The OTTB

A good friend of mine and I were arguing the other day over the pluses and minuses of OTTBs (you know, Off Track Thoroughbreds). The concept of taking an ex-racehorse and retraining him to be used as a regular riding horse, even a show horse, is pretty pervasive throughout the horse world nowadays. Particularly here in New Orleans, where the majority of our equine culture revolves around the Fairgrounds Race Course. Due to the nature of the racing industry, Thoroughbreds straight off the track tend to be young and highly energetic--with a penchant for running. To some people (like myself), owning and riding an OTTB just makes sense, but to others (namely my aforementioned friend), Thoroughbreds just aren't worth it.

To quote a mentor of mine, L, "Everyone and their grandma owns a Thoroughbred." This is probably true. Every year, hundreds of racehorses retire in Louisiana alone. Some of them end up in overseas slaughterhouses, others in local stud farms. Those are too good for the latter but not good enough for the former usually find their way into the local market. A straight-off-the-track OTTB can be purchased for anything from $200 to $2,000, making them an attractive option for buyers who can't afford the Hanoverians and Oldenburgs preferred by New Orleans' nouveau riche. Of course, an OTTB is a bit of a step up from your trusty Quarter Horse gelding, and I think that's what throws most people off. Thoroughbreds have a reputation for being hot. While that reputation isn't 100% deserved, they are bred for energy and most racehorses are trained for speed, not for ground manners. Much less under-saddle manners. So yeah, if you buy an OTTB expect to put some time and money into professional training. Retraining a horse is not easy, and even with professional help, it's going to take some work on the rider's part. Riding a green OTTB can certainly be dangerous, and it isn't something you should get into unprepared. I've ridden a few horses who had been off the track for a few years, and even they were still unpredictable. (If you don't believe me, take a look at the bruise on my leg that lingers from when Bombay threw me into a metal fence a few months back.)

So while owning or even riding an "off-track" Thoroughbred isn't for the fainthearted (and certainly not for the novice rider), it's one of the more admirable choices. There is so much waste in the Thoroughbred industry, where horses are being bred more and more for quantity in hopes of striking it lucky with quality. Every ex-racehorse that is retrained into a riding horse reduces that waste. Horses may be a reusable resource, but that doesn't mean we should just throw away the four year old babies who didn't strike it rich on the track. OTTBs, for all their unpredictability and raw energy, have that one quality that sets Thoroughbreds apart from the crowd--heart.

Yeah, you may get a little scratched up along the way, but if you have the experience, patience, and money required to turn an off-track Thoroughbred into a quality riding horse, you're doing a pretty big service, to yourself and the horse world. You can give a horse a new career--a new sense of purpose and of being. You can reduce the amount of wasted horses bred for the racing industry. And you might just find yourself with a true partner-a horse brave enough to face the challenges that come his way and athletic enough to get both himself and you safely through them.

So when asked... Yes, mes amis, I am most definitely pro-OTTB.

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In the picture: A rider working with their new Thoroughbred, who is recovering from a severe lameness. Used under Creative Commons license.

My Horse Is Back! (Sound And SANE)

In a post I made months ago, I explained how the new med regimen for "my" horse Blaze (i.e. the only horse I had been working with, at that point, for months) was making him a little crazy. Okay, more than a little crazy. He was completely out of his mind for a while there.

I still have no idea what drugs his owner had him on, but as I don't enjoy riding horses who are high (and angry and explosively energetic), I had to switch mounts for a couple of months. I rode him once more a week or so after that incident I blogged about, but mostly, since March I've been working with a poky little Quarter Horse called Sparky. The jumper turns are easier to make on him than on Blaze, but he's the kind of horse that requires you to "Speak softly, but carry a big stick." Plus, while he seems to have no energy when you ask him to canter a course, he manages to store some up for bucking if you dare ask him for a lead change.

Today, however, Blaze and I finally had our long-time-coming reunion. The 92 degree weather made him a little drowsier than normal, but all-in-all, my old horse was back! He was much more open and relaxed under the saddle today, and he was definitely back focused on his job. He was hitting all his distances and was listening to me, rather than rocketing around the ring like a lunatic bursting forth from a straight-jacket like that last time. Going out to the ring, I even walked him in front of a big bad rumbling truck (something that would not have fazed him before the med change, but scared the daylights out of him when he was high). He didn't even blink.

Hallelujah! My baby is back!

Riding Blind

One of my favorite stories to tell is of me and my dad, a few months after I got my driver's permit. I was driving him around the neighborhood, just getting in some practice. It had rained the day before, while he had been out on the road, and some truck had driven too fast down a flooding street and splashed his car. His windshield was hit by a tidal wave, and for several scary seconds, he was coasting down a busy street, unable to see where he was going.

By the time I got behind the wheel the next day, the ground had dried and there were only faint clouds in the sky. We were casually winding through the suburbs, rolling through the streets at 20 mph, as my dad recounted the story. And then he suddenly said, "Close your eyes down this block."

"What?!" I had had my license for a month or two, and had hardly driven. I thought he was joking.

But he insisted. "You have to be prepared for stuff like that. Just close your eyes--for a few seconds. I'll make sure nothing happens, but you need to practice."

It was a crazy idea, and I refused to cooperate. I didn't feel comfortable intentionally impairing myself, and I don't believe I ever will. If one day, I'm driving down a busy street and it's raining so hard I can't see, I'll just have to trust God to get me through, because I sure as heck am not going to practice driving blind. Helen Keller never got behind the wheel for a reason.

But, while my dad's idea was a bad one for driving, the concept translates beautifully into the schooling ring. After all, how many of us have schooled over gymnastics with our eyes closed or our hands at our sides (or BOTH) at some point in our lives? In the controlled environment of a schooling arena, "riding blind" can be extremely beneficial.

And when I say blind, I don't just mean closing our eyes. Certainly, going over a gymnastic or poles with your eyes closed can be a learning experience (and, for the record, I do not recommend going over anything substantial without looking). You learn to develop a feel for the horse early on in your riding career; it can help develop your seat and your legs and, when experience riders put it into practice, it can serve as a reminder that we can get way too reliant on our sight when it comes to things we should be feeling. But intentionally impairing yourself in other ways can help your prepare for disaster--in the show ring, on the trails, or even just hacking around the arena.

It was a rite of passage with my first trainer to learn how to ride when you lost your stirrups. We first practiced taking one foot out of the stirrup at the walk (I was a very new rider and even this presented a challenge) and then picking it back up, without looking, at the walk. As my riding progress, so did my challenge. It would arise randomly, sometimes once a month, sometimes for days in a row. I'd be trotting a circle and have to drop my inside stirrup and then, continuing the circle and posting without missing a beat, I would have to pick it up again. Sometimes it would be both stirrups going down the long side of the arena, others just one at the sitting trot. When I could pick up a lost stirrup at the canter, I was finally deemed ready. The rite of passage was over, and I had gained an important skill--and a healthy dose of confidence. Years later, as I rode with another trainer, I was cantering up to a pretty large fence when my horse jumped from a long spot. I lost my stirrup, but my years of previous training kicked in. I didn't panic, and I kept stride as I finished going down the line, surreptitiously picking back up my stirrup. It was not my superb seat that saved me (far from it); rather, it was the countless practice I had had. I was prepared. To this day, if I lose my stirrup going over a course, or even in a show ring on the flat, as I easily pick it back up, without missing a beat. I like to think Molly (that old trainer of mine) would be proud.

I don't think people practice riding blind enough. Dropping and regaining a single stirrup on the flat, riding a serpentine without reins, riding through a gymnastic with your eyes closed--they seem like fairly simple things to do. But when used strategically, they can help give a learning rider a solid foundation from which to work, and they can certainly help more practiced riders fine-tune their technique as they get back-to-basics. We tend to rely far too much on our eyes, on our hands, on our irons. When you eliminate the basic things you take for granted, you'll be surprised how much is revealed about your riding.

So don't be afraid to close your eyes every now and then. You'll be amazed by how much more you see.

Almost Here...

Two days left of school, which, simply translated, means a many more blog posts coming soon! The glorious concept of free time seems almost comprehensible right now.

Playing with Horses in the Rain

Well, I'm sure you surmised from the title... I finally got to see my horses again! Oh glorious, glorious day.

I went out to the barn yesterday. Saturday is my least favorite day to ride, because it gets crowded with little kids on school ponies and sleepy, underfed teenagers, and rich, spoiled brats on $80k warmbloods that they don't know how to ride. I mean, that's basically the only three types of people there ever are at Magnolia, but on Saturdays, it's a three-for-one sale at WalMart during Christmastime. You got your overpriced warmblood running loose on aisle four (no owner in sight), a group of six-year-olds hovering around the stall door on aisle six, not to mention Thirteen-Going-On-Thirty getting all flirty with the stablehand somewhere on aisle ten. Oh, and let's not forget the snarky, overworked trainer who is oh so ready to help out at the customer service desk.

So, no, I do not like to ride on Saturdays, but I was getting a little desperate here, so I figured I would take what I could get. Add to the mix the oppressive heat that settles like a blanket over the city this time of year, and you can just about imagine how my ride began.

Thankfully, God heard my mental pleas and sometime around noon the skies literally began to open up. One moment, the sky was blue, the heat was suffocating and the next--BAM. Black clouds, a steady shower of rain, and a blessed breath of cool air. Our April showers were a little bit delayed this year, but hey, better late than never.

The horses, who suffer in the heat (especially when the barn is crowded and everyone is pushed together), were visibly relieved by the cool breeze. Even the more skittish mares in the barn were more intoxicated than frightened by the dark rumblings and heavy air. Every horse stood at attention in front of the little windows in their stalls, drinking in the air and soaking up the few raindrops that strayed near their faces. Even the $8ok warmblood stopped his stroll to park it in front of the barn door. (And before you ask, yes, his owner really did just leave him, halter and all, standing in the middle of the barn before disappearing to God knows where. You always know when his owner is in because he'll be walking around the cross-ties and tack room looking utterly disinterested in the world. God forbid she actually, you know, tie up or put away her own horse when she is finished with it.)

Our belated April shower seemed to slow everything down and bring peace and quiet back to my little oasis. The hyperactive six-year-olds were drowned out by the sound of raindrops drumming the metal roof, and everyone besides the children (who are never calm) seemed to stop to soak up the thunderstorm like a breath of fresh air. And when the downpour finally slowed to a drizzle, the horses were more alert, more playful than they were before. It was just the refreshment they needed.

And I guess it was for me, too.

Frustration

My psychology class tells me that frustration is when a person is blocked from achieving their goal. So I think then that it would be psychologically correct to call my day frustrating. In fact, we might be able to apply the term to the past week, or even to the past three weeks during which I have not been able to ride.

I haven't seen, touched, heard, smelled a horse in three weeks, much less ridden one. School has been keeping me so busy that I've had no time to ride, and today I thought I'd finally (finally, finally!) make it to the barn.

Well, a friend of mine and I have it arranged that every time she goes riding, she drives me over to Magnolia, too. And today would normally be a day that she would go. So I assumed that she could bring me with her and headed off on my merry way.

Except that, after hours of searching for her in-between classes, I was told that she was home sick.

Now, my first response to that was not, 'Oh, poor thing...' (I'm not that kind of person in general, and I'm definitely not that kind of person when you're the reason I can't go riding.) I get a little cranky when I haven't been to the barn in a while, and today, because I thought that I was going and then found out that I wasn't, I was especially irritated. I growled, "She'd BETTER be really sick, because if she's at home in bed with a 98.9 degree "fever" and she didn't tell me that she couldn't take me to the barn, somebody is going to get hurt."

Mmhmm. That is me when I don't get my dose of equine.

Lucky for the poor girl, I did calm down enough to realize that I wasn't actually angry with her--I was just grumpy because I wasn't riding. Because, in honest, she told me later that she "was feeling a little weak" and didn't know how to break it to me that she wasn't riding. Had I been anywhere near as irritated with her as I was originally, I'd probably have had a manic episode and we'd both have ended up in the hospital.

Seriously?! All it takes is a text message. "I don't feel well. I'm not riding." Seven words! One text, and I would have gotten another ride and then I wouldn't be dying from horse-starvation. But she was "a little weak" and "just didn't know how to break it to me."

I pray to God that I get out to Magnolia tomorrow, because I am going a little crazy here. :/

Mother's Day

Well, isn't May just full of holidays? That makes my job a lot easier, as I can just post themed pictures and be done with it. Normally, I'm not one to take the easy way out, but I've had way too much to do lately.

I feel like I haven't really written a blog post in forever, even though it's only been about week... And I also haven't ridden in a while, which A) makes me cranky and B) gives me less to blog about. If all goes according to plan, I'll finally get back to the barn later in the week. Oh, and I realized this morning that I never did finish my collection of stories in West Coast Friendship, so there should be quite an influx of real blog posts coming soon. Stay tuned, folks!

In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of adorable mommies and their babies.