Yesterday

Yesterday was the first day she took Thunder out on trails alone. Yesterday she found out what it is to experience true pain.

Yesterday my stomach muscles got a thorough workout as I strained against the back-and-forth motion of my Grandma's rusty lawn mower. Yesterday I was kissed by the sun.

Yesterday she felt her adrenaline beating through the ends of her toes. 

Yesterday was a good day, for me.

But for her, it was the start of never ending ride, whose haunting eyes will follow her always.

The wind was blowing the strands of her salt and pepper hair in swirls that had escaped the confines of her helmet and pony tail. She smiled as the the sun hit her face. She knew in this fresh light the freckles she had tried to conceal in her younger days would be more prominent than ever, and she didn't care. The only souls to care about her blemishes were herself and of course, Thunder, who was walking languidly after their hour long lesson.

The first truly warm day of the season. She might have even classified it as hot if it weren't for the gentle breeze that moved the delicate branches of the newly budding trees. Thunder had been ornery today. The warm weather had molded his usually patient attitude into on of something like defiance. Not the the vicious kind, but the intolerant kind. He didn't want to work, and he had let her know by spooking, jumping, and bolting past everything he could discern outside of the area walls. But that was over now. They had ended the lesson on a good note. Not great, but good.

Now they walked around in the luscious front pasture. The instructor had left. The other boarders had left. Alone at last. Her cell phone, which was sure to be buzzing incessantly, had been abandoned in the right cup-holder of her car. The world had been left behind, and it felt wonderful! The constant rustle of grass under Thunder's hooves were the perfect rhythm to extinguish the last of her concerns, at least for the moment.

But then something was wrong. Instead of a comforting rhythm, Thunder's hooves produced a sporadic, unsettling beat, and ever so slightly he heaved underneath of her. He was obvious trying to get the point across that strolling in the pasture all alone was not his idea of relaxing. Nevertheless, she kicked him on, but she couldn't help the nervous feeling in her stomach growing into what felt like a baseball. She felt her shoulders fall forward as he no longer danced underneath of her, but leaped in the air, a motion that curved sideways, forward, and toward the sky all at once. Her confidence was most definitely shaken, and she took his hint. She turned his head towards the barn, and the rest of his body followed in tune. But instead of settling him, it only made him fight the bit even more. He tried to run through her hands, but she wouldn't let him. 

From a bystanders perspective, she probably looked like the typical beginner. Sky high heels, slumped shoulders, weakened core, and too tight and too high hands. A disaster in the making. 

Thunder, on the other hand, gave the persona of a pro. He was going back to the barn, even if that meant loosing a hundred pounds or so off the sway of his back.

He picked up a jog that fell more like a stationary bounce. "Easy," she said, but the nervousness in her seat did anything but calm Thunder. "WHOAH!" she yelled this time, her voice cracking with fear. The reins in her hands jerked against what was obviously Thunder's teeth, and he retaliated by lunging into a full blown buck. Her balance was immediately thrown off kilter and she desperately grabbed for something, anything that would save her fall. Thunder utilized every ounce of power underneath his monstrous body to project into another buck, even more massive than before. Unbeknown to him, he would have only had to sidestep in the opposite direction, and she would have liberated him to his own devices. All the same, she fell. A very short fall. She didn't even have time to realize she was falling really, until she hit the ground. She felt her ankles give way beneath her, and she tipped forward only to find the world go green beneath her. Grass. Thunder was already half way to the barn, showing no signs of coming back. There was only one thing to do. Get up! She tried, but her feet weren't there! But that was impossible. Of course they were there! Then she saw the blood, and she began to doubt her certainty.

This story is non-fiction, embellished by my own imagination, but it is fact. The only problem is, I can't begin to imagine the rest, but I can tell you the plain facts.

Finding no other way to recieve help, this woman drug herself on all fours across the pasture, which is easily the size of a football field; down the barn isle and into the lounge, where she attempted to use the emergency cell phone. But rather than dialing "911," she accidentally dialed "911*911," which of course did not go through. Instead of trying again, she drug herself to her saddle bag where her keys lay, and back down the barn isle, across the gravel, and into the parking lot where her car sat undisturbed. It is truly a miracle that she did not bleed to death along the way. Either that or pass out from the pain. She called the barn manager, who was on her way home but unable to answer, and her husband, who was an hour away. Then she collapsed in a heap, her knees in the gravel, her head descending below it.

By the time the ambulance arrived, it was obvious both of her legs had been broken. Her left leg was in pieces, most of which were visible through the tattered mess of flesh surrounding them. She has spent the last twenty-four hours in intensive care.

I tell you this story, Dear Reader, with only one intention in mind: to remind you of the dangers of our beloved sport. Horses are horses. We love them, but they will do stupid things. It is spring time! They have been cooped up in the barn all winter and are undoubtedly slightly heard bound. Ride with someone the first few times you go out on trails! And never, ever ride without a cell phone.

No one ever thinks anything bad is going to happen to them. She didn't. I don't. Remind those you love by linking this story to your Twitter, Facebook, or Blog. Remind them that we shouldn't take our life for granted. We only have one.

Baby Doll

I have big news. Something happened less than forty eight hours ago that simply doesn't happen everyday. A new creature was brought into this world, a baby girl. She's an absolute doll, which is how she came to be called Dollie, and she's already too big for me to hold in my arms. She has beautiful red hair, an admirable feature, and kind brown eyes that scream for attention. If she would just stand still, I'm sure you would think she was plastic. She's the perfect baby doll!

I must say that I the hour I had allowed to groom, tack, and ride T-Pony this morning before I left for a long weekend in a suburb of Chicago was not entirely spent on riding. In fact, most of that time I spent on the floor of a stall, stroking Dollie's neck as she fell asleep on her mother's hay.

Lovely Ladies

Isn't she the cutest, littlest, sweetest thing you've ever seen? The very fact that she literally fell asleep in my arms is enough to melt my heart.

For those of you who don't know horses, it is NOT normal for a two-day-old filly to be so comfortable with humans as to fall asleep in their arms. Dollie is the exception to the rule, and I love it!

So dear readers, you see... You are never too old to fall asleep dreaming of your baby doll!

Spring Fever

Don't you just love springtime in Illinois? All of these hot/cold weather teasers to keep us on our toes.

But I have to be honest. Springtime has never been my favorite season. I'm a fall-time kind of girl. I love the cool nights that come as a relief after the scorching summer heat, the smell of diesel as the combines and semis kick into full gear, the late night campfires, the colors of the changing leaves. It's a truly magical time of year.

Is it possible that I've never loved Spring because I've never had the opportunity to be outside and enjoy it? For the last X-amount of years, I've been stuck inside, slaving away after my studies. I do believe this is the first time in my life I have been literally forced into the elements, way before my mental alarm clock begins to ring.

Ahh.... Hormonal mares, knee-high mud, spring shots, studdy yearlings... the joys of "horsehood" in March. It's a beautiful thing.

I can handle hormonal mares. They'll soon be somewhat back to normal and bring another amazing creature into existence.

The mud proves to be an ongoing nuisance, but then again, isn't that why God invented muck-boots?

Studdy yearlings... Let's just say that they've settled dramatically since their brain surgery.

You'd think I could handle all of the glitches of springtime.

But I must say, this spring shot thing has me stumped. Mandatory vaccinations include West Nile, 5-Way, and Strangles. Done. I understand. These are real viruses that effect horses locally.

Then there is such a thing as a "preference shot." These include Rabies and the Potomac Horse Fever.

Honestly, when was the last occurrence of a horse infected with Rabies? I've been around the horse world for over 1/2 my life and have NEVER heard of such a thing. On the flip side, if my horse is the first to be infected to my knowledge, he will die. There is no cure, no treatment. D-E-A-D. That's just all there is to it.  So what to do? Take the chance that K-pony will be the first? Or take the chance that no rabid raccoons will come bounding out of the woods, determined to take a chunk out of my horse?

I'm a risk-taker, but my horse's life is one thing that I've never taken lightly. Therefore, I have always, always vaccinated for rabies. It's never been an issue for me.

Today was spring-shot-day. K-pony was injected with mandatory+rabies vaccines. Then the attending vet suggested very strongly that everyone vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. But it is, after all, a preference shot. Believe it or not, this is one decision I've never before run across.

The way I understand it, the virus is transmitted by May flies laying eggs in your horse's water. I don't know if you've noticed, but Illinois is filled to the brim with May flies in May. However, the vaccine does not prevent the virus. It merely reduces the severity of the case, given your horse is even infected in the first place. The disease can be deadly, but not always. There is treatment, but it is not 100% effective. Also, there has not been many cases of Potomac reported in the area... but IT'S ON THE RISE!!!! (Isn't it always something?)

Correct me if I'm wrong, but couldn't "less severe" still be deadly? And wouldn't you notice if your horse broke out in a high, high fever?  You would think so, but what a toss up!

Would you risk it with someone or something you loved?

I did. I risked it. I did not vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. If I made the wrong choice, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself, but I honestly don't think I did. Given the precautions that have already been implemented at my stable, I've made the mental choice to assume things will be fine, and not think about the "what-ifs" in the situation.

Whew! It's hard to imagine that a simple day in March would bring such a weighty decision.

Random side note: As you all have probably already deduced by now, I would advocate from here to the moon and back for my baby sister, who has Down Syndrome. Do you know what's more encouraging than anything else? To see another sibling of a child with disabilities sticking up for what's right and appreciating their true beauty.

Check out this incredible video.

I hope Sarah Grace and all other children with Downs will someday realize how fortunate they are to have people around them who will always be there to love them, support them, and (in Sarah Grace's case) make great music for them.

Dumb Dog

5:28am—Alarm goes off.  

5:34am—Realize the alarm is going off.

5:45am—Drag self out of bed with great difficulty and a surprising amount of determination.

5:55am—Down a cup of strong coffee. Plug loud music into my dull mind.

6:00am—Throw hair in ponytail and place fuzzy headband thing on my head. Forget the makeup. Head for car.

6:05am—Ready for work, in car, heading down driveway.

See! I do have a routine, and I stick to it meticulously. My exactness of time is purely involuntary. At five thirty in the morning, my mind follows my body, not the other way around. For almost three weeks I have survived the early mornings, and without anymore difficulty than you would expect a teenager to have getting up before nine. I enjoy my job. It’s what makes me happy, most days.

My routine isn’t the only thing that never varies. For the last few weeks everything has been the same on the way down to the stables where I work. The journey is relatively short; the road winds and curves unpredictably; there are only three houses with lights on; and I go through two valleys that are notorious for being inhabited with animals that are highly unwanted in the grill of your car, especially in the grill of mine. At dawn, these animals, such as deer, opposums, raccoons, and the occasional squirrel or coyote, are especially bad about running into or in front of passing cars. Only yesterday, my mother almost hit a dozen deer, who were just standing in the middle of the road, hanging out. She was obviously the one who was intruding upon their territory.

Despite these animals unmistakable presence, I have never hit one nor have I ever come close… until this morning.

I was driving along, going less than 45 mph down one of the two curvy hills. I am not usually a Driving Ms. Daisy at all, but when I saw those beady little eyes peaking out from behind the yellow sideline of the road, I instinctively tapped the brakes, but continued on the beaten path. I was merely hoping that the unidentified animal would stay put for another two seconds, and I would be out of its way. But that would be too convenient. Out the critter dodged, and from the light of my brights, I identified those beady little eyes as being a raccoon’s. Thump, clump, thump. Silence. Oops.

For the next half a mile or so I had a pit in my stomach thinking that I had killed something, a living thing. I didn’t know I was capable of murder! It was highly depressing until I realized that it was, after all, just a stupid raccoon. I hate raccoons! I have sworn since I was in third grade that there was a whole pack of rabid raccoons living in the hayloft of the abandoned barn at my house. If I had eliminated one of those critters, ba-bye!

Okay, so I’m not that heartless, but by the time I pulled into the driveway of the stables, the issue was no longer on the forefront of my mind.

After running over a raccoon, I thought I was completely awake. As it turns out, I was only 50% awake. The other 50% of my mind became active after my barn manager said, “Have you seen Frank?” Frank is a small black and white female Border Collie, who is older and has a tendency to run off without Sue, the lively male Border Collie.”

“No,” I answered, unalarmed but curious.

Before I could ask a further question, the barn manager filled me in. “She ran down the driveway in the dark, and the last time I saw her, she was headed for the highway.”

You mean the highway I just came from??? Ummm…..

“No, I haven’t seen her,” I said without flinching, but inside I felt like I had swallowed a quart of butterflies. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it might not have killed a raccoon after all. “I might be a dog murderer,” I thought and couldn’t keep quiet. “Does she kind of look like a raccoon in the dark?” I asked probably more quietly than I should have.

The barn manager looked surprised and said, “Yeah! I’ve almost missed her a couple of times in the woods because she looked so much like a raccoon.” That was the worst possible thing she could have said until she continued, “It was definitely her if she was up on the highway. There aren’t any raccoons up there because the coyotes are so thick this year.”

At that moment I wanted more than anything to disintegrate into thin air. But rather than come clean and send the barn manager into a panic over the death of her “babydog,” I kept quiet. Maybe I hadn’t killed her; maybe I just knocked her over. But such rational conclusions were quickly replaced by thoughts such as, OMG! I killed a “she” instead of an “it!”

I could not stop thinking about how this sweet, old, innocent dog that I had petted less than twenty-four hours ago was dead, and I was the cause. Her epitaph would read:

Frankie Lynn

The best dog a barn could have until SHE ran over her.

Died February 16, 2011.

With this and several other morbid notions running through my mind, I decided not to say anything about seeing the dumb dog, thinking that it would be the path of least resistance.

More than an hour later, I was well on my way to being done with chores.  I must admit that I had the music on my iPod turned up just a little too loud, and the sounds of the outside world were tuned out, but my sixth sense was far from eliminated, and I trusted it to tell me should someone have needed me.

Side note: I am terrible with latches on gates. They are horrible creation if you ask me. Somebody should invent latches that are magnetic.

It was while I was fiddling around with a stupid latch that I sensed a presence. I looked up and around. There was nobody in front of me. I turned around. Sitting directly, and I mean directly, behind me was Frank, the dead dog! Except she wasn’t dead! Her ears were perked up and before I could even find the words to commend her or congratulate her for being alive, she was off in the direction of the barn where she knew I would be heading to retrieve another horse. As she ran she would look back to make sure that I was well in tow.

And here I was thinking I was going to have to check murder off my “List of Nevers.”

Dumb dog!

The "S" Trade

Have you ever ventured outside on a bitterly cold, no sunshine kind of day in central Illinois? If not, you’re lucky. They’re the worst! They are especially bad when you actually want to be out doing something, but dang it! Fuzzy socks and a cup of coffee are awfully hard to leave for chilled bones. It would be the equivalent of leaving Ryan Reynolds for Arnold Schwarzenegger. Have you seen Schwarzenegger lately? Just not appealing. Hence my reluctance to leave my fuzzies and pack up in my Carhartt.

But, I did it. Why? Because K-pony needed a ride. Love endures all things… so true!

I was on the way to the facility where I board K-pony, when A, my beautiful little sis, mentions (several times, getting increasingly louder) that she would love to ride K-pony too. If you haven’t already gathered from previous blogs, I love my sister more than life itself, and she too has a passion for riding. However, because I’ve been so preoccupied with life, she hasn’t been able ride him since the middle of September. With all of that in mind, why not let her come? Sure it’s freezing cold outside and K-pony is bound to be loony! Eh, no biggy.

Ha. I sneer at my own stupidity.

I arrived at the barn, saddled up, avoided as much conversation with fellow boarders as possible, and wasted no time in getting on the horse. My fingers were about three seconds from falling off when I finally got K-pony moving. Yep, he was indeed a fruit loop. Why, oh, why do horses always pick the worst days to be stupid? Don’t answer that.

It took about ten minutes until he settled into his gaits, and after that he was fantastic! I’m not over exaggerating when I say that we had one of the best rides that we’ve had in weeks! He was so good that I momentarily forgot the fact that I couldn’t feel my face. Lovely, I tell you, lovely.

We finished our dressage work exactly fifteen minutes before my sister was supposed to return, and I had no desire to walk around in circles when K-pony had all of this wonderfulness to show off. So I thought that I would just set up one jump and do some practice sets. Nothing big, nothing hard. Just fun.

Ha. Again with the sneering.

I set up a little cross rail. We could do that in our sleep, and we practically did! He was marvelous, as to be expected. Within five minutes, I had bored with our practice and so had he. It never ends well when K-pony gets bored. With ten minutes to spare, I set the jump higher and into a three-foot vertical. Eek!

Ha.

K-pony flew over it the first time. Distance could have been better, but it was good. We practiced our simple exercise a couple more times until a thought crosses my mind.

Why is my head freezing and my hair in my eyes? (Gasp) I have no helmet on. ****!!!!!

But it was too late then! I was already within feet of the jump and turning away wasn’t really an option. Oops. Big, huge, monumental oops.

You think I fell off dear K-pony? Please. I don’t really see falling off as an option. Ungraceful emergency dismounting, yes. Falling, never! We cleared and landed immaculately, but I wasted no time in retrieving my helmet. I would prefer not to die, as my bucket list is far from complete!

By that time A arrived, along with our brother, G, and my mother. My siblings were heatedly engaged in a “ME FIRST!” “NO ME FIRST!” discussion. All Mom had to do was see K-pony’s and my Good God, there’s two of them expression, and she quickly ended their sibling’s quarrel. A was to go first.

A is eight, but I am far from trusting her on the beloved K-pony alone. I put her in the saddle, and then swung up and onto his buttox. (Yes, I just wrote buttox.) Her excitement was inspiring! She giggled the entire time, and all we did was walk! It makes me appreciate the little things that I often take for granted with K-pony. I was busy teaching her to sit up, hold her hands in the proper position (thumbs up!), and not to kick poor K-pony for no reason, when G called over that it was his turn now. Only because A truly had spent a reasonable amount of time on K-pony’s back did I comply.

G’s reaction to K-pony’s worn out gaits were quite different. He wanted to “drive,” as he calls it, and why couldn’t we run again? He inherited my desperate need for speed. Poor kid. He quickly figured out, much to K-pony’s dismay, that he could, what’s that word again? TROT!!! In his six year old language: "This is the coolest thing ever!!! Except for maybe that new holster Grandpa got me." :)

K-pony then parked himself in front of the three-foot vertical, and G then wanted to not only “run”, but “hop over” that “white thing!”

Ha. No, child.

But, K-pony seemed to have a different opinion when he knocked it over and literally “hopped over” the ground poles. If you would have asked me directly before the take off, I would have said that G was sure to fall, but he maintained his balance and the only danger he was in of falling off was from laughing too hard. I was stunned in to giggles myself out of shear amazement! A horse, my previously western pleasure horse, just knocked over a jump so that he could “hop” over it! Priceless!

I guess the point of this rather lengthy account is that sometimes trading Reynolds for Schwarzenegger can turn out decent enough. Just make sure you throw in a horse and a couple of munchkins. 

True Love

Known fact: I love my horse.
Known fact: There are days when there is a significant part of me that says to the same horse, "How do you feel about being a slightly sticky adhesive that kindergartner's just looovve??"
Yes, I know... some may say cruel. Trust me. After spending the better part of an hour on the back of a 1200 lb animal having a silent war dealing with whether or not we should trot collectedly and be gorgeous, or whether we should plop around like we're fresh off the race track, this solution does not sound in the slightest cruel. And then we have the issue of why in the world we would canter in hand when we can gallop around like a Thoroughbred with serious mental issues? Ah yes... the joys of horsemanship. Any horse owner can testify that you just have those days when you can say, "This is how you do it, dear pony."
And they say, "Yeah, I get it."
"Then do it!!!"
"Well I could.... but... no."
"*!#$)*)(*)(#*$)(@**"

Then after allowing the animosity to fly uncontrollably out, you are able to think much more clearly and you realize that glue factories are a wonderful, God-given gift. My Quarter Horse gelding, under all the "dur-dur-dur" disguise, is a stubborn mule with a big rear end! However, I am more stubborn and anyone that knows me is well aware that I get my way one way or another. Therefore I held my ground and the mule finally cooperated to an acceptable degree.

Whew! It's hot outside. I think I'll be nice and give you a bath. But, noooo... That would mean the mule would have to walk into the wash stall that he's been in 20 times in the last month. No amount of bribing, pulling, begging, backing, beating would persuade him to take a step into that stall. Now you can only imagine how frustrated I was after fussing with this thing I call my horse for twenty minutes. Barn owner walks in and offers to help. "I DO NOT NEED HELP! I NEED A GUN!" Outwardly I was barely maintaining composure and was willing to take what I could get. So she takes the lead rope and he goes right in like it was a sugar coated mountain of apples. Mule. Absolute. Total. Mule. I swear he was laughing! Ugh.

Naturally I did not hang around the barn just to give him extra hugs and kisses and as I sped out the driveway, all in a fluff, I couldn't help but laugh. How stupid! It's the little things like getting into a mental war with my horse and winning that truly keeps you humble. You can't always have a perfect day. And as I look back at all the events of the day I smile. Hmm... what kind of mischief shall I stir up tomorrow? 

Wingless

I am a firm believer that there is no possible reason why a person would get up any earlier than they absolutely must. Yet, if a character must rise before their liking, they might as well start their day off in the place that they love the most. For some this place might be their own kitchen or perhaps on their front porch rocker. In my case there is no place I'd rather be at 6:00am than in a dirty, dusty barn. I know! Unlikely choice! I'm a country girl with an absolute obsession with horses. The last four days I have been filling in for the usual barn worker (for lack of a better word). Being as I haven't worked in a barn for over a year, I had forgotten how much work taking care of a whole aisle full of hungry horses truly is! Having a dependent that you can lean on (quite literally) makes the work well worth it. One of my best friends calls it the Unwritten Dependency Plan: We feed them. They don't kill us. :) 

I love being the first one through the barn doors on a crisp fall morning. Naturally at 6:00 in the morning my senses are not nearly as adroit as they otherwise would be, say at 8:00am. The doors creaked stiffly open, resembling my own feelings and movements. I took my first uneven step into the barn and was immediately greeted with a whinny. A nicker. The lights. A muzzle. Another, and another. All in a row. Suddenly my eyes brightened and the spring in my step returned from the previous day. Ahhh... I've been missed. And then off I trotted to perform the morning chores with flare.

It has been said that horses give us the wings we lack. Apart, neither horse nor mankind can fly; neither possess the necessary qualities. But together they form a new kind of creature, one that is more courageous, determined, and willing to face the seemingly impossible. There is something magical about the feeling that encroaches on the mind and body when two such beings connect and conquer a new feat. Without horses, the human race would be grounded permanently. In my opinion that is a fate worse than death. I am determined to never join the inexperienced section of the human race that will always remain wingless.