The Devil is in the Details

On a rare Tueday morning not spent in the office, I hooked up my trailer and loaded Java for her first field trip. We were heading just a few miles down the road to a local equestrian park to ride around and see how Java handled herself in a new environment. During the short drive I found myself wondering why, after 5 months, was I just now asking Java to venture off the property? I pondered for a moment and shrugged it off, because, honestly… I didn’t care.

After 5 months of ownership, I can confidently say that I know my pony inside and out. And even with the deadline of RRP looming, I have never felt like field trips, cross country schooling, and show experience was a task we needed to tackle – at least not yet. My focus with Java has always been in the details, the small things on our to-do list that need to be checked off before getting to the fun stuff.  Galloping big fences and winning pretty ribbons, those things will fall into place after all the details are tended to. And if they aren’t, well, those little guys will come back to bite ya.

Thoroughbreds are incredible athletes, they are as versatile as any breed I’ve ever encountered. With their can-do attitude and willingness to please, when you asked Thoroughbred to jump they don’t even ask how high, they pull a Nike pony on you and just do it. But just because your Thoroughbred will jump on his third ride off the track, doesn’t mean he should.

When you skip the details and head right to the fun stuff, when you push too hard too soon, breakdowns happen, overwhelmed, under educated horses happen. When you take a horse that’s known one thing it’s whole life and turn it’s world upside down, you have to be willing to take some serious time to turn it back right side up.

Walk hacking – our favorite past time!

In order to develop a well-rounded partner, who is healthy both physically and mentally, we owe it to them to pay attention to those pesky little rascals that seem inconsequential until they come out and rear their ugly heads. A good trainer will seek out the devil in these situations and to look him in the eye and say “I’m not afraid of you”.

Those trainers willing and able to produce solid mounts embrace the small details.  They take the time to let their horse’s rest and recuperate, they give time for their bodies and minds to heal before introducing the stresses of a different career. They listen to their horse and tailor a training program to suit their needs, not their show schedule. Those truly successful trainers understand the importance of walk hacks, of ground manners, of confidence building, of stimulating the horse’s mind without wearing down their body.

It’s tough, it’s tedious and it’s just plain boring. But it’s facing the devil that hides in the details that weeds out the bad from the good and the good from the truly great. Those truly great trainers can put their lofty goals on a brief hold in order to sort out details like the in’s and out’s of daily life – from standing tied to loading on a trailer, to introducing rhythm and relaxation before impulsion and straightness.

When the order of operations starts small, those successful trainers know they are creating the building blocks that will eventually establish the solid foundation on which a horse can grow. When you don’t take the time to work on those small things, when you over-face your partner or ask for too much too soon, the devil hiding in those details is slowly chipping away at any semblance of a foundation and will be waiting in the wings to watch it come crashing down.

Active Listening 

Riding horses is exhausting. No, I’m not talking about the physical exhaustion that comes with hours in the saddle. I don’t mean the sore muscles, aching back or multitude of bruises I deal with every day. What I’m referring to is the emotional toll that riding several horses a day takes on your mental health.

And yes, this is a call for help.

Think of it like this – riding multiple horses every day is like dating numerous men at the same time (I would assume). At first, you may feel on top of the world, like you’ve got it all figured out and everyone loves you! Life is good… or so you thought. Then you realize just how much work it is. You have different people pulling you a million different directions, and you feel like you have to make everyone happy. Where is the ME time?!

You have to remember that boyfriend 1 likes pepperoni on his pizza but boyfriend number 4 is allergic to dairy and don’t you dare suggest pizza for dinner. Meanwhile, boyfriend number 6 wants to talk about the argument he had with his mom last week and you’re scrambling to even remember his mom’s name. And who knows why boyfriend number 2 is giving you the silent treatment.

Just like your 6 different boyfriends, horses are needy creatures.

 

Yes, scratch right there, Mom!

Each horse demands your full attention from the moment you step into the irons, or maybe even the second you pull onto the farm. In order to find any success in each horse’s training program, you have to be willing to listen to their problems, to remember all the details of their lives and to offer solutions tailored to each horse’s individual needs.  Relationships are a lot of work, whether its with your 6 boyfriends or your several training horses. Each and every partnership will only succeed if you’re able to actively listen to their problems and offer your full attention to their needs.

No wonder boyfriend number 6 is upset with you, you were too worried about why boyfriend number 2 was giving you the silent treatment that you couldn’t even remember his mom’s name, let alone actually listen to his problems. And while your Thoroughbred may not know their mom’s name either, he does expect the same type of active listening in your day-to-day interactions. When he swishes his tail and tosses his head, he expects your attention to be on him and why he’s saying “no”, rather than why horse number 2 has decided to randomly come up lame.

Actively listening to each and every horse you ride requires a mental stamina that not everyone is able to employ. When you ask for the canter transition and your horse responds by flipping you the bird and running through your aids, a rider who is passively listening, who is not actually paying attention or present in the moment, may respond by interrupting their horse. They may amp up their aids, ignoring what the horse is actually saying, effectively shutting down the lines of communication.

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Rebel said “NO!”
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Then we talked about it and tried again!

Meanwhile, the rider who is actively listening, who is focused on their mount and understands that communication is a two-way street, thinks their way through the problem. When the horse runs through the aids, rather than interrupting and just making them louder, they ask why. This rider wants to open the lines of communication and understand exactly where the problem lies.

Are you unbalanced?

Did I not set you up properly?

Are you uncomfortable?”

Being an actively listening rider is exhausting. But, in the end, each and every horse you sit on deserves that type of rider, the one who doesn’t interrupt and who wants to truly understand each horses’ needs. So, dump those 5 extra boyfriends, clear your mind and be ready to listen to your ponies!

 

 

 

 

Learning to Grow

A few weeks ago, I found myself in the middle of a dressage warm-up riding a ticking time bomb. My dragon horse that had completely surprised me and threw down a calm, confident warm-up and accurate test just weeks prior was back to his fire-breathing self. I tried my hardest to work through the tension and anxiety, to ride my horse correctly and pull everything together before we entered the arena, but I was failing miserably when my friend walked up. She took one look at me and the mess I was trying to handle and confidently headed into the middle of the warm-up space. With no other words exchanged between us, she started telling me what to do, giving instructions on exactly what to change and how to ride the beast beneath me.

So I sat up tall, I took a deep breath and I listened. I heard every word my friend offered as if I had been paying her to train me for years. When she said to slow my posting, to push up through my rib cage and to squeeze Lou into the bridle every single stride, that’s what I did. Not one part of me questioned her words, wondering why she felt the need to tell me what to do. I embraced her suggestions, her words of advice and wisdom like she was the most enlightened trainer in the country. And why? Because at that moment she was. She had the answers that I needed, to questions I didn’t even know that I had.

She saw the holes in my riding and training, she knew exactly how to fix them and she shared that knowledge with me. In those ten minutes of warm-up, I assumed the student role and I could not have been more grateful that she assumed the role of trainer. With her help, the dragon calmed and we completed our test without an explosion.

Advice and assistance come in many forms – a professional who we have sought out to answer questions that have been troubling us,  a friend who happens to see an opportunity for improvement,  or even a stranger on a social media forum with in-depth knowledge on a topic. Whether sought out and paid for or completely unsolicited, criticism or compliment, uplifting or disheartening, our lives change dramatically when we open ourselves to guidance, no matter what form it comes in.

It’s easy to skate by on a day-to-day basis, thinking we know what we’re doing and dodging help like the plague.  It’s much harder to take a close look at our shortcomings, to open our minds to the ideas and opinions of others and to admit when we are in need of assistance. Yet the only way to grow it by not only accepting, but seeking advice even when it’s disguised as criticism, hurts our egos or is offered unsolicited.

Only by being objective, putting our egos aside and not only hearing, but actually listening to other’s ideas, can we truly experience growth. Only when we realized how much we don’t know, how much there is left to learn, and actively seek those with the answers, will we ever become better riders, trainers and horse people.

I immediately asked my friend for a lesson a few days after the show.

So go out there, ask your friends to critique you, lesson with the trainer down the road, go to every clinic in your area, stand by the warm-up at your local show and just listen. Find the opportunities to learn, seek out the experiences that will help you grow, ask your farrier, vet, and random horse people on the street any questions you can think of. Use the resources available to you, no matter what form they come in- close friend, professional trainer, random internet stranger (only sort of kidding). Don’t be afraid to sound silly, don’t be afraid to say you don’t know, don’t understand or can’t figure something out. Don’t let your ego get the best of you, be ready and willing to admit your flaws. Because only by acknowledging what we don’t know, by being open to learning and by seeking out assistance in every form that it comes in can we ever truly improve.

Taking the Scenic Route

The ground has thawed, what little snow the crazy Kentucky weather decided to produce is long gone. Green grass is peeking through, ready to make an appearance. Just days away from April, marking three months since Java has come off the track. Here we are 90 days in, and yet, we are still less than 10 rides under saddle.

This time last year I hadn’t even met Rebel yet. I was nervous, I was worried about our 6 month timeline and how we would fare against horses with months more time and training under their belt. So, when I picked up Java in early January, I had a plan. Getting my makeover horse early this year meant so many things. It meant more time, a better bond, a higher level of training, more show miles before making the short trek to the horse park in October. I knew where I wanted to be and I knew exactly how to get there. My plan was foolproof.

But, in true equine fashion, nothing ever happens as expected. So here I am, nearly three months in with only a handful of rides under saddle. Whatever plan I thought I had in place has long since dissolved. But, surprisingly, I’m content.

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Ride number 4, and our first canter!

Much to my surprise, Java’s lack of training up to this point doesn’t bother me. Unlike last year, I’m not uneasy or concerned about this journey, because now I know that’s exactly what this is- a journey. It’s not about the destination, the number on the score sheet hanging in the covered arena. It’s about every day from now until then. It’s about each sunrise we watch from her stall window as I groom, each trail ride, meandering aimlessly as we see new things, build muscle and talk about life. It’s about taking Java’s personality into account and listening to the unspoken ways she tells me what she needs and wants during this journey.

Java is a laid back, slow-paced, mellow girl who is happiest taking it easy. Her calm demeanor tells me exactly how she  wants to approach training. And after 4 years on the track and nearly 50 races, it’s my job to listen and oblige. She deserves the down time. Even though her muscles are no longer sore, she’s happy and sound, she deserves an easy transition with no real destination just yet.

So, we’ll sit back and watch, cheering on our friends and other competitors as they jump bigger fences, bring home the blues at shows and accomplish feat after amazing feat. We’ll be their biggest fans and talk of the day when we’ll go to shows and join in on the fun- when Java tells me she’s ready.

For now, we’ll trail ride and snuggle, lunge and build muscle, enjoying the views as we take the scenic route. We’ll breathe in the fresh air on the winding back roads of our journey, in no rush to get anywhere but exactly where we are.

 

An Unnecessary Second Chance

At 5:25 AM my alarm sounded like it does every morning. I grabbed my phone and sat up in bed. Scrolling through Facebook like a true millennial, just trying to wake up, my tired eyes glanced over posts and comments from the night before. As I scrolled I came across a horse sale ad, just like the dozens of others that popped up on my news feed every day.

Somehow, this ad was different. In loud capital letters it read “SET TO BE EUTHANIZED FEBRUARY 22ND.” My heart pained as I wondered what was wrong with the pretty bay horse in the photos. Another pasture ornament, I figured. A horse that would not ever have a happy, healthy life. And even though my heart hurt thinking about it, I knew that for some horses euthanasia was the best, most humane option.

But my curiosity peaked when my eyes settled on the location of the ad – Georgetown, KY. That meant just minutes down the road stood a dark bay horse with the cutest blaze and a sturdy, almost warmblood-like build that would be put down in three days. So, I clicked the link, fully expecting to read about a horse with some inoperable injury who would live out her days in pain. I braced myself to read one last plea for someone to take her on as a pasture buddy, regardless of her quality of life. 16649199_1698920857067150_270268070666419178_n

Instead, what I read hurt even more. This horse had been a broodmare for several years and could no longer be useful as such without expensive surgery. She had several foals over the years, but had lacerated her cervix in the process of foaling unattended. The injury wasn’t fatal, she wasn’t in pain, and she was happy and healthy in every other aspect. But there she was, 15 minutes away and set to be put down in three short days, a horse with her whole life ahead of her and no limitations. She had been let down by the very people that she had served for so many years.

But, with the help of some amazing individuals in the industry, she was given another chance. They were given three days to find her a new home. So her ad was shared far and wide, in hopes that someone would be willing to give her a shot. Of course, that bleeding heart happened to be mine.

I rolled over and nudged my groggy, half-asleep husband.

“Babe..” I whispered, “I’m getting another horse.”

Still mostly unconscious, he nodded his head and grunted in agreement. “Okay, whatever.”

At this point it was clear he had no idea what was going on or what he had agreed to, but then again neither did I. And thus is the life of a horse husband. Asleep or not, he knew resistance was futile and no longer even tried to talk me out of my ridiculous plans to save all the ponies.

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And save the pony I did.

Doneraile Lass, a royally bred, beautifully built, 11 year old broodmare got her second chance. The one she shouldn’t have needed in the first place. Around the barn we call her Tully, which means peaceful, because she truly is. She has no idea where her life was heading, just three short days from when I stumbled across her ad. She holds no grudges for the way she was treated, for the decisions that were made for her, for the way she was let go. Tully knows nothing but appreciation for the humans who scratch her and feed her cookies.

So now, with her feet trimmed, her mane pulled, and her rain rot being treated, she is heading in a different direction. Her new adventure as a sport horse awaits, and never again will she find herself running out of time, with a desperate plea for someone to take a chance and save her life.

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The Farm of Dreams

Weeks of questioning, dozens of fence boards fixed, several sleepless nights. Hundreds of ideas and what-if scenarios played out in my head. Three trailer loads full of ponies, tack and hay. It all came down to this moment. One decision.

Late Sunday afternoon, horses munching happily in their new pasture, equipment unloaded and barn set up, I sat down on my tack trunk and took a deep breath. This was it. I wasn’t sure what I had gotten myself into, but it was done now.

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Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.

To the naked eye it was just a new barn. No big deal, people move barns all the time. Horses settle in, routines are established, time passes and everything becomes normal again. To everyone else it was no big deal, but to me it was everything I had worked towards for years, but now that I was there I was scared (to say the least).

Maybe in my heart I never thought it would be attainable, just a fantasy I let myself toy with late at night when there was no one around to chastise me. Maybe I had gotten comfortable with my “part-time professional” status and had come to terms with that lifestyle. Maybe I was just a big wimp, finally faced with something I had talked about wanting my whole life, but ready to run the other direction.

Nothing changes if nothing changes, I reminded myself. How long had I wished and hoped and waited for something to come along that I could pour my heart and soul into, that would finally allow me to push myself, my business, my horses to the next level? So, I found myself sitting in a brand new barn, surrounded by all of the horsey things I had accumulated over the years and realizing that I had just taken a huge step towards accomplishing my dream. I had a place of my own. 

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Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.

It was far from perfect, but I saw 50 acres of pure potential. Around every corner was another project, something broken and in need of repair, begging for the life to be breathed back into it, just asking for someone to care. The empty stalls told me of the great horses that once resided there, back when someone else’s dream was alive and well within the farm, who knows how long ago. The dimly lit aisles were quiet, but if I let my mind wander I could picture them bustling with activity. I could see the possibilities.

But it was up to me to take the first step. It was my job to put my fears aside to chase the dream I had always had in the back of my mind. The coward in me asked “What if you can’t do it? What if you crash and burn? What if this all goes to hell?” but the dreamer in me asked “What if it doesn’t?”.

 

 

 

 

Silencing Doubt

Last Saturday morning, on an unseasonably warm day in February, I hooked up my trailer and tried not to think about what I was doing. I loaded my 17 hand dragon of a Thoroughbred and hauled ten minutes down the road to a small dressage show at the Kentucky Horse Park. I hadn’t had the courage to show him in over a year. I was nervous, I was scared of him, and I was fully ready to be publicly embarrassed by what I knew would be a sad attempt at dressage.

But, trying to take my mind off the impending train wreck, I made three goals- one easy, one attainable, and one possibly pushing it.

  1. Make it to the show and finish our test.
  2. Stay soft, supple and thinking the majority of the time.
  3. Potentially score higher than one other competitor.

With my three goals in mind, I saddled up my dragon horse and crossed every bone in my body that we’d make it through in one piece. Much to my surprise, my dragon turned into a puppy from the moment I stepped into the stirrups. Lou carried me through an extremely hectic warm-up without so much as batting an eye. He tested me as we stepped into the covered arena, questioning whether we really had to go dance in the sandbox and not quite believing me when I told him that the letters were not horse-eating monsters. But, with the help of some wonderful friends offering advice and support, we trotted down centerline and, three minutes later, we halted at X still in once piece.

Staying soft and supple, surprisingly. (Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.)

I fought back tears as I thanked the judge and choked back a sob when she told me I had a nice horse on my hands. I knew that, I had always known that, but I never thought it would come to fruition. So, as we headed back to the trailer I couldn’t contain my smile that we had actually accomplished something in our partnership. The color of the ribbon, if I even got one, didn’t even cross my mind, because in my heart I knew that we had just passed a huge milestone and no score, comment, ribbon (or lack thereof) could take that away.

So, later, when I headed back into the show office to collect my test, eager to see what the judge had said and to start working harder on any shortcomings they pointed out, I was in awe to see a blue ribbon clipped to a test with my number on it!

Lou wondering what all the fuss is about. (Photo courtesy of Brooke Schafer)

That blue ribbon didn’t mean that I was better than the other riders. It didn’t mean my horse was fancier or that we worked harder. It didn’t tell me that we were superior in any way. No, that $3 blue ribbon quietly told me that there was hope. It humbled me as it whispered “I told you so, if you had just listened before”. It reminded me that for so long doubt and uncertainty had ruled me, letting opportunities pass me by that should have been mine for the taking. If I had just had the courage to try.

A year ago, all of the hope that originally filled me when I brought Lou home was gone. After our move to the bluegrass state, he was unmanageable, he was dangerous. Through many tears and sleepless nights I had accepted the fact that what I thought was my upper level prospect was only ever going to be a fancy, prancing pasture ornament. When people would ask me about him, my dejected response was always something along the lines of “He’s broken.”, “His brain doesn’t work.” or “Who knows what’s going to happen with him.”

I had tried my best to figure him out and my best didn’t seem to be good enough. The horse that once had a bright future had totally dissolved before my eyes. I was ready to give up when, one fateful day, I spent 4 long hours (seriously) trying to catch him. Right then and there, I told myself something needed to change. This was not an abused pony that was fearful of people. He had no excuse and neither did I. He had my number and it was all my fault. But I was not going to let what could possibly be the best horse that I’d ever had get away because I had given up. I don’t wear defeat well, so I made a change.

We moved to a new barn, established a routine and I faced my fears. Day in and day out, I watched my horse change. He came out of his shell, he started meeting me at the fence, he started enjoying my company and really trying under saddle. Days, weeks and months went by and progress came slowly at first, and then all at once.

But there was one thing I still wasn’t facing. My fear of taking him off the property, of doing something with him, of actually showing, still ate away at me. What if he reverted back to his old ways? What if I lost my horse again? What if I wasn’t good enough?

Why I decided to enter him, I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t let myself think about it. Why I actually went through with it, I have no clue. But what I do know is walking away with a happy horse and a successful test is slowly sparking a fire within me. A fire to face my fears, to silence the doubt inside me and to relentlessly chase my dreams.

So, here we go. You have no idea what you’ve started, Lou.

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Photo courtesy of Natasia Lind.

One Month (of) Down (Time)!

A month has come and gone since Java officially started her life as an OTTB. And in true RRP form, is has flown by in the blink of an eye. 30-something days together and we have logged 2 rides under saddle. But that’s okay, because even though we have a timeline and a goal we are working towards 8 short months from now, I’m in no rush.

When Java’s trainer pulled her out of her stall at Turfway, she was obviously sore, possibly lame, and had a heart of gold. I had no idea if the slight lameness was purely soreness from her race 3 days earlier or if there was an underlying problem that would affect her in a second career. But one thing I did know was that she desperately needed down time. Time to unwind from the stresses of running 43 times in 3 years, time to let her muscles relax, time to let her brain recharge and time to learn what was expected of her in this new role as sport horse to be.

Following my gut and my vet’s opinions, I took a chance. I skipped the pre-purchase exam, loaded her up and took her home. Maybe I’m a little risk-averse, maybe I’m slightly crazy (that’s another blog). But no, instead I just believe that the track is not the best place to test for soundness. In my opinion all the poking and prodding, flexions and other various tests are better carried out after muscles have had a chance to heal, any drugs have left their system and their body has had a chance to recharge. So instead, I opted for a post-purchase exam.

The first order of business was transitioning her to a life of turnout. The small herd setting would help her with basic ground manners and show her how to start enjoying her new, relaxed lifestyle. The ample grazing opportunities would help her gut health and give her a much needed reset after the high-energy diet and possible drugs she was exposed to at the track. The room to move would help her sore muscles recoup and heal from the hard training day in and day out. So, with these benefits in mind, she went outside to make some friends.dsc_0082

And a few weeks later, when I felt like Java was in a better place mentally and physically, I loaded up on muffins and mimosas to calm my nerves and my wonderful vet came to tell me whether Java would ever be an eventer. As luck (and a trained eye) would have it, Java’s x-rays came back clean. Other than some body soreness, Java was perfectly healthy and ready to tackle our new adventure.

So with the all-clear and some muscle relaxants to help her transition easier, Java is officially an eventer-in-training! So far, that training has primarily been ground work as her muscles continue to heal. We are forming a partnership and I’m setting expectations before ever stepping into the stirrups. She’s learning how to use her body differently on the lunge, how to steer and stop while ground driving, and how patience really is a virtue, no matter what her buddies at the track might say.

But all this slow and steady work of seemingly not doing much at all has paid off already. Our first real ride together was cool, calm and collected! Java offered me a nice walk and trot, was steering like a pro and tried her best to offer me brakes when I asked for them.

So, with 8 months to go, 2 rides down, and a happy healthy horse on my hands, we are heading in the right direction!

 

 

Starting with Hot Java!

About this time last year, I was standing in a stall, pitchfork in hand, pulling my gloves off my frozen hand to check my phone that was buzzing in my pocket. Ignoring the bitter cold, I opened my email and scrolled through the unread messages and there it was – my acceptance e-mail from the Retired Racehorse Project! I had entered on a whim, hoping to be able to participate but not actually knowing if it was in the cards for me.

The next 10 months were a whirlwind. From purchasing Rebel Annie sight unseen in April, to spending 6 months getting to know each other, learning and growing together. And finally, actually making it to the makeover! Throughout the process, Rebel earned a permanent place in my heart. Not only did she take me through the Field Hunter division at the makeover, a discipline I knew nothing about and had no experience in, but she also changed my life in a million other ways (cue the eye-rolling from my husband!) She taught me how to have fun, how to let my guard down, how to really love my job again. Rebel reminded me why I fell in love with horses in the first place.

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Rebel at the track!

Applying for the 2017 Makeover meant a million things. It meant the opportunity to learn and grow as a trainer and rider, to make dozens of new friends and to be changed by yet another amazing OTTB. But, it also meant saying goodbye to Rebel. It meant sleepless nights and lots of tears wondering whether I was making the right decision and hoping for the perfect person to come along who would let my little red-headed mare work her magic on them the way she worked her magic on me.

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Racehorse turned Field Hunter!

And just as I was questioning letting Rebel go, trying to convince myself that 4 horses could be a possibility or, just maybe, that the Makeover didn’t need to happen this year, that perfect person I had been wishing would come along strolled right into our lives. She fell in love with Rebel’s laid back personality, her never-ending pony kisses and constant searching your pockets for treats. So, off she went to her forever home,leaving me a bumbling mess in Kentucky.

But thank goodness for good friends who support your unhealthy horse habit, because just days earlier I was encouraged to take a chance on a lovely mare and brought her home from Turfway Park as my 2017 makeover hopeful.

Hot Java is a 2011, 16.2 hand mare by Heatseeker and out of an AP Indy granddaughter. She was nearing war-horse standards with 43 starts under her belt when her trainer decided it was time for her to move on from racing. With only two wins to her name, both at route distances, and pretty incredible conformation, we decided she might like a career in eventing. I decided to overlook some minor ankle rounding and slight soreness at the trot as she just raced days earlier and some wear and tear can be expected with such a high number of starts.

For now, Java is learning to love her new life as a sport-horse-to-be! She is getting some much deserved down time after 4 long years on the track. Java is learning how to be a horse, which means figuring out what turnout is, eating a totally different diet, and learning that ground manners and personal space are real things!

I like to use my OTTB’s down time to work on our relationship and start some really important foundational training that is easy to overlook. So far, Java has totally impressed me with her willing attitude and generally laid back personality! From lunging to ground driving, learning the word “whoa” to leading with just a rope around her neck, Java gives it her all!

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The next few weeks will consist of more down time, ground work, light riding and a post-purchase exam from the vet before we jump into under saddle training. Stay tuned as we work towards the 2017 Makeover!

 

When Good Sellers Go Bad

Maybe it happens due to pure neglect, maybe it’s a lack of knowledge or just general apathy. Maybe people get into this profession for all the wrong reasons. We may never know, but the problem lies right before our eyes, and who is responsible for picking up the slack? We all are.


To say I’m mad is an understatement. My blood is boiling. My heart hurts and I just want to scream. The number of blatant lies being told, the amount of deceit and deception running rampant in the horse industry is appalling. It’s time someone said something.

I hear stories about horses that were misrepresented to buyers, people who ended up hurt and horses who stepped onto the wrong trailer because someone decided not to tell the truth. And the fact of the matter is for every lie that’s told, every excuse that’s made, and every attempt to cover up the truth, there’s someone who has to pick up the pieces and clean up the mess. Someone like me.

I got into this profession for the love of a horse. I’m not one looking for a quick profit and it’s not about the money, it’s about the process of taking horses with uncertain futures and giving them the skills necessary to succeed. It’s about the joy that comes with every frustrating, thankless moment of finding them their perfect match or their next step in life. To me, it’s not a game, it’s not about coming out on top, or the pursuit of a dollar.

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No. To me, and to every other person out there selling horses, it’s a responsibility.

We are privileged to have these amazing animals come into our lives, to affect us in so many ways. And how do we repay them? It should be with honesty, integrity, and with every effort made to secure them a bright future and a long, happy life.  There is no animal in this world that deserves to be misrepresented and no buyer who should be blinded to the truth.

Misrepresenting horses is annoying at best and downright dangerous at the worst. Just yesterday, I was speaking to someone about a horse I have for sale. One I advertised as green but willing, with a solid foundation who would make a wonderful youth horse in the near future. So when the buyer asked me if the horse had a bucking problem, I was as a little taken aback. When he mentioned he can’t handle a horse who puts his head between his knees and acts like a bronco, I was confused.

Did he not read my ad?

Did the words “Youth Horse” mean something different to him? 

It hurt me knowing that this buyer had to question my word because it meant that, at some point, someone had lied to him. They had put him on a horse who was not a youth horse and had a dangerous habit. When buyers have to question the validity of my statements because somewhere along the road they were lied to, that’s not okay.

Here’s the thing- I understand the frustration, I know what it’s like to have horses that are hard to sell. In fact, I have two standing in my barn right now. Two horses that may live out their days with me because they’re unsalable. They’re tough, mentally and physically, and it’s my responsibility as their current owner, their trainer, and their person to see they never end up in a bad situation. I owe that to these horses. And so does every single other person with a horse they call their own. If you can’t offer a safe place until the right home comes along, if you can’t afford to wait it out and ensure your horse is placed in the right home, then don’t own a horse.

Because every time you resort to lying to make the sale, every time you cover up the truth or misrepresent your horse, someone is hurt. It might not be you and it might not be the person next to you but somewhere down the line there will be pain.

Perhaps it’s physical pain- broken bones on a person who was uninformed about the nasty flipping habit a horse had. Maybe it’s emotional pain- sleepless nights and tears cried over a horse that will never be what the buyer was promised. Financial pain- the money spent on vet bills for an undisclosed injury, or on professional trainers to fix problems no one told them about.

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Hits a little closer to home when you find yourself in this situation. (Me, circa 2008)

And if this is you, if you’re in the business of selling horses, you owe it to that animal and to every other horse owner out there- to every buyer, seller, trainer, and rider- to tell the truth, to be honest and let buyers make an informed decision about whether that horse is right for them. Anything less than that, even the smallest white lie or tiny misrepresentation, can have huge consequences.