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Matchmaker

I’ve sold a lot of horses.

Always with the intention to sell, and always with a profit in mind. Because for the last 5 years, I was a broke graduate student. And finding, retraining, and selling thoroughbreds helped me pay the bills for my own horses. 

Maybe more importantly, was the fact that I loved it.

I enjoyed the selection process; assessing the pros and cons of each horse, and knowing what I could and could not live with. I enjoyed scouring the farms and the backsides, meeting so many great people along the way. And I lived for that adrenaline rush of loading a new pony onto my trailer and beginning the journey.

But I also craved that first, second, and third ride on those horses. It’s so thrilling to assess their brains on those initial hacks. To take them on their first field trip, or over their first jump.

For months these firsts continued, and my enamor with the process increased. Their first XC school, their first show. Their first grid, or their first time being braided. I lived for these moments.

And finally, they were offered for sale. And 95% of the time, I even enjoyed this part.

Because (outside of one situation), I truly felt as though I got to play matchmaker. I got to weed through the emails and messages and find the few who felt like a good fit. I got to schedule the first dates at the farm, and make the introductions. And then I got to watch those first dates unfold, and stand on the side lines to see if this coupling was meant to be.


Would she ask the right questions? Would he respond with an answer that was appropriate? Would she laugh when he made a joke? Would he listen when she talked?

It was like being a mother to a son who was finally 16 years old and handing the keys over. Had I taught him well? Had I raised him to open the door and pull out the chair? Would he chew with his mouth closed and walk her to the door?

All of these things were important because they all determined if a second, or third, or fourth date would be scheduled. Or more importantly—a marriage proposal. 

I lived for making these partnerships, because nothing brought me more happiness than watching these relationships unfold. At events, on social media, through texts and emails. I am in contact with every owner of every horse, some even the second or third in the chai of command.


So, I guess it came as no surprise when my friend Kelly reached out to me to help find that partner for her own horse.

She had owned Miko for most of his life-having gotten him as a spry 3 year old. Although 100% thoroughbred, the massive gangly gelding had never raced, and yet took to eventing like a fish out of water.


And although I had known them for most of their partnership together, I didn’t know as much as I did until I moved into the same small boarding barn with her-our horses filling almost half of the stalls there.


A few years ago, I knew she wanted to move up to training level. We went out and XC schooled together. We hacked together, and shared treatment responsibilities. I helped her kick over her first big corner, and she screamed at me to look up down a bank.

And in the spring of 2016, we scheduled to go around the course of Spring Bay after the competition had finished. But in a twist of events, I canceled. I had run my young horse around beginner novice and had a terrible ride. My mind wasn’t in the right place, and I didn’t feel like having a terrible ride on my big boy. 

So Kelly asked her then husband to come with, and she kicked off. They flew over the first few fences, but then in a flash, everything unraveled.

A missed distance, a pick instead of a kick, and a bad spot led to Miko chipping hard to a galloping fence and Kelly getting kicked out of the tack.

I knew only seconds later when her husband called me in desperation to come get her horse while he joined her in the ambulance to the hospital. Within only a few moments, both hers and her horses lives were forever changed.

The doctors told Kelly that she wasn’t to ride again…ever. 

She had suffered one too many severe concussions, and like an NFL player, was risking early onset Alzheimer’s, mental cognitive disability, and her life if she were to have another significant fall. 

And with that, hers and Mikos dreams of eventing at the upper levels were over. But maybe more scarily, was that her one escape and therapy was gone, and with it, she didn’t know what to do with her heart horse.

Kelly and I spent many a night at the barn talking about this. At first, I tried to convince her that it wasn’t the worst thing to sell him. Find him a good home, and watch the journey unfold. But it quickly became obvious to me that she wasn’t ready to relinquish the reins that definitively. 

We would go back and forward. With her saying she wasn’t ready, and then realizing that her horse needed a job. She would decide she wouldn’t live with herself if anything were to happen to him, but then realize that he needed the work. 

And finally, after almost two years of back and forward, we talked about a care lease. Her life had changed significantly, and with it, so had her ability to keep Miko in the level of care he was used to. 

Would she make money? No. But would she be paying the bills for a horse she just groomed? No. And in response to that, Miko could be making some other persons dreams come true.

And at about this time, I saw the worlds best Facebook status.

A friend of mine down south was looking for a been there, done that horse. She was in the process of adopting a teenage son out of foster care, and he wanted to ride. She needed a horse that could take a joke, pack a kid, and still run and jump. She didn’t care about their maintenance or their record, their color or their size, she just wanted them to be safe at 2’6 and fall in love with her family.

And I just knew that I had that horse.

I quickly messaged both of them, and explained each other’s story. I told Molly that Kelly had gone through hell, losing her ability to ride, and that she wanted the perfect home for Miko, because anything less than perfection would give her a heart attack. I told Kelly that I didn’t know if this young boy would be able to event Miko this year, but that both Molly and her husband were great horsemen and at the end of the day, he would be taken amazing care of.

And then I rubbed my sparkly fairy dust together, whispered my voodoo, and sent a prayer to the Horse Gods that this all worked out.

And it did.

Molly and Miko


Molly took Miko after talking to Kelly on the phone for hours, but without trying him. They both decided that a trial would be best and worst case scenario, he came back to Lexington in a month. 

Only, I don’t think he will ever return.

Because in a true twist of fate, he has become everything Molly needed and more. 

As her adoption fell apart, her live unraveled, and her other horses became fire breathing dragons, she swung onto this new horse, knowing so little about him. And he just recognized that this was his chance to help, and help he did.

So last weekend they entered an event. It was Miko’s first in over 3 years. It was Molly’s first in a year-having broken her leg on XC last spring. And it more importantly, it was their first together

They danced through dressage, they boldly jumped stadium. And finally, as years of anxiety and nerves washed away, they cantered around XC like two old friends.


Kelly and I immediately got the message afterwards about just how much that ride meant, and just how in love with Miko she was.

He had stepped up to the plate even though it wasn’t the plate he was was originally supposed to be at. He had held her hand during a superbly rough week, and taken care of her when she needed it the most. And he had brought her confidence back right when she needed that boost.

But maybe more importantly, was that Molly had shown Kelly that her horse was still loved. Still ok. And still happy doing that job that he loved.

I am so excited to watch this relationship unfold. Molly is planning on trekking herself and Miko up to Lexington in a month to enter May Daze HT where both Kelly and I will be. 

That weekend will be a big deal for everyone. For Molly as she tackles her redemption ride at BN-her first time back at that level since the day she shattered her ankle. For Kelly as she transitions from rider to cheerleader. And for me, as I get to watch yet another couple that I matched leave that start box and gallop off into the sunset. We will all win that day, and I can’t wait for it to get here. 

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Redemption Ride

Two years ago, I walked off of the cross country course with my shoulders sagging and my head hung low.

Photo by Brooke Schafer


I had dropped my reins, determined not to take a single ounce of the disappointment out on the horse underneath me, while flashbacks to my childhood whirled through my mind. 

It was 2016, and I was on the most talented horse I have ever sat on.

And in 2016, I was just cocky enough to crave some of that talent.

Sure I had sold some pretty fantastic horses, and currently owned one who was solidly competing at training level, but I dreamed of more. 

I had never gotten the chance to have those dreams as a child, because I had never owned a solid horse. My one childhood horse Levi had been talented enough on the flat, but he was never brave enough on XC. And my current horse was brave enough over fences, but I truly felt that his ability and scope would be maxed out at training or prelim.

And then Nixon showed up.


At 17.1hh, with a massive glistening black shoulder, and an eye that screamed “let me at it,” I thought I finally had *that* horse, and this was only confirmed by every 4* rider that I rode him in front of. They all told me that Mak was cute, but Nixon was limitless. They told me that Nixon was who took me all of the way.

In a clinic with Doug Payne


But none of them had to ride him every day of that journey.

Because while Mak was cute, he was also safe. The same horse day in and day out. An old soul in a young body. And in contrast to that, Nixon was hard. He was hot. He was scary

He was scary enough that after that elimination in April of 2016, I didn’t feel as though he was rideable enough to enter another until yesterday. Exactly 2 years later.

During those two years, we earned our 1st level scores towards our bronze medal. We clinicked. We schooled. And we sweated. We had some good moments.

And I thought I had him mentally back last spring, and then that was quickly shattered as he kicked his way out of my trailer and left his hind leg in pieces. And after that, I thought he was done.

Nixon didn’t seem mentally the same after that fateful day in March, 2017. Where he was once cocky, he was now anxious. Where he was once bold, he now had a spook. And when he spooked, he ran. And when he ran, he RAN HARD.

Not the easiest ride. Photo by JJ Sillman


In December, he took off with me. In dressage tack, and in the arena. Something he had never done. Unjustified. And I pulled him up, called my fiancé, and dissolved into tears.

I wanted him gone.

I rode alone every day, and this was no longer safe. I started calling the few people I trusted to give him to, and made arrangements to find a back 40 if that didn’t work. I chucked him into the field and kissed my 4* dreams good bye. I was resigned and content to go training for the rest of my life.

4* dreams


But then, something happened.

The minute I gave up, he stepped up. I stopped trying to put him in that 2nd level frame to get more scores, and trotted him around for 10 minutes a day like it was an AQHA show, and he took a deep breath. I didn’t jump him for 3 months, and when I did come back, we did courses of crossrails at the trot. 

I made every ride be simple. Short. End on a good note.

I brought back trail rides, adventures to masterson, and happiness.

And Nixon thanked me by simply behaving.


Now; he’ll never be an easy ride, and I’ll never be able to put a beginner on him, but for me, he is rideable.

And yesterday, we finally showed just how much. Because yesterday, we had our beginner novice redemption ride.

In the pissing rain, and without a warm up, Nixon stepped up to the plate, swung, and hit it out of the park.

We had a workmanlike dressage, a forward and happy stadium, and then the kicker of it all—we lived on XC.

A relaxed dressage. Photo by JJ Sillman


I haven’t even schooled this horse over XC jumps since last August, so my goal was to trot. Trot in, trot out, and treat it like stadium. If we need a halt, we need a halt. If we need to walk a jump, so be it. The goal was to have a conversation, go between the flags, and stay on. And Nixon did all of that and so much more.

No death defying stop. Photo by JJ Sillman


He trotted the first fence relaxed and happy, and then cantered off, excited to be out in the open. I brought him back to a trot and along we went. And then about 8 strides before the next jump, he broke into a gallop, and I thought “this isn’t going to end well.”

Trotting the first jump. Photo by Brooke Schafer


This is how our last XC round had ended. With him bolting, me see-sawing, his head between his knees, and then the inability to even see the jump, and a stop.

So this time, I decided to trust him. 

I lifted my hands, sat up, and rode his 22’ stride with bravery. I added leg instead of going into the fetal position; and I stayed calm.

And for the first time, he just kept his stride, and up and over we went.

Galloping boldly. Photo by Brooke Schafer


For 16 fences, it was the same. We trotted, we galloped, we saw the jump, we got excited, and we went over it.

I was near tears by the end of the course, realizing just how many battles had to be won to get to this place. 

I had to battle his body as he shattered piece by piece in his fits of rage.

I had to battle his inability to get back onto a trailer after that incident.

I had to battle his brain as we rewired it, praying we could bring it back.

And I had to battle my expectations for this horse. I had gone from the highest of highs—believing he was my horse of the future, to the lowest of lows-wondering if he needed put down.

And I had finally settled somewhere in between.

Nixon might never get an FEI passport; hell-he might never go Novice. But for this one day, for this one time, he finally got to call himself an event horse. He finally got to finish something that everyone had said he was built for.

He finally got to have that redemption ride, and I got to be the one in the irons.


I can’t tell you how much a ribbon from an unrecognized event in the rain can mean to someone who has an extensive record in every other world, but it means more than you will ever know. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get to that rosette, and while this isn’t the beginning, it sure is a peak in this winding road we take with these horses. I can’t wait to see what’s ahead.

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Redemption Ride 

Two years ago today, I sat on my couch and began thinking.

About what I wanted from my riding career. About the improvements I had made in the last year. About the two horses in my stable, and which I could afford.

I had just gotten home from the first show of the season, and realized I had some hard decisions to make. 

My young horse had risen above all expectations, and in his first real show with jumps involved, he had come home with the blue in both his divisions—finishing on dressage scores of 20 and 26. And vice versa, my seasoned show pony had had a temper tantrum in the dressage to finish at novice on something like a 40.

And I started to wonder.

Did my seasoned show horse (who was only 8 at the time) really want to event? He seemed to hate dressage, and was about as unsupple as they came.

And vice versa, my young horse was what every upper level rider dreamed of. Big. Strong. Balanced. Opinionated. Scopey. Fancy.

The fancy horse. Photo by JJ Sillman


So I did what I thought was necessary. I sold my “heart horse,” the plain Jane, the safe one to be a hunter, and I decided to keep the fancy one. Thinking I was heading to Rolex. Thinking I was making the right choice.

Hunter knees. Photo by JJ Sillman


And two years later, I just have to shake my head at the ludicrousness of it all.

Because I just got back from that same show, with those two same horses. And oh how the tides have turned, and how karma has a fantastic way of smacking you upside the head.

Because Mak is back; and in two years he has gone from barely bending in a 20m circle at novice to scoring a respectable 35 in preliminary. And while his career as a hunter might have been short lasted, his knees in stadium are second to none. I couldn’t imagine a day where I didn’t have access to the ride on this horse, and just have to laugh at the fact that there was ever a time I considered him sellable.

Cruising around the prelim. Photo by JJ Sillman


In two years, he hasn’t just learned to bend, he has become downright fancy. In two years, he has chosen to not only to succeed as an event horse, but to enjoy it. And in two years, he has earned the love and support of so many along the way.

Photo by JJ Sillman


And vice versa, in two years, Nixon has selectively hit every road block that a horse possibly could. The most talented horse I have ever sat on, our journey has been filled with so many ups and downs. Broken bones and shattered dreams. 

Talented yet special. Photo by JJ Sillman


And yet this weekend, we made our journey around a redemption ride. Because although his improvement isn’t as apparent on paper, it is so apparent to everyone who has followed this journey.

Because for the first time in 18 months, Nixon was able to jump around a course. For the first time in 18 months, we finished on a number and not a letter. For the first time in 18 months Nixon didn’t have a broken bone, loaded on a trailer, entered a dressage ring on all 4 feet, and jumped all the jumps.

Photo by JJ Sillman.


Two years ago, Nixon scored almost 20 points lower than he did yesterday. But two years ago, he was a different horse.

One year ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of entering a combined test, as I barely had control at home. But one year ago, he hadn’t scared himself (literally) to (almost) death.

So yesterday; while my dressage tests may have been more tense than I planned, and my stadium trips a bit more enthusiastic than I had wished for, I was so pleased.

A behaving Nixon. Photo by JJ Sillman


Pleased that I could not only finish a show, but more importantly enter one. 

Two years later, I somehow still own these two same horses. Both of their journeys have been rocky—one because of me and one because of himself. Both of their futures have been unstable at one point in time or another—one because of me and one because of himself. And both of them have come around. 

Two years ago, I brought home two blue ribbbons, and today I have none. But my pride in these horses is somehow greater than it was two years ago.

Both of them have overcome. Both of them have turned a corner. And both of them are back. Maybe even better than ever. 

So now, instead of looking at two years ago, I’m staring straight ahead. And I’m so excited for the future.

Photo by JJ Sillman

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It’s not how, it’s why

I hear it all the time.

“How do you do it?” 

“How do you make time for it?”

“How do you juggle it all?”

And every time, I laugh. Because to me, it isn’t a question of how, but why. 

Three inches of snow fell today in Lexington, Kentucky, and was still coming down at 4pm when I left the lab-having started my day at 7am on the research farm.

 My plan has always been to give my horses the day off. The arena was white, the temperature was below freezing, and they didn’t “need” the exercise per se.

But then, one after another, my day crumbled. I received a medical bill. I got bad data from a project. I read a comment on Facebook that made my blood boil. And after hours of nothing but negativity, distress, and poor outcomes, I threw my laptop into my bag and called it a day.

And I drove to barn shaking my head. Trying to rationalize my bad day, the stress that comes with it, and the negativity seemed to seap into every other aspect of my life. I just felt like I couldn’t win, and didn’t know what to do to change that outcome.

But there was thing I could do-that I could change. I could change my decision to not ride. I could throw my bridle on my trustworthy Mak, and swing on over his thick winter blanket. I could take him through the gates of the farm and just let the world dissipate as I roamed the roads surrounding.


For one blissful hour, I could feel peace.

For it is not how I do it. No, no. That’s not even close. But it is why.

These animals, and the hours I have clocked both on them and alongside them, have gotten me through so much.

They have picked me up off the cold hard floor when the world drops me there unceremoniously. They have gotten me through break ups, the loss of friendships, a qualifying exam, and unfortunately death.


They are there when I feel as though I can’t get any lower, and each time, they recalibrate my soul. I know that they have been there at my absolute lowest, so I never question if they will be there on a less drastic day.

I don’t have them in my life to win fancy ribbons, or to be able to add stars in my name. Mak will never go above prelim, Nixon might never even complete an event, and lord knows Frank might not ever leave the farm. I don’t care if they are the prettiest, or the fanciest mover. I just care that they provide me an escape. 

The distraction of a tough jump school. The quiet that comes from a long flat. The calm serenity of a good road hack. The bicep ache of a curry, or the world that is lost as you pull a mane.

I do my best thinking, I find my stability, and I recalibrate during that time.

So no, it’s not how. It’s why.

Because I have to. Just like eating. Or breathing. Or sleeping. That is riding for me. There is no other option.

Photo by JJ Sillman

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Shattering the glass ceiling 

A week ago, I was invited to speak to aspiring equine industry members on the topic of communications.

Scientist, I am. Farm manager, I am. OTTB retrainer, I am.

Communications person, I am not.

Yes, I am a blogger. And yes, I got a dual degree from my alma mater-one in both biology and creative English writing, but I felt as though I was a fraud.

Immediately next door to me sat Jen Roytz, and her business partner Sarah Coleman sat downstairs. Together they created Topline Communications, and singularly they were better suited for this talk than I.

So instead, I did what I’m good at. I advised.

I asked the students what their background was, and recommended future careers and goals. I was brutally honest about this lifestyle, and recommended paths away from many of the careers they dreamt of. It was hard. It was blunt. It was me.

And then I got a group of Kentucky Equine Management Interns (KEMIs) in. A group entirely made up of women this year, and a bright group that I always enjoy lecturing too. I had met this group of 30 women in January when I delivered their inaugural reproduction lecture, so they had already been introduced to me and my no nonsense attitude.

I began my talk by giving them a “how-to” in communications as a farm staff member. 

Don’t post pictures you’re not allowed to (aka get clients permission).

Check your photos to make sure they have nothing in the background that would indicate poor horsemanship, management, or care of a farm.

Even fly masks make me cringe.


Don’t post any photos of horses with catheters, bandages, or treatments of any kind.

Hesitantly mention the sire, but rarely state the mares name.

And finally, get good at conformation photos-few owners will refuse a stunning photo of their horse that highlights the good.

That was my communications talk. And it took all of 8 minutes out of my 30.

So I moved onto my one-woman show about various farm things. How to properly hold a hickory twitch. Why you shouldn’t give acepromazine to male horses. How to keep yourself safe while scoping a yearling. Why we don’t pull placentas. 

Ya know, the fun stuff.

But then I asked them if they wanted to ask me any questions. 
One student bravely volunteered and asked me what I thought the 5 greatest issues that the thoroughbred industry faces. And for a solid minute, I paused. It was a hard question, and one that wasn’t an easy list to make. So I started hesitantly, and then grew more passionate as I went.

1. Race Day Medications, an understanding of mass spectrometry, and the scientific setting of thresholds.

2. A National governing body that can set those race day medication thresholds, and standardize the treatment and care of all horses racing.

3. A ((more)) transparent industry that combats untruths spewed about them such as the Nursemare myth that has more followers on social media than The Bloodhorse or The Paulick Report.

4. Aftercare. We’ve made SO much progress, but so many tracks just aren’t getting the hint, or just don’t care. The situation down in Louisiana is both appalling and disgusting.

5. Sexism.

I had warned this same group of 20 22 yo’s of sexism after lecturing them about the reproductive physiology of the mare in January. I had watched their eyes slightly roll as I told them stories of my own experiences. Fast forward two months and the eye roll moved to incessant chatter about their own experiences.

But unlike what you might think, I didn’t tell them to whine, or panic. I told them to put their head down and do the work. I told them that they would want to cry on numerous occasions, but to wait until they were alone to do so, and then splash some water on their face and get back to their fork. 

I told them that so many girls, and then women, had battled hard for them, even if they didn’t realize they were battling. People like Sandy Hatfield gaining stallion management positions, women like Veronica Reed following under her tutelage and most recently running the shed at Winstar. 

Women like Mary Stewart, who become the first female in a management position at Claiborne, or women like Belinda Locke, who works her ass off in the position of yearling manager and enjoys the most of her time with the colts.


Women like Carrie Brogden who has shown the mind of a woman in the world of breeding, pinhooking, and sales. Or hell, Liz Crowe, who has done more in only a few years running her own bloodstock services than I could dream of in a lifetime.

In a nutshell, it is possible. Women are out there crushing it. 

Does that mean that sexism doesn’t exist? Hell no. It’s there. And it’s strong. 

Some farms still won’t hire women. Many didn’t allow women into the breeding shed until only 20 years ago. Clinics didn’t make females partners until about that same time, and many still don’t understand the meaning of maternity leave for their female vets. Harassment is still readily apparent on the backside and at the sales, and was something that Natalie Voss covered so well with Paulick.

But that doesn’t mean that women should run away from this industry.

Why?

Because this industry needs women.

From a “Women is Power” movement-they need people who are organized, empathetic, impassioned, and smart.

From a “By the Numbers” movement-90% of the current veterinary school admissions are women, 100% of the KEMI program, and 80% of the UK Ag Equine Programs are women. Women are who WANT to work with horses, so we need to let them.

That is the talk I have given so many of my students as I have lectured at Midway, Georgetown, KEMI, or UK.

You WILL meet sexism. But part of that sexism is believing that we are weaker, more emotional, less rationale, and unable to do the job.

So by being as strong as your counterparts (muck the same number of stalls, carry the same buckets of water, and buck the same number of bales), not bursting into tears (lets be honest, I have seen grown men cry at the track too), and being constantly organized, on track, and with the group—they can’t deny us.


The farms won’t be able to deny that you are capable. And others will see that capability at places like the sales, the shed, and the paddock. You WILL get there. And I truly believe this next generation will.

Times are changing. Minds are changing. And so many amazing women have lifted those bales, choked back those outbursts, and lifted their progeny into this world in order to get us to this point. 

The glass ceiling of this business has been cracked, but it needs shattered.

Are you ready to be the one to take that task?

Women and colts: a beautiful marriage. Photo by Melissa Bauer-Herzog

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Hindsight

A little over a year ago, I received a Facebook message from a girl named Caroline.

She started by saying that we had been introduced via her boyfriend, whom I had known for years, and then quickly began her line of questions. She wondered if I taught lessons, and if I had lesson horses available to take those lessons on.

She explained that she had just committed to taking a Horse off the track, and although she had been an avid rider in Ireland during her childhood, adulthood had kicked in, and as she rose up the ranks of the thoroughbred breeding and racing industry, her riding career was placed aside.

I truly had a negative answer to both—as I was neither an avid “trainer” nor did I truly have lesson horses, but seeing something so similar to my own situation in her, I said yes.

We met at a local riding park and I tossed her up on my Mak-a horse that might run around the 1.10m with me one day, but can be used in an up/down lesson the next. Walk, trot, canter, and over a few fences we went.

I quickly realized that she was a better rider than she gave herself credit for, but that her confidence was shot. 

One of Caroline’s first “lessons” on Kennedy


But I knew that feeling.

That had been me. That had been 2011. 

I hadn’t competed in an event since 2003. I hadn’t jumped a fence since 2007. I hadn’t polished a boot or braided a mane in as much time. 

But just like Caroline, I was friends with people who had. And for one blissful summer, I reimmersed myself. 

And just like Caroline, my goals in 2011 were limited.

I just wanted the escape of a horse; to feel the adrenaline of a good ride over a nice course. I wanted to compete at beginner novice max, and just not make an ass of myself.

2011 Goals


I didn’t know if I could afford even the ownership on one horse, nonetheless 3. I had an old Crosby, a borrowed trailer, pull on tall boots that were purchased at Schneider’s in the year 2000.

And I had a BLAST.

Flash forward 7 years and I now own 3.5 horses. I am hoping to move up to preliminary on one, and 2nd level on another. 

2018 goals


I look back at those pictures and am horrified of a lot.

My lower leg. My terrible braids. My jump saddle in a dressage ring. My ghetto fabulous illfitting cavesson. I note my brush boots on my XC schools, my child sized safety vest and my sombrero like helmet.

Wait; you guys didn’t do Dressage in two point?


And a few months ago, Caroline lamented of these same inadequacies to none other than my boyfriend.
She told him that she felt like she would never get to the point where she could afford that trailer, or that dressage saddle. She said that she just wanted to go beginner novice and not fall off. She felt like she would never get “there,” that mythical land of comfort, confidence, and ability.

And Luke just turned to her and laughed.

He told her that those words sounded so similar to a girl he used to know. One who cried herself to sleep because she didn’t think she could afford one single horse. The girl who had to gulp 3 beers before being sent out on her first BN XC course in 10 years. The girl who never matched. Never had the newest tack. The one who arrived slightly disheveled but smiling.

#winning #lookinggood


Because while that girls tack was older, and her stock tie was askew, one thing was always there—and that was her smile.

7 years later, it’s still there.

If someone had told me 7 years ago that I would be considering a move up to prelim, I would have fallen to the ground laughing. If someone had told me 7 years ago that I would sacrifice every dinner out, vacation, and new fashion in order to afford a truck, trailer, board, and entry fees to make that possible, I would have rolled my eyes.

But if someone had told me 7 years ago that I had finally re-introduced myself to happiness, I would have agreed.

Hindsight is 20/20, but it can be viewed at any stage of your life. You might not see the future that lies ahead of you, but know that if you’re truly passionate and loving every second of the journey, that the road ahead is lined with things you would have never thought imaginable—or possible.

Finding joy in it is the most important. Caroline and Ullie


My path has been far from linear, but oh so enjoyable. And the best part is getting to watch others follow in the wake of it. People like Caroline, who are in the beginning of that secondary journey, or even the many who I know who are beginning their breaks.

Horses are always, and will always be, something you can come back to. It might seem far off. It might seem impossible. But while the future is blurry, it is possible. Hindsight is 20/20, but the road ahead is nicely laid with ascending oxers and passage.

You might not be able to see that futuristic place ahead, but just know that it’s there. All you have to do is keep your eyes up, your shoulders back, and keep kicking. 

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If you see something, say something.

Recently, a story broke about animal neglect in Indiana.

A woman named Chrissy Francies had first ten, and then an additional six, horses seized from her property after a neighbor called the local animal control because he was alarmed at how many horses were being buried on her property.

He reported having seen seven horses die in the past year, and three within the month of January, and finally decided to do something.

Animal control came to the farm and found ten horses with a body condition score of 1- and yet almost all of their bodies hidden with thick winter blankets. But once those blankets were pulled, a horror scene was noticed underneath. Pelvises which showed months, if not years, of malnourishment. Ribs protruding. Spines standing alone, unattended by muscle or fat. And soulless eyes of these animals wondering if anyone cared. Two have already died since being seized.

Hard to Please after neglect

But the truly horrifying thing was that, in almost each of these cases, someone did care. And still does.

So many of these horses were given to Chrissy by a legitimate source. Adoption agencies like New Vocations, or a trainer like Jen Roberto. People who rehome, rehab, and resource thoroughbreds for a living. People who have been doing this their whole lives, like Stacy Emory or Michelle Craig. People who are impassioned by finding the perfect home for the perfect mount.

Hard To Please before

People like me.

I almost gave Chrissy my own horses. She had inquired about a friends HenryTheNavigator. She had inquired of a farms retired broodmare. Hell, she had inquired about Kennedy—my very own homebred that I was so adamant about finding a life of love for.

And each time, I was excited that she was interested. We had hundreds of mutual friends. I had met her at a local charity show sponsored by a rehoming organization. She messaged me frequently with questions regarding veterinary care, breeding, and genetics. And she showed no signs of being anything other than what I thought she was. A good person.

Chrissy appeared to take the horses that were so hard to rehome-so hard to find a permanent fix for. She offered to lease, or buy, the ones with injuries. The older broodmare. The War Horse.

And because we knew of nothing out of sort, we gave them to her.

And honestly, I do not know what is worse. The fact that this woman, who apparently suffers from some form of mental illness predisposing her towards hoarding, had so many horses in her care which suffered endlessly-some resulting in death.

Or the fact that apparently so many people knew of her transgressions and never said a word.

We have read in the comments that she was referred to as Crazy Chrissy. That she was run out of boarding facilities, and that it was known that she had too many horses and that none of them were receiving proper care. It was known that she didn’t pay her bills and that her social media was a spectacular joke.

But that was local.

And it is 2018. We live in a globalized world. And so many horses had to suffer because no one was willing to take a risk. To stick their neck out. To be the bad guy and cry foul.

I know what that’s like. I am usually exactly that guy. I have been the one to stick my neck out and receive the threats. I have been sent letters from attorneys, and comments threatening injury to my body and my home. I have been sent messages from friends telling me that I am in the wrong.

That the number of times I risk sticking my neck out for the betterment of the horse will be directly proportionate to my inability to make it in this business. 

And to that, I say fine.

I am sick of living in a world where we ignore criminal action. I am sick of living in a world where we fear doing the right thing because it might highlight your wrongdoings in the past. I am sick of living in a world where we attempt to dig dirt on anyone who casts a stone. And I’m sick of living in a world where our consciences can’t be clear enough to cast that first stone.

So here I am to say it.

If you hear something, search with your own two eyes.

If you smell something, there’s probably something rotting.

And if you see something, say something. 

Fairbankscity after neglect

We live in a strange world. One where 50% of our industry is made up of 4-legged creatures which can’t fight for themselves. Which can’t leave a job they detest. Which can’t forage for themselves.

And animal cruelty laws are weak, but public notoriety is strong. We might not be able to change the laws, but we can most certainly change the path. For our fellow equestrians. For our beloved horses.

Fairbankscity before

The government might not protect them, but we can protect each other. We can alert each other.

We just need to be stronger.

More vocal.

Less scared.

And the biggest advocate for the horses we love.

Because at the end of the day, if you know abuse or neglect is occurring and you’re turning the other way, you are no better than the abuser themselves. Remember that. Live with that. Take that to heart. And do something. Say something.

But until you do, I will.

To make donations to the horses in need, please go here.