Getting It Wrong, Making It Right

Winter arrived at 7:00pm last Thursday.  Our months of extended autumn were abruptly blown away by a cold front that exploded on us.  I had finished my chores around 6:00pm and did a final check on my horses.  They were standing quietly in the middle of the field, blanketed against the light drizzle.  All was calm, all was wet.

I seriously misread the conditions.  After a week of steady precipitation, the ground was soft and saturated.  Horses add to the misery by churning the mud like a plow.  Mud is both annoying and inevitable, just one more thing to manage, but I missed the management opportunity on Thursday night.  I should have known that the cold front would flash-freeze those muddy clumps of dirt.  I should have protected my horses from the hard, lumpy footing by putting them in the barn.

By the time I realized my mistake, the wind was literally howling and spitting angry snow.  The lane to the barn had a layer of ice over the gravel.  It was too dangerous to move horses in those conditions, so I had to support them as best I could.  This meant checking on them through the night every four hours:  taking fresh hay to the field, offering a bucket of water, breaking the ice off the tank, checking that blankets were still properly affixed.

They handled the cold well, despite the fact that they chose to stand not in their covered shelter but instead outside, in a low part of the field, where the wind was noticeably calmer.  By morning there was a layer of snow on the field and both horses were on their feet, but I noticed that Hero was lame on his right front.  Momento, who is shod on the front, was fine, but I think Hero must have stepped on a frozen clod of dirt and bruised his tender sole.

I went out to Hero with a hoof pick and a hoof sock (a soft but tough nylon "boot" that provides temporary protection to an injured hoof).  I violated every rule of safety and horsemanship by not putting a halter and lead rope on him.  He obediently lifted the right hoof, I gently cleaned it and saw no major injury, and I slipped the padded hoof sock over the hoof and secured it.  I helped Hero gently set his hoof back down.  He bore weight on it immediately, much to my relief.  I stepped back from his right shoulder and scratched him behind the ear, praising him for being such a good boy.

What happened next I will never forget.  Hero gracefully arched his neck and placed his beautiful head against my chest.  He let me wrap an arm under his throat and another alongside his head so that I gently cradled his head while I literally showered him with praise and kissed him all over his face.  There was no doubt in my mind that he was telling me that he appreciated the attention.

I don't think Hero was capable of understanding my culpability in his lameness, but I never will take advantage of his good nature in any way.  If a horse (or any other animal) is in any discomfort I believe we have a moral obligation to offer aid and comfort.

So often I look up at the learning curve of horsemanship and see it arching into infinity.  Often this view is obscured by tears of frustration.  But then there are those moments, those tiny moments of understanding between me and my horses that keep me rooted and anchored and committed and forever hooked on their presence in my life.

Hero turned out with a hoof sock on the right front.

I moved Hero to his warm, dry, and deeply bedded stall on Friday.  He wore his hoof sock on the trip down the lane to the barn and he walked very comfortably.  After 24 hours of stall rest I was relieved that he was much improved, that his lameness was minor.