Got Lucky

Soon I will be submitting a story I wrote about Ransom to an anthology of horse stories. It’s about my childhood dreams of having my own horse and how Ransom fulfilled them. As I wrote about the experience of buying my first horse, I realized that on the surface, it looks like I did a lot of things wrong.

Here’s my confession: I bought the one and only horse I went to look at. I didn’t ride him. I didn’t vet check him. One of my horse friends says, “You got lucky he worked out.” In my defense: I knew what I wanted. He was barely broke and there was no riding area. I wasn’t buying an expensive performance horse.

Still, I can see how it would look foolish and risky to others. At the time it was a leap for me too. But I wasn’t a novice. And I just knew.

I did the same thing with each car I’ve purchased. I decided on a make/model based on consumer reliability ratings, researched the value, and then watched Craigslist everyday – waiting for the right deal. That usually took a couple months. But when the right one showed up, I was ready to seize it.

The story doesn’t always reflect how much planning I put into big decisions, especially when finances are involved.  Buying the first thing you see sounds spur of the moment. Ransom was anything but. I had a checklist: breed, age, training, disposition, location, and price. It took me a week to even convince myself to go see him. During that time I arranged for the company of a knowledgeable friend, a trailer if I needed one, and took a hard look at my finances to see if this was feasible long term.

Perhaps my desire to do it right the first time is driven by a fear of failure. Or maybe it’s just to save the hassle of the search process. Either way, I did get lucky.

The Instigator

I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck as Ransom walked beside me, puffing frosty breaths into the frozen morning. He’d been cooped up in his stall over the weekend and his eyes gleamed with the anticipation of joining the herd of geldings I had turned out together in the field. As I closed the gate and buckled my now empty halter on the fence, “the boys” went through their ritual greeting – a sniff and a squeal.

Ransom pranced around trying to get a reaction, like a mischievous child who misbehaves to get attention. He tossed his head and stuck his tail straight up in the air. Play with me! But the older horses weren’t interested in the antics of this obnoxious youngster. He pushed his way through the group, nipping playfully at Noble’s belly.

Noble ignored him.

Nip, nip, nip.

Noble pinned his ears, irritated.

Nip, nip, nip.

Finally, Noble lifted a hind leg, gave Ransom the tail, and walked away. Undeterred, Ransom took off after him, bucking with exuberance. Zone the paint lifted his head to watch him frolic past, then went back to scouring the hard ground for something to eat.

With no playmates willing to tear around the field or engage in mock battle, Ransom eventually settled into the boring, mature task of grazing. For now.

Sunbathing

Windy the miniature horse trotted alongside me as I led her back to her paddock, which was adjacent to the large field where I turned Ransom out during the day. He often socialized with the pint-sized equines at the corner gate. He had hung a friendly face over the fence when I came to get Windy out, but now he lay in the dirt – a prone hunk of spots.

There is something disconcerting about a horse flat-out on the ground, bulging disproportionately in that unnatural position. My first reaction was to watch for the rise and fall of Ransom’s giant belly. As usual, he was just napping. Perhaps I’d worn him out with our morning ride.

After putting Windy away, I climbed through the fence to sit on the bars and watch him. He rolled up to look at me as I approached, but soon returned to his dusty bed. The warm noon sun cast my shadow over his legs, which stretched out so I could see the bottom of his hooves. As we soaked in the sun together, I marveled at the ingenuity of whoever first thought of using water as a metaphor for light. I could picture liquid light streaming around us. It made me feel sleepy, too.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten lunch yet and shaking me from my sun-drenched stupor. I inched out of the rails and snuck away, leaving Ransom to his sunbathing.

Halloween Horse

I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in years. Until now. Yesterday Ransom and I participated in my barn’s costume parade as “paintballers,” despite the fact that I’ve never actually played paintball. I had plenty of opportunities to at camp, but I had no desire to share in the glory of displaying one’s welts. Still, how could I resist the clever play on spots?

First up was a trip to the fabric store to make camouflage leg wraps for Ransom. Being the penny pincher I am, I pulled out the old sewing machine and made them myself. I sewed a lot when I was a kid, but it’s been a while since the days of making blankets for my model horses.

The clear vinyl mask was a bit trickier. I had a brand new package of black bias tape for the edging – except it was my grandmother’s and about 50 years old. It practically disintegrated as I worked with it.

The son of a friend of mine happened to have gear I could borrow (a stroke of luck – somehow I don’t think a watergun or chemistry goggles would have had quite the same effect!). Ransom flinched at first as I applied the sticky paint, but took it like a gentleman.

We faced worthy competition as we paraded around the arena together with a gothic sorceress, princess ballerina, rodeo queen gone bad, hula dancer, horse fly, Charles impersonator, and dark angel. Ransom observed the pink tutu and jiggling halo with curious interest. In the end we prevailed, taking home the award for “Most Creative” costume.

Showtime

It’d been four years since my last horse show, and for the first time, Ransom and I ventured into the discipline of cowboy dressage.

Our show weekend started with hat shopping on Friday. For as many years as I’ve ridden, and for as much time as I’ve spent riding Western, I’ve never owned a cowboy hat. On Saturday, I test rode my new head apparel and practiced my patterns for a final time. Ransom submitted to the spa afterwards, emerging clean, soft, and sweet-smelling. I don’t think about how big his blanket pattern is until I have to wash all that white!

We arrived at the show grounds at the crack of dawn Sunday. The horses finished breakfast while Jamie and I scouted the area. The arena lay nestled in the sequoias of the regional park. This was the perfect environment for Ransom’s first show – small and relaxed with only a few friendly competitors. Despite the low-key atmosphere, the morning brought a host of my insecurities to the surface. For starters, I’m a recovering perfectionist. Because of previous successes, I felt burdened by the pressure of higher expectations. My self-esteem is too dependent on comparing myself to others, and the whole point of a horse show is judging and critique. Not to mention how awkward it is to be compared to friends.

Ransom, fortunately, did not add to my nerves. Though he was a bit of a looky-lou, he was calm and collected, taking everything in stride. We rode our two tests and I appreciated his honesty – he was the same horse there that he was at the barn. For that I was proud of him. We came home with a lot to work on, but I could say the show was a success. Didn’t hurt to have a red ribbon, either.

The Science of Spots

One of the things I love about Ransom, and appaloosas in general, is the fascinating variation in coat patterns. I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to genetics; that was one of my favorite classes in college. I did my final project on lethal white syndrome in paint horses with overo patterning. These days, I let others do the heavy science for me, and I just read up on their research. My favorite blog on the subject is Lesli Kathman’s The Equine Tapestry.

Ransom displays every classic Appaloosa characteristic: mottled skin, striped hooves, a sparse mane and tail, and the white ring around the eye known as the sclera.  The gene responsible for these, the leopard complex (lp), also modifies his base color (bay) to produce a varnish roan coloring. Ransom is heterozygous for leopard complex (one copy = spots), and the lp gene interacts with a major pattern gene (PATN2) to create his blanket pattern. At least that's the abbreviated version. There are a host of other pattern genes which alter the pattern in subtle ways, all to create one perfect phenotype.

 

Last Minute Lesson

What is going on? If Ransom could speak, I knew that’s what he would have asked as I tied him to the hitching post. Those bewildered eyes watched me hop on the feed cart and drive dinner past him.

Ten minutes before, my plan was to ride and then feed at six o’ clock like every other Wednesday night. Then Alana walked up to me with a brilliant idea:

 

“There’s hardly anyone riding in the lesson tonight. Do you want to join? Let me ask Charles if you can feed early.”

While I waited in limbo for an answer, I mounted and walked a few laps around the arena. The beep of my phone brought good news: a text that simply said “yes.”

So instead of riding, I was tying Ransom to the hitching post to wait at the barn while I fed the other horses. I hurried through my routine, sweeping up the loose hay with vigor. I finished the outside loop with five minutes to spare before the lesson began. That didn’t leave much time to prepare, mentally or physically. Hoping to squeeze in a quick warm-up, I put Ransom on a circle at the lope. But I had barely started when Charles walked through the gate, took one look at me, and launched into instruction.

“Push him up. More. MORE!” Ready or not, the work began. We were flying – Ransom by a flurry of legs and me by the seat of my pants.

After we gave up the hot seat to someone else, Ransom seemed happy to hang out with those watching from the far end. He sidled up to Zone and sent flirtatious glances at Arya, Merideth’s sleek black hunter mare, while I watched the others ride.

Afterwards, it was back to the hitching post to watch dinner drive by for the second time that night, so I could finish feeding the main barn. It was almost dark by the time I untacked and patient Ransom finally started dinner. Well, the afternoon didn’t go how I expected. It went better.

Revved Up

The phone rang, and it was Jamie.

“I just turned Ransom out in the field for you and he is tearing it up! I’ve never seen him like this. And I got it on video!”

It was true; she showed me the proof when I arrived at the barn a short while later. This is what happens when I’m gone for five days and Ransom starts getting lunch time grain:

After that little display, I didn’t have high expectations for our afternoon ride. I expected a throwaway ride – you know, when you spend the whole ride trying to pick up the pieces of your horse’s brain, and make it back to ground zero. Maybe the next day you’ll actually make progress, but today you’re resigned to remedial work.

Ransom surprised me. Instead of a throwaway, he was soft and responsive – no sign of his morning madness. After being out of town visiting another barn, I was glad to be back on my own horse. I stroked his sweaty neck. And smiled.

Too Smart

"Am I square?"

The long-awaited riding instructor workshop and certification loomed in front of me as the weekend approached. As part of the test to certify, I had to ride a pattern. A few days before I left, I saddled Ransom up for a run-through. Before we headed for the arena, I took a few minutes to memorize it. Ransom watched me trot around the courtyard in front of the crossties with a sleepy look that sighed, “Humans. They’re so weird.”

Still, he humored me with some mounted practice. Afterwards, he stood so Alana could take some photos of my balance and alignment. When I dutifully produced my photos for an activity at the workshop a few days later, they of course drew comment on “the appy.” The instructor made a dismissive comment about the breed.

“So you’re not a fan of appaloosas?” I responded.

“I have Andalusians.”

“Ah, you like a horse with a mane.” We both laughed. Then she went on.

“Actually, appys are too smart for me. I like my horses to be a bit dumber.”

I could live with that. To each their own.

Met His Match

The gravel crunched beneath my wheels as I pulled slowly down the drive of the unfamiliar barn, Ransom in tow. This was the home of his new trail buddy, Ruger. The flashy copper chestnut with a blaze and white stockings hopped happily into the carpool, and Jamie climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. Together, we set off to explore new trails.

I’m selective about who I ride with these days. Either I’m calling the shots with less experienced riders, or I ride with friends I consider riding peers. Jamie is both a great rider and a good friend, and her mount for the day couldn’t have been a better match for Ransom. The two geldings are the same height, same age, and have the same eager, down-to-earth disposition.

We trotted side by side, matching strides down the wide meandering trail. Their ears pricked forward with the same sense of adventure we felt in discovering new territory, map stashed in my back pocket. Overhead, the sun played hide-and-seek between clouds and the canopy of trees. Bikers pedaled past and hikers scooted to the side, admiring our horses. This perfect match made for the best trail ride I’ve been on in a long time.

No Excuses

Ransom studying hard for the trail test

The summer has flown past, and it’s Ransom’s birthday again! I can’t believe he’s already six. Horses reach physical maturity in their fifth year; it’s a lot like turning eighteen – you’re officially an adult but still have a lot of growing to do. Now that he’s passed that landmark, I feel like my “he’s still a baby” excuse has expired.

The perfectionist in me didn’t realize how much I used Ransom’s age as a crutch to avoid responsibility for his training and behavior. “He’s not accepting the bit? Oh, he’s only three. His stop needs work? He’s just four.” Training actually has little to do with age. I’ve known twenty-two year old horses who were emotional wrecks, and three year olds who had a good mind. Young horses just haven’t had the time it takes for growth.

Ransom’s youth was my go-to justification when I was worried about what others thought about his behavior…and therefore me. Frankly, it’s uncomfortable to admit that Ransom’s progress depends on my skills and knowledge, even though I know a lot. The truth is: my experience is the limiting factor, not his. I fall into the trap of expecting to reach milestones at certain ages because I’m comparing myself to others.

Ransom and I will always be a work in progress, at our own pace. I don’t need any excuses to enjoy the journey. Year six will be the best yet!

(See also The Equine Identity  Feb 10 2013)

Moments of Brilliance

Horseback riding is like math. The more you learn, the more you realize you that you didn’t know as much as you thought you did. The learning comes in layers as you break down a big concept into smaller parts until all the simple pieces start to make sense in the context of the whole.

Ransom and I are somewhere in the middle of this muddle of knowledge. We’re revisiting the basics armed with additional education, and somehow it’s hard all over again. For example, trotting – not complicated, right? Ransom and I had a half hour conversation about trotting rhythm today. His manual transmission lurched from slow to spurts of speed. Off the circle and onto the straightaway – speed up. Half halt. No you can't stick your nose out. Pick up the reins to yield to the bit – diversionary tactic: speed up. Hold, hold, hold, release. Leg pressure applied to balance his shoulder in the corner – speed up. Half halt. Slow down. Finally a soft, cadenced feel…for two strides.

Each day there is a moment of brilliance, and I’m impatient to string those moments together into a superhorse. Some days I’m overwhelmed by how far we have to go. I have to keep reminding myself that it doesn’t happen overnight.

Back in the Saddle

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in conversations with the non-horse public. Whenever I mention that I work with horses, the other person launches into their horse experience horror story, which often ends with: “I’m terrified of horses,” or “I’ve never ridden a horse since.”

It’s true that horses can be unpredictable and dangerous, but I find that they’re rarely to blame. “The horse bucked me off!” is usually translated as “It crow-hopped and the cinch was loose so my saddle slipped.” Or, “The horse bolted out of control!” really means, “It started trotting and I lost my balance.” Ferreting out the details provides a different picture to the horse savvy. “Oh, you were riding backwards? Bareback? No helmet? Mmm."

It makes me sad that so many people have had a negative experience doing something that I love, simply due to unsafe situations and lack of knowledge. When my sister’s boyfriend visited this week, he had a similar tale of woe.

“What happened?” I asked.

“My friend and I rode double on a horse bareback, at night. When the horse started trotting, we fell off onto cobblestones and I impaled myself on my friend’s elbow.”

Jonny rides again!

My solution? Have him ride Ransom, of course. It’s my personal mission to replace negative horse experiences with positive ones. So out at the barn, I round penned Ransom to take the energy edge off and evaluate his frame of mind. Then, with helmets on, we rode in a controlled space. He even trotted a bit.

“So next time someone asks you about horses, you’re going to tell them about this amazing appaloosa and how much fun you had, right?” I prodded him.

He smiled and nodded.

Field Trip (Literally)

On a beautiful Saturday morning my co-workers, Alana and Jamie, and I loaded our horses up for field trip to Alana’s new ranch. Her sixty acre property backs onto regional wilderness land filled with trails. Ransom hopped in the trailer like a gentleman and we were off. I was grateful that my little two horse straight load trailer tracked so well behind the truck as I followed Alana down the narrow road with no shoulder. It was only a short drive, but Ransom was covered by a sheen of nervous sweat by the time we arrived, rubbing off foam onto the padding of the trailer.

With the ordeal of the trailer trip over, we tacked up and headed up the hot golden slope behind Alana’s house. Ransom was borderline buddy sour as the three of us trekked through the hills, and the flies were atrocious. Alana and Jamie had come prepared with fly masks, but poor Ransom had to deal with the irritating bugs for most of the ride. He was on edge enough that I couldn’t quite relax. But as I dealt with his misbehavior, I knew this was a good learning experience for him.

We still had a blast. After climbing to the peak and enjoying the views, we took a nice hand gallop up a flat trail and visited a nearby water trough. Ransom sloshed away, happily splashing Smokey, the striking paint with two blue eyes, and Sienna the golden girl.

After a fun afternoon, we returned home just in time for a cold shower and dinner, for horses and humans.

A Little Boy and Basketball

The therapeutic riding program I work for has a thorough checklist for horse candidates to pass before qualifying as safe and sound mounts for the kids. Though Ransom is firmly on the personal side of business and pleasure, that list gives the two of us lots to work towards.

The therapy horses undergo extensive desensitizing since games and props are a big part of lessons for kids with special needs. In preparation for my two young cousins coming out for pony rides, I decided to see what Ransom thought of the basketball set-up we use for the kids. I threw the small balls at the hoop hanging on the fence, at the ground, and at him. Ransom didn’t bat an eye as the balls rolled under his legs and bounced off the backboard. However, he wasn’t thrilled about taking hits to his head and ears. Even though the balls were soft, he shook his head in irritation each time I chucked a ball in that direction. Calmness, check. Tolerance…needs work.

But a few weeks later, he stood like a rock while little Mason shot hoops from his back. While Ransom may not be destined for therapeutic riding, kids are a big part of his education and his future.

Drugs and Dentistry

Drugs and dentistry just go together – whether it’s numbing your mouth to pull a tooth or putting you under to extract your wisdom teach. Fortunately, when I was a kid, going to the dentist was a positive experience. We got to pick a prize out of the treasure chest if we were good and Momma always took us out to lunch afterward.

Ransom just had his first visit from the dentist (at least since I’ve had him). He too had a positive experience, thanks to a sedation “cocktail” that put him in a happy place. It wasn’t long before he stood with legs splayed, body swaying, and head propped up in a sling with a metal contraption to keep his mouth open. At five years old, Ransom now has all his permanent adult teeth, so there was lots of work to be done.

I’ve watched equine dentists before, but learned even more while Rich worked on Ransom. After floating the sharp edges off Ransom’s molars, filing his canines, and smoothing the hooks developing on his incisors, Rich put “bit seats” on Ransom’s first lower molars by rounding the tooth edge. The folds of skin in the corner of a horse’s mouth press against the first molar from the action of the bit, and a sharp tooth can cause discomfort.

When Ransom was conscious enough to make the trek back to his stall, we departed. Still in a semi-drugged daze, his hooves dragged and his head hung low. But he perked up when his reward drove past – dinner.

Ransom and the Kids

Ransom switched stalls for a few days to accommodate another horse, and his temporary room assignment was at the center of the action of the lower barn. This increased visibility had all the kids I work with on Tuesday afternoons ogling at the unfamiliar spotted horse.  “Look, he has a moustache!” Jacob exclaimed as Ransom’s unclipped whiskers brushed his hand.

Emma brought carrots for the horses, and since the kids aren’t allowed to feed by hand, she tossed one in the bucket in the corner of Ransom’s stall. Ransom hung his head over the gate, eagerly looking for a treat, oblivious to the set-up of his new quarters. The kids tried to show him by leading a carrot in front of his nose down the bars and rattling the bucket, but still he stretched a friendly head out, clueless. Finally, Hannah pushed his head back into the stall and it occurred to him to look in the corner.

When we all sat down and started with the question of the day – “If you won the lottery for a million dollars, how would you spend it?” – Emma’s answer was, “I would buy a horse that looks just like Ransom, only smarter.”

While Emma wasn’t impressed with Ransom’s brains, Ashlyn was in awe of his spots. I knew she loved appaloosas and sure enough, she had zeroed in on him as soon as she arrived, going straight to his stall. She stood back and watched him as he rolled in his bed of shavings, unsure if she was allowed to approach. I recognized the longing in her face. I remembered what it felt like to be that girl, in love with someone else’s horse, thrilled by even the smallest opportunity to engage.

“You can pet him,” I encouraged her. She stepped forward, and Ransom reached out his nose into her hand.

Bullies & Buddies

Ransom loves people. However, his peer relationships are more complicated. He has yet to find a turnout buddy. At first, he shared the field with Zone, a mature paint. They got along fine, but the closest they got to being buddies was grazing nearby. When Zone went on stall rest due to an injury, Ransom met Noble and sparks flew from the start. Even after meeting over the fence in adjacent paddocks, the bay gelding wasted no time in establishing himself as the alpha horse. Ransom put in a good show, but his macho charges and squeals soon turned into retreating trots. He pranced around trying to maintain his dignity, but after nursing a few battle wounds, Ransom steered clear of Noble. They settled into co-existence, with Ransom always keeping a watchful eye on the enemy.

Yet this week, nearly a month following their introduction, Ransom’s fears were justified. After grazing amicably in opposite corners of the pasture for an hour, Noble sought Ransom out and proceeded to chase him, unrelenting, around the field, intent on taking a piece out that spotted hide. Poor Ransom nearly climbed the gate in his attempt to escape this gratuitous bullying.

Finally Ransom met Decor, an amiable paint gelding who wasn’t interested being boss. But as with Zone, the two geldings showed apathy towards the other; they were simply not interested in mutual grooming, playing, or swishing flies. So the search continues for a compatible best buddy for Ransom.

Appaloosa Memories: Sonny Part 2

Sonny was my steed of choice for the Pink Ladies themed drill team that formed at the barn. When we performed at the state fair, Sonny tolerantly allowed me to tie shimmery pink ribbons in his mane and wrap his legs with pink polo wraps. I decked out in my satin jacket and saddle shoes and horn-rimmed glasses. As the music started and we entered the arena, Sonny had a sudden attack of separation anxiety, and refused to turn away from his partner, skittering across the arena as I desperately tried to regain control. We finished the rest of the drill without incident, but I was so embarrassed. Fortunately, he performed much better in our repeat performance at a local schooling show.

There were far more good times than bad as he taught me to ride. I adored him. I spent hours giving him extra attention. In the winter he often developed scratches (an inflamed rash of sorts) from standing ankle deep in mud. Every visit I hosed his legs until his socks were white again, and bought desitin to apply to his cuts. When the weather was nice, I took countless photos of him (pre-digital, mind you). When I wasn’t leading trail rides for Terry on Sonny, I used him to give pony rides to a little girl named Kyra.

When I decided to pursue equine science after high school, it was Sonny who helped me earn a place on the equestrian team at my college. Daddy came out with his camera and videotaped me demonstrating my skills on Sonny so I could apply to the equestrian team. I was accepted. Not long after, I was in an accident that put riding on hold for four months. When I came home to visit at Thanksgiving, Sonny was my first ride.

Sonny was perpetually 18. Lesson horses just don’t age in the mind of kids. But while I was away in college, my instructor retired and Sonny retired with her. I visited her and her pasture of deserving retirees a few times, always saying hello to my beloved Sonny, who was now showing his age. Then I heard he was gone.

There’s a new appaloosa love in my life these days. But Sonny is still in my heart.

Appaloosa Memories: Sonny Part 1

I could hardly contain my excitement when I arrived at Knicker Knob stable for my first riding lesson. Through the fence I watched a blonde girl about my age ride a beautiful blanket appaloosa. That was my first memory of Sonny. Kelly, a veteran KK student, rode Sonny often during my first year of lessons, since he was “more challenging” a lesson horse. I practiced on a steady bay mare named Everready, waiting for the day when I was good enough to ride Sonny.

My instructor, Terry, said that Sonny had a strong sense of justice. He had a lower tolerance level than the other lesson horses for the unfair pulling and kicking of unskilled riders. Out in the herd, he was the dominant personality. At 15.3 hands high, he was an athletic Appaloosa cross who was known for his bouncy trot and hard mouth. But he had a divine canter.

Riding Sonny for the first time represented an accomplishment. After a brief affair with a tri-color pinto half Arabian named Jazzy and a dapple gray mare named Manzanita, I found my appaloosa true love. Sonny was the best part of my awkward teenage years. In the summertime, Terry roached his pitiful mane and he carted me out on trail rides to picnic at the lake with Kelly, Lauren, and the other barn girls. We raced up the “racetrack” trail, climbed Gambit’s hill, hopped over the “jumping log,” and trotted along the ruins of an old canal.

There were two other Sarahs at the barn – a younger student and Terry’s dog. My obsession with Sonny soon earned me the nickname “Sonny-Sarah” as a means of identification. I loved horses, but I’d never loved a horse so much.

I was 14 when I participated in my first “play day” at the barn – an informal horse show for the lesson students and boarders.  The lesson students were allowed to sign up for one class/horse per week for a month prior to the event. I crossed my fingers that I could sign up for Sonny before someone else did. When the show finally arrived, I had second thoughts on my choice when things didn’t go so well in our pleasure and equitation classes. Sonny barreled around like a freight train in a curb bit. I cringed at my poor technique when I saw the pictures later.

But we redeemed ourselves in the following years. Sonny took me to first place in the bareback class three years running (it was amazing – the more I learned, the less bouncy his trot became!), and culminated with a blue in the challenging “Judge’s Command” class.

Saving & Splurging

Moving to a new barn has inspired a few other splurges on Ransom’s care and wear, even though I am a horse owner on a budget.  I’m not in debt and live within my means, yet I still have a hard time spending money. This last month’s expenditures are a radical departure from my penny-pinching ways, which I can only justifiy by my fanatical saving.

First up was a new helmet. My trusty Troxel had served me well but fell victim to a sticky substance I couldn’t remove, even with goo-be-gone.

Next up was new shoes – of the metal, hoof shaped variety. Ransom has been barefoot for the last year and a half, but given his toed-out conformation and the upcoming dry season, I had him shod. In the region where I live, boy – are those shoes pricey! And he grows out of them every seven weeks like a child having a growth spurt. Ransom also got new leg boots which, I confess, was primarily to meet dress code expectations at the new barn.

But the big purchase was a new (used) saddle and pad. I knew I wanted to upgrade eventually, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I normally agonize over a decision of this magnitude (financially speaking), but an opportunity presented itself and I seized it. It happened so fast I had no time to guilt trip myself about discretionary spending.

My old saddle was a well-loved hand-me-down that was too narrow for Ransom’s shoulders and a bit small for me, but we made do. My new saddle is the nicest piece of tack I’ve ever called my own. Its wide tree leaves a nice smooth sweat mark on Ransom’s back – no dry spots. It completes Ransom’s quality, coordinated ensemble, which means I can now return to the comfort of my frugal, guilt-free saving.

Poetry

A young friend of mine -- a budding poet -- recently composed the following ode to Ransom.

Sarah and Ransom
What a pretty little pair,
With a spotted coat
And beautiful curly hair.
Striped hooves that canter, trot and fly,
White lining around his intelligent eye.
Beautiful spotted and striped coat,
Wisp of a tail that dances and floats.
A horse angel alighted on earth,
It took a special person to find what he was worth.

Thank you, Ryann! I love it.

Learning Curve

The weekend after moving to CW, Ransom and I participated in a clinic. It was a boot camp of sorts, kicking off a new season of moving forward in our training. There were nine other participants, and Ransom had never been in an arena with so many other horses before. He sneaked in curious sideways glances when I didn’t require him to focus on the task at hand. Ransom was unofficially dubbed “the Appy,” and the nickname stuck with those who couldn’t remember his name.

While the principles taught in the clinic were review, the application and execution of them showed holes where Ransom and I can use improvement. For example, I need to expect more when I follow-through on my cues, and be more correct with my hands. Ransom needs work on accepting the bit, and tail swishing attitude.

In summary, an effective rider:

1) Controls the horse…
                Mentally
                Physically
                Emotionally
                …by controlling the feet
2) Produces a horse that is:
                Safe
                Soft and responsive
                Obedient
                Pleasurable
                Balanced and collected
3) Trains by principle versus style or discipline
4) Rides with an independent seat and uses pressure & release consistently with good timing and feel
5) Establishes trust and leadership by correcting appropriately and listening to the horse

All that served to remind me that Ransom and I still have a lot to learn and practice. But that’s my favorite thing about horsemanship – there’s always more to learn. By the end of the clinic, Ransom was the picture of weariness. After nine hours in the saddle, I was ready for a nap myself.

A New Home

This month, I moved Ransom to the barn where I work. I’d been going back and forth for months, mentally weighing the pros and cons, and the situation at Ransom’s current barn had shifted enough to tip the scales towards moving. The primary advantage of our present barn was its price and separation from all things work related. But little irritations built up – an unsafe roundpen with no repairs planned; forbidden grass that went to waste; an inconsistent stall cleaning co-op schedule.

Moving Ransom to CW, just 15 minutes away, looked better and better. It offered convenience, community, and additional education for both of us. Affordability – that was another issue. So I asked God for favor, and He poured out more than I had hoped for in the form of an agreeable barter arrangement.

Then the waiting began. It felt like an engagement, minus the stressful wedding planning. I’d finally made the big decision, and now had to wait to start our new adventure. I was excited that everything had fallen into place for the move, but waiting out thirty days’ notice was a drag. Between increased work hours and a change in routine, I hardly had time to visit Ransom, let alone ride him, during those weeks.

Finally, on a bright Thursday morning, I loaded Ransom up and embarked on our new future. I was surprised to find a touching goodbye card from my fellow boarders, expressing their genuine regret in seeing “Handsome Ransom” leave.

My friends at CW were curious to see the new horse they’d heard about. Although he was admired for his markings, Ransom did not make a good first impression at our new barn. He immediately latched on to his stall buddies, and then had an emotional meltdown when they were out. His uncharacteristic separation anxiety was embarrassing, but I knew he’d settle down in a few days and return to his normal self. Which he did.

Now I pop my head out of the barn office to check on him grazing in the large turnout field, or go for a ride on my lunch break. I’m happy this is home.

Dog Desensitizing

My friend and her horse Dolly joined me and Ransom on a scenic ridge loop ride. Everyone was out on the trail today, enjoying a 70 degree Saturday in February. Though we didn’t encounter any other equestrians, we shared the trail with many bikers, hikers, and their dogs. Our first canine run-in was with a young yellow lab who stopped in the middle of the trail to look at us, his head tilted quizzically as if to say, “What are you?” When we neared, he jumped to the side and gave a single, startled bark at these strange new creatures.

Just a little beyond that, two black and white border collies sat sedately on a rock while their master took pictures of Dolly and Ransom. The man wasn’t the only one to play paparazzi. Apparently, horses are a novelty even to outdoor enthusiasts.

As we trotted along a flat stretch of the ridge, a brown dog came barreling towards us, his three women walking a ways behind. One woman called out a sharp, “Come!” and the dog stopped in his tracks and loped back to her side. My friend and I exchanged impressed looks over the dog’s obedience.

As we walked the horses down the final hill to the staging area, two black dogs came charging around the corner, harassing Ransom and Dolly. They barked aggressively, circling and running behind the horses, who stood quietly, until an older couple regained control of the culprits.

I think it’s safe to say that Ransom passed the dog desensitizing test.

The Equine Identity

Ransom and I trailered out for a trail ride at the training barn where I work, crossing, for the first time, the line between my two horse spheres. This was an emotional risk for me, and I felt vulnerable. The professional horsemen and horsewomen I work with had only heard snippets about the private life of Sarah and Ransom. To merge the two was to expose myself to the discriminating eyes of those whose knowledge and opinion I trust and value – and that was scary.

I’ve said before that I’m not one of those women who refer to their horse as their child, but I felt a lot like a parent being judged by their child’s behavior. There was no escaping the fact that Ransom’s behavior was a reflection of my skills, or lack thereof. And when you’ve spent the last fourteen years of your life in driven pursuit of this passion, it’s hard not to take critique of those skills as a critique of your identity. Horses are part of what defines me. In this one trail ride, all that time, effort, and experience was somehow dependent on what someone thought of the performance of a spotted gelding.

Ransom, like all horses, was honest. He didn’t try to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Nor did he embarrass me (“good boy!”). He showed his strengths and didn’t hide his weaknesses. He didn’t care what somebody else thought. And as I wrestled with my performance-based insecurities, that was a lesson I needed him to teach me.

Beauty is Just a Bonus

Mark Rashid once said, “A good horse is never a bad color.” It’s true that many horse owners buy bad horses because they’re beautiful. But a good horse who’s also good-looking? Well, somebody’s got to own them, too. I like to think I’m one of the lucky ones.

I’m not the only person to think so. Ransom is developing a fan club at the barn (many of which are nice people who don’t look much past color, I might add). The staff call him “Handsome Ransom,” and visitors to the barn remark on his coloring. In fact, two ladies recently inquired if he was one of the horses “up for adoption” when they came to check out some rehabilitated thoroughbreds looking for new homes. A teenage girl was enamored enough to take pictures of him over the pasture fence. The newest boarder gushed about his beauty as we cleaned adjacent paddocks.

Ransom at the peak of beauty:
After a bath!

I confess, Ransom’s markings had a lot to do with why he was the one for me. Let’s be honest, there are a lot of unattractive appaloosas out there. I wanted a pretty one. But I knew enough to look past his appearance to what really matters – his conformation, his temperament, his training, and his suitability for what I want to do. He has his faults (as those crooked front legs remind me, daily), but he’s good. Beauty is just a bonus.

Appaloosa Memories: Comet

 

When I was thirteen, my riding instructor Terry invited me and my friend (and fellow riding student) Lauren to go horse camping at Point Reyes with a group from the barn.

Rick generously offered to lend me his horse, Comet, for the weekend. Comet was a “proud-cut” gelding, meaning hormonally he sometimes thought he was still a stallion. His snowcap appaloosa coloring was not as handsome as my favorite horse, Sonny, but was still attractive.

“Be careful of cinch sores,” Rick warned me. “He’s prone to them in the summer.”

I felt both nervous and excited. Lauren and I rode in the cab of the truck with Terry, listening to John Denver for the three hour drive, and smiling as Terry sang along with her favorite song:

“I had a vision of eagles and horses –
high on a ridge in a race with the wind.
Going higher and higher, faster and faster.
On eagles and horses, I’m flying again.”

Comet patiently carted me around for three days of wonderful trail riding. The afternoon of our arrival, we tackled some steep hills and spent a lot of time looking at our trail maps. The second day, we rode out to the beach. Comet watched like a good appaloosa when Kelli’s sprightly Arabian spooked at the ocean waves, dumped her in the sand, and cantered down the shore. On the third day, Comet had indeed developed cinch sores, despite his fleece cinch.

“Just toss a blanket on and sit on that,” Terry suggested.

Lauren and I set off up the hill to a long flat trail. I leaned forward and grabbed what little mane Comet had and the blanket began to slip. Lauren was already laughing as she rode behind me with a great view of my bum and the off-kilter blanket sliding over Comet's rump. We were both laughing by the time we reached the top. I left the blanket hanging on the gate there, and continued on bareback. I picked it up on the way home, and Terry was none the wiser.