Building The Curriculum

I rode out on Saxony for another three hours today. We crossed the bridge of terror again, but we also crossed other kinds of bridges. We did more road riding, going two miles to the barn where Scout boards. We encountered yard dogs, glittering debris in ditches, other horses, oddly-shaped mailboxes, people on bikes, people using leaf blowers, trucks hauling tarp-covered trailers, and who knows what else. Every now and then, Saxony was looky, nothing more. She's not a spooky mare. I'm a spooky rider.

You make the strides you can make. I drove to Sax's barn determined to meet K riding out on my own instead of waiting for her to come hold my hand. I was hamster-wheeling it in my head during the drive and arrived at the barn dry-mouthed. That's what I can do with my anxiety: let it get just too real in its effects even as I know it's unreal in its discourse. I took half a Valium to turn the dial down on myself half a notch. It's strange how a choice like that can convince me - which is why no doctor should ever waste real meds on me. The sugar pill will always work. Still, if I'd had five minutes more to groom and tack Saxony, I might have chickened out and waited for K. Instead, my focus drifted to taking just one chance. I didn't even take Saxony into the ring to warm up. We set off and met K as she left the road, turning north for our barn.

Saxony isn't herd bound, but she does look for the company of other horses. When we arrived at Scout's barn, we had to wait while K switched horses. Saxony called a few times when we were alone. Then, since four of us were going to ride together, she had to be introduced to the horses. I make the stakes too high on every new thing we do. I didn't know how she would behave, but I mostly managed to stay out of the way. Her neck was beautiful as she arched it during her nose-to-nose with Scout. All of that went fine.

Getting to the trail system was uneventful, but I didn't relax into it until we were in the woods. I had to remind myself to take deep breaths and look up. Despite myself, I recognize that Saxony is a good trail horse, she really is. Since this was only our second time out, I can't jump to conclusions, but it seems to me that she's content to bring up the rear. Where possible, I rode beside someone, but it was easy to fall back. 

Saxony doesn't understand lengthening of stride or change of tempo. Asked to quicken her walk, she steps into a jog or trot. And though she seems comfortable behind, it changes when horses in front of her move out. She wants to catch up and makes the decision on her own. That caused me to use the reins more strongly than I wanted, bailing out on my seat, but one thing at a time.

We did some trotting, which gave me a chance to feel how fast Saxony can be. Part of that is the difference in her build and breeding. Scout, a Quarter/Paint/Arab cross, is short-backed, compact and fat, but she's what I've been used to (sort of.) Saxony is a hand taller, longer through the back, and half Thoroughbred. She covers ground. It will take me a while to get used to that. On the other hand, I have a much better awareness of her movement than I have ever had with Scout. It's been a weakness of mine as a rider that I struggle to feel the proper diagonal or know which hind leg is swinging forward. I think riding Saxony will help me develop those skills.

Throughout the trail ride, I made a point of walking Saxony over downed branches, etc., wherever possible because she needs lots of work on picking up her feet. She saw something different in one log, though, and launched herself at it like it was a wide oxer, soaring high and wide in a major overjump. I flew up onto her neck, caught by surprise. I don't know why it didn't frighten me, but it absolutely didn't. Instead, I was delighted silly by the power of her body and the scope of her effort.

I am building the curriculum for us. It will be more of the same for me and Saxony. I need to bring her up into herself and she needs to bring me down into my body. I think we can do it; I think we have already begun.

And...Exhale Again

Scout passed her soundness exam yesterday. E moved her out while I stood with Dr. B. Scout was high as a kite. We had brought Gambler to the outdoor arena to keep her company, but Scout called over and over again to the other horses. They were all in their stalls, waiting for vaccines.

Oh, her scream can be deafening. She was jiggy and pissed off. E wrangled her on the longe line as if she were hauling in a swordfish. At one point, Dr. B went to Scout and spent a few moments flexing her at the neck to bring her back down to earth. I watched all of this silently, thinking, "There's the horse I know. Mm-hmm." Eventually, Scout settled enough to circle on the longe. Then she was comical, torn between moving forward, calling to her herd, and snaking her nose down to grab a bite of the new grass. Trying to handle all of those competing needs, she displayed astonishing flexibility.

Dr. B asked for canter. Oh, Scout took off. She exploded into a canter, dropping low to push off. She's a fast horse, and I often imagine there's a spoiler mounted over her rump to create better aerodynamics, like some gear head souped her up. Whoosh.

It took half an hour to get through the exam. There's a shortness of stride lingering in the left hind, but nothing else. Dr. B tracked the shortness of stride to Scout's hip. That problem first appeared in March 2009, and Scout subsequently received bilateral hock injections. It was a chicken and egg kind of thing: did the hip cause the hock or the hock cause the hip. We could see yesterday that the splint bone fracture and surgery had no impact on that. Doc B felt Scout was moving better now than she had since the subtle hip hitch first appeared.

I really had no expectations, and maybe not even any hopes either way. "She looks really good," said Dr. B, smiling. "Put her back to work." I was flooded with relief, I think. Relief for Scout. I felt the particular happiness of knowing that this animal that I love is all right. For the next few days, that's all I want to feel about her.

Released From C Block

Last Saturday, we turned Dar out one more time with the Keely monster. Really, my heart was in my throat, choking at the thought it might go badly or that, once again, he would climb aboard her. What if, and then what? I didn't have an answer, and I knew it.

We all stood and watched them. Scout was agitated, trotting back and forth along her paddock fence, fretting for Keely. We'd turned Dar and Keely out at the edge of the big pasture, opening the wide gate from paddock 3 to give them room to run. There, we waited for an explosion that never came. A squeal or two, some posturing and ear pinning. Eventually, Keely wandered back into the paddock. Dar, still out in the pasture, lifted his head and trotted in. He wanted to herd Keely away from the horses watching from the other paddocks. He was moving too fast, though, and wiped out, losing his footing in the snow and thudding suddenly, perfectly and safely, to his knees. I couldn't have asked for a better reality check. Surprised and chastened, he scrambled to his feet and walked slowly behind Keely. Inside of 20 minutes, they were eating hay side by side. I needed the sense of relief so much that when it came, it only filled the void created by my anxiety. Sometimes that kind of relief can feel like elation; this time, it only brought me back to level. That's how wrapped up I was in the question of whether I've got a jerk boy or a doofus boy.

Sunday night the Saints played a truly great game to win the Superbowl. That was elation. By then, I'd already heard that Dar made it through another day of turnout with Keely. If I am arriving at an understanding of Dar by defining what he is not, then one possibility has been crossed off the list. No, he's not a total asshole in turnout who should remain in solitary confinement.

Who, me?

What? I Have to Stay in For How Long?

The Vulnerability of Her

As they say, that Monday night, just last week, seems an eternity ago.

My vet came to the barn the next day. I walked Scout in from her paddock. Dr. B palpated the leg. We moved to the indoor arena. Scout trotted willingly next to me, once out, then back. No more was necessary. Four X-rays. Between each one, Scout called to the horses, all of them outside, quiet in their paddocks. She has a deafening scream, the kind that moves her whole body. She means it when she speaks.

But even then, I had a sick feeling. It wasn't a matter of what if an injury, only a matter of what kind of injury. You begin to prepare, even though you don't know for what. I felt I was beginning to ready myself, but maybe I was only bracing myself. Maybe I was only kidding myself.

It was 3:00 p.m. on Wednesday when Dr. B called and told me that Scout had multiple fractures of her splint bone. By then, I had convinced myself that it was going to be nothing more than a bad bone bruise.

I managed to listen and scratch some notes on the back of a phone bill, but I was shocked. There would be a surgical consult, but Scout was to be put in a standing wrap and confined to stall rest, 24-7, immediately. "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm," I said, but -- 24-7 confinement? No way. Scout grew up living outdoors, no matter wind, rain, heat, ice. I had to train her to understand that coming into a well-bedded box stall every night was a wonderful thing. That took some time, and she accepted it only when she realized that all the other horses came in at night too.

On Wednesday night, E, my trainer, taught me how to do a standing wrap. I took a picture of the first wrap I did by myself, last Friday night. I need a little more practice, but Scout is making it easy. She stands still, and occasionally arches her neck around to watch me fumbling at her feet.

Thanksgiving happened in a kind of suspended reality, and then came Friday night and the results of the surgical consult.

There are multiple fractures of the upper half of the splint bone and a clean break in the lower half. Most of the bone must be removed. An ultrasound could determine whether the suspensory ligament ( a principal component of that architecture of the leg that so amazes me) has been damaged, but surgery will also reveal that.

"When I look at the X-rays, I think your mare has an incredible tolerance for pain," said Dr. B, remarking on how difficult it had been to elicit any signs of discomfort in Scout.

"Pardon my language, Doc," I said. "Scout is one tough bitch." And she is. She's always been an easy keeper and a quick healer. It's not her physical recovery that I worry about, but her mental ability to withstand the constraints of the recovery process.

Tomorrow night, E and I will trailer her to the clinic. She'll have surgery on Wednesday morning. We'll bring her home Thursday afternoon. Every step of the process is new to Scout and new to me. I want to manage my anxiety and anger -- and yes, there is anger -- by throwing myself into learning as much as I can about everything that will happen, as it happens, over the next few days.