You see, I believe now that Baleno’s problem isn’t in his legs, but rather in his back. He drags his toes and some days he just can’t go. I know he’s struggling and in pain, but the origins of the discomfort are elusive. At the last lameness exam, the vet said my next step was to toss him into the trailer and drive 500 miles for an exam in Phoenix at a place that does nuclear scintigraphy.

Given that I’m semi-unemployed, this isn’t really an option right now.

I met Ed at a dressage show. He is an equine massage therapist and I’d actually run into him a decade before in Boston, where he worked on event horses at the barn where I boarded Volare.

When I got the undiagnosable-spend-thousands-at-another-clinic-diagnosis, I decided to try a more regular approach. After all, my vet was pretty sure whatever’s bugging the big B is in his big old back. 

Now, though, every other week, Ed the massage therapist comes to my barn to work on Baleno. He’s also taught me some moves. When I dig around in the area behind his sacroiliac, it’s hard as a rock, and not from muscles (although at this stage Baleno’s pretty buff). That’s a knot, and one that Ed will work on with the point of his elbow. While Ed’s doing his thing, Baleno will sometimes strike out at him, but more often than not he’ll close his eyes and take a nap or he’ll nibble on me.

A couple of weeks ago I suddenly was unable to get the left lead canter. When Ed came the following Wednesday, sure enough, Baleno was in enough pain that he shot a hind leg at Ed two or three times during the session. Ed took that as a good sign. Sure enough, the next ride I could not only get the left lead canter, but I could collect it as well.

He’s always better after a massage. He’s able to push through, to canter freely, to leg yield and half pass and shoulder-in without too much debate (he used to think lateral work was a bad idea and was pretty adamant about it, too). Although times are financially tough, keeping Baleno happy is worth every dime.

Sometimes, you should just have to trust your gut.

For the past month or so, Belle has been continuing her education with weekly jumping lessons. Just a quarter of a mile down the street is a hunter/jumper trainer who has a reputation of being good over fences with youngsters..

So we’ve been walking her down the street (a production in itself since she gets so nervous leaving home) and this trainer has been jumping her once a week.

They have an admittedly different philosophy of horse care over at her place.  I believe the horses should be together as much as possible in a herd situation. They have stalls and small runs and everyone gets turned out alone.

I decided that while I was going to be away this week, it would be a good chance to send Belle off to boot camp. First, she’d get away from home in a totally busy and different environment. Second, the trainer could progress her jumping more rapidly (although why I thought this was important I don’t really know). After all, last year I sent her to my friend Mike, who basically started her. The year before I sent Baleno to Katy for some intensive upper level dressage training.

But I had a bad feeling about it this time. Belle is much more high-strung than Baleno. She’s not, so far, a terribly adaptable little horse. When I’ve taken her places, she’s gotten nervous and a bit difficult. She’s not used to being in a stall by herself (or enclosed in a stall at all, frankly). And after reading some of your comments to my posts about her behavior, we’ve embarked on a daily course of “natural horsemanship” groundwork. She is responding quite well. In the past month she’s learned to self-load in the trailer and her leading and attentiveness is much better.

On Friday we walked her down the street—she was much better than usual, keeping her calm even when the neighbor horses came running up to the fence. Things were off to a great start. She jumped well (even tackling the brick walls and a small gymnastic). Then came the “here are the directions” part: No cross ties. If you need the vet, you’ll need to tranquilize her. Here is the intramuscular injection you’ll need to use. Don’t fight with her, she’ll just fight harder. Blah blah. After I’d given this litany of instructions, I realized that they really didn’t care what I said- this busy place with multiple grooms and helpers was going to treat Belle like every other horse on the grounds.

I left her there anyway (lord only knows why) and about two that afternoon I came down with a terrible, debilitating anxiety attack. For whatever reason, I had a bad feeling about leaving her there. It didn’t help that I could actually hear her calling out. I often get anxious before I travel so I chalked it up to that.

I went back about 3:00 to leave her supplements and the tranq. No one was around. Belle was in the round pen (a.k.a turn out) pacing. There was no shade and no water. I left her corn oil in the feed room—the evening feed was already made and set out. I looked for a bucket that might resemble Belle’s feed and didn’t see anything. She eats a lot. 2 lbs of complete feed every meal. I saw no buckets that resembled that quantity.

I worried. I’m a worrier anyway, so that night I decided to leave her there and check on her the next morning. By 9:00 a.m., after a sleepless night, I had decided. I was going to get her that afternoon and walk her back home.

I told the trainer that it had nothing to do with her… and it didn’t, really. But I’m picky and Belle’s a special horse. The minute we walked through my front gate, her head went down, her composure relaxed, she breathed a sigh. I turned her out with Baleno and Daisy and there was instant horse affection.

What was I thinking? Why didn’t I trust my gut? I don’t have the answers to those questions. I only know that I’m happy Belle is home, and I’ll actually be able to enjoy my vacation.

My friend Suzanna has been working on a three-month project to “re-fashion" old, worn out clothes into new items. I’d never heard the expression “refashion” before. So as I was cleaning out my feed room over the weekend and simultaneously thinking about my vegetable garden, I came up with my own “refashion” idea.

The soil in my corner of New Mexico is lousy, for the most part, for vegetable gardening. Even with all the manure I heap on my plots, it just isn’t great. Oh, sure, I can grow some tomatoes, but to get the bounty I crave would require moving. So I’ve been investigating “lasagna gardening” which isn’t, as the name evokes, about growing basil and tomatoes and wheat for pasta, but rather a system of layering compost-able materials on top of the soil.

Like most horse people, my place is littered with compost—manure, moldy hay, straw, yard clippings. But what I didn’t consider compost were those dozen or so feed bags that have accumulated in my feed room since our last trash pickup. I know they have some plastic in them since I’ve left a bag or two out in the rain. Just to see, I cut one open.

Yes, it has a plastic layer. And you can’t recycle anything that has ink on it. However, there are two brown paper layers that are just perfect for the bottom of my garden. All I did was cut the bag open lengthwise and then cut the seam. Cutting the seam separates the layers of plastic from the brown paper. Then I laid it all out in my newly created raised bed.

The picture below is my first layer of brown paper from the feed bags, and the pile of trash—the outer layer with the ink and the plastic.

Afterward, I rewarded my ingenuity with a glorious Sunday afternoon trail ride on Baleno. He much appreciated the break from arena work, and we had a good long gallop on the dirt road around the farm behind my house. A very satisfying—and environmentally conscious—Sunday.

Despite the romance of it all, being a writer has pretty limited financial rewards. I once asked my book editor why I was even bothering, and he replied, “so you can say you’re an author.”

Okay. Whatever. Sure that’s part of it, but I’m financially motivated. Up until now, the books I’ve produced have felt like practice rides for the big show. That somewhere in me is a book that will not only sell, but will make people happy.

In the meantime, it made me happy to see my last book, The Adult Longeing Guide, mentioned in myhorse.com’s latest cool new web-zine called Horse Link. Here’s the link: http://cde.cerosmedia.com/1Q49a6838dcee24012.cde

My book was also given a stellar review by Dressage Today; and the other day I ran into Katherine Pettus, a dressage trainer based in Taos, New Mexico. Katherine reviewed my book for our local magazine, The Horseman’s Voice.

So do all these great reviews turn into dollars? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I’m at work on book #3. I can’t quite believe it. Writing books is hard, grueling work (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), which offers no real financial reward unless you happen to be Stephen King or JK Rowling. Ninety-nine percent of us authors toil away at other pursuits to put hay in the barn and food on the table. Despite my cynicism, I love the finished product, sitting on a shelf or in a library. I like the ego boost of running into people in restaurants who recognize me as an “author.” And yes, I am inherently insecure so I need this constant reinforcement from outside.

Next book topic: Bits! Oh my. It’s a stunningly complex topic. Myhorse readers, send me your questions about bits, what’s perplexed you about choosing the right one, and anything else you think I might find interesting. I’m open to suggestions about what you think should be included in a book about bits.

And hopefully this one will be useful to all of you when it’s done.