WAITIN' ON A HAPPY ENDING

I'm a fan of happy endings, no denying it. I love reading and writing happy endings. Not Cinderella happy endings or shallow ones tied up too pretty with a big red bow. No. I enjoy a good struggle, some loss and heartache, tears and Dark Nights of the Soul. In other words, my favorite happy ending literature includes the edginess of life. But, in the end...a happy one. The main character has learned, grown, changed and found a silver lining hiding in a mess of grey clouds (Yes I live in the Pacific Northwest--can you tell?) I love writing and experiencing those kinds of happy endings. That's why its especially hard to write this post.

I had a happy ending clearly in mind when I brought Chance home one cold December day three years ago. He was not the first mess-of-a-horse that has shared my life. I must have been about 9 or 10 when I met a coal black pony colt starved nearly to death. I had accompanied my grandfather to pick up a load of wood in our old Chevy truck and spied the colt lying in a paddock. The owner appeared more concerned about making a few bucks than the condition of his horse. I begged my grandpa to help (I'm sure tears were involved) and my parents got more than a truck load of wood that day. We made "Star" at home in an old chicken coop and began the long and expensive road to rehabilitation. After veterinary care, a good dousing for lice, and plenty of feed the colt recovered completely. Strong and handsome he was eventually sold to a Shetland Pony farm and trained to the cart. That early experience with taking something cast off and turning it into a happy ending must have imbedded itself firmly in my psyche. God loves to reuse and recycle; He loves happy endings, right?

I've owned, adopted, fixed up and passed on numerous animals of every size and shape. Always there is the feeling of well being in being part of nurturing life and the reinforcing of an idea that effort, patience, and dedication are the keys to securing a happy ending. Effort equals reward. I've resold horses that ended up in my life and recieved the double pay out of a few bucks and a satisfying feeling.

From the start things were a bit different with Chance. I'll never forget seeing him for the first time that raw winter day, his skin draped over bony haunches, eyes staring off into the distance as if he'd long since dissociated himself from the pain of the present. He didn't look like a good investment and I knew it. Still, I felt drawn to him and that happy ending. While decidedly mediocre in conformation and athletic ability (less than mediocre) he was a good age and lovely color. Once a handy vet trimmed off the stallion ornamentation and he recieved lessons in polite behavior I saw potential. Lots of effort, no doubt, but potential. I felt pretty sure another happy ending was in the future.

Chance must have been born under a rain cloud. He had a hard time mastering physical basics--like loping--and mentally remained a bit off. Fear was his best friend and even other horses--his own kind--rejected him. While he improved100% over three years time, it wasn't enough to make him trustworthy or "normal." He often dissociated both on the ground and under saddle and could go from broke and trained to wing-nut in three seconds flat. But, he tried. Just wasn't happening. I've known people like that.

When my neighbor saw him fall and have what appeared to be a seizure, I forbade my daughter to ride him. Increasingly I felt uncomfortable riding him and had the strange feeling the horse was becoming less broke every day. When we saw him have a seizure while standing in his stall it all started to make sense. He was off and there wasn't alot to be done about it. From a veterinary stand point neurological problems are hard to diagnose. I sent his DNA away to rule out a particular disease and discussed the options but I had a sinking feeling my experience with Lady would be repeated. Why me? And why not a happy ending? I'd spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars and hours on this animal. My daughter and I loved him, in all his weirdness, and he seemed to deserve a happy ending. His entire life, up to the point I'd gotten him, had been about fear and rejection and neglect. It was hard to make peace with what I knew we'd have to do.

Putting Chance down was sort of the culmination of a season of comtemplating death. It began in October when I had the honor of writing a post script about the life of an amazing woman who died at the young age of 40 from a brain tumor. She had horses, a husband, and a four year old son. In the way God does, something beautiful was birthed in the life of a young woman who'd recieved both Mary's unselfish love and inherited her two horses a few years after her untimely death. My job was to catch that silver lining and share it. As happy as I was to do it, the story haunted me. Why, God? I felt myself asking the question over and over and getting no real response. The love Mary invested lived on, but it seemed unfair.

After writing Mary's story I lost my dog Chase to carcinoma. The dog that greeted me every day with a gift of some sort (stick, flower, token stolen from the cemetary next door) and helped raise my two children. He was a friend who knew how to love, no strings attached. No, a pet is not the same as a human being, but their loss hurts just the same.

After saying goodbye to Chance and allowing the tears to dry and my heart to breath a little I've come to some conclusions about happy endings. Maybe this isn't the place to focus on them. Life hurts and we're all going to say goodbye over, and over, and over again. If I didn't place my hope in a grander eternity the weight of it would be too much. I'm realizing these days how stingy I am with my love. Yeah I like to help out, but that's mostly if its going to feel good later on; include an ending that justifies effort expended and costs incurred (also called conditional love) . I think of all the Chances--human and animal--that languish in all sorts of places because they aren't a worthwhile investment. They have nothing to offer but brokenness.

The scriptures say over and over that love is the only thing we get to take with us some day. Love is valued above and beyond all; love conquers death and fear and hopelessness.

I love both the above pictures. One is the first time I saw Chance actually respond and find resonance with a human being. Probably no coincidence that human being was my daughter. Children don't hoard love and parcel it out for deserving causes in the way adults do. The second is a drawing by a thoughtful boy. It reads, "Chance," and then under it, "Forever."

Guess I'm going to wait on that happy ending. In the meantime...Love.

Forever.

I FEEL YOUR @%*&*#!

Is it just me or do normally sweet horses morph into a cranky Mr. Hyde alter ego in winter? I feel their pain, really I do; nothing can dampen spirits like the Pacific NW in January--dark, cold, and wet, wet, wet. Thinking a Costco "happy light" is in order--for me and my boys in the barn! I notice the horses look more forward to feeding time in winter and even just taking them out of the paddock/barn and giving them a good grooming can lighten the Mr. Hyde mood that takes over on days of unrelenting rain.

Soon I will be able to talk more openly about my current book project (the one stealing most of my creative energies these days). I can't wait until the first drafts are finished and publication is around the corner. For now, I'll be content with sharing some general thoughts and look forward to any feedback.

One of the topics the work explores is the shared emotions of horses and humans. This begs the question, Do horses have emotions? I say there is no doubt, but for those that aren't sure check out the work of Temple Grandin and neuroscientist Jaak Panskeep. It's been pretty well proven that the basic emotions of humans--including fear and anger--are shared by all mammals. How do we know? By stimulating specific emotion circuits deep in the limbic region of the brain predictible behavior is the result--ie: Rage circuit makes a dog snarl and the human feel angry, etc.

With that in mind, I've been watching my very emotional (yet introverted) stallion more closely and trying to listen, not just react, to what he tells me with his behavior. Of course I have a story for you:

A few days ago I returned from a day long gaming show with my daughter (it took hours for my butt to defrost--wintertime arenas contain a brand of "cold" found nowhere else on earth). Poor Cowboy--sporting a five inch winter coat and case of the winter flabbies--had worked hard. I thought it appropriate to reward him later with an apple. Since he and Eli share a paddock/stall I figured I'd share the apple between them. When Eli saw me enter the barn and approach the stall, he immediately turned tail and walked off. I felt snubbed. Gee, I haven't seen you all day and you give me attitude?? Well, fine. I fed the entire apple to nice Dr. Jekyll and ignored Mr. Hyde who had returned and hung at the back of the stall watching. And grumbling. He did not approach and I did not look at him--Take that. I have other horses that enjoy my attention. When I began cleaning stalls it became apparent Eli was angry with me. Really angry. He seemed to want to come into my space but I was less than enthusiastic about sharing it with an amped up stallion that wanted to give me a piece of his mind. At one point he walked in to the stall, backed up to the wall, and shook his head at me with ears pinned. Not okay. I made an ugly sound, raised my hand and said, "Well get out of here then." We were a good ten feet apart but just the sight of my raised hand made Eli rush out of the stall like I'd beaten him with a whip. Now he was pissed and offended. It took maybe 15 mintutes for him to come near me again. Eventually he walked back in the stall and stood, his head down, ears struggling at half mast, about six feet away as I worked. Negative energy radiated from his body yet he seemed to want to have a conversation. As long as I didn't touch him (or stare at him!) he wanted to share space. Curious. A couple of years ago I would have dealt severely with an angry horse. Not by physical punishment but by making him work until I saw a level of submission. I was still ready to do this, should I see any aggressiveness, but this horse has never threatened me and the behavior was atypical so I decided to try to decipher what his emotion was telling me. I left the barn confused and curious. I'd managed to soothe his anger a little by singing to him (he enjoys this) but he remained aloof and tolerated the nightly blanketing only because he had to.

The next day I approached when I saw him watching me from the pasture. I waited for him by the fence line. "Dr. Jekyll" walked over all sweet and affectionate. I rubbed his neck, then produced another apple from my pocket--oh joy!

A friend shared some thoughts with me later. She suggested I pay closer attention to the environment before engaging with him and be sure I wasn't obtuse to any horsey "social culture" going on. Horses aren't people but they do have an animal culture and seem to appreciate when we respect boundaries and show some sensitivity. Of course, stallions have unique social issues to consider and I have more to learn here. And the issue of respect of boundaries is huge--especially for a stud. It is never okay for a horse to threaten or hurt me--bite, push, kick, etc. This is a very firm boundary for which there are swift consequences. That said, I find I jump too quickly to assumption--That horse is trying to dominate me; doesn't like me; is just being a "jerk." I find those scenarios are much more rare than I imagine. The horse is, after all, just a horse. He has his own life, agenda, needs, and emotions. Listening for the message behind the behavior should be the first step I think. What do you think?

I'm not sure what was going on that dark, wet afternoon. A few things I considered later: It was a day for Mr. Hyde to show itself in bored, underworked horses; I'd immediately assumed Eli was snubbing me by leaving(human beings, especially women I think, project emotion onto their horses that often doesn't exist) and decided to snub him back; I fed a subordinate horse a special treat. The last thing is rather huge to a stallion who places more value on things like who eats first and who moves who. Usually I always feed him first, honoring the pecking order that exists with two other geldings. I didn't know he was angry--and perhaps he wasn't--until after the apple feeding. He could have left for any number of reasons when I walked in the barn.

I don't like to anthropomorphize, but its interesting to "decode" horse behavior. It seems too often we don't want them to be too expressive becauses we worry about control. Safety is important, no doubt. In no way should pushy, aggresive behavior at feed time--or any time--be tolerated. Not saying that at all. But just what was Eli saying? Hopefully I'll listen more closely next time. And I may decide to buy that happy light.

MAKING CONTACT

The title of this posting is sorely appropriate seeing as I haven’t been visiting the blog as much as I’d like. Holidays, horses, and a highly active family keep me hopping these days. Not to mention a humongous writing project (knew I could fit another ‘h’ in there somewhere). With Thanksgiving just behind us let me say I am thankful for readers who still return here from time to time regardless of my consistent inconsistency.

I’d planned another vehicle encounter for this post. It would be appropriate seeing as…I GOT A NEW TRUCK. But, alas, horses under the hood are not as inspiring as the one under my saddle (see above beauty) so photos of the snazzy, white, diesel powered truck I now have will have to wait till next time. Something else is on my mind.

More than one sport has been called a “metaphor for life.” From running, to rock climbing, athletic pursuits are often said to mirror the journey of life. My favorite is golf. I’m sure there’s a meaningful message in the wearing of pastel colors while driving a cute white vehicle around 18 holes scattered on unnaturally green looking grass. Hmmm…it’ll come to me, I’m sure.

I cannot find an immediately recognized metaphor for life in the equestrian sports. However, life with horses does mirror a person’s style and health (or not) within relationships. Horses reveal us to ourselves; they are a revelation if we allow it. Angry/controlling/inflexible/a push over/highstrung/restless/relaxed/available/emotional/unstable/unresponsive? There’s an excellent chance your horse is, too. An English proverb states: Show me your horse and I will tell you who you are. My horse is at the mercy of my personal awareness and it’s up to me to straighten things out.

For the last month Eli has been at a dressage trainer’s barn. He’d gone as far as I could take him in his training and we were in need of some deeper insight to continue developing both athletic ability and our relationship under saddle. My objective? Helping him progress along the training pyramid with specific goals of strengthening his self carriage and balance. He is so flexible sitting him could be compared to riding a large fettucine noodle. Wiggle this way, wiggle that. A giant stride, weak rear end, and plenty of forward go make for an interesting time some days. We’d come a long way in his first two years under saddle, but I wanted to graduate from elementary school.

Dressage frequently gets a bad rap from backyard owners like myself who make the mistake of dismissing the discipline as something pursued by stuffy elitists who enjoy showing off. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dressage is worthwhile and challenging for many reasons. It demands focus, attention to detail, and sensitive feel. It demands an understanding of the equine body and mind as the athlete they are created to be.

I was not thinking too much about my own focus and attention or habitual “sins under saddle” when I dropped Eli off. Rather, I was excited someone with a lot of knowledge would shape him up, straighten him out (literally), and show him the ropes. I couldn’t wait to get on and ride a horse with “education.” It would be so much easier.

Not.

Today was case in point. Let me just say Eli is looking beautiful. As I saddled him just prior to our lesson I admired the muscle building along his back and wither. Lifting the back and relaxing the neck while driving under in rhythm builds a very pretty equine shape. Our current challenge? Encouraging a state called “contact.” This is frequently a misunderstood term. It is not forcing an artificial head “set” or pulling the horse’s head down with a jerk of the wrist. Like all good communication it involves seeking, sensing, and trust. Rigidity and sloppy riding destroys the horse’s faith in the human at the end of the rein.

Straightness helps contact by enabling the horse to drive under and stay “between the reins.” No bulging inside or out. This has been a problem for Eli and I. We bulge. I felt sure this was his problem. I mean, he’s a big strong stallion. He needs to just use his body better. Then I, the weaker human, will be able to sit on him and look lovely. We’ll have this contact thing down and can start doing cool stuff like flying lead changes and passage.

Apparently we need to fix our bulging problem. This was the scenario today as I trotted down the wall:

Trainer, also known as Yoda (though she is much cuter): “He’s bulging right because you’re crooked. Bring your right shoulder back, squeeze your right knee, and loosen the left rein.”

We are going left so this feels awkward, but I do as I’m told.

Yoda: “You’re still crooked. Look at the wall to your right; pretend you’re a rodeo queen waving at the audience.”

It seems necessary to look where I’m going, but I’ve always wanted to be a rodeo queen.

Yoda: “More. But keep your weight in the left stirrup.”

At this point I’m thinking rubbing my tummy and patting my head would be easier then what she is asking. I have become a tragic victim of scoliosis, my spine freakishly twisted. I stare at the arena wall as we trot along, certain we will crash into it at any moment.

Yoda: “There! You’re straight now.”

Me: “What? This does not feel natural!”

Yoda: “I know. You’ve been sitting on your horse at an angle. When he follows you right, you pull him left. He does what you do. Notice how he’s traveling now.”

Over the course of a few (hard) minutes of correcting my body position a miracle has happened. Eli is rhythmically trotting, his neck long, lovely, and relaxed. He feels round and supple. A moment later he reaches longer into the bit looking similar to the photo above.

Yoda: “He’s seeking the contact. Follow him with your hands and receive it.”

There is only one way to describe the feeling at that moment: Trust. No forcing or pulling just rhythm and relaxation. As dorky as it may sound, I felt rather emotional.

Later I became aware that my crookedness isn’t just in the saddle. I slouch right when I stand, when I drive, when I lean on my kitchen counter. I’m darn crooked! Was Eli crooked on his own or did I create it by my position? What came first, the chicken or the egg? Doesn’t matter. The point is I need to straighten out to improve our communication, even if it doesn’t feel natural. Crooked position causes crooked responses, but a changed perspective invites contact.

Is that like a metaphor smorgasbord or what?!

REFLECTIONS ON HORSE POWER

I’ve got cars on the brain. Generally horses dominate that space, but as you can see from the previous post I’ve had my share of vehicle encounters these days.

Update: After a thorough inspection we opted against buying the F350 described previously. My husband helpfully suggested a new arrangement for hauling my precious hairy cargo around. See above photo.

Ugh. Just say NO to ugly vans.

“I thought you don’t have status issues,” hubby said, a smirk on his face. “That van can easily pull an aluminum horse trailer.”

This is an ongoing joke between us…who has “status” problems. When finances were down and we drove such cream puffs as a 1969 Cadillac (swear it had a hinge in the middle), and tiny Ford Festiva we built ourselves up by saying things like: “It takes a good self image to drive this car; We’re being smart and paying cash; Buying a new car is stupid; Only people with status problems drive a car like that.”

The Van (also known as The Van That Won’t Die: TVTWD) fit nicely into our long pattern of self righteous thrift. It had been sitting for several months when it was bequeathed to us by friends—a freebie! We cleaned out the mold and a dead mouse then invested $600 bucks into the thing—“Good as new.” Sort of. It retained a subtle whine in the engine and a lovely aroma of mildew: Au du Van.

Still, my proudly frugal hubby insisted he loved the van and drove it for a couple years adding several thousand miles to its exhausted engine and an attractive dent in the sliding door. Me? I didn’t want to touch the thing, much less drive it. My self image has been thoroughly humbled by horse power (or lack-there-of), thank you very much.

Its amazing how quickly one can get used to something nice and conveniently forget self righteous smack talk. See lovely red car above. As in the old days when the horse one rode announced a certain status, the horse power under the hood has a mysteriously capacity for enlarging the ego. I found that out when I took our new “ride” on a trip out of town.

A red Dodge Charger with a Hemi is a righteous experience, let me tell you. Or, at the very least, the best sort of therapy. Picture a perfect autumn day with sun toasting the arms through the open sun roof. Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell is blasting over the speakers as I cruise down Interstate 5 about 8—I mean 60— mph. Ah…I may be ordering up a mid life crisis soon.

Speaking of which, Mr. I-Don’t-Have-Status-Issues sported a definite pouty lip when I took Precious for two days. Seemed he’d lost that loving feeling for TVTWD…..hmmm.

Driving the Charger is sort of like riding my horse Eli. Naturally a good mover, I just feel darn good on that horse. Shifting him into a good gallop is a very therapeutic experience and it doesn’t hurt that he’s beautiful. I forget that my horsemanship skills aren’t any fancier on Eli. He might stand in for my ego but all it takes is a ride on Chance to be roughly escorted back to reality: I have A LOT to learn about horses. Riding each horse reveals something to me and in me. I think I need both of them to stay grounded in the truth that I’m not the sum of the “ride” I have on any particular day—horse or car. Which brings me back to the van.

I happened to take TVTWD to the recent Women of Faith Conference. Due to some scheduling conflicts a friend and I found ourselves maneuvering Big City traffic in a cursed dented blimp with nine lives. We pulled up to The Westin in down town Seattle where we booked a room for the night and my heart sank. Valet parking. My friend and I looked across the street and ogled the cherry red Ferrari snugged sleek against a curb. Don’t they have normal, hide-your-head-in-shame parking for owners of ugly vans? I don’t want a valet to see me get out of this van, much less drive it himself. I circled the hotel once, twice. It was valet parking or none at all. Where’s my love Dodge Charger when I need him??

“We’re just two moms in a van,” my friend said upon exiting the vehicle, head high.

The valet grinned, “I love vans. That Ferrari over there can only seat two.”

My friend and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We listened to the whine of an engine echoing years of childish cargo as the valet drove it out of sight. No Cool award for us this weekend, just four wheels to do a job.

With Eli in training for the next month (my red horsey version of Dodge Charger) I’m enjoying time riding a “van,” my portly pinto, and schooling him with the clicker. My long legs drooping from his sides in an Aussie saddle, I am definitely not looking cool on this horse. But I’m learning a few important things. Hopefully he is, too.

Cranking up the Billy Idol…Righteous.

POOP HAPPENS

I was sorely tempted to take a photo of a nice steaming pile of road apples for this post. But why add to the mountain of objectionable content already stinking up the internet? That said, I don’t find poo too offensive. Poo happens. It’s organic. It can even be a personal growth experience. One I’d like to provide, in excess, to a certain gas station owner in my county. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Ever have a day, or an hour, or even five minutes of pure contentment? You’re happy and successful; all is right with the world. Okay, I know those situations don’t last long, but let me share one with you:

I’m in the process of buying a new truck, a much nicer one then I’ve had. Let’s just say hot cars have never been a priority in my life. I should own stock in the bumper sticker that says, “Don’t laugh, its paid for.” For the last 17 years my husband and I have valued owning our vehicles outright. You can probably imagine what sort of vehicles can be paid for with cash out of your wallet. The last couple of years though we’ve entered a more comfortable stage financially. We can’t afford Mercedes or Porche, but the general appearance of our cars is improving. The truck I’m trying out now is owned by a friend: F350 Powerstroke with an extended cab. Ten years old. Hitched to my aluminum horse trailer it looks pretty nice. This friend generously gave us the truck to try before we buy.

And so Monday night I make my way, horse trailer in tow, to a 4H club ride night about an hour away. My daughter and I have a wonderful time with friends we enjoy and our horses remain healthy and well behaved. Proud to practice good stewardship of time (a near impossibility with horses), I leave early to get home and spend the rest of the evening with my son. Glancing at the fuel gauge I note that it would be wise to stop at a gas station. I pull in, swipe my card, and begin filling the tank. As it fills I look to the trailer in bliss—I love my horses, my family, the most likely soon-to-be-mine snazzy truck I am driving. I am confidant and content as I check the number of gallons pumped so far. It takes less then two seconds to morph into an idiot.

I am putting gas into a diesel engine.

Truck Driving for Dummies: Never, ever, put gas into a diesel engine.

An ugly, poo related word jumps from my lips. My heart races. I instantly call my BFF who is a few minutes ahead of me on the way home (to a pot roast dinner with her husband). This very thing happened to her F350 not long ago. I wail and moan, rant and rave. Like the best of friends she turns her truck and trailer around and returns to the station to commiserate with me and offer trailer space for my poor equine BFFs who are wondering why we’re stalling when an overdue dinner waits at home.

The first thing I do, after moving the truck away from the pumps, is tell the somewhat suspicious gas station attendant what is happening. I tell him I am sorry and that a tow truck is coming to remove the vehicle. BFF and I discuss what to do with the horses. My husband out of town, I am humble and grateful to have good people around to help. Briefly I consider calling the truck's owner. On second thought, the vehicle will be fine after the tanks are pumped and will rest safely at a reputable shop for the evening. My shame on public display already, I decide to wait until the morning to call and confess the deed.

After roughly two hours of waiting for tow truck, removing horses from one trailer and loading in another, and hitching my trailer to another truck, I’m ready to go home. Whew, what a night. I need to go to bed and rest my wounded ego. But no.

I have scarcely pulled into my driveway when Truck Owner Friend calls. They are wondering if something is wrong. Seems a sheriff showed up (10 o’clock at night) at their door. Supplied with the license number of the truck, the sheriff says a certain gas station owner is appalled that I would leave a few turds on his precious pavement and needed to get the law involved to ensure they are removed. Pronto.

At this point my inner 13-year-old makes an appearance: “Like, OMG! No way!”

Way.

I live roughly an hour from the scene of the “crime.” At this point in the evening there is one thing Mr. Gas Station can do with a few turds—Puh-lease! Proving the lengths a person will travel for a friend, Truck Owner takes care of the offending turds littering decent society. I have a feeling I am going to be buying this truck.

After calming down, being reassured the truck will be fine, and mapping the other gas stations I will now be patronizing in that particular area of the county, I pondered the positive side of poo happening.

Besides making one humble, dealing with poo makes one ever so much more compassionate when faced with the mistakes of others. And there’s nothing like experiencing poo to discover who your real friends are. Real friends stand beside you while the embarrassing smell emits from your life; they help you clean up; they remind you to laugh.

Thinking there’s an uptight gas station owner that needs a bit more poo in his life…

MEET AUTHOR GRETCHEN JONES

Congratulations to Wanda Rosseland--a real Montana cowgirl--who won a copy of Sonoma King. The book is coming your way, Wanda.


Now I'd like to welcome Sonoma King author Gretchen Jones (a real Nevada cowgirl) for a few questions about the book, writing and, of course, horses.


Sonoma King is your first published book, how long did it take you to write, illustrate, and find a publisher?

It took about nine months to write and illustrate. We had over thirty rejections before it caught the eye of Capitol City Books. Then it took nine months or so to publish in book form.

Tell us about owning/training race horses. Are they often like Sonoma King--talented but unwilling to run in the beginning?

I raced both Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds on the Fair Circuit in Utah and raced in Denver, Colorado. Most horses are willing to run but the starting gate scares and excites them because they have to burst out at a full gallop and can only anticipate when the bell will ring. Stallions can sometimes be more difficult to train and run because quite often they have their mind on other things.

How is Arabian racing the same/different from Thoroughbred racing?

Arabian horses are raced at the same distance as Thoroughbreds. Since they have more stamina (they are called "hot bloods" because they have more red blood cells on the skin's surface then most other horses, thus can expel toxins quickly and recover faster. They also have a large, loose hanging wind pipe for greater air intake) they can run longer distances, but normally they run the same distance. Usually up to a mile.

Do you have a favorite horse that inspired the character Sonoma King?

I believe Sonoma King is a composite of most of my favorite horses. He has alot of try--my good horses do--and he is very loyal. I have had some that were very loyal and knew me even after I had been gone for a long period of time; they would whinny in recognition and run over to me. Horses are loyal to their friends and remember them even after years of seperation.

What were your favorite books as a child?

My first favorite books were by C.W. Anderson, Billy and Blaze. I also loved King of the Wind, The Black Stallion Series, Misty of Chincoteague--I guess all the books by Marguerite Henry. I always liked the well illustrated books. I am still not fond of cartoonish illustrations.

Suzanne Graves passed away. Can you tell us a bit about your friend and co-author? Did she get to see the book before she died?

We worked very hard on the book. Unfortunately she passed away before it was published. We did art shows together before we decided to write and illustrate children's books. We had a good time figuring out our plots. She was excellent at editing because she had been a teacher. We both knew little boys and girls dream of horses and the activities they do.

Sonoma King returns in a sequel. Tell us about the next book.

In the next book Robin and Sonoma King are invited to race in the prestigious Ascot Cup in England. They fly to England and get ready to race. There is lots of adventure in this book as well. Researching it was alot of fun and makes a person delve into other parts of the world.

Tell us about your life with horses now. Do you still ride/train?

Yes, I still train and show my Arabians in reining, pleasure and cow horse classes. I usually train for cow work on a flag and I also use sheep to teach my horses how to watch, stop, and turn them. Emily (horse pictured above with Gretchen) and I showed for years in those classes. She isn't too fast down the fence or on the circle but she is a super cutting horse. Unfortunately, there are few shows for Arabian cutting horses so she is mostly ridden on trails. Emily is great over/through any obstacle because she grew up on the Hat Ranch in northern Arizona. This is part of the Al Marah Arabian Ranch.

Thanks so much, Gretchen--best of luck with your horses and we'll look forward to more Sonoma King adventures.

A STORY--AND HISTORY--TO CHEER

Since they pranced in King Solomon's stables, Arabian horses have captivated the imagination of man. Sonoma King continues a tradition of romance and fantasy that follow an ancient breed. This tale for young readers is reminiscent of Walter Farley's famous world of stakes races and a black stallion that runs like the wind. Illustrations and full color art, a female protagonist struggling with emerging adolescence, and intriguing details about Arabian horse racing make a familiar storyline welcome.

I recently had the chance to review a new book celebrating the majesty of the Arabian horse: Sonoma King. A short chapter book for young readers, Sonoma King has a familiar storyline: A youthful owner struggles to maintain her faith in a black colt of untapped talent that eventually develops into a competitive race horse. Of course, challenges and danger loom at every turn of the plot, but I won’t spoil it for you. Unfamiliar with Arabian horses? Allow me to introduce them before testing your literary knowledge of horse story classics for a chance to win a free copy of Sonoma King.

I have strong opinions about what I like in a horse. Top on my list? Intelligence, beauty, and a personable nature. Horses cost way too much to keep these days and I like mine to function under saddle and as living art. To that end, the Arabian horse is my hands down favorite breed.

It’s fascinating to consider the history of the Arabian—the oldest pure breed in the world. Arabians have danced across the desert since Biblical times and are the original war and race horse. Though spirited, Arabians have a deeply sensitive and intuitive spirit and lived closely with human beings from the beginning. Desert lore says the Bedouins even slept in tents with their horses.

My first Arabian—Sunfire—couldn’t have been a less appropriate mount for a ten-year-old girl. The neighbor’s green broke pasture pet, Sunny was naughty and spirited. I vividly remember my first ride on the seven-year-old gelding the day we brought him home. Sunny danced the length of our quarter mile driveway, his feet barely touching the earth, while I perched on his back, my stomach churning with fear...and absolute exhilaration. He was the opposite of my wicked Shetland pony, Sally, and the epitome of childhood fantasies birthed by reading classics like The Black Stallion. Though Sunny never slept in my room, he became a trusted best friend and soul mate who helped me navigate adolescence. I remain a huge fan of the breed today because of our relationship.

Today I have my own The Black, a metallic chestnut stallion who, despite his coloring, is still a fantasy come true. I can think of no better therapy then turning him loose for a good gallop. Like his ancestors before him, Eli is a drinker of the wind and, for me, the horse of a lifetime.

The following questions relate to these classic middle grade books: Black Beauty, Justin Morgan Had a Horse, Misty of Chincoteague, The Black Stallion, and King of the Wind.

The first person (email me through my website: www.catherinemadera.com) to correctly answer all ten questions will win a lovely hardback copy of Sonoma King. For everyone else, the book is available through Capital City Books (http://www.capitalcitybooks.com/) for $20.95.


Which book’s author was handicapped and died at the young age of 57, only five months after the book was published?


Which books feature horse racing?


Which book is said to be the sixth best seller in the English language?


Which book(s) is/are based on a true story?


How many of the above books are authored by women?


What are the names of Black Beauty’s best horse friends?


Which books were made into movies?


Which stories begin, or are centered, on an island?


Which book was written to inspire humane treatment of horses?


Which book(s) became a series?