An Old Farm Side

That I stumbled upon while reading emails from my late best friend...been missing her something awful lately even though it has been three years now. This column ran in 2011. We still have little Jack and he is still full of beans...

Jack and Tyler

Horses are surely not the focus at Northview. However it seems as if there have always been a couple stabled in the reinvented garage that serves as their barn. Some of them were ridden daily, adventuring around the land, chasing cows down from the field, exploring trails and woodlands, doing half passes at the trot and changing leads every stride like dancers.

Others were driven to cart and wagon. One harness pony often took me jogging with the dog of the day running alongside for miles and miles. I can’t tell you how much fun that was, with butterflies dancing and dandelions dazzling yellow all around, as we whirled down the farm roads. Selling that pony was a mistake. He ended up in a wonderful home, but he was quite a guy.

In recent years the horse du jour has been an almost-small-enough-to-be-a-mini dark bay pony named Jack. Jack was purchased as a pasture ornament and has served admirably in that capacity. He is handsome just standing still, with his hugely fluffy black mane puffing up between his little pricked ears and his sweeping tail behind him.

However, it is when he is in motion that his real decorative abilities come to the fore. Although not many hands high, he has a trot like a war horse in a medieval movie. He flings his feathered fetlocks out before him and then races to catch up. With tossing head and snapping black eyes, nostrils flared and snorting, he makes quite a picture when Becky takes him out for a jaunt in hand.

I am right fond of Jack and talk to him whenever I pass the stable. He always sticks his head out his stall door and nickers nicely back too.

He recently lost his best friend. It was a lesson for me in animal understanding that, although I have learned it a time or two before, always strikes me anew.

A couple of years ago Liz was given an older horse. He was a fine, tall fellow, kind of a pinky-gold and white paint named Tyler. She kept him at a boarding stable for a while, then in a pasture up near her home, then eventually brought him here to stay. He and Jack buddied up as horses usually do.

For some reason he never liked me. It is my habit, when the horses call to me, to toss them each a flake of hay or a handful of green grass, or a piece of apple from the tree positioned so handily right next to the door. Jack would always greet me like a long lost friend, chuckling and chortling deep in his throat. Ponies like to eat and he is surely all pony.

Ty would stand with his head over his door, but never took food from my hand, spooked if I tossed it in the stall with him, and snapped at me if I got too close.

 He loved Liz though.

Sadly, not too many months after he arrived he began to display odd symptoms. First he was lame in one foot, then another. Next he seemed to suffer from the cold more than is normal so she was forced to buy him a blanket. (The other day I took that blanket off the clothes line to fold it up and put it away and didn’t know how. Of all the horses that have shared my life since I bought Magnum when he was 2 and I was 21, none has ever needed a blanket.)

Then tall Ty, who turned out to be much older than he was originally represented to be, somewhere close to thirty, began to lose weight. Liz tried everything. Had his teeth checked several times. Horses’ teeth emerge slowly as they age and are worn down and sometimes get sharp edges from wear. When this happens chewing can become painful (you know how it feels to bite your cheek). Sometimes acute weight loss follows until the teeth are “floated” or filed so there are no edges to pinch and pain.

Tyler’s teeth were always fine.

She tried soft tender hay. Old horse grain with special ingredients. Green grass and lots of it. He would pick up and start to look better, filling everyone with hopeful optimism, then slide back into the slow decline.

Finally a few weeks ago one of our veterinarians came to the conclusion that he had cancer and just wasn’t going to get better. She told Liz, “You’ll know when it’s time.” Then she worked up a regimen of palliative care to keep him comfortable as long as possible.

The day came though. The old boy was miserable enough to not even want Liz to handle him.

She made the dreaded call, set up a time and on the morning of the day, took him out to his yard to graze one last time. It was sad. Even a few weeks ago, when she loosed him up there, he would trot that big boy trot of his back and forth up the fence, just floating along like a race horse and yelling for his pal, Jack.

This time he simply stood in one spot nibbling desultorily at the frozen grass.

Jack did plenty of hollering though. He has a piercing little whinny and he called and called. He couldn’t see Tyler and he didn’t like it one bit.

After a while our kind and compassionate veterinarian, who seemed to feel as bad as Liz did about the whole affair, did what was necessary. 

Jack yelled some more.

Right up until the second that his dear friend passed on. And then he stopped. He couldn’t see or hear, but somehow he just knew.

Every time a horse has ended its days here, the other ones always knew.

 Every single time.

It has always amazed and humbled me.

Every time.

Now Jack only whinnies when he sees me or Becky and is hoping for some spoiling. 

We make sure that he gets it.

The Look of Eagles

I've been following, albeit reluctantly, stories of the protests against horse racing in Saratoga. Activists want the sport banned because they consider it cruel. Horses have died at the track, perhaps more than usual this year, and they are simply horrified. I get that.

Of course it is sad when a horse dies. If you think you as a spectator are troubled, imagine how the horse's connections feel. They care for these animals day and night, often giving better care than the most cosseted of house pets would expect.

And as one commenter on a local news story pointed out, when human athletes die in competition, no one suggests banning football or baseball. However, horses are animals and so must be elevated to a higher plane. They must hate to be made to run so fast all the time, right?

They couldn't possibly actually like racing as much as any youngster likes T-ball, could they?

Nah, of course not. Why would an animal born to run want to? Horses, even horses without an iota of Thoroughbred blood, don't race each other in their pastures do they? And sometimes get hurt?

Not possible. Except that it is. Horses run by nature. Horses race by nature. They like it or they wouldn't do it. You can't really make them, as was demonstrated by some Amish fellows trying to get a drafter out of the road up west of here. It didn't want to get out of the road and so it didn't. It just stood there blocking two lanes of traffic until it got good and ready to move. It was way too much bigger than the human pests trying to influence it for them to make it do anything.

I will leave you with this little tale of my days walking hots at that selfsame race course.

I worked one summer, much to my infinite delight, for Henry Clark's stable at Saratoga (check him out, he's in the hall of fame).

One day late in the season the stable claimed an older chestnut gelding. I really liked him, even though he was so tall I could barely reach his head. Many of the horses in the yard were "hot", so high strung, full of giddy-up go, that it was hard for a neophyte such as myself to keep them politely walking in a circle when they needed to cool out or stretch their legs a bit.

This guy, however, was as gentle as a kitten. Truly kind. With his head about a half a mile above mine he always walked quietly beside me, whenever he was in my charge. 

Normally most of the horse walking takes place early in the morning. On a normal day, unless one of the horses that I walked was racing, I went home by noon.

However, one afternoon someone was racing...can't remember who...but I think it was Sweet Sop, another gentle chestnut, a little filly that I simply loved, so I stayed to work while actual racing was going on.

For some reason I was tasked with walking the old fellow, while we waited for the other horse to get back from the track.

The call to the post sounded as we paced around the walking ring. 

I still get chills when I remember how he raised his magnificent head upon hearing it, pricked his long red ears, and, with flaring nostrils, bugled his own call to the contest. He was utterly alight with eagerness.

As much of an old veteran as he was, as far as he was concerned that bugle rang for him.

That was over thirty years ago,  yet I will never forget that moment.

The look of eagles. 

Don't tell me that horses don't love racing and live to race. I've been there and seen that. If you want to be cruel, take that away from them, and break their generous hearts.

Gambit

Please join us in welcoming THS Timeless Nights In Satin (AKA Gambit) to NY. He came all the way from Ohio over the past couple of days. Peggy thinks Uncle Alan is the greatest and thanks him for making this possible.

I would also thank you all for good thoughts that he settle in all right and thrive here.

Thanks!

Horses

Magnum, later in his life. I got him when I was 21

When I think about horses, Magnum, who was with me from the time he was two until he died at 31, comes to mind... I rode both his sire and dam before him, as they belonged to good friends. Back in those days I would do about anything for an hour on horseback.

He was a 14-2 hand Morgan-type black gelding that did pretty much whatever I wanted him to. ...reluctantly, stubbornly, but with a certain style when he finally got around to it. 

He would trail ride anywhere...just ask Joe...do flying changes and had a handsome extended trot. He didn't fear much....he might pretend to be afraid, but he really wasn't....just looking for an excuse. I once got lost and had to take him between a building and a running, loaded, crushed stone conveyor, close enough together that his ribs almost touched both sides. He never flinched, just hung his head over my shoulder and soldiered on.  I discovered the other day that a certain son of mine even shot off him...apparently fairly often. The things your kids don't tell you until later....

You only ever have one first horse, and you never forget them.

Richard, training the girls

And then there was Deranged Richard, a nifty little chestnut driving pony, that well and truly lived up to his name. He was responsible for my first blue ribbon and many embarrassing times. He was given to me because you could only get one good class out of him a year, before he remembered that if he went over to the out gate and stood there and refused to move, he was pretty much done for the day. Rude little runt.

He taught me a lot. Also taught the kids that you really should jump off before the pony runs through the barbed wire fence. And to duck when approaching low-hanging branches.

 He lived to be 32 or 33 and is buried here on the farm, as is Magnum. They had a love/hate relationship that was pretty funny. If together, they would turn rumps and squeal, but they hated to be apart and carried on like fools. They died within a couple weeks of each other....When Richard went, Magnum just gave up and quit. That was a pretty crappy year.

And then there was Major Moves, a bigger, bay, driving pony, who did good things for me and better things for the people who bought him from me. I will never forget driving him as a young horse, over all the fields and farm roads, butterflies dancing all around us, flowers brushing the sides of the cart, and my brother's dog running alongside. Fun times, fulfilling a dream of what driving could be.

They were the good ones. 

However, I was talking with a horse friend and realized that between, around, and among those three equine cornerstones, I've owned a larger number of horses than I ever thought about.

And a lot of them, for some reason, were Appaloosas, a breed of which I am not fond. To put it mildly. Runaways, rearing fools, barn sour, buddy sour, I managed to buy them all, some with lotsa spots, some not so many, some with none..but all nuts in one way or another.

Sunny

So far in thinking back, I am up to 11 horses or ponies of my own, plus the boss had a pair of Belgians and the kids have always had, and still have horses. If you count Ralph's Belgians and the kids' horses, it adds up to 18. Or so.

One of these only belonged to me for a couple of weeks and I can't remember his name. He was an utter jerk of a Standardbred that tried to stomp me shortly after I bought him...so we parted ways quite quickly.

Diamond

Right now there are three on the place, Diamond, Sunny and Jack....but back in the day I had them five at a time, and didn't like cows. Who knew that one day I would be as cow crazy as an old fart as I was horse crazy as a kid?

Jack

Serendipity and a Great Showman

Liz 'n' Jade's horse, Sunny, who now lives here

We used to hit every fair we could drive to between milkings. When Liz was a baby we happened to be at the Morris Fair when legendary horseman, Dick Sparrow, stopped and put on an amazing show with an 8-horse hitch of Belgians.

It was a day to remember. From flying at a fast gallop, up and down the narrow race track, to docking the wagon, he did everything you could imagine doing with a pair and then some, only he had eight. Too bad Liz is too little to remember and digital photography wasn't available, so we have no pictures. Here is a video though.

In a One Horse Open Sleigh

I had always planned to clean up this cute little cutter and put it in the parlor in front of the windows. However, we could never get the second big door open and it languished up in the building.

It doesn't look like I am ever going to get around to that job, so the boss took it over to the auction to sell this Saturday. If you are interested, get there early....

It belonged to his dad...he is said to have bought it for ten dollars from some people he did grounds keeping for.

We kept the bells, and if I can get somebody to ring them while I take video, you will soon get to hear them. They are the mellowest, most sweet-sounding sleigh bells I have ever heard. I have them in the kitchen right now and I jingle them several times a day just for the sheer enjoyment of it. 

I can just see it spanking down a snowy road with a little bay horse in front....and those bells making merry for all who could hear as it passed by.

Pony on the Lam

NOT taken yesterday, lol

Knees flung high and ears pinned back she bolts, freedom in her cross hairs.

Swings by mistake into the heifer yard and stands there, head high and back, snorting down her long, black and white nose.

At the fence that sprang up all around, mane snarled around her ears, forelock blowing in the sharp east wind.

Woof.....woof...snort, snort, whistle, pause to grab a hank of grass, eyes rolling at the prison guards as they approach, treats in nervous fists, halters hanging on arms like spaghetti. 

Throws back her head, to pivot, whirl, and race again, divots of dirt and grass springing from her flying feet.

Halts against the fence again, a wild stallion silhouetted on a mountain ridge, except she's just a little mare, caught by accident against a cattle panel fence.

And none the less adamant because of that.

"No, I will not go back.

No barns for me!

I'm free, I'm free, I'm free.

Don't touch me! Can't you see that I am a mustang now, all wild and woolly, I'm free, I'm free.

Oh, well, if you must insist, gimme another treat and I'll let you buckle on my halter....


But, dang, that was fun. Let's do it again sometime." 

*****Um, no, let's not.....

Pretty Horses

Ralph's son and daughter-in-law and their delightful daughter (Grandbaby fix...we saw both grandbabies the same day!!!) took us to visit a local horse farm on Saturday. There were lovely foals and handsome mares everywhere we looked.

The owner was gracious enough to let me use these photographs from our day of visiting the thoroughbred farm, where the 2003 Derby and Preakness winner, Funnycide, was born.

It was great fun to try to capture good shots of the antics of the babies....of course I missed more than I managed, but you can see how entertaining they are.....Thanks guys.

One of the stallions

Should Horses Work?

NY is on fire with controversy over whether it is cruel to ask horses to pull carriages or not. Most of you know better, but there are a lot of people down in the city, who are not even smart enough to wear boots when it snows. They don't know as much as they think they do about animals either.

There have been a number of well-written articles on the topic, from people who DO know about horses, from all walks of life, from actors to actual horsemen and women. 

Horses don't mind work. Many of them love it. When I worked at the flat track my boss claimed an old chestnut gelding. You should have seen him when he heard the call to the post. Even way back in the stable where I was walking him, his ears pricked up, his eyes lit, and he danced a little in place. He knew it wasn't his call, but he wanted it to be.

Dogs don't mind work. Try standing between a border collie and some sheep...... 

Most people don't mind work either if they choose the right job. Just look at all the crazy dairy farmers running around in the snow.

I thought I would share a little story from way back when as an example of the horsey aspect of this. 

For the first couple decades of my life, I wanted a horse so bad I could taste it. I shoveled manure for rides, worked at the harness track for free just to be around horses, and spent my last dime on riding lessons many, many times. Finally I bought Magnum as a two-year-old from our blacksmith and his wife, very good friends, who owned both his sire and dam.

He and I sort of grew up together. Neither of us knew a lot....but we muddled along, and had a crazy lot of fun. And yes, he was having fun too. I always galloped him to the top of the hill on Grey Road before they paved it. When we got to the bottom, he just started hopping up in down in place and setting back on his haunches, want to go-go-go... And go-go-go we did until he stopped at the top of his own accord. 

He was always kinda lazy in general though, which suited me fine, because I was always kinda chicken. Thus I tended to have a little stick in my back pocket...didn't need to use it, but he did need to know it was there....and sometimes I had to walk him down to catch him if he thought I had been overdoing it and wanted a vacay.

However, when I bought another horse and decided to ride her instead of riding him, he threw a hissy fit. 

Every time I took her out. Stomping and banging and thumping in his stall. Then when I next took him out letting me know in no uncertain terms that he might not want me to make him work too hard, but it darned well better be him I was working. Once he even dumped me right over his head. He'd been pouting ever since I got on him after riding the filly. When I asked him to stop, he stopped all right, all four feet, dead in his track and I went flying. After that, having gotten his own back, he behaved perfectly.

It's pretty funny in retrospect, although I wasn't thrilled at the time. Horses came and went over the years but he was with me from two to thirty-two. We got along pretty darned well, and I repeat, riding was fun for me, and it was fun for him too. And work is not cruel to those horses in the city. If they didn't like it you couldn't make them do it, any more than you can make a kid stay on the farm if they don't want to.

Research

Here are some horses that actually often live the way the carriage horses supposedly do

Working on a column about the NYC carriage horses.

Amish horses

Here are some stories I am reading:

What does cruelty really mean

Report from NYC Carriage Horses

Trainer Talk

I'll bet these guys wouldn't mind a heated stable, vacation time, and a vet on call 24-7

True Story

I was feelin' kinda low down when an old friend called my name
I hadn't really ever thought I'd hear that voice again
Well the miles went rolling backwards and the years faded away
And we were right back out there
On the black and the spotted bay.

We rode down lonely mountain roads and swam those cold blue lakes
And talked of almost anything, when we had what it takes.

Well, he'd been feeling lonesome too
Remembering old ways.
So we spent an hour just laughing 
Over our long bygone days.

When I rode on my black horse and he rode that bay paint
And watched the world between their ears, though neither was a saint

Well the paint was my black's daddy
They stayed friends all their days
I wonder what they talked about when we rode those long gone ways.

I recall that old red stallion that jumped the fence and came
Like a fire breathing dragon, or a runaway freight train

He fell in love with my black horse
But his heartbreak was in vain
Cause Magnum was a gelding
Though he had a pretty mane.

We crossed wild mountain meadows and plowed through swamps and streams
Sometimes those old trail rides were more nightmares than dreams.

These days I milk a bunch of cows 
He drives a yellow bus
No time for get togethers 
For either one of us.

But we rode down lonesome mountain roads and swam those cold blue lakes
And talked of almost anything, when we had what it takes
Counted miles in spring wildflowers
And danced through blue-eyed grass
And never thought our horseback years  were ever gonna pass.

Those horses are both gone now, the black and that bay paint
But they'll never be forgotten
We will always know their names

The Old Shuffle Step

After chores last night I helped Liz for a few minutes. She was trying to get her pony going on the longe line, and she had never started one before. I have started several, so I was trying to direct her.

You know when you get to that spot where you cannot tell, but you can show? Got there quickly. This pony has obviously had some handling, and I think that at some time someone tried to start her longing and messed her up. She knows every trick in the book.

With Jack, our other pony, purchased as green as a new-shined emerald, I showed him once or twice what was wanted and he did it. Never bothered to polish him up, but when you shake out the line he gets out to the end and gets going.

Diamond stands in the center and pivots so it is really hard to get behind her and make her move. Essentially she is longing you.

However, after some running around and cajoling  I did get her to where she would circle, a little shorter than I might have liked, once or twice, before she started the pivoting business again.

She is a very sweet and likable pony and I think if Liz is patient she will pick it right up. She was trained really oddly when she got her. She is perhaps the gentlest young horse I have ever seen, but she had no idea about picking up her back feet. I wonder how they trimmed her. She is fine now...

Somebody has certainly taught her something at some point in her life though. At one part of the frustrating little lesson, Liz happened to shake the longe whip near her heels. She immediately shuffled her front feet forward and her back feet back, tucked her head and parked out in a perfect pose. Wish I had had the camera with me.

It was obviously no accident, and she looked like a little Breyer Saddlebred. If she can just find the cue to get her to do that in the show ring, a lot of her work is already done.

The coolest part for me though, the very neatest thing in several weeks of tumultuous upheaval, was that I participated. My horses are all long gone, died of old age related stuff years ago. I am gimpy and halt and not terribly confident any more, so I don't do stuff like longe green fillies. I don't even try.

But I could just SEE what was needed. I HAD to step in there. And I didn't fall over my  feet. She didn't drag the line out of my hands. I did get her out on the circle. She didn't like it much but she longed...at least for a minute.

 It was so darned cool I can't begin to tell you. Surprised I didn't dream horse longing dreams last night

Is Your Mama a LLama

Diamond got a new fly net from Uncle Alan. I think it makes her look like a llama.

Hmmmm

Liz and Becky with Richard in his later days. 

Although he was sweet to them,

 there was still a fire in that little furnace.

To say that the weather is disconcerting is an understatement. Years ago when I was showing my late pony, Deranged Richard, we had a fall like this....and I use the term advisedly...it may be August but the feeling of summer's end is strong. Nights are chilly and mornings pearly with cotton ball fog.

Richard was a hot little Shetland that a friend bought from the kill pen at an auction as a five-year old stallion that had never even looked through a halter. This friend is an incredibly talented horseman. He quickly broke Richard to drive and showed him extensively in the area, pointing him to year-end champion driving pony soon after.

That little chestnut was a pistol! He was tough as a walnut, strong as a bull,and pretty as a speckled pup. He had a gorgeous trot that just wouldn't quit. My friend gave him to me after a couple of years of campaigning and the little bugger taught me a whole lot about horsemanship that I had been missing out on with gentle old Magnum, my original horse. At first he had me buffaloed more often than not. After a while I learned how to handle him.

And after a bit I started trying to show him myself. One fall when I had him at the show, Fonda Fair week, we got a hard frost, after several chilly weeks like this.I can remember practically freezing and trying to keep him warm enough so his coat would lie flat and shine. He turned into a regular wooly bear in the fall and you could hardly tell there was a handsome pony under there.

Anyhow, actually this early cold weather isn't at all unprecedented as the first or second week of September used to be the first frost date most years when I was a kid. Even when the kids were big enough to show cows at Altamont, there were years when that mid-summer fair was a frigid affair and washing cows became problematic.

I am hoping that at least frost holds off for another month or two to save the corn and sorghum and other tender crops. The year so far has been bad enough, although crops here are much better than in the west.

Looking for Lawn Mowers

Liz's fiance likes lawn mowers (and he sure can mow lawns well, as the hay field turned golf course outside my window will attest) so she was perusing Craig's List looking for cool ones one day last week.


They had been thinking of getting a pony recently. Their jobs and finances make big horses problematic, but ponies are cheap and easy and can be a heck of a lot of fun.

However, I am not quite sure how she landed on a pony while seeking little tractors, but she said, "Look at this one, mom, isn't she a cutie?"

And she was, a sweet little pinto, with a pretty head and a kind eye. They went down Saturday to take a look and hauled along a trailer just in case. It was a saga of flat tires, nice guys at Sears who bumped them up in line since they had the baby on the trailer and all, but by almost dark that evening the little lady was stepping carefully down the ramp, checking out her first sight of cows, then launching into lawn lunching like she owned the place.

Only Liz would go looking for a lawn mower and end up with a pony. 

Welcome to Northview, Diamond, AKA McCall's KL Crimson.


Here is her mama


Big brother


Her home farm


Dad

Sorry that these pics are not the greatest, but it was nearly dark when she arrived.

Somebody New at Northview

Lots more later when I have time to edit photos.

Working Hands

Our farrier, a lifelong friend and all around nice guy was here to trim Jack yesterday.

Wild

The weather that is. One minute it's pouring rain, the wind howling like a whole tribe of banshees, and the heifers are running for the stable. Next minute the sun is blazing down, it's as warm as April and all the fields are draped with dazzling, dangling, dripping water crystals like a million, billion shining gems. 


The heifers come back out to bask against the side of the barn, soaking up rays like girls on the beach. You can almost see them reaching for their Oakleys and slathering on the sun screen.


I have been spending my time today (when not doing bookkeeping and chores and writing this week's Farm Side) checking on the pony, Jack. Becky thought he was a tiny bit off this morning and she asked me to keep a watch on him.


I could see what she meant...he sort of had a contemplative look and was flicking his ears back and forth for no apparent reason. I got an inkling that maybe he isn't drinking like he should so I took him up a handful of delicious kosher salt from the kitchen.


He sure liked it, and scoured up every crumb. 


He is such a cool little guy. I really liked having an excuse to fool with him. This afternoon he seems fine...if anything ailed him, whatever it was (or wasn't) it seems to have passed.


***PS the boss says that he saw two rainbows between the storms.