Reason #355: Why I Love My Mare....

You can tell that Sug was a mommy in her previous life, and that she looks upon my children as her foals.  She takes such care of them when they are on her back or around her on the ground; she's always gentle with them and careful of them.  She's also been known to scold them in her deep voiced rumble when she thinks they are getting out of line.  Now, I know that she is an animal and as such, is unpredictable.  That's why I take care to supervise the kids' interactions with her and mitigate any situations that might pose more than the danger inherent in hanging out with 1000lb animals.  However, one look at this video and you can see why I absolutely adore this creature, and trust her as much as I do with my children.

Need a life, much????

Last Friday afternoon I went to the barn, rode two horses, and then drove 4.5 hours to Connecticut through Friday night beach traffic on I-95 (need I say any more??) to spend the better part of this weekend watching my friend's daughter compete in a horse show.

Got to Connecticut around 8pm (effing Connecticut traffic!!), had a quick but enjoyable dinner (love ya, Alforno!) and then went to the show for night check.  Got up at o'dark hundred the next morning to head to the horse show (Venti triple shot latte, anyone) and spent the day in the hurry-up-and-wait mode associated with horse shows. 

At some point during the day we escaped to have lunch and hit the outlet mall.  Let me just say that clothes shopping gives me fits.  I get twitchy about 5 minutes into any shopping trip, and quite frankly, am completely overwhelmed in most retail situations.  I will buy 12 different colors of the same shirt if it fits just to make life easier. 

Horse shopping, however, is a horse of a different color.  (Sorry, had to do it).  I hit the horse show's tack shop at least 4 times, and must've picked up and touched every darn thing in the store.  I can spend HOURS shopping for my horse.  I don't have the cashola to do serious damage, but if I did, she'd be the best dressed equine on the block.  Dress sheets make me swoon, leather goods sent me into fits of ecstasy, and I can debate the merits of various types of boots until the cows come home.  Bought a completely un-needed wool dress sheet that was on sale for a ridiculous amount, just because my angel looks pretty in navy and lavender.

Another trek down I-95 and I'm home.  What do I do once the kids go to sleep?  I cruise some of my favorite horsey web sites, read the latest issue of Chronicle of the Horse (I always mean to savor it, never can muster the willpower and ALWAYS read it in one sitting) and crawled into bed with, you guessed it, a horse book. 

A friend of mine suggested I've got an obsessive-autistic issue. (?????!!!!!!????)  Really??  Dr. Phil much? Another suggested I need a life.  As she does nothing but watch Court TV all day, her opinion doesn't weigh much. 

Frankly, I don't care.  I'm good with it.  The kids are fed, the house is standing, no science projects in the fridge, and no one seems to be getting hurt.  I'm thinking that in the scheme of things, I'm ahead of the crack whores.  Nothing like setting the bar high.....

Looking good...or maybe not

It's probably a good thing that I'm married, because there's no way I'd be able to attract another potential mate at this point, even if I'd wanted to.  Most days I am dressed in an old t-shirt picked up at a concert/pub/sports event.  Usually said t-shirt is covered in horse slobber or whatever I've been cooking and have absentmindedly wiped on myself.  I've been known to run out to Cumberland Farms in my rubber duckie pj's if there's no milk for my morning latte.  Add to all of this the fact that I rarely wear makeup and leave the car windows open so my hair sticks up like Heat Miser's, and I think you get where I'm going with this.

However, I think I hit a new high (low?) the other night.  It was a gajillion degrees in the shade, and I went down to the barn to hose down my sweaty mare and a friend's horse.  By the time I got to the barn, the heat had dropped a bit and I decided it would be fun to channel my inner child and hop up on my horse bareback and have a nice relaxing ride.

We played around, working on lateral movements and over some ground poles.  I hopped off after about 15 minutes and hosed her off, then grazed her.  I then grabbed my friend's horse and hopped on him for more of the same.

After I was done with the second horse I hosed him off, paying cursory attention to hosing off my legs, which had taken on quite a bit of hair from each horse -- a lovely, itchy mix of gray and brown.  However, I forgot one key area of my anatomy that had been in contact with the horses. Apparently my ass was COVERED in horse hair, a fact which largely escaped me even when I wandered in to the local Kings in search of a beverage for the ride home.  I noticed quite a few people staring, many of them smiling, and a few outright laughing.  Didn't really think much of it (again, I go to the store in my pj's) until I got home and the aforementioned husband fell down laughing, pointing to my butt and choking out a word that sounded vaguely like Sasquatch in between gales of laughter.

Oh well, the cats thought I looked pretty good.

Minor rant...

Just got back from a business trip.  Now, I don't sleep very well when in hotels so by the time I get home I'm usually seriously sleep deprived and, yes, this makes my already colorful personality a tad more colorful.  I know this.  My family knows this.  So you'd think they would do anything to avoid creating situations that would cause any potentially "colorful" outbreaks, right. (Before I go on, note, no one, human or animal, is harmed when I get colorful. Unless you count their ears -- I can get loud.)

Things that send me over that very thin edge I hover on:

1) Granite is not camouflage.  Just because it is difficult to see the glob of jelly on the counter does NOT mean it isn't there.  If you've done anything on the counter -- prepared food, eaten food, created crafts -- CLEAN THE DAMN COUNTER OFF!  'Nuff said. 

2) Cleaning the counter off does not mean sweeping the crumbs on the counter off onto the floor.  This is cheating, and will be penalized accordingly.  If there's one thing that peeves Mom off more than sticking to the counter, it's walking through the kitchen and sticking to the floor (or feeling the crunch of crumbs underfoot).

3) If you open the fridge door and something growls at you, do not just close the door and move to the pantry in search of food.  Remove the offender from the fridge. If it's old enough to grow hair and mutate, you can't eat it and it must be thrown out.  Good rule of thumb: If Mom is gone more than 3 days, any leftover item/sandwich/doggie bag that was in the fridge before Mom left is too old to be safely ingested.  Throw it away. 

4)  Leaving the toilet seat cover up so the cats can drink is not okay.  Fill their water bowls.  Clean out the litter box while you are at it. 

5) Do not leave wet towels/clothes/blankets/toys strewn on floor.  You know where these things belong. Put whatever-it-is wherever it belongs.

Following these well known and oft-communicated guidelines will ensure that Mom's return to the bosom of her family will be less eventful for everyone.

The Hedgerow of Death.

The outdoor arena at my barn is bordered by a driveway and paddocks on the long sides, the barn and picnic/viewing area on one short side, and a hedgerow separating it from a cornfield on the other short side.  For some reason, this hedgerow is a constant cause of consternation for most of the horses, despite the fact that most of them are ridden past it darn near every day.

I was riding my friend's horse, an 8 year old gelding named Stratego (Strah-teh-go, like the Greek word for general, not Struh-tee-go,  like the game).  Stratego is a behemoth of a horse, somewhere around 18 hands.  Now, you might think that this would make him, like many larger people, fairly confident about his size and ability to deal with any threats.  Not so.  Apparently, to Stratego, his size makes him a cougar's gourmet fantasy, and he is not about to forget this fact for a moment.  Doesn't matter that Stratego lives in a comfy stall, has never had to forage for a meal, and has never seen a predator (cranky Corgis not withstanding). Evolution be damned, in Stratego's mind he is one moment away from being some predator's breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

So, it's a breezy morning, and I'm riding Stratego in the outdoor arena.  The breeze is rustling the hedgerow, and Stratego is clearly convinced that something is about to leap out at him.  He is determined to avoid the end of the arena, and I am determined that we are not.  I am trying to distract him by asking him to shoulder-in, with the hope that the difficulty of the exercise will cause him to forget about the distraction of the potential horse killer in the bushes.  Ain't working.  I circle him and try again.

Ten minutes later I was sweating like a pig and accomplishing nothing. We'd taken several quick trips down the long side when Stratego decided, unilaterally, that escape was the better option.  By this time I was hell bent and determined that I would get one trip through the evil bush-laden short side with the horse correctly bent to the inside, rather than with his great big schnoz pointed outwards like a rubbernecker passing a fender-bender. 

At this point I was cussing like a sailor/trucker/sleep-deprived mother all rolled in to one.  However, I was careful to speak my curses in dulcet tones, as horses respond to calm, soothing words, not hissed threats to turn them into dog meat.  Actually, I was cussing AND huffing and puffing like a steam train, because convincing Baby Huey (think smallish tractor trailer) to do something he most definitely did not want to do was sending me into serious oxygen deprivation.  Note to self: Must increase cardio training.

Finally, Stratego gave in.  Most likely he came to the conclusion that being eaten by a cougar was preferable than dealing any longer with the crazed woman on his back, and we went through the short side with the correct bend AND without rushing.  Mission accomplished.

I wish I could say the adventure ended on that success.  Sadly, it did not.  We got to the other end of the arena and the other short side, where the barn owner had set out extra chairs, tables, and umbrellas in preparation for the barn barbecue.  Stratego took exception to this, and before I knew it, I was continuing northbound while the horse was going westbound.  Sigh.

I belly flopped, and, like a water skier that falls and forgets to let go of the tow rope, stupidly held on to the reins.  I think my reasoning (?!?) was that if I held on, the horse would realize that it would be too difficult to drag a dead weight and reconsider escape.  I also did not want to have to call my friend and tell her that her horse had left the barn and was halfway to Pennsylvania.  Luckily Stratego stopped dragging me after only a few feet.  That, however, was enough to accrue about 5 pounds of sand down my shirt and breeches.

Needless to say, I needed to get back on the horse and re-educate him.  Commenced shoulder-in, circling, and cussing exercise until submission was achieved.  Horse and rider were covered in sweat, and rider was covered in an additional layer of dirt and sand (somewhat like grout). 

When I got home, I undressed in the shower.  Result was somewhat like being small child after day at beach - 5 pound pile of sand at bottom of shower and grit in unmentionable places.

Remind me why this riding thing is fun??

Why having a horse IS good for the family...

Today was not a great day.  Started out with the working  mother guilt as I sent the kids off to camp the day after school ended.  Work was one crisis after another, and no matter how many items I crossed off the to-do list, more seemed to pile on.  By the time I picked the kids up (later than I'd planned to) I felt as if my chest was constricted and I was one step away from a full blown mini-breakdown, or at least a really good crying jag.  The last thing I wanted to do was drive 45 minutes to the barn.  It was one of those nights when i questioned why I had the horse.  If I didn't, would I be working?  Would the kids be in camp?  Would we have more family time and be less over-scheduled? 

Somehow, I managed to keep it together without barking at the kids as I herded them through McDonalds, and slogged through rush hour traffic.  At some point, we started to chat about the kids' day; the new friends they'd made at camp, their counselors, the games they played.  Sophie shared a joke they'd learned, and before I knew it, we were all giggling.  That joke led to more, and we all got a case of the sillies that lasted until we pulled into the barn.  Mini-miracle #1. Long drives to the barn often result in good conversations with the kids.

When we got to the barn, we saw a fox and a young deer in the field, playing with each other, just like the scene from the movie "Milo and Otis."  We watched nature at play until both animals went back into the woods, at which point the kids raced off to play with the barn donkey and I went to get my mare.  Her nicker made me smile, and the vice around my chest began to subside.  Going into her stall, I just stood and scratched her as she licked me and checked me for treats.  The kids came in to see her and she spent a few minutes snuffling at them and licking them while they hugged her.  Mini-miracle #2.  I can feel my blood pressure dropping.

I'd already decided that today was to be an easy day; she'd been in her stall for a few days and why push things when I was not in a good frame of mind.  The ring was empty, as everyone was away at a show.  It didn't remain that way for long; about halfway through our warm up Billie Jean, the donkey, decided to join us.

Now, Sugar is not overly enamored of Billie Jean, and Billie Jean loves nothing better than to torment Sug.  The little imp decided to trot along next to us, causing Sug to snake her head and snort, but bless the mare, that's all she did.  An imp came over me, and as Billie tore off and ran away, kicking her heels as she went, I let Sugar take off after her. 

What ensued for the next 20 minutes was a series of donkey races and donkey herding.  We'd race Billie from one end of the ring to the other, both horse and donkey shaking heads, kicking up heels and squealing.  If Billie swerved, Sug would channel her inner cow pony and swerve after her, with me clinging like a burr to the saddle.  The kids came into the ring, and we all ran around like a pack of idiots, laughing and carrying on and having an absolute blast.  The donkey slalomed through the kids, the kids chased the donkey, and the horse trotted and cantered around clearly wishing she were smaller and more mobile, but enjoying herself immensely.

We stopped the games before anyone got too tired, gave the mare a bath and took both mare and donkey out for a nice long craze in the clover patch, replaying the events of the last half hour and laughing over the highlights as the sun set over our heads.  We tucked Billie and Sug in for the night, kissed both soft noses, and headed on the log ride home, exhausted and exhilarated, and still chatting. 

Mini-miracle #3: Maybe I would be working and would not be stressed and would be able to relax and enjoy my children despite excessive stress levels if I did not have the horse, but quite frankly, I'm not 100% sure I would.  She's my therapy; my friend and confidant.  She's a wonderful teacher for me and my kids, and our time together with each other and with her is irreplaceable.  It's hard to feel guilty about having her when having her brings so much to our lives.

Primary relationships...

Perhaps it's unhealthy, but if I could spend most of my day with my horse, I probably would.  The other major players in my life (husband, kids, friends, employer) would not be thrilled if I decided to go in this direction.  No doubt they all think I spend too much time with the horse as it is.

Sometimes I try to step back and examine how much time I really do spend at the barn, and compare that with time spent with the kids, with my husband, or at work.  Sadly, I think work wins, at least in terms of total time spent.  Then the kids, and the long suffering hubby takes whatever crumbs are left.

It's harder to look at time spent with the kids vs. horse time objectively.  For example, tonight I picked the kids up a little after 5pm, then they helped me cook dinner before we all rushed off to the first night of Rugby practice.  Roughly, the hours between 5 and 9 were with the family. 

Tomorrow I'll be bringing the kids to their barn for their riding lessons; that's another 4 hours I'll be with them.  At least one night this week and one weekend morning they'll be at my barn with me.  Am not sure that counts, though, as it's not like I'm interacting with them that much when I'm riding.  Does it count if we're together, even if we're not actually interacting?  Am not 100% sure on this one.  Anyway, I'm not even factoring in more rugby practice time, rugby game time (substitute lacrosse or gymnastics time if you'd like) and pool time.  If I think about it, I guess that time I DO spend with them does outweigh the time spent at the barn or when I'm travelling.

The horse time is my sanity time.  It rejuvenates me and gives me the patience I normally don't always have as readily accessible as I'd like to.  As much as I love the other people I'm blessed to have in my life, the constant refrain of, "Mom, Mom, Mom, Hun, Mom, Hun, Amy, Hun, Mom, Amy!" can suck the life out of a girl.  Sug is happy to see me, but is just as happy if I don't show up.  She doesn't ask me how much I love her, or tell me she thinks that I love the kids more, or am too tired to really "connect" with her. 

All I know is that when she rests her head on my shoulder and blows a sweet sigh into my ear, everything in my world is as right as rain.   I can just sigh back at her, put her back in her stall, and go back off to my "primary relationships" in a much better place and better equipped to do right by them.