This has nothing to do with horses, but it is making me smile this week, so I am sticking it here, because basically nothing about horses is making me smile right now. Sigh.

Life is about 12 steps beyond insane, but I did want to mention this here:

https://zenbabyhorse.wordpress.com/2015/05/06/show-season-hacks/

http://www.bakersfielddressage.com/home/incompetence

http://dotstreamming.blogspot.com/2015/05/re-training-innate.html

http://fit2continue.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-future-equestrian.html

The eventing world has been up in arms about public statements made about the euthanizing of Emily Cammock’s Rolex horse Dambala – both the original statements and the kerfuffle about them on the Chronicle of the Horse forums.

I’ve read just about everything from both sides, and thought a lot about this in the last day or so. I’ve thought a lot about upper level eventing in general in the last few years as well, the risk factor, the trajectory, the public image.

Before I get to my opinion it might help you to know that the first and only Rolex Kentucky Event at which I spectated was in 2008. It was a weekend of incredible highs and unbelievable lows. I was at the starting box and the finish line to see Karen O’Connor ride Teddy around. I still get a lump in my throat remembering that pony, being able to see him in person. I remember Courageous Comet’s gallop. I remember seeing Phillip Dutton’s cross country position for the first time in person.

You know what else I remember that day? Walking up a hill and arriving at the crest just in time to see screens go up for The Quiet Man.

I remember a few hours later, walking up another hill, just about to crest it, and hearing screaming as Frodo Baggins flipped over the flower basket. That collective crowd-wide indrawn gasp, and then screaming. I didn’t end up going over the hill – I couldn’t face it. The friend I was traveling with that weekend was in the front row at the flower basket with her daughter. They watched Frodo convulse and die right in front of them, watched Laine get airlifted off course. I lay on the grass, my coat over my head to shield it from the sun, and cried, and tried to read. It felt like hours.

I remember standing at the Head of the Lake watching Boyd Martin take an unbelievably nasty fall into the water – it was not a drop that year, but his horse glanced off, he hit the ground hard and went into the water face-down, and was still. The EMTs, in one of the most impressive quick responses I’ve ever seen in person, were in the water with him in seconds, stabilized his back, and flipped him over so he could breathe. He came to within seconds (he may never have been fully unconscious, just stunned), and walked around a bit, and then tried to mount his horse again – this was before one fall and out. He couldn’t find the stirrup with his foot. He stabbed his toe at it two, three times, and kept missing. I remember standing there and praying that he would call it a day. Please, don’t get back on that horse. He didn’t, and he withdrew his other horse for the next day.

I love eventing. I loved most of that weekend at Rolex. But I can close my eyes and still put myself in that moment, seeing the screens go up, hearing the screams, watching Boyd still in the water.

Which brings me to this year. An equine athlete died as a direct result of injuries incurred while eventing at Rolex.

Part of the deal any professional rider makes – in exchange for riding at the highest levels, in exchange for supporters and sponsors, in exchange for the world stage at a 4* event – is to put themselves in the public eye. It’s unavoidable. It’s a trade that many are willing to make. Perhaps 50, 75 years ago an event rider could come to a major event and simply be there that weekend, be in the moment and ride, and fade away afterwards.

Not anymore. The world is bigger, and it is more connected. It is more expensive, with a bigger stage, higher sponsor demands, and more opportunities. I’m not lauding or lamenting that; it simply is. Eventing has been moving this way for some time now. It can’t be a niche sport and survive. It has a passionate fanbase, and an increasingly internet-savvy following.

When a horse dies on course at Rolex, questions need to asked. Period. When a rider issues an initial statement that seems to imply the decision to put that horse down was made based on whether or not he would continue to have a career, that looks bad. Really bad.

Should we trust Emily Cammock implicitly? Should we always assume that riders at Rolex have their horse’s best interests at heart, and of course they explored all the options before making the decision to euthanize?

I would really, really like to. But we can’t. No one is immune; not on that stage. If we stop asking questions when the worst happens, then we let it happen unscrutinized. Does it cause some pain to those who have had to make those horrible decisions? Yes. But that’s part of the trade. You lose some of that anonymity and that privacy when terrible accidents happen. If we’re going to make this sport better, safer, and more responsible, we need to know what happened. I’m not saying we hound someone, or pre-judge, or behave in any manner that is not kind and respectful. But we need to ask questions.

In this case, the follow up statement clarified the decision, and said what we all hoped: that retirement was considered and even planned, but wasn’t possible.

Look: I would love to live in a world where terrible accidents happen at Rolex and we can assume that everyone involved does the best they can, makes the best possible decisions, is altruistic and selfless, and that the accident itself was a pure accident. We don’t. We live in a world where people do terrible things to horses, and too often no one speaks up.

Can you imagine if something happened and we didn’t ask questions? If we just treated it as the norm? If we accepted horses dying, injuring themselves, being euthanized, and just shrugged if off and said “I’m sure everyone is doing the best they can” and moved on? No. That’s not honest, and it doesn’t help anyone.

Bad things thrive in silence, in quiet, and in obscurity. We can’t contribute to that by throwing our hands in the air and looking the other way when something terrible happens on the biggest day of eventing in America.

Really not much going on in my life. Yesterday, I made banana bread, did the dishes, packed several boxes, took Arya to the dog park, researched homeowner’s insurance, made an appointment with an electrician, opened windows for airing out, watched the new Game of Thrones, planned meals for the week, and so on.

What I did not do: ride my horse.

sigh.

I stopped by the barn, and checked on him in his paddock. Swelling is down to more or less normal. It’s not terribly unusual for him to have slightly puffy fetlocks, so what I check for is evenness. His RF felt exactly the same as his LF. That was after his first 24 hours without bute, so I’ll take it.

Both fetlocks felt equally warm, because he has black legs and he was standing in the sun. No difference between them, though, which I’ll take as good.

He looked and sounded even at the walk.

I brought him in to the indoor and jogged him briefly. Juuuuuuuust a teensy bit hesitant spinning left on a tight circle. A little bit more spinning right, putting more torque on that RF.

Then he took off like a lunatic, hit the end of his lead rope, and farted in my general direction. We discussed his poor life choices, and when we walked back out to the pasture, he was a bit painful on that RF.

sigh.

I do still firmly believe that he just tweaked it doing an Old Horse thing. He would’ve been much more acute if it were anything truly serious, and he wouldn’t be recovering so quickly.

Regardless, now is not the time to push. If he were headed to Rolex, or even a local show, there would be things I can do, but none of them will work better than rest and time.

I will go today, because it’s my day off and it will be the warmest day of 2015 so far, even into the 60s. I’ll scrub winter fur off of him and evaluate that fetlock again, but I probably won’t jog him out. It’s been 5 days, so he’s earned himself a longer respite between checks. I’ll jog him again at the end of the week and we’ll see.

sigh.

In the meantime, I’m going to try to write up some movie and book reviewing so I still have interesting things to talk about that aren’t my own lame horse.

Once we realized that he needed to be blanketed for cold this winter, because the disease was playing havoc with his temperature regulation, he went into his full blanket rotation. That worked really well. I checked on him constantly, and had lots of ongoing conversation with the barn manager about how he was coping. He trucked along beautifully in his assortment of blankets, and we figured out his parameters for each blanket, about which more later.

After his first full winter of being blanketed, he only developed the slightest hint of the beginning of a rub from once blanket, and we just swapped it out. Problem solved. He’s got a spot on his mane that is less than ideal, but it’s also very far from rubbed out – just a little thinner & shorter.

He gained both muscle tone and weight through the winter. Not enough of the former, a bit too much of the latter. The barn worked really hard in this unbelievably cold weather to get them as close to free choice hay as possible, and we even ended up cutting out the alfalfa pellets from Tristan’s diet and scaling back his ration of Carb Guard.

Right now, he’s actually borderline too heavy for my own preferences. I’ve always kept him on the lean side, because he’s such an easy keeper. He’s also waaaaaaaaay out of shape, even with the improved muscle tone, because of this #$@&#$ winter.

He is alert, happy, and shedding like crazy right in sync with his normal shedding time and amount.

He saw the vet late last week for a physical, teeth floating, and vaccinations, and here’s what she had to say in her report:

Haircoat appropriate length/thickness for season and there is no topline wasting or other subjective signs of Cushing’s disease. 

Body Condition Score = 5/9. Perfect!! Ribs can be felt easily but not seen unless in the right light. This is an ideal body weight for your animal. 

Excellent teeth with shiny pulp cavities and no evidence of diseased teeth or feed packing. Sharp points all arcades and M3’s have small ramps. Reduced all sharp points and ramps.

Atta boy! He turns 20 in 2 more weeks, so I couldn’t be happier that the vet was thrilled. 🙂

We will keep him off grass until the spring growing has finished, and then transition him on to the least lush grass and keep an eagle eye. Hopefully he’ll get some time out on the grass when it’s least dangerous for him, and hopefully with careful monitoring we’ll be able to get a good sense for his tolerance. He still does not show any signs of more general metabolic disease, so there’s no clear reason to think he won’t do well on grass.

Now that it’s spring, we’ll get back in shape and here’s to a great summer. 🙂 I really think that so far we are in the best case scenario for a Cushings horse.

One of the things I did during my endless night check was let my mind wander and think about why I actually love horses, instead of how frustrated I was that this was taking so long.

I thought about language and writing and all the wonderful words that are connected to horses, and are so horse-specific. Then I thought about all the feelings and moments in horses that have no words.

So, for your perusal, here are a list of horse things that really ought to have their own word. I bet we can think up tons more!

– the endless hanging moment in the middle of a wide oxer when you’ve been in the air just half a heartbeat longer than you thought possible
– the smell of a horse’s nose in summer, that perfect mix of sunshine, grass, and horse
– the adrenaline rush of a horse taking up the bit and surging forward when you ask for a gallop
– the almost audible click of a horse locking on to a fence
– the sense of rightness in the universe when you nail the perfect striding to a perfect jump
– the moment when you realize that the mud puddle you just stepped in is over the height of your boots, and your foot is coming back up with just a sock
– the perfect spot where a horse’s neck meets his shoulder, you know, the one where you bury your face when you need to cry
– the peaceful happy sound of a barn full of horses munching on hay at the end of a long day
– the endless possibility of a forward-striding horse on a beautiful open trail
– the gangly wobbly awkwardness of a week-old foal out in the field
– the floating weightlessness of a collected canter
– the intense, neverending itch of hay chaff stuck underneath a bra and down your underwear
– the happy, productive, satisfying feel of bridle leather between your fingers as you work conditioner into it
– the muscle memory that takes over when you post to a lovely big trot without even thinking

Anyone else?

I’m passing this along from a dear friend. ESPN is running a contest to give charity moneys to various foundations. Basically, you vote for a particular coach, and then that coach chooses the money to give charity.

If Matt Painter, head coach for Purdue University men’s basketball team wins, he will donate it toward a charity that promotes research into a rare and devastating disease called Niemann Pick Type C.

The friend who sent me this information is married to a wonderful man whose brother and two sisters died of this disease before they became teenagers. His family started a foundation to begin research into the disease, and thanks to the research of that foundation they were able to develop a genetic test. He alone of his siblings is not a carrier, and he was able to start a family because of that research. They have a beautiful little girl together.

Please take a moment to vote for Matt Painter at the ESPN website. You’ll have to sign up for an account, which is frustrating, but this is worth it.

Thank you.

Horse people know that money is always in short supply, right? 

Once or twice a week, I get a call on my cell phone. Usually it’s late morning. The number on my screen comes up as “Manghi’s Bread.”

Seeing that number on my cell phone almost always makes me smile. It’s a signal that the owner of the local bakery is calling me and asking me to make a delivery for her. The only time it makes me sad is when I’m out of town and won’t be back by 5pm.

On the days I can make the delivery, I leave work right on time, walk home, grab my car, and stop by the bakery. It always smells delicious, and everyone is cheerful. I take the slightly longer route to the barn and I pull over a few times at a small local hardware store, or coop, or country store.

It only adds 15-20 minutes to my evening, and it makes me happy to have my car smell of fresh-baked bread. Each time I make a delivery, I can order off the menu: I get one of anything I want. Usually, I opt for a loaf of whole wheat sandwich bread, but sometimes I’ll get a honey bran, or maple walnut, or oatmeal.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I bought a loaf of bread. I think it’s been over two years. Either a Manghi’s delivery run comes along at just the right time, or I bake some bread of my own. I love bread, and would happily eat a loaf every two or three days, so I try to limit myself to really high-quality bread with straightforward ingredients. It’s my own small version of portion control.

Delivering bread is also great because it adds in an ironclad guarantee that I’ll go to the barn. Especially in winter, it’s much too easy to look at the temperature, get discouraged, and not even go out to groom. The last stop on my typical bread run is just 5 minutes from the barn. On days when I know that it’s too cold to ride, I often grab Arya and bring her with me, and we work on some training at the barn. I tie her leash to Tristan’s stall and we work on a long wait while I fuss over him.

I’ve bartered for other things in my life, too, horsey and not. I work with my friend to trade either a bag of home-baked goodies or business/website work for Tristan’s massages. I’ve done many, many hours of chores to earn lesson credits. I’ve traded tack, or hauling. I’ve taken barters in return when I’ve provided help or services for another person. There’s something more personal and satisfying about it to me – and it helps me afford a lot of things I wouldn’t be able to do otherwise. I quite simply don’t have the $200 a month in my budget for regular lessons, but if I carve out enough time I can get quality advice.

Have you ever bartered for things in your horse life? What’s worked for you? Or do you prefer to keep business separate, and pay for everything you get?