The Fifth Season

Someone came up to me the other day and said, "I didn’t recognize your truck in the parking lot. It was so dirty." That’s a tell-tale sign of mud season.

Ah yes, mud season, otherwise known as The Fifth Season, the precursor to spring. That long-awaited time of the year when the robins come back.  And I don’t bother cleaning floors.  Really, it’s like shoveling before the snowstorm ends - what’s the point?

Larry can get up the driveway in his front wheel drive Jetta, but the truck bogs down and I need four wheel drive to get off the road. Either that, or I back up in our neighbor's driveway and get a running start, shooting across Charley Hill Road, hopefully with enough momentum to get me to higher, drier ground.  Going through the turnaround becomes extra exciting, because sliding a foot or so in either direction is going to smack off a side-view mirror.

It also makes for squishy paths to the barn, and once the dirt bared itself, the chickens began to dig and churn and revel in its earthy glory. The horses came off Pasture A, reluctantly and unhappily, as now it has to be protected from their sharp hooves and allowed to grow unhampered. The rest of their area, aptly named the "sacrifice" area, now becomes a mud pit of its own until things dry up. I rotate feeding locations to try and minimize the damage.

Tis the season for old houses like ours to be catheterized. The sump pump is an important part of its long-term care. One spring when we had an ice storm and the power was knocked out, I came home and looked down the cellar stairs, to see kitty litter boxes floating like sand-filled pirate ships in a foot of water.

Mother Nature has been fickle this spring. This morning the sky was bright blue and a warm breeze caressed my face. It is now raw and raining, on the verge of sleeting - again.



[courtesy doranna.net]

It can be hard to stay chipper in weather like this - spring seems so close, yet so far. But yesterday I took a moment to look around the yard - the front garden soil looks black and rich. The perennial bed that I planted last year looks ready to pop as soon as it feels a few days of successive warmth. When I brush a horse, there’s a pony’s worth of hair on the ground at the end (note to self: do NOT wear Chapstik in the barn).    Hardy souls like crocuses and lilies are starting to push through the ground.

And the robins? They’re braving the rain and sleet. They know warmer weather’s just around the corner. And clean floors are way overrated.　


Coming soon to a yard near you!

　

　

The New Kid on the Block

The morning of the day I went to Adirondack Foothills Equine Center to look at some horses for sale, Cass’ picture fell off my bookcase.

I’m not saying it meant anything.  I just found it interesting.  Take it as you will.

I’d been pursuing the online Want Ad Digest, Craigslist and Whinny.org in recent weeks looking at various horses for sale.  My heart was somewhat in it, but I was also very nervous about looking and riding and possibly making a bad decision.  I hadn’t ridden in any sincere form in several years; Cass and I just walked around the property and down the road a bit – but his feet had bothered him so much that even that had been limited.  Thunder had been allowed to goof off all summer as we got sidetracked by work around the homestead and other excuses.  But now a seismic change had occurred in our little barn with the loss of Cass and, along with other things that had lined up in the past six months or so which would allow us more time for fun stuff (read: riding our horses), a huge opportunity presented itself. 

It was time for me to get back in the saddle, literally and figuratively.  And, Thunder was lonely. 

Looking at all the horses online was exciting and exhausting.  I had an open-minded good sense of what I wanted and how much I had to spend.  It seemed like everything out there was too green, too old, too expensive, too questionable or too far away (I refused to go outside my area code).  Like Goldilocks, I was looking for one that was juuuuust right.  I saw two on Whinny.org which took me to ADK’s website and a listing of others they had for sale.  I emailed them, Jessica from the barn called me, and I made an appointment to go to Fort Ann for a couple of test rides.  Larry had to work so I recruited my non-horsey friend Judy to go with me.

We arrived at their beautiful facility – wide open, fenced-in paddocks and indoor ring - and met Cliff, an instructor/trainer and shower of horses for sale.  As we followed him into the barn, he asked, “So what kind of horses are you ladies looking for?”  Judy said, “Oh, I’m not looking for a horse, she is.  I’m looking for a boyfriend.”  Cliff said he’d see what he could for both of us.

Ironically, the two online that had somewhat interested me, I didn’t even ride.  Instead, he first put me on a beautiful mare named Nifty.  She was five, a little younger than I was looking for, but calm, pleasant to work around, well started and a dream to ride even if she was a little young, and as sweet as the day was long.  She also knew her job and expected me to know mine.

Next I rode a gelding named Legend.  He was a little older and wiser, and needed a little more “getting behind” to make him do what you wanted him to.  Still, he was well trained and it felt comfortable and familiar, because he reminded me of Cass in temperament.  I rode him much longer than I rode the mare.  Even though it felt great to be in the saddle again, I felt awkward and uncoordinated on both horses, like I was bouncing around and not giving clear cues.  I was in a Western saddle, not my usual English tack, and I was trying to remember and ride the differences.

I had told Judy that I was not going to make any snap decisions about buying anything that day.  This was purely a shopping expedition.  If I was going to buy something on the spot, I would have bought Legend.  He reminded me of Cass, and I thought, I know how to deal with this type of horse.

I asked Judy which horse she liked better.  She looked at me like I had two heads.  “The girl horse was much sweeter,” she said.  “All she wants to do is please you and be with you, and she’s absolutely beautiful.  The other one, he’s okay, but if you ask me it’s no question.”

The drive home was one of introspection.  Judy listened patiently as I basically justified why I wanted the gelding instead of the mare.  He was a little older, a little mellower (not that the mare was the least bit high-strung, just different), I knew his personality, he was a lot like Cass, I knew how to deal with it.  I was talking myself into it, but something felt weird.  I kept thinking about the mare.  Judy came right out and said she didn’t understand my attraction to the gelding, given how lovely the mare was, but being a good friend, she said “I don’t know anything about horses.  You’ll know what’s best for you.”

In my deepest heart of hearts, I was feeling like I didn’t deserve as nice a horse as that mare.  I’d ruin her.  She was a better horse than I was a horsewoman.  I’d gotten what I deserved with Cass, good and bad, nothing against him, and to think I deserved better was selfish and unreasonable, and disrespectful to his memory.

As I mulled all this over, I equated getting the gelding to being in a relationship with a certain type of man.  Even if the relationship wasn’t great, you knew what to expect and you tolerated it.  Then, getting out of that relationship, and jumping right into another relationship with the same type of man.  Did that make sense?  Why would I do that to myself?  Have I not learned something after all these years?

I was feeling pretty philosophical with myself and called Judy later that day.  “Do you think the mare liked me?” I asked, sounding rather sophomoric.  I told her about my analogy.  She said, “You know, the mare was so sweet and just wanted to be with you and work with you and be a partner.  Why wouldn’t you want to have the same kind of relationship with your horse that you have in your marriage to Larry?"

She pulled the rug right out from under me with that one.  I promptly started bawling because I knew she was right.  I was still grieving for Cass.  In a way I felt like I was being disloyal to him.  But she was right.  It was time to be kind to myself, to give myself this incredible opportunity to have a fabulous horse.

I'm A Nifty Jag (Nifty)

I did deserve her.

Three days later Larry and I went to the stable to look at her again.  I rode her for nearly an hour.  Cliff showed me how to communicate with her under saddle based on how she’d been trained, to get her listening and bending.  I felt much more comfortable in the saddle.  I quieted my logical mind and listened to her, felt her, gave her every reason to trust me.  I bought her.

Nifty now resides in the stall where Cass lived out his days with me.  The day she arrived she was in her stall, calmly taking in all her new surroundings.  With a teary face I took Cass’ nameplate off the wall, and she nuzzled my hand as I took out the screws.  When I put my hands on her, the trust is like a current between us.  My level of horsemanship has changed.

In two weeks, the stable is holding a tack swap.  I figured I’d go and liquidate some of the extra gear I’ve accumulated over the years.  Judy’s going to tag along.  Maybe we can find her a boyfriend.

Me and My Old Man

In Corinth, 2003

On January 8, my horse Cass was euthanized due to a severe bout with impaction colic.  He was 31 years old; he had shared my life for 26 years.


He was my Divorce Horse, a clever turn of phrase that first came out of my mouth while Dr. Goldwasser and I covered his prone form on the floor with blankets, draping one end over his beautiful face with the wide white blaze.

He was spoiled, bratty, and could have definitely benefitted from round pen work to work on his, um, “respect” issues.  He was a nightmare to get on a trailer and would catapult himself over any type of stream or brook to avoid stepping in it.  My long-suffering farrier, Dennis Briscoe, dealt graciously with many a yanked away foot and dancing around during trimmings.  His successor, Lisa Howard, was tolerant to a fault with her kind and patient manner.

Cass was also kind, tolerant, funny, surprisingly sweet with little kids, and had the neck of a giraffe when he wanted something.  He figured out stall door latches and, after letting himself out, went to Ginger’s stall and let her out, too. 

In Schroon, 2009

He was a gorgeous shade of chestnut with a wide white blaze, three white socks, and a tail that had a natural ripple through it, so beautiful I wouldn’t braid it for shows.  He was sleek and shiny in the spring and summer, and turned an incredible shade of red with his winter coat.  He placed well at shows, which was additionally satisfying since we weren’t affiliated with a stable or trainer – it was just me and my backyard horse holding our own.  A quarter horse, he made a lovely hunter type (even if his neck was a bit inverted), and the judges loved him.  Unless we did some glaringly obvious gaffe, like picking up a wrong lead, we usually pinned.  He carried my unsure and tentative self over little jumps, even when he himself was unsure and tentative.  We made a good pair.

He was a sight to behold galloping around in Corinth, where the paddocks were wide open and he could really open the carburetor.  Here in Schroon, the footing proved more of a challenge, especially with his increasing age, but having him in the backyard was a fair trade off. 

Larry and Cass, having a
meeting of the minds

Before you go thinking he was Mr. Wonderful, allow me to balance his many wonderful qualities with some of the not so great:  He had the aforementioned respect issues, primarily kicking under certain circumstances, although he only connected with me once in 26 years.  He almost took off my ex-husband’s head (apparently Cass knew better than me at that point), has taken swings at various kids and stepkids, and his crowning achievement – sent Larry sailing through a gate early in our relationship.  The fact that he did not blame the horse and, in fact, kept coming around, showed me Larry was a keeper.

Hot and dusty show
in Ballston Spa,
mid 1990's

Trailering was not fun with him, although Dad and I did manage to wrangle him to numerous shows on our own with our own truck and trailer.  One memorable show in March had us absolutely unable to get that damn horse loaded in the trailer to go home (after a particularly lousy day).  It may take a village to raise a child, but that day it took an entire horse show crowd to get a horse on a trailer.   Dad and I had oh so many adventures going to shows – he was my groom, horse holder, boot shiner, lunch grabber, and all around good sport as we bungled our way around the local show circuit.  Those are some of my best memories.

I was fortunate with Cass in many ways, one of them being that he was an “easy keeper.”  It didn’t take much to keep him in good shape, and it was only about two years ago that his age really started to show.  His tooth surfaces had pretty much worn down, giving him trouble with eating and digestion and maintaining a good weight, and putting him on beet pulp helped.  He also had a bout with white line disease at age 18, which resulted in his having a significant part of his foot resected.  His chances for recovery were fair, but with the help of my vet and farrier Dennis, who modified shoes for him as the foot regrew, he rebounded completely.  He was rarely lame and only colicked once before, right after I moved him to Schroon.  Larry started calling him Yahtzee, because of the way his joints cracked and popped when he walked, "He sounds like Yahtzee dice," Larry would say.  I called him my bowl of Rice Krispees.  We both also got our first grey hairs at the same time - him on his face, me on my head.

Cass and Thunder,
Summer 2011

Cass always had his herd of one – first pony Tiffany, then Ginger, then mini Katie, and then his world REALLY got rocked – the addition of Thunder a year ago.  Cass went from being alpha male to being literally kicked down the food chain, in what was a horrible altercation to watch.  But once the dust settled, Cass (who still looked at Thunder like “Go f___ yourself”) and Thunder were pasture buddies to a point.  Cass was no longer king of the hill, but I think he came to terms with being dethroned.

The night he died, Larry had just left for an appointment in Long Lake right before I brought the horses in.  When I saw Cass was sick and how bad it was, I didn’t try to track Larry down because, for one, there really wasn’t anything he could have done, and two, if this was it, then it was meant to be just me and my boy.  In a sense, I had been waiting for this.  Dr. Goldwasser came out about 10:00 p.m. and after evaluating our options, he let me make the decision.   That horse didn’t owe me a damn thing, and I owed him everything, so I did what I felt was right by him.  That is our privilege, burden and responsibility as animal owners.

A young man, the
year he came to me, 1986

I once said to Jackie Burnham, who did the occasional horse sitting for me in Corinth, that I felt I had not brought Cass to his full potential – he could have been a really great show ring hunter if I had worked harder.   Jackie said, “You let him be what he was supposed to be – a horse.”  In the end, I suppose that’s the best we can try to do for our equine companions.