Julie Goodnight shows you the proper and safe way to handle or hold the horse for the Vet or Farrier
For more information on the largest certifying body of riding instructors and barn managers in North America, Certified Horsemanship Association, please visit www.CHA.horse.
Read more: Holding the Horse for the Vet or Farrier with Julie Goodnight (7:03)
Back Door Horse (Excerpt) from Book One of the Green Mountain Romance Series By Heather Wallace
Imogen was having a wonderful but strange dream. She’d always had vivid images that she remembered snippets of the next morning upon waking, then faded slowly. This time her imagination created a big, lumberjack of a man barreling into her home. She didn’t know why he was there, but he was ruggedly handsome with dark hair pulled underneath a trucker cap, piercing blue eyes filled with concern, and wow, quite a muscular chest heaving with exertion. She felt like the heroine of a romance novel.
“Ow,” Imogen moaned and clutched her head. It felt like a bomb exploded behind her right eye as her gaze focused, immediately regretting the light streaming in from the door. While it was weak, it was still enough to make her eyes water so she closed them again. Wait a minute, she didn’t think dreams usually involved discomfort.
A discreet cough made her whip her head to the doorway. A sharp, stabbing pain traveled up her neck, and she cried out at the surprise of it.
Where the hell was she?
She struggled to open her eyes again and when the room swam, she leaned over to vomit, narrowly missing a pair of scuffed boots. Oh god, she felt terrible.
Now she knew she couldn’t be dreaming. This was a nightmare.
A cold nose rubbed against her hand, and she focused on her pup, refusing to be embarrassed that she had just vomited all over her aunt’s rug and a strange man. Serves him right for coming in, uninvited. Who the heck was he anyway?
A glass of water underneath her nose had her looking up into bright, blue eyes. She should have been scared – she was alone and obviously indisposed with a stranger – but the concern in his face was obvious.
With a sigh, she straightened up off the couch. “Not a dream then,” she muttered under her breath. Then she addressed her companion. “Great guard dog you are, you traitor.” Cookie wagged her tail on the ground and opened her square jaw in a Staffy smile.
Imogen refused to be charmed. She turned her attention to the stranger in the room.
“I really hope you aren’t a pervert because I am definitely not in the mood.”
Gabriel burst out laughing, shocked. He took the situation in and decided to be blunt with the sassy woman. “You’ve been in an accident. You found your way to your aunt’s house, but I’m pretty sure you have a concussion.”
“That makes sense, I guess. Now, who the hell are you?”
“Not a pervert, although under better circumstances I could be convinced.”
She blinked at the sudden wattage of his smile. Whoa, he was handsome. No, Imogen, she thought to herself, you will not be charmed by a stranger in a remote mountain cabin. Life is more Dateline than Hallmark movie.
“I’m Gabe, the neighbor. Your aunt told me to keep an eye out for your arrival. I didn’t expect it to be with such drama though. Did you know your car is in a ditch about a mile down the road?”
“Anything worth doing is worth doing big.” Imogen muttered under her breath.
He seemed to have bat ears because he laughed again and responded, “You certainly did at that. You must be her niece.” Closing her eyes again, she leaned back. Any friend of Aunt Josephine’s certainly couldn’t be that dangerous. Cookie loved everyone so she wasn’t a good judge. “Yeah, I’m Imogen.” She pointed blindly at the dog, whose tail she could hear whipping the floor in excitement. “That’s Cookie Monster. But apparently you are friends already.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Gabe knelt and gave Cookie a head rub and scratched under her big, block head. Her jaw opened wide, and she gave him a proper kiss on the mouth in appreciation.
“Who’s a good girl guarding Mommy?”
Imogen grimaced. Baby talk. Really? It should be annoying but damn if it wasn’t adorable. She was guilty of the same. Good looking and a big softie. Ugh, just her luck swearing off men for the foreseeable future.
He walked into the house, straight back to the kitchen, and opened the freezer.
She sighed. Apparently, he was familiar with her aunt’s home. Good for Aunt Josephine pulling this one. Here she thought she was a lonely old mountain woman, but instead she was playing kissy face and acting like a cougar.
He cleared his throat again, surprising her at his proximity. When did he come back into the room? Maybe he was the cougar; he was damn quiet on his feet. She peeked her left eye open in response. It was all she had to give at this moment.
Gabe handed her a bag of peas and a few Ibuprofens. “For your head. We should probably get you to the hospital and have that checked out. What the hell happened anyway?”
Taking the preferred offering, she swallowed the pills dry, and one got stuck in her throat. She sat up quickly, hacking and gagging. She grabbed the glass of water that appeared in front of her and took a sip, finally catching her breath.
Gabe sat on the coffee table in front of her, petting her dog and looking genuinely concerned.
Read more: Back Door Horse - An Excerpt from the Book by Heather Wallace
In the early 1920s, one of the most important polo pony breeding operations in Argentina was Estación Chapadmalal. Established by Miguel Martinez de Hoz, his philosophy was to use small Thoroughbreds in the production of polo ponies. The farm included 110 broodmares, 22 of which were selected because of their bloodline’s smaller size.
“From these, I am trying to breed my future polo pony sires. A difficult job, I tell you; but with time and patience I hope to succeed,” wrote Martinez de Hoz, in a May 1922 article in “The Polo Monthly.” “Big horses have been bred from the Arab, so why should we not breed small ones? After all, the big 16.2-17 hands Thoroughbred was bred from an Arab, who is a pony!”
The Martínez de Hoz family were Spanish merchants, arriving in Argentina’s Río del Plata in the late 18th century. José Alfredo Martínez de Hoz had no children of his own so he sent for his nephew Narciso Alonso de Armiño to help with his business. Grateful for the opportunity, Narciso adopted his uncle’s last name. Narciso began purchasing farm land in the area. Later, his son José Toribio Martinez de Hoz followed suit, amassing so much land, they were one of the country’s most prominent landowning families.
Their estancia, Chapadmalal was located about 255 miles south of Buenos Aires, and just 15 miles away from the resort town of Mar del Plata. It encompassed over 63,000 acres.
José Toribio Martinez de Hoz co-founded the Rural Society to represent Argentine landowners, serving as its president until 1870. It is the same Rural Society that today holds annual livestock shows, which many of the polo players participate in with their prized polo prospects.
When José Toribio Martinez de Hoz died prematurely, his widow moved with their two sons, Miguel Alfredo and Eduardo Antonio Justo, to England.
After completing school there, Miguel Martinez de Hoz returned to Argentina. Without anyone looking after the land, sections of it were in poor shape when he arrived. He sold off some land and added other parcels. He built fencing and barns and purchased horses, cattle and sheep to breed. Influenced by his time in Europe, he hired an English architect to design a Scottish castle for his family, accompanied by beautiful landscaping, mirroring the finest English gardens.
As motor cars became more widely used, and the need for draft horses dwindled, Martinez de Hoz focused instead on breeding Thoroughbreds.
He continued to travel to England, and often competed there with some of his prized carriage horses. Gay Boy, a champion harness horse, was bred at Chapadmalal. For some time, Martinez de Hoz ran the London-Guildford coach with horses bred at his breeding farm in Argentina.
He also played polo in England and France, and served on the Editing Committee of The Polo and Riding Pony Society in London.
A report in the June 1918 “The Polo Monthly” noted that King Alfonso of Spain had recently purchased four Argentine polo ponies from Miguel Martinez de Hoz.
“We may be sure that any ponies of Mr. de Hoz’s breeding will be bred on good lines, for he does not go in for poor pedigrees. In fact, he has some of the finest examples of many breeds of stock at his stud farm, and the production of polo ponies is an interesting side line which he has recently taken up,” the report said.
“Mr. de Hoz, who before the war often drove his coach to Ranelagh and Hurlingham, will be remembered as the purchaser of Craganour for 30,000 guineas immediately after that horse’s sensational disqualification from the Derby. The purchase has proved a great financial success.
“Mr. de Hoz has recently bought Botafogo, the best racehorse of his time in the Argentine, the price being £40,000 down and the right on the part of the vendors to send two mares to the horse each season free of charge for five years. This establishes a new record price for Thoroughbred horses.”
Read more: Las Pampas Ponies - Argentine stud farm bred smaller polo Thoroughbreds
by Susanna Newsonen
This is an excerpt from Horse Girl reprinted with permission from the author.
I jumped as the alarm went off. I hadn’t been in a deep sleep with all the butterflies in my stomach but the alarm still spooked me. I was on high alert. Frankly, I’d barely slept. I leapt out of bed and looked outside. It was still pitch black. I grabbed my uniform which I’d prepared the evening before and got ready. I forced a cracker with a slice of cheese down me whilst standing by the kitchen sink.
Eating was the last thing I wanted to do but I knew I’d need the energy. I’d need everything I had. I grabbed my readily packed kit and headed into the car. Before getting in, I took some long, deep breaths. Gosh, the nerves were really getting to me. As I drove out of the garage, I checked the clock: 4 a.m. The early bird catches the worm, right? Eww - the thought of that just made me feel even more nauseous. Not good.
Before I knew it, I’d arrived at the stables. It wasn’t a long drive and in today’s focused state, I barely noticed doing it. I entered the barn through the middle entryway and turned left. I pressed the light switch as I passed it to turn on the lights in that half of the barn. I was the first one there. But I wasn’t alone. At the stables, you never were.
As I walked over to Mickey’s stable, I took great joy in hearing nothing but the munching of hay. It’s one of the most meditative sounds in the world. So much peace. So much calm. So much contentment. Even in my distressed state that morning, I was still able to enjoy it.
As I got to Mickey’s stable, I looked over the door to see his two beautiful black ears lower down. He was munching away on his hay that lay on the floor. He turned to look at me, surprised, as if to say, “What are you doing here at this hour?”. I opened his stable door and went in to stroke his neck.
“Hi baby boy. Big day today,” I whispered into his ear. He listened. He nuzzled my hand and we had a quiet moment to ourselves. Moments like these are the ones I live for. Just him and me. Together. Fully present. But I didn’t have much time to indulge myself in that. At least not today. I reached to the other side of the stable door to grab his neatly hung black head collar that matched his beautiful black coat. He stood still as I secured it onto him. How lucky was I to have found him? He was the kindest, gentlest, softest horse I’d ever known. Even at his very young age, he was already like this. Always placing his big kind heart and trust in me. It really humbled me.
One by one, I picked his hoofs up, cleaning them carefully. I used the hook of the hoof pick to meticulously clear the shavings, the poo, and anything else that was stuck in his hoof. I used the brush side to gently brush the frog, the sensitive, inner part of the hoof. All seemed to be in good order. I let out a silent sigh of relief. I opened the stable door and led him out. As we walked towards the grooming bay, we passed his big brother Ollie who was actually a lot smaller in size.
They weren’t brothers by blood but they were both my horses so that is how I saw them. Having sensed my presence, Ollie had his head already over the stable door. I stopped to give him a quick cuddle. Mickey waited next to me patiently. Until he didn’t. He nudged me on my arm as if to say, “Shouldn’t we get ready now?”. I smiled and nodded to myself.
I walked over to the grooming bay, turning him around in it so he faced the hallway and not the wall. Horses, being very claustrophobic, are always calmer when they know there is a way out. Facing him this way is more comfortable for him and safer for me. I attached both sides of his head collar to the long ropes on the sides of the grooming bay. He quickly took a relaxed stance, resting his back leg and slightly lowering his head. How could a four-year-old be this calm and trusting? I grabbed my plaiting kit and stepped onto the steps to get higher up to his mane. I didn’t want my arms being fatigued from plaiting so I needed to be above the mane, not underneath it. Mickey being 173 cm tall at the withers meant I definitely needed to take a few steps up. He looked at me sideways as I rose above him. I talked to him gently whilst rubbing his neck. He seemed to approve and turned his head straight back into his relaxed state. Perfect, I could get to work now.
I separated his mane into 13 equal sections, ensuring the parting between each section was exactly straight. I wrapped each section in a black plaiting band and checked that the sections were all of equivalent size. Nodding approvingly, I started to braid. I braided as up and as tight as possible, but not so tight that it disturbed Mickey. It was a fine line to walk but he was clear in his opinions then and always has been ever since. Once I’d finished the braids, it was time for the trickier part: to roll them into neat, cinnamon bun look-alike plaits.
Again, this was a precise art. The rolling had to be accurate and snug or it would quickly fall apart. At the same time, it couldn’t be so snug that it would pull Mickey’s mane, creating tension in the muscles in his neck. Fortunately, I’d had a lot of practice and some great teachers. Once the roll was complete, I carefully used a thick black cotton thread and a plaiting needle to sew it into its place. It was the more complicated way of plaiting but I’d always found the end result so much more beautiful. So we carried on. After about thirty minutes, the plaits were done. I was happy with how they looked.
I descended down from the steps and gave Mickey a treat. He was a true champ for standing still for so long. I carried on to groom his coat, condition his tail, and oil his hooves. He was now starting to also look like a champ. Ouch, there were the butterflies in my tummy again. Having been so focused on the plaiting, I’d kind of forgotten about them. Oh well. I just had to carry on. We were nearly there.
I popped his smart show rug on and put him back in his stable so he could have his breakfast grains before we left. I checked the horse truck and ensured his tack, my gear, and the first aid kit were all in place. I put up a haynet for him to enjoy during the drive and packed an extra one for the drive back. Once he’d finished eating his grains, my trainer Sarah and her partner David, whose stables we were at, showed their faces. Sarah was coming with us to help us warm up before our test. Honestly, I think she was coming to keep me rather than Mickey in order. David was the designated horse truck driver and he never let us down with his jokes. This was especially good on a day like this.
“Are you ready?” Sarah asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I smiled weakly.
I went back into Mickey’s stable to put his travel boots on. He looked at me a little nervously and I handed him another treat in a vote of confidence. He took it gladly. I lead him out of the stable and onto the big horse truck. He walked onto it as if he’d done it a hundred times before. In reality, you could probably count on one hand how many times he’d been in one. But it didn’t faze him. Like always, he trusted me to keep him safe.
It was now about 5.30 a.m. We were on the road and the drive to the competition venue took about an hour. I was scheduled to enter the ring as the first rider of the day at 8 a.m. sharp. We had plenty of time. I don’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. More time for me to panic, to stress, to imagine total fail scenarios. But I did my best not to. Instead, I kept chewing my mint chewing gum which helped against my nervous nausea. In between my chews, I did my best to close my eyes and take deep breaths. Before I knew it, we were already there.
I checked on Mickey before going to check the warm-up and competition arenas. If I was nervous before, I was a nervous wreck now. I tried to walk it off and I kept taking deep breaths. Once I started tacking Mickey up, I felt slightly better. Staying busy always helped me with my nerves. Once I’d finished tacking up, I went to put the final pieces of my gear on. Now, I felt a little faint. I took a moment to sit in the living part of the truck with my head in between my legs. Come on, Susanna. There is no need for you to be this nervous! I nodded my head in agreement with my inner voice and got up.
Read more: "Horse Girl, A Journey Home" an Excerpt from the Book
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