And One More Thing

I've been really moved by the comments that you are leaving me about the horse racing article I mentioned. What they wrote has really haunted me all day, and I just wanted to say one more thing regarding the use of horses by people in any kind of sport.

As Silk grows older, I see the ravages of her training in the Western Pleasure Show circuit. My farrier says that she has legs like a 40 year old horse from all her old injuries. I have know ex-racehorses who face similar problems with their legs and other physical ailments due to being started too early and worked too hard. Every time I feel like I didn't really give Siete a chance to prove what she could do in the show ring - She has the lineage to be a superstar - I remind myself that this is a human being's choice not a horse's for what to do with the lives of these beautiful, talented creatures. At least Siete has been happy and well-cared for, even though she's got no AQHA points like her mother has.

And Silk has had fourteen years of no stress, kindness and easy living, after the ten years that almost killed her and made her afraid of people. There are many people who have told me that I have spoiled her. I don't care because I know that they just don't get it and never will. Tonight, when I put her in her stall, I had to put her blanket on because it will be 25 degrees at 3 a.m. after being in the 70's last week, and I know that it will be a hard change for her and Siete. I expected that she would be annoyed that I was dragging out the dirty blanket again and strapping it on her. Instead, she was so affectionate, and I remembered how I used to be afraid to go in with her some days when I first got her because she would try to kick out at anyone who entered her stall.Not now. She knows who loves her.

We must be advocates for horses. They give us so much and it's the least we can do for them.

Did You See This?

I have to post a link to this incredible article in the New York Times about the shocking number of deaths of horses in the sport of horse-racing. Having just reminisced about my memories of going to the races with my dad when I was young, this article is particularly painful for me to read. It all comes down to greed and money, where the horses are simple objects that can be disposed of without any consideration for their well-being. It's really tragic and I hope that this, along with the recent deaths of the horses on the set of the HBO show, "Luck", will cause enough of an uproar to do stop this type of abuse.

For some reason, Blogger won't let this link appear - so please take a minute and paste it into your browser. The article is called "Death and Diarray at America's Racetracks" by WALT BOGDANICH, JOE DRAPE, DARA L. MILES and GRIFFIN PALMER, published on 3/25/12. It is well worth reading, and I"m sorry that I can't link you to it directly.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/25/us/death-and-disarray-at-americas-racetracks.html?pagewanted=all

Don't Worry

So, my mantra right now is “don’t worry”. Yes, the weather is incredibly warm and beautiful, but it’s really early for it to be in the 70’s in New England in mid-March. The horses are shedding like crazy. Siete looks normal, but Silk has an unusually heavy coat. Yesterday, when it was downright hot out, she was sweating and her hair on her neck was wavy and curling. It looks different than it ever has before. Leaping to the worst case scenario, I thought, omg, she’s got Cushings!

Now, there are no other symptoms like excessive water drinking or laminitis or eating too much. She’s actually more fit than she was last year. I’ve changed her diet to Uckele’s senior feed and a little D-Carb Balance, and she’s a perfect weight, with much better energy. At the end of April, Silk will be 24 years old, and we did notice that she seems to be getting hairier each year. The vet did bring up the C-word last time she saw Silk and said I should keep an eye on her because at this age….

So, as I groomed her last night, I calmed myself and came up with a plan. I’m calling the vet today to schedule their Spring shots, and I’ll have Silkie tested for Cushings. If that is what it is, the disease is obviously in a very early stage, and I know that I will be able to manage her care to deal with it. Horses who are treated with pergolide and fed properly can live five to seven years, I read in one of the hundreds of articles that I poured over last night.

This morning, I forced myself to think only positive thoughts about how good she looked and how bright and happy my darling old lady is. The birds are singing, the flowers are popping up, the flies are not out yet. Everything will be good. Silk is fine. And I’ll just keep telling myself that over and over.

Congrats Mikey and Wade!

Our funny, fearless cowgirl friend blogger, Mikey, from Postcards From Arizona, is getting hitched to her handsome cowboy, Wade, this coming weekend with their daughter and sidekick, Mercy, riding down that happy trail with them.
Silk and I raise a glass to toast them –

May you ride tall in the saddle
May you help each other through the muck of life
May you always feel the love of your many friends – two-legged and four
May you take the right forks in the path and find harmony together forever

Best wishes and blessings to you guys!

Almost Here

Yesterday was a tantalizing taste of what is to come. As I opened the stall doors to let the horses out this morning, it was at least 20 degrees colder than when I closed them last night. The wind is blowing, which makes it seem like March again. As I brushed the great globs of horsehair off of Silk and Siete yesterday, the sun was beating down on us warming our bones. A sweet bird was singing its heart out, and I gathered all that soft fluff and dropped it at the base of the tree so our little feathered friend would have some good material for her nest.

The daffodils are peeking up, and I’ve become very protective of them this year. Stella is used to racing across our barren flowerbeds in wild pursuit of tennis balls. Suddenly, I won’t let her since I’ve realized that all my flowers are going to be trampled and crushed by those big puppy paws. This is the seventh year that I’ve watched our front lawn joyously explode with white daffodils – a hybrid developed by the grandfather of the lady who used to live here. They come up a bit later than the traditional yellow harbingers of Spring, but are so delicate and bloom longer. It’s as exciting to see them as it is to pick our wild raspberries in July. So, I feel a sense of celebration that we’ve made it through another winter, and all the pleasures that warm weather brings are ahead of us.

By Sunday, the temps will be back up in the 60’s, and I can put my chair back into the pasture to sit with Silk and Siete and begin practicing “the Waterhole Rituals” again. This summer, I am determined to start dancing with my horses. For the first time in my life, I have a strong sense of enjoyment of the cycles of the seasons in this beautiful place we call home. We’ve been here long enough to sink some roots, and I don’t see us going anywhere for a while. With each season, there are certain rituals and gifts that are now familiar, giving me a good sense of happy anticipation when I wake up each morning and come out to feed the horses.

Why I Wake Early
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Losing My Expectations

“We always enter into relationships with expectations of what the relationship will do for us. This is true not only in romantic relationships but also in other areas—family, work, friends, and even casual encounters. More often than not, we’re not even aware of our expectations; but when we experience a relationship difficulty or conflict, it’s likely that our expectations are not being met.”
Ezra Bayda, “Beyond Happiness, The Zen Way to True Contentment”

When I recently came across this book by Ezra Bayda, my thoughts immediately went to my relationship with Siete. I am always lamenting that I do not have the closeness and trust with my little horse that I share with her mother.

“When our expectations aren’t met, difficulties automatically arise and we may experience disappointment, anger, or fear. Unfortunately, instead of looking inward to see our own expectations, we usually focus on who we can blame or how we can fix the situation. We’ll almost always view our relationship difficulties as problems to be solved, as obstacles to overcome.”

If I think about why I don’t feel any tension with Silk, I see that it’s because I don’t want her to “be” any particular way. I have always just loved her as she is. Rather than wishing things were different, I simply deal with what is and accept that she and I can work it out to make it better for her. So, why can’t I do that with Siete? Partly, it’s because I compare her to her mother, and they are very different personalities. Silk wants to be my partner and is glad to be with me, no matter what we are doing. Siete has a vibrant spirit, a strong will, and does not give a hoot about whether she is pleasing me or meeting my expectations. So, over the years, I’ve come to assume that when I have an expectation of how I want something to go with Siete, it’s often going to end up being a challenge or even a battle of wills.

“These difficulties are our exact path to freedom, in that they push us to go deeper into our life, to work with the very things that cause us so much unhappiness, namely, our demands that life, and others, be a particular way, and the sense of entitlement we have in thinking that we need to feel a particular way.”

Over and over again, Siete offers me life lessons and little tests of my confidence and my ability to communicate without using words. Spirit to spirit.

Memories of My Dad

A friend of mine sent me a documentary about a couple of women who have bought some racehorses. They run the horses at Arlington Park outside of Chicago. It brought back a swell of memories about my father. Let’s start by explaining that my dad was afraid of horses. I started riding as soon as I could walk, and he only came to watch me at a few horse shows. All the pictures he took of me on a horse only show me, not the head or tail of the horse. They look like I’m sitting on a log. Yet, at the same time, he always took me to the races at Arlington Park, and he loved to watch the horses run there.

It was one of my favorite activities. He would give me four dollars, and we would pour over the race sheets figuring out our bets. My mother always put her money on the Polish jockeys. I insisted that I had to see the horses as they were saddled in the paddock before I made my choice. This involved a lot of running back and forth between our seats in the stands and the lovely green park behind the track and the betting windows. I would fall in love with one of the thoroughbreds and dream of magically finding it in my backyard when I got home.

There were distinct smells that I associate with the races. One was the intoxicating scent of horse. The other was the odor of spilled beer. And inside, near the betting windows, there were these carts that sold hot roast beef, ham or turkey sandwiches. They tasted as good as they smelled and were piled so high on fresh rye bread that my mom and I always shared one. My dad would stand with me at the rail during the race so we could cheer on our favorite horses. When I was really little, he’d hoist me up on his shoulders so I could see better. If one of us won, we’d rush inside to the windows to cash in and get a few dollars back so we could bet again. At the end of the day, if my dad won enough, he’d take us out to dinner. Miraculously, he always lucky enough that we could afford it. It was a ritual that continued every summer until I moved to New York City after college.

We also always watched the Kentucky Derby together on TV like it was the Super Bowl. My mom prepared special hors d’oeuvres and drinks. We placed bets, each putting a quarter into the pool. Even when I was living in a different city, I’d call him and stay on the phone through the whole race so we could cheer and comment on it together. It never occurred to me until I was watching the documentary about the racehorses yesterday that maybe my father wasn’t simply crazy about horseracing. He was probably doing this to make a closer connection with me. We really didn’t do much else together, since he was working most of the time. He was a country lawyer and a judge. He loved his work very much, and when poor health forced him to retire at age 79, he passed away the next year.

When I moved to San Diego, my brother-in-law gave us a present one Christmas of a day at the races at Del Mar. He knew some owners who had a box, and we took my mom and my daughter, who was about four years old and horse-crazy like I had been. We walked in, and I felt like I had fallen into a time warp. It looked and smelled exactly like I remembered Arlington Park all those decades ago. I gave my daughter four dollars, and we looked at the race sheets, ran out to see the horses in the paddock, and my husband put her up on his shoulders so she could watch the races. And I know that my dad was up there somewhere looking down on us with a big smile on his face.