Said no one ever.

Can I annoy everyone and complain for a minute about how frustrating it is to have a horse that fits perfectly into the most basic panel that Devoucoux makes? Mostly because I’m shopping used, and it seems like pretty much no one else has a horse shaped like mine. If he had giant withers with hollows on each side, we’d be in business. That panel configuration is EVERYWHERE. Alas, he does not. Although I guess I should take a minute to seriously thank Henry for being shaped like a French tree at all, because I’d be infinitely more sad if he wasn’t.

I knew as soon as I sat the Chiberta on Henry last week that it didn’t really fit. It has a 4P panel, the most popular modification I’ve found, which means there’s extra padding in the front part to accommodate a high shark fin wither. Henry doesn’t have a shark fin, but he has a decent wither on him, so I figured it was worth a try.

I could tell as soon as I put it on him that the panel wasn’t right. Sticking it on top of the Ogilvy seemed to improve the balance enough to where I at least felt ok doing a quick ride in it, to at least see how it felt. And as soon as my butt hit the saddle, it was everything I remembered about Trainer’s saddle. Absolute grippy French perfection. For me it was a perfect fit; love at first sit. Deeper love at first gallop. Henry offered up no objections, either. But… that panel…

So when I saw that our Devoucoux rep, Janine, was going to be in my area on Friday anyway, I asked if she would come out and check the fit. I knew it wasn’t going to work as-is, but… maybe she was a miracle worker? Maybe she could offer me an option to make it work? Or, hey, maybe she had something perfect in her inventory. I dunno. I was desperately clinging to some delusional dreams here. This is the price you pay for loving a delightfully molded memory foam panel.

But of course, as soon as I tossed the saddle up there, the rep saw the exact same issue I did and said it was a no-go. I could technically have it re-paneled for $650, but at this point that’s just not in the budget considering the saddle itself was already near the very top of what I could spend. Shout out to Janine here: I am a super annoying person with approximately 9000 questions, and she was super nice as she thoroughly answered each one, both in person on Friday and the ones I’ve sent via email in the past few days.

Since she was already out there I asked if she would check his dressage saddle. To my eye that thing has always been a near perfect fit on him, and he’s always gone REALLY well in it. It has just a plain D3D panel, no modifications, so basically it’s as “off the rack” as a Devoucoux gets.

Pretty much the second she settled that thing onto his back she was like “Wow… yeah… this is the perfect panel for him.”. Ok, so that’s one half of the equation down, we know exactly what Henry needs. But what about me? The 18″ 2AA had felt pretty perfect but, since she was there, I figured I should have her see me sit in it, and figure out if maybe I could fit into a different configuration to open up my options.

Yeah no. I’m 100% perfect in the 18″ 2AA. I know I can do an 18.5″ just fine, but probably not any smaller than an 18″ since the Dev’s run small. And I’m long from hip to knee, so I definitely need the extra forward 2AA flap.

She looked through their used inventory but didn’t see anything that met both our specs. Apparently it’s not a very common one, and when it does pop up, it gets snatched pretty quick. If we needed a 4P panel or if I could fit into an A flap, we’d be in business, but alas neither of those things work. I spent most of the weekend scouring every corner of the internet and came up with nada. But now I’m on “the list” with the rep, so to speak, so hopefully something in our specs will come up soon. Like… really soon… because I don’t have a jump saddle at all at the moment.

It sure was sad when I had to put that saddle in it’s box and send it back, though. Our relationship was brief, but our love was real.

Henry had some pretty exciting times last week, starting with his biannual routine vet visit.

When Henry had his January appointment, the vet wanted him to get his teeth done every 6 months instead of every 12. This is mostly because Henry has what I (lovingly) call “Janky Jaw”. It’s a little crooked, so his teeth don’t line up perfectly. If he goes a whole year between dental appointments he ends up with some pretty big hooks on the right side.

He also was starting to feel kind of wonky in his left lead canter. In January we opted to just inject the right side of his SI area and see how things went, since at that point the right lead is what felt wonky. For months it was the magical cure and I had my normal horse back. Then he slowly started to feel the same way to the left that he had felt to the right before his injection. I figured that if we were going to knock him out to do his teeth, we might as well check and possibly re-do the SI. I also wanted the vet to check on his spine again and make sure he wasn’t having any pain there, since we know he has a couple of close vertebra. So… basically I wanted to just go ahead and look at/take care of everything before the fall season starts. Summer is slow for us, now is the time!

Of course, when I called the vet’s office they told me they couldn’t fit Henry in until the first week of August. Err…

After discussing what all we needed to look at and do, he was able to refer me to another vet. I’ve heard a lot of good things about that vet (and figured it never hurts to know another, right?) so I called his clinic to make an appointment. They were able to get us in the next day!

I liked this vet a lot…he listened to our history and what we’ve been doing, and briefly checked Henry out. He definitely agreed that he was sore in the left SI, and showing some sensitivity on the right as well. He thought that since we had seen success with the first SI injection, we should just go ahead and inject both sides, which is what I was thinking anyway.

He also checked out his spine and saw no soreness and no need for any kind of maintenance there… we’ll just continue to check it once or twice a year and make sure nothing progresses. Otherwise there were no other areas of concern.

The techs got to work scrubbing the injection area while Henry got a little night-night cocktail. Even though this wasn’t the first time seeing the needles for the SI injections, they still look ridiculously giant and make me cringe. Henry stood like a rock though (he’s a cheap date), and he was done within a few minutes.

Then it was on to teeth! Again the vet didn’t see anything particularly concerning, just some moderate points on both sides. He floated everything down to be nice and even again, and declared Henry good to go.

The best part is that the bill was about half of what I was prepared to spend, and a couple hundred less than I thought it would be. In the world of horses, sometimes that feels like a win. Plus now we know a new vet!

Hopefully now Henry is feeling good and will be ready to hit all the recognized shows in the fall. He’s getting some days off and then I’ll be back aboard mid-week to see how he feels.

As I was showing some Presto pictures to a friend last week and talking about all of the trials and tribulations of the first few weeks of his life, they finally asked the big question: “Would you do ever breed again?”. Honestly, I’ve been thinking about this for a couple months now and it took me a while to really figure out how I felt.

I knew heading into this whole breeding adventure that the chance of losing a mare or foal (or both) is very real. I’ve been involved with other breeders and the breeding business long enough to know that even when you do everything right, it’s very easy for things to go wrong. I’ve bred before, and I didn’t exactly go into this whole experience with the naivete that many first-time breeders have. I knew the risks, and I even wrote a post about it last fall.

I consider myself a pretty pragmatic person, not particularly emotional or easily upset. But those two weeks where Presto was living very much hour-to-hour at the clinic, struggling just to stay alive… that tested me to my absolute limits. In my adult life I can think of two instances where I’ve sat in my car and ugly cried until the tears ran out: when my mom died, and literally every single day of those first two weeks of Presto’s illness. Emotionally drained doesn’t even begin to cover it.

If you had asked me then if I’d ever do this again, I would have told you no. I was raw, I was bitter, and I was spent. I’ve lost a horse before, but he was old, retired, and died peacefully out in the pasture. He’d had the most idyllic life that any of us could possibly script for a horse, really. The situation with Presto was different. He was young, he was special, and I’d had a hand in creating him. And while his illness came on suddenly, it dragged on and on and on, with constant ups and downs. It didn’t seem fair for that to happen to a foal, and it was a whole different level of heartache. Even though, in the end, he managed to come back from the brink and survive his ordeal, all I wanted to do was protect myself from ever feeling that way again. Then I realized how absolutely idiotic that was.

As human beings, we are always going to be affected by tragedy or loss. That’s the price you pay for loving something. And it almost seems worse, or perhaps just more frequent, for animal lovers. Dogs and horses don’t get to stay with us as long as most people do, and it’s never easy to lose something that is so important to you. But in the end, it’s the price we pay for all the joy we receive from them. Never breeding again isn’t a way to guarantee that I’d be safe from the danger of loss or tragedy… the only way to guarantee that would be to hermit myself away from all other people and animals and live a life of complete solitude.

Would I be feeling this practical about things if Presto hadn’t made it? I think eventually yes, but it would have taken me a lot longer to get there. While I’ll never be able to forget how I felt when he was sick, I’ve decided to try not to let myself be haunted by it. It took me until, well… NOW, as I’m drafting this post, to be able to go back and look at his newborn pictures and the ones from when he was at the clinic. It just wasn’t something I could face without re-living it.

The world keeps turning though, and while time might not completely heal all wounds, it does at least put a scab over them. I’ll never forget what happened, but I can’t allow my life and my choices to be dictated by things that are beyond my control. I choose to keep trying, to keep hoping, and to keep allowing my dreams to be untempered by circumstances beyond my control.

So… would I ever breed again? The answer is yes. Sure, I never want to feel that kind of devastation again, but there’s another thing I felt during all this that I haven’t talked about as much. That very first moment when I saw Presto’s little white foot followed by his little white nose, I fell in love with a horse. With those first adorable little nickers at us, when he was trying to figure out which of us was his mom, I fell in love with a horse. When he took those first few steps and wobbled his way over the top of the hay pile, I fell in love with a horse.

And at the end of the day, isn’t that why we do this? Isn’t that why we give our heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears to these animals? Sure, its a risk, but the reward – when we get it – is unparalleled. There is something remarkable about the privilege of loving a horse from the moment it takes it’s first breath, and that’s something that no amount of heartache can take away.

Ok, so I didn’t actually get a new trailer, but I did get the poor long-suffering SO (henceforth known in this post as PLSSO) to say the words “Let’s just buy you a new trailer” AND he didn’t even flinch when I rattled on forever about exactly what I want and where to get it. At one point he even muttered – mark this one down – “that seems reasonable”. I know… I was also shocked. But how did I get that to happen? Quite simple really, here’s my How To guide.

Step 1: Bring trailer home so you can wash it and do a few minor upgrades.

Step 2: Ask PLSSO if he can come with you to Tractor Supply to help you load up all the new rubber mats you want to buy. Let him go measure the space (even though you already did), because he’s a dude and dudes love to play with tape measures.

Step 3: Stand at Tractor Supply and argue about how many feet you actually need to make it work. Enjoy baking in the 100 degree heat for 30 minutes while waiting for someone to cut the mats for you. Watch lily-white PLSSO get more and more sunburned by the second.

Step 4: Buy PLSSO some candy while you’re in line at the checkout, because he’s already getting grumpy and he has no idea what he’s even in for yet.

Step 5: Casually mention, while sitting in traffic on the highway, that you want to stop at Lowes to grab some wire mesh to put behind the plexiglass windows in the front of the trailer. Ask if he thinks he can do that. Of course he can, he’s PLSSO!

Step 6: Spend 45 minutes in Lowe’s because the layout makes no freaking sense whatsoever and you can’t find shit.

Step 7: Get home, pull down the box of car cleaning supplies from the shelf you can almost reach, drop it, and send the contents of the box clattering in every direction underneath the giant ’56 Mercury. Smile apologetically as he climbs under said car to retrieve everything.

Step 8: Start washing trailer while he gets to work trimming the mats down to a perfect fit (in theory). Accidentally spray him a little. SWEAR it was an accident. Pretend not to notice the glare you get from PLSSO.

Step 9: After about 20 minutes you’ll hear a loud string of expletives and see a mat go flying in one direction and a box blade go flying in the other. Keep pretending to not notice.

Step 10: Keep scrubbing the trailer while he finally wrestles the mats into place. Casually point out that one of them is overlapping and that just won’t do. Definitely DO NOT NOTICE the glare you’re getting by now.

Step 11: Make a big fuss about how beautiful those almost-straight mats look! PLSSO offers to help scrub down the inside of the trailer, since you can’t really reach the ceiling. Take him up on his offer, then feel kinda bad when he basically covers himself in dirty mold water as it drips down on his head.

Step 12: Ok so maybe you’re like 5 hours into this project at this point, but why stop now? You’ve still got windows to do! PLSSO is actually kind of pumped about this part, because it seems more fun than cutting rubber or getting dripped on. At least… until he accidentally breaks the plexiglass trying to get the window off.

Step 13: Get back in the car. Go back to Lowes. Buy more plexiglass. Don’t even bother trying to buy him candy at the checkout this time, there’s no more sugarcoating his annoyance at this point.

Step 14: Go home and take about 25 tries to get the holes drilled into the plexiglass correctly. PLSSO is really starting to not like your ghetto-ass trailer anymore.

Step 15: Supervise as he insists on cutting the wire mesh so you don’t cut yourself. Watch him cut himself after approximately 3 seconds. Here’s where you should take a step back, because he’s about to yell “I’M JUST GOING TO BUY YOU A NEW EFFING TRAILER, THIS IS RIDICULOUS, THIS PIECE OF BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP…”. Get comfy, that part goes on for a while.

Step 16: Once that’s out of his system, follow him back out to the trailer and help hold things in place while he screws stuff down (and only cracks the plexiglass once), rattling on and on the whole time about possible trailer purchases. PLSSO’s eyes have glazed over by now, he’s dead inside. You’ve got him right where you want him.

Step 17: Start packing everything back into your pretty, shiny, so-fresh-and-so-clean-clean trailer. Step back and admire your amazing handiwork. Look for PLSSO to share this moment with you, but he’s already retreated to the garage and cracked a beer.

Step 18: Order his favorite Chinese food. Thank him about a thousand times for all the help. Continue interjecting thoughts about new trailers… next summer perhaps? He nods and says “Yes. And let’s get a NEW one. A nice new one. I am never ever doing any of this shit again for a long long long time.”

And with those words, you have WON THE DAY! Enjoy your victory! Even if you got a hell of a blister on your thumb and there were no Bandaids left because PLSSO used them all.

*corgi not required, but strongly suggested for levity.

 

48 hours.

That was all it took.

On Thursday, Henry’s face looked like this:

I gave him Friday off, and showed up Saturday morning to this:

WHY THOUGH, HORSE?

It seems like every summer he tries a fun new thing. There was the time all the hair fell off his chest. Then the next summer was a bald spot on his shoulder. Which was the same summer he rubbed the top of his tail out. Oh and let’s not forget the randomly really swollen sheath that one time where I was like omg he’s never going to be able to pee again.

At least he’s consistently inconsistent in his delicate flower-ness? I have come to expect by now that every summer we’re going to have some kind of hair loss and/or skin disaster and/or allergy blowup. I just never really know where or when it will express itself.

But I’ve managed to halt any further progression (and it even looked a bit better this morning) with our favorite fungus products combined with 24/hr fly mask coverage and upping his allergy supplement. Let me tell you how thrilled he is about all THAT. He is so very itchy right now in general, just like every summer. I get that, but I would really appreciate it if he’d at least keep all of his hair where it’s supposed to be. Like… even coverage, at least. No bald spots. Especially not on his face. This mug is so not Instagram worthy right now.

Fairly certain he’s mad at me for riding him at 6am every day and this is his form of payback. Okay, maybe not.

And what was I doing in the 48 hours while he was trying to remove as much hair from his face as possible? Oh ya know… just dropping $$$ and spending hours upon hours (with literal blood, sweat, and near-homicide) to do some upgrades on his wheels. You’re welcome, Henny! But that’s a whine for another day.