10.26.23 You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him poop.

WTF is up with this blog post title?

WORMS. Thats what.

Horses are always with worms, just like our skin will always have bacteria on it. But deworming horses is important, and understanding the health of your herd is too.

This is where the POO comes in.

My horse Tracker gets itchy on the dock of his tail and rubs it on the fence, creating a funky looking mullet aesthetic. Now, I don’t know if worms are the cause. It could be allergies, or boredom, too.

Feed me! Exercise me! Clean up after me! Trim my hooves! Study my sheit!!!!

Another thing I’ve noticed is my horses leaving slobbery bite marks on their sides, near their flanks. This can be a sign of intestinal parasites. Again, there can be other causes including: flies, dermatitis, and worst-case— colic.

So I got down in a deep research hole. The “Horse Owners Vereinary Handbook” by James M Giffin and Tom Gore had plenty of information and considerations for me to dive into.

The book that indulges my inner scientist

I also called the vet to ask him about a fecal egg count. This is a lab test where eggs are quantified in the stool. In some areas and at some facilities, this is a regular part of herd and barn maintenence– running a FEC at least once a year but possibly more frequently, depending on findings.

Fecal egg count gives an idea of whether horses are high, moderate, or low shedders. There’s no way of eliminating worms in horses, but with that being said, 5 classes of deworming agents exist with the ability to knock down parasitic numbers and parasitic burden in these beast-goblins we call horses. (Can these agents be used for covid? I won’t even go there!)

Deworming agents and the helminths they kill.

Those worms can really do a number on a horses health in the short and long run. Some worms can cause cardiovascular disease. And more commonly, they can just eat all the nutrients you’re feeding your horse and cause nutrient deficiencies. In the stomach and GI tract, these buggers can cause decreased nutrient absorption and unfortunately even colic.

Anyways, I decided I want a fecal egg count on my horses before I administer their autumn dewormer. Mostly for curiosity, and also for “education”. The more you know,… you know?

I found that the New Mexico Dept of Agriculture has a lab that does FOCs for $26a pop. That’ll be 78$ for all 3 horses, plus shipping etc.

Requisition form to supply with the poo.

The specimens need to be collected within an hour of their proverbial dumping, sealed in an air tight bag, and mailed on ice.

Breastmilk bags shall hold the nuggets of turd-gold

I’ve collected nuggets from ASAP and Nitro (which are waiting patiently and disgustingly in my household fridge at the moment) and even spent 5 hours meticulously cleaning their paddocks so I know exactly when a fresh turd drops to the ground.

The problem is… Tracker won’t poop!

I separated the horses, and have been waiting for 4 hours now, and Tracker hasn’t had the decency to drop a big deuce for my scientific endeavors. RUDE.

I’ve coaxed him, walked him, told him he’s the prettiest, bravest, smartest pooping horse in the world, but he STILL WON’T POOP!!!

Hi, I’m Tracker and I’m too cool to poop.

So I guess the old adage is really IS true: you can gather supplies, write requisition forms, clean paddocks, put poo in the fridge, get turd-parcels prepped to go to albuquerque, but in the end: you can’t make a horse poop.

8.1.2020 Trail-less Riding

I consider myself one to take the road less traveled, and this meandering 7-mile “trail” ride epitomized the truth that not all who wander are lost.

All I knew is that I wanted to get out. By the time I had the horse in the trailer, I still hadn’t even decided which cardinal direction I’d drive. North? Could be. South? Not a bad idea. East? The thought crossed my mind. West? Probably.

Temperatures were rising out at the ranch and it wasn’t getting any cooler. The dog took a quick swim ‘in the pool’ to cool her jets, while I pontificated gratefully that literally any direction we’d go would hold a beautiful and unique adventure.

Got in the truck, turned the key. Foot off the brake.

There is a level of magic that happens when you take action, and for us the path unfurled as we moved forward.

We ended up in a forested, mountainous area with Pinon, elk and steep rock cliffs. No motorized vehicles allowed: my kind of place!

Watching clouds convalesce with my #1 cowboy horse Tracker

Up and down, up and down, we found 2 elk jawbone sets, 2 live elk cows, a hawk, and a deer. Scaled up steep washes and wound through tight aspen stands.

Also found this partial skull with antler roots still attached

And the jawbones

Like usual, I noticed the elk first; the horse Tracker noticed them next, with Junebug being last to the party — again. But Junebug produces the most EXTREME response to compensate. She chased the elk up the hill yipping and yawing like a wild ‘yote. She had her muzzle on the whole time so wouldn’t be able to mangle any wildlife despite her soul-deep desire.

#1 mountain menace

For the past few months I have wondered whether this horse is ‘directionally challenged’ or just loves to be out in the mountains so much that he refuses to go back towards the trailer.

Honestly it’s a relief to have a horse that doesn’t rush to get back home. If you’ve ever ridden a barn sour horse, you know what a frustration it can be.

But I was also starting to get concerned that if ever in a situation where I lost my bearings and needed to get back to safety, this horse would only get us more lost.

Countless times he’s insisted on going the exact opposite direction of the truck and trailer.

On this ride I finally confirmed my suspicion: he knows exactly where the trailer is… he simply insists on continuing the adventure!

So, as you can see from the map, I indulged him:

We climbed up and down some fun sand washes, traversed steep slopes, and gained expansive vantages.

It was a beautiful day to wander and get lost!

That’s one way to get your RDA of calcium, I guess….

Backcountry and philosophical ethic: you can look back but you don’t need to stare.

Click here to watch a clip from our ride!

Cowgirl Wisdom: don’t get caught in the rope

One of the first things you’ll be told when you start working around horses happens to be one of the most important:

Don’t get caught in the rope.

This can look a few hundred ways, but in its most basic iteration, this means that when you’re leading a horse with a rope, loop it up and hold your hand around the loop, not through it.

Like this: see how the rope’s open loops are at the pinky and thumb end, rather than a big circle with my fingers in the inside?

The reason for this is simple: horses are unpredictable. Sometimes they run off. If that rope suddenly gets pulled and wrapped around your fingers, hand or wrist, you’re suddenly hitched to a thousand-pound beast. You can get dragged a long ways before it stops.

I like the metaphor too. What other ways can you still hold the rope but be safe to let go of it at a moment’s notice?

In friendships that might look like allowing your friends the dignity to make their own decisions without meddling for specific outcomes.

In careers that might mean keeping your resume updated and networking consistently, so you have a backup contingency if the workplace suddenly turns sour.

It might mean busting a side hustle, or tightening up the budget.

Maybe it’s making sure you have a stash of cash and an emergency bag packed and ready to go, with clothes, toiletries, and essential documents.

Or maybe it’s having a spiritual or meditative practice worked into your schedule.

Freedom comes in many forms, including an unmangled hand.

Horses are naturally free animals. They don’t like to be confined; they want to roam. I think most people are drawn to horses because they have that same tendency.

There’s a lot to be learned from the simple suggestion: don’t get caught in the rope.

Also: if the horse appears to be on high alert… loosen the grip! (But that’s another post for another day)

Next time you’re feeling frustrated or confined, ask yourself: “did I possibly got caught in the rope?” If you did: no shame. Sometimes you’ve gotta be dragged a fair distance before you learn not to loop the rope around your hand next time. And next time, do a double check to make sure those loops aren’t going around your fingers, hand, or wrist.

.fin.

An Ode to August

On the road.

It’s where I go to get perspective. Some people might believe that motorcycles draw folks in for a number of reasons, but I really can’t get behind that: I think every person who dreams of riding a motorcycle has the same soul-deep love of adventure.

I bought this Ducati Scrambler Classic 800cc in 2015. About two years prior to the big purchase, I started saving 20% of my waitressing tips in this really cool little handmade ceramic urn next to my bed. The cash tips went straight into the envelope labeled, “future motorcycle” before I had a chance to miss them. Because I’m a hippy I even wrote out my vision for that motorcycle. Let’s see if I can find it:

Yes! My hoarding– errr— “collecting” tendencies pay off! The inception note is right where I left it. In the ceramic jar.

The handmade, salt-fired stoneware coin jar/urn I made ~2012.

And the original note! God that waitressing job was hell but it sure made good seed money!

So, as you will see… I didn’t end up with the Honda CB360 of my dreams (I could have afforded that a lot sooner), but I did end up with a bike that has fit those requirements to a T.

• Rides through mountains (hell yeah, I’ve even strapped my snowboard on the back and taken some turns at Taos Ski Valley!)
• Down streets (she was my commuter for 2 years of PA school in Albuquerque!)
• Safe (probably not ever… )
• Efficient (once on a roadtrip we made it 270 miles on the modest 3.8 gallon tank. Thanks tailwinds!)
• Sexy (duh. Have you seen that thing?)
• Fun (100%)
• Cool (classic styling, and that gorgeous deep yellow color. No question!)
• Quick (a lot faster than a 350cc would have been! Yeah, she zippy.)

The author and her good friend derping around before riding to the hot springs.

The moment I sat on that bike, I knew it was the one.

The feeling was exactly like at age 14 when I found a horse advertised for sale on Craigslist. Our test ride was to run a speed event called Keyhole at the local County fair. The horse and I had never met prior to a few warmup laps in the minutes before the speed event. We ended up not only winning the class but setting a new arena record. We just clicked! And he’s still my horse, 16 years later. (Love you Disco!)

Moab, UT.

Since that special day when the motorcycle was signed and paid for, sitting on hot pavement, waiting to be taken home, I’ve never regretted following the dream.

Halfway across the country with August. Morrow Bay, CA. April 2017.

……well…. except for those moments on long stretches across Death Valley;

or in crippling winds;

on frantic LA freeways;

in sleet storms without a map.

Then I do briefly question why the hell I’m doing this.

But those moments of fear, frustration, pressure, and survival always turn into cherished memories. Really, those moments forge my sense of self and give me hope when I’m struggling with the more mundane tasks of life.

Somewhere between Gallup, NM and Flagstaff, AZ.

The motorcycle is a magical entity. It is sexy and mysterious. Utilitarian and sensible. Sometimes it’s the least convenient thing in the world.

But isn’t that exactly what the adventurous heart relentlessly seeks?

Motorcycling is always more fun with a friend. My dog Pickles posing in front of Taos mountain. 2016.

I hereby respectfully submit my nomination for the best therapist in the world award to:

(Drumroll please)

THE MOTORCYCLE!

Bungees are a girl’s best friend… so long as a more proper, sturdy strap is also participating.

Thank you August, you purring, roaming freeway-freewheel sphinx, for bringing me on the wildest adventures of my dreams.

Respectfully,

Darwin. Your person.

Descending into Prescott Valley. Wildflowers with wide open twists and turns.

The author sitting on her motorcycle, parked in the driveway, expecting some perspective.