Click Cvak

  „You dingus…. Oh crap there’s blood… Oh shit the blood is spraying everywhere,“ I thought as my horse struggled to his feet.   Aston had tripped during training on the longe line, tangled his legs up into themselves, and somersaulted headfirst into the concrete foundation of the arena, kicking down a fence board as he went.   Adrenaline shot through me as I watched him struggle to stand, forcing my voice to a low “whoa, whoa, hush baby, whoa” as bloody clouds appeared in the sand next to his hoofprints with each step.   Tiger claw marks had opened on his lower leg and ankle, blood rushing down his tendons from some slashes and spraying towards me from others. A long scimitar had opened up between his eyes sweeping down his face where the nasal and cheek bones meet.   Somehow I called the vet as we gingerly walked out of the arena. I dropped the lead rope in front of the saddle room and crouched to grip Aston’s bleeding ankle with both my hands. He ...

 Six years, three stables. Sounds like the start of a bad porno. Or another chapter in my upcoming memoir, "This S*** is Too Stupid to Make Up." Alas, it is simply another way to describe my young horse's life.  The first two stable relationships we had ended in dysfunction and dramatic breakups. In hindsight though, I see a couple of common things that should have been warning signs a lot earlier: 1. You get an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach when you are going to the barn. This may or may not be connected to something specific, in other words, you may think "Oh man, I hope _______ isn't there," or you may simply think "I don't really want to go, and I don't know why." 2. The horses are either listless and depressed, or aggressive and misbehaving. 3. The facilities (fencing, barn, outbuildings, equipment) are in disrepair and no one bothers to fix them. 4. Repairs that are made are done in such a haphazard way as to be danger...