One Thing Leads to Another: Pt. 2 - Trouble in Paradise

1.

Khemo had not been with me very long -- perhaps two weeks or so -- when we had our first “crisis.”

I came to the barn one Saturday intending to go for a ride. Khemo came with me willingly from the paddock, seemed content and happy being groomed and saddled, but, when I tried to put his bridle on, the proceedings ground to a dead halt. Khe would NOT take the bit. I tried every trick I knew, my two fellow boarders -- both experienced horsewomen -- also gave it a try. Nothing doing. We tried putting molasses on the bit. Still nothing doing.

One of my fellow boarders thought the barn manager would be able to muscle Khemo’s mouth open so that we could get the bit in.

I looked at Khemo. I recalled how easy it had been to bridle him for our few previous rides, how he actually reached down to take the bit and let me put the bridle over his ears. I saw how tense he was, how anxious and fearful. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew something was bothering him. I decided to call the vet instead of the barn manager.

My fellow boarders looked at me like I was crazy or stupid, or more likely both. But I remembered the old nursery rhyme: “Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me”. I figured pitying looks would hurt me even less than derogatory names. So, I called the vet.

The vet came out, examined Khemo’s mouth -- Khemo was totally cooperative about opening his mouth for the vet’s exam !-- and found that Khe’s tongue and the inside of his cheeks were inflamed and irritated, and there were some tiny scratches. He said it was an infection, or possibly an allergy of some sort, but didn’t think it was painful enough to cause a horse to refuse the bit. (Well, I thought, he was clearly wrong about that, because refusing the bit was exactly was this otherwise extremely cooperative horse had been doing.) He gave me some meds for Khemo and told me that if the inflammation and redness didn’t clear up in a few days, I should call him again. Unasked, the vet opined that I shouldn’t let “a little thing like this” stop me from riding my horse. I would spoil him if I let him “get away” with this kind of stuff. (This horse’s mouth is inflamed and infected enough for you to prescribe antibiotics, but I’m letting him get away with something by not forcing a metal bit into it?????)

Unlike the vet, I was still thinking about what could have caused the irritation/infection (and pain) in Khemo’s mouth. I remembered a short trail ride a couple of days before, when, walking along on a very loose rein, Khemo had browsed on vegetation at the edges of the trail. Foolishly, I mentioned this to the vet, and was met with yet another exasperated, pitying look. I could almost hear the thoughts running through his head. What’s wrong with this woman? Doesn’t even a child know not to let a pony graze while it’s being ridden? The pony could trip over the long reins, injuring both himself and his rider, or he could take advantage of the opportunity to get his head down and buck his rider off. All the vet actually said was, “You shouldn’t let him do that. It’s dangerous, and besides, you don’t want to spoil him.”

I remember saying, “No, I don’t want to ‘spoil‘ my horse, but I do want him to enjoy himself on our rides. It must be so hard for a horse to just walk by all these different plants without sampling them, like being taken to a giant buffet and told not to eat anything.” The vet gave me another pitying look and began gathering up his things prior to leaving. I thanked him for coming, prepared Khemo to go back outside for some more turnout time (instead of a ride), and thought to myself that I was going to have to find another vet.... one who actually liked horses.

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2.

Khemo settled quickly into the routine at Whipporwill Valley farm. He had lived there for a time some years before and seemed to have good memories of the place. The farm had about 35 acres of fields and paddocks (as well as wooded trails of its own, and direct access to miles of others) and three horse barns -- two small old ones that housed three horses each, and one large new steel building that housed 20 horses and contained the indoor arena, the office, a wash stall, etc.

The board in the two smaller barns was quite a bit lower than in the big barn, I suppose to make up for the inconvenience of a boarder having to walk 100 feet or so to get to the indoor and outdoor arenas. Even though my husband had bought Khemo for me, I was the one responsible for the ongoing expenses. Of course I opted for the cheaper barn. The stalls were as large as in the big metal barn, the service (full board) was the same, and the two other boarders were friendly, congenial, helpful women. The old barn was small, but light and airy, and Khemo seemed happy there.

He had been in his new home for perhaps month when I got a call -- at my office in the afternoon of a busy work day -- from the farm manager. Khemo was making a huge fuss, throwing a hissy fit. He had refused to go back into his barn as the horses were being brought in from turnout, wanting to go to the main barn instead. And, when the barn staff finally got him into his own stall, he just would not settle down. He had been pacing and screaming without let-up for over an hour.

Why? What happened?

As it turned out, Khemo’s former owner, George, had decided to move his other horse to Whipporwill. That horse, Pililani, also happened to be Khemo’s mother. Although 7-year old Khemo had been weaned for many years, and had been separated from Pililani for years at a time while he was in training and on the show circuit, apparently he could not bear to be in one barn while Mom was in another one on the same farm.

I told the barn manager that I would be there as soon as I could. When I got to the barn about 2 hours later (I had to make the commute home) Khemo had stall-walked himself into a lather and was still screaming. Interestingly, Pililani was calm and contentedly eating hay over in the big barn. She did not even bother to respond to her frantic first-born with an answering nicker.

Moving Pililani to the smaller barn was not an option. All 3 stalls were taken and neither of the other boarders wanted to pay $100 more a month in board for a spot in the big barn. Neither did I. The other choice -- the course recommended to me by the barn manager and every fellow boarder who became aware of the problem -- was to let Khemo scream and pace until he exhausted himself... and hope that he didn’t make himself sick.

I looked at my dream-come-true, felt his anguish, felt the knot in the pit of my stomach as I contemplated the prospect of taking on an even bigger monthly expense.... took a deep breath and asked the barn manager whether there were any stalls available in the big barn. Frowning, she reminded me that those stalls were more expensive, told me that Khemo would get tired of his “tantrum” after a while, warned me that I had to be careful not to spoil him... and, eventually (finally) answered my question. Yes, there were a couple of stalls available. “Great,” I replied... “Can we move him right now?”

More frowning, some muttering (curses, I’m sure)... but Khemo was moved. Within a few minutes of entering his new stall in the big barn near Mom, he was quietly and contentedly eating hay.

Moral of this second part of my story: Never let other peoples opinions come between you and your horse. Never, never, NEVER be shy, embarrassed, ashamed or afraid to take your horse's side, to give him the benefit of the doubt -- even in the face of traditional wisdom and expert opinion. If you're not on his side, who will be? If you don't speak up for him, who will?