Prepare to die of cute...

I kidnapped Bosslady's kitten for the night so I could take her over to Carolyn's and run some blood tests. We have a potential home lined up, provided she's disease free. Of course, this means I get to flood you with photos. It also means Herbie and the kitten together. Prepare to be overwhelmed.

Herbie is protective of her kitten.

More under the cut.

Kitten

Bosslady is currently feeding a colony of cats in her back yard. Now that it's spring, all the cats are making more cats. The other night, one of the moms abandoned one of her kittens during a storm. The poor thing's eyes were gunked shut and she was running into walls and crying. Bosslady took pity on her, scooped her up, and took her to the vet clinic, where they charged her almost $200 to tell her the kitten is fine. Unfortunately, Bosslady is in no position to keep a kitten so she has five days to find a home or she's going back out with the others to be a feral kitty. Have some photos of the ball of fluff. If you know anyone who wants a kitten, let me know. If you're local, I'll be able to get her spayed and vaccinated at low to no cost. 

More photos under the cut.

Getting Famous?

Ok, not really, but I seem to be making guest appearances all over the harness racing world (again).

Here's an article about how SRF needs new tack. Of course they used the photo where Missy jumped me out of the tack and my leg is way back by her flank, but it's all good.

I was also pleasantly surprised when I opened next month's issue of Hoof Beats magazine to find Aarene's article revamped to target the horse racing community. Ozzy and I smiled up at me from the second page of the article. Very cool!

"Old Dependable is starting to slow down. You know he's ready to retire from the track, but he's not old, injured or broken-down. He has plenty of "go" left in him, just not as much "go fast" as he did five years ago. Is it time to find him a new home as an endurance horse?" the article begins. If you want to read the rest... well, either buy a copy or email Aarene!

Riding Clover

My horse is out of commission and Ival is out in Ohio with her family. I was horseless, Clover was riderless, and I figured it might be a good idea to actually get on this mare before I take her 50 miles in Vermont. I had the day off and Wendy was looking for someone to ride with so she and I got together this morning and did a two hour ride in Allaire.

Those aren't my usual ears...

Of course I'd ridden Clover back when she was Evey, an available horse at SRF, but I haven't been on her since Ival adopted her in September. The mare has come a long way since then.

I drove down to Ival's barn, following directions from memory to a place I'd never been. A nice (and cute) guy let me through the front gate and quickly befriended Herbie while I looked for Ival's horse trailer. I retrieved Clover's bridle and some items I forgot during last weekend's chaos then went out to get the mare.

Clover came right up to me and stood nicely by my car while I threw her bridle and my saddle on her and corralled my dog. I let her graze on the grass at the edge of the farm until Wendy pulled up in her horse trailer. Clover hopped right in to be with her boyfriend, Jimmy, and we took the ten minute drive to the park. If the ground had been dryer, we could have ridden over directly from the barn.

I had never ridden in Allaire before and we had a lovely ride. It was familiar scenery because it's yet another part of the Pines, but there were hills for muscle building and grassy lanes for sprints. We also got brave and did some bush whacking along the fire trails.

Clover was a joy to ride. She is definitely a lot less complicated than Ozzy, but she also doesn't have his die hard passion for trail riding. Ozzy is always raring to go, and while he is often a challenge (contrary to popular belief, he is not a naturally bold horse) I get plenty of reward because he loves his job so much. Clover is a sweet and willing horse and will trot along with a content and pleasant attitude, but she'd be just as happy sitting at home in her field or giving kid lessons around and around in a ring. What she lacks in enthusiasm, she makes up for in excellent manners. She has brakes and steering and speed control. She is responsive and eager to please and just so very, very honest. She is occasionally skeptical, but will always give it her best shot. She doesn't get looky about anything and it doesn't take a lot of convincing to get her to do something she's never tried before. Ozzy and Clover are by the same stallion, but the similarity ends there. Ozzy is a 16hh, roman nosed bay gelding who is built like a tank. Clover is dainty, refined, and chestnut, standing at 15.1hh. Their gaits are polar opposites and so are their demeanors. I feel like I could ride Clover all day and log a ton of miles. She would give me her all and we'd have fun doing it, but at the end of the day I wouldn't feel nearly as accomplished.

Long ramble aside...

We had a splendid time. The horses seemed happy and we took turns leading through the pine forest. We got our share of laughs when Clover and I tried to squeeze through tunnels that tiny Jimmy and Wendy had no problems with, and when Clover had a clumsy moment and fumbled so badly that a lesser rider probably would have hit the ground. I praised the mare every chance I got and she seemed happy to tote me around 'her' trails. I even got to see a whole new side of Jimmy when we did our sprints. Wendy let him out and the 28 year old quarter horse hit a gear I didn't know he had.

After two hours we loaded up without a fuss and Wendy dropped me back off at the barn. Clover got to go back out with her little mustang buddy and I got home in time for lunch. If I have to take a break from riding my own horse, this is certainly a good way to do it.

More photos under the cut.

Houston, we have turn out

Yesterday morning I took off Ozzy's wraps, took a deep breath, and put him back out in his pasture. I had weighed the options and decided against putting him in a small paddock alone or sedating him for the first few days. I figured he would run a lap or two, settle down, and resume life as usual.

As we walked toward the gate, Ozzy's whole body went rigid. He had been a very good boy, but asking a fit ten year old horse who is used to living outside to hold still for three days in a row is an awful lot. Imagine my surprise when I pulled his halter off and he didn't take off like a  wild thing unleashed.

Instead, Ozzy, who is usually not a very vocal horse at all (he rarely whinnies unless it's at me) let out a long, trumpeting neigh. He stood poised like a statue (a not-very-well-conformed statue) and just kept right on making noise. It was probably the longest neigh I've ever heard.

At the other end of the pasture, Willie threw his head up and swiveled to look for Ozzy. He dug his heels in and lived right up to his name, From One to Sixty (in about a second). As Willie galloped and bucked across the pasture, I could hear him talking through his nose like an excited colt.

It was like a slow motion scene from a movie as the boys reunited. They pranced around like three year olds, touching noses, necks arched, eyes bright, ears locked in upright position.

Thankfully, there was no running around involved and they settled peacefully to graze.

I had Eli take another peek at Ozzy. He's still not 100% sound, but he's showing vast improvement and the fill in his ankle is mostly gone. I ordered Adequan and am giving him the weekend off. We'll see where it goes from there.

Ozzy Update

This morning Ozzy greeted me with a throaty nicker as I opened the barn door. I checked his wraps, fed him breakfast, and told him that I love his stupid butt. He did his very best to look charming, smiling, offering back rubs, and generally being a mooch.

Some time before lunch, I decided to take pity on him and take him out of his stall. We wandered outside and he quietly dropped his head to graze. He was mellow, seeming to take care of his injured leg. I decided to throw him in the small, square turn out paddock while I set up a run around the outdoor ring, where the best grass is.

I barely had enough time to turn around....

The good news:
He was sound at the trot.

The bad news:
OMG YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE RUNNING YOU FREAKING LUNATIC GETOVERHEREBEFOREYOUBREAKYOURFREAKINGANKLEOMGWTFBBQ!!!

I tried to coax my ridiculous gelding back over, but he just arched his neck, flagged his tail, and extended his gait. He was tearing around the small, slippery paddock, doing his best dressage horse impression (which isn't very good) interlaced with his best bucking bronco impression (which just makes him look flamboyant).

"Look, I'm sound! Put me back out with Willie!"
"Holy crap, I'm going to sell you on EBAY! Just. WHOA."

Thankfully , Erin came to the rescue and helped me wrangle my crazed beast before he did any damage.

"Come here before you give your mother a heart attack," she laughed, haltering him.

So Ozzy is most definitely spending every last second of his three day resting period either in a stall or on a lead rope, most likely with a chain. This will probably be followed by three days of... erm... sedated... turn out.

Ozzy still loves being in his stall because it means he gets to be in the middle of the action all day. He gets scritches and treats and everyone laughs at his tricks. However, I suspect he won't be easy to rehab anyway. He has great manners in a stall and will tie indefinitely, but he is a fit and athletic horse with a surplus of energy even when he's in work. Explaining that he needs to slow down is going to be... interesting.

In the mean time, it looks like my endurance riding will not be non-existent. Ival has offered to let me ride Clover in the Bare Bones 50 in Vermont next month, and Wendy has agreed to ship me if I decide to do it. It was the next ride I was supposed to do with Ozzy, and while I'd rather do it with him, having another horse to compete with might lessen the urge to get on Ozzy before he's ready.

Things are definitely looking up today.

Foxcatcher Helmet Cam

What little helmet cam footage I got before my battery crapped out:

Foxcatcher 2011

Alright, let's write about this ordeal. After this year, the Foxcatcher 50 is officially the bane of my existence. I want to do it one year, complete it, and never look back. Unfortunately, that's not looking very likely right now.

The Foxcatcher 25 was my second ever endurance ride and I was instantly in love.

 The landscape in Maryland is beautiful and Fair Hill has some of the best riding on the east coast. The rolling hills are deceptive and many riders think it'll be an easy ride. The first time I rode Foxcatcher, I was told, "If you finish Top 10, you are going way too fast. Don't even try it." Maryland is a good place for a lot of people to get to. Every year, we see 80+ riders in the 50 and 50+ in the 25. Some of the best riders in our region come out for this ride and a lot of the hundred milers use it as a conditioning ride. The competition is fierce and I have heard more nightmare stories from this ride than any other out here.

Ozzy and I breezed through the 25 miler in 2009, even managing to catch a loose horse right before the finish line. We completed and I was hooked.

Last year, after Ozzy pulsed in second at the Rabbit Run LD, we came to Maryland with high hopes for what was supposed to be a brilliant season of long, slow 50's. Those dreams were dashed almost immediately when Ozzy bolted at the starting line and refused to slow down for a second. We were riding top ten, much to my dismay, and fighting was only making him worse. In the end, I let him run, hoping he'd run out of steam during the long first loop, and come back to me in time to regain some composure and finish with dignity. To make matters worse, the trail markers had blown down in a storm the night before and the top ten got turned around, adding 10 miles to a 25 mile loop. After galloping at break neck speed for about 20 miles straight, Ozzy hit a brick wall. For the first time ever, he was quitting on me. I went from fighting to slow him down to practically beating him to keep him going.

At the hold, things didn't look good. Ozzy's pulse was over 100bpm when we passed the in timer. Ten minutes later, he still wasn't pulsing down. Eventually, we reached the pulse requirement, but by the time I walked to the vet check, Ozzy's pulse had rocketed back up to the 80's. I was alarmed when the vet held the stethoscope to his chest and called for an EKG. We found Ozzy's arrhythmia and were pulled from the ride.

Ozzy spent the summer in light work while I researched and experimented, then rallied in the fall by completing the Mustang Memorial 50.  With Wendy's help and the addition of KCl to his electrolyte routine, I got Ozzy's heart under control. I kept him fit through the winter and conditioned in earnest as the weather thawed. Three weeks ago, he completed a 55 mile weekend with energy to spare.

I was determined to conquer Foxcatcher.

It wasn't meant to be.

On Friday morning, I got to the barn with plenty of time to catch my horse and double check my packing list. I actually beat Ival to the barn.

Ozzy refused to be caught. Actually, that's not quite true. I walked right up to him and slung a lead rope over his neck. Then Willie came over and menaced him, and they both charged over top of me. I was livid. Worse, I had two horses running loose on the farm. I managed to herd Ozzy back into the field, but Willie wandered away to graze. He was in the alleyway around the outdoor so I roped off one end with a hose and went the long way to corner him. Willie looked at me, looked at the hose, looked at me, and jumped the hose.

Livid, I called Erin and told her she might want to come to the barn. By then, Willie was up the dead end driveway to the back field with nowhere to go. He was grazing happily and not going anywhere, so I closed the main gate to the farm and left him to his own devices.

When Ival pulled into the driveway with the horse trailer half an hour later, I had reached the point of Crazed Lunatic. I was chasing a playful Ozzy around the pasture on the Gator. He was galloping as fast as his crooked legs could carry him, tail flagged and chin tucked proudly to his chest. I was frothing at the mouth and screaming things like, "I'm going to run you over and dump your body in the ravine!!!" Ozzy was 100% sound. I had 100% lost it.

Eventually, I was able to herd Ozzy towards Ival. He stood calmly while she haltered him and handed me the lead rope. I contemplated having horse meat for breakfast.

We loaded and shipped without fuss and arrived at Fair Hill in record time. Wendy was already there and had saved us a spot. After the pens were set up and Ozzy was securely on the high tie, I walked around to see who was there. Familiar faces greeted me and I took the time to meet new people and make small talk.

Ozzy makes friends everywhere he goes. Out of the 100+ horses at the ride, a girl with a camera singled Ozzy out and came over to introduce herself. I told his life story and showed off his tricks while she video taped. Moments after she left, Boston Kate's adopter, Cherry came around the corner.

"This girl came by and wanted to show off video of this 'really cool horse' she just met. She said he smiled on command and I made her show me where you were. I've been looking for you!"

Kate and Cherry would go on to complete the 25 the next day, so at least there's one happy ending in all of this.

Ozzy vetted in with A's across the board, still completely sound, and seemingly having forgotten that morning's rebellion. We went to dinner, sat through the ride briefing, and called it a night.

Wendy was kind enough to let me sleep in her living quarters instead of tenting it. She has a fold out futon, only I didn't know it was a fold out. I thought it was just a regular couch. I learned the hard way that there was a gap behind the couch when I tried to put my cell phone on the 'ledge' behind me. It fell all the way to the floor and Wendy told me there was no way to access it. They'd lost countless things in the depths of the trailer over the years. I came to terms with my loss because I'm due for a new phone anyway. At least it was on silent.

I slept better than I've slept in weeks and woke up just after 5am to feed and electrolyte my horse and guzzle some hot, but not very tasty coffee. Ozzy was definitely feeling 'up', but was behaving himself. Before long we were saddled and ready to go.

We were going to be brave and try starting with the group again. This time, I was prepared. I kept Ozzy moving forward as horses milled all around us. He had a few moments when he contemplated going up, but aside from some jigging and side stepping, he was very good. When the line opened up and everyone took off, he surprised me by settling into a nice trot and dropping behind Jimmy and Clover. He seemed to remember where the iffy footing was last year. I praised him and vowed to ride my own ride.

Before long, the group thinned out and we fell in step with Clover and Jimmy. We rode along at a good pace. Ozzy was tugging the reins and asking for speed, but respected me when I told him to keep it in check. We rode along at a lively trot and I was able to take in the beauty around us. Unfortunately, I had remembered to charge and bring my point and shoot, but I had forgotten the memory card so I only got a handful of photos out on the trail. Also unfortunately, my helmet cam battery didn't last and I didn't get footage of the covered bridge or my favorite water crossings.

Foxcatcher wouldn't be complete without a loose horse or two. As we reached the first big field, I heard a scream and a white horse appeared in the treeline in front of us, riderless. I legged Ozzy into a gallop and made a beeline to head her off. She veered over a bridge to our left. Ozzy made a valiant effort to go get her, but I lost sight over her after the bridge and didn't want to stray too far off course. They did eventually catch the mare and she was unhurt.

After only an hour and a half, we reached the mandatory 10 minute stop, 12 miles into the first loop. Ozzy was still full of energy  and drank a ton of water before stuffing his face full of grass. He didn't lift his head once during the hold. His appetite was good and the electrolytes were obviously working. I rested my gloved hand on his rib cage. No sign of heart problems. So far, so good.

I mounted back up and we trotted out for the vets. Ozzy moved out eagerly, his shoulders and haunches swinging with power and rhythm. He proudly led the group and Clover cantered quietly alongside. We were making much better time than I had expected. Ozzy was obviously much fitter than he was this time last year. Things were going well.

We went through tunnels and over bridges, and even crossed the concrete slab featured in the precautions page in the ride packet. No big deal.

Coming up to the covered bridge, we suddenly hit a patch of big, slippery boulders. I cued Ozzy to walk, but it took him a second to listen and we hit the first few rocks at a brisk trot. He tripped and his feet slid over the rocks. I grimaced, he caught his balance, and we carried on. Shortly after that, Ozzy started making excuses. He didn't want to lead. He didn't want to trot. He barely wanted to walk. I thought he had to pee, and when he just stared blankly into the distance, I cracked him with the end of my reins and told him to 'walk up and do your job, horse'.

In the last field to the first hold, I thought I felt him take a funny step or two. My first thought was that he'd gotten a rock caught in one of his new front shoes, or that he'd bruised a foot on the gravel. I got in my two point and watched his shoulders, but everything seemed normal. Maybe I'd imagined it? Was I being paranoid?

Ozzy, being the trooper he is, trotted happily on, cantering up slippery inclines, and sitting back like a pro for the muddy downhill slides. He didn't look at a single bridge or water crossing, and ignored other horses as they passed us by. Behaviorally, he was above and beyond what he was last year. Physically, he seemed fitter than ever. We were almost at the 25 mile mark and he'd barely broken a sweat. Things were looking up!

We got to the hold and I dismounted and loosened Ozzy's girth. He immediately dropped his head and grazed. I led him to a water tub and he drank deeply. His heart rate was at 76 when we came in, but dropped within minutes to the required 60bpm.

We walked over to the vet check and Ozzy was his usual, perky self. Nick saw us and waved us over. His heart sounded good and he got A's across the board again. Then it came time for the trot out...

I trotted down and back, not looking at Ozzy. When I got back, Nick asked, "Did you have any problems out there?"
Thinking he was keeping an eye on Ozzy's heart, I replied, "Nope. So far, so good." Then I saw the look on the vet's face. My heart sank. "Why? Are we having a problem now?"
He nodded. "You've got some right hind lameness."
"Hip?" I asked, assuming it was the old injury flaring up.
"Could be. I'm talking you're-not-continuing lameness."
"I figured as much," I tried to joke. "Two years in a row, horse, really?"

They really did try to give me a chance, and I brought Ozzy back half an hour later after warming him up and stretching him out. No change. We were pulled. Just like that, it was over.

It really turned out for the best. Five minutes after Wendy and Ival rode off to do the second loop, it started raining, then pouring, then hailing. Two hours and 15 miles later, both women pulled their horses, deciding not to continue the torture. After all, 28 year old 5k mile Jimmy has more than proved himself, and Ival's motto is, "To show up is to win."

In the mean time, I had made it my mission to dig my phone out of Wendy's trailer. With a sheer determination rivaled only by the brain dead and insane, I pulled the couch half open and wedged my upper body under it, feeling blindly in the dark for my phone. For a moment, I distanced myself from the situation and thought, "This is how I die. This thing is going to come down and cut me in half and everyone will be left wondering what the hell this idiot was doing in the futon in the first place."

After Ival and Wendy rider optioned, we packed up our camp in record time, loading the horses and feeding them where they would be warm and dry. Ozzy, who had been shivering despite a cooler and a rain sheet, seemed happy to be on his way home.

But the adventure didn't end there. We were coming to the Delaware Memorial Bridge when Ival hit the gas and the truck made this awful roaring noise, but didn't go anywhere. We checked everything. The truck was in drive, two wheel, with tow haul on, but it couldn't get past 30mph. The RPM's were through the roof and I was starting to worry for the horses. We managed to limp it to a service area on the Jersey side of the border, then pulled over and brain stormed.

Ival told me to call Fred, her barn owner. As small world theory would have it, Fred is actually Erin's cousin who I've heard plenty about, but hadn't met before. He dropped everything, got in his truck, and drove 90 miles one way to get us. Because he's Erin's cousin and was at one point heavily involved in standardbreds, Fred knew exactly how to get Ozzy home. The guy is a life saver and I thanked him profusely before he left, offering to cut him a check for his troubles (which he refused).

The horses had been absolute rock stars through the whole thing, sitting quietly in the parked trailer at the side of the turn pike while we waited for a new truck and re-hitched the trailer. What should have been a two and a half hour ride turned into over five hours, but they weren't complaining. That's standardbreds for ya.

I unloaded my poor horse in the pouring rain, gave him his dinner, put a dry, warm blanket on him, and turned him back out with his best buddy. Then I went home to sleep and sulk. I was hoping a few days off would be the solution and that Ozzy would be magically sound, but I had a nagging feeling in my gut that told me otherwise.

Of course I spent a lot of time second guessing every decision I'd made all weekend and over the last four years. This is our second incompletion, and every time it happens I wonder if I'm out of my mind for making a horse with Ozzy's conformation, breeding, and medical history do endurance. His legs are far from pretty and he's had just about every injury you can think of- bowed tendons, blown suspensories, a chorded leg, a spur in his shoulder, a bad hip, an abnormal heart, and hocks that promise to develop arthritis before he turns 20. But he loves the sport and he's good at it. I know that he would be miserable doing anything else.

I have a hundred other horses at my finger tips and none of them interest me in the least. When I told someone at the ride of Ozzy's injury, and my shattered Old Dominion dreams, she asked, "Well don't you have another horse you could ride?" I do. If I start conditioning now, I could take one of the problem horses at work and do whatever I want with it. But I don't want that. Call me a spoiled princess, but it's not about the rides... its' about doing them with my horse. So when these things happen, it crushes me a little. I know it's not my fault, but still...

Today I went to the barn with bated breath. I went to feed Ozzy and watched with great sadness as he let Willie bully him for food, and refused to lift a leg because he was in too much pain. He was sound at the walk, but his trot was just plain painful. He was being conservative and taking care of himself, but he definitely didn't need to be running around. I'm a big believer in field rest, but it obviously wasn't going to be enough.

Thankfully, Eli was on his way to do a pre-purchase (pre-adoption?) on Dolly, so I called to ask him to squeeze Ozzy in afterwards. He willingly agreed and I had Ozzy in when he arrived. Ozzy was all perky ears and bright eyes as he greeted his favorite vet. He still had a ton of personality and a good appetite, but even the volunteers noticed that he wasn't quite right.

We brought Ozzy into the indoor and I put him on the lunge. He hobbled around me and flailed in an attempt to hide his lameness. He has always been a stoic horse... more the type to work through his pain and mask it than throw a fit over something minor. Almost immediately, we all agreed that the lameness was in his front, not his back. For a moment, I dared hope that he was just foot sore. Maybe it was just a stone bruise after all!

Sadly, this was not the case. A closer examination revealed a lot of fluid fill in Ozzy's right front fetlock. There was no heat, just fill. To be fair, Ozzy always has fill... in all his legs... but this was a lot even for him. And then the flex test nearly crippled him and my eyes burned with hot tears.

I waited to bombard Eli with a thousand questions until after the x-rays were done. Ozzy stood like a saint for all the imaging, peering at the monitor with everyone else, as if he could read the results himself. We took images from every angle imaginable and I'll share them when I get the disk. Right off the bat, you could see the arthritic changes to the fetlock. There was also evidence of an old avulsion fracture at the base of his digital flexor tendon, but that particular injury (which he was never treated for, but which might explain some of his lameness at the track) has nothing to do with this lameness.

The diagnosis is arthritis, aggravated by the slippery rocks on the trail. As Eli put it, "In medical terms, the joint is really pissed off."

So what now?

We're starting with three days of 'stall rest' (only because the weather is crappy). Ozzy's leg is poulticed and he'll go out by himself in the small square turn out if the ground is firm and dry. Otherwise I'll just hand graze him. He's on a gram of bute a day to help with the pain. If he's sound at the end of three days, I can put him back into light work, starting at the ground up. Wendy says to walk the equivalent of 100 miles before I even think about trotting, then only let him do a slow trot until I'm sure he's ok. If he's not sound in three days, I'll call Eli and we'll discuss a more aggressive treatment plan, one which may involve draining the joint. Either way, he'll need joint injections before I can do any real distance with him. He'll probably end up on a maintenance dose for the rest of forever.

As for his career: I don't know if he'll do 50's again. I don't know if he'll even do LD's. Riding is the very last thing on my list of priorities. The only thing I'm worried about is keeping this horse sound and happy. I told Eli to treat it as if I have all the time and money in the world. We're taking it one day at a time.

I'm lucky because Ozzy has a good team working on him. He's a special horse and everyone wants to see him through this.

And Ozzy? He thinks this is the best thing ever... he gets Denji and is pampered by 14 year old volunteers.

Foxcatcher Photos

 Pro photos are up from the ride. Ozzy and I are on page 7, then again starting on page 28. I still don't have the heart to talk about it. Last year when the photos went up, I could see that there was something really, really wrong. This year he looked great. We were doing well. He was behaving. This whole weekend crushed me a little.

RIP Gayle

At long last, we had to put Gayle down. Erin did a lovely tribute post to her. I'll admit I wasn't close to the mare. When she came in in the dead of winter, she was starved nearly to death. I couldn't picture a way for this 27 year old, Cushings mare to survive the harsh winter conditions. She frequently fell down on her way to the indoor, the only turn out she could handle. She didn't have many teeth and could barely eat. Her eyes and nose ran terribly. I could count every bone in her body. Quite frankly, she smelled like death. I accepted right off the bat that Gayle wouldn't be with us for long.

Well, the crusty old hag proved me wrong. Not only did she survive the winter. She made it through the entire year and yet another incredibly hard winter. She made it to her birthday. She made it to the beautiful days of spring.

It certainly wasn't an easy journey. Dr. Foster did experimental 'denture' procedures to make chewing easier for her. Erin did extensive research and found a feed the poor mare could actually eat, digest, and not choke on. Then Erin and I badgered Bosslady until we were allowed to buy the feed, at great cost to SRF. We burned through the $10k endowment left for the mare and her buddy in record time. Dr. B got us pergolide for her Cushings and countless volunteers helped Gayle through the shedding process each season.

As for me? I was the dreaded medicine lady. When Gayle suffered sinus infections, I was the one flushing her nose with surgical scrub. When she cut her eye open, I was the one who cleaned the wound. When she needed dental work, I dragged her away from her pasture and her buddies. Worming? Me. Vaccines? Me. Any sort of unpleasant medical procedure that needed to be done for this poor ancient horse? Still me. There were days when I couldn't catch Gayle. She'd see me coming and high tail it to the far end of her pasture... certainly not a thing of great beauty, but you had to admire her will to live. In fact, she immediately took over as herd leader in our group of bossy, mean mares.

She was ugly. She smelled funny. She was a grouchy old thing. She wasn't a snuggly horse, but she became a sort of land mark at SRF.

In the mean time, Erin took a liking to the old thing. She spent time brushing her, taking her for hand walks, and finding the spots with the lushest grass for her to eat. The admiration seemed to be mutual.

Some time last month,  the founder came in and noticed that Gayle had lost a lot of weight. She had been fine the Friday before. It seemed she had lost the pounds over night. The next day, she was listless in her field. The part time barn staff had a hard time getting her to her feet and she needed help getting the mare into the barn. The end appeared to be near.

Dr. B came out and drew blood. He said something was obviously wrong systemically. A few days later, the test results came back. The numbers were ten times what they should be, indicating liver failure. It was a death sentence. Sure, she might have some good days left, but she would never put the weight back on and it would only be a matter of time. When the suffering began, it would be unbearable. I'll be damned if I let a horse get to that point.

There was a stream of people who came to say goodbye. Volunteers, old adopters, and of course the woman whose brother died and left her behind.

Last week, I called Dr. B. We gave Gayle a beautiful last day. By then she looked like she'd been, as Erin put it, tarred, feathered, and set on fire. It was 70 degrees and sunny. Gayle enjoyed hand grazing, brushing, and a bag full of carrots. At the end of the day, Dr. B drove out and we laid her to rest under the flowering trees. It was the most peaceful death I've seen, and she was gone halfway through the first dose and dropped quietly in the grass. She was definitely ready to go.

RIP, Gayle. Go be with your owner and your best friend.

Steven R

Steven R 12 year old, 15.2hh gelding

WILLIAM R - AUNT LAINEY - GO GET LOST

This Super Bowl grandson is the type of horse that makes me get out the calculator and think about how unrealistic it really is for me to get a second horse. He was born in Maryland, his dam's first foal. He made $80k in 221 starts with an unimpressive life mark of 1:59 and change. He came to us from the same stable that gave us Poppy all those years ago and he made quite an impression right off the bat. I was excited to ride this handsome horse and I'm sure he'll find a great home in a hurry. He took to riding quickly and I was able to get walk, trot, and canter out of him the first time out. He has a LOT of power and was a ton of fun to ride. 

More photos of Steve under the cut, but first, a guest appearance by Herbie:

Sunday Stills

25 Miles

Ozzy and I went for a 25 mile ride today. I don't have the ride stats because my GPS died 8 miles in.

The weather was gorgeous and I drove to the barn after a two and a half mile walk with Bryce and Herbie. Ozzy was being a jerk about being caught. He's definitely feeling good lately and it's not always the easiest thing to work around. Sheer determination and some help from the Gator convinced him that coming to me really was the best option (ok, technically R caught him).

For those of you who don't follow Erin, she was forced to move Jabby down the street to WD Farm. While I rode the two miles over to meet her, she got the moose ready to go. In the end, her fellow boarder, Rachel joined us on her horse, a chestnut thoroughbred gelding named Side Pot. She's been at WD for over a year and had never been trail riding so I offered to show her our route. Side Pot was very well behaved, but he had this itty bitty little stride and had a really hard time keeping up with our boys, even at the walk. We took it slow, which was good for Ozzy's brain, but really added time onto our trip. By the time we reached the yearling pastures, Side Pot had had enough and Rachel and Erin rode back while I continued on my merry way.

I rode through historic Walnford and up the little dirt road past Birch Creek. Then I crossed 539, which was admittedly a nerve wracking experience. Ozzy and I wove our ways through a handful of yards on the corner then turned onto Davis Station Rd. I stopped at the new housing development to let two children pet Ozzy. The big open fields across the way were very tempting, but have obviously already been planted so I steered clear. Instead, we wound our way through yet another nursery before crossing the street to Emley's Hill Rd. From there, it was only a brief jaunt over to Clayton Park.

Ever since the women at Walnford told me about it, I've had an intrigue with the little park. When we took Herbie there for a walk the other day I decided I had to ride my horse there some time. There are only a few miles of trail, but the terrain offers a nice change. Normally we ride over miles and miles of flat farmland, mostly in open fields or nurseries. Today we got to ride in the woods, near Doctor's Creek, and up and down hills! I was delighted, but Ozzy wasn't thrilled about the addition to his ride. If we're going to do Vermont and/or Virginia, I'll have to step up our game. That's not going to be easy without a trailer.

The park was a lot of fun. We ran into a few people walking, one with a dog, and a very nice couple who were mountain biking in the woods. They moved their bikes off the trail to avoid scaring Ozzy, but he just wanted to make friends with them. We chatted for a while before going our separate ways. We also made friends with a woman whose niece rides and would love endurance.  We cantered switchbacks, trotted hills, and jumped logs. There were wooden bridges, down hill steps, and even a catwalk through a swampy area. Ozzy took it all in stride and seemed to appreciate the change in scenery as much as I did. He definitely caught his second wind out there.

What I didn't realize is that the park backs up to Perretti.I'll have to ask permission to borrow their property, but if I get that, I may be able to get to the Assunpink in the upcoming months.

The journey home seemed to go quickly, but the ride as a whole had taken longer than I anticipated. We rode through the cornfield at sunset and I wished I had brought a jacket after all. My tank top wasn't quite enough to combat the dipping temperatures.

Ozzy drank beautifully on the way home and returned to the farm in good spirits. He dove right into his dinner and seemed excited to see Willie. He's as fit as ever and I'm excited for rides to come.

More photos after the cut.

Herbie's Awesome-tastic Life

Herbie has been livin' it up lately. This weekend she went with us to the lake to help my dad move his boat. Then she went to Bryce's parents' house where she got lots of lovin' and met our bunny, Kodak. Herbie was thrilled. Kodak was not amused. She also got to hang out with her favorite person ever, Bryce's best friend, Mikey, at his house.  This week Bryce has been taking her for long (4.5 mile) walks around campus, where she gets to meet lots of people and dogs. Of course, Herbie gathers lots of compliments along the way. Everyone comments on how pretty or cute or well behaved she is. I have to say, I agree. Best dog ever.

Today, Herbie had one big day. She started out with a play date with Max, an older greyhound who belongs to an SRF volunteer. Max is very tolerant of Herbie's antics and wears this long suffering expression as she leaps all over him, licks his face, and generally harasses him with an attitude of 'hey Max, hey Max, hey Max!!!' Herbie seems to know that Max is not into rough housing so she limits herself to face licking and harmless pouncing.

At lunch, Erin and I took Herbie to Clayton Park and walked down some stretches of trail. Herbie got to meet another dog and I let her off leash for a large part of our walk. I've always wanted a dog who could be my hiking buddy and it seems Herbie is well on her way to being just that.

To finish off an exciting (and exhausting) day, Erin and I  went adventuring in the woods behind the farm. The woods are full of many mysterious almost-trails that we don't dare explore on horseback any more. Herbie got to experience her first creek crossing. I think she'll be one heck of a water dog when the weather warms up.  Our exploration today involved treacherous log crossings, thorny thickets, and fence hopping. Herbie took it all in stride, mostly off leash, with her tail wagging the entire time. She navigated logs with freaky precision, army crawled under thickets, and climbed through holes in the fence on command.

At one point, she broke my heart in her efforts to follow me. There was a log that I was climbing all over and Herbie tried to follow. The steep bank and deep water combined with the height of the log made it impossible for her to climb up to follow me. She tried so hard not to give up and cried when she didn't succeed. Aw!

Herbie also discovered the deep part of the creek by accident and wasn't thrilled by the experience. A few moments later, I wandered too close for her comfort. Herbie came up behind me and ever so gently grabbed a hold of my chaps, tugging me away from the 'surprise' deep spot. It seems she has a protective instinct after all.

On the way back to the barn, Herbie found a Jolly Ball. She carried it all the way back to the barn even though it's almost as big as she is. She also found the end of Bosslady's PB&J sandwich, officially making it the best day of all time.

I think a certain pup is going to sleep very well tonight. She was dirty enough. Haha.

More photos under the cut.

Dev's Blog

Dev featured me on his blog, which gives me the perfect excuse to feature his. Dev and I have been friends since we were tykes. We met at swimming lessons at the lake he lives on and went through middle and high school together. We frequently go photo taking together and I always marvel at how different our styles are. So check out his blog. It's worth a visit or sixty :)