the barn in Estacada (I really missed the arena). In retrospect, while attempting to take the pony out on our little jaunt was somewhat impulsive and foolish at the time, I think it is one of the best things I could have done for both Drama and myself. I am no longer scared to ride her. Getting over my mental hangup about riding her has been great. I find that I actually enjoy riding her now, and her training has been progressing in leaps and bounds.

I think she, too, also came out better on the other end of our adventure. It seems like we bonded. She's much more in-tune to me, and she tries her heart out for me every day. It was like, in her little pony mind, the joint traumatic experience of having to ride in a field made us soul sisters. Everything that we used to struggle with before (trailer loading, clipping, taking her blanket off over her head) is suddenly a non-issue. I can almost hear her saying, "I'm not a fan of the blanket going over my head, but you and I went to Hell and back together, therefore I trust you."

Silly pony. I am still trying to sell her, but not as enthusiastically as I once was. I secretly wish she wont sell. If I had the money, I would keep her in a heartbeat. Maybe take some dressage lessons together. No, she doesn't have the "sparkle" for competitive FEI levels, but right now she has the heart and the willingness to likely make it to 4th and do pretty well.

Did I mention that we started schooling lateral movements just last week and she is now leg-yielding off of only my seat bones?

Meet My Herd: Biff

After losing a mare that I tried to rescue to a Strangles complication (strangles + severe neglect/starvation + complications = poor mare was euthanized on Christmas Eve, and I hope that whoever let her get in that condition goes directly to hell), I spent the next few months deliberating on rescuing another horse as a riding horse, since my current one was psychotic and unrideable (another blog for another day). Finally, the stars aligned, and I had the time, space, and money for a 2nd horse. So, being the sucker for hard-luck cases that I am, I called my friend Cathy (author of the Fugly Horse of the Day blog) and asked if she wanted to accompany me to the Woodburn Auction, since I had never attended an auction, and I wanted to get a feel for them before making any rash decisions on my next rescue.

At Woodburn, we signed in and got a number (the rationale being, of course, that they had tack there. Ha.) and went back to wander around the barn to look at horses. There was about 70 horses, one of the biggest groups of horses to go through Woodburn in a single night. I wanted to rescue something that had a pretty good shot of being bought for kill, but not something that was insane or mysteriously unsound. We didn't even look at horses who were obviously Aced, nor did we look at horses who were being ridden or were generating a lot of interest. It was hard, but in that kind of an environment, you are truly not "rescuing" as much as you are objectively deciding which one is more deserving to live than the others.

We walked past a nondescript dark bay with his head in the corner. We almost walked completely past when we both noticed that he had pin-firing scars on 3 of his 4 legs. Pinfiring doesn't scare me. In fact, to me, it says, "I had a job once. I'm probably broke." We caught the gelding's attention and checked his lip- yep, a racing tattoo. I guessed his age to be around 10-12 years old based on his teeth. Excellent. I liked him. We were a little concerned that he was drugged since he was so calm, but after playing with him a bit and scratching his butt, we determined he was just laid-back and people-oriented. Another plus. We KNEW he wasn't a Thoroughbred. We also knew he wasn't a QH. The racing tattoo was perplexing. It took us a while to realize that he was a Standardbred (Standardbreds are almost non-existent in this area). We tried to get info on him from the office people, but they said he wasn't dropped off with anything. Hmmm.

When the auction started, we grabbed our seats and immediately picked out who the kill buyers were. They were the guys in front with cowboy hats who bid on EVERYTHING.  When the pinfired Standardbred was led through, the auctioneer introduced him as a "Spanish Driving Horse." Say what? What the hell is a Spanish Driving Horse? We had to laugh about that, but when I saw that the kill buyer was the only one bidding on the big, adorable gelding, I handed my number to Cathy, shut my eyes and said, "I don't care if he goes to a private home, but don't let him go to kill." Within seconds, Cathy sat back down next to me and said, "Congrats, you got a new horse."

When we got him to Cathy's house (she offered to quarantine him for me), I spent the next week cleaning him up, I longed him, and then I rode him. He was sound. He was safe. He had an insanely huge trot that would be expected of a Standardbred. He had so much character. I ended up naming him Biff, at my friend Katie's suggestion, after the main character in one of our favorite books, Lamb: the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore. 

Biff's tattoo tells us that his registered name is Class Flirt, and that he was raced extensively (for 8 years) but never really did that well. He was also a pacer, which we found out when we asked him to canter. Now that I have my colt and my show horse, I don't really have a use for him, but he is so much fun and such a character that I keep him and keep working on getting that dang canter. We'll get it someday. I know it's in there. In the meantime, he's an awesome trail horse and I feel safe putting my guests up on him. As far as I'm concerned, he was the best horse at Woodburn that night, and I am happy that he didn't go home with the kill buyer.

Meet My Herd: Drama

The Drama Pony is a spunky, vivacious, adorable pony that Katie and I picked up off of CL. When we went to go look at her, we found her in a chicken barn that is about 50 feet from a very busy highway. The girl who was selling her told us that she had been planning on using the pony for rodeos (wha....?) but didn't have enough money for all of her horses, so she was downsizing, and the pony kept getting out and wandering around said highway. The owner also disclosed that she had plucked the pony out of some old-timer's backyard, who apparently didn't know how to use a halter and thought that ear-twitching was a perfectly acceptable way to get anything done. She also had no name- he just called her "Horse."

So, the combination of "she's a pretty nice diamond in the rough" and "we can't leave her here to live in a chicken barn where she escapes and runs into the road and/or gets used for rodeo" (Okay, the rodeo thing still baffles me. What the hell would a grown woman do on a 13.2h pony in rodeo?) prompted us to plunk down the $500 and drag her home.

Our first clue that this pony would be a challenge was trying to load her into the trailer to take her home. She reared a couple times but we got her loaded. Then she started rearing IN the trailer. To the point where we deliberately drove like maniacs just so she HAD to keep all 4 feet on the floor.

We named her "Drama." It started out as a joke about how "every barn needs a little Drama" (get it?? A little Drama?? For a 13.2h pony? We thought we were clever) and we quickly realized that it suited her better than we thought. EVERYTHING is dramatic to this pony.

We spent the next few months just teaching to her NOT rear every time she hit the end of a leadrope or cross-tie. Not only would she rear, but occasionally she would rear and then strike at us with her front hooves. This is clearly a learned behavior from somewhere in her past. And honestly, it probably worked for her. Even though she's small, it's still frightening to see any equine on their rear legs trying to kill you with their front. When she tried to pull this stunt with us, however, we did not back down. If she struck, she promptly had a Come-To-Jesus meeting. With whatever Katie or I had in our hands. It was not pretty. I used anything I could think of her make her move her feet forward. Now. Granted I probably could have come up with a better tactic. But if one of us has to get hurt, I'll be damned if it is going to be me. When she would just rear, sans striking, we would not budge, wait for her tizzy to be over with, and continue with whatever it was that triggered her rear in the first place.

Slowly, the rearing became less and less, and we spent the summer getting her over her head-shyness. Fly masks on and off.  Halters on and off. Bitless bridles on and off. Until she learned to deal with it. With grooming, we'd brush just a little closer to her ears each time and back off when we sensed a rear coming on. It took FOREVER. But slowly the rearing became less and less frequent, and we moved on to other training issues, like riding her.

Fast forward to today. The project pony that we wanted to flip for hay money is still in our barn 2 years later, but she is going beautifully under saddle. I haven't seen her rear in almost a year now. The little kids at the barn can practice their Showmanship patterns with her, and she is a saint. Last week I was able to clip her face and bridlepath without her halter on. Which is HUGE. Under saddle, she is schooling Training Level Dressage and starting over fences, and is absolutely darling. She's actually surprisingly fun to ride and is going to be shown heavily this year to market her. Hopefully we can sell her into a show home, with her own little girl. Little Girl will have to be a good rider as the pony is very sensitive to aids and slightly on the "hot" side, but she is beyond sweet and will do ANYTHING for a "good girl" and a pat. Plus, she's so talented over fences that the only home I can even try to imagine her in is a hunter show barn with matching blankets and tack trunks.

The sad truth of the matter is that the pony is simply too fancy and talented for us to do her justice. She will never live up to her full potential sitting in our barn.