"Ribs"

Ophie's mom wrote this post. Since I'm still waiting to hear from the vet, and thought I'd save my crazy dream for a later time I figured now was good enough time as any to post it!

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Last week I nearly lost my shit in the barn aisle at the place where I
board my mare, Ophie. Why? Because some one asked me a deceptively
simple question:

“Why is your horse so thin?”

First off, let’s be clear. She’s not a rack of bones: she’s got a
nice fat pad over her ass, her flank, her haunches, poochy little bits
on her chest. But, you can see her ribs.

There, alright, I said it. You can see my horse’s ribs. I could see
her ribs when I first got her two years ago, and yes, you can still
see them now. At no point – summer, winter, spring, in work or out -
have you ever been able to not see them. And it’s not something I’m
fully at ease with – which is why when some one asked me, “Why is your
horse so thin?” I heard:

“Why are you such a shitty horse owner?”

Why is she so thin? Because her metabolism is the love child of a
greyhound and Kate Moss. She eats (minimum): 5 flakes of hay, 4lbs of
beet pulp, 3lbs of low-carb, high-fat grain, 2 cups of oil, and a
vitamin/mineral supplement. I would feed her a partridge in a pear
tree too if I thought it would make a difference. Yes, I realize this
diet would make some horses feet fall off, but for her, this is just
for maintenance – god forbid if we actually wanted to build condition.

I know some of you out there are itching to share your weight and
condition building success stories. You’ve probably a favorite
supplement, but here is why I’m not going to add it to her diet:

Because I’m pretty sure she’s fine as is. And even though in a
perfect world I wouldn’t be able to see ribs, I’m prepared to live
with it. Because she’s shiny, happy, and energetic. Because she gets
her teeth done regularly, has no parasite load, and doesn’t have to
compete for food. Because she has beautiful, springy, well-digested
manure. Because her vet is happy with her condition. And okay,
yeah, our trainer critiques her musculature but she is a crazy
perfectionist and thinks Totilas “has room for improvement” too.

But, um, I didn’t say anything. And not just because I live in fear
of starting/being involved in barn drama. But because I also
volunteer at a horse rescue, and I’ve learned there that the horse
world is largely self-policing, and that there are a lot of people out
there who through ignorance let their horses get into all kinds of
shitty shape. Sometimes a horse is thin, or his feet are overgrown
not because of malice, but because his owner genuinely does not know
how to take care of him. Am I saying ignorance should excuse poor
treatment or abuse? Absolutely not. What I am saying is sometimes it
is a good idea to ask.

Hey, I notice your horse is losing weight pretty fast this winter –
are you worried?

Do you need a farrier recommendation?

Are you sure you want to put him up wet?


Could the girl at my barn have phrased it a little better – sure. But
ultimately, I’m glad I’m surrounded by people who are a little too
nosy rather that not nosy enough. Lord knows I made ridiculous, huge
mistakes when I first got my horse. And mostly, it’s been through the
guidance of my peers that I’ve become a better horse owner. So, I
guess I’m glad she asked me why my horse was so thin.

And come to think of it, if you have had really good luck with a
particular condition-building supplement, I guess I would like to hear
about that too.

How Not to Pick A Barn, or, A Prologue to How I Met Denali's Mom

by Guest Blogger, Ophie's Mom:

When I decided to get back into riding as an adult, I asked some one I
worked with where she rode - and then promptly forgot the name of the
place she told me. Then I went on Craigslist and searched for
"horseback riding lessons". One of the places that popped up had a
familiar sounding name, so I ran with it. For simplicity's sake,
we'll call it Below Average Boarding Barn.

I went out there, had a lesson on one of their lesson horses, and
because I was Riding Horses Again, and simply didn't know any better,
I ignored all the (somewhat glaring) signs that something wasn't quite
right at BABB. I was soon happily working one day a week cleaning
stalls in exchange for lessons and a part-lease on a little arab named
Najah.

I didnt know it at the time, but the barn manager/trainer (who leased
the property from absentee land lords) was sliding deeper and deeper
into debt. And things were getting worse. So, in case you ever find
yourself in a similar situation here's a handy list of things that
should be big, glaring neon signs of A Problem:

- The boarders never stay for very long. And they get weirder and
weirder as time goes on. We, for example, had a crazy woman who owned
a little peruvian mare. Every time she saw me she told me the story
of how she had a car accident and couldn't ride anymore until she
found the smooth-gaited peruvian. Every single time she saw me. And
we saw each other 2-3 times a week. We also had a divorcing couple
who between them had two stalls and one horse. They would move her
back and forth between the stalls in some sort of passive-aggressive
ownership assertion dance.

- Soon, when I went to clean stalls, there were never any new
shavings. The first time, I figured, whatever - she probably just ran
out and hasn't had time to pick some up yet. But then, there were
never any, ever.

- Horses start appearing and disappearing randomly, without
explanation, and sometimes in really crappy condition. Let me just
take a second to interject here - it's not like I was completely
oblivious, especially not to this last bit - but a horse would come in
looking like shit, and when I asked it was all "oh, he's a rescue" or
"she's being rehabbed" And, being new to horses as an adult I thought
okay, yeah well maybe, but -

- The vet never comes out. Ever. You'd think a place that had 20+
stalls and pasture-boarded horses on top of that would require at
least occasional vet visit. Yeah, no. And let me just say, if you
are "rescuing" horses, but cannot afford to have the vet come out even
once? You are not actually "rescuing" the horse.

- The only people who seem to ride regularly are a swarm of
increasingly feral middle- and high-school aged girls, who form
ever-changing alliances and vendettas with/against each other in a
perpetual battle to make each other miserable. At BABB, their
favorite tactics were stealing, or simply disposing of each other's
tack, helping themselves to the grain/supplements of boarders, and
finally helping themselves to the boarder's horses. Which may not
actually have been as bad as it sounds, because, remember none of the
other boarders were ever actually there, and for a few horses
(including Ophie - but that's another story) this would be the only
time they got out of their stall, ever.

I will not even go into the state of physical decay the property was
in, except to say the toilet was sinking into the floor. Seriously.

But for better or for worse, I was able to ignore most of that, most
of them time. Why? Well, partly because of Najah. When I was a kid,
my fantasy dream horse was a fire-red chestnut arab. He would have a
perfect crescent moon mark on his forehead, and no other white. He
would have a dished face, and huge intelligent eyes. He would have
nostrils that quivered with excitement as we got ready to race through
fields and forests. He wouldn't walk: he would prance, and probably
toss his head impetuously.

Oh whatever, you know you totally had an embarrasing dream horse too.

Anyway, here is what Najah actually was - a chesnut arab gelding, with
a white mark that might pass for a crescent moon if you squinted
really hard, or maybe if you were drunk. He was also in his mid
twenties, and his favorite activity was napping in the sun. The first
time we rode, I went to get him from the field and he, napping of
course, lifted his head up, looked at me, and heaved this huge sigh
like, Okay. Fine. If you insist. It was instant love on my part.

He was lazy, he balked, he was so round that my leg would constantly
slip forward off his barrel, throwing me into a chair seat. He bucked
if you hit him with a crop. He bucked if you asked him to canter.
Sometimes he just bucked for fun. But his favorite trick was to
simply abandon the activity at hand and go stand in the middle of the
arena and refuse to move, which he got away with because he had a
career mostly hauling little kids around. We soon reached an
agreement: I wouldn't haul on his face, bounce wildly on his back, and
would spend lots of time grooming him - in exchange he wouldn't balk
and limited his bucking to special occasions.

You know, looking back at BABB, it's amazing how much stuff I put up
with, or ignored. And I think it has to do with that rush you get
when you're first bonding with a horse. Especially if you've been out
of the game for awhile - it's like: Oh yes, I remember you, I remember
this. How could I have gotten by without this in my life?