Horses in winter

This weather is a real downer, isn't it? I'm in Maryland, and we've had tons of rain, which then turned into snow over the weekend.

I was supposed to go to a tack sale as a vendor on Sunday, and had cleared out an embarrassing number of bridle parts, stirrup irons, spare reins, interesting bits, and two saddles I never use. I was cleaning the lot as I watched the snow flakes come down, gently at first, then more violently until the 'there won't be any accumulation' forecast turned out to be a bald-faced lie!

My first concern as always, was the horses. Would they mind the snow? Luckily we'd been warned it might come, so I'd brought them in that afternoon out of the rain to dry off under light stable blankets while munching hay.

I then winterized the barn: filling up and plugging in each electric water bucket and performing ditto on the outside water trough. I put blankets on the now dry horses and opened up the stalls so they could go outside if they so chose.

They responded by galloping to the far side of their huge field and not bothering to come in until the next morning when they saw me poke my head out of the house to admire the winter wonderland. So much for being concerned about the weather!

It never ceases to amaze me how hardy horses are, and how little bothered by adverse weather as long as they have access to shelter. My guys now have full winter coats, too, so when it's dry I take the blankets off. They stay out all night regardless of how cold it is: the hay I carefully place in their stalls, in case they want to come in, is untouched.

I need reminding every year that horses do not want to be as snug and warm as we think they do!

Rubesca's Anniversary of Death: Laying a Wreath and Remembering

Yesterday was tough. Three years ago, on 22nd November 2006, my equine soulmate colicked at 5:30 p.m.

She was 26 years old, had won a trophy that summer for the highest dressage scores over three shows in Virginia, where I was living, and I thought we had many years ahead of us yet.

We were in the middle of a move. She and my three other horses were staying at a boarding barn while we sorted out the new house and built new stables. She hated it. I shan't go into the callous attitude of the people who ran the barn, but suffice it to say, I couldn't wait to get my guys out.

It was the night before Thanksgiving, quite literally a dark and stormy one. I hadn't seen my horses since Monday, because of waiting for deliveries at the house. All day Wednesday it had been raining and blowing a gale and all day something told me Rubesca was unhappy. Either she would be outside in the weather with a blanket on - she hated blankets - or she would be indoors and miserable. After waiting forever for a morning delivery, it came late afternoon. As soon as I could, I bolted out of the door and roared round to the barn. I had to check on all my guys, but especially Rubesca. That nagging voice....

The horses were indoors, with little hay and even less water. Everyone had gone home. The horses were glad to see me: more hay and more water were distributed. Rubesca nickered to me. I rubbed her face, relieved she was O.K.

Ten minutes later she lay down and groaned. I was perplexed. She lay quietly, and I began to brush her face, waiting for her to tell me what was going on. This behavior was new. Soon she got up and began to look at her flanks, wanting to lie down again - this time to roll. I grabbed a halter and lead rope and walked her around outside in the roaring wind and rain. She kept trying to go down.

There followed three long hours of rousing people to help, getting the vet out and having to make the agonizing decision to euthanize. Her gums were going black - her circulation was shutting down.

We were in the indoor arena now and after she fell, I asked everyone to leave. Lying over her head, stroking that beautiful face and sobbing, I chanted over and over and over: "What am I going to do without you?" I really didn't know how I was going to cope.

Cruz Bay's Mum: Kelly aka Rubesca (for shows)

Rubesca was my success story, the crazy 18 year old Thoroughbred chestnut mare who was given to me free. Within six months we had bonded and she was winning showjumping, dressage and one day event shows with me. She'd had three event wins alone as a 25 year old the year before and together we were more than the sum of our parts. I was about to retire her from competing and watch her frolic with her son and the other two geldings in the fields.

Instead I have an "In Memoriam" plaque on the door of the stall at our new barn which should have been hers. She lies in a grave, situated within the paddock closest to the house and enclosed with white fencing. I have planted a garden over it. Last October she was joined by our 22 year old cat, Mitsu, who lies facing her. I can see them from the house.

At 5:30 p.m. yesterday I began crying as I remembered the last time I brushed her face and lay a wreath on her grave. At 8:30 p.m., the time she died, I added a solar lamp from our yard. It was burning brightly, and by its light I could see the plaque: 'If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, I'd climb right up to Heaven and bring you home again.'

But at least she gave me the gift of being able to say 'goodbye.'