Merry Christmas

Okay, okay. I guess I was just a wee bit harsh on my parents in my previous blog.

Turns out we had an 11th hour rescue from the Indian stranger (as in from India..or somewhere nearby). He called and asked for money.... his luggage had been lost or somesuch silliness as that. Hmm.... good thing I had already planted the seed about the similarity of this and some of the common email scams going around. Almost too bad in a way though. I had all the meals for the next week planned out already. For breakfast, lunch and dinner we were having BEEF!

My father, in his usual fashion pulled through too. I'm getting a laptop. Or at least that's what's been expressly implied that I'm to put the gift card toward. Seems an expensive way to go about gifting himself with the sole use of his own computer.. but hey.. it works for me.

The whole problem I think, is that I'm getting older. Suddenly (okay... not so sudden.. ) my parents don't live up on pedestals, instead, I, *gasp*, see them as human beings, complete with all the foibles that entails. Typical of any offspring, I like to bring a big ol' shiny spotlight to bear on each and every one their peccadillos. This isn't because I'm perfect. By no means am I even close. I'm just one of those people that takes an inordinate amount of glee in pointing out when anyone (even myself) performs some truly dumbass move. And my mother wonders why I don't want kids... doesn't she know that you only reproduce yourself, only worse!!??

That's it... I'm screwed.

Nobody, and no family is normal, I know that. N-O-R-M-A-L. Normal. It's a myth- an unattainable standard. I can accept that. Dysfunctional is the status du jour. My family, however, raises the bar for dysfunctionality.

I remember shortly after I met Danielle. She asked me if I was related to Zach Gilbert. Which, of course, I am.
"I thought maybe," she said. "We had to do this family tree project in French class..."
Say no more.
Zach is my uncle. He's something like 6 or 7 years younger than me. As for my Family Tree. Well, it branches, and it branches cleanly, it just branches at some pretty odd spots.
Still, all this is on the normal side.

There is always my father. Don't get me wrong, I love my father. I wouldn't trade him for any other Dad in the world. There have been times he's just done amazing things for me- like driving down to Elmira from Mexico on a moment's notice, just to sign my World Show entries and then drive back. That's one of those incredible "Dad" moments. Then again.. there are moments like my 16th birthday. He gave me one of those cardboard jewelry boxes; you know the ones I'm talking about- white, with that square of cottony fuzz inside. Under that fuzz was an old battered key. Sure.. I know what you're thinking... a key, on your 16th birthday- he gave you a car! Well, sure. Sort of.
See, that battered key went to an even more battered car. It was the old family car that had been parked in the yard for who knows how long. We were going to fix it up, and I was going to drive it at college. I just don't think that Dad had ever informed the squirrels that had made their home in that Chevy Citation of this plan. Nor do I think he told any of the other varmints that had been transient residents about it either. As for fixing it up- he made it as far as checking the brake lines. When they dissolved in his hands, he gave up. I never did sit behind the steering wheel of that thing. I think it got hauled off for scrap metal. I don't think I even have the key. Nor did I keep the box. The box wasn't wrapped, as I recall, but I think it did have a spiffy bow on the top. You know- one taped on, since it was a re-tread from the Christmas before. He did buy my sister her first car. Guess what- it's cute, purple, and it runs.

Now my Mother wants me to babysit her for Christmas and spend it with some stranger she met on the internet. Granted, I met my (now ex-) husband on the internet, but when I actually went to "meet" him, it was in a public place, with friendly back-up/escort. I mean, just how much trouble can you expect in public at the United States MILITARY Academy???? But no. My mother has invited this stranger, and strange kid into her house. I realize she's a widow, and lonely, and getting older.. but has she lost her marbles???

So here I am- my father is polyurethaning the house, and refuses to put up a Christmas Tree. He ran out of propane (but did get more, this time) and has a girlfriend in most major sections of the country it seems. (Okay.... minor exaggeration), and Christmas gifts this year promise to be.. if not grossly unproportional, at the very least, interesting. My mother is asking me to spend Christmas with her and a total stranger that is quasi-foreign, whom she hasn't got a clue about what's fact or fiction with this guy... and had the nerve to ask if I might pick him up at the airport. Has the world gone mad?!?!

I always wondered how my parents ever survived my childhood. I mean.. when they were my age, they had a 10 year old daughter. I can't even begin to imagine. Now I know it took it's toll. The results were just a little delayed.

If you look at this from a genetic standpoint, as I age, I'm going to go completely whacky. I am totally screwed.
I can spell dysfunctional two ways; D-A-D or M-O-M. How do you spell it?

Join your local United Association of Stall Sifters today!

No matter how you slice it, work is still a 4-letter word.
Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I must, or I would have gone worse than postal by now. Can you imagine- "Demented woman, smells of manure, harassing downtown citizens with pitchfork"- News at 6. ??
Nope, no 9-5 desk job for me. It goes against my grain. But, while I love my work, it's no walk in the park.. (unless of course you walk the same route in the park, for 12 hours a day, every day of the year.. then, in that case, maybe...) Anyone who thinks it is, I will automatically give you a beginner-apprentice membership in U.A.S.S. and allow you to shadow me for a day or two.
Did you know, I was actually asked what I was doing for Christmas? ... Like, DUH. I'm working.
No, really, I am working. You know something? (Yeah yeah yeah.. I'm WORKING) Taking care of a horse is a 365 day a year thing. Taking care of 12 or 26 doesn't do much but add HOURS (and hours) onto your day. I have not yet worked out the training formula for teaching a horse how to feed, water, turn-out, clean, and exercise/train themselves. Believe me, when I do, I'll have a DVD series, a special patented halter, and pitchfork out faster than you can say, "Pat Parelli".
I was also asked to ride an extra horse today. I looked at my list of horses still to work.. and said, "Uh.. sure, but which one of those 10 are you going to work for me?"
Shock.
A blinking stare.
"Well it's only a few minutes....."
Only a few minutes??? Only a few minutes???? I wanted to scream, "Do you realize it's a physical impossibility for me to work all 10 of those horses? It goes against the space-time continuum. It takes an act of superhuman stamina, organization and time management. And you want to add another one!! Only a few minutes......????"
Excuse me, but is my cape showing?
What did I do, you ask? Well, I rode the extra horse of course. Why? Because it's easier than trying to explain to someone who doesn't understand. The only people who can actually understand what you go through in the course of a day are 1) those who've "been there, done that" or 2) mothers of .. oh... about 7 kids, 6 of which are two sets of triplets.
In order to get through my average day, time is budgeted in such a way, that if nothing goes wrong, then you've gotten 95% of your horses worked (remaining 5% are usually your own) and chores are done and you can go home 10 hours later.
HAH!! Did you spot that? Did you see... the magic words.. "if nothing goes wrong"...... That's like a cosmic joke.
So that's barring- a horse that tore their stall apart, tore their blanket, broke a halter, broke a board, broke a gate, broke a latch, broke a stall, broke fence, anything involving blood, anything involving (god forbid) the vet, one gets cast, one goes lame, throws a shoe, missing leads, missing/misplaced equipment, sudden rain/sleet/hail/snow/thunder storm, visitors (of any type... but we do LOVE visitors..breaks the monotony).
Of course, there's the additional duties that add hours on the day- WATER THE ARENA!, drag the arena, pile manure, pile sawdust, drag paddocks, mow lawn, plow snow, break ice, fill troughs, weed-eat, trim trees, paint trim, paint fences, repair fences, fix drainage, clean up after those who can't clean up after themselves.
By now I've been at the barn from 8:30-9am, to about 6-8pm. I haven't even thought about any of the "normal" things that still have to be done: pay bills, grocery shopping, banking, post office, laundry, vaccuum, dishes, clean house, billing, bookkeeping, answer email.
The ATM deposit feature is my friend, and did you realize that starting at approximately 11pm Super Wal-Mart starts stocking it's grocery section?

Now, we recently left Glenn with the responsibility of all the stalls. It's not an impossible chore for one person, but it is an all day thing. Mostly, thanks to some great boarders, (ours and his) he had help. This let him get done in enough time to take something resembling a break before starting evening chores. Now, the problem occurs when it snows. When we get enough of the white stuff to warrant plowing, that can be an all-day job in and of itself. So, now you've got 1 man with 2 ALL DAY jobs.
Same thing- in March when Glenn goes to Florida, and leaves Kenn and I with the whole barn. Did you know, it always snow's like a mother in March? Usually the day after Glenn leaves. But what's the big deal you ask? There is two of you- one to clean, and one to plow. Problem solved, right? Let me ask you- if one is cleaning, and one is plowing, who the hell is riding our horses?
See, those horses are what pays my grocery bill. Each customer has money that's the same shade of green .. as far as I've ever been able to tell, it all spends the same. But, if those horses aren't getting worked, they ain't getting what they paid for, they go somewhere else, and guess what- I don't eat!!!! I like to eat. I LOVE to eat. It is the only time in the whole day where I actually get to step away, and have "down" time. (and the phone rings.. every time. But that's a subject for another blog).

I'm not a size 2 by the grace of God. Hell no! I work my ass off to fit into these pants! Long live U.A.of S.S.!!

C'est Fin! (almost. Close enough)

Or is it fine? Ahhh... it's been over..... well.. it's been a very very long time since I've even written in French. Anyway- the stalls are done. Sort of.

They are done. They'll hold horses tomorrow. Walls are up. Doors are hung. We're level, square and plumb.
Okay okay.. maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But we are NO MORE than 1/4 of a bubble off- anywhere. (That's a good rule of thumb for life, by the way).
True, I do need to finish with the polyurethane. Someday. There is also hooks to put up and buckets to hang- BUT WE ARE DONE.
Hallelujah!
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!

(Who says I don't have christmas spirit??)

Learning by Example

I am totally blessed. Someone, somewhere, smiled upon me. I am getting an intern!! Better yet, I'm getting two. You know what they say- if one is good, two is better. At least this wasn't a case of- "take two, they're small". Being vertically challenged myself, the "small" jokes just aren't going to be as forthcoming from me.
However, on a more serious note- as trainers we very often come across young people who let it be known that their express ambition in life is to be a (gasp!) horse trainer. Of course, also being the good little horse trainers that we are, we are concerned for these kids, and try to let them know that this is no life for them. Go be doctors, lawyers and such. Go forth and...prosper. We try to explain that if they are hell-bent on a career path that includes a 50/50 chance at starvation, at least pick one that isn't so hard on the body. You could, for example, always be a starving artist. At least insurance isn't so hard to come by then. (I suggest that as an example, since that was the career path my family begged me to take)
I think these girls may be differant however. They've already got a lot of what it takes to make it in this world, and they don't even know it yet. Sure, there are a lot of unique problems to be faced as a prospective trainer, just starting out- and more so as a "rookie" female in this field. The hardest part to make kids that want to be horse trainers understand is that training horses isn't a horse job. It's a people job. It's every bit as much a people job as being a social worker. You have customers. You have to understand your customers and deal with them fairly and always in an ethical manner. The golden rule doesn't get any more golden then when dealing with customers.
That is where I think the strength in these two girls lies.
From every person you come in contact with, you will learn something if you open your eyes to it. You may not always learn what you should do. You may learn nothing more than what not to do. Both of these girls have seen the all three sides of being "Joe Customer"- the good, the bad and the ugly. They've felt the highs. They've drank the heady brew of success, and sipped from the well of comraderie. They know how good it feels to feel wanted and accepted- to be part of something larger than themselves. They also know what it is to be shunted aside when your horse isn't good enough anymore, or you're not going to enough shows, or you just plain don't have a horse. They've been judged by the depth of their checkbooks and been found wanting. They know how it feels to have thier personal value be calculated with dollar signs.
They've walked a hundred miles in the shoes thier future customers will wear. They've "been there and done that". This will give them an extra bit of insight and empathy that perhaps their peers won't have.
So long as these girls never forget, I think they'll do just fine.

(Sort of) Extreme Makeover: Barn Edition

You may have guessed, (or even have heard) that we're remodeling the barn. For those familiar with our place- it would be the dirt-floor barn. I like the "coffee-side" just the way it is, thank you very much. (Besides, as command central, what the hell would I do w/o that area.. or, more importantly, where on earth would I put all the stuff in there while I was remodeling???)

Anyhoooo. This was supposed to be just a simple matter of new stall fronts and dividing walls. Note the italics in the previous sentence. And did I say "simple"?? What WAS I thinking?? That's the question, actually. What the hell was I thinking?

So.. we decided that this was going to be a quick project for after the World Show and before all the new training horses came in. Right. (For those of you who've had to be pushed back.. thank you so much for your understanding) We'd shift some horses around and do the three stalls on the one side. Demo started. Demo abruptly stopped. The front walls were off and the dividing walls were set to come down, as well as the 4 x 4 posts. However, when the first dividing wall that was between the stalls came down, part of the ceiling tried to come with it. Turns out that they set the ceiling right on top of the walls. (Which in turn explains why it over-laps the bolts that hold the hangers for the tracks) And the top board to the walls weren't set with joist hangers.. they just sorta were there. Same thing with the 4 x 4s. They weren't exactly load bearing- (Thank heavens really.. since the bottoms were all rotten and sorta floated there above the ground) - save for the fact that the headers that the tracks were on tied in to them, and the ceiling sat on all of it.

A lot of bracing and lifting and prying later, we got most of the guts of the barn back to level and close to square. I was really afraid that since it was unlikely the barn was actually ever either of those to begin with, it was really going to screw us up. Thank heavens we had enough lee-way that the only problem is that if you really look at the middle stall, it's not a square, but a trapazoid, and the end stall is more of a rhombus. My horses will all be excellent at geometry. If only I can teach their riders the circle shape...

Stall fronts are up; tracks and doors are done; we're getting wood to finish the last dividing wall, and we've opted to let the last two stalls go until spring. After all, this simple little project has already gone a full week over it's time allowed. (And the original plan called for doing the other two stalls!) We've parked the trailer where we're storing the new stall fronts. Most of the tools are put away.........

And that brings me to the introduction of yet another one of our, oh, so lovely, children- Heavy On Charm. "Heavy" doesn't quite cover it. She is our resident broodmare, and prima diva. She is semi-retired from the show ring after earning an ApHC Champion Award, a couple of World Show top fives, and a National Hight Point top ten. She considers herself royalty and demands that sort of treatment, on her terms. Apparently, upon realizing that her stall was not to be remodeled immediately, she took it upon herself to do her own remodeling. I will have pictures posted soon.. (as soon as I figure out how to get them off the phone..) until then, you'll have to survive with a verbal account.

The square footage of the stall was dramatically increased when Charm moved the ENTIRE stall front about 2 additional feet into the aisleway. To accomplish this, two large beams had to move too. Yep- she snapped them both. One she actually broke in two places- once at the base, and once up by the ceiling. Since her neighbor, Ace, would not co-operate in this expansion of their territories, the front boards that attach Charm's stall to his, all pulled free of their nails. The door (the sliding type) was, of course, pinned in it's location by the track at the top. The bottom however, took the outward plunge, resulting in extreme fractures above the level of the handle.

Now, I've had horses try to dig themselves an escape tunnel, or recontour their walls beaver-style, or create a door between themselves and a neighbor by removing a board or two, and I've even had one chew themselves a window, but I've never had one get quite so extensive with their remodeling efforts. She managed this without leaving so much as a nick, scratch, or cut on herself.

Move over DIY hosts! "Charmie" can move small buildings with a single shove and never even get a hair out of place.

Oh- and yes we are now going ahead and doing those last two stalls.

Tis The Season

I SOOOO want to do this sometime.

Might as well have some sort of fun with this white stuff.

Get A Life

I just recieved via a friend a blog/newsletter/post thingie entitled "Ruminations" by some guy who is not to be confused with the ultimate fighter by the same name. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a compilation of witty observations on a variety of high-tech subjects. I sensed a serious recurrent theme, however.
Unfortunately, despite my enjoyment, it made me just a titch depressed.
It hammered home the fact that I just do not get out enough. This time of year sucks. Snow keeps you pretty well barn bound. Nearly no shows- my social calendar has suddenly dissolved to nil. My current observations on the status of the world is now limited to the amount of snow that has fallen, the properties of said snow, exactly which methods should be employed to move the snow, the physics of flying frozen horse manure, et. al. You get it.
I need to expand my horizons.

I understand that in the Eskimo language there are 29 words for snow..................

What's Really Important

Sometimes it takes a tremendous tragedy to make us wake up and re-evaluate our priorities. After hearing of the devestation of Burgandy Hill Farm I walked into the barn and hugged each and every horse. Each of those animals in that barn are as precious to me as my own children would be. I could not begin to fathom the heartache that is just beginning for Michelle, her mother, and everyone else at that barn.

It served as a reminder to me that every day is precious. Each day in the barn, no matter how trying, is a good day. It can be so swiftly lost.

It reminded me that the petty gossip and sniping of detractors is just that- petty. It holds no bearing on how I do things. It should never interfere with my ablility to cherish each moment with my animals. The smell of leather and sweat and hay; the feel of a mane in my fingers; the look in each horse's eye- that is important. What people say is not.

Borrowing Trouble

Did your mother ever tell you not to go borrowing trouble? In other words, don't go looking for trouble, 'cause you're going to end up with some anyway, and by looking for it, you're liable to end up with worse.

This is how I feel with Timmie sometimes. Twice now we've taken him off to the vets, because he wasn't quite right. Twice now we've come home with the dire-est of diagnoses. Twice it's turned out to be something minor, but something, none the less. (Actually, this last time, was supposed to be just a routine hock x-ray since that is about the ONLY joint he hasn't had radiated.)
So he's currently laid up with an abscess. It was a stonebruise last time. He's a pretty serious Diva. To a degree, I'm glad it actually abscessed, drained, and now we can dry it up and move on with life.

You might notice that Timmie gets "more than his fair share" of press-time in this blog. Perhaps you're right. Still.. he's a continual source of amusement, entertainment, and anxiety for everyone in the barn. Look at this face! (I'm talking about Timmie's) Doesn't that say it all?

Oh... and I'll just throw Timmie and Julie both under the bus here since the opportunity has arisen. (Love ya! Really I do!) We were all in awe that Julie decided to shoot this picture this way. None of us have been able to decide- brave or stupid? Or some combination of both? Bareback w/ just a halter, and not even holding the lead... I KNOW Timmie, and I also KNOW that even though he was surrounded, if he'd decided to leave none of us would have been able to stop him. (It's not uncommon for him to decide to leave when I'm cleaning his stall. I will be hanging off the back of his blanket, but still he off and leaves- and I'm dragging in his wake like a really bad immitation of water-skiing.)

The other thing: That is NOT Timmie's forelock. We made him a forelock extension for these photos. That is actually tail hair from a horse that desperately needed their tail trimmed. This was necessary because at the last show Timmie decided that the short, fuzzy look was way more in than the long, sleek one was. So.. he rubbed off his entire forelock braid. All of it. We managed to preserve the braid. When we found it, it was hanging by about 6 hairs. He still needed to show that day- so some very strong adhesive/hairspray, and he made it through. Still, it did not survive having the yarn removed. Alas.. even with about 6 long hairs to work with and a whole bunch of short fuzzy ones, we did a pretty damn good job there, if I do say so myself.

Timmie Gets a Friend

Yep, that's going to be the title of the next book.

No, this friend is not the one the book is about.

I'm going to introduce you to Timmie's one true friend. His partner in high crime and misdemeanors. His cohort- his protege'- his, what the hell was I thinking giving him a youngster corrupt this way??
This is Lex. Alias: Going Bayou Boldly. Currently wanted for questioning in a public nudity case.

You may have guessed that Lex is our current class clown. Terribly bright, not overly coordinated (yet!), and a fountain of harmless, amusing, mischief. At least, when he's with Timmie he's a fountain of mischief. How harmless it is, depends on your perspective. I'm sure his mother doesn't find it all that harmless. After all he did (w/ help no doubt) de-stuff his nearly new turn-out rug. It appeared to have snowed in big fluffy clumps all over his paddock. Of course, when questioned, both boys simply gazed at me with their cherubic "Who? Me?" expressions. Lex is simply a master at this. Sugar cubes would not melt in his mouth.
Not only is he a master at seeming innocence, he's one of the sweetest, best natured horses there is. Or, should I say he was. Or more aptly, is most of the time. It appears he's not yet ready to share his mother in any capacity, and especially not with some mare. It matters to him not at all that the mare came before him. Fortunatly, he's also very forgiving. A little time and a few peppermints, and it's "What mare? Did you see a mare? I didn't see a mare."
That's Lex.
He also happens to be extremely talented. Sweet, talented, and big, brown, innocent (falsely?) eyes.... Alicia is one lucky girl. Now, if we could just get Lex to stop trying to kiss Kenn............

Zoom Zoom Zoom

Okay. We've gone and done it. Bit the bullet.

We've bought a truck.

Sure it's a used truck, but it was a decent deal. It's pretty much all I've wanted in a hauling vehicle, except that it's automatic, and that's something I can live with. It's a King Ranch F-350 with every option. Heck, it's even got a moon-roof. How lucky can a girl get?

I think you'll agree it's time. This year the saga of my father's truck continued at the World Show. I suppose it's just that truck's way of telling us it does not want to go to Texas, no f***in' way! To bring those who do not know up to date- 3 years ago, the day after we arrived in Fort Worth (AFTER *I* drove in Dallas morning rush-hour traffic, w/ the fully loaded horse trailer, thru extensive construction) we pulled into Ol' South (the local 24-hr. pancake joint) and as we backed into the parking spot, the tie-rods fell off. Nice huh? So, the next year, shortly after arriving the starter crapped the bed, and left me stranded at the hotel. Thankfully this truck is standard. Drag it across the parking lot a short ways.. and wam, bam, thank you ma'am.. enough said. 1 Point for standard transmissions! $610 later and new starter later, we thought that was behind us. We thought wrong.
This year, yet again, the starter went. Exactly one year and a week from when it was replaced last. The warranty expired- you guessed it!- on the one year anniversary. So.. if it had had the grace to puke out on us at the BEGINNING of the show, we'd have been A-OKAY. But, no.. that's not the way the cookie crumbles. Regardless, I'm sure you're saying, that it's more than time for me to get my own truck. Technically I agree. There is one problem with that, however.

Turns out, I'm a huge commitment-phobe. Who'da guessed? I've had more than one anxiety attack about incurring this amount of debt. So what, you ask? As I've had pointed out to me, buying a vehicle isn't exactly a "till death do you part", sort of proposition.
That's what you think.
I, however, do have a track record of keeping my vehicles far longer than I've ever kept any man around.
This sure is one sexy truck, though. Maybe I'll survive.

The Horse Show Challenged...

There was just an article in some magazine... Horse Illustrated, I believe it was. This article posed the very important question- "Are You Horse Show Challenged?". It's all about doing as that old saying says- "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."

I think that's rather passe', don't you? I'm a firm believer that if life hands you lemons, you can do any number of things. 1) You can make the aforementioned lemonade, 2) You can make a really ugly face, Or 3) You can get yourself a shaker of salt, a bottle of Jose', and kick back and enjoy the rest of the day- 'cause, Hey!, plans change, sometimes you lose, and there's always another horse show.

When things go wrong, (as they often do in the horse world), how you handle the situation- That is, how you conduct yourself, and what you manage to take away from it in a constructive fashion not only defines you, but makes you grow as a competitor.

For example, your Baby Green horse decides to be a little "flamboyant" during it's changes. So.. you didn't place. However, if you accentuate the positive instead, you realize that your "greenie" met all it's fences bravely and quietly. That gives you something to build upon, instead of being haunted by faulty changes. By not dwelling on the negative, it's a virtual guarantee that the next time, you'll have an even better performance. The other option- allowing yourself to focus on the negative only sticks you firmly in a rut.

Some of our more challenging moments that filter through to the surface of my mind are:
In a Western pleasure class, the 3YO filly that Kenn was riding literally got "T-Boned" and knocked into the wall of the arena and down on her knees. (C'mon people, this is WESTERN PLEASURE, not BUMPER CARS!) Fortunately, she picked herself right back up and loped off like a pro.

In a Sr Western Pleasure class (have you noticed a trend? maybe we should give up the pleasure thing.. I think the gods are trying to tell us something) A black cat came streaking out of the stands, and down the stairway. At the bottom it apparently suffered a critical brake malfunction, and crashed headlong into the arena wall, at the exact same spot our mare was jogging past. I'm not sure which was more startling- watching the cat attempt a suicidal kamikaze mission, or having a black cat nearly cross your path.

Bad things happen to good people. It's a fact of life. Grab that bottle of Cuervo. No matter how hard you work- dot all your "i"s and cross all your "t"s, sometimes lady luck rears her head and instead of giving you a kiss, she strikes you like a viper. So instead of worrying about flushed entry fees, reach out with both hands and grab ahold of some fun. That doesn't have to come in a bottle, (fun is what and where you make it) but depending on how bad your luck is running, it sure can help sometimes. This horse show stuff cost way too much not to be having fun.

Uh-0

I have an eye exam coming up tomorrow. It had occurred to me that it's been quite awhile since I'd had one, and lately I've been coming up with headaches when I try to read. I find myself dragging the laptop closer.. Well, you get the picture. Perhaps it's time.

Whilst lamenting this fact to the barn owner, Glenn, this morning, Glenn's son asked the innocent question, "You had a birthday recently didn't you?"

Bite me.

"No really, didn't you?"

So what? I recently celebrated the big 3-0. By my reckoning, that's just another birthday, sandwiched between 29 and 31.

"Welcome to "30-hood" sweetheart".

Bite me.

Under this theory, one would then assume that some sort of 'bio-switch' flips off in your body upon your 30th birthday and all body systems then go from "green" to "red" and your life goes to hell in a hand-basket. At this rate, if you subscribe to this theory, it's a hand-basket on roller skates, even.

It's all just stereotyping. I mean- you hit the big 4-0, and you better duck, 'cause there's a mid-life crisis bearing down on you in short order. The big 5-0 hits like a load of bricks and you'd best throw out a line, cause you're in a runaway truck, heading downhill with no brakes. 6-0 sneaks up on you and you're hustling to get all the "fun" stuff done in your retirement, only to find that you've got no more time, or energy, or funds, than you did earlier in life. 7-0 smacks you in the back of the head, and you spend the next decade looking over your shoulder. 8-0 comes and you start counting days, hours, or minutes.

So if those are all such big life markers, why isn't it the big 2-0 when you hit twenty? No longer able to affix the suffix "-teen" to your age, you're no longer a "teenager" but, hey, neither can you legally drink. Welcome to limbo-land.

I do not believe that reaching the big 3-0 milepost is where you first sight the beginning of the end. I don't feel old. "Old" is all in your head. Hell- some evenings I feel 22 again; most mornings I feel 72. (That always follows, in that order, if I try to behave like I'm 22 again) Age, and the expectations of what should come with that age, are all a state of mind. My body isn't falling apart because I turned thirty. It's falling apart because I abuse the hell out of it. Instead of being depressed at reaching 30, I was more of the "now what?", camp. I'd never envisioned life past this point. I suppose I ought to start thinking about the future now though. After all, I've got a mid-life crisis I need to plan for.

The G-Spot

Time to introduce you to yet another of the "kids". For those of you with less than perfectly innocent minds- her actual name is "Georgia".. or "G". Registered name, "Accomplishment".. and well....... one thing sort of led to another- and if you find it.. well, that's an accomplishment of a sort now isn't it?

So. Anyway. "Georgia" is a 3YO filly, by Achieva and out a mare named Wana Sue. Yes, that makes her Timmie's half sister. And, yes, they have a lot in common. She is actually much .. well, if NOT smarter, at least she has a sense of self preservation. Still, she's the blondest grey horse I know. That said, I don't mind much. I know, at least, that I can have a bad day and STILL out-think her. She is also the absolute sweetest, quietest, nicest mare I've ever been around- even when she's in heat. Which, of course, puts her one up on most females of any species.

"Georgia" showed for the first time at the NYS Fair, where she did one class- but mostly went to be a tourist. Much like her older brother she was fascinated with much of what goes on with that show- the parades, fireworks, the other breeds of horses- the two of them are like taking twin grey children to the carnival. From there she then went to her first "serious" horse show- the ESQHA Fall Show in Syracuse, NY. Her owner, Jackie Allen, of Central Square, NY showed her for the first time in Nov. Amateur HUS. They were called back second in their cut for the finals. In the finals a blown lead dropped them out of top placings down to 8th. Still for a green 3YO and an owner who is only making their first foray into the HUS world- that's still pretty darn good. There were over 20 in the class. As you can see the pictures are gorgeous. She also does showmanship too- like a machine.

When this filly is on her game, riding her makes you feel like you're on top of the world. Shh... don't tell anyone, but it's almost better than sex. And you wondered where she got her name....

You Can't Fix Stupid

According to Alicia, one of her husband's favorite sayings is, "You can't fix stupid". Can you be any more succinct than that?

I consider myself to be of average intelligence, but often enough I come across someone that leaves me thinking about making an application for MENSA. The other truism, is that the more sub-standard IQ one has, the more their mouth runs. They say that the mouth opens and the brain closes- how true. You can not help but feel pity for such people. Can they not know how stupid they are? Or do they know, deep-down?

I have in mind, specifically for this, someone whom I was unable to respect much even as a young girl. I, of course, had the traditional respect one holds for someone older than oneself, and for those in positions of authority. Still, now that I'm older (and hopefully wiser.. wait.. I knew it ALL at 14 didn't I??) I now hold this person at roughly the same level of respect that I hold pond scum. Sure, they have their virtues- but so does pond scum.

This person has been trying valiantly (in rather brazen, but underhanded ways) to undermine my credibility; bad-mouth me, my program, and my horses (*THAT* part pisses me off... say what you want about me, but do NOT talk about my children) and make life difficult for my customers.

Have you done anything about it, you ask? Not yet. I admit, the temptation to confront this person has been strong at times, but I plainly refuse to get in a battle of wits with someone who is so clearly unarmed.

You see- the thing with blitherin' idiots is that they will, eventually, trip over their own tongues. (Or for a more satisfying visual- give them rope and eventually they hang themselves with it) They really don't need help in looking stupid. They do just fine on their own.

Timmie Gets A Monkey.. or.. Sometimes You Get More Than You Pay For

It's time, I feel, to introduce you to the entire cast of characters that comprise our endlessly entertaining environs. For your sake this will be done one at a time.

Here we have Achieve N Dreams, a 2002 gelding, by Achieva and out of Reserve Youth World Champion mare Elegance And Roses. Aboard is his owner/operator, Julia Blunt, and on the ground (but by no means in a safer position) is me- appearing as myself.

When Julia called us to look at a horse she was trying out- we told her; "Sure, as soon as we get a free minute. Next day or so." She said, "Um.. could you make that tonight? He's lame."

Uh-Oh.

Our initial reaction? Oh dear, what are getting yourself into now? For further background information, Julia had literally just foaled her third kid, and was now (with 3 college educations looming far in the background) was looking at potentially buying a lame horse. I believe her words to me when she started horse shopping were something like this- "I just want something to have fun on, do Open shows, and maybe the occasional Quarter Horse show." Remember those words, they take on new meaning later.

So we went to look at the poor lame boy, and lame didn't quite cover it. He wasn't exactly three-legged, head-bobbing lame. He couldn't be. He really only had one good leg to stand on. So, our verdict went something like this- Lame on 3 legs. Probably shoeing related. Shoes are way too small. Angles are horrifying. He's barely tall enough. (a bare 16H) and he needs groceries- LOTS of groceries. Still, there was something that said, if bought right, this could be a hell of a prospect. Now- if you were a mother of 3 (the youngest being newborn) and you've never won the lottery- what would you do? Run the other way just as fast as you could of course. Who on earth buys a lame horse?????? Considering her budget, and the fact I'm pretty sure she fell head over heels immediately, I'm not sure Julie ever really had a choice. It was, at the time, the best she could afford- being 2 steps removed from dog food instead of merely one.

Having the resources to rehabilitate Timmie that Julie lacked, I would not allow my best friend to embark upon a gamble like this without giving her all and any support that I could. Over the course of a couple of months we got the big boy (oh yeah... he grew when he got fed... and he grew.. and he grew...) sound enough and strong enough to ride. Those first rides were a lot of entertainment. Turns out he knew a thing or two, but definitely not three. He was pretty green. And he had his quirks. (Still does, and if I were to list them for you I would fill up all my designated space) One minute he was a blithering idiot- bucking, leaping, twisting. The next, he was stuck in park. Good luck getting him to move- and then it was with a "ho-hum.. guess I can plod around" attitude.

As Timmie developed into a horse, he developed a striking personality... or should I say biting... or more aptly... pinching. He's famous for sneaking in a pinch. Favored targets are breasts (he's got an unerring sense for nipples- male or female) or that sensitive area of the tricep. I swear, he does this just to make people squeal, flail, and jump up and down. In his mother I think he found the perfect squeaky toy. He never, ever, misses an opportunity to drag, pinch, squish, or stomp her. All in the most loving of ways, of course. In spite of the torture he puts her through for his own entertainment, he takes good care of her (as you would a loveable, entertaining pet.. such as a monkey or a 'Tickle Me Elmo'). This is best exemplified in his very first trail ride.

It was hotter than blazes, and the barn had no power. This was due to a semi ripping down the power lines when it pulled into the business next door. So.. for entertainment, and to see when we might get power back, Julie and I decided to ride down and ask the crew working, how much longer it was going to be. Timmie tromped past the trucks, the cones, the lights, past the cherry picker.. you name it- and never batted an ear. On the return trip to the barn he still plodded on steadily until Julie, who was not yet used to split reins, dropped them. He stepped on the end of his rein and stopped. This allowed Julie to hang virtually upside down out of the saddle to retrieve the wayward reins. Not bad for a horse that'd only been riding less than a month and was outdoors, unfenced-in, for the first time. On another trail ride he was a bit more... um.. lively. He tried (and failed) to walk through trees. One can only assume that he was operating on the premise that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Following that logic then- regardless of how the trail curves- it is quicker and easier to go straight. No matter how boldly he marched however, the trees failed to yield way. No amount of persuasion from his rider could dissuade him from this course. Julie returned to the farm with most of the forest in her hair, shirt, and even underwear.

This was Timmie at the beginning. After 60 days of riding he went to his first horse show and won the Jr. HUS, the Nov. Am HUS and the Amateur HUS. He continues to be a professional in the show pen, but is too much of a diva to attend Open shows. In the Timmie Saga, however, that is a story for another time.

The ME factor

As a horse trainer you have some customers that seem hell bent on driving you insane. On the other hand, bless the lord, you try to balance them with the customers that are the bright shining lights of your day. For those you would walk through burning lava, turn yourself into a pretzel.. whatever it takes- for they are the fresh air that keeps you from turning into a raving lunatic. The rest of your customers tend to fall in into various places in between, and mostly all even fluctuate to and fro.

The hardest thing to deal with, when you're fried from the road, trying to get everything primed for the big fall shows, you're running on nothing more than caffeine, a few hours of semi-shut-eye and a whole lot of Advil, is what we'll term the "ME" factor.

The people with the "Me, Me's" are everywhere. You've probably met more than one. They don't want to hear about your horse, or anyone elses. They want to talk only about theirs. They don't want to know what they can do for you, but what you can do for them. You can never spend enough time with THIER horse. (What? You mean you have others????) Because of the fact that in their world, only they, their goals, and their horse exist, you must certainly have time to do more for them. Why should they take the time out of their busy vacation/ social life/ free time to attempt to do for themselves when it's much simpler to ask someone else to do for them? Oh, I know you're REEEEAAAALLLLYYY busy, but could you........?

The reasons why they can't do it themselves vary, of course. They're going to the movies, have a hot date, washing their hair, or they haven't even tried, and truthfully don't feel like it. They feel somehow entitled to more than their fair share. And that's the moral of the story: Share.
You know something- when you do, you really do get more.

Walk a Mile in my Horseshoes

I had a Stepometer once. You know- those nifty gadgets McDonalds gave out when they went on a health kick. You got them with your salad. Better than a side of croutons.

I wore mine out in the first day.

According to the number of steps I take in one day (and only about half of those registered) I should be an ultra-fit, super lean, heath machine. Don't laugh. Of course, those in the know are aware that I do my very best to counteract my active lifestyle. The old Russian proverb goes something like this; "You don't drink, you don't smoke, you only die healthy". Alas, I digress.

I love my job. Do not get me wrong. However, 12-14 hour days, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, for year after year, do take their toll. (Do not forget I wore out a stepometer in ONE day) In this line of work, there really isn't such a thing as a day off- least of all when you really truely care about your horses, and pride yourself on your hands-on approach to ALL aspects of care for the horses entrusted to you.

Now I do not envy the non-horse people. I do however find it hard to relate to them sometimes. Especially when they start to make demands of my time. The 9 to 5er's find it hard to understand why I can't just go out. Why I can't just change my schedule on a whim. I work for myself right? Sort of. My schedule's flexibility is set around the progress my various horses are making toward the goals I've laid out for them. Each horse has a differant program, and progresses at a differant pace, toward differant goals. Generally, these are long term goals, but still set within an indentifiable time limit. Each day is precious and important. To get them all where I want to get them, when I want to get them there, and do it so that they're both healthy and happy- I have to work my A$$ off day in and day out. The few hours I have to myself everyday are SACRED to me. In order for ME to be healthy and happy I need to rest too. .....(I'm hitting an age where bionic body parts are looking attractive)...

I want to know why I need to be the one working everyday for 12+ hours, but I can't be too busy to go out and be social, when the ones with weekends, holidays, and paid vacations can't come see me, because they say I'm too busy....?

Karma.. it's a funny little thing

Just lately I think I should believe in Karma.

Someone local threatened to break my fingers, and in general made life very very uncomfortable for a whole lot of people around here.. and their horse died. Seems severe I know, but hey.. I don't run things. Wish I did.

Alicia got stitches at the State Fair. Sliced her knuckle wide open. She'd spent part of the earlier portion of the day saying how it was such bad form to be carted off to the infirmary. Everyone laughed at you if you got carted off to the infirmary. She got carted off. Least she got to go sitting up and not strapped down.

I argued vehemently with Kenn about the location of the potted plants in our stall display. I liked the way they were.. he thought the one might be in danger. I disagreed. What danger could come to a prickly cactusy palm type plant? Of course- my favorite horse picked it up and thoroughly de-potted it. Damn. I wanted to save that plant too.

So now some people are saying very bad, slanderous things.. I kinda think it's funny, but at the same time I'm waiting to see exactly how Karma comes up and kicks their ass..

In the meantime I'm being vewy vewy careful.

The smell of DMSO in the morning..

I have never really researched how much of the human memory bank is referenced based upon olfactory stimulation... but it never ceases to amaze me what the random smell will dredge out of the webby bottom of my mind.

Take for example, DMSO. That horribly putrid smell puts me immediately in mind of Morrisville. That is NOT to say that the direct connections that my subconcious makes are in any way as negative as the scent itself. On the contrary. Strangely enough, after less than 6 degrees of seperation, my memories flow from the stench of DMSO to bubble bath in the world's best garden tub/ jacuzzi. Don't ask- it's one of those insane leaps the human mind is prone to making.

Another example- pine. Certain sawdust, pine-sol, those cheesey little pine tree air-fresheners- all of the above remind intimately of horse shows, even though we no longer use pine shavings ourselves.

Lately has been the best. The bite of fall is in the air (and it's only the first of September.. dear, GOD!) and the barn has that richer aroma from being closed overnight. It's as though the hay is more pungent, the sawdust more aromatic, and of course the horse shit.. well... you get the picture I'm sure. This morning, getting a nostril full of this veritable bouquet of scents, I was sent into a blind panic. WORLD SHOWS! (Again, do NOT ask, I do not KNOW why my mind works thusly) While we know WHO is going, not a one is yet in training, I do not know if they are under lights (as they should be), I haven't even seen some of them in over a month.. and we have (gasp!) less than 60 days.

This is no differant from any other year. But there you have it- the control that the nose has over the mind..

Triangulating a Championship

To make a Champion,- and we're talking specifically about the World Champion level, although it applies to all levels- takes a nothing less than a trio of special people. (and this is regardless of WHO the trainer is.. consider the trainer as the "manager" or "captain" of this ship. If there are holes in the ship, it doesn't matter how damn good the captain is, it's going to sink!)

First it takes the right owner. It takes that special owner that is willing to do what it takes to make that horse the best that horse can be. In other words they have to be willing to send it down the road to shows, (and sometimes not send it) get it the training it needs, and one that is savvy enough to shop for the best people they can find to fill the next two postions, AND THEN, when they've found their experts, be willing to listen to them.

Next it takes the right veterinarian. Without that right one to keep at fine tuned athlete in peak condition, you might as well forget the voyage before you even start. It is a differant veterinarian that keeps the show horse tickin' over properly, than the one that visit's ol' Thunder in your neighbor's pasture once or twice a year.

And third, is the right farrier. Remember the old saying "no hoof, no horse". Competitively speaking, your farrier can make or break you. They've got to know their job inside and out. They have to know what it is your horse does, and make sure they can perform to the utmost of their abilities. It's not an easy job keeping a campaigning horse sound. They must also know the horse they are working on inside and out. They have to take a personal interest.

All three of them have to be able to set a program, follow a program, and remain flexible enough to abandon that program if it isn't working.

So many people buy that future "world beater" and can't figure out why they can't make that dream a reality. Or they buy that World Champion that some other "trio" has already made, take it home, and suddenly, their great horse isn't doing so great anymore. Immediately they blame the former trainer- "It was beaten to do what it did." or "It was drugged". Never could they consider that something in the dynamic of their own "triangle" has does not work for that horse.

On Hunters and Barrel Horses

It never ceases to amaze me how much bias exists in the horse industry. Breed-bias. Gender-bias. Event-bias. Sure everyone has their favorites, but is that any reason to be derogatory?

Growing up riding AQHA hunters, the prevailing attitude was that the very worst thing you could do on horseback was run barrels. That was lower than low. Scum of the earth type thing. It was the dwelling place of the equine illiterate, who didn't know any better, and the horses, well... you felt sorry for them, crazy, ugly animals that they were. Of course we wondered why hunter riders had a reputation for snobishness..... hmm..

That couldn't have been more silly. First of all- take your pedigrees for your top hunter horses (both fences and HUS) and compare them to the pedigrees of the top barrel horses. See any similarities? (for easy research use this site: www.allbreedpedigree.com )

The primary differances are height and temperment. Those are uncontrolable variables anytime you breed a mare to a stallion. You might cross two horses with speed indexes over 100, and end up with something that would only run if you shoved a jet engine up it's butt.

Kenn and I are always fighting over horses. Why? Because we both look for the same thing in a horse. I see something that would make a great hunter, he sees something that would excell as a barrel horse. We both want flat, long-strided, efficient movers. Good hocks, nice sloping shoulders.. the list goes on.

So why the attitudes? NO IDEA. Even the training and riding aren't much differant. Barrel horses have to know all the same things a fence horse or undersaddle horse does. The main differance is the speed at which they perform.