I spent my morning grooming horses and mucking out stalls. It's something I've dreamed of being able to do for years now.
When I was born, my folks lived in a rural town close to the Poconos. I think it may have actually been in the Poconos somewhere. They had some chickens, a pig or two, and two horses. My mom had your typical seventies mullet haircut and wore a good bit of calico. My dad had lambchop sideburns and learned how to dress roadkill. In the first house they rented there, they woke up and banged on the heaters for two reasons..... to get the heat going and to scare the mice out of the cupboards on the other side of the wall.
They lived there until I was almost three and from there we moved onto that small one way street I've recently mentioned in another post.
I guess I used to ride with my mom in the saddle and I think something happened at that young age that has forever endeared horses to my heart. After petting a horse, I refuse to wash my hands so that I can occasionally lift them to my nose and just inhale. Mmmmmm. It makes me high.
Ella and I decided a year ago that by the year 2008 we would own our own horse. We have the barn, the pasture, the routine of chores already in motion.... we'd just need to make a stall and proper flooring for the horse (and feel confident that we could afford the expense). Since we made that decision, I've been doing a good bit of book learning but one can only learn so much about husbandry by looking at books.
Two weeks ago, I had my first shift at a huge horse barn in the next town over. The woman who owns the farm is the mother of a doula client I've recently taken on. She has 27 horses ~ Morgans, Norweigan Fjords, French ponies, Percherons. Oh, and an indoor riding ring where she gives lessons and does therapeutic work with her horses. It's pretty high end.
Having had zero experience handling horses, I was sure I'd be banished to the pony barn until the owner felt I could handle a larger horse but, somehow, I ended up with the Morgans and Percherons and, in the course of one day, I feel like I learned a lifetime of experience. But still, there's so much more to understand.
Today, my second day, I was able to groom the Percherons. Percherons are similar to Clydesdales but a deep black color. She has Tiffy and Jake and they live together in a seperate barn, just the two of them. Years ago, for whatever reason, the owner was considering selling Tiffy. But one night, after they were put into their pens (with a little opening between them so they could visit), Jake got really sick with some kind of stomach ailment. He was on his side, lying in his own pee and really uncomfortable. Tiffy, somehow, opened her gate with her teeth and then opened the gate to their pen and walked up the hill 150 yards or so to the owners front yard and waited there until she woke up. She led the owner down to Jake's pen and it was all fine from there. Jake got the help he needed and Tiffy was secured her place by her mate for a lifetime. It was a like a story out of Black Beauty.
Going into the pen to groom a horse, I take three things in a bucket. A thick wired brush for brushing their manes and tails, a lighter brush for their coats and a strange little gadget for cleaning out their hooves. On one end of the gadget is a little wire brush and the other end is a metal hook to dig into the nooks and crannies to get out the funk and random pebbles.
So far, the one thing that strikes me the most about being with these creatures, the thing that leaves me just spellbound with a feeling of grace and honour, is cleaning their feet. Leaning over beside a horse (especially a horse whose back is a foot higher than the top of my head), tapping gently behind his knee joint and having him lift his foot gently into my hand. There is such trust to that. Such a relationship. It makes me think of thousands of years ago, in the fertile crescent, when the most hospitable thing you could do for a guest is sit them down and soak and wash their weary, worn traveled feet. Every time I have a hoof in my hand I feel like I'm entrusted with sooo much. And I am.
When I first spoke with owner on the phone about coming to work for her every other Sunday, and that I didn't have any experience, she kind of laughed and made a comment about how this would help me figure out whether or not I really wanted to do this. Whether or not I'd really want a horse for my own self. I'm sitting here now, after my second day working with them, my shoulders and back tired, totally satisfied and I'm realizing that "whether or not I'd want a horse for my own self" was never the question. Never never.
When I was born, my folks lived in a rural town close to the Poconos. I think it may have actually been in the Poconos somewhere. They had some chickens, a pig or two, and two horses. My mom had your typical seventies mullet haircut and wore a good bit of calico. My dad had lambchop sideburns and learned how to dress roadkill. In the first house they rented there, they woke up and banged on the heaters for two reasons..... to get the heat going and to scare the mice out of the cupboards on the other side of the wall.
They lived there until I was almost three and from there we moved onto that small one way street I've recently mentioned in another post.
I guess I used to ride with my mom in the saddle and I think something happened at that young age that has forever endeared horses to my heart. After petting a horse, I refuse to wash my hands so that I can occasionally lift them to my nose and just inhale. Mmmmmm. It makes me high.
Ella and I decided a year ago that by the year 2008 we would own our own horse. We have the barn, the pasture, the routine of chores already in motion.... we'd just need to make a stall and proper flooring for the horse (and feel confident that we could afford the expense). Since we made that decision, I've been doing a good bit of book learning but one can only learn so much about husbandry by looking at books.
Two weeks ago, I had my first shift at a huge horse barn in the next town over. The woman who owns the farm is the mother of a doula client I've recently taken on. She has 27 horses ~ Morgans, Norweigan Fjords, French ponies, Percherons. Oh, and an indoor riding ring where she gives lessons and does therapeutic work with her horses. It's pretty high end.
Having had zero experience handling horses, I was sure I'd be banished to the pony barn until the owner felt I could handle a larger horse but, somehow, I ended up with the Morgans and Percherons and, in the course of one day, I feel like I learned a lifetime of experience. But still, there's so much more to understand.
Today, my second day, I was able to groom the Percherons. Percherons are similar to Clydesdales but a deep black color. She has Tiffy and Jake and they live together in a seperate barn, just the two of them. Years ago, for whatever reason, the owner was considering selling Tiffy. But one night, after they were put into their pens (with a little opening between them so they could visit), Jake got really sick with some kind of stomach ailment. He was on his side, lying in his own pee and really uncomfortable. Tiffy, somehow, opened her gate with her teeth and then opened the gate to their pen and walked up the hill 150 yards or so to the owners front yard and waited there until she woke up. She led the owner down to Jake's pen and it was all fine from there. Jake got the help he needed and Tiffy was secured her place by her mate for a lifetime. It was a like a story out of Black Beauty.
Going into the pen to groom a horse, I take three things in a bucket. A thick wired brush for brushing their manes and tails, a lighter brush for their coats and a strange little gadget for cleaning out their hooves. On one end of the gadget is a little wire brush and the other end is a metal hook to dig into the nooks and crannies to get out the funk and random pebbles.
So far, the one thing that strikes me the most about being with these creatures, the thing that leaves me just spellbound with a feeling of grace and honour, is cleaning their feet. Leaning over beside a horse (especially a horse whose back is a foot higher than the top of my head), tapping gently behind his knee joint and having him lift his foot gently into my hand. There is such trust to that. Such a relationship. It makes me think of thousands of years ago, in the fertile crescent, when the most hospitable thing you could do for a guest is sit them down and soak and wash their weary, worn traveled feet. Every time I have a hoof in my hand I feel like I'm entrusted with sooo much. And I am.
When I first spoke with owner on the phone about coming to work for her every other Sunday, and that I didn't have any experience, she kind of laughed and made a comment about how this would help me figure out whether or not I really wanted to do this. Whether or not I'd really want a horse for my own self. I'm sitting here now, after my second day working with them, my shoulders and back tired, totally satisfied and I'm realizing that "whether or not I'd want a horse for my own self" was never the question. Never never.
3 comments:
i discovered that it's just my computer. the nice, new computers at the coffee shop give me no trouble signing in. oh well.
i can't believe you still have sign in probs. maybe change your password/email sign in?
this is a beautiful beautiful post crow. for as much as i wouldnt want to do the things you do, you have a way of romanticising them in an honest way if that makes sense. the grit seems pleasant. the pain, all of it. its fascinating to me.
Horses aren't my thing but I admire your determination and willingness to do the hard apprenticeship. That is a great story too about your rural childhood. It's the real-life sharing that makes these blogs so great. Keep it up.
Post a Comment