A horsey riddle

Here is a little mystery for you all to try to solve.

Frostie lives in a pipe stall on the edge of the arena. She has been out here for months, although until recently, she was in a much larger stall. It turns out the panels were owned by a client and they wanted them back. This is the place.

One Monday evening, she was fine. The next morning, she was not fine. As a matter of fact, she looked like she'd been hit by a truck. NOTE: The pictures below were all taken two weeks after the incident.

Both front legs were scraped on the front AND back.

Her elbow looked as though it had received a friction burn.

So had her withers (on the same side as her elbow).

Her withers are still swollen and we're hoping she didn't break them.

Tina guessed that she had gotten cast in her stall at some point, and injured herself trying to get free. It's fairly common with horses, that they lay down too close to a wall or other boundary, then can't get any leverage to get back up again and thrash about in the process.

Here's what I don't understand: How the hell did she get her withers involved?

One view of ties and pipes.

As you can see, Tina put railroad ties around the stalls to keep the bedding from leaking out. I wondered why none of them was damaged or moved in her struggle, but Tina said she puts spikes down to keep them from moving (she has since removed the spikes so they can be pushed out of the way if a horse gets stuck).

But still... her withers?

Another view of ties and pipes

It doesn't make sense to me. Can anyone out there provide a scenario? I'm stumped.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

That's right. It's time to take the Annual Family Christmas Photo!

Last year, I posted a few of the outtakes. This year, I thought I'd show you all of them. This is what we go through - for your entertainment.

We start with the easy task: arranging one boy, one dog, one cat.

When everyone's settled, I can walk away.

So far, so good. Well, good-ISH. Doesn't Katy the kitty look thrilled?

And then Dale takes his place... as instigator.

Once we add the horses, it's madness.

I'm left now with two options for our Christmas card: Should I be nice?

Or naughty?

Comments are always appreciated.

Do you believe in magic?

Even though this is Snoopy's blog, today's story is about his mom, Frostie. Frostie is the first horse I ever owned. I bought her when she was three, ten years ago. This is her:

Her AQHA registered name is One Zip in Time, so named because her grandfather's name is Zippo Pine Bar, a rather famous guy in the Quarter horse world. She is registered as a chestnut, although most people would describe her as a roan. Actually, I recently learned she is rabicano.

Frostie is very friendly and sweet-natured. Her manners are impeccable; she leads quietly, doesn't crowd, lifts her feet for cleaning with ease, stands still for grooming, clipping, saddling. But don't be fooled. There's a reason I call her the WRM (Wild Red Mare).

She's spooky. If a trash can has been moved, she snorts at it. If one of the guys is on a ladder, she won't walk by him. And if it's a windy day (which is often in southern California), forget it. Every tree that moves, every flower that waves, is going to jump out and eat her. We often tease that she sees dead people because there's nothing for her to spook at and yet, off she goes.

In the old days, she'd run across the arena with me before I managed to stop her. Now I've learned to check her with the reins and push her forward with my legs and she puts her head down and obeys me. But I still hate that feeling of her body tensing, the way her ears cock forward and her head snakes sideways, just before she tries to plant, wheel, and scamper.

Last year, one of the trainers, Barbara Pinella, at the ranch invited an animal communicator to come and talk to some of her clients' horses. She opened the offer to the rest of us once her clients were finished, so I thought, what the heck.

I listened to her discussions with the Thoroughbreds and Warmbloods in Barbara's barn. They liked jumping, some wondered why they weren't getting Christmas stockings anymore, others wondered where their stable mate went, etc. In other words, it was all about their life in the here and now.

Then it was Frostie's turn. I was feeding her some watermelon while the communicator walked into the stall and she told me Frostie liked it (well, duh, she was gobbling it up), and that she really liked the fruit salad I fed her once. That piqued my interest, since I remembered feeding her fruit salad exactly one time, at a horse show.

Once she started talking to her in earnest, things changed.

"She wants you to know she had a very bad mother and her early life was horrible."

Great. Everyone else got "I like carrots" and I get Charles Dickens.

She went on: "Her mother hated humans and told her they would be mean to her. So when they came to wean her or train her, she resisted and they were mean, thus fulfilling her mother's prophecy. She says she chose you because she knew you in a previous life. You sold bread from a cart in Europe, and she pulled the cart. Pulling a cart was very hard on her feet, and now she's always worried about and sensitive to any foot pain."

This part was interesting because we tease about her shoeing experience, that she's such a girly girl, her shoes never fit as well as they did in the store. Monte (our farrier) will shoe her, she'll walk away fine, then two hours later she'll be three-legged lame because a nail is too tight.

Then the communicator surprised me: "She says she'll give you a baby if you want one."

"She already gave me one," I told her. "Snoopy."

The communicator looked confused. "Let me ask her."

After a moment, she got a funny look on her face and said, "Oh." Turning to me, she explained. "Frostie's glad you like that horse, but it's not the baby she meant to give you. He's not an old soul, he's kind of a simpleton, and she wanted you to have a baby that was more like her, only better."

I said, "She was a very good mother."

"Yes, she said she tried to be a good mother, because her mother was so awful. But he's a little disappointing to her."

"Well, tell her we love him. He's a great show horse." I didn't tell the communicator, but Frostie's assessment is correct. Snoopy is a mouthy, smothering guy on the ground, and a dream to ride, but he's no equine Einstein. I'd equate him to the stereotypical high school jock - excellent in his sport, but don't ask him to do higher math.

She talked about some other things, and Frostie promised to try to trust me more, even when things scared her. I'd say she's gotten better at trying, although she still lets her nerves get the best of her.

For those of you who read this and think, pfft, animal communicators, let's just say I'm pretty open to the possibilities of life. First, I don't possess the hubris that says the only reality is the one humans can experience through their senses, that there are no colors we can't see, sounds we can't hear, etc. Second, I'm the kind of gal who wants to believe in magic. I think you either are or you aren't, and there's no penalty in being one or the other.

Besides, if I didn't believe in magic, I wouldn't have had the faith that Snoopy would recover from his injury, and I wouldn't be able to tell you that after almost two years, I will start training on him again, probably this week, and may even send him to a show at the end of the month.

Is there anything you've needed magic/faith/something extra for, to get you through life?