Two New Donkeys

On Saturday, I had the privilege of trimming two new donkey clients. One was a jack, and the other a pregnant jenny. Both donkeys were inclined to kick at first. What am I saying, "inclined to"? Both donkeys did kick at first. Donkeys are good wee kickers, and the owner's granddaughter told me, with some satisfaction, that they had a friend whose jaw had been broken by a donkey kick. I can believe it. I did not get behind the donkeys.

Both donkeys calmed down when they figured out I wasn't going to grab their hind legs and hold on. They calmed down in different ways. The elderly jack donkey became very listening. He stood with his ears turned backwards toward me, like giant antennae tuned in to our conversation, and he became helpful. We bribed the more anxious jenny with apple at first, letting her eat when her foot was off the ground, and taking the apple away when either she or I put her foot on the ground. We ran out of apple by the time there was still a foot and a half to do, but we didn't need any more, as she had put herself into a meditative state by this time.

There's a sort of sadness to some donkeys that is very poignant. Perhaps they have all seen too much of life.

Later that same day, I trimmed our own horses. They were very good. Not so long ago they used to give me fits when I tried to work on their feet. I haven't trained them up to it, and I haven't accustomed them to the process much, as we have hard ground and I let them self-trim for months on end. We've just somehow gotten used to dealing with each other, and it was so nice to tie each one up in turn to the fence with a nice netful of alfalfa hay and have them stand there chomping peacefully while I matter-of-factly plonked their feet on the stand and nipped away and didn't bother my head much about anything except getting the job done.

Saturday was the first day we've had that really felt like spring. It was opening day of fishing season, I guess, and all the creek banks in our area were thronged with guys in camo and waders. I was happy for them that they had such a beautiful day to be out and about. Today the clouds and rain were back, and no one wore Easter dresses to church except the little girls - everyone else was still in their winter drab. Weather.com prognosticates more chilly weather for at least the next week. Sigh. Come back, Spring!

No More Mrs. Nice Guy

My oldest daughter informed me that I must set up a website, as no one under the age of 35 was ever going to look for a barefoot trimmer by any means other than Googling. So I dutifully set up my site and on it proclaimed that I eschew all recourse to anger or violence in response to nipping, kicking, or restlessness.

Having made this bold statement, two days later I went to trim some new horses and, of course, one of them nipped me, and another kept swiping at me with her hind foot.

The nipper was a young, cheeky mare with whom apparently nobody had ever had much success trimming, and she turned around to nip me a couple of times as I tried to work on her front feet. The kicker was a bossy, middle-aged mare who didn't think I was to be trusted with her hind legs.

Rather more conscious than usual, having made my public proclamation, of the need for patience, I ignored the nips and kicks and attempted to reach a harmonious concord with the mares, who rewarded me by renouncing their incursions upon my person and becoming rather cooperative and helpful.

A triumph for non-violence.

And then there's Trooper. Trooper is the nicest, sanest, most affable horse you could ever wish to meet. But he has sore stifles, and he doesn't want to pick up his right front leg. He it is of whom my daughter said, "I've never seen a horse rear so politely before." The last two times I was there, he absolutely refused - in the kindest, but most resolute manner - to let me work on his right front.

This morning he had been given bute, but things were no better; in fact the unwillingness had now spread to his left front also.

I asked the owner, "Does it help if you get mad at him?"

She said, "Oh, yes." So I thought, "What the heck, let's give it a try."

So when he snatched his foot away and started pawing the ground, I got in his face and roared at him like a mean, angry lion.

Magic!

I had to roar two or three more times, but with longer gaps in between, and both front feet got done pretty easily. Trooper didn't seem offended or alarmed by my weird threatening behavior. But it sure did work, although I don't think it would have worked with the two mares the other day. Trooper is so calm and confident and good-humored that roaring at him isn't enough to damage one's relationship with him - but it does seem to be enough to convince him that you're serious.

It's horses like Trooper that I find the most challenging to deal with when trimming - strong, fearless, confident, smart, dominant horses - although it's a type of horse I like very much. That kind of horse is has a lot of noblesse oblige and will let you work on his (it's usually a gelding) feet if it's convenient, but will not be willing to give you his feet if there is much discomfort involved. I've tried "establishing dominance" over Trooper by taking the leadrope and making him back up and stuff like that, which can  sometimes help with a different sort of horse. With Trooper it had no effect. Today he either was very impressed and intimidated by my mean lion act or else he felt sorry for me at having to act so stupid. Whatever, I'll take it.

Each horse is so different - just when I think I've got "them" figured out, I find out again that each horse must be learned anew. I'm glad it's like that.

Respecting No

I was very glad I answered the call to travel over an hour to trim one little miniature horse. Of course, I'm always glad to meet a new horse and new people and see new places. But the main reason I was happy? ..... Miniature cows!

Who knew that such creatures existed? I knew there were smaller, heritage type breeds, such as the Belted Galloway. But bona fide miniature cows? Never knew about them. The owner had a four year old Western Heritage miniature cow, about to calve. She was about the height of a Shetland pony, although much longer and stockier looking, and possessed of a pair of magnificent horns. The other mini cow was an adorable Jersey yearling heifer, whom I thought at first was a spring calf from this year. The owner said she would probably only grow a couple more inches in height.

It was fascinating to talk to this woman, as she has experience riding cows, and teaching them tricks. She plans to teach her Jersey calf - who already knows how to bow - to pull a cart. She said she finds cows easier to work with than horses, and quicker to learn.

The miniature horse was a pretty dark brown mare, four years old, who had been sold away for a while and then returned. The owner told me she often looked grumpy but was in fact a sweetheart.

She was pretty good about her front feet, but when I went to do the hinds, she started kicking. The owner was surprised at her behavior and said she'd never acted like this before. My first thought was to hold on and make her put her feet down politely, on my terms. But then it came out that this was her first trim since returning home. Looked like probably the farrier at the other place had given her a bad experience with her hind legs. The owner said the little mare had never been one to tolerate rough handling and that another farrier in the past had caused her to be temporarily difficult about trimming.

So, rather than insisting on anything, I set her feet down immediately if she wanted, even if she was "rude" and kicked or snatched. Within a few minutes, she became cooperative, allowing me to handle her hind feet without any fuss. A very intelligent, well-intentioned little horse, but with a zero tolerance policy for bad manners!

Look - seven years old, and this bull is only waist-high .....

From the International Miniature Zebu Association website

Full grown cows ....

http://www.rgbexotics.com/SaleBarn.htm

My daughter-whose-favorite-animal-is-the-cow happened to accompany me on this trimming expedition. So now guess what she wants for her next birthday.

Asking Permission

Charlie is 40 years old. He has his own life, in the deep woods with the goats and the rabbits and the chickens. People come and go occasionally; they bring him food and sometimes trouble him with bothersome things like fly spray or hoof trimming. His owner, now a college student who has had him since she was in elementary school, is the only one he likes.

His feet have improved a lot since the first time I saw him. Yesterday was my third visit. His little feet have become rock hard in the dry weather, and the nippers struggled to break through. His behavior  has improved a lot also, and yesterday I had with me a mini hoof stand (loaned to me by another client), and sometimes Charlie stood like a little angel with his hoof resting on the sling.

But, as I said, Charlie lives in his own world, and sometimes he just wants to get back to it in mid-trim. If it gets a little hard to balance, or if there's too much leverage while I'm nippering, or if it's going on too long, Charlie says, "I'm outta here!" Not mean, not aggressive - just claiming his freedom.

I came armed with carrots this time, which Charlie took happily. His lack of regular human interaction was, I think, evidenced by the fact that he's not very good at taking treats without taking a bit of hand also. With my own horses, I've gotten quite careless about treats, because they're so careful to not nip flesh while taking even a tiny morsel from your hand.

Having experienced the kicking banshees the other day, I appreciated - for the first time - Charlie's restraint in not kicking. He rears or moves away, but he never kicks or bites (except when mistaking fingers for carrots).

So, here's a little horse who keeps his own counsel, who values his liberty, who doesn't have much use for humans, and yet who remains calm and restrained while being bothered and beset by them.

So, as we were getting near the end of the trim, and Charlie was getting fed up with me taking his hind leg and kept moving away, I thought I'd better properly ask permission. Not just be polite and tactful about asking him to pick up his foot but asking permission to approach at all.

He stood a few feet away, his owner holding him. I stood a moment then moved half a step toward him. He flinched away. I moved back. Again, I took a tiny step forward, and again he pulled back. I backed off. About five or six times he moved away at my approach, and each time I retreated. But then, on the last attempt, he stayed still and allowed me to come in and pick up his foot, and I finished trimming.

All of which tells me that Charlie's objections to trimming are not so much due to specific discomfort (although I'm sure he suffers some of that) but more to being manhandled and pushed around. And it's a good reminder to me that really asking permission is not just a formulaic thing but has to have real consequences - such as not going ahead if the answer is no.

I believe there are horses from whom it is sometimes best not to ask permission - with whom it's best to be polite but firm. Some horses (like people) need one approach one day and a different approach the next. It can be hard to figure out who is which when - the way to find out is to listen. The real challenge is to stay listening and stay in the moment.

I just finished reading Moses by Sholem Asch. The sages have it that Moses was condemned to never reach the Promised Land not because he was disobedient, but because he was too harsh when he struck the rock (Numbers 20, 2-13). Asch's interpretation is that Moses was angry - not with the generation of Israelites before him, who were just thirsty - but with the previous, more obdurate, generation, allowing his frustration from those days to color his experience of the present. There were times when the Lord himself was angry with the Israelites, and Moses had to plead for them. This was a time when Moses allowed his own anger to eclipse the Lord's forbearance. I've started to notice how often my behavior is rigid and formulaic, based on past assumptions or on things I've heard only at second-hand. I'm not sure I'm really ready for the freedom to grasp each moment as it comes. But I really want to make it to the Promised Land.

Donkeys Are Not Like Other People

My experience with donkeys has been limited - but significant.

The first equid I ever rode was Josephine the Donkey, who lived at a nearby riding school. She possessed a wicker basket chair, which was strapped sidesaddle onto her back, and upon this splendid perch I was taken for weekly leadline rides.

There came a day when, on arrival at the stables, I was told that the wicker chair had "broken" and therefore it was time for me to graduate to riding ponies .... astride. I believe now - with the cynical wisdom of years - that the damaged chair was a fiction designed to push me ahead in my riding career. I was never one to be pushed ahead, having clearly demonstrated this by being the last child in Kindergarten to give up using Cuisenaire rods for sums.

My memory goes blank at this point and resumes at about age 7 on the fateful day of another forced "graduation." I was told that I could no longer go round and round the yard on (if I recall correctly) William, as William was "lame" today. Instead I had to go out on the road on another pony. The mare, whose rider was holding said pony's leadline, was rather mare-ish that day and as we were heading down the open road, turned and kicked my pony broadside. He promptly took off at a gallop down the road, and I - who had never gone faster than a walk - went sailing through the air.

I am sure that Josephine, kick or no kick, would never have behaved in such an irresponsible fashion.

The next donkey was Edward. Edward and I both worked at a pony stud farm - I, for a short time, as a "girl groom" and Edward as nanny to the three pony studs, who took turns being out in the pasture with him. Edward brooked no nonsense from the stallions, kicking them into submission if they ever became stroppy or disobedient. A very wise donkey, was Edward.

A donkey whom I never met, but whose reputation brings honor to the donkey species, belonged to a friend of mine. My friend thought that it would be a good idea to practice John Lyons techniques with her donkey and decided to do round-pen work. The donkey quickly realized that the woman's aim was to move her feet. Naturally, the thing for any self-respecting donkey to do under such circumstances is to go to the middle of the pen, lie down on her back, and stick all four legs straight up in the air. My friend admitted defeat and let the donkey go live somewhere else with some other donkeys, which she'd wanted all along.

The next Very Important Donkey is, of course, Skeeter. Skeeter lives in Louisiana with Bubba Earl and the other critters. I have linked to him before, and suffice it to say that his intelligence, good looks, moral values, charisma, and political aspirations are legendary. If you wish, you may check out his Facebook page.

So, naturally I was very excited when I was called out to a new hoof trimming client who has four ponies and a donkey.

The owner called me because her former farrier was of the old-fashioned persuasion which holds that unruly ponies and donkeys should be smacked and have their ears pinched. Apparently the whole household used to work themselves into a state of emotional distress every time the farrier was expected. In anticipation of my arrival on the designated day, the owner put halters on everyone and brought out the mini hoof jack. So of course the herd was all, like, "Oh no! It's happening again!"

Once the ponies realized I wasn't going to bite them, they were pretty nice about letting me do their front feet. However, the former farrier must've done something weird with their hind legs, because they all over-reacted in the same way when I went to pick up their hind feet: they raised their feet way high in the air, shoved them to the side, waved them, and - in three cases (one of whom was the donkey) - kicked like banshees. (Do  banshees kick? If they do, I bet they kick like that.) However, by dint of refusing-to-give-up and refusing-to-get-mad, we managed to finish the ponies' hinds as well.

Not the donkey. She said, "I don't know who on earth you are. You seem like a reasonably polite person, so you may do my front feet, but there is no @#*!% way I'm letting you have my hind legs." I believe she did in fact use the word @#*!%.

I finally said to the owner that we should quit. After all, the idea was to reassure the ponies and donkey that they were now under a new regime. If we were well-behaved this time, hopefully the donkey would remember and next time might be more cooperative. So I lowered my expectations and achieved the goal of having Donkey let me pick up each hind foot for a moment and set it down gently.

They say donkeys can be stubborn. All I have to say about that is that when I tried to move this donkey, it was rather like trying to move a tree.

The owner apologized for her, but really, you had to respect her determination and her refusal to be oppressed. I managed to flatter/cajole/dominate the ponies. But the donkey was immune to all that. I think she was waiting to judge me on the basis of whether or not my behavior was appropriate. I hope I passed the test.

I've posted it before, and I'm posting it again. Here is Skeeter:

Photo by P. Foster

Sketches

Two Cleveland Bay gelding brothers, both about 5 or 6 - each with a sore hind leg (stifle?) and reluctant to stand on three legs when one of the three is the sore one. One brother is in-your-face, friendly, and cocky. He goes along with the trimming cheerfully, but when it's time to do the hind leg opposite the sore one, he balks. He snatches. He starts to cowkick. The grapevine has already told me that this owner has been badly kicked (broken bone) by one of his horses. Could it be this one? Not taking any chances - the unfinished hoof didn't need much done to it anyway, so I tell the owner we're not going to do any more. The other brother is suffering much more. He has that anxious, pained look on his face that tells you the horse is in constant discomfort. When I ask him to pick up the leg opposite the sore one, he thinks long and hard about how he'll achieve this. He rearranges his balance, he cocks the sore leg at just the right angle and manages to shift his weight onto it, allowing me to finish the opposite hoof. After the trim, I thank him for being so helpful. He drops his head and stands with his face pressed against my chest. Brothers - but very different.

Maria is a 20-year old QH mare. She has never been particularly friendly and often looks sour. She frequently snatches her feet away. A few weeks ago I went to trim her for maybe the third or fourth time. This time, I paid more attention: why is she that way? The answer was obvious - the mare was in constant pain. I realized then that her impatience was very controlled. Despite being uncomfortable and irritated, she never snatched her foot violently, but always carefully - emphatically, yes, but never knocking anything or anyone in the process. She never cowkicked. What seemed like a slightly sour temperament was actually stoic endurance. (I think she suffers in her stifles, and possibly her back and/or hips.) The most recent time I went to trim, I was delighted to see a very feisty Maria being chased around the paddock by her owner. Perhaps the warmer weather makes her feel better. When I trimmed her, things went better - and this time I complimented her on her forbearance and long-suffering behavior.

Lightning is a very naughty, dominant, adorable yearling miniature horse. The first time I went to trim him was the first time (apart from when he was moved) that he ever had a halter on. We did not do any trimming that day. The first time I actually trimmed him, he was still drugged from being gelded. So my most recent visit to Lightning was really his first time. And he was not having any of it. He wasn't scared, and he wasn't sore. He was just: You Can't Make Me. I tried leading him around and making him back up. I tried patience-and-understanding. I tried cajoling. I tried getting stern. Finally we wedged him up against the wall of the barn, and I got hold of one of his feet, and I refused to let go, and pretty soon he was munching hay and standing like a pro. His owner felt bad that he'd made such a fuss - but I reminded her that the first time I "trimmed" Lightning's two older brothers when they were babies, all I'd done was work on picking up their feet - so I reckon he did good. He just has to learn that it's safe for him to temporarily loan his feet. After trimming Lightning, I worked on the older two, and they were smugly well-behaved.

Charlie had the kind of feet that make my heart sink. Long, curling-up toes, with a distorted hoof capsule. He's a very small pony, about 40 years old and lives in a clearing in the woods with a flock of charming goats (one of whom is his special buddy) and some feral rabbits. His owner takes good care of him, but the previous farrier for some reason had just let his toes grow and grow. Charlie may be 40+, but age does not prevent him from energetically rearing up whenever he's tired of cooperating. Which the first time I trimmed him was about every three seconds. And no wonder - with feet like that, it's next to impossible to stand comfortably on four legs never mind three. I hacked away for ages, and finally got something like a level landing for his forefeet. He was at the end of his tether, so I left the hind feet alone. They were long, but at least not distorted. I asked the owner to make an appointment for four weeks later. When I returned a few days ago, I was dreading another battle. But - hooray! - this time the little guy agreed to cooperate. I had to be patient and reassure him that he could have his feet back whenever he wanted, but he became quite helpful. Until - being a hardheaded little pony - he finally got fed up and reverted to his old tricks. Realizing that he'd just gotten tired of the whole process, I finally said, "Nope - it's two against one - your owner's holding the rope, and I'm not letting go of your foot, no matter what, and by the way you're hopping awfully agile for an ancient horse with a sore foot." And he capitulated. The owner then told me that the previous farrier had always had to just immobilize him like that, so I was pleased that we'd managed to get 7/8 done before resorting to strong-arm tactics. This time, the hind feet got licked into pretty good shape. The forefeet will need a few more months before the distortion grows out, but they're getting better. I felt in a really good mood after trimming Charlie.

Two inseparable Thoroughbred mares - getting on in years, rescued a decade ago from near starvation by a kind lady who has kept them as pets ever since. Sadly, her husband recently lost his job, and she is looking for another home for them as the family is finding it hard to support the horses as well as themselves. I felt so worried about them - how likely is it that someone will take in two superannuated horses? The two mares had excellent feet as the owner is religious about getting them trimmed. (The previous trimmer failed to return phone calls, so they called me.) They were friendly and affectionate - as I trimmed one, the other would stand close by, chewing on my hair or breathing down my neck. Friendly - but both quite feisty. One had a puffy fetlock and was just not-not-not going to let me pick up the opposite leg. She wouldn't let her owner pick it up either. Fortunately her hind feet needed hardly any work. I gave the owner an unemployed discount on the trimming charge. I hope things work out ok for them.

An anxious paint gelding who looks around constantly, ready to move off when he hears an unexpected sound. I'm working on maybe the third or fourth foot, when he hears a noise in the distance, or catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He tenses, pulls away, lifts his hind foot off the stand, ready to go - then he pauses, collects himself, and his hind foot - still in the air - reaches back to find the stand again. What more could you ask of a horse?