Good grief, he’s finally here.
I slept like the dead last night. I wish I could say it was because I’d been up for two days in a happy excitement….
But, honestly, it was because I was so nervous.
When did I become a nervous, fretful person? The 8 year old tomboy in me is so disgusted.
Wednesday morning Not-Hodor (as much as I love that name I took one look at him as he got off the truck and realized, “Wow. He does NOT look like a Hodor. Like, at all. Well, that sucks. What do I call him now?”) was due to be picked up around one pm.
At 10:30 in the morning I received a call from the transport company.
“Hi, is this Becky Bean?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
“Well, our drivers called CHP about the road your horse is on, and it’s just too tight for them to make it. So we can’t go up the road and get your horse – you’re going to have to trailer him down to meet us at the mouth of the canyon.”
“Uhhh, that’s not possible. I’m up here in Oregon. Are you sure? I’ve seen semi trucks on that road lots of times.”
Inwardly I was thinking, Geez. I booked this almost two weeks ago, and did follow up calls to make sure there were no issues. I was very specific about where he is located. You couldn’t have looked into this yesterday?“Well, maybe you can have your parents trailer him down? We can’t bring our rig up there after the CHP advised us not to.”
“No, sorry, we won’t be able to make it up. Unfortunately, you’ll have to meet us down there.”
“If we hadn’t rescheduled to today, that might have been a possibility… but my mom is hundreds of miles away in Orange County, and my dad is two hours away, moving RVs. We only have the landlord there to help him load.”
“…maybe call a friend?”
“I guess I can try? It’s been almost ten years in that area, but maybe I can find someone?”
So began an incredibly stressful couple of hours. They flat-out wouldn’t come up. We flat-out couldn’t come down. The whole time as we tried to fix things, I did alternate research….. and realized that if he didn’t make this transport, the chances of him making it here in time for me to be able to take him to the clinic were about nil.
Eventually one of the dispatchers realized that her daughter lived near where Not-Hodor was located – so we called up the daughter’s husband, and he was able to trailer him down to meet the transport at the mouth of the canyon.
Only he needed cash to get it done, because he was broke and needed to buy gas.
Only there was no one on hand to give him cash.
Etc, etc, repeat ad nauseum.
It was a fun time I’ll cut out the several hours of trying to coordinate movements from the trailer company, my parents, the guy doing the short trailering, someone who would bring him money, etc, etc.
When I finally confirmed Not-Hodor was on the big rig and headed north (Huzzah!), I let the trailering company know that there was a change of plans as to where he was being sent…. because the barn I shopped for and had chosen was now closed due to an outbreak of strangles.
Surprises were more fun when I was a kid.
“Surprise! We bought you a new backpack!” was a lot more fun than, “Surprise! Your new barn has a highly infectious illness running through it!”
Yesterday morning, after driving over to double check the new barn had room for a big rig, I called up the transport company.
“Are we still on for 1-3pm drop off? If not, let me know. I understand things happen. I’m just going to have my kids at the sitter and don’t want to keep them there unnecessarily long.”
“Yes, it’s 1-3. The driver will call when they get close.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
I arrived at the barn at about one.
By two I abandoned hanging out in my car, when my dislike of faking being social with strangers was overcome by how stinking hot it was in my car, in the sun.
If it was the barn I was going to be staying at long-term, I would definitely have made a huge effort… but yesterday the idea of chatting with new people just sounded exhausting. I hate small talk.
“Nice to meet you! How’s your day going?”
“I’m exhausted and really itchy. Even though the poison oak on my private parts has finally faded away, I got a new batch of it all over my arms and legs. Even worse, the puss is getting everywhere, and that’s just gross….wait. Where are you going?”
No, I didn’t say that. But it’s what came to mind when someone asked me how I was doing- and then while they stood there, waiting for an answer, I had to raffle through my mental box of “Boring but safe replies” to throw at them.
I seriously hate small talk.
To make matters worse, I’ve discovered that I’ve completely forgotten how to speak horse. I feel like a complete beginner – and I sound like one, too.
“So, what kind of horse do you have?”
“Uh, he’s a big grey – part Iberian – maybe Andalusian, maybe Lusitano -and part Tennessee Walker.”
“Oh, he sounds great. What are you planning on doing with him?”
“Uh… ride him? On his back? Maybe lead my boys around on him?”
“No, I mean, are you a gamer? A 4-H-er? Barrels?”
“Uh… I just want to sit in the saddle? Trot around, and maybe canter some?”
Eventually I snuck off and found a tree to sit under, where I could read Shogun (again) and wait.
Finally, at four pm, I gave up and went to pick up my kids— who had missed their naps and were dangerously grumpy from being over-tired.
Finally, a little after 5, the trailer showed up. It was a pretty legit trailer – each horse was cross tied in their own expensive-looking box stall, lots of clean bedding – I’d probably go with the trailer company again, even with the issues.
Between chasing the kids and general business, I didn’t get any pics of him unloading.
I led him to his microscopic box stall (they are in pasture during the day, and stalled at night), and gave him a moment to drink and eat before leading him out to the pasture area that’s now his (for now, at least):
It looks green, but there’s really not much to eat… which is good, because it means he can stay outside all day instead of being dry stalled to avoid founder or colic.
I took a couple of pictures, just to prove he was here, but he looked tired and kind of gaunt in most of them. He came off the trailer pretty thirsty – that boy is going to have to learn it’s okay to eat and drink on a trailer. He’s also a bit too thin – which is definitely not my parent’s fault. When my mom had her accident they had to leave the mountain in a hurry (obviously), and leave the landlord to throw feed at him. She owns a bunch of easy-keeper 14.1 hand Quarter Horses – I don’t think it was on purpose, but he just wasn’t getting enough for his size.
That’s okay, I like fattening up horses.
My boys were in awe that they actually owned a horse. I didn’t tell them he was coming… mostly because I didn’t want to hear “IS HE HERE? IS HE HERE TODAY? WHY NOT?” a bazillion times a day.
The fact that they had a horse, and that they get to visit him every single day was blowing their minds.
“See, howrse? See my twuck? Look! It’s monsta-twuck! Look, howrse! Look my monsta-twuck! You wike my monsta twuck?”
“I love you, Not-Hodor. I love you so much. You’re my favorite horse. I love you. You’re pretty. You’re a big horse. I love you.”
Even better, Not-Hodor seems to really, genuinely like kids. He could have “grazed” anywhere in the pasture, but chose instead to graze right by the fence…despite the fact that every time he got remotely close enough to touch, two skinny little pairs of arms shot through the fence, straining to touch him.
Eventually I decided to quit torturing him with all the noise and activity and we all went home for the day.
This morning the DragonMonkey came bursting into my bedroom at crack of dawn. “C’mon, Mama. Get out of bed. Can we go see the horse? Please? Let’s go see Not-Hodor. Can I ride him? Can I walk him on his leash? Please?”
On the one hand… go away, child. I’m in bed. You are up waaaaaaaaay too early.
But on the other hand….
We headed out of the house at a little before 9 to get to the barn, which is less than 2 miles away…. and we made it there by a little after 11 after meltdowns, and early naps, and even some lovely pukings.
Getting to the stables used to be easier before children.
I also discovered it’s nearly impossible to lunge a horse and take pictures and/or a video at the same time. Maybe after Not-Hodor and I get some practice?
I did get a somewhat decent video, that shows off his movement a little bit.
I’d forgotten how calm he is – he doesn’t ground tie yet, but he’ll respect the leadrope in the hands of a very tiny child, so I bet I’ll have him doing it by tomorrow or the next day. I led both boys around on him and then rode him for a little bit.
He’s just as nice as I remember, with the only downside being that I have no idea what cues to give him to let him know that trotting is okay. I get the impression he thinks it’s wrong to trot under saddle, and it’s something I’d like to fix. Any time I try to correct his trot (ask him to collect), he thinks I’m getting after him to gait.
Don’t get me wrong, his gait is a dream to ride, but since you have to really push him to stay in it, and the second you relax he breaks into a walk, I’d like to work on his trot, which comes effortlessly to him. Even with work on his muscles and regular exercise I don’t see him being able to keep that gait up over lots and lots of miles (cough, endurance, cough.)
I asked The DragonMonkey to take a picture of me on him for the blog, and he did.
So, here you go:
I look good on him, don’t I?
Yeah. I don’t know what I expected.
The only bad thing the horse did in the two and a half hours we were there was try to roll while I was leading the DragonMonkey around on him (WITH a saddle on).
To be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was rolling, or if he was laying down to take a nap (I swear I saw him settling down, rather than preparing to roll), but I wasn’t going to just let him lay there to find out which it was. That’s one thing I absolutely won’t stand for, so I reprimanded him pretty convincingly – hopefully he won’t try anything like that again.
For the record, I’m very proud of the DragonMonkey. He hopped off without me telling him to, dashed to a safe distance while I convinced Not-Hodor for about 2 full seconds that laying down with a saddle/rider on was a horrifically scary, potentially fatal mistake (lots of noise and backing him up.) As soon as we were settled again the DragonMonkey came trotting up on his skinny legs, with zero fear, and asked to get back on.
We’ve come a long ways from the kid who freaked out when he touched a sticky peanut butter sandwich.
Anyways, it was pretty incredible, getting to spend the morning with a horse…. MY horse.
Tomorrow, when I go ride him again, the stirrups will be exactly where I left them.
Those of you out there who constantly borrow horses and saddles, like I did for seven years – you know exactly how exciting that is.
Anyways, here’s a bunch of photos of Not-Hodor. I’m sorry I don’t have better conformation photos, but some idiot took about 10 minutes squaring him up PERFECTLY for photos…. and then proceeded to take a bunch of 1 second videos instead of pictures of all his angles, as the phone was set to video instead of camera.
Some idiot didn’t have the heart to do it twice.
Anyways, here’s a bunch of pictures… although, I admit, they’re more a reference for me than they are for you. I can’t wait to see him not only chubby, but all muscled up.
The Squid is MUCH further away from him than he looks in this picture – also, I did a test run and with even a minute amount of pressure the leadrope slips from his fingers. I’m not planning on making this a regular thing – I just hadn’t figured out where the hitching post was in this barn yet, and if I put the rope on the ground he tried to follow me.
I love greys, but I’m kinda sad that hind stocking greyed out – I think he used to have four socks. I bet he was pretty flashy (not that dappled grey isn’t.)
I’m in love with his neck.
This is the DragonMonkey. Squid’s feet don’t even reach the bottom of the saddle skirt.
I couldn’t get him to stand right on the cement, which was disappointing, because the light was much better for pictures, and the wet made my cell phone show his conformation better. He kept hunching his back legs up underneath himself, like they are in this picture. It took me a long time to figure out this is his “HOLY SH*T I’M TERRIFIED. PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE” face – he was too well behaved to do anything but silently plead at me. I wonder what happened in his past?
You can see why I can’t call him Hodor.
I’m hoping to have a name picked out by the end of this weekend, because I can’t keep calling him “the horse” or “Not-Hodor”.