Happy Birthday, Limerick!

Today is Limerick's 17th birthday. I'm not sure whether to call today her official birthday, or January 1st (as per the Jockey Club), but either way, she was born 17 years ago today.

She was born on Shawnee Hills Farm, near a tiny town named Golconda, situated on the Mississippi River in southern Illinois. I find it so romantic that she was born on the Mighty Mississippi, just across the river from Kentucky. But I'm a hopeless romantic sometimes. I'm one of those suckers that finds beauty in everything.

Happy birthday, Limerick, here's hoping you have many, many more! I have daydreams of riding you around our future Kentucky farm. Your back is a little dipped with age and your coat is a tad rougher, but otherwise you are still the same beautiful horse that I fell in love with 20-odd years ago. Just you and me, walking through the Kentucky bluegrass around the edge of our property on a blue morning, the sun not yet high through the old trees, the breeze lifting strands of your mane and my hair, my fingers gently scratching the sides of your high withers, as I always do. I love you, Lim Bean.

We went on a trail ride yesterday--Trail Ride Number Three. It was just us and one other horse/rider pair this time. The other horse is also a Thoroughbred mare, but she is a seasoned trail horse. Her name is Lady.

I decided to mount at the mounting block near the barn instead of walking Lim over the road by hand like I did the last two times. The road never seemed to bother her so I figured why not; it was that or walk all the way to the mounting block at the Danada Equestrian Center. Despite Limerick's small stature and my athleticism, I don't trust myself to mount from the ground.

Lim was just fine over the road. As we got on the trail head, I saw a Canadian goose attack a jogger running by the pond. The goose flapped its wings, lifted itself six feet into the air, and descended upon the jogger, who was flailing his arms. I watched this from a distance.

"Hey, look at those geese, they just attacked that jogger!" I said to the other woman, who hadn't seen it. She shook her head and said there were too many Canadian geese. Lady liked to chase geese so I figured I would just tuck Limerick in right behind Lady and stay there as we passed the geese.

As we got closer, I saw the geese were protecting six or so little dirty yellow balls of fluff. Babies! No wonder they were being so aggressive. The (male?) goose snaked his neck and hollered at Lady, who rolled her eyes towards him.

Yeah I'd like to see you try it! she seemed to say. Like a fool, I stopped Limerick. I was atop a 900lb animal and these geese were intimidating me. Limerick's head and neck went straight up like a periscope. I could feel her nostrils blowing in the tight, quick way they do when she sees something scary. I could imagine her eyes--huuuuge.

The goose ruffled his feathers, shook his wings, snaked his neck at Limerick and screeched. With that, Lim was outta there. She scrambled backwards a few steps then whirled on her hind legs. A few more dancing steps down the trail and she stopped. Lady and her rider stood twenty yards away, waiting for me.

"She doesn't like the goose!" I hollered. I didn't blame her, I envisioned the thing flying up at me, beating me with its wings, pecking me with that dull hard beak. I think Limerick was trying to save the both of us.

A biker was struggling up the hill, getting closer and closer to me. I waved for him to stop. Limerick was tense, scared. She didn't know the biker was there. It didn't matter that she was okay with bicycles on Trail Ride Number Two--she certainly wouldn't be okay with them if she was in fight-or-flight mode, and being surprised by a bicycle was the last thing we both needed.

Finally, the geese gathered their dirty yellow fluffballs together and herded them into the pond. The male let out one last screech. When they were gone, I encouraged Limerick to join Lady up the hill and she did. We had gone about thirty paces when I remembered the biker. He was trailing behind us, waiting for my okay. I waved him on.

The rest of the ride went smoothly. We went up an enormous hill. There were no paths leading up to it except a narrow, overgrown dirt path that wove between the tall prairie grasses. At the top of the hill, the horse farm stretched out before us, the white plank fencing neat and straight. Grazing horses looked like small, shiny multicolored dots. I could just barely see the Sears Tower in the distance.

When we got to the grassy strip behind the Danada Equestrian Center pastures, we trotted. The horses kicked up dandelions and insects. Limerick's mane bobbed and gleamed in the sun. Her head was down just slightly, her ears relaxed, listening for my occasional "Mmhmm, good girl."

I never wanted to stop.

Oh yeah, the photograph session with Rob and Limerick--it couldn't done. Rob unexpectedly had to work so we're re-scheduling it for next week. No big deal, I just hope it's as beautiful next week as it was yesterday!

Happy Birthday to my husband!

Today is my husband's birthday...I usually spend a little and treat him on his birthday but I couldn't afford that this year. I did do my annual birthday baking though--I made peanut butter brownies.

May 12th is the only time I will touch an oven (cleaning it doesn't count!).

I rode Limerick in her new Stubben Golden Wings bit today. She seemed to like it, normally she has a neutral expression when I slip the bit into her mouth. Today her ears pricked and she seemed to be thinking, "Hmm, this is different!"

Stubben Golden Wings Snaffle

It looks flashy!

I dropped my stirrups for a good chunk of the ride. There was some sort of activity/commotion just out of sight by the barn owner's house (which is visible from the outdoor arena) and Limerick would raise her head up high and stare at that area every time we went by. So I may have been asking for trouble by dropping my stirrups but I trusted Limerick to behave herself and she did.

I got a reminder of the reason I don't ride without stirrups very much anymore--my IUD doesn't like it! I got killer cramps for a good while after the ride. It was worth it though; I love riding without stirrups.

Before I forget, I took Limerick on the trail again on Saturday. We went with two steady-eddy seasoned trail horses. Lim looked at every single thing we went by--bikers, tree stumps, dog walkers, boulders, joggers, low tree branches, walkers, clusters of tall grass, and the cherry on top--two massive draft horses pulling a wagon full of straw at the Danada Equestrian Center. Limerick had never seen a draft horse nor a wagon, much less the two combined. But she just stood there and watched them, more curious than anything.

Wide-eyed and ears pricked (at one point, one of the women turned around on her horse, looked at Limerick, and laughed "Her eyes are huuuuge!"), Lim took in everything. But she wasn't tense or nervous at all, with one exception.

Near the end of the ride, she decided that a sapling anchored to the ground with some strips of white webbing was the scariest thing we had seen and was reluctant to go close to it. But she didn't spook.

I'm very proud of her!! Our second trail ride ever at the new barn and this one was the true test. The first trail ride was on a chilly day and no one else was on the trail....and Limerick's boyfriend, Nick, was with us so I'm sure that helped keep her calm.

I wanted to write more but it's getting late and I'm tired. I was kind of depressed earlier today about the difficulty I'm having finding a job. I haven't heard back from the woman I requested an appointment with at the Center of Independent Living, either. I usually keep my chin up but it's hard to do that 24/7. I'm also beginning to wonder if the references I had (all professional) suck. I know one would give glowing reviews of me for sure, but she hasn't been with my former employer for long. As for the other two--I just don't know about them anymore.

Anyway, Limerick has another photo shoot tomorrow. My brother, Rob, and his girlfriend are driving up from Bloomington-Normal (where they attend Illinois State U) to take Limerick's portrait. I'm going to have Rob print out some nice, large photographs so I can frame them. Nick's owner is stopping by too so Rob can get some shots of Nick and Lim together. It should be fun.

Limerick--The Beginning

I feel like it's about time I told you how Limerick came into my life. She is my co-star here, after all!

In fall of 1995, I had finished up a year-long lease of a red roan Appaloosa mare named Frost. Frost was absolutely bombproof; nothing fazed her. Her only quirk was getting excited and shooting forward when you asked her to canter at the start of a jumping session. I had taught her how to get her flying lead changes. I showed her in all the schooling shows. I jumped course after course of 2'9" fences. Since Frost was still a school horse, she couldn't jump any higher than that. For equine safety reasons, it was the barn rule for the school horses.

After Frost, I rode a floppy-eared bright chestnut sabino gelding named Timmi. Also a school horse and limited to 2'9" fences. Then a couple lessons on a 16-hand Thoroughbred gelding named Moo. Moo was gorgeous, a flashy bay with a large blaze and tall socks on all four legs.

And then came Mandy.

It was March of 1996 and I was fifteen years old. An awkward teenager, I wore glasses and kept my long blonde hair in a ponytail. I didn't know where I stood in life. Horses had consumed my entire life, but as a freshman in high school, I was realizing that they weren't "cool".

"You still like horses?" my school friends would ask me, eyebrows raised. "Forget that!"

Their disapproval never quelled my desire to be around horses, but I began to wonder if I was doomed to be cast even further into the "uncool" category. Not being able to hear normally had already made me and my deaf friends automatic outcasts, and now I was being frowned upon by them because of my obsession with horses. At that age, your friends are a powerful influence.

On a cold March afternoon, my mom asked me to go check out a horse with her. We walked down the long concrete barn aisle and stopped at one of the stalls near the end. My mom peered in and I followed suit.

A small bay horse with a punky mane and huge blaze stood in the stall, eating hay. A too-small green stable blanket hid her body. I smacked my lips at her and she looked up at us, bored, still chewing her hay. She put her head back down again.

"Connie says you can ride her for your next lesson," my mom said.

"What's her name? What kind of horse is she?" I asked.

"Her name is Mandy, and she's a Thoroughbred."

"Wow, she's small for a Thoroughbred!" I said.

Little did I know I was saying something that would be repeated to me many times over the next dozen years of my life.

I don't remember much of that first lesson on the little bay Thoroughbred mare, other than she was unlike any other horse I had ever sat on. She wasn't the first Thoroughbred I had ridden, but she was remarkably different from the ones I been on. Those Thoroughbreds were school horses; they had power but it was a controlled, gentle power.

Mandy had gear after gear after gear. I would gently squeeze her sides and she would explode forward. Another tiny squeeze and she would jump up three more gears. She was exciting, scary, and the most fun I had ever had on the back of a horse. We jumped crossrails and small verticals and she sailed over each fence in a natural bascule with plenty of room to spare.

I asked my mom how old Mandy was.

"She's four years old, she's just a baby," my mom said. I was amazed. After a lifetime of riding teenaged horses, four seemed so....advanced.

On my second ride, I got a better idea of just how much power Mandy stored in those mighty hindquarters of hers. We had just completed a line of verticals. I asked her to slow into a trot around the curve of the arena and she obliged. Suddenly it felt like she lifted herself into the air and shot forward at light speed. The motion was so quick, so mind-blowing that I didn't realize what was happening until I crashed into the dirt on the other end of the arena.

It wasn't the first time a horse had taken off on me, but previous bolting-and-falling incidents were nothing compared to this. As I sat there, dazed, all I could think was...

Holy shit!

But I still loved her. Within her was a power I had never tasted on any other horse before. It was thrilling and I loved it.

Connie held Mandy's reins as I brushed the dirt off my breeches. Mandy's nostrils blew, the whites of her eyes flashed, and her muscles rippled beneath her glossy bay coat. What a horse.

A couple days later, my mom asked me what a better name for Mandy would be. Mandy was short for her registered name, Amanda Bry, but it didn't fit her.

"I don't know, good question," I said as I lounged on our couch, paging through a book.

"How about Limerick?" my mom asked.

I thought about it.

"Sure, it's cute," I finally said. I didn't think much of the question.

A week later, on March 26th, my I was hanging out in the lounge area of the barn while my mom chatted with Connie in the office. My mom beckoned me over. Connie gave me a stall sign, the type with the horse's name, amount of grain and hay to feed, and the vet's info.

"We changed Mandy's feed, can you please put this on her stall?" Connie asked.

As I walked away, I looked at the sign.

NAME: Limerick

and

OWNER: Heidi

jumped out at me.

What the hey? I thought. I promptly turned on my boot heel and walked right back into the office. My mom and Connie beamed. I am sure my mouth was closing and opening like a fish's.

My mom told me later that after I fell, she had her doubts about getting Limerick. I just laughed and told her the truth--it didn't faze me, it just made me admire her.

The day she was mine.

Over the next few years, what I learned on past horses didn't hold a candle to what Limerick taught me. How to have soft hands and legs. How to ask, not demand. How to be confident, both on the flat and going over fences. How to have a seat like velcro. How to stop a young Thoroughbred in full, fearful flight. How to deal with a hot-blooded mare. How to handle a dancing, prancing, head-shaking racehorse in the paddock...or at least, a horse acting like one.

Limerick at five, me at (almost) sixteen. She was watching kids
jumping on a trampoline a half-mile away. She still has
eyes like a hawk.

There were many times when Limerick frustrated me. On some days, she was so hot that I could barely contain her when standing, much less reasonably ride her on the flat or over jumps. On other days, my confidence would falter and she would refuse fence after fence after fence.

She was an amazing jumper, the best I had ever ridden. She would round her body and tuck her knees up high and neat over every single fence, including crossrails. She always cleared them with plenty of room to spare. And yes, we progressed past the 2'9" mark; working our way up to 3'6" and even 3'9" on some days.

But...

You had to hit your spots just right when jumping her. She would get excited and speed up towards fences, and you had to hold your shoulders back and contain her enough to maintain a steady rhythm to the fence. A steady rhythm allowed you to see your spots well (and for the non-horsey folks, by spots I mean the area in front of the jump where one lets the horse take off. A long spot is far from the jump, a close or short spot is very close to the jump. Long and short spots disturb a horse's rhythm and can cause problems if other fences are coming up soon after the first. It takes time and good hand-eye coordination to learn to hit spots perfectly).

It took confidence and strong arms to keep Limerick's rhythm going perfectly. And then you had to find the perfect spot. If you didn't, she would most likely refuse, and if she didn't, she would refuse the next fence.

If you were perfect, then she was.

One of three schooling shows we entered--don't let the picture
decieve you; she was a handful!

A jumping lesson.

In the meantime, my confidence about my love for horses grew stronger. I no longer cared what my friends thought. I had this rocking little Thoroughbred mare and I invited them all to meet her. A couple did and they actually thought she was cute. From then on, I was proud to say that I rode horses, that I loved horses.

The confidence I had to have with Limerick spread to other parts of my life. I was still an outcast in high school because of my hearing loss but I didn't really care anymore. On the days that it did bother me, I had Limerick to look forward to. She never judged me. I could talk to her without worrying she was laughing at me inside, as I knew many of the kids at my school did. Whether I was grooming her, bathing her, or on her back, I was always in the moment. And best of all, she was mine.

I loved the school horses but in the end, they weren't mine.

When I went to college, my mom debated selling Limerick. I knew that it was ultimately her decision since Limerick was a financial responsbility for my mom. Yet the very idea tore my heart in half. Limerick was my rock, the one steady thing in life that I could count on. After several long discussions, my mom decided to shareboard Limerick. When Limerick foundered and had to be retired, we decided to move her from the training barn to a casual boarding stable five moments from my parent's house.

I feel truly blessed and fortunate that my mom saw how important Limerick was to me and held on to her while I attended college. I took the train home from Chicago every weekend to visit Limerick. As soon as I got a job after college, I pitched in with the finances for Limerick as much as I could, adding to the amount each year as I got raises. I had dreams of taking over Limerick's care completely.

Those dreams came true when my parents retired last summer and moved to a new home two hours away. I kept Limerick at the old barn while I searched for a new one closer to where I worked. Twice a week after work, I would take the hour-and-a-half drive to the barn, then drive another hour back to Chicago, where I still lived. Every Saturday and Sunday, I would make the drive up to the barn and back home. Finally, last December I found the perfect barn. In April of this year, I moved from Chicago to a new home approximately one mile from Limerick. I see her daily now and I am in heaven.

I have been with Limerick through twelve years, six years of regular lessons, and four barns. Since taking over her care, I have been with her through one emergency veterinarian call, four regular ones, and a trip to an equine hospital. I found a new, wonderful farrier. I researched the nutritional needs of laminitic horses for hours and decided on a new feed for her. I researched arthritis, laminitis, insulin-resistance, Cushing's, equine anatomy, and hoof-balancing with newfound purpose. I compared and decided on supplements. I decided to try riding Limerick on the trails, and I decided to take a dressage lesson after a six-year hiatus.

I may be "handicapped" but when it comes to my horse, I am fully independent and I absolutely love it.

Dressage lesson

Yesterday I had my first riding lesson in almost six years. I had so much fun and realize that I really miss taking lessons regularly.

I used to take them weekly, sometimes twice weekly. One dressage lesson, one jumping lesson. When Limerick unexpectedly had to retire from jumping, she was moved to a casual boarding barn that did not offer lessons.

When I realized my current barn, which I moved to in December of 2007, offered dressage lessons, that set the gears churning in my head. Unfortunately though, Limerick was not sound enough for lessons.

In March, the dressage trainer bought her own horse and re-directed her energy towards training that horse. She moved to another barn. I thought, "Oh well, so much for that." Fortunately, another dressage trainer took her place.

I wish I could afford a training package but I'll have to take the lessons when I can afford them.

We warmed up and waited while the trainer finished up with another horse and rider. Finally, she was done and beckoned me over. Limerick put her nose out and sniffed the trainer. She laughed.

She told me to walk, trot and canter each way so she could watch how we moved. When we were done, I walked Limerick back to the trainer.

"First of all, Limerick is very cute; she has a fantastic walk," she said. I recalled how, four months prior, Limerick was so stiff and sore that she walked slowly and delibrately, like a horse many years her senior. I smiled inside when the trainer praised Lim's walk.

She told me that while I had a great seat, I had to work on keeping my upper body from tilting forward. My right hand is supple but my left tends to let the rein loop. I told my trainer how it feels like I'm flopping all over the place and she reassured me that I wasn't.

I showed the trainer the hand signs my old instructors had used. One for each of the following: walk, trot, canter, sitting trot, posting trot. For detailed instructions and feedback, she would beckon me over.

"It's hard to read lips from 20 meters away," I explained. She laughed.

And so for the next half-hour, I danced with Limerick all around the arena. We were alone and we consumed the entire arena. Figure-eights, loops, small circles, large circles, diagnonal lines. I kept my seat deep and focused on my upper body and left hand. My eyes would flick towards the trainer now and then, looking for instructions. When we were perfect, I felt it. Limerick would suddenly be floating beneath me, her mouth soft, her forelegs lifting up high, her hind legs driving her body forward.

It's one of the best feelings in the world.

Another Tuesday

I woke up at 9am (dreams about grocery shopping fading), checked for hairballs as I walked to the kitchen, nuked a mug of cold coffee, fed and watered the cats, watched 10 minutes of Oprah (can't recall what was on Oprah--I was still waking up), looked for jobs online, posted on Illinois Horse, checked over my budget for the thousandth time, took a run to the barn, rode Limerick (worked on transitions; got her to canter from a halt for the first time in years), sponged her off, chatted to the owner of the Arabian mare in the stall across the aisle (I had to tell her I couldn't hear her after she looked away from me while talking and she said, Oh! Sorry!, turns out her mare has Cushing's and she is overwhelmed), told the owner of said Arabian mare I would pin a note with the link to the Equine Cushing's Yahoo Group to her mare's stall door, ran back home, did yoga and pilates, took a shower, took the dreaded trip to the grocery store (I loathe the grocery store. I wish my food would magically manifest as needed), came home and kissed my husband (who had just gotten home from work--it was 8pm), watched Hell's Kitchen, kissed hubby good night, checked my email and Illinois Horse, and here I am.

That, other than the grocery store, is a pretty typical day for me.

Advice of the Day: If you are wearing shorts and your cats are overdue for a trim, do not invite the one that loves to knead, knead, knead onto your lap.

I feel the need to talk about my hearing aid. It drives me INSANE. There, I said it.

In 2001, I got a newfangled digital hearing aid. It allowed me to hear things I have never heard before. A teakettle's piercing whistle. The tags and bells on cat collars jingling. The hum of the fridge. The shhhhh of a "shhhh". The beep of the I-Pass on my mom's Ford Explorer. Listening to the CDs in my car was difficult--I felt like I was hearing them all for the first time.

In 2006, I was at my audiologist's office when I mentioned that the health insurance with my employer allows one new hearing aid every three years, maximum $2,500. My audiologist's eyes lit up. "I have just the thing!"

A month later, "just the thing" was in my left ear. Noise was everywhere. Clothes rustled. Chairs creaked. The sound of traffic driving by was tremendous. I was able to distinguish the meows of my cats. I had to re-learn my CDs all over again.

Unfortunately, the hearing aid comes with a price--feedback. With past hearing aids, only people near me could hear the feedback. I never had a clue.

Now I can hear it as well as them. In fact, half the time, only I can hear it. It sounds somewhere between a mechanical baby crying and whistling or buzzing.

Apparently the hearing aid does not like moisture within a thousand yards of me, nor can it tolerate the ear mold shifting a micromillimeter.

Feedback occurs in the following situations: if my hair is wet, if I laugh or smile, if I eat, if I yawn, if I talk, if my hair is down, if my hair is up, if I'm wearing a hat or helmet, if I turn my head quickly, if I lay down, if I hear something unexpected (my left ear--the one I wear hearing aids in--has the strange ability to perk up like a dog's, which it does involuntarily).

When my old digital hearing aid's battery would die, it would gradually fade over the course of three to four days. One battery lasted three weeks.

With the current hearing aid, one battery lasts a week, and when it dies, the hearing aid stabs my ear drum with a shrill BEEP! The quicker the battery is dying, the quicker the beeps come. I usually have very little warning. Due to this, I need to try to remember to carry a battery around with me wherever I go. I don't always remember.

To top it off, somehow, water is constantly getting into the ear mold tube. When this happens, the tube is plugged and I can't hear squat. I need to remove my hearing aid, pop the tube off the hearing aid, and blow into it to dislodge the water. I absolutely refuse to do this in public (I'll excuse myself to the bathroom), and I will do it in my car but I am 100% positive it looks like I am taking a hit off a miniature crack pipe when I do so.

So...big headaches for the price of hearing "well".

This digital hearing aid is a fantastic, albeit sensitive, piece of technology, though. It sorts through the traffic of sound entering its tiny microphone, selects what is important, and manifests and sharpens these selections. It reads the disadvantages of my biological hearing system and empathizes sounds or tones that I have the most difficulty hearing. Isn't that remarkable?

That said, I'm dying for a trip to the audiologist. I need a new ear mold tube or my hearing aid tuned up, or both. Unfortunately, since my insurance expired almost a month ago, I'm afraid it would cost me an arm and a leg.

One last note--my hearing aid did not squawk feedback into my ear once during the writing of this blog, despite three yawns and my hair being down. If it wasn't for the sound of Windy the Rat running on her wheel four feet to my left, I would have thought something was wrong.

Pictures of Limerick

You can't see her dapples so well here but that's ok--it was a fun session!

Drying her after a bath so she won't be tempted to roll.

"Are we finished now?"

Happy Derby Day!

It is chilly and rainy here in northeastern Illinois but from the Kentucky Derby Special on ESPN, I see it is sunny and comfortable in Louisville. Lucky them!

Reason number 7,598 to move to Kentucky--the weather isn't so unpredictable down there.

I was just at the barn. Limerick was a sweetheart the entire time. I had a hard time getting the halter over her head for a couple seconds there because her ears were pricked forward so hard. It was a sweet change. For the past few months, I have been having a problem with her giving me attitude while haltering or bridling.

Due to becoming laminitic on pasture grass, she had to start wearing a grazing muzzle last June. She absolutely hated the thing (not that I blamed her--it looked awkard and I was almost embarrassed for her when she had it on) and before long, would start pinning her ears when it was placed over her head. She stopped wearing the muzzle in November. Apparently, the barn guys that turned her out every morning decided she didn't need to wear it anymore.

We'll interrupt for a short biology lesson here. When grass is stressed, it preserves fragile cells by overproducing sugar. Growth (particularly early to late spring, or after heavy rain following droughts), summer droughts, and the onset of colder temperatures in the fall are all periods of high stress for grass.

So when Limerick was turned out on pasture without her grazing muzzle last November, she was consuming large amounts of sugary, stressed grass. Two days later she had laminitis, and after two weeks of stall rest, we were at a new barn that turns the horses out on a dry (grass-free) pasture so the muzzle was not needed.

But the bad attitude continued. It went from pinned ears and nasty faces to gnashing teeth to turning to me, teeth bared, hell in her eyes. I had let it go on for months. Long story short, Lim has been overcoming some lameness issues for the past several months but is slowly but surely improving. She is almost back to her old self now. Due to the health issues, I was hestitant to lash out at her for being wicked.

Finally, I decided it was time to consider this a behavioral issue and consulted with Illinois Horse, an equine message board I'm a member of.

They told me to raise hell on Limerick whenever she even started to let an evil thought run through her little horse brain. No hitting, just lots of goofy arm motions and noises, kind of like a silverback gorilla going off on a subordinate member of the gorilla tribe. I tried it for the first time on Thursday.

It worked like a charm. I prayed no one would walk by as I was waving the lead line around in the air like a maniac, half-hissing, half-growling like a rabid raccoon. No one did, and instead there was just Lim, backed into a corner of her stall, eyes wide. Poor little Limerick, she had no idea what had just happened there, all she knew was that I had come out on top. She was more or less well-behaved the rest of the day.

I saw Limerick yesterday but just stopped in to say hello to her and make sure she wasn't three-legged lame or off her feed. So today was another potential opportunity to make a fool out of myself in her stall.

Much to my surprise, it was completely unnecessary.

Anyway, maybe due to the miserable weather, I've been dragging myself around all day like a slug on acepromazine. The barn's siren song still called to my heart but I felt my arms didn't have the strength to lift my dressage saddle onto Lim's back. Instead, I groomed her then turned her loose in the indoor arena.

She has nicely developed her spring dapples and looks gorgeous. She walked over to the open door at the back of the arena and sniffed the cold spring rain, her bay coat gleaming with dapples and Omega Horseshine.

As always, I carefully watched her legs as she moved, looking for signs of the arthritis I (and my wallet) have fought so hard to overcome. Her legs moved fluidly, her hind feet overstepping her forefeet. Her hips and shoulders opened wide with each stride. Her butt looks nice and round now. For a few months, the muscles back there had been wasted away, giving her butt a strained, tight look. Her back looks nice and flat, with a deep slope leading from the top of her croup to the base of her huge withers.

She's still a bit ribby but with all the muscles filling in nicely on her body, and her coat gleaming with health, I'll take it. I hope she gains just enough weight to cover those ribs completely soon though, I'm getting tired of worrying about what my fellow boarders think of the ribs.

Hubby and I are going to turn Limerick out in the outdoor arena tomorrow and get some good pictures of her while she still has her dapples. I'll try to post some of those pics.

And yes, in case you're wondering, I will get to my beginnings with Limerick soon! If there is anything you would like to know about, then feel free to comment. I've changed the comment options so anyone can post.