I laughed out loud on stumbling across this photo, snapped on an afternoon years ago as I rode Sunni. We were in the Badlands, a large Federal Wilderness area east of town. Ahead of us, my pony, Merry Leggs, is trotting at liberty and leading Ranger and Louie. This picture brings up great memories of that adorable pony, how I loved her.
Today, I’ll load Sunni and head toward similar trails. We’ll meet up with our friend, Julie, for a little driving on Bend’s east side. Julie’s going to show us where to find wide and sandy trails good for driving a horse. Some of those trails lead to the Badlands and should be worth another visit soon.
I always want to take pictures while driving a horse. I love the combination of pathway, horse-butt motor, terrain and sky. But busy hands can’t handle a camera. Today, with Julie on board maybe we’ll have some pictures!
Yesterday, my impulse was to take Sunni, she’s super easy to drive. There’s another nagging thought, to take Rosie instead. Both mares are nice to drive out on trails. My “push-button Sunni” could care less where we’re driving and goes willingly. Rosie, on the other hand, seems more at ease more on BLM or Wilderness trails than when she’s traveling on paved neighborhood streets. I’ve a bit of time before heading toward the barn to capture a horse, and don’t feel like doing any chasing, so they’ll help me decide which to take. Either is a fine choice.
Anyway, I’ve already loaded the cart into the horse trailer, and also couldn’t help loading the driving tack for both horses, because I couldn’t decide. Stay tuned!
Dear Friends: If pretty little Merry Leggs still were with me, she’d be driving, too. Diana
My three little African Dwarf Goats keep me laughing. There’s mama, Sego Lily (foreground in the photo), and her twins, Breeze (on mama’s right) and Poppy (the darker-coated one). They’ve been with me since the twins were six months old, and that was nine years ago. Heaven knows how old mama is, and hints of her age show up as arthritis. She’s nevertheless tough and determined to keep contributing her own goaty nonsense.
They share special rations from that pan in the photo, while also head butting one another to make space and claim portions. Sometimes they quit eating altogether and head-butt in a dance that circles the pan, before suddenly stopping to resume eating. Their other shared feed is hay, always available from a hanging bag.
Something interesting is that, in a trio formation, they always participate as shown in the picture with Breeze on mama’s right and Poppy on her left. If a goat leaves the community platter or hay-bag and then returns, she resumes her understood position.
Mama was rescued from a herd while young but old enough to distrust people. Because of this, it takes time and patience for a new person to get near or to handle her. Sego Lily is alert and cautious, but perhaps no longer the herd’s most dominate, beause often, Breeze seems to make decisions for the group.
Like all animals, they need work. For starters, I’d like to go hiking with my goats! But they’re not trained, so that “like” is a plan. Even before I could start to carve out time to work with the goats, Pimmy (my donkey, my biggest hanger-0ut needing a job) must be trained to pull a cart, and with me riding in it.
These little goats are delightful to have around, to enjoy, and to appreciate their smarts and interactions. Even with minimal training, they’re useful, say, in a fenced area with overly tall grass or lots of weeds. They follow me around, and specially eagerly on hearing the rattling of grain in a bucket. Like my other animals, the goats can recognize the sounds of my truck’s motor coming along the roadway toward home, and also like the others, all three cuties are incredibly alert to noises and changes in the environment.
Sometimes I wish it were possible to push the calendar back ten years, to start over with these same critters. I’d not let them just hang around, but would make sure they’re trained, useful, and enjoying their work. But always when it comes to time, first we must learn, right? And there’s no pushing back of time, right?
We can’t do anything over, but in future rounds could do everything better.
Dear Friends: What living with farm critters teaches could fill books. Diana
Today, we’re again crossing the mountains, and this time with a new set of brakes on the truck, for lessons with our trainer, Megan. In the first photo, she’s driving the (then) inexperienced Sunni, and in the second, I’m driving the very-experienced Rosie, and also, was the learner. Now, we’re beginning to melt through this August, and since both horses are driving well with me handling the reins, I wonder about goals ahead for the horses and me.
Oddly, I don’t feel particularly attracted to showing. For sure, while in training it’s fun driving through cones and racing around obstacles. We’re not ready for the big time and could get up to speed by pursuing training to show. That’s an option, but what appeals to me is an idea of driving the mares as a pair. They’re full sisters and although Rosie’s a little bigger, they look enough-alike to be eye-catching.
Driving a pair of horses invites expenses. It requires outlays for a heavier vehicle and special harnessing. Thinking on, it means a larger trailer for hauling two horses and their vehicle. Maybe the next logical step are shows and lesser expenses–for health certifications, entry, travel, and lodging, and for me appropriate clothing. (Imagine me in a big-brimmed, feathered hat and wearing formal driving dress.)
Those are thought sketches, but what’s clear is that regular driving must continue. It’s fabulous exercise for the horses and they’re in great condition. For me, it has wins in improved knowledge and handling skills. And the best part is that our pathways lead to new friends.
Dear Friends: Finding such pleasure in my retirement years has been a mitzvah. Diana
I’m lucky to have a bit of land and barn, a few equines, and some dogs. (Well, assorted others, too: a cockatoo, canary, pigeon, some goldfish, and a cat.) They create a busy and calming space. But a person needs other people, and I force myself into a more public world by working part-time and following national trends. The larger world introduces a tangle of murders, guns, politics and money. It causes insecurity and doubts for a healthy future, or any future at all.
In today’s NYT, a scientist who specializes in artificial intelligence asserts that it will be possible to build robots programmed to kill independently, and without showing definable origins. Ultimately, these robots could be created cheaply and easily (for example, by using 3-D printers). They could be programmed to kill certain types of persons (children, mothers, fathers, politicians, etc.) randomly, or specifically by adding software with facial recognition.
I’m sorry to have learned that and feel apologetic for speaking about it, for it adds to fears for the future. Because human curiosity and aggression is what it is, someone will start (if not already) tinkering with warlike robots. Goodness gracious!
Many people avoid much of the larger world because it’s too uncomfortable, unbelievable, and interrupts what they might prefer to think about or become involved in. I understand their shutting-out of fears and doubts. Although I’m somehow compelled to absorb much of the outer environment, I also have a method of “shutting out”.
Mine is to to retrieve a sense of balance by diving into my little world. It has horses to clean up after and play with; dogs to clean up after and hike with, and assorted captivating critters that fascinate and entertain to create fun moments. It has trees to limb, rocks to move, fences to build, and paths to design.
I’m certain that most people have some sort of private space where they seek calm and comfort when it’s needed. Otherwise, we’d never be able to absorb all we’re learning that’s both real and possible. We certainly are becoming smarter from the technology and sociology that impacts even the most private among us.
Dear Friends: It’s about accepting and learning to survive in a new world. Diana
I’ve written that a neighbor, Sherry, who lives about a mile away, recently flagged me to a stop as my driving horse and I cruised the neighborhood on an exercise run. Sherry wondered if next Sunday, I might be willing give her mom, Scooter, a former horsewoman, a ride in my driving cart. That day would be Scooter’s 80th birthday. Saying yes was easy, because my driving horse Sunni is kind, dependable, and well-trained. Fast forward to yesterday, Scooter’s birthday, and time for Sherry’s intended surprise for her mom, the planned “horse fix”.
Last Friday, I injected vaccinations into the necks of my equines–a process usually without incident. But Sunni had reacted with a stiff neck–similar to how a human arm may react after an injection. I knew that in a few days Sunni’s neck would be normal, but right now she couldn’t be harnessed and driven. Unfortunately, by Scooter’s birthday Sunni’ wasn’t okay, I didn’t want to disappoint Sherry and also wanted to help her former-horsewoman mom have a “horse-fix”.
The alternative would be to drive Rosie, an well-trained horse but with a strong mind and imagination. Driving Rosie makes me work hard, to keep her from jigging and hopping instead of walking. Keeping her while trotting from stretching her head from side to side and looking around. Keeping her from weaving and not staying near the roadway’s right side. Oh, yes, and those dangerous trash cans, especially the ones overturned that can bite. Would Rosie’s over-alertness frighten Scooter? On the other hand, do I really distrust Rosie? After all, several times weekly, I’m in a cart behind the moving mare. Driving her demands attention, is work, but she’s not done anything to make me fear being on the road with her. So, when Sherry called, Rosie it was.
After I harnessed, hitched, and forced Rosie to walk a bit, we began trotting so she could warm up and loosen joints. Our ride to Sherry’s gave me a chance to be certain nothing in the neighborhood was alarming–no loose kids or dogs, nor overturned trash cans. After reaching Sherry’s and pulling to a halt, Scooter’s adult children helped the birthday girl board and don a protective helmet. Meanwhile, Rosie, although a bit impatient, seemed to enjoy having Sherry at her head, massaging her ears.
We started off at a slow trot, before I realized that Scooter was frightened in the bouncing cart. She said she feared being bounced out, asking if we could walk. I slowed Rosie for whom walking nearly is impossible, she jigs and hops. To my absolute shock, she easily slowed and began walking, pulling the cart steadily without looking around nor worrying about anything in the world, including passing cars. In another quarter mile, on reaching our turnaround point, Rosie turned walking and back toward Sherry’s.
Meanwhile, Scooter and I talked. She’d moved to Bend about 40 years ago, and soon afterwards became a single parent. To support her family, she worked in the mills, and afterwards for years worked as a bartender. She had grown up with a beloved horse and referred to its breed as an “Oregon Broomtail”. She describes the “old Bend”, long a teeny-tiny town–a great perspective to hear from one who’s lived in this place since way before it became popular.
I asked Scooter if she’d be okay now if Rosie goes into a slow trot. She decided, yes, at first gripping the cart, but relaxed as we rocked along behind the horse, toward Sherry’s home and to welcoming cheers from Scooter’s kids. Rosie stood patiently while Scooter dismounted, excited. I looked at my horse and thought, “Bless you, Rosie.” As we headed home, she swung into an easy trot, going without a single distraction.
That afternoon was wonderful. Not only could I offer something special to a “birthday girl” and meet a nice family, but Rosie had seemed different–easy and cooperative. Once home and unharnessed, she cuddled by pushing her head against me for some face-rubbing. Oh, my, is this Rosie?
Well, it’s all about perspective, isn’t it? That evening I stood watching Rosie, and now, from her seemed to flow rainbows instead of lightening rods. Really! Is it a dream or has our relationship evolved?
Dear Friends: Scooter’s birthday turned over that glass, made it half-full. Diana
In my young years as an aspiring artist, I was particularly attracted to a style of drawing–spare and emotional. This style was well-represented by early 20th Century German artists in response to brutal government oppression. One of the most powerful representatives of this art was Kathe Kollwitz. I studied her works with fascination and awe, the artwork of others, too, but Kollwitz remains most-burned in my memory.
Just the other day, a blogger I follow wrote a piece about Eva Frankfurther, a German-born artist who grew up in England. I’d never heard of Frankfurter, but her drawings and lithographs immediately captured my attention. Her art made clear that she understood the terrors of Nazi Germany, and that her expressionism was influenced by the works of Kathe Kollwitz.
Kollwitz’s Woman in Despair
Kollwitz’s Mother and Child
Kollwitz lived in Germany during the terrible years. Her art is a compassionate history of the experience of terror for humans of all ages. Frankfurter’s experience was different. She was removed from Germany as an infant just as the Nazi terrors began, but her mind and imagination were impressed by all happening in the homeland of her people. Her entire emphasis through art is on people, those in the streets of London where she lived and in Italy where she studied. She explained their taunt emotions with spare lines and made amazing art.
Unfortunately, she was one of those super-bright, creative and capable artists unable to tolerate the pressures of genius. In the 1950s, she self-imploded, committed suicide in her mid-twenties, leaving hundreds of unpublished and unsold drawings and lithographs–results of her never-ending preoccupation, studies of people on the streets and at their work.
Her art and persona have captured my thoughts and imagination. I intend to learn more about this talented individual who before now was lost to me.
Dear Readers: You will be invited to learn, along with me. Diana
Yesterday, our farrier was here. He doesn’t work rapidly, is specific, careful, and knows how to correct a horse’s stance and movement. After all, he’s been working on horse hooves for about 30 years, loves his job, and has a thousand or so stories about horses, trainers, other farriers, injuries, accidents, and just plain anything ya might wanna know.
He self-describes as a learned professional, is self-confident and maybe a bit arrogant but it’s okay. I’ve spotted arrogance in people who know too little, and for sure, this fellow isn’t that type. He sees accurately what’s needed, knows what he’s talking about, and delivers what he intends to accomplish.
He’s not from this area, divides his time between Bishop, CA, and Bend where he has close friends. He’s cared for the hooves of hard-working horses, mules, and donkeys, understands the differences among their hoof structures and the stresses of their work. He takes excellent care of my athletic horses, and trims little Pimmy correctly.
Yesterday, he was delighted over Rosie’s hooves. They’ve grown stronger. He noted with what he described as “true awe”, that despite her rather small overall size her hooves are “very large”. I’d never given this a blink, for to my eye her hooves are about right. I noted though when he began working on Sunni (overall more little than Rosie) that her hooves are much smaller. Nonetheless, the end result is that the farrier has protected the feet of both horses. They’re wearing pads (to absorb the impact of traveling on pavement), underscored by heavy metal. It’s burned into my brain that at all costs my pitiful boot-clad toes must be out of the way of any shod hoof!
There’s an interesting note having to do with Sunni’s one hoof that had suffered a severe injury when she was a foal. Although the hoof is strong and doesn’t cause problems, the old injury created a brittle section that periodically pops out and then regrows. Now, it appears that Sunni’s shoes have cushioned and supported the brittle section so that it remains in place. That’s a biggie.
Dear Friends: All us girls are good to go for another six weeks. Diana
This is short and sweet for the farrier is coming soon. I must get out to feed the horses before he arrives. Fortunately, he moved our appointment up an hour, which left me with time to jot a blog.
My horses naturally have very tough hooves and always were barefoot before we started driving. Pulling a vehicle forces hooves into traction against the ground. This wears a bare foot more severely than does carrying a rider.
When I first got horses, it seemed their hooves amounted to little more than sturdy blocks of matter at the ends of legs. Well, I sure learned, for hooves are very complex structures full of nerves and with critical bone mass. Mistreating its hooves will end a horse’s ability to function. A horse that’s barefoot needs regular trimming and balancing of hooves.
When it comes to shoeing, the stakes are more complex. A good farrier shoes to protect the hooves during traction, and to correct the alignment of legs and strengthen gaits. Horses like people are subject to club feet, pigeon-toes, and misalignments, small or large, that impede flexibility and ease of movement.
Neither of my horses trot with adequate width between their rear legs. This reduces function. Our farrier makes corrections by building shoes that force the rear legs to lift off and land more properly. Over time, we hope this shoeing will strengthen unused muscles and improve natural gaits.
Oh dear, as usual I digress, and build a watch instead of telling the time.
Dear Friends: Good morning to you all, and have a great day. Diana
Every day I’m not scheduled to work at my part-time job nor must fulfill obligations that take me from home, I exercise both my driving horses. There’s a three-mile loop in my neighborhood, paved streets with little traffic and few interruptions. My cart covers it twice, once behind each horse.
They’re full sisters, these mares. Sunni is solid as a rock, dependable and easy to drive. The other, Rosie, a capable and beautiful driving horse, worries as we move. Her head turns this way and that to spot whatever might be scary. Like the time we came around a curve, and there edging the street, she saw the beginning of a rock wall! Such surprises freeze her momentarily and my job is to encourage her to keep moving. Her over-alertness might never lessen but she’s responsive to reins and voice. Interestingly, I find that Rosie’s more relaxed when we’re driving on country horse trails. But we must use what’s easily available and that’s neighborhood streets.
So yesterday, Sunni and I are out exercising and approaching a four-way intersection. I slowed her to check for traffic, and somewhere to my right sensed unusual movements. I turned and saw a woman waving, gesturing for us to approach. I pointed Sunni toward her driveway and learned that the woman had a request.
Her mother will turn 80 years old next Sunday and this lady has arranged a birthday party. The mother loves horses, used to be very active with them but no longer rides. The question was if I’d accept money to give her mother a carriage ride. Of course, and for free. We’ll happily go there and give the mom a ride. We’ll keep to paved streets so the ride won’t be bumpy and rock-steady Sunni will pull.
It’s always a delight, relearning how easily our pets help us to make friends. Having dogs has introduced me to other dog lovers, particularly when we share a breed-type or particular training interest. My experience with horses proves them to be almost instant friend magnets. Like the lady who flagged us down hoping to give her mom a special surprise, and I understand.
Dear Friends: Horses are experiences and relationships–loved forever. Diana
The annual horse show held in Bend at the J-Bar-J Ranch draws hundreds of competitive jumping horses and riders of all ages. This show occurs in my neighborhood and I enjoy trekking there for the final big competition where winners earn very lucrative prizes. This show draws from the northwest, and beyond, the best horses and talented riders.
After spending most of my time around my two mares–Morgans in the size-range of large-ponies–those jumping horses astound me. They’re mostly Warmbloods, or what’s known as middle-weight horses, and to my eyes seem nearly tall as trees. More specifically, Warmblood jumping horses average 16-17 hands tall, or huge compared to mine in the 14-hands range.
For all their size, speed, and ability to clear huge jumps, the Warmbloods also are flexible. They’re capable of turning rapidly and efficiently, and adjusting to the technicalities necessary for approaching and clearing jumps. In action they’re exciting to watch, and now, as they circle galloping past and in front of me, fun to photograph.
Much as I love the big horses, it’s as much fun to see the smaller, normal-size ones that young people ride competitively. Some adorable riders, around five-six years old and dressed in formal riding clothes, appear very self-confident while listening to last-minute inputs from coaches or parents.
The horse show lasts a couple of weeks. The neighborhood adjusts to the noises and traffic, and about when everybody gets used to the event, it’s over. Within a single day, all the horses, trailers, RVs, and competitors are gone. And in another few days, hundreds of temporary stalls become dismantled and hauled off. Soon, there remains an empty field waiting for next July and another arrival of temporary stalls.
Dear Friends: All animals in full-action are beautiful and awesome. Diana
Diana's Morning Blog 