symbol of the soul

This morning was the day that I stopped spreading stall pickings in bare spots and started back wheeling them down to the grandmother compost pile. The path carries me past Salina's grave and I said hello to her as I walked by. I spent a little time down the back path, just looking and thinking about what needs doing down there, and about how beautiful it is, even in our year or so of neglect. 

I think what I love best about forest is its ability to rejuvenate and cover over and fill in. After we lost the trees there to lightning I felt the empty space tremendously. But already other trees are growing in that space. I feel protected and sheltered when I stand beneath that canopy. And also connected to many creatures: the deer, the foxes, even the spiders that build their webs across the path.

Coming back up the hill and nearing Salina's grave from the other direction, I spotted something white. I thought it was a clump of lime - after we mounded her body we applied a layer of lime and did so again a week after her death. It rained the day after we applied the second layer and some of the lime clumped and is still there in a few spots.

Closer inspection revealed that I was not seeing a clump of lime. The rain had formed a concave area in the top of the mound and what I had seen was actually one of Salina's ribs, bleached perfect and white by the sun. I was not repelled; in fact the instant I realized what it was I reached and touched it, feeling the curve and remembering the curve of her flank, the feel of her ribs underneath the flesh. I rubbed the curve the same way I would have had she been standing there.

It struck me how symbolic the rib bone is. How wonderful a gift to see that part of her gleaming white in the sun coming through the trees. I took some of the compost at the base of her grave and moved it up top, filling in the concave area and covering the rib with the sweet black dirt.

Just now I googled "symbolism of the rib" and the first thing I read was this:

"Thousands of years ago, our Creator had a divine thought: to give to man a "help-meet." Our God knew that man could not do the job by himself. He needed someone else to help meet humanity's needs--and God's.

This brilliant innovation was woman.

The book of Genesis tells us that she was created out of one of man's ribs (Genesis 2:21-22). I believe this was a strategic idea in order for woman to have her rightful place in this world. God did not choose a piece of Adam's head, so that woman would be over him; nor did He select a piece from Adam's foot, so that he would step on her. Rather, our loving Creator chose man's rib, so that woman was taken from his side--to be his equal...from under his arm--to be protected by him...and from near his heart--to be loved by him."

Although spiritual, I am not a religious person. But I couldn't help but think when I read the above passage that if you replace the word woman with horse you come very close to how I felt about Salina. She was my help-meet. She was brilliant. And every day I had with her I knew how equal she was to me - I felt the responsibility of protecting her, keeping her near my heart, and loving her. And I think she felt the same things toward me.

Reading on in my search for information, I followed links and ended up on a page about the symbolism of Eve. And found this quote, which I think says it all about my experiences with Salina since her death:

"Abdu'l-Bahá describes Eve as a symbol of the soul and as containing divine mysteries."

sisters at heart

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
-Emily Brontë

Am thinking of times spent cantering fast around Lake Johnson, back when there was nothing out there but the lake and the woods and the path and a few other horse-crazy girls and the horses, who knew their way and took good care of us so we could, for that hour, be like the wind.

This morning I posted the above on my Facebook page. A few minutes later, my friend and wonderful author Elaine Neil Orr (I highly recommend her memoir and her novel) commented:

I wish I had been with you. But I was half-savage and hardy swimming in an African river. We are sisters at heart.

I read the comment and wandered into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The phrase sisters at heart was resonating deeply with me. I felt like I was in the moment a Sister At Heart. Visceral, in the flesh. Suddenly I found myself standing at the kitchen sink, leaning over with the toothbrush still in my mouth, looking out at the scene above.

Behind the fence I saw a dark equine head beneath the oak tree. Close by I could see the swishing tails of the donkeys, Rafer and Redford. 

For about 15 seconds I was looking out at the beloved Salina and her two trusty donkey boys. I have seen that scene so many times. I was filled with peace and contentment and then my heart leaped. I remembered - Salina left us in May. Her grave is in the upper right of the picture above, beyond the barnyard, along the path by the arena.

And yet I had just "seen" her standing, ears pricked, looking at the kitchen window as she did so many times during her years with us.

When I blinked and looked again, it was of course the pony standing there. In the picture you can see his white. Not black, as Salina was.

And then I realized again I was standing at the kitchen sink, brushing my teeth, something I never do. Something had walked me to the place where I was to have what felt like a visitation. Salina was here again, just long enough for my heart to open and my eyes to fill with tears.

Long enough to perfectly define the phrase sisters in spirit.

And it all started, of course, with my memory this morning of riding by the lake, riding like the wind.

I never rode Salina like the wind. By the time she came into my life her knees were creaky and my own body was fully into middle age. We connected a different way - we drew together as mothers and wounded healers, bound by our huge need to keep our herd safe. Always alert to anything that might affect it.

This morning she reminded me she's still here, still looking out with her wise eye and her ears pricked. Sister at heart. Salina.
 

Goodbye to a grand old mare

We said goodbye to a grand old mare this morning. She has taught me everything there is to know about living with mares, living with seniors, and centering myself in concert with a horse. When she left her body the sunshine came out, a beautiful breeze picked up, a cast of hawks circled overhead, and I am absolutely sure she galloped our entire property, circling it with love and grace and her most fierce mama-bear circle of protection. Run free and easy, Salina. You will be in our hearts forever.

Houston, we have an abscess...

This is Salina's 30-year old birthday portrait. She's had a good year thus far, and is now on Pergolide for Cushing's disease, which many older horses get as they age. If you have a horse older than 20, it would be a reasonable thing to get ACTH levels checked to see if the Cushing's process has started. I won't try to detail symptoms and treatment here, but the best website and information I know of lives HERE. Dr. Eleanor Kellon has created the largest database there is for horses and their people living with Cushing's. Many vets don't have the full picture on this disease - I highly recommend educating yourself if you have senior horses.

Salina does not have the long, curly coat often used as a diagnostic for Cushing's. The current thought is that once a horse gets to that stage, the disease has probably been in process for years and may then be more difficult to control.

*******

This week I noticed that Salina wasn't heading for the gate after breakfast to go out with the entire herd. She was happy to hang out in the barnyard with her donkey boys. On Wednesday, she hung out mostly in the barn. Thursday afternoon I noted she was moving slowly. All the worst scenarios began to play out in my head.

When you live with a senior horse I think you start getting prepared for that day none of us want to think about. I know I go through the psychological preparation for goodbye every single time Salina has an off day. It's not something I particularly want to do - but I think it helps me get ready for when the inevitable happens. Salina is patient with me. If I get to the point of asking her if it's time, she makes it perfectly clear (so far) that it's NOT. Her usual response to my question is a pinning of ears and a disgusted look with her one eye in my direction.

I'm trying to get to the point where I let go of having to ask - and simply trust that when that time arrives, she will TELL me.

So when I went to the barn yesterday to feed breakfast, it was clear she was off. She didn't come out of her stall, didn't whinny or nicker for her breakfast, and once again, I got on the roller coaster of wondering. What is going on? Where are we in this journey?

When I fed her tub I stood there for a minute as she began to eat and just noticed what she was doing. She was subtly shifting her weight between the two front hooves. I thought, but wasn't sure, that she was favoring the left front.

I pulled up a chair and sat in the barn aisle, working on a to-do list for the weekend, intending to watch her come out of the stall after she ate. I think the best way to figure these things out is to watch the horse move on its own volition. I don't like making horses move when they're clearly off, especially on a lunge line, to pinpoint the lameness. I know that's what the vets like to do, and I understand why. But my time is not limited here. I can sit and watch and let the horses show me what I need to know.

She came out of the stall slowly, in stages. Once she was fully out on the mats in the barn aisle, I looked at her hooves and lower legs. The left front did seem a bit stocked up around the coronet band and back to the heel bulbs. I kept watching. She reached down to the left front and licked it at the coronet band. That was her first clue. She went over to the water bucket and had a drink, then a second drink, and then she tipped it over so that it ran over her left front hoof. Aha!

I put her halter on and took her out to the oak tree so I could hose her off. Yesterday was our hottest day of the year and it was already 80 degrees outside, so I decided to give her a complete hosing. She stuck the front left hoof out a little so I could focus the water onto that hoof. Just in case I hadn't fully gotten it in the barn aisle. When I checked more closely, there was a small white area right at the coronet band, clearly the point where the abscess was aiming to come out. I pushed on it gently and she jerked her leg up. Bingo.

Both Salina and I breathed a sigh. Hers was likely exasperation. (Why does it always take the woman so long to figure everything out?) And mine was relief. We know the routine with an abscess. Usually with Salina we don't wrap the hoof unless it takes more than a couple of days to burst out. She likes getting the hoof wet but we don't do extended soaking. I'll sometimes put a warm wet cloth around the coronet band to help draw the abscess. I have two homeopathic remedies that help, and if it doesn't come out in a couple of days we use Animalintex.

The funny thing about this abscess business is that it used to be the worst thing I could imagine. I stressed and worried and fussed over it. Now, it's the thing we hope is going on when Salina is off. There are so many worse things.

Fortunately, we're dealing with an expert. She knows the cues to help us and over the years I have learned to let her show me. Which hoof, what she needs. And then we wait together. I guess this is the same process we'll need when that other day arrives. Meanwhile, we're good.

The Goddess Turns Thirty

Tomorrow Salina turns 30 years old. She was born in Germany to two Hannoverians, Kurtisane and Salut, and was branded as well as entered into the Main Mare Book as she got older and went to inspections.

She was imported as a brood mare to the U.S. Somewhere along the way she was trained to at least fourth level dressage, lost an eye, and developed arthritis in both knees.

When she was 23 she came to live with us on November Hill. I have said before: I saw her photograph and fell in love with her spirit and personality, and although originally I thought she would be a therapy horse for my clients, in the end she has turned out to be a therapy horse for me.

She can be high-strung, is very opinionated, and has been high maintenance from the beginning. She gave me some of the most advanced rides of my life, taught me about hoof abscesses, senior feeds, arthritic joints, helping horses get up when they can't do it on their own, and is teaching me now about Cushing's disease.

She became, early on, my sister in spirit at the barn. If anything goes on here and I don't know about it, she tells me. She has come to my bedroom window in the night and woken me with her insistent, urgent, whinny. On many occasions I have felt pain in my own body at the site of her aches and pains.

The most important thing and the first thing she taught me was to center myself when asking for anything from a horse.

She is wise and beautiful and we love her.

Happy birthday, Salina! I'll add a birthday portrait tomorrow, but wanted to get this up today.

a better day

Yesterday Salina didn't whinny for her breakfast tub. Keil Bay was singing an aria for his, and I noted out loud that I missed hearing Salina's response. About the time I said it, I came out of the feed room. She had come to her stall door, was craning her head way out and around so she could get her good eye on me, and she whinnied. That made me feel so much better!

Today she is back to whinnying for her meals and she was a bit brighter overall than yesterday. Although I'm not thrilled with the gnat population blooming with this warm weather, I'm glad it happened when it did because it seems to be good for Salina.

Cody went in with Salina this morning so the donkeys could take a break in the field. They took full advantage of their time and ran like mad up and down the front field while the pony grazed. Keil was annoyed that I let Cody over to the barnyard side of the barn - he refused to go out and kept hoping he would get his turn. Which he did, after lunch.

I groomed Keil Bay earlier today and cleaned up his sheepskin pad so that later in the afternoon I could go out and ride without getting too caught up in the preparation part.

He was a little bit difficult in between the warm-up and the more intensive riding part - daughter came in with Cody and Keil Bay was pulling toward them, not really listening. I gave him a fair warning and told him I was getting ready to get tough if he persisted. I had to get tough two times and then he woke up, really woke up, and was immediately responding to my thinking the aids. Very very nice ride with some powerhouse trotting. I don't like getting tough with Keil Bay (translated, that means I used the whip two times with more energy than simply tapping), and I try hard to listen if/when there is something wrong and he's telling me with his behavior. His immediate surge of energy and compliance tells me he was slugging and just not in high gear yet. Sometimes I do have to ask for that with enough energy that he takes the question seriously.

We rode right up to the sunset, which was beautiful, and he got his usual snack at the feed room door. A good day starts and ends with the muzzle of a horse in your hand, and I am lucky that most of mine start and end that way.

we're hanging in there and PONY FUN!!

Salina appears to have an abscess - she's eating, moving, doing all the things she needs to do. We're hoping the abscess blows quickly and then we'll look at the pentosan injections Calm, Forward, Straight recommended as a possible treatment for the arthritic knees. It's worth a try!

Otherwise, it is 70+ degrees here right now and we're putting up the Christmas tree. Crazy!

But not as crazy fun as this girl and her pony are having. This made me laugh out loud and I hope it does you too. Pure joy of life here. We all need some of this!

pony portrait and another difficult day

Apache Moon, aka the Little Man, heading up the hill to check out the photographer. I love seeing those pony ears pricked forward. :)

Yesterday we had another rough day on November Hill. Husband fed hay before he left for work around 8 a.m. Around 9:15 the Corgis started barking. I went to the front first and saw nothing, then went to the side and saw nothing. When I looked out the back door, the geldings were standing in a perfect circle, heads in, surrounding Salina, who was laying flat out on her side.

It looked like some kind of sacred tribal ritual in progress, and it was so sweet it just about made me cry. I went in the bedroom to throw on some clothes and when I glanced out the window Keil Bay and Cody came to the field right outside and began marching around in a big circle, as if they were trying to get my attention.

When I got out there, Salina was okay but not able to get up. Fortunately she was in a sunny spot, on fairly soft ground, and she wasn't struggling. I opened the front gate to let the geldings into the paddock - Keil and Little Man came running over and headed to the barn. Cody refused to leave Salina. He stood over her, right where she could see him, and kept guard. The donkeys were still forming the circle.

I coaxed Cody into the grass paddock and left the donkeys with Salina, then called my husband and he headed home. My daughter and I tried to get Salina to get up on her own. She tried a few times but her hind legs seemed very stiff and she couldn't get enough "oomph" to get up. I got breakfast tubs ready, hoping that might help, and she did try again, but still couldn't get up.

When my husband got home, my son came out too and all four of us tried various things to help. Nothing really worked. I gave her a dose of Banamine. As usual, I started asking the question no one wants to hear: is this the time when we need to make the call to let her go?

As usual, I promised Salina that I would take care of her donkeys if she was ready to go. 

We touched base with the vet, tried a bit more, and finally decided to have the vet come out and help us decide what to do. The vet on call was a new one to us, and I appreciated her compassion and her practical approach. After she checked vitals, all really good, and flexed the legs, she said this: let's see if all of us can pull together and get her upright, then see if she can get up from there. If not, we'll talk about what to do next.

It worked. It took a massive effort on the part of dear husband, but we got her upright and once we did she managed to get on her feet and walked off, not quite steady, but not injured. She was immediately ready for some breakfast. Rafer Johnson once again came up to me, put his head up to my chest, gazed into my eyes, and said, as clear as day, "She's OKAY."

Today she is moving slowly, I'm sure she's sore, but she's eating and doing all the things she needs to be doing. She was asking to go out with the big boys but I said NO. She and the donkeys stayed in the grass paddock and barnyards all day and she was out grazing most of the time - but in her stall looking at the kitchen window when her meal times rolled around.

They all had hoof trims this morning and she was able to get hers done - though we made a little "step" for her to prop her hooves on instead of asking her to put them up on the hoof stand. She's moving better with her toes trimmed back, and I'm hoping the stiffness is less tomorrow. We're having a little warming trend here which might help with that.

There's never a dull moment, it seems - I'm feeling grateful for the vet practice we use. They are so good at times like this, and we're lucky they rotate a dedicated on-call person 24/7 who does nothing but emergencies. Even though she's fairly new, she had Salina's history on the laptop when she drove up and walked in very informed. We needed someone to set out a short, to the point, plan of action. It was impressive.

Here's hoping we get some boring, slow as molasses, low-stress days as we move into December!

we went into power mode again today

Keil Bay and I had two days off due to rain, then got back to work yesterday. Our ride was good but much more laid back than previous days had been, and I wondered if something was off.

Today he had the characteristic Keil Bay spring and as I wondered how we got from yesterday to today with such a difference, I reminded myself of my own tendency when it comes to riding. I will ride through almost any tight muscle or stiffness in my own body but if I feel anything "off" with Keil Bay I tend to notch things way down and stop sooner than I would otherwise have.
The reason behind it is good-intentioned. I respect Keil Bay and I especially respect how good a sport he has been in bringing me back to riding over the past 8 years. I never want to ask more of him than he can give, or ask him to work when something hurts. I listen to him and he is honest with me.

BUT. Sometimes, especially as we get older,  there isn't specific pain or injury, but we have to work through a bit of stiffness to get to the better work. If I am too cautious, we stop too soon for no good reason and never get to that good work. Keil Bay has always been the kind of horse who likes to warm up for a longer time and do some big work first to loosen things up. Particularly when we're coming back to work after a chunk of time off, I go very slowly. For both our sakes.

I realized today when I got on that he was moving well, much better than yesterday, and that I needed to add even more time to our warm-up at the walk, but then add some stretchy trot work before moving into the trot sets we've been doing.

One of our favorite exercises (which breaks the rules a lot of folks have about sitting trot and warm-up) is to start the trot work in small spurts. I ask for the trot at a random dressage marker and we trot to the next marker, then walk, then trot again. This works really well with sitting trot because Keil Bay has big strides and if I am sitting I can half-halt, ask for trot, sit, half-halt, ask for walk, pretty perfectly between each marker, without getting discombobulated.

I decided to try this today after we'd done a nice long warm-up at the walk. He was completely on the aids and required only the slightest touch of my leg. It gave me a chance to practice half halts and offered both of us the chance to work on our timing. It was amazing, right off the bat. He lifted his back and really moved. We did several sets of this going both directions and then added some serpentine work going across the short length of the arena, using the same idea. Walk one line, turn, trot the next one, etc. etc.

It was clear to me that Keil Bay was feeling good and moving well as we did this work - when we finished this part of the ride we went out the back gate and took a short walk in the back field. Keil was willing but very "up" - and as I asked him to go to the very back of the field he started to balk. I quickly turned him in a smaller circle, same direction, and then did that one more time before going back to the arena. No power struggles over this - I just need to get him out there a little each day and take things a few steps further each time.

When we got back in the arena we finished our trot sets which by now were really feeling good. My hips had loosened up, Keil definitely found his schwung, and I noted when I dismounted that he had a wonderful sweat pattern - along the girth, between his hind legs, and equal on the saddle pad. Plus a nice small line of foam along his lips.

It was warm enough today that we went out and hosed.

An interesting tidbit: after I got Keil Bay hosed, scraped, fed, settled in with hay, etc. I was standing in the tack room door holding his bridle. Salina walked up and lifted her head to the bit. I acted like I was going to put it on her, and she was perfectly ready and willing to be bridled up and presumably ridden! I told her how much I wished I could ride her - I just don't think it's a good idea to ask her to bear weight with her arthritic knees. One hard thing about having a senior here who didn't live here always is that I am constantly wishing I had known her when she was young in body and spirit. What a ride that would be!

Keil and I will have another ride tomorrow and then probably a break on Sunday as daughter has an all-day foxhunting clinic. I'm hoping by next week's end we can add in some cantering. :)

quiet in heart, and in eye clear, take 2

This was one of my first posts on camera-obscura, and I was thinking about it today and decided to repost:

the wise eye of zen-master Keil Bay, with quiet-hearted Salina in the background.. a horseback ride in our back field, picking wild grapes from vines hung low, the persimmon tree down the lane, geese honking overhead, and this poem, which came to reside on my little altar last autumn when we moved here, and has this year come true:


The Wild Geese

Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer's end. In time's maze
over fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed's marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.

Wendell Berry


I do so love this poem. This year, right now, I see signs that this long, hot, difficult summer are coming to an end. Salina is shedding, some leaves are changing color while others turn brown and fall, squirrels are starting to gather the first acorns. This week the wild muscadines are coming to ripeness and although in many ways this summer season has been bleak and hard, we have had much rain and the garden has been bountiful. Now we are having the finest crop of wild muscadines I've ever seen since living here on November Hill. I can stand beneath the vines and eat until I'm full. I'm finding them everywhere, even in the arena, lying on the ground.

We have twin fawns living with us this year, a gray fox, a hoot owl close by, and it occurs to me that things do seem to find a balance. When one part of life feels chaotic and out of control, other parts exhibit abundance.

Today I look at that wise eye of the Big Bay and feel very lucky that I still have the chance to look into it. I rejoice that the quiet-hearted Salina is still here, whinnying and grazing and keeping her wise eye on everything.

Tonight as dusk fell I was in the back field, looking up toward the barn, which was fully lit and shining with golden light. Cody was by the hay tent with Rafer Johnson, Salina and Redford were in the front field, Keil Bay was in the grass paddock, and the pony, whose Apache Moon was in fact hanging low in the sky overhead, was taking advantage of all the open gates to meander between all the members of his herd.

Behind the barn the windows of our house shone gold as well. I stopped mucking to look and soak all this treasure in, seeing it all at once because I had stepped back far enough to take it all in.

Quiet in heart, and in eye clear.

What we need is here.

The Healing Power of the Herd

Yesterday afternoon late Salina must have decided to take a nap in her stall. She's doing this more now, and has had a number of lie-downs from which she had no trouble getting up again. Keil Bay was with her on the barnyard/grass paddock side of the barn, along with the donkeys, and they had grazed and fanned and eaten hay and meandered around most of the day together.

But when daughter went out to feed Salina her third meal of the day, she found the grand old mare lying down, a bit sweaty, unable to get up. By a stroke of luck my husband was home and he went out and basically picked Salina up enough that she could get her hind legs engaged to stand.

She was of course a bit stiff, but she was able to walk out to the oak tree to get hosed off. She had a number of scrapes in all the places on her side that get pressure when a horse struggles to get up. Fortunately it was on the opposite side of the body than her very close to healing hip point pressure wound.

Aside from the stiffness, my main concern was her eye. She was down with good eye to the ground and it had gotten some bedding debris in it.

So there were a number of things to do, none of which she really wanted to be done.

Once she was hosed and assessed, had dropped manure, and was steady on her feet, we gave her her feed tub, which has a lot of good stuff in it including a good bit of water. She ate voraciously, and that was a good sign. A little while later she peed. In these moments all the basic signs of normal functioning are little triumphs, eliciting audible sighs of relief from us.

Because she's on Previcox, and yesterday was her double dose day, we didn't want to give Banamine. I got out the Arnica and the Symphytum and alternated doses. I syringe the homeopathic remedies in a base of distilled water, in a tiny syringe, so she is used to that, doesn't mind the syringe, and knows there is no taste.

My husband helped and then took over the eye rinsing. Some things Salina likes me to do, others she prefers my husband. We try to find what she prefers and honor her preferences. We went at the rinsing in spurts - in the barnyard where she could move and see her herd, and gave her breaks to let the eye do its own work to clear itself.

All of this transpired in about 45 minutes' time, and then Salina went to the gate to the front field and demanded to be let out with the rest of the herd. I was thinking NO WAY at the same time my husband opened the gate and let her walk through. And then I had the clear thought: if this ends up being the end, I want her to be with her herd, not locked in a stall or by the barn away from them.

We went with her down the hill. She took careful steps, stopped periodically, but where she ended up was all the way down in front by Keil Bay. It was prime horsefly time so we made sure she didn't get dive-bombed. She grazed, she rolled her eye around, she blinked, she kept up with Keil as he moved across the field grazing.

We sat on the log jump and comforted the donkeys, who always seem to want our reassurance when anything is off with Salina.

I watched her improve with each step. She spent about an hour with the herd and then she and the donkeys were ready to walk back up and go back to their grass paddock.

She has some new scrapes along her side. The eye is clear now and getting super-duper antibiotic ointment. Last night the donkeys left the barn after dinner tubs and Salina went into high gear, walking the barn aisle with her over-striding Hanoverian walk that we don't see all that much anymore. She pivoted at the end of the barn aisle and marched back to the other end. It was a display that I suspect had something to do with letting us know she is okay. Sore, scraped up, but essentially sound.

Right now we're in the very visceral place of looking at each day as it comes and trying to make sure we see both the small focused things, like the scrapes and the eye, along with the big picture - Salina's mood, demeanor, and quality of life.

It's hard seeing the scrapes, it's difficult seeing her one good eye have anything at all wrong. In normal moments she moves slowly, with some stiffness. But how do you obsess over those things when you see a beautiful black mare, 29 years old, who whinnies for her meals, eats with gusto, adores being bathed and groomed, wants to be with her herd, and looks like she's in a Hanoverian inspection when she strides out?

Salina needs the herd to heal herself and I need the herd to heal my own innate desire to manage, control, and prevent all mishaps. In this part of our journey with Salina, I'm learning how to take each moment in its own sweet time, be there for her, sometimes persuade her that yes, we do need to do this bit of care for you, but more than I thought would be the case, I am learning to stand back and allow her to do what horses do best when they are given the choice: keep her place in the herd. Let the herd do its healing.

the magic of three

Three planets in the sky, earlier this year. I had planned a brief blog post as proof of barn magic.

This morning, husband away, I went out early and found Salina, who only yesterday looked so good I marveled at her swinging walk, flat out in the barn aisle, head and neck and withers right up to the barn aisle wall.

Two amazing, incredible teens and I managed to get her turned and calmed and one very special donkey boy, when I put down the ropes and said "maybe this is it," brought me a lead line and laid it at my feet and looked up at me saying without words but so very clearly "no, it is not! get her up!"

She got up. Vet came and proclaimed it Not That Time. Tweaked meds. Cleaned re-opened hip point wound. By the time the vet truck rolled out the Grand Old Mare was banging and whinnying for her breakfast.

We are grateful for every day. And I am thankful for barn magic.

home is where the heart is

Ever since the first day we drove into our driveway and saw the view above (without the fog though!), I have felt like November Hill, as we later named our little farm, is HOME.  As I just typed that line, movement outside my window pulled my attention to the front field and there was Keil Bay marching up the hill, followed by Apache Moon, followed by Cody. The three of them in a line, in full stride, at that moment, is the perfect example of why November Hill, on a daily basis, feels like a living, breathing presence in my life. The horses are the life's blood of November Hill. Things seem to connect here, and I feel like the entire farm is in sync with me.

Yesterday we woke up to Salina lying flat beneath the barn shelter, and it was obvious she had been struggling to get up. She was surrounded by her herd, who I think were protecting her at that point. She had created a sort of hole, in which she was tipped back a bit too far, and close enough to the wall of the barn that she couldn't roll over and get up the opposite way.

After a couple of tries to get her up we called the vet, who was contacting someone who has a small crane that can be used to help get a horse up. My husband decided to turn her to see if the change in angle might help.

Initially it didn't seem to. I wondered if we were looking at That Time. But then Redford brayed and Salina whinnied back, and her whinny was strong and clear and I felt like she just needed some help. I decided to go in the barn and start my normal morning routine - to do the things I do in the barn that one does in one's home. I turned on the fans, started gathering the feed tubs, and began to measure the various feedstuffs into the tubs.

Salina suddenly went into action and my brave husband stood behind her and supported her as she heaved up and got her footing. He continued supporting her until she was steady. And she walked through the open gate and into the barn aisle just like she does every morning. As smart as she is, she walked on through and into the barnyard, keeping moving, getting her legs back.

We did a few things we thought would help - had given her a dose of Banamine already, but offered her a handful of oats in water to get some fluid in, which she took. Then some wet hay. She ate a bit of that but preferred the grass in the barnyard, which was the right choice. She slowly walked around the entire perimeter of the barnyard, nibbling and stretching and moving.

Within a few minutes she had dropped manure, and within an hour, urinated. We slowly started seeing all the signs one wants to see after a horse has been down and is now back up again.

Throughout this ordeal, I was extremely stressed but mostly calm. What helps me in these moments is the sense of place that exists here, the feeling that the view of the farm, as above, represents not just a still photo of the place we sleep at night, but the face of a complex, living, breathing, full of life character who holds, as in the cupped palms of safe hands, all of us who live here.

Home.

Through the course of the year November Hill offers me many moments of discovery. On Monday I found an unfinished arrowhead in the dirt paddock. I suddenly felt a connection to someone who lived here many years ago, living a different kind of life but perhaps attached to the land and nature the same way I am.

Yesterday in the middle of the turmoil I looked up and saw a lone dove perched on the very top of the dead but still standing tulip poplar at the top of the front field. I had seen the dove on Monday when I found the arrowhead and wondered which one of the couple the dove was - male or female - and what had happened to the other one. It was a sad moment but then I wondered if it might be a young dove, not yet paired up, looking for his/her partner in life. An ending or a beginning - I had no way of knowing which.


When I saw the lone dove at the top of the tree, I immediately thought of Lonesome Dove, a favorite book, a saga, and somehow it felt comforting. We all live our own sagas. What was happening with Salina was one page in the bigger story, and that helped me know that we would get through it one way or another. An ending, or a beginning.


On my way to the feed store yesterday I felt some anxiety as I neared the end of our driveway. I didn't want to leave, but needed supplies. Just as I neared the road, a reddish-orange bird landed on the fence to my right. I slowed to get a closer look, thinking it was a cardinal, but it wasn't. It actually looked like a variation of a mini toucan. I've never seen such a bird before, but it felt special, like the bird had come from a distant land to give me a message. It felt hopeful, so I drove on.

I saw the bird again yesterday afternoon, in the back field, where it once again landed on the fence and watched me for a few moments before taking flight again.

The first day we visited November Hill and in fact made the offer to buy it, my children found an empty turtle shell in the back field. Last week I saw what is probably the grandchild of that turtle, making its way down to the fenceline, in no hurry at all. I picked it up and gazed into its copper eyes and the turtle gazed back. I put it down and off it went, continuing the journey.

It occurs to me that November Hill is a place, and our home, but it's also the home for many other creatures. We feel safe here and we all exist together, all on our separate, but interconnected, journeys.

Salina is the heartbeat of November Hill. She keeps her eye on everything, much like I do, and with the two of us we don't miss much around here.

I've been thinking of a blanket of warm healing energy surrounding her, and thinking of heart, and fire, and the heart of a home, and the hearth of a home.

And the photo my husband left on my desktop recently and how it represents all of that and so much more.

I was going to take a break from the internet after Memorial Day weekend. I tend to need a few hiatuses a year from the online world to get myself centered and grounded in the real world.

I'm going to start the time off today, with this post, and focus for awhile on the earth and fire, the water and the fog, and the life blood of my home - the horses and the donkeys and the teenagers and the cats and Corgis and a brave husband who is willing to stand behind a 1200+ pound mare and hold her up with all his might.

If anything too wonderful for words comes up, I'll pop back in and post, but for now, until later this summer, I'm going to be out at the barn, or writing, or spending time with this November Hill crew. Keep an eye out for new titles from November Hill Press. There are two very close to publication right now.

Travel well, stay safe, until the next post!

ADDENDUM:

Just had to pop in and add that yesterday one of the signature November Hill box turtles was discovered trying to get into our garage door, parked there like a little car. Husband brought it up to show me and it was tight inside its shell, but I asked him to come out and he opened his shell the tiniest crack and let me see his eyes, then as I talked more, he came all the way out - head, then neck, finally legs fully extended and then he went into fast walk mode in my hands! We relocated him to the back field hoping he had relayed his message and was ready to get on with his regular turtle travels.

Salina is doing well - turning out with the geldings for several hours each evening before coming back to her paddocks with the donkeys for the rest of the nights. Scrapes are healing, swelling is gone, and we are getting ready to extend her grass paddock to allow more room to graze. For now I'm not comfortable with her having access to the barn shelter in the early mornings - fortunately we have a number of options to explore to find what works well for her.

in which the black mare reminds me to breathe

Today we had the chiropractor here for 4 out of our 6 equines. I have been sick with a mild flu, and today was the first day after several that I've been out to the barn. I was late with breakfast tubs, it was time for the chiro to arrive, and I made the call that we would get adjustments first and breakfast after.

I thought I was making a wise decision to leave all the horses in the paddock instead of allowing them into stalls. I knew bringing them in would trigger the salivation for tubs, and figured they'd do better walking and waiting than standing behind stall doors waiting.

This was a good decision for 5 out of 6 equines.

But we started off well. Keil Bay went first and I had a few minutes to curry the dried mud off him. He was clearly thinking it was breakfast time but I told him, out loud and in English, that his most favorite thing in the world was on its way and that he would get breakfast after everyone got their turn.

Keil Bay is an absolute foodie. He adores his meal tubs. He adores treats of all kinds. And he can get pretty demanding if he thinks you're holding out on him. But this morning he stood quietly while I curried. He managed to release himself from the straight tie I'd done and even then he stood quietly, lead rope hanging to the ground. When the chiro drove up, he began to lick and chew.

Keil's adjustment went quickly because he is so incredibly cooperative and helpful as she does her work. He turns to her gently between each adjustment and says thank you. He licks and chews. He bobs his head when she is at a place that in fact doesn't need adjusting. He stands perfectly still when she reaches a place that does.

As soon as she finished the tail stretch and began to write down and explain what she'd just done, Keil inched very politely to the feed room door. But when I reminded him that 3 others still had turns, he walked nicely out to the gate and went through without a fuss.

Apache Moon, the pony, went next. He is always suspicious about these "treatments" but he stood quietly and allowed her to get to work. About halfway through he went into a trance and relaxed completely. By the time she was done, he was licking my hands.

Rafer Johnson was next. He was mightily wary and took his time entering the barn aisle. Redford came through the fence and between both donkeys being away from her, and Rafer's obvious reluctance, Salina began to ramp up into a mild mare frenzy.

She whinnied. She paced. She trotted up and down the fence in the paddock. After a few minutes Rafer met us halfway and we proceeded with his adjustments. He was absolutely fine with each one.

When I brought Salina in, I knew she was going to put up a fuss. She had worked herself up, and she had no desire to stand in the barn aisle and get her own adjustments done, even though she normally relaxes into this kind of thing and feels better as a result.

She went up and down the barn aisle a number of times. She bobbed her head, lipped at me, fussed at me, and marched out of the barn with me every time the chiro got ready to put her hands on Salina's hips.

I started out calmly, but I had not had breakfast, had lost my hair band so my hair was flying all over my face, I wasn't feeling all that great to begin with, and it was annoying me that Salina was acting like a diva. I ramped up a little bit. I fussed back at her. I got a little bossy. And she continued to refuse to stand still.

After about 3 more trips down the barn aisle and out into the barnyard, we came in to the aisle again and I stopped. "I just need to breathe," I said to the chiropractor. "I'm feeding into this whole thing."

I planted my feet, let the lead line go slack, and took a deep breath. I breathed in deep and slow and let it go all the way down my legs, through my feet, and into the earth itself. When I breathed all that breath back out, Salina dropped her head and allowed the adjustments. She didn't move an inch. She didn't lip at me. She relaxed her eye. She did what she does best - mirrored my centeredness, once I was smart enough to pay attention and do what needed to be done. Which was address MY frenzy and not hers.

I got quiet and she did too.

lest you think horses lack intention and empathy

This morning Salina had an appointment with her massage therapist. Salina is 28 years old with one eye, arthritic knees, and I have said many times that she has become the heartbeat of November Hill. There is nothing that happens on this plot of land that escapes her attention. She is my partner. While I am inside, not always alert to the goings-on in the pastures that surround our house, my most trusted way of checking the "temperature" of the herd is to look out the window and find Salina. During the summer in the daytime she is often in the barn with hay and fans, and she seems to know when I look out that I need to see her face. She almost always puts her head out her window at just the moment I glance out needing to know what's going on. I know when things are okay from the way she holds her head and ears.

 At night she will come to my bedroom window and whinny if she needs the help of the humans in the family. There is no mistaking the tone in her call. It means COME NOW.

This morning everyone had breakfast tubs and I had allowed Keil Bay to come to Salina and the donkeys' side of the barn thinking that while Salina got her massage I would groom Keil Bay and get him ready for a ride. I had all kinds of thoughts flowing about what we might do in the ride. I even thought I might take him into the back field and jump a few baby jumps.

But I never got to that point. At the appointed massage hour, Keil Bay went into Salina's stall and planted himself in front of her, head emerging into the barn aisle, clearly waiting for something.

When H. arrived, Keil was ready. Keil Bay loves body work. He loves chiropractic adjustment, loves massage, and basically just loves attention of all kinds. He's the only horse I've ever seen who greets the vet with the same enthusiasm with which he greets almost everyone. He is a horse that will come and wait at his stall door or at the gate if he has an injury. Keil is a horse, but he trusts his people to take care of him. Today it was obvious he was asking for a massage.

Even when I got him out of Salina's stall, thinking he would walk on out of the barn, he stopped, and as if to accentuate the point, Salina came out behind him and lined up - LINED UP - behind him, along with both donkeys. If we had been doing structural family therapy I would have noticed that they were physically, literally, putting him FIRST IN LINE. It was not my most observant moment.

I am embarrassed to say that I did not listen. I stood and to my credit I apologized to him that it was not his turn. With a tighter budget not every horse here is getting regular massages right now, and I have Salina on a monthly schedule mostly because of her age and her infirmities. In my mind she has earned that monthly massage and the relief it brings her.

So I told Keil Bay he would get a turn as soon as I could manage it, and I headed him to the front field gate, which I had left open, and which he had ignored, because as much as he wanted the grass, he wanted that massage more. I quite literally shoved him through the gate, with both my hands on his hind end, and being the good sport he is, he went.

I walked back to the barn aisle expecting Salina to be ready for her massage. It always takes her a minute to relax and give up her role as boss mare, but she generally does it and then goes into endorphin bliss as H. works her muscles from head to tail and back up to her head again. I have seen Salina almost fall to the ground due to the extreme relaxation she experiences from this work. The benefits she gets from it are concrete and measurable.

Today she would not have any part of it. She tossed her head, snapped her lips at me, and tried to walk out of the barn. I fussed at her in English and in German. I tried cajoling her. We walked her to the edge of the barn aisle so she could see out. We tied her. She was absolutely furious and let us know in the most emphatic gesturing I've ever seen her do that she was NOT getting a massage.

Finally, in frustration, I unhooked the lead line and said "What are you trying to say?" She walked out of the barn with as bold and fluid a stride as I've seen her take in months. She headed straight down the grass paddock and began looking down the hill.

I turned to H. and said I would just go get Keil Bay. By this time, he'd gone down the hill to the front field and Cody had come up near the gate. So I said, well, maybe Cody is the one who needs it today. I opened the gate and went to get Cody and he walked up to me and then RAN past me to Salina who was pacing back and forth still looking down the hill.

I went and got Keil Bay. As soon as he was in the barn aisle and H. put her hands on him she said "He really does need this." As she worked, it became clear to both of us that in fact Keil REALLY needed the work. He had many tight muscles and some sore spots. As soon as he was in the barn Salina completely settled down and began to graze. Her agitation simply disappeared. About halfway through the work, she came up and looked in, as if she were making sure he was getting what he needed. I herded her back out, and closed the barn doors so we wouldn't end up with a crowd of equine spectators. She came around to the end stall and stood mirroring what Keil Bay did. He rubbed his eye on my shoulder, she rubbed hers on the stall wall. He shook his head, she shook hers.

And throughout his massage he would turn to look at H. with soft eyes and big yawns and licking and chewing.

Nothing these horses and donkeys do surprises me any more. They are advanced beings as far as I'm concerned, and they share more with me than I ever knew to expect when they came into our lives. What surprises me every single time is how absolutely dumb I can be when it comes to listening to them. As much as I watch and note and look for, as devoted as I am to trying to see what it is they have to say to me, I still miss the most obvious statements. I do my human thing and they try their best to say what they need to say ten different ways until they hit on one that clicks for me.

And when I finally get it, when I actually listen and act on what it is they're trying to tell me, they are ALWAYS right. But never are they smug or anything but grateful that I listened.

I've written this before but I feel the need to write it again. If you think equines don't have feelings, don't feel emotion, don't have the brain matter to form thoughts and plans and intentions, that's fine. All I can say is you are missing out on a relationship that is pure and honest and has more to teach than I can put into words.

The only thing you have to do is open your heart and your mind and listen.

the wisdom of donkeys

Yesterday afternoon I had a wheelbarrow of hay sitting in the barn aisle. Salina set herself up to eat straight from the barrow, one of her favorite ways to eat hay. She was soon joined by the handsome Rafer Johnson.

For those that don't know, Salina has one eye, the one on her left. Rafer was eating on that side. Salina was a big grumpy because she has another abscess (big sigh) brewing and she uncharacteristically sniped at Rafer when he reached in to take a bite of hay.

Rafer stood there for a moment and respected her limit. Then very slowly, he walked around her to the other side, her blind side, and began to eat the small pile of hay she had dropped. Every time she took a big mouthful from the barrow, she tossed more right in Rafer's reach.

I had to smile. There was no drama and he got exactly what he wanted.

the senior horse, 2: shedding out, and the first tick

I'm actually not sure this is a senior horse issue, but ever since Salina (now 28 years old) came to live with us at 23 her spring shedding has been unique compared to that of the other horses and the pony.

Salina is black, and most of the year she is a "true" black color. But as the winter begins to wind down,  her coat along the back and belly takes on a brown color. If I didn't balance our hay carefully and feed minerals specific to what each horse needs, I'd think her copper and zinc weren't in the appropriate ratio to iron.

I suppose it's possible that at this point of the year she's getting a little sunbleached, but otoh, if that is true, why isn't it on the other parts of her body that also get the same amount of sunlight?

It all seems to be part of a somewhat unique pattern of shedding that happens for Salina. Whether it's a senior horse issue or not might be made more clear as Keil Bay ages and I can compare the two.

In any case, Salina's coat color shifts in the late winter, she begins to shed, generally almost a full month before the geldings do, and as she sheds, the new coat grows in shiny and black, with gorgeous dapples.

Before we get to gorgeous though, we live through a very scurfy stage - during which it seems like she is shedding not only fur but dry skin. The more you groom her, the more you see it - almost a dandruff, but finer, and she ends up looking gray.

When she first came to us, this scurf ended up looking a little like rain rot. Once I got her onto the balanced diet, which includes freshly ground flax and vitamin E gelcaps, that part resolved. Now it's just the fine shedding of dead skin.

The only thing that "cures" this is her first spring bath. We don't bathe horses in the winter, and don't have an indoor wash area, so the first bath comes usually on the first day when both daytime and nighttime temps are warm enough that I know the horses won't get a chill.

Salina's first bath came this past Friday, when I walked her out to our bathing area beneath the big oak tree and started a slow, gentle, soapy scrub-down with a soft rubber curry I have. She always loves this first bath, and stands untied, with only a lead rope laying over her neck so she knows I want her to stay with me.

As you can imagine, this bath takes care of the scurfiness, but it also helps get lots of loose hair out, and it takes a good amount of time to scrub every inch of her body (except her face, which she prefers I do with a cloth) and then rinse and rinse until there's no soap left.

Usually at some point in the process she needs a break to go check on her donkeys, so I let her take a walk, nibble some grass or hay, and then I bring her back to finish up.

After this first bath, I keep her groomed from day to day and marvel that she is suddenly transformed - back to the black mare she is most of the year.

It just so happened that on the day of her first bath this year we also found the first tick. She was happy to have it removed. A little calendula tincture and water helps the tick bite stop itching and heal quickly. Banixx also works but is more expensive to use.

Yesterday I looked out the window and saw a gleaming black mare walk across the barnyard. It's nice to see her shining again!

the senior horse, 1: teeth and diet

We had the dentist here this week so it's a good time to write about living with a senior horse's ability to do what horses do most and best - forage, chew, and digest/absorb nutrients.

Salina, at 28, technically has all her teeth. A number of her molars are almost down to the gum line, but none of her teeth are mobile. This visit the dentist said that unless something changes, or we have a dental issue crop up, she feels it's best to leave Salina's teeth alone. Her weight is good, she eats grass, free choice hay, and I feed her (actually, all the equines) wet meals balanced to our analyzed hay, so she's getting good nutrition and is happy with her feed. She still nickers for each of her three tubs a day, goes where the good grass is, and follows the hay barrow just like the rest of the herd.

She does end up sometimes with small packets of hay that accumulate where the teeth are down to the gum line. Being the very sensible mare she is, Salina knows to take breaks at the water troughs where she stands and actually rinses the small hay packets out of her mouth. I find them occasionally floating in the water, by the side of the troughs, and I suspect that at least part of the time she re-chews and swallows them. Sometimes weeks go by and I don't see any, and then I'll find one again.

I keep an eye on her manure - she's still digesting things well, which is good. 

In 2008 Salina came out of the winter season thinner than I liked, and at that point I put her on a complete senior diet developed by Dr. Eleanor Kellon. It's a wonderful, nutritionally balanced diet, served in four wet meals a day, and Salina looked and felt fabulous on it. Last summer though she actually got a little chunky (we had the most pasture I think we've ever had since moving here), and because of her arthritic knees I didn't want the extra weight to put more stress on those joints. So  I transitioned her back to the same diet the geldings are on, feeding three meals a day, and watched her closely. She's come out of this winter a little thinner than she went into it, but still looks good, and I think as the grass comes in she'll pick up weight.

If not we'll transition back to the senior diet but cut back on the amount. It requires having two extra ingredients plus a customized mineral supplement on hand, and it's obviously easier having them all on the same basic diet - but if she needs the senior meals again, we'll do it.

I think with the senior horses, especially if they have any special issues, it becomes second nature to keep a close eye on everything they do, as well as things they stop doing. Which is one reason I love having them all here, right outside my windows - it's easy to monitor very subtle things, as well as bigger changes.

For several years, our entire schedule revolved around Salina's four tubs a day, and now it revolves around three. But the day has to revolve around *something* and Salina deserves it. You can set the clock by her coming to the barn for her meals.

And by Keil Bay's coming in, always hoping that he's reached that magic age when he too, gets the extra tubs!


 

Salina turns 28 - we celebrate her spirit and her wisdom

This weekend Salina is having her 28th birthday, and helping me begin a series that looks at living with the senior horse.

The lovely Salina came to live with us when she was 23 years old. Late one night I was browsing online and came across a photo of her. The moment I saw her face, her slight tilt of the head as she looked directly into the camera lens, I thought "therapy horse."

Salina is a black Hannoverian mare who was imported from Germany as a brood mare. She has one white sock and a very fine crescent star. Salina also has one eye, and when she came to us she had fairly severe arthritis in both knees. But with regular but light work, no stalling, and some supplementation for her joints, she was able to teach us a few things about riding before we retired her completely at age 26.

Salina carried us through our first dealings with a hoof abscess. She taught me about mares and that being centered in my own body and self is the key to success when handling her. She taught me about mirroring and partnering and how both horses and people as they age can have bad days, bad weeks, and that there's nothing wrong with moving slowly when you need to do so.

Salina is why we were led to Rafer Johnson and Redford. She taught me to listen to my gut when dealing with the vet. Sometimes what I know about my horses is more relevant than the vet school knowledge. She taught me about the power of the maternal instinct, and on a daily basis now, she is my partner on November Hill, keeping her eye on everything in the neighborhood, pricking her ears to show me where to look when there's something I need to see.

Salina has come to my bedroom window in the middle of the night to wake me up when something was amiss. She stood by Rafer Johnson's stall when his leg was broken and kept him company, and in my opinion, her presence is why he healed so quickly.

Salina soaks her own hoof when she has an abscess brewing, takes hand signals from her blind side, whinnies a beautiful song in concert with Keil Bay for breakfast, and constantly mirrors the humans around her.

Salina led me to learn more about equine nutrition, and she taught me how to properly give paste wormer and other medications from tubes. She has done more to lead me in the right direction when it comes to working with and living with horses than all the books I've read, all the lessons I've taken, and all the geldings put together.

Salina has been a therapy horse. She has guided a number of clients through stuck places. But even more than that, she has been my therapy horse, my teacher, and my guide into middle life. There is no way a tray of home-made horse cookies and some apples can acknowledge all she gives to us here on November Hill.

Over the next few weeks I'll be working on a series of posts about some of the things I've learned as a result of seeing that late-night photo and making the decision to bring Salina to live with us. I'll also be writing about the difficulties of living with such a beautiful spirit as she moves closer to the end of her life. It's very possible Salina's next big lesson for me will be teaching me how to say goodbye to a wise and wonderful and magical goddess. It won't be easy, but I know it's a lesson I have to learn.

Happy birthday, Salina. We are so incredibly grateful for the years and the lessons.

inspiration to ride, and the amazing Big Bay

Yesterday after posting Uta Graf's lovely ride, I went out to the barn, cleaned the entire tack room, let the Big Bay into the barn yard for some hoof cleaning, and then came in to get his sheepskin pad.

Keil seemed perfectly happy to come into the barn aisle and practice being tied (so much of what I do with him I do sans halter). I groomed him, realized he needed a sheath cleaning, got some warm water and took care of that, and then tacked up.

I decided to use his old bit, an eggbutt snaffle, that I put onto Salina's old bridle so I could use it as needed - I removed the cavesson so it's very much like Keil's bridle now, just with a different bit. When I put it on, he reached for the bit and took it into his mouth eagerly. I thought I had configured the straps for him before, but yesterday it seemed tighter and the bit seemed too high, so I lowered it to the last hole and hoped that might work. The bit was a little lower than I'd normally put it. But the moment I buckled the last strap, Keil lowered his head and began to mouth the bit in a clearly relieved, happy way. So I decided we'd try it and I gave myself the silent instruction to keep a soft contact so it wouldn't clank around too much.

In the arena I let Keil go while I brought the mounting block (I've noticed over the past year that every time I type "mounting" it comes out as "mountain" - which is truly one of those very relevant slips - that's how it has felt to me!) to the barrel I've been using to get on. Before I even had the mountain (see, there it went again) block positioned beside the barrel, Keil had walked over and lined himself up.

I praised him and then instead of climbing up and just getting on, I fidgeted. And he looked confused. "What does she want me to do?" He took a step back so his head was beside me instead of the saddle. This is entirely my issue and while I could spend a bunch of time analyzing it, I decided not to do that. Daughter came and helped by holding Keil and I slid easily onto his back. I think I have actually over-analyzed the whole mountain thing (and again the slip!) and I am just going to get on as fast and as easily as I can for now and forget about it.

There was the immediate feeling of total relief when my bottom hit the saddle. I was so happy to be there. Keil was happy to have me there, and off we went.

I had two areas of focus for myself: keeping a soft contact and equally weighting both stirrups. At one point I felt myself nagging with my legs to get a rhythmic walk and I took my legs off and began to chant out loud: one two three four, one two three four. Keil instantly knew what I was asking for and without missing a beat he stepped into the rhythm. We worked on maintaining that for several circuits around the arena in both directions. It was amazing how that simple exercise catapulted the ride onto a much higher, more advanced plane.

Rhythm and relaxation. It works.

So we had rhythm. We had relaxation. I was focusing on my contact. This bridle is very light in the hand. I don't like it much, as it is not an expensive bridle and the leather isn't that nice, but there's something about it that feels light and it's easy to hold the reins. (which are simple black web reins, but very soft because they're fairly old and also not that well made)  It occurs to me now that because this was the bridle I got for Salina when she first came to us, and the bridle I rode her in, maybe her lightness has soaked into it. There was definitely something going on that seemed almost magical - as though my hands had "learned" a more advanced way of being.

We proceeded with lots of walking, going deep into the corners and then doing free walks across the diagonals to relax even more. We worked on square halts and a little reinback.

We incorporated turns on the forehand and haunches into the corner work, did some shoulder-in, and through it all I made sure I was breathing deeply. Keil was very much on the aids at this point and I asked if he wanted to trot. I mean literally asked: "Keil Bay, do you want to do some trot?" And I put in a half halt and applied both legs. He went into a quite lovely trot and we organized ourselves. I didn't want to do too much trotting since he's been out of work for several weeks - but I wanted to do enough that we could benefit from the work we'd done toward rhythm, relaxation, and contact. We did about four long sides worth of trot in each direction and by the last two we got to schwung.

I should say Keil offered schwung and I received it. I don't think even the most advanced rider can ask for schwung - it comes from the horse, and only comes when we do the right things. Keil Bay almost always offers it when I take care of myself - if you try to demand it from him you might get grinding of the teeth, or you might get him leaning on your hands. But if you do what you're supposed to as a rider, he gives you poetry.

A lovely way of going where of course I wanted to go on forever, but it was the right place to end yesterday.

I wish I could convey the aura Keil has after a really good ride. He is so connected, so pleased with himself, so relaxed, and totally willing to stand in the barn aisle with no halter or lead rope and let me untack him slowly, brush him down, check his feet, and then offer him a handful of oats. He usually licks my hands, lowers his head so he can look me right in the eye, and only then does he saunter out of the barn aisle to graze a little in one of the barnyards while I clean tack and put things away.

I always think about the way Keil ends each ride with me. He rewards ME for the ride. It's what makes him so very special, and why I think we'll keep going no matter how old he gets or how old I get.

Every single time I watch him saunter out of the barn aisle after a ride I think: how did I get so lucky to find this horse?

Thank you, Keil Bay. You're priceless.