A hardworking girl needs hock boots

When Bestie got checked over by holistic vet Kim Henneman back in the fall, one of the the things Kim mentioned was that Bestie's right hip was lower than her left and there seemed to be some imbalance there. She definitely favors a side and we've been working in lessons to balance her.

After talking to a couple people at the barn, I decided to invest in some hock boots for her. I bought the same kind a friend at the barn has - Back on Track - and the friend gave me a coupon ... nice! Bestie really just needed one - for her right hock - but they're sold in a pair. Seems like wearing two can't hurt.

So, almost every day, before I start grooming her, I put them on. She's fine with them. No drama. She probably wears them about 20 minutes. The hock boots are one of those things that I guess could be called an investment. She doesn't have problems that I know of, seems it's fairly minor age-related wear and tear. Hopefully a little TLC in the form of the boots will help keep it that way.

The hock boot material is similar to splint boots, but the material is ceramic infused. After she wears them for the 20 minutes, her hocks feel slightly warmer to the touch.

Here's what the Back On Track website says: Designed to reflect the horse's own body-warmth, Back on Track horse boots create a soothing far infrared thermal heat, which can help alleviate pain associated with inflamed muscles, ligaments, tendons and joints. Used for both injury prevention as well as injury recovery. Back on Track products are not to be compared with magnetic therapy. Our form of therapy works with your horses own body heat.

They are easy to  put on and seem to be holding up well. Bestie's stall neighbor Jack, who is in his 20s, also wears them. When the horses are indoors due to the weather, he wears his hock boots for long stretches at a time.

When I put the link into this entry, I noticed that Back on Track has people products, too. I may have to check them out. 

Never a dull moment with Vermont weather

The key thing to notice in this photo is the big fat 0. As in Zero Degrees. I feel like I completely dodged a bullet having my lesson yesterday when the temperature was a balmy 33 degrees. It always blows my mind when the temperatures drops so precipitously. 28 degrees last night when I went to bed at 10 pm. 3 degrees when I woke up this morning. Wow.

The barn folk wisely decided not to turn the horses out today. The wind chill was sub zero, and most likely they would have gotten the horses all out, only to start bringing them in again. The prince and princess ponies don't last too long in this kind of weather, especially with any wind. They were probably plenty happy in the warm barn.

Bestie certainly seemed content. When I got to the barn a bit after 6 pm, she barely looked up from her hay when I said hello. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, I took her out to the indoor so she could at least stretch her legs. She rolled and then wandered around the front of the indoor checking out the lunge lines and crops hanging from the front hooks, the wheelbarrow with manure (frozen) in it, and the always fascinating corner full of jump poles, standards, and jump box with the artificial flowers in the top, 

While she was doing her tour, I occupied myself by raking the footing away from one side wall. Doing that was enough to warm me up pretty well. Then I clipped her lead back on her and we took a few laps around the indoor at a leisurely pace. 15 minutes out there was plenty, as my fingers were starting to get really cold. With its metal walls, the indoor can feel like a freezer on really cold days.

I cleaned out her stall, fluffed in some extra shavings, picked out her feet, tucked her back in her stall with another flake of hay, filled her bucket full of half warm and half cold water, and wished her good night. Not much else to do when it's this cold. I'm liking the looks of the weather as the week progresses.

Another "he's gone" moment

I've been going to the barn most every day, riding Bestie, cleaning tack, mucking out her stall, doing the usual. I still have Dude's halter hanging in my tack cubby, along with a couple of happy birthday signs I'd made for him in the last few years. I definitely still think of him often, but that terrible heavy ache is for the most part gone. So I was pretty surprised by my reaction last weekend when I got to the barn and saw that a new wooden sign for the horse that's now in Dude's old stall had gone up over the door.

For the last month and a half that the horse, Rio, has been in there, he's had a paper sign with his name written on it tacked over Dude's old stall sign. That bothered me for a bit, but I got used to it. I kind of liked seeing Dude's name peeking out when the paper would flap in the breeze. It seemed very Dude-ish, in keeping with his unretiring, "hello what about me" personality.

But when I saw Rio's new sign, it really hit me again that Dude's gone. Hit me like tears welled up. Gone gone gone. No sign. No tangible, visible evidence of his presence. I think having Rio's paper sign over Dude's wooden sign made me feel that there was still a little bit of Dude hanging about the barn. Maybe it's crazy, but I think that's what it meant to me. That Rio was the temporary one. That Dude couldn't be replaced.

Rio's new sign is lovely - the colors evoke carnival in Brazil and the design is really fun. Boarder Bev painted it. When I ran into her a couple days later, I complimented her on it and mentioned my reaction. She was sort of matter of fact, saying something like "part of moving on." Seems that moving on has an awful lot of parts.

Grooming night

At some point between leaving work, going home to let the dogs out, and arriving at the barn, my energy level hit tock bottom tonight. So I decided to make it a Beautification Night for Bestie, and she certainly didn't seem too broken up about not going for a ride. Plus, tomorrow night is the better choice for riding as it looks like temperatures will be in the upper 30s versus the upper 20s that we experienced today. I think that little increase will help with my energy level.

Bestie sort of dozed off on the cross ties while I groomed her. She had rolled outside, and while her turnout sheet had taken the brunt of the mud, she did manage to cake mud on both sides of her neck, her mane, and her knees and hocks. And there was quite a bit packed in her hooves. 

I feel like her feet have all of a sudden gotten quite long and sort of splayed out, particularly in the front, with some rough edges and little cracks. Generally her hooves are picture perfect so I'm not sure what's causing the excess growth and raggedness. It has been a month of temperature ups and downs, plus a mix of dry and wet spells; maybe all of that has had an impact. I checked the calendar and saw with relief that farrier Jen is due to come on Wednesday. Good timing - Bestie will get a pedicure this week, too. :)

Bestie and I have a program

She's so cute. She looks kind of out of proportion in this photo but that's photographer error. :)

I started taking lessons with Bestie in the middle of October. This is our third go-round; I'm not the most consistent of lesson students. First round was with former barn manager Emma (probably 5 years ago), then with former barn manager Caitlin (probably 3 years ago), and currently with Paula, who was our barn manager until November 1 and now is boarding her own horse and teaching.

I feel like I'm getting a second chance with Bestie. Since the girls left and I've been the horse mom, she definitely played second fiddle to Dude. He was just more demanding. For instance, when I got to the barn, he was the one who emphatically wanted to get out of the stall. So I'd get him out first. He dropped weight easily, so he got hand grazed more. Stuff like that. She's been very accepting of her role as The One Who Has To Wait.

But now, she's my girl. I have a sense that initially she may have thought, "What the heck is going on here with all this RIDING?" But I think she likes it now. It's good for us to have a program. Healthier for her than just me getting on for a ride every now and again. It's given me some focus after Dude's loss. And I feel like his loss has put a bittersweet spin on my relationship with Bestie. You just never know how long you'll have them in your life. I'd love to develop a partnership, more than my role as the Treats and Grooming Lady.  A partnership definitely has to be worked on and earned, as she is a complicated mare.

Paula gives a little homework, and we practice. It's simple stuff. Basically me asking quietly but firmly for respect. Halting. Smooth turns. Consistency at the walk and trot.  I never took lessons growing up so have bad habits and need instruction on the finesse of riding. And Bestie can be a tempermental and opinionated girl. I spend a lot of time reading her and working around her opinions. It's never boring, and I like that for the duration of the ride or the lesson, that is all I think about.

Paula is really calm and patient, which is just what we need. She's a great observer of the way Bestie rolls and helps me to not escalate the situation when Bestie's timer goes off. I will say that her  24-minute timer slowly has been extended to a solid 30 minutes. I'm really pleased with that. I think my confidence has grown and also that the lessons have made us more in tune with each other. Our last lesson was a solid hour and she really didn't express her opinions too strongly. It's very gratifying.

Working through loss

October was a hard month. There were a few days in the first couple weeks after saying goodbye to Dude that I gladly would have stayed in bed if I hadn't needed to get up with the dogs. I felt like I was on autopilot.

But while on autopilot for the daily stuff (take care of the dogs, go to work, come home and take care of the dogs, go to barn for Bestie), there were a few instances when I felt hit over the head again with his loss.

One was of course the first night I came back to the barn. Bad.
One was writing the board check for just Bestie.
One was paying the bill for the vet visits (and I still have a bill coming for the final visit).
One was seeing a new horse in his stall and the new horse's name written on a paper sign stuck over Dude's stall door sign.

With all of these I felt a heavy, heavy weight of sadness. Tears came easily.

I've been reading a book entitled The Undefeated Mind. The quickie summary is that it's about being resilient. One chapter talks about stages of change as applied to loss, and this chapter really resonated with me. The first stage is precontemplation, where accepting a loss has not yet occurred. I would say that was the stage I was at through the last week in October. Then comes contemplation, which is not so tied up with the emotions of loss but you recognize that you're still attached to what you've lost. Then comes preparation, where you recognize that action is needed to let go. And the final stage is action.

I'd say I'm somewhere in the middle. I feel like I've gotten to a place that is not so emotional, but not quite ready to let go. Or, I should say, not quite ready to let go unless I can do it in the way I feel is necessary, which is to honor Dude. I couldn't just sell all his stuff. I feel that I need to shed anything I don't need to keep in a mindful way. My first small step was in giving his almost-full bag of rice bran to a boarder at the barn who feels her horse is losing weight. It made me feel good to give it to her. And I gave his turnout sheet to another boarder who has been a friend and always fun to be around, and her horse has a personality full of funny quirks like Dude. It makes me feel happy to see him in the sheet.

I like the thought of doling out his things in a way that matters, like a bit of Dude is going to still be present in a way that makes me happy and touches others. Small steps. There is a lot more to do, but really, there's no rush.

There have been moments of shared memories with people who knew him and some laughs about his idiosyncrasies. And just yesterday I got a card from our vets with really kind thoughts shared by everyone in the practice.

I've thought a lot about grief in the last year and a half, between losing my mom and now losing Dude. I've welcomed the questions of "how are you doing?" - I feel like each time I can answer that question, it helps me move along the spectrum of grief. I'm thankful to the people who have asked, and who have listened to my answer. 5 weeks later, I still have moments when I can't believe he's gone. But I feel like I'm no longer at a stage where there's so much raw emotion, and while I still feel sadness, I can celebrate the good memories and the joy that he brought to my life.

Remembering

Yesterday marked two weeks since I said goodbye to Dude. It hasn't been easy.

The worst was the first day I came back to the barn, which was the Sunday after he died. Terrible.

I am so grateful for the support I've received. So many people have shared their sympathies.

Everyone at the barn has been great with messages of support, cards, hugs, and shared memories. Many have told me how they thought he was special. All these kind words have made me feel better.

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, having to walk by the empty stall every day, until I talked to my daughter a week after he left us. She said that the hardest thing was that no one around her gets it. They may have had to say goodbye to a dog, but not to a horse. It's different, losing a horse. Her observation made me feel so very grateful that I am surrounded by people who truly understand what it's like.

I have his flannel wraps in the car still; somehow, it's comforting. I can walk by the stall now without getting teary eyed, most of the time. And I see things like the shavings bag above without getting teary eyed. They were a twosome for so long, Dude and Bestie. I caught myself tonight talking to someone about how I miss them when I can't come to the barn. But it's not "them" anymore, it's her.

I'm watching Bestie. She has seemed a little down over the last two weeks. Nothing I can put my finger on, apart from a loss of spark. She's still eating with gusto. The only concrete thing I've noticed is that she doesn't whinny when I come into the barn. They used to both whinny or nicker as soon as they heard my voice each day that I came to the barn. Now, she looks up (she's usually eating hay) when I get to her stall, but she hasn't nickered or whinnied at me since we lost Dude. The funny thing about that day was that after staying in with him quietly each day, on that day, barn owner Julie said Bestie was raring to go out, like her timer had run out. I thought briefly about bringing her in to see his body after the vet was done, but didn't do it. I'm wondering what she's thinking about the empty stall next door.

Tonight Bestie and I had a lesson. It's our first lesson in about three years. She seemed more animated during it, and afterwards, than she has been over the last two weeks. Maybe for her, as with me, it's a matter of time. 

Not too long after I put my dog Dixie down, I read the following quote from Thomas Jefferson to John Adams, expressing sympathy over the death of Adams' daughter. It really touched me then and continues to touch me with the depth of feeling it conveys.

There is no degree of affliction produced by the loss of those dear to us which experience has not taught me to estimate. I have ever found time and silence the only medicine, and these but assuage, they never can suppress, the deep drawn sigh which recollection forever brings up, until recollection and life are extinguished together.