Saxony's Winter Overhaul

I got Saxony in late September and then spent much of October and November getting a sense of her and giving her a sense of me. We had no more than a dozen rides before the odd, erratic winter that was to come began to blow our way. Having no indoor arena, I put away the saddle and bridle and embarked on a program of priming Saxony for springtime through steady contact and care. My vet came and met her, we X-rayed her all the way around and started her on Cosequin ASU, I settled on a farrier who understood Saxony's feet and trimmed her beautifully, and I soon eased into a groove to carry us through the winter that enabled me to feel as though I actually did have this sweet new mare and I really was involved with her.

Saxony still had her wolf teeth, and we'd planned to remove them in early spring, when she'd be due for a float. I scheduled an appointment for March 7th. As luck would have it, she popped an eye infection the week before. A specialist came out to see her and diagnosed a blockage of the left nasolacrimal duct. Saxony's natural tears could not drain to the nostril and out, so the duct would have to be flushed. It would be done by my regular vet when she came to take care of Saxony's teeth. It all turned out well, but what a rough afternoon it was for my girl.

Dr. B began with the flushing, after the sedation had taken hold. A huge syringe was filled with warm saline which was then forced through the needle-thin tip into the tiny opening of the nasolacrimal duct set high in Saxony's nostril. The sensation irritated her, so she struggled against it, sneezing and snorting. The right duct flushed easily; within seconds saline bubbled up into the corner of her eye, welling over, running down her face. The left duct, blocked, was a bear; it was very trying for Saxony. Again and again the saline blew back, dripping out of the nostril. Dr. B went through an entire bottle of saline, though none of her patience, and my blood ran cold when she eventually began to ruminate out loud about "surgical alternatives." There came a moment of professional curiosity, however, when she seemed to think back to the textbooks, searching for an explanation for the stubbornness of that duct. And there was an explanation, an unusual one. It turned out that Saxony had two duct openings in her left nostril. One was a sort of "twin," long enough to accommodate most of the syringe tip, but closed at the other end. Of course, that's the one Dr. B had been trying to force the saline through. Once she switched to the other tiny portal, it was just a matter of time and pressure. When the saline finally exploded up into Saxony's left eye, we all shared a moment of silly celebration.

Except poor Sax. The flushing had taken so long, Dr. B had to give her more sedation for the dental work. Her wolf teeth came out easily, with one loose and wobbly all ready and the other needing just a quick prod. There were many hooks on her molars and evidence of the injuries they'd caused to her cheeks. And somewhere during the dental work we discovered a cut on Saxony's upper lip that presented itself by snagging on the dental brace. It was a bloodless tear a couple of days old, one of those mystery injuries of no known origin. Suddenly squeamy, I had to turn away when Dr. B snipped away the jag of flesh.

I stayed with Saxony in her stall until the sedation wore off. I just kept near and looked at her, peaceful and close. I was thinking about what I'd been doing with her through the winter, taking care of her, readying her for what is to come, which is us building our partnership. I felt I'd used the winter well, like cleaning out the attic or emptying the basement. With all that work out of the way, there's a lot of clean new new space for us.

After most of the sedation had worn off, I gave Saxony a flake of hay and groomed her while she ate. I swooped my shedding block over her hindquarters, back and belly, tracing her curves and feeling as though she were a piece of fine woodcraft undergoing painstaking restoration. That's an awkward metaphor, but I was thinking of discovering what lies beneath her winter coat, the rich swirls of color and shading I'd begun to find, like the beauty of old wood grain rediscovered. And all the while I worked, all the while I stayed there with her, I felt how much I've loved caring for her, seeing to her. Maybe that's what I love most of all.

Tiny Work, Bigger Gains

And... I've met many horse owners who talk about all the training their horse needs, the work on this, work on that...

Sometimes it's easier to recite the list than actually get around to doing any of it, especially if the work seems mundane or repetitive, never mind both. One thing I aim to do with Saxony is actually do the work, stay disciplined and committed about it.

As a horse who knew only one owner for the five years before I got her, and who before that was a backyard pet who was taught to lie down so her owner could stretch out on her and read a book (really!), working with Saxony means introducing her to me, deliberately and slowly easing her into the changes I'm bringing to her life. Whenever I'm with her, I'm mindful of the ancient concept that you are training your horse every second you are together. I try to keep that belief present in my thoughts during our encounters.

I've learned so much with Scout, and in some ways I learned even more during the nine months that was Dar. Those experiences gave me more than I imagined and prepared me well for Saxony. Not only can I see the work she needs, I also see that I'm capable of doing lots of it myself. That's a thrilling feeling for me.

Sax walks off at the mounting block. She doesn't do it all the time, but enough to attract my attention. Standing quietly for mounting is something I want in my horses. After two weeks of introductory rides, I felt ready to take Saxony back to basics at the mounting block.

I saw an opportunity to deal with two tasks at one time, so I placed five ground poles near the mounting block. Because Saxony needs work on picking up her feet, ground poles are a regular part of our arena rides.

I stepped up on the mounting block, gathered the reins, and Saxony moved off. I led her then over the ground poles before circling back to the mounting block. Round 2. I stepped up and just leaned into her. She walked off. Again we walked over the ground poles. At Round 3, I weighted the near stirrup heavily. Sax walked on, and I led her over the ground poles. Round 4 saw me settle into the saddle, but Sax was already moving out. I dismounted and quietly led her through the ground poles. Round 5 was the keeper. She stood statue-like and listening. It's a small thing, but I could feel her paying attention, figuring it. We then had a half-hour walk/trot schooling ride, relaxing for both of us. At the end, I dismounted, walked her around the ring a couple of times and then got back on. She stood. I'll begin our rides with variations of this kindergarten lesson until Saxony understands it completely.

It's tiny work, but it creates a sense of accomplishment in me. Teaching Saxony is one thing, but that she will accept me teaching her and even learn what I'm teaching, that's wonderful.

Backblogged

This is my favorite picture of Mr. Tabby Man. Tab-Tab, a sweet, shlubby guy, died a few years ago. He was kneading me when I took this photo, which explains his stoned expression, but I also look this way tonight because somehow I came down with bronchial pneumonia during the summer and just got it diagnosed today. I only knew energy was draining out of me faster than I could store it and I was getting too good at hacking up chunks of blondish spackle. Ah, well.

None of that was enough to prevent me from going on a two-and-a-half-hour trail ride with K on Sunday morning. It was chilly, and rain spat through the wind from time to time, but it was so good to ride. I left Saxony alone over the weekend, not wanting to involve her with a less-than-present me, and rode Gambler while K rode Red Death. The ride didn't do my chest any good, but it did wonders for my head, so I broke even.

There I was practicing my sitting trot on little Gambler, whose peg-legged, steppy Arab trot demands a deep, relaxed seat and flexing, opening hips. I found my way to the elusive moment when those abstract concepts converged into a simple physical harmonic and I stayed there, again and again. You have that moment where you say I actually get it, I really actually understand it because you feel it.

It's a lifelong, ever-sustaining pursuit, riding, and rare for being one that's more fun along the way than not. That's how I feel about it, and that's what I talk about with friends who've never had horses in their lives. Then I gloat when I become an enabler.

Which is exactly what is happening here. A dear friend relaxes on Gambler, riding on the buckle, both of them enjoying a lovely stretch after a session on the lunge line. This was only the third time she'd ridden Gambler, but what seemed to have begun as a minor case of the 24-hour horse bug may have flared into ... full-blown horse pneumonia. Presenting symptoms include, but are not limited to, unrepentant grin, reluctance to dismount, and sudden use of the word "lease." I recognize the moment when someone discovers their love of riding, their love of horses, and I never tire of sharing it. I know what beginners don't yet realize, how that sense of discovery never leaves us when horses are in our lives, and how it can help us even in those parts of our lives that have nothing to do with horses.

Which makes me think of K and what's going on between her and Scout. I still had Dar when Scout passed her post-surgery-and-recovery soundness exam. With Dar in training then, and Scout long ago cast in the role of beloved nemesis, I could only nod silently when Dr. B said, smiling, "Put her back into regular work."

Dar played out as he did and then the high season of my job drew me into its four-month maw. Scout idled happily in the pasture and uneasily in the back of my mind. Until the day K asked to ride her. That was some 15 rides ago, and now I know "K" stands for Kismet.

Riding with them on Sunday, watching their growing connection, I continued to think about how they are matched, about how the right fears can sometimes dovetail with precisely the right horse in the best way imaginable for the horse and the rider. That's happening here, and I'll write about it when I've understood it well enough to explain what I mean. For now, it'll stay in my backblog, along with Saxony, thoughts about dressage, questions about endurance, and new steps to regaining confidence.

Six Long Months

Beautiful weather. I left work early to see the horses.

One thing has changed irrevocably in me since Scout's injury: my priorities. I won't allow less important things, less meaningful things, to push the horses into the background anymore. Keeping even one of them will require sacrifice and commitment, things I now realize I'm perfectly willing to accept. To work that hard for them means they deserve more of my time than the things that come easily.

When I pulled up to the barn today, Scout was lying down, her legs curled under her, catlike, in the sun and mud. She was basking, her eyes alert, her expression soft, completely relaxed. It's only the second time in the years I've owned her that I've seen her lying down.

The last time I was on a horse was in September 2009. I can't even believe that. But K told me I could ride Gambler whenever I wanted to. It means a lot to be trusted with another person's horse.

Gambler dozed in the cross ties while I spent 45 minutes peeling off some of his winter coat with a shedding block and brush. Eventually, a deep white pelt covered the ground around us. I love grooming horses, especially in springtime.

I tacked up Gambler and off we went. It was just a 30-minute ride, but I was also shedding. I left bits of frustration, pressure, tension and sadness behind me with every step. Gambler picked his way through the wet edge of the field. The sunlight, the stillness. Somewhere, a woodpecker jack-hammered a tree.

At the center of the south pasture, we rode serpentines and circles. I kept a light, steady contact, and deepened my seat, stretching tall.

Oh, I can remember how to ride.