Ch-Ch-Changes

Fall set in quickly this year, though it came out of a long and lovely Indian summer that almost convinced me there would never be rain or temperatures in single digits. Each and every late August over the past I don't-know-how-many years has prompted me to take stock and make plans. Part of this is probably a hangover from school days (change comes after Labour Day, even still) and part of it is attached to that less tangible nostalgia that perfumes the air the first day I realize I need a sweater - at least in the morning and late in the day- when it becomes a physical reality that it's time to accept change, like it or not.

I'm slightly fascinated by those who welcome and embrace change. I don't do these things easily and I'm amazed that anyone else can just roll with things gracefully, let alone jump up and shout "bring it on!". The odd thing is that whether you resist or embrace it, change is going to happen. Supposedly, it's the one thing that's constant - which makes no sense, like most things that are deeply true.

By now I bet most of you had given up on me. Some of you probably imagined I got hold of myself, grew up and got out of this silly horse business before I got hurt. Others might have figured I got a horse and just cantered off into the sunset happy as a clam. Nope and nope.

What I had been so busy doing up to now was plotting my exit strategy, executing it and choking on the settling dust. I don't do change easily, but I get what needs to be done done.

Your Identification Please

Aside from the fact that I just happened to mostly ride Thoroughbreds as a younger person, there's a deeper current in my attraction to these magnificent animals. Something in them resonates within me, perhaps more so even than with other types of horses. This does not detract from my relationships with any of the other breeds - I take each individual as I find them, and horses are definitely individuals, perhaps the most authentic ones one could ever hope to meet.

No, it's something in the eyes. When I look into the eyes of a Thoroughbred a little voice inside me says 'I know you'. I'm not sure who's voice this is, but it isn't mine. Or at least it's not the one that I'm used to hearing.

My favourite song of the past few months is "Run,Run,Run" by Joel Plaskett. I take the liberty of reprinting some lyrics here...

Run,run,run, you must
'Cause if you walk, you rust
You get crushed from a diamond into dirt road dust.

I've had a lot of time in the car to wear a groove in this track and ponder its meaning in my life, in the car, going to try to serve the horses and save my soul.It might even be as dramatic as it sounds, were it not for the fact that I'm a practical philosopher not a wild mystic. It's hard to be either wild nor mystic in an old Honda Civic, stuck in horrendous traffic.

We run, it's what we do. Women especially. I'm from the 'Free to be You and Me' generation, one of the first crops of little people fertilized by the Womens Liberation movement. While I don't think my Mom considered herself a Feminist (any more than she did a Christian), I do know that she was the product of a traditional relationship that was happy and successful based on its high degree of mutual respect and a willingness of the two partners to share the labour however that presented itself. That might have been nontraditional now that I think about it.

By the time I was in grade school it was obvious that women could do just about anything they wanted. Not only could, but should. Oh, but balance this with your womanly duties, dear. And we still have womanly duties. First of these being to do whatever you are doing well. Or maybe that's just me...

Anyway, I'm in the world of business for a good portion of my day. I'm also in a man's world to a very large extent. Every Thursday morning at 6am I walk into the Mens Locker Room, though I am supposed to be there. From the talk around me to the pressure of getting my job done (it's not a store, it's an auction and therefore a competition), there's not much relief. On Thursdays especially, I run.

So, I do my job. I even love my job in some ways. It's downright sporty a lot of the time and I do try to play to the top of my game as often as possible- in everything I do, which I am pretty sure is as much me as anything societal.

Off Track

When a horse comes off the track they generally need a come-down period. Not only from their amplified life but from all the little luxuries afforded them in return for their daily grind. It's not an exaggeration to state that racehorses usually live like the pro athletes they are, nor is it a stretch to say that they work incredibly hard to earn their comforts.

These horses have foot-deep shavings in their stalls, endlessly stuffed hay nets, gourmet food (with all the finest supplements), on demand vet attention and a groom to rub them and fuss over them and make sure they are as finely tuned as possible. Indiscretions in manners, social protocols and the like are often overlooked in these animals- as long as they run well they live like the elite they are (or are trying to be). This is much the same as it would be in human athletes really. Think of Iverson in the NBA or the utterly repugnant Michael Vick, who still has a career despite his involvement in criminal activity that could hardly be passed off as an indiscretion. Bad manners are often overlooked in good athletes.

What a strange thing it must be for those high toned runners to come back to a place where "normal horses" dwell. It must seem, at least to some, like a bit of a letdown. Bedding is adequate and clean, but hardly plush. Food is nutritionally correct and appropriate to the level of activity for each horse, but I'm sure the rations seem incredibly skimpy comparatively. Gone are the drugs and the supplements and the rubdowns along with the workouts that make these things necessities and not luxuries. Nobody has a personal groom back at the "normal horse" barn, and you'd better mind your manners too.

Of course, the successful stallions retire from the track to try their luck at breeding, as do the best fillies and mares (the better deal certainly goes to the studs here, I think). Life is not quite as posh perhaps, but if you do your job in the reproduction department and are easy to work around then you're a success as breeding stock goes.

Good owners and breeders also give a special place to their big time babies who can't reproduce. I have, for instance, seen the divine Lord Nelson at home and can tell you that he is every bit a racehorse even in his retirement. This is a reward he richly deserves and one can hardly imagine him trucking around Pony Clubbers for their D levels, even in the far-distant future. It is as a great delight to see Lord Nelson being Lord Nelson in the paddock at home as it was to watch him run (31 starts, 15-9-3,600K in earnings,in case you were curious).

So what would happen if I came off the track, with a so-so record, so-so earnings and no potential as a broodmare? My training is decent, my manners passable and I'm sound-ish in mind and body. But I'm no show horse and I'm certainly a bit mare-ish. I won't give up my cushy bed or ample feed willingly either so finding me a placement in the "real world" could prove challenging. The one thing I do have going for me is the fact that I love to work. That has to be worth something...

Committed

A long time ago a good friend of mine, a person who was a bit of a mentor really, cornered me and asked me a lot of hard questions about where I was going with my life, who I thought I was, what I intended to do with my potential and what I was really passionate about. At 21, I didn't have answers that really satisfied either of us and it all turned into a bit of a mess because I didn't know how to react other than by getting defensive.

Still, I learned something that I didn't grasp immediately then but came to understand as the years went by. What I was told by this older and wiser person about life (and about myself) was this: You can say you love all you want, but without commitment you don't really love anything.

True love should put you into a place where you constantly examine and evaluate yourself and your contribution to your beloved. What can I do better? What do I have to give? What does he/she/it need? How can I serve? Am I willing? This can be about anything, from the romantic (a lover, a spouse) to the specific (a goal, a cherished dream), and many things in between.

In some ways, I think negotiating this sort of emotional terrain is easier for people with kids. Having a child sorts things out for people rather tidily, or at least it appears to from where I'm sitting. Sure, you parents probably still have loads of doubt in relation to yourself and your interactions with the kid(s) and all the rest, but you know (or you ought to) that you are absolutely there for them.

In that commitment, in that willingness to serve, you meet yourself and you learn quickly that there isn't so much time left for you and your ego and your half-assed ideas. People, your people - the ones you created - need to be fed and changed and cared for and loved. There's no real philosophy about it, it's just getting shit done with as light a heart as possible.

You can read books, you can go to classes, you can commune with others in a similar situation but, at the end of the day, what you really must do is greater than the sum of any and all of your intellectualizing. It's not that you don't think, it's that what's more important is just doing. Your theories need to wait until your practice is through because somebody is hungry, has a cold, needs a hug, etc.

My joke about having kids is always that I come from a line that no breeder would, in good conscience, pursue and I knew about the same time as my well-meaning friend was giving me the gears about finding and following my passion that I wasn't going to have kids.

An interesting and unexpected off-shoot of my getting back into horses was the dawning of the notion that maybe I still needed to have children, just not the conventional human type. I realized that I craved that same kind of devotion and servitude in my life and that I could offer it most sincerely and honestly to horses.

True Face

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's feeling useless. This is why I am a first-class putterer and someone who's always looking for a job. If I see an opening to get involved, to lend a hand, to make something better, I'm generally inclined to take it. I couldn't go to Wynn's and call myself a New Stride volunteer just standing beside Regal and contemplating life so I got into working with the other horses. As I mentioned, my two favourites were Platinum Trick and 'Nash', or 'True Face' to the Jockey Club.

Nash could best be described as a sensitive soul. The first day I brought him into his stall to groom him he presented as 100% adorable. He actually fell asleep as I brushed him and fussed over him. His lower lip went slack and he dripped drool over the stall door, half asleep and immersed in all the attention. It was hard not to hug him, though I didn't want to disturb his reverie.

On paper, Nash should have been a racehorse. In reality, he was just a long, lanky, sweet and maybe slightly neurotic baby with two bowed tendons and a very big heart. Life doesn't always go exactly as planned, but Nash dodged the auction and extinction and found himself a ward of New Stride and a friend of mine.

What do you do when you don't live up to others' expectations of you? I suppose, ideally, you get down into what you expect from yourself - after you've explored the various regions of that thing which is 'I' and mapped out who you are a little.

In the case of Nash, who is a horse and therefore almost always consummately honest while also almost entirely dependent, you don't have so much time for philosophizing. You just be.

What you must do though is trust that you can find a place in the world where you are wholly accepted for what and who you are and ultimately loved for all of it. That, I suppose, is a little bit universal. Don't we all want that really?

Nash is safe and, despite appearances, sound. There is enough beauty in his soul to make up for the blemishes on his body. In the spiritual sense, he is absolutely perfect. Just watch him carry this young girl so carefully and remember that he is only 5 and very green:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2L0sEF4dDk

Reckoning

**Speak little of that which is ever invisible.
Let the mind probe into its hidden secrets:
The power of each psychic Centre will come of itself,
And it is spontaneous as the rising sun,
Though the dross of mind and spiritual blinkers
Cause the esoteric powers to remain ever hidden,
When the faculties of awakening and joy
Explode, all that was hidden becomes known. **

The quote above came attached to an email from my beautiful, spiritual friend and sister, Nitya Giri. Something about these words spoke to me in relation to my own journey, so I share them here with you.

Things weren't going well with Regal. They weren't going well with me either,which was about 70% of the problem. If I were able to come to the table without a huge pile of baggage dragged in from the pressures of work and an often frustrating hour commute to get to my 'happy place' I could probably tune in a lot more. Regal Spacific, the poster boy for 'special case', was about to teach me a Master Class in self-examination and humility.

By not being a strong leader, I gave him room for doubt and challenges. By not being centered myself I could provide him no solid center either. Clearly, I was not the person to train this horse. I simply wasn't fit.

All I had to give Regal was my presence in his life, for whatever it was worth, and I was highly committed to that. Even if I drove an hour each way to spend 30 minutes just looking at him in the paddock, I would go. Not because he needed me, but because I needed him.

Horsemanship is such a highly centered activity. It's no surprise that riders develop such a good core, physically and mentally. In addition, there's that ever-present element of self-examination, which is far more esoteric. This is not critiquing how you look or how you did on your last round or test, but really going over what you brought into your every interaction with a horse. That's real horsemanship and really, really good therapy.

It must have been very strange for Regal to suddenly find himself expected to emotionally nanny an adult woman. It's not at all strange that he might have failed to initially demonstrate a knack for this. He was used to being the baby, the orphan, the troubled one, the center of attention; and then along came I - somebody who needed something from him that he didn't understand and wasn't prepared to give.

I remember reading this article on relationships once that discussed disappointment as an opening for a fresh start. If I was going to use that sort of opportunity in my relationship with Regal, it was clear to me that I would need to stop feeling sorry for myself, start being realistic and find a solid place in the center of myself to build on for both of us.

So I went there to see him, almost religiously, and did nothing, asked nothing and expected nothing more than to find myself present in the moment and the company of another who, like me, was in the process of becoming, again.

Under the Apple Tree

Okay, so let's return to our story...

A couple days after Regal moved into Wynn's he was being turned out in a nice paddock in the middle of the yard with a big apple tree in it. I went out to work with him and, because it was too nice to be inside, decided to groom him in the paddock and lead him around a bit.

I left my brush bucket on the other side of the fence in a bit of shade and went to the gate, halter, lead rope and trusty bag/stick combo in hand. As soon as I rattled the gate Regal took notice and came barreling towards me straight-on. Oh brother.

You know, even the most seasoned horseperson is generally given pause when a thousand pound animal comes rushing towards them. It sort of puts your heart in your throat and sets the pulse racing, as it probably should. I was close enough to the gate that I figured I could bail if I had to so I just waved the stick in front of me and asked Regal to please be careful and respect my space. He slowed to a brisk trot 8 feet ahead of me and then applied enough brakes to come at me at the walk head first and shoving.

I managed to get beside him and, after a brief struggle, get his halter on. Since this was obviously a chain kind of day, I threaded the live end round the rings of his halter while he chewed on whatever part of the leather he could grab onto. This horse is very hard on the furniture. Yeesh.

Once I had him hooked up I led him over to the shady spot where my brushes were. The whole time he was mouthing at me AND the stick. So much for that idea.

I started trying to brush him and he kept up the pressure with his mouth. Picture yourself holding a horse on a lead line, a stick in the same hand to keep some distance while trying to keep his mouth off you and brush him with the other hand simultaneously. I needed six other arms and the ability to keep all those arms out of harms way, i.e eyes sprouting from every pore. Shiva himself would have a hard time getting the job done.

Then there was the constant bumping and shoving with the head or shoulder, followed by shots at me with the front hooves -first on the outside as a warning and then the inside to let me know who among us had been recently gelded.

Finally, I went with my last resort and brought the chain into play. I hate to shank horses with a chain. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I just don't want to operate from that position - dominance by pain and fear is such a hollow victory, if and when it works.

This had, as intuition told me it would, the exact opposite effect it should have had. Now the battle was on and I had a rearing, striking and biting horse to contend with. So much for a quiet grooming session.

There is no point in a 115 lb. woman trying to go toe-to-toe with a horse. Bring all the whips and chains you want, fighting isn't training. I did the sensible thing and got Regal back on the ground and close enough to let him loose.

Once I'd released him I went straight at him with the lead swinging and the bag/stick waving furiously. GET. OUT. OF. MY. SPACE. NOW. And lo, he moved, away and quickly.

The problem now was getting out the gate safely. There was no way I was going to be put up and over that fence. I was going to the gate under my own steam and I was not going to be bullied or threatened, despite the fact that I had a big, obnoxious horse following me too close and too quickly.

The bag/stick and the swinging lead saw me safely out and I didn't pause to catch my breath in the safety of the yard. Suddenly, I had resolve. Intuition /instinct kicked in and I knew what I needed to do. I went straight to my car, grabbed my lunge whip and got right back in that paddock to get some work done.

She who controls the feet, controls the horse. The dominant horse moves the other horses out of any space they so choose, often for no good reason other than that they want to reinforce their dominance. To date, Regal had proven himself most adept at moving me around. Avoid the mouth, avoid the feet, move away, get clear. Well, no flippin' more.

That afternoon in the paddock with the apple tree I positioned myself, bag/stick in one hand and lunge whip in the other, parallel to Regal's body and set about moving him around. With stick at the head and whip driving from behind I approached him and set his feet in motion from a safe distance.

This was neither easy nor smooth. When Regal finally caught on to what I was doing, he turned inwards and moved at me directly and rapidly. Smart little creature that I am, I put myself in a spot where I could run up the apple tree to safety if I really had to -provided, of course, that I could beat a Thoroughbred to the point where I could to climb to safety.

Six to eight good human running strides from that safety we had our showdown. I freely admit to closing my eyes and holding my breath when he came at me. All I could do was wave the bag/stick and the lunge whip in great huge circles and try to create and define the idea of my personal space therein. I honestly did not know that my message would make it across.

Whip and bag cutting through the air loudly and with some authority, I pulled Regal up at the last minute. It was clumsy and ugly, but nobody got hit or hurt. I truly had no idea what would happen in that moment, though I guess I was prepared to run up the tree or get trampled. This was what it took to get the job done and I had to prove to Regal (and myself) that I wasn't going to give up easily.

For the rest of the session, I kept Regal framed between the stick and the lunge whip and moved him around the paddock at will. I didn't let him touch me or come anywhere close. Regal Spacific would have to earn our cuddle time. My space comes first - being an orphan can only go so far and nobody likes a dangerous horse.

Once you've survived and outlived all the expectations associated with being a 'special case' you have to start making life your own. This was my challenge, and I wanted to issue it to Regal as well.

At a certain point, each of us has to own where we came from and what we might have gone through to make progress. We have to become what we are to become who we are. We are all the product of nature and of nurture but, most importantly, we are the product of our willingness to bend and shift and grow as we go along.

If I, the most rigid, nervous and uptight of beings could do this, then surely so could Regal Spacific. Just be who you are boy, and then we can make plans.

The Power of Love

I'm trying to do this whole blog thing as chronologically as possible, but I just can't resist sharing this series of photos. Remember how I said I didn't have any pictures of Regal from his earlier days at New Stride? Well, this was sent to me today and I didn't even know it existed.I'm not sure when it was taken, but it's probably around the time I started at Greg's.



There is my thousand words for the day, except I'm going to give you a couple thousand more. This one is from around mid-May...



And this is last month at Wynn's.



I'd defy anyone to tell me that this was not a remarkable transformation. How fortunate am I to have been have been a small part of something so obviously good? What the pictures don't show is the transformation that I have undergone by being involved with Regal Spacific. My tiny role in his life is eclipsed by his huge role in mine.

I'd be withholding the truth if I didn't come right out and say that I love this horse. Not despite all his challenges and issues, but because of them. I see exactly the same beauty and potential in the horse in the first picture as I do in the one in the last. That, I suppose, is the power of love.

Hard Headed Woman

Later that day, I went to see Regal in his new digs at Wynn's. When I got home I emailed Greg and will share some of that with you.

Hi Greg,

Went over to Wynn's after I left your place yesterday. There was nobody around and Regal was standing quietly in his stall, looking out the window. They've put him in a lovely huge stall with a Dutch door so he can poke his head right out and keep an eye on the goings on in the paddocks, etc. He seemed genuinely happy to see me when I showed up and was even a little, dare I say it, snuggly.

Catherine came along and I took him out and walked him around the barn a little. There was no sign of him having done any damage in his little wipeout. We had a chain on him, which makes him a bit of a different horse - he walks with his head down a lot more and even looks a bit relaxed, though I think that's pretty artificial. I will use the chain, but only as a safety measure and only when I have to and never gratuitously. Ditto the stick. But I am not taking any chances and I will be very, very careful.

During our session, Catherine brushed him in the breezeway and I tapped his legs with my stick (and I do mean tapped) if he raised any of them while she worked, which he did more than once but managed to keep at least three on the ground at all times. If he turned in to bite at me he knocked his head into the handle of the stick so he stopped doing that pretty quickly.

Anyway, we got through a walkabout and a quick two-person grooming session and I decided that we'd end on a good note and call it a day - baby steps. I thought that given all the excitement and change thrown at him on the day he did pretty well. He was very calm in his stall, not pacing or fussing at all before or after we had him out, which I took to be a good sign.

I helped Catherine and Rhonda (I'm bad with names, hope I got that right) with the other New Stride horses and then headed home. I didn't get to see Wynn but I called her and made plans to meet this afternoon after work.

Regal was turned out in the indoor when I arrived today and was again very happy to see me and quite cuddly. He approached the gate in an almost gentlemanly fashion, at a nice brisk walk and a little sideways rather than barreling straight at me and facing me down. No mouthiness or shoving me around with his head either- he even let me scratch his forehead and rub his cheeks?! He was very calm and relaxed and there wasn't any evidence of him digging trenches in the sand pacing the gates while he'd been in there. I left him for a bit and went to find out if anybody else was around yet.

I was a bit early so I spent some time chatting with Sian and then watched Darrell ride one of Wynn's horses and work with Wynn and Sian in turns on the same horse. I thought the horse went very well for a green horse with Darrell up and he was very good with Wynn and Sian as well. Darrell seems to have done a nice job with him from what I could see. I guess I'll be seeing lots of Darrell, and maybe he could help me with Regal too. I'll have to pay him, of course, but I think a trainer would be a good investment - it couldn't hurt, and Darrell's already going to be there. We'll see...

After the lesson Wynn showed me around and we talked about Regal and his rascally ways. Wynn showed me her special stick and then moved Reg from the arena to a small paddock behind the barn to show me how it worked. Who knew that a plastic shopping bag tied onto the end of a riding crop was so amazing! Horse comes running at you and crowds your space - wave the plastic bag at him and he backs right off. Lead the horse out of the arena with the stick in your outside hand and he focuses entirely on you and the plastic bag. Want his attention when he's losing focus, wiggle the bag and he zones right back in. Incredible. Regal walked from the arena to the paddock and then from the paddock to his stall like a perfect gentleman. Wynn and her plastic bag are my heroes! I'm definitely going to borrow that tool or make my own.

I helped bring in all the New Stride horses and then groomed Platinum and Nash, my two favourites. They are both wonderful to work around and very easy boys to get along with. Nash was actually dozing and drooling when I was brushing him - very sweet. I suppose if I'm going to be out so often I might as well work with everybody a little bit while I'm there. If nothing else they'll all get some extra attention and a bit more grooming which can't hurt.


M







-

Working it out

After my Day 4, I sent a message to Greg that I want to share with you because I think it illuminates things a little. It's all a process...

Good morning Greg,

I'm glad everybody was okay - I followed the map and maybe the order of operations, or just guessed at the correct order of turnout based on what I know about everybody.

Cookie Monster was quite fresh with me, a bit of a mini-Regal even. He was mouthy with the halter in the stall and also the lead on the walk out and even lifted his outside front leg a couple times as we went. Fortunately, he really gets it when one says 'hey, don't be doing that'. It's kind of funny to watch the little 'oops' go through his body when you check him, the physical registration of his brain saying 'I guess I went too far there'. He was definitely feeling coltish yesterday.

Regal was a bit of an idiot when I put Aly out - he really crowded the gate and tried to muscle in on us. I got the gate closed and let Aly go to get away from him and then I ran at Regal growling like a pissed-off mountain lion. He seemed to get that at least and ran away in a hurry. A small victory, but at least he heard me roar.

It was a good exercise for me to come and do that yesterday. I was feeling quite rattled after the big blow up with Regal - I don't scare easily, but rearing and striking are things that really should scare a person. Regal is trying to establish dominance with me I think and I need to get across that I don't want to play that way. Part of his game is to constantly try to face me and barge me around with his head. If I stand at the shoulder he then tries to mouth me or whatever I might be holding. The escalation then becomes trapping me between his mouth and his front feet and trying to muscle me around. Saying no, checking him on the halter,etc. just seems to make it worse - his head goes up, he gets the crazy eye and digs in for a standoff. What do you do with that? I can't be nice, that doesn't work. I can't be harsh because that makes it worse. All I can figure at this stage is to be smart and carry a stick in case I need to illustrate a point.

Anyway, I should actually do some work here. My puzzle will have to wait until my paperwork is done...have a great day, looks like another nice one. See you Thursday.

M

----- Original Message -----
From: Gregory Charles Finseth
Date: Tuesday, May 26, 2009 10:01 pm
Subject: gold star
To: Marcy Emery

> Marcy
> Just came in now from the barn and everyone (except Cookie
> Monster) was
> exceptionally good. Thanks so much. It's not often that I can
> award the gold
> star but in this case more than well deserved. Really, really
> appreciate your attention to detail and dedication. Hope you had
> some fun. Even when
> it's really hard I love doing the chores and taking care of
> everyone. Most
> people don't get it but it's a way of feeling needed I guess.
> We'll see you
> Thursday and thanks again. Best
> Greg
>

Moving Day

On the 1st of June the farrier came to do Regal's feet. I missed this as I had to be at work. Greg said he was very good, I took that to mean he did his best and nobody got hurt. Greg's farrier of choice is a real Master and he did a beautiful job. I wished I could have been there to see the process - all this kind of information is useful.

June 2nd the hauler came to transport Regal down the road to Wynn's. I missed this too since I was still at the office. Greg came into the barn at about the same time the hauler pulled into the driveway. For whatever reason, this combination of events caused Regal to throw a fit. It was so serious that he fell in his stall and nearly cast himself. Greg was deeply concerned by this and when I stopped by his place that afternoon we had a long talk about just what I was getting myself into.

I don't recall it all word for word, but the part that stands out was Greg saying "I know you want to save this horse but...". I can't complete that sentence because I admit that I tuned out at that point. I had become possessed by my own internal mono/dialogue that said "I don't just want to save this horse, I want to save myself."

Have a little faith

I'm not the praying type, though I guess I do turn to God/Goddess, the Creator, a Supreme Being from time to time, as evidenced by my request sent into the great beyond for courage, strength and wisdom with Regal.

As I may have suggested, I'm not religious in any sort of formal sense. That being said, I do consider myself to be a deeply spiritual person and I tend to view spirituality as religion without dogma. While some may argue that this demonstrates a lack of commitment on my part, I would counter that argument with the suggestion that not defining my spiritual affiliation allows me the freedom to embrace what resonates within me on a spiritual level.

Through a connection of dots, I came across this part of of John Lyons' website and it really spoke to me. You can feel however you feel about capital 'G-O-D', but I think that if you love horses you will get something out of this.

http://www.johnlyons.com/index.php/living-room/in-faith

The part of this I like the most is that it highlights our sacred relationship with the horse, albeit in a Christian context. If we're getting down to brass tacks, we (the great collective 'we', that is all of humanity) have been involved in this relationship since before there was a Jesus. As we all know, it's impolite to discuss religion in company so let's move on to the more general and lighter side of this discussion.

I believe very strongly in the power of horses, in their ability to heal and transform us as human beings. In my darkest hours, horses have always come to comfort me. Even when I have been miles away from a stable or any real live horses I have been in their presence in the world of dreams.

During troubled or confusing times in my life over the years I have found myself waking from gorgeous dreams of riding, of connecting and of feeling truly free. Horses I have known came to carry me in these dreams, as did the faceless ones who just showed me that marvelous feeling again and then moved off before morning into the dawn's early light. Waking with a wet face and a renewed sense of purpose, I knew always that these 'nightmares' were there to help, not harm.

Horses are a gift to us as human beings. Where that gift comes from is trivial so long as we strive to be worthy of it.

The Herd

At the beginning of June, Regal was to be moved to Wynn's barn as Greg needed to clear horses out to begin renovations and most of the horses in his care were going to pasture so the fences could come down and the work could begin. Regal was definitely not a candidate for pasture at this point and Greg couldn't manage too many high maintenance horses while haying and renovating. After a hard winter, a summer of hard work would come.

I said that I would follow Regal over to the other barn and stick with it, despite the setbacks. Or maybe because of them. For a minute Greg thought that meant I wasn't going to keep my Monday and Saturday appointments at his place. I was mildly shocked - that had never even crossed my mind.

The dark bay boy on the left in the photo is Tempest. He is a little stick of dynamite, the definition of the word 'goer'. I started riding him in early April and he whipped me into shape in short order. Very quick, very agile and astonishingly surefooted. If I asked him to turn he would gladly drop his shoulder and throw his head towards his tail. He'd do this occasionally when I hadn't asked too, but could also turn a very tight corner on a steep uphill trail at a gallop with four wheel drive safety. I just went with him and rediscovered the joy of the great rip about in the country on horseback. If that sounds kind of Edwardian, it's meant to.

Greg has a wonderful herd around him and is so very kind and gentle with the horses in his care. He's very good at handling youngsters and tends to create quiet and sensible kids. His own horses are a unique collection of beautiful souls; Tempest (the rip-snorter) Buddy (the survivor), Maverick (Mr. Smooth), Calypso (magical) and Black Ace aka Mighty Mouse (gentle giant). There are the yearlings, the Thoroughbreds and the boarders' horses in the mix too - each of them special and important. I belong to this herd and I wouldn't take leaving it lightly.

There is something very comforting about the way a herd works. Herd language and communication is as subtle as it is concise. Each member has a role and knows their place, but the herd is never static for long. Change comes and the group responds as necessary; cohesion is highly valued. Alliances form and dissolve, challenges are made for leadership, new faces are incorporated but the herd finds a way to hang together. It all gets worked out, with a little help from the thoughtful human leader of course...as these are shedrows and paddocks and pastures, not wild and wide open spaces.

I need this herd and the way it works in my life. Membership in this family has become crucial to my survival in the world at large and I couldn't imagine wandering alone again, out there on my own. My role is bringer of food, maker of fresh beds, helper, rider, friend and protector. My reward is to belong.

Had enough yet?

One would think that, after all that trauma and drama, I would have given up on Regal Spacific for good. But no, not me. One of the things that good horsepeople do is go back and look at what they did wrong or could have done better in their handling and training of the horses they work with. As you can imagine, I had plenty to examine in just four days worth of notes and I was determined to use what I'd learned however I could. I made a fair number of poor moves but I also did some things right. Chief among these right things was not giving up.

When the going gets tough, the tough consult The Internet Oracle. While all this was going on at the barn, I was spending every spare moment I had seeking answers on the web and hoping to find some insight into what I was dealing with.

In my past I had handled racehorses, stallions, broodmares, foals, green horses, high-strung horses, veterans and just about everything in between but I had never known a horse like Regal. I couldn't read him at all and it was getting us both into trouble.

Early one morning while Googling 'dangerous horse' in a stolen moment of company time before the flower auction (sorry employers), I came across a website that gave me a whole new way to look at things with Regal. The site belonged to Missy Wryn, a trainer based in Oregon, and contained a section on "Benny the Autistic Horse". I read it with relish and came away with a totally different understanding of my own situation and a sense of relief knowing that I wasn't alone. It's a fascinating story...

http://www.site.missywryn.com/Benny_the_Autistic_Horse.html

I don't know Missy personally but I am very grateful for her insight and the encouragement I took from her sharing of Benny's story. After reading about Benny and watching the videos of him on youtube, etc. I resolved to keep on with Regal however I could.

I am certainly not a horse trainer, but if I ever wanted to be one it was clear to me that I should not give up on the opportunity to learn from my own 'special case'.

Day 4 : Peace in the Valley (ish)

Arrived today after a side trip to the feed store for Hooflex and a long scouting trip for gear - drawn out by hesitance about my approach and where I was going. Does having nice stuff help you to have a nice horse? Looked to see if they had Rescue Remedy for horses but didn't see any. Bet somebody does...me and the horse could share.

Bad case of nerves manifested in having to pee over and over. Why do we use the expression 'pissing like a racehorse'? Nobody around when I arrived at all, the Arab geldings in the mares' paddock and everybody else inside.

Went in - said hi and started working on my 'it's a brand new day' demeanour. Swept the floor, whistled and hummed a Tom Waits song 'a little rain...'Didn't even notice the chalkboard with the turnout diagram. I was cleaning the floor when I saw it and got a lump in my throat immediately.

#1 thing: I was alone. Not that I'm not often - it's a bit of a choice and I'm not unhappy with it except when I'm lugging the groceries or the laundry, etc. Or maybe doing electrical work.

But yeah, most of my life post-middle school has been about doing it on my own and proving to myself over and over that I could.

When do you win the championship definitively? Ah, but there's no record that can't be shattered and there's no proof in the doing somehow.

Anyway, being alone and wiring up a ceiling fan and then being alone with a highly problematic horse are two remarkably similar yet distinctively different situations. There are no emotions with live wires, at least on the part of the wires.

But I digress- horses needed turnout and I needed to get the worst one out first.

Went into the stall and was immediately faced down. Halter went in the mouth as did lead and then I got shoved into the corner with him blocking the door - right where i didn't want to be. Not a good start. Abandoned all hope of grooming and went out for a walk to flush out the adrenalin.

On the way back I ducked into the tack room and actually prayed. To God. Out loud - but not loud enough that the devil in the stall behind the wall could hear.

Collected myself and went out for Round 2. Same damn thing. Retreated and tried going in the other door - Regal walked briskly right up to me, grabbed onto the halter in my hands and I released. Once he dropped it I left again.

Sh--Sh--Sh--Sh--Sh--

Ok. Fine. Cool out time required, along with the moving of the Arab geldings out of the mares' paddock and into the one between the Thoroughbreds. Bless little Calypso and Fyn - I'm sure they knew I was sh--scared but they didn't take advantage. I wanted to hug them both and just cry on their friendly and well-adjusted shoulders.

Returned to the barn for another go at the halter from outside the stall. Tried to plat a fun game of 'put the nose in the hole'. Not really fun for anyone.

Went back in the stall and had the halter snatched from my hands and flipped at my head (wearing a helmet). As soon as I showed no interest the halter got dropped - same thing if I made the lead my focus. Now we might be getting somewhere.
Still not a lot of confidence but i didn't want to turn everyone else out and leave the (unprintable name) in the barn. Suspected that would cause way more trouble.
Withdrew and stepped outside the barn to put my head between my knees and try to just breathe.

Next move: plan the walk to the paddock. 1st step: secure the road and filed gates so that if anything drastic happened I wouldn't have a loose horse on the road or the 400 acres of rugged terrain outside the expansive field around the property. Prayed all the way from the field gate to the road gate and all the way back. usually when I pray I ask to win the lotto (just a few thousand would do) - this time I asked for protection, courage and guidance. "Just please let it be okay."

Went back to the barn with a get'er done approach. Grabbed my crop for self-defense and practiced drawing it from the back of my pants a few times. Walked into the stall, told him to back up (hahahahaha) and went to the shoulder. Halter went into the mouth while I put the lead over his neck. Once I had the lead gathered and active he grabbed that right away. Halter went over the nose and ears and I drooped the lead and tried to fasten the clip on the halter. Mouth came in and I stepped quickly out of the stall. On the other side of the low wall I fastened the clip and took my lead back.

Opened the stall door, stepped in, fastened the lead and then threw the door open and marched that devil right out of the barn towards the far paddock with my stick tucked into the back of my pants ready to draw.

The walk to the paddock was entirely uneventful - even the gate went smoothly. i hung the whip up on the wall and went to get Aly ready.

Next problem:getting Aly through the gate and turned out safely. Aly, of course, was a dream - he's a true veteran (the been-there-done-that-type)- and made the trip from the barn to the paddock effortless.

As predicted, Regal crowded us both at the gate. I turned Aly sideways so that he'd have a clear shot with his hind end. Regal pushed him into me but Aly stopped at my hand on his chest and I turned him quickly towards me, pulled his halter and let him run out along the fence away from me.

As soon as Aly was free I ran at Regal swinging the halter and lead and growling like a pissed off mountain lion. Regal turned on his heel and peeled out quickly.

The little girls roars. Hmmm...

Day 3 - Subtitle: SCARY

Moved into the round pen area and though initially good at moving out and walking decently things didn't go well for long. A LOT of stopping and refusal to move out, some mouthiness in these pauses.

No hope of grooming, just a lot of barging me around. Went up twice in the same corner. Then it got ugly- he grabbed the lead right up to the snap, cranked his head inwards and came at me to muscle me around, with striking and hops off the ground. I finally had to scream at him, throw the lead in his face and run him off.

Removed the lead from the sfaety of the other side of the fence - and thank god for that because I think he might have charged me otherwise. Left him alone in the pen and walked down the road to calm myself down. he didn't want to engage at all after that.

Waited for Greg to come back to return him to the paddock - he was at least decent about the walk back.

Once in the paddock he came boldly up to the fence and started mouthing at Greg. Greg checked him up and he went away with a very sour look.

---Should have known something was up by the way he sort of hid from me. When i arrived he kept his head down low and sort of poked one eye above the fence rail under the tree.

---was usuing the clicker and treats which may have caused the problem (the treats mainly)

End result: not the most successful day by a longshot. I was genuinely scared and he was genuinely dangerous. I feel that this is about dominance. He doesn't want to do things and wants to be the boss - likes to barge me around with his head, threaten with teeth and now the rearing and striking.

There's some fear in there too. It seems he was always handled on a lip chain (for obvious reasons I suppose)

He is really testing me now.

That i had to run away was probably bad but I also don't want to play that way or escalate things. I likely wouldn't win in a showdown and I don't want to go there at all. Some of this seems coltish but there wasn't much playful in his demeanour in the big blow-up. Not sure what to think really. he expects me to yell and shank him and get rough. I want to change the game entirely. I don't like his game at all.

What kind of fun and safe game can we replace this with?

I want to be fun and interesting but I want to play safely and work with a horse that respects me. Without learning respect Regal is doomed as he is - he can't be taken anywhere. No barn is going to tolerate that sh__, it's too much of a hassle. I would be kicked out of everywhere I went with a horse like that and rightly so. I also could afford the insurance or the lawsuits that might stem from this kind of behaviour.

I don't want to be rough or violent but I will probably have to be prepared to defend myself and lay down the law. I think I need help.

Day 2

Once again, from my journal verbatim:

Day 2

Feet - excellent! Fed hay on the ground while doing these and all came up mostly on cue and properly for picking and painting.

Groomed thoroughly but a fair bit of movement and mouthiness throughout.

Very mouthy today in general. No point in playing that game - must find a new one to replace.

Not so good on the lead. A lot of mouthiness and unwillingness to move forward in favour of the mouth game though could lead anywhere as long as I walked in front.

???

And so it begins...

Here are my notes from my first day with working with Regal, copied form my notebook verbatim.

Day 1 - It's Official, ish.

Made contact, made my way around the exterior quietly. Looked for the flymask - everywhere. This included a trip through the grass in the paddock with the boy following at a safe distance. He comes when called very willing and does this repeatedly. Applied flymask, without ease.

Back at the fence (in the food area) he pushed me around a bit with his head. On the lead he turns his head inward and seems a bit uncomfortable though testing as well. I think he expects me to shank him. The way he turns and bites on the lead seems half-playful and half-fearful. He's a bit coltish (keep away from mares).

Kept everything light and fun in each activity and left quietly.

Grooming- work on brushing and handling, longer sessions
- feet:just get 'em done, don't overhandle
- work on sensitivity to aids for movement in stall, etc. (over, back )
- back pushes the 'dominant' button - go slowly there

1000 Words

All the lovely, sunny day at Greg's pictures were taken by my boyfriend Byron Dauncey on a "come and meet this crazy horse I'm obsessed with" outing in May. Byron, along with being a very good random book selector, is also a talented photographer and artist and one of the all-time greats in the putting up with a girlfriend's horse craziness department.

I wish I had pictures that went back to the very beginning, but I haven't gotten into the habit of carrying a camera around with me everywhere. In some ways, that's for the best too - Regal wasn't exactly pretty when I first met him. His eyes were small and kind of weaselly and he was very underweight and so angular as to be almost painful to look at. One wished, as the weather got warmer, that he could just stay blanketed until he filled out a little and started looking right again.

Byron, who doesn't know much about horses at all (but listens intently while I blather on out of pure goodness), told me that he'd erased a lot of the pictures he took of Regal on this day because he looked too skinny. I thought that was pretty sweet of him.

At the same time, he kept this one. Not exactly flattering, but I like to laugh - especially at myself.

Making My Case

I talked to Greg a bit about my interest in Regal. Okay, that's an understatement- I drove out to his place, arrived unannounced and basically spilled my nutty ideas about everything all over the place in between helping put up fencing. I guess I was on a bit of a mission.

My plan, in essence, was to take Regal on a trial basis - a sort of 90 day free lease. I would pay his board and expenses, work with him and a trainer and see if I felt that we might be a good match.

Greg did his best to encourage my enthusiasm while offering a long list of very valid reasons why I should consider not getting involved, chief among these being my personal safety. I left thinking things had gone pretty well - he didn't flat out say no.

Later that night, Greg emailed and told me that he'd leave the gate unlocked if I was coming out to get started. I was absolutely elated.

Are you still here?

A couple more Sundays passed with Regal waiting for the trainer and the trailer to come for him. When I arrived Monday afternoons, there he was, still waiting. I was always happy to see him, secretly pleased that he'd be around a little longer.

Greg decided to give him the opportunity to explore life with at least one other horse and turned him out in a spacious grass paddock with an older TB gelding. Let loose, he put on a spectacular show; all power, grace and confidence- hardly the horse any of us had seen. It was a transformation that was remarkable in my opinion and I wished he'd bomb around that field all day long so I could sit and watch him move. He was even quite civilized with old Aly and the other TB's across the fence, at least initially.

In short order though he set about terrorizing Aly and doing his best to dominate the boys across the fence. He was pushy, rude and totally without manners or boundaries. He ran Aly off his food for fun and was very aggressive with the boys next door - the fence stopped him from being a total menace and Aly forced him to keep his distance but never really schooled him. I found myself silently egging Aly on "Just give him the boots buddy, that was uncalled for!", but the old boy would just clear out and go back to sucking air on a post further down the fence.

Around the 1st of May, I heard that the trainer wasn't coming to get him after all. I had given up my lease on Dante because the recession came home to roost in my life in the form of a reduction in my work hours and I figured I'd better get budgeting for the idea that I might even be unemployed in the not-too-distant future. My silver lining was in thinking that if I got laid off I could always find a job at a barn somewhere...

Having a bit more free time and feeling I just couldn't stand it any longer, I volunteered to try to do something with Regal instead of just letting him languish. I realized at this time that a huge part of my writing and thinking and just being was already oriented in Regal's direction. I was fascinated by him and pretty sure that he had something to teach me. I had no idea what I was getting into.

Studying

At this point, I was really kicking things into a higher gear in terms of my involvement with horses. If I wasn't riding or working around a barn somewhere I had my nose stuck in a book about classical dressage, the history of horsemanship in Europe or whatever The Boy had hauled home for me from the public library - often grabbed at random from the equestrian section.

One of the books he brought me, a random grab, was called Simple Steps to Riding Success: Feel the Power of Positive Riding. Inside were a series of exercises designed to help the reader define and develop equestrian goals using NLP techniques. I thought it was a bit dorky, but I decided to do some of the exercises just for a laugh (at myself of course).

I scribbled away over several nights and found that I was actually enjoying getting things down on paper. Unfortunately, I only made it through about two thirds of the exercises but I got a lot of ideas out of it and discovered that I was way more interested in Regal than I thought I was when I started. Hmmm.

Trouble with a capital 'T'

Spring came and I showed up at Greg's to volunteer Mondays and Saturdays. I did chores, rode Greg's horses a little and puttered about happily always with an eye on Regal, watching and observing the problem child.

He was mouthy and rude and generally unpleasant with most people and other horses. One of the barn regulars (a decent person and a very experienced horsewoman) referred to him as a 'meat horse' while we observed him attempting to bully other horses over a paddock fence. Something in this really stung me, as I never saw anything in Regal that indicated meanness or malice. I mostly saw confusion and hurt and the typical teenage stuff that 4 year-olds are going through amplified by the orphan syndrome.

Because Regal was a bit of a 'dangerous' horse, I wasn't advised to do much with him other than socialize over a stall door or paddock fence. At lunch I would sit by him and chat with him, when I was working in the barn I'd talk to him, play games (look, I'm over here in the stall beside you!) and generally try to connect a little. He was mouthy and rude still, but I was curious about him and I think he was curious about me too. When I called him to the fence outside he would come running - though in a way that wasn't exactly polite.

Around this time, he injured somebody else. Catherine, one of the New Stride directors, was attempting to groom him and do his feet and he hit her and cut her quite badly. Regal Spacific was making quite a few names for himself, none of them printable here of course.

I heard that it was decided that he would be given to a trainer on Vancouuver Island and hopefully she would have the time and patience to train him as a jumper. For a couple weeks, I made preparations each Saturday for Regal to be picked up on Sunday. Monday I would come to the barn and there he'd be, still waiting.

One day, Greg decided to move Regal over to the newer barn and put him out in a larger paddock there. It's about a 5 minute walk down the driveway at Greg's then around the corner at the road and down the long driveway to the newer barn but most things with Regal weren't quite as simple as they looked. To help with the trip, I led an older TB gelding as a chaperone and Greg took Regal. Regal was calmer with the company, but that's not saying much. He showed no respect for personal space and barged Greg around quite a lot while constantly swiping at him with his mouth or trying to chew on the lead, etc. When not engaged in those activities he was on his back legs with fronts blazing. Not exactly a calm walk, but not exactly atypical for a young TB who hadn't been out in public in a long time either.

At the newer barn, we turned Regal out alone in a large grass paddock. What I saw there gave me goosebumps - he moved like a dream. It was so magnificent to watch him blow and stretch and kick and run. For the first time since I'd known him, he looked truly alive.

Regal's Story

Here is Regal's story, up to the point I met him. This is cobbled together from all I've learned about his past so I hope that it's fairly accurate and factually correct. I promised you a horse story and friends, you're going to get one.

Regal is an orphan - not just a retired racehorse sent to a re-homing organization but a genuine motherless child. His mother died when he was born and he was bottle-raised by his owner. Regal was her only horse and she raised him herself and took him to the track and basically did everything with/for him throughout his life there. Raising an orphan foal without a surrogate mare is extremely challenging and Regal's human Mom obviously rose to that challenge. The devotion she had brought him through and he survived.

Being an orphan, Regal missed out on learning a lot of the basics of just being a horse. Mares teach their foals common sense, manners and herd politics - they impart the equine language to their offspring and guide them through interactions with both horses and humans.

As foals grow and move out into the world of the herd they learn even more of this language from the other horses. Because Thoroughbreds typically enter training at such an early age they do the bulk of their socialization with other horses as foals and yearlings. Once in training they tend not to be turned out with other horses if they are turned out much at all.

There are a lot of blank pages in the story of Regal's early years. I know that his owner was his principal handler and that he ran as a colt. It wouldn't be fair to Regal's original owner to try to fill in the story here, but I'll bet she had her hands full with an orphan stud colt during his training both on and off the track.

I have searched the internet for info about his racing career to try to learn more about him but there isn't a lot out there. The only things I could find were from the CTHSBC Annual Reviews for 2007 and 2008 showing that Regal had no starts in 2007 and only 2 in 2008 and another blip from Equibase that said he had been scratched from a race in June of 2008.

Regal was retired in September 2008, injured. I'm still not sure what the nature of his injury was, but I guess it was obvious he wouldn't run again and his owner decided to place him with New Stride.

He was gelded on his way off the track and then delivered to Greg's shortly afterward. According to Greg, the poor kid was so wired that he couldn't stand still for a moment to rest his battered body. He ran constantly for two weeks and had to be tranquilized so he would eat, losing a considerable amount of weight in the process (not a good situation with winter coming). It was all very traumatic for him I'm sure, and Thoroughbreds are such highly sensitive creatures.

Once he had done a bit of a detox, an attempt was made to turn him out and just let him be a horse. Having had very little background in just being a horse, Regal promptly impaled himself on the nearest sharp object and then spent the fall and winter recovering from that accident, abscesses in his feet, the emotional pain of being separated from the woman who raised him and all the rest of the usual racehorse baggage.

We had a long, hard winter up here and there were several weeks when the horses at the barn had to be indoors because the paddocks were impassable and unsafe. Sometime over the winter while Greg was handling Regal in his stall (just general petting and friendliness) Regal threw a fit that knocked Greg (and one of his teeth) out cold. Greg came to with Regal pacing around the perimeter of his body on the stall floor. I've never asked if he found his missing tooth...

Arrival

I made it to Greg's, not terribly late after all thanks to my handy GPS (Garn's Phone Service). Pulling into the driveway beside the beautiful old barn after my rather convoluted journey, I couldn't help but think 'heaven on earth'. The house just past the barn was gigantic, new and modern (but made to look old and weathered in its way), the location splendid and the barn quiet but full of promise.

I entered the breezeway to the refrains of a little dreadlocked Cocker cross and soon found Gregory Finseth, proprietor. We chatted a bit and Greg introduced me to the horses in his care, each happily munching hay and leaning over their doors to look along the shedrow and see who had arrived.

Greg struck me initially as a genuine horseperson and a kind and gentle man, intelligent and friendly but also a little reserved. No matter, I thought, we'll have plenty to talk about if we're talking horses.

Going down the shedrow and meeting everybody, I came to be introduced to a skinny, rather-the-worse-for-wear dark bay gelding with a gorgeous face (and very sad eyes) that I was, with good reason, warned about. Having been at the track myself, I didn't think much of the admonition about mouthiness, etc. I just kept out of the way of the mouth and made a friendly overture to the resident troublemaker. I lived to tell the tale of course, but let's just say that the young man was less than polite with his response to my greeting. He was obviously a bit nuts, decidedly underweight, totally without manners and thoroughly a special case. My kind of horse.

As trite and stupid as it sounds, I made a connection with him the moment I saw him. I have no reasonable explanation for why or how this happened, except that I know it did. His fuzzy, skinny little neck and legs sticking out of a blanket, his marauding mouth, his general sadness, his loneliness, his hurt. For whatever reason, or reasons, we met and it happened that we connected somehow on that day and thankfully not through teeth or hooves.

Of course, there were other horses to see and other connections to be made. I met Greg's own horses and the other New Stride kids in care there before we traveled to what I would later know as "Wynn's barn". Here I found myself on another stunning property with a beautiful old barn this set on a hillside with views of the valley below and Mt.Baker off in the distance. Oh, and a vineyard - more heaven on earth. I was starting to believe that I had made a very good decision when I contacted Greg about volunteering.

At Wynn's we brought the New Stride horses in from their spacious paddocks to the immaculate stable and I got to meet the horses I knew so well from my visits to the website. My two online favourites were Nash (True Face - and never a horse more aptly named, as I would later discover) and the gorgeous and slightly overwhelming Platinum Trick - as ginourmous and sensational as he promised to be from the website; fresh and fancy on the lead line with me all the way up the lane to his stall. I was immediately in love with him and he went up on my desktop at work first thing the next morning.

I was definitely coming back.

The skills that pay the bills

I'm a florist. Doesn't that sound like the most wonderful thing to do with one's life after retreating from a high-stress position in the world of film and television, bumming around Toronto as an antiques dealer and sometime-musician and finally settling on a career that would be so beautiful and green and Zen all the time, forever?

How many times can I type HAHAHAHAHA here?

Anyway, I'm a bit of a high-strung individual (which is part of the reason I love those Thoroughbreds so much; me and the TB's have lots in common). I am, as they say, "driven". Sometimes our greatest strengths are also our weakest points and I'm pretty sure that being this way is a double-edged sword in my life. There's nothing half-assed about anything I do and I always want to know what that next level is in any endeavour I undertake so I can get there as quickly as possible. It's just what I do, and probably also who I am.

So, I became a florist to escape all that. Insert more HAHAHA's here. Because, wherever you go, there you are, as they say. I got a job at one of the best and busiest flower shops in Vancouver before I went to do my certificate in floristry. I worked in the shop the whole way through school, graduated, kept working, realized that I needed to move more quickly in terms of goals and finances, took a job with a wholesale florist as a salesperson and then powered my way to where I wanted to be in less than two years after graduation.

I love what I do and I'm passionately committed to my industry. I'm as involved as I can possibly be with the development of educational programs in floristry and the elevation of our trade to its highest potential in BC and hopefully all of Canada. As flighty and ridiculous as I may come across, I have a very serious side and I am certainly very serious about my trade. My duty is to improve whatever I touch and to allow it to improve me too.

Funny though, how all this seriousness about a low-paying, agriculturally-oriented, hard-slogging yet undeniably beauty-oriented career world I inhabit sort of mirrors what I think I'd really like to be doing...

You can see me at work here:

http://www.ubloom.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=505&Itemid=152&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Email+marketing+software&utm_content=626721694&utm_campaign=April+13%2c+2009+Weekly+Reminder+_+hyida&utm_term=Watch+the+webisode

Add it up

Okay, so what I've learned about myself so far from this blogging thing is that I'm a horse-crazy, New-Age-y, slightly neurotic cougar who likes to take the long way around with a story. I guess I've come to the realization that a journey of self-discovery doesn't really warrant shortcuts.

Somewhere inside this garbled mess of rumination, confession and historical drama is a pretty good horse story. If you can stand to muddle through a little longer with me here we'll get there, I promise.

Connection

On the day I finally went out to meet Greg, I got completely lost. It was the 16th of March, 2009 and I had forgotten to print out instructions for my trip.I was very early in terms of my ETA and though I was right in the area I still couldn't figure out where to go.

I have, and I don't mean to boast, a really spectacular memory for things I've read or seen. I remembered Greg's email with all of the directions but it didn't make sense from where I was at all. I called his number but there was no answer - typical of 'barn people'.

Out of desperation to be almost on time, I called my desk-bound friend Garnet and got him to log into my email account and guide me in. I/we made it to the meeting only a few minutes late in the end...

Of course, when I talked to Garnet I had to explain what I was doing lost in the northwest corner of Abbotsford and tell him about where I was going and what I intended to do there. Garnet, god bless him, thought that it was awesome and signed on to making sure that I made my connection. Like everything he does in life, Garnet did a great job of getting sh** done and made sure that I was where I needed to be in no time at all. Much love to you G - you helped to make this connection happen.

I had arrived at a new place in my life, with a little help from my friends.

Garnet hates having his picture taken so I'm not sharing any images, but you can get to know him at :

www.garnville.com *parental guidance in full effect, seriously.

Making Advances

In March of this year I finally decided to stop lurking about and make contact with New Stride. I chose the number for the volunteer coordinator that wasn't long distance, in hopes that that might equal a shorter drive to where the horses were. Here is what transpired:

Hi Marcy
Thanks for your interest. Just running out the door this morning but will communicate soon. All the best
Greg

On Fri, Mar 13, 2009 at 5:27 PM, Marcy Emery wrote:

Hi Greg,

Sorry I missed your call today, I was out in the garden trying to get a few things done before the rain comes back. Anyway, I'm glad you suggested email- it allows me to be long-winded without seeming overly obnoxious (or at least I hope it does)! As a frequent visitor to the New Stride website (just dreaming at this stage) I've become more and more interested in volunteering with you as a way to spend time with horses, improve my skills and make a difference in some small way.

I started riding again last year after several years away from the sport and the animals and wasn't sure my body could take it, though I knew my heart was willing. I started riding for fun as an eight year-old kid in Manitoba and went on to Pony Club, hunter/jumper, eventing and eventually studied classical dressage with Frank Grelo in Cedar Mills, Ontario. Like lots of young girls with big dreams, I ran out of money about the time I went to university. Back in those days (the 80's), almost all the horses I rode rode were thoroughbreds- the warmbloods were just beginning to come to the fore at that point- and I owned or leased about half a dozen during my serious riding career. Then, as now, there was never any shortage of great horses looking for a new life off the track.

In 1996 I had just lost my Mom and closed my business and was looking for an in-between-jobs kind of job. I lived in the PNE area and had heard that the track was always hiring experienced horsepeople, so I went down to see about a job. I ended up being hired as a groom and worked most of the season there - I got sidelined by a shoulder injury in the fall and was too sore to work safely. I worked for two different trainers, one good and the other highly questionable. At any rate, I was disappointed that I wasn't fit to finish the season as I had one horse in particular (the nastiest, most likley to end up as Alpo one in the barn) that went to the Winner's Circle with me once before my season was cut short. I'm sure we both look shocked in that photo!

Anyway, I've seen both sides of the thoroughbred world and I'm not going to judge anybody. Racing will continue and so will the equestrian sports. I will say that I'm sorry that thoroughbreds (and homegrown ones at that) have lost a bit of their sparkle since the warmbloods took over, but that doesn't mean that good horses can't have great careers or great lives outside of any kind of Winner's Circle.

What I'm good at, and what I could offer, is quality time one-on-one with your horses. This could be anything from simple handling, grooming and groundwork to schooling under saddle. My approach is relationship based and I'm willing to work to gain trust and to establish a positive relationship with a horse from the ground up.

One of the best horses I ever rode, a Manitoba thoroughbred, broke my arm the day I was taking him out of the pasture and back to the barn for training (he kicked me when we were trying to load him onto the trailer). I had six weeks in a cast and had to just spend time with him on the ground getting to know him and getting him to trust me. That year we were third overall in the province at our level. It was a lesson I haven't forgotten, and the best possible thing that could have happened. Time really heals and patience is essential.

At the moment, I lease a horse in Richmond at Riverside Equestrian. I ride there Tuesdays and Thursdays casually - I don't do lessons or showing, just hacking mainly. The little horse I have there is a bit of a spaz- very easily frightened and in need of a confident rider. He's a good boy really and he can't help that something about every little sound sets him off. We're working on that and mostly just having fun. I'm also getting back into shape and geting used to the touchy, twitchy, nervous mount riding that I was used to back in the day. It's amazing what you remember. I don't jump at this point as my knees are questionable and the most serious of my training is in dressage which poses more challenges anyway. I am happy to ride on the flat, though I do have a background in jumping.

I'm not fussy about what I do for you- I don't have a giant ego about being the next great trainer or rider at all. I'm nearly 40, my body has its limits and there's no point in trying to gild the lily. I am happy just being around horses. My work schedule is slightly unusual in that I work from 4:30am -12:30pm Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. At this point., I'm available Monday afternoons (I ride at Riverside Tues. and Thurs.) and also a bit on the weekends. I live in East Van, so would ideally like to go no further than Langley - but I'm a soft touch, so try me.

I will be in Langley next Monday for a fitting with Lynn Saunders. I told her I'd be there around 2pm and shouldn't be more than an hour with her. I'd be happy to come out and meet you afterward if that suits you-just let me know where to go and I'll head over when I'm done.

You can call me over the weekend or just email me back here. I am going to help the girls at the barn with the Southlands Playday show this weekend so will be in and out Saturday and Sunday. Hope we can meet up next week and make plans!

Thanks so much,
Marcy

The Golden Link

In Kundalini yoga, which I have practiced on and off for the last ten years, there is a mantra called the Adi Mantra which is chanted to connect practitioners with 'The Golden Link' of teachers who have passed their teachings throughout time and to the knowingness of the teacher within each of us, I draw my title from this.

Dante and I worked through the winter and worked through our issues, horse and human. I got into better shape and got back in touch with what I knew I knew. You see, I am very fortunate when it comes to encountering great teachers in horsemanship. I don't think I even realized this until I started back with Dante and had to examine my entire back-catalogue of knowledge for answers and ideas.

As a young Pony Clubber in Brandon, Manitoba I found myself in the company of Mr. Robin Hahn, who gave riding clinics regularly there in the fall and winter. I could never have afforded these clinics myself, but I was allowed to audit them as a groom and general stable hand. Pretty sweet to a very keen 12 year-old!

Robin showed me how to roll bandages and put them on properly and was always very friendly and outgoing with me, he even came out to see the mare I was riding and gave me a lesson for free.

I re-set dropped rails and swept up and basically did whatever he asked of me while soaking in everything that he was teaching the clinic participants. I dreamed of the day I would be able to pay to attend a clinic as a full-fledged student and set my sights on becoming an eventer just like Robin.

In 1985, my Mom and sister and I relocated to Milton, Ontario. Ten minutes down the road was Halton School of Equitation, at which I immediately became the student of Auriel Halliday. Auriel was magnificent and English and glamourous. I rode in her intermediate group and she very quickly singled me out as a part-boarder for her own semi-retired A-Circuit Jumper, the spectacular Witchy Woman.

She also got me a job teaching summer riding camp through the YMCA (when I was underage no less) and basically did everything she could to help me ride and compete on a very limited budget. I adored her and learned everything I could about hunter/jumper and equitation under her tutelage and that of her wonderful mare.

At Halton, I became acquainted with the beginner instructor, Paulette Legault. Paulette taught my younger sister, who absolutely loved her (as did all her students). The other barn Paulette taught at was Cedar Mills Riding School and, knowing I was mainly interested in eventing, she suggested that I come out to visit as it was a dressage school.

Through Paulette, I was introduced to Master Frank Grelo, who is pictured at the top of the page below his own great Master. Frank studied classical dressage under Nuno Oliveira, a Master of Masters and certainly a huge figure in 20th century dressage. Talk about a Golden Link...

Fate and circumstance led me to move to Cedar Mills as a student of Frank's and to begin a working student program there at the beginning of 1987. I was 15 years old and again, underage. The agreement was that I would attend high school in town and work at the barn riding, training, giving lessons and caring for horses (in my case the recently landed broodmares from Portugal). That all sounds a little nuts in retrospect, but I think my passion for horsemanship was pretty convincing to everyone around me, including my Mom and Frank, and they let me go and try my hand at it.

Like a typical teenager away from home and running a bit wild, I didn't exactly make the most of my time at Cedar Mills. Despite this (and I've had a hard time forgiving myself for it too), I learned more there than I could ever have imagined. Frank's way with horses could be filed under what we now call 'Natural Horsemanship', though it's Classical Dressage in the Portugese style and not the cowboy way (the two are not so dissimilar though).

I soaked it all in and despite any teenage distractions, learned more than anyone would have thought possible, including myself. Frank taught me to think about the horse first, no mean feat for a man trying to engage a girl not quite sixteen. However, it got through and has stayed with me always. When I ride today, I still hear Frank's voice in my head guiding me and telling me where to move and how to tune myself in.

At the time of this post, Frank's website is down. This makes me kind of sad, since I love to visit that particular dream. When it is restored I will share it with you here since you might also like to go there to dream. I bet you will...

The Divine Comedy

December came and I embarked on my journey with the lovely Dante. Because I am prone to getting all mystical and strange, I even took it as a good sign that the horse chosen to teach me to ride again shared a name with both a legendary writer and my young nephew.

Dante is, of course, one of the most noted writers on spirituality ever. I am not a Catholic, but what little I have read of Dante transcends religion and crosses over to the spiritual- which anyone can understand provided they allow that sort of thing in their lives.

The Divine Comedy, Dante's three-part poem in long form, begins with The Inferno, or a journey through Hell in the first-person. It's a journey which begins in the' middle' of the narrator's life oddly enough.

So I met with Dante (the Equine) on my way through a rough spot that, while not quite H-E-double hockey sticks, was close enough to count.

If you've been through Hell, then you know that Purgatory is a huge leap forward, whether you are Catholic or not. Purgatory is the part where you can start making sense of it all. You get the lay of the land, you reflect on what you know and what will bring you closer to your goals. You make amends and you plot your course for worthiness of admission to the next level, which is Heaven.

Purgatory hurts, but it feels alot better than where you came from. You are confused, you are sore, you feel weak and lost and it never seems to end. Horse or human, you feel it all.

Dante and I met in that space, and I credit him with leading me out of it. My only goal with him, at the outset, was to tune myself up again. Selfish entirely, and also unrealistic. I forgot that it wasn't all about me and that I had to work to form a connection and a partnership with this spooky and somewhat reticent little horse in order to make it to the next level.

Though I wasn't exactly graceful as a rider, I did my best to be quiet and kind and to trust my instincts and my horse. Every time he heard a noise and bolted I had to tell myself to just ride it out and stay calm; my job was to show him that everything was okay and that I wouldn't put him in danger and to understand that he wasn't intentionally trying to make me feel afraid or hurt me.

In showing me who he was and what he felt unreservedly, Dante led me out of Purgatory in a very short space of time. His sensitivity and awareness tuned me into my own. We bumped around together in the arena - sloppy, weak, scared, unsure - and finally met each other somewhere in the space shared between a dubious equine and a skeptical human. Once that connection was made I felt like a better rider and he seemed to gain confidence and enjoy our rides more.

Dante obeyed the laws of camping and left me much better than he found me. I agonized over letting him go when the time came to do so.

Getting to 'yes'

The fall of 2008 moved on and I quickened my pace a little with the searching for reasons why I should leave the horse thing alone and setting up roadblocks to make sure that I did. "It costs too much". "You don't have time". "You're too old - your body won't hold up". "You've forgotten everything anyway". "You'd never be any good at it again, if you ever were in the first place".

Yes, I am a master of derailing my own train. If anybody else said any of those things to me I'd be up out of my seat in a heartbeat prepared to go kick some a** and take some names. But hey, I've never claimed to be, um, entirely well-adjusted...

My beautiful boy kept trying to encourage me to go for it - to find something, ANYTHING to get me excited and inspired and maybe moving out of the work/bitch/moan/sleep/work again rut. My life was all about work and it was making me and everybody else miserable. I love what I do on a certain level and I've worked very hard to get where I am, but being "career oriented" is not what I was doing at all- it was workaholism and totally unhealthy. Every time the poor boy tried to talk to me about it I tore a strip off him and told him to run his own life. I also never said I was always nice, for those of you keeping score.

I got a little tipsy one night and started looking around craigslist for horse-related content. If you've spent any time on CL you will probably agree that alot of people use it when they've had a couple of drinks, but that's an observation that isn't entirely relevant to the business at hand here. So anyhow, on this particular evening sometime in late October/early November I came across an ad for riding lessons at a stable in Richmond, about a 20 minute drive from my home and my office both.

Being a little emboldened by the red wine, I fired off an email reply to the post stating that I was interested in getting back into riding, had a fair degree of experience, did not want to take lessons, didn't know if my body could take it and would they have anything to offer someone like me or know where I should go if they did not, etc. I hit 'send' and then spent the next day or two hoping that the email would bounce back and that my lack of judgment wouldn't find me at some barn in Richmond signed and mounted up within a matter of minutes.

The telephone response to my call came in the afternoon, two days after my email. A woman named Linda who owned the barn called me and said that they had lots of options outside the lesson stream and several horses that I might enjoy. I booked a time to go out to be assessed and then set about trying to find ways to cancel. I didn't breathe a word of this to The Boy since I was sure it would be going nowhere, though I also didn't cancel and even went so far as to go buy a new modern helmet just in case.

The appointed hour arrived and I found myself here:

http://riversidestables.ca/

Riverside is a beautiful facility, certainly the loveliest in Richmond and one of the best in the Lower Mainland. It's in a great location and it has a wonderful atmosphere, which is something that can be very hard to find in serious Hunter/Jumper barns. You know from the minute you walk in that it's well-run and topnotch in every aspect. Very, very professional and also very down to earth - this is quite an achievement in my experience.

Linda and I had a nice chat about what I had in mind and what Riverside could offer. I told her flat-out that I was pretty worried about my knees not being able to take the strain. I have patellofemoral syndrome:

http://www.healthlinkbc.ca/kbase/topic/special/tp22235spec/sec1.htm

caused by all the riding I did as a young person. It's worse in the winter, but I've only ever had one episode where I was incapacitated by it. This was brought on by carrying heavy boxes up and down steep stairs. I had no idea what might happen if I started riding again regularly, especially in the winter but I wasn't optimistic that's for sure.

Linda asked me if I wanted to do an assessment that day and I figured I might as well capitalize on the opportunity since I'd kept the appointment and packed my chaps, boots and new helmet. There was some discussion amongst the staff as to who I should ride and the final word was that I should try Dante because "if she can ride him, she can ride anyone".

Dante turned out to be a little chestnut Arab/Appy mix with a sweet face and a kind eye. Not necessarily "my type", as I tend to prefer larger, lankier horses and this boy was 15 something and pretty, um, round. Oh well,I thought, I'm looking for ways to get out of this so let's get on with it.

I groomed and tacked and fiddled with the boots - "which way does this go again? Oh right... see I told you you wouldn't remember any of it" - then headed to the arena for my assessment. Angela, one of the instructors, told me to expect that Dante might be a little sensitive to noise and we commenced our lesson with Linda in the ring teaching one of her young jumping students. I certainly knew i was being watched.

Angela put me through my paces which I found excruciatingly difficult. My comment to her was "my muscle memory has Alzheimers" (no offense to anybody who is living with this disease - I fully understand its gravity). My brain knew exactly what to do but my body just couldn't respond to the cues. I felt clunky and messy and not at all on my game.

Despite the un-showiness of my body, etc. I thought things were going along pretty well. Dante wasn't exactly finely tuned, but then again, neither was I- he bore with me and didn't seem offended that I wasn't exactly graceful and concise in my seat and aids. I found myself leaning down to pat him and thank him repeatedly for being such a good sport about it all. He did a couple of little bucks in the canter transitions, which I attributed entirely to my sloppy seat and figured were fair.

At a certain point, we passed the big sliding door at one end of the arena - the scary end for Dante apparently, because each time we rode into it he tensed up and got antsy- there was a loud sound from the shedrow as we entered the top corner and he was off like a shot. I lost a stirrup in the take-off but had him back in hand at the opposite corner anyway, despite fishing for my inside iron to try to recover. I found myself laughing and asking Angela if I had passed. The body still knew how to deal with that sort of problem apparently, which I took as a very good sign.

When I was sufficiently sweaty and absolutely sure I'd be unable to walk the next day, Angela let me off the hook. Linda had seen everything and didn't say much about my skills, which was a relief. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being awesome, I was about a 2. She told me the price of a half-lease and asked if I'd be interested. I said yes and that I'd be ready to start December 1st.

A challenge had been issued and I wasn't going to turn away from the chance to ride a horse that would whip me into shape mentally and physically in short order; even if he wasn't necessarily my type, Dante would be kind about my issues and totally honest about his own.

Driving home that night, I was seeing stars. The little bolt episode had caught me off guard and left me behind enough that I had a bit of whiplash. For the next week, I was in pain all over and could barely turn my head. I lived on Advil and the thought of beginning a new chapter in my life with horses. I wasn't going to back out unless I was crippled.

About three days before my half-lease was to start I started to feel better and could even turn my head well enough in both directions. It was time to begin...