For so long, this blog has solely been about Archie - I mean, if it's going to be about a horse.  And then there was a little sprinkling of other horses - the palomino hony, the gaited golden tank, the dark jackass I jumped that one time - before having more about the wunder jumper, Ox.

But I have to acknowledge that Whiskey will take a greater role than any of the other non-Archie horses.  That to write about him, to love him, does not diminish from the attachment I feel for Archie.  And, to equally acknowledge that I made huge mistakes when I was training Archie, which I will try my damnedest not to make with Whiskey.

So while I want to take my previously-anhidrotic, now-kinda-sweaty Appy off to crookedly gallop fences, we're walking.  I'm pleased that we're walking, because it means my ass made it to the saddle.

When Ox's owner asked if I would be up for a trail ride on Sunday and when she told me that it would just be us, I immediately was flummoxed.  I haven't done much with Whiskey lately, other than shove treats in his face and treat his rain rot, but could I ride him on a trail ride?

Well, why the fuck not?  To bastardize a quote from Denny Emerson, you can't kill a horse by walking.

And my horse was a saint.  Want me to lead?  Sure.  Want me to follow?  Sure.  Want me to walk side-by-side?  Sure.  Wanna trot?  Sure.  Want me to stand while the draft cross catches up?  Sure.  Did that draft cross just spook at something?  Silly.  OH SHIT,... oh.  I didn't even stop talking when he spooked.

I think his ears are tiny for his head.

 After five and a half miles in nearly two hours on Whiskey, we took Ox and Whiskey back to the barn and stuffed their faces with treats and cleaned them up before turning them back out.

He whinnies back at the All Ears app.

And then we tacked up Archie and her palomino hony for another trail ride around the property, complete with sinking into muddy spots we didn't know existed and Archie believing that his foot was trapped by a root to the point that I had to dismount and help him.  Oh, and a little gallop next to the dirt road.

It was a pony-filled day with very few goals set and just a lot of happiness.  I'm thrilled.

So I bought the guy a new saddle that I'm going to dye to match his Micklem.  And a new bit that I'm going to kinda-sorta use.  It's a low-port Kimberwick.  I don't think he needs the Kimberwick part of it and I won't even bother with the chain, I was mostly interested in seeing how he likes a low-port versus his double-jointed rolling Happy Mouth.  Am I mistaken in thinking that most Western bits are solid?

Orange you glad to see me?

His ad.

#nomakeup. He got adopted that day.

While I was warming up Archie last night, in the cold, dark, drizzle, I had some time to think about stuff.  Because focusing on random shit was a better option than focusing on the things that went bump in the night.

I downplayed my fall off Archie a little, I think, on the blog.  I was left sore and mildly concussed and mildly miserable.  I'm dying to show y'all photos of my ass.  A non-equestrian friend, because an equestrian wouldn't ask this, asked me how many concussions it would take before I stopped riding.


I've thought about it and, while it's not like I'm out galloping solid fences, I think the type of riding I do could be scaled back.  I think if it became a question of my physical health, I could convert to a slower pace, a bigger saddle, and a smaller horse.

This is Toni and she's closer to the ground and I've been eye-balling her since I fell and she's only $1,600 and she's in Ohio and why the fuck did I ask for anything else for Christmas?

Then I start thinking - when I'm older and the probability of me staying in the saddle diminishes at the same rate as my muscle tone, why give up?  You know what, I want to fucking drive minis.  I want a pair of either mini donkeys or mini mules or mini assholes to be my team and I want to take those little muffins trotting down dirt roads.

Just in time for Xmas.

Archie and Ox (as well as all the other horses) had vet visits earlier this week.  While the vet was super quick through everyone, I still had time to sit and graze Archie before we did his more thorough physical exam.

The current consensus is that he's in a holding place.  The degeneration of his right front pastern joint doesn't appear to be getting any worse, but it's certainly not magically getting better.  It just is.  The vet still wants pads on him, but acknowledged that it really isn't feasible at this time of the year:  if the moisture doesn't suck them off, he gets thrush.  We're not sound on grass and straight lines are significantly friendlier.

Before my idealism vanished or my hypocrisy appeared, I would have never even considered riding regularly a horse who couldn't handle being ridden on the fucking grass.  I mean, it's grass.  It's a goddamn natural cushion.

But here we are.

One horrible vet visit nine months ago and my ethos had a paradigm shift.  What was previously, self-righteously, unacceptable now became my new norm - let's medicate the horse to keep him comfortable enough to keep him rideable.  This vet visit recap got a lot deeper than I intended.  Sorry.


He's perfectly sound on the trails and in the ring, so I feel less like a horrible person for riding him there.  And that's all the old man does anymore.  We go on a couple trail rides a week and then dabble briefly in the ring.  I did get clearance to start reincorporating some trot poles, so hopefully we can build a little more topline.

As far as the Big Orange Booty went, he had some blood drawn for some random (to us) (in the deep south) tests.  The vet noted previously that he had some demarcation on his hooves, indicating a fever.  Trail buddy contacted his previous owner who wasn't aware of a fever, but another contact up there said that a bout of something went through the horses.  Not lyme, but something else that is similar?  Must get more details.  Anyways, she wanted blood drawn to make sure whatever is was isn't actually hiding out in his system, waiting to pop up.  Fortunately, he's currently sound and happy and just a big ol' lug.

Not like.. material goods.  No one wants my stuff.  :)

From L:

Loving:  the fact that it's payday Friday and my bank account went from desperation to drowning.
Smelling:  bagels my boss brought in.  Yum.
Learning:  about PC interfaces via CBT Nuggets.
Writing:  work tickets.  I did this, fix that, what the hell is wrong with this, etc.
Reading:  The Magicians by Lev Grossman and Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater.
Watching:  CBT Nuggets.
Craving:  pizza and beer.  And jelly beans.
Obsessing: over my house in preparation for Hillary's visit!
Wishing:  I could take a pill and be more knowledgeable or that the days were longer or I could fit more than one activity in addition to work.  Or to win the lottery.
Needing:  to organize and prioritize better.
Wanting:  to be in the pig-free woods right now, on my horse, with a belly full of pizza and beer.
Trying:  everything, once.
Eating:  nothing right this second, though I am going to splurge on a lunch that didn't come from home.
Drinking:  wasser
Feeling:  restless.  Existential.  Content.
Hoping:  that we can get as much work and pleasure accomplished as I'd like to - beach, anyone?
Listening:  to the goddamn phone ring.  People, it's Friday!  Stop working so hard!
Clicking:  through an archaic program to remove data.  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Last weekend, Archie threw the shoe that was hanging on by a thread.  I can't even find it in myself to be all that grumpy about the situation, because, whatever, it's going to happen.  I'm emotionally transitioning from "ride all the time!" to "hit the trails if the horse is comfortable and entact, otherwise just cuddle or hand walk".  This is more than just losing the disappointment about circumstances I have no control over (shoes, weather), but also losing the guilt when I just can't make it out there.

I left veterinary medicine about five years ago.  Shortly after that, I started volunteering as a photographer with my local humane society.  You've seen my photos interspersed on this blog and on my IG.  I think I'm okay at it - at least better than the iPhone photos they take at intake.  Anyways, it was important to me at the time to keep my hand involved somehow with animals.  And I love photography and this experience has undoubtedly improved my skills with a camera.

But now I'm wondering if my volunteering has run its course.  Hard thoughts about this, because I love it and I feel like it has a purpose, but I've lost the sense of gratification.  Both in the sense of my intrinsic motivation and in their appreciation of my time and effort.  For now, I've told them that I'm cutting my hours - no longer weekly, maybe once or a twice a month.

In that theme, I took my old Rebel out to the barn the other day.  I'm not sure what prompted me.  Sunlight?  Extra hours in the day?  But here are some photos from the little pasture shoot of the geldings and Archie.

Someone gets jealous.

2013. 2014.

I started writing this post when I saw the light at the end of the kick-from-hell-tunnel.  And then Archie got cellulitis.  And then Archie got caught up in an electric fence and caused his leg to bleed and I wondered if he were going to have another bout of cellulitis.  So I waited.  I didn't talk about the leg-fence because I was pretty much done at that point.

We've talked about our ponies' preferred activities and treats and all the weird things they need.  Let's look a little more at that thing we can't really (okay, we could, but let's not think about it) remove from their lives:  ourselves.

More good group trail rides. (old photo)

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