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.

To Blanket or Not to Blanket?

I gave my friends and co-workers a hard time when they complained about the fifty degree cold. I wasn’t sure it even would get cold in the mild climate where I live, until I started scraping ice off my windshield this week. That counted as cold, even by my standards.

I’m a country girl who thinks a ranch horse will be just fine roughing it in the winter with his furry coat, so I was undecided about blanketing. The back and forth in my head went something like this:

Pros:
Ransom can put his energy into keeping weight instead of keeping warm
He’ll be more comfortable and stay dry
He’ll stay cleaner

Cons:
Inconvenience of blanketing and unblanketing when the weather changes
May stunt growth of his winter coat

Cleaning muddy blanket is a chore

With just one horse to care for, I convinced myself that a little pampering was okay. If I could make Ransom’s life a little nicer, why not?

My planning hadn’t included looking at the weather prediction for the week. If I blanketed Ransom and it wasn’t cold or rainy soon, he might sweat uncomfortably. If I didn’t blanket him, and it rained, he might get cold. Then a thought occurred to me. Why don’t you ask the Holy Spirit whether or not to blanket him? The answer was an easy yes, which sent worry and indecision out the door. Thanks for that, Lord.

It rained that night and the temperatures dropped. I was glad I listened.

Merry Christmas!

Under the Weather

 

I like to think I’m an optimist, until I get sick. Turns out “tis the season” is for Christmas and for colds. Something about red noses, I suppose. Anyhow, sneezing and stuffy sinuses have a dampening effect on my ability to be positive. After sneezing through the morning at work, I dragged myself out to the barn for Ransom’s farrier appointment. As soon as I approached the gate, I noticed Ransom wasn’t feeling one hundred percent either. He rested a hind leg that was abnormally swollen. Great, I sighed.

With no sign of external injury, an abscess seemed a possible culprit, but that would have to wait and see. Fortunately Ransom didn’t seem to be in too much discomfort. He could put weight on it and walk okay. Apart from the swelling, he just shifted his weight from leg to leg more often.

I was thankful that he stood for the farrier, puffy leg and all. I raided my pocket full of tissue, dabbing my nose while holding Ransom for his trim. Neither of us felt up to much after that. I sniffled into Ransom’s neck and he cocked his foot again while the rain drizzled off the roof. A fine pair we made.