ARTICLES
A Cowgirl In Connecticut
published in “California Riding Magazine”I've encountered a strange new omen since I moved from San Diego to Connecticut. I know that I'm going to have a bad day when I go out to the barn in the morning and find a dead mouse in the horse's water bucket. It's just one of the differences between living in New England and Southern California. When the weather gets cold, the mice decide that the heated buckets in the horses' stalls make a good Jacuzzi. It comes with the territory, along with the locks freezing on the barn doors and the gates. After the first big snow, I couldn't get inside to feed the horses. It took a hammer and something in a spray can called “Lock De-Icer” to open them. The most frequent advice I got when I moved here was, “Keep a path shoveled to the barn at all times.”
For me, the worst part about winter in Connecticut is that we have no running water in the barn. I didn't understand the significance of this inconvenience when we moved in last summer. In warm weather, it's no big deal to hook up the hose and run it out to the barn. Now that everything is frozen, three times a day, I carry six buckets of warm water from the house. They each drink eight to ten gallons a day, and I don't want them to colic from lack of water. I joke that my horses are “tea drinkers”. When I appear with a steaming two- gallon bucket, they often slurp it empty on the spot.
The horses don't mind the winter as much as I do. When I turn them out in the pasture, they play in the snow like kids. I hold my breath that they don't slip on the ice. My three- year old filly, Siete, went flying and landed flat on her side at the beginning of the winter. Her mother, Silk, is eighteen, and her arthritis prevents her from kicking up her heels as much.
I can hear my friends in California asking, “Are you out of your mind? Why do you want to go back East?” As a diehard New Yorker, I realized last year that it was time I came home. One big difference between when I left the Big Apple and my return was that in 1990, I headed west as a single woman. Fifteen years later, I brought my whole tribe back across the country with me. Besides my husband, a ten-year old daughter, and a 91-year old mother, there was my menagerie of two Quarter Horses, a dog and two cats. The beauty of our new home is that I wake up in the country, and go out to the barn every morning. Then, in an hour and a half, I can be standing in Grand Central Station in New York City. After work, I get home in time to feed the horses. It's the best of both worlds.
I certainly don't miss the mud and rain, or the fires and earthquakes. I do miss being able to get good, sweet grass hay all year round. Finding the good connections here for decent hay is an on-going challenge. One morning right after we moved in, my neighbor who owns a big hunter/jumper barn pulled into my driveway and said, “Get in the car. The hay-man is at my place.” Without thinking, I jumped in and she sped down the street. The grooms were unloading a big truck, sending bales up a belt into her hayloft. It was a first cutting of grass and timothy and looked very stiff and brown. I was told we were in the middle of a hay shortage. Second cutting wouldn't come in until the end of summer. I bought ten bales, but I wasn't happy with the quality. Determined to do better, I asked around. No one seemed to have a decent source. My horses are California princesses. They will pick through a flake, and then trample it all over the place if it doesn't meet their high standards.
I answered an ad in the local paper for Vermont hay, which is much better than anything grown in upstate New York. Fate dealt me a hand, and I met one of my favorite people, a team penner named George. Now, he delivers sweet, soft hay and gives me good advice about all things relating to Western riding and owning Quarter Horses in New England. George connected me with his farrier, who also likes to work cows. He's a really easy-going, calm person, and my horses both seem to like him. There aren't many cowboys around here so we stick together.
Our property backs up to over twenty-five miles of bridle trails through a wildlife protected preserve. There's a gate in the back, so I don't even have to ride on the road. The animals in the preserve roam freely around the neighborhood. Some days, it seems like there are more deer than people in Connecticut. Siete stands guard at the fence of her pasture and snorts and blows loudly at the does and fawns. I worry about Lyme Tick Disease, which is carried by the mice and deer. There's no vaccine for horses, and I'm told that the treatment involves putting a shunt in the horse's neck and injecting antibiotics a couple of times a day. The ticks are tiny black specks, so checking the horses to pick them off is next to impossible. I was surprised to see so many coyotes, but relieved that there are no rattlesnakes.
There are five other families on our small country lane who keep horses in their backyards. We are also fortunate to have the big hunter/jumper barn with a beautiful indoor arena three houses away. All my neighbors were very happy to learn that we had horses, and the town council recently passed a motion to encourage the development of equestrian related businesses and properties. There's an active Bridle Trails Association, which holds monthly meetings and organizes trail-clearing parties. No maps of the trails have ever existed, so the only way to learn about them is from other members or by venturing out exploring on your own. One kindly gentleman recommended that I never ride without my gardening clippers. For many years, he's snipped away the branches that obscure his path every time he rides.
Most people ride English, and fox hunting is quite popular on the East Coast. The hunt used to cut through my next-door neighbor's property until a couple of years ago when about fifty horses and riders pummeled the lawn and tore up the flowerbeds. If I say the words, “Western Pleasure” around here, everyone looks at me in bewilderment. “What's that?” asked one wisecracking Yankee, “Some kind of exotic massage oil?”
Despite our differences, the other horse lovers whom I've met here in Connecticut are very welcoming. I may be the only one wearing a cowboy hat and boots in my grocery store, but that usually sparks a conversation with someone. The other day, in line at the check-out counter, I met a lady in her seventies who used to barrel race, and the cashier told me about her own eight horses who live in her backyard.
I'm looking forward to Spring, when the pastures will be lush with green grass, and the horses can stay out all day again. Unfortunately, you won't find me riding for a while. I'll be digging that trench for the water line from the house to the barn so next winter I won't have to spend my time schlepping all those buckets.
“One Horse Down. Mayday. Mayday”
published in “Equus Magazine”
It was pouring rain at 7 am when I slogged out to the barn to serve breakfast to my two horses. In order to feed Silk, my 18-year old mare, I had to unlatch the bottom half of the Dutch door and step inside to reach the bucket. As I yanked it open Silk fell out on top of me, stiff as a board. I thought she was dead. I tried to support her, but realized she was going to crush me. I jumped out of the way, and she crashed down into a mud puddle. I screamed; she struggled to her feet and fell again. As I ran to the gate of the corral to get help, she got up and stumbled around in the pouring rain.
It was like a scene from a horror movie.
It took four agonizing minutes to run to the house, find my cell phone and call my vet. When I got the emergency operator, I could barely tell her what was happening. She said the vet on duty would call back. I was in a panic as my ten-year old daughter and my 91-year-old mother watched, scared out of their minds. My husband threw on his clothes, and we ran back to the barn.
Silk was standing outside in the rain next to Siete's stall. The two horses, mother and daughter, had their heads together, nose-to-nose. I was relieved to see my mare still on her feet. My heart pounded as I approached Silk. She willingly put her head into the halter I was holding. Attaching a lead rope, I walked her in circles around the corral, even though we were both soaking wet, and wondered if it might be colic. Colic is one of my greatest fears. I can't buy insurance for her because Silk is too old to qualify. If she needed surgery, I couldn't really afford it.
For forty agonizing minutes, I walked my four-legged sister. Silk didn't resist while I led her, and I thought how lucky I am to have such well-behaved horses. She doesn't like to stand out in the rain, and I certainly wasn't happy to be drenched with cold water. I considered giving her some Banamine, but since I didn't know what was wrong, I didn't want the medication to mask any of her symptoms. My cell phone rang, and my vet, Dr. Whitney Will from Fairfield Equine Hospital in Connecticut, asked me what happened. When I explained, she told me that she was on her way to help.
While my husband held Silk on her lead rope in her stall and comforted her, I grabbed the equine rectal thermometer from the emergency kit. I realized that I had never attached a string and a clip to the end of it to prevent losing the thermometer inside the horse. Frantically, I searched for something to tie on to the end of the thermometer. I ended up cutting the strings off the Australian oilskin hat I was wearing.
Silk did not want me to take her temperature, and the thermometer kept popping out. Then, we couldn't read it. I tried to take her pulse, which I had practiced doing on other occasions. No luck, I was too nervous. Silk was having muscle tremors on her chest and her back haunches. I tried to take deep breaths and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.
I called some of my neighbors who own horses for advice and moral support, but no one was home. My little girl ventured out to the barn, reluctant to get on the school bus. My husband assured her that Silk would be okay and offered to take her to school. I hugged her and told her that I loved her, but everyone could see that Mommy was obviously upset. They left me alone with Silk.
All my life, I have wanted a horse. When I reached my forties, I finally gave myself Silk as a gift and I felt I had found a part of me that had long been missing. Silk wasn't easy to handle. She had been abused, and she merely tolerated me. It took years of daily care and kindness to gain her trust. As Silk looked at me while we waited for the vet, I promised her everything was going to be all right. I also watched her muscles in her chest and the back of her legs trembling and felt like there were parts of me shaking with her.
I've never been so happy to see anyone when Dr. Will drove up to the barn. She took out her stethoscope and listened to Silk's stomach, lungs and heart. She found it difficult to hear the horse's heartbeat. It was muffled and irregular. Silk was still having the muscle tremors on her chest and back legs. I mentioned that I had been giving the horses a supplement in their food that was supposed to prevent them from chewing wood. I showed her the ingredients, and she pointed out that it was mostly electrolytes. I hadn't realized that, and I felt foolish. I know that it's dangerous to throw off a horse's electrolyte balance. I usually check with the vet before giving my horses any supplements. We discussed what we should do next, since the cause of Silk's distress wasn't clear. Dr. Will was concerned that there might be fluid or a tumor, so we decided that I should bring Silk into the hospital for ultrasound. The vet took some of my horse's blood to run some tests, and we agreed that Silk and I would see her in a couple of hours at Fairfield Equine.
I have no horse trailer, so I called my neighbor and made arrangements for her barn manager, George, to take Silk to the hospital. I felt so fortunate to have experienced horse people nearby and to live only ten minutes from one of the finest equine hospitals in the country. Although I was still feeling panicked about what was wrong with Silk, I tried not to let myself get upset while I stayed in her stall to keep her calm. She stood with her head against my shoulder, and we both took comfort in each other's presence. I remembered all the times during the nine years that I've owned this animal that she's had painful injuries. We've been through a lot together, but nothing as scary as this.
We were due at the hospital at two in the afternoon. I had four endless hours to wait before I could load Silk into the trailer. The fear of what would happen when we got to the hospital was bone-chilling. As I stood with Silk and Siete in the barn listening to the rain pound down on the roof, my mind went to places that I don't usually like to go. I considered what would happen if we found a tumor or if they told me that Silk had a life-threatening disease. I knew that I never want my horses to suffer. Over the years, I've seen other owners who love their animals postpone the decision to euthanize them even when the animals are obviously in pain. As much as I would miss my best friend, I decided that because I love Silk so much, I would do what was best for her. If there was a tumor, and she was in pain, I would put her down. My sadness immobilized me. I leaned my head against Silk's neck, and she rested her head on my shoulder. We stood braced against each other like that for almost an hour.
When George arrived he couldn't pull into our driveway with the trailer because it was too muddy. I walked Silk out to the road while her daughter, Siete, whinnied and cried like a baby. Silk didn't hesitate to follow me onto the trailer. Once we closed the door, she called back to Siete, almost like she was saying, “Don't worry. I'll be back soon.”
At the hospital, she came off the trailer and followed me in without balking. Dr. Will and a colleague who is an equine surgeon examined her with the ultra-sound machine. Her heartbeat was still irregular, but they didn't find any fluid or tumors. Her muscles were still trembling, so they decided to check her electrolytes. They also wondered if she might have cut off her circulation by leaning on her carotid arteries when she stuck her head out over the Dutch door. That could have caused her to pass out and fall down. There was no definite diagnosis, and no treatment. We decided that I shouldn't ride her and that I'd closely monitor her. When the horses came back for their vaccinations in about six weeks, Dr. Will would listen to Silk's heart again to see if it had gone back to beating normally. With relief, but also a disconcerting lack of resolution, I took her home.
It took all my courage to go out to the barn the next morning to feed the horses. I had nightmares for a week, dreamed that Silk was dead in her stall. Once again, my horse was teaching me how to face my deepest fears. By forcing myself to continue our normal routine, I eventually stopped dreading going out to the barn. I tried not to dwell on what will happen if there's still a problem. I concentrated on what I can do to be ready if something goes wrong with my horses in the future.
I restocked my emergency kit and found a prominent place for it in the tack room. I wrote the phone numbers for the vet and four neighbors on the top of the kit. I began carrying my cell phone with me every time I go to the barn. It felt like an eternity when I was running back to the house to get the phone that rainy morning. Both horses have injured themselves twice this month, scraping skin off in minor barn accidents. It was a relief to have the saline wound spray and the iodine based ointment easily at hand.
My husband pointed out that Silk taught me a good lesson about how not to respond in emergencies. I will never again start screaming in front of my daughter. Though my mother is healthy now, she's 91 years old, and I realized I could face an emergency situation with her at any time. My horse taught me that panic never helps anything. When I calmed down, Silk seemed grateful that I took charge and followed me willingly.
I tried to look at all the mistakes I made. I knew that giving my horse nutritional supplements might potentially be harmful. In the feed stores and catalogs, there are many products to improve hoof quality, reduce joint pain, and prevent horses from chewing wood. It's tempting to try to add something to improve your horse's health. Even though I gave them a supplement from a well-known, reputable manufacturer, I thought about calling Dr. Will but didn't want to bother her with something so minor. After Silk's emergency, I regretted my decision.
“If there's ever a question about anything, make the phone call.” Dr. Will advised me, “There is an opportunity to talk to a vet here 24 hours a day, and we're always available for consultation. It's not hard to have a chat on the phone. Some people are embarrassed that it's a silly question, but none of them truly are.
“We can be as protective as we can be, and things can still go wrong.” She reassured me, “You have to just assess the situation and think rationally. You have to know the temperament of your horse. My biggest advice is that horses are very much creatures of habit, so you don't want to do big feeding changes or management changes. Everything that you alter should be done incrementally over a period of time. “
Silk's emergency will probably remain a mystery. Fortunately, she seems to be back to her normal frisky self. That's yet another lesson my horse has taught me. There are things that happen that will never be explained, but remind you of how lucky you are when everything is going along the way it's supposed to go. I was also reminded of how fragile these powerful, thousand pound animals really are. Their digestive systems are delicate. Their legs need to be protected. Some days, I look at them and think that they are accidents waiting to happen. Then, I remember that horses have existed in the wild for centuries, honing their survival skills. As long as I take care of Silk and Siete as best I can, I have to trust that they really do have “horse sense”.
A Cowgirl in Connecticut Watches the San Diego Fires and Weeps
published in “The Newtown Bee”
My brother-in-law called us from San Marcos, California, after dinner on Sunday night. It was October 21, 2007, only a couple of months after he and his wife finally bought the house they had been renting for many years. “I just hosed down my roof, “ he told us, “There's a wildfire in Discovery Hills behind us. We can see the red glow over the ridge.” I could hear the panic in his voice.
We moved from San Diego to Newtown, Ct. four years ago with our two horses, my 93 year old mother, our 12 year old daughter, a dog and two cats. Most of our family and friends still live in the North County area where the Witch Creek Fire started, and many of them are horse-owners.
Immediately, a memory flashed of the Cedar Fire, which devastated large parts of the area right before we moved East. My friend had just bought a charming Spanish hacienda with a guesthouse and a barn in Valley Center. The fire came down on them so fast that she was left running down the road, leading her two horses with a wall of flames behind her. Out of nowhere, a stranger with a truck and horse trailer appeared like some kind of angel. He helped her get the horses inside and drove her to safety. Her entire property was burned to the ground.
There were lots of those angels working overtime during the recent San Diego fires. We've heard a great deal about the 500,000 people who had to be evacuated, but what about the more than 300,000 horses whom are mostly stabled in the places that the fire hit hardest? The San Diego equine population is one of the largest in this country.
I went out to my own barn to check on my horses, Silk and Siete, and tried to imagine what I would be doing if I still lived in an area that was being evacuated. During the Cedar Fire, the blaze came within ten miles of where I kept my girls. I made plans to move them to a friend's barn down in Rancho Santa Fe but fortunately never had to carry through on them. The day after that fire started, I actually flew to the East Coast for a job interview that eventually led to our big move here. I'll never forget looking out of the airplane window at this enormous flaming wound running down the length of the mountain range.
Now, I marveled at how lucky we were to be here, 3000 miles away. The wind was blowing hard through the trees as I hugged Silk and worried about my friends' fate. The rattling of the leaves made me nervous. I reminded myself that it was nothing compared to the jitters people get in California when the Santa Ana winds start blowing that hot desert air. In my old home, I knew the gusts were coming in at 30 to 60 mph.
For four days, my husband and I sat glued to our computers watching the live coverage of the fire over the Internet, tuned into San Diego TV stations. We felt the same agony that we experienced being on the West Coast during 9/11. During that tragedy, we couldn't contact our loved ones in New York City, so all we could do was hope and pray. I feared most for one of my friends who lived along Del Dios Highway, a small enclave of rural paradise amid the housing developments along the 15 Freeway and in exclusive Rancho Santa Fe . Her family owned their home for over seventy years. She had four horses and a mother in her nineties, and they were ordering a mandatory evacuation. “Get out now! Get out now!” was the message that was automatically broadcast on the reverse-911 calls being made all over North County. It gave me chills to think about answering the phone and hearing those words.
Two thousand horses ended up at the Del Mar Fairgrounds, which has great barns at the racetrack. I wondered how my horses would behave if they were suddenly rushed someplace unfamiliar. I knew that many people wouldn't have had time to grab water, hay and feed. Horses can colic if they change their eating and drinking habits. I heard reports of groups of horse-owners coming to the rescue with their trailers. Some people took two horses to safety and then weren't permitted to return to their barns to get the rest of their beloved animals. One barn, Rancho East, where some of my friends kept their horses, were only able to move ten of the sixty horses stabled there. They had no choice but to turn loose in the paddocks the ones that were left and hope that they could fend for themselves. It was recommended that people write their cell phone numbers with a Sharpie on each horse's front hoof.
My former vet, Dr. Steve Colburn, set up an emergency equine medical clinic at Vessels, a famous Quarter Horse racing farm in Bonsall, a town further to the north and east . I watched in horror as the fire raged through Del Dios, Rancho Santa Fe and into Del Mar. My friends own Mary's Tack and Feed, a huge place that I always call “the ultimate horse lover's toy store”. It appeared to be right in the path of the fire. Across the street, at the Polo Fields between Rancho Santa Fe and Del Mar, everyone scrambled to evacuate the horses that had been moved there earlier.
Our phone rang. “They're telling people to get out of Solana Beach!” my brother-in-law announced. I started to cry. I was reading the evacuation notices on my computer at Signonsandiego.com. They issued one for the first house we lived in about sixteen years ago. I thought of all my neighbors and friends, but there was no way to know how they were doing.
As the fire raced towards the ocean, there was no time to move anyone from the Del Mar Fairgrounds. Officials hoped that the wetlands between the 5 Freeway and the beautiful Spanish style buildings would protect everyone sheltered there. The highway runs north and south along the coast. We saw video of homes burning to the ground in neighborhoods that we had driven through daily. There were new fires threatening areas to the north and south, so most of the access highways were being cut-off. I saw the evacuation notice for Bonsall, but the owners of Vessels decided not to attempt to move the 400 horses being sheltered on their property.
One TV reporter described how his wife drove to their neighborhood grocery store and found the areas in the parking lot where the shopping carts were returned had been filled with horses tied to the railings. Horses were grazing on people's front lawns. At one Home Depot, the parking lot was full of portable corrals. There were horses among the ten thousand people camping in Qualcomm Stadium.
Fortunately, the winds shifted, giving firefighters a chance to fly over the fires and drop water and flame retardant. The threat to all the places that we loved was lifted almost as quickly as it began. The painful, sad process of picking through the ashes would begin. Here in Connecticut, some people ask me why anyone would rebuild in a place where they know it might burn down again. I can only say that it's their home, and they love living there. Many families have had their roots in San Diego for as long as families in Newtown have lived in New England. With each natural disaster, they learn better ways to protect themselves.
In Ramona, one woman had only fifteen minutes warning. She took her dogs and cats, but left twenty-eight horses behind. The house, the barn, and everything burned down. All the horses are fine. They have no lead ropes or halters left, but local animal control officers gave them hay and water until she was allowed to return. Horses have lived in the wild in California longer than people. Even if they've been turned into domesticated show champions, they will always have a strong survival instinct. They also show a tremendous trust in human beings. So many of the animals that were rescued followed total strangers onto trailers and stayed calm for days in places that were weird and foreign to them.
The San Diego horse community came together to help each other in a remarkable show of strength. Their efforts have just begun, and they need help. My heart goes out to the horse owners who weren't able to save their beloved animals.
Donations can be made to the USEF Equine Disaster Relief Fund at either USEF.org or by sending checks to the United States Equestrian Federation, 4047 Iron Works Parkway, Lexington, KY 40511. More information about the fire can be found on ridingmagazine.com.