Slow and Steady Wins the Race

 Day one back to working with Tumbleweed was all about showing me his moves. 

Which I have to say, for sitting around all winter, they were quite impressive.

In fact, my herd is so old and decrepit, he and Epona are the only ones who have moves like this left anymore.

And they know it.

Epona wants her some Tumbleweed, but she is being babysat by Cowboy. (I love to watch the elders manage the wildness of the young ones.)

Oops, it's not working anymore. Epona has eyes on the bucking, running, young stud gelding.

However, Tumbleweed has his own elder babysitter, Little Joe.

After much running around and whinnying by Epona, old mama, Cowgirl, had to come to do the babysitting.

Yet, eventually, the inevitable occurred, and Epona grazed with Tumbleweed over the fence.

Today was day 2, and shockingly calm. Tumbleweed got all of his moves out yesterday, and he was very pleasant on the lead line today. I worked with him at the walk and trot, disengaging, and over obstacles, and he did everything I asked without any drama, so I released him much earlier than I had planned. 

My attitude is this: take it slow and reward him if he's calm. I'm not trying to "push his buttons," or "work out the buck," or anything like that. There will be plenty of situations very soon that will push his buttons and work out the buck without me having to even try. Right now, I just want him to be okay leaving his little mare herd and joining up with me. So far, so good.

I have a lesson with Rebecca Friday, and I'll be building on this each day until then. I hope to be back in saddle by Friday, but we will see. No rush.

I had forgotten how physical working with horses is. During the winter I kept walking, cleaning stalls (of course) and I'd be happy to get in 14,000 steps a day. Yesterday, first day back working with Tweed and taking a normal, short hike, cleaning house, stalls, etc.--20,000 steps. It's very physical work keeping up with young horses.

Spring Project: Spruce up the Barn, But...

We built our barn right after we purchased our house, which was almost 16 years ago. I have drug my feet on finishing it. This spring, we're getting ready to tackle the barn, and I am paralyzed, yet again, with the decisions about breezeway flooring, stalls, and stall fronts. 

For every option, there is a pro and a con. Currently, the breezeway is a dirt floor, and a dirt floor, though not attractive, is extremely safe and comfortable for the horses. The stalls are the same. They are dirt floors with lots of woodchips. The horses love it, and it allows me to customize them. Cowboy is old and arthritic, as was Old Red, and for them I mound up dirt so that it is at a steep incline. When they lay down, it makes it very easy for them to get back up. The stalls are harder to clean and the woodchips cost a small fortune, but again, au natural has many pro's. Attractiveness is not one of them, but comfort certainly is.

Decisions, decisions.

I'm tempted to use concrete in the breezeway and tack room. It's easy to clean, and it's simple. I can place our rubber mats over the portions where they are tied, as we do now. The con of concrete floors is that they are slick, but rubber mats would help with that. 

I just read of another option, popcorn asphalt. It has better traction and is more porous to allow water and urine to permeate.

Have any of you had experience with popcorn asphalt?

As for stalls, I'm pretty sure I want to build them up and use stall mats. Dirt, gravel layer, mats--or something like that. I'll let my husband research the base of the stall floors. But I may keep a couple of them natural for the older horses, or perhaps, clay flooring, that is also moldable?

The stall fronts will probably be wood with a yoke opening. The reason I haven't already done the stall fronts is because we need to take them off to bring in more dirt, and our tractor is big. Permanent stall fronts will make removal much more difficult. Kind of makes me think that if we do the stall fronts, we will have to also do the stall floors so that they don't need that kind of semi-annual maintenance.

The easiest decision of all is about the tack room. We'll definitely go with concrete in there. I'm most looking forward to that project, because it's the most straightforward. I know what I want and need, but it's harder to know what the horses would like best, since they can't talk.

I welcome your thoughts and experiences with barns as I, hopefully, finally, make these decisions.

The Winter Wisdom of Also Me

Me: It's gloomy outside. Looks cold. Looks wet. Looks bad.

Also me: Well, you do choose to live in the Northwest.

Me: Did you hear the part about cold and gloomy?

Also me: Yes, but you have Bogs and wool socks and shirts and gloves. Damn girl, you even have a cozy NorthFace parka that you can't stop wearing to the barn! Layer up, and you'll feel warm and toasty.

Me: Yet, I'm lacking the joy in "joyful movement." I'm all about that nowadays. I don't "exercise," I hike. I don't go to the gym, I dance around my kitchen.

Also me: Objects at rest stay at rest. Get up and move, and get out and explore, the joy will come.

Me: Well, even the horses don't like it, and they are all about joyful movement and dance.

Also me: That's not really true. They dislike heat and flies even more. Remember Cowboy and Tweed running in the snow yesterday? Wasn't that joyful movement, even for old Cowboy?

Me: Yes, that was a magical moment. And when the fog lifted and the sun finally shined down on us at the end of the day. Glorious.

Also me: There's beauty to be found everyday, despite the weather. You can't change weather. It's part of life and the cold and fog help you appreciate the sun.

Me: Had I not listened to you, I wouldn't have seen Cowboy and Tumbleweed chasing each other in the snow, or Epona and Tweed tustling over the fence, or been able to bring Little Joe in and pamper him for the afternoon, or hike with my lover, or spread woodchips and spent hay to make the paths more stable for the herd. I wouldn't have been there to feel the sun when it finally broke through the fog. 

You're very wise, Also me. 

Tumbleweed's First Float & These Beautiful Days

Yesterday was Tumbleweed's first teeth float. Our vet runs a special every year in February for 10% off to try to get ahead of maintenance care before the really busy foaling season starts up. We called Wednesday, and they were willing to come out Thursday, that's how open their schedule is right now. In a month, you'll be lucky to get one out in three weeks.

So, Tumbleweed has a perfect jaw for chewing in a circular motion, as they should. Yay. He had sharp points. No surprise. They all do. And he had a baby tooth that was loose, and was pulled to allow the permanent tooth to make its way in.

He was such a good boy during the whole physical and teeth float. While he was sedated they also gave him his vaccinations. He is ready for the big world of travel and training.  My vet said as he was finishing up, "Now, there will be no excuses." So true. But so far, he hasn't ever provided enough bad behavior to need an excuse anyway. He's a good boy.

Epona was next, and she also got a short physical and vaccinations. There had been some conjecture that her growth might be stunted a bit from her rough start, but our vet said she isn't showing any signs of that. He said she'll mature to 15.3 or 16 hands, so no growth stunt there. My daughter was a little disappointed with that news, as she'd been hoping for a shorter horse this time around. At the same time, she was relieved that Epona has come through this unscathed.

I had been cleaning out my tack room before they arrived and found unopened bags and buckets of milk replacer powder and pellets. I sent them off with the vets to give to some others who might be in need this season. Sadly, there will always be a few orphan foals. My heart goes out to those in that situation. 

After the teeth float, we put Cowboy and Tumbleweed out for a day of sun and fun, and then we went on another hike with Lucy. You may wonder why Piper doesn't come along, and it's because she is terrified of getting in cars. Loki had a bad shoulder, and he didn't like getting in and out of vehicles, so he passed that onto her.

There was sunshine.

Lots of snow and ice.

And Lucy found a souvenir she tried to take home.

Today is another lovely day of sunshine, so we will be trying to find another hike, maybe go to breakfast at Chaps (my favorite restaurant I wrote about a few blog posts ago), and enjoy this wonderful day together.

Life is good.

Speaking Horse

The experience I had the other night with Cowgirl and Epona, her first night back, got me thinking about how much we understand what our horses say. I translated the moment into human language, based upon what I heard from their whinnies, and how they responded to the whinnies. Each was short, and soft:

Epona: "I'm okay."

Cowgirl: "I'm here." 

Each horse was comforted by the other, and each remained calm. I cried tears of happiness to be part of that moment and know what it meant, and how deeply each felt it. I was allowed to be a temporary conduit between them. If not that, at least a witness.

I fully understand that it is a bit of anthropomorphizing on my part, but it's not far off from what they were communicating to each other in that moment. It was a rare glimpse into our shared communication styles However, there is much that remains a mystery to me about how they communicate, and I often miss signals I should have received--and get the interpretation too late. 

I was leading Tweed away from the herd yesterday, when he pulled back suddenly, and tried to break away to go back to them. He has only ever done that once before, on one of our long walks away from the herd. I'm always ready for it, but I wasn't wearing gloves, so I did get a teensy burning sensation on my palm. If I hadn't been prepared, it was one of those moments that could have ripped my hand off. I got to his side quickly, setting him off balance, brought him back to me, patted his neck, and proceeded to walk him to his stall.

What did I miss? I think it's safe to guess I missed a lot of signs leading up to it. I've been too singularly focused on Epona and Cowgirl, and not tuning into the rest of the herd.

Last night, I went to work with him at dusk--when it had cooled down. He was grumpy. We did what we needed to do, on the ground, and then I groomed him and returned him to his stall. At that point, I was super tuned into him. I noticed his eyes were hard--a look of worry. Then, I saw that his manure was loose--a possible sign of stress. I responded by giving him Pro-bios, spending time in his stall comforting him, and bringing Foxy into the barn, in the stall next to him, said goodnight, and hoped for the best.

This morning, he was a happier horse, and his manure was forming again. I locked up Cowgirl, who we're trying to keep out of sight of Epona, and let him back out with the herd.

Remember that study a few years ago about horse expressions, and how horses share more expressions with humans than even dogs do? That's pretty amazing. And it gives us a lot to work with when trying to 'Speak Horse.'

I will say this, the few people I know who are exceptionally good at 'speaking horse,' my trainer Sarah, for one, are more quickly accepted by horses. I'm certain our horses take comfort when we begin to understand what they're saying. It reminds me of human toddlers who haven't developed language, but are trying to make their needs clear. Misunderstanding leads to many a tantrum.

I am constantly trying to learn about their language, to earn their trust, and to help them before it's too big, or too late, but it's a slow process. Even when we get it right, the corresponding action--what do we do to address what we see--is equally complicated. Sometimes, when we think we're helping, we're hurting. 

And this brings me to the issue of raising an 'orphan foal.' The best of us at 'speaking horse' are just not that good at it. We are no replacement for an actual horse. What we see as being mean, can actual be a comfort to a foal. What we see as being loving, can actually make them insecure. 

I had several auditions for Epona's caretaker yesterday--Cowboy, Tumbleweed, and Leah. By the end of the day, I circled back to Cowboy, because 1/ Tweed isn't ready to be separated from the herd, and it caused him more stress and 2/ Cowboy likes to be separated from the herd, and he loves having his own stall and lots of food. Leah didn't take much interest in Epona, and was happy to be put back out. She may not want to intrude on the Cowgirl / Epona connection. 

And here is where it gets weird--anthropomorphizing alert!--I had a talk with Cowboy about being Epona's caregiver. I don't know why, but it just seemed right. He was staring at me, and I felt like talking, so we had a conversation about how he is the perfect guy for the job. He'll get his stall, and his food, and a sweet little companion who needs him. I told him that as an orphan foal himself, he might sympathize with little Epona missing her mama. And I went on and on, like that, with his full attention, and I think, understanding. The tone. The eyes. The intention. It sometimes all comes together in our communication and understanding. After all, if we can understand them, why is it hard to believe they can understand us, too?

At any rate, they spent the night next to each other again, and I saw them being very sweet to each other through the bars of their enclosures. Maybe I'm misreading it, or maybe not. Time will tell.  But I kinda think Cowboy agreed to the terms of  his new employment.