It's been a day, and I'm tired. The full moon is kicking my butt, and there is a lot going on in my life. Some of it makes sense, some of it doesn't. I'm going with the flow (well, as much as I do, anyway). I'm not alone here. There seems to be more than a few people going through some stuff right now. I see you, I feel you and I love you, so know that. It is what it is, and we'll all get through our collective stuff, but I had a conversation today that was sort of a touchy one for me, and even relevant on a broader scale. Sometimes what I do when I don't know how to process something is to put it here. I have the time and the need, so here goes.
Today, I was blamed for being verbally abused. Well, maybe not blamed, exactly, but it was implied that I had some part in it (I didn't). I was told that if I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen and move on in order to keep the peace, that the issue was my fault and I was hanging on to a victim mentality. It seems like a good time to be clear about this over-used (and often IMPROPERLY used) phrase, and define what a victim mentality really is.
I can speak to this personally, and without hesitation. Folks who know me know that I've been through some sh**. My trauma history isn't for the feint of heart. But it is just that: history. And there's a reason for that: The reason is that I stood and faced it, I talked about it, I dealt with it and I had the balls to put things in perspective and to hold people accountable. Some of it took me a really long time to deal with, mostly because I didn't want to look at it too closely, but eventually I DID deal with it. I still do that, and I'm smarter about what I allow into my life as a result. Facing things directly and head on is NOT the easy route, it's not the simple or painless route, and it isn't without consequences. But IS the only way forward. Sometimes that crap (and please forgive the graphic imagery here) is like a big boil that isn't going to get better until you open it up and let all the goo out. Only then will it heal. And yeah, breaking it open is going to hurt like hell and cause a big mess, but that's nothing compered to the discomfort of continuing to live with that boil. Anyhoo, dealing with the ugly sh** head on and refusing to accept further abuse is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Standing up for yourself is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Refusing to allow abusive people to continue to abuse you is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality. Holding people accountable (in whatever form that takes) for the way they've treated you is the OPPOSITE of victim mentality.
Shutting up to keep the peace, pretending the abuse/assault/bullying/whatever never happened so you don't make waves, that's staying a victim. Being afraid to advocate for yourself, that is victim mentality. No, no, and FUCK no. It took me a long time to learn how to stand up for myself. Part of me needed to learn how to believe that I had a right to. How messed up is that? And to be here, at this place in my life, and to STILL be expected to shut up and take it...no. Never again. I am a lucky human to have awesome, loving people in my life. I love them dearly, and they love me and I know that. Nobody is perfect, but we know how to treat each other with kindness and respect, even when there is conflict. None of us has to jump through any hoops to prove anything to each other. Love is unconditional. If your excuse for abusing and threatening people is "I was mad", then you have a problem and a lot of work to do. But it is no longer my problem.
I did a big purge last week, and it felt pretty good. I don't mean the murdery kind with looting and whatnot, I mean cleaning out things I don't need. For somebody who doesn't really 'get' materialism, I sure do hang on to some stuff. Mostly what I've been hanging on to was dog stuff. It's one of the very few things that I'll spend real money on. Just ask my dog; he's wearing a nice coat made just for him, and I'm running around in holey sweatpants. Priorities, don'tcha know! I even cleared out Murphy's things that he doesn't use anymore, so wow!
I've had 5 dogs in the last 25 years or so, most of them at the same time, and they had a lot of stuff. For some reason, I couldn't make myself let go of it. And a few days ago, it was like a revelation: I don't need to keep that stuff anymore. I wish that thought had occurred to me two moves ago, but better late than never.
I get why there are certain things I hang on to. Scarcity has been a real thing and a big thing. Anything lost wasn't easily (or ever) replaced. That's part of it, but no longer relevant. The other bit is emotional: "But that belonged to________! How can I get rid of that?" But the truth is, I was there for the good parts, I got to spend time with my critters, and they'll never be forgotten. The rest is just stuff. Sure, keep a little something. But I don't have to keep ALL of it! So I gathered it up and donated it to somebody with a rescue who could make real use of it, and where it could do some good for some living critters. I feel lighter!
It has often been a challenge for me to let go that way. I've experienced a lot of loss, and I suppose it was my way of hanging on in the only way I knew how. But the longer I live, the less I need that stuff, and the more confident I feel in the depths of those connections and the memories of those real and awesome experiences. Keeping 'stuff' is a little like building a monument to pain; a focus on loss and what's missing instead of the bigger, more important parts.
Pain is part of life; EVERYBODY'S life. It's certainly been a part of mine. But what do I want to do with it? Do I want to make it the central pillar that I construct the rest of my life around? F*** no! I want to acknowledge it, experience it, and move through it, knowing there is something on the other side. I want to learn what I need to from it, and then heal. I recently watched "Nanette" by Hannah Gadsby (Highly recommend! Very Powerful!) and there was one line that she said that really stood out to me: "There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself" And boy, she isn't kidding! But that means you don't stay broken! And I'm NOT a broken woman anymore, and haven't been for a looooong time. Not everybody seems to have gotten that memo.
Okay, so this took a turn as it often does. I guess that's what my blog is for :-) But full disclosure: Parts of my life really hurt right now. There's nothing I can do about it. I'm having to be very 'Serenity Prayer' about some things, and it's hard. I know I can always resort to what my shrink calls "the Nuclear Option"(publicly publishing the truth of an ugly situation I'm involved in), but it isn't who I am. I would certainly be vindicated, but at what cost? Ergo, accepting the things I can't change, and trusting life to sort it out. It always has, so I have to have faith in that.
So like my purging of all the dog stuff that I don't need, I'm purging the unhelpful emotional weight that I've been carrying around. I don't need it. Letting go doesn't change time or experiences, or negate anything good or valuable. It just allows to me to focus forward on things that are positive, loving, nurturing and healing. Sometimes that's all we can can do.
So, I signed up for a three-month food-prep and weight loss class. If you know anything about me, you know how completely out of character that is. I HATE cooking. I mean, I LOATHE it. And I'm horrible at it too. I've actually set my back lawn on fire and had to put it out with a hose, and I wasn't even cooking outdoors. Long story. I used to make waffles once in awhile when my daughter was little, and everybody called them 'awfuls'. It's no joke guys. And weight loss? Please! Lets talk about how much I DON'T care about weight. And then lets talk about why.
When I was little, I felt like I hated most of what it was to be a girl. I never wanted to be a boy (and I thought they were gross, of course), but girls didn't seem to get to have any fun. If I had to wear a dress, it meant I had to wear tights (uncomfortable), shoes that I had to keep un-scuffed and clean. It also meant that I had to be 'ladylike' (whatever that meant) and 'modest', (another word I didn't really get). Essentially, what it boiled down to was sitting quietly and politely, ie; NO FUN. Fun meant digging in the dirt for worms (to bring in the house), looking for frogs (to bring in the house), looking for grasshoppers (to bring in the house) and taking old electronics apart and trying to put them back together. Okay, I was a weird kid. I was also obsessed with horses, rode whenever I had the opportunity, and pretended to be one when I didn't. I liked to be dirty, and outdoors. I liked to follow my grandfather around his wood shop until I was covered in sawdust. In short, any day that ended with me being filthy enough for my grandmother to say "Go clean up before potatoes start growing on you" was a fabulous day. And didn't involve dresses, being ladylike, or being modest.
Another odd bit for me was that the more uncomfortable I was, the more adults would compliment my appearance. I would be absolutely miserable, and my older relatives would be all " Wow! Look at how PRETTY you are!!". Early childhood lesson: Misery = social approval. Okay, and I get it's not like that for everybody and I fully embrace my weirdness here. I didn't get the impression that my sister or female cousins felt miserable at all about dressing up, so it seems like it was more of a 'me' thing. But there it was.
Unfortunately for me I was an early bloomer (and that list of issues is for another day. Maybe.), and that meant an awareness of all the usual social pressures on women to conform to a certain physical type. I wasn't fat, but I wasn't skinny either. For a young girl (especially one that was extremely uncomfortable in her own, ever-changing skin)"not skinny" was the end of the world. Couple that with growing up in a household where weight and appearance were always a priority and a discussion, and the relentless message was "she could be pretty if she wasn't fat" and boy does that lend itself to a whole bunch of self-loathing and trouble.
I very quickly learned that my body wasn't designed for weight loss. I would lose it for awhile , and then it would just plateau eternally. Eventually I was frustrated enough that I just stopped eating altogether. I started to lose weight again, so in my mind that must have been the right course of action. Because nothing was more important than being thin. EVERYBODY knows that. And it started to show. People started complimenting me on how good I looked, started saying things like "It must feel great to start getting so healthy!"So I kept on keeping on. My skin was grey, I had dark circles under my eyes, and the compliments kept coming. Then I got sick. REALLY sick. I had mono, but not just for the usual couple of weeks. I had it for MONTHS. And then I had pneumonia. I missed my freshman year of high school. And I still wasn't skinny! My doc at the time knew what was going on and he threatened me with hospitalization. I knew he meant it. He said if my mom wasn't a nurse, I would already be there. It scared me enough to stop the behavior, but didn't do anything at all about the psychological impact. I thought making myself throw up would be safer. My doc saw the burst blood-vessels in my eyes and threatened me again. He also mentioned scary things like detached retinas, heart failure and blindness. So I gave up. I mean, completely.
I thought things like "I'll never be good enough" and "There's something wrong with me" (and it was JUST me. My sister was thin. Of course she was.) I drank a lot, but I never really liked it. And then I discovered cocaine and what a miraculous weight-loss aid that was. I never really talked about what I was feeling, because what was the point? Wasn't that just another failure? Another weakness? I felt like my inability to be like other young women or to care about the things they cared about made me bad and wrong somehow. I went to hair school, learned to do hair and makeup, and started to really focus on how I dressed. It was always on the wild side and I liked to wear leather (still do), so I felt like maybe I had just found my own unique way of caring about the 'right' things. I would just be a person who cares about such things, and it would be okay. The substance abuse was just for fun. Of course it was. Until it wasn't. I kicked it, but the weight was there, right where I left it. And I hadn't reached "skinny" anyway.
Eventually I got pregnant, and it was right around that time that I started to think: What if I have a girl? How will I teach her about 'all that' when I don't really have a grip on it myself? I thought about it a lot. I would look in the mirror when I was getting ready for work and think: I wish I could look in the mirror and just say "good morning, you", without having to change my face. I wish my very own face was good enough; perfect the way it is. I wish I could wear clothes for of how they make me feel, not how they make me look. I wish I could stop putting my human-shaped feet into pointed shoes; but I have to wear high-heels "because they make my legs look longer and beauty is pain, after all". (Just between us, how f***ing stupid IS that?) I wish I could say those conversations with myself were the beginning of some kind of revelation, of healing, but they weren't. Not yet.
I had my daughter, and then it was all about "Baby weight". For some women it's not a big deal. They get a belly-bump for awhile and then they have the baby and it's gone. I couldn't even get out of my own way, or wear shoes home after work because my feet were so swollen. It wasn't because I was lazy and uncommitted, but because it was just the way it was. The TV told me differently though: If I had a tough time with the baby weight, it was just another failure. I just didn't try hard enough. Never mind that I was an exhausted single parent. I didn't look 'right', and it was all my fault. Now I was not only jilted and alone with a child, nobody would ever want me or love me because I was just a big, fat mommy-blob. The way people treated me confirmed this: according to everybody, I was suddenly no longer me anymore. My whole identity was about being someone's mother, and I should automatically know what that meant because "instincts". Yeah, not so much. But hey, I met a guy who seemed to dig me (my daughter's father had literally left the country), and though he picked on me ruthlessly about my weight (all it takes is effort and willpower, don't be so lazy), I put up with it because hey, maybe I was still human after all. Even though I was fat. And then fen phen (or was it phen fen?) came on the market. It was experimental and maybe not safe, but what the hell.
I lost a ton of weight on the drug. I changed absolutely nothing about what I was doing in terms of diet and exercise, but I lost weight like crazy. I was risking my life, but here came the compliments: "Look how HEALTHY you are getting!" Yeah, I was healthy-ing my way into a smaller coffin, but I was taking up less space, becoming more socially acceptable. A 'real' person. I thought about that thing Kate Moss says "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels". But I HATED how thin felt. I felt weak and frail. I would look at myself in the mirror and see a gaunt (and old-looking!) version of my face perched on an alien body. I hated the knobbiness of my knees, and how bow-legged I looked. I hated the way my bones protruded through my thin flesh. It made me think of death. Once, I caught a glimpse of my backbone and ribs in a mirror as I bent down to tie my shoes and I was so horrified that I burst into tears. (It's funny, I never looked at my thin friends this way, but to me I looked awful). I was cold all the time (which I usually am, so it was worse), I couldn't get comfortable when I slept and even the smallest bump would hurt. I felt terrible. Of course when they took the drug off the market, the weight came back. It didn't matter what I did to stop it (or why). It always came back.
The "crazy" around weight didn't stop there. I starved, I chain smoked, I over-exercised. I still did all of that. I think it's pretty normal for women to accept self-flagellation as just another way of life. We call it other things (because the TV does). We call it 'motivation' or something along those lines. It's not. One day, I caught my daughter watching me. Is this what I wanted for her? Did I want to teach her to hate herself? Did I want her to think that her appearance was the most important thing she had to offer the world? So important that it took precedence over everything else? No, a thousand times no. I knew that if I wanted her to grow up loving herself, I had to love me. I had to show her what self-love looked like.That was a tough one, but I did it.
I finally accepted that I wasn't 'normal' (whatever that means), but that I didn't have to be. I was my own worst critic on that score. I accepted that I'm always going to be a little fluffy, and that means nothing about who I am or my value as a human being. I sent my daughter to a great school with a strict no media policy, and that just made things easier. It eradicated all those twisted media-messages directed at women. She and I would dig in the dirt together, grow things, make things, and joke about how many potatoes we could grow on ourselves. She went through a 'pink' phase, and then a 'blue' phase, and then a 'red' phase. Sometimes she liked to play with dolls and that was cool. And sometimes she didn't and that was cool too. She led the charge in terms of her preferences for toys, colors and activities, and all was well. We hiked with the dogs, we danced it out, we read books. We both dressed in clothes we liked for how they made us feel, we wore comfortable shoes (or no shoes!) and our faces were perfect exactly the way they were. Seeing myself through my daughter's eyes was really the beginning of healing for me. Healing from a lifetime of bullshit messages about how women should look and what they should care about. I needed the freedom from the media messages as much as my daughter, and it was the beginning. And there were many years of therapy (which continues).
It's been a long, slow climb through self-acceptance, and finally to self love. I'm really grateful to be where I am in that regard. I've come to realize that the cliche is true: beauty does, indeed originate within. I started looking for it in other people first. Where once I may have thought "She might be pretty if she wasn't so fat", I think "Wow, her face glows with kindness". And that's not something you will ever find in a make-up bag or a photo-altering app. Now, I can turn that same love and kindness on myself and mean it. It's kind of a big deal. And I now understand that not everything is about goals or climbing mountains. I do yoga because it feels good (Yes, Debbie, it's still your VHS tape!), I let my hair grow because it makes me sad to cut it, and I don't have to. I did add some purple and blue highlights though :-) I dress for comfort and wear comfortable shoes. I look at my face in the AM and say "Good morning you. It's a new day, lets make it a good one" without any thought whatsoever of changing my face. It's flaws are a perfect reflection of a lifetime of sun and smiles. I finally understand that trying to approximate a socially-contrived stereotype is not for everybody, and it certainly isn't for me. But you can imagine how it feels to have someone say "You know, you should lose some weight. It's just a little diet and exercise". Seriously folks, I WISH it was just about willpower, effort and self-control. I starved myself, almost to death, I drove myself to the hospital in labor, I raised a child alone. If it were just about gutting it out, it would have been a done deal a loooong time ago.
And what does any of that have to do with my opening statement? Well, everything. It took a long time to get to this place. I'm taking the class because I want to, without any particular goal in mind. It's about self love. It's an apology to myself for everything I've done; for the starvation and the drugs, for the self-loathing and judgement, for the shitty, dehydrated food and the chemical-laden, meal-substitute shakes. For the abuse, really. Both the abuse I put up with from others, and that which I imposed on myself. And to learn. My daughter and I went from a crushing poverty that meant we had no real choices in terms of food because it always came down to "what is the cheapest thing we can tolerate today?" (FYI, folks who really think poor people are out there buying lobster and steak are so full of willful ignorance that it hurts every ounce of common sense I posses, which is a lot.) , and with very little transition, suddenly went to "Who do we call for take out today?". That was cool for awhile, but it's no way to live. So I'm doing this, I'm taking this class. I'm sure I'll lose some weight, and that's cool. Do I expect miracles? I really don't, and that's okay. Because that isn't the point. The point is, to take better care of ourselves, just to do that. I've spent 2 years studying canine nutrition, and the better part of a year on equine nutrition (I don't even have a horse right now!) and it's time to spend a little time learning about me, a human, who's worth it. And for all the right reasons.
I've always had a strange relationship with money. Not only have I long felt like I was courting a lover who really didn't have much interest in being with me, but I felt on some level that money might be an EVIL lover. I didn't care, but I felt guilty for wanting it, anyway. After years of this awkward dance, I've realized that money wasn't really a thing with a life or an intention of its own, but instead a means to an end. It is only as good or evil as its holder, and only as illusive as we think it might be. Yeah, okay. Still working on that last part.
I have seen money used as both a carrot AND a stick. I have seen it used to artificially propel people into positions of power they didn't deserve. I have seen people use it to control others, to amass great quantities of 'stuff', to create a competitive advantage over those who had less. I have seen it withheld as a punishment, and have seen the acquisition of it prioritized over people and the living of life. It's no shocker at all that I see the evil side of money, and no surprise that I have had such mixed feelings about it for so much of my life. None of the usual reasons for acquiring money held much appeal for me, so I didn't really see the point of trying to amass wealth.
Years ago I had friends who tried to hook me into a multi-tiered marketing 'thing' that they were Very Excited about. They were pretty vague about the details for awhile, but ultimately told me the name of the company (I won't say who, but it rhymes with Bamway) when they realized I wouldn't listen to anything they had to say until they did. They asked me if I had time after work to go for a ride with them one day, and I reluctantly agreed to go despite the fact that they refused to tell me what it was about (these were friends, remember). After a couple of exhausting (and utterly confusing) hours of going to car dealerships, high-end clothing stores, furniture outlets and the like, they informed me I had been on a "dream quest", and that if I joined their company I could have all the beautiful things I just saw. All I had to do is pay some amount of money, use some products (sorry, this part was all vague) get friends to join and then PROFIT, and OMG, how exciting was that?! I never laughed so hard in my life. I said "Are you kidding me? WHO'S dream? I don't give a flying F*** about any of that crap! Have we MET?" followed by "Can I PLEASE go home now?" Seriously, anyone who knows me on even the most basic level HAS to know that anything that involves needing some type of disposable income AND the ability to sell stuff on the phone or in person (no online back then) was never, ever going to happen. And the way they came at me couldn't have been more wrong! They were trying to appeal to a sense of greed that I didn't have. If they had taken me to a warmblood horse farm, they may have gotten further, but probably not much :-) All that stuff remind me of South Park's "Underpants gnomes profit plan":
Either they were continuing to be intentionally vague, I was exceptionally obtuse or they didn't really know how it worked, either. In any case, I was not then and am not now interested in earning my money in a way that depends on what somebody else earns. It just feels icky to me.
Having said that, I have grown to see the very happy and uplifting side of money. I have come to understand that money can mean many genuinely good things. It can change and improve peoples lives, it can help the Earth become a healthier place, it can provide stability, help a family member or friend in a time of need and it can help someone go from a complete nobody to the person who eventually cures cancer. Money can be a blessed and beautiful thing, and it feels like it should be shared. I think its only ugly and evil when its hoarded and guarded over by the hunched gargoyle of greed and self-importance. Inviting resources into your life doesn't have to mean inviting the gargoyle. The two things are entirely separate events! What an astounding and liberating discovery that is! And lets be clear here, it was my own potential gargoyle that I feared. I have friends with lots of money who aren't the least bit greedy so I know it's possible.
But knowing and feeling aren't always the same thing. Now, I can keep some room available on my dance card for money, and not feel anything but good about it :-)
When I'm stressed out I like to think of 'other' things; things that are far removed from all that's worrisome. I think about horses a lot. I always have. In one form or another, horses have been a bastion of strength and protection against the intrusion of life's occasional unpleasantness. There's something about a horse that makes us more than we are. They offer us their friendship (if we allow them to) and lend us their power and speed. There's something in the spirit, the soul of a horse, that connects with the soul of a human being in a way that is unique and special. When I feel cursed with the absence of this connection, I need to remind myself what a blessing it is to know such a bond and to have the capacity to experience it so fully. I don't have a horse right now, but I will again. It's not something I hope for, but something I know on a soul level. My connection with horses is my connection to the 'real' world, the source of my strength and my greatest passion. People like me don't thrive without horses.
I'm filling my horseless days ruminating about my next horse. Who will he be? What do I want to do? It is natural for me to immediately assume I will look for a dressage horse, and that would be fine. But the idea of spending all or most of my time in an arena makes my insides feel restless and squirmy. Yes, I would like to do some showing. I didn't get to do nearly enough of it as a child. There's still an itch there. But I also fantasize about dirt roads, corn fields, miles of trails through the woods. I remember seeing the world through pointed ears, an explosion of fall color, the soothing, rhythmic sound of my horse's footfalls, the sharp aroma of leaves and refreshing fall air. I'll never get tired of that, and as a child that is what I loved the most. My sister was always right there too, a ready riding buddy who shared my enthusiasm. Our farrier used to comment on the wear of our horses' shoes; they could never be reset because the daily mileage had worn them so thin. We would ride in all weather, getting caught in the rain more than a time or two. We rode bareback as a matter of habit; youth is fearless with an effortless balance and agility. Back then I had a Morgan.
I hadn't considered a Morgan again until recently. But why not? My show-trained Morgan was up for everything I was into and well suited for it too. Isn't a Morgan a natural choice? They are beautiful, strong, sensible, versatile, respectful of those who respect them. They have energy to burn and endurance to spare. You get an awful lot of horse for a fairly reasonable amount of money (exceptionally reasonable when compared to the cost of a warmblood) .When I was a child the good Morgan ads read like this: "Morgan for sale, rides and drives, excellent family horse, old (fill in blank) lines". As it turns out, that's still largely true. As a Vermonter, not only are these the 'horses of my people' but they are everywhere. That's kind of awesome. How great it would be to actively seek out the right horse for me as an adult, knowing what I know now and participating in the process. I look forward to that day with anticipation :-)
When I was a child, each horse that I had was a stroke of luck. Each foible was a lesson learned the hard way. I think about how children learn about horses today. How different everything is! I am so grateful for my daughter's experience with Pony Club, and I highly recommend it. Pony Club doesn't just produce pretty riders, but real horse people who know as much about safety and the care of their horse as they do about riding. It seems these days that many children are being taught to ride but know nothing else. They have to have perfect footing in their well-tended arenas, the most fashionable tack and clothing, and a coach at their side for everything they do. I think it's sad. Those children are missing out on a lot. It's hard to have a real relationship with an animal that you don't understand, that you have relegated to nothing more than a competition vehicle. Without that relationship the best part of the experience is lost.
My sister and I didn't take a lot of lessons. The ones we took we paid for ourselves with money we saved from birthdays, Christmas, mowing the occasional lawn. We didn't come from a horsey family so lessons and showing weren't a priority (or at least not a priority to those who held the finances!). We were very fortunate to have the horses at all. After years of begging, we started out with free-leased ponies from a local summer camp. My grandfather had put up a fence and built a barn and run-in, and that's what we had from that point on. After having more free-leased ponies and horses than I can count, my family finally purchased two horses. Kudos to my Mom here; she was a single, non-horsey parent and we had horses. That in and of itself was impressive.
Most of our education was provided by horsey neighbors, working at the summer camp (if we got all the chores done, we could RIDE! Thank you Mom for getting up early to fed us breakfast; thank you Papa for all the rides to the farm!) and a pretty terrific 4-H leader. This same woman helped my Mom find our horses and helped us to get set up with tack. I mentioned that my Mom was not a horsey person. So it is really no surprise that she bought us a saddle (yes, one for us to share) from an ad in the paper for $50. I think we even tried to use it, but it was pretty scary. I think it was a polo saddle, and part of one of the panels was missing. Eventually the torn stirrup leathers went to shoe repair to get sewn back together. This is when our 4-H leader stepped in and helped out :-) It couldn't have been easy to buy our nice tack and it was done piece by piece.
When we took our lessons, my sister and I had to ride to the local park and use an outdoor hockey arena as a riding ring. My sister had her saddle before I had mine (the first saddle just fit her horse better) so the instructor would kindly bring her saddle for me to use during the lesson. We thought nothing of this, it was just the way it was. We eventually participated in horse clinics at the local fairgrounds. I remember my saddle arriving by bus the day before the clinic started. I was SO EXCITED to get my new saddle (I had never had my very own saddle before!). I was beside myself. My wonderful Morgan took all the strangeness of the clinic environment in stride and performed beautifully so I could focus on my riding. All my friends were there, we got to sleep in tack rooms and we were able to focus on nothing but horses for a whole weekend! The clinics were awesome.
We eventually did some showing, but our participation at shows was limited by our lack of transportation. We could often hitch a ride with friends if they were going, but it didn't happen nearly enough for me. It didn't matter to my horse though. His lifestyle had changed completely when he came to live with us. He was living the life of a mere backyard pleasure mount. But when he entered the ring he became a different horse. He knew his job and he strutted his stuff like he had never been away. Perhaps that is one one of the things that fascinates me the most about Morgan horses. Some interpret versatility as an ability to perform in different tack. The truth is, horses aren't terribly mindful about the style of tack we choose for them. It's really only important to us. But the versatility of my Morgan was an adaptability in his performance, an understanding of what is needed in a given moment. This horse who would take me calmly down the trail (and through the occasional frog-pond) knew when and how to 'turn it on'. I always felt so proud of him in those moments, and the smile I wore in the show ring was genuine.
That's what I need. I need a tough, flashy little fellow who's up for anything. So why not a Morgan? Why not an animal I have a long history and share a kinship with? Why not the 'horse of my people'? It's certainly something worth considering. Thank you for joining me on this trip through memory lane :-)
First off, let me apologize for the lapse between the last post and this one. I went off on a related 'research tangent' that was productive and encouraging, and then I actually focused on getting some real work done. All in all, a productive time period. But here without further ado, my latest bit of wool-gathering:
I have spent my holiday perusing the internet for interesting horse info. It's hard to surf properly without running into lots and lots of info on "Natural Horsemanship", the barefoot 'movement', and riding bitless. I may date myself here a bit, but all of this info is new to me and some of it is making for some very interesting reading. I realize that none of this is terribly relevant to my life as it exists currently, but I am a horse person by nature and plan to have horses again as soon as finances permit. I poke around online to stay current and because it's really the only way to get a good horse-fix these days.
Okay, first of all let me make clear that, as a middle-aged woman who has ridden nearly since infancy, I am most familiar (and therefore most comfortable) with a more classical school of thought when it comes to horses. By classical, I mean the slow and steady bringing along of a horse though humane and methodical training, at the speed that makes sense to the individual horse. Of course, the definition and detail are much more complex than my simplified definition, but most people who ride and compete in 'English' sports know what I am talking about (whether they themselves are interested in adhering to classical principles or not). I won't say that I am an expert by any means and have found myself blessed by the help of friends who are much more capable than I, but the point is the same. In my view, correct training has always been humane training that takes the needs and nature of the horse into consideration. I have always been surrounded by people who felt the same. So what of "Natural horsemanship"?
I have never attempted it in practice. I know some folks who swear by it, and I know 'classical' trainers who are frustrated to no end by having to re-train horses who have been ruined by badly-done "Natural Horsemanship". I don't believe any system can be judged by the results of those who f*** it up though, but I guess that goes two ways. I have seen some pretty horrible riders trained in the classical method too (okay, admittedly most of them have been spoiled brats who's mommy and daddy bought them an expensive "toy" that they know nothing about, other than how to ride it around a ring and make it jump) but I know that, done correctly, it's a humane system that works. I think as long as it gets the job done kindly and the results are good, then why not? For some equine-enthusiasts, "Natural Horsemanship" IS the reason they ride. That's cool. I know folks who have a traditional background who incorporate NH to add something new and fun, and they do so with great results. I won't comment on western riding here because I am the first to admit that I know nothing about the western disciplines, but a lot of western folks seem to be really into NH. The one thing that does seem strange to me is that NH folks don't seem to do a ton of riding. I haven't seen a lot of NH folks participating in equestrian sports, at least not that I'm aware of. Is that a 'thing'? Again, I'm no expert.
Next on my confuzzlement list is riding bitless. Even from a traditional perspective, I totally get the appeal here. Less is more in the horse world (or more accurately, more training and skill means less need for gadgets), and it has always broken my heart to see a heavily bitted horse with his head tied down and his mouth gaping open. Even in the dressage ring, it is not uncommon to see an absolutely ridiculous amount of contact coupled with a tight noseband. In fact, both of those things make me NUTS and ruin my experience as a spectator. I would love to see riders in both the aforementioned camps lose their bit-privileges until they learn to ride with some compassion. I especially hate to see upper-level riders hammering on a double bridle. By the time you reach that level, you should know better. I rode saddleseat as a child. A CHILD. My horse wore a very potentially-severe double bridle, but instead of the crank-nosebands used by some of today's dressage riders, all we had were thin, decorative, pinned-ring cavessons. Even so, you never saw one of our horses with a blue tongue or a gaping mouth. I miss having the balance and finesse I used to have. I'll freely admit here that I am no longer a pretty rider. I am old and lumpy and waaaay out of shape. Just wanted to put that out there :-) Even so, I can work hard to be a good rider again when the opportunity presents itself, which is sort of the point. A bitless-bridle is something I could get behind. I spent some time checking out this site: The Bitless Bridle Once I got past the very-strongly anti-bit stuff and the occasionally obnoxious marketing, I found that I really liked Dr. Cook and understood why riding bitless could be a good thing.
It certainly made sense to me that a horse would prefer not to have something in his mouth, especially if that something is attached to an unsympathetic pair of hands that treats it like an emergency brake or something to balance on. I tried to find folks who are sport-oriented who utilize bitless bridles, and there are a few of them. Perhaps my favorite is here: Uta Graf/Le Noir, bitless dressage Oh Uta, if only you were wearing a helmet! Oh well, She is still awesome. There seems to be a lot more folks out there using them on very old, or pet horses though. Lots of pics of helmetless people hugging ancient horses who are half asleep. There is merit here and I don't wish to discount anyone who has and loves their horse and wants to provide them with a positive experience. I just think that it would be nice if these bridles were more commonplace among sport-people (specifically the above-mentioned "brats"). It's certainly something I would consider, though they aren't allowed in dressage competition. Even so, I would imagine that much discomfort could be prevented in training if a bitless bridle were used most often. Something to ponder...
Perhaps the most intriguing thing I've discovered is the idea of keeping a horse barefoot. I can't even begin to post links to all the info out there about barefoot hoofs and all the schools of thought around this type of horse management, but I will admit the scientific information is certainly compelling. If your experience is primarily with sport horses (with the exception of endurance) the idea might be crazy-foreign. But check out this perspective from world-class dressage-folks: Barefoot Dressage with Shannon Peters This is something worth a try too, under the right conditions. I probably would always feel safer sending my daughter out on a cross-country course knowing there are studs in her horse's shoes, but for dressage? There are pretty terrific hoof-boots out there too. Again, not allowed in the dressage ring (the thing I love about dressage is also the thing I dislike about it: it's so darned fussy!) but one could always do what the Peters did, or opt to use a glue-on shoe for competition until the horse is reliably comfortable on all surfaces. I think I will always be the most comfortable with a farrier who also does barefoot trims as opposed to someone who is trained specifically as a trimmer because I have so much respect for the farrier-trade and faith in experience. I have noticed that many farriers here in Vermont actually do both. That is cool!
I would encourage horse people to maybe not just stick to the status quo. By all means, adhere to your principals, but at least consider exploring some of the new stuff that's out there that can actually function to enhance the old stuff you already know about. I'm am trying very hard to keep an open mind. If you know me, you know how tough that can be. I am also not entirely sold on the idea of "natural" anything that involves us working with horses, as there is nothing natural about that from the horse's perspective, horses know we aren't horses, and I think we will do better by both the horses and ourselves by being confident and benevolent human leaders. BUT developing an understanding of the horse's nature and the physiological functions of all his parts is not a bad idea. No surprise there, but here's a newsflash: I am considering trying competitive trail in my next phase of horse-ownership. Is that crazy? I love dressage, SO much, but sometimes the idea of camping with my horse and riding through beautiful (and sometimes not beautiful) country just sounds so...liberating! What do you think?
This review has been a long time coming. I actually discovered this awesome company a couple of years ago, quite by accident. I was walking my dog down the street one cold winter day, when a couple in an SUV pulled over to talk to me. They had an adorable dober-girl in their back seat, and they just wanted to say "hello" to a fellow dobe-enthusiast. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing has happened, nor would it be the last. Dobes are not common in my area, and the folks who are owned by them love to meet others. This chance meeting brought with it a bonus: My dog was wearing a coat that didn't really fit and wasn't exactly warm enough for our Vermont winters, so these folks gave me their recommendation; a company called Cozy Horse
They took the time to show me their Cozy Horse Dober-coat and I was instantly sold. It was warm and well-made, and even had a hole for the D-ring on their dog's harness. A new coat wasn't exactly in the budget, but these folks assured me that Cozy Horse was reasonably priced and well worth it. I decided to check it out.
As my friends know, I am fussy about exactly two things: dog stuff and horse stuff. When I looked at the site(s) (Cozy Horse has an Angelfire Site too) I was blown away by all the options and choices; even more so by the affordability of Cozy Horse products: not cheap, but certainly reasonable and actually rather exceptional for what you're getting. As the name implies, Cozy Horse makes horse blankets. I am used to purchasing dog coats from horse blanket companies so I wasn't surprised that they also offered dog coats. My usual experience has been fairly mixed; the dog coats are usually made out of the same durable materials as the horse blankets, but the fit has often ranged from adequate to unbelievably wrong. One company made a coat in size extra large that looked as though it MIGHT fit a 40 pound dog, another made a size medium that my 98 pound dog could swim in. Needless to say, I have often been a bit disappointed in dog coats made by horse blanket companies. But here is where Cozy Horse is far beyond superior: they are a CUSTOM company.
Custom made for a Saluki customer...wow!
After some easy, prompt and pleasant correspondence with the company's owner, Claudia Jones, I was ready to place my first order. I measured Murphy carefully and picked out all the specs in my usual compulsive manner. I like to dress Murphy in purple, but because he's a boy I thought two-tone (with black) might be more manly; horseblanket-style straps meant I wouldn't have to worry about Murph peeing on a strap, and just a bit of reflective piping made us a bit more visible on a dark winter evening. This coat featured a medium-weight fill and a smooth taffeta lining. I also ordered a black polar fleece snood for those really cold days when Dober-ears are especially vulnerable, and a fleece-lined, reflective martingale collar, also in purple and black. We were good to go.
I expected a longer wait than the three weeks it actually took for my custom order. I was already very impressed with both the service and the turn around time, and I hadn't even opened the box yet. When I did, I found my beautiful new items wrapped in purple tissue paper with some business cards and dog treats. It was like an early Christmas:-) I was so impressed by how well made everything was; the materials were great quality, the stitching was careful and even. Everything was exactly what I wanted and fit perfectly. It was a unique and wonderful retail experience:-)
These folks make everything "dog": Great collars, service dog vests, donation dog vests, tug toys, coats of all types and configurations and much more. The possibilities for customizing these items are almost endless too, no bulk order required. After my initial purchase, I realized the need for both a rain coat (bright yellow, of course, with reflective piping) and a fall-weight fleece (in soft grey). I was equally pleased with both of these purchases, so of course when it was time to buy a fundraising vest, I went back to Cozy Horse. Once again, I found myself impressed by the quality and attention to detail, apparent even in something as simple as a donation dog vest.
Murphy, happy and warm in his custom coat
I have long been in search of a good dog coat company. My doggy-life began with greyhounds. Their lean bodies and sparse coats mean that buying a coat for them is not optional, but necessary. Their unique shape also presented a fitting challenge. Back then (almost 20 years ago) people simply didn't 'dress' their dogs for any real purpose and after searching high and low and only finding fru fru clothing (?!) for small dogs, I ultimately ended up making my own, notably NOT fru fru, dog coats. And they were...okay. As the popularity of greyhounds as pets (and the internet) soared, so did the number of dog coat companies that catered to this unique breed. But of course the coats were crazy-expensive. Even so, I succumbed and bought my hounds nice coats. Then I became involved with Dobermans and the search began all over again. I spent a lot of money on "adequate" and "not-quite-right", unfortunately.
There is a misconception that "tough dogs don't need coats", but it IS a misconception. A single-coated dog simply does not have the ability to keep itself warm in cold temperatures, no matter how tough they may be. Add wind and/or wet and the problem is compounded. I know that my dog couldn't tolerate the cold long enough to get the exercise he needs without his warm coat. It DOES make a real difference, and fortunately more people are realizing this and fulfilling this need for their dogs.
And now, there's no excuse and there are real options, even for service dogs. Cozy Horse is now working with Bold Lead Designs (see my reviews here: Part 1 and Part 2 ) to provide custom coats that work with BLD's service dog harnesses. What a great idea! Now your dog can dress for the weather without it interfering with your dog's job, AND he/she can look great too!
Cozy Horse and Bold Lead Designs...perfect!
When I saw these two companies working together it almost made me giddy...it was like canine-retail-perfection overload! So much excellent quality and awesome service all in one place- it was almost too much:-) Now I have to buy another stunning Cozy Horse coat to fit over Murphy's harness. Bummer;-) Of course it won't replace the purple one he wears for play; this will be the third winter with the purple coat but it still looks brand new. Even after washing, Murphy's coats haven't faded, become lumpy, shrunk or lost their shape. The soft fleece hasn't pilled. Cozy Horse items are as durable as they are attractive. I could write a book about all the great options, but instead I encourage you to visit the sites and experience for yourself the excitement of 'designing' exactly what you want, knowing the fit will be perfect and it will last.
I am so glad I found Cozy Horse, and I have nothing negative to say. The service is the best, the choices are infinite and the products hold their value. This is the last coat company I'll ever need to find to keep my dogs warm and dry. Why settle for 'adequate' and 'not-quite-right' when you can have exactly what you want, and probably for less?
As I stumble through my life accidentally on purpose, I can't help but notice some of the opposing forces that influence me. No wonder I spend so much of my time being confused. For starters I have a strange fascination with chickens; I just love them. I don't know why. Maybe it's their little feathered bodies or the adorable noises they make. Maybe it's the way they are so small, but they strut about like they own the place. At the same time, I feed my dog a natural raw diet with chicken as a primary food source (with other things to balance it appropriately, of course). My need to feed my predator a species appropriate diet is constantly at war with my love for chickens. In fact, I am an animal lover to my core, but I don't think I could live long-term as a vegetarian. I am so conflicted.
The easier solution (and one that would placate me and assuage some of my guilt) would be to become an organic localvore. I would be exceptionally happy and at peace to know that the meat in my diet was well-cared for and respected (my dog eats free-range chicken parts from a local farm), and that everything was hormone and chemical-free. I could call my nutrition-minded friend Maureen (It's All Connected) and ask her to help me put together something healthy. That is the goal. When I can afford it, that is. Until then the dog eats better than I do and I live with the guilt. But this is only the 'diet' stuff.
See, I'm kind of a germaphobe. I had to learn that I don't need to bleach everything all the time, and I did so because of the toxicity of bleach. It was even effecting my breathing. It was hard, but I learned. I have worked very hard to be mindful of the toxicity of cleaning products, and the amount of water and paper products I use, even though my most base instincts tell me to wash everything in poison to kill germs and wipe them down with paper towels to not spread germs and to do that a LOT. I control my impulses by reminding myself that I had a healthy upbringing with my hands covered in dirt from gardening. I loved that feeling. And I've always lived with and around animals, which for some reason just don't register with me as 'dirty'. Sure I've brushed caked mud off horses more times that I can count and I've mucked a stall or two (million) but I never felt repulsed, even when my dog licks himself THERE (okay, maybe that's a little repulsive). But now I live in an apartment building that feels to me a little like living in a big petri dish. Every time I take the dog out I remind myself constantly not to touch my face until I get back to my apartment and wash my hands. I can only imagine how many people have touched the door handles, the elevator buttons, etc. I know, I have a problem.
So I wash my hands a lot, and then wipe them on a clean towel set aside just for that purpose. It's a learning curve. I have hand sanitizer (by the gallon), but I try to use it sparingly. Some germs are good, right? And what do we do to our immune systems if we don't give them a little somethin' somethin' to work on once in awhile? I always question my admittedly compulsive mind-set, and then I'll see somebody's child (petri dishes on LEGS) sneezing openly on the button-panel in the elevator, or running around the hallways emitting open-mouthed coughs into the air wherever they go. It makes me want to walk around with a can of Lysol, but I don't. I gave up Lysol. I thought it might take a 12 step program, but it didn't. Barely.
I think more than anything, in order to stave off my germaphobic tendencies, I need to be living my life; not just one that allows me to survive but one that's a reflection of my values and interests. That would mean NOT living in an apartment building, but being surrounded by healthy, dirty things like gardens and horses, and possibly chickens. I'm working on it; I'm working on it REALLY hard. Until then I'll do the best I can to balance the needs of the Earth with my compulsions:-)
I heart squirrel, at least most of the time, though not in the same way that Murphy does. And of course, my squirrels are metaphoric. Even so, I can relate to the frustrated whining and intense gaze of my dog whenever one of these fuzzy little creatures shows themselves, twitching their tails and moving in quick zig-zags to make their presence even more unbearably tempting. The more unattainable something seems sometimes, the more desirable it can become.
I get it, I do. And I am in two minds about my own 'squirrels'. I understand the experience of being so wrapped up and so obsessed that I can't tear my 'gaze' away from whatever it is that holds my attention. Squirrels can mean addiction; something unhealthy that takes a person away from their lives. A person (again, metaphorically) can cross the road in front of a truck running after a squirrel, or get so far away from where they started that they can't find their way back. Certainly, for both dogs and people, squirrels can have deadly repercussions. What starts as a seemingly innocent, instinctive interest can lead to unanticipated, unhelpful automatic responses.
Is it always bad though? Sometimes my tenacity and obsessiveness has done me a lot of good. Sometimes tenacity is the only thing that stands between success and failure. I guess there is a bit of a need to recognize when it's helpful and when it's not. Fortunately for people, we don't have to blindly obsess and chase after our 'squirrels'; we have the ability to assess whether or not the chase is worth it. But we have to be careful here too.
Sometime we can see a goal and it seems so unrealistic we don't even want to try. But what is unrealistic? Can't luck prevail in our own lives as much as in anyone elses? There's no shortage of luck, there is plenty to go around. I think it's a matter of believing that we deserve it and staking our claim. If we approach our goals refusing to see the negatives in our peripheral vision, if we keep our eyes facing forward to 'the big picture', then that is precisely where we are likely to end up. Even Murphy has caught some of his squirrels. It's certainly likely that we can too. We have a much better chance of doing so if we at least try. And in this case I can learn something from Murphy: Even though his 'success rate' is low, and even though his opportunities are few, he will try for that squirrel EVERY TIME the opportunity presents itself. It seems that Murphy is an opportunist extraordinaire:-) And what's wrong with that? Making the most of our opportunities can be a big part of moving forward. I think working hard and creating our own road is the other part, and that's where we humans have the advantage.
SO, now that I've written an entire blog entry based on my dog's bandanna and predatory tendencies, I think it is in everyone's best interest that I stop now and go get myself a cup of coffee;-)
Murphy's bandanna is by Rein Designs and can be purchased here: Jibber Jabbers
