The Blogging Horse

Louis and the Power of Three

2012-02-29T14:28:00.000-08:00

Henk writes:

I've noticed that humans have a "thing" for threes:
Three blind mice.
Three wise men.
The holy Trinity (and Trinity in The Matrix, who happens to be really hot, very smart, and dressed all in black like a certain horse I know).
Third time lucky.

You get the idea.

Of course, "good things come in threes" (which would be why Lil shares her life with three fabulous Friesians) and so, apparently, do bad things, as Louis was about to discover.

You'll remember from my last post that our charming Canadian horse had managed to injure himself twice in the space of a week or so -- once by twisting a fetlock in the paddock, and then by trying to challenge Wilby for dominance of the herd. A very bad idea. So now the horse who'd never been sick or lame a day in his life was nursing injuries to both front legs, and just as he was starting to recover, he developed an abscess in his right hind hoof. I was trying to figure out how he'd manage to stand on one leg!

I've never had an abscess. My feet are perfect. Really. Ask my farrier (or, as I prefer to think of him, my personal pedicurist). He tells Lil all the time that if a textbook ever needed a picture of the perfect hoof, mine should be in it. Of course if you've ever seen such a book you'll know the picture usually shows HALF a hoof with all the bones and stuff showing, so I think I'll pass that honour up, thank you very much. Still, it's nice to have your feet appreciated.

So I've never experienced an abscess, but I know horses who have. Evidently it hurts like the devil. Some horses are tough and manage to hobble around in spite of the pain. The less stoic ones pretty much lie down on their backs and wave their feet in the air, desperate for their humans to make the pain go away. This, however, does not tend to be either quick or easy.

When Louis started hopping around on one hind, Lil set out to do all the usual stuff to help heal an abscess -- soak the hoof in warm water with Epsom salts to draw out the infection, wrap the legs for support, and leave the horse in his stall to rest.

Having never needed nursing before, Louis was unfamiliar with these procedures, and quickly decided that they were beneath his tough-guy Canadian-ness. The first day Lil tried to put his foot in a bucket of water I was lucky enough to be in the barn to watch.

Louis stood politely in the cross-ties, right hind leg lifted high to keep the hoof from contacting the ground, waiting to see what was going to happen. When Lil approached carrying a bucket, his ears perked up and he stuck his nose deep inside, looking for food. The look of shock was pretty funny, and he pulled his dripping muzzle away, snorting salty water all over the aisle, and Lil. He twitched his ears and pretended not to care as Lil carried the bucket toward his rear end. Embarrassed but not alarmed. He even let her take hold of the dangling right leg and lift it over the bucket, then gently lower his hoof down. All went well until his foot touched the water, and then he jerked his leg away, and now his eyes bugged out a little. Lil talked to him quietly and pulled the leg toward the bucket again, but this time he yanked it away hard, sending the bucket flying and water spilling everywhere. He hopped away sideways on his good leg and leaned his butt against a wall, looking at the spreading puddle and snorting loudly.

Lil uttered a few unprintable words and headed off to the washroom for more warm water and Epsom salts. Patience is not usually her strong suit, but she can be remarkably persistent with us horses. She didn't even get mad at Louis when he dumped the bucket a second time, and she eventually convinced him that it was OK to stand with his foot in the water, although she had to stay right beside him and stroke his rump for the entire 20 minutes. If she moved even a couple of feet to do something else (like groom him), Louis would pull his leg out of the bucket and start to fuss.

Finally, the first soaking session was over, and Lil dried Louis' leg, tied his tail in a knot to keep it out of the way, and got out the stable bandages. Louis was instantly on the alert again, watching her every move. What on earth was the human up to now?

Lil bandaged the healthy leg first, this being actually the more important leg to support, since Louis was putting all the weight of his substantial rear end on that leg to avoid using the sore foot. He watched her warily but decided to put up with the weird procedure rather than cause himself pain by stepping on that ouchy right leg. It was a different story, though, when Lil moved to the other side and started wrapping the right leg. He wasn't using it to stand on anyway, so using it as a weapon was pretty easy. He let fly time and again, and although it was never clear whether he was actually aiming for Lil or just kicking out in protest, she had to be pretty nimble to stay clear of that flying hoof. Executing a nice, even, supportive stable bandage on a moving target is tricky even when you're not dodging flying feet, but eventually the job was done. Lil was in a sweat. A few more unprintable words had been uttered.

She stroked Louis' neck while calling him some pretty ugly names, unclipped the cross ties and led him into his stall. Louis took a step and panicked a little, kicking out that troublesome right hind again. I guess the bandages felt like something had hold of his legs and his first thought was to fight it off. Lil started to laugh, and that really ticked him off. He put his head down and walked into his stall, hopping on one leg and flailing the other around like he was trying to get clear of thick deep mud. He hobbled to the corner of his stall and stood there sulking, muttering something in French that I couldn't understand.

I was secretly looking forward to a week or so of amusing performances, but darned if that abscess didn't drain right away. I swear he did a Jedi mind trick on it just to avoid any more "nursing." He was better and back outside with us... in just three days!

Meet Louis

2012-01-18T14:49:00.000-08:00

Henk writes:

The stall next to me wasn’t empty for long. A day or twoafter the Spanish horses left for their new home in Nova Scotia (see November9th post), Louis, our Canadian horse, appeared next door. He likes to liveoutside in the big pasture, so I hadn’t seen him for a while. He was lookingexceptionally grumpy.

“Merde,” I heard himcurse under his breath. He was avoiding me, trying to get to the far side of his stall, but every time heput his left front foot on the ground his leg buckled from pain. I pretendednot to notice, and stuck my head in my feed bucket. There’s nothing a tough guylike Louis hates more than letting his vulnerability show.

As I chewed my dinner, I considered – not for the first time– how unfair it was that Louis could swear in a different language. French noless. They’re descended from French horses, the Canadians (although it lookssuspiciously like some Friesians managed to dive into the gene pool at some point as well), and they’ve hung onto their language through the centuries. Smartcritters. Most of the Friesians I know who were born in North America like medon’t know a lick of Dutch, and those who were born in Holland (like Wilby)don’t take advantage of it much. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve begged him toteach me some Dutch swear-words. But goody-two-shoes won’t do it. Claims hedoesn’t know any. Ha! I don’t believe him. But Louis? It’s crisse de calisse this and tabarnak that. I have no idea what it means, but it all justsounds so awesome!

It’s a good thing humans can’t understand him, though,because Louis likes to use thosemellifluous cuss words of his, and that could be a problem since he works inLil’s therapeutic riding lessons. We don’t need any little kids takinginteresting new words with them to school the day after their ride!

Louis’s a tough guy. Undisputed boss of the herd he usuallylives with, and never mind that all the other horses are a hand or two taller.But he should have remembered there’s one horse he can’t mess with. When Lilput him out with us once his leg got better (she still wanted him in at nightuntil he was 100%), the fool tried to challenge Wilby for some hay firstmorning out with us, and now he’s limping on his right front, way more than he’d been limping on his left.Lil’s losing her mind. Evidently his macho got the better of his intellect. Andhe’s back on stall rest, which makes him extra angry. Doesn’t Lil realize he’smeant to live outdoors like his ancestors? The little horses who worked thefarm, pulled the family carriage to church on Sunday and even did a littleracing, dragged logs out of the bush, and got turned loose in that bush to fendfor themselves for months on end when they weren’t needed? Is she trying tomake him soft by sticking him in a stall?

But at least he’s starting to talk to me a little afterwe’ve had our dinner every night. I like his stories. I’ll share some with you.And maybe, just maybe, I can get him to teach me some French.

Riding in Jamaica

2011-12-27T08:47:00.000-08:00

Henk writes:

Lil and family came back just before Christmas from a vacation on some island named Jamaica which, from the pictures you'll see below, looks kind of nice but much too hot for a large black horse that's endowed with as much hair as I am. I guess that's why when Lil went riding she ended up on a skinny-legged ex-racehorse that's as gaunt as a whippet. Still, Lil tells me the horses at this riding establishment were very well cared for and not the bony, sad-sack creatures typical of these kinds of places in the tropics. In fact, many of the horses at this place (called "Hooves" by the way) were rescues. That, of course, was the final push Lil needed to get her all excited about rescuing horses here at home, which is something she's kind of bounced around ever since moving to our current farm, so I guess we have more strange new horses to look forward to. I'll keep you posted as this particular project develops. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Lil's ride. Evidently she had a blast.

Lil and her guide, Danny, leaving the former Spanish plantation where the horses are kept, and on their way to the beach.

A canter on the beach.

Playing in the surf.

2011-11-24T11:22:00.001-08:00

Henk writes:

Lil's husband, Robert, brought his camera out to our paddock the other day, so I thought I'd share some of his pictures with you.

The top photo is me and the human with her back to you is Lil. She thinks this is her best angle for photos.

The second photo is me with Charlee. I'm the one with the braids. Don't even go there. It's Lil's idea of keeping my mane long and lovely. I think it's a touch embarrassing myself. I try to unbraid them as fast as I can, but she just keeps putting them back in. The farrier actually asked if I was "wrapped up for Christmas!" Ugh. But, hey, if it means my flowing, wavy locks will be that much more beautiful, I guess I can put up with it.

This is Charlee (both photos above). Actually, her name is Charline W, but we all call her Charlee. Do you notice a striking resemblance? To moi? I like this girl! Not only does she look almost as good as I do, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to mould her in my own image in the personality department. She's got the right attitude! Already Lil's sons have started referring to her as "the female Henk." OK with me.

Charlee comes from the same farm as I do (Witeeveen Friesians), and we share a couple of ancestors (Barteld 292 and Mark), although you have to go back a generation or two. (Go back a generation or two and pretty much all Friesians share an ancestor here and there!). She came to live with us last fall, when she was two. Lil says the only reason they were able to afford her was that Charlee had a bad paddock accident that summer and has a really ugly knee to show for it. She'll never be rideable, but she'll be able to have babies, the first of which she's expecting in May. That will be fun, I think. We haven't had babies around since Lil bought "the slaughter-house-three" eight years ago (that's a whole other story that I'll tell you sometime). The foal's sire is Sipke 450. I haven't met the dude myself (he lives in the USA), but Lil thinks he's pretty awesome. Charlee's pretty awesome herself. Her pedigree is full of Stars and Models and Preferents (if you're not familiar with Friesian terminology, just think of these as having won the genetic lottery -- a bit like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt), and her half-brother is the first approved breeding stallion bred in Canada -- Michiel 442. He's now been sold to a breeder in Holland, which is a bit like selling a Canadian red wine to a connoisseur in Bordeaux: a really big deal.

We'll of course share pictures of the babe when it comes. In the meantime, feast your eyes on me. And Charlee, too, I guess.

Spanish Horses

2011-11-09T13:07:00.000-08:00

Henk writes:

More new horses! So much forthe quiet country life. I think Lil’s losing her mind. But, hey, she’s the onewho has to feed everybody and make sure we get turned out and our stalls getcleaned, so I guess it’s her prerogative. And anyway, at least these last twoare only visiting. Good thing, too, or I might have to take matters into my ownhands. More on that in a minute.

Two weeks ago I walked intomy stall in the evening and there, in the stall beside me, was a horse I’dnever met before. Now, normally, I’m cool with that. I love company, and I lovethat whenever a new horse needs to be introduced into the herd, Lil lets memeet him (or her) first. I like to make the introductions to the rest of thegang. But this horse? I don’t know. He’s awfully good looking, and the way he acts I think he mightbe deluding himself into thinking he’s a Friesian. All charming and delightfuland he likes people almost as much as I do and, you know, he’s stealing theattention that’s rightfully mine! Peopleare all beside themselves, patting and ogling and feeding him carrots and “oh,isn’t he beautiful!” Hey! Whatabout the black horse in the stall next door? Me? If you’re going to go ga-gaover any equine, it should be me!

Ugh.

And then, a week or so later,another one shows up! The first one’s younger brother, and wouldn’t you knowit, he’s even better looking! Now the situation’s getting serious and I’mconsidering slipping the latch on their paddock and turning them loose. Let’ssee how long you guys make it on your own without the humans looking after you!Have you heard those coyotesyapping it up at dusk?

I guess Wilbygoody-two-shoes figured out what I was thinking, ‘cause he gave me quite thetalking-to. Seems thoughts of “disappearing” the competition are un-Friesianand unacceptable. Pardon me! I didn’t know there was a code of ethics. But thehumans saved me from myself anyway. The two pretty-boys have been sold and willbe leaving for the beautiful province of Nova Scotia soon. Is it too late to startbeing gracious?

The one who lives in thestall next to mine is named Hypnotiq, and he’s a four-year-old son of SoberbioXII. Cutie-pie is his three-year-old brother Symphoniq. Both are purebredAndalusians (or, as they’re called these days, Pura Rasa Espanol). So thatexplains the looks and the brains. Like us Friesians, the Andalusian is aBaroque horse (also includes Lipizzaners, Lusitanos, and the Kladruber from theCzech Republic which happens to be where Lil was born). The “boys’” daddy,Soberbio, hung out in our barn for a couple of days two years ago on his way toa dressage clinic, and I must say I was impressed. Stallions can be a littlesketchy, but this one is all class. A true gentleman. And very lovely.

So I’ve decided to let themhave their moment in the sun. The novelty will probably wear off soon and mymany adoring humans will return to worshipping me. “The boys” are due to leaveon Sunday. And if they don’t, that paddock latch really is a piece of cake toopen.

Check out the photos:

Symphoniq (grey) and Hypnotiq

Soberbio

"the boys" again

Soberbio doing tricks

The Horse in the Iron Mask

2011-10-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

Henk writes:

A couple of new horsesarrived at the farm last week: an older chestnut warmblood named Lego, and hispet, a mini named… well… not really named. I’ll tell you more about that later.

When these two arrived, theygot regular stalls in the barn like the rest of us, but instead of going out inone of the paddocks we use, they went into the sand-ring on the other side ofthe barn. Once we all go outside in the morning, the only evidence we have thatLego and the mini even exist is Lego’s screaming. He whinnies all the time. Someone pulls up at the house and opens their cardoor – Lego whinnies. Lil lets the dogs out for a pee – Lego whinnies. Theneighbour starts cutting his grass – Lego whinnies. But we don’t see them, andwe certainly don’t have any contact with them. This, plus the fact that Legogoes outside wearing a wire-mesh cage over his nose has caused some crazyspeculation among the rest of the animals. I, of course, threw gasoline on thefire by suggesting that Lego was a cannibal who couldn’t share a paddock withus because he’d try to rip chunks of flesh out of us and eat it. The mini, Itold them, was too ornery for him to attack, but still Lego had to wear themuzzle to make absolutely sure. It was a stupid story, but a few of the othersbought it. I had to laugh at the way Charlee and Sunny skirted around Lego’sstall, fully expecting him to reach out and snatch a meal from their sides!(I’m always amazed at the trouble some horses have separating the carnivoresfrom the vegetarians in their life. It’s like Lil’s old horse Oscar. The sightof a deer would send him running for his life, but a coyote didn’t scare him atall).

The real story of Lego andthe mini is of course much less interesting than my fairy tale: Lego suffered about of laminitis followed by founder several years ago while living at anotherfarm. The best his human, Jo, could figure was that the laminitis was broughton by overly rich hay (too much alfalfa), and the founder was bad enough thatanother episode would probably bring his coffin bones right out through thesoles of his feet. Thank goodness for our farrier, Rodd (who also looked afterJo’s horses). He has Lego so well trimmed and shod and padded that you’d neverknow anything had happened to him. Still, Jo won’t risk a relapse, and becausethere were a few determined patches of grass sprouting in the sand ring(probably because no one ever rides in it – preferring to use either the arenafor schooling or the hay fields for a hack), she insisted on the muzzle just tomake absolutely sure old Lego didn’t ingest anything that could make him sickagain.

As to the mini, well, Jobought him to keep Lego company when he was living at her house. After Legofoundered and couldn’t be ridden for months while he recovered, Jo started referringto him as “Useless.” A paddock ornament who just stands around and eats andpoops and looks good. The mini, whose only role was to keep Lego company,naturally became “Little Useless.” But Jo adores Lego, who was foaled at herhobby farm and has been with her all his life, so the Useless label didn’tstick to him for very long. The mini, however, remained “Little Useless,” and Ithink that’s a big part of the reason for his attitude. He really doesn’t likeJo. (The fact that she had to sit on his head while the vet castrated himprobably didn’t help their relationship, either). He pins his ears and givesher attitude the likes of which I’ve never seen. At first Lil was worried thathe might bite or kick one of the kids who come for therapeutic riding (becauseof course everyone wants to go and pet him, he’s so miniaturely cute), but he’snever shown his surly side with anyone but Jo. Just to make sure, though, Liland the family renamed him. At our farm he’s known as Timbit (personally, Idon’t know that being named after a small doughnut would make me particularlyhappy, but I guess it’s better than having the whole point of your existencebrought into question all the time).

Once the ground freezes andthe snow flies, Lego and Timbit will be moving into our paddock. I’m willing tobet Timbit tries to take on Wilby and challenge for the job of herd boss (helived with us for a few months last winter while Jo recovered from shouldersurgery and he tried to pick a fight with Moose, our 17-hand Belgian-cross whocould flatten him with one hoof). It should be interesting. I’ll keep youposted. In the meantime, here’s a picture of Lego in his Hannibal Lecterget-up. Be careful. He might try to eat your liver. With some fava beans and anice chianti. (If you don’t understand that last bit, watch Silence ofthe Lambs).

Meet Molly

2011-09-26T10:13:00.000-07:00

Lil and I both love this pony's story. We hope you'll enjoy it, too.

Meet Molly

She's a grey speckled pony who
was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane
Katrina hit southern Louisiana . She spent weeks
on her own before finally being rescued and taken
to a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled.
While there, she was attacked by a dog and almost died.
Her gnawed right front leg became
infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but
LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare
case. You know how that goes.
But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he changed his mind.
He saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different sides
so she didn't seem to get sores,
and how she allowed people to handle her.
She protected her injured leg.
She constantly shifted her weight
and didn't overload her good leg..
She was a smart pony with a serious
survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee,
and a temporary artificial limb was built.
Molly walked out of the clinic and
her story really begins there.

'This was the right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists.
Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient.
She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that she was
in trouble. The other important factor, according
to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant
owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care
required over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for life in Post-Katrina Louisiana ........
The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb.
A human prosthesis designer built her a leg.

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life,
Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it. She will put her little limb out,
and come to you and let you know that she wants
you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take
it off too. And sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca.

'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most important of all, Molly has a job now. Kay,
the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to
shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and rehabilitation
centers. Anywhere she thought that people needed
hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people
her pluck. She inspired people, and she had a
good time doing it.

'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to
play in life, Moore said. She survived the hurricane,
she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving
hope to others.' Barca concluded, 'She's not back to normal,
but she's going to be better. To me, she could be a
symbol for New Orleans itself.'

This is Molly's most recent prosthesis. The middle
photo shows the ground surface that she stands on,
which has a smiley face embossed in it. Wherever
Molly goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.

A few thoughts on Natural Horsemanship

2011-09-21T12:20:00.001-07:00

Henk writes:

I share my paddock with 4 other horses: two are Friesians(Wilby and Charlee), one is a Welsh pony (Bella), and the fourth is aStandardbred (Sunny). When it’s time to go inside for the night (and, ofcourse, dinner!) Wilby gets to go first if he wants to. He’s the boss.Sometimes he chooses not to exercise this right, and lets me, Charlee, and onoccasion even the pony, go ahead of him. Sometimes he hangs back like we’reallowed to go ahead of him, and then crowds up from behind which makes me,personally, extremely nervous. Especially if the human in charge of the leadshank takes a bit too long to attach it to my halter or to open the gate for meto go through. By the time we’re ready to go I’m usually dancing and twitchy,thinking I’d made bad decision. So why will I do it again the next time I getthe chance? Probably the same reason humans watch horror movies. It’sdeliciously scary.

But one horse who never comes in anything but last is Sunny.He’s just naturally a bottom-of-the-totem-poler. I can chase him away from thelast bit of the yummiest hay just by flicking an ear. We don’t pick on him,though, and Bella, Charlee and I take turns hanging out and grazing with thelittle nipper. He’s a cute little guy, and I guess we all feel a little sorryfor him. His nerves are weak, his lungs are suspect and his tendons need to betreated like fragile glass – booted for riding and wrapped when he’s inside.He’s afraid of men particularly, to the point that Lil’s two grown sons don’teven bother trying to catch him when they’re bringing us all in, but leave himfor her to get. The one exception is Lil’s husband, Robert. He can always catchSunny, even if it sometimes takes a while. It can take ANYONE a while somedays. Robert laughs and says he “horse-whispers” Sunny into letting himself becaught.

Robert’s version of horse-whispering is usually to waitSunny out. He’ll just chill out on the water trough with the lead rope, andwait for Sunny to decide he’s played hard-to-get long enough and that he is,after all, hungry. Then he’ll wander over toward Robert and stop 10 to 15meters away, his nose pointing very slightly toward the gate. This means “okyou can come get me now and I won’t run away when you reach for the halter.”This process can take a while, though, and I’ve seen even Lil get spitting madand threaten to leave Sunny out for the coyotes.

Other people’s idea of horse-whispering can be a lot morecomplicated, though. They usually show up with lots of special equipment likerope halters and magic wands or whatever they call them, fancy low-impactbridles and custom-made or pillowy treeless saddles. Their horses are barefoot(so am I, so there’s nothing wrong with that!) and their consciences are clear.They practice what they call “natural horsemanship,” which is all about beingyour horse’s friend and leader.

Lil took me to a clinic with a natural horsemanship guruonce when I was 3, and of course the first thing the woman said was that I waslooking (“desperately looking,” if I recall correctly), for a leader because Iflipped out a little bit while Lil was forced to change my regular halter forone of those rope things in a strange arena full of people with cameraflashbulbs going off (I tend to have that effect on people). And then the crazywoman smacked me with her “special rope” ($57 for a 20-foot length) when Icrowded her, as I tend to do when freaked out. And while demonstrating themaneuver to Lil (who was stupid enough to ask, and even more stupid in agreeingto role-play the part of, well, moi).She smacked her right in the face. That’s when Lil said she’d had enough andtook me back to the barn where I apologized for my three-year-old behaviour andLil apologized for putting me in the hands of that crazywoman. Lil and I trusteach other. We can handle pretty much anything together.

As to being “friends,” well, cool. I’d certainly prefer tohave my human be my friend than my enemy, but let’s be serious here people –I’m a horse, and you’re not. I like hanging out with humans. I’m weird thatway. But I don’t see myself moving into Lil’s house anytime soon. And while Imay push the boundaries a little bit from time to time, I fully expect Lil tolet me know before I’ve gone too far. I weigh 1200 pounds. If I were “playing”with an elephant, I’d want him to like me, sure, but I’d also like to know hesees me as his boss, not just his buddy.

Besides, where is there anything “natural” in therelationship you humans have with us horses? There’s nothing natural aboutcarrying you guys around on our backs. It’s one of nature’s little jokes thatshe made us anatomically suited to the exercise (up to a point, anyway), andfor millennia we as a species have decided to let you get away with it.“Natural?” Leave your gates open for a day and see if it’s natural for yourhorses to stay inside those paddocks – no matter how spacious and well-caredfor they may be. And even though it’s smaller, a rope halter is no more naturalthan one made of leather or nylon or woven fairies’ wings and unicorn hair.I’ve never seen a halter of any description sprout spontaneously on any horse’sface.

We horses love that you humans try to understand us. Wereally do. It can’t be easy for a self-centered ego-driven tightly woundstressed out predator to try to understand a horse. Some of you “get it” morethan others do, and some of those who get it are pretty good at sharing it withthose who don’t. Please continue. But give me a break. Don’t think you’retreating me the way another horse would, or that I would expect you to. Leavethe “horse whispering” to the one or two in a hundred thousand who have thegift, and don’t kid yourself that anything you do with me is “natural.”

An Outstanding Horse

2011-09-07T07:21:00.000-07:00

Henk writes:

OnTRA (the Ontario Therapeutic Riding Association) is asking its member centres to nominate outstanding riders, volunteers, and of course HORSES for special recognition. So naturally I expected Lil to nominate me. You don't get much more outstanding, after all. With my tall, dark and handsome looks, my charming personality, my aristocratic breeding... It should be a no-brainer.

But for some reason she thinks that working only a handful of therapeutic lessons this year (I have some back issues which are not helped by bouncing riders) disqualifies me.

She's nominating Dooley instead.

Dooley. The "Unhappy Appy," as Lil's friend Jo calls him. It's not that he's really unhappy, or has anything to be unhappy about. Like the rest of us, he spends most of his time hanging out in a pasture with his buddies, and only has to do a few lessons every week, which aren't exactly taxing. It's just that he never looks truly enthusiastic. About anything. He'll stand to be groomed. He'll wait to be mounted. He'll follow his volunteer leader around at whatever speed and in whatever direction is asked. He'll stand to be dismounted and untacked. He'll go into his stall and eat his dinner. Like a botoxed human, his expression never changes.

I'm so much more fun than that! I stick my head into my volunteers' stomachs, sniff my riders' boots when they mount up, and drool politely at the sight of carrots or dinner.

Dooley won't even bend his legs when someone's trying to clean out his feet. He'll lift his hoof off the ground, but only a few centimeters, and the human has to bend his leg for him if she wants to actually get at the bottom of his foot. He just doesn't go out of his way to cooperate. I think the word for him is sullen.

But there are other words, too. Like patient. Calm. Utterly trustworthy. Lil can turn her more advanced riders loose on Dooley and never worry that he'll spook or run away. His reaction to anything out of the ordinary, like a rider getting off balance, is to stop and wait. That response makes him worth his weight in gold as a therapy horse. But he also challenges his riders to pay attention and use their aids, because he'll wander off into the middle of the arena or over to the door where the parents stand to watch if the rider gets distracted. Put a more challenged rider on him, though, and Dooley becomes Steady Eddy, giving her a quiet, easy ride.

When the first wheelchair athlete came to us, Lil picked Dooley for her to ride. He was guaranteed not to worry about the wheelchair rolling up the ramp beside him or the lift they'd need to mount the rider up. He knows his job, and he just does it.

And it's all the more amazing that he does all this while gradually losing his eyesight to Moon Blindness. He can't see much more than shadows now, but it's not making him jittery and spooky like it does with some horses. If he gets in an unfamiliar spot he'll simply stop and wait for a human or another horse to show him where he can go safely, and then moves on. The only real issue is lungeing. He can't see the whip cues, so he needs to hear them. Not that big a deal.

And did I mention that he's 26? He doesn't look it, though. He's plump and nicely muscled up for an old fellow, without that skinny old-horse look. His riders love him, too. They bring him treats like apples and granola bars and oatmeal cookies, and take his picture to stick on their fridge at home. One rider's Mom reports that while watching the movie Secretariat her daughter explained to everyone in the room that Secretariat had nothing on Dooley, the very special horse she rides every week.

So I guess I can forgive Lil for nominating Dooley instead of me. Respect for one's elders and all that. Go Spotty, go. Win that thing!

Showtime!

2011-08-24T10:36:00.000-07:00

Henk writes:
It's show season! For us, that means getting our manes french-braided and doing everything from dressage tests to trail classes to leading patterns, all the while being filmed on video. The videos are then uploaded to Para-Equestrian Canada where our riders compete on video against riders from across the country, all of them with some kind of disability.

What a cool idea. We horses get to show off to people we've never even met, and the riders love it, too. They not only get to see themselves on video (on our Facebook page: Stonegate Farm Therapeutic Riding), but they have a chance to win some pretty nice prizes, too (our favourite prize is the Studmuffins).

On Monday my protege, Louis the Canadian, did a really elegant dressage test with Sarah. Now, Sarah is a wee slip of a thing, and Louis is... well... a tank... but they did SUCH a lovely job. Their circles were round, their transitions happened in the right places, and Louis even shifted his usually lazy trot up a notch. Sarah rode it beautifully. She was pretty thrilled!

Next day, Louis was up again, this time doing a leading class and an equitation class, along with Dooley the Appaloosa. Now Dooley, being 26 years old and a patient sort to begin with, is content to get led around and do the same patterns over and over again while the camera rolls. He followed his riders around like a puppy in the leading class, and then did the equitation class twice with each rider, happy as a clam. But Louis is like me -- too smart by half and very easily bored. He memorizes the pattern after going through it once and then starts looking for ways to make things more interesting for himself. In last year's competitions he knocked over one of the jump standards we use for the kids to put rings on, while I destroyed the course of cones (just once, though... we did get a great video in the end!). This year, however, Louis is controlling himself admirably. He only forgot himself once -- grabbed Carolyn's shirt sleeve in his teeth as she was leading him in the trot during Emilee's equitation class. But he let go almost right away!

I really hope our riders do well. Some of these kids don't get to compete in any other kind of sport, and being able to go up against riders from all over Canada? Wow. What a feeling that must be.

We'll be filming trail classes and more dressage tests next month.

I think I'm as excited as the riders. I can't wait to find out how everybody did.

Beats a regular old horse show anytime.

Top 10 Ways to Keep Your Human Devoted

2011-08-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

Henk writes:
Fellow equines, I don't have to tell you how important it is to keep your human madly, passionately in love with you. Human devotion gets you the best treats, accommodation at the nicest stable, and a rider who is forgiving on those days when you really don't feel like working hard. To helps you keep that human eating out of your hand (or, more to the point, feeding you out of her hand), I've compiled a top-10 list of proven methods to keep your relationship strong:

1) Set the tone right from the start by whinnying and rushing to the gate or stall door the moment you spot your human coming. Humans are big on oral communication, so the whinny is important. Otherwise, she might think you're just looking for a juicy apple or maybe your dinner.

2) Be cute. There's nothing shameful in this, even for a large, dignified, magnificent equine, as long as you don't over-do it. When I work in therapeutic riding lessons, I like to pick stuff up in my teeth and wave it around (like the stuffed toys riders are supposed to be tossing into buckets). The humans go wild. I've also been known to step on the plastic cones instead of going around them. My protege, Louis the Canadian horse, is very good at knocking things over with his butt when his riders steer him close (to a jump standard, for example, where they're supposed to place a ring). Then he looks all innocent and surprised. It gets a laugh every time.

3) Be charming and attentive. Try sticking your nose into your human's hair and blowing out through your nostrils. Even play with her hair a little, using your upper lip. She'll melt into a tiny human puddle.

4) Once in a while, give her exactly what she wants while riding. A "holy-cow-that-was-awesome" extended trot, a perfect lead change, a sliding stop -- whatever discipline the two of you practice together, pick a difficult movement and just give it to her. Your human needs the occasional reward for all her hard work, and it will remind her what a talented equine athlete you are!

5) After any encounter with your human, give her the "you're my favourite human in the whole wide world" look. When she puts you in your stall and paddock, stop, glance back over your shoulder with your ears pricked up and your eyes all soft and soulful like you just need to get one more look at her before going back to your horse business. Try not to let the juice from your apple or carrot dribble down your chin while doing this. It destroys the effect.

6) Use your physical assets to their best advantage. Being a Friesian, of course, I'm just one big physical asset on the hoof, but even lesser equines can pull this off. My friend Moose, a Belgian-cross, knows how to stand in the paddock so the breeze catches his long blonde mane and blows it fetchingly around his face. That mane even got him the cover of Lil's book, a fact that still irks me. Bella the resident pony uses her small size and cute little face under a bushy forelock to get the extra carrots, and never mind that inside that tiny little body lives an evil pygmy soul.

7) Follow your human around, even when you're not on a lead rope. They think this is pure devotion. You can amp up the effect by sticking you nose in the small of your human's back. But be careful not to knock her over if she stops suddenly. Humans are quite fragile and you need to respect the size difference.

8) Play games. Fetch a ball or kick it, chase your human around in a game of tag. She'll go silly. An added bonus is that this will drive the dogs nuts. You're stealing their gig! How long will the human bother with them if you can do all the cool dog stuff as well as being a horse?

9) Really enjoy the treats your human gives you. If you get blissed-out, eyes half-closed, chewing like a llama working on its cud, she'll feel so good about being nice to you that she'll probably give you another carrot. And you'll come across all grateful.

10) Buck and gallop around your pasture when you're turned out for the day. This strengthens the human's illusion that she's giving you your freedom (right, that's why there's a four-foot fence around you) and that you love the home she's made for you. Besides, it's a great reminder of what you could do to her under saddle. But you don't. Because she's a great rider. And you love her. Of course you do.

In Praise of the Well-Trained Human

2011-07-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

Henk writes:

It’s impossible to overstate the importance of a well-trained human to the happiness of a horse’s life. As with anything, you can cut corners and start with an untrained human – or even try to rescue a spoiled one – but unless you’re an expert it’s a risky thing to do.

So I think I’m pretty lucky, since my particular human, Lil, came into my life beautifully trained. Some of it was thanks to other humans, especially the riding coach she had as a teenager who was totally old school (Hungarian cavalry) and liked to drill his riders like they were conscripted soldiers. Riding without stirrups is, I’m told, fairly painful, but it sure makes for a terrific seat, and getting yelled at anytime you make a mistake helps you develop your riding pretty darn quickly. And don’t even THINK about blaming the horse for knocking down a rail or missing a lead-change; the old-world coaches put the blame for every mistake precisely where it belongs – with the rider. Evidently one of Lil’s fellow students ended up in tears at least once each lesson. That either makes you a pretty good rider, or you switch to lawn bowling.

But of course the best training comes from horses! Now, some of the horses from Lil’s youth left their marks (physical AND psychological), but young humans are notorious for thinking they’re indestructible. The lessons horses have to teach them often don’t stick as well as they should. Getting dumped in the dirt makes much less of an impression on a twenty-year-old human than a forty-year-old one. So much of Lil’s most valuable training came much later in life, mostly from Oscar, the aging Irish Thoroughbred she still had when I came into her life.

Oscar was very tall (17 hh), quite attractive in that skinny-legged way some humans find appealing, and very, very cowardly. Water, unless it was in a bucket or trough, had to be avoided at all cost, and deer, pigeons, plastic bags, snapping twigs or a sudden gust of wind were cause for panic. He had a nasty “spook” – dropping his shoulder, spinning, and galloping off in the opposite direction. He never dumped Lil (see riding without stirrups, above), but dumped lots of unsuspecting riders (from great height!). He made every ride an adventure. Eventually, his humans learned to anticipate a potentially scary situation and often “spooked” before he did. Oscar could turn a calm, easy-going human into a twitchy bundle of nerves in no time.

Besides being a chicken, Oscar was also a hypochondriac. He liked his Banamine, and knew how to get it. If any horse in the barn got sick, Oscar developed sympathy pains and had to get his drugs. Once a mare mis-carried a foal at the stable where Lil was boarding him, and Oscar was sick for three days. He hobbled like a cripple after a foot-trim that didn’t include shoes, convincing the barn manager that his stifles were locking up and needed rest, an expensive vet call, and more drugs. The result? Lil became a finely-tuned horse-human, anticipating every danger and reacting to every muscle-twitch and stomped hoof. I had her phoning the vet once just by circling in my stall and pawing at the floor when we had to stay inside to wait for the farrier. Could it be colic? Sure! Or just me, messing with your head!

It takes years to train a human to this level, and only a few months to spoil it all. My Friesian brother Wilby (ok, he’s not really my brother but we’re all related somewhere along the line) came dangerously close to undoing all Oscar’s hard work. He’s a total goody-two-shoes and too trusting by far. He’ll turn himself inside-out trying to do what the human asks him to. Before long, Lil was losing her edge, and we (horses) had to start looking out for horse-eating lions in the arena ourselves. But I fixed that problem by convincing Wilby that a whole colony of nasty ghosts lived by the big back door of the arena. He’s pretty smart, that Wilby, but awfully gullible. Now he’s beautifully jumpy around that end of the arena, and even dumped a young lady not too long ago by spooking when the wind rattled that door as they were cantering past. Of course, being Wilby, he immediately trotted back to check on her and apologize by sticking his nose in her face.

Hopeless.

But I’m still working on him.

The lesson to be learned is that if you’re lucky enough to have a well-trained human, be careful not to let her (or him!) slide back to comfortable old habits. You must keep those reflexes razor-sharp. And if you let less advanced horses work with your human, be sure to “tune them up” after every session. It’s the secret to a happy horsey life.

Helping Out

2011-06-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

Henk Writes:
I've been working in therapeutic lessons for the past couple of weeks because Sunny, the tiny Standardbred with the delicate physique has hurt himself again. His owner (who lends him to my human, Lil, for lessons), calls it Recurring Sunny June Lameness (RSJL for short), because he likes to maim himself each June and spend the month hopping around the pasture or "resting" in his stall. Part of his problem, I think, is that he doesn't "rest," but stall-walks like he's on a merry-go-round.

The spotlight!
The thing I love about working in lessons is the attention I get. I am, of course, the most beautiful horse in the arena, and the humans go all silly when I strut by with their kid on my back. Then of course there's the volunteer leading me and the two walking beside me to help the rider, and I get more praise and patting than the top dog at Westminster.

Imagine my surprise, then, when my second rider yesterday got all pouty when he found out he'd be riding me instead of Louis the Canadian horse he usually rides. I know these humans get all attached to one specific horse and everything, but come on, who wouldn't pick me? Oh well, there's no accounting for taste, and at least Louis has the proper attitude to life. As far as he's concerned, everything revolves around him! I don't mind saying I've mentored him a little bit in that area.

And a pain in the...
While I was relishing the camera flashes popping every time I walked past the parents watching at the door, it suddenly came back to me why Lil and I decided to pull me out of lessons last year: my back was getting really sore. We'd done some trotting, and my rider was a bouncer. My poor back muscles are going to need some serious stretching and massage work today, and no more bouncing kids for a while.

I never hold a grudge, though. That's a uniquely human thing that horses barely understand and certainly don't practice. So I thought I'd try to brighten my pouty rider's mood with some patented Henk tricks that humans always seem to appreciate. For example, when we're supposed to be weaving our way through the pylons laid out in a nice straight line, I try to step on as many of them as possible and completely destroy their orderly arrangement. Sometimes my riders catch onto this, and help me out by steering me straight at the cones instead of around them like they're supposed to, and although Lil should correct them, all she can usually do is laugh. That wasn't having the desired effect with the pouty one, though, and it wasn't until I picked a cone up in my teeth and waved it around a while that I got even a proper giggle out of the boy.

Where's my carrot?
Well we got through the lesson alright, and of course the pouty one was laughing and happy by the time we'd finished all our games and trotting and steering exercises. Of course he was! They always are. That's the cool thing about these therapeutic lessons -- the riders always end up smiling. The same can't be said for those "regular" riders who are preparing for a show or training a horse to sell him (!) who more often than not end up all frustrated and angry. And blame the horse, of course, for not doing what they think they're asking him to do. But that's a story for another time. Our riders leave us happier than when they came, and that makes even a sore back bearable. That and a good brushing after the lesson and a nice juicy carrot before I go into my stall. Much more meaningful of course if the rider provides the carrot, but quite acceptable if it's a volunteer or Lil. Sometimes the riders just don't remember. But I'm working on teaching them. The timely carrot is an essential part of horsemanship.