smellshorsey

Goodbye, Buddy (Maybe)

The third lady to look at Buddy fell in love. The fourth lady said to call her if the third lady doesn't take him because she fell in love, too, but couldn't make a decision before the third lady was coming for him.

Yes, Buddy left yesterday for a week's trial. The potential new owner is a kind, tender-hearted adult beginner with a good, hand-holding instructor. I hope this is a good match, but if it's not, there will be another horse for her and another good home for Buddy.

I'm absolutely exhausted from showing him this week (the economy must be improving because suddenly the phone is ringing). But I've blogged about that on Lifepundit so it's out of my system.

What I want to tell my horse friends about is saying "goodbye" to Buddy. (And though I miss him, I do hope it really is goodbye.) The night before they were to pick him up I took a quartered pear out into the darkness of the pasture. Buddy nickered at me and the only thing I could make out in the night was his blaze, coming towards me.

The other two horses kept eating their hay. But for Buddy, people are more interesting. He was the only one to visit me.

So I fed him the whole pear. Then I gave him a good scratching all over. I held my hands up and scratched, and he maneuvered the itchy places around under my scratching fingers.

I would go on, but it would sound silly. You know how it went. We spent time together, and I feel like I've said goodbye.

What a dear horse. I've never had one that was so engaging.

When Lily sunbathes in the pasture, he stands guard. The last time she did it she had to come in because he kept licking her toes (yes, we have two salt blocks -- white and brown).

He goes wherever we are, even if we don't have treats.

Thank you, Buddy. We've been blessed to know you. Now be a good boy where you are on trial, and bless that nice woman with your sweet, doggy self. You stay put, you hear? She'll spoil you worse than we did.

Love,
Anne

Some People are Even Stupider than Me

And yes, I know that should be, "some people are even stupider than I." But when you're talking about stupid, good grammar is optional.

Okay, first you had me with my horse tangled up in the hay net in the trailer, even though I knew better. Then you had the other people at the horse show.

Unbelievable as it may be, there are people even stupider than I am. I was walking around the show grounds when I saw two loose horses. Not what you need at a show with so many children, green horses and wild riders. So I yelled to the announcer's booth that there were two loose horses, which when I pointed, they could clearly see. They stopped the show temporarily and announced that there were two loose horses.

Two women at the concession stand yelled out, "They're not loose. They're grazing."

Yes, they had brought their horses to the show and turned them loose, like dogs, to roam around and graze at will. I thought I'd seen everything.

Maybe I'm doing things wrong. Fencing is expensive and hard to keep up. Maybe I should just turn my horses loose. If anybody gets upset, I'll explain with a smile, "No, Buddy isn't eating your rosebushes, Mrs. Campbell. He's just grazing."

The two women did wander over to their horses and catch them. The horses were a bit underweight and could have stood some more grazing time, and the women could have stood a little more time away from the concession stand. They put lunge lines on their horses, and more or less tied them out from their trailers.

Maybe I should have given them my hay net while they were at it.

Lucy's First Show

After the hay net fiasco, the horse show was fun.

We love the series of small, friendly schooling-type shows that they have about once a month in the next county. People encourage each other, the show management is relaxed and flexible, and though it is competitive, the support for the other riders and horses is greater than anyone's desire to win. It's hunters in the morning, western in the afternoon, and then a bunch of games classes. Some people ride in all three segments.

We found out our friends were going, so we wanted to go. But which horse to take? Since Buddy's for sale, he would have to be perfectly turned out and Lily would have to ride him perfectly. She didn't want to work that hard -- she wanted to have fun with her friends. Though Markus is new and we could use the experience with taking him somewhere, he doesn't need the experience. We decided to take Lucy because she almost never gets to to anywhere. In fact, she hadn't been ridden in weeks. (Ooops. This is my horse.)

I told Lily she could ride the horse or just tie her to the trailer. Either way it would be educational for Lucy. She chose to ride her.

I liked Lucy's attitude. Ears forward, more or less doing what she was supposed to. Things weren't perfect but it was a positive experience. One class was just about perfect. First is always fun.
 

How We Proved that a Hay Net in the Trailer is Dangerous

Have you ever noticed that if you don't know something is dangerous, you can get away with doing it. Once you know, God holds you accountable.

I have used hay nets for years. About a year ago I heard that you should switch to hay bags because horses sometimes got tangled up in hay nets and the results could be B-A-D. So, I only used my hay nets for when the horse was tied to the outside of the trailer. Inside the trailer I used a hay bag.

Except that Lucy didn't like the hay bag. The opening didn't open exactly where her dainty nose sits. So she'd toss it like a punching bag before giving up and then it was just in her way.

Today when we were going to a show, and running late, of course, Lily put in a hay net instead of the hay bag into the trailer. With my knowledge and permission.

We loaded Lucy, who was upset to be going to the show without her boyfriends, but she was the one who needed schooling and never goes anywhere. She pawed and banged around in the trailer, so without wasting any time, I pulled out. She kept pawing. Then she quit. The weight in the trailer felt odd, and sometimes I felt like it was pulling funny. But I kept going.

Nearly an hour later we got to the show grounds and went to unload -- only to find Lucy standing on three legs in the trailer with one leg very seriously snarled up in the hay net! This was a heavy duty hay net, too. She was trembling from the exhaustion of standing on three legs while being trailered. A friend turned up with a knife and painstakingly cut Lucy loose rope by rope.

To my infinite gratitude, Lucy stood quietly until cut free. Then, after she quit trembling and her veins weren't standing out under her thin TB skin, Lily warmed her up and the horse seemed fine. They had a good day at the show, with Lucy making some mistakes but being a willing and even interested competitor. She enjoyed going somewhere.

Until it was time to go home. I don't blame her one bit -- she decided that the trailer is an evil, scary place and she wasn't getting on it. Ever.

We did what we had to do, which ranged from getting dragged all over to tempting her with the Bucket of Earthly Delights to getting out the lunge whip and holding it in a very visible place but not striking her (though I am not against force, we just didn't get to that). She suddenly and with no warning hopped it. I gave her lots of time with the Bucket of Earthly Delights.

The hay net is in the trash can. And I thank the Lord that my horse had enough strength and balance to stand on three legs on that journey, and also had enough sense to not panic. The what ifs are playing vividly in my mind. What if she had fallen? What if she had broken something?

So very many ways to make mistakes. Just when I thought I'd made them all.

Thank God it turned out all right.

Advertising a Horse for Sale the Government Way

As I continue to talk potential buyers out of even looking at Buddy, I decided to run a free ad for him in my state's agricultural bulletin, a bi-monthly tabloid where you can sell your goats, chickens, $25,000 Hanoverians, manure, broken tractors, beehives, bulbs and implements I wouldn't know what to do with.

I submitted the ad online, which was a pain because of the character count limitation, but I got the ad whittled down to where it was accepted. Then I faxed them Buddy's Coggins. All set.

Except I wasn't. I got a call from the state person saying that the age on the Coggins was nine, and the age in my ad was 11. I said that I could fax her Buddy's registration papers, and she'd see that he was 11. She said I needed to get my Coggins report changed, since it is regarded as a legal document. I said I wasn't trying to claim he was younger than he was -- I was claiming he was older than the Coggins and have the documentation. The vet simply wrote his age down wrong (no doubt based on his handsome, youthful appearance.)

We went round and round on this. My vet is out of business and I don't want to add to her burdens by getting her involved. I finally suggested, "Why don't you just leave the age out of the ad? They can see how old he is when they click on the web site."

"I've had to delete your web address. We're not allowed to run those," she said.

"But it's got all his information on it!"

"Sorry, but if we ran yours, we'd have to run everybody's," she said.

"Why don't you run everybody's?" I asked.

"The dog people wouldn't understand," she said. "We run their ads as a courtesy, space permitting, and they are always upset that we give more information out about horses."

So, I'm running an ad with no age on this horse and no information that he has a web site where you can see photos, videos, pedigree, everything. But it gets worse.

"Let me read you what I've got," she says. And she proceeds to read a watered down version of what I sent her. She has whittled it down to basically "chestnut gelding, broke to ride, more or less." (Not really but may as well be.)

"What happened to 'great ground manners,'?" I ask.

"We can't say 'great.'"

"Can you say 'good'?"

"Yes. I'll say he has good ground manners," she says. "How about clips, loads and ties? That's always a good one."

"I think all of those except loading are included in ground manners," I say.

"How about 'great youth horse'?" I say.

"I told you we couldn't say 'great,'" she reminds me. So she puts just plain "youth horse."

"Can you give him a bath?" she asks, trying to be helpful.

"Of course I can give him a bath. But he does so much more than that I hate to waste the space on giving him a bath," I say.

"Stands for the farrier?" she suggests.

"He'd better stand for the farrier if he knows what's good for him. Standing for the farrier is a minimum requirement and is included in 'good ground manners,'" I say. "How about 'flashy chestnut gelding'?"

"Can't say 'flashy.'"

I give up. "Beautiful?"

"No."

"Handsome?"

"No."

"Looks like Elvis?"

Silence. Then she suggests, "What about his bloodlines?"

Now I'm on my cell phone, and I can only vaguely remember the names of his sire and dam. Is his sire Ohio Bett or Bett Ohio? And was his QH grandsire on the other side Skipping Lightly? Skip Lightly? Sounds kind of gay. Skip Light Lee? It's something like that. But I make a guess and she happily adds it to my ad.

Then I get home and look it up. I have everything a little scrambled on his bloodlines. I e-mail her the corrections, and she tells me she's made them. Scary, huh?

If his dam's name was "Beautiful Morning" would they change that to "Adequate Morning?"

We do not need the government in charge of one more thing.

New Horse!

Markus vetted out. More on that later. Here are a couple of pictures from Lily's lesson yesterday, the first day he was officially "her horse." Couldn't get both of them to look at the camera at the same time.

Do We Dare Fall in Love?

We're over a week into our trial with Markus and so far he is just what we want. Lily had trouble with him in her riding lesson on Monday because the jumps where she takes her lesson are in a large field, and I think Markus thought he was doing cross country. They were supposed to jump two small warm-up jumps, then canter around and do them again. 

Markus had other ideas. Coming off the second jump, he locked onto a giant roll-top with poles on top of that and that's where he took her. It was like watching one of those war movies where the fighter pilot locks onto the target and releases the missile. I think Markus could do this whole jumping thing with no rider.

This scared the britches off of all of us and though Lily steered around the huge jump, she just couldn't get him to stop. He wasn't running away. He wasn't tucking his butt and being scared. He wasn't bucking. He wasn't being evil. He was just ready to do his job and was going to keep going until he did it. After a lap or two at a fast canter, she got him stopped.

So they did the small combination again and she steered him away from the big jump early, only to have him lock on another jump for a repeat performance.

You have to admire his willingness and his work ethic. You have to complain most loudly and screechingly about his brakes. But I repeat -- he wasn't running away, he wasn't bolting. He was just going....going....going. He has been a racehorse and a preliminary eventer. Going is more important than stopping in those jobs, but still. He needs to stop.

So, she tried the combination again. And after some necessary roughness, she got him to stop. Once he caught on, he was fine. 

You have to ride him round into the jump, check him frequently, and check on landing. He likes a heavy rein and wants you to stay with him. The complete opposite of Buddy, Lily's still-and-former horse.

Markus has a great and willing heart, a busted knee, and a fine mind. Do we dare fall in love until after the vetting?

Before the lesson was over, Markus had given Lily enough confidence to jump jumps she's never jumped before. And even if she screws up, he takes care of it all. He can jump anything and will jump anything. He can go slowly. He'd rather go fast. But he's not a rusher and is strong but controllable. That's what she said she wanted. I wish I could show you the big smiles that came with all this.

He's your basic plain dark bay TB. A cribber, something I said I'd never have. He has an old racing injury with a slab fracture of the knee, and though the knee is ugly, it is beautiful to me because if it weren't for that we couldn't afford him. He's ten-years-old and probably has arthritis and who knows what else. He also has a very fine mind and an awesome work ethic. 

I planned to take them to a schooling show today. Lily was reluctant to go, partly because she's had a terrible week with social drama at school, had her piano recital last night, and then something else. If I were her, I'd really want to take this new horse to a little show and see what I could do.

But she said, "No, Mom. He might do really well. Then he might not vet out on Monday. And I don't think I could part with him."

Do we dare fall in love? I already have.

Our New Horse! (If He Vets Out)

This week is spring break. While the rest of you are escaping to the beaches or planting your gardens at home, we are buying and selling horses.

Okay. That's only half true. We haven't sold Buddy but we've found The Perfect Horse (note: calling him The Perfect Horse will ensure he flunks vetting), made an offer and will be picking him up in the morning. He's ours if he vets out. I hate this part.

I also hate the part where we're signing contracts and I'm getting insurance and trying to work out problems that aren't problems but feel like it. And when I walk outside to do something and Buddy comes to the fence to greet me I feel like I'm having an affair...

But for Lily, Christmas has come. She is ecstatic. She has forgotten all about boys. "When are we picking up the horse?" Well, I was all set. I had the truck gassed up and ready to go... then there was all this paperwork stuff.

Anyway. We live in a world where handshakes are just a way to catch colds. The people who are selling him are really nice; they're just protecting themselves in a world where handshakes are just a way to catch colds. Back in the old days.... Heck. Three years ago we brought Buddy home with no contract, no insurance, no agreed-upon price, nothing. Just a promise that we would give his blanket back if we bought him. Which we did -- buy him AND give the blanket back.

Our horse-to-be is a 10 year-old TB gelding with an old racing injury. The old racing injury is the only reason we can afford him. He's a grandson of Seattle Slew (who won the Triple Crown and was possibly undefeated but I'm not sure) and has evented at the Preliminary level. I talked to the woman who rescued him from the track before his current owner bought him, and if he's half as good as she says (and she has no reason to tell me a tale since she has a horse she'd like to sell us of her own) we have found The Perfect Horse. Here's a short clip of Lily trying him out.

Let Me Tell You Why You Shouldn't Buy My Horse

Buddy is a beautiful, delightful horse. I feel like I'm trying to sell my dog. I act like I'm trying to sell this big ugly goat.

Buddy is a big handsome guy. He is sound and healthy. Buddy has a good mind and has excellent bloodlines. Buddy is a gentleman and a great fellow. He's only for sale because he has informed me (without the use of a Horse Communicator) that he doesn't wish to comply with Lily's dreams of jumping higher and going further. So, as I've said before, he's for sale.

And I'm not the best one to sell him. In fact, I'm sure I'm the worst. I spent yesterday afternoon and this morning in a stew, fussing over the house and barn (with no visible change) so that it would look like a place that would have a nice horse for sale for when my potential buyer comes.

 

And then, the potential buyer who was coming to try Buddy called and said that after sleeping on all the things I told her about him, she just didn’t think she wanted him. She thanked me for being so honest.

 

I cannot help myself. I tell everything I know, especially the bad things, even if they’ve never caused a problem (she was concerned about an injury he had before we got him – an injury that has given us no problems).

 

So, rather than come look at my horse whom she knows everything about, she’s going to go instead to look at the horses offered for sale by a man I believe to be unscrupulous. I know him from when I had another horse and boarded at a stable where he worked. I believe that he certainly will not tell the whole truth about his horses, and here I’ve lost a potential sale because of my overabundance of honesty.

 

I have to believe that God will find Buddy a good home and that I’ve done the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it.

 

My lost potential buyer asked me what I knew of the man she’s going to see, and she told me she knew that he had a very good reputation. I said I didn’t know anything about that, but that when he was a farrier, I had to quit using him and use someone else because he was unable to shoe my horse. I didn’t tell her about the suitcase of beer he brought with him and would drink while he worked on the horses. I didn't tell her about other things. Maybe he's cleaned up his act. I don't know. I said that I couldn’t speak about his reputation as a horse trader.

 

So, I’ve been in one kind of stew and now I’ve gotten in another kind. But I’ll be all right.

 

I’m not good at this buying and selling of horses. I find it quite stressful. I got several very excited e-mails from another potential buyer that I think I ran off by telling her absolutely every bad thing I know. Not the good things. Anything that could possibly be wrong. I have a compulsion to do that.

Why don't I tell people all the wonderful things about this horse? He is very special. Is there something called being too honest?

Probably I'm not being too honest -- I'm probably being too negative, and no, it's not because I don't want to sell him, though deep down I probably don't. But we have to, if we're going to get a horse that will do the things that Lily wants to do. I want him to get a good home and everybody to live happily ever after. Us. Him. His buyer. Our new horse.

Another prospect is coming next week to look at him. I think I'll excuse myself and let Lily and her teacher show the horse. That is, unless I talk to the prospective buyer again and talk them out of coming.