Archie

Ox

Whiskey

Other Pets

Me.

When you go out to give an apple to the horse that you think might be The Next Horse, only to meet his surprise new owners on the way. #fml #nomorelosses #appaloosa #whiskeythehorse #ineedsomegoodnews

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Apr 27, 2017 at 7:39pm PDT

Grass.

I've never seen Archie play in his water. 😍

A post shared by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Apr 24, 2017 at 11:31am PDT

April 13th on top, last night on bottom.

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.

I'm oozing joyful stories this week.  Like butt funks and whoopsies.

So, I dropped my farrier, who I've had for five years but would have pleasantly dropped at any moment prior due to various unmentionable reasons, in the same manner as was the winner for last week's poll*.  This was less me wussing out or caving to the norm and more a conversation with my barn manager.  I asked her opinion and she said I didn't have to do anything, so nothing I did.

Playing with Excel font options.  Who knew?

Five of y'all badasses don't fear confrontation apparently at all and dumped your farriers in person.  Ballsy.

We were on the cusp of a hurricane this weekend, which diluted to a measly storm and headed somewhere to the west of Florida.  But still managed to give us some rain.  So, Friday, when I finally meandered to the barn, I hopped on Archie bareback and worked on his circling cues while the thunder built.  Of course, once I dismounted and slathered stuff all over his hooves and shoved beet pulp into his face, the storms cleared.  Life.


My in-laws and grand-in-laws came to visit on Saturday, to celebrate our birthdays over the next couple of months.  I woke up to D crawling out of bed at some god-awful time, telling me I could stay in bed but that his parents were already there.  I can't even imagine how early they rose for the trip.  The day went exceptionally well, including the installation of an electric fuck-you fence for the dogs (it's a mild zap, we all tested it) (and before you think shit, consider that it'll hurt a lot less than a car).  And the first sweet potato beer of the season (not pictured, because it was guzzled almost instantaneously).  And I got a circular saw (so I'm gonna start ripping off all of Emma's jump plans). And, the best part, D and I were done in time for me to head out to the barn to ride.

All the pretty colors.

This ride was slightly more productive, albeit still short.  He's still coughing some and I feel like it had gotten better and has now gotten worse.  So I'm not working him hard because of that and also because he's missing a shoe.  He can still work on bending and lifting and some lateral moves.

Can't.

I rode again on Sunday morning before the worst of the storms hit.  It was 79º and felt damn near cool, but the humidity was at 100%.  It got steadily cooler as the ride went on and the clouds rolled in.  Because of that shit-tastic humidity, I opted just to walk.  It's amazing how much I've overlooked this gait since we rehabbed from his leg injury and the fucker now moves like molasses up a cold hill.

And he coughed.

A lot.

To the extent that we never moved out of a walk.  It improved as the ride went on, but it was alarming nonetheless that he became symptomatic at a point where he previously hadn't been.  I've texted my vet about it and he's not sure if it's an outlier for the data or what.  So, I guess the hay test continues?


And to add to this, I spoke with the farrier on the phone Monday afternoon.  First time since I moved barns and had the BM to be a go-between (I think?).  He pretty much was telling me that if he came out this week, he'd be charging me to tack the shoe back on.  And if he did a full job, he'd be charging me again in two weeks when he did the rest of the barn.  I explained from the onset of the call that his shoes weren't registering as my highest priority in regards to my horse.  He can survive without shoes.  He can't survive without breathing.  So we're going to hold off and he'll stay one-shoed until the guy comes out and does everyone else in two weeks.  I said I felt like he was going to lose the second one in a week to ten days, that I was riding him in a foam pad, and that I'd be texting him some photos if I felt like the feet went to shit before then.

What?  You don't ride like this?

My history in veterinary medicine is slowly dwindling to the distant past (which still doesn't negate the random and occasional "what do I do" texts) (prepare for those to haunt you for the rest of your life).  Even so, I can recall with eye-rolling enthusiasm the distaste we had for people who came in with a sick and/or injured pet and told us they'd read some-such on the internet.  The internet cannot perform an exam and therefore can neither diagnose nor prescribe medications.  Suck it.

While I still cringe every time I see some stupid what-do-I-do post on OTTB Connect, I still want as much knowledge as possible.  Fortunately, the best response for those people is the same response I've given myself and my vet is due out Friday.  Until then, though, I've been joyfully googling myself into a tizzy.  Because my raison d'etre lately seems to be insanity.


And I'm worried that Archie has developed either Recurrent Airway Obstruction or Summer Pasture-Associated Recurrent Airway Obstruction.  Because he coughs.  A lot, lately.  And he had a runny nose the other day.  The solution for one is to spend more time in the pasture.  The solution for the other is to spend less.

Since he was about fifteen, Archie's had a "warm up" cough - the sort that lasts for a few seconds and doesn't linger and after our first lap of trot, is never seen again.  I addressed it with my vet and he said no biggie.  Once he was sound enough for trot work after losing his shoes, he started coughing intermittently and repeatedly, to the point that we haven't done any consistent "hard" work.  Lots of walking, spurts of trotting, and canter one time when he was naughty.  Walking doesn't induce coughing.

I've thought of various things - the heat, the humidity, his age, my relationship with gravity, the tightness of the girth.  And his new stall.

We're learning to smile.

Unfortunately, I can't determine if the new stall is the issue because he had two weeks off prior to the stall, so my horse may have exercise-induced coughing for three weeks, but only really symptomatic for the one week in which he was actually worked.  If it were three weeks, that makes it more Summer Pasture-Associated.  If it's just this week, with the stall, it's more likely RAO.  You know, assuming it's either of those and I haven't tried to play vet too hard.

But, fortunately, my old man is still perfectly content and happy to march me around on the buckle at the walk.

Money.  I eats it.

We've had rain the past few days, so while Archie would have normally been on ride number for four the week, he's only had two.  And, man.  What an ass he was last night.

I got to the barn and there were a shit ton more cars than normal.  I don't normally ride on Thursdays anyways, so what do I know.  I walk up to the barn and realize that there is a farrier working on a couple horses.  I've never met this guy and I had no idea that multiple farriers came to our barn.  The owners were holding their own horses, so I guess that says something about the situation.  Nice enough guy, even if I did take points off for his pibble having cropped ears and testicles.


So I pull the old man out, and get ready to ride.  Kids are screaming next door.  No movie vehicles, but now Archie knows they're back there.  Obstacles are littered everywhere, because, oh yeah, it's time for summer camp.  And don't forget the farrier, pounding nails.  No big deal.

Except Archie's tense as fuck, so I'm tense as fuck, so Archie's tenser than fuck, so I'm a ball of nerves, allowing him to hollow and to look and llama himself around while trotting almost in place.  It was beautiful, lemme tell you.

He spooks one time, but it's fine because I was actually just working on seat depth, thanks, and had my legs wrapped solidly around him.

Then we're about to canter and a branch or a limb or a tree or a house falls somewhere behind us, and my left hand is holding my iPhone and my right hand is holding the crop and a bit of the rein, and my brain is holding nothing, but my legs are holding on enough for the rest of me.  And he spooks.  A majestic spook.  A note-worthy spook.  But I stay on, somehow.

Except my brain shoots into overdrive and for the first time that I can remember, I have an anxiety attack on his back.  Crying?  Sure.  I've cried tons of times on him.  Almost daily, back at the old barn.  But the hyperventilating, dying, head pounding, eyesight dimming experience, while on him?  No.  I don't remember that.  I likely wouldn't.

And then I slowly collect myself, finish resetting the time on my phone, and we canter.  Bold.

If you've read my minor bitching on IG, you might have noticed that I have a piss monster for a pony right now.  Every ride over the last two weeks or so has included some sort of acrobatics, normally with an Archie head aiming at my face.

I love it.  Really.  Because it means I'm in the saddle, right?

Not the most dramatic flail, but the only one with evidence.

Like anyone else, I run through the mental list of Shit That Could Be Wrong:

• I have hulked him out too much for our saddle.  Now his back is breaking.
• I've broken him and he's in pain and it's because I somehow did too much too soon.
• Something's wrong in his legs.
• Or his shoulder.
• Or his back.
• Or his fucking brain.
• Taking him off the regular SmartFlex Senior and putting him on the herb-free was the worse decision ever, because his joints were only being held together with my spit and Demon's Claw or Dragon's Claw or the brain stem fluid of a goat in eastern Maine, or whatever the fuck is actually in our SmartPaks.
• I'm not fit enough to keep up with his fitness (which might be the truest statement of my life).
• My aids have dissolved and when I think I'm trying to keep him from bulging right, I'm actually very politely asking him to crow hop on his front end a few times and bring his potentially-nose-smashing head ever closer to my face.  The intermittent bucks are just a bonus.
• His chronic back-soreness has returned with a vengeance and he really misses his meh-chiro.  And the vet.  It's been too, too long since his regular bi-weekly vet visits.
• He's completely done with me and circles, thanks.

Relaxed jerkface.

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.