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.