Foals! A Cautionary Tale.

We've all heard it, the well meaning advice to get your kid a puppy when the kid is young so the dog and child can grow up together.  They will be best friends!  They will have a bucolic, saccharine "My Dog Skip"-esque life!  No one tells you that there will be fights over who feeds the puppy, house trains the infinite pee machine and who picks up the poop in the back yard. No one tells you that you may need professional help to teach the pup to walk on a leash or to stop destroying couch cushions. And strangely enough, not one person recommends buying a foal for a child.

I'll admit my stupidity.  Sometimes I have a thought that pops into my head that simply will not go away and despite irrefutable facts in opposition, I believe I am right.  One horrific example is my brilliant idea to purchase a 10 month old foal for my 10 year old daughter, aka "the brat".  They can grow up together!  She will have a horse that she has trained from the ground up that she can compete when her current show horse is ready to retire!  It's much less expensive to buy a foal and train it yourself than to buy a made horse. Yay, I'm brilliant!  Except I'm not.

The story begins with Google and a search for eventing prospects.  One of the first websites to pop up contained photos of the most beautiful horses I had ever seen.  They were lovely 3/4 thoroughbred - 1/4 draft crosses (I can hear your moan of dismay already).  One foal in particular, Mia, was not only flashy but a beautiful mover.  She had freedom of shoulder and push from behind, desirable in dressage.  During a conversation with her breeder, I heard that she jumped out of a 6 foot high round pen during weaning not once but multiple times with nary a scratch on her.  Mia was obviously a top jump prospect!  At 10 months old, Mia already stood 15.1hh and was expected to finish out at 17hh.  Perfect for my very petite child! Mia was the last foal available in her foal crop. Instead of wondering why she was the last chosen, I rushed to get her into our barn before anyone else could snatch her up.  Who needs to go see her in person?  Not me, clever Crabby Horse Mom!

Mia arrived at our barn in the middle of an extremely cold and snowy night.  She was somewhat depressed from her 500 mile trip and my daughter led down the long, dark driveway and put her in her stall without any drama, Mia stood shivering from the change in climate so the brat put a warm blanket on Mia, snuggled with her and watched her for hours to ensure she wouldn't colic or panic in her new environment.  Once we were convinced Mia was settled, I patted myself on the back for making such a wonderful purchase for the brat and we went home to our warm beds.

The brat woke up entirely too early the next morning and shouted "Let's go see Mia!" so we bundled up and headed out to the barn where Mia was in her stall, patiently waiting for her grain.  The brat headed into Mia's stall with breakfast and before I could blink, Mia's ears were flat against her head, she was gnashing her very large teeth and she had the brat pinned in the corner of the stall.  All the brat could do was drop the bucket and run for her life.  "What happened Mom? She was fine and then she wanted to kill me!"  Noooo...the cute baby horse wouldn't try to kill the brat.  Baby horses are so sweet.  "I'm sure it must have been because she doesn't know us, Brat.  I'm sure she'll settle down."

After breakfast, it was time to turn Mia out in the pasture and let her stretch her legs. She led so quietly when she arrived that it shouldn't be an ordeal, right?  Feeling confident that the brat could easily handle the task, I encouraged her to outfit Mia in her brand new halter and lead rope and head out.  Brat walked out of the barn door with Mia a dozen steps ahead of me and disappeared as they turned towards the pasture.  Suddenly I saw the brat zipping by, with huge eyes and a grim and determined look on her face, hanging on to the end of Mia's lead rope for dear life, She looked like she was water skiing behind the foal. "Let her go Brat!  Let her go!"  The now grim and white faced brat yelled "No Mom, it's okay, she'll stop!" And about 100 yards later, Mia did indeed stop.  As I approached Mia and the brat, things seemed relatively calm.  The brat was soothing Mia by stroking her neck and cooing in Mia's ear.  Mia was responding nicely so once again we moved towards the pasture gate.  Mia led quietly through the gate and the brat removed her halter. We win!

Once loose, Mia did what any normal horse does in a new pasture.  She trotted the perimeter of the pasture, checking out the fences.  She pawed in the dirt, sank to her knees, rolled around groaning in sheer delight, then stood up, shook herself off and began bucking.  Brat and I stood in the pasture admiring Mia's antics and congratulating ourselves for having the most beautiful horse with the most fantastic trot in our barn.  But wait....is she...is Mia....why are her eyes boring into us...is she glaring...that's not trotting...what is she doing....is she CHARGING us?  "RUN BRAT, RUN!",  I screamed. And run we did, going under the electric tape and getting shocked in the process as we fled from the baby terror charging at us with ears flattened and teeth bared.  What the hell?  Brat looked at me and said "I'm sure we did something to scare her.  Mia didn't mean it mom, really. She's such a sweet baby."  Mia didn't mean it?  What did Mia mean?  This is not the puppy...errrr...foal I thought we signed up for.  Where is the cuddly and sweet baby horse that was meant to grow up with my daughter? Did we miss out on My Dog Skip and end up with Cujo?  Doubting this tiny terrorist could be Mia's true personality, I chalked it up to the poor thing having so many life changes at once.

As the days, weeks and months passed, Mia displayed many other astonishing and very unpuppylike behaviors.  Want to pick up Mia's hooves?  Good luck and wear a helmet, those hooves move fast and connect with terrifying accuracy.  Want to lead Mia to the pasture?  Be prepared for water skiing behind her or even worse, watching helplessly as Mia rears and her hooves dangle above your head for astonishing amounts of time.  Who knew horses could walk on their hind legs for what appears to be forever?  Want to give Mia her vaccinations? Let's just say if the vet should have heeded our warnings about her, he wouldn't have hit the stall wall and had to have knee surgery.  Want to tie Mia? Say goodbye to her halter, the ties and anything in her path.  Don't forget those teeth!  Mia's nuzzling could turn into a bite fest with little provocation. We soon learned not to leave a stall fork or anything that could be used as a lethal weapon anywhere near Mia's stall after being whacked numerous times with Mia's projectiles.

Thankfully, we had people in our lives who had experience with foals like Mia and were able to help us help Mia learn how to behave in appropriate and less homicidal ways. Mia has been with us for 12  years and while still opinionated (she IS a mare after all) she is safe and even fun to handle and ride.  That's not to say it has always been enjoyable.  There have been tears, lots of tears.  Blood has been spilled, mostly the brat's but Mia has managed to maim herself on occasion.  There have been trips to the human and the veterinary hospital throughout this relationship.  Mia has been leased out and come back home.  Mia's the kid that simply won't allow her parents to experience empty nest syndrome. Mia has earned several nicknames from Tiny T-Rex, to Dinofilly, Terminator, to Baby Velociraptor, and my personal favorite, The Big Bitch. Many of those nicknames have stuck. Mia has taught us valuable lessons about what to do when raising a foal and more importantly, what not to do.

In evaluating our long relationship with Mia, it's easy to see how incredibly naive and yes, stupid, I was 12 years ago.  A foal is not a puppy.  A foal is a heavy responsibility and raising a foal should only be undertaken by those who either have the experience to produce a good horse or those who are wise enough to hire people who can produce a good horse.  Of all the life lessons I had hoped to have given my daughter, my beloved brat, one of the key lessons is that of the foal.  "Don't do it" I said.  "Foals are not puppies and they take a lot of time and patience to raise."  So two months ago when the brat called and said "Mom, guess what!  I just bought a foal from a kill pen and she is completely feral.  She can't even be haltered!  She tried to kick and bite me, just like Mia. We call her Dinofilly!", you just have to smile and know that the lessons she learned when raising Mia will be invaluable for this new feral family member.  And you also check to make certain her insurance is paid up.

Show Day Judging

There's nothing like a horse show.  It's the culmination of months and sometimes years of lessons, clinics and saddle time.  Shows are about the quest to determine whether all of the prep work you have done will impress the judge during the dressage phase, whether you'll be able to get your horse into the cross country water and whether you'll be able to go clean in stadium leaving all the rails in those shallow cups.  It's not about the placings or the ribbons.  No, show day is about whether you and your horse are a true partnership that is progressing and communicating.  Sound like a bunch of b.s.?  It is!

People that aren't involved with horses or with shows don't have a clue how cutthroat the equestrian world can be.  Depending on your discipline, your trainer and sometimes the level of competition, shows can be a brutal world where you must run a mental and physical gauntlet to potentially win a pretty ribbon.  It's hard on the kid competitors who are riding but it can be even more difficult on the show mom, particularly if you are the socially and financially awkward type like me. Make no mistake, you are being watched and most of the true judging takes place outside of the arena.

Let's begin with the horse.  My kiddo started out in the hunter world where the breed of horse you ride is important.  Very important.  A bargain basement thoroughbred, no matter how nice, simply won't cut it. If you ride anything other than that big dollar pony, you will be judged. It's about mega fancy, insanely expensive warmbloods with impeccable pedigrees and tight knees.  So while we were game, we weren't what you would call successful in the hunter ring.

Thankfully eventing is a bit more forgiving.  You see horses of all breeds, colors and sizes competing.  Thoroughbreds are pretty common but purpose or sport bred types are looked upon more favorably than the off the track variety.  Sure you see fancy and expensive warmbloods out there but thoroughbreds seem to be the horse of choice.  This was lucky for us as an older, green thoroughbred was about all we could afford.  Horses do need to have decent movement (fancy for the upper levels), they need to be brave and forward for cross country and they need to be tidy jumpers for stadium.  Sanity of said horse is desirable but somewhat negotiable.  If you have a horse that used to compete at a high level with a well known rider, all the better. Whatever your horse's breed, size or sanity, you had better be able to ride that sucker and control it or you will be judged.

Once you have the horse, you need the proper attire and tack.  Dressage and stadium require the more conservative and traditional beige or white breeches with jacket, tall boots and stock tie.  There are variations on a very narrow theme here but rest assured riders know the difference between FITS breeches and Devonaire, and they can tell at a glance if you are wearing custom Dehners or a cheap off the shelf brand of boot.  *Sniff* You are judged.  

Cross country is always my favorite phase as the freaks come out and dress up.  Have a strange affinity for lime green?  Go for it.  Want to look like a bumblebee in yellow and black everything?  Have at it.  How about hot pink gear and clothing for you and your horse?  You betcha!  It's one of the few places in the equestrian world where you can really play with color and theme without too many eye rolls from other riders.  But you better have your ass seated in a German or Italian custom made saddle and your bridle and breast collar better be buttery soft and super expensive.  No Wintecs puh-lease! (Because you will be judged.)

How about your trainer?  Does your trainer actually ride and compete?  Do they ride and compete at fairly impressive level?  Do they have students competing at all different levels?  Does the trainer have a huge group of people, brat calls them "baby ducks", trailing them as they move from one place to the next?  Does your trainer train with BNT's (Big Name Trainers) or have they competed at one of the premier events in the United States aka Rolex?  If the answer to any of these questions is "no", you will be judged and potentially pitied.

I would be remiss if I didn't bring up your rig.  Your trusty truck and trailer which is used to haul your precious cargo better be up to snuff.  Don't pull up in an old stock trailer (judged).  Don't have an ancient truck with a dent or flaking paint (judged).  The bigger your trailer the better and if you have living quarters, you've just moved up a whole 'nother level of respect.  Trucks and trailers = money, you don't have them you are judged, judged, judged.

We could go into the judging that goes on about body types, whether the rider is fit or not but I think we all know a bit too much about that type of judgement in our day to day lives.  And don't even consider crying.  Remember Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own? Baseball has NOTHING on eventing. There's no crying in eventing!  Tears bring judging which brings more tears and, well you get it.  

Here's where the judging gets interesting and necessary; you will be judged on how your horse looks. I'm not talking about color and size, I'm talking about whether your horse is shining with good health. If your horse is skeletal you will be judged and you damn well should be.  If you bring a lame horse to the show AND decide to try and ride it anyway, you will be judged hardcore.  If you beat your horse or mistreat it in any way, not only will you be judged but you may be shunned in a manner that will make the Amish look tolerant. 

But this is what I love about eventers, sure they will judge you and talk about you behind your back. They will disparage your riding, your gear, your attire and maybe your fitness level but if you find yourself at a show and you've left your saddle pad or worse, your saddle-bridle-girth-boots, etc. at home, you'll have multiple people offering their own tack to help you out.  If you are in first place and fall off, thus eliminating any hope of a ribbon, you will have many riders who will come and commiserate as they have ALL been there.  If something happens to your horse, you will have a sea of people you've never met coming over to give you hugs, words of wisdom or maybe even their precious adult beverages.  And if you win, even if you beat the person with the biggest rig, the most expensive horse, the best respected trainer and the loveliest tack, you will be sincerely congratulated by all.  It's a tough sport and sometimes a finish is a win but everyone there knows how incredibly hard it is to win an event, all phases have to go just right, you have to have done your homework to get there and you have to survive the judging gauntlet with grace and humor.  Ride on.

The Bean

When you make the choice to become involved in horses, there are things you simply can't know in advance.  Other horse owners try to prepare you but even the most experienced equestrians can't prepare you for everything.  You don't know about the hell of a colicing horse until it happens.  You don't learn about how to put a standing wrap on a horse intent on dancing Swan Lake instead until you attempt it.  You aren't aware of the complexity of stud choice (which unfortunately has zero to do with hot guys) before cross country.  And for damn sure no one tells you about the bean.

If you've only owned mares, you and the bean have likely never met but if you have a gelding, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  The bean is an evasive and shy creature, not easy to retrieve. Some geldings have one and some do not.  The bean is an unwelcome intruder.  In order for your gelding to stay healthy, the bean must go.  Some geldings have small beans, some have enormous beans, but sooner or later, they all have beans.

One fine sunny day, we were at the barn tacking up for a ride.  My daughter's gelding loves to take a nice long pee after we put on his protective boots but before we put on the saddle.  Ask me how much I love scrubbing stinky horse pee boots!  On this day, my daughter said "Mom, I think Sir Peesalot has something wrong with him."  Visualizing yet another call to the vet resulting in Ramen dinners for the next month, I ran over to see what was ailing Sir Pees.  There he was, all ready for his pre-ride whizz glory, only he wasn't. Wasn't whizzing, that is.  Sir Pees was stretched out, as per normal, his impressive gelding parts were hanging out, as usual.  He had an intent "I'm peeing" look on his face only nothing was happening.  No splash of horsey urine was soiling those clean protective boots and it was terrifying.  It must be kidney failure!  Horsey cancer!  The end of the world!

One of the kale eating, undernourished, sniffy dressage divas at the barn who could rarely be bothered to mutter a "hello" to us eventers, walked by with her five thousand dollar saddle in hand, saw Sir Pees' dilemma and said imperiously  "That horse has a bean.  Get it out so he can pee!"  A bean?  What is this bean?  I immediately grabbed a more friendly fellow boarder and said "Our horse can't pee!  Do you think he is in kidney failure?"  She casually said "Eh, he probably just has a bean."

WHAT IS THIS BEAN?  Too embarrassed to admit I didn't know any type of bean that would cause a horse to stop peeing, I enclosed myself in a stall and whipped out my cell phone.  Googling "horse bean" the first entry that came up was vicia faba aka broad bean.  Knowing it couldn't be the an edible bean (please God no), I moved on to the second entry which was Male Horse Hygiene.  Uh, what?

Fearfully clicking on the article, I  learned that the sheath of male horses need to be cleaned periodically.  Apparently you stick your hand up in there, grab the boy parts, pull it out and clean it to get all the crusty stuff off.  Oh gross!  But that's not all!  According to the article in The Horse:

"Besides just the sheath, if the buildup is not periodically washed off, dried smegma, mixed with dirt, sweat, and fat cells, surrounded by mineral salts from the urine, can form a clay-like ball of debris at the end of the penis. It accumulates in the urethral diverticulum, which is a small pocket near the urethra (the tube that carries the urine from the bladder). The ball of debris, commonly called a "bean," will be lodged in this pocket just inside the opening of the penis. - See more at: http://www.thehorse.com/articles/13885/male-horse-hygiene#sthash.Tv0bPVlb.dpuf"

The article then described how to reach into the urethra and dig out the bean.  No.  No, no, no.  You want me to dig what out of where?  There are lines to be drawn in life and putting my head under an uncomfortable male horse and trying to squeeze a bean out of his penis is one of those hard lines. Someone should have told me about this, I would have bought a mare! How do I tell an eight year old that her horse has a blockage in his penis?  How do I even say the word "penis" to an eight year old without having her cringe and run away in horror, giggling because Mom said "penis"? After thinking about the situation for a few minutes, I sent my husband a text reading "Calling the vet.  Please stop by the store and pick up a case of Ramen on the way home."