In the next few days I'll put up a proper memorial post for my boy but for now it is time for a sneak peak at the painting project to satisfy my nosy mother since she is out of town.
Wordless Wednesday: Sunset jump lesson
1 year ago
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Lot's o stuff
Been a long time since I posted. Many of you may figure that selling Fame was the end of the story. Sadly I have to inform my readers that just days after they made the decision to keep Fame he passed away. Liver failure. He was a healthy horse one day and dieing the next. They believe he ingested something toxic as it came on very fast.
In the next few days I'll put up a proper memorial post for my boy but for now it is time for a sneak peak at the painting project to satisfy my nosy mother since she is out of town.
In the next few days I'll put up a proper memorial post for my boy but for now it is time for a sneak peak at the painting project to satisfy my nosy mother since she is out of town.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Crying Over Fruit
To start with I should probably say that I think about horses about as often as my newly-wed sister thinks of babies. If you have read her blog or even spent 5 min. with her you would know that is a lot.
I've had horses on the brain for a long time. I remeber when I was and itty-bitty kid begging dad to walk me up the road so that I could pet the horses. Just a little ways from our home in Illinios there was a big field behind a dipalidated barbed wire fence that was the home to a pair of horses. We would frequently bring them apples and carrots. With his fingers in his mouth my dad would make the loudest wistle in the whole universe and with out fail those two horses would come running to get their snack.
I didn't know much about horses, but I loved to watch them make their way toward us, i knew I loved the way their tickly wiskers and velvety noises ticked my open palm when they would take the goodies out of my out reached hand. I liked to pull the bits of grass and burrs out of thier tangled manes and scratch the brilliant white stars on their foreheads. I also loved the way they smelled.
During that age I was also a girl scout, when ever we'd get the flyers in the mail for the various camps I remeber asking mom on more than one occasion to let me go to hores camp. Unfortunatly it was quite expensive and that wish would never be relized.
But my horse crazy didn't end there. I probably had more plastic horses than I had barbie dolls. I recall many barbie play sessions with my younger sister where her barbie family lived in the gigantic barbie mansion while mine lived in the lop of my horse barn and they where very happy. This arrangment was not because Kayla's barbies would not share the house, my barbies just like living in the attic of the barn.
Perhaps on odd arrangmet but I've had dreams like that. Me in my future life, having a big spread of maniquired green grass pastures and one big barn. I would live in the loft in a giant studio style living space, me and a couple of crazy dogs. There would be a large front facing window where the light of the rising sun could just pour in, and also proffer me an equisite veiw of my patures and my horses at play. *leh sigh* Paradise.
The horse crazy is a sickness and I've got it pretty bad. When I got my fisrt opritunity to really handle horses extensivly and to actually learn to ride I went a little crazy and pretty much made up for my previous 19 years of horse poverty disscovering a different sort of poverty in the process.
I had a horse and I loved him, but I had no money, I had dropped out of collage, I had debts piling and a practically sold my soul to the guy who ran the barn where my horse was being boarded. For the sake of my lovely, amazing, wonderful horse, I contuniue to sacrifice at the expense of my own well being.
While having him gone feels like something of a relife of this burden that I have shouldered for so very long. I feel that both Fame and me will be better off in the long run, and that selling him was the right choice. BUT I STILL HAVE THE SICKNESS!
I can't drive by a pasture of horses with out turning to look or identifiing the breeds of horse. I have a shirt that I wore down to the barn that I haven't washed yet just because I miss that smell. I still dream about the kind of horses I will own in the future, and I cry over friut.
On sunday evening I made an apple crisp for my family. This required much peeling and slicing, and after I had cut up the apples I took one look at that bag of apple peelings and cores and was sad. Fame would have loved to have those. Ordinarlly I would have collected those up and given them to my apple loving horse. After devouring them he would have made a point to check each of my pokets to be sure I wasn't keeping anything, and make weird faces at me until I produced more goodies. I sure am going to miss that goober.
I've had horses on the brain for a long time. I remeber when I was and itty-bitty kid begging dad to walk me up the road so that I could pet the horses. Just a little ways from our home in Illinios there was a big field behind a dipalidated barbed wire fence that was the home to a pair of horses. We would frequently bring them apples and carrots. With his fingers in his mouth my dad would make the loudest wistle in the whole universe and with out fail those two horses would come running to get their snack.
I didn't know much about horses, but I loved to watch them make their way toward us, i knew I loved the way their tickly wiskers and velvety noises ticked my open palm when they would take the goodies out of my out reached hand. I liked to pull the bits of grass and burrs out of thier tangled manes and scratch the brilliant white stars on their foreheads. I also loved the way they smelled.
During that age I was also a girl scout, when ever we'd get the flyers in the mail for the various camps I remeber asking mom on more than one occasion to let me go to hores camp. Unfortunatly it was quite expensive and that wish would never be relized.
But my horse crazy didn't end there. I probably had more plastic horses than I had barbie dolls. I recall many barbie play sessions with my younger sister where her barbie family lived in the gigantic barbie mansion while mine lived in the lop of my horse barn and they where very happy. This arrangment was not because Kayla's barbies would not share the house, my barbies just like living in the attic of the barn.
Perhaps on odd arrangmet but I've had dreams like that. Me in my future life, having a big spread of maniquired green grass pastures and one big barn. I would live in the loft in a giant studio style living space, me and a couple of crazy dogs. There would be a large front facing window where the light of the rising sun could just pour in, and also proffer me an equisite veiw of my patures and my horses at play. *leh sigh* Paradise.
The horse crazy is a sickness and I've got it pretty bad. When I got my fisrt opritunity to really handle horses extensivly and to actually learn to ride I went a little crazy and pretty much made up for my previous 19 years of horse poverty disscovering a different sort of poverty in the process.
I had a horse and I loved him, but I had no money, I had dropped out of collage, I had debts piling and a practically sold my soul to the guy who ran the barn where my horse was being boarded. For the sake of my lovely, amazing, wonderful horse, I contuniue to sacrifice at the expense of my own well being.
While having him gone feels like something of a relife of this burden that I have shouldered for so very long. I feel that both Fame and me will be better off in the long run, and that selling him was the right choice. BUT I STILL HAVE THE SICKNESS!
I can't drive by a pasture of horses with out turning to look or identifiing the breeds of horse. I have a shirt that I wore down to the barn that I haven't washed yet just because I miss that smell. I still dream about the kind of horses I will own in the future, and I cry over friut.
On sunday evening I made an apple crisp for my family. This required much peeling and slicing, and after I had cut up the apples I took one look at that bag of apple peelings and cores and was sad. Fame would have loved to have those. Ordinarlly I would have collected those up and given them to my apple loving horse. After devouring them he would have made a point to check each of my pokets to be sure I wasn't keeping anything, and make weird faces at me until I produced more goodies. I sure am going to miss that goober.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Hardest Part is Letting Go
Sometimes the hardest part is letting go. Most animal owners know that a time will come when you will have to say goodbye. It is an undeniable truth and the price you pay to allow a creature with a life expectancy much shorter than your own into your heart. Farewell will come, but that knowledge does not make is any easier.
No, Fame is not dead but in a few hours someone is bring a trailer and he is going to what hopefully is going to be a new permanent home. I will watch that trailer pull away with a big piece of my broken heart.
I have known for a while that I would have to sell him, and was in denial about ever having to sell him for longer still. I have had animals die while in my ownership and while heartbreaking it is a natural conclusion. In addition you can trust God to look after them until you get up there.
To sell is a little different. He may not be dead, but the hardest part is not knowing. Every time he got hurt or sick I was there and stuck with him doggedly until he okay. I spent a night, slept in the barn, when he had a particularly scary bout of colic. I've spent money to make sure he has been fed, shod, and vetted even when I have had no money to feed myself. I have given up much for the opportunity to have the title of "Horse Mom".
I think back, and I think about all the rash, rebellious, choices I made that got me into horses in the first place, the choices that took me down this precarious path. I may have been stupid about a lot of it. But I cannot regret the lessons learned and being able to share my heart with one of these amazing and wonderful animals. He is my first horse but defiantly not my last. I will have horses again even if it takes years!
I know that the situation he'll be going to was sent by God. Fame is gonna be a therapy horse, working with disabled kids or kids from traumatic backgrounds. Mostly they'll do work with him on the ground or in hand. Lots of brushing and lots of goodies, all things he loves. Plus the girl that runs their program used to own him. I know that he'll be loved and looked after. I could not ask for a better outcome. While sad I know the timing couldn't be more perfect.
No, Fame is not dead but in a few hours someone is bring a trailer and he is going to what hopefully is going to be a new permanent home. I will watch that trailer pull away with a big piece of my broken heart.
I have known for a while that I would have to sell him, and was in denial about ever having to sell him for longer still. I have had animals die while in my ownership and while heartbreaking it is a natural conclusion. In addition you can trust God to look after them until you get up there.
To sell is a little different. He may not be dead, but the hardest part is not knowing. Every time he got hurt or sick I was there and stuck with him doggedly until he okay. I spent a night, slept in the barn, when he had a particularly scary bout of colic. I've spent money to make sure he has been fed, shod, and vetted even when I have had no money to feed myself. I have given up much for the opportunity to have the title of "Horse Mom".
I think back, and I think about all the rash, rebellious, choices I made that got me into horses in the first place, the choices that took me down this precarious path. I may have been stupid about a lot of it. But I cannot regret the lessons learned and being able to share my heart with one of these amazing and wonderful animals. He is my first horse but defiantly not my last. I will have horses again even if it takes years!
I know that the situation he'll be going to was sent by God. Fame is gonna be a therapy horse, working with disabled kids or kids from traumatic backgrounds. Mostly they'll do work with him on the ground or in hand. Lots of brushing and lots of goodies, all things he loves. Plus the girl that runs their program used to own him. I know that he'll be loved and looked after. I could not ask for a better outcome. While sad I know the timing couldn't be more perfect.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Fame's Story:If He Can't Fix It....
The following day R flew out for a horse show. At the end of our lesson the previous day he had delivered an ultimatum.
"If you can't get this horse to settle down and walk, he needs to be just a pleasure horse."
Those word hung in my head like clouds on an overcast day, along with the nagging fear that my horse was not alright. I knew that I had to do something. But what? I first consulted the "great internet sages". Most where stumped and offered little advise, and the ones who did wanted me to buy a $60 "carrot stick", a special rope halter and have me play a bazillon games with my horse. I didn't really see how that could help...
When I went to the barn that day I spent about an hour just on his grooming. I fussed over him and patted him and fed him carrots and grapes(his favorite treat) mostly to make myself feel better. I watched for any signs of odd behavior or lameness. I wished there where someone else in the barn who could take a look at him for me, another pair of eyes with judgment unclouded by the frightening experience that Fame and I had been through the previous day. I felt that since I lacked another person's objective I could send Fame out on a lunge line and perhaps get a better look for myself.
I clipped the line to his halter and sent him out. He walked slowly and calmly for one whole circle, and then began to build up and started to jog. I corrected with the lunge line.
"Walk," I stated firmly. Fame looked over at me with one ear back against his head the other pointed at me, and the whites of his eyes showing. He blew and began to nervously take up a trot.
"Walk!" I enforced again with my line. He gave me the same buggy eyed look and began to jig on the line. An idea was forming, I felt that I may have stumbled on to something. Fame didn't know what I was asking him, this was something that was contrary to his routine. The last one million times he'd been lunged in this barn it was always the same. He honestly thought that he was supposed to trot and was genuinely apprehensive and confused. I did a mental survey of all of my lessons with R, and all the workout routines I'd ever seen him do with any of the horses. It was all the same. The same patterns on the same day, every week, every month.
Every time we went out in the buggy we always trotted along the path, walk the round-a-bouts, and picked up the trot again on the straight. As where were coming out of the turn he'd anticipate the trot and build energy, after several buggy sessions I believe he also began anticipating our fights, which piled nervous energy onto a horse that could already be labeled as "hot" and that energy built and built and then there was an explosion. I believe Fame thought that he was doing what he was supposed to do. What his daily routine dictated was right. It had been hard wired into is brain for years. But the question remained about how I was to go about fixing it.
I told Fame to whoa and put him back in his stall, and went home to formulate a plan.
"Obedience," My roommate said. "You need to reenforce the obedience. You need to be certain that he knows what you are saying."
"R took the harness with him to the show, and the cart is broken," I replied.
"Lunge him, he gets three seconds to respond to your request and then correct him. He needs to understand the basic's of what you are telling him before you add harness, saddles, carts and things."
I took the advice to heart, and the following day my roomie and I both went out to the barn. I borrowed a bridal, put on Fame's splint boots and bell boots, I clipped my lung line to the bridle, and with a horse in one hand and a lunge whip in the other, marched into R's indoor arena.
I sent Fame out like I had many times, he quietly walked on revolution around me and started to jog. "Walk!" 1..2...3...No response from the horse. I pulled sharply on the line three times in quick succession. Fame staggered back like I had shot at him. He stood and blew and gave me bug eyes again. "Walk." I reminded, lightly twitching my whip hand for added emphasis. Fame walked. I didn't have Fame trot and canter, just walked until he could walk several revolutions with out building to a jog. By the end he was quiet and relaxed. It was a start.
I said my "good boy's" and put my horse to bed, I made a smooching noise and asked for a kiss. Fame lipped at my chin obligingly and sauntered over to his left over hay. I marched off to complete my innumerable list of barn chores.
I returned the next day to administer another lesson at the walk. To my amazement the big dope only needed a small reminder in the beginning of the session. So I added an upward transition and we transitioned between walk and jog. I did not count circles I asked him to trot when I felt like it, and made him walk when ever I wanted him to. I would be consistent in the way I handled him, I'd be consistent in my discipline, but there would be no more repetitive patterns. Leaving him nothing to anticipate forced him to listen and wait for my direction.
I then started lunging him in weird places, if the footing was level and the area big enough we'd lunge. I wanted to establish that listening wasn't only done in the arena. We had been doing this for days, I knew I need to take the next step but I was hesitant.
"You need to get back on him." My roomie chastised.
"R said not to ride him, it'll ruin his driving."
"R is the one who crashed him."
She had a point, since the crash I had begun to call into question my trainers knowledge and his methods. Plus he didn't start getting real bad in the buggy until I quit riding him in the first place. Further more R told me that I had to get that horse walking. I had to do what I thought was necessary.
If he couldn't fix him then I had to. It was time to ride.
"If you can't get this horse to settle down and walk, he needs to be just a pleasure horse."
Those word hung in my head like clouds on an overcast day, along with the nagging fear that my horse was not alright. I knew that I had to do something. But what? I first consulted the "great internet sages". Most where stumped and offered little advise, and the ones who did wanted me to buy a $60 "carrot stick", a special rope halter and have me play a bazillon games with my horse. I didn't really see how that could help...
When I went to the barn that day I spent about an hour just on his grooming. I fussed over him and patted him and fed him carrots and grapes(his favorite treat) mostly to make myself feel better. I watched for any signs of odd behavior or lameness. I wished there where someone else in the barn who could take a look at him for me, another pair of eyes with judgment unclouded by the frightening experience that Fame and I had been through the previous day. I felt that since I lacked another person's objective I could send Fame out on a lunge line and perhaps get a better look for myself.
I clipped the line to his halter and sent him out. He walked slowly and calmly for one whole circle, and then began to build up and started to jog. I corrected with the lunge line.
"Walk," I stated firmly. Fame looked over at me with one ear back against his head the other pointed at me, and the whites of his eyes showing. He blew and began to nervously take up a trot.
"Walk!" I enforced again with my line. He gave me the same buggy eyed look and began to jig on the line. An idea was forming, I felt that I may have stumbled on to something. Fame didn't know what I was asking him, this was something that was contrary to his routine. The last one million times he'd been lunged in this barn it was always the same. He honestly thought that he was supposed to trot and was genuinely apprehensive and confused. I did a mental survey of all of my lessons with R, and all the workout routines I'd ever seen him do with any of the horses. It was all the same. The same patterns on the same day, every week, every month.
Every time we went out in the buggy we always trotted along the path, walk the round-a-bouts, and picked up the trot again on the straight. As where were coming out of the turn he'd anticipate the trot and build energy, after several buggy sessions I believe he also began anticipating our fights, which piled nervous energy onto a horse that could already be labeled as "hot" and that energy built and built and then there was an explosion. I believe Fame thought that he was doing what he was supposed to do. What his daily routine dictated was right. It had been hard wired into is brain for years. But the question remained about how I was to go about fixing it.
I told Fame to whoa and put him back in his stall, and went home to formulate a plan.
"Obedience," My roommate said. "You need to reenforce the obedience. You need to be certain that he knows what you are saying."
"R took the harness with him to the show, and the cart is broken," I replied.
"Lunge him, he gets three seconds to respond to your request and then correct him. He needs to understand the basic's of what you are telling him before you add harness, saddles, carts and things."
I took the advice to heart, and the following day my roomie and I both went out to the barn. I borrowed a bridal, put on Fame's splint boots and bell boots, I clipped my lung line to the bridle, and with a horse in one hand and a lunge whip in the other, marched into R's indoor arena.
I sent Fame out like I had many times, he quietly walked on revolution around me and started to jog. "Walk!" 1..2...3...No response from the horse. I pulled sharply on the line three times in quick succession. Fame staggered back like I had shot at him. He stood and blew and gave me bug eyes again. "Walk." I reminded, lightly twitching my whip hand for added emphasis. Fame walked. I didn't have Fame trot and canter, just walked until he could walk several revolutions with out building to a jog. By the end he was quiet and relaxed. It was a start.
I said my "good boy's" and put my horse to bed, I made a smooching noise and asked for a kiss. Fame lipped at my chin obligingly and sauntered over to his left over hay. I marched off to complete my innumerable list of barn chores.
I returned the next day to administer another lesson at the walk. To my amazement the big dope only needed a small reminder in the beginning of the session. So I added an upward transition and we transitioned between walk and jog. I did not count circles I asked him to trot when I felt like it, and made him walk when ever I wanted him to. I would be consistent in the way I handled him, I'd be consistent in my discipline, but there would be no more repetitive patterns. Leaving him nothing to anticipate forced him to listen and wait for my direction.
I then started lunging him in weird places, if the footing was level and the area big enough we'd lunge. I wanted to establish that listening wasn't only done in the arena. We had been doing this for days, I knew I need to take the next step but I was hesitant.
"You need to get back on him." My roomie chastised.
"R said not to ride him, it'll ruin his driving."
"R is the one who crashed him."
She had a point, since the crash I had begun to call into question my trainers knowledge and his methods. Plus he didn't start getting real bad in the buggy until I quit riding him in the first place. Further more R told me that I had to get that horse walking. I had to do what I thought was necessary.
If he couldn't fix him then I had to. It was time to ride.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Fame's Story: After The Fall
This is what happen after "Thrills and Spills"
After the Fall
Fame lay still on his side, buggy shaft cracked over the top of him. I sat momentarily stupefied in the cart.
"Get out of the buggy Janell, quickly." R said quietly.
I bailed as fast as I could and immediately started unfastening any piece of harnessing I could get at.
"Get him unhooked Janell, when he comes up he's going to come up big," R finally managed to say as he stood off to the side staring blankly at the scene of the wreckage.
I had heard stories of Fame's younger years. About bolting, fence and hedge jumping...with the cart still attached. I was expecting him to get up quickly and I was expecting an explosion of epic proportions. I cannot really say how long he laid there. It was long enough that I remember worrying the he wouldn't get up.
Fame's ears flicked and he raised his neck to look over his shoulder.
"Get ready Janell," R spoke at me in barely more than a whisper.
With a heave Fame was back on his feet, and where we were prepared for sudden explosion the horse just stood there looking at me with his usual pleasant and alert expression. There was no blind terror, no bolting, no panic. He just stood, bits of broken and loose harnessing hanging haphazardly all over him. R quickly pulled the buggy off him. Fame shook as if he'd just gotten up from a good roll. Harness flopped to the ground. I picked it up and flung it over my shoulder. Rich told he to take my horse back in the barn.
I pulled the blinders off of Fame and stuck my arm through the ear holes. The head stall was broken, the egg-butt snaffle I had been driving him with dangled at the side of his face. I walk back into the barn, numb feeling, watching my feet drag in the dirt. My good sweet horse followed me. I led Fame all the way to the other end of the barn, removed the broken bridle, haltered him and, led him into the cross-tie. I set the harness on the cross-tie wall and prepared to un-tack him.
"Get the what ever pieces you need off the other harnesses and get your horse in the arena."
However perplexed I was about R telling me to get me horse ready to work after we had just crashed and screwed up the buggy, I numbly obeyed. I soon had my horse back in full harness. I stood at Fame's head, directly in front of him so he could see me, and waited for R. My numbness was wearing off. Like he had the first day met Fame rested his beautiful head on my chest. The flood gates bust open and a cascade of fear, sadness, frustration, anger, panic, and hopelessness burst forth in the form of tears. We were left undisturbed for several minuets. Eventually R had me finish Fame's workout, ground driving at the walk.
After the Fall
Fame lay still on his side, buggy shaft cracked over the top of him. I sat momentarily stupefied in the cart.
"Get out of the buggy Janell, quickly." R said quietly.
I bailed as fast as I could and immediately started unfastening any piece of harnessing I could get at.
"Get him unhooked Janell, when he comes up he's going to come up big," R finally managed to say as he stood off to the side staring blankly at the scene of the wreckage.
I had heard stories of Fame's younger years. About bolting, fence and hedge jumping...with the cart still attached. I was expecting him to get up quickly and I was expecting an explosion of epic proportions. I cannot really say how long he laid there. It was long enough that I remember worrying the he wouldn't get up.
Fame's ears flicked and he raised his neck to look over his shoulder.
"Get ready Janell," R spoke at me in barely more than a whisper.
With a heave Fame was back on his feet, and where we were prepared for sudden explosion the horse just stood there looking at me with his usual pleasant and alert expression. There was no blind terror, no bolting, no panic. He just stood, bits of broken and loose harnessing hanging haphazardly all over him. R quickly pulled the buggy off him. Fame shook as if he'd just gotten up from a good roll. Harness flopped to the ground. I picked it up and flung it over my shoulder. Rich told he to take my horse back in the barn.
I pulled the blinders off of Fame and stuck my arm through the ear holes. The head stall was broken, the egg-butt snaffle I had been driving him with dangled at the side of his face. I walk back into the barn, numb feeling, watching my feet drag in the dirt. My good sweet horse followed me. I led Fame all the way to the other end of the barn, removed the broken bridle, haltered him and, led him into the cross-tie. I set the harness on the cross-tie wall and prepared to un-tack him.
"Get the what ever pieces you need off the other harnesses and get your horse in the arena."
However perplexed I was about R telling me to get me horse ready to work after we had just crashed and screwed up the buggy, I numbly obeyed. I soon had my horse back in full harness. I stood at Fame's head, directly in front of him so he could see me, and waited for R. My numbness was wearing off. Like he had the first day met Fame rested his beautiful head on my chest. The flood gates bust open and a cascade of fear, sadness, frustration, anger, panic, and hopelessness burst forth in the form of tears. We were left undisturbed for several minuets. Eventually R had me finish Fame's workout, ground driving at the walk.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Happy birthday mother
It's my mothers birthday to day and I felt it appropriate the I send a special birthday shout out. And throw out a "very sappy post" warning.
Mother
Confidant and guardian
Caretaker and friend
Shelter in the storm
Held my hand in darkness
Loved me when I erred
Raised me in faith
Encouraged my creativity
Pushed for my success
Taught me of valiance
...Managed to put up with me for twenty-one years...
ahem...poetry is not one of my fortes. But I hope she knows I love her and appreciate her, despite my sappy bad poetry.
Happy Birthday Mom!
Mother
Confidant and guardian
Caretaker and friend
Shelter in the storm
Held my hand in darkness
Loved me when I erred
Raised me in faith
Encouraged my creativity
Pushed for my success
Taught me of valiance
...Managed to put up with me for twenty-one years...
ahem...poetry is not one of my fortes. But I hope she knows I love her and appreciate her, despite my sappy bad poetry.
Happy Birthday Mom!
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