The Arab Mist

Just back from the yard, where I had a word with myself after I let Max into his field. I was only with him for about an hour and a half, no riding, just grooming and having a feel of the lumps in his armpit. They aren't any bigger, but they're still there. I'm using my finger as a guide - they (feels like a cluster of little lumps making one biggish nobbly lump) take up about the top of my middle finger, from first knuckle to finger tip, so if it starts going beyond that, I'll know it's growing. Have been reading up on sarcoids and Liverpool cream.

Don't want to read too much though, because there's no point getting into a panic about sarcoids if that isn't what this is. No harm in knowing a little bit about it though.

I'm trying not to look every day because I might not notice a change then. On Tuesday, Max (bless him, he's such a good boy) let me crawl right under him to try and get a proper look. There really isn't anything to see. I can feel it for sure, but really nothing distinguishable to look at. A little raised along the edges now and feeling a bit like a scab, but under the skin it seems. I'm not picking at it but he still has no problem with me fiddling about.

On Wednesday, I had enough time, and the weather was fine enough to take Max out for a hackette. The bridleways are still pretty bad, so I knew we wouldn't get up to much, but I just wanted him out of the yard and out of the school again to see how we went.

I made a turn up the left bridleway thinking we'd go to the top and come back along the edge of a field, but there was a tree down, so we turned and headed back for the lane. Walked on a bit, past all the scary stuff, and he was fine. A bit alert, but nothing unmanageable at all. Ducked aside a couple of times to let cars pass, and he waited patiently, and moved his hinds out of the way when I asked.

I guess we were only out for about half an hour, 40 minutes, got up to nothing spectacular, but I was happy with it - calm ride, a wee stretch outside the comfort zone he seems to have established for himself, no drama. I put his jingle bells back on (it is December after all) and did consider that the little bit of noise might be helping us a bit. Definitely gets into a rhythm with his movement, makes a little noise to distract him from other noises, and it's hard to be uptight when I'm listening to Max jingle. It's a happy noise and it makes me smile to hear it.

Then I got back to the yard and another livery owner (who really is very nice and I don't want to diss her) said, "Back so soon? Did you have a nice walk?"

"Brilliant, really lovely!" was all I said but I thought "Why emphasise 'walk' like that? Why not say 'Did you have a nice ride'?"

I note here that I am perhaps a bit prickly and over-sensitive, especially since this woman is always telling me about where is safe for a canter in these wet conditions.

Her hacks are different than mine. She goes far afield and trots, canters, little jumps if she can find them. Fine with her old TB who has seen it all, and also fine with young hunter she shares, who regularly goes on hunts. Not fine with Max on his own. Not fine with me, either.

Course if the going is good and Max feels right, then yeah, I do the trotting and little bursts of canter too, but mostly my hacks are walking hacks. Is there some law that says they shouldn't be?

So that stuff has been going round in my head but I dismissed it. Then again today, as I set Max out into his field I thought, "Really should be riding or schooling, really should be spending more time with him. Poor Max."

Then I looked at him having his big glug of water and sauntering off to find The Boss after giving me a sloppy wet nuzzle. We'd had a great grooming session, he did some showing off, he had some attitude, he made me laugh (loads). He was affectionate and comical, same as he always is.

So there I was guilt-tripping and I thought, "Stop! Look at him! Happy, healthy horse. Not bothered. Yep, he does like to spend time with you, but he also likes to do this: just be a horse. He's fine, he's content. Stop with the back chat! You are giving him a good life."

By most standards, even mine, Max is one of the lucky ones. It doesn't matter that I don't spend every waking hour with him. He doesn't need me that from me. It's fine that he will sometimes go two whole days in a row without me "working" him. What does he care? He doesn't.

Yes, I've got an agenda of things I'd like to be better at, but even if I was better at them already, the way my life is right now, I still would have to sometimes go two whole days, or three, without taking him in the school or riding him because even with all the ability in the world, if I'm going to do something with Max other than groom him and have a cuddle, then I don't want to be under any time pressure to do it. That's my thing. Hate to feel rushed myself, and hate it more when I'm with Max because I know no matter how hard I try to move slowly and present a calm front to him, the clock watching always goes on in my head and that is not good for either of us. It's not harmful, but it takes what should be a leisurely, enjoyable thing for us and turns it into something else.

Then I think about how when I was a kid all I wanted was a horse. If you told 12 year old me that she would one day have a horse of her very own, the horse of her dreams, and not be spending hours and hours and hours riding every day, she would think you were insane.

But I'm not a 12 year old girl any more. I have tons of other obligations and responsibilities now and frankly, young me was a really good kid, but she knew very little about the difference between the dream of owning a horse and the reality of properly caring for one. She knew nothing of the weight and promise of that responsibility. She would not consider spending time feeling bumps in armpits. She would not worry about hoof trims and wonder where she could get training to rasp herself for her own peace of mind to ensure those hooves were the best they could be. She didn't know anything about how a saddle fit and less than nothing about bits. She knew nothing about worming schedules, feeding regimines or the dreaded laminits.

Neither would she watch a horse and sense discomfort. She would not walk into a box, see her adored horse of the moment and think "Hmm... something doesn't feel right here. What's the trouble?" and start investigating.

She also didn't have a bad back, or fingers that tingle and go numb so she can't really feel the reins or the contact properly.

So I shouldn't be listening to that young, uninformed child when I look at Max. She was very eager and had such a good heart, but she was a bit naive about the ways of the world and although she loved horses with all her heart, she knew very little about them, other than that they crept into her heart with nameless comfort and promises of freedom and open hearts ripe for devotion.

When it comes down to it, if you had gone back and told 12 year old me that she'd have her own horse one day, she'd have been grinning from ear to ear even when you told her about all the other worrying and stern stuff.

That part of my young self I can certainly hold on to! For all my world weary worry, sometimes it is 12 year old me that gives me a kick up the arse: "Get on with it! Make it so! WE HAVE OUR HORSE!"