Any time you get a new horse, you discover their little quirks. Some are common, some not so common, and sometimes they get you into trouble. V had plenty of them.
I discovered pretty quickly that he was a little questionable about tying. Unfortunately the barn where he lived had heavy chains for cross-ties and he decided to test them one day. I was halfway across the barn when it happened, and he actually went down in them and hung there until the crownpiece of his leather halter finally broke. I tied him with twine after that, if there were no safety snaps available.
There was also an area where you could straight-tie a horse to get him ready. Since it was a lesson barn, there was often a need to get several horses ready at once, so they tied them wherever they would fit. There was always a pile of hay available, and the horse's lead rope was looped and tied around a post. I left V there one day and went to get something from the tack room.
Child boarder: "Hey, your horse was loose. He was wandering around back here. I caught him and tied him back up."
Me (thinking I must not have tied the knot securely or something): "Oh! Sorry! Thank you!"
Several minutes go by, and I go back to the tack room to get something else. I come around the corner to find my horse wandering loose again, dragging his lead rope behind him. Apparently he kept untying himself and went looking for something more interesting to do. At this point one of the cross-ties had opened up so I stuck him in there instead. I found out later that he didn't straight-tie to the trailer either...but that reaction was slightly more violent.
He was great about baths (unlike my mare), having been on the track; and very little spooked him. The flip side of this was that he didn't stand still when mounted and would jig sideways next to you when you led him to turnout. He was also a cribber, but I don't think he'd ever worn a collar until I got him - we purchased one pretty quickly, and as long as it was properly adjusted it was very effective.
He was not much of a food horse when I got him. He was definitely thin and unfit when we brought him home, and the grain that they fed at the boarding barn was less than appetizing (not moldy or anything, just bland). The day that I saw him take three bites of his feed and then go stand in the corner, I realized we needed to change something. Knowing what I know now, there's a good probability that he had ulcers, but hindsight is 20/20 and if I saw the same thing today I'd be running to order GastroGard. Instead, I changed him to a feed that he couldn't resist (Omolene 200 and all of its molassesy goodness) and he started to eat like a champ.
I know there are more - but I've become so used to him and all his little habits that I can't think of any right now. Over time, he developed a bit of a "cold back"...but that's a story for another time...
Monday, July 2, 2012
Show =/= Race
The barn where V lived always had a dressage show on Memorial Day weekend, with classes ranging from Intro level (walk-trot) on up. I decided, possibly unwisely, that my green OTTB might be ready for such an activity. (Have I mentioned that, at this point in my riding career, I rode jumpers? And had never actually ridden a dressage test before? Meh...it's walk-trot.) Fortunately, I also realized that asking him to do a test which included canter might not be the best idea, and entered him in two Intro level classes.
Unfortunately this particular show is plagued by torrential rains every year, a fact that I was unaware of at the outset. Two of the dressage rings - including mine, of course - were located at the bottom of a rather large hill, in a grass arena. The footing was, shall we say...less than ideal.
He dealt relatively well with the chaos in the barn that morning. Our classes were at the start of the day, and there was a lot going on. I may have mentioned before that this was primarily a lesson barn, so there were a lot of children and teenagers running around trying to get ready...not exactly the most relaxing atmosphere. Still, he handled being braided with pretty good humor and soon we were ready to head down the hill and warm up.
I got on him at the top of the hill, as I had done before, and started to head down to the warmup area. By this point V had decided that all of the activity meant only one thing: he was going to RACE! Never mind that he was wearing a heavy saddle (and a heavy rider, in comparison to what he was used to)...and I'm pretty sure he never got braided for his races at Beulah Park. Still, all of those people and horses running around meant only one thing to him.
We jigged sideways down the hill to the warmup area. His front end felt decidedly light to me, and I seem to remember a couple of attempts at rearing, spinning and charging back up the hill. Eventually we made it to the warmup area in one piece, and since it was early in the day there were not many other horses there (thank GOD!) He was still very, very keyed up as we flailed around in the mud of the warmup area. I was sincerely hoping that he would steer well enough to make a 20 meter circle at the trot once we got in the little white arena.
Before I knew it, it was time for our test. We slithered into the ring, and around the arena until the bell rang. Heads high (which, if you don't already know, is desirable for the rider, but less so for the horse in this particular discipline), we began our test...and suddenly it CLICKED in his head, I could feel it.
WAIT....this isn't a RACE! This is the SAME THING we've been doing EVERY DAY in the SAME EXACT PLACE! All I have to do is trot around!
And lo and behold, he relaxed. The head came down (although the jaw was still pretty well locked up...but that was something that we would struggle with for years and years). The back relaxed, as much as it could in ankle-deep mud. We walked. We trotted. We circled, and we halted. We got perfectly respectable scores for a horse that had been in training for less than 2 months with a rider who knew next to nothing about dressage. Even better, we didn't die, and no spectators were harmed. We may have even gotten a ribbon - I don't remember, but if we did it's in my collection somewhere. And when we were done, we turned and WALKED up the hill.
He dealt relatively well with the chaos in the barn that morning. Our classes were at the start of the day, and there was a lot going on. I may have mentioned before that this was primarily a lesson barn, so there were a lot of children and teenagers running around trying to get ready...not exactly the most relaxing atmosphere. Still, he handled being braided with pretty good humor and soon we were ready to head down the hill and warm up.
I got on him at the top of the hill, as I had done before, and started to head down to the warmup area. By this point V had decided that all of the activity meant only one thing: he was going to RACE! Never mind that he was wearing a heavy saddle (and a heavy rider, in comparison to what he was used to)...and I'm pretty sure he never got braided for his races at Beulah Park. Still, all of those people and horses running around meant only one thing to him.
We jigged sideways down the hill to the warmup area. His front end felt decidedly light to me, and I seem to remember a couple of attempts at rearing, spinning and charging back up the hill. Eventually we made it to the warmup area in one piece, and since it was early in the day there were not many other horses there (thank GOD!) He was still very, very keyed up as we flailed around in the mud of the warmup area. I was sincerely hoping that he would steer well enough to make a 20 meter circle at the trot once we got in the little white arena.
Before I knew it, it was time for our test. We slithered into the ring, and around the arena until the bell rang. Heads high (which, if you don't already know, is desirable for the rider, but less so for the horse in this particular discipline), we began our test...and suddenly it CLICKED in his head, I could feel it.
WAIT....this isn't a RACE! This is the SAME THING we've been doing EVERY DAY in the SAME EXACT PLACE! All I have to do is trot around!
And lo and behold, he relaxed. The head came down (although the jaw was still pretty well locked up...but that was something that we would struggle with for years and years). The back relaxed, as much as it could in ankle-deep mud. We walked. We trotted. We circled, and we halted. We got perfectly respectable scores for a horse that had been in training for less than 2 months with a rider who knew next to nothing about dressage. Even better, we didn't die, and no spectators were harmed. We may have even gotten a ribbon - I don't remember, but if we did it's in my collection somewhere. And when we were done, we turned and WALKED up the hill.
Early Days
McVille wasn't always as calm as he'd been for that first ride - in fact, far from it. I quickly learned that his behavior on the longe line was NOT a barometer of how he would be under saddle that day (a fact that holds true to this day; rarely does he run or buck on the longe, and I usually end up getting more exercise than he does). As soon as I took him to the outdoor ring, I discovered just how nonexistent the steering was - while my other horse got angry if you rode with too much contact, I felt like I had to drag this horse around by the nose. His trot gradually developed more than one speed, although at first he used any attempt to slow him down as an excuse to stop completely. He hadn't raced in 4 months when I got him, and I suspect his fitness level was not what it should have been even then. For the first several months that I had him, we would work for fifteen minutes and he would decide he was done. I always made him do more, of course, before he was allowed to stop for real. After the ride I would put him back in his stall and he would lie down and take a nap.
I had him vetted, of course. I hadn't noticed any obvious soundness issues, but wanted to be sure. I was also a little concerned about those oozy lumps he had on his chest; I'd also noticed one in his ear, although it didn't look nearly as nasty. My vet did a standard pre-purchase exam, told me that she thought the masses were sarcoids and they might be difficult to get rid of, but they probably weren't a deal breaker. When she was palpating his legs I remember her saying, "This horse must not have run very hard!" In fact, when I brought him home he had one small scar near one knee, and absolutely no other blemishes on any of his legs. We took radiographs of both front feet just to be safe, and they were fairly unremarkable.
Over the next few weeks, I discovered the fun and athleticism of a young Thoroughbred. And by that, I mean: trying not to be run off with, attempting to turn right, occasional rearing, many fruitless tries to get the right lead...you get the picture. Although he wasn't the first OTTB I'd ridden, he was the first one that I'd gotten on right off the track, and while not that different from most of the green horses I'd ridden, there were definitely some habits that he'd acquired from being a racehorse. It was very difficult at first to get him to take his right lead, for example. I had to resort to extreme counterbending (not that he had any idea what "bending" actually was!) and even then we'd get it about half the time. He was also extremely stiff on the right side of his body, so turning right was a bit of a challenge sometimes. Still, he was clearly very athletic, and was learning a little bit every day.
I had him vetted, of course. I hadn't noticed any obvious soundness issues, but wanted to be sure. I was also a little concerned about those oozy lumps he had on his chest; I'd also noticed one in his ear, although it didn't look nearly as nasty. My vet did a standard pre-purchase exam, told me that she thought the masses were sarcoids and they might be difficult to get rid of, but they probably weren't a deal breaker. When she was palpating his legs I remember her saying, "This horse must not have run very hard!" In fact, when I brought him home he had one small scar near one knee, and absolutely no other blemishes on any of his legs. We took radiographs of both front feet just to be safe, and they were fairly unremarkable.
Over the next few weeks, I discovered the fun and athleticism of a young Thoroughbred. And by that, I mean: trying not to be run off with, attempting to turn right, occasional rearing, many fruitless tries to get the right lead...you get the picture. Although he wasn't the first OTTB I'd ridden, he was the first one that I'd gotten on right off the track, and while not that different from most of the green horses I'd ridden, there were definitely some habits that he'd acquired from being a racehorse. It was very difficult at first to get him to take his right lead, for example. I had to resort to extreme counterbending (not that he had any idea what "bending" actually was!) and even then we'd get it about half the time. He was also extremely stiff on the right side of his body, so turning right was a bit of a challenge sometimes. Still, he was clearly very athletic, and was learning a little bit every day.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Biggest Damn Arab I Ever Saw
We returned a few days later with the horse trailer and my parents, who had generously agreed to finance this endeavor. My parents tried halfheartedly to talk Len down from his asking price, but he held firm and they didn't argue. The red gelding loaded readily onto the trailer, despite the fact that it was so small for him that he could barely lift his head. I promised to let Len know before the month was up if I would be keeping the horse, and we were off. The red horse rode quietly to his new home.
Upon arrival, he unloaded just as quietly, then looked around excitedly at his surroundings. Before settling him in his new stall, I decided to turn him out in the sand ring (which was more like hard-packed stone dust) to give him a chance to get his fidgets out and also to assess him for any lameness.
I let him go and he took off, leaving all of us standing at the gate with our mouths open - he was a spectacular mover. First galloping back and forth, then trotting, flagging his tail and flinging his head in the air, he looked like he had springs in his legs. One of the riding lesson groups had gone for a trail ride, and he occasionally stopped and stared at the horses in the distance. Eventually he quieted, and I took him inside to settle into his new stall.
Before I left, the lesson group returned from their trail ride. One of the students was a middle-aged lady who rode the stable's school horses. She asked me what kind of horse I'd bought, and I told her he was a Thoroughbred. She said, "Oh, OK. We were watching him out there and I thought he was the biggest damn Arab I'd ever seen!"
That evening I returned to check on him and get on him for the first time. My mare and I had been together for six years at that point, and knew each other extremely well. I only had to think "canter" and she would go, and in jumpoffs she would whirl through the course like a spinning coin. I'd ridden a lot of different horses, with varying amounts of experience, but it had been a few years since I got on anything that came through the barn. I knew this horse was going to be very, very different from what I was used to.
As a precaution, I decided to longe him after I had tacked him up. I thought my saddle would be OK for him (knowing what I know now, and after years of trying to find saddles that clear his huge withers, it really didn't fit him at all). I didn't know if he'd ever been longed before, but he seemed to figure it out, although motivation was lacking. I was expecting running and bucking, and when it didn't happen I felt a little less apprehensive about getting on him.
I don't remember a lot of specifics about that first ride, only that he didn't try to kill me, he was REALLY unbalanced, and he really had no idea what I wanted. We were able to walk and trot fairly successfully, although his trot seemed to have two speeds: really fast and stop. When I asked him to canter, things got really interesting. The indoor arena at this particular farm was fairly long, but only about 50 feet wide, with stalls lining each long side making it feel even smaller. I had already learned at the trot that steering and balance had not yet been installed, so to give him as much room as possible I asked for canter right out of the corner onto the long side. By the time we actually got it, we were almost to the other end and he couldn't make the turn without falling over. So we actually got 1 or 2 strides in before falling back to trot.
Regardless, he seemed to be trying to do what I asked in his new surroundings - I doubt he'd ever been ridden indoors before. I went home feeling like we'd had a promising beginning.
Upon arrival, he unloaded just as quietly, then looked around excitedly at his surroundings. Before settling him in his new stall, I decided to turn him out in the sand ring (which was more like hard-packed stone dust) to give him a chance to get his fidgets out and also to assess him for any lameness.
I let him go and he took off, leaving all of us standing at the gate with our mouths open - he was a spectacular mover. First galloping back and forth, then trotting, flagging his tail and flinging his head in the air, he looked like he had springs in his legs. One of the riding lesson groups had gone for a trail ride, and he occasionally stopped and stared at the horses in the distance. Eventually he quieted, and I took him inside to settle into his new stall.
Before I left, the lesson group returned from their trail ride. One of the students was a middle-aged lady who rode the stable's school horses. She asked me what kind of horse I'd bought, and I told her he was a Thoroughbred. She said, "Oh, OK. We were watching him out there and I thought he was the biggest damn Arab I'd ever seen!"
That evening I returned to check on him and get on him for the first time. My mare and I had been together for six years at that point, and knew each other extremely well. I only had to think "canter" and she would go, and in jumpoffs she would whirl through the course like a spinning coin. I'd ridden a lot of different horses, with varying amounts of experience, but it had been a few years since I got on anything that came through the barn. I knew this horse was going to be very, very different from what I was used to.
As a precaution, I decided to longe him after I had tacked him up. I thought my saddle would be OK for him (knowing what I know now, and after years of trying to find saddles that clear his huge withers, it really didn't fit him at all). I didn't know if he'd ever been longed before, but he seemed to figure it out, although motivation was lacking. I was expecting running and bucking, and when it didn't happen I felt a little less apprehensive about getting on him.
I don't remember a lot of specifics about that first ride, only that he didn't try to kill me, he was REALLY unbalanced, and he really had no idea what I wanted. We were able to walk and trot fairly successfully, although his trot seemed to have two speeds: really fast and stop. When I asked him to canter, things got really interesting. The indoor arena at this particular farm was fairly long, but only about 50 feet wide, with stalls lining each long side making it feel even smaller. I had already learned at the trot that steering and balance had not yet been installed, so to give him as much room as possible I asked for canter right out of the corner onto the long side. By the time we actually got it, we were almost to the other end and he couldn't make the turn without falling over. So we actually got 1 or 2 strides in before falling back to trot.
Regardless, he seemed to be trying to do what I asked in his new surroundings - I doubt he'd ever been ridden indoors before. I went home feeling like we'd had a promising beginning.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Deliverance
"Thoroughbred gelding, 16+hands. Make good barrel, trail or hunter jumper. $2500." read the ad in the Trading Post.
It sounded promising. I hadn't expected to be in the market for another horse, but my mare's arthritis was becoming a serious problem, and I knew that she probably only had a couple of years of competition left in the jumper ring before she'd have to retire. As much as I loved my girl, I knew it wasn't fair to her to keep working her so hard, but I couldn't imagine not riding and competing. If I started a new horse now, hopefully it would be up to speed before she had to be completely retired. Besides that, I really wanted the challenge of starting with a green horse and training it myself.
I'd ridden a lot of different horses at my trainer's barn while in high school, and had hopped on the occasional problem horse at my current boarding barn. I was pretty good at getting on new horses and figuring them out, so I was fairly confident that I'd be successful in this new venture. I also had youth and bravery on my side.
I'd considered one horse briefly prior to my consultation with the Trading Post, a mare that was at our barn to be sold. However, she had an unfortunate accident in her stall, putting her foot through the wall and having to be sawn out, damaging herself badly enough that her future soundness was in question. I was sad for the horse, but thankful it had happened before I decided to buy her rather than after.
So there I was, looking at horse ads. My requirements were simple: over 3 but under 6 years old, at least 16 hands, and reasonably athletic (so probably at least part Thoroughbred). This horse sounded like he might fit the bill, so I picked up the phone.
After speaking with the owner, Len, I ascertained that the horse was "big" (I'd asked how much over 16 hands - he'd never measured), chestnut, and he didn't know if he would jump, but probably. I made an appointment to come see the horse that weekend. He gave me directions to his antique store on Highway 50 in Indiana and said that I could meet him there and he would take me to his farm.
The day came, and my husband and I set off for the antique shop. We found it without much trouble. The store was crammed to the gills with the most random junk imaginable. We waded our way through to find Len, who possessed a perfectly nice demeanor and three or possibly even four teeth. He motioned for us to follow him in our car, turned the shop sign to CLOSED, and drove off.
We turned off Highway 50 and the road rapidly deteriorated from asphalt to gravel to worse gravel. We were being led deeper into the backwoods of Indiana. At any moment I expected to hear banjo music and people squealing like pigs. I was extremely glad I hadn't come alone.
Finally we turned into a gravel drive where there stood a dilapidated mobile home, a couple of muddy pastures (forgiveable in March in Indiana) and a very neat, recently built pole barn. Clearly this man had his priorities in order.
We entered the barn (which had wood plank floors). There were a few stalls with half doors, and their occupants were hanging their heads out in welcome. Len led us to the farthest stall, where a slightly scruffy chestnut was waiting. I peered in the gloomy stall while the owner recited his merits: quiet, ridden on trails, no soundness problems. I could see a couple of small, oozy lumps on his chest, and while I was looking he grabbed the top of his stall door and took a big gulp of air. Great, he was a cribber....not ideal, not a deal breaker, but something to consider if I decided I wanted to sell him later.
I asked to see him out of the stall. He walked out relatively calmly and I didn't see any evidence of lameness in the few steps he took. More than a little on the thin side, but no obvious lumps or bumps on his legs, either. He was, as promised, well over 16 hands. I asked his name, and Len muttered something unintelligible; I must have looked confused, because he followed with "I call him Mick." I wanted to see him move around, so we took him out to the muddy paddock and turned him loose. He took off as best he could in the muck, avoiding the run-in shed made of two-by-fours and tattered blue tarps blowing in the breeze, and while it was impossible to evaluate his soundness in the mud, he wasn't crippled.
I thought the gelding looked like a decent prospect, and Len was willing to give me a generous month's trial period (which I would later joke about - "he gave me a month to try him, and I bought him anyway!") so we made arrangements to return with a check and a horse trailer to take him home. I could hardly wait...
It sounded promising. I hadn't expected to be in the market for another horse, but my mare's arthritis was becoming a serious problem, and I knew that she probably only had a couple of years of competition left in the jumper ring before she'd have to retire. As much as I loved my girl, I knew it wasn't fair to her to keep working her so hard, but I couldn't imagine not riding and competing. If I started a new horse now, hopefully it would be up to speed before she had to be completely retired. Besides that, I really wanted the challenge of starting with a green horse and training it myself.
I'd ridden a lot of different horses at my trainer's barn while in high school, and had hopped on the occasional problem horse at my current boarding barn. I was pretty good at getting on new horses and figuring them out, so I was fairly confident that I'd be successful in this new venture. I also had youth and bravery on my side.
I'd considered one horse briefly prior to my consultation with the Trading Post, a mare that was at our barn to be sold. However, she had an unfortunate accident in her stall, putting her foot through the wall and having to be sawn out, damaging herself badly enough that her future soundness was in question. I was sad for the horse, but thankful it had happened before I decided to buy her rather than after.
So there I was, looking at horse ads. My requirements were simple: over 3 but under 6 years old, at least 16 hands, and reasonably athletic (so probably at least part Thoroughbred). This horse sounded like he might fit the bill, so I picked up the phone.
After speaking with the owner, Len, I ascertained that the horse was "big" (I'd asked how much over 16 hands - he'd never measured), chestnut, and he didn't know if he would jump, but probably. I made an appointment to come see the horse that weekend. He gave me directions to his antique store on Highway 50 in Indiana and said that I could meet him there and he would take me to his farm.
The day came, and my husband and I set off for the antique shop. We found it without much trouble. The store was crammed to the gills with the most random junk imaginable. We waded our way through to find Len, who possessed a perfectly nice demeanor and three or possibly even four teeth. He motioned for us to follow him in our car, turned the shop sign to CLOSED, and drove off.
We turned off Highway 50 and the road rapidly deteriorated from asphalt to gravel to worse gravel. We were being led deeper into the backwoods of Indiana. At any moment I expected to hear banjo music and people squealing like pigs. I was extremely glad I hadn't come alone.
Finally we turned into a gravel drive where there stood a dilapidated mobile home, a couple of muddy pastures (forgiveable in March in Indiana) and a very neat, recently built pole barn. Clearly this man had his priorities in order.
We entered the barn (which had wood plank floors). There were a few stalls with half doors, and their occupants were hanging their heads out in welcome. Len led us to the farthest stall, where a slightly scruffy chestnut was waiting. I peered in the gloomy stall while the owner recited his merits: quiet, ridden on trails, no soundness problems. I could see a couple of small, oozy lumps on his chest, and while I was looking he grabbed the top of his stall door and took a big gulp of air. Great, he was a cribber....not ideal, not a deal breaker, but something to consider if I decided I wanted to sell him later.
I asked to see him out of the stall. He walked out relatively calmly and I didn't see any evidence of lameness in the few steps he took. More than a little on the thin side, but no obvious lumps or bumps on his legs, either. He was, as promised, well over 16 hands. I asked his name, and Len muttered something unintelligible; I must have looked confused, because he followed with "I call him Mick." I wanted to see him move around, so we took him out to the muddy paddock and turned him loose. He took off as best he could in the muck, avoiding the run-in shed made of two-by-fours and tattered blue tarps blowing in the breeze, and while it was impossible to evaluate his soundness in the mud, he wasn't crippled.
I thought the gelding looked like a decent prospect, and Len was willing to give me a generous month's trial period (which I would later joke about - "he gave me a month to try him, and I bought him anyway!") so we made arrangements to return with a check and a horse trailer to take him home. I could hardly wait...
Inspiration
I've been thinking about telling our story for a while. Mainly because, sadly, my memory is not what it once was; and morbid though it may seem, my boy is 20 (!) this year and there are many, many times that I feel as though time is slipping through my fingers like water. Sometimes it seems like yesterday that he was that crazy, barely broke OTTB (oh wait...he WAS like that yesterday, LOL!) and I was a fearless college kid...and suddenly, BAM! He's almost old enough to vote, and I think back to some of the antics I used to ride him through and feel a little faint.
And while he shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon (knocking wood ferociously here) I know in my heart that no matter what, one day he will be gone and I don't want to forget a single one of these precious memories that we've made together.
I'm writing this alone in a hotel room, at a veterinary conference in the town where I lived until last summer. This aftrrnoon I got the devastating news that a friend of mine lost her horse today; he collapsed on cross-country at an Advanced level horse trials (his first at that level). My friend was so full of pride, hope and love for this horse; he was truly her heart horse, as mine is to me. A once in a lifetime horse. Now, more than ever, I feel the need to write this down. So Hopper, this is for you...and all the other "heart horses" out there...
And while he shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon (knocking wood ferociously here) I know in my heart that no matter what, one day he will be gone and I don't want to forget a single one of these precious memories that we've made together.
I'm writing this alone in a hotel room, at a veterinary conference in the town where I lived until last summer. This aftrrnoon I got the devastating news that a friend of mine lost her horse today; he collapsed on cross-country at an Advanced level horse trials (his first at that level). My friend was so full of pride, hope and love for this horse; he was truly her heart horse, as mine is to me. A once in a lifetime horse. Now, more than ever, I feel the need to write this down. So Hopper, this is for you...and all the other "heart horses" out there...
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