tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73199866083512818982024-03-05T21:32:50.907-05:00Travels With Harleylmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.comBlogger310125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-21430933235402459522022-10-30T20:51:00.004-04:002022-11-10T20:57:01.907-05:00What's next for us?<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hZ-7trLrAt2uGkmN0e8GMrei0nUTRzuImIMNT498SItvcjfPuoSnjSIV2_hnG6ElBQUMbiFM9cRO-65OZXgfOjSxh_8q83E4T4OLavFkFsDZirHPUoQANhkdgF-Fn9pdTepsm2wNVUS9R1rGbkQxu-7wrsOPKLax8lNAMa83kAU48QzC3YBZcLq23Q/s3264/Carrot%20break%20for%20Harley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hZ-7trLrAt2uGkmN0e8GMrei0nUTRzuImIMNT498SItvcjfPuoSnjSIV2_hnG6ElBQUMbiFM9cRO-65OZXgfOjSxh_8q83E4T4OLavFkFsDZirHPUoQANhkdgF-Fn9pdTepsm2wNVUS9R1rGbkQxu-7wrsOPKLax8lNAMa83kAU48QzC3YBZcLq23Q/w480-h640/Carrot%20break%20for%20Harley.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrot break for Harley</td></tr></tbody></table></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><br /> </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">My brave boy, Halawa Moon, will complete 250 hours towards his next level of the Jockey Club's Recreational Riding Incentive Program very soon with only 17 hours remaining. Due to aging and arthritic changes, we may never reach the next step of 500 hours, and most of it will be done at an easy walk. But since we're both aging together, we keep our goals simple and do as much as we see fit on any given outing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm still amazed that I'm riding the same horse I started this journey with 12 years ago! The first time I tried to go on a trail ride, he spooked at a lawn mower and tossed me to the ground. Now, I'm sauntering through the woods with no reins or stirrups, taking videos of our rides. He's developed so much confidence over the years it boggles my mind. What a great partnership we have now.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwvGU2GKT8kQx90Ugnb8_s9badpl9J3PkDjm-3nYpXuVZz67RyOxlJ-S2nQRZ157vVu9-jqbsrwa_v6HBlCPQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div>Other changes are coming our way soon. Hopefully, our own mini farm, and retirement giving me, and John, even more quality time with the horses, in and out of the saddle. <br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-71273203728427968332022-02-20T15:29:00.002-05:002022-02-20T15:31:36.697-05:00The old man passes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSkpKqWFXfMfQkBDHsomw9q0Tk0iHe1lSUWN8GU1iqMNMHEQ8MuaJUCgIthoEuz-Uw60NW_opfZBnM5yD5tRHZz7jwjv4YRowCwZZCTSQcDEnEaFfD3rqzV77UxkYRXDzvdNC_9foHwnkypJOz2lKd5DIvb2CzMzyVbLcFzBzFsIutt0cLRD_gbT-vUw=s2420" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2420" data-original-width="1815" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSkpKqWFXfMfQkBDHsomw9q0Tk0iHe1lSUWN8GU1iqMNMHEQ8MuaJUCgIthoEuz-Uw60NW_opfZBnM5yD5tRHZz7jwjv4YRowCwZZCTSQcDEnEaFfD3rqzV77UxkYRXDzvdNC_9foHwnkypJOz2lKd5DIvb2CzMzyVbLcFzBzFsIutt0cLRD_gbT-vUw=s600" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vance in the blizzard<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">February 10th, I got to the barn in the morning and found Vance down in his stall, nickering for help. I don't know how long he was down; I can only hope it wasn't for very long. When I opened the stall door, he struggled again to get up, but with his hindquarters lower than his front, and with his compromised joints, he just couldn't do it alone. I phoned John to come help and after finagling some ropes and slings we tried, to no avail. We called the vet, then proceeded to take the stall wall down so we could get him in a more open area and a better position to try and haul him up. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As we waited for the vet, Vance rested, eyes closed. I think we both knew he was done trying. His old joints just couldn't do what he wanted them to do. He was tired. When the vet arrived, we agreed--it was time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vance Lustre, a New Zealand bred pacer, landed at Pete's after running his last race at a fair. He lived out his days eating and bossing the herd at Pete's, including our 3 Thoroughbreds. He made it to the amazing age of 37, still showing off his trot every now and then when our gang got him going. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">With Rolex down in Kentucky, it's been a quiet winter for the boys: just Harley and Vance. They weathered the blizzard, with Vance was none too happy to be cooped up for 18 hours, as the snow swirled and drifted around the barn . The next evening, under a sky illuminated with rose and gold, Vance walked towards the far end of the field, as if to say, "You're not putting me in that barn for another 18 hours!" But once he realized Harley was headed inside, he turned around and met me at the bottom of the hill for carrots.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vance looked like a teddy bear in winter, thick black fuzz, and a curly, bushy forelock. Snow was for rolling in, especially first thing in the morning after being let out. As he aged, he usually managed to place himself strategically so he could get up without too much trouble. He could be a curmudgeon, chasing everyone away from the feed buckets, as he sampled them all, just to remind them who was the boss hoss. His ankles were size of coconuts from a life spent racing, from New Zealand to New York, and eventually, to Maine. He learned to beg for carrots from watching Harley. I'd stand between them, each butting me with their noses, asking for another carrot. He liked having his face groomed and would drop his head to lean into the brush. With each passing year, more grey and white appeared on his face. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Rest easy, Vance, and say hello to Ruffy for me. She's waiting for you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY5PDzZlM4q9EDptgVFt47HfBrJc4jIWBxX_BhJQyVg7J6-5G6teA1EeJQzcBLDAtGCtvbQDemi6PkX-Yc57xwbipfwKrjOYLFopjge4erDSBmnYup5pIT7hpo0VCrvIf5hmZLqQAQboylMj4hDe5sOatuuuBJwDb7S0BzumBRS3okgGiGOAsOZmqDnA=s1835" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1267" data-original-width="1835" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiY5PDzZlM4q9EDptgVFt47HfBrJc4jIWBxX_BhJQyVg7J6-5G6teA1EeJQzcBLDAtGCtvbQDemi6PkX-Yc57xwbipfwKrjOYLFopjge4erDSBmnYup5pIT7hpo0VCrvIf5hmZLqQAQboylMj4hDe5sOatuuuBJwDb7S0BzumBRS3okgGiGOAsOZmqDnA=w640-h442" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vance and Ruffy - 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div>
lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-58849710866655911632021-08-05T06:41:00.001-04:002021-08-05T06:41:34.919-04:00Tuesday mornings with Harley<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dybsRfHcu3UNS45mfHl1Jf6iIFR8hvkRyUJnQc8Mc4Q46nzIjyEyT8L4yvjaFQ40fpot05MkxJJKlTpch6vqQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-52425621815400956152021-02-22T21:41:00.000-05:002021-02-22T21:41:50.455-05:00Fresh Tracks...And a Trap<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUQ9RA14mIxti16wFrQBbbY9EvVC4NTdZr9BPkFeQ9ZhdO4RD8DBHA505U0LPKJpnYJeBmtHimm-TA2LkdDsv13hFN_8j1VDjDick_IU86o7Ox0bSqWprOsCWzU0cXPhrCOzGs8Wnk1bs/s2048/PSX_Snow+tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGUQ9RA14mIxti16wFrQBbbY9EvVC4NTdZr9BPkFeQ9ZhdO4RD8DBHA505U0LPKJpnYJeBmtHimm-TA2LkdDsv13hFN_8j1VDjDick_IU86o7Ox0bSqWprOsCWzU0cXPhrCOzGs8Wnk1bs/w360-h640/PSX_Snow+tunnel.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><p>A fresh snowfall over all the frozen ice offered some more lovely skiing. Although it was a fluffy few inches, it freshened up our winter world. Once again, my determination to beat the crowds rewarded me with fresh snow, fresh tracks, and no other people.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;">I started shoveling the drive at the barn, but John insisted I stop (especially since it aggravates my tendonitis) and go skiing instead. He didn't have to insist too hard!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Blue wax, with a some blue extra to go, seemed to be the waxes for the day. I stocked my pack with camera, phone, spare mitts, spare shells, windbreaker, vest and water. The top of the pasture was tricky--frozen manure and exposed rocks--but I managed to maneover my way for a straight schuss down along the fenceline to the logging road. I floated over the new snow in the morning sun, just beginning to peak over the eastern ridge. The horses watched me glide by, Vance even making a move to follow me, but turned and cantered back to the gang.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I grinned and said, "YES!" as I approached the empty parking lot, knowing I would have fresh, unbroken snow and no pandemic hordes to ski around, forcing me to "mask up". I had my mask handy, in my pants pocket, but thankfully,did not need to pull it out.</p><div style="text-align: left;">Snowshoers and hikers left big frozen divets in the trail--a far cry from the lovely skiing on packed powder I'd experienced the last time.</div><div style="text-align: left;">My skis jumped around the peaks and valleys pocking the trail. I tried to ski on the edge, but the entire trail had been tracked out, leaving no place else to go. Once I reached the fork to Big Bump, I veered off, hoping less traffic had mangled the trail. I made up my mind to decend down the power line to avoid the lumpy, bumpy run back through Orris Falls. I called John to let him know where I would exit on the off chance he drove down to the trail head to pick me up. Turns out, that was a good thing.</div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBPEcfdTYBHbJanPnxqTIZSRgbSpLC0-dv9c3qL-dQmCTB0CL9GsZnl9xmdTWnE8RvsqOPf7eyv2_THBOt4Gr8kKKRbPScgBUIf2v3uzerTB-NhGxWocswBI_PPLwenL50snC1Lqa80sH/s2048/PSX_Fresh+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1361" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBPEcfdTYBHbJanPnxqTIZSRgbSpLC0-dv9c3qL-dQmCTB0CL9GsZnl9xmdTWnE8RvsqOPf7eyv2_THBOt4Gr8kKKRbPScgBUIf2v3uzerTB-NhGxWocswBI_PPLwenL50snC1Lqa80sH/w426-h640/PSX_Fresh+tracks.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I zig-zagged my way down the power line, crossing animal trails everywhere. A large deer yard under some hemlocks showed recent activity. Snowshoe hare tracks, tiny mouse trails, hunting fox prints, and plunging squirrel divets all showed the diversity of the wildlife that calls this area home.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I reached the top of the hillside, I opted for "Harley's route" which avoids the rock-strewn, washed out path along the power line. His route, easier on the old knees, traverses the hill. With a few kick-turns, some side slipping, and careful maneovering, I'd almost made it when I missed a turn and headed right at some exposed barbed wire snaking around a tree. I yelled out "Barbed wire", hoping my skis would miss it, but no, one ski caught the wire and sent me flying face forward. John laughed, I laughed, and said, "Can you give me hand? I'm stuck." Lesson learned: always carry wire cutters when skiing old hill pastures!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMe2YysCYKjXRQIgCA7kgXHHJhGjVXq2Kp97aa76EljKwFUNPUEV3hk4DJ69wAZQySDoP-qJUPuZgHtXGertfWoqq-Juke9lOYt0-14rXgZb_Bcnuu-k7udE7j-v-tuKyvTFyPXiPur9dg/s2048/PSX_Barbed+wire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1343" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMe2YysCYKjXRQIgCA7kgXHHJhGjVXq2Kp97aa76EljKwFUNPUEV3hk4DJ69wAZQySDoP-qJUPuZgHtXGertfWoqq-Juke9lOYt0-14rXgZb_Bcnuu-k7udE7j-v-tuKyvTFyPXiPur9dg/w420-h640/PSX_Barbed+wire.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table></p>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-12333614991480133892021-02-18T17:17:00.001-05:002021-02-18T17:17:37.234-05:00Winter Fun Without the Horses<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtoZF9-0a__2ti_eJLwLKcMicOoSbtR3v4Ww5m4-ZZKa34tgkY70kHCrJPLUF8NxwehbuXqe4LP2mUO-iHxjmD29p64An7pdrj3LRVrMHmEWdLfayfbk3o3a_vMmgN4S-7I32fbYpnZkv/s2048/PSX_Fast+skis+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtoZF9-0a__2ti_eJLwLKcMicOoSbtR3v4Ww5m4-ZZKa34tgkY70kHCrJPLUF8NxwehbuXqe4LP2mUO-iHxjmD29p64An7pdrj3LRVrMHmEWdLfayfbk3o3a_vMmgN4S-7I32fbYpnZkv/w225-h400/PSX_Fast+skis+%25281%2529.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>What do you do when the trails are not conducive to riding? Get out the skis! We've had some wonderful snow conditions for skiing, but the trails are not packed enough for riding. Rather than putting a lot of stress on Harley's joints, I put it on mine instead!<p></p><p>I beat the pandemic crowds at Orris Falls, skis waxed and ready to go by 8:30 a.m. The conditions were perfect for my favorite set of skis; the Epokes. Rub on the wax and they're ready to glide. </p><p>The climb up to Big Bump got the heart rate going. I enjoyed the peace and quiet broken only by a hairy woodpecker tap, tapping on an oak tree. If I wanted to see more wildlife, I should have gotten an earlier start. </p><p>The descent, down the two steep pitches provided thrills and only one spill. And once I hit the flats, I even got in some skate skiing!</p><p>A mixed bag of weather arrived a few days later, ruining the snow and turning everything to ice. Then a deep freeze locked the footing up solid. We'll have to wait for a fresh snowfall to blanket the wood before the next outing.</p>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-17372802561452831552020-12-07T18:57:00.003-05:002020-12-07T21:18:08.544-05:00Precious and Fragile<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOElSzr_R9UjjjIG5vMuGCePMsIY-zCBM43OSj9I0yBY_wWjMfG74YPewU-EYjiG6XcBl19nJXpP7RbZdmWhg5Pmc0uxFpATnhuwhghgTFlKxnHyOeP4-YzVgELiAtMOvhKuNYOjryd6W/s1876/Miss+Ruffy+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="1330" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOElSzr_R9UjjjIG5vMuGCePMsIY-zCBM43OSj9I0yBY_wWjMfG74YPewU-EYjiG6XcBl19nJXpP7RbZdmWhg5Pmc0uxFpATnhuwhghgTFlKxnHyOeP4-YzVgELiAtMOvhKuNYOjryd6W/w284-h400/Miss+Ruffy+.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>We lost one of our herd November 17th. Ruffy was fighting what was thought to be Lyme disease, but complications ensued. Six days after treating her with Doxycycline and flunixin meglumine, she went into shock. We put her down on a cold dark night under spitting rain and snow pellets.<p></p><p>Horses are such amazing animals: full of power, grace, and beauty, yet fragile. We get on the back of a thousand pound animal and ask this creature to carry us, performing feats of atheleticism. Their fragility is incongruous to their size and strength. We humans do our damndest to keep them healthy and safe. But despite our dilligence, we still lose them to injury and illness.</p><p>The weight of holding Ruffy's head as she staggered from her stall left a bruise on my shoulder, and in my heart. This was my first experience euthanizing a horse---our horse, and the images imprinted on my brain resurface every night, sometimes just as I close my eyes, sometimes waking me at 2:30 in the dark, still room. Crying into my pillow, I relive those last days. Did we miss something? Did we wait too long to call the vet again? Could we have saved her?</p><p>Ruffy (known as This Chic's Got It by the Jockey Club), our big 16 hand off-track Thoroughbred, by Vicar, out of Miss Ella, spent her days as a pasture pet more than a riding horse due to physical limitations. She was only 13, with years ahead, I'd hoped. I'll always cherish my one ride on her--feeling her broad chest and powerful body under me. She passed her days as girlfriend to Vance Lustre, the old retired Standardbred who never returned that infatuation, or so I thought. But lately, he spends a number of hours standing by the gate into the field where she's buried. So maybe he does miss her. </p><p>Horses are like elephants; they remember. The herd knew one was missing the next day. Harley whinnied for her down in the pasture. They followed, like a funeral procession, as we laid her to rest. I think Harley is still checking for her at night. He walks down the barn aisle, sticks his head in her stall, then walks back to his stall, recognizing she's not there. They're a tight herd, just like a family, and they know one is gone.</p><p>Farewell, Ruffy. Run with the best, my good girl.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDcN457V34a43-gsoKmzEJy4TCEGJQHK1FwiUPIRnaphP4NH8mka8-HWss2VMYLdoNliA_-pBrJgKMzuBmQ-BwcmZ3pphyFchtotvUkJoaVq5DFee8QJmPSQdxnpphBkHIhBl6GlEfgRS/s2048/Ruffy+heading+to+pasture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDcN457V34a43-gsoKmzEJy4TCEGJQHK1FwiUPIRnaphP4NH8mka8-HWss2VMYLdoNliA_-pBrJgKMzuBmQ-BwcmZ3pphyFchtotvUkJoaVq5DFee8QJmPSQdxnpphBkHIhBl6GlEfgRS/w640-h480/Ruffy+heading+to+pasture.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-24349225276057807852020-08-29T17:17:00.001-04:002020-08-29T17:40:23.014-04:00Different Directions<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ds5_VABqTYcco2JqjiYu5HSHzMkMOP2xXr8wiGcHuH24fzR2idMUaG94sIEd93zFGQYWraZt0oeQ8Z9PigkRgU6e38nzUT_0INDTMfYapr7746ffnMv4HLUEQWxhHZpgCnqNrSyHEFQh/s2048/Halawa+Moon+heading+down+Secret+Trail+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ds5_VABqTYcco2JqjiYu5HSHzMkMOP2xXr8wiGcHuH24fzR2idMUaG94sIEd93zFGQYWraZt0oeQ8Z9PigkRgU6e38nzUT_0INDTMfYapr7746ffnMv4HLUEQWxhHZpgCnqNrSyHEFQh/w600-h800/Halawa+Moon+heading+down+Secret+Trail+%25281%2529.jpg" width="600" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading down the Secret Trail<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A few brisk nights put some spring in our steps this week. Harley jogged out to the road before I even had the girth snugged up. I felt re-energized to, despite foot pain that's plagued me for months now. With the oppresive heat and humidity gone, we were ready for an adventure. An aging woman on her aging OTTB pranced down the road, headed out for a morning trail ride before the remaining summer bugs decided to test the temperature and hunt for breakfast. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I let Harley choose the route, although I did have to give him some guidance when he tried bushwhacking into the woods, convinced he was on a trail....yes, a game trail, with no overhead clearance for riders! He felt good enough to trot up a few hills, where the footing is soft and easy on his joints. I can appreciate that, between my old knees, and my bum foot, hiking hasn't been in the cards since May. A shorter, gentler ride fit the bill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When Harley and I headed down our first trails together, it was a toss-up whether I'd make it back without us going in different directions. I even rode with a long rope off his halter as a way to hang on, should I come off and lose the reins. Harley's incredible left-hand spin sent me into the dirt the first time I attempted to ride outside the ring--a giant spook over a little lawn mower. These days, I'm able to ride on the buckle, while shooting pictures and video. But as each week passes, I'm afraid I've missed any opportunity to do much more than gentle trail rides with Harley. I had high hopes of participating in organized trail rides, maybe a Le Trec event, or even a rinky-dink show. But time and age have changed our course. So we'll go for little lollygags with an occasional trot or canter if Harley wants to step up the pace. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Rolex Girl is waiting in the wings; a smart, sassy Thoroughbred that is awesome on the trails. But she needs continuous work--something John and I have neglected this year. Fall is coming, and so is another week's vacation. Maybe that will be the time to throw a leg over Rolex, head for the hills, and begin to develop a partnership with her. Who knows, as this pandemic erupts again, we may all be home-bound for the fall and winter--a perfect opportunity for us.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've felt rudderless this spring and summer, wafting back and forth over decisions for our future. With the country holding its breath until November 3d, and the pandemic still spiking in some spots, it's been hard to make concrete decisions. So I take each week as it comes. We have our winter supply of hay, and I get a feeling of warmth, looking at the stacked bales, knowing our horses will be well-fed through the cold months ahead. I'll top off the oil tank, order wood bricks for the wood stove, and start restocking the pantry in case events take a turn for the worse. The uncertainty of what lies ahead, and which direction this country will head only compounds my apprehension. I still won't give up the dream of a small farm, near excellent trail riding, with a view of the mountains, somewhere in Vermont.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl02FCYMa4yQhLTV87z8I3C5B-4MCIYBQNMnHBYtYzkjTCpmsuWN6Mxf2vU_RDtLyRBLSED_bjTPMnUQ4ndcZK8zd2Vf6jqzOA2mAA1URs7QRz9eU6WfJ4r1fReF1bzQlD59Gqan0hfh6a/s2866/Sneaky+Harley.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2866" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl02FCYMa4yQhLTV87z8I3C5B-4MCIYBQNMnHBYtYzkjTCpmsuWN6Mxf2vU_RDtLyRBLSED_bjTPMnUQ4ndcZK8zd2Vf6jqzOA2mAA1URs7QRz9eU6WfJ4r1fReF1bzQlD59Gqan0hfh6a/w506-h640/Sneaky+Harley.jpg" width="506" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Harley stealing the carrot bag</div></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-45049677542474649262020-08-21T10:34:00.003-04:002020-08-21T10:38:28.534-04:00Slogging Through Summer (With a Pandemic)<p></p><div style="text-align: right;"></div><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtcyYC_2urZ1LFBJgHALn0_SZi9DLxVF1lOUodI63JqobpL4pPZZpCGhk5VnGfk7M4n2-zi2qSayI5WLrXw2Wr8v5xdIk0a6lZxTAKleLAkVAlKlwQlnI-kajNXSv-xPdO7A9rqhQng8y/s3264/Harley+%2526+Rolex+drinking.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="641" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtcyYC_2urZ1LFBJgHALn0_SZi9DLxVF1lOUodI63JqobpL4pPZZpCGhk5VnGfk7M4n2-zi2qSayI5WLrXw2Wr8v5xdIk0a6lZxTAKleLAkVAlKlwQlnI-kajNXSv-xPdO7A9rqhQng8y/w481-h641/Harley+%2526+Rolex+drinking.jpg" width="481" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harley & Rolex re-hydrating<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span>My summer grinds on with hot, humid days, steamy nights, and no rain in sight. The horses' coats have bleached out, stiff with salt by late afternoon, as they suffer through sweltering days. I don't ride; it's too hot. Our horses enjoy evening baths to wash away the day's sweat and dust, with a final spritz of bug spray to keep the insects at bay. The ritual begins again, tomorrow morning: feed, hay, water, pick pasture, fly spray. Head off to work, hot and sweaty by 8:30.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span>The deer flies bar us from the woods, their endless swarms making the trails an undesirable location. At least the barn flies have not been too bad, whether this is due to the ongoing drought, or the fact that fewer horses reside here this summer, I don't know. Quite possibly, it's a combination of both. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span>I'm looking forward to some vacation (one that was cancelled due to COVID-19) time, a week in August and a week in September. Maybe the weather will improve, as will our well-being as a nation. Some peaceful time spent in the saddle, on the tractor, and in the relative calm of home is just what I need.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span>Working through this pandemic has left me anxious and angry. Anxious about staying healthy, angry at the federal government's handling of the pandemic. John and I are sole providers for our horses. We need to be well enough to care for them--not such a worry in the summer when the workload is lighter--but come winter, if we get hit hard again, one of us needs to be able to muck stalls, feed, blanket, etc. etc. This is what keeps me up at night. And we are some of the lucky ones--we have our jobs, we have health insurance, and we have a roof over our heads. The disparity in our population between the haves, and haves not, glares out at us from our screens and on our streets every day. </span></div></td></tr></tbody></table>lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-79300694816371842582020-06-16T18:30:00.001-04:002020-06-16T18:37:02.587-04:00A taste for retirement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As the Covid-19 pandemic grinds on, Maine is reopening to tourism: beaches, vacation rentals, and shopping. The hordes that descended on Orris Falls Preservation only come on weekends now, but I choose my route carefully. I can "social distance" from atop my horse, but it's really a matter or enjoying the woods without clamoring crowds. I suspect these hikers miss a lot of what I'm seeing, purely based on noise and numbers. Mid-week, or early morning offer me the best times to ride, and may be the only time I can access the Orris Falls trail head.<br />
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Last week, John and I saddled up for an evening jaunt and spotted a fox at the forest edge along the power line. A few days ago, I came across a flock of turkeys, and a couple of deer. And there's the birdsong serenades that I use as training for bird identification.<br />
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Meandering along at the pace Harley chooses, I ride on the buckle, taking photos and videos of our adventures; what a life. I could do this all day, every day, if I didn't have to work. And John would do the same! Even working a little, or doing freelance, without the hassle of having to be somewhere by a certain time lessens the stress. And boy, I'd love to have a LOT less stress!<br />
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After 11 weeks working from home, attending online meetings, webinars, and computing on the laptop and phone, I really developed a taste for the freelance gig and no commuting. I multi-tasked to the max! Laundry while I worked on library stuff, bread baking while listening to a webinar...the list goes on. So, this is what life could be like if I was <i>always</i> working from home, or retired!<br />
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Someone else is slowing down, heading towards retirement too. My best boy, Halawa Moon, is now 18. It's hard to believe I've had him 10 years already! Arthritis in his knees limits the amount of time I go out, and the pace. Each ride is Harley's choice. "Where shall we go today, Harley?" An hour and a half is good when he's feeling sparky. If he's up for a little uphill canter, away we go! If it's just a walk, or occasional jog, that's fine too. Yesterday, I decided to jump off for the steep descent down the power line, giving his knees a rest from lugging me around. The trails through Orris Falls have eroded and packed down early this year due to the "pandemic traffic", with the exception of our Secret Trail. John has told me, it may be time to start transitioning to Rolex. She has spunk, and a lot of spring in her step, but we need to develop a partnership like I did with Harley.<br />
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As Harley and I age together, we're mapping out our<br />
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plan. We need to find our own property, where I can stroll out in the evening and check on my herd, give them carrots for dessert, and kiss them on the nose. I want to have the comfort of looking out my window and seeing my horses, happily eating in their pasture. We need a ring for working Rolex, and possibly Ruffy as well. I'm not a big fan of ring riding in my dotage, but some of the basics need to be done in that setting. My one-sided wonder, Harley, will not be forced to endure circling, bending, extending, but I just might create an obstacle course for fun and games, complete with a bridge, pool noodles, and a gate to practice opening and closing while on board. These are required skills for any good trail horse anyway.<br />
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Harley and I reached our Jockey Club Thoroughbred Incentive Program for Recreational Riding 25 hour milestone two years ago. Last year, we reached 100 hours. At this point, I don't plan to push him on for the next mark, 500 hours. We will take each day we get, and enjoy our time together, in, and out ,of the saddle. Watch out Rolex, I just may get a T.I.P. number for you!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John passing out carrots, sneaky Harley stealing the bag!</td></tr>
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-1664769131049935092020-05-29T11:53:00.000-04:002020-07-03T16:01:12.889-04:00Birding By Horseback<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Riding through the woods, I try to identify as many birds as possible by their songs. Rarely do I see the warblers, flitting among the treetops, but occasionally, a wood thrush or ovenbird silently wings past in the deep woods, exposing a brief glimpse of chestnut and white.<br />
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What I need to do, is carry my binoculars, but I also need Harley to stand still while I hone in on the bird I'm seeking. That could be a challenge; he's either ready to turn around and head home, or he's at the point of return and walking at a fast clip. Standing still is not an option!<br />
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On foot, my bird walks allow me to stop, listen, and observe. Riding allows for purely listening and sometimes, a brief glimpse. As the warbler numbers increase, so does my frenzy to get out there and memorize the various calls and songs. It's like learning a new language every spring, the language of birdsong.<br />
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The world of Orris Falls can be broken down into a number of micro-environments; the swamps, the deep conifer woods, the upland deciduous forest, and the open grassy shrub mix of the power line. Within each of these regions, I find different birds. Around the beaver ponds, and amid the swamplands, wood ducks, Canada geese, and veeries can be heard. In the dark hemlock groves, hermit and wood thrushes sing their beautiful, haunting songs coupled with the nasal nuthatch's call and the chickadee's cheery "chickadeedeedee". Up in the treetops of the deciduous woodlands, scarlet tanagers, black-throated green warblers, white-eyed vireos, chestnut-sided warblers, and wood peewees, fly from branch to branch. Every so often, I will hear the scream of a broad-winged hawk, or see its shadow as it flies overhead. In the alder and witch hazel shrubs, I hear ovenbirds, common yellowthroats, and black-throated blue warblers. Emerging from the forest onto the power line, I encounter the "zzziipppp" of the northern parula, the bright flash of the yellow warbler, and "Drink your tea" call of the rufous-sided towhee. Even riding home along the road, I'm serenaded by bluebirds, orioles, and song sparrows.<br />
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I followed the song of a northern parula one day, and only caught a few glimpses of him as he flew from tree to tree. But at home, I was able to study one closely, and, with the help of online photos and guidebooks, came up with this for my Mom's Mother's Day Card:<br />
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-48184052498024330552020-04-22T17:24:00.000-04:002020-05-29T10:38:05.778-04:00Riding Through a Pandemic: Thoughts on Horses and the World Around Me<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmnDAsYARKvtynga-h_Cew0D6xvs9ABaeMw01kmJm-kfdWk2foAgttdkuAPZ8JwXQuzotDwb6uaE-zs_GIaisSiRNhVbIycX_qHfeDJiJYhGR5J5dir6Knv32VYWU19XKgN5j3_vUodT-/s1600/Harley+heading+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1255" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmnDAsYARKvtynga-h_Cew0D6xvs9ABaeMw01kmJm-kfdWk2foAgttdkuAPZ8JwXQuzotDwb6uaE-zs_GIaisSiRNhVbIycX_qHfeDJiJYhGR5J5dir6Knv32VYWU19XKgN5j3_vUodT-/s400/Harley+heading+home.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading home with Harley</td></tr>
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With life nearly shut down around us, I'm grateful for my horses. They allow me to escape the reality of what's happening, except I find myself at the barn at odd times. What am I doing here riding at 9:00 in the morning? Shouldn't I be at the library? With remote work, I'm logging in early to check my emails before heading to the barn, then working into the evenings, listening to webinars, checking emails again, following up on ongoing projects, editing pictures for our library's Facebook posts, and staying caught up with the library's ever-adapting updates for services and plans for our Summer Reading Program.<br />
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So much for social distancing--the endless crowds of people on the trails is overwhelming! The lovely weekend weather has led to so many cars parked up and down the road at the trail head, that the town put up NO PARKING signs in a vain attempt to limit the numbers. If nothing, the Covid-19 pandemic has forced people outdoors to rediscover the natural world around them.<br />
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Harley has proven to be a champ this spring, going solo time and again, even into new territory. He's gained so much confidence over the years. Oh, there may be an occasional spook, but no serious meltdowns. Yesterday, he stopped and tried to turn around a few times, but with urging, he continued down the trail. I think he's missing the company of Rolex. With John's hip pain, riding isn't in the books. So I will try and pick up some extra hours with Rolex when I can, and preferably under John's tutelage. She's a feisty girl with a lot of spunk, and a seriously bad case of spring fever! Here are a few pictures of me riding her, <i>after </i>John longed her--note the safety vest! Now is not the time for an E.R. visit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOu_1JBIRTV009uuFgrlT3Rf7RNU2DFxFzeRSxDLOup49uTip3IaDBZOfn2uo_3f5-kDa3Kl_eqHR-mwJsRA0N9AvyyEdIVKqxANQY2B_YguVuitRJbOImXXHSOrHhQ7KM5N4DyMKn5tMY/s1600/Me+on+Rolex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="1595" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOu_1JBIRTV009uuFgrlT3Rf7RNU2DFxFzeRSxDLOup49uTip3IaDBZOfn2uo_3f5-kDa3Kl_eqHR-mwJsRA0N9AvyyEdIVKqxANQY2B_YguVuitRJbOImXXHSOrHhQ7KM5N4DyMKn5tMY/s640/Me+on+Rolex.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me aboard Rolex Girl </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolex and I at one of our better moments.</td></tr>
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We're into week six of the library closure. Mondays, my department has Monday email meetings, and Fridays we have a library-wide Webex meeting. Last week, I had to go into the library for some website work; eerie best describes the sensation I felt. As we adjust week by week for working, I do the same at home, trying to keep a similar schedule so when we finally do go back, my rhythm won't change. Horses in the early morning, clock in and work, sometimes throwing in household chores as I walk around plugged into my phone, then back out to the barn in the evening for feeding and de-mudding. Yes, the horses have made some lovely wallows for scrubbing off their winter hair.<br />
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Spring has taken its time arriving. Just this morning, we had another dusting of snow. The wind howled across the fields, making it feel more like February than late April. I wished I had worn my insulated boots! But the horses don't seem to mind, as long as the grass keeps coming up and turning greener every day, life is good. It feels strange, watching nature going about the seasonal changes, unaffected by the pandemic. Deer romp in the pasture at night, woodcocks call from the alder swamp, the first spring migratory birds arrive, trees form buds, flowers push up through the ground, and we humans are dropping like flies. Is Mother Nature getting her revenge for the awful way we we've treated this planet? The news tells of clean air over cities, so polluted just months ago, and dolphins swimming in the canals of Venice. Will we take this to heart and treat our home better once this pandemic has passed?<br />
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I admit to enjoying my time in the woods, whether on foot, or on Harley. Hiking offers more opportunities for taking pictures, although I admit regretting not having film for my old camera. I miss taking macro shots of critters, flowers, and nature's beauty in patterns. A few weeks ago, I came across a tree, struck by lightning not too long ago, possibly during the year's first thunderstorm back in March? I imagined what it would have been like to see and hear the crash, smell the burning, and watch that tree split and catch fire. The power of nature is truly amazing.<br />
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When we finally make it through this, and if life returns to some normalcy, I need to go visit my parents, quarantined in a senior living facility since March. Then, I need to make plans; plans to get ourselves and our horses onto the same piece of property, whether it's here in Maine, or hopefully, Vermont. Until then, I'll keep riding, keep hiking, and keep our lives moving forward with hope. lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-82451552409892842652019-10-14T15:22:00.001-04:002019-10-14T15:22:42.403-04:00Bashing through the woods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the golden glow of autumn, Harley and I rack up our hours as we close in on our next Jockey Club Recreational Riding level of 100 hours. Yesterday, we nearly reached that goal, but ran out of time. This will be the week we achieve that goal!<br />
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Over the past year, I've messed around with all kinds of hoof boots. We went from the Easyboot Backcountry to a short hiatus on Scoots, then ended up with Gloves, heavily modified!. I need something that will stay on through mud, water, and bushwhacking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eH128i6d3vk274y4NBFqftWhCPW3F7PnEU2n-_olwJmbiXIQqc-uhXvzZX4RqhF9Ft697rl8x3dlYGYYsPJTSuooQg8nOdWIu-35YaEHwzh0lviNFo_s8bDbQTIPVj-Kca8lhp0CrA7t/s1600/Harley+sporting+his+Easyscoots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="787" data-original-width="1155" height="435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eH128i6d3vk274y4NBFqftWhCPW3F7PnEU2n-_olwJmbiXIQqc-uhXvzZX4RqhF9Ft697rl8x3dlYGYYsPJTSuooQg8nOdWIu-35YaEHwzh0lviNFo_s8bDbQTIPVj-Kca8lhp0CrA7t/s640/Harley+sporting+his+Easyscoots.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harley's Easy Scoots</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It's been a journey, getting boots that fit his Thoroughbred feet. I've modified theses further, but next spring, I may opt for shoes. We'll cross that bridge when we get there. For the rest of this year, it will be boots or barefoot (once the snow flies) when we hit the trails.lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-77734198069367839692018-02-20T15:04:00.002-05:002018-02-20T15:04:34.500-05:00A blizzard, a chimney fire, then spring sneaks around the corner.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Winter arrived with arctic cold that held New England and most of the eastern United States in a frigid grip. A blizzard roared in, dumping snow and leaving thigh-high drifts at the top of the pasture. We had to dig our way in through the gate to turn out the horses. Our poor farrier, St. Butch, gamely trimmed the horses under mind (and finger) numbing conditions. The saddle remained idle, and out came the cross-country skis. Orris Falls was a dream of dry snow and <i>fast </i>trails!<br />
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We only blanket our horses when truly necessary, but when the mercury reached no higher than zero and the relentless wind blew, we decided to utilize the extra insulation so our horses need not expend calories trying to stay warm. Blankets plus unlimited hay made for happy horses. <br />
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Early on a Sunday, towards the end of our arctic freeze, I heard the wood stove roaring, looked out the window and saw smoke pouring from the chimney. John called 911, calmly stating, "It appears we have a chimney fire." The South Berwick Fire Department showed up with two trucks, and all the extras. Bundled in my Carhartt overalls and down parka, I watched as they knocked it down and "condemned" my wood stove from further use until I had it inspected and cleaned. Long story short, and nearly $2000 later, I re-lined the chimney, just in time for the impending heat wave. But we know Mother Nature isn't finished with winter yet!<br />
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Snow on Saturday covered the frozen mud, laying a fluffy carpet over the ugly brown. The horses enjoyed snow baths and hay, but soon decided to paw for the grass hiding underneath. This winter seems to be exiting quietly; just small snow storms followed by rain. But I wouldn't be surprised if a late blizzard catches some people off guard. The around-town-crampons and shovel remain in my truck until winter truly recedes.<br />
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John and I took a break from barn chores to sit on the hay sled down in the pasture, and watched the horses enjoy the bright warm sun and breakfast.<br />
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Grain seems to be a second choice for food in the morning, surpassed by grass and morning frolics. By late morning, thirst will send them up the hill for water which is when they will finally eat their breakfast meal. Once the sun disappears, the lights come on in the barn, and I whistle into the darkness, thundering hooves and shadows appear at the gate, ready for dinner.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolex & Vance check out the hay sled</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-1969912372328383942017-02-17T20:20:00.000-05:002017-12-03T16:21:03.382-05:00Ahh...winter vacation!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Most people's idea of a winter vacation is to pack up a suitcase with shorts, t-shirts, a bathing suit and suntan lotion, hop on a plane and head south. Our winter vacation is simply a time to relax and relieve the stress of barn chores, battling snow, and getting to work on time. With the pressure off, we can leisurely wile away the hours cleaning stalls, digging out and scrubbing the water tub, and maybe, get in a little riding or cross-country skiing.<br />
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After a multitude of snow storms, the sun broke through, melting some snow and offering an absolutely lovely day. The snow remains knee deep in most places, so delivering the hay required snowshoes as well as my trusty plastic sled. I decided to send the sled down without me on board. That way it wouldn't take a nosedive into the deep snow. The horses trammeled out a chute of sorts for it to rocket down--which, as always, erupted a ruckus. "The hay sled is here! The hay sled is here!" Everyone investigated and began snatching at the hay bales, jostling for feeding space. I waved them back, swinging baling twine in the air. It's not a job for a neophyte--keeping oneself safe as they close in like sharks, pinning ears and chasing each other away. I've even considered wearing my hard hat when they're being especially rowdy!<br />
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The pecking order worked itself out: Vance, head honcho, sampled each pile before settling on one. Rolex hassled Harley and Ruffy, trying to share their piles. Ruffy, having none of that, sent her packing. She nosed her own pile for a bit before sidling up to Harley and taking snatches from is pile. Harley tolerated her nose in his feed bucket earlier and agreed to share his hay as well. They have a unique partnership.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHjPr1Z1ix_5vgxpkLyxpyyOQLLmv1SkMWTGqXz11PG_Y5wwZbZ6XSaOzrPhz-0TZnCJeM4Jz9J6FCJPozMEjkjGyDtG32bHEPqCN_TsrCNiyjRuKk42IybRwQDkr3urghDcWkhMjPKoH/s1600/Brunch%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHjPr1Z1ix_5vgxpkLyxpyyOQLLmv1SkMWTGqXz11PG_Y5wwZbZ6XSaOzrPhz-0TZnCJeM4Jz9J6FCJPozMEjkjGyDtG32bHEPqCN_TsrCNiyjRuKk42IybRwQDkr3urghDcWkhMjPKoH/s640/Brunch%2521.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruffy, Harley, & Rolex enjoying winter.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Rolex and Ruffy seemed particularly interested in the cedar tree. They have stripped the bark on some of the lower branches. All that nice hay, and they'd rather chew cedar! Late winter always brings on the need to chew on something besides hay. They will be happy when the clover and grass come back!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfVY6FBJwCZFPo8nogOYSFHYDo-GrLVYBFgYwaL97xYP3P_ttQ7DbqvU_bMcNGbPxR0mlP-EBysixWPYplkUA18BYyek7qO644rDCVEelZOzZUgaixsI0Gq36-RIwDOW-D-qdw1ytbvgA/s1600/Rolex+playing+with+the+hay+sled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfVY6FBJwCZFPo8nogOYSFHYDo-GrLVYBFgYwaL97xYP3P_ttQ7DbqvU_bMcNGbPxR0mlP-EBysixWPYplkUA18BYyek7qO644rDCVEelZOzZUgaixsI0Gq36-RIwDOW-D-qdw1ytbvgA/s640/Rolex+playing+with+the+hay+sled.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolex trying to upend the sled.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzakbD02GomGiSmvVcSFfBi2P9PCudlSC5u2LYwC513GyLM-unKf1qx2QNhiXFRtc-eNRDEdGcpTAl7bNSTnedLbiJGvYMJ_A-ay-JY1mVvVcX3GWP1JZlZAsrQG0o7onBw5G2z6EOxU_8/s1600/Tools+of+the+trade-snowshoes+%252B+avalanche+shovel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzakbD02GomGiSmvVcSFfBi2P9PCudlSC5u2LYwC513GyLM-unKf1qx2QNhiXFRtc-eNRDEdGcpTAl7bNSTnedLbiJGvYMJ_A-ay-JY1mVvVcX3GWP1JZlZAsrQG0o7onBw5G2z6EOxU_8/s320/Tools+of+the+trade-snowshoes+%252B+avalanche+shovel.jpg" width="246" /></a>To survive on a New England farm, there are a number of tools required. A working tractor with a bucket would be ideal, but alas, I'm without at present. My little 4WD Tacoma gets me to the barn, and my snow scooper allows me to dig my way into the driveway when necessary. It is also key to getting the path cleared out to the manure pile. And, of course, my invincible plastic sled not only delivers hay, but gives me a hoot when I go barreling down the hill, especially when there's an unbreakable icy crust. But two items from my old backcountry winter adventure gear have been lifesavers: my ancient (25+ years old) Sherpa snowshoes and my Voile avalanche shovel. That shovel travels with me all winter until the last storm has melted away.<br />
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Today I used all those tools...and it's only Vacation Day 1.<br />
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And, it's our girl, Ruffy's 10th birthday! Welcome to the double digits, girl!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxGgEnoOr6d69cTX1yI_8oPgyDa8bYzhaI6NM0nMo2ocwMjxH1DHza3ygcPdhZ3wHXtzlRjKCf6PVa7IBtujrvkpFYTY_eBVDmlwF0bFWU91koKf65PEJAQpogw8vY2gGmhp7G_L-_voC/s1600/The+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxGgEnoOr6d69cTX1yI_8oPgyDa8bYzhaI6NM0nMo2ocwMjxH1DHza3ygcPdhZ3wHXtzlRjKCf6PVa7IBtujrvkpFYTY_eBVDmlwF0bFWU91koKf65PEJAQpogw8vY2gGmhp7G_L-_voC/s640/The+girls.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolex & Ruffy</td></tr>
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-68167987578179772842016-07-05T12:06:00.000-04:002017-12-03T16:26:53.131-05:00My Two Faces <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHOZsJsd5yYLwrdFFvZr2S99H79ylQWIWs06Y4oQO20kSaxE6NaGLQAzbf38ALKlbC_ju4gLK4hc5uaZNbWMTtGTRYCD8q8lcndxaGYyQTeJc6Szxci6JIyQBrsf7pHFf2osepQe2zS62/s1600/Harley+%252B+Me_Allen+Rd_vertical.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHOZsJsd5yYLwrdFFvZr2S99H79ylQWIWs06Y4oQO20kSaxE6NaGLQAzbf38ALKlbC_ju4gLK4hc5uaZNbWMTtGTRYCD8q8lcndxaGYyQTeJc6Szxci6JIyQBrsf7pHFf2osepQe2zS62/s400/Harley+%252B+Me_Allen+Rd_vertical.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out for a ride on my OTTB Halawa Moon</td></tr>
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I was a late arrival on the Facebook scene, joining to catch up with classmates and long lost friends. Most of the world seemed "connected"; so I figured I'd wade into the world of social media. Along the way I discovered the vibrant horse community, and only realized later that two equestrian worlds existed in Facebook-land.<br />
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One world consisted of horse people of many levels and disciplines, but most of the posts were idle chatter regarding training tips, what to feed your hard keeper, and distorted selfies of owners and horses faces. Some posts were interesting and many quite humorous. I was awed by the number of Thoroughbred enthusiasts out there, especially those promoting and sharing OTTBs, or off-track Thoroughbreds. Then a post crossed my radar and I discovered a darker world, the world of horse rescues, auctions, kill pens, and kill buyers. All-breed and Thoroughbred rescue groups posted daily and weekly pictures of horses in peril, on the brink of heading to slaughter.<br />
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After joining a number of off-track Thoroughbred groups, I was drawn to the OTTBs at the feedlots and auctions. I joined the rescue groups working every day to get these horses to safety. With little money to spare for donations to rescue groups, I try to stay on top of horses needing networking. I've helped "bail" a few horses when I could afford to, but spend most of my Facebook time doing my damned best to network horses needing new homes through the numerous successful rescue groups out in cyberspace. And I am still amazed weekly by the "horse warriors" who rise to the occasion, saving so many horses, week after week, day after day. My hat (or helmet) goes off to their perseverance. <br />
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At the end of a day, home from the barn, I log on to Facebook and check the status on "my horses"; the horses that are still needing a safe place to land. I now know the schedule of auctions from <a href="http://www.animalsangels.org/investigations/horses/new-holland-auction-new-holland-pa-2-23-15" target="_blank">Pennsylvania</a> to <a href="https://www.hanaeleh.org/" target="_blank">California</a> to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rocking-R-Ranch-and-Rescue-757526860969290/" target="_blank">Mississippi</a>. A lovely bay Thoroughbred gelding, with panic in his eyes, ran loose through the notorious Sugar Creek Auction in Ohio. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/susie.gordon.357/media_set?set=a.1733374026874680.1073741906.100006062974332&type=3" target="_blank">Susie Gordon's photographs</a> stunned me and brought home the plight of horses at auction. Hip number 465's face haunted me. I saw him in my sleep. A group of amazing people worked through the day and into the night to save a group of horses. Number 465, a nine year old Thoroughbred gelding, was safe. I sobbed with relief and made a vow to become more involved and work harder to rescue horses stuck in the slaughter pipeline.<br />
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So now I have two Facebook faces; one with happy pictures of me and Harley, sharing our fun times together. And then there's my other, grim, serious, desperate face; the "horse warrior" trying to save horses in immediate need of help--slaughter bound, auction bound, Craigslist freebies, and our wild mustangs being systemically eradicated by our government agency, the Bureau of Land Management and the welfare ranchers they are beholden to for the beef on your table.<br />
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John sees me sitting at the computer with tears in my eyes. "Someone need rescuing?", he says. "No, they're safe", I tell him. He replies, "Just remember, Harley is safe. He would have eventually been heading north on a truck. And Ruffy? She too would have headed that way. We saved them."<br />
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I urge fellow Facebook and equine friends to become involved, take a stand, take action, email or call your legislators to pass the SAFE food export act. Over 140,000 U.S. horses went to Mexico and Canada last year, headed to slaughter. Put the available social media to work doing some good for our animals. After you finish posting happy horse thoughts, post some horses needing help. If you have the spare change, donate to a 501c that attends auctions weekly. There are so many to choose from, too many to post here. If you want more information, message me on FB--the happy chick with the happy OTTBs will gladly get you started in the world of social media rescue. lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-62125337569469175822016-04-05T14:51:00.000-04:002016-04-05T14:52:02.239-04:00April snow showers?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMPQTkZOZIxFxZd_iSOYc6KiGfOvvghubp7kBxnJ9kDp_IBJmn02h8O5NbaM8HtxaNbwJ71NO_RmfQr484HSME4mwShtZDDyAPpSSlGdtmaY6E8i_F-QKcL3LfaXdfZYxGMcP22ls8Gvx/s1600/DSCN3388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMPQTkZOZIxFxZd_iSOYc6KiGfOvvghubp7kBxnJ9kDp_IBJmn02h8O5NbaM8HtxaNbwJ71NO_RmfQr484HSME4mwShtZDDyAPpSSlGdtmaY6E8i_F-QKcL3LfaXdfZYxGMcP22ls8Gvx/s640/DSCN3388.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harley, Ruffy, and Rolex</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I can't believe I'm using winter blankets in April. But since the horses are all blowing their winter coats and we're having a snow storm, I feel obliged to give them some shelter from this weather. By five p.m. they had seen enough of the white stuff and were ready to come inside for a warm dinner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOcYmA8_E2FRdhmdpC8y__ZaYIa7mBLalL1O8wpbvF5OKmxWretZGeqz40odWZ0z2COv5s5N3qLagbeMonzAfUmZzFgfMaerz-DseMRx12LuNEqnOMm20QBsgfsnmg1yHZuCqGjoRnVjl/s1600/DSCN3386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOcYmA8_E2FRdhmdpC8y__ZaYIa7mBLalL1O8wpbvF5OKmxWretZGeqz40odWZ0z2COv5s5N3qLagbeMonzAfUmZzFgfMaerz-DseMRx12LuNEqnOMm20QBsgfsnmg1yHZuCqGjoRnVjl/s400/DSCN3386.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Vance, our octogenarian resident Standardbred who would prefer to be outside in most weather, even wanted to come into the barn. In fact, he was waiting at the top of the hill!<br />
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This crazy weather has wreaked havoc with some horses leading to many colic cases. Fortunately, knock on wood, ours seem to be doing fine and drinking enough water. But of course, I obsess about their diet and well being as poor John can attest.<br />
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I found the first few ticks, one on me, one on Rolex. Maybe this snow will keep them at bay for another week or so. I always enjoy those first few warm rides when the sun is shining, the leaf buds add a spatter of color into our world, and the biting insects have not yet arrived. Here's to spring--let's hope it's right around the corner.<br />
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-64968779291564759032016-03-18T22:49:00.002-04:002016-03-18T22:49:52.299-04:00Only ride out as far as you are willing to walk!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4dF1hbasRaan5qZiKP7PckaVPNm3xEh9sClzD9s9p1Qc29dd7muhawQdhvwyTEXMtFqxXZqX248spROpSjHU7G1jOicwbs57x9gp9IdxkEBOf1QGj1sqn0UE4BpQvs3RuY7rMrb7k6Tt/s1600/DSCN3320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4dF1hbasRaan5qZiKP7PckaVPNm3xEh9sClzD9s9p1Qc29dd7muhawQdhvwyTEXMtFqxXZqX248spROpSjHU7G1jOicwbs57x9gp9IdxkEBOf1QGj1sqn0UE4BpQvs3RuY7rMrb7k6Tt/s400/DSCN3320.JPG" width="286" /></a></div>
Everyone was overcome with spring fever. Harley and Rolex seem to have experienced some role reversal over the winter. Now she is Miss Spookypants while Harley is (relatively) the staid old hand. Well, at least that was the case for the first half of the ride...<br />
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We needed to detour from our planned loop due to the amount of ice on the trail in some cool, protected areas. Rather than risk someone slipping and being injured, we decided to head back via the road. Harley was leading the way, albeit like a giraffe, craning his head in the air, and with a springy walk bordering on a a prance. But he and Rolex seemed to be doing fine until some kids playing behind a house sent Rolex into a tailspin. Before anyone could get tossed to the pavement, we jumped off. But I'm not so sure we were any safer with both horses spinning around in circles. And the worst part is the lack of courtesy and caution on the part of drivers. Some barely slow down, and some hardly leave enough room should one of the horses wheel into the road. Isn't it common sense if you see an animal, the size of a moose, prancing in the street to slow down? Where is the common sense in these drivers? How did they manage to pass their drivers' test if they have <i>no clue</i> about driving near horses?<br />
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Harley and Rolex faced other demons as we made our way home: barking dogs running along a fence, donkeys, chickens, and the piece de resistance, a flock of guinea fowl that emerged, squawking up a storm. Unlike the chickens and turkeys our horses are used to, guinea fowl tend to screech, unnerving both Harley and Rolex. Mr. and Mrs. Prancypants had worked themselves into a dither where every little thing had them wheeling in circles. <br />
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Our horses were in a lather, our arms were soaked from walking alongside with our sweating steeds. My feet were beginning to get damp and slide around in my Mountain Horse insulated boots. I could feel blisters starting to form on the bottoms of my toes. If I'd known I'd be walking three miles, I would definitely have worn different boots. So word of warning to all you trail riders out there: only ride out as far as you are willing to walk! lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-84187027274323747992016-02-23T10:00:00.000-05:002016-02-23T10:00:30.694-05:00And our vacation begins!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEGt8-8RlZsFGFCsVgwhKx3zlJEwsetBvECUY6Zl5VSgTWm-9bCbaI3J-boklVSo39HiItIinQPNpTjzg65M7J84s542aNEL3mOOPK0SO1449zVl2QOV8G1T8kIQI6g46GwWlfPxvM7WY/s1600/DSCN3307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEGt8-8RlZsFGFCsVgwhKx3zlJEwsetBvECUY6Zl5VSgTWm-9bCbaI3J-boklVSo39HiItIinQPNpTjzg65M7J84s542aNEL3mOOPK0SO1449zVl2QOV8G1T8kIQI6g46GwWlfPxvM7WY/s640/DSCN3307.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
The snow is melting and the horses are shedding. March is almost here and we've tapped the maple trees. Another winter under the belt.<br />
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We're off to a lazy start for vacation. After last year's constant hammering of snow, we're glad to be not be shoveling through knee deep drifts to the manure pile!<br />
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The horses have wintered nicely--good coats, nice condition, and sassy! Our feeding regimen seems to work well; lots of high quality hay, a forage balancer, rice bran, and beet pulp. Granted, they have not done a lot except play in the pasture, but spring is just around the corner. So Harley and Rolex, get ready to hit the trails! And Ruffy, there's a driving harness heading your way!<br />
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We took Harley and Rolex out for their first trail ride together in weeks. Starting out, things were a little dicey as noise from next door had their attention. But once we hit the woods, the pair settled down and took turns leading the way. A quick turn up the power line eliminated balking and backing at ABC Farm with its menagerie of chickens, goats, and a dog. Better to pass them on the way home! Although I have to commend Harley for walking past their tractor, running with the bucket in the air, a few weeks ago. He gave it a good look, but no silly stuff.<br />
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With most of the snow melted, and only icy patches, the trail riding should be really nice soon. Of course, then we'll be dealing with muck, but soft muck is nicer than frozen hard ground. <br />
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Now is the time to start looking for some replacement winter boots. I've tried to Shoe-Goo my Mountain Horse Active Riders, but it didn't seem to work. Nothing like walking down to get your horse and having icy cold water seep in around your feet. Ugh! lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-10927906185963531932016-02-05T21:39:00.000-05:002016-02-05T21:53:36.496-05:00Harley's vacation ends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Harley thinks he's on vacation, and he might be right. The longer he goes without work, the more of a challenge he can be to ride, especially if we go solo. After three weeks off, I needed to end said vacation! <br />
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The last few weeks of January consisted of ice and rain followed by beautiful spring-like weather. I had to keep reminding myself that winter was far from over!<br />
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The long warm days convinced me I'd better take advantage of the weather and throw a leg over my horse. Except I admit to being a bit worried how he would be with so much time off. I chickened out riding and opted for a walk down the road instead. This would allow me to "take the lead" and should he be a whirling beast, I wouldn't have to bail off. He stopped almost immediately after we left the barn, but with urging, we made it all the way to the bottom of the hill where he could see, <i>"Ack! Cars!"</i><br />
After having a good long gander down the road, we resumed walking and made it down to Orris Falls. Not bad for starters. And we ended on a good note.<br />
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<i> </i><br />
The next day I decided to ride him. Of course, the wind was howling when I left work. <i>"Oh God, this will be fun" </i>I thought. <i>"Well, worse case scenario, I walk him--again."</i><br />
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While I tacked him up, he had a little lunch and only whinnied once for his girls. And even with the blowing leaves, we managed to reach Orris Falls without a stop. Oh, I watched him think about it as he slyly peered to the left and swiveled his left ear, but lots of leg and reminder tap, kept him moving forward. Unfortunately, the trail under the hemlocks was still quite dicey with lots of pooled water over ice. So we didn't go too far, but it was a trip away from home, all on his own. He only did his racehorse jig a couple of times but came back to a walk nicely. I was proud of him. Heck, I was proud of me! After waffling over whether to ride or not, I was glad of my decision--it boosted my confidence, and Harley's!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gang being silly</td></tr>
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lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-66335217362083839722016-02-04T15:46:00.000-05:002016-02-04T15:46:29.592-05:00A little bit of winter--morning mayhem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We finally got a little snow, but only six inches or so, enough to make the horses happy. They love being turned out in the morning to a fresh snowfall. Hi--ooo Ruffy, away! Yes, they are crazy OTTB's and no matter what anyone says, there's nothing like a cold winter morning to bring out the freshness in them. <br />
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Harley rear, bucked and kicked until all the kinks were worked out while Vance, stood sedately, observing the mayhem around him. They see me coming with the hay sled signalling it's time to be silly!<br />
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I had to keep an eye on their antics to be sure I didn't get clocked. Having my hood up put me at a disadvantage, limiting my visibility. I told John, "You know, it might not be a bad idea to wear a helmet when I deliver hay on days like this!"<br />
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And since I haven't ridden this fuzzy beast in weeks, I'm sure the first ride should prove interesting. Lucky for me, and them, lots of turnout gives Harley a chance to burn off some extra energy <i>before</i> I get on him.<br />
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Lucky for me, Harley would never make it on the bronc circuit--his bucks just aren't that big. There's Ruffy, in the top right corner after tearing back up the hill for fun.<br />
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Ah, things finally slowed down a bit. But Harley and Rolex still want to get Vance into the game.<br />
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Winter can't be over yet, although this snow is now nearly all gone except for spots under the trees. Spring-like weather is teasing us and tempting me to go for a ride.lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-34986356806255118912015-12-15T18:47:00.000-05:002015-12-15T18:47:11.627-05:00Where is winter?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With no snow in sight, and 50 degree days, the riding remains awesome for December. After last year's winter, this reprieve is much appreciated, but how long will it last? Are ice storms waiting to descend on us in the following weeks? The horses are still finding grass to nibble on and that has reduced the amount of hay they usually consume this time of year in the pasture. I only refill the hay wheelie bins once they are depleted, and that seems to be no more than every 2 to 3 days!<br />
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We spent most of Saturday putting up our new shelter canopy after the old one wore out. Thankfully, it was covered under Shelter Logic's warranty, but we decided to upgrade to heavier fabric this time around. Before the sun went down, we got in a little ride with Rolex and Harley. It seems I've been too busy doing maintenance to get in much riding and I forget how quickly darkness descends after 4 o'clock!<br />
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Ruffy had a long lining lesson with John last weekend. Although she hasn't been exercised much over the last few months, she did quite well--only a few little hissy fits. John has hopes of tracking down a harness that will fit our girl so her driving training can continue. Of course, we'll need to find some kind of conveyance as well, but we haven't reached that step yet. Stay tuned for more on driving adventures!<br />
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I am attempting to continue No-Stirrup November with each ride whenever possible. Other riders posted this as a goal, and they inspired me to do the same--an achievable goal, providing Harley's of the right frame of mind!lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-29225940480100401332015-11-27T21:01:00.001-05:002015-11-27T21:07:52.028-05:00No-Stirrup November<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WkyBJWA_aIweauhQyFYKeiKHrwEKwxpVx24PbyZ9-DFHn0ceNnNxtOHekp5-EoBmJvGNuRPgBpYDkqC7J79Ob9r_JWlTk1yZDVKCn69jtyPXgsG4jYrEosvlvgTOrzeUzpQ9GCATM2Q2/s1600/Wild+and+wooly+Harley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WkyBJWA_aIweauhQyFYKeiKHrwEKwxpVx24PbyZ9-DFHn0ceNnNxtOHekp5-EoBmJvGNuRPgBpYDkqC7J79Ob9r_JWlTk1yZDVKCn69jtyPXgsG4jYrEosvlvgTOrzeUzpQ9GCATM2Q2/s400/Wild+and+wooly+Harley.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I saw a blurb about a fundraiser for Lope Texas challenging riders to ride without stirrups and raise money through sponsors. I decided to sign on and see how much I could accomplish in one month. Since I don't really have any horsey friends at work to back me, I'm on my own. Without an indoor arena, or even a fenced ring, and a mount who can be a bit "fiery" with the blustery fall weather, my No-Stirrup November has been a bit sporadic. I'm forced to pick and choose where along the trail might be a good spot to drop the stirrups--not some place Harley usually spooks. And I need to assess how he's behaving on any given day--would I be courting a disastrous flying dismount? If I'm going solo, I tend to err on the side of caution. Without his trail buddy Rolex alongside, bravery flies out the window. One day, he paced sideways, back and forth in the crossties, whinnying for Rolex. I thought, "Boy, this is going to be some ride--maybe I shouldn't even try." But I didn't chicken out. We rode behind the barn in the flat area, trotting and circling, working on transitions, while the wind swirled leaves in the air. I decided he was settled enough to hit the trails. And surprise, surprise--Harley was great! I even dropped my stirrups a few times as we walked and jogged along. And you know--my position felt better without stirrups!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q996BiZByQ1iNZQ-m2bUr7e_hjBiGARCS_yr8UZVbOMXvyT4WlIKIBOtTJTiUePq0osgDluzofaLRM3ARus42EIuFlb6lufei-2c5y8-u1tm-fuREZHjHmXAsS5jL0KBo0qjo-LmUXbL/s1600/Fall+Woods+over+Harleys+ears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q996BiZByQ1iNZQ-m2bUr7e_hjBiGARCS_yr8UZVbOMXvyT4WlIKIBOtTJTiUePq0osgDluzofaLRM3ARus42EIuFlb6lufei-2c5y8-u1tm-fuREZHjHmXAsS5jL0KBo0qjo-LmUXbL/s400/Fall+Woods+over+Harleys+ears.jpg" width="321" /></a>I've got only a few days left now to complete my No-Stirrup November. It has boosted my confidence as well as helped my seat and position. So now I just need to make a point of doing it more often, maybe a little on each ride. A little niggling voice has always told me that I needed to get the gumption up to drop my irons. I guess the Lope Texas challenge finally forced me to drop the irons<br />
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But can I just make one teeny tiny request? Maybe next year they can do "Sans-Stirrup September" when we still have long days and warmer weather?<br />
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So Lope Texas, you will be receiving a donation from me for the time I spent turning my legs to jelly aboard my handsome OTTB Halawa Moon. <br />
<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-15866707940602499052015-10-10T17:21:00.000-04:002015-11-03T13:59:59.991-05:00Another Saturday afternoon at the rescue4:30 pm on a Saturday afternoon; I'm glued to Facebook watching updates pop up saying which horse still needs rescue funds. I feel like I'm participating in an E-Bay equine auction, only I'm watching the amount drop--the dollars still needed to bail a horse out of the kill pen. With only so much to spare, I try to weigh where my paltry amount will do the most good. Which horse(s) are in the direst position---just an hour or so away from getting on a truck headed to a slaughter plant in Canada or Mexico.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM65mNdAstImgrb0iq2-Dg40GZk7jjMb30SFDzVO8fqeXbxWE_HEb0cMmWyenVa-39oNQBkrM0U3lRYfoP-YuWmFEcD4lC4i0hJ2nSTxcnEHugx4GloWJ77JK55c7VpCjKf8DFdyg5OTcf/s1600/pile+of+halters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM65mNdAstImgrb0iq2-Dg40GZk7jjMb30SFDzVO8fqeXbxWE_HEb0cMmWyenVa-39oNQBkrM0U3lRYfoP-YuWmFEcD4lC4i0hJ2nSTxcnEHugx4GloWJ77JK55c7VpCjKf8DFdyg5OTcf/s640/pile+of+halters.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Sarah Goocey Photography with Copper Horse Crusade</td></tr>
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The horse named Josie--the owner of that tagged halter in the pile pictures--was one of the lucky ones. She was rescued from slaughter by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001042788256&fref=photo" target="_blank">Julie Copper of Copper Horse Crusade</a>. But this haunting photo brings to mind the piles of shoes and other belongings piled outside the gas chambers at the concentration camps. Let's face it--that's exactly the same thing our horses are facing. Halter removed, bolt to the head, and that's that, execution is done. Only the first strike doesn't always work; sometimes it takes three or four before the horse is dead. No, it's not humane and that's part of the ongoing battle.<br />
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First, we need to pass the SAFE Act (Safeguard American Food Exports). Our horses were not bred with the intent to be sold as meat. They are given wormers, anti-inflammatory medications, steroids, hormones, all kinds of pharmaceuticals not safe for people to consume. So why is it we are still shipping horses to Canada and Mexico, who in turn, sell the meat across Europe and Asia? What is so hard to understand the fact that their meat is UNSAFE?<br />
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Every week, numerous rescue groups spend their weekend photographing, posting and sharing horses from auctions and kill pens around the country in a desperate attempt to save as many as possible. With three hungry mouths of my own to feed, and a tight economy, I try to do my bit when I can, whether it's sharing the info across the web, or giving what I can to save some poor soul from slaughter. I can't sit by and let this happen. As I write, one horse remains at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Mooreparescue?fref=ts" target="_blank">Moore's Equines for Rescue</a>, a lone john mule. His partner, the molly mule is safe. The people that buy from Moore's (he's the kill buyer) do a phenomenal job, but it's hard work with a lot of desperation and emotion. I suspect the kill buyer is making a profit off of those like me who can't sit by. jacking up the price he would get by the pound. Sounds sleazy, but what else can be done--he gets his cut, the horses get their lives. The horses win in the end, and that's what matters.<br />
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So it's another night at the auction page. As of 5:59 all 29 horses and mules with a 6:00 deadline are safe. I'll sleep tonight without being haunted by the face of one last mule, boarding the wrong truck.<br />
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-79422259692008491342015-10-06T14:07:00.002-04:002015-10-06T14:07:22.959-04:00Out on a breakfast ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Rolex lead the way.</td></tr>
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If you've never packed breakfast and headed out on your horse, you're missing some fun! We had breakfast rides at my summer camp. A counselor roused you from your bunk, told you what horse to go collect from the pasture. We saddled up and rode off to a destination where breakfast awaited, usually consisting or orange juice, cold cereal, and the trail rider's favorite--Pop-Tarts.<br />
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We didn't get started as early as we planned. The sun already cleared the power line, well beyond just cresting the slope! The day was shaping up to be another steamy one--so we skipped bringing along the thermos of coffee, just Pop-Tarts for us, and carrots for our trusty steeds. Our destination, depending on how the ride went, was someplace where the horses could graze while we munched our Pop-Tarts. Unlike my camp trips, where we tied the horses to trees, our OTTBs have not had said training--yet another skill they need to learn, right up there with ground tying.<br />
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Being Thoroughbreds, ready to go and on the alert, the horses tuned into any sounds emitted from the brush. One never knows when a killer turkey, squirrel, or deer may pounce on an unsuspecting horse! While holding onto the horses, we munched on our Pop-Tarts, wishing we had some coffee to wash down the dry, pasty breakfast.</div>
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An aside: yes, that's an impact vest I'm wearing. We have decided we don't bounce back so well any more. So like helmets, it's now part of our riding attire. I must admit to not liking how hot it seems, plus I feel like I'm strapped into a corset or bustier!. Hopefully, I won't need it, but it will be there should I take another spill. And let's face it, riding horses, especially hot-blooded ones, will eventually lead to another fall. I challenge anyone to say otherwise!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUt9ZUYjJqaEt9c5HOSYnId3pbTgFYIwSa5dRymXMJvtrda2eKkonvlHZUa-QFKAzZhk9FhQ5GkPJ3lvrXs40Voxoijz3EA_CaOB4l9CyHiujoTSIwzUD-M-QPJEH6MlJiPCTYghtWLl0O/s1600/Yummy+pop-tart+Harley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUt9ZUYjJqaEt9c5HOSYnId3pbTgFYIwSa5dRymXMJvtrda2eKkonvlHZUa-QFKAzZhk9FhQ5GkPJ3lvrXs40Voxoijz3EA_CaOB4l9CyHiujoTSIwzUD-M-QPJEH6MlJiPCTYghtWLl0O/s640/Yummy+pop-tart+Harley.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The horses, hearing the crinkling of Pop-Tart wrappers, assumed we had brought along tasty treats, such as sweet carrots! Our noisy wrappers caught their attention. They averted their eyes from scanning the woods for "monsters" and stuck their noses were into our breakfast. <i>"What, no carrots, ma?"</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8TMQ-AWeehjomY9bnji2OzdRn1Qxp25s5BSwyKJofAfw15hoMj9IqP7ba_O0fw7cVKjbpTo_YYnWEh6BahioQvf6tzCI9C31k1EYQQH_WQN50XnUBab6ChWqDxzNWgUt2kV5iVtsUKMZ/s1600/Breakfast+ride_where+are+the+carrots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8TMQ-AWeehjomY9bnji2OzdRn1Qxp25s5BSwyKJofAfw15hoMj9IqP7ba_O0fw7cVKjbpTo_YYnWEh6BahioQvf6tzCI9C31k1EYQQH_WQN50XnUBab6ChWqDxzNWgUt2kV5iVtsUKMZ/s400/Breakfast+ride_where+are+the+carrots.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>"Not to worry, my beauties.</i>" I had carrots in the saddlebags. And honestly, they were more appealing than the Pop-Tarts. I guess it's a taste that will always take me back to a time and place--the Vermont hills and summer camp. But I think I'll adapt to a more nutritious and flavorful meal on our next breakfast ride. And, I'll bring coffee! <i>And</i> maybe our steeds will stand for hobbles or tying--as long as no demons lurk in the underbrush. </div>
Part of being a horseman or horsewoman is to never stop learning and to maintain the ongoing schooling for both horse and rider. There's always another skill to master; another technique to try. Our horses are used to the hustle and bustle of the track, so large trucks don't scare them, but a deer bounding through the woods, a turkey trotting over the trail...that's scary stuff! But with time and exposure, they get better and better. Maybe by my next breakfast ride, Harley will ground tie for me---providing no monsters appear!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rolex says, "Good carrots, ma!"</td></tr>
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7319986608351281898.post-76473165455368923042015-09-07T17:23:00.002-04:002015-09-07T17:24:29.936-04:00Good karmaIt all started when I spent a couple of lunch breaks trying to force myself to watch a video produced by the <a href="http://defendhorsescanada.org/" target="_blank">Canadian Horse Defence Coaltition</a>. Non-horse people have no idea how many horses are sent to slaughter every year. And even though no horse slaughter plants operate in the United States, it doesn't stop the horrific transportation of horses across both borders to an awful end at a slaughter house. I have to admit to not being able to watch parts of the video and had to fast forward, but I'm not the one who needed to see it. I already know the staggering numbers slaughtered. It's the people cheering at the track, the parents sending their kids to a camp that sends it horses to auction at season's end, the traveler seeing mustangs in a holding pen out west, and yes, even the shopper, unknowingly buying meat possibly tainted with horse meat not fit for human consumption.<br />
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Horses in the United States are wormed with medicine that specifically states, "Not for horses intended for human consumption". And then there are the other medications, especially in performance and sport horses as well as backyard pets. So tell me, how do Canada and Mexico get away with sending this "tainted" meat overseas? Through deception? Ignorance? Falsifying documents? Probably all of these.<br />
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The video plagued me--I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had to hug my horses and murmur, "You are so lucky.." into their necks. Coming off the racetrack, they were fortunate Suffolk Downs had a "no slaughter" policy meaning the race horses could not be sold to a kill buyer when they were done racing. But that's not true for all tracks. A public outcry just forced Louisiana's Evangeline Downs to revisit its policy. The sheer numbers of horses bred to run is staggering. And some should never be bred at all. Seeing a picture of a mare in foal, who gave birth in the kill pen, brought to mind the concentration camps. Now some may see that as a stretch, but think about it; a mare having her foal in a filthy, overcrowded environment, that will inevitably be sent along with her to slaughter. How can someone be so callous as to toss her into such a horrific place, knowing what she will face? God help the person with so little compassion for their fellow creatures.<br />
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But on the bright side, a number of outstanding people work tirelessly to rescue horses from kill buyers and from auctions where kill buyers fill up their trailers for non-stop treks to the borders. I don't know how these people do it, but <a href="http://www.hiddenpondequinerescue.com/" target="_blank">each week they attend auctions and visit kill buyers</a>, looking for candidates, asking for donations, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/mindy.lovell" target="_blank">flipping lips on end-of-the-line racehorses</a>, and networking like mad. It must be exhausting, and depressing, knowing they cannot save them all.<br />
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So this Saturday, as my horses were basking under cool fans, munching on alfalfa hay, I checked up on Facebook to see what was happening in the horse world. Two horse remained with a two hour deadline before they would be shipped to slaughter--two perfectly sound horses (jog videos available), not old, not sick, were headed for Canada and a bolt to the brain, if people didn't step up and help. I had never donated before, and honestly didn't think my little bit could help. But I couldn't sit by and let this happen without trying to make a difference. I messaged the group to find out how to help, how much more did they need for those last two horses. I waited, no answer--less than an hour to go--someone sent me the link and I grabbed my wallet. Less than a half hour left--were they safe? <br />
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I needed to go feed my horses their dinner, but I had to know the status on the two last standing. Just as I went to put on my boots, I checked Facebook one more time. The horse community had pulled it off--SAFE! I broke down in tears. <br />
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So fellow equestrians, please don't assume someone else will pick up the tab, someone else will save the horses. Share this knowledge with others. Get involved, give time, give money, or both. While you're uploading selfies of you and your horse, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Mooreparescue?fref=ts" target="_blank">network the less-fortunate horses</a> in the gravest of danger. Even a few bucks can get them to safety. Help make a difference. It's good karma. Now go hug your horse.<br />
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<br />lmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517919157975053481noreply@blogger.com1