Disclaimer Aside

Today's post is going to be a bit random, and likely not very horse related.  Disclaimer aside, I have little snippets of things I would like to say, that would not make a good individual post but will add up to one, probably weird and hopefully not horrendously boring...thing.

I saw Les Miserables with a friend last week, and it was very good.  I have now added the soundtrack to one of my Pandora stations, and Pandora insists that almost every song is now from Les Mis.  I just went through four songs in a row that were from the movie, and all I really wanted to hear was Red and Black, and Can You Hear the People Singing? Or whatever they're called.  I woke up this morning with Red and Black in my head, except I couldn't remember what came after the colors, so I tried to make up lines.  "Red... the color of...scarlet hues!  Black! serious as a heart attack!"  Yeah. I think the original lines were better.

I am really excited to see Hansel and Gretel this month. I'm not sure what day it comes out, but I'm hoping it's not as terribly disappointing as Snow White and the Huntsman.  I got a free movie pass after seeing Les Mis, because there was something wrong with the movie projector and the screen had this weird red tinge to it.  At first, I thought it was part of the Will Smith movie they were previewing about the future, but I guess it wasn't.   The movie ended up starting 10 or 15 minutes late, which was good because I was 5 minutes late to the movie and got to chat with my friend in the beginning instead of stage whispering an apology and then shutting my face.

I discovered something a little odd about my friendships the other day.  Many of my friends have moved away from our hometown, or we all graduated college and went back to our respective corners of the world.  I am not the best at keeping up with people, but will occasionally realize I haven't spoken to someone in ages and send them an electronic note of some kind (read: Facebook message or wall post).  Maybe my taste in friends is generally terrible, with a few good exceptions, or maybe I am easily left behind, but most of my friends do not respond.  Rather, they seem to drop off the face of the Earth, never to say hello again.

Indeed, people whom I valued greatly have ceased contact with me, almost as if I have done something terrible?  By "people," I am referencing at least five people that I can think of right now.   By contrast, a girl that I stopped being friends with in elementary school wanted to friend me on Facebook.  To explain the oddness of this a bit further, I stopped being friends with her to her face- I told her that we are not friends anymore because she treated me terribly.  She would give me the silent treatment for the rest of the day if I said or did anything that she decided she didn't like that day.  I would beg her to resume speaking with me but she would coldly refuse until I had sufficiently groveled.  I hate to think of those days still, and have vowed to never lower myself like that for someone again- at least, not for someone who clearly had so little respect for me.  The final straw in our friendship's camel's back was when she sent me a note across the class that said "I hate you."  Nothing else, and for no reason.   That was when I walked up to her at my next opportunity and told her we were through being friends.   The rest of that year was pretty lonely.   When she Facebooked me a few years back, I was understandably startled.  See? The people (okay, person) I would be happy to move on with my life away from seek me out, and my "close friends" vanish without a word.  What gives?

I made banana bread a few days ago, and I cannot get it to be like my mom's.  I have finally accepted that, while my banana bread does not have the moist, delicious top like my mom's, it is still tasty and worth making.  My banana bread is more like... well, bread.  Dry topped but with yummy banana flavor, just add butter.   Somehow, my mom's banana (or cranberry) breads have distinctly spongy-soft top rather than a hard crust.  I use the same Betty Crocker recipe that she does, too.

My hands are cold.  Not Kristen Stewart waifishly chilled fingers due to proximity to sexy vampires.  More like, "Ohmygodwhyareyoutouchingme?!" cold.

I sliced the bottom of my pointer finger open on the side of a can of tuna last night.  I was trying to pull the tuna can top off where it was still attached to the bottom by one tiny, stubborn strand of metal.  I succeeded in separating top from bottom, but the top snapped away suddenly and left a clean cut across my finger.  It immediately welled with pink blood.  I went through three band-aids last night and have a new one on this morning so I won't keep opening it up whenever I move my finger.

I am reading Mindy Kaling's book, "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?"  It's funny, and clever, and you should read it if you like those sorts of things.

The Fear Place

I think we have all been there.  You took a new route, did the wrong thing at the wrong time, had something completely accidental happen.  Sometimes you luck out, and nothing bad comes of it even when it should have. Other times, you get hurt, perhaps even end up in the hospital.  Life can be like that, but with horses, the chances of getting injured go way up.

People handle these things in different ways.  Some are able to get up and go on like nothing ever happened.  Others are devastated, so traumatized that they give up riding for life.  Of course, there is every nuance of feeling between those two extremes, and most people land in the middle.

I had a bad fall while cantering that still causes me back pain now and again.  It has been over 6 years, and I am 90% over it.  I still get a little clutch in my belly before asking for it for the first time in any particular ride, but then it smooths out and I'm okay.

My mom's bad fall is something she is still working through, and it's what I wanted to highlight today.  I happened to be there for her fall, and have been helping her work through it since.  I had to dig my way out of my own worm hole, too afraid and ashamed to admit my fears or to know how to ask for help.  Now that I am on the other side, it is gratifying to reach out and offer empathy, support, and guidance.

Mom and Lady (ironic name) were going down a hill behind Rocky and I.  We were close to the barn, coming back from a very short trail ride. My mom is new to horses and to Lady in particular.  When Lady began to trot down the hill, it scared my mom so she attempted to pull her to a stop.  Lady was a dominant personality mare that my mom was learning to handle, but she hadn't been able to really gain Lady's respect.  Instead of stopping, Lady swerved to the side of the trail.  By this time, I had heard the hoof beats behind me speed up, so I had turned around in the saddle to make sure they were okay.

I saw Lady tuck her nose a bit, then kick out with both hind legs three times in a row.  By the third kick she had effectively bounced my mom out of the saddle.  She fell hard on her back and right side.  I was off Rocky and next to my mom as fast as I could be, where she gasped for breath.  Remembering what it felt like to get the wind knocked out of me, to try to stand up while hard fists were closed around my lungs was scary by myself.  I coached my mom to take slow, shallow breaths rather than claw for a big filling one.   I told her to stop trying to get up and just focus on getting air.

She listened, staying on her knees with her hands on the ground in front of her, trying not to cry and moan in pain while getting the necessary oxygen.  After what seemed like forever, but was probably 30 seconds or so, I could hear her breathing even out.  She was still half panting from pain but it was no longer as panicky.   I grabbed Lady then, and helped her slowly stand up.

We traded horses for the short walk back to the barn.  I didn't know if Lady would try to rush or push her way back, but I knew Rocky would be gentle.

I ended up taking my mom to the hospital, where they admitted her for two days.  It was one of the scariest drives of my life; I wanted to go fast to get there quickly, but take turns and stop carefully.   She had severely bruised her kidneys and they were worried she may have internal bleeding.   She was released after two days with painkillers and no internal damage other than bruising.

Since then, she has purchased a new horse named Tapper and gained new horsemanship abilities.  She is still learning, as all of us are, but has come a long way.

A few days ago, we had completed a decent trail ride with no mishaps.  Tapper started to trot down the same hill Lady had over a year before, and my mom panicked.  It brought back all of her memories of her fall and even though he stopped when he caught up to Rocky and I, only 15 feet ahead of them, the fear had taken over my mom.

To Be Continued...

Micro Esteem

I have a degree in psychology, and I am trying to get good at noticing micro expressions.  Sometimes. (A micro expression is a tiny flash of emotion that people unconsciously will do, and is referred to in as a non verbal means of communication.)  So yeah, micro expressions.  Learning to read them, meaning notice that someone made the expression, figure out what emotion was shown, and then use that information to better understand what the person is truly thinking versus what they are literally saying. It can be very helpful at my job.  I work with teenagers at a residential treatment facility, and sometimes catching a micro expression and commenting on the feeling behind it can get you into more honest conversations with people.

For example, I was talking to an 18 year old male client, and I told him that he seems to be a sensitive person.  He flashed the expression for scorn and then smoothed it away in a heartbeat, because as humans we tend to not want to insult others.  He tried to be polite and say something about how "that's possible."  But his face told me he not only didn't believe he is a sensitive person, but his initial gut reaction was to be scornful of the very idea of being sensitive.  I pointed this out to him, and explained what I meant by sensitive.  After my explanation, he admitted that he can be emotionally sensitive- which is why he puts up protective "walls" around his feelings.  But I digress.

The point is, learning to read and respond to micro expressions at my work place has been helpful.  Not so in my person life.  I.E., with my mom.  I often wish that I could just not notice what my mom thinks about things.  I want to take what she is verbally saying at face value, and ignore her body language.

This is where I explain why I mentioned my degree in psychology at the beginning of this post.  It's because I can make excuses for other people's behavior all day long.  I'm good at it, at explaining it, rationalizing why someone might be doing what they are doing, etc.   Having insight into others is a double edged sword.  I can rationalize that my mom has a lot of things going on in her life right now that are really stressful, so if she looks at me with that "you look fat" face, or "you need to stop gaining weight" look, it's only because her mom is floundering downhill with Alzheimer's.  

The thing is, right now I feel like my mom thinks I'm fat, she doesn't like or understand my husband (he doesn't like going outside very much! He plays video games- a lot. Eep!), and she doesn't like my dog (he's "aggressive" and "doesn't understand" the word "come." Uh, yeah, he does, sometimes he chooses to ignore you, or stare at you blankly.  He does get it, though. She is upset that he likes to come when you are using a high pitched, read: happy tone of voice.  She "doesn't play that game," meaning using a different tone of voice to call him.  Nope, she puts a shock collar on her dog so that if he doesn't come, she can shock him.  Different strokes for different folks, I guess).

The thinking I'm fat thing... to be fair, I am overweight. I finally got myself some new bras yesterday because they were half off, and I don't like to spend money on myself, but I found out I went up two bra sizes.  Thank God I don't have that horrible 4 boob thing going on anymore, but up two sizes? I was grateful she wasn't there with me, not because I feel that terrible about my new bra size, but because her presence would have made me feel ashamed.  Even though she is overweight, too.  Women are tough on each other.

It's why I almost didn't get my new coat, because nothing seemed to look good on me yesterday- at least to her.  She gave me the once over, a half hearted "that's nice, but isn't that just like the other coat you have?"  Her face screamed that she was not impressed.  Nope, not really. I confirmed this when I brought it home to show Justin, and asked him if he thought it was the same as my other jacket.  He looked at me like I was crazy and said no, the two coats were completely different. (By the way, I love my husband).  This coat has a tie around the waist, which actually gives me a waist.  I think I look good in it.

I tried on this dress, it was lacy, black, and sexy.  I put my new Spanx on under it, the first Spanx I have ever purchased, and went, "Wow! My butt looks smooth! My sides are nipped in! I've got some cleavage going- which, what is the point of having big boobs if you never show them off- and the skirt is a decent enough length that I don't look slutty!"  I came out of the dressing room, as my mom had told me she wanted to see. Haltingly, she told me, "Oh, cute. Yeah."  And nodded.  She looked at me a few seconds longer, then asked, "Did you see yourself in a full length mirror?"  Who wants to be cute in a dress designed to be sexy, with a v neckline and black lace?  Um, yeah, I saw myself in a full length mirror.  I thought that my husband would love this dress, and want to get me out of it at his earliest opportunity.

I couldn't buy it then, not with the way she looked at me in it.  Her micro expressions were all negative, all condemning my cleavage and curvy (but now smoothly curvy- thanks Spanx!) torso. I did buy some boots that she wasn't overly impressed with either, but dammit, I can wear these every day.  And I like them. The dress would be a date-night dress, and we can only afford so many of those.  I suggested wearing the boots with skinny jeans, and she quickly told me, "Or just like that," meaning with pants over them.  Apparently I look bad in skinny jeans, too.

When I told my husband about it, wanting his honest opinion, he told me that the boots look good this morning (with skinny jeans, thankyouverymuch) and that he thinks I'm sexy anyway.  But that dress sounded good.

I did get $75 in Kohl's cash so I think I am going back to buy that dress on Monday.  Sexy date night, here I come! Negative micro expressions be damned.

Difficult Conversations

Welcome, Mugwump Chronicle Readers! (and all others, of course.)  Mugwump featured a past blog post I wrote on her blog today, and one of the reader comments inspired me to write a follow up.  The original blog can be found here.  It's titled "Lemons," and is about my experience of buying Rocky, falling in love with him, and then realizing that he has HYPP N/H after receiving his registration papers from the friend I bought him from.  One of the Mugwump readers asked if I ever talked to "Rite," my friend who sold me Rocky, about not disclosing his HYPP status to me prepurchase.  Here is the answer:

When I got Rocky's registration papers in the mail and saw the dreaded "HYPP N/H" letters on the side, my heart sank.  One of the people I boarded with at the time had been concerned that her horse was HYPP positive, and had mentioned a few things about it.  Essentially, I knew that it wasn't good but not any concrete details.  I headed to the internet and did some research to learn what exactly I was dealing with.

I was still grieving the loss of my first horse just three months earlier, so seeing that my new horse I had already started falling in love with may have a seizure and drop dead was terrifying.  For a while, I sat and cried with my laptop, wondering what I should do.  I didn't want to return Rocky; HYPP notwithstanding, he was exactly what I wanted in a horse and my rational brain knew that horses can have accidents or other sudden medical issues.  I had learned that fact all too well with the untimely death of my first horse.

I felt such rage at Rite, for misleading me, for breeding Rocky in the first place, for continuing to breed his HYPP N/H sire at will.  I thought about how she feeds all of her horses a rich alfalfa diet, and came to the conclusion that she did not have the same panic response that I did.  The potassium in alfalfa can set off HYPP symptoms, but she didn't seem to either know or be bothered by that knowledge.

Finally, when I had processed the situation enough on my own to not send a nasty, horrible email, I did send one.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but I tried to keep my feelings in check the best I could.  I asked if Rocky had ever had HYPP symptoms, what they were and how severe they were if he had experienced them. I think I commented about being surprised to see that he was a carrier on his papers, and that it would have been nice to know earlier.

She responded by saying that he'd never been symptomatic, nor had Checkers, his sire.  Rite explained that if he were to have an attack, it would look like "he was standing on his tippy toes" with his hind end, and that it would go away after a little bit.  I stared at that email for a long time.  I didn't know what to say; she knew enough about HYPP to know that it would be a muscle seizure, but apparently not enough to know that he could choke to death?  Obviously choking to death would be a worst case scenario, but it has happened.

I finally decided that nothing I could say to her was likely to make a difference. She was an adult, had made her choices and chooses to believe that HYPP is not a big deal.   Rite recently talked about gelding Checkers, and I was very supportive of the idea.  Other than that, I chose not to pursue the matter any further.  I think that Rite honestly believes HYPP is not a real problem, so she thought she was acting fairly. 

In many ways I have been very lucky to have Rocky.  He has a great mind, tries hard, is sweet and steady.  A good deal of those traits come from his breeding, as both Amber (his dam) and Checkers are good minded, calm, and try to please their rider.  He also came with the upbringing I wanted, having received all proper vaccinations and farrier care.   Rocky was also desensitized from a young age, again adding to his value as a trail horse for me.

Rocky's good traits that he got from Rite added to my decision to let this thing lie.  I couldn't see any good come from "having it out" with Rite, and at the end of the day, I love and want my horse. 

If you had been in my shoes, what would you have done?  What do you think the "right" course of action would be? 

A new look for Rocky

The last two weeks have been really busy so I haven't been able to get out to the barn very much- as in, twice, which is why I wrote the Snow White review rather than more Rocky stuff.  C'est la vie.  I've got a great trail ride to tell you guys about, but before that I want to talk about my time at the barn yesterday.

Pretty, new fly sheet!

Rocky got a new fly sheet for my birthday, and he looks so shiny and clean underneath it! (knock on wood) I groomed and tacked him up as usual, then did some flexing exercises and worked on trying to be light, asking him with the lightest touch and then raising the pressure if he resisted.  I tried to be conscious of asking lightly every time I used a new cue, rather than falling into the trap of staying at the last pressure level that worked. Thanks, Mugs!

He responded pretty well, but he'll be better after I have been consistent with him for a few days. I can't blame him for being a little off after not being worked with for about two weeks. 

So after doing that I thought I would take him on the small trail loop to work on leg yielding across the trail, more lightness exercises but in a different environment.  He wasn't thrilled with going out on the trail, instead trying to get me to let him go down the driveway- which ends at a big highway.  I said "no thanks" for today, and then proceeded to ask, then tell him not to eat grass/leaves/ferns while going down the trail.  I ended up popping him in the head with the end of my mecate rein, which got him up and trotting but at least proved that I was serious about the not grazing while working thing. 

A few minutes later, he tossed his head and I saw a flap of skin under his mane come up to reveal a one inch by one inch wound on his neck.  It was right on the top of his neck, hidden under his mane.  I gasped and leaned forward to look at it.  It was about a third of the way down his neck from his ears, and every time he shook his head the flap jiggled.  I finished the loop with him and had my barn manager look at it.

Yeah, it's kinda gross.

See the flap? It's to the left of the raw wound.

You can see daylight! and how deep the wound is.

She gasped, too, but then relaxed after seeing that it wasn't as bad as it initially looks. I could tell that she felt terrible about not having noticed it before I did, but I assured her that I had completely groomed and tacked him up without knowing it was there- I had skipped brushing his mane. She advised me to shave the mane around it, clean it out and see how strongly attached the flap of skin was.

I shaved immediately around the wound, then cleaned up his bridle path as long as I was there.  I stood there looking at his neck, which had a clean bridle path, then a chunk of mane the length of my palm, and then another patch of shaved neck. Awkward.  I decided to shave off all of his mane to the wound, sortof like the show Arabian bridle path.  Rocky looks like an Arab now! (ha....ha...not.) But it does look better than it did. I braided the rest of his mane in a french braid going down his neck so that it would stay out of the wound. I thought it looked pretty, and I did a decent job for my first attempt at that type of horsey hairdo.

Shaved bridle path, braided mane.  This was the day after I originally did the braid though, so it's  messier than it was yesterday.

The flap, on the other hand, was just the wrong amount of attached- enough of a deep attachment (about a thumb width) to make me not want to pull it off, but not enough that it looks like it will reattach. So now we need to wait for it to die and fall off.  In the meantime, I put triple antibiotic ointment on it and put him in a stall so his horse friends won't help him get it full of dirt.  He happily clomped through his stall and out into the run attached to it to sniff the ground and try to get some grass. 

He will live, and his mane will look awkward growing back in, but it was pretty horrifying to suddenly see that flap of skin come up under his mane.  C'est la vie.