My anonymous benefactor

Perhaps you've dreamed of a lost Uncle Louie. He was last heard from via a package from a deserted Pacific Island. The box reads "Dear Niece, Weather is lovely. Shame about the crocodiles. Please take care of Phil for me. Arrrgg...." You open the package. Out leaps Phil the Monkey, banana in one hand and a sack in the other. "Aww, Hi Phil!" you say. With a giggle of glee, Phil leaps over your head and straight to the top of the china cabinet. You stretch your arms toward him. Phil laughs and jumps onto your head. He drops the banana peel. In your rush you accidentally slide on it. You topple over - into the china! You close your eyes and brace for impact. You, Phil, the banana, the china, and the sack explode in all directions. After a huge crash, you feel safe enough to open them. Phil is smiling and checking your hair for lice. You look around. All about you is the wreckage of Great Grandma Grace's wedding china and stars in your eyes. Those aren't stars. Phil's sack was full of golden pirate doubloons!

"Thanks, Uncle Louie!"

I don't have an Uncle Louie. But I did have an anonymous benefactor. I grew up in a wealthy area of Connecticut. As a child, it felt like every one had horses except me. Or so I told my parents daily. My father was a local pastor and my mother a homemaker. As such, they didn't have the income to support a daughter's horse habit. My horse adventures were limited to voracious reading and occasional pony rides.

I recall suffered in sullen indignity through one friend's birthday party. After opening a plethora of colorful boxes, and stuffing in cupcakes, her parents invited us into the backyard for "One more little gift." A pony stood by the swing set with a bow on his head.
"Oh, another pony?" the birthday girl yawned. Grr! At the tender age of 5 or so, I found my self contemplating becoming a felon.

My best friend and next door neighbor shared my longing for all things equestrian. We gave our bicycles horsey names like "Lightening" and "Swift Wind" and collected Breyer horse models. Finally one summer, my best friend started taking riding lessons at a local hunter barn. I was indescribably jealous. We had shared everything as best friends. And now she was living our big horsey dreams alone.

Around the same time, I was also suffering from chronic ear infections. I went to the hospital for a short surgery. My parents bought me a pet gerbil for being a good girl. A gerbil was fun, but no horse. I also got lots of get well mail from the relatives. But one curious envelope appeared without a return address. My parents opened it first and I think had a long discussion about its contents before telling me. It contained a hand written "gift certificate" which entitled me to a few lessons at the hunter barn. My parents agreed I could go. Hurray! But I think they secretly hoped I would "get it out of my system" and decide horses weren't for me.

Well, so much for that idea.

My stubborn streak won out. I kept riding. And soon I was "helping out", as much as a kid can, in exchange for riding time. But best of all, I was sharing the dream with my best friend. We both still ride today.

Epilogue:
Now as an adult, I suspect I know who my anonymous benefactor was. But since they never told me, I've never asked. But I'll always be grateful.

Funny horse stories

Grey Horse Matters posted a series of humorous horse stories. Yes, it is true, we all have those stories!

Being able to laugh when we fall is necessary. But also being a closet optimist (shh!), I tend to remember the good times, not the bad. In particular, the story of how I became an equestrian stands out. So I will share that next.

Looking back at 2009

I look back at 2009 and form New Year's Resolutions 2010.

1. 1. Learn finesse.
2. 2. Make more friends.
3. 3. Keep secrets.
4. 4. Take time to smell the roses.
5. 5. Be kind to others.
6. 6. Spend wisely.
7. 7. Enjoy the weather.
8. 8. Keep my sense of humor.
9. 9. Pamper myself more. Wait I mean the horses...
   
10. 10. When my husband says "No more horses", get more cats.

So this is a horse blog right?

If it seems like I'm on a cat rant lately, that's because I am. But Armani thinks he deserves a mention. It is his blog.

While Baby was sick I spent 2 weeks away from the barn to nurse her. (...I also burned almost all my vaccation time for 2010.) It was the longest Armani and I had been apart. Armani was ridden by his trainer and was reportedly good... at first...

She called me a few times to ask how the cat was. "How's Armani?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about him." Hmm, ominous?
...I tried hard not to. When I got back to the barn finally, I had to pry the whole story out.

Armani makes hay

First, Armani apparently made hay at a lesson. Another Grand Prix trainer had asked to borrow Armani once a week for her students. Evidently his last lesson was cut short because of erratic behavior.

Armani declares war
Armani did not leave a fence untouched. He went on an unabashed board breaking, fence jumping, gate unlatching spree. Most uncharacteristically, he even left his dinner behind when he ran wild.

Armani is unrepentant
2 weeks later, I returned. Armani squealed and raced to the gate. He began working at the latch. "Hang on, Stinker!"

He danced around in the crossties. "Settle, settle..." I softly intoned. He completely disregarded my advice. He tried to follow me into the tack room. The crossties snapped, swung about. He knocked my trainer's saddle off the rack.

Back in the saddle, "It's not like riding a bicycle." I mused. I had my period. I felt out of sync. It was a windy, snowy day. Armani was high as a kite. He leapt at every gust. He carreened toward walls.  He snorted. He stomped. He spun. He flew.

Armani decided the indoor arena was a gladiator arena. For 3 days I struggled through his airs-above-ground. "He sure has gotten stronger."

I was frustrated. Armani needs a steady hand. I knew it was my fault for having been gone so long. But I couldn't have neglected Baby.

Armani reforms himself, a bit...


Then I was invited to go on a trail ride. My companions were a 80 year old lady on a quarter horse and a close friend on a 4 year old. In such company, Armani was expected to be a seasoned leader.

Armani rose to the occasion - sort of. Actually he grumbled and grunted for the whole ride. But that was his only display of defiance. We rode through wood and field, through 2 feet of dense snow, for over an hour. The ladies had a wonderful time. After we got back I gave him a massage and treats.

The next day it was back to the gladiator arena.

Show Report: CVDA Part 2: Downpours, mud? Oh what the heck.

Continued from Part 1...

I called the show office that morning. I asked if there were any scratches in Training Level. "Yes, the weather is awful. We have a Training 4 in the afternoon." I immediately snatched it. "I'm hardcore." I explained. Going to a show, in the rain, unprepared? Sure, why not? That wouldn't be crazy!

My husband was overworked and tired. So I called my brother. He agreed to serve as my "groom" in exchange for an evening at the pub. We headed over to the barn.

Armani's legs were covered in mud. I scrapped it off. But more stuck to him. "Oh well, it's just a schooling show. Everything will be muddy."

Armani gave me a funny look. Where the heck are we going? But we loaded right up and headed over. At the show we ran into a friend, who had been grooming for someone else. She was about to leave, but offered to stay and help us. Two grooms for me!

We tacked Armani up. He gave me more funny looks, but he behaved. Then I warmed up on the slick grass. I kept it slow and all went well. We entered the ring for our test...

"Loose horse! Look out! Loose horse!"

I halted at the gate. An acquaintance's horse cantered by. "Oh dear!" I said. When he was caught I quickly put it out of mind. "I won't let it get to me." I thought. We rode into the ring...

The mud was up to Armani's knees and hocks in the corners and a steady rain fell on us. It looked like melted chocolate. He went forward willingly. I felt his muscles working to lift his legs high above the slop. We came around to our first canter depart, I queued him.

Slip... slide... Jump! Hop! Canter!.. slide... trot... queue... skid...

Hmm... We were back to the point where we go back to trot. Ok - no blue ribbon. We got around to the 2nd canter depart. Queued...

Leap! Jump! Canter! Hop! *Grunts, groans* Slip... (lands on butt) slides... trot...

He's being honest. I thought. At this point I made no attempt to queue him again. I just got a forward trot and in two strides we were back to where we'd trot anyway.

After our salute I sheepishly smiled and thanked the judge. "Great gaits." she said, "It's tough weather. When he's stronger behind, he'll have an easier time in mud."

After we left the arena, I checked on my acquaintance. She was reunited with her horse. He had bucked, unseated her, and then slipped and fallen down on the wet grass, before taking off. Fortunately, they were unhurt. She bravely rode her test afterward. Who said dressage riders aren't tough?

It was a few hours before the scores were ready. I put on his Irish knit and my sweater. I gave him more hay, a drink, and sat with him. Armani gave me a dirty look and grumbled. I handed him half of my granola bar.

"Did you hear, FOUR horses went down?" At the office, I learned that 4 horses, including the one ridden by an acquaintance, fell down. I felt fortunate to have stayed upright. We got our score: 51%. I went over our marks. Most were 6 or 7 except the two canter sections. "No canter" "No canter so no transition" the scribe had written repeatedly. In the comments, "Good job despite difficult conditions!" and advice to work on strengthening his back-side.

Armani had been willing and obedient despite the weather. We headed home soaked but pleased.

Time to get some beers!

Show Report: CVDA Part 1: I'm a good girl, really

One of my favorite show series is the CVDA. They put on 3 shows a year.

Show 1 was on my husband's 30th birthday. I "Surprise!" bought Armani on his 28th birthday. On his 29th he was my groom. So this year, I was a good girl. We didn't go.

Show 2 was in a new location, further away. I opted to take the horses to the County Fair instead.

Show 3 was the weekend of our nephew's 1st birthday. I was a good girl again. I didn't sign up... but I'm not saying I didn't go...

My husband and I went to the inlaws on Friday night. The party was on Saturday morning. I kept my composure as 50% of the only childless couple present. Little whirling dervishes, high on frosting, careened recklessly around and into each other. They smushed perfect little cupcakes into their faces and cried; or were the cupcakes eating them? Proud parents, mostly younger than us, ate pretty finger sandwiches and exclaimed over their Junior's genius; how his daycare says he's one of the brightest bulbs in the pack. And when will we expect a little bundle of joy? they asked. Meanwhile the millions of toys played with themselves; beeping, singing, and flashing lights as they gyrated around the floor. When did toys start doing that?

Finally, after a few families left, we left too. I took my headache and stomachache with me as party favors. Yes, I know. I'm a terrible, cold, childless lady entering middle age; a cruel aunt who gives her only nephew boring baby books and wooden puzzles for his 1st birthday. What 21st century baby boy wants those?

My husband suggested we drive home that night. No, no, dear. I insisted, We can spend time with your family. However, he pointed the car for home and home we went. Maybe he was all partied out too. We got in bed at about 1am, an hour that hadn't seen me awake since college. All night a thunderstorm pounded the metal roof of our timberframe. I woke up early. Rain was coming down in sheets. Hmm, the CVDA show is today. It's raining. I bet they've got a lot of scratches...

Frog does not equal carrot

Last night, Armani did something pretty interesting.

I turned him out in his pasture. He's living in the "pond field" currently. After I latched the gate, I nearly stepped on a large, green frog.

"Oops, I'm sorry frog. I'll put you back." I set him over the fence. "There you are."

Armani is used to me putting his supper in that way. He lowered his head and touched the frog with his nose. It hopped toward the pond. Armani kept his nose to the ground and sniffed after it. He tapped it again. Hop...

He continued to pursue the frog. It started to look like a game. Armani's ears perked up. Touch... Hop... Touch... Hop...

The frog was nearly to the pond. Touch... Hop... Touch... Hop...

LICK!

The frog jumped into the pond. Armani arched his neck over backwards. He wagged his tongue in the air and curled up his lips. He ran back to me.

"Well what did you expect it'd taste like?" I asked. I handed him a piece of carrot.

Armani the menace

My mother says Armani's name should have been "Dennis the Menace". It is hard to emphasis this enough. Armani is a serious troublemaker. Yes, I know, many people have horses who are "trouble". They haven't met Armani. Armani is "that horse" at the barn. The one the other owners refuse to lead or have their horses turned out with. The one people walk all-the-way-around when he is cross tied. And no - I'm not proud of it. I'm proud that with consistent discipline he is better than he was.

Some highlights from his past exploits:

- He escapes frequently, often more than once per day. This is still a problem. Latches, knots, tall fences and electric are no obstacle.
- His vices are mares - especially "blondes" (palomino, dun...) - and food. He is a devil at supper time.
- After escaping one day, he jumped into the much larger stallion (now a gelding) paddock and picked a fight. Armani was slammed into a telephone pole fence post. It broke. The fight continued. I had to break that fight up all alone. Oh ya, and Armani tried again days later.
- He got bored while stalled at his first show. Undid a slide latch and a kick bolt and went for a romp around the grounds.
- At another show I was in the dressing room when I felt a nose in my behind. He had untied himself from the trailer and climbed half-way into the dressing room with me.
- He was a confirmed nipper when I got him. That's now better. For the first time, I let a child pet him at a show.
- Once I had him cross tied. I turned away momentarily. I let my guard down. When I turned back he reared and socked my nose.
- He is obstinate under saddle and he can argue all day. During one long argument he nearly knocked himself out by hitting a tree head-on.
- While I was on vacation last year, he wouldn't let himself be caught. When he finally was caught, he pinned the teenage barn girl against the fence and kicked her.

So it is with considerable trepidation that I answer calls from my barn owner. "Oh, Hi... Is Armani being good?... Oh, dear... Oh, no... I'm awfully sorry."

This time he had gotten lose. He alluded three people and got into her vegetable garden. He ate the lettuce but worse - he ate the tomatoes and broccoli too, she told me. Who knew horses ate broccoli?

My vacation is coming up next week. I dread the calls I'll get while I'm supposed to be relaxing on the beach...

Show Report: GMHA June Show - Saturday (Part 2)

Continued from Part 1...
I finished my lonely lunch of shame. Armani fell asleep. I guess he was feeling more relaxed with the whole show thing. I shrugged off my self loathing. I love being at shows and I was going to make the most of it. I spent the middle of the day wandering around, watching people I did not know ride. I saw some great tests and some bad ones. I took inventory of the male riders. I noted which were attractive, which were too attractive, and which wore rings. I even shopped for my mother as well.

I also noticed that for some people, dressage requires the same amount of prep as a Super Bowl. I saw many coordinated teams. The trainer and the "prep" rider wore headsets. Just before the class, the prep rider dismounts and the nervous owner is thrust aboard. A groom wipes her boots and adjusts her collar. Then after some parting words of wisdom from the trainer the horse and owner go through the motions. More often than not, the horse had a more unpleasant expression after the rug was pulled out from under him, so to speak. They would go through the test wringing their tail and occasionally resorting to hopping as the out-of-shape owner pants and flops about. Then as she exits in tears, the team is ready to support her and exclaim that it was the best ride so far.

I began to wonder if some horse people really are like used car salesmen. And I began to feel pretty proud of myself and other owners like me, doing it all ourselves and smiling as we lost out to major league teams.

My instructor finally arrive. That's right, I was a volunteer groom too. I followed her around with my magical bag of stuff: rubber bands, safety pins, tape, baby wipes, drinks - you never know what you'll need just before she goes in the ring. I observed that the ring I would be riding in was partly under water. I also watched a friend get disqualified after her horse shied at the water and left the ring. Hmm...

My mother arrive with a friend and my brother. I wasn't expecting my brother too. Finally, I had my own entourage! I pranced about with my chin up as we watched. When it was time for me to get ready, they offered to help. Suddenly I felt a need to "be my own man". "I'm OK." I insisted, "You guys watch the show."

I hustled through my process. Armani and were ready much too early. I was concerned about warming up too long and not having enough horse left. So we took things easy. When I found out my ring was running ahead, I happily told the steward "I'm ready as soon as you all are." The judge, probably just as happy to keep things moving, agreed.

I briefly considered a self inflicted "no joking at the judge before the test" policy. Na, I was doing things my way or be damned. "Good Afternoon!" I said. The judge was eating a pastry. Armani was drooling as he often does. "That looks yummy. And I think Armani is hoping you might share." I winked. She smiled and laughed. "He does look like an easy keeper."

We began our test. I rode as if I were at home. I didn't care of my corrections were subtle, I just wanted to make them and get things right. When I ride a test, everything else goes away. There was no puddle. My mother was not there looking nervous. My instructor was not watching shrewdly at E. My friend was not taking photos. My brother was not sitting nearby trying not to look bored.

As we left on a long rein, reality came back. My instructor, never one to butter me up, said it looked like a pretty good ride. My friend took some family photos. The scores were running late. So I untacked and let Armani relax. "You did well, Stinky." I told him sternly. "I suppose I won't ship you off to the sausage factory." A lady rider about to leave in her finery glanced at us with horror. "Yet..." I added ominously.

I kept myself away from the office for a while. We watched some more friends ride. I felt in my element. Finally, while my family made a potty stop, I slipped over to the office - alone. I needed to "man it up" again. My score was posted. I did not have to scan down very far. I was second in my very large class with a score of 63.93% - less than 1% behind first. Well I missed out on an engraved vase. But I was still very happy. I retrieved my red ribbon and my test.

"Capable pair." the judge had commented. She'd given us 7s on our canter, free walk, and halts. "Those are my favor things too." I said to myself. I met my family back at the bathrooms. Not one to boast, I kept my ribbon in my pocket until we got to Armani's stall. I nonchalantly hung it up. "That's not yours is it?" my mom asked in disbelief.

"No, I stole it." I pointed to the next stall. She looked upset. "Just kidding. Anyway, I guess we might as well hang it up." There were rainbows of ribbons up and down our isle. "Have to keep up with the neighborhood."

Next... Sunday... and a managarie of photos.

Show Report: GMHA June Show - Saturday (Part 1)

Continued from Friday...

After my leaving the show grounds late on Friday, I finally got home, ate, and slept - sort of. I still have a hard time sleeping on show nights, although it's getting easier every time. I'll post about some tricks separately.

My Saturday class was at 9:18am. Actually it was supposed to be on Friday. But did I mention that my entry had been mixed up? Yes, that was the first of many things to go wrong.

So I arrived at the grounds around 6:00. It was very quiet, except for horses eating and the scuttling of grooms. I made my way through the temporary equine city to Armani's stall. It quickly became apparent that I was the only non-groom in our little "neighborhood" that morning. Most were teenage girls. They moved nearly silently with down cast eyes. They avoided my gaze and mumbled (if anything) to my cheerful "Good morning!"s. They hurried about with pitch forks and buckets in blue jeans and muck boots.

My husband was out of town. My mother was planning (threatening?) to come watch later. My instructor's first class was not until 2. So I was completely on my own with my horse. For someone social as me, it was very disconcerting.

As it got later, riders and owners began to arrive. I could tell because they were already dressed and much louder than the grooms. I got dressed myself, in the middle of the isle. The bathrooms were far away and if I changed in my stall Armani would "help". People politely looked away. I heard two riders complaining about my next judge. "She expects to see Grand Prix at Second Level!" one shouted defiantly. Hmm... This doesn't bode well for us, I thought.

Our first class was in ring 4, far across the grounds. We were there just before 9. I watched one lady leave the ring in tears after her horse spooked and cantered on the wrong lead - twice. But I felt better as soon as I found that the gentleman ring steward was friendly. Some of the other riders eyed me cautiously as I asked him about the how the ring was running. I laughed "I hope you don't mind all my questions." as I entered the ring. He said "Oh we'll answer them until you are at 3rd level. And I expect to see you back here then!"

"You will!" I grinned.

As I walked up to greet the judge, Armani spooked at her booth. So much for pride. "Good morning!" I said cheerily and laughed "You don't eat horses, do you?" She vaguely smiled and shook her head.

We rode a pretty nice test. Much better than Friday's class. I was pleased. I knew we probably weren't perfect, but I was confident we were at least a 60%. People clapped politely. One of Armani's veterinarians had been watching and greeted us. The ring steward complimented us as we left. I was feeling quite flushed with pride as we untacked. I hustled to the show office as soon as the scores were posted. Thrilling with anticipation I scanned the list... down... and down...

There we were, in last place, just after the lady with the spooking and the wrong lead. Well at least she could feel better now. We had scored a 53%. Disheartened, I picked up my test results. The judge was primarily critical of Armani's self-carriage and contact. She hadn't liked his canter or free walk either; my favorite things. I ate my lunch alone with my horse. My lunch was perfectly packed and precisely planned to deliver maximum nutrition with minimal stomach upset. I can do anything I put my mind to, I insisted to myself. Was I wrong to think we did fairly well? Shouldn't we be able to do even better? I resolved to give my all on our next test....
Continue to Part 2...

Show Report: GMHA June Show - Friday

Do something often enough and it starts to become second nature. So with considerably less trepidation than our first show, I entered my first recognized show - ever: The June Dressage show at GMHA

Among the other things I had to contend with:
- I promised to play "groom" for my instructor.
- My horsey friend from Connecticut was visiting.
- My mother was also planning to come watch.
- My husband had gone to his parents'.
- I was overworked and did not have a lot of ride-time that week.

Photo Caption: Armani and I ford the river on the way to our class.

Friday: we misplace our girth and ourselves

Friday we arrive with my instructor, who was showing 2 other horses that day. We were forced to park all the way across the grounds from our stall. I checked in and got directions. I found what I thought was my stall empty. I settled Armani in. Funny - no one delivered my shavings yet. I ran back to the show office and asked for some to be delivered. Then I hustled to help my instructor. After her classes, I had an hour to prepare for mine.

I ran back. Still no shavings. I asked to have more delivered. And I'd forgotten my girth. I ran across the grounds to her trailer, got the girth, and returned. When I was all tacked and about to depart a lady walked up to us.

"That's my stall!"

"I'm sorry." I said "But this is where I was directed. Perhaps there was a mix-up?"

"You're coming with me to the show office, now!"

Now normally I'm a pretty affable competitor, but I was standing there in my finery, half-way out of the door. It should have been pretty obvious that I was going to ride. "I'm going to my class now. I'm sorry. You'll have to go to the office on your own. Talk to (so-and-so) and tell them (me) sent you. I'll stop by the office afterward. Now please excuse us."

We tried a new thing for us: Dressage Equitation. The junior and senior classes and been combined. I chatted with a nice junior rider. Her Morgan was poised and quiet. Armani was high as a kite.
"She's only 5!" the young lady told me.
"Oh." I said. "Wow... Mine is 7..."

I thought we did well enough. But we placed 4th out of 4. But I was happy to have survived without tasting the dirt. My instructor was heading out. I loaded my stuff into my car. Then I drove back to the office.

We had taken the wrong stall. But the manager had set the lady up with the stall we were supposed to have. Well no harm done. I hope she enjoyed her 2 free bags of shavings.

By the time I unpacked and settled him in it was 8pm. As I left, I passed 6 ladies at the end of an isle sharing wine and laughing. "Now you ladies are doing things right!" I laughed as I headed out for the night...

Continue reading Saturday...

Huey's secret identity revealed!

Continuing the story from the previous post..

Last summer, when we'd only had Huey for a month, I remember standing with my mother watching him in the pasture. I said to my mother that he looked a lot like Mr. Prospector.


Mr. Prospector was an influential Thoroughbred sire. He had a tendency to pass on "bench knees" (offset). He also had a lumpishly muscled build, to my eye. Huey has both of these characteristics.

Huey was sold to us as an "Appendix Quarter Horse". Since I remembered hearing somewhere that Mr. P showed up in xQHs, the resemblance did not alarm me. Huey came with a lip tattoo, which we could read as "Something-1-(6 or 8)-5-2-1". (Want to know more about tattoo formats? Read more...) Huey's tattoo seemed too long for a QH. So we wondered if the first or last digit was a smudge. We did a few look ups but nothing matched.

Finally the Jockey Club recently began looking up tattoos for free. I re-examined Huey's lip with the assistance of a carrot. The first character looked rather like a faded D. So I sent the JC "D16521" along with photos of Huey. When they sent me a match I was shocked. After a very courteous JC registrar called me and spent time reassuring me, I realized I was convinced.

Huey is...

"Word by Word", a chestnut gelding born March 2, 2000 in Kentucky. His paternal great grandfather is Mr. Prospector. He is out of a mare with Prince John two times, a line reputed to have good temperaments and hunter quality movement.

I immediately emailed the breeder. But I was disappointed to hear that any information on Huey would be in storage and that they were not interested in searching. Undeterred, I looked up his race record. Then I bought a subscription to EquiBase and watched a video of Huey losing his last race. Ah yes, I have trouble motivating him to be forward too.

Huey raced 46 times and won 8 for a career total of $96,195 between 2003 and 2007. He raced almost exclusively at Mountaineer Track in West Virginia. My instructor checked with the trader who sold Huey to us. He remembered that the trader he'd bought Huey from said he'd come from Mountaineer but that guy had said he was a Appendix Quarter Horse. He assumed that was right and hadn't pursued it further (he buys and sells many horses a year). The date checked out as a month or two after Huey's final race. I've sent an email to the racing office to request win photos. Once I can get a photo and get in contact with a person from his past, I will have tied up all the loose ends.

So now we know who Huey is. I had wondered if we ever would. As I said to my mother, Huey doesn't mind. He doesn't know if he is a Quarter Horse or a Thoroughbred or a zebra. He just is who he is. But we promised him a carrot cupcake on March 2nd next year...

What the Huey? ...again

Between the 1,000 things that have been keeping me too busy, I also observed that the Jockey Club is offering free tattoo research. Huey was sold to us as a 2001 "off-track Appendix Quarter Horse". His tattoo is mostly legible except the first digit is faded. As you may know QH and TBs have a different tattoo format. Since it was free, on a lark, I sent his tattoo to the JC. I decided the first digit looked like a "D". That would make him a 2000 model. I also sent the JC photos of Huey. I expected to get nothing back.

Imagine my surprise when they sent me back a positive match. I sent the JC a reply email. I'm sure they sensed my panic by my gratuitous use of exclamation points and capital letters. A gentleman called my cellphone. He said we should walk through the photos together. He went through every marking on Huey one by one. He had the same stripe and star, no white on the feet, mane darker than the tail. This is the part when I totally lost it... (paraphrasing as best as I can here)

Gentleman: "I don't see a photo of the left side of his face. Does he have a small patch of white hairs on his left cheek?"

Me: "A what? Oh my God. Oh my God. I've got to sit down. Yes, he does. I thought it was just an old injury."

Gentleman: "No Ma'am, he was born with it. It's on his registration."

Me: "$**%$## Oh my God. ($***$*#. Huey is a Thoroughbred?!"

Gentleman: "I'm very sure that is him. It's a 100% match. Everything is the same."

I called my mother. She acted like I'd just told her her Ford is really a Toyota. I looked up Huey's "past performances" on EquineLine. His final race corroborated with when I'd been told he'd come off the track. They had a video on EquiBase. So I bought a subscription. The video was extremely grainy. I watched a race through to the finish. All the horses ran by in a clump. But then, 10 seconds later, a sooty chestnut chugged past the finish line. I watched it over 100 times. I clipped through it frame by frame. I paused on frames. I could see the sooty knees, the star-stripe, the mane was darker than the tail. It had to be Huey...

Coming soon, I will reveal the secret identity of Huey, the Thoroughbred. Click to continue...

Bumpuses

So one lovely afternoon, my barn owner was taking her new puppy for a walk while her daughter rode her pony along. I asked if Armani and I could join them. Along the way, we met up with a neighbor walking her Chihuahua. The Chihuahua was very well behaved, heeling and didn't even bark at our usual party. We all continued along down the road.

"Aha, the Bumpus hounds! Our hillbilly neighbors, the Bumpuses, had over 785 smelly hound dogs..." Ralphie from A Christmas Story

Every neighborhood has a Bumpus family. Your Bumpuses don't come to block parties and they aren't in the neighborhood clean-up committee. You might know them by their roaming pack of dogs, the slouching jacuzzi on the three legged porch, or their decomposing car garden. The black hole in their basement has exerted a gravitational pull, which has sucked in every lawn chair, tricycle, tire and gas grill in existence into a shuddering pile on their porch. They don't wave back when you call "Good Afternoon", rather they stare suspiciously from the foxholes in their rubble piles.

My husband frequently reminds me that I am a "snob". To which I always respond, "You want to see a real snob? Ask me, I grew up in Connecticut, I've known snobs!" My husband says we should let all the Bumpuses be. But honestly, he has a point. Unless there are ordinances, Bumpuses have a right to be magpies. And no one is required to be friendly. Your local Bumpus family branch may actually have lived in the neighborhood before you. Perhaps they resent the new gentrified homes. Bumpuses don't bother me too much. I will always say "Good Afternoon" and I don't mind if they don't answer. We keep a respectful distance. Usually...

That afternoon we passed a particular Bumpus house. Suddenly there was a crash as their 785 dogs broke through the front door. They spilled out into the yard, leaping, barking and howling at our odd walking party. Armani rolled his eyes nervously. I rolled my eyes exasperatedly. My barn owner told me not to worry as the Bumpuses had an invisible fence. We rode by and continued down the road until we decided to head back home. We approached the Bumpus house for a second pass. Two madly barking dogs leaped into the road. "Oh dear", I said "I guess the fence isn't working."

Those two dogs broke the dam. By twos and threes a tide of barking dogs flowed out into the road. There were brown ones and black ones, hairy ones and short-coated ones, mean ones and ones who just looked like they had tagged along for the party. They were all large however.

My barn owner's puppy whimpered and barked nervously, the Chihuahua froze in horror, the pony revved up her bucking engine. Armani snorted. "We are the biggest ones here," I observed "Let's play chicken, Mani."

I squeezed Armani forward. He took two steps and snorted. The black and white, hairy beast closest to us backed away. "You are doing fine, keep going." I squeezed again and he lurched forward on shaky legs. A large, yellow aggressive dog ran straight for us, teeth bared and snarling. "No!" I shouted, "Bad doggy! Go home!" I threatened it with my whip. Armani put his ears back quizzically. Had he done something wrong? I leaned forward and whispered, "Good boy, Mani!" The dogs kept their distance and parted for us to pass. I alternated between shouting "Bad dog!" and whispering "Good boy!". Our party safely made our way by. The Bumpus pack followed us down the road and through another neighbor's field before they slowly dispersed into the woods.

"Perhaps we should take up foxhunting..." I observed.

Sooo...What's your story?

Grey Horse Matters and Glenshee Equestrian put up a quiz for horse people.

So, what is your story? Feel free to answer in comments. Or if you have your own blog let me know and I'll link you!

This has been fun reading the great stories people are sharing! Read more responses:
Solitaire Mare @ a Good Horse
Nor’dzin @ Ceffylau
Reddunappy @ There is a Horse In My Bubblebath
Dunappaloosa @ Small Farm Living

1. How old were you when you first started riding?
2. First horse ridden:
3. First horse trotted on:
4. First horse cantered on:
5. First Horse fallen off of:
6. Most recent horse fallen off of
7. Most terrifying fall:
8. First horse jumped with:

9. First horse who ran away with you:
10. First horse that scared the crap out of you:
11. First horse shown :!)
12. First horse to win a class with:
13. Do you/have you taken lessons:

14. First horse you ever rode bareback:
15. First horse trail ridden with:
16. Current Barn name:

17. Do you ride English or western?:
18. First Horse to place at a show with:
19. Ever been to horse camp?:

20. Ever been to a riding clinic?

21. Ridden sidesaddle?
22. First horse leased: 23. Last Horse Leased:
24. Highest ribbon in a show:
25. Ever been to an 'A' rated show?:
26. Ever competed in pony games/relay races?:
27. Ever fallen off at a show
28. Do you ride Hunter/Jumpers?: 29. Have you ever barrel raced?
30. Ever done pole bending?:
31. Favorite gait:
32. Ever cantered bareback?:
33. Have you ever done dressage?:
34. Have you ever evented?:

35. Have you ever mucked a stall?:
36. Ever been bucked off?:
37. Ever been on a horse that reared
38. Horses or ponies.
39. Do you wear a helmet?:
40. What's the highest you've jumped:
41. Have you ever ridden at night?:
42. Do you watch horsey television shows?:
43. Have you ever been seriously hurt/injured from a fall?:
44. Most falls in one lesson:
45. Do you ride in an arena/ring?:
46. Have you ever been trampled by a horse?:
47. Have you ever been bitten?:
48. Ever had your foot stepped on by a horse?:
49: Favorite riding moment:
50. Most fun horse you've ridden:


My Answers!

1. How old were you when you first started riding?
I'm not actually sure. I think I was between 5 and 10 when I started taking lessons. I really wanted to ride as far back as I can remember. My best friend next door started taking lessons at a local children's hunter barn. We usually did everything together, but my parents couldn't afford lessons for me. One morning a hand written "gift certificate" appeared in our mail, good for a few riding lessons with my friend. More gift certificates appeared and eventually I was big enough to "help out" a little around the barn for more lessons. I never did get anyone to admit to being my "anonymous benefactor" but I have my suspicions!

2. First horse ridden:
"Jeff" the pony at a pony ride. I was under 5.
3. First horse trotted on:
"Treasure Chest" a neighbor's gray gelding. She rode western. I begged for a ride and she threw me in front of her. We trotted down the street and back.
4. First horse cantered on:
"Tuffy" a chestnut gelding around 20 years old at that time, at the children's hunter barn.
5. First Horse fallen off of:
I can't actually remember. It was pretty early on I'm sure. I've had unusually good luck in that I've fallen off a lot but tend to bounce and roll. I've never been seriously hurt.
6. Most recent horse fallen off of:
I think that would be my instructor's retired FEI horse. It was my fault entirely. I ended up rolling the wrong way and was underneath him. He stepped on my left thigh. I had an impressive black horseshoe-print and a limp for a month. I had a big vacation planned involving a lot of walking. Naturally I stubbornly stuck to my plans. I got back and my husband dragged me to the doctor's who told me that I'd hair-line cracked my thigh and should have come in a month ago. Oh well, too late then.

7. Most terrifying fall:
I'm not sure. In my youth (not that I'm so very old now) I didn't feel fear and behaved accordingly. But I had some colorful spills. Probably among the best was getting my foot through a stirrup and being dragged toward the highway. I still have scars from that. Or perhaps when I went off over a cross country jump at a clinic. I don't actually remember that one though because I had partial memory loss due to the bonk on my head. But I'm sure my mother remembers watching!
8. First horse jumped with:
"Cameo" a retired TB jumper, also at the children's hunter barn. She was a cranky old gray mare with stiff knees but I really liked her a lot. I suppose that was foretelling. I have a soft spot for crabby horses.
9. First horse who ran away with you:
Hasn't happened yet. Still looking for that one. If you see them, send them my way!
10. First horse that scared the crap out of you:
My horse, Armani. Being my first horse as an "adult" and my first very young horse, I feel very responsible for his upbringing. I blogged about an incident here. And it is not nearly as colorful as my youthful exploits. My younger self would laugh and at my cautious self today.
11. First horse shown :
"Samantha" a petite, coarse TB who I free leased for a year. We showed 4H. She was a fantastic horse. Very crabby, very strong heats, but so unflappable and willing for a youth rider. Her owner asked if we wanted to buy her after the lease. Retrospectively I think we should have. But at the time I foolishly told my parents I wanted a bigger, flashier horse.
12. First horse to win a class with:
"Dreamweaver" the OTTB I owned later. She was bigger and flashier but I don't think she enjoyed being a teenager mount. She'd been a children's hunter. When I went to college she went back to being a children's hunter. I heard later that she did very, very well.
13. Do you/have you taken lessons:
Yes, my whole life thus far - except for about 5 years around college when I was out of the saddle altogether.

14. First horse you ever rode bareback:
Samantha
15. First horse trail ridden with:
I can't remember
16. Current Barn name:
I board at Kaleidoscope Farm. Not set up at home.

17. Do you ride English or western?:
English although I've tried western a few times.
18. First Horse to place at a show with:
Samantha
19. Ever been to horse camp?:
Yes, "Academy on Horseback" in the summers back in CT with my best friend. Boy was I out of my socio-economic class!
20. Ever been to a riding clinic?
Yes
21. Ridden sidesaddle?
Not for real, no.
22. First horse leased:
Samantha
23. Last Horse Leased:
I sort of un-officially leased my instructor's retired FEI horse for a bit.
24. Highest ribbon in a show:
Blue
25. Ever been to an 'A' rated show?:
No, that's a hunter thing right? Actually I am just getting in to showing now as a grown up.
26. Ever competed in pony games/relay races?:
Oh yes! I love games. I did them in 4H.
27. Ever fallen off at a show
I don't think I have.
28. Do you ride Hunter/Jumpers?:
Just as a kid.
29. Have you ever barrel raced?
No
30. Ever done pole bending?:
In 4H
31. Favorite gait:
Canter
32. Ever cantered bareback?:
Yes
33. Have you ever done dressage?:
Yes, that's mostly what I do now for the last few years.
34. Have you ever evented?:
No. I did 4H clinics but never competed.
35. Have you ever mucked a stall?:
Oh goodness, yes.
36. Ever been bucked off?:
Yes
37. Ever been on a horse that reared
Yes
38. Horses or ponies.
Ponies!
39. Do you wear a helmet?:
Always
40. What's the highest you've jumped:
Not sure. Around 4 feet or a bit under. Probably more like 3 - 3.5 feet? They might have grown in my memory. It would have been years ago.
41. Have you ever ridden at night?:
Yes, lots indoors or under lights. Not too much outside though.
42. Do you watch horsey television shows?:
Jockeys, Animal Cops, sometimes horse programs on RFD-TV (with some dread)
43. Have you ever been seriously hurt/injured from a fall?:
Not too badly no, see answers above.
44. Most falls in one lesson:
I'm not sure, but more than 3 I'd guess. It would have been over the jumps I just mentioned. The crashes probably involved a combination of lack of stirrups, hands over the head, and reckless speeding.
45. Do you ride in an arena/ring?:
About 4-5 days a week in the winter. The other days outside. I'm outside more in summer.
46. Have you ever been trampled by a horse?:
Yes, but unintentionally. See #6. I mean he didn't intend to. I'm pretty sure no one intends to be trampled...
47. Have you ever been bitten?:
Plenty. Armani had a biting problem when I got him. He's cured now, but I'm always careful.
48. Ever had your foot stepped on by a horse?:
All the stinking time!
49: Favorite riding moment:
I couldn't pick. One that comes to mind was with Dreamweaver. We were at a hunter-over-fences class in the pouring rain. They should have paused it. But anyway, she slipped badly between fences. I lost both stirrups and some rein. I steered her over the remained 2 fences like that. We got fourth place. I'm not sure how scoring works, but I guess we didn't look good. But a judge told me later I was the only clear round. I was pretty proud.
50. Most fun horse you've ridden:
Easily my "Armani". He is the most stubborn, opinionated, vociferous, and engaging horse I've ridden. He's rather talented but it is challenging to bring out his best. Like I said, I seem to like them crabby.

Nightmares

"Want to move to Key West?"

"Hmm?" My husband woke up.

"It's a canal front, gutted, fixer upper. Bank owned. I'll go put a bid on it, just say the word."

"Huh?" he rolled over. "What is?"

"The house is. I have family there you know. Well it's on Saddlebunch Keys actually. 75 by 75 lot. I saw it online today on my lunch break."

"What about horses?" he asked. I rolled over and sighed. "What's wrong?" I made grumbling noises in protest until he pressed me further.

"I don't know... Sometimes... Sometimes I think it'd be easier without them", I added, "I mean on you."

"I don't mind. And you'd be sad without them."

"Well and sometimes... Sometimes I... I get... worried. About..."

"About?"

"About... riding, showing. All that time I spend. And money. But..."

"But?"

"You know... I never... admit when I'm... scared. What if I fail? Maybe it'd be better to go to Key West. We could get a great deal on that house and fix it up." My husband made a grunt of disbelief. "Well... I could sit on the beach, drink margaritas while you fix it up. Anyway, maybe it'd be easier. We could get easier jobs, live for the moment, forget horses." I paused. "I want to succeed. But maybe it'd be easier if I don't even try."

"Of course you are going to succeed." He said with certainty.

"I am? How do you know?"

"You take horses seriously. It is more than just a hobby. "

"Ya, I guess." I said.

"All I heard about in college was 'horses this' and 'horses that'. You ride every day. You take lots of lessons. You are always at the barn. You have a high level instructor," my normally non-communicative husband explained, "and a lot of friends. Weren't you just telling me how good your horses are? Other people are always trying to buy them." Yes, I've been known to tell tall-tales, I thought. But he continued, "You are completely set up to succeed. I know you will. You are the bravest person I know. I believe in you." He sounded completely serious.

"Oh?" I said more brightly. I was suddenly glad I brought it up.

He gave me a hug and yawned. "But success will have to wait. Right now I'd like to get to sleep."

Key West will have to wait too, I thought.

I rode Armani bareback and...

...it's like going over rapids on a greased barrel.

Let's rewind to a couple evenings ago. I popped into the barn. My instructor was conversing with another boarder. "Ah, here you are!" she said, "I've got an idea to expand your horizons!"

"Uh huh?", I asked cautiously.

"You should ride Armani bareback. It's really fun! But he's a little slippery."

After asking how sane she felt, I admitted I had thought of trying it myself. Last night I got out of work after dark. I put on my extra-sticky deerskin, fullseat breeches. I made sure my instructor was home. "I'll scream if I break my neck." I told her.

I brought Armani in and cleaned him up. I put on his bridle and asked him to follow me to the arena. He turned and looked at his side.

"Yes, I know, boy. I forgot something."

Fortunately I'd been practicing mounting with a block lately. There was no way I was vaulting on without stirrups. Armani started to walk away from the block. I grabbed mane and wriggled aboard like a tick. Oops - need to review that hold-still-while-I-mount lesson again.

We walked around the arena and did some circles. I asked for some leg-yield. Armani almost jumped sideways. "I guess I don't need so much aid without the saddle."

How light he felt! We did a lot of lateral work. I was pleased by how delicate my aids could be. Armani seemed to move effortlessly beneath me. I was surprised by how powerful and broad he felt. And a little slippery. But I figured I should try some trot work. I asked him to trot.

Woops - too much aid again! We got halfway around a 20m circle and I began to slip sideways. "Whoa", I said. My hands said "whoa" too. But my legs, clinging on like a trapeze artist, they said "Go! Go!"...

Armani decided "Piaffe" was the answer.

I watched him piaffe for 5 strides in the mirror. Armani was beautiful and athletic. He looked like a chocolate dipped Lipizzaner stallion... with a skinny monkey in breeches hanging from his side. I pulled myself back on and asked him to trot again, for real this time.

I began to get a feel for sitting his trot bareback. The side-to-side motion is very strong. After a while I felt comfortable and let go of his mane.

"Well Armani, Stacy Westfall I am not."