The Zen of Poop

         I spend at least an hour a day picking up horse poop.  There are days when I resent having to shovel manure, but most of the time swinging a plastic fork is a chance for my brain to have free range. (No pun intended, but I little free range would mitigate the amount of manure I have to pick up.)  While shoveling, I can mull over life's problems, I can come up with story ideas, I can even discover new blog plans.  In fact, lots of blogs and newspaper columns have come out of the manure pile, so to speak.

    I often find myself counting "road apple" piles.  Everyday I check on my old mare, Bay.  In the spring, if there is fresh grass, she can produce as many as 16 piles, although that decreases in the winter.  I do expect at least 13 from her, though.  I remember one big storm when she gave me 21.  I said to my husband, "She had the sh.. scared out of her."  If there were less than 10 piles a day from her, I would worry about colic.  Fortunately, that is one of the few problems she has.  She suffers from ulcers, allergies, arthritis, a club foot and a nervous nature.  Needless to say, she is a beloved pasture ornament, or in her case, an arena ornament. 

    As a side note, the term road apple comes from the mid-twentieth century when horses were still a major means of transportation.  Apparently the piles of manure, from a distance, looked like apples.  Weird, because I wouldn't be interested in dark-brown, rotten apples.

    Although the smell of horse manure doesn't bother me, I'm aware that a horse with diarrhea has a much stinkier aroma.  I know some people don't like the odor of horse fecal matter, but I'm so used to it I seldom notice - unless the smell is off.  In that case, it may be time to call the veterinarian.

    I also worry if the manure is too loose.  Horses don't normally drop cow pies.  Their poop should be firm, but not rock hard.  I do have one mare who tends to have looser manure than the others, but I have noted over the years that she also drinks more water than her pasture mates.  Since she has been a loose stool dropper for over 10 years, I've come to assume slightly less formed turds are normal for her.

    However, this does bring up the point that water is just as important as hay.  On freezing winter days we do have heaters for all the water tanks, but I still lug a bucket or two to any equine who seems reluctant to drink in freezing weather.  They appear to be like me.  I enjoy warmer water or hot tea on a cold day.  Heck, I like tea anytime.  Earl Grey especially.  I wonder if tea is good for horses?  

    Hmm.  A tangent.

    I have to point out, picking up manure can lead me on multiple tangents, and with multiple horses, I have lots of opportunities for tangents.

    Some time in the past I read that horse manure can be one of the best fertilizers in the world.  I wish I could locate that article, but I suspect is was something I dug up in university, and it is probably buried in a stack of scholarly research articles catalogued in college libraries. Anyway, my own personal experience would indicate what is widely known: horse manure is one of the best fertilizers for gardens if it is sufficiently composted.  I've had success even when it is not composted well.  Most of my plants like it, although I keep it off the rhododendrons.

    Horse poop also gives me a certain peace of mind.  To explain, a horse who is not pooping is sick.  I've spent sleepless nights worrying about a pony in obvious discomfort and stress as they strain to unsuccessfully eliminate waste.  Veterinary calls are made, of course, but still... Over the years most of our horses pull through a bout of colic, but not all.  I remember the first little mare we lost.  She was a Miniature Horse, and we weren't prepared to lose her even after we called in two vets who did all they could to save her. In my experience, the minis are more prone to colic, and some research does indicate they are likely to get impaction colic, with hardened fecal matter because of their smaller size with less space in the intestines.  I haven't found any research numbers on the size of the problem, but I imagine the papers are out there.     

    In my years of horse-keeping, colic has been the prime killer of many of my horses.  No real surprise.  I've seen pictures of a horse's intestines, and the coils appear to be miles long.  Apparently, they are "only" about 70 feet, compared with a human's roughly 15 feet.  (Both are scary numbers to me.)  Anyway, I have been told that what horses ingest, they have to poop out.  I hate throwing up, but I guess our gag reflex saves our lives.  Horses can't vomit.  It is a huge disadvantage.

    So, as I trudge out to the barn to scoop poop, I comfort myself that all is well with my equine friends.  And I think up stories, as I reassure myself that manure is worthy of praise, and the aroma many not be fit for a perfume bottle, but it certainly has value.

    As a side note: for anyone who would like some fertilizer, I'm willing to share at no charge.  I've got a continuing supply.  I'm told my horse's poop grows superior tomatoes, among other fruits and vegetables.  Just saying.

     

 

     

Letting Go

    A few days ago a friend passed away.  Her family is devastated, and I have lost another contemporary friend.  I've reached the age when people of my years are dying.  Those of us left behind grieve.  I am grieving.  We do.  Grief is part of reaching old age.  It is a sign that we have been loved, and that we love in return.

    I am reminded of when we lose an animal companion.  Dogs especially give us unconditional love.

    So do many horses.

    And over the last 60 years, I have lost many equine companions - most through illnesses brought on by old age.  I had a veterinarian say that I have the biggest collection of senior horses on our plateau. He confided to one of my friends, another horse owner who has since passed away, that he almost dreaded a phone call from me because it often meant he would have to put an animal down, not because I didn't give good care, but because most of my animals were/are older.

    Yes, I've had to let many, many go.  I remember those horses.  They haunt me.

    Most recently we had to let a draft horse cross the Rainbow Bridge.  Bonnie hadn't been in our herd for long; she was a senior when she came into our care.  She was the size of a small elephant, and her breeding could have been anything from Percheron to Belgian, although she resembled a Suffolk Punch.  Bonnie easily weighted a ton - a ton of love.  She spent her last years as a pasture ornament, and as a companion to the Quarter Pony, Shilo.  She suffered from a neurological problem, not too uncommon for draft animals.  She was losing control of her hind quarters.  Letting her leave this world was merciful, but I still wept.  Every time I walked into the barn she would call from one of the open stalls.  I still hear her, if only in my imagination.

    Mac was another draft who lost control of his hind quarters.  In his case, it was a slow decline, until the day he couldn't get up.  He came to us, already a Western Washington pulling champion.  I made him, a Shire, into a competitive dressage mount, and he carried me for years.  He flourished.  We had a tight bond, although he shared his love with everyone.  The day we let him cross the Rainbow Bridge was devastating.

    In the beginning days of Friendly Horse Acres, Jodee and Splash came to us as a set.  Jodee was a retired barrel racing champion.  Splash was an unrelated foal, although we purchased both horses from the same farm.  Jodee was a treasure.  Anyone could ride her, and she obviously knew the experience of her rider.  I remember the days she decided school was out for me.  I had been keeping her speed to a controlled walk or trot, with the occasional brief canter. That day she decided I was ready for a full gallop along a country road.  Clearly, she knew she didn't have to baby me anymore.  She didn't.  I loved it.  Everyone loved her.  She developed cancer, and our veterinarian struggled to keep her well, but at age 32, we had to let her go.

    Splash, too, would live to be about 32, but for her life was quieter.  From the beginning she had hip problems.  She could carry a rider, but only on a good day.  She became a decent carriage horse, though.  I always referred to her as "my" horse, even when we had 21 equines on the property.  In her case, her heart failed her.  She did not die alone.  She was surrounded by eight human mourners as we said goodbye.

    Splash

 Her little companion, Donny, a Miniature Horse gelding, was by her, too.  He mourned with us, and insisted he stay by her body until it was picked up.  It took him days to resume eating properly.  

    Donny would remain with us for more years as a driving and riding pony.  He also performed as a therapy horse.  I have vivid memories of him trying to keep his footing on the polished tiles of nursing homes. Originally, he had been our stallion for a small herd of Miniature Horses, but his most important contribution to the world was as a therapy horse - for humans, as well as other horses.

    Donny's death pushed me into a depression.  All of my horses have been hard to lose, but Donny hit me with an extra impact.  I was alone with him, in the barn, when he went.  That loss was hard, hard, hard.

     Donny

So many horses gone.  I could (and probably will in the future) fill pages of stories about them, knowing that as many as I write, I will forget one or more of them.  That is, until I lie down to sleep.  Then I will think, "How could I have forgotten Dolly or Peach or Bosley or Skeeter or William or Abby or Melissa or Shadow or Buddy or Chester or Manny or Flax or Cactus or Bramble or Devon or PeeChee or.... It's a long list, because I have lived a long time, and we got out of the business of breeding and selling because I could not part with them, and the only way I could be sure they were loved was to keep them close.

    However, I wouldn't trade having them in my life.  They gave me joy.  Each of them.  My world has been better for having them.  Love is like that.  I take delight in remembering Shadow trotting down the road, pulling a cart, oblivious to leaving me standing in the lane.  I see Buddy patiently letting children scramble up his legs to reach a stirrup.  I see Peach disappear under a cloud of people at a fair as she quietly accepted their pats.  And I see Abby flopping on my feet to keep me in place.

    Letting go is not easy, but it is the price we pay for accepting the love our horses and friends give.  I hope my friend's family remembers times of joy.  I will try to remember her that way, as I remember other friends who are gone, both two-legged and four.

    My brain plays tricks.  I will think of a friend, and get ready to phone, then realize a phone call will no longer reach them.

    I will step outside and expect to see a horse or pony who no longer is in the pasture or barn to greet me.  I cry, but that is all right because it is a physical reminder of the love they gave. That love lasts forever.

     

     

The Friendliest Horse

Let's start this story from my point of view.

Shilo is beautiful, especially in the summer when he shines golden with a few dapples to add to his radiance.  He's a Quarter Pony, although there are no papers to prove his pedigree.  But his appearance is minor compared with his temperament.  In all my 70 years or so of horsing around, he is the friendliest equine I have ever met.  He is the first to greet everyone.  He comes to the fence or gate, and puts his head in a position for pats.  He is a mooch for horse treats, but really he is happy with nothing but attention.  He always wants attention.

It someone goes out to the pasture to fix a fence, he is right beside them.  Ignore him, and a cap is gone.  Attempt to leave his area, and he dances about, trying to block any exit.  He wants to be with people.  Other horses are okay, but want he really wants is people.

This friendly behavior should be a plus, but not always.

Take the fence fixing situation.  He can slow the whole process.  Shilo isn't adverse to trotting off with a hammer.  Sigh.  And try grooming his pasture mate, Bonnie...poor Bonnie.  He is intent on putting his body between you and Bonnie. If that doesn't work, he will nip the poor mare.  

Further, there is the problem with conducting lessons.  His pasture borders the arena, so he can clearly see there is action right beside him  He sees other horses, but more than that he sees people.  People: his favorite companions.

Usually we turn the electric fence off when we are conducting lessons.  We don't want the students hurt.

But trust Shilo.  He discovered the power was off.  He barged through the wires that appear to be white ribbon.  The first couple of times he managed to duck under the top rung and climb over the bottom, spaced low for the Miniature Horses we no longer have.  However, when I tried to adjust the wires the third time, he just plowed through in spite of the power being turned back on.

The lesson was interrupted.  My youngest granddaughter (16) admitted his frolicking, including bucking and rearing, once he got in the arena, frightened her.  I had to grab him, and lead him back, past the now shredded electric ribbon, while he kept insisting he wanted to be with us, to be part of the action.

Eventually, my husband had to completely adjust and repair the wire.  And we now have to leave the electricity flowing when we have lessons in that area.

Having a super friendly horse isn't always a bonus.

 

Okay.  There are two sides to most stories, and here is Shilo's version.

I just want to have fun.

I like people.  When I was younger it was people who finally fed me, and they took me away from the stupid, bullying stallion.  I'm a grateful kind of guy.

You have to understand I look forward to training; I love treats.

And the day I realized the fence wouldn't shock me; well, who wouldn't want to go and play with the students and the other horses?  I discovered the nipping ribbons weren't on, and all I had to do was step over the bottom rung, duck under the top, and there I was - with the gang.  The Treatsinthepocket woman was there, the curly maned young woman who called Treatsinthepocket "Grandma," and who sometimes comes to help with the lessons was there, and so was the slight girl with the uncertain gait, and the man who always seemed to be fascinated by the stone he carried.  They had the brown pony mare with them, as well as the bay mare.  

I didn't know the pony well, but I'm always interested in other horses.  I tried to greet everyone.  I was so pleased.  Treatsinthepocket got a halter with a rope, and put them on me.

I thought, "oh, joy, I get to play, too," but she led me back to the pasture with big mare, who I like, although she can be a bit of a bore.  

Well, now I knew what to do.  I stepped through the ribbons again. I was out in a minute!  I'm a fast learner.  Back in the arena.  I knew the game. Oh, bother!  I was returned to the pasture.

Treatsinthepocket had disappeared to turn on the nipping.  I had already committed myself to stepping through, and I got a little bite, but I was out!  The ribbons had come loose from their posts.  They trailed behind me like a long, flapping tail.  

Okay!  I was back in the action.  Curly maned girl approached me.  Did she want to play, too?  I danced, shook my head and bounced to my back legs, then whirled and bucked out.  Curly maned girl backed off.  So disappointing.  I was sure she wanted to play.  So, I did a little more dancing to encourage her.  No biggy.

Treatsinthepocket returned, and snapped the rope back on my halter.  "Good," I thought.  She gets it!  She was muttering.  I tried dancing and tossing my head, but she put me in the driveway pen, and proceeded to tie off the fence.  Such a disappointment.  Another big sigh.

Later that day Gruffmanwhotrimshoofs appeared and adjusted all the ribbons so I couldn't step out anymore.  More sighs.

I still like people.  And I still just want to have fun.

Won't someone come to play with me?  I promise to nuzzle you, or rest my head on your shoulder.

 

Welcome to my world with horses

Welcome to my blog post.  I'm Laverne.  I'm 78 years young and I've spent most of my years with horses.  I still have a pasture full of the critters.  Well, actually just six now - down from 21.

I'm hoping this blog will bring me renewed delight in writing.  Perhaps some people will even read it!  Anyone out there?

Over 30 years ago, I was privileged to be chosen to write a weekly newspaper column called Hoofbeats for the Enumclaw Courier Herald.  For many years, starting in 1990, I could call myself a paid writer, although I think I was paid $12 a column.  Even given inflation, that was a pittance: however, writing those columns gave me enormous pleasure, and made me brave enough to submit articles to horse magazines.  Many were accepted.

I ended up writing a couple of self-published books: The Hoofbeats of my Heart and The For Always Pony.  Look for them on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  (I had to get the plug in.)

The writing experience gave me joy.

Then I stopped writing for pleasure, and returned to university for a Bachelor's degree, followed by a Master's.  Somehow, the creative juices stopped flowing the way it had in the days of the newspaper column.

I remember clearly how my initial foray into published writing began.  Over 30 years ago Friendly Horse Acres had recently moved to Buckley, Washington.  The community was small, and a lot of property had enough acreage for livestock.  The local feed store hosted a celebration of horse people, and they sponsored an exceptionally well attended parade of people and horses around the parameter of the city in late September.

My husband and I were breeding Miniature Horses.  We decided to walk the distance (about six miles,) dressed in pioneer costumes, and leading a pair of minis.  Okay.  We were younger, but that trek turned out to be a grueling hike, as we tried to keep up with the mounted participants.  By the time were were within a mile of our own farm, heading up a hill, we were wiped out.  Suddenly, a woman sporting a professional camera popped out of the foliage.  "Hi, I'm Shannon.  Can I take your photo and interview you?"  Of course, we agreed.  I recognized Shannon as the Enumclaw Courier Herald reporter who wrote the horse column.  I read it religiously every week.  We ended up with a full page spread in the paper, as well as being the subject of the newspaper column.

Shannon stayed in touch.

About a year later she announced she would be leaving her reporter job, and the courier Herald to return to her home in Ireland.  Although the reporter position would be filled by a professional journalist, she was offering the Hoofbeats column to a community member.  Qualified readers were asked to send in sample columns.

Yes, I was the chosen one.

I remember cussing at the typewriter, but just when I got the job, my parents presented me with one of the best gifts I have ever received.  It was a Brother word processor, complete with floppy disks.  That machine was a treasure. It sang.  And almost all of my articles came off the machine.  When it finally became inoperable, I cried.  Sure, we had PCs by that point, but I felt more creative with that old machine.  Somewhere, buried in a drawer, I'm sure I have a collection of floppies.  Oops, I glance up about the cabinet.  There they are, behind a doll and a crochet horse.  Now, if I had that word processor...

On with my story:

Without the support of that Brother, I hope to recreate my newspaper column in a new form.  Look for stories about horses, of course.  Maybe some research fact articles.  Maybe even some fiction.  No one knows what I'll be up to - least of all me.

I should be including some interviews with local motocross riders who insist horsepower in any form is still horsepower, even if it isn't the four-legged kind. 

Hope someone decides to come along for the ride.  We won't know where we're goiong until we get there.

Keep Horsing around!