I've been thinking about these kids and their teachers, etc. in Newtown. I've also thought about the young man who was on the other end of those guns. There's heartbreak everywhere-and will be for some time. I simply cannot imagine the grief of the families who lost a child-I know how berserk I have had the loss of dogs, cats, and horses and the power of just that was overwhelming in and of itself. The loss of a child? I'd probably have to be sedated. Oh, I've lost family members before-but, you know, you expect to lose aunts, uncles, and even parents. Not that it is pleasant-it isn't, but you expect it. Children are 'supposed' to out-live you.
People everywhere are yammering on the 'loss of morals', 'protecting our children with carry permits', and 'getting these people off the streets'. I have news for these folks-they're barking with no teeth. There's nothing worse than a toothless Chihuahua yapping endlessly at nothing credible.
There was no 'loss of morals'. This young man was troubled-no morals involved. For whatever the reason, he did not get the mental health access he needed. That might have been counseling, medications, group therapy, or some combination of them- but if you either do not have healthcare insurance OR your insurance only pays for, oh, say, $1.000/year/family and only 50% per visit and your mom can barely pay the rent as it is, well, you don't go. Psych care is EXPENSIVE. If you've never priced it, you've missed something. (A group session will be $250/session-insurance would pay $125 leaving you to pay the other $125. If you have 8 sessions, you've exhausted your insurance benefits and it's all out of pocket.)
I'm NOT excusing or rationalizing his actions. Far from it. I'm saying that our healthcare system and view of society as it currently exists failed this young man AND failed the people at Sandy Hook Elementary. This entire thing could have been made less likely to happen. Japan and Sweden have made it very unlikely to happen with very strict gun control laws. They also have much, MUCH better access to mental health care for their citizens. The USA, as a whole, has its priorities all screwed up and the National Rifle Association has been leading the way.
This is NOT about the Second Amendment. This is about making certain that only people who ARE QUALIFIED to have weapons actually have them in their hands. Nothing more, nothing less. I have to take driving tests to prove that I can handle a car, motorcycle, or 18-wheeler. If I want to fly, I have to qualify on each aircraft at each level before the FAA will approve me to be in that left seat. What makes weapons any different? Vehicles of all kinds can and have been used as weapons both here and abroad. Registration and licensing only makes sense.
What also makes sense is making mental health care more accessible so that people can get it when and where they need it and more affordably. It won't mean much if people can't afford it. We need the trifecta-1. ease of access, 2. location of access, and 3, low cost.
Maybe-just maybe-then we can think about having children in safe schools. Until then, we'll teaching them "Shooter Drills"-and that's incredibly sad.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene.....
My tarpan/arabian cross stallion had a "crush" on the grade TWH mare from the day he hit the ground. Thing is-she had one for him, too. She's 4 years older.
So, when in 2010, the elderly (and I do mean elderly-Brassy was close to 34) indicated that she wasn't going to make it much longer, I had to do something about keeping Buddy happy. He just doesn't do the solitary thing at all. Brassy had been safe-she did cycle sometimes, was barren because of her being a "windsucker" and therefore chronically infected, and she was difficult to breed (well, more like hellish). She'd taught Buddy to bring the best wine, the roses, the diamonds, the Rolls limo, the furs, and even then, the old broad would just think about it. She did, however, keep his studly butt in line. On the occasions when the mares did get out and wander over to try to talk, Brassy would park his fanny out in the middle of the pasture and dare him not to stay there. She was a wonder.
All of which made the decision to put the old broad down very hard. But, leading up to that, Dolly (the TWH) had asked, very pointedly at that, if she could take over. I think the only one who wasn't happy about the choice was my husband-because Dolly is still young enough to be fertile.
She did settle that summer-and I could tell she was bothered by being pregnant for the first time. Dolly's own dam died when she was 3 months old, and I have no doubt that she remembers that. She worried the entire time. Then in June, I had to go out of town on business. I told my husband to watch her as I thought she was close to foaling. He stayed in the house because it was hot-she foaled out-and lost the baby. In addition, she tore pretty badly. I grabbed her and put her in the yard to heal-much to Buddy's consternation.
I put Brassy back out with him, assuming that he would be comfortable with that arrangement. I did not realize that Buddy and Dolly are the rare pair-they are BONDED. Any other combination is not only not going to work, there is danger in even attempting it. Long story short-Buddy raped Brassy. By that I mean, he went after her so hard and so brutally that he opened a hole BESIDE her vulva about 3 inches in diameter and about 6 inches deep. She was bleeding and in shock when I found her.
Brassy cannot go back out with him and Dolly shouldn't go back out with him (she still isn't quite healed). Buddy is getting madder and madder. I'm forced into putting Dolly back out with him. Peace is at least restored-and, thank God, she doesn't go into heat right away. Brassy, bless her heart, stays on the far side of the yard.
Then that next spring Brassy says that she's done, I get Nikolai back from my friend's farm, and Dolly foals out again-this time, a strapping big filly. Welcome, Jolene. Dolly won't let the foal sleep-every time the baby goes down, Dolly gets her right back up. I finally get out the essential oils and get Dolly to relax-she seems to be afraid that if the baby lies down, she'll die. Poor thing is so tired, she's staggering. After a good nap, both are back on track, and daddy Buddy is obviously proud.
Jolene has turned out to be a "daddy's girl"-she looks like him, acts like him, and would rather stay with him. He's proven to be a good herd sire, too. He's very good with her. But today was the next step for her-she was moved out of the parental pasture and introduced to the rest of the herd. Uncle Zhak is in charge now. She's not sure about this. Buddy, on the other hand, is sure-Zhak needs killing-or, at the very least, a severe beating.
Zhak is delighted. He loves babies of all species. He has already started her education-shooing her away from danger, herding her up, guiding her to the hay piles. Jolene obviously wants to know who died and left this guy in charge. The baby's growing up.....
So, when in 2010, the elderly (and I do mean elderly-Brassy was close to 34) indicated that she wasn't going to make it much longer, I had to do something about keeping Buddy happy. He just doesn't do the solitary thing at all. Brassy had been safe-she did cycle sometimes, was barren because of her being a "windsucker" and therefore chronically infected, and she was difficult to breed (well, more like hellish). She'd taught Buddy to bring the best wine, the roses, the diamonds, the Rolls limo, the furs, and even then, the old broad would just think about it. She did, however, keep his studly butt in line. On the occasions when the mares did get out and wander over to try to talk, Brassy would park his fanny out in the middle of the pasture and dare him not to stay there. She was a wonder.
All of which made the decision to put the old broad down very hard. But, leading up to that, Dolly (the TWH) had asked, very pointedly at that, if she could take over. I think the only one who wasn't happy about the choice was my husband-because Dolly is still young enough to be fertile.
She did settle that summer-and I could tell she was bothered by being pregnant for the first time. Dolly's own dam died when she was 3 months old, and I have no doubt that she remembers that. She worried the entire time. Then in June, I had to go out of town on business. I told my husband to watch her as I thought she was close to foaling. He stayed in the house because it was hot-she foaled out-and lost the baby. In addition, she tore pretty badly. I grabbed her and put her in the yard to heal-much to Buddy's consternation.
I put Brassy back out with him, assuming that he would be comfortable with that arrangement. I did not realize that Buddy and Dolly are the rare pair-they are BONDED. Any other combination is not only not going to work, there is danger in even attempting it. Long story short-Buddy raped Brassy. By that I mean, he went after her so hard and so brutally that he opened a hole BESIDE her vulva about 3 inches in diameter and about 6 inches deep. She was bleeding and in shock when I found her.
Brassy cannot go back out with him and Dolly shouldn't go back out with him (she still isn't quite healed). Buddy is getting madder and madder. I'm forced into putting Dolly back out with him. Peace is at least restored-and, thank God, she doesn't go into heat right away. Brassy, bless her heart, stays on the far side of the yard.
Then that next spring Brassy says that she's done, I get Nikolai back from my friend's farm, and Dolly foals out again-this time, a strapping big filly. Welcome, Jolene. Dolly won't let the foal sleep-every time the baby goes down, Dolly gets her right back up. I finally get out the essential oils and get Dolly to relax-she seems to be afraid that if the baby lies down, she'll die. Poor thing is so tired, she's staggering. After a good nap, both are back on track, and daddy Buddy is obviously proud.
Jolene has turned out to be a "daddy's girl"-she looks like him, acts like him, and would rather stay with him. He's proven to be a good herd sire, too. He's very good with her. But today was the next step for her-she was moved out of the parental pasture and introduced to the rest of the herd. Uncle Zhak is in charge now. She's not sure about this. Buddy, on the other hand, is sure-Zhak needs killing-or, at the very least, a severe beating.
Zhak is delighted. He loves babies of all species. He has already started her education-shooing her away from danger, herding her up, guiding her to the hay piles. Jolene obviously wants to know who died and left this guy in charge. The baby's growing up.....
Redford-the holy terror of the Girl Scout camp
One of my riding buddies called me early in the summer of 2011 to tell me of a young gelding that she had seen over at the Girl Scout camp nearby. According to her, he had potential, but wasn't being used over there and they needed to re-home him. I need another horse like I need two heads. But I said I'd try to call the riding director-which I did. No call backs so after awhile, I quit trying.
Then in January of this year, she calls me again. He's still over there-skinny now, and now they're scared of him. Camp Director has issued ultimatum-find somebody to fix up so he can be placed, put him up in the auctions (which will mean probable slaughter), or put him down. My friend (she's a real softie) is frantic-and she's begging. So I try calling again. This time the riding director calls back.
This youngster is a chestnut TB/Oldenburg warmblood-which explains the skinny-they usually have a hard time holding weight. The other horses in the barn look good. He moves well-quite well, in fact. Then I put a halter on him and try to bring him out of his solitary paddock and he turns into a raving demon. He's on his hind legs, he's trying to bite and striking, he crowds, he cowkicks and he just plain kicks. About the only thing he doesn't do is try to pull away. He's just bringing it. It's a pure dominance game with him. The riding director's eyes are bugging out of her head.
He's met his match-because I don't give in. I turn that bad boy around and back him down the length of the land (about 300 feet) and through the gate that he was telling me he didn't DO backwards. Then we backed another 100 feet through another gate. By this side, the wheels are starting to turn in this boy's head-he's pissed, but he's thinking. He partially walks, partially backs on down the last remaining distance to the ring-and I back him in there. I haven't used anything but a slack lead and a halter with him so far-he's a little pissed, a lot confused, but he's thinking. I turn him loose to shake the kinks out and to just see what his personality is like.
WOW-this guy can really put on a show! What's more-he's watching to see if I'm watching. He's a showman-very charismatic and flashy-and I am not fond of chesnuts and sorrels. This is the kind of horse you would want for jumping, hunting, eventing-although I'm not sure he'd do well with dressage unless you really worked at making it interesting for him. This guy wants variety and challenges.Don't bore him.
Now I start to work with him-and start finding his pressure points. Somebody-may they be hung by their cuticles to dry on a barn door-has demanded things of this guys until he got fed up and found out that he could rebel and get away with it. If I ask politely but firmly, he's compliant. But if he feels the least bit pressured, he blows up. I start finding his thresholds-where are they, what are they, and will he let me go there.
By the time two hours has gone by, the red demon is gone. He walks calmly and sweetly back on a slack line-a totally different horse. The riding director's jaw is on the ground. I find out later that she had tried using "natural" methods with him, but she didn't know how to read his attitude and reactions. If you can't read the horse's horsenality, all the methods in the world won't help you. You have to know when to do what, how much to apply for how long, and probably most importantly, when to quit. This guy didn't need a lot of pushing-he'd been pushed. He needed somebody to listen to HIM. That's all I really did-I let him talk to me.
Then in January of this year, she calls me again. He's still over there-skinny now, and now they're scared of him. Camp Director has issued ultimatum-find somebody to fix up so he can be placed, put him up in the auctions (which will mean probable slaughter), or put him down. My friend (she's a real softie) is frantic-and she's begging. So I try calling again. This time the riding director calls back.
This youngster is a chestnut TB/Oldenburg warmblood-which explains the skinny-they usually have a hard time holding weight. The other horses in the barn look good. He moves well-quite well, in fact. Then I put a halter on him and try to bring him out of his solitary paddock and he turns into a raving demon. He's on his hind legs, he's trying to bite and striking, he crowds, he cowkicks and he just plain kicks. About the only thing he doesn't do is try to pull away. He's just bringing it. It's a pure dominance game with him. The riding director's eyes are bugging out of her head.
He's met his match-because I don't give in. I turn that bad boy around and back him down the length of the land (about 300 feet) and through the gate that he was telling me he didn't DO backwards. Then we backed another 100 feet through another gate. By this side, the wheels are starting to turn in this boy's head-he's pissed, but he's thinking. He partially walks, partially backs on down the last remaining distance to the ring-and I back him in there. I haven't used anything but a slack lead and a halter with him so far-he's a little pissed, a lot confused, but he's thinking. I turn him loose to shake the kinks out and to just see what his personality is like.
WOW-this guy can really put on a show! What's more-he's watching to see if I'm watching. He's a showman-very charismatic and flashy-and I am not fond of chesnuts and sorrels. This is the kind of horse you would want for jumping, hunting, eventing-although I'm not sure he'd do well with dressage unless you really worked at making it interesting for him. This guy wants variety and challenges.Don't bore him.
Now I start to work with him-and start finding his pressure points. Somebody-may they be hung by their cuticles to dry on a barn door-has demanded things of this guys until he got fed up and found out that he could rebel and get away with it. If I ask politely but firmly, he's compliant. But if he feels the least bit pressured, he blows up. I start finding his thresholds-where are they, what are they, and will he let me go there.
By the time two hours has gone by, the red demon is gone. He walks calmly and sweetly back on a slack line-a totally different horse. The riding director's jaw is on the ground. I find out later that she had tried using "natural" methods with him, but she didn't know how to read his attitude and reactions. If you can't read the horse's horsenality, all the methods in the world won't help you. You have to know when to do what, how much to apply for how long, and probably most importantly, when to quit. This guy didn't need a lot of pushing-he'd been pushed. He needed somebody to listen to HIM. That's all I really did-I let him talk to me.
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