EARTHQUAKE!

We had an earthquake yesterday. If you live on the other side of the country from me, it might not have made your evening news broadcast. Or perhaps it did, because I got emails from all of my horse friends on the other side of the Mississippi, wondering if my stalls were still standing.

Everything's fine. And in case you have a map handy, the epicenter was in Chino Hills, which is maybe 10 miles from my house.

One thing you get used to if you're a native Californian is earthquakes. They're just a fact of life, no different than hurricanes in the South or tornadoes in the Midwest. We just deal with them. Unless holes open up in the streets, freeway overpasses collapse or water mains break, we just grab the nearest solid object and hold on until the shaking stops. In fact, I have a saying that I don't get out of bed for anything less than a 5.0. This one ended up being rated as a 5.4. But I wasn't in bed when it came.

So, where was I? I was outside, just starting to longe Wally. I happened to be facing in the direction of Chino Hills, and as I let out the longe line I heard what I thought was the wind.

"Huh," I thought. "It's awfully early in the day for the wind to pick up."

Then I heard a growing groan. Though I contemplated, "sonic boom or explosion" I quickly recognized the familiar tidal wave of noise and rattling as the seismic wave caused the earth to heave as it surged toward me.

Only when the wave hit did Wally leap into the air and spook, but that was probably because the iron panels on our block wall made a distinctive metallic rattle as they shook with the temblor. Then, Wally stopped and looked at me. He seemed momentarily perplexed. Then we both looked around us, saw that everything was still standing, and carried on.

I suppose it's a good thing that both Wally and I were born and raised in earthquake country.

The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Lameness

Near the end of Sunday's trail ride, Wally went very lame in his right hind leg. I was riding with my friend Natalie and we paused near my house to allow Wally to sip out of the automatic waterer one of my neighbors has mounted on their fence for stoppers by. Natalie's horse is a bit more physically fit than Wally. Okay, I admit it: Wally's a bit of a porker. So while Natalie's horse was still full of energy, Wally was pooped. I'm sure that's because our route had included a long trek to the golf course. And that requires slogging up a gentle yet definite slope to the top of the hill.

Anyway, all was fine until we stopped for Wally to take a drink. When he was finished slurping, I nudged him forward and... he couldn't walk. He was so lame behind that I hopped off to check his hoof for a nail or rock. But he couldn't-- or wouldn't-- budge his leg or foot for me. Fortunately, he had his leg cocked, so I could peer down and see that the underside of his foot was alright.

Thus began the walk home with me frantic as to what had gone wrong with Wally.

After I untacked him and gave him a shower, he barely made it back to his paddock. Then he just stood rock solid still, nickering at me, with his sore hind leg bearing little weight. It was horrible! I ran into the tackroom and grabbed him a peppermint. I knew that Wally was physically unable or mentally unwilling to move when he wouldn't come to me for his treat. Instead, he stood there, whinnying, as if saying, "Can't you please just bring it to me?"

Of course I did. And then I ran inside and called the vet.

Within an hour Jennifer was there. And in contrast to my dramatic pleading on the phone, Wally was at least 50% better. He was walking fine and cleaning up leftover scraps of his breakfast hay. Nevertheless he got an exam. Which revealed nothing: no response to her palpating his back or sacro-iliac area, no swelling or signs of trauma.

Jennifer gave him some anti-inflammatories with instructions to give him more if he wasn't better the next day. Yet he was! In fact, the next day (yesterday) he trotted and cantered around his paddock as if nothing had happened.

The verdict? Even though I know that Wally has some arthritis in his hocks, Jennifer doesn't think that's the cause of The Mysterious Lameness of Sudden Onset and Rapid Recovery. Instead it's most likely something to do with Wally's stifles, which fits with the scenario that this has happened twice now, and both times it was after I'd ridden him up some hills. Most likely he's straining the ligaments around his stifle, which causes pain and cramping. Or at least that's it in a nutshell.

Just to be clear, I am not galloping like a madwoman up and down rocky, winding hills. These are manicured, city-maintained bridle paths.

But Wally, in his porkified state, is apparently not fit enough to do such tasks. So for a while we're going to stick to FLAT trails and add more arena work to get him "legged up" as the race horse people say. I'm relieved that there is a solution to this problem. Wally, on the other hand, probably won't appreciate that solution, as it will require more physical exertion.

If you have any thoughts or suggestions, click on "comments" below or email me at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

"Aunt" Cindy Rides Topper

After I finished giving my Saturday morning lessons at Sue's place (my former coach's facility) I had time to climb aboard Topper, my sister's Thoroughbred, and give him a little school over the jumps. I truly do enjoy riding Topper. Despite his occasional bouts of goofiness, he's quite the good boy. I've ridden him off and on since Jill got him through a Thoroughbred "rescue" organization, and I even showed him a few times before I got hurt. So when my mom and Jill arrived with Topper in tow, I pulled on my half-chaps, strapped on my helmet, and hopped on. Here's how it went:

First of all I must provide a close-up of Jill's knees as she balances herself on her walker. This is why SHE is not currently riding Topper: she just had her second knee replacement surgery. Notice the matching scars on her legs. If she were a horse at an auction, you would not want to bid on her.

Here I am aboard Topper. I'm patting him because in his mind he's thinking, "Uh-oh. All signs point to 'Bad'." He can already tell it's his Aunt Cindy on board, the lady who first introduced him to jumping, flying lead changes and the fact that hunter courses usually require at least 8 jumping efforts before a horse can pause for a treat.

Topper is a 2'6" horse, meaning he isn't really athletic enough to cruise around bigger, stouter courses of jumps. That's primarily due to the after effects of too much racing. But he's safe and reliable over the lower stuff like this, which is fine with me since my husband would throw a hissy fit if he knew I was jumping even this high. Since my accident I promised him I really wouldn't jump horses anymore. <*cough*>. And yes, I realize I'm jumping a little off-center here, but that's because Jill was dead ahead, taking the photo, and she was teetering on her walker. As I was cantering to the jump I had this horrible vision of Topper landing, galloping up to his Mom in hopes of getting a peppermint and ending up entangled in her walker. I didn't think Jill's orthopedic surgeon would appreciate that.

The schooling session is over and Topper is back in the cross-ties, awaiting his bath. But first he must consume at least a half dozen peppermint candies, payback for packing me around the jumps and putting up with my constant requests to keep galloping. Honestly, who on earth thought this animal had any talent or motivation to be a race horse? Topper says, "Eh, being a race horse required far too much effort. Plus I had to get up really early in the morning, and that just didn't fit with my social plans."

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As always, I love to read your thoughts and your own past experiences. Just click on "comments" below or you can email me directly at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

Wanted: Men Who Like Horses

"Where is my John Wayne
Where is my prairie son
Where is my happy ending
Where have all the cowboys gone?"

I'm not much of a country music fan but once in a while a particular song catches my attention. Most of the time it's the lyrics that get to me. That's the case with Paula Cole's song, "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone."

Before you get the wrong idea, I'm perfectly happy with my "cowboy" even if he is a retired schoolteacher. Ron has never even worn a cowboy hat except for the time he was coerced into modeling for a photo shoot on western wear for Horse Illustrated.

But right now I can think of four female friends of mine who are growing weary of The Dating Game. Their undying love of riding and horses just complicates matters. The small pool of men that are desirable gets even smaller when those fellows must also accept that horses are a permanent part of any possible love affair.

Believe me, I know this from personal experience. Before I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Ron, I was also caught up in the dilemma of finding a guy who didn't object to my horses. It was tough.

Let's see... I had a crush on Stan, one of my supervisors when I worked at Disneyland. Both of us even worked in Frontierland, the section of the amusement park developed around a pioneer town theme. But one day over lunch he made this remark: "I don't date girls who have a horse because all they ever want to talk about is their horse. 'My horse this, my horse that'... I just get sick of hearing about their stupid horse."

Alrighty then. So much for Stan.

Then there was Ken. His ego would not allow him to be less than an expert in anything, so he persisted in going riding with me. Unfortunately, he couldn't ride. At all. His lack of balance on the back of my mare caused him to yank on the reins and bounce on her back. He was offended when I began to offer him tips on How Not to Get Bucked Off of My Mare. And that pretty much ended my relationship with Ken.

Later on I was engaged to Karl. He rarely came to the barn. He grudgingly tolerated my horse, an off-the-track Thoroughbred I'd retrained as a hunter and trail horse. But as the time approached for us to set a wedding date, he began to demand that I choose between him and the horse. He actually said these words: "I think you love that horse more than me."

Uhm, what was I supposed to say to that?

Since I had a diamond ring on my finger, I did something totally out of character: I actually sold my horse just to appease Karl! But soon I realized I had also sold a part of my identity. I wasn't happy and I began to resent Karl. Our engagement ended and soon afterwards I bought another horse. In fact, I bought two!

My luck changed with the last guy I dated before I met Ron. Farrin was a cute but poor surf bum. I didn't envision him as a potential lifelong soul mate, but at least Farrin had a passion for an outdoor physical activity. He knew what it was like to be involved with a group of people who had their own lingo, who wore specialized clothing, and who woke up each morning with one purpose in mind: "How much time can I set aside to enjoy the one thing that gives my life meaning?"

Farrin gave me two gifts while we were dating. One was a gold pendant of a galloping horse. The other was a crystal horse made from blown glass. See? At least he understood how much horses meant to me.

That experience made me realize that I didn't necessarily have to find a man who loved horses or riding. I just needed one who thought it was perfectly fine for me to indulge in an activity that might not include him.

That's why when I met Ron I snapped him up. Because he has his own interests and hobbies, he understands mine. In fact, right before we became engaged, he went off on a scuba diving trip to the Caribbean. I was headed out of state to a horse show. When we re-connected two weeks later, our relationship was not only intact, it was stronger, because we shared the photos and memories from our respective adventures. That's when I knew I had found Mr. Right.

Some of my horsey women friends also found their Mr. Right. Leslie's husband willingly helps her out at horse shows. He couldn't bridle or saddle a horse if he had to, but he's perfected the art of applying hoof polish and Show Sheen at the backgate. Jennifer's husband wasn't a horseman, but he took basic western riding lessons from me, got his own horse and began trail riding. That gave him a better insight to his wife's love of horses. Debbie's husband is a confirmed animal lover, so her horses were simply incorporated into his menagerie. Liza is one of Southern California's top professional trainers, but her husband has a career in the construction industry. Their jobs have nothing in common, but they make use of their own talents. That leads to healthy mutual respect.

So, you see, there are some Mr. Rights out there for horsewomen. They just don't always look like cowboys. While I grant you that they may be hard to find, once they're discovered they're worth the effort.

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Share your experiences-- good or bad-- by clicking on "comments" below or emailing me at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

The Cowboy Question

My sister, Jill, is still recuperating from her knee replacement surgery, so a couple of times a week I am shuttling over to El Ranchito. That's the pet name we gave to our parents' little spread on the other side of town. My temporary assignments are to exercise Jill's horse, Topper, and turn out my mom's warmblood mare, April, and her palomino colt, Cowboy. As you probably recall, Cowboy was a bit of an experiment. We bred April-- a big, fancy Oldenburg/Trakehner mare-- to a much smaller cremello AQHA stallion in hopes of getting a sweet, useful, all-purpose riding horse. You know, a nice "family" horse. At least that was the plan.

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Young Cowboy is maturing so quickly that he seems to change every time I see him. He's no longer a yellow fuzz ball. He's become quite elegant and leggy. Plus, he moves with a great deal of suspension, much like his (mostly) Trakehner mom. Genetically there's a 15.1-hand Quarter horse in there... someplace. I just can't quite see it. This makes me wonder if Cowboy himself is a little conflicted. Does he emulate his sire, the all-around working Quarter horse? Or does he envision himself following in the hoofprints of his mother's side of the family, which boasts a long heritage of champion hunters and jumpers? Who knows. Perhaps the young palomino may suffer from some sort of equine schizophrenic angst! With that bizarro concept in mind, here are a couple of Cowboy pics I snapped today:

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Here Cowboy is momentarily pausing in the shade of the mulberry tree. I can't decide if he's studying an imaginary jumping course or figuring out which mythical steer to cut from a herd. I guess that's what happens when you're 1/2 warmblood and 1/2 Quarter horse.

(*Note my parents' curious Labradoodle lurking in the background, just outside the arena. Since he's the same color as Cowboy, he doesn't think I can see him. But I can).

Now Cowboy decides to demonstrate his best impression of a young jumper galloping down to the final fence in a timed jump-off. Or maybe he's chasing a steer. It's hard to tell. But notice how his mother seems to be thinking, "Sheesh. I wish this kid of mine would slow down. I mean, I have an awesome extended trot, but this is getting ridiculous. Can we just WALK for cryin' out loud?"

In time, we'll be able to tell whether Cowboy will be a "cowboy" or a hunter/jumper performance horse. Or, I should say, Cowboy will let us know what he wants to be.

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As always, I welcome your comments and emails. You can click on "comments" below or email me at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

Supplemental Income

When I bought Wally over a year ago, the seller was upfront with me about Wally's hocks. They have arthritic changes. Wally's creaky hocks certainly don't prevent him from being a wonderful horse for recreational riding, but it's always lurking in the back of my mind that I need to baby him a little.

Wally was on an oral joint supplement when I bought him, and my vet, Jennifer, suggested keeping him on it. I gambled once and tried stopping the supplement, just to see what would happen. Well, guess what? Wally didn't go lame, but he seemed stiffer at the jog. While I realize that's hardly a scientific study, it was enough of a scare to prompt me to rush out to the local vet supply store and buy another canister of joint supplement.

I'm a confirmed comparison shopper, so I stood in the aisle for at least 15 minutes, comparing amounts of glucosamine in one product versus MSM and chondroitin totals in other products. I also got caught in the trap of, "Surely the most expensive supplement is the best, because it must cost more to make the superior product."

Yeah, right.

So now Wally is back on his daily joint supplement, pricey as it is. Each time I fill up the itty bitty scoop with the pelleted supplement I think about how much each one of those tiny green pellets cost. It's like I'm feeding Wally a heaping spoonful of granulated gold.

This most recent purchase of buying an equine joint has led me to this discovery: Owning a horse is expensive!

I know. You came to this conclusion a long time ago.

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Fortunately I've learned to appreciate the cheaper things that help make my life with horses enjoyable. Not every purchase has to be a big ticket item. About twice a month I'll satisfy my urge to buy something horsey, but force myself to stick to something cheap. A squeeze bottle of tail de-tangler, a new lead rope or a funky cowgirl t-shirt off the sale rack are some of my latest finds. And each one cost less than a dozen dollars, which leaves me more money for Wally's next jug of diamond dust. I mean joint supplement. For other suggestions of nifty, thrifty ideas to use around the barn that cost under $20, click on this link:Not Everything Horsey Costs a Fortune

It's the latest installment of HI Spy on Horse Channel. If you can think of other things that cost under $20, add them to the comments section at the end of the article. Who knows, your ideas might end up in Horse Illustrated magazine!

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Wally as Tour Guide

Today I decided to let Wally write the blog. It was an interesting experiment, as I had to hold the reins with one hand, the camera with the other, and take mental notes of Wally's commentary while I was riding. But here it goes, in Wally's own words:

"It's a lovely summer morning and I'm headin' down the trail just across the street from my home. As you can tell, the neighbors spend a lot of time with their landscaping. But I can't figure out why no one around here grows anything edible, like carrots. Or corn. Or peppermint plants."

"Huh. This looks interesting. If I hadn't gorged myself on my usual breakfast of orchard grass, alfalfa and a scoop of beet pulp sweet feed, I might have the energy to actually get excited about heavy machinery. But nah... I'm too lazy. Instead, I'd like to imagine that if I come back as a human in my next life, I'd like the job that guy has: holding a sign and standing still a lot."

"Here I am, waiting for the signal to change so my mom and I can cross one of the busier streets in town. She taught me to stand patiently at the curb by reaching down and handing me a peppermint candy while we waited. I didn't quite have the heart to break it to her that I was perfectly happy to stand still even without the peppermint bribe."

"Sometimes I get to cross paths with some of my buddies in town. That's Little Bay horse on the left and Bigger Darker Bay horse on the right. While the human Moms yakked about the weather, we horses were planning a midnight corral break to go visit the mares up the hill. That's the beauty of secret horse languages: The humans never really know what you're thinking! Of course, I doubt it'll happen, but we horses have to dream, you know. Oh. And the human on the right mentioned that I had a 'big gorgeous butt.' Obviously she has particularly good taste."

"And now here I am, crossing the final little street right in front of my house. My mom is always amazed that I never seem to be barn sour. Why would I be in a hurry to get home? While I admit I love my house (although once again, notice the plants: NOTHING EDIBLE!), there are so many adventures that await me on the trails. Why hurry home when fun is only over the next hilltop?"

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If you'd like to leave a note for Wally you can click on "comments" below or email me (and I'll forward your thoughts) at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com