Horses Have to Eat Too, Right?

All my horses tend to be chow hounds. In late spring and summer they live strictly off pasture and a daily treat of fruit or carrots. In fall and winter, I supplement with grain in differing proportions depending on how much green grass and hay is available. The grain ration is never enough for my guys.
And that can be a problem, both physically and behaviorally.

Cody puts on weight easily. Already this fall he's a fat little butterball, which is a problem because miniatures are especially prone to diabetes. Yet he's only getting a bit of grain right now to counter the pasture they're on where the drought's sucked much of the nutrition right out of the dead grass.

Cody pretending to be slim - he was too vain to have a new picture taken.

When I'm distributing their grain, Bonita follows me from feed bowl to feed bowl, trying to snatch a mouthfull from each. Because she's the baby of the herd at just a year old, I put feed in her bowl last. Eventually she'll learn patience. Her mother, Bella, did.

Bonita checking out the "treat wagon"

After being Hah!'ed at enough and told "Not your bowl!" a hundred times, Bella figured out it takes me as long to put grain in everyone's bowls as it does for her to walk once slowly around the outside of the barn. She learned to self-regulate! So now I don't dawdle when I feed because I want to be sure there's food in her bowl by the time she comes back in.

Bella had colic recently and I stayed up with her during the night walking her a bit and rubbing her tummy and generally worrying over her. A fair percentage of horses die each year from severe cases of colic, so it always requires a sharp eye to be sure it's not developing beyond a simple, mild case. Luckily, Bella responded well to pain meds and being fussed over. It took her a couple of days to come back 100% but once the crisis point was past, I was grateful.

Bella, feeling much better thank you.

So much to worry about with the horses seems to be over what they're eating or how they're eating it. May I just ask how horses survive and thrive in the wild? Do we over-coddle?

Of course, my little beasties love to be coddled.

Speaking of which, Ricky showed up Saturday morning with this mysterious coiffure.

Reminds me of those mysterious crop circles that appear overnight.

Hmmm... isn't it Queen Mab of the Faeries who comes in the night to braid horses' manes? Or perhaps it's the little girl who lives on the other side of the pasture.

~~~

No guest post for Wednesday, but I do have a story about a very naughty lizard. Plus, I've got a meme in my back pocket that I haven't forgotten about...

The Promise-Keeper

This post was originally published July 9, 2010.

While I was at the breeder's two summers ago, scoping out her pen of throw-aways looking for a playmate for Cody, I noticed a roan filly with a pretty trot and a dash of flash. She was half Shetland pony and half Miniature horse and was registered as both. At 6 months, she was the oldest, and biggest, foal in the pen. She was going to be big enough that kids could ride, so I wasn't concerned about her being able to find a home. My dad was talking with the breeder's husband and I noticed he kept looking the filly's way. When I told him I was buying a thin little colt instead and that the breeder would deliver him in a couple of days, Dad seemed happy enough.

The next day my dad and I were sitting on my porch and he asked me why I had chosen Ricky over, say, the big, pretty filly we'd seen. It was clear he'd been smitten. I made a quick and easy decision.

"There's no reason I can't get two horses instead of just one," I told him.

"How much do they want for her?" That was Dad, ever practical.

I shrugged. I saw how much he wanted the horse so, within reason, the price didn't really matter. "I'll find out if she's still available."

She was, for $550, and the breeder would be only too happy to bring her out along with Ricky the next day.

When I told my dad everything was arranged, he shook his head and said, "I want to be the one to buy her."

I didn't understand. "Why? I can afford it and you'll get to see her all the time anyway."

"I want to buy her for you. Your mother and I promised a long time ago that we'd get you a horse. So I want to give you that horse now."

I flashed back to a Christmas 41 years earlier when my big present had been a promise: a handwritten certificate entitling me to "one horse, one saddle and one saddle blanket." I would have to wait a little, though, till the time was right and we had the money to get the horse. I hung on to that certificate with all the faith an 8-year-old has in the world. I memorized it. Kept it in a safe and treasured place. Dreamed about it. And waited.

A year passed and we moved, then a year later moved again. When it looked like we would be in one place more than a year and I dared to start looking at livestock and boarding facilities in the classifieds, Dad was laid off and there was no money for a horse. He eventually found a good job, but it took a handful of years to recover financially and another couple before he and Mom felt comfortable enough to spend beyond the essentials. By then I had graduated. And by the time I moved out on my own at 17, I had put my childish hope away.

I folded the certificate along with its empty promise and threw it into the trash.

I may have resigned myself to letting it go, but my dad had never forgotten. And now, 41 years after he'd made that promise, he was ready to make good on it.

He wanted to name the big-boned filly Beauty. We compromised on Bella. She's an easy-going girl who loves company and will follow you around like a puppy. She'll even carry the 50-pound feed bags when asked, though it's usually too much trouble trying to keep them balanced, even on her broad pony back. And while not every horse can pull off the style, she looks terrific with a mohawk.

Mostly, though, when I look at Bella, I see my father's abiding love. In her trot I see his fierce determination not to disappoint his daughter, and in her eyes I see his delight at being able to fulfill a nearly forgotten promise made 40 years ago.

I'm glad he died knowing he'd made his little girl's dream finally come true.