Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Of Love and Letting Go

Before there was Wassachusetts there was Isaac.

I bought Isaac in the spring of 2001 as a three, just coming four, -year old.   I remember when the barn owner first brought him to the farm that winter as a prospective trail horse for her husband.  My first impression was: "Wow, that is one heck of an ugly horse!"

He was the equine version of Baby Hughie with a head far too tiny in proportion to his barrel-bellied body.  When he trotted across the field, you almost wanted to avert your eyes because he looked so awkward, and his front legs paddled so much that they took on the appearance of hoofed egg-beaters.

His canter wasn't much better; in fact, it looked even worse.  It was a series of gyrations that somehow managed to propel his mismatched body in a forward, and slightly sideways, direction.  But he seemed like a nice enough guy who would probably do beautifully as a husband horse.

From the start, Isaac proved himself to be a willing mount.  The day he was broke, the barn owner saddled him and laid across his back to help him adjust to the feeling of a rider's weight.  He stood patiently waiting for what might come next.  The woman, sensing his ease with the situation, gave it a whirl and sat upright in the saddle; then, basically moseyed calmly down the driveway.  Periodically, the barn owner would relate glowing reports of how nicely he was progressing under saddle both in the ring and over small jumps.  I even passed the woman with her husband aboard Isaac out on a trail ride one afternoon.

Meanwhile, I was coming to the end of my lease on a lovely little mare named Laroo and looking to purchase a horse of my own.  I was not, however, in the least bit interested in Isaac and never even considered him until that fated day when the barn owner asked if I wanted to try him, indicating that she would not pressure me to buy him or hold a grudge if I decided he wasn't the horse for me.

Isaac
From the first ride, I felt a connection with that horse.  He wasn't an easy horse to ride by any means, but there was something about him that made him special and worth the extra effort.  In the early years, he liked to crow-hop after popping himself over a fence, tossing me out of the saddle more times than I care to remember, and the hula-hooping motion of his canter caused me unspeakable back pain.  Not to mention, Isaac is, without a doubt, the spookiest horse I have ever encountered.  I remember riding him in a lesson one late afternoon and as the sun came up behind us, Isaac startled and then sidestepped his own shadow.  Even my then trainer could only shake his head and laugh.

But for all of his faults and shortcomings, that horse has an indescribable kindness about him.  He knows all of my secrets, all of my joys and all of my pains.  He was that understanding friend who on the worst of the worst days, I could seek out, bury my face in his neck and have a good cry.

He grew out of his ugly duckling phase and blossomed into a handsome horse who learned quickly and loved to jump.  We horse showed and won ribbons; we horse showed and didn't win ribbons.  But it never mattered because through thick and thin we had each other.

About a year and a half ago, Isaac started to struggle.  His joints seemed stiff and he had trouble navigating over jumps.  During our lessons, he started to crash through or stop at fences - something he'd never done before.

At about the time it was suggested that Isaac was not going to be the horse to help me reach my horse showing goals, a friend of mine expressed interest in him and, after careful consideration on my part, we reached an agreement and off he went to live with his new family.  But even though I visited and managed to ride him a few times, I was left heartbroken and feeling like I'd made a terrible mistake.

The sting of losing my friend dissipated over time and with my focus fixed on Wassachusetts, I finally felt at peace with the decision to re-home Isaac.  Then, last month, my friend emailed me to explain that, due to some life changes, she needed to let Isaac go.  I immediately offered to take him back and set to work finding him a home.

Through the course of talking to friends and friends of friends, I found a nearly ideal situation on a private estate where I could keep Isaac, put him back to work and eventually lease him to someone.  A good friend of mine offered to trailer him to his new - and I need to stress temporary - home.  I say temporary because there is no possible way I can support and maintain two horses.   The majority of my time and effort goes to raising my kids and being with my family with any "me" time going towards working with Wassachusetts.  End of story.  But here's where it gets sticky.

I spent a little time in the field with Isaac today.  When I came to the fence, he walked down to greet me. He licked my jacket, just like he'd done for the past decade, and nuzzled my face.  We talked for a bit and he lowered his eye to within a few inches of mine.  Then he turned and walked a few feet away before lowering his head to graze, but his gaze never left mine.  All of the stress I'd been feeling about taking on a second horse lifted, leaving me space to appreciate and savor this brief and somewhat bittersweet reunion with my old friend.  After all was said and done, I realized that this is no second horse.  This is my friend, my companion, my Isaac.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

It's not about the ribbons...or is it?

After much primping and preening, Wassachusetts and I made our 2011 horse show debut.  Granted, it was a local show with very few horses and riders in attendance, but we were undaunted and arrived ready to put in our best effort.



The day was chilly with a brisk wind blowing over the horse show grounds, which made my mind start to convulse with the thought that Wassachusetts might be overly excited and a bit of a handful.  Coming off the trailer, he looked more like a race horse than a hunter-jumper destined for the show ring.  With nostrils flared and ears pricked forward, he pranced down the trailer ramp to survey the area with shining, alert eyes.  Even though he didn't look like a seasoned show horse, I was captured for just a few moments by his striking beauty.

As we approached the outdoor schooling ring, my nerves start to tingle and anxiety levels rose.  Would he be ridable or would we embarrass ourselves with antics?  That's one more tricky thing about working with a green horse:  You never know what you're going to get.  In a text earlier that day, my trainer assured me that he would be fine, and, in typical fashion, she was right.

I got a leg up from a friend and off we went to warm up.  Wassachusetts was calm and relaxed as if he were a tried and true veteran of the horse show scene.  Next, we headed to the indoor where the show was taking place and I swear he had a swagger to his walk.  He was owning the day.

I started to unclench my tightened muscles and took a few deep breaths, but it was entering that indoor that cinched it for me.  Inside the building were my trainer and a handful of the best boarders and riders that I could ever hope to share a barn with.

No kidding.  The riders at my barn and their families are some of the finest people I have had the fortune to meet in life, let alone in the horse world.  While they are serious about their riding and are very competitive in the show ring, they're also the ones dusting your boots, shining your horse's feet and cheering for you on the rail.  No one could ask for a better support system.

Perhaps the icing on my horse show cake that day was that a very good friend of mine, who also happens to ride, showed up to offer her support and an extra hand when I needed one.  She held Wassachusetts while I learned my courses, adjusted tack throughout the day and kept my mind clear of nerves and focused on my riding.

It was a long day with two divisions and a total of 7 classes.  By the time we entered the ring for our fourth class over fences, my legs felt like pudding and Wassachusetts was all out of giddy-up-and-go.  We were whooped.

Yes, whooped but so satisfied with the day that I could have - if I'd had a shred of energy left - crowed from the rafters.  Wassachusetts and I managed to put in a respectable day.  Were we perfect?  No.  There was plenty of rider error and the marks of an inexperienced, young horse all over the day.  Regardless, we'd managed to get a ribbon in every class, including a fancy reserve champion ribbon in our second division.

But it's not about the ribbons...that is, unless you're one of my kids.

It was nearly their bedtime when I stumbled home ready for something to eat and a nice glass of red wine.  There was plenty of fanfare when I walked through the door as we smothered one another in hugs and kisses; then came the big question.

"What did you bring us?"  they both cried out while ogling the blue Nike bag I carry to horse shows.

I gave them the go-ahead and with a gush of sheer joy, they unzipped the bag and dug around for the ribbons.  Streaks of colored satin whipped around the room.  My son danced around the kitchen holding a blue ribbon in one hand while clipping a sunshiny-yellow ribbon to the front of his shirt.  My daughter, after careful consideration, opted for a pink and white combination to add to her collection of baubles and potential crafting supplies.

Within 24 hours, the rest of the ribbons were spirited away.  No doubt they'll surface again to be cut and pasted to colored construction paper or maybe used as a prop during some game or creative playtime.

So, do the ribbons matter?  Yes.  Yes, they do.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

All Dressed Up

There is nothing that pleases me more than a shedding horse.  Yes, it's a nuisance to be covered in horse hair, hair that seems to penetrate all forms of clothing and makes even your tongue feel a little fuzzy by the end of a good grooming.  I'm thankful that my horse is a bay and not some lighter color.  It makes the horse hair less obvious when it coats the inside of your car.  But the reason a shedding horse makes me absolutely giddy is because its a sure sign that spring, with its promises of renewal, rebirth and warmer temperatures, is just around the corner.

Who needs Puxatony Phil when you have a horse?  Wassachusetts started to slough his winter coat sometime at the end of February, which was, in my mind, a sure sign that spring was coming early this year.  Currying with feverish abandon, I willed spring to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of a desolate winter, rationalizing that the more hair I could coax off of his body, the sooner the sun would start to shine, flowers bloom and temperatures to rise.

During our lesson last week, my phenomenal trainer instructed me to have Wassachusetts's legs clipped to get rid of his "Clydesdale" look.  It was true.  Although I'd been pushing for spring's early birth, I'd been neglecting my spring cleaning.

That day, Wassachusetts got his first bath since October.  Snow white soap suds almost instantly turned earthen brown as I scrubbed and massaged the cleaning agent into his fur, further loosening gobs of winter hair, dander and other creepy crawlies that might have been lurking under his blankets all winter long.  Meanwhile, Wassachusetts was absorbed in the moment and took bath time as an opportunity to rub and scratch up against the sponge relieving all of those terrible itchy, shedding spots.

The next day, we started to tackle the great bush of unruly mane that had been allowed to sprout and grow in every direction - thanks to numerous cowlicks sprinkled up the poor beast's neck - over the cold winter months.  All was fine and good until I reached his pole area.  Wassachusetts cast a semi-wild eye in my direction daring me to start yanking hair.  We came to mutual understanding: I would pull tiny bits and then massage the area before pulling the next few strands of hair.  Again, I was reminded to remain patient and also respectful of my horse.

Last but not least was taking on the "Clydesdale" in my thoroughbred.  Here's a sampling:





My self-confidence was wavering at the thought of sheering off his leg hair.  I didn't want to give him a noticeably bad hair cut that would make him look less than the proud and regal animal that he is.  Fortunately, my good friend at the barn is the premiere in-house horse clipper.  Without a second thought, she took her sharpened blades and reformed Wassachusetts in short time.  The end result transformed him from work horse to refined riding steed:




I'm feeling the effects of spring as well.  Butterflies the size of angry pterodactyls have taken refuge in my stomach.  It is with great trepidation that I tell you our first horse show of the season will be tomorrow.   And, while we wouldn't turn down any good luck wishes, I remind myself that we've worked hard all winter and have come so far in a short amount of time.  Getting to a horse show - regardless of the results - is another goal on our list.  We're dressed for the part and ready to go!