Best intentions go astray

I was quite excited to be back from our long weekend, ready to get back in the saddle and back into some training for both Bar and me.

Then this tickle started in the back of my throat, followed not too shortly thereafter by a cough, aches, and weariness.

Really? I have things to do! Things that don't involve being sick, tired or grumpy. Work is a must, so barn time is compromised until I feel a little better. Poor Calabar. He got carrots and licorice last night, but that took all the energy I had. Tonight I didn't even get there because poor Steve came down with the stomach flu and someone had to buy something for dinner or we'd all starve.

By the way, Oliver likes roast chicken. A lot. I'm not even sure he chewed.

Ugh. Stupid, inconvenient, bad-timing, germs. Bah.

Going to bed now. Take that, dumb germs.

Locally published

Soon there will be riding again, I promise

My friend Joan (over at Cowboy and Dexter's Excellent Adventures) encouraged me to submit some of my writing to our local Horse Council publication, and I have done so. Apparently, it was acceptable.

I have yet to get my hands on a printed copy, but my story starts on page 23 and rolls onto page 25. (Which means I got to spread out to more than one page!)

Wonder what I should write about next?

Perhaps balancing the thing that pays the bills (yeah, my job) with the thing that feeds my soul (the horses, of course).

Not that I don't love my job, I just sometimes wish I was a little less important. Okay, not really, but some of you may get where I'm going with that.

Unfortunately, the pragmatist in me realizes the job must be done, the bills must be paid, and Calabar will still love me when I do finally get back to the barn. He may pout--scratch that, he will pout--but he will still love me. As long as there are carrots. And black licorice. Oh, and apples.

Gifts

Six years ago, we had no horses. Five years ago, three of us shared one horse--Lena Rey Flo. About then, I bought this ornament, signifying the three of us and our bond through Lena.

Today it has a whole new new significance--three humans, three horses, six souls.

A gift beyond measure, however you measure it.

Night without horses? Oh no!

Work has been a little crazy lately. Okay, a lot crazy, and I've had some really long days. Usually, I start early enough that I can still at least smooch a fuzzy nose before going home, but not tonight.

Tonight I was lucky to get home in time for dinner, and I still have one last bit to do once the client's back-up is done running--hopefully soon.

That is a long way of saying I missed my horse tonight. I missed hearing his funny whinny, missed his ears-up-eyes-bright expression as I walk up to his paddock--me with a big, silly grin on my face, just as excited to see him.

Katie reported back to me, like a good daughter who knows her mom is a crazy, obsessive horse owner. She had ridden both Sammy and Lena, and said Bar was pouting when she left. He wanted to know why he didn't get to come out and where his human was on such a fine Northern California evening.

Staring at an Excel spreadsheet, actually, but sometimes one has to do these things. Horses need stuff, you know. Grain, shoes, saddles--my list is long. And my company is small and we all have to do a lot to keep things rolling along.

My horse doesn't care. He still pouts. Apparently when I don't come out, he pouts a lot.

I will have to make it up to him tomorrow. And probably the next day. And the day after that, too.

Riding life

Life is funny sometimes, and it tosses things at you that make you stop and think.

Katie's other grandfather just passed away--she actually got the call when we were putting Sammy and Bar away last night. I don't have a lot of contact with that part of Katie's family anymore, but I do have memories--including walking across the Golden Gate Bridge with her grandfather for his 50th birthday. I was wearing cowboy boots, as a matter of fact.

I'm still mourning my dad, though in my own haphazard way. I let the memories rise when they do, and try to take the time to pause--even for just a moment--to let them wash over me.

Dad gave us time to prepare. We all knew it was coming, even though he himself never really acknowledged it. With Steve (not my Steve, obviously), the actual event was sudden, even though he'd been ill for awhile.

Katie says neither way is really better.

It makes me miss my dad, of course, but also allows me to be grateful we had that time at the end. Time to take him out for a ride in my convertible. Time to hear him laugh one last time. Time to watch him see Katie one more time, even if it meant seeing that ghost of regret cross his face because he knew he'd be missing more of her life than he'd seen so far. (And that's a memory that plays in my head a lot, believe me.)

Life can be a ride--sometimes good, sometimes bad--but it's always there to be lived however you choose to live it.

Best get on with it, then.

Great support from folks

I realized my last post was a little grumpy when two people gave me great feedback and support--all of it very logical and sane.

Bar has been a handful over the last two and half years, but he also has given me so much joy and taught me so much it really has all been worth it.

The frustration and grumpiness is mostly with myself. People who know me well point out that patience is not in my genetic make up and I can sometimes drive myself crazy. I really liked Kate's suggestion to add one thing at a time to push my own envelope a little more each ride.

And Kippen64 is totally on the mark with thinking I have to do it all "right" as opposed to just taking what comes and working with it.

Steve has often pointed out that I never give myself enough credit, either.

My big brown horse and I have come a long way, and we nearly always have fun together. We can both relax a little more, but we are both learning that bit with each other.

Must remember to enjoy the good stuff and focus less on the other stuff. Makes for a better ride through life all the way around.

The horses really did get worked last night

Don't let that last post fool you, the photo was from yesterday and all three horses--including the beavers--got worked yesterday.

Of course, tonight we had to drop off a car at the mechanics and I had massage scheduled to try and get my back under control (even Bar's rocking walk doesn't help) so they got no love tonight either. Well besides the adoration that is ever-present in my heart, that is.

It will be a miracle if that post is still standing tomorrow.

Dad at the barn

I found this picture in my archives, from Thanksgiving of 2007--obviously a nice, warm day in November as sometimes happens in Northern California.

This was before his health really started to deteriorate, so it's a favorite shot of mine--nice to remember him this way instead of in the hospital.

As it turns out, Dad actually used to ride horses with friends of his while growing up in Iowa--a skill he apparently didn't forget, and that came in handy years later on an outing with some group home kids he worked with.

They were out on a trail ride and one of the kids' horse took off. Dad said he didn't even really think, just kicked his horse up to speed and went after them. He caught up to them, grabbed the runaway's reins, and pulled it up short. Nobody was hurt and all apparently ended well.

Upon hearing this story, I was hard put to imagine Dad on a horse, but it is not hard to imagine him riding off to the rescue.

Daddy Boyd

About three and a half hours after that last post, my father went on his way peacefully and--for the first time in weeks--without pain.

For the last three days, my sister and I have been calling people, making arrangements, and helping coordinate the influx of friends and relatives coming in. It is a tremendous gift to see how many people my dad touched over the years, and how many of them have their own stories to tell about the master story-teller. Had he lived in Shakespearean England, Dad would have been a Bard--traveling from town to town acting out the bawdy parts with grand gestures, silly voices, and waggling eyebrows.

His coping tool for difficult situations was humor, and he often held it up like a lantern against the darkness that pops up in life. He was always able to wring something funny out of tragedy or stress, many times turning the mood instantaneously.

He's my inspiration, and I admit to nearly always seeing an absurd twist in any serious situation thanks to him.

I know horses understand grief in some fashion, though probably not in any empathetical way with humans. It will still be good to see them today and get a good dose of warm, fuzzy, horse therapy.

Saying goodbye

My blog is mostly about horses and how they impact my life, what I learn from them, and how much joy (and sometimes frustration) they bring me. The journeys we've all had together have done much to shape my life over the last four and half years.

My father had a lot to do with shaping the 37 years that came BH (Before Horses), and he is dying. Details don't matter, not really. I have no regrets--except losing him, of course--nor do I feel as if there is anything I should have done, could have done, etc.

But I will miss him. His string joke ("I'm a frayed knot) and his bad puns. His uncanny ability to make anyone comfortable within minutes. His voracious appetite for the written word, be it books, magazines, online articles, newspapers--you name it, he read it.

Including, apparently, this blog.

Not too long ago, Dad told me, "I really like reading your blog." I don't know if he liked the writing or just the little window into my admittedly horse-obsessed life, but I'm glad he enjoyed it.

Reading and writing are gifts that he nurtured in me, and both have served me well over the years--if only as an outlet for horse-related musings in this case.

I love you, Daddy. Thank you.

Horses and schedules

Horses like schedules. They like routine, like to know what to expect on a daily basis--especially where food and exercise are concerned.

This does not mean, however, they will follow your training schedule--at least not as you envision it. It also does not mean that life will line things up perfectly and allow you the optimum training schedule.

Retired Racehorse recently posted about this very subject, and her words and thoughts struck a chord with me.

Well, more than one, actually.

First off, patience is (of course) a key ingredient in horse/owner training. It takes time to be sure you are listening to the horse and not merely focusing on some goal you want for your own reasons. Neither Bar or Lena care about my goals, they only care about how what I'm asking fits into their little horsey bubble.

Second, that life can occasionally get in the way and it's best to figure ways to deal with that and move forward anyway. Sometimes it's work-related; right now it's personal. It really doesn't matter to the horses, aside from the fact that they notice--and therefore try to take advantage of--my distraction level.

The biggest lesson for me is to breathe. Do what I can on a day-to-day basis, stay focused, and give back whatever I can whenever I can.

Works with horses, works with life.

Happy New Year

Yes, it's New Years Eve and I'm at home, on the sofa, blogging. I guess I'm just not much for being out there with the rest of the world.

It's been a crazy year in a lot of ways. It started off with losing my job of six years, but thankfully finding a new one a month later. (And still liking it so far, a nice bonus.)

It's been a year of watching my father struggle with his increasingly poor health, being sure to treasure the time I spend with him now and value the pieces of myself that come from being raised by him.

It's been a year of balancing both horses with a more professional job--one where showing up disheveled and muddy after going to the barn first doesn't really work. That has been hard for me, because it always seems there is more to do. Steve frequently reminds me our horses get more attention and exercise than 80% of the horses out there, but it is easy to feel inadequate when I see Lena's "I'm neglected" face staring out through the pen rails.

It's been a year that included watching Steve heal and get back to riding after an accident that could have been much worse than it was, but is still causing ripples here and there. (The vertigo tends to pop up sometimes, which is aggravating.) The feeling of mortality is a bit unnerving, but it reminds me to belly up to the bar and live life because the Mack Truck could be waiting right around the corner.

And finally, it's a year in which my daughter has started figuring out her own path--which (as of yesterday) includes her own horse, a sweet little Quarter Horse mare named Sammy. I would not necessarily have recommended this for her, but there are times as a parent you have to step back and let them figure it out. This is one of those times and she will learn something no matter how it turns out for her.

I don't know what 2010 has in store for us all, besides another birthday of course, but the lessons we take from this year are sure to serve us well into next.

Happy New Year!

Reflections

As the first decade of the 21st century winds down and I take a moment to reflect, it seems to me that horses in general--and my horses in particular--have given me a great gift.

They have also given me a lot of challenges and--this year in particular--some rather terrifying experiences. I am truly thankful that Steve's injuries have healed, were not worse than they were, and that he will still get on and ride. Someone asked me shortly after the accident if we were going to get rid of the horses and I have to confess it had not even occurred to me to do that. Luckily, it never occurred to Steve, either.

Both horses have had influence on and from us in 2009, each tossing their decidedly different quirks and personalities into the mix.

Lena has gotten less attention from me this year, and I haven't decided yet if that's good or bad. She has definitely made it clear that she would prefer to remain horse numero uno, at least where food and human focus are concerned, but on the other hand, she really doesn't need to be the center of attention for all three of us. I do have some goals for her for next year--mostly figuring out ways to get her out of her spooky little head by giving her other ways to use that big brain besides levitating sideways at the mere sight of something new.

Bar has gotten the bulk of my attention this year, and that will probably continue to some extent in 2010, though with a lot more work from the saddle going forward. Partly as a result of the ground work--and partly because of my own stubbornness and his willingness to keep at it with me--the trust (and fun) level between us has progressed. That's pretty exciting and keeps me focused on what we can do together, rather than what reaction I'll have to have to counter-act whatever thing he might do. Better not to send out those self-fulfilling prophecies in any case.

I don't really do resolutions, but I do like coming up with a plan for each horse for the next year. Nothing exact, mind you, but something that gives us all something to work towards in the never-ending quest to be better horse-humans.

Real life

Since dentist day, a few things have happened that have interfered with horse time and riding, but I've also let way too much time go by without getting back on Bar--or even Lena.

Work is crazy, and since I'm new, I feel like I can't just wander in late (dusty, fragrant, cheeks smeared with horse snot, etc.), so can't really stop at the barn first. Most nights I can get out of there by 5:30, but that doesn't necessarily give me time to ride (not if I want to spend time with Steve before he goes to sleep, that is), though I can usually work Bar in the round pen at least. There is also the challenge of being tired and preoccupied after work and not having enough focus to be able to give Bar the work he needs, and stay on while I'm at it. I know, I know. This is what most horse people deal with on a regular basis. I didn't realize quite how good I had it.

Then, two weeks ago, my dad went into the hospital because he was short of breath. Long story short, his health is very poor all the way around, but if he hadn't gone in, they wouldn't have found (and removed) a tumor on his lung. He's home, now, but I was down in Berkeley a couple times last week, too. It doesn't seem like that far away, at least not until that drive home.

And, yes, this sounds like a lot of excuses, even to me. I used to just get on and ride Bar, and we did okay--until that first time he dumped me. I know he and I have done a lot of great work together--over the last six months in particular--but I haven't been on him enough, and that's really what we both need.

One bright spot? Last Sunday, after I worked him in the round pen, I started goofing around with him and trying to pull/push myself up on his back. I'm either not strong enough, or don't have the technique down (Steve says it's the latter), but either way, he just stood there patiently while I tried. On both sides, no less. He kept turning around to see if I'd made it up there, yet, so I had Katie come over and used the mounting block to actually get on him bareback. No reins, just Katie holding his lead. He stood there just fine until I kissed at him to give him a carrot (and get a nice neck stretch/bend out of him). Oops. Even then, he danced for just a second, trying to do what both of us wanted--move forward for me, or stand still for Katie. I could tell Katie got a little nervous, but I concentrated on relaxing and holding on, she calmed down, and he just settled and held still. I got off and gave him a big hug.

I've played with that a couple of times since, and he stands perfectly still while I drape myself over his back from both sides. He turns around and looks at me as if to say, "Do you need a boost?" but he doesn't bolt and he tolerates my silly shenanigans with good humor and usually a snuggle, too.

The other bright spot is that Dad is home from the hospital now, which is good because he was getting really bored and grumpy. Seeing him go through this, not knowing how it will all play out, makes me realize I just need to get on with it. Life is too short and Bar and I are both too special to waste any more time with excuses.