Great Expectations

I have written about Biff here before. Cute, fun, but not really that good at anything that I like to do. Yes, he is a rockstar trail horse, but I'm just not a trail rider. I have higher ambitions for my riding career than trail riding (don't get me wrong- I love trails and I think they are a valuable training tool for EVERY horse. I just don't want to do it exclusively).

When I posted a photo of Biff with my 7-year-old niece on my Facebook page, I had no idea that my friend Chelsea would ask if I would ever consider parting with him, as she was looking for a solid, safe trail horse. I love Biff enough that I wouldn't mind keeping him forever if I had to, but Chelsea is such an amazing home that I wish I was a horse and could live with her. Who was I to deny Biff the chance to live the good life as Chelsea's trail horse?

Rewind to a few years ago. Chelsea was searching for an Arabian to show and came home with an Arabian/Dutch Warmblood cross. I had always wanted a WB/arab cross after meting a few at my local dressage shows, and the several arabs and arab crosses that my dressage trainer's other clients rode. I was also partial to Arabs since my very first lesson horse (who my parents ended up letting me lease) was also an Arabian. Plus, it didn't hurt that I learned to ride dressage and hunters on a Dutch WB mare (who I regretfully sold later so I could be a "responsible adult" and go to college). When Chelsea found an Arab/DWB (later named Stretch because he will not stop growing), I was in love with the idea of that particular cross, and have secretly coveted Stretch ever since.

Back to present times. When Chelsea asked how much I wanted for Biff, I told her that I would just give him to her, because it was the best home I could ever find for him. Plus, he was a $230 auction rescue who couldn't canter. Realistically, with today's horse market, he's not worth that much to begin with. Then she asked if I wanted Stretch in exchange. I almost fell out of my chair. I was sure that Chelsea had lost her mind. I mean, who trades a VERY nice Warmblood with loads of potential for a $230 auction rescue trail horse? I tried to remind her that it was NOT an equal trade, and that I couldn't afford to pay her the difference. Her response was the same "he's going to a great home" line that I gave her about Biff. (That's the weird thing about us horse folk. We'll willingly lose money on a horse just to rest assured that they are taken care of and loved.)

Chelsea is bringing Stretch down next Friday, and picking up Biff. When someone offers to trade you a Ferarri for a Volvo (as Fuglyhorseoftheday author Cathy put it in a not-so-subtle test message), you DON'T say no. I am thrilled and can't WAIT to see him in my pasture.

I am also a little freaked out. With Biff, there was no expectation. He was never going to be the dressage superstar of my dreams, so there was never pressure when I rode him. He was the horse I could ride when I didn't feel like schooling anything and I could putz around on him without worrying about ruining anything special, but he has an endless list of dressage-y things to work on, so he kept me occupied and amused.

Now, I will have a young horse with potential for upper-level dressage. I was worried that I wouldn't "do him justice." I can usually bring a horse up to 1st level dressage by myself, but as soon as we start getting into the greater collection and lateral work of 2nd level, I prefer to have eyes on the ground. Preferably the eyes of a trainer. I am also at a disadvantage because I cannot afford to keep a horse in full-time training with a dressage pro. I can afford lessons, but I also know that the learning curve for "lessons-only" training is much slower than the learning curve for "pro rides 5 days a week and the occasional owner lesson" training. It was stressing me out.

Key word: "was."

Then I had to be logical and reasonable:

1.) Stretch doesn't care if he makes Grand Prix. Stretch doesn't even know what Grand Prix means. He probably only cares about eating, pooping, and getting the occasional scritch. Stretch will not be disappointed if he never makes it to the FEI levels, or if he is "only" at 2d level by the time he's 15. It's silly for me to think I am somehow letting him down by not being able to progress as quickly as I'd like.

2.) The whole point of me wanting a horse with upper-level potential is for ME to learn how to bring a horse along up through the levels. If I hand off every talented horse I get to a professional trainer because I'm afraid I wont be able to get them to their highest level of performance, I will never learn how to do it myself. This is as much for me as it is for him. Oh, who am I kidding? This is MORE for me than it is for him (see point #1, above). It has been insanely frustrating to ride under gifted trainers and instructors on a less-than-suitable horse. Trying to advance my riding skills was like trying to wade through molasses; painfully slow.

So who cares if Stretch is only doing 2nd level 10 years from now? If that's where we're at in 10 years, that's where we're at. It's more about the journey, anyway. I just like having high goals. What's that saying about shooting for the moon and landing in the stars? That's generally what I go for...

When Stretch arrives on Friday, he is getting turned out in my 5-acre pasture with my small herd. He gets time to just be a horse while I finish my last 3 months of school. He earned it. Plus, Chelsea thinks he's *still* growing...

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.