Epona TV has done it again. After Patrick Kittel's denial that even photographic evidence of him riding Scandic in extreme rollkur did not show "how he rides his horse," we have been given some video footage that in fact shows what we all knew but had no way to prove.
Of course that's how he rides his horse. And that's how many of the Olympic riders ride their horses, at least when they are warming up, behind screens set up to shield them from anyone, from fans to horse advocates, seeing what they are doing.
A security guard's stern warning to a fan trying to get a glimpse - "You should not know what they are practicing" - pretty much says it all. When what are being considered the top riders in the world must be screened from public and press view because the training methods used should not be seen, common sense tells us something is not quite right.
But Epona TV found a way to show us more than a "moment in time."
GO HERE TO READ THEIR EDITORIAL with more photos and additional video footage.
For ease of viewing, I've embedded the footage they took from our 2012 Olympic's hidden warm-up area:
I've read critiques this weekend of almost all the Olympic dressage rides, and am saddened to learn that even some of the riders not using rollkur were seen digging in with spurs upon entering the arena for their tests and on through their rides. Rollkur was seen outside the arena proper, in flagrant violation of humane horsemanship.
It seems to me from what I've read and seen and heard that the British team rode well and were rewarded for that - which is good, and I hope it's true. But for me, as long as any abusive practices are allowed and given points in performance, I will not support by watching.
In my opinion, it's past time for clear guidelines and rules. Mistreatment of horses is not only not rewarded, it is not allowed. Period.
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
some thoughts on saying goodbye
Each time I say goodbye to a human or an animal family member I feel, in my deepest core, the reality that as much as I try to manage things and take care of things, I have very little control when it comes to keeping my loved ones safe.
Since losing Keats I have had many dreams in which the predominant emotion is anxiety and helplessness. I dreamed that a team of hoofcare practitioners arrived and with much machinery and fanfare trimmed Keil Bay's hooves into bizarre shapes that bled and left him unable to stand on them.
Before I could intervene, they were doing the same thing to the pony. In the dream all I could think of was saving Salina, next in line, from a similar fate.
I dreamed of an airplane trip that went awry when we were landed in an emergency in a remote area that we could not get out of - the plane was on a runway fenced in with huge barbed wire, impenetrable, but fortunately someone had left pallets of supplies within our reach. We had to break into the pallets to eat and were finally rescued. And given many free tickets to ... fly again!
Gradually these dreams have faded and I'm now sleeping more soundly and not waking up to yet another reminder that I do not in fact have the power to keep all of us safe and sound and healthy and happy.
Now, nearly two weeks later, I am still seeing Keats everywhere, lying in cat pose on the back deck, stalking in the tall grass in the front, sitting on the fence watching the constant activity on November Hill.
As if intent to compensate for her physical absence, Dickens is staying inside more, lying with us and putting his paws around my daughter's neck as a gesture of comfort. Moomintroll and Dickens and Muffine Eloise are cohabiting more peacefully. Mystic has become cuddlier than usual.
The Corgis have been at my heels and the horses and donkeys all seem to be watching over us. Salina particularly has been more affectionate to me, following me around the barn, offering her head and neck for me to wrap my arms around.
And the favorite stories of not only Keats, but many beloved friends before her, come often to mind.
Keats was shy as a kitten, but had become a very dear and loving cat with each year that passed. She was a huntress, extremely successful in taking down birds and squirrels. She had a presence that spoke more loudly than her tiny squeak-meows did.
Keats and Muffine (Osage) were sisters and although they didn't snuggle up together, they were often seen lying close, and of all the cats here, I don't remember the two sisters ever being anything other than friendly to one another. Muffine has taken to getting up on top of the kitchen cabinets to sleep this week, which has in some ways made life easier - it is so hard to see her sleeping alone, without Keats close by.
In the end, what comforts me are the memories. The favorite stories of the cats and the dogs and the horse and the people, things they did and communicated, moments that in my mind right now seem so real and so clear it truly does feel like they live with me still.
I suppose this is the finest example of the power of stories for us humans - the ones we tell about ourselves and our beloveds, tales that become mythic in our families and our minds.
I remember Keats playing on the hay bales in the barn when she was a kitten, trying to climb up Keil Bay's tail, as an older cat sleeping on the bales, stretched out long. I remember Dickens claiming the barnyard and chasing Keats back to the house, and her ability to scale the fence. I think my most favorite sight regarding Keats was seeing her in the tall grass, resting, waiting, being her huntress self. Which seemed so opposite to the purring, snuggling, kneading Keats who sat on our chests and put her face up to ours, and gazed into our eyes.
This is how I remember her, now:
Yesterday I was in the back field and the two fawns who live here this season scampered from the trees back towards the hundred-acre wood. We've had many sightings of them, along with their mother, this summer, and it has been a gift each time.
Later, I noticed that the same tree that was struck last summer had been struck again by lightning. The top half of this huge tree was completely broken off and is lying in my woodland path. Fifteen feet away, another tall tree, though less hefty in girth, was also struck and broken. I walked up the hill to the arena and looked back at the treeline, realizing that it is different now - there's an empty space where those two trees stood.
Like lightning striking not once but three times, leaving a hole in one of my most beloved vistas, it feels like death struck quickly and took Keats away, and we live now with a hole in our family here, one that goes with the hole left by Chase, our Corgi boy.
Somehow the holes become part of the tapestry, though, this much I know. The tapestry of our days and our years remains, and the holes remain, but we continue weaving, and the holes eventually form part of the pattern we don't see until much much later. I imagine the larger pattern will be something like fine lace. And like Leonard Cohen's song, Anthem:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
So we carry on. The gift of a large family is that there are always things to be done, like helping Cody with his hives, and battling a bad year of fleas, taking care of an elbow that is trying to heal, feeding and cleaning and finding that even in the midst of grief and loss, twin fawns still scamper and play. We can still find gifts in our days. The magic still happens.
Since losing Keats I have had many dreams in which the predominant emotion is anxiety and helplessness. I dreamed that a team of hoofcare practitioners arrived and with much machinery and fanfare trimmed Keil Bay's hooves into bizarre shapes that bled and left him unable to stand on them.
Before I could intervene, they were doing the same thing to the pony. In the dream all I could think of was saving Salina, next in line, from a similar fate.
I dreamed of an airplane trip that went awry when we were landed in an emergency in a remote area that we could not get out of - the plane was on a runway fenced in with huge barbed wire, impenetrable, but fortunately someone had left pallets of supplies within our reach. We had to break into the pallets to eat and were finally rescued. And given many free tickets to ... fly again!
Gradually these dreams have faded and I'm now sleeping more soundly and not waking up to yet another reminder that I do not in fact have the power to keep all of us safe and sound and healthy and happy.
Now, nearly two weeks later, I am still seeing Keats everywhere, lying in cat pose on the back deck, stalking in the tall grass in the front, sitting on the fence watching the constant activity on November Hill.
As if intent to compensate for her physical absence, Dickens is staying inside more, lying with us and putting his paws around my daughter's neck as a gesture of comfort. Moomintroll and Dickens and Muffine Eloise are cohabiting more peacefully. Mystic has become cuddlier than usual.
The Corgis have been at my heels and the horses and donkeys all seem to be watching over us. Salina particularly has been more affectionate to me, following me around the barn, offering her head and neck for me to wrap my arms around.
And the favorite stories of not only Keats, but many beloved friends before her, come often to mind.
Keats was shy as a kitten, but had become a very dear and loving cat with each year that passed. She was a huntress, extremely successful in taking down birds and squirrels. She had a presence that spoke more loudly than her tiny squeak-meows did.
Keats and Muffine (Osage) were sisters and although they didn't snuggle up together, they were often seen lying close, and of all the cats here, I don't remember the two sisters ever being anything other than friendly to one another. Muffine has taken to getting up on top of the kitchen cabinets to sleep this week, which has in some ways made life easier - it is so hard to see her sleeping alone, without Keats close by.
In the end, what comforts me are the memories. The favorite stories of the cats and the dogs and the horse and the people, things they did and communicated, moments that in my mind right now seem so real and so clear it truly does feel like they live with me still.
I suppose this is the finest example of the power of stories for us humans - the ones we tell about ourselves and our beloveds, tales that become mythic in our families and our minds.
I remember Keats playing on the hay bales in the barn when she was a kitten, trying to climb up Keil Bay's tail, as an older cat sleeping on the bales, stretched out long. I remember Dickens claiming the barnyard and chasing Keats back to the house, and her ability to scale the fence. I think my most favorite sight regarding Keats was seeing her in the tall grass, resting, waiting, being her huntress self. Which seemed so opposite to the purring, snuggling, kneading Keats who sat on our chests and put her face up to ours, and gazed into our eyes.
This is how I remember her, now:
Yesterday I was in the back field and the two fawns who live here this season scampered from the trees back towards the hundred-acre wood. We've had many sightings of them, along with their mother, this summer, and it has been a gift each time.
Later, I noticed that the same tree that was struck last summer had been struck again by lightning. The top half of this huge tree was completely broken off and is lying in my woodland path. Fifteen feet away, another tall tree, though less hefty in girth, was also struck and broken. I walked up the hill to the arena and looked back at the treeline, realizing that it is different now - there's an empty space where those two trees stood.
Like lightning striking not once but three times, leaving a hole in one of my most beloved vistas, it feels like death struck quickly and took Keats away, and we live now with a hole in our family here, one that goes with the hole left by Chase, our Corgi boy.
Somehow the holes become part of the tapestry, though, this much I know. The tapestry of our days and our years remains, and the holes remain, but we continue weaving, and the holes eventually form part of the pattern we don't see until much much later. I imagine the larger pattern will be something like fine lace. And like Leonard Cohen's song, Anthem:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
So we carry on. The gift of a large family is that there are always things to be done, like helping Cody with his hives, and battling a bad year of fleas, taking care of an elbow that is trying to heal, feeding and cleaning and finding that even in the midst of grief and loss, twin fawns still scamper and play. We can still find gifts in our days. The magic still happens.
Monday, August 06, 2012
RIP Keats Meow
Last weekend we lost our lovely black cat Keats to a very unexpected and quick illness. We are still in shock and still reeling from how things went downhill for her so very quickly. We took her sister in for complete bloodwork to make sure we are not dealing with something genetic, and so far, so good for Muffine Eloise.
It has been a rough season for us here and also for many of my readers. I feel like all of us deserve nothing but good news and easy living for the rest of 2012, at the very least.
Goodbye sweet Keats. I am still seeing her all over the place, out of the corner of my eye. She is buried beside Chase, our Corgi boy, in the back yard right by our back door, underneath the butterfly bush which was a favorite spot for her.
On other fronts, I left on Tuesday for a writing retreat, had some online privacy concerns, and am still trying to sort out how to maintain an online presence that feels right to me - over the weekend I set the blogs so that only I could read them - that was the only way I could figure out to quickly secure them without deleting anything. The result was that it looked like I had gone to membership only, and I know many of you felt I had left you out - I got many emails asking to be added to the list.
Well, right now there IS no list - and I am working on streamlining my online sites so there is ONE place to find me online. It might be that I do end up with a private blog and will announce that if I decide to go that route.
Meanwhile I came home yesterday to find Cody covered in hives - I think due to some fire ant bites that sent his system into overdrive. So am busy sorting that out with him.
Bear with me as I figure out these online issues. Will make sure that those who want to can stay in touch one way or another. You can always email me using the contact button either here, or at November Hill Press.
Thanks, all...
It has been a rough season for us here and also for many of my readers. I feel like all of us deserve nothing but good news and easy living for the rest of 2012, at the very least.
Goodbye sweet Keats. I am still seeing her all over the place, out of the corner of my eye. She is buried beside Chase, our Corgi boy, in the back yard right by our back door, underneath the butterfly bush which was a favorite spot for her.
On other fronts, I left on Tuesday for a writing retreat, had some online privacy concerns, and am still trying to sort out how to maintain an online presence that feels right to me - over the weekend I set the blogs so that only I could read them - that was the only way I could figure out to quickly secure them without deleting anything. The result was that it looked like I had gone to membership only, and I know many of you felt I had left you out - I got many emails asking to be added to the list.
Well, right now there IS no list - and I am working on streamlining my online sites so there is ONE place to find me online. It might be that I do end up with a private blog and will announce that if I decide to go that route.
Meanwhile I came home yesterday to find Cody covered in hives - I think due to some fire ant bites that sent his system into overdrive. So am busy sorting that out with him.
Bear with me as I figure out these online issues. Will make sure that those who want to can stay in touch one way or another. You can always email me using the contact button either here, or at November Hill Press.
Thanks, all...
Thursday, July 26, 2012
why we have so many butterflies and bees on November Hill
Thanks to husband for cataloging the colors for me this year!
Monday, July 16, 2012
herd dynamics: jealousy in July
Last week I was doing barn clean-up while the horses were in with their fans and hay. Our usual routine during this time of year is to rotate the three geldings one at a time through the end stall on Salina's side of the barn - in the afternoon I close the sunny end of the barn and that stall feeds to the grass paddock at that end - so each gelding gets an afternoon to himself, the other two geldings get to share the three stalls on their side of the barn, and everyone gets a little change of routine which seems to keep them happy.
Since Salina's pressure wound is still healing (it's much better but she has had to regenerate skin tissue over the hip point which is taking time) and she is on limited night-time turn-out, I like giving her that entire side of the barn so she can have her choice of stalls, barnyards, etc. The donkeys stay with her at night when we bring her in, so it gives them more options as well.
Keil Bay and Cody have become extremely close buddies over the past year. They've always enjoyed grazing together, but this year I've noticed that Cody enjoys going into Keil Bay's stall and they stand in there and nap together during the hottest part of the day. It also effectively shuts down the pony's favorite thing to do - which is run Cody out of whatever stall he's in, and take over Keil Bay's stall, which makes Keil really angry. (this was why I started rotating them to the other side of the barn, to give each one a break from the pony!)
But when Cody and Keil Bay are in one stall there is no room for the pony to squeeze in. He can't chase Cody out if he has to get past Keil Bay to do it. And he can't horn in on Keil's space if Cody is already in there.
I had to laugh when I witnessed this new dynamic. And I noticed that the pony and Redford had become grazing buddies - Redford goes through the fence during the day to head out and graze with the pony. But for whatever reason, maybe just because the pony and Keil were the first "pair" to live here together, Apache Moon has not given up trying to get that best buddy spot back.
The day I was seeing all this last week was also a day when I rode the Big Bay, and while I was tacking up, he and Cody had a mutual grooming session over the stall door. I noticed the pony watching this closely - and then he came into Cody's stall and chased him out, right at the time when Keil and I were heading to the arena.
When we got back to the barn and I put Keil in his stall, Apache was watching and waiting and managed to beat Cody in there.
But instead of being bossy and taking over Keil's best fan spot, Apache started a very meticulous mutual grooming session. He was so obviously doing his best job, using his lips and teeth gently, moving up and down along Keil's neck (which he has to reach up to do) and paying close attention to what Keil Bay wanted. It was only a moment before Keil reciprocated and the two of them stood there for nearly half an hour.
Cody was in his stall looking left out.
Salina was by this time in her stall getting her first lunch. When I let her out, she took one look at the pony taking over Keil Bay (he is her favorite too), marched briskly to his stall door and started flagging. The pony lunged at her from inside the stall. She didn't back up, but she had to turn her head to keep clear of the pony's bared teeth.
Apache had lured his best buddy back and he wasn't letting even the boss mare stop him.
I admit, the next day I let Keil spend the day with Salina on her side of the barn, with both stall doors open so they could intermingle as they wished. Salina got a full body bath and we soaped and sponged and sprayed all her favorite spots. The donkeys were happy to go out with Cody and the pony. And Keil Bay and Salina got some senior time together.
I'm still fascinated by the connections they each make and how they reconfigure as needed when they feel the bonds being shifted.
As an aside, Keil and I had several nice rides last week. The nicest thing was how absolutely good my body felt in the saddle. We walked, did a little sitting trot, and for the most part Keil Bay led the ride. He found a nice figure 8 pattern using the entire arena and when the sun came out from behind the clouds, he headed for the shade offered by one or the other of the big oak trees. I rode on the buckle with one hand on the reins and enjoyed my relaxed body and the Big Bay's lovely stride. It was another of those days when it felt like we were back in time, riding because that was the way one got from one place to another.
Right now Apache Moon has come to my window to remind me that yes, it's time for breakfast tubs!
And this just in, research on Monty Roberts' round pen training method.
I'm not a fan of training methods that use the "make something so unpleasant they do what you ask" pressure - it's not anything I'd want anyone using on me. Certainly does nothing for developing a relationship built on partnership, and this research seems to address that aspect of this kind of training.
Since Salina's pressure wound is still healing (it's much better but she has had to regenerate skin tissue over the hip point which is taking time) and she is on limited night-time turn-out, I like giving her that entire side of the barn so she can have her choice of stalls, barnyards, etc. The donkeys stay with her at night when we bring her in, so it gives them more options as well.
Keil Bay and Cody have become extremely close buddies over the past year. They've always enjoyed grazing together, but this year I've noticed that Cody enjoys going into Keil Bay's stall and they stand in there and nap together during the hottest part of the day. It also effectively shuts down the pony's favorite thing to do - which is run Cody out of whatever stall he's in, and take over Keil Bay's stall, which makes Keil really angry. (this was why I started rotating them to the other side of the barn, to give each one a break from the pony!)
But when Cody and Keil Bay are in one stall there is no room for the pony to squeeze in. He can't chase Cody out if he has to get past Keil Bay to do it. And he can't horn in on Keil's space if Cody is already in there.
I had to laugh when I witnessed this new dynamic. And I noticed that the pony and Redford had become grazing buddies - Redford goes through the fence during the day to head out and graze with the pony. But for whatever reason, maybe just because the pony and Keil were the first "pair" to live here together, Apache Moon has not given up trying to get that best buddy spot back.
The day I was seeing all this last week was also a day when I rode the Big Bay, and while I was tacking up, he and Cody had a mutual grooming session over the stall door. I noticed the pony watching this closely - and then he came into Cody's stall and chased him out, right at the time when Keil and I were heading to the arena.
When we got back to the barn and I put Keil in his stall, Apache was watching and waiting and managed to beat Cody in there.
But instead of being bossy and taking over Keil's best fan spot, Apache started a very meticulous mutual grooming session. He was so obviously doing his best job, using his lips and teeth gently, moving up and down along Keil's neck (which he has to reach up to do) and paying close attention to what Keil Bay wanted. It was only a moment before Keil reciprocated and the two of them stood there for nearly half an hour.
Cody was in his stall looking left out.
Salina was by this time in her stall getting her first lunch. When I let her out, she took one look at the pony taking over Keil Bay (he is her favorite too), marched briskly to his stall door and started flagging. The pony lunged at her from inside the stall. She didn't back up, but she had to turn her head to keep clear of the pony's bared teeth.
Apache had lured his best buddy back and he wasn't letting even the boss mare stop him.
I admit, the next day I let Keil spend the day with Salina on her side of the barn, with both stall doors open so they could intermingle as they wished. Salina got a full body bath and we soaped and sponged and sprayed all her favorite spots. The donkeys were happy to go out with Cody and the pony. And Keil Bay and Salina got some senior time together.
I'm still fascinated by the connections they each make and how they reconfigure as needed when they feel the bonds being shifted.
As an aside, Keil and I had several nice rides last week. The nicest thing was how absolutely good my body felt in the saddle. We walked, did a little sitting trot, and for the most part Keil Bay led the ride. He found a nice figure 8 pattern using the entire arena and when the sun came out from behind the clouds, he headed for the shade offered by one or the other of the big oak trees. I rode on the buckle with one hand on the reins and enjoyed my relaxed body and the Big Bay's lovely stride. It was another of those days when it felt like we were back in time, riding because that was the way one got from one place to another.
Right now Apache Moon has come to my window to remind me that yes, it's time for breakfast tubs!
And this just in, research on Monty Roberts' round pen training method.
I'm not a fan of training methods that use the "make something so unpleasant they do what you ask" pressure - it's not anything I'd want anyone using on me. Certainly does nothing for developing a relationship built on partnership, and this research seems to address that aspect of this kind of training.
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