Snowman: The Eighty-Dollar Champion

I've always loved horses. Long before I owned a horse, I loved horse books. When I was in elementary school, I read  most of C.W. Anderson's books. When I was 12, I read most of  Walter Farley's books. As an adult, I still love horse books. The latest one I read is The Eight-Dollar Champion: Snowman, The Horse That Inspired a Nation. It's a true story, published in 2012.

About the time I was reading Walter Farley books, Harry de Leyer bought an $80 horse from a dealer trucking horses to a slaughterhouse. Harry had intended to get to the New Holland sale to purchase a school horse prospect for his modest horse business, but a flat tire delayed him. By the time he reached the sale, all the horses had been. He looked between the slats of the killer's truck, and an ex-plow horse looked back. Harry bought him. By the time the horse was delivered to his farm, snow was falling heavily. When the horse was unloaded, his matted hair was quickly covered in snow, and the de Leyer children thought he looked like a snowman. That's how he got his name. Nt onlywsSnowman a great pet for the de Leyer children, he was also an excellent school horse and eventually a champion jumper. You can read more about Harry and his horse at the "Harry and Snowman" website.

Both horse people and non-horse people will enjoy this story about triumph over adversity. Although there were some repetitive parts and the author sometimes interrupted the flow of the narrative to explain things to non-horsey readers, I enjoyed the  book and could hardly put it down. The Eighty Dollar Champion had two themes I love to find in books: (1) It was about how one twist of fate can change a person's life (and the lives of his family) and (2) how a horse can impact a person's life.

In fact, I used those themes 15 years ago when I wrote Patches on the Sam Quilt—a novel in which boy's wish for a horse comes true by pure chance, and it changes his life and that of his family for generations. But I'm digressing.

The story of Snowman's remarkable life is being made into a movie. There's a YouTube video that previews this upcoming documentary:

I can't wait to see it.

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Thou Shalt Fly Without Wings

Because 2014 is the "Year of the Horse," what better way to start the new year than with a horse book. I recently finished Thou Shalt Fly Without Wings, written by one of my Facebook friends, Rhonda Tipton.

 I've been a fan of her blog, Song of the Raincrow, for quite a while, so I figured I'd like her book. I did.

 Thou Shalt Fly Without Wings is a collection of essays about Rhonda's life-long involvement with horses. Most of the essays are about her work on Thoroughbred breeding farms in Kentucky, but some are about horses and mules that she has owned or known, and a few are about her childhood experiences with horses. I'd classify the book as a cross between memoir and partial autobiography.

From the title, I'd expected the book to be about Thoroughbred racing. Instead of being set a the track, however,  it was a look behind the scenes at Kentucky farms that bred, raised, and sold horses for the track. Through the years, Rhonda and her husband worked in both foaling barns and yearling barns at several farms, and she skillfully shares many adventures from these times. She also shares stories about mules, about horses she has known or owned, and about people she knew who worked with horses.

I especially enjoyed her recollections from her childhood in the Kentucky Mountains. She learned horsemanship from her father, who provided her with many horses as she was growing up. Some of my favorite parts of the book are ones about her childhood: her first pony, Freddy-Boy who "was not of a mind to tolerate any shenanigans except his own"; the country horse sales where her father sometimes made purchases—"like many friends, we met, taught each other a lot, ad then passed on along some path life had laid out for each of us"; and a memorable ride one winter day on her favorite mare, Bess. "Everyone should have one perfect memory to carry them through the hard times," Rhonda writes in the intro to that ride, "times when life's everyday sludge gets too deep and treacherous." Here's a small portion of her ride's description:

Bess took the bit in her teeth and I let her. Blood-dark tail a-flag, she blew hot steam from her nostrils as she pounded the ground with hard hooves. The swing of her gallop up a slight rise reached fever pitch, those short perfect ears flattened back angrily, furious at not being able to take full flight.

 While the content was both interesting and informative, the book—only the second book produced by a very small new publisher—needed a table of contents. The endnotes, which weren't really needed, were a bit distracting. For the few terms that a reader might not know, a glossary would have worked better. Perhaps in a later edition, these changes could be made.

Target readers for Thou Shalt Fly Without Wings are horse people—those who have loved horses, owned horses, want to own horses, or want to know more about what happens at the big Thoroughbred barns. If you fall into that category, odds are good you will enjoy this book.

Thou Shalt Fly Without Wings is available both as an e-book and as a paperback.

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Mystery Malady

For most of the month, my mare Melody has had a mystery malady.

Something is wrong with her left hind end. At first she just walked slower than usual. Then she lifted her leg awkwardly when she walked—almost as if she was peddling a tricycle. Then, for a while, she lifted her leg much higher and in a more exaggerated manner.

There was no swelling or heat anywhere on the leg. Mel didn't seem to be in any pain. Her appetite was good. She just didn't move right.

At first, the vet suspected a hoof abscess because there was a bit of heat in her left hind hoof, she reacted to application of the hoof testers, and there was a hoof crack where infection might have begun. Her hoof was packed and bandaged, but the suspected place never drained.

For a while, when she was jerking her leg high, we thought she had stringhalt. For a couple of days, she moved just like this affected horse in a You-Tube video. Stress can produce stringhalt, and she'd been pretty stressed about her pasture-mate's death in August. Plus, being an only horse for the first time in her life had to be stressful.

I Googled, I posted on an equine line I subscribe to, and I posted on Facebook. I received much advice (mainly for stringhalt) but, after a few days, Mel didn't look very string-halty anymore. She was still way off in her stride, though. I suspected neurological damage of some sort. Did she have lyme disease? The beagle had just tested positive for lyme, so that was a possibility. The vet pulled some blood, just in case.

It was possible that she'd eaten something she shouldn't—false dandelions maybe, so I closed her out of the front field. Since migrations of small strongyles can cause stringhalt, she was wormed heavily—and produced a load of pinworms but no strongyles that I could see. I switched her feed to a lower carb, higher fat type of pellet.

A few days later, her movement wasn't as exaggerated, but it was still awkward. This video taken last week shows her walking awkwardly.

Figuring that some body work would make Mel feel better, I emailed Ruth Mitchell, a myofascial release specialist who's worked on me, a couple of cats, and Mel in the past. Ruth had to be out of town and wouldn't be able to see Mel until last night.

Meanwhile, I told Ruth where to find Mel's video I posted on Facebook. She looked at it and emailed back that it looked like fibrotic myopathy to her. I Googled fibrotic myopathy and found videos of horses who walked like Mel here, here and here.

When Ruth came, she found the problem pretty quickly. When she put my hand on the affected place, I could feel its rock-hardness. Ruth said the muscles affected were the Biceps Femoris, Semitendinosis, and Gracilis. Here's approximately where the affected area is:

While there's no cure for this condition, it can be alleviated. Ruth worked on Mel for an hour. For the most part, Mel loved the treatment. 

Afterwards, I could notice a slight improvement in how Mel moved. The stride wasn't as short. The goose-step wasn't as exaggerated.

Here's today's video:

Melody has another treatment scheduled in two weeks. We'll see how it goes then.

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The Battle of Lakewatch

No actual Civil War battles were fought in Franklin County, but a Civil War reenactment took place this weekend at Lakewatch Plantation (which was not what the farm was called in the 1860s; for one thing, the lake didn't even exist until over a hundred years later).

My husband and I went to see what was going on. Turns out my cousins Gloria and Joyce were there. Joyce's son Anthony was a reenactor, so we ended up watching the battle from the camp.

My favorite part, of course, was seeing the horses. I took a look at them while they were tied to the picket line. They were incredibly well-behaved.

Soon they were saddled and ready for action.

I especially liked the gray horse in the foreground. (More about him later.)

The gunfire and cannon fire didn't bother these horses a bit.

When his rider was "killed," the gray horse took off for the woods. I was worried the gelding was going to run away.

"That's Garth," said a woman near me. "He'll go right back to the picket line and wait. He always does."

I turned around to see Garth making his way through the camp. He looked like he knew where he was going.

The woman invited me to go with her to see him. Sure enough, he was waiting at the line.

Meanwhile, another gray horse was at the reenactment. Looks like General Lee and Traveler made it to the battle.

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You've Got Carrots?

. . . wherein Melody Sundance encounters a kid with carrots.

Melody: Hey, kid—got anything for me?

Maddie: I have carrots. Want one?

Melody: Let me check 'em out. 

They smell pretty good. Yeah, I'll take some.

Melody: Well, hand 'em over!

Melody: Hurry up! I'm starving!
Maddie: Wait just a minute.

Melody: This is taking forever!
Maddie: OK. Here.

Melody: Yum! Tasty! Got more?

Melody: .Hurry up and feed me more.  I'm about to fall asleep.

Melody: Ummm! That's more like it!

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Mares' Manicure

Warning: Graphic hoof image. Note for the squeamish.

For nearly a year, my 30-year-old mare Cupcake has had hoof problems. Late fall, she had a massive abscess so bad that we had to keep bandaging her hoof to protect the hole on the bottom. (Thank goodness for newborn-sized diapers, Vet-wrap, and duct tape!) The abscess eventually broke though the top of her hoof and, for several months, the hole has been growing down. It looks as if she has a cloven hoof.

This morning, she waited patiently for the farrier to come and trim her hoof so it wouldn't look quite so cloven—and so the angle would be a better match for her other hoof. (The farrier trims both mares every six weeks.)

I took the above picture before I brushed the shavings off her. (Cupcake always lies down for a nap after breakfast.) I did have her fly mask on, though.

The farrier arrived with his arm in a sling because he'd recently had surgery. However, he brought another friend to trim for him. 

Cupcake's trimmed and rasped hoof is still cloven, but it's a lot better than it was. By the next trim, it should be considerably better.

Their "manicures" done, both Melody (left) and Cupcake went to graze in the pasture before it got too hot. There wasn't a cloud in the sky this morning.

Facing northwest.

Facing southwest.

The mares will graze for a few hours in the morning and then return to the run-in shed—where there's a fan—to avoid heat of the afternoon. That's what they do in summer.

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Mud-lucious Morning

We had a big storm rain last night, complete with lightning and thunder and heavy rain. Even though this morning was sunny, all the already saturated bare spots had turned to mud—especially in the kennel. As e. e. cummings might say, "the world is mud-lucious."

A very muddy Maggie greeted me at the gate this morning. The other two kennel dogs sensibly stayed inside the dog stall.

Of course, Maggie was ready to play. She always is. This morning she chose the mud-covered yellow squeak toy for me to throw.

I slipped and slid my way into the kennel to serve breakfast to the three residents. But first I had to throw Maggie's toy. She fetched it from the high grass (organically fertilized by the canine residents) and I threw it again. And again.

For Maggie, part of the fun is the search for the thrown toy. While she searched, I served breakfast to Harley and Hubert.

Meanwhile, in the adjoining run-in shed, Cupcake was allowed out of her stall for the first time since Friday.  She had to stay in during the heavy rains to keep her bandaged hoof dry. (Note that her right front hoof sports blue Vet-Wrap covered by purple duct tape. Her shaggy coat sport shavings from the stall.)

It wasn't long until Cupcake was up the hill and grazing.

Meanwhile, Melody—who covets Cupcake's stall—ran in to see if Cupcake had left any uneaten snacks.

Cupcake, however, continued grazing.

And that's how this mud-lucious Sunday morning began.

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Cupcake at 30

When I was a kid, I wanted a bright chestnut horse with a wide white blaze and a long flowing mane—just like Gene Autry's Champion. Finally, decades past childhood, I got one.

On May 11, 1981, my mare Cupcake (registered name G's Liberated Lady) was born. She wasn't mine then, and I missed her entrance into the world, but I was there when she stood up.

Sun's Fair Lady, age 16, looks at her new daughter.

Granted, she was a little wobbly, but she made it. I watched as she took her first steps.

Her owner hoped to make her into a big-time show horse, but decided that Cupcake—with her daisy-cutting gait—wouldn't be a flashy high-stepping show horse. She offered her to me. I bought Cupcake for $300 when she was six months old.

Here she is in early December 1981, shortly after I bought her:

Cupcake's mom, Fair Lady, grazes in the background.

By the time she was a yearling, she looked considerably different.

As she grew older, my husband showed her in trail racking classes. Here they are at Pine Spur in 1985. Cupcake won 4th place out of 10 at this particular show.

While she was my husband's show horse, she was my trail horse. 

On top of Mount Rogers.

 

 

 

Entering the Blue Ridge Parkway Trail.

Eventually I showed her, too. We won a lot of ribbons at Pine Spur (below) and other shows.

Racking

1st Place—Trail Racking

1st Place—Franklin County Pleasure
Cupcake's grooms are Marcie Petrocci and Ruth Garrido

Cupcake wasn't a hunter, but sometimes she entered hunter classes. Below, 9-year-old Ruth Garrido rides 6-year-old Cupcake as a hunter at Hunting Hills Stables.

Hunting Hills Stables is now a WalMart parking lot

Marcie shows her 4th place ribbon at a Hunting Hills Stables show.

And sometimes Cupcake even jumped, though not with good hunter form.

Ruth rides Cupcake in a scurry race at a Bedford show.

But where we really excelled was costume class! One of our best costume ensembles was wedding party. Cupcake was always the bride and I was the groom. Our wedding party varied.

Minister-Karen Poff, Flower girl-Marcie Petrocci, Bridesmaid-Laurie Williams

Check out the 1st place ribbon at Pine Spur.

And another 1st at a 4-H show at the Salem Civic Center.
Ruth is minister; Leslie Richardson and Marcie are bridesmaids.

Cupcake and I have had a lot of adventures. She was a hellion when she was younger, but now she's mellowed. She also had a lot of health problems—a couple episodes of founder, hoof abscesses, hoof and fetlock injuries from being entangled in a high tensile fence twice, Cushing's disease, a possible stroke, and now complications from a hoof abscess. At the same time, I had health problems, too—among them, chronic mono, plantar fasciitis, diabetes. 

In 1995, when Cupcake had foundered and I had come through 22 months of mono, I bought Melody. I boarded the mares at a variety of places until we bought our place in Franklin County. Now they're in the back yard.

Melody and Cupcake a few years ago.

It's hard to believe thirty years have passed since I was there to see Cupcake take her first wobbly steps.

She still eats heartily and knickers impatiently when she hears me coming with her grain. But in her old age, she's getting wobbly again and she naps several times a day in her stall. I don't know how much time she has left. A year, maybe? Two? 

But I'll be there when she takes her last steps.

 

[UPDATE: I just missed her last steps. When I saw her on August 13, 2011, she was curled peacefully in her stall as if she were sleeping: https://peevishpen.blogspot.com/2011/08/end.html ]

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