The Horsepower Homestead

Sonny and Apache eat almost entirely hay, and mostly coastal hay at that. They graze/have free access to about 35 acres. They receive occasional flakes of alfalfa (once a week), and in the winter they get soaked beet pulp twice a week. So much pasture... For my beet pulp mixture, I soak 2 cu ps of beet pulp in 1 cup of water and 1 cup of Aloe Vera juice (for each horse). The Aloe Vera juice is good protection against ulcers which Apache is more prone for in the winter time. These two are quite spoiled and also receive a handful of treats, which usually consist of some combination of baby carrots, granny smith apples, peppermints, and Manna Pro Biscuits. Sonny and Apache are not high performance athletes and do not require grain. They both maintain weight and have excellent hoof/coat health. They get de-wormer monthly. A trick that I learned early on, is to use an empty syringe (similar to the one that de-wormer comes in), fill it with apple juice or applesauce and g...

**This entry was transcribed from my handwritten journal, dated from December 11th, 2016. I thought it would provide interesting contrast to how things have turned out now. Enjoy. There are days when Apache is so perfect, that I imagine that she must be my soul mate. That no person or thing could complete my life more than she does. They say when you find your heart horse, you'll know.  And I would swear, that I knew it from the moment I saw her. Which, ironically, is more than I can say about any man that's ever been in my life. I've never looked at one of them and decided "yup, that's the one." Maybe that's part of the problem.  Apache isn't perfect. But we know how to communicate. I've learned her language. And she's learned mine. We respect each other.  I trust her. She trusts me too. Trust is a hard one for me. I find her easier to trust than I find most people. Even though she's an 1000 pound animal with the e...

This weekend I was fortunate enough to participate in my standard weekend adventure. I had a fantastic ride with Apache. We took a peaceful trail ride through the pasture. She jumped the creek easily this weekend, which is a subtle improvement. Sonny was his normal "old man" self. As for me, I was reminded that horses are great perceivers of emotion. They can sense your fear, your sadness, your frustration, your desperation. And I think Apache could tell that I was not feeling like myself. She was quiet, patient, and let me hug all over her neck. She seemed softer than normal. I felt like she was listening to me, and not from a rider and horse standpoint but as if to ask me, "friend, what's wrong?". It reminded me of those times in high school, when my feelings would be so wounded that I would show up to the barn and spend 10 minutes sobbing into the mane of my favorite horse. They can make fantastic listeners, friends, and therapists. And I'm happy to ...

I've always had a thing for pintos. Big colorful messes of fur. Some people love them, some people hate them. Some people think they're wild. Some say the ones with blue eyes are crazy. But in my opinion, a good horse is never a bad color. (That's also the name of a great natural horsemanship book by Mark Rashid  if you're ever looking for an easy read but still solid equestrian piece of literature). My first real riding experience as a kid was on a paint. Her name was Sandy, she was an older mare at a horseback riding camp for kids. She was big and a little lazy. My legs were so short I could hardly kick her into a trot, but I did. I thought she was the best thing ever.  Sandy, Circa 1997   The next paint horse that I got myself involved with was Chesapeake. She was a Registered Paint. Her mom was a QH, she was a palomino named Nip. My dad and my brother rode Nip quite frequently. Chesapeake's brother, Ret, also spent some time at our barn prior to ...

I remember the first time I felt that nasty gut wrenching feeling. I was in college. I had joined the Equestrian team. And as I mounted up for my first practice, the feeling settled deep in my belly. "They're better than you." The other girls wore pristine breeches. They were thin, with custom saddles, fancy tall boots, and embroidered saddle pads. I was wearing skinny jeans with half chaps pulled over old paddock boots. I had a synthetic saddle. And no one new who I was. I didn't train under fancy trainers. I didn't win world class shows. None of the people I trained, rode, and otherwise "horsed" with were famous or important. And these girls, they were the real deal. And I was a little bit scared. I'd been riding since I was a kid, and now, after all these years, I was finally scared. The coach told me I had quiet legs and a steady hand. That seemed like a compliment. The other girls never invited me to hang out with them, they didn't t...

I remember the first time I got back in the saddle. May 1st, 2016. I hadn't ridden a horse since 2010. Maybe late 2009.  Previously, I had ridden horses for what felt like my whole life. It doesn't really sound like that much time now. Six, maybe seven years.  But for me, it was like not breathing. I had stopped doing something I loved because it became too hard. Life was busy. I was injured. I was in college. I let life get in the way. Then one day, when I was sad and watching my relationship with my boyfriend fall to pieces in slow motion, I knew I had to go back.   I scoured Craigslist, I called stables, I researched lesson prices, I called all my old friends. I pulled my saddles out of storage to clean and oil them. I bought a new Troxel helmet. I cleaned my paddock boots. I tried on my breeches. Which to my surprise still fit. But at the end of the day, all I had to show for it was a guest bedroom that looked more like a tack ...