Here I am again!

I know it's been ages and ages since I last posted. This will just be a brief post explaining some of the major changes that have occurred in the nearly two years that have lapsed...

• March 2012 - I bought my first straight Egyptian Arabian colt, Osirion (as a yearling)

• April 2012 - I took my big black mare Layla to be bred to the straight Egyptian stallion Sabbataz JA

• May 2012 - I bought a little grey 3 year old Arab filly, MSU Dreams Aswirl AM (Sonia)

• June 2012 - I attended the Egyptian Event for the first time in Lexington, KY. I also rehomed Jazzy, my grade QH mare

• August 2012 - Start of training/first ride on Sonia

• October 2012 - Took on the mare Daughter of the Sands (Isis) as a training & rehoming prospect

• April 2013 - My beautiful boy NUHA Star Bennu (Jaws) was born to Layla

• July 2013 - Took Sonia to Pennsylvania to be bred to the very handsome Trueblue Goldmine+++//. I also put a saddle on my colt Osirion for the first time!

• September 2013 - Sonia confirmed in foal for an August 2014 baby. I drove out there to pick her up and met some more wonderful people.

• October 2013 - Moved the horses and myself to a new location. 
• Nocember 2013 - Isis was euthanized.
• January 2014 - My poor little Kit Kit passed away. We have been buried in snow and I'm so ready to be done with Michigan!!!

So, that's a quick summary, clearly glossing over a lot of major details. I hope to be able to fill in some of those details in the future.

Remembering Dad

A year ago today, I lost my father. It still feels surreal. There are times I'll be doing something, and a memory will pop in my head of my dad. Usually this happens when I'm driving.

I don't think you can ever truly get used to a loss like this. I still miss you, Dad.

RIP Molly Goat

I won't go into lots of detail about everything that occurred. It's a very long, disturbing story about a worthless scumbag of a neighbor. The short of it is that this abhorrent lowlife deliberately shot and killed Molly the goat (I think out of malice and spite). She never harmed him in any way, shape, or form. The saddest part of the story is that this despicable loser has two children, and this is the kind of example he is setting for them.

Some people should be sterilized for the betterment of society.

At a loss

Usually I try to be light-hearted in my blog, although I know I've previously posted about tragedy in my own life. I suffered another unexpected loss this past week, and I've been struggling to cope and come to terms with this sudden and abrupt end.

Last Thursday, February 10, my father passed away of what was most likely a heart attack. According to family members still living with my parents, he had felt poorly all week. The stubborn old man had refused to go to the hospital, but they had finally convinced him he should go on Thurs morning. He never woke up that morning.

This has been a great shock to everyone in the family. Dad's birthday is the 27th, and he was going to turn a young 68.

I won't go into a lot of the details of the weekend, but I do want to share a letter I wrote to Dad that I read at his funeral service.

Dear Dad,

I am struggling right now to find the words to express my thoughts. These last couple of days have been surreal – at any moment I keep expecting to hear your voice, to see you laughing.

From the start, your sense of humor shone through (even though I didn’t appreciate it until I was older). You named me after an old girlfriend. I resented being called the “baby” as I became more independent, but that’s what I always was to you. Your youngest daughter and “Baby Girl” forever.

When I was little, my favorite song was “Elvira” by the Oak Ridge Boys because I loved how you sang it to me in your deep (off-key) voice – especially the “Giddy-up oom poppa oom poppa mow mow”

Elvira, Elvira

My heart’s on fire

Elvira.

That was always our special song.

When I turned 16, you were the one who taught me how to drive. I think your patience had grown thin after performing this very service for six others prior to me. Who can forget the way you would bellow, “Slow Down!!!” if the speedometer crept even one mph over the speed limit? You were a stickler for driving the speed limit. I never understood how you could drive so slowly, listen to the boring Purdue classical music station, and yet remain awake and alert behind the wheel.

The older I got, the more common ground I found with you. You always were able to explain Calculus & Physics in a way I could follow if I got stuck on something in class. Aside from a strange sense of humor, we shared a love of science fiction (although I was never a Trekkie like you). When my friends in high school “introduced” me to Ray Bradbury and Frank Herbert, you pointed out that you had read those authors ages ago.

I know that you loved and were proud of all of us, even if you weren’t always able to express this. I am proud to have had you as my Dad.

Love,
Your Baby Girl

Difficult decisions--Hannah

My friend Julie recently made an extremely tough and heart-wrenching decision. On Friday, she had her lovely 10 year old Thoroughbred Hannah (Naughty and Daring) humanely euthanized.

Hannah was the mother of Julie's gorgeous young mountain (aka Parker), the nearly three year old Westphalian gelding she has recently started under saddle. Parker inherited all of the best of Hannah's qualities. When he was inspected and branded for registration with the Westphalian verband, Hannah was inspected as well and approved for inclusion in the Main Mare Book.

When I met Julie, I had never ridden horses outside of an arena (lesson) setting. Her go-to horse for inexperienced riders was Hannah. My first trips outside the arena were on this gallant mare. We trailered to a couple places in the area. The first big group ride I went on, the Friday Before Mother's Day Ride in Valparaiso, NE, Hannah was my mount (picture below).

Hannah also carried my sister (Sarah) when she came for a visit this past September, and we rode in the fields around Julie's house.

When Hannah was sound and fit, she was incredibly fun to ride. She had a wonderful, smooth canter with huge strides. She collected beautifully and carried herself gracefully.

However, Hannah had suffered at the hands of her previous owners, before Julie purchased her to use in her breeding program. She had been raced a few times and bore a few scars from the experience. Her feet were horrible from laminitis, and it took a long time for Julie's farrier to correct them. Even after that, she wasn't always sound. She had very flat feet, and the large chunks of stone on the gravel roads around Julie's house were very uncomfortable for her.

Hannah also had problems with her eyes. She had a cataract in one eye, and the other had required surgery. In spite of these handicaps, she put her heart into whatever was asked of her. However, over the years, her eyesight began to fail her. This became apparent in little ways, such as increased aggression towards the other horses (she was an alpha). It was never so clearly demonstrated, though, as the day we took her away from her home environment to be euthanized.

Hannah was very familiar with trailer loading, but that morning she hesitated quite a bit before clambering into Julie's spacious two horse slant. She touched the floor with her nose, as if to assure herself that it truly was solid enough to support her weight. Her boy, Parker, stood at the fence and called frantically to his mother.

When she came out of the trailer, Hannah didn't even appear to notice the other horses standing in a corral not more than fifty feet away. She only became aware when they called to her, and then she lifted her head from her nervous grazing to neigh back, searching for them. I truly don't believe she saw them at all from that distance. There were a few dogs at this place, and Hannah couldn't really tell where they were. When Julie brushed out her tail, she lifted her back leg threateningly, probably thinking it was one of the dogs behind her. She would try to face her "good" eye (the one that had undergone surgery) to try to find Julie, but that eye also was failing her.

In the end, I think Hannah was relying more on feel than sight. She wouldn't have been safe to keep, even as a broodmare, because she could have unintentionally injured her own foal without seeing it. She was too insecure anymore to ride down the road by herself. The likelihood of her suffering injury in Julie's hilly pasture or harming one of the other horses increased greatly as her sight dimmed. That doesn't ease the ache left by her passing, merciful and swift though it was.

Julie's tribute to her mare:

"On Friday April 30th I took my Thoroughbred mare Hannah to a place up North Iowa, to be euthanized and then cremated. Her time of death was approx. 2:15 PM Friday afternoon. Got many pictures of her and hugged and loved up on her a head of time. Expressed my love to her and asked or hoped that I was able to provide her with the best care and a happy life while she lived at my farm.

This was the first time I've ever experienced a horse euthanizing. Wasn't sure if I wanted to be there while it happened but decided I had to for many reasons. Wasn't as violent as I thought it would have been but it did take her a good 10 minutes before her heart stopped beating and for her to stop breathing. The vet was shocked that she was fighting it that much and was trying to hold on. He had to give her 3 different syringes of the stuff to stop her vitals within that 10 minute period. He did sedate her twice before he administered the drugs to euth. her. She fell pretty gracefully and stayed down . Didn't really twitch or kick. I saw her eyes wiggling back and forth. Toward the end she took quite a few deep breaths and the vet checked and there was no heart activity but her brain was still trying to get her to breath for a few seconds more. Finally you could see that her sides quit going in and out and she quit breathing. It was a hard decision for me to make but seeing her after I took her out of her home environment, I got to see how she was really relying on sound and touch to recognize things or to find out where noises were or what items lay in front of her (treats, curry comb and etc.).

See Hannah has a huge cataract in her left eye and her right eye had to have surgery in the past from her scratching it somehow. She didn't have 100% eyesight out of either eye and over the years it must have gotten worse. 

 

When we got there and unloaded her, I could see a frown on her face and she was worried when we got there because she didn't know what was going on and couldn't see very well to know where she was. She kept trying to know where I was when I walked away and if someone else was holding her she would fidget until I came back and held the lead rope. I bawled a lot that day. I was so proud to have her as my horse. She was perfect in every way and was the best example of the good qualities that the Thoroughbred horse breed entail.

 

When we unloaded her off the trailer she was on a big patch of grass grazing and off to the left, was a corral with quite a few horses in there. She didn't see them or know they were there till she heard them make a noise and call to her. I didn't really realize at home how bad her eyesight was because she was so familiar with everything at the house. It wasn't till I took her out of her element that I realized how bad it was. Seeing and knowing about that made me feel better about my decision to put her down. I had suspected but kept doubting if I was doing the right thing and needed to wait longer to make that decision for her.

 

I am glad that I have a foal from Hannah so I can still have a part of her bloodline in my herd. Hannah was a kind willing mare that had the best temperament and athletic ability. She was used as a lesson horse for a while and also taught many beginner riders how to ride. She was a special

mare that will always be in my heart. I loved her dearly.

 

On a good note::: The same day my beloved Thoroughbred mare was released from this earth, my friend miss Judy Willemssen was blessed with a new life with her gorgeous Lipizzan colt. Judy's mare had her foal at 5:30 PM on Friday the 30th. Congrats Judy!  A great day to be remembered in many ways.

Internet site to the place Hannah went... (I picked out a real nice urn for her. They'll send back the urn and a portion of her ashes for keep sake)... 

R.I.P miss Hannah."

So Long, Jack Tripper

This story was written by a friend, Terri of Good Hands Horse Training & Sales (see her blog here). I like to bring awareness to some of the unpleasant circumstances in which good horses may find themselves (see the story of Clever Allemont, a Graded stakes winning Thoroughbred). Jack could've been someone's "forever" horse, but he fell into the wrong hands. As a result, Jack suffered severe psychological trauma that he could never truly overcome. He was humanely euthanized last week.

A couple days ago I put to rest a fine young horse. No catastrophic wound, no terminal illness. No external reason to let him go. This horse was Jack, the rescue horse. Some of you have followed his story, since that icy February day, two years ago that he arrived in Sioux City, via Nebraska Humane Society stock trailer, some from even earlier when he and several other horses were seized by the Nebraska Humane Society from a North Omaha barn the previous spring.

Jack had been used as a trip horse in a backyard Mexican rodeo. For you not familiar with the sport, it is something akin to our American calf roping event, only it’s a horse that’s hazed down an alley and then is caught around the front legs and brought to the ground, at speed. He survived that experience with minimal physical injuries but was left with a deep and abiding panic disorder and it was that which would be the end of him. The authorities were only able to seize the horses after they were discovered emaciated and on the edge of death by starvation, as there were no ordinances in place at that time in the city of Omaha, banning the sport.

I had warned the NHS officers if they brought me a nutcase, we’d soon be euthanizing or I’d have to be free to dispose of him as I see fit. I grew up in rural Northern California ranch country and while I love my horses, I do view them as livestock. With that view, I believe responsible horse owners should be able to dispose of their livestock in the manner they see fit, and I made that very clear. The horse that came off the trailer was not remotely what I was expecting. Scared, yes, but humble and hopeful, he took a good look around before carefully and sanely depositing himself on the ground. I had a good grip on the halter rope, the thought he might want to leave the country, me skiing along behind was large on my mind.

Then, as almost always, Jack was light and respectful on the leadline. I have worked with a lot of horses in my life and you don’t get that kind of response without someone putting in some intelligent effort and hours into a young horse. The fellows running their rodeo had purchased their stock from a killer buyer, but I’ll lay good money whoever brought this colt to auction had no idea of his more than likely end. He was intact, maybe had his papers, maybe did or did not ride . . . There’s too many of those in the world right now for the people we have available that are able and willing to bring them along and horses with more opportunity than Jack have gone down the long road on a truck.

Jack blew up the second day I had him. I had been told he could stand tied, and rather than check that out for myself, I tied him. That’s when I first got to witness his panic in full color as he blindly fought and struggled to free himself. Once he’d tangled himself enough to choke himself down, I was able to cut the rope and get him free. From that point on, I took nothing for granted with this horse, and spent the next two years, breaking his training down into as small pieces as I could think, trying to reach into that damaged mind and bring him back.

There were many signs along the way that this could be a very successful journey. What happened to him destroyed his confidence, but it did not destroy Jack’s play drive. A horse that will engage and play can surely be saved, I thought. We established a “rope game” that we would play when Jack was stressed and it would help him gain his composure. I found that game by accident. Not surprisingly, after he’d beat his face against the side of a barn, Jack was none too keen on wearing a halter and it took some doing to get one on him. I won’t ever force a horse but attempt to build their willing cooperation, and there was not much coming from him on this score. Into the round pen we went, him on a neck rope made from my 22’ line. I looped it over his neck, crossed it under and stood back at a safe distance, should he strike at the offenders, which could includeme. I would gently flop them a little, letting him feel the lines softly on the sides of his face. The aim was to desensitize him to touch on his face and let him know that could happen without pain or fear. Much to my surprise, Jack reached for the lines and would bump them with his nose. I’d flop them at him; he’d bump them back at me. He’d even mouth them, shaking his head, creating a similar ripple effect at me that I was sending at him. From then on, when Jack had trouble, he’d ask for the rope game and we’d take a moment and play til he could move on to the next step.

The horse put me in tears every time I worked with him in those early days. I am no maudlin ill informed animal rights sympathizer. As I said, I love my horses and they are also livestock, intended to do a job, as well. This horse had as much heart and try as any I have ever laid my hand or eye on. There would be times what I would ask him to endure would be very hard for him. He’d been whipped, as he’d soon learned if he run, he’d be thrown and he’d apparently tried to refuse to run until his back was opened up, and he had no choice. I asked Jack to allow my to put my stick and string gently all over his body, including around his legs, neck and back. I started far back, just moving the stick and string on the ground, many feet away from him. He would tremble and snort, and sometimes would retreat inside himself in an almost catatonic manner. I know, once a thing is begun, you have to see it through to not leave a horse in doubt which only creates deeper fears. I would reduce the stimulation while continuing to engage him, and he would come back to himself, blinking, licking and chewing. One day, the yawning began. People often mistakenly believe horses yawn when they are bored, it is actually connected with an adrenalin release. Jack would yawn until his eyes rolled up in his head and tears from his damaged ducts would roll down his face. They were matched by my own. He would focus on me with both ears and both eyes, would take steps toward me, and reach for me with his nose. I reached right back with all the heart I have for a horse.

That first couple of months, I had him not only accepting the touch of that string, but wearing a saddle blanket, a hula hoop, and had very high hopes that the following year we would debut at the Nebraska Horse Expo. I had even picked out the music (Boondocks, by Little Big Town) and was writing the story in my head of the redeemable throwaway horses. Jack would walk over tarps; he learned to tolerate squeezes, which would be terrifying to a naturally claustrophobic animal that had learned just how bad such a trap could be. I thought this would be as fine of an example of why not to give up on a horse as there ever could possibly be.

Never, though, with all these gains, did he get fully calm or gentle. The least noise would send him into a startle, the white would return to his eyes, the tension to his body. Fight or flight was his first line of response and that, I could not change.

I taught him to be caught, worked with him in the round pen, teaching him to disengage his hip at liberty, face up and come to me. I have snotty saddle horses that would make the choice to not, but Jack, anywhere, any time . . . if I could catch his eye, and release the pressure to him as he’d look at me, he’d face up and often as not, come to me on a line straight as a die even with me walking away from him, he’d fall in at my shoulder.

I firmly believe it was this horse’s deep level of trainability that was his undoing. He’d learned that life is unpredictable which is something I teach all my colts, but unlike them, he’d learned it was unpredictable in bad and awful ways and that was entrenched to an instinctive level I guess I had no hope of reaching. I kept trying though, and so did he.

I’d heard he’d jumped a fence at the sight of a mounted rider in his first foster home, and watched with interest the first time I mounted a horse in the round pen with Jack munching hay on a round bale with the brood mares not 30 feet away. As I stepped into the stirrup, his head flies up in alarm. He glances at the mares as if to say “hey, don’t we have to get out of here, and NOW?” Those lazy girls paid neither he nor I the slightest heed and his curious attention went back and forth, from the calm, confident horse I was riding in the pen to the unconcerned ladies he lived with . . . I could soon ride almost close enough to touch him from the saddle. Never quite managed that, though.

There were long blocks of time Jack just got to be a horse. Professional trainer, my projects are back burnered when I have paying horses in the barn, and it works better when I have them there more often than not. Jack babysat my last foal crop and if there were any reason for me to be raising babies, he’d have had a job for life. Kind and sensible with the youngsters, he was a good and steady influence when weaning time came.

Then came the fateful day I decided he was ready to try a saddle. We’d done a lot of good work, seemed to me he was coming right along. A few stutters here and there, but it seemed moving forward was the good and likely direction. What I will say here, is that if I had that day to do over, I’d have done it a little different. Every other step I took with that horse, I broke it down to steps that made paint drying look fast. That day, I just saddled him up. I had already, of course, desensitized him to feeling pressure on his girth and back cinch area, had led him around off the girth rope. What I did not take into account was my habit of releasing to give, and when Jack would come with me, I’d release pressure to let him know he was doing the right thing. Saddles don’t release pressure, and when Jack moved away, and the pressure came with him, I think it blew his mind. I have never, in all my life, and I have seen some bucking, exploding horses, seen a horse react like this. End shot, he took out a couple panels of my round pen, bucked and ran around a three acre pasture (don’t let anyone ever tell you a horse cannot buck and run at top speed, if there was more speed than that, he should have been on the track and wow, what an athlete . . .). I finally got him directed into a pen, and he bucked and charged back and forth in that pen until he hooked the stirrup on a fence post and tore the saddle off. What broke my heart is I don’t think he even knew the saddle was gone. Nothing in his behavior changed, he bucked, kicked and lashed out hysterically, sweat and lather rolling off his body. As he became exhausted, he put himself into small circles, occasionally throwing a buck, or lashing out with a kick, hanging his head, gasping for air, and then off he’d go again.

Sick at heart, I waited until there was life in his eyes and called his name. He wanted none of me, and I let him sit, dragging his halter rope, while I went about my business, checking on him occasionally. By evening, I felt safe to go in and get him caught. We were back to zero. I pulled his halter and walked away. At any point during that terrible wreck, I waited for him to hurt himself, leap through a fence, tear himself open or break his leg. It is thought the grace of God as I understand him that Jack came through with only some minor cuts and scrapes.

How fair was this? How much of my ego was getting tied up in bringing back the dead? How could I ever know, no matter how far I got with him, that something would not set off that blind panic and he’d kill himself, or me or cause death or injury to an innocent bystander?

I worked with Jack a couple more times after this, still thinking . . . maybe. I could do so many things with him! That horse would do flawless groundwork, floating around on a draped line . . . no more pressure than it takes to move the theoretical toy boat in the bath tub. And he would panic.

It was time to stop. This was a great kind horse who should have been someone’s forever not for sale at any price love of their equine life. It was not in the cards for him. I vowed to give him a home in safe pastures as long as I had hay to give. Little did I know that my circumstances would soon change and that would become not possible.

I am one to seek wise council from informed friends and then tend to do what I think best, anyway, but in this case, we were all agreed. It was time to let him go rather than see that fine and damaged horse ever find himself in harms’ way, no matter how well intended, ever again. I opted to not put him on a truck. While I don’t mind that end, done safely and humanely, this horse had suffered enough at the hands of human beings, and deserved his death to be kind, dignified and as quietly loving as I could manage.

Rest in peace, Jack Tripper, and may I never forget the gifts and lessons in spirit, heart and courage that I got from one throwaway bay horse.

A tragic end...

... to the shittiest week of my life. I had my beautiful, sweet Caly euthanized yesterday. She cut her left rear pastern clear through the tendon sheath and into the tendon in a pasture accident (I haven't figured out exactly where/how yet). I can't write much about this now, the pain is still too fresh and raw. I just wanted to make note of the date so that I would never forget it.

Thanks to Janet and Chuck for helping me get Caly to the clinic and staying with me through the heartbreaking desicion. The staff at the Nebraska Equine Veterinary Clinic was wonderful.

I especially want to thank Julie for leaving work to be with me and say her own goodbyes to my gorgeous bay mare. I know you loved her just as much as I did, Julie, and I know you are hurting, too.

Rest in peace, my wonderful Caly girl.

Calypso (Caly) July 31, 2006 - January 22, 2010