Today is WEEK SEVEN from my ankle reconstruction surgery! Yay!
Last night for the first time in those 7 weeks, I was able to lead horses to the barn and groom them... it was AWESOME. I couldn't stop loving on the poor critters, but they were extremely patient with me. They are the best horses ever.
Hopefully, I'll be cleared to ride at my appointment tomorrow... and it would be nice to get to the point where I can actually walk 3-5 miles, but that may take a few more weeks.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Acme Contracting, Inc.
Just a quick note to the world wide web that Acme Contracting, Inc., and Kelly Christensen, located in Salt Lake City, Utah, were supposed to build a barn/indoor arena for me. Instead, he took $55,000.00 from me and never finished the job. Don't hire this guy--he is bad news. He even badgered me for another $20,000.00--thankfully, I was finally onto him at that point and didn't give him another dime. He called incessantly at my work, often 10 times a day, for two weeks, demanding more money. Didn't work, but I'm just so mad that I trusted him and paid him what I did.
I will never forgive myself for being such an idiot and trusting Kelly, but I'd really like for him to stop doing this to other people. Hopefully, if somebody googles his company name, this will pop up. I'd be happy to share details to anybody who is interested about this company, what it did to me, and its reputation (that I learned unfortunately too late).
Hope you feel good about yourself stealing money from innocent people, Kelly. Apparently, there's a long line of us who fell for your scam.
I will never forgive myself for being such an idiot and trusting Kelly, but I'd really like for him to stop doing this to other people. Hopefully, if somebody googles his company name, this will pop up. I'd be happy to share details to anybody who is interested about this company, what it did to me, and its reputation (that I learned unfortunately too late).
Hope you feel good about yourself stealing money from innocent people, Kelly. Apparently, there's a long line of us who fell for your scam.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Jacob, the rescued PMU gelding...
Here's a video of 4-year-old Belgian gelding Jacob, a PMU rescue from Canada. He's not mine, but he's a cutie. Makes me sad to think where he could have ended up...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvXMLqEwfQY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvXMLqEwfQY
Friday, January 18, 2008
Callie-Cat
Bad news yesterday. My sweet, adorable, wonderful little friend, Callie (so named because she was a calico--I am not very creative with names) died. I adored this little cat. I first met her about 5 years ago out at the barn where I board my horses. She was a kitten--in the awkward stage, probably around 8-9 months old--and she was skinny and dying and looked awful. Found out later she'd been spayed at some point, so my guess is she was a housecat, supposed to be a pet, that just got dumped at the barn. Obviously, she didn't know how to feed or take care of herself. She wouldn't let me get anywhere near her, but I happened to have some cat food in my car for my own cats, so I opened a can and left it for her, thinking she couldn't possibly survive, but at least she could have one last good meal before she died. I didn't stay to watch her eat--partially because she wouldn't go near the food with me standing there, and mostly because I couldn't stand getting attached to her, believing she would die. But she didn't. Callie was a scrappy little cat with a strong will to live.
I kept catfood in my car every day after that, and I saw her regularly. She waited for me to bring her the food, but wouldn't let me get close to her. She got stronger and stronger. I spent pretty much every evening out at the barn--often by myself--and little Callie started letting me get closer to her. Over the course of about six months, I was able to sit next to her while eating. Later, she let me touch her just a little bit while she was eating. I don't exactly remember how the breakthrough happened, but it wasn't many months before I she started rubbing on my legs, allowing me to pet her, and even pick her up. Soon, she was jumping on my lap and would sit as long as I would let her, purring contentedly.
Callie was a tiny little cat--the opposite of my rather large cats at home, my wonderful Persian and Himalayan boys. But she was a tough little girl--quite a fighter. Plus, she was one of the best hunting cats I've ever seen and kept the barn as mouse-free as she could. Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure she killed birds, too, although I never witnessed it. Callie almost always had mouse-breath, but I didn't mind--she was a great little cat, my shadow at the barn, and I adored her. I planned taking her with me to my new place, hopefully to be built in the next year.
About a month ago (some time before Christmas), I noticed that she wasn't using one leg. I waited for a week or two hoping she'd get better, but she didn't. So the week after Christmas, I took her to the vet. She had an abscess from a cat bite--not surprising, considering how territorial she was (although she did have a best friend named Bruiser... for good reason... he is a huge Bubba of a cat, and he is ALWAYS getting in fights... he's another story, but he is a feral cat I also somehow befriended, and now I can't walk for tripping when he's around).
The treatment? Antibiotics twice a day, of course. So for the next 7 days, I went to the barn and medicated her twice a day. I bought her a cat bed and some other items, because the vet recommended I put her in a room and keep her at least for a few days. She HATED it. She didn't like confinement at all and wanted to roam the 17-acre barn as the free cat she'd been for years. I kept her in there for three days until she could walk normally and figured it was time to let her go. I had second thoughts--I know the odds are that outdoor cats won't live long, and I worried about her because more and more boarders were bringing their dogs with them to the barn (something entirely against the rules), and the dogs had been harassing her. Plus, she was just so tiny and so vulnerable and I wanted to protect her. But she was unhappy being kept safe and confined, so I opened the door and let her go.
I moved Callie's bed over to the barn with my horses where I left food for her and Bruiser and a few other feral barn cats, and she stayed there, sometimes sleeping in the little "cat cave" bed to keep warm. I kept giving her the antibiotics and she completely recovered. But she still limped around like she was 3-legged lame when she saw me coming, presumably because she knew I'd pick her up and make a big deal about her. I thought it was adorable. She was adorable.
Yesterday, the barn manager, who speaks very little English, came out and said to me, "Your little cat died." I had no idea what he was talking about. I'd been there for around 45 minutes turning horses out and had noticed she wasn't around, but that wasn't completely unusual. I tried to ask him how, but he just said that somebody had told him and that she had "died in her little bed." I tried not to cry in front of him, because is one supposed to get attached to a darling little barn cat that is not really even yours? I don't know. But I cried, anyway, and have been crying now for two days. Thankfully, Tomas had taken care of her remains, but the bed was still there. I picked it up and looked at it, and there was blood everywhere. She must have been attacked by something--dogs (which aren't supposed to be let loose at the stable, anyway, but the boarders have turned it into their own personal dog park), coyote, racoon, fox? I don't know. But it both warms my heart and breaks it at the same time that she dragged herself back to her little bed that she'd only had for a few weeks. I didn't know when I bought it that it would be the place she died, but it was a place that gave her comfort and that I believe she associated with me helping her. I think she thought I would help her. And I would have, but I didn't go out that night. I hardly ever miss a night, but it was my mother's birthday and we took her out to dinner, so I didn't know that my sweet, wonderful little Callie was lying in her bed dying. I can't even stand thinking about it. I hope she died as quickly and peacefully as possible--I'm guessing from loss of blood, but I don't know. Never will. But I loved that little cat as much as I love my own dear housecats that I've had for 12 years now. I can't believe I didn't ever get a picture of her. She was a beautiful, dainty, sweet little soul and I loved her.
RIP my dear, sweet one. I know that technically you weren't mine, and I don't know if any animal belongs to any of us, but I still hope to see you at the Rainbow Bridge.
I kept catfood in my car every day after that, and I saw her regularly. She waited for me to bring her the food, but wouldn't let me get close to her. She got stronger and stronger. I spent pretty much every evening out at the barn--often by myself--and little Callie started letting me get closer to her. Over the course of about six months, I was able to sit next to her while eating. Later, she let me touch her just a little bit while she was eating. I don't exactly remember how the breakthrough happened, but it wasn't many months before I she started rubbing on my legs, allowing me to pet her, and even pick her up. Soon, she was jumping on my lap and would sit as long as I would let her, purring contentedly.
Callie was a tiny little cat--the opposite of my rather large cats at home, my wonderful Persian and Himalayan boys. But she was a tough little girl--quite a fighter. Plus, she was one of the best hunting cats I've ever seen and kept the barn as mouse-free as she could. Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure she killed birds, too, although I never witnessed it. Callie almost always had mouse-breath, but I didn't mind--she was a great little cat, my shadow at the barn, and I adored her. I planned taking her with me to my new place, hopefully to be built in the next year.
About a month ago (some time before Christmas), I noticed that she wasn't using one leg. I waited for a week or two hoping she'd get better, but she didn't. So the week after Christmas, I took her to the vet. She had an abscess from a cat bite--not surprising, considering how territorial she was (although she did have a best friend named Bruiser... for good reason... he is a huge Bubba of a cat, and he is ALWAYS getting in fights... he's another story, but he is a feral cat I also somehow befriended, and now I can't walk for tripping when he's around).
The treatment? Antibiotics twice a day, of course. So for the next 7 days, I went to the barn and medicated her twice a day. I bought her a cat bed and some other items, because the vet recommended I put her in a room and keep her at least for a few days. She HATED it. She didn't like confinement at all and wanted to roam the 17-acre barn as the free cat she'd been for years. I kept her in there for three days until she could walk normally and figured it was time to let her go. I had second thoughts--I know the odds are that outdoor cats won't live long, and I worried about her because more and more boarders were bringing their dogs with them to the barn (something entirely against the rules), and the dogs had been harassing her. Plus, she was just so tiny and so vulnerable and I wanted to protect her. But she was unhappy being kept safe and confined, so I opened the door and let her go.
I moved Callie's bed over to the barn with my horses where I left food for her and Bruiser and a few other feral barn cats, and she stayed there, sometimes sleeping in the little "cat cave" bed to keep warm. I kept giving her the antibiotics and she completely recovered. But she still limped around like she was 3-legged lame when she saw me coming, presumably because she knew I'd pick her up and make a big deal about her. I thought it was adorable. She was adorable.
Yesterday, the barn manager, who speaks very little English, came out and said to me, "Your little cat died." I had no idea what he was talking about. I'd been there for around 45 minutes turning horses out and had noticed she wasn't around, but that wasn't completely unusual. I tried to ask him how, but he just said that somebody had told him and that she had "died in her little bed." I tried not to cry in front of him, because is one supposed to get attached to a darling little barn cat that is not really even yours? I don't know. But I cried, anyway, and have been crying now for two days. Thankfully, Tomas had taken care of her remains, but the bed was still there. I picked it up and looked at it, and there was blood everywhere. She must have been attacked by something--dogs (which aren't supposed to be let loose at the stable, anyway, but the boarders have turned it into their own personal dog park), coyote, racoon, fox? I don't know. But it both warms my heart and breaks it at the same time that she dragged herself back to her little bed that she'd only had for a few weeks. I didn't know when I bought it that it would be the place she died, but it was a place that gave her comfort and that I believe she associated with me helping her. I think she thought I would help her. And I would have, but I didn't go out that night. I hardly ever miss a night, but it was my mother's birthday and we took her out to dinner, so I didn't know that my sweet, wonderful little Callie was lying in her bed dying. I can't even stand thinking about it. I hope she died as quickly and peacefully as possible--I'm guessing from loss of blood, but I don't know. Never will. But I loved that little cat as much as I love my own dear housecats that I've had for 12 years now. I can't believe I didn't ever get a picture of her. She was a beautiful, dainty, sweet little soul and I loved her.
RIP my dear, sweet one. I know that technically you weren't mine, and I don't know if any animal belongs to any of us, but I still hope to see you at the Rainbow Bridge.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Merry Christmas!
I am SO EXCITED for Christmas! I LOVE it! I love the entire holiday season, starting with Halloween (not a perenial favorite with me, but it does sort of start off the whole holiday thing), Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's. We are in the midst of a HUGE winter storm in Utah--and I love that, too! (except that I still have to get home from work and it looks pretty nasty out there). Snow is good, though.
I started skiing when I was around 8 years old. Never was that great at it, but it was fun. I spent many a winter Saturday on the slopes. My last year in undergrad, I really had only one serious class, the others were, I kid you not... skiing and horseback riding. It was awesome! :) My skiing technique was OK, but I was lacking in sheer guts. I have, however, skiied some pretty scary stuff, including a few double black diamonds (which I will NEVER do again). I haven't been skiing for about 8 years, but one of my horse-riding friends and I are pondering going for at least a half day in January. My knees will probably blow out and I'm sure I won't be able to use my quads for days afterward, but I think we'll do it, anyway, if nothing else but the laugh and a few cool skiing pictures. :)
Oh--I am getting a new sewing machine for Christmas. Plus, my gift to myself is art supplies. So, I shall update on the sewing and art forays soon. I did make my first quilt a few months ago--having never touched a sewing machine before. It's far from beautiful, but it's OK, and I'm excited for my second effort (which I have put on hold until the new machine--the old machine is just awful--and that's coming from somebody who knows nothing about machines. Alright--it might be the sewer and not the machine that's awful, but I guess I shall find out soon...).
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!
Friday, December 7, 2007
How Big is Too Big to Ride?
That, my friends, is a delicate question about a not so delicate issue (or at least not so delicate riders). I can tell you from experience that it's about a zillion times easier to ride a horse when you are slim and fit than it is to ride when you are overweight and fit--or, even worse, overweight and unfit. We can all defend it all we want, but truth is--our size and fitness contributes to how we ride and certainly how we balance ourselves on a horse. I DO think there's a difference between a 5'5" 200 pound rider and a 6' 200 pound rider--the six foot rider is probably more fit. Granted, the other rider just might be a better rider, but if they both have the same level of riding skills, the fitter rider is going to have an easier time of balancing and making the necessary adjustments while riding. You can see from my pics that I am not a delicate rider. Knowing this, I bought a giant, very strong horse with a huge barrel, broad back, big butt, and legs like tree trunks. I bought him off a picture and a video, and he had exactly three things to recommend him: 1) he was purty, 2) even as a 3-year-old, his legs were huge showing very "good bone," and 3) he had a decent flatwalk.
But I used to weigh even MORE than it shows in the picture (although I am currently LESS, which is nice). I worried about it every single time I rode. Satin is only 15 hands and is strong as an ox (I know this for a fact, because she hauled my lard-butt around a lot of mountains), but I worried about her all the time, because I know I exceeded the 20% rule with her. That's why I've been a fanatic about proper saddle fitting, getting the saddle fitter to reflock the saddles, having chiropractic care and massage. I have noticed that as the weight is coming off, I worry less about these issues--probably for good reason. I have also noticed my riding getting better, but I ain't there yet. What is there? Well, I don't think I'll ever had the raw courage and even the skill and reflexes that I did at 20, but I believe if I could weigh just about what I did at 20, I'd be a pretty strong rider. I'm working on it. I've lost 50 pounds in the past year and need to lose 50 more.
No matter what, I think you have to consider the health and well-being of the horse. I used to own one that I really was too big for, even though he was 16.2. But he was narrow-chested, small-barrelled--even slab-sided, with very long legs and a long back and neck. I should NOT have been riding that horse at the weight I was. I look back at pictures and I can't stand what I see. I won't put myself or another horse in that situation again--if I re-gain the weight (oh, please, no!) I will have to assess the situation and either buy a horse that I can ride or stop riding altogether. Perhaps take up driving? I don't know.
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