Horse Talk

Well, I thought I would share some things I have learned concerning horses. I know that I am no professional in this field, but as an Equine Massage Therapist, a horse owner for over four years, and having worked in several stables, I've picked up on a few things that I think you might find helpful.

Know your horse. This is a hands-on and hands-off knowledge of what is normal for your horse. Know how he acts when he's healthy so that when there is something wrong you will be more likely to notice right away. Also, be familiar with what he feels like--his coat, legs, neck, etc. I've had clients ask me how they will know if their horse is sore from riding and I always tell them the same thing. Touch your horse. Get your hands on him and feel for any heat or swelling, those are the obvious signs that something isn't right. Go ahead and use a bit of pressure running your fingers over his major muscle groups, feel for any knots of tight muscle (you know, like those sore spots you get in your shoulders after throwing around hay bales) take note of any flinching or more subtle signs like his ears flicking back or his tail twitching. If he seems really sore consider giving him a day or two off and have an equine massage therapist come out (or use the internet and learn some basic massage techniques & stretches yourself) to give him some relief :)

Anger destroys everything. "Just don't get angry," is one thing to say and a completely different thing to actually do. Every horse person has experienced that hot summer day when nothing is going right and patience has run out a long time ago--you get mad at your horse, mad at yourself, and mad at anything else you can blame. Being angry with your horse is a very dangerous thing because if you act out in anger, just once, you can undo weeks, months, and even years of work. The best advice I can give you is to just walk away. Put the horse in his pasture or in his stall and take a break. Go punch a pillow. Cool down. Wait a few hours or until the next day when you aren't upset and try again. Another thing I like to do in those moments when you feel yourself beginning to get frustrated is to pause and get control of your mood. Just rest your head against your horse's neck and take a few deep breaths--calm yourself down. The best thing you can do for your horse is learn how to be quiet around him, both inside and out. When you are quiet you are in control of yourself and when you are in control of yourself, you will find your horse more willing to let you be the leader.

If you never try, you'll never know. Don't be afraid to try new things. Put yourself and your horse in different situations. Go ahead and ride your horse backwards, use an English saddle instead of a Western one, take the harder trail, ride without any tack and see what happens, you know that tarp?--see if your horse will stomp on it or have him wear it like a cloak, teach your horse a trick or take him swimming. Try new things, be a little daring, your horse may just surprise you! Be smart and don't push him too far, use good horsemanship, but don't be afraid to be a little crazy. Believe me, it's more fun if you are!


Other tips:

1. Keep your horse soft by switching up his bit. Use the most simple bit you can get--I use a basic loose-ring snaffle for my light riding. When you want a higher level of performance, use a slightly stronger bit. If you aren't familiar with the bit your horse is using (or bits in general), you need to do some research! Don't put it off, get some books, use the internet and learn the facts--you may just save your horse from unneeded pain and yourself from unneeded frustration.

2. Make sure your horse's bridle fits right. The bit should be resting just against the corners of your horse's lips. It shouldn't be so tight that it creates wrinkles on the side of his mouth. Check this by putting his bridle on him then grabbing a hold of either side of the bit and pulling it forward (gently) in his mouth--if you get a gap of a half inch or more between the bit and his lips it's too loose, if you aren't getting a gap at all, it's way too tight. If you use a curb chain, make sure it fits right by pulling the reins back as if telling your horse to halt, the chain should get snug against his chin only when the reins are pulled tight. Let the reins hang--there should be a two or more finger gap between the chain and the horse's chin. If the curb chain is too tight you will confuse your horse. If it's too loose it won't be any use at all. And again, if you don't know what it's for you shouldn't be using it. Do your research.

3. Your arm length is usually the same length your stirrups should be.

4. Don't neglect groundwork but don't overuse groundwork either. Lunging your horse in fifty circles either direction is useless except to bore him and tire him out. Only ask him to go in sets of three or four circles in either direction (one set for each gait), you will keep his attention better and won't kill his brain cells by running him in circles for ages. Instead of only lunging him, use your time to teach him to back up, yield his hindquarters, and yield his forehand. Teach him to halt with a verbal command and a hand signal. You'll discover your horse will respect your space much better if you do these things.

5. Ride bareback and walk, trot, and canter. This will teach you balance and will keep you warmer in the winter :)

6. Apple Cider Vinegar. Add it to his water, dilute it with water and wash him with it, use it to clean his bits & water troughs. It won't hurt him, promotes healthy skin and a soft coat, is cheep, and it works. I promise.

7. Sometimes less is more. Ten to fifteen minutes of riding or groundwork can teach your horse just as much as a 50 to 60 minute ride. And you'll keep his attention the entire time. Try it.

8. Never stop learning. Take riding lessons, volunteer at a horse rescue, read books, research for facts. Whatever you do, don't stop learning.

9. Be fit and healthy. Yes, you! A fit and healthy person has a better sense of balance and has the strength to correctly ride a horse. Your horse will thank you for it!

10. Consistency is key. Use the same cue each time you ask him for something. One cue with each command and don't change them.

© Copyright Charity K, 2013

Blaze's Story

Well, some of you may know that July is a very special month for me. Four years ago on July 3rd I bought my horse, Blaze. I would like to share the story of how I came to own him. The following story was written just a few months after I bought Blaze back in 2009. 

Just to give you a bit of a setting, I was in Indiana visiting my grandparents for the summer. They had an old horse named Champion that they were going to sell and I had been saving up my money and hoping for a chance to buy a horse to keep at my grandparents farm . . .

It was the night of July second.  I lay in bed, my mind swirling with endless possibilities and numberless emotions.  I was sad to sell Champion, but I knew it was for the best and I was thrilled with the possibility of getting a horse that could potentially be mine.

            I had brought along the money I had saved up just in case we would be heading to the auctions with the hope of getting a horse.  And here I was, unable to sleep with anticipation.  My emotions ranged from tears to giddy hysteria.  I was going crazy.

            After lying in bed, thinking, for some time.  It struck me at how close, but yet how far, I was from seeing one of my biggest dreams fulfilled.  I think it was then that I broke down in tears and started praying.  First, I thanked God for everything he had done for me and blessed me with.  Then, I asked him to give Champion a good home.  And finally, I requested His guidance in finding a horse.  I clearly recall telling Him that if it wasn’t His will for me to get a horse, so be it.  Either way, I would praise Him.  Then, I finished with giving him all my worries and cares about the coming day, and fell asleep.

            Morning came quickly. I got up and dressed, then headed downstairs and outside to get Champion ready. I was up before anyone else.

            I went to his stall and brushed him until his coat shone, put a nice halter on him, then settled on the door of his stall and explained to him what was going on.  He seemed to understand in a strange way.  I felt sad to see a horse that I can say was one of my best friends go.  But I had a peace in my heart about it, and I knew it was God’s will. When I was done bidding good ol' Champ farewell, I returned to the house and ate breakfast. Then it was all business.  Grandpa and I loaded Champion in the trailer, and were on the road in no time.

            After we found a place to park at the auctions in Shipshewana, I unloaded Champion and led him to his spot in the auction pens.  Then, once he was tied securely, Grandpa and I headed out to look at the horses.

            The first horse that fit our requirements (a gelding, broke to ride, 5-10 years old) was a big stocky paint.  He wasn’t a very pretty horse, and to tell the truth, I wasn’t thrilled about him.  But, I was determined to be positive. There was nothing noticeably wrong with the paint, so we put his auction number on our pad of paper and kept looking.  We saw a lot of mares that would’ve worked, but we didn’t want a mare.  After seeing another paint that was skinny and green broke and a buckskin who was a little too old, I was close to giving up at finding a horse that really caught my eye.

            As we were leaving the pen of the Buckskin, I saw a horse being ridden down the isle away from us.  It looked like a gaited horse, but soon turned a corner and vanished from sight.  I told Grandpa, and we tried to find the horse, but couldn’t.  After walking around a bit more, and looking at a few more horses that never would have worked, I spotted the gaited horse again and this time we followed it to its pen.

            The horse’s owner got off and tied him up; Grandpa and I approached and looked the horse over.  He was a medium sized horse, with a rusty roan color, and black mane and tail.  I walked around him, lifted his feet, looked in his mouth, and ran my hands over his soft fur.  I liked what I saw.  So did Grandpa.

            Then we talked with his owner, who was quick to praise the horse (as any person selling something is) and he told us he was an eight year old Tennessee Walking Horse gelding.  Both Grandpa and I like gaited horses, so that added a plus to the Walker’s cause.  But there was one problem.  The Walker’s number was missing, and it was time for the auctions to start.  So we simply wrote ‘Roan Walker’ on our paper and thinned it down to three horses that looked the best.

            It was the big paint, the green broke paint, and the Walker that stayed on the list.  We decided that whichever of the three came in first, would be the one we would bid on.

            It took a long time for the riding horses to get into the ring, so I went to check on Champ and see if the Walker had gotten a number yet.  He had, and it was 89.  I hurried back to Grandpa and we wrote down his number, and then waited.  I think we both were secretly wishing for the Walker to come in first.

            It took forever until the riding horses came in.  One by one we watched horses that weren’t on our list come in and be sold.  Then, the horse we had been waiting for; number 89, came prancing into the ring.  Grandpa started bidding and soon it was up to $600, only one other man and Grandpa were left.  I heard the auctioneer say $650 and then announce “Sold!”  My heart stopped.  I wasn’t sure if we had got him or not, it had gone by so fast.  I looked at Grandpa and asked “Did we get him?”  Grandpa nodded with a smile and said, “We got ‘im.”

            I think I would’ve danced around laughing if we hadn’t been in a public place.  Now all we had to do is wait for Champion to sell.  I left to go find where the Walker had been tied to wait for us to get him.  It took a few tries, but I spotted him in a pen full of horses tied in a neat row.  Then I returned to see Champ sell.  He went for $200.

            Grandpa sent me to wait by the Walker as he went to pay for him.  It took me a few rounds to locate him again, but then I stood at his head outside of the pen and waited for Grandpa.  I spotted Champ in a pen not far away and I was able to see him led off by a kind looking man with his wife and a little girl around 12 years old.  I knew then that my prayers had been answered.  It took all of my strength to hold back tears of joy and thankfulness.  I was overwhelmed.

            As I was waiting, I came up with a name for the Walker.  I chose Blaze, because he had a white blaze running down his face.  It wasn’t a fancy name, but it seemed to fit him.  I recall very clearly standing there and stroking his nose and muttering to myself, “that’s a nice blaze.”  And it stuck as a name which was later extended to Blazing Dream . . . he is, and was, literally a dream that came blazing into reality . . . my Blazing Dream.

            Grandpa arrived shortly after I named him, and we led him away.  It was a blessing to have Blaze walk right into the horse trailer without even hesitating.  Then we climbed into the truck, and were on our way home.

            When we arrived, I was glowing as I led Blaze out of the trailer and to his new stall.  I gave him some hay, and then just stood there for several minutes watching as he sniffed around and nibbled his hay.  I don’t think that the fact I had my own horse struck me fully until a few days later.  But I remember telling Blaze, “You are mine, boy, my very own horse.”

After he had settled down in his stall, we turned him out into the front field by himself.  He walked around a bit then started eating the grass.  He seemed to settle right in.  And I knew from then on, my life would never be the same again.

 Blaze, the day I bought him :)

© Copyright Charity K, 2013

No Mere Dragon

Not my best piece of writing and nowhere near my favorite, but I thought I would post it anyway.

Words: 1,021

           Dennis was dreaming again. It was the same thing. Every time.

 A garden of golden trees.

            A girl wearing a netted veil.

            And a dragon with blood red eyes.

            A clap of thunder sounded overhead and the bounty hunter sat up with a start. He raised a hand over his eyes to shield them from the oncoming torrent of rain. Lightening flashed across the sky as he clamored to his feet and sloshed across the camp through thickening mud.

            Three tents were erected around a damp and unlit pile of logs—three horses stood tethered to the side, twitching with irritation from the rain.  Two large hound dogs stood alert at the foot of a lone tree, shivering slightly in the cold. Dennis watched the dogs as he lifted a roll of tobacco to his lips and lit it. He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out watching the smoke dissipate in front of him. The dogs whimpered slightly, their ears twitching toward the nearby forest.

            Dennis turned a full circle, an ominous feeling falling over him. “EVERYBODY UP!” he bellowed, lunging forward to where he had left his sword laying at the foot of his tent. He snatched it, spinning toward the woods just as the dogs started barking. He narrowed his eyes against the rain, searching the dim light for a sign of their target. Something moved among the trees. He spotted a glint of red.

            “The dragon,” Pete growled, joining Dennis’ side as he shrugged into his oiled fur coat and crushed a leather hat on the top of his balding head. “It’s going to be a big ‘un,” he muttered, hefting a large spear and casting a cold glance toward the third man who scrambled out of his tent, clasping his boots and he stumbled through the mud. “Cal, get them horses ready.”

            Dennis gathered their supplies as his pulse raced hot in his veins. Six months they had been tracking the fabled ruby dragon, following it to its lair deep in the northern woods of Trevlia. He rubbed his chin, momentarily wishing for a razor to shave off the stubble that had grown overnight.

            “Let’s move!” Pete shoved past him, freeing the dogs then mounting his horse.

            Cal swung up onto the second horse, and Dennis mounted the third, gathering the eager stallion’s reins then sending him into a gallop after the barking dogs. The horse lurched through the mud, then sprang onto the firmer footing in the forest and leveled out at a steady gallop, springing over fallen logs.

            The chase went on. The dogs were hot on the dragon’s trail with the horses bearing the men following close behind them. The storm cleared as they continued deeper into the forest, slowing to navigate a portion of rocky terrain. When they broke through the cover of the trees, they were high in the wild northern hills, overlooking an endless expanse of forest. A glint of red in the distance spurred them onwards.

            Sunset came and they set up camp at the base of a cliff that they planned on scaling at sunrise. Dennis tethered the horses, ate a lump of dried meat, and then settled down in his tent for the night. His mind raced with thoughts of finally bringing down the dragon and claiming a hefty pile of gold as a reward. As the sounds of night lulled around him, he finally fell asleep and once again, he dreamed.

A garden of golden trees.

            A girl wearing a netted veil.

            And a dragon with blood red eyes.

            A roar followed by a muffled yell shook Dennis awake. He sprang to his feet, snatched up his weapon, and raced out into the gray of early morning. Thick fog hugged the ground, but he could see that the horses were gone—broken loose—and the other tents were shredded. He yelled, spotting the huge footprints of a dragon in the soft earth.

            The wine of one of the dogs drew Dennis from his shock. He turned, finding one dog remaining where it had been tied the night before. “Where is that red beast?” He growled, turning the eager hound loose and following it on foot. He would avenge his friends. Or die trying.

            Warm sunlight broke through the fog as the sun rose. Dennis found his confidence rising as the landscape became visible. The forest was beautiful in the early morning light. He was walking through a grove of tall trees with vibrant gold leaves.

The dog’s baying suddenly cut off.

Dennis sprinted toward the dog’s last sound. He drew his sword, throwing aside its heavy sheath. After a moment he spotted the dog at the foot of a tree, dead with a clean slit to its throat. He halted, stunned, No dragon can kill a dog so cleanly. He looked around, spotting something moving through the golden leaves ahead of him.

            “You there! Stop where you are!” He ran forward only to come to an abrupt halt.

            It was a woman. He could see her face through the branches. Her hair was the color of autumn, with pale skin, warm eyes, and bright red lips. A netted veil hung halfway over her face. She didn’t seem to see him, but there was the touch of a smile to her face. She moved and was gone.

            “Wait!” He dashed into the clearing where he had seen her, looking around with deflating hope. She was nowhere to be seen. His gaze fell, and he froze. He spotted footprints of a woman’s bare feet . . . and where the woman’s prints ended, the footprints of a dragon began. He turned around, studying the prints in astonishment. It is not a mere dragon which we have been hunting.

            Hot air brushed across his back, followed by a guttural rumble so quiet that he hardly heard it. Dennis turned slowly, his stomach flipping as he met the blood red eyes of a ruby red dragon. She curled her lips, revealing her glistening white teeth.

            His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

           The dragon sprang.

© Copyright Charity K, 2013

Being an American

My family and I recently took a trip to Washington DC. In nine days, we stopped at every sight you can see in our nation’s capital. It was a trip that I thoroughly enjoyed and I stand reminded of the history of this amazing country.

Washington DC is a teeming city full of life and people. It smells bad, is dirty, full of crowds and congested traffic. Half the people we saw were foreign or didn't speak much English. There were large groups of junior high kids on their end of the year field trips, swarming around the monuments and creating an endless barrage of noise. The local people, for the most part, were cold and unfriendly.

Despite these negative elements, I found Washington DC to be a huge reminder of the amazing country God has allowed me to grow up in and I truly enjoyed the trip. There is nothing quite like seeing the pieces of the founding of the United States—from the resting places of our greatest leaders, to the documents that formed the freedoms we cherish, I realized we have so much that we take for granted.

The one thing that stood out to me the most was seeing the “Star Spangled Banner” the flag that Francis Scott Key looked upon as he penned the words to our national anthem. In the Smithsonian Museum of American History, a whole display is set aside just for this flag. It is dimly lit, with the anthem playing in the background. You walk a short hallway; its walls display the history of the American Revolution and the events leading up to the moment when our anthem was written during the War of 1812.  Then you round the darkened corner. Lying to the side, lit in a blue tone and thin as paper, lays an enormous flag. It is tattered with holes, its threads are bare, its color has faded, but it took my breath away. I placed my hands on the cool glass and stared at this magnificent piece of our history. It was in that moment that I realized one thing; we are rich.

We are wealthy beyond compare. As Americans we are rich in ways that no other people can be. This country, its history and the principles we stand on, are a gift from God Himself.  We have freedom, land, prosperity, wealth, and rights that few other people have had preserved for such a standing span of time.

Oh, yes we have our flaws. We have history that is marred by war and hate, by bloodshed and prejudice. Our leaders have made mistakes, we tend to become too proud, and our freedoms have been infringed on. But yet, despite all of this, we have one thing that no one else has.

We are Americans.

We are free.

Our country stands as the epitome of freedom—to the people of the world, “America” and “freedom” are synonymous. We can be proud of this fact. We can wear our colors and sing our anthem and serve our country and protect our freedoms. Because that is who we are, and if we have lost this passion, then we have lost what it means to be an American.

I only pray that these monuments and reminders continue to stand—that we won’t forget the history that brought us to this land or the events that created the people we are. Our founding fathers gave up wealth, security, and even life itself to ensure the freedom of generations to come. This fact leaves me with one question; would we be willing to do the same?

© Copyright Charity K, 2013

Remember the Wallpaper?

Another short story :) Enjoy.
Words: 805

Genna walked slowly through the grand old house. Her mind wandered across the memories the building held. She had grown up in this old mansion in the countryside, an only child, sheltered from the outside world. Her wealthy parents had been more absent than they were present, and she had spent many long hours alone with only her nurse maid.

She had been ten years old when the new game keeper for the estate arrived. He had been a tall, quiet man, with a stern face and a graying mustache. With the new game keeper, came his thirteen year old son—Peter, though everyone called him Pit.

With a quiet smile, Genna ascended the spiraling staircase, running her hand along the smooth, dust coated railing. Pit quickly became her best friend. As the only two children on the estate, they had run wild with little supervision. The two years they spent together at the estate had been wonderful, blissfully unaware of the world beyond their doorsteps. Pit had been her best friend. Her only friend.

And that was why she was here now, ten years later, walking the abandoned halls and remembering the beauty of the simple life they had once known.

Those days seemed like a distant dream, lost to the bustle of life. She was in law school, on the path to being a wealthy defense attorney, and hadn’t given her childhood a second thought. That is, until the letter turned up on her doorstep—penned in simple black ink and square handwriting.

Remember the wallpaper? It wasn’t a dream. I’m back. Find me. –P 

Oh, she remembered . . . she remembered every horrifying detail. It had been a hot day in July when Pit had opened the door to the room her parents said was off limits. His blue eyes had been sparkling with mischievous glee. It was the ultimate game, disobeying her evasive parents, so she hadn’t objected to Pit’s plan. They were going to hide in the forbidden room and scare her parents, since no one would expect to find them in there.

Pit had led the way in, closing the door behind her. The room was dark and bare, lacking any windows or light fixtures. The floor was dark wood, dusty and untouched. The walls were closed in a beautiful pattern of dark, swirling wallpaper. They stood in the threshold for a moment, momentarily stilled by the roaring silence that dominated the room’s atmosphere.

Then Pit had walked forward, moving slowly and quietly as if any sudden movement would cause the entire room to collapse around them. He reached the far wall, and then looked back at her, his blue eyes wide.

“It’s just like my dream,” he whispered, terror evident in his voice. Then he reached out, and touched the wall. The wallpaper shifted, absorbing him. In an instant he was gone.

Genna ran to the door, screaming, and found it locked. She then fell to the floor, screeching and weeping until a house maid had found her several hours later. Her parents had immediately packed up and left after hearing Genna’s story. Everyone believed he had been kidnaped, and her childish mind had made up an explanation for his disappearance. Genna even started to believe it.

But now she knew better.

She was facing the doorway to that same room that had terrified her as a child and haunted her youth with nightmares. She drew in a deep breath, startled at how unnerved she was. With a trembling hand, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. It swung wide on rusty hinges, squeaking quietly.

She took a step into the cool room, finding it no different than her childhood memories. Her shoes clicked on the dusty wood floor as she took another cautious step into the room. Then she saw him, reclining against the wall directly ahead of her, obscured by the room’s shadows.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she peered toward the figure, her heart thudding in her chest. “Pit?”

The figure straightened and took a step forward, “you came.”

She stared at the man, noticing the resemblance he had to the boy she had once known, “is it really you?”

He nodded and held out a hand, “it’s been a long time, Genna.”

“Yeah,” she hesitated, but took his hand, not sure what he wanted.

His blue eyes flashed in the dark as his hand closed around hers. Moving backwards, he drew her forward. His back hit the wall, and sank into it, the wallpaper absorbing him just as she remembered.

“Pit!” she exclaimed, but the wallpaper was absorbing her as he drew her forward. Panic rose in her chest for a blind moment, but she squelched it. Holding her best friend’s hand, she walked resolutely forward and into the unknown

© Copyright Charity K, 2013