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.