Chapter Three

Grooming for Success

One of the curious things about riding horses is the accepted possibility, even likelihood, of damaging oneself; perhaps quite severely. To some riders, it's what makes it exciting. to most, it's simply the calculated risk understood and accepted because the enjoyment of riding is worth it. Worth the pain of broken ribs, crushed fingers, lacerated hands, wrenched shoulders. There's usually nothing half way about an injury incurred on horseback.

Although it's true, most falls result in nothing more than having the wind knocked out of you, (and if it weren't true, a lot fewer people would be riding), almost everyone has their tale of pain and woe.

Horses are big creatures and we ask them to go fast and jump high and turn quickly, so when an accident does happen, chances are it's going to be a little more serious than skinning your knee on the tennis court.

This is probably yet another reason why horse people find it easy to feel superior. After all, jumping fences at a mad gallop in the woods with dogs baying and a stampede of horses behind you tends to be a little more dangerous than serving up a diabolical serve to your racquetball partner.

At any rate, if you ride, sooner or later, you are going to fall. If you don't fall, you're probably not taking any chances and your riding will no doubt stay at a very basic level, i.e. walking. This is not to say that some people might not want to stay at this level. Older riders, and especially older new riders can still enjoy their mounts, and the countryside, without risk of a broken pelvis, if they leave the more animated riding stuff to the under sixty-year olds.

When I returned to the States, I visited briefly with friends in Atlanta, Georgia before deciding on my next move. As it happened, my friends owned horses, and we decided to spend my first afternoon home riding on the farm where they kept their horses.

The farm was a wonderful place, sprawling and comfortable, with several hundreds of acres of pasture and woods. It was springtime; and the trail we rode wound around the Chattahoochee River, hidden in spasms by great stands of dogwood and redbud trees. Wild violets and pansies stood out like vivid bruises against the green of the newly flourishing trees. The air smelled fragrant and full of new life. It was also a warm day, and the horses seemed happy as they pranced along the colorful trails.

It was a perfect day, marred only by my falling off the pony I was riding when I attempted to jump a wee one-foot coop in the pasture on the way back to the barn. Having never jumped before, I was nonetheless buoyed by my success at having negotiated a small stream the mile before by jumping it. When I saw the coop, I decided to try it.

I'd read enough books and magazines to know how to get into two-point position and get out of the way of the horse while he gets on with jumping the obstacle or fence. I was excited but confident. We jumped it successfully, if not effortlessly, but I lost a stirrup.

Determined to end the perfect day with a perfect jump, I cantered back to the jump to try again. It seemed to me that my pony was aiming for the pat of the jump that was not only higher but had a loose board sticking out as well. I attempted to steer him to a nicer spot (in my estimation) but was not able to communicate this until too late. When he finally got the drift of what I wanted, I'd already committed to doing it his way. So he jumped the spot that I'd originally preferred he jump, and I went sailing over the nasty, protruding board, narrowly missing snagging my jacket on big nail that leered from the board. I came down softly, almost gently on my left side and broke my shoulder in one muffled crunch.

During my recuperation, (made considerably worse by my lack of accident insurance--having just newly arrived Stateside), I read endless books and magazines on riding (and specifically jumping), attended horse shows with my arm in a sling (getting wary, even betrayed, looks from the riders) and made preparations to re-enter the world of horses.

I was as green as a rider could get and still be Homosapien, and there was a lot to learn before I again found myself cantering through a lovely spring day, let alone toward a coop in a field.

The shoulder is a nasty break and physical therapy tends to be quite important if full or near full use of the arm is expected back. In addition to several hours of muscle and bone grinding exercises every day (made possible by the fact that I did not have a full-time job and was not physically able of procuring one) there is the torment of holding great, unwieldy blocks of ice to the bar afflicted area for length periods of time after each exercise session. When my arm was out of the sling, although still quite useless, the exercises began.

After a month of them, I was able to drive a car and had the strength to lift certain small items. When I walked, my right arm swung rhythmically to my gait, while my left one hung as flaccid and lifeless as a sack of beets. Though I couldn't lift it over my head, I could now raise the arm some, and so began the next step of my therapy, which was also the next stage of my equine education.

Learning to care for a horse on the ground can, and should be, as loving an experience--and in some cases as enjoyable--as riding the beast. I'd always felt much less at ease with horses when I was on the ground with them. I was convinced that a horse was going to: a) kick me b) bite me c) squeeze me into a corner of his stall and crush me to death d) stomp all my toes to the consistency of Span e) generally hurt me in yet-unthought-of-ways.

As my still-healing arm wouldn't allow me to actually ride just yet, I felt that working with horses on the ground was an ideal way to overcome my apprehension of them. I was still easily size-shocked by them. As it happened, it also proved to be wonderful physical therapy for my arm. In a way, horses helped me regain the full use of it.

One of the first things I wanted to know in my grooming education was how to tack and untack a horse. (The mystery of the upside down saddle in Taupo still haunted me.)

I learned that after you brush a horse's back (with a curry comb and then a hard brush), you brush his tummy with a softer brush to make sure there are not rasping bits of grit caught under the saddle pad of the girth. Once that's done, you gently toss the saddle over the horse, but high on his withers and then ease it back into place. During my instruction, it seemed I could never get this part right. I was always re-heaving the saddle on the horse and re-sliding it back...usually too far back.

Then, the mystery of the girth was explained tome. Why the stretchy part goes on the left, (it's the more secure end.) Why a horse will "blow himself up," (the phrase "equine-schmuck" comes to mind. He does it to prevent you from initially notching the girth very tightly.) Why he needs to be walked some before finally tightening it. (He lets out air as he relaxes.) Why he needs both legs pulled out from the girth once it's secured tightly. (In order to relieve any folds of skin that may be pinched and trapped under the girth.)

If you've gone it all correctly, you should be able to suspend your entire weight in one stirrup without causing the saddle to slip, and still fit one hand cleanly between girth and belly. While, of course, balancing a hard-boiled egg on the tip of your nose.

The saddle pad itself needs to fit properly too. It can't be bunched up, but must be straight and perfectly situated under the saddle with no part of the saddle touching the horse's bare skin.

I never saw National Velvet do any of this stuff, but it was, as they say, just the beginning.

For example, then there is the unbridled joy of learning how to bridle a horse. The mechanics of it are not all that tricky. You throw the reins over the horse's neck, hold the cavesson in your right hand which is snaked under the horse's chin and over his nose, and your left hand cups the metal bit. Then, you just pull the cavesson up over the horse's nose while you guide the bit into his mouth. Sound disconcerting? If the horse clamps his sweet little teeth shut and doesn't take the bit as easily as he does in all the horse books, you need to jam the thumb of your left hand into the side of the horse's mouth to force his jaws apart while you slip the offending piece of metal into his mouth.

This procedure goes under the heading of being a true test of whether or not you really want to be involved with horses. If you are willing to stand up in a crowd and say "I will now stick my hand into a horse's mouth," you may then advance to the next stage.

The western bridle, as usual with things western, tends to make things easier on the rider. There is no brow band to mash the horse's ears during the bridling procedure, there's no nose band to have to maneuver his delicate little nose through; you just insert the bit and flip the cheek strap over his head and buckle it. Bingo. Couldn't be easier than if they came into the world already-bridled. (Intriguing image.)

All the grooming techniques are pretty standard and vary only slightly from horse to horse depending on their personalities. Try not to puncture their vulnerable little frogs when you're learning to scrape crud and debris from their feet. (It is an accepted law of nature, by the way, that if you wash your hair the day you go to the stables to see your horse, then as you are cleaning out your horse's back feet, he will fart in your hair.)

Applying a showsheen to your horse's coat after a shampoo will make him glisten and sparkle; perfect when you want to show him off at a show or horsy-gathering. It's not, however, advisable to showsheen his back if you have any attention of riding him bareback within the next week.

Mane pulling is a primitive bit of torture that is essential to perform unless you want your horse to look like a wild escape from a horse refugee camp...or like he belongs to a western rider. It involves combing the mane, then back-combing or teasing a part of it, wrapping the remnant mane around the comb and then yanking it out by the roots. The horses love this! Would ask for it specifically if they could talk! In fact, it ranks right up there with scrotum scouring--another particularly delicate little task loved by horse person and horse alike.

It sounds incredible, but when a horse suffers a laceration, and it begins to heal, one needs, it seems, to then pull the scab off the wound to encourage it to form yet another, if smaller, scab.

Unfortunately, all horses who need this particular service performed, and depend on me to perform it, would no doubt lose the afflicted area of gangrene. I'd quite happily eat dog food first. Or pay some mercenary, horse-loving child to do it. (It's widely known that the horse-crazy children that hang around horse barns will due literally anything and for a horse--especially for a buck.) Scab-pulling can prompt the skin to crawl at only a little faster rate than the need to peel off a horse's chestnuts. (Those crusty knobs of skin that form on the inside of a horse's legs.)

There is an oft-asked question (and I often ask it) that wonders how horses in the wild get their feet cleaned out with nobody to pick them, how they worm themselves, scrape off their assorted scabs and skin crusts, and maintain the correct nutritional balance without the vitamin supplements every horse person has crammed in his/her tack trunk.

The reason, I believe, it's often asked, is because it's usually incompletely and vaguely answered each time. There is a good argument for cleaning out a horse's feet. In the wild, horses obviously don't war shoes and don't need to have their hooves picked out. The rock and uneven terrain of their turf help to file down their feet and keep them trim.

As far as the scabs and the chestnuts, there are probably more infections, and some pretty hefty-kneed horses wobbling around out there.

Grooming a horse can be a true joy. It makes you feel close to your horse; to rub it, inspect it, tidy it. It's part of the whole horse-loving experience; and although I often feel like I envy the pictures of the rider coming in from her evening hack who just tosses the reins to her stable boy, I know I'd miss the satisfaction of putting my horse to bed for the night. Of personally rubbing him down, and watching him enjoy a well-deserved dinner.

Being able to climb on his back in order to trot aimlessly around big pastures and circular trails isn't the only reason we love horses. Seeing that they're the best they can be: healthy, shiny, alert and happy is as much a goal, and probably more so, than any riding challenge or skill.