Week 39 - Deal or no deal?

Reg and my journey since August would be easier told by copying vet bills than by narrative account. It started with him itching  his neck on the door, moved on to scoping and skin conditions the only high point of which was my promotion to "Head of Bio Security" on the Yard. I am pretty sure Seamus* meant it as a passing joke but I got myself a hat and overalls really quickly so that however intended he couldn't easily revoke the (voluntary) appointment. The next four weeks consisted of me walking around in overalls looking purposeful and stinking to high heaven of disinfectant.

Whatever was on Reggie's skin went incognito. Every swab showed up clear for bacteria or fungus. Maybe the hair was just leaving home because it didn't want to be associated with a whirlwind in blue overalls, a self-branded cap, a surplus of disinfectant and an over inflated ego? You couldn't blame the hair, I mean I would leave myself sometimes if that were possible.

As the shit storm of scabs and swabs was passing and before we even stepped out into the sun for air, someone rang the bell for round 3. A sort of intervention from the Universe in which she (the Universe) said "Oh, did I give that big brown and white horse a dose of unnamed skin problems? Thought so, but that was the wrong order. I meant to write him up for a rapid and extreme change in behaviour that includes pounding away from the block, dumping his rider on the concrete and learning to can can with front and hind legs simultaneously. Could someone make sure he gets that order please?"

Get it he did.

Another spell in Breadstone (horse hospital) and cortisol injection to C6 and C7 (arthritic joints in the neck) broke the round of things that come in threes. I've had two of those myself. His recovery was not as seamless as mine, he came home with spasms in his pectoral muscles and chest which, defying all explanation, we've spent a week experimenting with and google doctoring. Apart from the physical manifestation of the spasms themselves we were treated to numerous renditions of the can can which he would only perform on rare occasions, generally when no one else was there to see them leaving me (and some others) to wonder whether I was imagining it.

The Intelligent Horsemanship Community, our own equine community, the vet and others all pitched their wits at what it might be. The diagnosis was "that looks pretty strange, I've never seen that before, I wonder what it might be?".

To cut a very long story short..... Google Doctoring led me to believe we might be looking at something degenerative. So, I did all the mental preparation I would need to do for that, faced the Universe head on and told her "whatever you've dealt us this time I am not playing any more roulette. This horse is staying and if we have to content ourselves (he and I) with pootling about and me taking him for a walk on the lead like a dog then so be it, that's how it's gonna be". I started making the necessary mental adjustments which included practical adjustments to plans. Lisa and I are planning to make our way across Wales and back in May and she agreed she'd accompany regardless of whether Reggie and I were on his feet and my feet.

Two days ago I was nattering to Seamus. Lauren had noticed that the spasms were triggered by light touch. Seamus asked (note not told) whether I'd considered it might be possible that his skin had just got into it's head that we might be going to assault it (again) and gently suggested I grapple with the can canning back legs and wrestle the rug on to see what happened. It was an easier experiment than walking the big hills (Reggie on a lead like a dog) and it couldn't hurt right?

Two days later I've ridden him twice, he's back in his rug there have been no signs of spasms and Seamus has had the wiseness and generosity not to say "I told you so".

Reggie 30/11/19

We aint out of the woods yet. He's weak and tired and our hack out today would have gone faster had I walked him like a dog and not ridden him like a horse BUT the light at the end of the tunnel is shining brighter than it was and today I have the courage to hope we have more ridden years ahead than I have hoped for for a fortnight.

Reggie 30/11/19

Lisa - see you in Wales in May.
Penny - see you on the hills again soon.
Universe - the answer to your question is "NO DEAL"
Seamus, the IH Community and the Yard Community - thank you - everyone loves a story with a happy ending eh?

* Seamus and Amy own Lakeview where we are liveried.

Week 36 - Absent Friends

Once, when I was smaller, there was a dog called Patch. He was our childhood friend, a Jack Russell with a personality and presence ten times his size. He taught me a lot. 

Not Patch, but as close as I am going to get. 

Lessons like:

• If you take the dog to the shops then you should expect to bring it home, not wonder where he is two hours later and run a mile to find him waiting patiently.
• Trust matters. I grew into doing big walks as he grew old and started to lose his sight. I know that now, about his sight I mean. I might have known it then, but I didn't understand. I thought, perhaps, he’d miraculously learned to walk to heel at 14 years old. That miniature powerhouse that had strained at the lead to front up the pack and finally, in old age, fell back. I see now see what I couldn’t then. He could still do 10 miles IF he stayed close. He couldn’t see, but he could still connect.
• Escorting us children to school was his favourite job. He’d sneak out the back so no one knew he was coming and show up at the classroom door with all the kids screaming “it’s your dog again”. I didn’t know I was supposed to be embarrassed. I was just proud that he came to collect us or that I was trusted to save the teacher's sanity and walk him home. 

I loved that dog.

Then there was mum and dads dog Jess. Jess got sick. Stephen took her to the vet. Dad was sick too and the vet said “she’s not in pain and she has a job”. It was looking after dad. She did it brilliantly. Dad and Jess left the world on the same day, proof if nothing else, that that dog was that man's best friend.

I loved that dog. 

Then there was Candy, mums King Charles Cavalier. She came. She held space left by dad that I wanted to hold that for mum, but couldn’t because you can’t make good a loss that big. She was good at it and she came closest to helping. Her gift was unconditional giving, but only constantly. 

I loved that little fluff ball. 

More recently I started filling my life with fur. 

Patch’s legacy. 

I bought Marley from a photo. He was broken and I knew so little about horses I loved him in spite. I was told he wasn’t good looking animal, his face looked beautifully sculpted to me. I was told his confirmation was atrocious, that he looked like two horses slung together in the middle. He looked perfect to me, so perfect that his brokenness, when it couldn’t be mended, still took me by surprise and broke my heart. 

Mila came to repair it. Mila has a fierce and bright attitude to love and life. Her terms! “If you want to be around horses I am going to teach you to woman up”. I lived in awe of Mila’s energy and vivacity and spent a year running to catch her up until she decided her job with me was done and it was time to go home. 

I love that Orange Warrior Queen. 

Jessie the cat came to stay. Jessie is the archetypal scaredy cat. She left home for a month to go on an adventure diet. We thought she’d gone forever. Lisa and Ian gifted us Custard cat to fill the hole and, with a feline role model, Jessie returned. So now they both live with us. Jessie the scaredy cat and Custard the Welsh Valley Therapy Cat. 

Custard watches everything. She thinks she’s a dog. She comes in the car and she sleeps on our bed when we are tired or sad. How does she know?

I love those cats. 

And then there’s Reggie, the elephantine equine who ought to be called BIG for all the time I am advised “he’s BIG” when people meet him. So as I don’t come across as romanticising or anthropomorphising he knows his size and he will use it if he feels threatened or if he thinks the humans might eat his food. Not so chickens. He will share with chickens, just not people. 

Reggie’s job so far has been to lead me to a new understanding of communication and to unveil my misperception that connection, communication and relationships start and end with homosapiens. 

What a blind, arrogant and ignorant numpty I’ve been. One after another they’ve tried to teach me and one after the other I failed to learn. Maybe Reggie got through because he’s too big to ignore?

I should have seen it. Jess (Lauren's horse) and Roger (Lauren's horse) have carried Lauren unconditionally and in more than just a saddle through storms unnavigable for a mum and maybe even a human. They have my gratitude for that.

I have been reading a lot about cultures that don’t make the mistake of assuming separation or that consciousness is bound to homosapien. I see their wisdom. I wish I had it. 

I wrote this today because a friend prompted me to write and then I read a story that my phone randomly slung me via Facebook about an elephant that spent 50 years in human servitude. he was shackled by the legs and made to perform for money. The shackles were barbed. 

When the elephant was rescued he cried. Tears. I don’t know why it surprised me, but it did. The story has a happy ending. He’s been learning to trust people again after 27 abusive owners. More generosity that I could ever muster. 

So, homosapiens are the ones who understand consciousness, relationships and connection?

Dear Dear Patch, I wish I could turn the clock back, walk home again from town with you just once, chugging away with your tongue lolling and your right ear and eye glued to my left ankle. I can be your friend so differently and so much better now I can see you, even if it is only in my minds eye.  

You were so brave and so much fun. X