Lookin' for a Pony

I want a horse. Not just a horse, the right horse. The one that will capture some of the magic of riding that I used to have and enjoy. When horses were simple. When people were more simple, and didn't let horses get away with bad behavior.

Before Down Under Cowboys and Whispering Horsemen made millions telling you how to screw up your horse. When the 'Natural Horsemanship' way was to ride your horse, expect the best of them, and work with them to make sure they remembered that. When the respect between rider and equine was based on hours in the saddle, consistent discipline and praise, not trainers and bling halters and rubber horsey boots.

I am frustrated by what I find in this quest. I have made a couple mistakes in the past, mistakes that cost me time, money, and tears. Mistakes that nearly broke my heart, nearly made me turn my back on this dream forever. I'm sure my husband wishes it would have. Made me willing to never own a horse again, not broken my heart. He just doesn't understand the pull, the attraction.

You, reader, went through the agony of my last horse thinking he was a stallion and running around squealing, nearly tripping over his semi-erect penis. Ick. He didn't even have any testosterone, just some ancient memory of his true calling in life. Whatever it was, it made him unsuitable for my purposes, that is, to be a buddy to me and to safely take me where I wanted to go, with others or alone.

I must be the eternal optimist, looking at the prime riding weather looming, and wanting to have my own horse to take advantage of it with. Last year, the best (and only) riding weather was when my out-of-control horse was in training, draining the budget and my emotions.

I want this year to be different. I want to ride. Next year, where will I be? I don't know. Now, here, this summer, is all I can be sure of. And, at 56 and closing in on the next September birthday, how many years do I have to ride the way I can now? Again, I don't know.

So, ignoring the rolling eyes, the sighs and tightened lips of my spouse, I search on, looking, hoping, dreaming, trying not to give into practicality and age enough to give up. Maybe it's like a man who buys a sports car later in life. Or an older couple who adopt a child. It's like saying 'My life isn't over. I can still enjoy the thing that gave me such pleasure then. I don't need to be content with looking at magazines as others have the fun. I am still able...'

And, really, what's so wrong with that?

Life in Limbo

I call myself a Lady In Waiting. Not the kind you think. Not the one who is a valued, pampered member of sub-royalty trained to decorate the environment around and serve a female member of the royal household. I call myself that because I feel like I have spent a long time waiting for something to happen, usually to or for someone else, not me. It has been this way for a long time.

One expects it to be thus when the primary caretaker of three young children. I have had to be constantly at the ready to coordinate, facilitate, and act upon the needs of their developing lives, a job I have done willingly, joyfully, and well. But, for the past few years, the kids haven't needed me so much. Still, I wait.

Wait to be summoned to assist a kid, wait to be needed, wait for George to retire, wait for a decision to be made about what town, or area of the U.S., for that matter, we might end up in after his constantly put-off retirement date. Waiting to get a dog until we have a place of our own, at my husband's request. (Seems having a dog for kids is understandable, not so for the desires of a middle-aged woman.) Waiting to get a horse of my own, at my husband's request. Waiting to move to warmer climes so that I don't hurt so much. I have become stagnated in indecisiveness and limbo.

And, I don't know how to restart. I can't remember how to live for myself. Even when I have time off without responsibility or schedule, I seem to exist in a self-imposed lethargy, waiting, keeping myself available. For what? I don't know. It is as if I am 'not-me-without-someone' anymore. What the hell is that about? I am a strong and decisive, successful woman who has accomplished much and broken through many gender barriers throughout several careers.

If I go away for some R & R, if I am alone, my stomach is in a knot, afraid that I won't be available if someone needs me. In my head, I plan the return route, the fastest way to get to whomever needs me. And my fears are not unfounded. Over even the past few years, I have responded to a ruptured appendix, arterial bleed, broken bones, animals needing euthanasia, a cerebral hemorrhage, child stranded in a disastrous host home in Costa Rica, immediate summons to court, well, you get it. I am needed often, and, when I'm not, my entire being seems to be waiting...for...something...to...happen.

I wonder if I am crazy, or well-trained, or compulsive, or dependent on my family for my feeling of validity. Or all those things. Or none of them.

I do know that this empty-nest thing is not all that great. I am not handling it with the grace and dignity I was sure I would. I feel out of synch, slipping and not holding in my attempts at finding solid footing. I want to escape the loop; how to do so is the question...

In my dreams and fantasies, I see myself in a small remote cabin, simple but clean, with a desk and a computer on which I am completing the writing projects I have carried around in the form of outlines for decades. And, there are books; books for reference, books for relaxation, books for company, books for their smell and feel. Fresh cotton curtains billow in warm breezes that sneak in open windows. Outside is a small barn with a bay horse and the sweet smell of hay and leather. A truck in the drive, a dog at my heels. No neighbors to be seen, the smell and sound of a nearby creek. That's it.

Neglect

I have neglected this poor blog of late. And you, reader, whomever you are. I could say 'no excuse', but I am Irish, and excuses are often more fun than just accepting that one has been a flake and accepting responsibility like an adult.

1. I have IBS and can't get off the toilet (true, but not relevant to this).
2. My dog died (true, but over a year ago).
3. My dad died (true, but 35 years ago).
4. My mom died (true, but 25 years ago).
5. My husband had a cerebral hemorrhage (true, but a year ago).
6. I took in a foster kid (true, two months ago, more about this later).
7. I ate something that didn't agree with me (seldom does).
8. I pulled a muscle burying a body.
9. I am hiding from the revenuers.
10. I am busy propagating edible conifers.

Well, pick one. That as good as you're gonna get. Or, just know that I got discouraged, depressed and bummed at life. We are barely on speaking terms even now, me and Life.

As Radar O'Reilly says in M.A.S.H. 4077th, 'I hope to better, sir...'

Final Gift to Sugar

Our intent was to give Sugar, my niece's Arab, one last warm summer to enjoy before euthanizing her, but it is not to be. The cancerous ulcers have broken through the tissue on her face and around her ears. She has large lumps in her throat and jaws. She has raked the skin off the ulcers, making them open and oozing, inviting insect activity. She is skin and bones, and not gaining weight, despite a voracious appetite and free will diet of calorie- and nutrient- laden feeds and supplements along with fresh spring grass.

This afternoon, she will be euthanized. It is not a small endeavor to do so. A method, a time, a disposal, all have to be considered. Tonight, a backhoe will dig a horse-sized hole, and then stand by for the 'after' part.

I will have already administered Bute, a powerful pain reliever, in excessive amounts. Sugar will be led to a quiet place, where I will place a large caliber gun to the spot purported to be most effective, at the prescribed 75-80 degrees, and pull the trigger. She will then be pushed into the grave by the backhoe, covered with soil, and mourned.

This horse owner stuff is hard. But, if one is a true animal lover, it is worse not to do one's duty. Code of the West. I just wish it didn't hurt the euthanizer, too.

From a veterinary school's website, offered as advice to horse owner's:

Details of Euthanasia Methods

Gunshot

The proper location of gunshot penetration is important in the destruction of the brain and minimizing suffering. The optimal site for penetration of the skull is one-half inch above the intersection of a diagonal line from the base of the ear to the in side corner of the opposite eye. The firearm should be aimed directly down the neck, perpendicular to the front of the skull, and held at least 2-6 inches away from the point of impact. When performed skillfully, gunshot induces instantaneous unconscio usness, is inexpensive, and does not require close contact with the horse.

A .22-caliber long rifle is recommended, but a 9mm or .38-caliber handgun will be sufficient for most horses. The use of hollow-point or soft nose bullets will increase brain destruction and reduce the chance of ricochet. If a shotgun is the only avai lable firearm, the use of a rifled slug is preferred.

This method should only be attempted by individuals trained in the use of firearms and who understand the potential for ricochet. Care must be taken to minimize the danger to the operator, observers, and other animals. Personnel must comply with all la ws and regulations governing the posession and discharge of firearms; local ordinances may prohibit the discharge of firearms in certain areas.

Penetrating Captive Bolt Gun

When properly used, the penetrating captive bolt gun produces immediate brain tissue destruction that kills the animal. Captive bolts are powered by gunpowder, thus the selection of the cartridge strength should be appropriate for the size of the animal (adult vs. foal) and this varies among manufacturers. The penetrating captive bolt gun should be placed very firmly against the skull at the same location (see diagram, right) previously described for gunshot. Horses must be adequately restrained to e nsure proper placement of the captive bolt.

Maintenance and cleaning of the penetrating captive bolt gun, as described by the manufacturer, must be followed to ensure proper operation.

Hello, good-bye

Long, long time since I have posted. I have been in emotional and physical pain. Blogging about it seemed self-indugent. Been confused, in a quagmire, and unable to engage.

Man, this mid-life re-programming is the shits!

Maybe I'll be more communicative in the future. Right now, washing my hair seems like a foray into energetic hopeful-ness...

I am tired.

Little Boys

A quote from my nurse friend Rebecca, mom of two boys:

Trying to explain immunity to Joshua, my 5 year old. I told him sometimes our body gets stronger after we get sick because we make our germ fighter cells better. To which he said, without missing a beat, "So I can lick my feet to get sick and then I'll be stronger?"

Mommie, Dearest, Do I Have To Go To School Today??

Wonder if the 'pottie training' involves wire hangers...