Bridget Has a Turn

Since their expedition together, George and Rose have gotten all soppy. Yesterday, they were off smooching together in the back pasture, while Bridget stayed behind in the front pasture. She parked herself hopefully by the gate and succeeded in luring me out to set her free on the lawn.

When she expressed an interest in the barn pasture, I opened the gate for her, and in she went.

Bridget on left of drive, Rose and George on right, me on lawnmower.

She was having a fine time and was not particularly interested in being returned to the fold. You can see why.

She has been eating dirt. I must hurry out and buy some more mineral lick tomorrow. Isn't there something bad which can happen when you get sand in your gut? And isn't there something you can do to get rid of it?

Here is George wondering what all this lawn mowing is about.

Not Without Honor Except in Your Own Household

Unlike those polite equines who belong to Other People, my own horses are totally unimpressed with my sympathetic bedside manner. All right, all right, I know - it would go easier if only I did it more often.

Today, while Rose and George were out on the lawn, I decided it would be a good day to give them a bit of a trim. After an hour or so of lush grazing, surely they wouldn't mind standing still while I did their feet? Actually they would.

But I discovered a good way to deal with the George. First of all, you trim Rose. Of course, Bridget has to hover over the fence in order to chew my hair; and George, who is on the same side of the fence as us, tries to occupy the exact same space as me and Rose. So I pretend to be very stern and manage to keep him, oh, about 33" away.

Then, having established that I am the Bad Cop today, when it's his turn for trimming, I keep up the don't-mess-with-me-young-man attitude. When he wants to put his foot down, I just hang on for dear life and refuse to let go. He hops around on three legs and finally concedes that it is in fact possible to stand with one foot off the ground. It can't have been too traumatic for the dear boy, as when I cut him loose, he didn't go away. I'm glad I got to his feet (well, just the front ones today), as the heels were starting to contract. He has hard feet that just keep growing, with very little flaring or chipping. I think he'd need a lot of travel on rough ground to wear his hoofs down.

When Rose was having her turn, she was distracted and restless. However, persistence paid off again, and she ended up letting me get all four feet done.

Here is Rose's abscess slit grown almost half way down her foot.

I said I "pretended" to be stern with George - he responds well to a sort of jokey bossiness. He really doesn't like you to be for-real mad at him, but here is the sort of attitude that seems to make George go, "Oh she means business, but she's still my friend":

My son, aged 5, 1997

Rose Explores

Today, when I opened the gate for George to come out onto the lawn, Rose was at the ready. She'd been watching and waiting for the Open Sesame and had positioned herself to follow George out. A first! She set off happily to see what she could see.

Here is Bridget's opinion of George and Rose going off without her.

George enjoyed a roll on the lawn. He wouldn't stop eating though, and in between gyrations, he continued snatching mouthfuls of grass from a reclining position.

I had big plans for cleaning house and putting away laundry today, but somehow it was so much more enticing to spend time with Rose and George wandering around the yard. When I put my daughter on the bus this morning, it was 40F, but by noontime it was perfect weather for lounging in the shade.

When I caught George and returned him to the field, Rose thought about it and decided, well, maybe she wouldn't go with him. I let her stay out, in the interests of Building Independence.

To my surprise, she attached herself to me and followed me across the yard away from the other horses. She checked in with me a couple of times, touching my arm ever so softly with her nose.

Frequently she looked back to make sure she knew where the others were. When she finally got homesick and headed back, she found George looking over the fence. Poor George - starved for affection. With the fence safely intervening, Rose permitted a little mutual grooming.

Look - you can make out Rose's ribs in this photo. She has such a huge chest that her ribs are visible even when she's quite well covered, which she is at the moment.

When Rose made it clear that she wanted to go back to the field, she was, however, unwilling to let me put her halter on. She doesn't think too much of halters. However, I was determined that if I put the halter on, and then took her to the field where she wanted to go and then took it off again, that would constitute a Good Halter Experience, and so I persevered. I don't believe in pussy-footing around or being sneaky, so I just kept going up to her and saying, "Here's the halter, let's put it on." Took a lot of tries, but she finally agreed.

Rose is what, I believe, Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling calls "The Sceptic." But today, when she was striding around the yard on her own, I thought her face looked rather different - stronger, more authoritative, more outgoing. She's an interesting character, our Rose.

A-Trimming We Will Go

Somewhere there must be a magic land where all the horses are placid and free of joint pain, where they stand serenely for long periods of time while you evaluate ratios and map out and mark up the hoof with your Sharpie marker. These horses like nothing better than to rest their feet in that comfy Hoof Jack while you fine-tune their hoofs according to strict protocol. I've heard they even sing to you while you work.

One day, my fairy godmother will wave her wand and transport me to this Shangri-La. In the meantime, it appears that I am living in the Real World.

I recently put an ad the in the local free paper, and to my surprise and delight, I received several calls. One was from a lady with a laminitic pony, whom I referred to my friend who is experienced with hoof rehab. Another gentleman called to ask me to trim his 4H heifers, a job I was forced to turn down. However, two calls lead to appointments.

One was a middle-aged QH mare with a very nice owner. The mare was extremely overgrown, with layers of false sole and very long toes. However, apart from that her feet looked relatively healthy. She was rather stiff and found it hard to keep her feet up for long. However, I found that if she put one foot down, she would be quite willing to pick up a different one - so I gradually worked my way through, going from foot to foot and back again. The Sharpie marker, however, remained in my pocket. The owner was very glad that I was patient and sympathetic, and she thought that next time it might be a good idea to dose the mare with a little Bute beforehand to make it more comfortable for her. The owner even paid me $10 more than I asked for!

The next call was an older gentleman who had acquired two horses for his granddaughters. No one had "fooled with" the horses for a long time, but the granddaughters had recently moved in next door and were now keen to get started. He warned me over the phone that they might be difficult to trim due to their lack of handling (the horses that is, not the granddaughters). When I arrived, I found that one of the horses was a 30-year old TB mare, and the other was a 14-year old Appaloosa gelding. I asked their names, and the owner said, "I think they call him Sno Caps." He said they called the mare Winnie. I started with the old mare, and she turned out to be perfectly sweet about the whole thing, which surprised her owner. Despite an 18-month gap since her last trim, her feet weren't too bad as she'd worn them down pretty well.  Once again, however, her age and stiffness meant that I had to be quick and dispense with some of the niceties. Although I know that the Man Himself (that would be Gene Ovnicek) would not approve of all this Sharpie neglect.

Next up was the Appaloosa gelding, who despite his juniority (a new word!), was stiffer and more uncomfortable than the mare. I felt bad for him, as he seemed to have some real joint issues, and I could hear him creaking. The owner blamed his reluctance to lift his feet on "laziness," but he was really trying to cooperate, and as with the QH mare, I found that if I let him have a rest whenever he wanted, he would be willing to give me that foot again later. I would like to have spent a lot longer on this horse, but he had really been a trooper about letting me accomplish as much as I did, and I felt that it was too much to ask him for any more.

With all three horses, I found that if I indicated which foot I wanted, they would pick it up of their own accord.  I also found I was less alarmed by, and more able to deal with, sudden reflexive kicking motions in the hind leg - something which the TB and the Appaloosa both did once or twice. Because they had been so cooperative all along, it seemed clear that the movement was an attempt to relieve pain or tightness and was not aimed at me.

The TB/Appaloosa owner said he'd call me in four to six months! I suggested that even though his horses were in surprisingly good shape after 18 months, it would be a good idea to trim more often so that the hoofs stay in more consistent balance. He conceded that it might be a good idea. I hope he calls me sooner rather than later, as the Appaloosa especially could use some help.

I have no photos of these horses or their feet to post. So instead I will close with a shot of what the teeth of a certain Miss Bridget did to my cleverly constructed temporary fencing solution.

George is Conflicted

George was not sure today whether he wanted to be out on the lawn or in the pasture with his ladies. I let him out, but pretty soon I spied him leaning over the gate.

I went out, opened the gate for him, and he went half way through. "This is fine right here," he said.

He decided he would stay in that spot, and moreover that I should move in with him and keep scratching him as long as he wanted.

Finally he went all the way in, and I shut the gate. Then of course he wanted to come out again. But not all the way out. Bridget was hovering nearby. In the end, because I'm a softie, I let them both come out together, and they spent a happy hour or two before both deciding it was time to go back.

Later, I went to spend some time with them in the pasture. George came to park himself beside me and be scratched. But he kept making evil faces if I hit the wrong spot. Finally he gave me such a mean look, I stomped off in a huff. He vented his frustration at this turn of events by galloping the mares over to the far side of the field. As soon as I was out of the gate, he turned around and headed back, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth: "Here I come! I'm back!" Naturally, I relented and went in again. George came over to re-position himself beside me, and this time he was a little nicer.

Eventually, George stood off by himself to doze, and Bridget came over to hang out and have a little nap too, while Rose and Chloe kept each other company in the distance.

I have gotten so worried about offending the horses in any way, that for the life of me I can't see how I'm ever going to get around to riding again. But today, I did a funny thing. I was standing by Bridget's head, when suddenly I had the urge to put my arms around her neck and jump onto her front like a baby monkey. So I did - or sortof tried to. She squealed in surprise, but stood perfectly still. What a silly human.

Your Daily Dose of Aw

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More Trail Blazing

Hooray! I made it all around the alfalfa fields and back to the barn, and the mower survived!

This was the easy part. In some places, the greenery was a foot or more
high. Another week, and I'd've had to put this idea off until next
year. I had to stop frequently to unclog the blades as it was.

Bridget and George followed along for a while.