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“I promise to answer your horse related questions and to include three references other than my own experience” said Edna Leigh of Red Pony Farm, ”I have at my disposal a vast library of information and many professionals with whom I have the necessary rapport to glean needed expert commentaries. They include veterinarians, ferriers, trainers in several disciplines, breeders, back yard hobbyists, farmers, and competitors of all ages who have achieved success.”
Edna Leigh was taken up on her offer immediately.
“Separation anxiety question: I have two horses who have hissy fits when separated. Between the neighing and calling back and forth, the head tossing of the one being ridden, and the frantic galloping and bucking of the one left behind, riding isn’t fun. Any suggestions?”
Today I had the answer to my question from Edna Leigh and several experts. I am thrilled. Edna Leigh worked hard and gathered a LOT of information.
To read the suggestions for how to cure ”buddy sour” Skipper and Summer and to read more horse related questions and solutions check out Red Pony Farm:
MORE HORSE STORIES:
Skipper reared today.
I’ve had him for almost 3 years and he’s been a dream. He is 15 years old. A former child’s 4-H pleasure champion with perfect gaits, he’s child safe and has good sense. Or at least that’s what I thought.
My other horse, Summer, is six. She’s flighty and nervous. She loves DH, tolerates me and is wary of everyone else. I also saw her buck like a bronc soon after I got her.
A birthday present from DH the first year we were married, she was by far, my best birthday present ever. Perfectly proportioned, with a tiny head and ears, intelligent alert eyes and a typical quarter horse rump, Summer is a gorgeous bay. Her red coat gleams, her muzzle sock, mane and tail are coaly black. Her eyes are are exotically rimmed in black. I fell in love immediately. However, it was soon apparent that she needed work. She didn’t neck rein. She was nervous and spooked easily. She stomped her feet, turned her rear toward me in the stall, crowded people, used them for scratching posts and worse sometimes flattened her ears and threatened if approached.
I hired a horsetrainer who said she had an attitude problem and took her off to his farm for two months of schooling. That’s where I saw her buck. DH and I were at the trainers watching her being schooled. The trainer was showing us what they’d been working on. Summer saw us by the fence and decided she’d had enough training. She bucked. She bucked as viciously and hard as any rodeo horse being spurred and abused. The trainer, whose hobby is rodeo contesting, stayed on. He got her calmed down, rode her until she was tired and then I forced myself to get on her back and rode her around the ring as instructed. I pretended to be calm because I didn’t want to show misgivings and hurt the trainer’s feelings. Or appear anything but thrilled with my birthday present. But, I was afraid.
Summer graduated from Training School and returned home. But our relationship was changed. Because I knew if she ever bucked that hard with me, I’d be a goner.
Today DH’s family joined us on the farm for a barbeque and DH’s nephews wanted to ride the horses. Marc, is an experienced rider and he rides Summer on every visit. I think he likes knowing of her wicked past and knowing he is skilled enough to deal with it.
Steven rode Skipper, formerly known as the “one anybody can ride”.
Steven was holding Skipper to a walk and Summer got ahead. Which wouldn’t have been a huge problem except Marc wanted to go faster and Steven still wanted to walk. That’s when disaster struck. Skipper wanted to run too. He reared and did some wimpy bucks. There was no danger of Steven being thrown. But, he was nervous and done riding.
Steven got off. Now Skipper was proud as punch. Nostrils flaring, he pranced when I lugged myself up into the saddle cursing (in my head) that I was wearing my too tight skinny jeans. But, no way was I going to reward him for his antics. Skinny jeans and hot sun notwithstanding, we were going to walk, trot and canter around the enclosure until Skipper didn’t care which horse was first.
And we did.
Summer, I am proud to say, was a perfect lady the whole time.
For dinner we had grilled pork chops, pasta salad with tomatoes, cucumbers and onions with sour cream, green beens from the garden, sweet corn from Mrs. Weaver’s vegetable stand, coleslaw (from the grocery deli) and cherry pie (from our farmer’s market).
SOUR CREAM CUCUMBERS
Sour cream cucumbers are a popular dish at midwest family gatherings. They always make me think of summer and my mother’s garden.
2 large cucumbers peeled and sliced
1 onion sliced into rings
3/4 cup sour cream
3 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
salt and pepper to taste
In a bowl combine the cucumber and onion. Combine remaining ingredients and pour over cucumbers. Mix well. Chill.
UPDATE: Rockyroadoflove has suggested an old southern method to make these cucumbers more crisp and flavorful. She uses salted ice water and says it works wonders for cucumbers. My cucumbers were good as they were, but I think Rockyroadoflove’s technique will make them even better.
Rockyroadoflove’s cucumber article is here:
I cheated with my pasta and used a box of Betty Crocker’s Suddenly Pasta mix. I followed the directions on the box and then added fresh, lightly salted cut up tomatoes. I sprinkled herbs over them also, hoping they would look more homemade.
A video of DH trying to get Summer to give him kisses. Skipper gets jealous.
Pictures below of Summer and Skipper without winter hair.
My grandaughter, Autumn, was trying to give Summer a carrot. Only she dropped it on the ground. Summer is trying to get Autumn’s attention…she’s nickering and talking, “Hey, the carrot’s on the ground. And, I’m still here and hungry.”
I pinch myself every single day because I never believed it would happen to me. My marriage of more than 20 years ended. I was thrust into dating. I was overweight, jobless, and pushing the dreaded 50.
What to do? Well…drastic times call for drastic measures. I restarted my career at the lowest of basement levels. I starved. I had liposuction. I had lasik eye surgery and got rid of the glasses. It took awhile, but it worked. After 8 years of going steady with men who couldn’t get to the “I do”, I met the love of my life and remarried.
I will be sure to post ALL the gory details of those eight years in future posts.
Nowdays, as an officially married retired lady for over three years, I’ve taken to a life of doing nothing like a duck to water. I spend my summers participating in the Nothern Indiana flower wars. I am experimenting and trying to find a way to successfully garden without doing any weeding. I have piles of books to read. And a new art box filled with paints, pastels and pencils and watercolors. I really AM going to draw or paint something. Soon.
Our little farm includes two horses, two dogs and two cats. I adore them. But, they prefer my husband, DH, in a most insulting way.
Buster, the black lab/border collie mix, mournfully howls as DH leaves. He seems convinced DH is never to return as he paces and nervously cocks his head. He’s hoping he’ll hear DH’s Jeep motor noises. I try to get his attention, but Buster’s busy, he can’t spare me a glance. If I were to go outside or upstairs, Buster would be on the kitchen table in a heartbeat. That way he’d be high enough to look out the windows and see the drive. The cats are outside. Nobody is in the house to make being inside worthwhile. Only our good natured, sweet Abby dog dutifully lies at my feet. But, she’s listening.
Until the wheels of DH’s jeep hit our driveway. Then the dogs writhe with joy. They wag their tails so hard anything left where it shouldn’t be is knocked over. Skipper the white horse, whinnies across the barnyard. The cats poke their heads out from the sunflower plants beneath the birdfeeder and run for the backdoor.
I smile, too. DH is home. It’s all good.