Monday Missive

Hello everyone. Happy Monday. I’m writing this blog post and watching the US vs Belgium in the World Cup with my husband and our grandson. Soccer is kind of like watching paint dry, so I can multitask. (As I wrote that last sentence the US scored their first goal!! Woot! Woot!) (and Belgium scored!)

So much for watching paint dry. 

However, my last ride with Katie really was like watching paint dry as we left the trail head. I figured we’d liven them up by trotting the first bit, and that seemed to work. I wanted to get them to the section where Tweed saw the deer running alongside us. 

When we arrived at that point he tensed up and began looking for them. Katie was following on Epona and she said Epona also got reactive, but we made it through and the rest of the ride was easy and uneventful. 

The care of Gulliver (and grandson who is out of school for the summer) is making it hard to do trail rides, but Gulliver, at least, is becoming more and more independent very fast. 

And I’ve decided to keep him. A friend rehabbed a baby bird only to release it and watch a hawk swoop down within the very first minutes and snatch it. That was enough to convince me that I am now a starling mama—longterm. 

Also, he bonded with me and thinks I really am his mama. I was the first thing he flew to when he learned how to fly yesterday. Here are some videos, the first of his practice on July 4th, and then his success on July 5th. 

We are only at three weeks, so there’s no guarantee he will make it yet, but he seems to be thriving. 

I transferred him to a cage yesterday. That has also gone well. It’s on wheels so that I can move him to wherever I am. If I have to go on the road, I take him with us in a carrier so that I can continue his hand feeding every 20-30 minutes. He has been lots of places and travels like a champ. He was even on a boat again, and was happily preening, eating, and sleeping. Didn’t miss a beat. Now that he’s flying I won’t take chances traveling, but he should soon be foraging for food on his own. His diet is …interesting.  Live mealworms, berries, and softbill food.

So that’s my crazy life for this Monday. 

Never a dull moment when you embrace the bounty that is life. 

Gullivair’s Travels

“One world is marked by a bland forgetfulness, where we do not permit ourselves an openness to the simple, graced beauty that is always with us. The other is marked by attentiveness, aliveness, love. This is the state of wonder, which is commonly treated as a passive phenomenon—a kind of visitation or feeling that overcomes us in the face of something wondrous. But the ground of the word, the old English wundrian, is very active, meaning “to be affected by one’s own astonishment.” (Mozart’s Starling, p 75)

I continue to be astonished by my little starling, Gulliver. I’m pronouncing it Gulli-vair, just in case he’s a she. 

I’m beginning to think Gullivair is going to be my pet, but I also found out we aren’t allowed to have them as pets in my state. I’m reading the book, Mozart’s Starling, written by an author in my state who raised one in order to help write her book, and that is how I found out they aren’t exactly legal, but they also don’t enforce it. They only want to discourage the import and / or release of starlings. 

It is an excellent book if you want to find out more about how they got here and how they have affected the continent since they arrived. There’s also a lot on the history of the starling in Europe, with Mozart and others. Since they’re native there, they don’t face the same level of despisedness. 

He is growing so fast, I will need to start figuring out next steps. Cage. Grown up food. Etc. 

He is still being hand-fed every 20 minutes during the day, which has left me no other choice except to take him on the road with us everywhere. He’s been to my mom’s house, a baseball game, my son’s house, and several places in between.

He enjoys hearing me practice the flute next to him. I’m hoping that as a song bird he will decide to learn one or two for himself. 

Here he is today. I am so glad he’s not bigger. He looks like a mini-velociraptor. 

Born to Be a Trail Horse

(A few minutes after coming across deer)

As our trail riding and lessons with Katie have progressed, my daughter and Katie will usually take Tumbleweed’s hour as an opportunity to ride together. Daughter on Epona. Katie on Tweed. 

Yesterday, however, my daughter couldn’t come to the lesson, so we spent the entire two plus hours on a trail ride, me on Tweed, and Katie on Epona. I was super excited to see Epona in action on the trails, and since she has, apparently, been good, so far, at following, we wanted to shake it up a bit and have her take the lead.

We got an early start, as it was going to be a hot day and, since it was hot, decided to ride to the river and play in the water.

You’ll remember from one of my last posts that we came across a herd of deer crashing through the trees on one ride. Well, in that same area we ascended a heavily wooded hill to get to the bluff and, as we cleared the trees, came smack dab onto a doe nursing her fawn. 

It was the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen, and mama and baby did not seem fazed by us. Baby continued to nurse. 

The horses, however, were unsure, and Epona, who was in the lead, gave them a wide berth. Tumbleweed was snorting and looking for an exit route, probably thinking they could come crashing at us again, but he stayed with me. 

That area is, indeed, a deer sanctuary. For whatever reason, probably the density of trees there, they have chosen that spot. Good to know for future rides.

It took two hands to guide him, so no photos of mama and baby. 

The horses calmed right down and I was able to get the photo above. 

Our next “obstacle” on the way to the river was a group of kids, about 10 of them, who were on a hike and running free, chasing each other, through the trees we had to also go through. I called out to them to please stop and when they finally heard me, they did.

As we rode by we rested the horses and talked to the kids. We explained why we had asked them to stop. Thanked them. Then moved on.

Finally, we got to the river after a number of descents and more people, bikes, and scary graffiti. A lot is thrown at them at Riverside State Park. It is a mix of wildlife, water, campers, fishermen (the casting of the lines also scared the horses), hikers, bikers, and fill in the blank.

This would be the first time Epona was introduced to the river. Tweed was there last fall. Both were very unsure. 

We dismounted and brought them up to the edge. 

Tweed pawed around and took a drink. Epona did the same. 

Then Katie remounted and asked Epona to walk into the water forward. She didn’t want to at first and Katie didn’t push her.

Instead, Katie turned her around and backed her in slowly.

Once she got used to the water, she backed in much further, stood, then walked out forward. 

And voila—we got this! (That’s Tumbleweed snorting in the video as water was splashing him.)

As we were riding back we talked about Epona and how she doesn’t like round pen or arena work, but loves the trails. She is smart, level-headed, and when the trail is unsure, she walks slowly and takes very careful steps. She has great foot awareness, and I’ve always known that about her. She has her mother’s fearlessness. 

In other words, she was born to be a trail horse. 

We also talked about what a good trail match these two horses are. Tweed went into the water after Epona splashed him enough times. I was able to ride him along the shallow end and reward him by leaving. 

Later, there was a burnt log he refused to go over, but followed Epona when she did. 

The two of them really love each other and gather courage from each other, too. It works both ways. There are many things that Tweed does more confidently and Epona follows. 

At only five years old, though, Epona is shaping up to be the kind of horse you can put anyone on and head down the trail. Which is a good thing. 

Because someday she is slotted to be grandson’s horse. 

Cowgirl and my daughter were pregnant at the same time and gave birth a few months apart. They even have pregnancy photos together. We always felt that Epona and grandson were destined to have an intertwined journey. 

It’s looking like that may happen. Time will tell.

Meet My Starling, Gulliver

Gulliver, on the ride home.

When the starlings first found our home, they nested in a clump of dense bushes behind our house regularly attacking our Irish Wolfhound, Loki, when he came too close. 

Starlings return to their nesting grounds each year, and even, sometimes, their nests, but a few years later they discovered an even better house in the newly minted barn room I call my sanctuary. They nested in the ceiling above the room, entering through a gap in the wall and roof. 

Everyday, as grandson napped (and grandpa listened for him), I would run off to the barn to practice my flute.  This would excite the little starlings, which I could hear  scratching around above, and they would begin to chirp a cacophony of chirping. 

Fast forward another year, and my husband closed the roof gap, causing them to look elsewhere, and they found another opening in the roof of our home’s deck, much to my husband’s dismay. I didn’t mind as much because it seemed like they kept the population of flies and yellow jackets down.

Fast forward again to this year, my husband closed that hole and forced them to yet another spot, which is where the story of Gulliver takes off. 

Apparently, the starling parents found crevices between the pontoons of our boat, which was parked next to my barn and sanctuary, and thought it a safe place to raise their young. It was a safe place for awhile, until the weather warmed up and we decided to get the boat ready for the lake.

In our defense, we did not know that they were there. How could we? And, quite honestly, starlings are the last things on our mind. Invasive, intrusive, non-native, they crowd out better birds (meaning native ones) and can even be aggressive with humans. They are considered nuisances and we are encouraged to remove them, even kill them, they’re that bad.

Imagine our surprise later that night, after an evening of boating, when we found one, 4-5 days old, splayed out on a pontoon, shipwrecked, soaked, cold, hungry, weak, but just having survived 9 1/2 hours with no food, 45 minutes traveling down a highway, and 3 hours riding up and down Long Lake.

This is the beginning of Gulliver’s Adventures, but in this story, Gulliver is a week old starling who only just opened his eyes and saw his new mama.

Me.

I’m not sure where this story is going. Gulliver continues to do well, but I didn’t want a bird, and definitely not a starling. 

Since starlings are invasive, we have few options. If I take him to a wildlife refuge they’ll humanely euthanize him. (Sorry, but he came too far on that boat to have his little life end like that, even if he is a mere starling.)

On the other hand, since I’m now hand-feeding him, he can never safely be released into the wild. At least, that is what the rescue says, but I have read a couple stories of it being done “successfully,” if you can trust them.

This seems to leave only one real option, or one that I can accept, he has to be a pet. Mine or someone else’s.

That is, if he survives.

As always, I need to take a deep breath and then take one step at a time, doing what my heart guides at each step. Maybe my conscience, too. Basically, what I can live with doing, or not doing.

The day after boating, we shined a flashlight into the crevices of the pontoons to find the nests, there were three, and then we raked them out onto the ground. Whatever was in them had been swept mostly away in the water, except one other baby who had died.

Gulliver should not be alive today either. But he is. And he’s back at his ancestral home, our place. 

I have been studying everything I can to know how to feed him and what keeping a pet starling would look like.

Turns out, Mozart had one, and it was able to hum a section of his music, which he transposed with its subtle variations. 

Starlings are song birds and have the same ability as parrots to mimic speech. They are supposedly fiercely bonded to their humans (and flocks) and are quite gregarious and smart.

All of this information is brand new to me.

Having a baby starling is like having a baby. He eats, sleeps, and poops. His feedings are about every twenty minutes, when he starts to stir and chirp out in his sweet little voice. Then I feed him soaked cat food pellets, shoving them down his open beak one by one. After he eats, he falls right back asleep. Lucky for me, he doesn’t eat between dusk and dawn. 

He sleeps on a heated blanket covered in towels, and tissues, which are removed about every hour and exchanged for new ones. It’s really quite easy as long as you have absolutely no plans for the next three weeks.

 —which, of course, we do.

And so, I ordered a bird carrying cage to take him with us on the road. 

Quirky? Yes, life is so quirky. 

I guess we will just have to wait and see how this story writes itself.  And, in the meantime, perhaps, find babysitters for our baby starling.

(Video. Age day 7-8, 3 days after rescue. Gulliver is able to keep his head lifted, walk around wobbling, and both eyes are open.That’s food he dropped while being fed, not poo.)

Preparation Payoff

A few years ago I began working with a trainer I love and respect, Regina. One of the preparatory things she had me do was to lunge Tweed and look for two things: his attention and if he was lifting up and carrying himself.  

It is the attention piece that saved me on Thursday’s trail ride. 

When I ask him to move out on the circle, if his attention shifts to anything other than me (watching his ears) I turn him to move the opposite way. When he is moving nicely, and maintaining his attention, I stop and ask him to face me. As he relaxes, I see if he can maintain that attention and keep looking to me for guidance. If he shifts his attention outside, I ask him to move again.  

When you’re out on the trail, and something unexpected happens, the hope is that they will stop and wait for your lead rather than instantly bolting. 

I went out on a 2 1/2 hour ride with an old friend whose horse is 28 now, but still able to do light trail work. Actually, he was remarkably sound for his age. 

He’s also steady Eddie and makes a fantastic trail partner for Tumbleweed. 

As we passed that section of the river (above) a dark set of clouds blew in and engulfed us. It brought wind and rain with it. The weather app hadn’t predicted it and it didn’t affect our house, only five miles away. It was just a freak occurrence. 

What’s even stranger is that it came over as we entered a dense grove of trees known to be a favorite resting place for deer. 

I’m always cautious riding the trail there, as it is a steep drop off to the river. There is another path around it, but I chose the narrow river path anyway. 

My friend’s horse was in the lead at that point. 

As we were about half way through we heard crashing through the trees to our left (cliff edge on right) and Tweed’s head went right up, body on full alert. (Flight mode). 

He thought about bolting, but the path was too narrow and he was behind my friend’s horse. If he had been in front, it may have actually been less claustrophobic for him and I would have moved him forward and out of the dense trees.

I stopped and surveyed, but could only see flashes of color here and there, running the opposite direction alongside us. 

I turned Tweed towards where they were exiting into the open, and one after another an herd of deer emerged and walked off. 

I then dismounted, my friend joined me, and we allowed Tweed to watch them for awhile and get to a place of relaxation. 

When he was relaxed, I remounted, asked to lead through, and finished the same section with no issues. 

That happened about 30 minutes into the ride, so we still had a lot of trails to cover and Tweed only got better and better until he was as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. 

(Stopping to examine a ribbon. They were setting up a weekend trail horse competition.)

I was thankful for our preparation that taught him to stop and wait even when his instincts told him to bolt and runaway. 

With time, he will become used to these sudden surprises. In fact, I asked my friend if her 28 year old former ranch horse reacted at all and she said no. That’s pretty impressive! Hopefully, I can say the same long before 20 more years expire.

I follow a trainer at “Steady Horse” who takes this same ground preparation even further. Here is a link to one of his videos, but he has put out several. I’m going to add his tweeks to my own warmup. 

There is a difference, however, between ground and saddle. I was happy that Tweed waited when he really wanted to run away, but he got the most relaxation when he could actually see me on the ground next to him. The bolting energy disappeared when I stood by his side.

It is rare that I dismount nowadays, that’s the first time this year, and in a different situation, a different terrain, I probably wouldn’t have. But you only get a few seconds to choose your response and that seemed best for that moment. The way he rode out the rest of it seemed to justify that choice.

Little by little, trail mile by trail mile, we will merge the ground relationship into the saddle relationship more fully. But for that level of surprise, and not being able to see what was running through the trees (for Tweed it could have been a cougar for all he knew) I think he did spectacularly well.

I should add, we ended the ride by taking a downhill trail into the same area he spooked at the deer (we had come almost full circle) and he didn’t react at all or show any residual fear from before. 

Today our aunt arrives for her 90th birthday week celebration, and there won’t be another ride until Friday. Time to get cracking!

Happy June trails to you all!

Not One, But Two Per Week

Happy Friday! Yes, Friday, not Monday. After trying out the new once per week schedule of blogging, I found it lacking. I wanted to give Tweed’s journey time to breathe, but found there wasn’t much to report. He’s doing very well, making great progress, and hasn’t had another tummy ache. Managing his weight on pasture is probably the biggest issue right now, but that is a day-to-day assessment. 

I literally hand off the reins once per week to Katie after I ride T for the first hour and she spends her time on him leading Epona through the trails. Epona doesn’t like to lead, she prefers to follow, and she takes her cues from T. If he’s okay, she’s okay. Which leads Katie to think Epona needs some solo time in the future. As it is now, Katie rides Epona for the first 45 minutes, warming up, then grabs T and allows my daughter to take Epona for the trail ride portion.

I was bragging up Epona to a friend yesterday at the park, which I knew was inviting BAD KARMA, and sure enough it did. When I rode Tweed out of her sight she did some crow hopping and Katie had to ride it and then bring her back to work. She had not shown signs of buddy sour before that, but there it was.

My sights are shifting back to trail riding with friends, but the busyness of the last few years has left those relationships undernourished. 

It is a process finding trail riding buddies and learning to ride well with each other and still respect each other’s boundaries and unique journeys. 

Some of my old friends no longer have horses. Some are riding horses that are seniors now. And everyone’s lives seem very busy and complicated.

I have a ride planned for this afternoon with one of my oldies but goodies. She even accompanied me on a trip to Canada to visit Baby Tumbleweed. Her horse is in his 20’s now, but still able to do light trails. She lost her heart horse last fall to old age issues. 

As I reach out to former trail partners, I also hope to find new ones. That is my next “goal.” I see new people all the time at the equestrian area and I try to meet and introduce myself and my horses. So many nice people are in the horse world if you are willing to make those connections. I was hesitant to expand my circle before, but I think Tweed and I are ready now.

The weather has shifted here to summer. There’s nothing but blue skies and sun in our 10 day forecast. 

We will be entertaining a very special family member next week who is coming in to celebrate her 90th birthday with us. I take that honor quite seriously and will dedicate every second I can to making her trip extra special. 

After that, my riding schedule will open up quite a bit.

I had surprise guests in the pasture this morning. Such a beautiful sight.

Happy Friday trails, everyone!

Last Stars and Songs

My husband and I decided to say hi to the horses last night around 10:30, and on our way to the barn we saw a huge star. We weren’t sure if it was a satellite or something else, so we looked it up. Turns out, it was Jupiter and Venus lined up together. Very cool!

If the current trend continues, data center proliferation, they intend to also launch them into space—thousands of them hovering somewhere between sky and moon, further obliterating the starry nights. 

I’m so glad I grew up in a time where the stars were so bright, on some nights, it felt like you could reach out and touch them—just scoop them up in your arms. Those moments of being overwhelmed with the beauty, and mystery, of the universe—of our smallness—and yet, our spiritual, and similar, vastness. 

I mourn that loss for future HUMAN generations. 

—-

Sadly,  I only got one “ride day” this week. It was a Katie Day, and only involved Katie and my daughter riding Epona and Tweed. I volunteered to babysit Pilot because Epona is, currently, the main focus. 

The reason there was only one day is because I was car shopping (yuck!) and entertaining my sister and her family for our last Farm Chicks. 

Farm Chicks is where antique vendors from around the country come to Spokane and converge for two days of farm chicks style shopping. My daughters and my sister have joined me for many years and it has become our annual tradition. Very sad that this will be the last time. 

There seems to always be a non-chick accompanying us and, this year, it was my nephew. 

He is also learning to play the guitar and serenaded us with lovely country oldies throughout the weekend. 

Family, horses, traditions, music—these human things grow more and more important to me. 

As the world rushes frantically down a path that even its creators admit could destroy everything we hold dear, I am rushing equally frantically towards everything that makes us human.

Here is to another day, another week, to touch a flower, hold a grandbaby, (I happen to have a new one), human heart to human heart, to sing a song, to listen to someone else sing a song, and to walk under the stars, moon, and converging planets to the place where our horses nicker sweet hellos at 10:30 at night. 

Dancing In the Rain

Happy Monday, everyone. June has arrived! Where does the time go? Seems like it’s on warp speed.

It was a busy week that ended with my youngest brothers’s super fun wedding—lots of family, non-stop dancing and celebration.

But it started out with a drastic weather change. An absolute deluge of rain on our lesson day.

Normally, I’d take a pass, but we left it up to Katie, and she still wanted to meet. Rain doesn’t bother her, and since it shouldn’t bother us either, we are being trained to ‘Cowgirl Up!’

Here is a montage of that day if you’d like to get a feel for it. This was Wednesday.

On Thursday’s ride, non-ride, Tumbleweed threw a shoe. I hadn’t checked them before we left, and I have no idea where we lost it. No doubt, ‘rainy day’ ride contributed to softer feet and the lost shoe.

 

It was painful for me to watch him walk back. I’d have carried him if I could have. He was quite ouchy. He’s doing well at home now and the farrier has already replaced his shoe. 

After the wedding we entertained my aunt and uncle and cousin who had flown in for it. I put together a tea for them with soup, scones, cucumber sandwiches, chicken salad croissants and salted brownies. Oh, and I finally learned how to make a decent pot of tea after several tries. 

We were so full after devouring the homemade cream scones. I use all of my mom’s recipes and they are just so yummy. You can’t stop yourself. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to take a photo of the food, but trust me—it was amazing!

I had also made these Lemon Possets before they arrived, but we were too full to eat anymore and I forgot to bring them out. Oh well, I guess we will have to eat them tonight by ourselves, because, sadly, my guests are already gone. 

The older I get, the more I cherish every happy moment with friends, family, and my horses. 

The other night, we danced to every song the DJ played, young and old, and celebrated not only the marriage, but each other and that moment we could be together.

When life gives you the opportunity to dance, no matter what that ‘dance’ looks like, take it—even in the rain.

On a Horse I Love “Heaven, I’m In Heaven”

Being on horseback is my happy place, but more specifically, a horse I love. 

Not just any horse. Not just any ride. 

A ride where we look to each other for support. 

That’s my version of heaven.

Katie was gone last week, and it gave me the chance to take three rides on my own. Two solo, one with a friend. Each around 3 hours total. That was good for Tumbleweed and we made a lot of progress with exposure.

On one ride (it’s where we go under the arched tree and ride through fields of knee high green grass) my mind went to a lovely place. I was humming the soundtrack “Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek…” My mind, my attention, went deep into some other sphere. 

A couple of birds flew up and Tweed spooked a da-dump, which instantly shook me out of my reverie. I laughed and reassured him that I was still there with him, but I wonder if he sensed that I was lost in thought, not really present and with him, and felt unsupported when the birds flew up. 

At any rate, his da-dump was very mild and did not at all spoil my mood. 

With Tumbleweed, on the trail is literally my happy place, my heaven, but I need to be more cautious about going too deep into it lest I be transported to the real heaven too soon. 

I’ll leave you with some photos from around our place. 

The barn planters. 

Spanish Lavender.  

The old rust bucket planter 

Roses

Peonies, that’s how you know it’s Memorial Day.

And one of the butterflies we raised with our grandson, Pilot. It’s our second batch of Painted Lady caterpillars. We successfully hatched four and released them to the world. 

They flew off to their own fate, like we all do.

Happy Memorial Day!

Playing With Ponies

 

During Tumbleweed’s recovery from colic, I had an epiphany’ish moment, and it was this: I care about him too much to write about him in a way that minimizes the heart of his story and our journey together. 

I decided that I would either close up the blog or only post more rarely and allow his story to breathe and take shape. I settled on a weekly reflection. 

Every Monday I will try to post a thought or two. 

My thought for this Monday is regarding a Warwick Schiller webinar I attended this weekend on horses and separation anxiety. 

It was really good and informative, and he began it this way:

“Separation anxiety is anxiety and anxiety isn’t anything someone wants to have. Your perspective when you’re working on this stuff will have a huge effect on the outcome. So when I’m doing this work with horses, I’m NOT trying to fix the problem. The horse doesn’t have a problem. The horse does not feel safe, and they need to be helped. The intention behind any action can change the action. If you do something for a certain reason, it comes across one way, and if you do something for another reason, it comes across another way.”

From that beginning framework he shared his ideas on how to help a horse through separation anxiety, the most common form of it being a horse who is left behind by a buddy. 

——-

For the last couple of weeks, we have taken an approach to separation that is much more subtle and slow. 

If Epona is working, I ride Tweed off and away, then back, then away. 

If we’re on the trail, we practice leading and following. Epona might drop pretty far behind, get much further ahead, or we might ride them side-by-side. So far Tumbleweed has done exceptionally well, as has Epona, who seems made for trail riding. 

It’s so fun to have both of our “babies” on the trail together now. It feels different, like we’re not “working” anymore, but instead, we’re playing—playing with our sweet ponies. 

A Deeper Connection

 

It has been over two weeks since my last post.

Two weeks ago, Sunday, Tumbleweed came in from pasture with a gas colic. That set off three days of fear as I waited and prayed his system would return to normal. Hourly checks. Watered down food and mashes with as much as salt as he would tolerate (per doctor’s orders). And time.

He recovered quickly, but the vet told me it takes about three days for their systems to return to normal, and that proved to be true.

We got back to work slowly and have had several wonderful trail rides. Not surprisingly, the time together bonded us more deeply. He has done his best rides since his colic.

I took him off chasteberry during that waiting period, and I probably won’t put him back on. He’s doing too well to need it.

More time in saddle, and out in the big world meeting people (and donkeys) has made Tweed a budding lead trail horse.

Epona is starting on the trails, and he enjoys leading her. He seems to be taking care of her, in his own way, by being more mature.

I’ve decided that Tumbleweed’s desire to take care of his mares is natural and noble. Here he is with his five girls. 

And here he is after he settled from Epona riding away from him. He didn’t like it, at first, but became resigned and cocked a leg. (What more could I ask for? Good boy!!)

And that’s how we have handled buddy sour lately, the natural way. Give them jobs and let the natural process unfold. 

Our training is largely finished with Tumbleweed, but the new plan is to use him to bring Epona along on the trails. (My daughter riding Epona above).

We will keep doing what we’ve been doing, lots and lots of trail exposure and longer and longer rides. I’ve found the longer the ride, the better he does. 

His fitness level is just off the charts this year with all the early work he got. Katie said that he has finally matured into his body. 

For example, he knows how to use his body up and down hills. Last year he was still a bit goofy in his body, and that led to some insecurity on his part (and mine.). But that is gone. I feel like I have a horse underneath me now. A horse who can lead out and go wherever we need to go.

One of my rides was with a friend’s horse who I rode with last year and had issues. What a difference. He didn’t pay any attention to what that mare was doing or how far she fell behind. It was just me and him, and he went wherever I pointed. He was still a bit looky, but a good kind of looky, the kind that lessens with exposure. The kind that listens to me for reassurance.

Maybe it took a colic to get us to this partnership. Maybe those hourly barn checks bonded us in a deeper way. If so, I guess I’m thankful for it. 

I will leave off with a few images of our spring. 

This crabapple tree we planted two years ago stopped us in our tracks everyday while it bloomed. We could also see it from our front windows. 

What a gift. 

A last bleeding heart. 

Summer snowflake 

Kwanzan Cherry. 

Summer snowflake 

Apple tree blossoms

Blue vinca