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.