You would think that a horse living in Texas wouldn’t really require that many clothes. Our problem is heat, after all, not cold. Well… normally, anyway. This winter has been nuts by Texas standards.

I can’t really blame Henry’s overly extensive wardrobe on this winter, though. That horse has been accumulating clothes since I’ve got him, and it’s to the point where his pile of blankets is occupying a whole corner of the tack room. This is especially sad considering I just gave away a few blankets and coolers that I wasn’t using anymore. It was a huge struggle to find blankets that didn’t rub him, so we went through 4 of those before I finally got smart enough to settle on his HUG style ones – a turnout sheet and turnout blanket. I absolutely love those things, they were worth every penny and fixed the shoulder rub problem that a bunch of other blanket brands plus a shoulder guard could not. Both of them are teal with orange piping, which isn’t my favorite, but whatever.

Originally he had a nice wool PS of Sweden quarter sheet but when he decided to sprout a butt it looked more like a teeny cape. I was sad to sell that thing. I replaced it this fall with a plain nylon quarter sheet, which I feel pretty meh about, so he might be acquiring another quarter sheet at some point. Really I want what the Brits call a loin rug, that attaches to the saddle… so that will probably happen eventually.

The cooler situation is where things really start to go off the rails. Does a Texas horse need 3 different coolers? Probably not. But he’s got his lightweight knit Saratoga Horseworks award cooler from AECs, which probably gets the most use. It’s the perfect weight for 50’s and 60’s type weather, and I use it as a dress sheet at shows or when we travel, if it’s cool enough.

Then there’s my vintage Miller’s heavyweight wool newmarket cooler. This thing actually has a Miller’s tag on it, so it’s minimum 20 years old. The wool is really thick and warm, really a bit overkill for Texas, but I do seem to break it out once or twice a year. This year it’s definitely seeing more action.

The third cooler I bought because it made me sad. Yeah, I have issues. But it’s an award cooler from the Netherlands for the best jumper foal, and it was for sale on a facebook group for $15. It caught my eye because it was my colors, but once I read the dutch embroidery I had to buy it. I couldn’t stand the idea of a nice award cooler like that ending up as a cat bed in someone’s tack room or something. Presto isn’t Dutch, but maybe someday he’ll wear it and pretend. Let’s be honest, Presto doesn’t know wtf he is anyway, he’s German and American by blood, yet his sire lives in France, yet he’s registered in Belgium. Why not add the Netherlands to the mix?

Then of course there’s the Back on Track sheet, which Henry mostly wears at shows when it’s cold enough, or occasionally at home if they’re stalled for some reason. I got a great deal on this thing and he seems to like it, so it stays.

Then of course there’s his oh so attractive sleazy that he wears when he’s braided. Henry already looks like a quarter horse and when you put this thing on it makes it even worse. Totally nerdy but it keeps him from rubbing shavings into his braids, plus it makes me giggle, so it’s earned it’s place.

And then, of course, there’s the bonnet collection. I sold several old ones last year (we won’t talk about how many I bought) so it’s not THAT bad. A dapper horse needs lots of hats, I’m pretty sure that’s the rule.

There a still a few blankets and coolers sitting in my garage that I haven’t rehomed yet, but probably need to. I mean… I think Henry is pretty well outfitted at this point. Just wait til Presto gets big enough to have his own wardrobe too (he doesn’t even know how close he came to ending up with one of these this year). That whole tack room will be filled to the brim one day.

When we were XC schooling last Saturday, a friend of mine had a fairly scary fall that left all of us a bit rattled. It was one of those scenarios where a mistake was made at a solid fence that did not allow for such a mistake, and when it’s horse vs solid fence, the solid fence almost always wins. We were talking about it on the way home and she asked me if I was going to blog about it. I immediately said no, thinking she was talking about her fall. I don’t blog about other people’s mishaps, as a general rule. But she said no, not about the fall, but about everything else we’d been talking about – the risk, and the responsibility.

She’s right, it’s a good topic. Riding is, in and of itself, inherently risky, and eventing is one of the riskiest equestrian sports. It’s something that I’m extremely aware of and think about a lot. I put my and my horse’s well-being on the line every time I swing a leg over, but especially when we’re out on the cross country course. This isn’t something I take lightly.

The way I personally see it is that there are essentially three parts to this: 1) acknowledging, and being very realistic about, the level of risk involved, 2) doing anything and everything you can to reduce said risk, 3) accepting that even if you try to do everything right, sometimes shit just happens.

Acknowledging and being realistic about the level of risk involved is mostly about being very self aware. Riding around with a “this is dangerous, omg!” monkey on your back is counterproductive – a confident rider is generally a safer rider – but I think having a healthy amount of respect for what you’re doing is necessary to keep you and your horse safe. We all know the person that wants to go out and XC school and see what kind of fences they can make it over, just for fun (or a photo). Bravery is one thing, but not when it comes at the expense of being realistic about what we or our horses are capable of in that moment. That’s when it crosses over into recklessness.

Doing anything and everything in your power to reduce the risk is something that eventers have gotten really good at. We load up on safety equipment (sometimes to the point of buying things just because a product is marketed as safer, even if it’s not actually proven to be such), we develop fantastic technology to wrap our horses legs in, we do trot sets until our eyeballs fall out from boredom so we can avoid the situation of an overly fatigued horse or rider. We spend a lot of time schooling complex exercises, working on improving reaction times, and learning what to do when things don’t go as planned. We fund study after study on fence technology, equine cardiology, course design, etc. We ice and we poultice and we handwalk and we cold hose and we theraplate and we magna wave. We even have clinics to learn how to fall off correctly.

Then there’s the last piece, the piece that we’re a lot more reluctant to talk about: the fact that no matter what we do, this is a risky venture. It’s pretty likely that at some point, if you do this for any period of time, you or your horse will end up getting hurt. And that’s not an eventing-specific thing… that’s true for pretty much all horse sports. There is additional risk in eventing, though, and we have to decide whether or not that additional risk is worth it to us. If we DO decide that it’s worth it, I think it’s a vital personal responsibility to constantly keep point number 1 in mind, and continuously evaluate and re-evaluate point number 2. At the end of the day though, you have to be able to accept the risk, put it in your pocket, and kick on anyway.

As we were talking I could tell by the look on my friend’s face that she was replaying the incident over and over in her mind. I told her stop, and I made her give me her camera to take home so I could erase the footage of it. It was clearly already ingrained in her mind, she didn’t need to watch it happen from afar. I asked her if it was possible to change what already happened. She said no. Ok, so it’s done, let’s move on. Do we know what went wrong and why? Yes. What can you do about it? Learn from it. Work on correcting the problem. Don’t make the same mistake again. Respect the bigger or more technical fences more. Ok, so let’s focus on those things.

It’s a lot easier said than done though, and I could see the deep-seated guilt about the minor scrapes and general soreness that her horse was now sporting. I totally get that. That is the downside to equestrian sports, and it sucks.

The horse’s safety in particular is something that constantly weighs in my mind. Sometimes I DO wonder if this is worth it… thinking about how much “easier” his life would be if he just cantered around the hunter ring jumping 3′. I know that’s a job he would hate, though, and I would hate it too. Henry is a pretty safe cross country horse, meeting my top two requirements of safe jumping style and good sense of self preservation. Not to mention – he loves it. Genuinely and truly. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, so today we’re going to do what we love… we’re just going to try to be as smart about it as possible. Mistakes will happen though, that’s just reality.

So we keep working, keep conditioning, and keep trying to get better. I always keep the risk in mind, but I try not to let it turn into fear. Being fearful can be just as dangerous as being overly bold. I accept that there is more risk in my chosen sport, I strive to always make us as safe as possible, and I’m committed to never asking more of my horse than he’s capable of giving. To me, that’s pretty much all I can control, so I have to choose to worry about those things and let the rest go.

Henry is not what you would call a naturally talented galloper. That beautiful, fluid, effortless gait that thoroughbreds have been bred for, selectively, for centuries… he does not have it. He’s naturally a bit high-highed, and the faster he goes, the more it looks like a wild flinging of legs that’s mostly just going in circles instead of forward. Bless him, because in his mind he is SO FAST.

He also doesn’t have much desire to gallop. It’s not at all surprising that he never made it past the training track to a real race. Not long after I got him I managed to track down his breeder to see if she remembered him… her words were “Oh yeah, that portly little bay colt. The only damn thing he ever ran to was the feed bucket.”. Yep, she was definitely thinking of the right colt. Henry is generally a quiet horse, but when he does have some excess energy to expel, he tends to get stuck going up and down instead of forward. He may have taken after his stakes-winning sire in mannerisms, but definitely not in gallop.

This hasn’t been a problem in his eventing career, since we’re at the lower levels. When we moved up to Training we both kind of had to learn how to hustle a bit… 470mpm is fast enough to require some conscious effort on my part. I’ve learned to be very aware of the path I take and the ground I cover, not taking any more steps than I absolutely have to. We land and we turn, or we land and immediately go forward again… no dawdling or taking a scenic route.

Thus far he’s had no problem making the time at Training, except for Texas Rose where we took a long route option. Prelim speed would definitely be a lot harder for him though. His stride is shorter and relatively bouncy… not the long, efficient, ground covering gallop that you’d look for in an upper level horse. Luckily we have no upper level aspirations, so it’s not a problem.

One of the unexpected side effects from our foxhunting adventure is a marked improvement in Henry’s gallop. We spent most of the beginning of that day hustling our butts off to stay in the middle of the pack. Henry would go just as fast as needed to in order to keep up with the other horses, but he never really settled into a nice smooth open gallop. Finally on one of the longer stretches, about an hour and half into the hunt, Trainer’s horse went blowing past Henry like he was standing still (um yes, her horse was actually a real racehorse) and another little mare came up quickly beside him. I don’t know exactly what triggered it in that moment, but Henry decided to dig in.

His stride suddenly felt like it doubled in length, and it seemed like his belly got lower to the ground. He decided he was done getting passed, and he started moving those little legs like he’s never done before. He finally found a real gallop.

At the end of all of our conditioning rides I usually let him have a short little gallop stretch if the ground isn’t too hard. Before that foxhunting day, he would definitely speed up and go for a little breeze, but it was still mostly just a lot of leg flinging. Since that foxhunting day, every time I let him out he lengthens his stride and those little legs start flying like a quarter horse in an all out sprint. Something finally clicked in Henry, whether it was simply the desire to go faster or just figuring out how to do so. He’s still not FAST, but he’s definitely faster, and his gallop is a lot more fluid.

At almost 11 years old, guess he’s a wee bit late for his racing career, but I’m interested to see if I feel any difference next time we come out of the start box.

Aside from Henry being a total moron in the trailer on Saturday, last week brought another interesting trailer-related event. A giant bird flew directly into my truck while I was hauling. Let me set the stage.

It was late afternoon last Wednesday, and Henry and I were headed to our dressage lesson. It’s not very far, about 20 minutes door to door, and the route takes us down some kinda twisty farm roads but overall it’s an easy drive. There’s one stretch, only about a mile and half long, that has a couple of steep hills in addition to curves. The speed limit on that road is 45mph, and there I was, chugging up the steepest hill around 40mph.

As I came to the crest of the hill the road curved to the right, and at that moment I saw a giant hawk on the opposite shoulder, picking up something that looked quite dead. Another car was coming from the other direction, so the hawk hurriedly flew sideways to get across that lane before the car could get there. Clearly he had not spotted me yet, and in the process of getting out of the way of the other car, he flew directly into the grill of my truck. That bird was big enough to make a really loud THUNK, and I saw him tumble down onto the side of the road as we passed by. I think it’s pretty safe to say I killed the hawk.

Of all the things I’ve hit in my life, I felt pretty bad about that hawk. Granted, there was nothing I could have done. Even if I’d slammed my brakes on and turned Henry onto his head, I still would have hit him. Not to mention… he’s a damn bird… go UP, you idiot. Or the opposite direction, into the woods. Why do you have to commit suicide on MY truck? Now I’m a hawk murderer.

Luckily it was a clean thunk, no dent or feathers or blood. Still though, it was weird.

Out of all the things that happen pretty much every time I haul – some idiot speeding to get around me and then going slower than I was, or someone riding so close to my ass that I can’t even see their car, or someone hurrying to pass me and then slamming their brakes on and turning – this was a first. I wouldn’t mind if it was the last.

What kind of weird stuff has happened to you guys before while hauling? Ever smack right into a damn hawk?