Shades of Gray and Green / Gathering the Guild (Part 2)

By my nature, I’m a collaborator.

My husband, Tom, calls me “The Queen of the Follow-Up Question.” I’m insatiably curious about the things that fascinate me. Annoyingly so, I’m sure, to those I pepper with more and deeper inquiries.

“You are an average of the five people you spend the most time with.” (Jim Rohn)

For me, horse-keeping and endurance riding have always been less rugged individualism and more survey-the-room. It is crucial for me to have seriously geeky friends as resources, and to have plied them with one favor or another over the years to increase the odds they’ll pick up the phone or answer an email or text.

Baking, stopping at the liquor store, crewing, all part of my companionable quid pro quo.

 

(True confession. This whole this-for-that exchange has never felt more like bribery than when I decided to put it in writing.)

I tend to be pretty compliant when I’m given firm counsel by a subject matter expert. I’ve also learned that being an expert in one field, say balanced hoof trimming, does not make one a guru on dressage.

The final arbiter, always, is the horse. (As someone witty once said, sometimes the horse didn’t read the book.)

Jigsaw puzzles, each and every one. Some more complex than others.

Even before Atticus’ hooves descended that horse trailer ramp here in South Carolina, I’d gathered the alliance:

Dunk was drafted into service, I confess. He’d gotten the summer off while I healed from my late June back fractures, and I made noises about retiring him. Something was just NQR (not quite right). I set him up to go see Dr. Keelin Redmond, who has been a trusted partner for the last few years.

We trotted him, flexed him, she did a physical and neurological exam. We talked about all of the things that might have caused that June stumble, and another prior in February while he was cantering. We talked about retiring him, the risks of continuing to ride him, we laughed over the utter quirkiness of Dunk. I admitted to how much time I spent lying awake at night over the mystery of him.

In the end, my question was whether it was safe or fair to ask him to act as chaperone to Atticus. Could he be the younger, greener horse’s training wheels until such time that Atticus was ready to fly solo?

Could it be EPM, arthritis, some other hidden physiological problem? We discussed them all, honed in on the most likely – which seemed to be arthritic changes in his front pasterns/fetlocks – and opted to focus on addressing those. Legend and Adequan to support his joint health. Anti-inflammatories (firocoxib, daily, to start) to support his return to work. Fastidious trimming to ensure we kept his hoof balanced so that it minimized any torque and reduced the fulcrum effect of his hoof on the lower limb connective-tissue structures.

I ran all of this past my buddy Dr. Pam Karner, who has scolded me more than once for not reaching out to her sooner, even though it is geographically impossible for her to be my practitioner. Pam once texted me back “WTF!” when I told her about following vet’s orders for something that wasn’t working, and what did she think? Classic Pam. She just texted me then, in detail, what to do. I did. Of course it worked.

Likewise, Dr. Lani Newcomb, to whom I randomly sent a photo of the oddest little perfectly round wound on Iggy’s pastern the first summer I lived in South Carolina. The text back — “Summer sore!” Oh yes, I remembered habronema, but only as a 4-H Horse Bowl question. As a Yankee, I’d never actually experienced the work of those little *(#@ers.

I write all of this not to brag on my brilliant veterinary friends – well, maybe I’m doing that a little bit — but mostly to suggest that you may also want to cultivate a few super-smart horsepeople in your life.

Hold on, right turn! Random tangent time.

Let’s talk hooves. If you want to get me on a passionate soapbox, ask me about toe length, and working sport horses, including endurance horses. Long toes are a near criminal epidemic, in my opinion. My opinion is more rabid because I am responsible for shortening the working life of one of my horses due to my hesitation to insist on better trimming.

My obsession led to a guilty-pleasure Christmas gift to yours truly from yours truly. I purchased a Hoof Boss, a livestock-designed angle grinder because even on a tight trimming/shoeing schedule, I’m always eyeing my horses’ feet and swiping a bit with a rasp here and there. This thing makes that task far easier on my not-as-young-as-it-used-to-be body and so quick. No, I do not get paid for this endorsement, but wouldn’t that be nice? <Hoof Boss, hit me up, I can be bought!>

End of tangent.

 

Atticus has big, hard hooves, but they were due for a trim and a little flared, so I texted Keith to make an appointment.

Keith is one of my favorite South Carolina characters. He is tattooed, pierced, has a deep drawl and a pink hoof stand that I adore. The fact that he says “I’ll do whatever you want me to do” makes him a unicorn of hoof professionals. We have a clear agreement that if I ask him to, say, take more toe than he would, the results are on me. Between this working arrangement, and my willingness to bake and his sweet tooth, we both think we’re on the winning end of a client/farrier relationship.

Keith insists that I am running Tom ragged with work around the place –often reinforced because there’s a new project completed every time Keith comes around– Tom agrees with Keith.

I’m pretty sure they’re both joking.

Keith is a traditional steel shoe guy, but a few years ago started working with my favorite EasyCare shoes when I asked if he’d try them – see above. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

 

There is nothing better, really, than a farrier with whom you have a great partnership. (I was spoiled by Dave Augustine, and so grateful to have found Keith.)

 

Right after he arrived, I scheduled a “well-baby-checkup” –my term for an appointment expected to just examine and poke and prod a beast to ensure all seems to be in working order—with Dr. Keelin.  Atticus was declared “cute as a bug.”

Beth Hammelbacher (The Kneaded Edge) was invited to come do bodywork and magnawave on both of my boys.

 

Elise, the young professional horsewoman who has been helping me with conditioning, was all in for riding both Atticus and Dunkin, with a goal to get both legged up, and install power steering and seat/leg aids on Atticus. After four years of working together, Elise really is family at this point. She’s been around for the adventures that inevitably come when you ride hundreds of miles and hours together.

I do still need to get her to an endurance ride.

 

Elyse, Marianne, Kathy. All agreed to ride with me with Atticus. All horsewomen who share my philosophy that we always ride to the requirements of the most-challenged horse on any given day. Whether that is a green horse, or one coming back from an injury, or the one that simply has a cold breeze blowing up under their tail. Safety first.

 

 

 

I’m known to pick the brains of Lara and Dr. G and Dawn and Bri and so many others on matters of nutrition and conditioning. Especially with a guy like Atticus who has the metabolism of a peasant; he could quickly turn into a horse with metabolic challenges.

 

I was riding with Elise one day, and she was talking about how much she enjoyed our rides with Elyse and Marianne the weeks prior.

I told her I have very discerning taste in friends. Moreso with every year that passes.

And of course, there is Tom, who is still hilariously un-horsey (but learning) and remarkably supportive. Service the horse trailer or my truck brakes? Check. Put up a Hi-Tie for camping with Atticus? Expertly installed. Stuff hay nets with me every evening in our dormant-pasture version of a track system? He’s in.

His response to hearing the excitement in my voice when I told him I thought Atticus was “the one.”

“Baby, go buy him!”

 

Mission Green and Gray, we’ve got our team locked and loaded, and we’re on our way.

Surround yourself wisely, friends, everything else follows.