We Interrupt This Program for a STORM

Temporary Writers Block

A horrible storm or two colliding storms swept through Central New Jersey yesterday. Up until about an hour or so ago, my power was out. I just got back from going out to buy a battery operated alarm clock and another flashlight, but when I got back home, the electricity was back on.


That might not last as I have a pine tree at the end of my driveway about ready to tip over onto the power lines. And the pine tree on my aunt's property next door has already dropped some branches on the lines. I called the electric company, but they were swamped with problems already so they were not too impressed.


Yesterday, I was out driving in the storm itself. I'd gone to the Farmer's Co-op to pick up the magnesium oxide I had ordered. On the way I saw a sign already posted that one of the bridges over the canal and river I had to cross was closed. I made it over on another bridge, and on the way back I saw that the water was nearly up to that bridge as well, so I suspect that it closed later.


I stopped at the pet food store to get some cat food, then decided to stop in at Target just to look for my mint M & M's. (I did find them!!) One of the store's in doors was being repaired, so a worker was stationed at the automatic out door to let people in. It turned out she was a former student of mine. We moved partway into the store to chat a bit when suddenly, there was a loud explosion. The double glass doors of the store exploded off their hinges in one of the tremendous gusts of wind. Had we not moved inside, we might have been hit. As it was, my friend was really shaken up. One of the men in the store managed to right the doors again and apparently, they locked them after that and used side doors to let people in and out.


The wind was so bad the rain was horizontal. I had to detour off several roads to finally make it home only to find my power out. And worse, as I sat in the darkening house, I was watching one of the pine trees in the side yard tilting more and more in the wind as the roots started to loosen in the wet earth.

By the time I got up this morning (Sunday) I found four pine trees in serious danger of falling over. At least two would hit the power lines and the third, the same one I backed into with the car, would do some serious damage to the house. I said a quick prayer and called the tree guy who had done a job for be before at a reasonable rate, and he promised to get here before the day was done.

I went to church, went to lunch, came home to still no power. I called the power company who now informed me that my outage investigation would be done by Tuesday at 4 PM. That was going to be problem as my food would spoil and, since I have well water and pumps, I would have no water until then. I called my friend Bill to help me get my generator started so I could at least get my food cooled and the house heated. He got me set up just fine and I had some power to the house, so I felt a lot better.

Just about then, the tree guy showed up. He agreed we were in some serious danger of trees' going down, so we finally settled on a price for a major tree job--three pine trees, a huge maple tree, some other trimming etc.--and he and his team set to work. I guess they were here for several hours, but the main problem trees are now safely down. The pine by the road needs special care as it involves the electrical wires and the power company really should take care of it. (They are, however, totally involved in tree problems and power problems all over the place, so heaven knows when they will come. I did tell them it was their main power wire that would go down, but I guess that's their problem to deal with.)

Well, the tree guys did an amazing job. My yard is now full of safe chunks of pine trees. Everything is piled up out of the way and they will be back as soon as they can to clean up the rest and trim the rest of my trees. After they finished here, they were heading off to another set of jobs where people needed help.

I headed off to shop for some extra flashlights and a battery operated alarm clock to wake me up in the morning. When I got home, I was greeted with LIGHTS in my neighbors' houses, so I shut off the generator switch and put the main power back on in my house and...well, here I am again. Much to my surprise, my Internet connection is just fine, the cable TV is working, and I have power again.

Taking a nice hot shower is going to feel SOOOOOO good!

The Dressage Horse

Horses I Have Known: Part 9

Set on a course for a dressage career may not have been PJ's choice in life, but he was one of those horses always ready to try. Physically, had he not had the prior track injuries, he was certainly built for the part. He was well balanced in front, and looked more like a Warmblood than a Throughbred.

His trot had the potential to be amazing. His canter needed a lot of work, but I will blame that on the injuries. The internal hoof fracture I found out about much later would periodically affect his shoulders and I'm sure the concussion of cantering must have caused him discomfort now and again. But lots of gymnastic schooling and suppling improved his gait and while he never developed one of those "lofty" canters so cherished in the dressage arena, he did just fine.

At home.

The stress of shows was another matter. I don't think, in all our competitions, I ever quite got from him the top performance he was capable of offering. Still, he placed well enough over time. We earned a year end award at least twice from two different show series. One was for our third level musical freestyle.

I still have to laugh about that too. Once, in a fairly large rated show, PJ was feeling a bit more nervous than usual. On our entrance into the arena with the initial halt--my music was from the opera, Carmen--PJ let fly with a buck and then stood stock still and square. The judge, a very well educated and respected German trainer wrote as his comment for the entrance,
"Music well interpreted by horse on entry." The music? The Entry of the Toreador. The lyrics? "Here I come into the field of battle." The judge knew the opera well enough to appreciate the irony, and PJ earned a fairly decent score. *lol*

One of the hightlights of my training was a week or so that I spent up in New York State training on a daily basis with Lockie Richards. Lockie was a former three day rider who'd finally focused on dressage and was competing at Grand Prix. I'd been working with him for years with Russell and respected him as one of the finest horsemen and teachers I have ever known. (By the way, if I haven't already told you 100 times already, the horse that plays Brego in Lord of the Rings is Lockie's retired Grand Prix mount.)

Lockie "gave me my dressage seat" during that week, and even though I far to readily slip out of its correctness when I ride now, I can still often hear his voice echoing in my ear, "One, two, one two, hip toward your hand. Feel it? Feel it?"

Under Lockie's guidance and inspiration, I gradually moved PJ up the levels until we reached Intermediare I. It was there we hit a stumbling block I have yet to move a horse past: Passage. PJ had an elementary piaffe, but it was emotionally upsetting for him, probably because he found it a hard exercise. Every time we tried, I could feel his anxiety. While it may have been more an emotional problem than a physical one, I found myself needing to listen to him, so it was there I decided perhaps he had been pushed far enough. We'd play at the exercises every now and then, but I never pressed the issue with PJ.

His heart was too big and I didn't want to break it, or break mine in the process.

Another irony about to hit me harder than I'd ever wanted.

Definitely Out Of Shape

And I Don't Mean for Riding

I mean for teaching, or at least working all day. The drive is a bit longer than I'm used to, the traffic a little trickier, but acutally not a whole lot more challenging than the most annoying drive to my old school.

But add the morning drive, a day full of classes....sort of although only a portion of my old teaching schedule...and some very sweet kids who really do want to communicate with their teacher and I am exhausted.

However, while I am at the school, I have plenty of mental energy and a good amout of physical energy to match. I am however, trying to organize both the classroom and the teaching materials to my liking, almost as if I were starting off a brand new year in my own classroom. I rearranged the student desks--the kids seem to like it--and am still working on setting up the grade and attendance books so I can keep records. And then, there were a few general rules for running the classes that needed some discussion with the Principal and, eventually some of the other teachers involved.

This school's discipline and general rules for students are very different from what I am used to in both good and bad ways. The new principal is trying to tighten things up a bit and I am in total agreement. It is not a matter of the kids' misbehaving or anything at all like that. Instead, it is a matter of keeping better track of where kids are at given times and assuring they are safely being "watched out for" by teachers and supervisors. At any rate, the Principal visited my senior study students this morning to explain some of this to them, and afterwards, I set down some rules they will need to follow. Later, one of the other teachers involved in that senior program came to see me so we could coordinate enforcing the rules as a team.

It will all work out just fine and the students seem quite accepting, so that's good too. I am trying not to make too much of a fuss about it all, but I do seem to be in the thick of things.

I am really looking forward to studying the literature I have chosen with my classes. I think they will really appreciate the ideas and information I have to share with them. They are really wonderful kids--interested, engaged, serious about school, but with great senses of humor and the ability to laugh and enjoy learning. I want to do everything I can to make my class enjoyable.

And I can hardly wait to start teaching Shakespeare! It's going to be a lot of fun!!

All this is because when I finally got home tonight I was far too tired to do any work with the horses and to work on my continuing tale of horses I have known.

I need a nap.

Weather's On My Side

Horses I Have Known: Part 8

First the report for the present.

I lunged Tucker and Chance yesterday after I got home from school. Tucker did not look "sore" but he was not striding out fully. However, as he moved into the session he looked more and more comfortable. The footing is amazing right now, so that was not a factor. Chance is so cute with his little rocking chair canter on the left lead. It looks as if he could to it all day, and the rider would just have to sit there, smiling.

Back to the past.

PJ and I, as I've said, had mixed success in the show arena. I did discover that the best way to settle him down was to do a moderate warm-up about an hour or so before my ride time, then take him back to the trailer, unsaddle him, allow him to chill out for a while and then, about fifteen to twenty minutes before my time, saddle back up and do another short warmup so we could go right into the class.

I'm not sure why, but I toyed with an eventing career for him as well, but I guess my heart had gone out of it by then. I think I evented him twice. I say this because I seem to remember losing my steering on our first ever cross country course and jumping the high side of the first option so I had to go back to jump the correct fence--counting as a refusal. I do know we also placed second in another outing. It was a big division, and we were second to the likes of Bruce Davidson who was there with one of his young event prospects. I figure placing in that kind of company was no mean feat.

I think this is the second fence at our very first event. As you can see, PJ wanted to make sure he cleared it with lots of room to spare. I have two more pictures I will add to the next part of the story.

PJ's lower level dressage was solid, and he was bold and brave cross country. I always felt he would get us to the other side of the fence somehow, and I don't remember his ever even considering a refusal once he figured out what jumping was all about.

But the initial lessons were not all that fun. I had only worked him on crossrails, just introducing him to jumping when I signed us up for a cross country clinic at the US Equestrian Team Headquarters. They had a beautiful cross country course with just about every kind of obstacle you'd meet, set at all different levels. I took PJ, full of high hopes that he would get a nice easy introduction to cross country fences.

Wrong. I'd signed up for the very beginner group. Since there had been very few participant at that level, I ended up in a mixed lesson with some Preliminary horses (That would be just below the Advanced heights and widths now used in International competitions.) The trainer was a very advanced competitor herself with an obvious "eventing" mentality, which meant you just ride the horse to the fence at speed and expect him to jump--even if he'd never done it before.

That was not how I had ever learned how to teach a horse to jump, but so be it. Most of the fences had very low options, so whenever we schooled a fence, I'd take the small side. But then, we met a bank. Again, not so big, but this required a jump down from the top. PJ did fine going up, but at the top, he froze. It was a repeat of the river. He had absolutely no idea of what to do and simply stood there, rooted to the earth.

The trainer had a lunge whip. She began to snap it at him. His feet started to dance, but he still would not go forward. She snapped his legs with the whip, stinging him. We had piaffe. She snapped again and he was trembling underneath me. A second before I was about to tell her to stop, he plunged forward, leaping off the bank. Fortunately, I, in good cross country defense position in the saddle, stuck with him. After that we did the bank a few more times and he was fine. He'd figured out the problem and solved it.


Done with that the trainer pulled the whole group aside to discuss what we wanted to do for the rest of the session. As she was talking, she waved the lunge whip to make a point. PJ panicked, whirled away, and I, far too relaxed in the saddle, tumbled to the ground as he bolted off across the show grounds. The trainer was mortified and apologized as we watched one absolutely beautiful big bay Thoroughbred trot full out across the grass. To be honest, as worried as I was, I was also awed, as was everyone else on the grounds. PJ's trot was huge and dramatically magnificent, and as I ran to catch him, everyone I passed kept telling me what an amazing mover he was. Poor PJ ran all the way to out trailer, and was there waiting for me, more upset than I was by his escape. I don't remember what I told him, but by the time I was remounted, he had calmed down and was ready to continue the clinic.

He was a star for the rest of the day. He mastered the water complex on the first attempt, outshining a number of the more advanced horses and actually offering a lead into the water for several of them. He also took the lead over a ditch for a reluctant horse or two. We mastered a fairly substantial jump up a little bank with jump on top after a tricky first attempt, and by the end of the day, I felt his confidence in full gear.

To this day, I am sure if I had wanted another event horse, he would have been the one.

But, I am also not sure he would have stayed sound with the jumping eventing requires. It was not until years later that an xray revealed that old broken bone in his hoof, and, of course, there were the tendon bows. I tend to think that many such injuries are a result of conformational weaknesses in horses and PJ was no exception. Acupuncture would keep him comfortable, but it would not fix the reasons he became muscle sore.

We would still jump now and then, but PJ's career was headed for the dressage arena, and my eventing days were over for good.

I Rode!!

Short Post on a Beautiful Sunday

I seriously underestimated the amazing drainage on my property. I had poo picked the arena yesterday and there were some serious wet spots and a few spots still frozen.

But the temperature was up over 50 F. today and by the time I got back home from church, everything was well thawed. I still have some piles of snow where I heaped it after plowing and some on the ground in the shadier spots, but my arena was completely clear and the footing was marvelous. I poo picked a little more as the Boys like to hang out in the sand, and then hooked up the arena drag.

Whew! The mud in the paddock by Chance's stall was really bad. Not so deep, but very slippery and my poor tractor was sliding all over the place trying to pull the drag up the little hill. Four wheel drive be blessed, but it was a skidding struggle to make it up to the arena gate.

One inside, I did a good grooming job, going over most of the footing at least three times to loosen and level it. The Boys were out there "helping" so I had to keep my eye on them to make sure no one tried to play with the drag rake, but it was OK and despite their frolicking, they kind of stayed out of my way.

On the way out of the front paddock, where there was much less mud to battle, the drag got stuck on the gate. Clever Chance took immediate advantage and before I could stop him, he jumped over the end of the stuck drag and escaped out onto the lawn. Toby and Tucker, a bit slower on the uptake tried to follow but I managed to block the way by getting the gate partially closed. It took a lot of convincing to get the two big Boys to move out to the other side of the barn so I could get the drag free. Meanwhile, Chance was trotting all over the lawn disappointed at the lack of grass.

When I finally got the drag free and unhitched, I got a lead rope and very easily captured the wayward Chance and put him back behind the fence.

Then, I saddled Tucker up for a short ride in the arena. Even with the excellent footing, he is definitely "footy" without his shoes. His stride was short, and, although he really wasn't limping, it was clear he was not really comfortable. I still do not have the magnesium oxide, but I did get another supplement that is magnesium based for horses with Cushings and IR, so I gave him a scoop of that with dinner. I only rode him for about 10 minutes, with a little trot and canter, and he was actually quite willing to go without any protest. We'll have to see how the no shoe thing works out. For now, there is no point in shoeing him until Spring is truly settled in. It's supposed to rain for much of this week, so the mud will be back in short order. His being barefoot is the easier option in that kind of weather.

After I finished with Tucker, I saddled up Chance. Since he'd already warmed himself up on the lawn *G* I just mounted up and rode him out into the woods for a nice little trail ride. As always, he was a super boy and we had a nice hack. The footing out there was, however, a bit slippery in places. Again, a lot of the ground has thawed just on top, and under the leaves in the woods, there were some really slick spots. Still, there was a enough good footing to keep us both happy and we had a really good time out.

Toby was not interested in doing anything and by that time I was worn out, so I fed them all and made sure everyone had a nice carrot.

I'm not sure how much work I will be able to do with the Boys now that I am teaching again. Next week, though, we go back on Daylight Savings Time, so I will have enough daylight to do some riding. Now all it will depend on is just how much rain we get and when.

At least, if today is any indication, things should routinely dry out pretty quickly here. There are decided benefits on living atop an aquifer.

Conundrum

Horses I Have Known: Part 9

PJ was a riddle. After stepping out of the open arena gate in his first dressage test ever, he went on to win his second class and a few others afterwards. But his performances both at shows and a home were inconsistent. On the days he was brilliant, he was beautifully so, but on the bad days, he was miserable to ride.

Part of it was his anxiety. Part of it was simply a physical block with being able to perform in a soft, round, responsive way.

I was not lacking in good trainers to help me. I still had Pru for a while, a German dressage master who came to the barn, and a host of excellent clinics I could attend. I rode with International trainers from Holland, Russia, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, Hungary, Canada, the US, and of course, Lockie Richards, my beloved trainer from New Zealand. When PJ was good, everyone loved him. When he was bad, no one was really able to break through. More than once one of the trainers would get on, and frankly, their success at getting him to work correctly through his back on a bad day was no better than mine. At least it would make me feel less incompentent in my own skills.

We competed well through second level with mixed results. PJ's name is on a perpetual trophy from my local eventing/dressage organization as winner of the second level award, and we competed as a member of the dressage team, but even those days had their ups and downs. I did discover that PJ was horrible on the grass. He had a wide, flat foot without much "cup" to it and unless the grass footing was soft, he would slip. As soon as he did, he'd shut down and that would be the end of any good test. I solved that problem by using screw in caulks in his shoes, but it wasn't the answer to all our problems.

Then, one day, a veterinarian came to the barn who specialized in sport horses and was experimenting with acupuncture. When I spoke her about PJ's erratic performances, she took a look at him for me. She quickly pronounced him "muscle sore" and suggested a cours of acupuncture treatments.

Equine acupuncture was in its infancy back then (1989 or so???), as was chiropratic. In fact a chiropractor who came to the barn was ordered off the property by the barn owner--a small animal vet--and had to adjust a horse in a nearby field. At that time, alternative therapies were strongly opposed by conventional medical vets and there was a battle raging between the two groups of practitioners. But because my acupuncture vet was both, she was allowed to work on PJ in his stall.

He needed a tranquilizer before she could do a thing. He was dancing and prancing as the needles went in, but eventually settled down.

The results were nothing short of miraculous. PJ's entire demeanor under saddle changed. I knew he had always wanted to please, but had been too caught up in his "inner demons" to offer his best work every ride, but those days were over. At home, and in unstressed situations, he suddenly blossomed. We continued regular acupuncture sessions for a while, and by the third time, PJ no longer needed to be tranquilized, and actually seemed to be looking forward to my vet's arrival.

The change in him was so obvious that as the new show season started, one of the women I had been competing against the previous seasons congratulated me on getting a new horse. When I insisted it was the same horse, she refused to believe me. "He can't be. He's completely different."

And indeed he was. I won't say we won every class from then on. The competition had stiffened and I will admit I am not the best "show ring dressage rider" in the world. But suddenly, we were in the thick of things doing well enough to be happy, even though PJ's own show ring anxieties never quite disappeared.

Frankly, I think PJ's experiences at the race track had scarred his psyche more than I ever realized. When I "spoke" to him through an animal communicator (Don't scoff if you are a skeptic, this was incredible stuff.) he "told" her of his time at the track, "It was never enough." He had been pushed beyond his limits and part of his heart had been broken. Once, while he was stabled at the US Equestrian Team headquarters, he refused to eat, later, telling the communicator, "That place reminds me of the track."

I do know that training him was at times unsettling because he always tried so hard and would get upset if he couldn't master a new exercise right away. If I were training him today, I would use an entirely different approach, offering constant rewards for small successes and demanding far less each step along the way. But that was then, and this is now. I have learned a great deal since then and understand far better how my horses think.

Still, we were on our way. With regular acupuncture to keep him physically comfortable, I had a wonderful horse to ride nearly every day.

I was definitely in love again.

Time Does Not Stop For Sorrow

PJ's Folly in Maryland. This head held many secrets. It took me years to unlock them

Horses I Have Known: Part 8

After Si's death, I was in a bind. He had not been insured at the $4500 I had spent on him had wiped out most of the money I had set aside for a new horse. Prospects looked bleak. Russell was still able to be ridden, but his competition career was over, so I was at a loss.

I called up Jan, the dealer I had bought Si from and when I told her the news, she was really upset. Immediately, she promised she would find me another horse, and, although she could not get me one for free, she offered to sell me one for the price her husband paid, not taking any profit at all. She said she'd find a horse better than Si, and told me to be patient.

Several months went by with no luck. Then one cold winter day, Jan called to tell me she had a prospect. But the ground was badly frozen and she had no indoor. Still, I took the three hour drive down to look at a very nice, pretty bay. I couldn't see much of his movement, so I wasn't able to decided on whether to take the chance of buying him. By the time I made up my mind after the drive home and a day of thinking, the horse had been sold and I was again out of luck.

It was at least another month before Jan called again. This time the footing was good and she was sure she had a horse for me. At $1500, he was stretching my budget to the limit, but shipping him from the Midwest and some other complications would not let her lower the price any more, so once more I and my friend Jacquie drove down to Maryland to go horse shopping.

PJ's Folly in Maryland. He was not your typical racing Thoroughbred, that's for sure.

PJ's Folly was a strongly built 4 year old. He had a bowed tendon, already cold and set, an adorable face, good basic conformation, and a huge trot. He was a bit reluctant to work, but once he got going, he was quite a boy. In the barn, however, Jan and her workers were just a bit cautious handling him. He was somewhat aggressive in the stall and when the stablehand tried to put back boots on him before I rode, he moved gingerly, ready to leap out of the way should PJ try to kick. None of that bothered me too much. I'd met a lot of difficult horses in my time and had always managed to improve their ground manners once I had them in my control. As a matter of fact, when we were done riding, I went into the stall with PJ and tried to bite me. I simply laughed and told him to cut it out--which he did. Jacquie said she heard Jan breathe a sigh of relief. I suppose she'd thought something like that would ruin the sale.

Here I am in Maryland riding PJ for the first time. I was a little concerned that he might not be big enough for me. He eventually matured to 16.2 h, so that was never a problem. He was all ready to stretch down from day one.

We settled, provided PJ would pass a vetting--which he did--but I'll let that go for now. I had some basic xrays taken and, of course the tendon issue looked at, and soon he was shipped up to me at Prime Time.


Poor PJ was a wreck when he arrived. The entire horse trailer was shaking from his quivering body and he was sweated up. How he must have suffered on that long drive to New Jersey. I knew I was going to have a lot of work to do to make him a happy horse, but I had no idea how complicated it was going to become.

He settled in well in the barn, but it was soon apparent that somewhere along the way he had suffered from some really bad handling. He was definitely aggressive in the stall, and would threaten to go after anyone who invaded his space. Interestingly enough, he did not seem to offer to kick, but would attack with his front end, head snaking out, teeth snapping and his forelegs striking. Since he seemed much better with women, I warned all the men there to just leave him alone, especially after one of the boarder's fathers, hanging over the stall door was charged by a raging horse then proceeded to yell and threaten PJ with his hands. Somehow, that was the last thing I wanted. I yelled back at the father, telling him not to punish my horse. I was totally convinced that PJ had been beaten at some point and did not deserve any more trauma.

Later, when I went into his stall with the manure fork to pick out some poo, he dived at me--or rather the fork with striking front hooves and a frightening determination. I stood my ground quietly and in a second, he backed off and went back to his hay.

PJ had been a racehorse. To this day, I am convinced of several things. He was a big boned, big horse, not like what people see at the typical racing Thoroughbred. His racing record showed only one third place finish in a dismal career, which is why he was sold to the dealer. Obviously he had the bowed tendons (Two, actually) and it later turned out he had evidence of a broken bone in his front foot--so much for a pre-purchase vetting with hoof xrays!! His bulky build and overall size had worked against him on the track, as I also suspect he was rather slow to mature. And, I think it had worked against him in the barn. He was the kind of horse whose massive body would have been quite intimidating to a groom and I am sure someone handling him had used the manure fork as a weapon to beat him, or hold him off.

Just to prove how deepseated a horse's fears can be, for at least ten, if not more, years with me, I still had to be careful going into PJ's stall with a fork in my hand. I would always warn the barn workers where we boarded as well. Even after years of never being so much as threatened by a fork, I can still remember PJ's going after me one day as I was picking his stall with careless abandon because I was sure he'd overcome his terror. The attack was short, and as quickly as he moved to strike he stopped himself and actually looked confused, but the habit was still there. By the time I brought him home here to live with me, I had finally vanished altogether, and I could even use the fork to ask him to move out of the way if I needed to, but that was only after more than those ten years of quiet handling.

And quiet handling was my motto. For the first year I owned him, I never once corrected him with more than my voice for bad manners. If he was aggressive, I simply made sure I was out of harm's way, told him "no," and let it be. The red letter day was the one when I was in his stall grooming him and he made a move to kick at me. Without a thought, I moved out of the way and threw the brush at him, hitting him solidly in the rump. That was the turning point. Instead of cringing away or defending himself, PJ blinked, flicked up his ears and simply looked at me as if to say, "Oops, sorry about that."

Undersaddle, PJ was a different story. He was a contradiction from day to day. On some days he was beautiful to ride, forward and elegant. His enormous trot was lovely. His canter--well, that needed a lot of work. He had no right lead and it took me what seemed forever to try to teach him to take it. Then, a day later, he would not stretch through the bit, or seem to be able to trot, much less canter with any skill at all. It was positively frustrating.

The first time I took him out on the trail, I found out that he hadn't a clue about how to gallop. He offered a nice quiet canter, but we might as well have been in a children's pleasure class. He wouldn't go on when I urged him and didn't relax his back or go into the bit at all as most race horses will. No wonder he never won a race. Years later, I realized if he had been trained right from the start he probably would have been a winner. He had a huge stride and when I rode with other riders on equally sized Thoroughbreds, they would have to canter to keep up with PJ's trot, and if I cantered they'd have to gallop. If I galloped, it was totally impossible for them to keep up. PJ's grand father had been a Kentucky Derby winner (Your Host) and from the pictures PJ had inherited his athletic build and talent. I'm glad his original owners never discovered that because then I never would have owned him--he was that good.

But there was another side to PJ as well. On one early ride, we had to cross a stream. PJ was OK at first going in, but then when we reached a little island in the middle, he stopped. And we simply stood there. He started to shake just a little as the enormity of what he'd done by crossing the first patchof water had been. I kicked, tried to turn him, slapped him a little with the rein, and even had one of my friends try to give us a lead. Nothing worked. PJ was frozen in time and space. I was just about to dismount and soak my own legs in the water when finally, he slowly took a step and made his way to the other shore. His brain had simply overloaded and his body had gone along.

His sensitive nature was clear. But there was much more behind his behavior, and it took me a while to unlock his secrets. It was, at the time, an amazing journey to come.

We Pause for a Station Break

Where I'll be for a while.

Horses I Have Known on Temporary Hold

And here's why.

I spent the day at school, teaching. I have come out of retirement for the rest of the year to cover for a young English teacher who is going out on maternity leave. I am, frankly, just a little mentally tired, so I can't quite bring myself to write the next, much happier chapter. Sorry to leave you all in misery, but I promise you, the next part gets better!

Meantime, here's the deal. I will be teaching in the same school system at the Academy, a high tech school on the campus of the local County College. The school has quite a different atmosphere from what I am used to.

All of the students are basically honor students, and my impression is that they are all smart and motivated. I had a lot of fun interacting with them. I taught the freshman group (9th grade) today, and the regular teacher worked with the 11th grade. The kids seemed really receptive.

The schedule is far less demanding than the ones I had in my old job. Today, the morning was taken up with supervising a sort of study hall in a computer lab. Senior students work there on projects for their engineering courses and I have nothing really to do except work on the computer myself.

Then there is a pretty long break of 2 hours before I teach two afternoon classes (Except on Monday) of 88 minutes each, which is double the length of the classes I am used to. This is what is called "block scheduling" where the kids only take the class three days a week instead of five, still meeting the same time requirements but in a different pattern. For me, that means teaching only four lessons a week (Mondays all the classes meet for one shorter session, so that's a cinch) instead of twenty. (It would take too long to explain, but that's how the math works out.)

Better yet, I will be able to teach Shakespeare plays and hopefully a bit of mythology. I have nearly all my materials from my old lessons, so I'm all set up there too.

All I need to do is get some of the books from my old school--it's all the same school system, and I can share--and I'll be all set. The only shocker to me was that the job will go to the end of the year instead of just a month or so as I had expected.

So, until June, I am a working girl again.

Sunshine on My Shoulder

Horses I Have Known: Part 7

Si was colicking, and it wasn't good. The vet came out. Doses of drugs, mineral oil tubing and all the right medications eased his discomfort enough that we thought he'd come out of it. The barn owners set up a cot for me in the aisle and we put Si in the indoor arena for the night.

We didn't make it much past midnight. He started pawing and trying to roll, obviously once more in agony. I called the vet back and soon it was apparent we were in big trouble. I called one of the other boarders who lived nearby--by this time it was going on one AM. My tow vehicle was at home, some 15 miles away but she was already hitched up and only a few minutes out.

We had arrangements to take him to New Bolton at the University of Pennsylvania's vet school, the only place at the time that did colic surgeries. The drive took well over an hour--going on two, and by the time we got there it was nearly 3 AM. Si, once again in pain after the banamine wore off, was in real distress and a standard exam confirmed our fears. He needed immediate surgery.

But there were other cases ahead of him. They gave him whatever drugs he needed to be comfortable, and with no other transportation available, I drove back home with my friend.

Once I was home, I simply sat by the telephone, waiting for the call from the surgeon. It took hours.

When the call came, quite late in the morning, as I recall, the news was good. Si was resting comfortably. It had been a simple twist, the surgery had gone well and I'd be able to bring him back home in a few days. Relief washed over me and I somehow managed to get some sleep.

I had my own trailer to bring my boy home again, and I will never forget his excitement when we pulled into the driveway at Prime Time. If he'd been able, he would have climbed out of the little front door of the trailer. It was clear Si wanted to be there. He'd found a home and was happy there.

Si back home after his surgery.

Safe again in his own stall, he settled in with his hay, content at last. He had staples in his stomach along what was about three foot long incision. His neck had a shaved spot from the IV, but other than that, he was still the same sweet boy he'd been. Ahead of us were 6 weeks of stall rest with hand walking, then some limited turnout before things would be back to normal. We were in for the long haul.

Hand walking was a challenge. Si was feeling good. Too good. He would bounce on the end of the lead rope, spin around me, act like one of those really bad racehorses you often see heading for the post. He'd settle a little when I'd let him graze, but as the days went on, I was not having a good time of it. But walk we did and finally, after two weeks, it was time to take out the staples.

Si with me in the barn after his surgery. Look at his sweet face.

The man who owned the barn was a small animal vet. I bought a staple remover for him and he did the job neatly and quickly. Si had passed the first phase of his recovery and it was looking good.

Then, one afternoon, I got a call from the barn. Something was wrong. This time, I drove my tow car so I'd have it in case we needed to go. Si was pawing in his stall, clearly once again in pain. The vet didn't hesitate. Within an hour, I had Si loaded in the trailer and was off again to New Bolton. I knew the way by heart.

This time, Si was ominously quiet and calm in his pain. And again, there seemed to be no choice, he was headed back into surgery.

I had to go to school that day, to teach. I don't remember much except that I'd left a message at the main office to page me when the phone call came. It was the longest day I'd ever spent in the classroom. Eventually, the vet called to tell me Si was out of surgery in in recovery. This time, they had had to remove a part of his intestine and it had "died." Once more, he seemed OK, but he'd have to stay down there for a while.

I never saw him again. School and obligations kept me from taking the two hour drive to the hospital for the next two days. Then I got another call. Si wasn't doing well. The vet wanted to do a third surgery to see what was wrong. Perhaps a stitch had slipped.

We had a long discussion. How many times could a horse have colic surgery before the quality of his life would be in jeopardy? What if more of his intestine was dying? How far should we go in trying to save his life?

I made the painful decision. If it was just an easy correction from the second surgery, we'd go on, but if more of his intestine was compromised, then he would be euthanized on the table.

Before the day was over, my sweet boy was gone. There had been no hope. Si was only four years old. He'd never had much of a chance to enjoy life.

To this day, I cherish the memory of seeing him in that trailer when we got back home after his first surgery. He was one of the happiest horses I'd ever seen. I've thought about it a lot, agonizing about what might have been and why he died. But that moment, when we pulled into the driveway comforts me. I think it was the first time in his short life that Si realized he had a home. He had a place where he was loved and cared for, and I'd like to think he knew he had someone to truly love him as he deserved.

Sometimes a horse's soul is just too beautiful for earth.

God works in mysterious ways, they say. I like to think that God chose me to be Si's person for the short time he had on this earth because I was worthy to be his caretaker. It eases the pain just a little to think that, but it will never quite stop the tears.

Thawing Out

One Big Regret
Horses I Have Known: Part 6

We are in a thaw here and the mud has joined the snow to make a bigger mess than we had before. Yesterday, when I went out to clean the stalls, I pushed the wheelbarrow through the mud to the manure pile. On the way back, my muck shoe got stuck in the mud, was pulled off my foot and I stepped into the cold, wet mud with my socked foot. Yeech!! It actually took some effort to get the shoe back out and I nearly lost my other shoe in the process. I think I am going to have to choose an alternate path to the pile if I can find one less boggy. This morning, it was still a bit frozen from last night so I managed better except that the wheelbarrow kept getting lodged in holes making it hard to push. No pain, no gain???

I made one big mistake after I'd officially retired Russell from competition. My trainer, Pru, had built a new lesson farm and needed at least one advanced school horse. Russell fit the part perfectly, so I agreed to let her have him there. I knew he would be well cared for, an I trusted her as a teacher, so I also knew he would be well ridden. By then, I had found another horse (more later) and not having to pay board on two horses was a super idea. It looked like it might work out well.

But we'd misjudged a few things. First, her farm was too far away for me to visit regularly. And once, when I did, the gate was locked as she had established hours that did not fit my schedule at all. Second, she simply did not generate the business she'd hoped and Russell was not getting the exercise he needed to keep himself sound. And last of all, I had seriously underestimated the bond Russell and I had.

After a few months, Pru called to tell me he was not quite sound. Russell had problems with his stifle that required he be kept fit, and an old shoulder injury that also needed exercise. When I asked how much he'd been worked, she told me he was mostly on turnout because she didn't have enough students capable of riding him. Fortunately, the barn where I was boarding had a few open stalls, so I reserved one, just in case, and headed up to Pru's the next day.

Russell was indeed out in a back pasture and as soon as he heard my voice, he came galloping over. His whole expression told me all I needed to know. I could see he had lost a lot of muscling, and it was also clear he was one unhappy boy. My heart broke. I had the trailer up there in no time, and soon he was back with me where he belonged. And I promised him we would never be apart again.

And we never were. Until the day he died in my arms, I spent time with him virtually every day. I can hardly recall a week where I did not make at least seven trips to the boarding stable to take care of him. My only other regret is that I was never able to have him come home here to live with me. That would have been perfect.

So, now, I had two horses to board--Russell and his successor.

But that part of the story has its drama as well. When Russell was 15, still sound enough for a light riding and even occasional jumping, I decided it was time to find new, young horse to bring along. It wasn't going to be easy. I had, what was, even then, a limited budget of around $5000 for a new horse. I'd owned Russell and knew exactly what I wanted in a horse, making it even more challenging.

Eventually, after a fruitless search here in New Jersey, my friend who was living in Maryland, told me there were lots of horses advertised for sale down there, so it was worth a trip. I traveled down and off we went to horse farms. Again, nothing panned out. Some of the trips were amusing, including one to a farm where the woman insisted she had a half dozen 16 h horses all suitable for dressage. When we got there, we were introduced to a muddy paddock of furry Appaloosas none more that about 15 h. They were well cared for, aside from not being groomed or presented to us in any kind of appropriate way, might well have been nice horses. But as far as we could see, there wasn't one even remotely like what she had advertised.

Disheartened by our failure, we made one more stop, at Carousel Farms in Mt. Airy. Jan and Hugh Collins were horse dealers who specialized in buying Thoroughbreds from farms, tracks and trainers all over the US, but mostly in the Midwest. Their barn was nearly full of gorgeous creatures, all destined to be sport horses, and all already restarted with basic training for the show ring. The prices varied, but Jan assured us that she often had horses well within my price range and soon pulled out a few prospects.

One was a dark bay, I think seven years old, beautiful to look at and a super mover. The other was a plain bay, with a huge trot and a nice calm attitude. How it all developed, I can't quite recall, but within two weeks, my friend had purschased the dark bay, and I bought the four year old plain bay.
Idaboy, Si, the day he arrived at Prime Time Farm, where I boarded. That's my good friend Jacquie holding him.

His name was Idaboy, and I figured if he didn't turn out to be my new perfect horse, I could train him for resale and work my way up to something else. I soon renamed him Sudden Impulse, nicknamed him Si, and within a week, was in love. He was a beautiful mover with huge, well balanced gaits. He was still green and the indoor arena may well sport a hole in one of the doors where he connected with his hind hoof kicking out on a left lead canter depart, but otherwise....wow! He'd learned to do an extended trot down in Maryland and I'd have to remind him when I rode that there was a working trot we really needed to do instead.

And out on the trails, he was a joy. On one of our last rides, we encountered a herd of deer and all Si did was look at them, wait for them to cross the trail, and then walk calmly on. He was a wonderful horse.

But last ride it was. It might even have been that day, because I know I had just come back from a trail ride when I noticed that Si, just wasn't right. I'd seen the signs of colic before, and knew at once what was going on.

I got someone to start walking him for me and went inside to call the vet.

It was the end of a dream and the beginning of a nightmare.

On to The Finish Line

Horses I Have Known: Part 5

Russsell and I evented successfully for a while longer. I know we placed again, but nothing compared to the big victory at the Monmouth County Hunt Club Trials. I think the next year the MCH altered the course to run the Young Riders Qualifying trials, and soon after, for whatever the reasons, abandoned the eventing concept altogether. It was sad because the grounds were a perfect venue. Now, of course, as I have said, there is an eventing course at the Horse Park adjacent to the Hunt Club, so the sport still has a home.

As I said, Russell and I were just rolling along, happy in the event world, until the dreadful day of discovering we were in over our heads....at least I was. Russell probably would have been fine with a bolder rider. We went to an event in south New Jersey, where we'd been before. But now they had upped the stakes. Added to the course was a drop fence off a bank with a jump at the top. You had to jump the jump to go off the bank. The bank was about 3'6" down with the perhaps two foot jump at the top, making the full drop at about 5 feet. Also added to the course was a trakehner jump. This consisted of a telephone pole over a ditch. The problem was that the ditch had absolutely no ground line and was simply a lined wooded box under the telephone pole. At the end of the course was a combination jump of a vertical to another trakehner and then a final vertical. That one was just big, at maximum height. I remember when I walked the course that I was a little concerned about the bank, very concerned about the first trakehner and interested in the combination. One of the trainers walking his students through the course told them to really gallop on at the combination, because you'd need lots of impulsion to get through. I had a different take. I felt the horse needed to be balanced and well in hand in order to negotiate the striding between the jumping efforts.

My dressage test was OK, and off we went on the cross country. Well, off I went, anyhow! At the top of the bank, Russell simply stopped, and I kept going. I must have somersaulted in the air because I landed on my feet at the bottom of the bank facing him, still holding the reins of the bridle that had slipped off his head. Back then a fall did not eliminate you, so I somehow sorted out my tack, clambered back on, and, nearly making the same mistake again of getting myself too far forward somehow managed to convince Russell it was OK to jump and down we went, as a team.

The trakehner was soon after. We headed for it and as we did, I felt Russell start to question. Had I been the proper, bold event rider, I should have kicked him on, but instead, I was as unsure as he was. We slowed to a walk, and finally, never once stopping his forward motion, Russell stepped down into the wooden lined ditch and clunked his poor chin on the telephone pole. We were done in for sure. I had no idea or the courage to tell him when and how to jump and he had no idea that the thing before him was actually a jump. To this day, I'm pretty well convinced that had there been a ground line...a raised element of some kind on the ground in front of that darn ditch, we might have figured it out. But the ditch was just there, totally undefined in front of the cross pole with no visual clue that it was there until you were right on top of it. We refused out.

But, again, back in the day, I was still allowed to continue the course for schooling purposes if the steward allowed it, and he did. Through the woods we went in fine fashion, mastering every other fence with no problems. Then, we headed out towards the combination. At this point, Russell knew we were heading for home, and was trying to gallop flat out. "Flat" was exactly what I didn't want, so I brought him down...all the way to a trot.

Here's the story from another viewpoint. Several of my friends were standing at that combination to watch. They said as we came back to the trot, the rest of the gallery gasped. "Oh, no! She's not going to trot up to this thing!!" My friends just kind shrugged. After all, they'd seen me take 4 foot fences from the trot plenty of times. What was a 3'6" fence to me? Sure enough, with Russell under perfect control, we cleared all three elements without the least bit of trouble. I think even I heard the second gasp as I left the fences behind.

We crossed the finish line, and we were done. Our eventing days were over. I knew that if we kept going, one or both of us was going to get hurt. The courses were posing more and more questions and I was not ready to answer them. Russell's trust in me had been proven when he'd walked into that ditch and had been willing to walk into it again...he never once tried to run out...and I had failed him. It had been fun, but it was time to admit I'd had enough.

I do remember doing one more event at a lower level just so we could finish up our career on a good note. But from then on, Russell became a dressage horse.

We still did some jumping classes. Russell even let a young rider win on him in a good sized equitation class. He put in an almost flawless jumping round for her. All she had to do was steer and look good--he did the rest.

And, we had fun. Some of the best competitions were the hunter paces. Teams of two riders ride cross country over optional jumps trying to match the time pace riders had ridden earlier in the day. The idea is to try to maintain a good hunting pace the whole way. There's no real strategy. You just go out, gallop in the good footing, trot when it's not so good, and walk wherever you need to to be safe. Russell and a partner won twice and placed a few times and had a grand time.

And then came the fateful day. We were about half way out on a pace when Russell took a bad step and pulled up lame. Fortunately, one of the huntsmen was not too far away and, although it took some doing, we managed to get the horse trailer to us--we lucked out as he broke down near an accessible road. He limped on board and I drove us over to the horse show at the Horse Park nearby. I knew, since a recognized show was going on that there would be a veterinarian on the show grounds, and I didn't want to fool around if something was seriously wrong.

As luck would have it, Dr. Stephen Dey, the one vet in the area I knew really well and had relied on for many a problem was the vet on the show grounds. I pulled the trailer up to his truck, unloaded Russell and before his last hoof hit the ground, Dr. Dey said, "It's his foot. You'll have to bring him to the farm for xrays." He told me to keep Russ on stall rest until the appointment, and we'd go from there.

A day or so later, Russell was much better, but we headed to the doctor's farm. Xrays were taken and it wasn't long before I heard the news--navicular.

The years of jumping had taken their toll. I no longer had a sound horse.

But it wasn't the end of riding, or competing. I won't leave you hanging with this one. A course of isoxuprene, which dilates the blood vessels and increases circulation was the treatment of choice and Russell regained his soundness. I still jumped now and then, but for the first time since I'd owned him, I realized my Boy was mortal. It was time to consider some options for my riding future.

Nothing, no matter how wonderful, lasts forever.

Shoeless Wonder?

I'm pretty sure this is an earlier event photo as the fence is a bit smaller. I don't have any other cross country photos. Somewhere there may be a video, if I have it, but otherwise, the photographers seemed to be pretty scant at my events back then. Ironic that both pictures have a barrel jump as I think they were at different venues. I love how forward he looks here. The jump is nothing to him and he's just galloping on. There's nothing quite like the feeling when a horse is committed to his job like that.

Horses I Have Known: Part 4


Current news: Scott and I decided to pull Tucker's other shoe, so he is now barefoot. The footing/snow/mud are going to be pretty bad for the next month, and I figured I'd be calling Scott every week to replace lost shoes. Scott took a good look at his feet and decided they were in good shape, so it was worth a try. He too agreed that we'd have trouble with the footing for the rest of winter. Please note: Scott also said, "Now it's going to be all over the Internet that you've gone barefoot." Guess he's right, but don't spread it around. *G* I have the supplement Caroline suggested on order since none of the feed suppliers around here seem to stock it. (Might have tried a bit further south, but chose a farmer's co-op near where I used to board.) We'll see how it goes.

But back to the story.


I don't seem to have many pictures of Russell eventing, and the little set of dressage pictures I did find are pretty bad, so you'll have to trust me on this one. I did find copies of a number of scored tests I rode on him, and at training, first, and second level, our scores were nearly all up in the 60% range so we did pretty well. At least one first place showed up, some seconds, and a few other scattered ribbons, so we were competitive. I schooled him to third level before we were done competing, so that wasn't too bad.

But Russell didn't want to be a dressage horse. He wanted to jump, and jump he did. Our first event, as I recall, was at Amwell Valley. The course is long gone, but it was a nice combination of forest and field. Russell ran out at the first fence, as he really had limited experience jumping cross country fences. (Princeton Riding Center had a small course, but not much and we were pretty green to the whole eventing thing.) But once he figured out we were supposed to go over things instead of around them, there was no stopping him. We finished the rest of the course clean and had a clean stadium round as well. I don't think we placed, but who cared? We had a blast!!

Best of all, I had discovered the sheer pleasure of knowing exactly when I was going to ride instead of suffering a long day at the show grounds waiting for my class to be called. I was hooked!

And obviously, so was Russell. He loved it. I honestly can't remember his ever refusing a jump until we moved up to a more competitive level and got in a bit over our heads. (Not our bodies, but our heads....more on that later.) Our dressage wasn't always the best but the rest was always wonderful.

My favorite was our first time out at Training Level--back then, fences of 3'3"-3'6". (It has changed now.) This was a course at what is now the New Jersey Horse Park in the rolling countryside of the wildlife management area. Some of the jumps are still there although the new cross country course--a three star international course--is in a much more confined area.

It had rained for several days before the event and the dressage footing was a bit "iffy." Our score was on the dismal side and had us lying in 9th or 10th at the start of cross country. I'd walked the course at least twice and had all my plans made. I had five fences that worried me a bit. The first was a rather narrow set of rails off line from another fence, the kind that invited a run out if you didn't get a good line. The second had (You'll like this, Caroline.) a hedge sticking up out of it close to 10 inches above maximum height. (The trick here is for the horse to brush through the greenery, so the added height was legal.) The third was a combination of fences. The first was off a sharp left turn, before a dirt road crossing, and the second was slightly off line, and down into the woods on the other side of the road. The fourth one was a hay bale "window" set at the bottom of a steep hill. The last one was a slight drop fence to a ditch. (Russell did not like ditches at all.)

I decided to really focus on my steering at the first one, close my eyes on the hedge and pray, take the long way around on the combination (all the other course walkers seemed to be deciding to cut the corner and approach the first fence from the left, forcing them to then turn right to take the fence into the woods.), and get a straight line to the second fence. For the hay bales, I intended to trot down the steep hill, not worried about whether Russell would jump, but rather concerned about galloping down the hill itself, and getting too flat to be able to jump. By the time we would get to the ditch, I hoped we'd have enough momentum to just go through before he realized what was happening.

We started off, and by the second fence-- a stone wall in the forest-- I was in tears. I could feel Russell's absolute committment under me, and I knew all I had to do from then on was steer and hang on. The narrow fence? Simple? The hedge? Well the photographer had a picture of me that later showed up in a national magazine and to say that I was left behind..."hailing a cab" is a suitable description, as was pretty clear Russell jumped the full 4'6" and didn't brush through anything. My choice of the long option paid off and we hit both fences at the road perfectly and galloped on. The hay bales? Well, Russell would have no patience with trotting anywhere. We galloped full tilt down the hill and through without a second thought. (I didn't have time to think anyhow.) I almost lost the track I was supposed to follow to the ditch jump which was set in a hedge row. Then I heard people yelling, "Heads up, rider coming through!!" There was another rider stuck in between the drop jump and the ditch, which her horse had refused. She dodged to the left just as I arrived. Frankly, I'm not sure I could have stopped if I tried. Russell knew his job and we sailed through, over the ditch and out with the stuck rider urging her horse to follow our lead. One more big log before the finish line flashed under us as I gave out a shout of joy and we were across the line, fault free. Despite my choice of the long option, we didn't have any time faults either.


When I looked at the results of the cross country, Russell and I had moved up to about 4th or 5th place. Apparently the short option at the road crossing had caught a good number of my competitors off guard. Now we were in the ribbons.

Remember the rain? The jumping field for the stadium was a quagmire. It was heavy mud. The kind where the horse sank in up to his pasterns and by the time my division was called, the footing was really sticky. There were some tricky lines again and one narrow fence on a turn to the right. I watched a few rounds before me and there was one refusal after another. Some missed the narrow fence and others simply struggled. Then it was our turn. To this day, I do not know how he did it. I'd get Russell to the bottom of the fence, and I could feel him sink in the mud, and he'd launch himself over. All I had to do was get him to the jump and he'd figure out how to get us up in the air. He never touched a rail and, as it proved later was one of the only clean rounds of the day. I'm in tears even now remembering that feat. There was one fence in a double combination that felt impossible once we got there--the take off footing was so bad. But every inch of Russell's body committed to getting us over it and over it we went.

The competition was over. I was sure I'd placed, but where? The announcer began calling the winners in reverse order. She passed fourth place and still didn't call our number. Third place...nothing. And then, I started to run up the hill to the secretary's stand. Second place...someone else. There was no doubt. We were in first. My marvelous, amazing event horse had won one of the biggest events in the area at that time.

Incredible heart. Super athletic ability. And all those hours of gymnastic schooling. Russell could jump almost anything within his scope from almost any spot, in almost any conditions, because that's how he had been trained. He knew how to jump. He won on that stadium course because we had jumped hundreds of cross rails and been faced with dozens of jumping questions in exercise after exercise. He'd learned to be supple in the dressage, understood how to adjust his stride, to change his balance, and knew his job to the letter.

He was an event horse.

Snow Shoed

Here's a picture of Russell and me eventing. This is what he looked like all grown up. No, we're not going in the wrong direction. That number was either for the fence judge or for one of the other divisions. White flag on left...

Horses I Have Known: Part 3

The main heading? Tucker lost a shoe sometime yesterday. This is the first time he's lost one in the snow. Considering how horrible the footing will be for the next month or so, I am seriously thinking of pulling his other front shoe as well, but I will only do that if Scott, my shoer, thinks it will be OK. He knows Tucker's feet and what the possibilities are. Trouble is, with the soggy footing under the snow, I guess, there was mud? As time goes on, all we are going to have is more mud. While I can opt to turn Tucker out in the arena, that is still no guarantee that the combination of melting snow and wet sand will help keep his shoe on. But we will see how it all pans out.

On with Russell's story. You were all kind telling me how beautiful he was, but as I look at those pictures, I still see the immature, not so special baby horse with a beautiful head. The horse pictured above is another story.

I realized after about two years of training on my own that I needed help if Russell was every going to reach his full potential. I'd managed to teach him to walk, trot, and canter under saddle, and he was fairly well along but I wanted to jump. Enter The Princeton Riding Center and Prudence Morgan. After a long search watching lots of lessons, I found Princeton and never looked back.

Pru had been short listed for the US Olympic Eventing Team when her horse Brownie broke a bone in his foot and had to be retired. She had studied at Morven Park in Virginia and was an exceptional horsewoman and teacher. To this day, I still say she was one of the finest teachers of any subject I ever had. And, boy, was she keen on the basics. For the first half year or so, I wasn't allowed to ride Russell in the lessons, but rather had to learn from a wide range of exceptionally well trained school horses. At this point, I'd been riding for at least eight years, and I had no idea of how little I actually knew.

I was put in the advanced class and later found out I was given some of the more complex horses to ride, but my goodness, did I work. I had to completely fix my seat. I had to learn how to use my hands effectively. And, I had to learn dressage basics with tons of flat work, even before I was allowed to jump my first little crossrail. The golden graduation day came when Pru finally told me I could start bringing Russell to the Center to start using him as my lesson horse.

Now by this time, Russell, thinking he was suffering under the new skills I was developing, had decided that I was never to touch him with the riding crop, even to urge him on if I needed more energy. He developed a nasty buck. When Pru saw him let loose with me, she decided to get on him herself and fix the problem. She mounted up and gave him a tap. Russell bucked and leapt some ten feet through the air only to stop as she steered him into the wall. "Well," said Pru, "he mustn't do that." Then I saw the event rider screw her seat into the saddle, turn him around and use the crop again. Up they went, sailing through the air for some twenty feet, with Pru using the crop on his rump while they were airborne. They landed and off they went again, this time landing in the middle of another riding lesson at the far end of the arena. (I can still remember the other trainer grabbing her student's horse's bridle and just kind of gaping in astonishment as they flew by.) One more half hearted buck with the crop swatting him, and Russell, clever fellow that he was, decided surrender was the better option. "H-m-m-m," said Pru as she trotted him in a circle, "I think we'll have to work on this next time." Russell had met his match, and he knew it. From that day on, I could use the crop if I needed it, and although he still was insulted, I can't recall that he ever bucked again like that.

Gymnastics and dressage training were the focus of every lesson at PRC. Just so you know I really did know what I was doing over fences once upon a time, here I am jumping in a clinic with no hands and no stirrups. Oh yes, sometimes when he was being silly, Russell would still offer little naughty bucks and I think he let one fly during one of these jumps that day. But it was no big deal any more and I learned to laugh at his antics. Less than a month after my first lessons with Russell at PRC, I had learned to get him to stretch and use his back correctly on the flat. He won a pleasure horse division championship at a big horse show the next time we competed. There were 25-30 horses in every class and he won them all. For years, he was virtually undefeated on the flat. Our jumping was a bit more challenging, mostly because of me. In hunter classes here in the US, striding to a fence is critical. It's all about creating the perfect round with the horse meeting every jump from the ideal distance. I never had a great "eye" for a fence, so trying to create the ideal picture wasn't always easy for me. However, when I got it right, there was a good chance we'd finish in first place and we often did. Russell had well over 150 show championships and reserve championships before I stopped counting altogether.

I don't remember how we finished the day the last picture was taken, but he looks good to me.

This was all before I discovered eventing.

But that's another part of the story.

Yes, There's a Weather Report Too!

Horses I Have Known: Part 2

We probably have another foot of snow out there. Hard to tell, though as it's been blowing and drifting. The barn did not escape. There is snow in the aisle that blew through the top of the big sliding door on the south side. I really need some kind of baffle up there, but the barn swallows use the opening for passage so.... And Chance's stall despite opening into a run in shed roof was hit. As a matter of fact, I closed his top and bottom doors for the night and left him in. It gave him a bit of a break from getting stuck out if the bully Boys decided to chase him, and it kept his stall a bit drier. As it is, all the stalls are pretty messy this morning. I picked out some to tidy them up, but I'm in for a major cleaning later. But I will need to shovel a path to the manure pile first. Yippee....*sigh* By the way, it's still snowing.

On to the previous tale.

After college (the university) I was hired as a full time teacher in September, 1971. As soon as I had a job, I was off on my hunt for a horse of my own. Back then good horses were to be had for $500 or so. These were show quality animals, ones you'd be glad to compete today. I found plenty of ads to follow up on.

I drove hither and yon. In south New Jersey, I tried a young Thoroughbred that was just a bit too wiggly and green for me. In north New Jersey I found another nice prospect that was a cribber, so passed on him. I found another nice boy a bit closer to home, but when I had the vet look at him, he didn't pass. There was an Anglo Arab I nearly bought, but changed my mind before I closed the deal. And not too far away, at a local boarding stable, I tried and loved a nice show jumper. But again, when my vet looked at him, he too failed to pass. That was a bit of a nasty experience because the horse had been regularly shod by the barn owner, and the job was so bad, it caused chronic, low grade lameness. My vet and the barn owner got into a bit of a tiff about that one, so I certainly wasn't ever going to be able to go back there.

That was when my vet suggested I visit a dealer he knew in South Jersey. He told me the guy was honest and had nice horses.

I called Mr. M soon after, and he told me he had a nice young Thoroughbred for sale at $1500. That was way over my budget, but he insisted I really ought to see this horse, and he'd be willing to work on the price for me.

In less than a week, I met Russell R. for the first time. At just under three years old, he was one of the prettiest horses I'd ever seen. You'll have to understand here that I hadn't known many Thoroughbreds at this point, and Russell had gorgeous head with a lovely expression. To top it off, he had the attitude to match. He was quiet and, although green, walked, trotted, and cantered more willingly than most of the horses I'd been riding for years.

December 11, 1971, the day I tried Russell at the dealer. Back then we didn't wear hemets, and I was still not in breeches. You can just get a little feel for Russell's expression here, but he was a sweetie that day.

Now, whether Mr. M. was giving me a phony sales pitch or not, I'll never know, but he offered to sell me Russell for $1000 because he thought we made such a nice pair and he was sure I'd give him a good home. He said someone else had offered him more, but I had the right of first refusal. At that point, I nearly panicked. Not because I was afraid I'd lose the deal, but because I knew full well that buying a three year old, green Thoroughbred was not the smartest thing to do. I told Mr. M. I'd need to think about it, so he told me that was OK. I was to call him by the next day to let him know.

I went home and tossed and turned the idea in my head. I called some friends, no more expert than I, but at least they knew horses. Before the night was over, I called Mr. M, and the deal was closed. Russell was mine.

Again, I'm not too sure how I found my first boarding barn, but it might have been through the minister at my church. At any rate, in about a week, I'd spent the money to get new grooming supplies, a nice Baker blanket, and was all set up for Russell's arrival. Little did I know my decision was going to take me on an incredible journey, one that's led me now to Toby, Tucker and Chance.

Russell soon after I bought him. That's the barn owner holding him. This was probably around Christmas, 1971. Russell arrived on December 18. The bandages? Probably to wrap one of the many little bangs he got soon after I got him. Better to wrap both legs instead of just one.

Russell bucked me off on the very first time I rode him--out on a trail near the barn. I remember tromping back to the stable, furious and determined to find the barn owners upset and worried about me as they held Russell's reins. I climbed back on, and rode him right back out to where I'd gone off, and finished up the ride in the saddle. I learned that day, and every day afterward that he wasn't one of those kinds of horses I'd ridden before--he was Thoroughbred and taught me to adore the breed with all its quirks and temperaments.

Russell was, by far, one of the most itelligent horses I've ever known. And he loved people. In a lot of ways, Chance reminds me of him. Russell would play with blankets, never miss an opportunity to get into some kind of mischief, and constantly keep me on my guard. He loved life and taught me to love horses beyond imagining. I learned about riding, training, handling, basic vet care, how to enjoy success and how to cope with utter failure from him. He was my rock on the days when my classes at school overwhelmed me, and my laughter when he pulled one of his many pranks.

As I look back now, I know that buying Russell was one of the best things I've ever done.

What Am I, Crazy?? It's Gotta Be the Snow

Why I Love to Ride and Horses I Have Known: Part 1


But first we take a station break for a weather report. Guess what? It is snowing--a lot. We may get another 12-18 inches according to one weather forecast. Then again, we may not. But if it keeps coming down like it is now, we will.


OK, enough of that. I'm repeating myself. I'm repeating myself. *lol*


Aside from the fair ponies, I was not a child rider. In fact, I did not officially ride a horse until I was in 7th grade, at about 11-12 years old. My mind is foggy on that now. Was I ever really that young? At any rate, I joined the school riding club, run by the art teacher who just happened to have a farm, horses, and the strange urge to give lessons. As I recall, back then, a lesson was about $2.00 or so.


My "Don't get hurt on those darn horses" Mother, blessed woman that she was decided to pay my way and come to the farm to pick what was left of me up each week and so it all began.


Initially, my teacher used some Standardbreds owned by an eccentric old man in a nearby town. Gee, I nearly forgot that. I know she had her own horses because I can recall an early lesson on a lovely one eyed mare named Bonnie who thought trot was the only possible gait a horse could do out on the trail.


I have a picture of me on one of the Standardbreds at a little show on the farm. No helmet, no real riding boots, just jeans and a look of "I'm cool" on my face even though it's painfully obvious I hadn't a clue as to what I was doing. I don't really remember much about my lessons at the old man's place, but I guess I learned to at least sit in the saddle and steer. But I'm pretty sure that by the time summer vacation rolled around, we were at the teacher's farm using her horses instead.


That's where I took one of my first painful trail rides on Bonnie. For some reason, despite my musical training and a fairly active life, I simply could not figure out how to post the trot. My teacher was not really a very good riding teacher as far as cementing the basics, so she didn't have any exercises to help me. (I have tons of ideas as to how to help a rider develop a seat and learn to post now, so my rather horrid beginning has served me well in learning how to help others avoid the agony themselves.) I think it took me all summer to learn how to go up and down with the horse's rhythm and the day it happened was one of the most wonderful moments of my life! But then again, perhaps my bouncing beginnings did teach me from an early age how to sit the trot really well--at least well enough to stay on.


Progress came slowly for me. I fell off just about once a week. I always dusted myself off, remounted and tried again, and again and again. Eventually, one week I managed to stay in the saddle for the whole lesson and suddenly the psychological barrier was broken. From then on, I tended to stick my landings in the saddle instead of the dirt.


My teacher's horses were varied creatures. There were a few sweet steady ones, like Bonnie and Cameron. Then there was Silver, the little gray pony who delighted in watching his riders cry, but when he was on, he could read your mind about a jump course and just take you around as soft as anything.


And then there were the auction horses. My teacher used to go to the local horse auction--which is still operating--to buy new prospects both for her lesson program and for resale. We kids would get to try them out back at the farm.


Now, mind you, at this point, I was one of the advanced students. I was earning part of my lesson money by cleaning stalls and watering horses, so there was lots of time to spend at the barn. And everytime a new horse arrived one of us would be the first in the saddle. I've lost all their names in my memory bank. One reared up and jumped a fence backwards with one of our male riders--gutsy kid just kept on going. A few were great, and some ran off. One of my favorite memories was of a big, stocky pinto who'd been owned by an old man. The horse had discovered that if he bucked, the guy would get off and put him away. As a result, the horse was as fat as could be with marshmellows instead of muscle and a big attitude about bucking. I was one of the first on his back. He let fly with me and, dumb as I was, I sat it out, let him buck again, and then somehow managed to get him going forward to follow my teacher on her big Thoroughbred out for a long trail ride. When we got back, fat pinto was huffing and puffing, but he'd forgotten about the buck in favor of just tying to keep his legs holding up his body.


In less than a year, fat pinto had won the year end state 4-H trail championship and was in a new loving home, completely rehabilitated.


There was another naughty horse I remember too. A big chestnut who figured out that rearing was a way to get out of work. My teacher decided to take him out on the trail too, with me in the saddle. We got to the end of the driveway, and up he went on two back legs. I was prepared, and knowing his reputation had read a dozen books on how to ride a rearing horse. That was when I learned the method I use today. Drop an inside hand way down low, lean forward, spin the horse in a tight circle and kick or use the whip to keep him spinning. Then, come out of the spin and ride forward.


To my utter surprise, it worked. After about three attempted rears and three spins, the horse surrendered and off we went for a lovely ride. I rode that horse a lot afterwards and at one point wanted to by him for myself. That might have been a good idea because essentially, I was the only person who could ride him safely, as he never stopped rearing with other riders. He didn't even try with me. I think, however, that he died of colic, so it was never to be.

Somewhere along the way, I met a kid at school who had a horse he wasn't riding any more. He was a big dun horse named Tawny Pippett. He would jump anything, but wasn't exactly a quiet ride on the flat. Still, a horse was a horse and soon, when he was handed over to another girl who lived down the road from my teacher, I got myself into a part lease situation and that was that. Tawny and I became a team.

It's funny. As I write this, I find I have lost far too many horse's names and specific moments. Someone once said of me, "You don't have any baggage," and I suppose, to some degree, that's true. I don't tend to hang on to all my memories the way some people do. Fortunately, I have pictures to remind me of the big things, and some long term memory of all the things I learned about riding along the way.

I'll work on the horse names. Perhaps some of them will come back to me as I write about them.

Part 2 will be about Tawny and me as well as a search for a horse of my own.

Hey, at least it's something to write about as the snow falls...and falls...and falls....

The Crash of Thunder

Why I Love My Horses

There is another storm coming. Reports vary on what it will be, but right now the best description seems to be a "winter hurricane." Snow? How much? Who knows. Six inches according to one report, but another says, "Potential for heavy snow." Either way, it does not explain why I have been hearing the crash of thunder in my computer headphones. Since I don't have my speakers hooked up, the sound is faint but unmistakeable.

Turns out that after you load the Weather Channel forecast to your desktop, the sound begins. If I understand what I read, it's basically there to warn when there is a severe weather alert in your area, but I'm pretty sure I was hearing it on clear days as well. It's kind of neat, but I'm sure in the long run it would get tiring. I found a link that tells me how to shut if off, so that's fine too. At least I know I am not losing my mind as I wasn't sure at first if it was my imaginination working overtime in this neverending winter.

But on to the topic of the day, since it's so soggy out there horse efforts will once again be curtailed. Although I do have to go get feed and figure out how to back the truck up to the tack room without totally destroying the very wet lawn underneath. Ah well, I'll cross that hurdle when I come to it.

And I do love my horses. I would probably love any horse I'd own, and most horses I don't own as well. The fact is, that for as long as I can remember I loved horses, even before I knew one personally--or is that horsenally.

I've often wondered about that. My paternal grandmother was apparently a horse addict of sorts, so it's possible the trait is inherited. All I know is that from the first time I remember seeing a horse, I was in love. Every year, at the County Fair, I somehow managed to convince my parents I needed a pony ride and when I was a bit older, I think I spent one whole evening leading the pony rides just to earn a ride as payment. I don't recall seeing anything else at the fair that year, just the ponies. It was more than enough for me.

Still down in my basement is an antique rocking horse worn to a frazzle by the hours I spent galloping the plains with him. And from who knows what age, I have a collection of model horses of varied quality many of which are now displayed in my living room cabinets. I used to eagerly shop in the toy department of JJ Newberry's in New Brunswick--a store long gone now because they had the nicest little plastic toy horses you could ever want. I'd save up my pennies until I could afford a new one, and my mother would set me free in the store to shop till I dropped. I still have the collection I amassed. I suppose they might be worth a little money now, but sometimes fond memories are hard to part with.

When I was about ten years old, one of my cousins inspired me with a brilliant idea--to start a savings account so I could buy my own horse. For over tweny years, I put every spare coin I had into that account, building it up to a nice tidy sum for a kid.

When I was in the 7th grade, I entered our then 7-12 year high school and met the art teacher of my dreams. She had horses, and even better, ran a school riding club taking students home with her to give them riding lessons after school. (This was in the days before anyone ever thought of lawsuits.) I was in heaven and convinced my poor mother it was the only thing I'd ever really wanted to do. Since, for the first year or so, I fell off pretty regularly, my mother would come to pick me up after the lesson and sit in the car with her hands over her eyes. I think I all the years I rode, she and my Dad came to perhaps one horse show to see me ride. Other than that, I can still hear her voice nearly every time I head out to saddle up, "Be careful with those darn horses."

And yet, when I had to send my sweet Si--the young horse I later lost on the surgery table--for colic surgery, it was my mother who bailed me out with the large vet bills. She never said a thing but just gave me the money to save my horse's life. (Si died after a second colic surgery some six weeks later.)

When I finally graduated college and was hired as a teacher in the school I stayed with for 38 years, I was ready to buy my own horse. Since I had leased a horse for many years, I was fairly competent at that point, and fairly well prepared for ownership.

I won't in this post, go into detail about my horse search, but I ended up with my Russell R., and that was the beginning of a "love affair" I've never quite gotten over. My time with him taught me the full power of my obsession with horses and how potent that kind of love can be.

Now, horses are a part of my life as essential to me as food and shelter. I thinkt that's why even when the weather is too horrible to allow me to ride, I am essentially content. All I need to do is go out to the barn and drink in the smell of horses. Just seeing one of my Boys walk across the paddock or take a drink of water makes me smile. Better yet if I go out with carrots and listen just one horse bite down and crunch I am delighted. And, oh, I relish the thrill of having a horse lean into my hand as I scratch his chin. Getting slobbered on is a joy and ducking a bite is a just another one of those pleasures I can't seem to escape--my Boys can be quite naughty. My body just "knows" how to move around my horses, nine times out of ten stepping aside just in time to avoid a hoof or swishing tail. While they do "respect my space," the Boys are still horses and sometimes forget me a little. I am ever watchful of their body language, but it is second nature to me, almost as if I am part of their society.

Yes, I wish Tucker were less difficult to train. Yes, I wish riding were easy and we could look like one of those top riders in the Olympics. Yes, I wish I had an indoor and tons of money to throw away indulging my Boys with every luxury a horse could ever want.

And yet, these are my Boys. I would not trade one of them for an Olympic mount. We have a kinship and a mutual understanding. I take care of them and they let me into their world.

It's almost as good as that first pony ride at the fair.