Adventures In Kentucky: Showmanship With Reaaaalllllly Expensive Horses

I'm not sure if you remember George Plimpton.  George was a gentleman who decided he would spend his life trying different things, and subsequently writing about his experiences.  He started with sports, and moved on to many other types of environments, including bit parts in movies.

My life, in a way, models George's.  I figure you only go around once and you should try a number of different things.  I often journal my experiences, so I can go back and remind myself of details or points I would never remember many years later.

There are a few things that I will never try.  Topping the list is skydiving, followed closely by holding a spider.  No amount of money (and I mean NO AMOUNT) would get me to do either.  I am afraid of heights, and even more afraid of spiders.  So you wouldn't, for instance, catch me signing up at Millie's Spider Menagerie to do some side work.  However, people have pointed out to me that both are alot safer than jumping horses over fences.  They could be right.  But that depends on the day and the horse.

As part of this foray into the unknown, I worked one September at the Keeneland Yearling Sale.  Keeneland, for those who may not be up on the horsey set, is defined by Wikipedia as follows:

"This sale, the world's largest sale of yearlings, has been conducted at various times in the fall since 1944, and was permanently moved to September in 1960. Keeneland accepts all horses nominated to sale, making it the largest market for Thoroughbred yearlings in the world.  In recent years, the September sale has produced a Kentucky Derby winner, an Epsom Derby winner, and an American Horse of the Year."

What follows in the next few days are my observations, opinions and experiences working for a large sales operation at Keeneland in the Fall of 2005.  I have taken out SOME names to protect the innocent...some of whom weren't...innocent, that is.

The photos you will see were taken with a Fuji box camera at the time, because I did not want to take my good camera, which could possibly be trashed at the sales barn facility (or stolen).  The quality isn't the best, but it will give you an idea of things.

So here is the first installment.

Please Come With Me To Kentucky

It all starts with a good friend who spent the first part of her young life working for top horse trainers in Kentucky.  For years she had been trying to get me to work the Keeneland sales with her.  Any sale, any time.  Finally, I agreed.  She made a phone call and what follows is my foray into the world of the rich and famous—horsewise.

In August of 2005 I received my confirmation letter from B Sales.  “Thank you for being a part of our team for the Keeneland September Sale.  We have some outstanding horses, so we are hoping for a busy, successful sale with your help.”

The letter confirmed the dates of the sale:  Monday, September 12^th – Thursday, September 15^th at Barn 38.  Then in small letters surrounded by asterisks:  “Please arrive by 5:00 a.m.”  FIVE A. M.!!!!!!  No one told me that I would have to arrive at 5:00 a.m.!!!!!!

The letter went on to give the following details:

Duties:  Groom/Showman

Uniform:  Brown shoes or boots ONLY.  Please make sure that your shoes or boots are in good condition.  We will provide shirts.  Khaki trousers ONLY (clean and pressed daily).  We do not allow brown or khaki jeans, corduroy pants or pants with leg pockets.  On ship in days, you may wear comfortable, but appropriate clothing (jeans are okay on these days).  Shirts will be issued each day in the morning and need to be returned at the end of each day.  Checks will not be released until all clothing is returned!  Checks will be issued Monday, September 26^th after 12 p.m. at Barn 14 and will not be available prior to that time.

Following are the notes I placed in my journal at the end of every day.  They have been transcribed EXACTLY how they were written to give you a better feel for the trip.  The first and second day were travel days.

September 9^th, 2005

Day 1 - Friday



Sue's Lovely Home



We left at 3:00 p.m. and drove 6 hours to Sue’s in McDonald, PA.  Sue owns a gardening business.  The house and grounds are beautiful.  Sue and her husband, Bob, also own 42 acres with 2 ponds, a pavilion, 13 greenhouses, a large barn and really nice, large pastures for their four horses.  They also have race horses, a dog named Heidi (German Shepherd) and a cat named Archie.  Sue is very nice and I had a comfortable bed to sleep on after her dinner of homemade ravioli.  Since it was dark when we arrived (around 9:30 p.m.) I didn’t see most of the grounds until the morning.  The house is a refurbished farmhouse with a great kitchen with fireplace, surrounded by windows and French doors.  The porch has a flooring of exposed aggregate and nice little nooks and crannies full of swings, country furniture and huge hanging flower baskets.  We will probably stop here on our way back as well, and if we do I’ll buy a plant or two (perennials) from Sue.

September 10^th, 2005

Day 2 - Saturday

We had breakfast at the Market Café this morning (I was up at 7:15 and had coffee out on the porch swing) where I had scrambled eggs over home fries and toast.  Judy and I headed out around Noon.  We arrived at Joanne’s (a close friend of Judy's) near 6:40 p.m., but we stopped twice (once at a rest stop where I then drove for a few hours to give Judy a break and a nap, and once at KFC in Kentucky for a quick dinner).

Joanne lives in a suburb of Lexington.  On the way in, Judy took the back roads and I got to see all of the big farms and places where she used to work when she lived in Kentucky.



My Room in Kentucky



Joanne is a lovely woman.  She has given me a very nice room with a television and she lives across the street from a large park that has a paved, winding path that goes for about a mile and a half, so I took a walk this evening.  Joanne has an apple tree in her yard and Judy picked apples today and made applesauce.  Joanne made white chicken chili for dinner and it was excellent.  She has a nice deck, but the mosquitos attacked, so tomorrow I’m buying bug spray.

Judy showed me how to use the Chifney bit and shank today at Sue’s.   It is the primary bit we will be using to show the fillies and colts.  Getting up at 3:45 a.m. to go to the barns each morning will be harder than putting that bit to use.  It’s almost 11:00 pm as I write this.  I’m going to read and go to sleep.  The movie Stand By Me is on television right now.  I haven’t seen this movie in a long time.

Joanne has two cats and two dogs—a Corgi named Kirby and a Scotty named Maggie.  Joanne’s 3 year old granddaughter is spending the night tonight (Maddy).

Judy taught me how to read the Select Sales Catalogue today.  Looks like we will have 22 yearlings to deal with.  All but two of them are colts.  We are in Barn 38.  This sounds like it is going to be very hard work.

September 11^th, 2005

Day 3 – Sunday

I slept until 7:50 this morning.  I woke to find Judy and Joanne on the deck.  I made some coffee and joined them.  We lounged around a little, showered, got dressed and planned on going to a little stone Presbyterian church out by all the horse farms.  We had stopped on the way in on Saturday to learn the service was at 11:00 a.m.  On our way out to the church, Judy went down a street she used to live on to show me exactly where she had lived.  It was there we spotted the Church of the Nazarene with a service at 10:45.  We decided to stop there instead.  This is, after all, an adventure.

We were greeted by LaVonne (I kid you not) and someone else and we signed the guest book.  I guess word spread fast that two women from Pennsylvania (they asked us at the door where we were from) were visiting, because before you could say AMEN, the pastor came down the aisle to greet us as we took our seats in our pew.

To say that the service was “uplifting” would be an understatement.  It’s safe to say it was like nothing I’d ever experienced.  More evangelical than conventional church-going (I am an Episcopalian....nuff said about conventionality), but certainly a church that has a lot to offer its constituents.  We were even welcomed as part of the service and in the end we joined in a group of people to come forward to pray.  There are tissue boxes everywhere in this church, and a lot of people seem to cry, so I guess that’s why they are there.  After the service we were approached by quite a few people to find out why we were in Kentucky.  We explained and then extricated ourselves from the inquiring minds to go explore more of Kentucky (for me it was an exploration, for Judy it was welcome home week).

After church we headed to the Kentucky Horse Park.  We ate lunch in the restaurant there and then noticed a dressage show being held on the grounds, so we went over to watch a bit.  We wandered around a bit more and went to the gift shop.  I bought a belt.  Then we left and headed out to Old Frankford Pike to see all the horse farms.  It’s unbelievable how many there are and how beautiful they are.  Judy had a lot of stories about them to tell, so the drive was like being on a tour with a very good, knowledgeable tour guide.

We then drove to B Farm, as Judy brought the owner, Fred, some Rolling Rock Beer.  He used to work for Rolling Rock, and it’s a running joke between he and Judy.  We pulled into the driveway of a lovely Kentucky farmhouse and found Fred’s wife, Peppe, at home.  She and Judy are great friends as Judy used to babysit all five of their kids when she lived in Kentucky and worked for Fred.  Fred and B Farm is the farm we will be working for at the Keeneland September Sale.

We sat on the porch a bit and had a “Ale-8-1” or “A Late One” (as pronounced in Kentuckian)!  It’s a fruity ginger ale drink popular in Kentucky.  Then Peppe showed us her garden and we all picked a tomato and sat outside under a big tree and ate it.  It’s the stuff you only read in books.

Fred and Peppe's House in Kentucky

The house, gardens and property would take too long to explain, but I took a photo of the house for my memory-boost.

From the farm we headed to the store to buy some things we need for tomorrow and for dinner for a few nights.  Then Judy drove me to Keeneland to show me where we would be working and to find our Barn #38.  On the way in (Keeneland is directly across from the airport) you could see the big United Arab Emerate planes which had landed and parked for the sale.  We are going to see some Arab buyers at the sale this week, and most likely some Shieks.

We drove into Keeneland, and after several tries, found our barn.  It is quite far from the sales ring, an important point to know for later in the week, when fillies and colts must be walked to the sales ring.  We also scouted out where we would change our clothes (from clean up crew wardrode to sales staff gear), where the bathrooms are and where we would park in the morning.  It is going to be very hot, according to the weather forecast, and it looks like we will be in the sun a lot.  I saw the B Sales shirts.  They are oxford blue button down with a short sleeve.  I am intimidated by the vastness of the barns and surroundings I've just seen.  My stomach starts to gurgle.  What really, have I gotten myself into?

We headed back to Joanne’s where we washed some clothes, ironed khakis, ate dinner and sat around a bit.  It’s not 10:00 p.m., but I’m going to read now to try and fall asleep.  I set my alarm for 3:50 a.m.  We timed the drive and it should take us 20 minutes to get from Joanne’s to Keeneland and our barn.  I’m going to bed hoping things go well tomorrow.

Next installment to come!

Aaarrrroooooo!

Recess

On Wednesday, April 27th, I took our dog Moe to a Pet Therapy Day at a local college.  The day is hosted in the Spring and the Fall for students who are away from home and miss their pets, as well as anyone who needs a bit of "doggy" therapy.  This was Moe's first time to attend.  In past Pet Therapy days, I've taken Piper, our border collie, and Winston, our English Setter.



Moe in full slump.

 Moe was a standout favorite.  He is a smaller field setter, possibly mixed with some hound, a tri-color, and has the best face ever.  Plus, he is VERRRY laid back and after about his first 40 minutes of receiving adoring pats and comments, he showed just how excited he was by doing the Moe slump to the ground.  The Moe slump is this slow-motion roll to the ground that Moe does when (1) he doesn't want to do what you are asking; (2) he is very tired; (3) he wants you to pet him and spend some time with him or (4) he wants you to feel sorry for him.  He uses it well and wisely.  I always know that the Moe slump is unfounded if I can say the word TREAT and up pops Moe into a sitting position.  That's the "out" I used at Pet Therapy Day.

After our hour at Pet Therapy Day, to reward Moe, I took him for a walk to the park.  I put him on the long line we have so he could be freer and enjoy himself.  The park is just behind an elementary school in our area.  It was about 1:30 when I found myself on the part of the trail that is directly across from the school.  Suddenly I hear a bell and two doors to the building opened.  There is a playground behind the school, and the school is surrounded by high chain link fence.  Within minutes, about 40 kids came POURING at full speed out of the double doors.  I stopped to watch them run in all directions....some to the playground equipment, some to the soccer goals, some to the basketball court.  It reminded me of the time I watched a bunch of ants that had been having a large annual ant conference, run en masse in all directions after a dive-bombing bird spotted their convention.  Moe was transfixed as well.

The kids quickly gravitated toward whatever they needed to expend all of the energy they had harbored during their last interval of class time.  Swings were pumping, slides were mobbed, basketballs were flying and some, who were not quick enough to grab anything, were simply running around in circles.

I continued my walk on the trail, then doubled back.  I was just in time to see the children now responding to whistles, lining up, and walking as quiet as little mice in our rock walls when our cat Harry is around.

All of this got me to thinking about our dogs and RECESS.  Dogs are very much creatures who need to expend energy.  When you let our dogs out to the yard, you'd better stay out of the way.  In fact, you are probably making a huge mistake even uttering the word O-U-T.  You can't even spell it in our house.  You can't even spell it backwards.  But it's RECESS!!!!

They've sat quietly in the house, often dormant for hours, trying to please us in whatever we ask.  Taking their little dog naps, following us upstairs and down for some interim energy breaks....but it isn't until they go OUT that RECESS begins!

Here's a video of what happens when our dogs go out on recess at our house.     This was taken this past summer, and shows Moe and Piper having a great time expending their long pent doggy energy (this is about 3 hours of pent up energy).  And the end of the video isn't even when they stopped.  It went on for quite a while.

I've learned that you just have to let the dogs have their recess time quite often in order to have happy, healthy dogs.  Even older dogs need some enthusiastic times.  Our Winston rallies every time there is an OUT.  Maybe not for very long, but long enough to show he still values recess. 

And when recess is done, they all file in quietly, finding a pillow or comfy couch cushion to take a nap and be the wonderful, quiet dogs they are in the house.

Aaaarrrrooooooo

The "What Is Going On Here" Photo Quiz

Okay....for today you get to guess what you think is going on in the photos of the dogs and cats.  Some may be easier than others.  Have fun.

(1)  What is going on here?  Is this (a) not really a dog but a floppy toy that we positioned to look that way; (b) a dog that likes to sleep in a very odd way; (c) a new border collie dance craze?

(2)  What is going on here?  Is it (a) a robber found his way into the house and shot Daisy?  (b) Daisy is protesting because the television is off? (c) Daisy is having too much fun at playtime?

(3)  What is happening here?  Is this (a) Burton believing he is a cat and as such should perch like one? (b) A test of the grit our couch is made of?  (c) A protest against there being no room on the couch for Burton to lay down?

(4)  And what is this?  Is it (a) Emma using her lazer eyes to mesmerize Bethy and Moe into thinking she is one of them? (b) Emma being Emma and going wherever and whenever she pleases? (c) A "which of these things is not like the other" film from Sesame Street?







Take the challenge.  See what you come up with.  You're invited to also make up your own stories here!

Aarrooooo!

Oh Dorothy.....I've Had A Flying House Experience!

I woke up this morning and finally figured out what happened.  Unbeknownst to me, because it probably happened when I was asleep, our entire house, yard, barn and extranneous elements were taken up in a tornado and thrown back down in Seattle, Washington.

How do I know this?  Well, for one, I know that Seattle's weather will prove me out.  Seattle has between 201 - 264 cloudy, rainy or combination-of-both days.  Typically, in PA, we've had some sunshine and warmer weather by now.  Not so.  So I'm going to base my entire theory on this premise and the fact that I sleep soundly enough to have a huge revolving funnel be able to carry me away without knowing it.

Here's a chart of Seattle weather to date in April:

EXACTLY!  This is what has been happening!

Look, I know that April showers bring May flowers, but if that is the case, we are going to look like Holland come May, because we are inundated.

Needless to say, this gloominess does nothing for the spirit.  People need sunshine to flourish, just like plants.  Dogs need to be walked, parks need to be visited...I'd love to get out of my car just once and not carry an umbrella.  I'll probably carry that thing even after the sun finally comes out because I'm so used to having it as an extra appendage.

I actually looked at a CRAFT KIT the other day in Borders!  THIS IS REALLY SCAREY!

I'm about to mail out a bunch of mail today.  I've written a note on the backs of the envelopes "When you get this, will you please call me and let me know where the postmark is from?"  Because I'm convinced those calls will say:  SEATTLE!!!!

Arrrrooooooo!

The Gifford Chronicles - Final Episode

The Gifford Chronicles

Gifford Comes Home

In Part III, Buddy had been sold at auction for a disappointing price.  It was getting close for Gifford to be sold.  As you are reading my husband's account of what went on next, remember, I am back home worrying and fretting, waiting to hear of the outcome.  It was at a time when we had no cell phones.  So Paul had to find a phone to call me and give me the final outcome.  This was a difficult day for me!!!

One hour later, Gifford was about to enter the arena. My heart was thumping. Although I had told Gary I might bid on Gifford, I intentionally did not tell him our maximum price.  It was not high and I did not want to influence in any way Gary’s possible "no sale" decision.  As Gifford was led into the arena, Gary was stationed behind the auctioneer, ready to provide additional information if necessary. I was out in the bleachers, sitting directly in front of one of the spotters so I could not be overlooked. As his handler ran Gifford up and down the narrow strip, the bidding started with my bid of $1,000 - I guess I was nervous because I didn’t have to start that high.

After a few others had jumped in, I increased my bid to $1,400 and later tried to raise it to $1,450. Fortunately, the spotter waved me off, informing me with humor I was already in at $1,400 and no one else had raised the bid. Right, I thought, bidding against yourself is even more stupid than bidding against your wife.  The gavel fell and I held my breath waiting for Gary to say "No sale!"  Silence.  Gifford was ours!

I found Gary a few minutes later and told him that I was the successful bidder. His reaction was a big smile. He simply said "Jesus!" and laughed.  I know he was disappointed at the price but equally happy Elaine and I now owned Gifford.  He knew how attached we were to him.

I had told Elaine I would call her immediately after the sale.  In the event Gifford had been sold to someone else, I already had rehearsed a story for Elaine: Gifford was going to a very nice (non-Amish) owner I had met after the sale who planned to use him as a trail riding and show horse. Fortunately, that lie was not necessary.  Elaine was overjoyed.  The "Giffster" was coming back to Silver Mark Farm and we were now owned a registered Belgian draft horse.

After eating (more gravy), paying the auction and re-registering Gifford in our name, we loaded him and a stallion Gary had purchased on behalf of a friend, and we returned the 625-odd miles to Pennsylvania.  We arrived at Gary’s farm around midnight and I left Gifford to be retrieved the next day.  We had a loaner horse at the farm to keep Pharaoh company (a mare named Judy) and making the exchange at night would have been troublesome.

I returned the next day to find an exhausted Gifford spread out in a stall.  Once awakened, Gifford’s new shoes were removed [all horses sold at this auction were supposed to have shoes and come with a new halter, although many had neither].  The shoes were removed because Gifford  has huge feet and it would be too dangerous for Pharaoh in the field if he remained shod.  We loaded Gifford into our own trailer and I took him home.  I had brought the mare Judy back to Gary when I came for Gifford.

Nobody was happier to see Gifford arrive and Judy (his replacement barn buddy for Pharaoh) leave than Elaine.  Judy, a pretty filly and away from home for the first time, possessed few, if any, of the qualities that had so endeared us to Gifford.   She bites, refused to go into her own stall, constantly annoyed Pharaoh in the field and was a real bitch most of the time.  Bottom line – she drove Elaine nuts.  Gifford and Pharaoh greeted one another like long lost buddies.  All was well again at Silver Mark Farm.

In total, Gifford had traveled over 1,280 miles to end up exactly where he had begun his journey.  We love him and he was worth it.  So ends the tale of Gifford’s totally excellent adventure to the Topeka Draft Horse Auction.

Gifford being ground driven for the first time!

Addendum:  Since then, Gifford turns 12 this year.  He has been trained to drive a cart and drive a "team" (2 horse) vehicle.  Here are some photos of him in training.



Gifford's first time "under cart" and he is as calm as they come!



Since we handled Gifford so much in the months we had him, he had plenty of experience with gizmos and equipment.  His training went well and was relatively easy.  Hope you enjoyed the Gifford Chronicles!

Aarrooooooooooo!

The Gifford Chronicles - Part III

Normally I would try to finish The Gifford Chronicles today, but blogger has blog limits, so the final piece will be posted tomorrow.

Topeka - At The Auction (Continued...)



It is an unfortunate fact that not all horses sold at auction go on to full and productive lives appearing in horse shows or working in the fields. Some arrive either past their prime, broken down or otherwise unusable. They go cheap and usually to the "kill" buyers. Once bought, these horses are put in a "kill pen" for holding until transport. I had thought at the time that most go directly to the slaughterhouse, but not so.  In many cases, the buyer/broker takes them to his farm, and feeds and cares for the horses while evaluating their fate. Some will be sold privately or publicly (at other auctions) at a profit.  Those remaining are taken to Canada or Mexico for slaughter, to be processed into horsemeat for sale abroad, primarily in Europe.  [At the time of the initial writing of the chronicles, there were horse slaughter establishments still open in the United States as well.]

Preparing the horses for the sale had actually begun a week before departing Pennsylvania. A blood sample had been drawn for a "Coggins" test, required for any horse leaving the state, the negative results of which are required at all shows and sales. A health record is also issued, showing which shots the horse has had.  A visit from the farrier for shoes had been on Monday, two days after power washing Gifford and Buddy in a local auto dealership garage (I am not kidding). 

Unwanted hair had been clipped, especially around the lower legs and ears, followed by miscellaneous other grooming. The braiding of manes and tail would be done on site an hour before entering the auction arena (as seen in the previous blog post--braiders are hired at the auction, and good braiders take very little time to braid the horses' manes adding ribbons to the braid.).  I should note that Gifford and Buddy are show horses and were to be presented as such, complete with glitter, rose buds, and ribbons.  On the other hand, their more "macho" field-tested brethren received little more than a quick rinse from the garden hose to clean off the mud.  Whether this would be the last time Buddy and Gifford had to endure such primping remained to be seen.



The crowd at Topeka.  Notice the horses standing quietly
surrounded by people, many with their Amish handlers.

 Once prepared, each horse is taken (usually by an Amish boy hired for the occasion) from its standing stall, and walked through a maze of aisles and passageways to the holding area outside the auction arena. This area can only be characterized as organized chaos.  In addition to horses lined up in numerical order [upon arrival, each horse is assigned an auction number--this number is glued to each side of its rump, where it must stay until after departing the auction grounds], there are at least a hundred or so people milling about.  That no one is kicked or stomped on by the horses is a testament to their temperament and the agility of those around them.

     Once horse and handler have worked their way to the front of the line, they enter the arena when their number is called.   The horse is run up and down the narrow arena so potential buyers can see leg and hoof action, conditioning, etc. Within two minutes, the horse is sold and taken back to its stall, to be retrieved by its new owner.

Based upon his lower number, Buddy was the first of the two horses to be auctioned. The experience of the last two days had shown that this was a buyers, not a sellers, auction. With only a few exceptions, the horses were going for far less than what would/should be expected.  Perhaps it was the economy. Perhaps it was the crowd.  Who knows?

Contrary to what may be thought, successful Amish farmers are good businessmen and are not poor.  Although it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell who was doing the actual buying, over ninety percent of those present were Amish and with all those horses to sell, most horses had to have gone to Amish farmers.

Buddy was sold for $1,450, to whom we have no idea.  Although Gary could have "no saled" Buddy [if the seller does not like the sale price, he has seconds to declare to the auctioneer "no sale", keeps the horse and pays a financial penalty for doing so] he accepted the disappointing price. The farm had mares expected to foal within a few months and there was simply no room to bring Buddy and Gifford back home.

For the final piece of this puzzle, tune in tomorrow!

Aarrooooooooooo!

The Gifford Chronicles - Part II

Chapter 2. The Topeka Draft Horse Auction

When I last wrote three months ago, Gifford, then twenty months old and  had jumped a 4’ 4" gate.   Plenty has happened since but the most significant was his trip to the Topeka (Indiana) Draft Horse Auction in March.

Since his arrival, Gifford had worked his way into our hearts through his gentle manner and "Baby Huey" like personality … you just have to love that face and massive body. Predictably, Elaine was the first to utter the fateful words: "We should buy Gifford." After all, we had moved from single- to dual-horse ownership as a result of her rescue of Parker last June, a Belgian Warmblood previously used on the national Junior eventing circuit. Clearly, Gifford was another rescue candidate, at least in Elaine’s eyes, from either a life of hard work on an Amish farm or from the "kill buyers", who dispose of unwanted horses by sale to slaughterhouses.

It should be pointed out that while the owners and breeders of these Belgians certainly care a great deal about the horses they breed or buy for showing, they can not keep every horse that comes through their barn.  Taking horses to auction, or selling them privately, is how they maintain stable and show-quality, keep the numbers manageable (around 15 horses) and, hopefully, pay for their operation.  However, they do not, at least to my knowledge, develop the emotional attachments to their horses prevalent on smaller farms such as ours.  They think more of their horses as livestock. 

Anyway, THE PLAN for Gifford was to be sold in March.  At some point, I asked the owner what he expected to get for Gifford at auction.  Aside from curiosity, one of Elaine’s riding instructors had told us that she was thinking about getting a draft horse for her husband.  Perhaps Gifford could stay in northeastern Pennsylvania after all. When Gary told me $3,000, I knew it was more than Elaine and I could afford at the time having just built a two-stall barn.  A few weeks later all hopes were dashed when word came back from Elaine's trainer that she did not yet have space in her barn for a draft horse.  From that point on I waxed philosophical about Gifford fulfilling his destiny as a working draft horse and that our small farm would be insufficient to meet his needs and soon to be even larger body (likely 2,200 pounds and 18 hands high). Even Elaine was heard to join this chorus, although I knew her heart was not in it.

By late February, Elaine had clearly reached a new crescendo of anxiety. She started hitting the internet to find out everything there was to know about the Topeka Draft Horse Auction.  What were the facilities like? Would the Amish be there? Did "the killers" come to this auction?  She had not been pleased with the overall condition of Amish buggy horses she had seen on a recent business trip to Lancaster, PA, and the prospect of "our" beloved Gifford going to a working Amish farm caused her considerable consternation.

A week or so before the auction, Elaine suggested I ask the owner (who is also a good friend of ours) if I could go along with him, Gifford and Buddy (a four-year old Belgian also to be sold). This would allow me to see first-hand what the sale was like, I could bid on and possibly buy Gifford if the price was right, and, if he was sold to someone else, at least I could scope out the buyer to get a sense of Gifford’s fate. I could sense Gary was initially puzzled by my request, with good cause. On a four-day trip to the Pennsylvania Farm Show in 2000 I had gotten sick, rendering me useless as a helper.  During the 2001 Farm Show I had been kicked in the face by one of his stallions.  I usually come back from horse-related expeditions with Gary sick or hurt.  Knowing all of this, Gary nevertheless said he would welcome the company.



Amish carts lined up outside the Topeka Auction area.



By 11:00 AM, Wednesday, March 14^th, the horses were loaded and we were off. It is an approximate 625-mile/10 hour trip across Pennsylvania, Ohio and into Indiana to Topeka. It was well after dark when we arrived. Gary kept telling me we were in Amish country.  Who could tell?  It was too dark to see anything. After unloading and settling the horses, we ate dinner and went to his father’s house, where we would be spending the next two nights. As we always arrived or departed the auction complex and the house in the dark, it was not until we were leaving on Friday afternoon that I could actually see Amish farms and the countryside. 

The auction had started on Tuesday with the sale of Haflinger horses, machinery and tack. Wednesday had been devoted to Mules, Percherons, Shires and Clydesdales. Thursday and Friday were primarily for Belgians, with the former devoted to catalogue sales and the latter to non-catalogue. The show catalogue allows sellers to advertise their horse(s) in advance and provides basic information on lineage and other important information. From what I could observe, there did not appear to be much difference in either the quality of horse or price brought between the Thursday and Friday sales. Gifford and Buddy were slated to go off in the less-snooty Friday morning auction.



Gifford gets braided before the auction.



The auction typically begins each day at 8:00 AM and goes well into the night, often past midnight. Hundreds of horses are sold daily at a rate of 20-25 per hour.  Six or seven auctioneers, assorted spotters and other support staff rotate throughout the day and evening until the day’s work is completed.  Three hundred people sit on bleachers on three sides of the sale arena (the vast majority seem to be watchers, not buyers) while spotters respond to bids and the auctioneer rattles off a series of unintelligible words, punctuated by the final "Sold!"

Aside from watching the auction and tending to your horse, about the only other thing to do is visit the various vendors and eat. Because of the nature of this particular sale, most of the vendors featured BIG stuff – big horse shoes (the size of dinner plates), big and heavy harness and rigging, big stocks to hold big horses during shoeing, big shovels, and much more. In addition, there was horse-related art, jewelry, books and clothing. I also noticed draft horse people (not the Amish, mind you) seem to have a particular fascination with jackets, hats and shirts embroidered with pulling teams and names like "Ben and Sue’s Registered Belgians, Anywhere, USA". Truth be told, I got sucked in and purchased a baseball hat featuring a pair of embroidered Belgians.   I’ve since lost it.

Among the many things I discovered on this trip was that the Amish put gravy on any and everything – chicken, beef, pork, potatoes, biscuits, whatever. Gary and I ate three meals in the auction restaurant, manned but not owned by Amish. No matter what you ordered, it came with gravy. The food was good, but I must have gained five pounds while we were there.



Gifford and Buddy together just before Gifford was
braided for the auction ring.



My image of the Amish changed somewhat while in Indiana. Like most people, I had a stereotypical view – close knit community, religious, hard working, plainly dressed, clean living, disciplined.  Witness like, if you’ve seen the movie.   Although these notions were largely confirmed, I also found them to have a good sense of humor, become easily embarrassed, helpful, enterprising, and most of the men and young boys were heavy smokers (I do not recall seeing one Amish woman smoke). Horses attached to the well over 200 buggies patiently waited across the parking lot and most appeared to be in good condition. The children, of which there were many in attendance, were very well behaved, so much so I thought many times how bored, whining and annoying their "English" counterparts would have been in this environment.

The rest of this Chronicle, Part III, will be posted tomorrow.  I'd like to add a few comments.  First, it isn't unlikely that Paul will lose a hat.  For that matter, Paul will lose sunglasses, especially prescription sunglasses, faster than you can say "did you lose something?"  Second, we've learned alot about auctions since this one occurred, and we aren't commenting on any of that in these blog posts.  However, perhaps down the line we will share our knowledge of horse rescue, horse slaughter and auctions.  Remember, we were just getting into rescue in 2000, so this was all new to us at the time.

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooo!

 

The Gifford Chronicles - Part I

In these next few blog posts, I will share with you my husband's version of "The Gifford Chronicles."  Gifford is the registered Belgian Draft horse we have on our farm.

If you remember, Gifford came to our farm to keep our horse Pharaoh company.  He is my husband's horse.

The Gifford Chronicles

Chapter 1: The Jumper

In the winter of Gifford’s first year with us, our farrier came to Silver Mark Farm to do Pharaoh's feet.  As this was the first time our farrier had come since we brought Pharaoh home from boarding at at a local stable, we were unsure exactly where the shoeing would be done:  in a stall, outside of the barn, halfway inside/outside, etc.  Eventually, we settled on Pharaoh's stall where Elaine could hold his head and our farrier could work freely.

What to do with Gifford, who had his own farrier from Lancaster, was simple: enclose him in the lower field where he would be out of the way.  If you have ever been around Gifford, you quickly find he is as curious as a cat.  Getting him out of the way was a good idea.  With him secure in the lower field, the shoeing of Pharaoh proceeded.

Within a few minutes, I heard a clanging.  Gifford was pressing himself against the gate, obviously trying to get out.  I yelled for him to stop.  Surprisingly, he did and walked away to resume eating his hay.  I returned to the barn.

When I checked on Gifford later, he again was standing at the gate, although this time not pressing and banging.  Before I could say a word, Gifford turned around and trotted down the field for about twenty yards, stopped and turned to again face the gate.  At that point I realized he had been sizing up the gate, had formulated a plan, and was now getting ready to execute.   Gifford just had to know what was happening to Pharaoh, what the farrier's truck was doing backed up to the barn door, what "the humans" were doing … it was driving him nuts.  No gate was going to stop him from finding out.  Knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do, as I could not get down to the lower paddock in time to make much of a difference, I watched and waited.

With a buck, Gifford began his uphill run toward the gate.  Now, if you have ever seen a Belgian run, you know it is somewhat comical because of their size.  They are not particularly fast but they can build up quite a head of steam.  On he came and I waited for the inevitable crash, crushing of the gate and who-knows-what would happen to the fencing.   In my head I saw all my work installing the fencing and gates about to be reduced to a heap of tangled metal, posting and electrified rope. 

            Just as he reached the gate, Gifford did the unexpected:  he launched himself upward, tucked his front hooves under his chest and sailed OVER the gate, only brushing his tummy across the top.  He landed on the other side (the gate, posting and fencing totally in tact) and trotted up to the barn so he could finally see what the heck was going on.  Totally amazing!

I yelled out to our farrier and Elaine what had just happened.  They were stunned and we all had a good laugh.  Once Gifford saw Pharaoh was OK, he proceeded to lick salt from our farrier's truck and generally made a pest of himself.  I finally got a hold on his halter and held him through the balance of Pharaoh's shoeing and the farrier's departure.  Pharaoh was released back into the field and off they trotted to their hay and everyday "horsing around".



Gifford at 20 months, and the gate behind him.



Later, I went down to examine the gate, posting and fencing for damage.  I also wanted to measure the height of the gate.  There was not a single scratch or dent on the gate, all posts were secure, and nothing was wrong with the fence.   When in its closed position, the gate measured 4 feet 4 inches from the ground to the top.  Gifford (who was about 17 hands[1] and 1,400 pounds at the time) had run uphill, over icy compacted snow, with only one front shoe (his other shoe had been lost a week earlier and his rear feet had never been shod) and jumped the gate!  Pharaoh, who is considerably smaller (15.3 hands and about 1,200 pounds) and a trained jumper, does not jump 4 feet.  Had I not seen it myself I would not have believed it. 

When I related this story to Gifford’s then-owner, he had a laugh and told me he had never heard of such a thing.  Who the heck would have ever expected curious and loveable Gifford to be a jumper.  What a horse!  That weekend I raised the height of all our gates to 5 feet in hopes this would discourage Gifford from further attempts.  Until then, I worried because I feared Gifford might have developed a liking for the thrill of jumping.  I fully expected to see Gifford on the opposite side of our fencing, encouraging the far more sensible Pharaoh to join him.

January 2000

[1] The highest point of a horse is the top of its head (called a poll). As a horse can move its head up and down it is hard to take an accurate measurement from the ground to the top of its head.  The height of a horse is therefore measured in a vertical line from the ground to the withers (at the base of the neck).   One hand is 4 inches or approximately 10 centimeters.  If a horse is more than an exact number of hands high, the extra inches are given after a decimal point.  For example: a horse measuring 58” at the withers is 14.2 (14 hands and two inches).

********************************

What Paul didn't know when he wrote this back in 2000, was that Gifford would indeed end up on the opposite side of the fence more times than not.  He was an escape artist extraordinnaire, and to this day we say our barn is "Giffordized" because we've had to put in many Gifford-cannot-escape mechanisms.

Stay tuned for more Gifford Chronicles tomorrow!

Aarrrooooooooooo

Dogs Have a Sense of Humor

I have noticed over the years, that dogs have a special sense of humor.  It's sort of a dry sense of humor for some dogs, while for others it's the Charlie Chaplin, slapstick kind of humor.

Sometimes, they use their humor to make you laugh when you are in a particularly bad place, and other times they use their humor to get you, or make a point.

I've found that dog humor has given me a new perspective on life, and has increased my need to have an even better sense of humor now that I am older, wiser and slower in dog catching terms.

Here's some examples of dog humor:

This was Ollie's way of telling me our chairs were not big enough.  It's a subtle hint, don't you think?  And done well in dry dog humor.

Ollie actually stayed like that for about 10 minutes, trying to decide whether he wanted that bone with him or not.  But the message to me was quite clear....

"Ha ha ha....Mom...you need bigger chairs or better dog pillows!"

The drier side of their collective humor is exhibited in this photo as well.  Here they were clearly telling me my carpet is too small and I need to have more of IT and less floor.  (By the way, that is our Moe when he was a puppy, and Ollie--the Golden--whom we lost in 2006.  Ike is in the background, Daisy up front and Bethy in between Ike and Daisy.)

Dogs also like to use humor to show you that you really shouldn't be worried about anything when it comes to them.  For instance, when we were first training Piper to accept the kitties and not eat them, Piper often used his own very special sense of humor to show us he was "just kidding" about eating them.

Clearly this was a practical joke on Piper's part, laying on top of Gus and pretending to eat him.  Ha ha ha...er....ha...?

Sometimes the humor is unappreciated until days later....

The Charlie Chaplin side of dogs is what makes us laugh every day.  I think they know that we need to laugh, and they talk over exactly what routines they can use, that we haven't seen lately, in order to get us to crack a smile!

Here are some examples of our dogs making us laugh:


Moe watching bugs on the yard glider.



My son's dog Raay watching kids at the park with his
squirrel (which he set up that way)!




Winston plays king of the pillow mountain!



Ike mugging with his squirrel!



There are so many examples in photos of our dogs making us laugh on their own that today's blog could be littered with photos, taking up all the room on the page.


Perhaps some of our best laughs are at our dogs' expense.  One of the things they have learned is to humor us when we have the most insane ideas.  The most insane idea we have in our house is holiday dress up.  As you can see by this most recent photo of Moe and Danny, they just put up with us because we feed them!

Aarroooooooooooo!

Eagle, Roo, Kitties and Chickens, Oh My!

With what's left of today, I'm going to introduce you to the rest of the crew here at Silver Mark Farm and the two horses we own, but whom are boarded off our property.  Before I do, I'd like to clarify a few things.

• The time you see at the bottom of the blog IS NOT the time I post the blog.  I cannot for the life of me figure out how to get the right time to show down there.  I do not get up at 5:35 a.m. to post a blog.  I do not get up at 5:35 a.m. for much of anything. (I might get up in the case of fire, or a bomb, or an emergency if it really was an emergency, but then in my foggy sleep stupor, who am I to judge a good emergency when I hear one?)  I am not a morning person.  It is more likely I would post a blog at 2:00 a.m. than 5:35 a.m.  Add three hours to the time you see, and that is when the blog is posted.  Even though I've changed it, it's not changing at the bottom of the blog.
• I won't be blogging every day, but I will be consistent.

Let's start with Eagle.  Eagle is actually the next horse to be added to our crew.  A friend of mine in Western PA was the person who told me about him.  He was five at the time and was being sold by the family that had him.  Eagle is a Pinto.  He is not a Paint, because his Dam was a Standardbred.  This disqualifies him from Painthood (is that a word?) and gives him a very long face.  He is chestnut and white.  I really like Eagle.  He has always been a very good guy in his head, and I think that can be attributed to his mother. 

Eagle has done lessons for a number of years with my riding students.  He has carted many of them to shows, and he has won ribbons for them.  He isn't the easiest horse to ride, but he seems to know when he has a rider on his back that isn't as balanced as they should be.  He likes a light hand on the rein, and a quiet leg.  He is about 15.3 hands.  Eagle did live at our house when he first came home.  Then he went on to training, and I moved him to a boarding facility.  Right now he is boarded just five minutes from where I live, so I can see him quite frequently.


Eagle at home.



Eagle at his first hunter show.

Roo is the final addition to our crew.  Roo came along at the age of 17 months.  He is from Vermont, where he was born.  His mom was rescued from an auction, and she was pregnant with Roo at the time.  His Dam is a Percheron (a draft breed) and his Sire is a Thoroughbred, although he looks more drafty than not.  Roo was left to be a horse until the age of 4, at which time we began his training.  He is a great, fun horse and he is the horse I have chosen to ride while working on my newly found dressage seat.  He is boarded with Eagle, five minutes away.


Roo and I working.

Roo learns slowly, but he remembers everything he learns, so it is easy to go back and know he will remember his cues, even after a bit of time of not doing them.  We are about to go to our first clinic together over the Easter break.  Hopefully, all will go well.

Next comes our cats, Harry and Gus.  We went through a period where we had five cats at one time--one that came with the house, one that we found in a cow barn and brought home, and Emma--who had been with us since 1995 (and whom we obtained as a small kitten in the Phillie and Chelsea years). 

We took in my Aunt's cat when she had to move and couldn't keep her, and then we brought home Harry from the SPCA.  Over the course of one year we lost two cats to illness (TD to a tick born illness, our Oggie to a tumor that burst).  Just a year later, we lost my aunt's cat, Bootsie.  We think she was heartsick when my aunt died.  Last year we lost Emma.  She was 15 years old and she had a stroke which she did not recover from. 

Harry will be two years old this year and he is the most personable cat I've ever owned.  I really think he understands the spoken word and that he once was a human.  Gus is a stray found by my stepson and his wife.  He inhabited their porch for a number of months until we took him in.  Harry and Gus are best friends.  Gus purrs alot and hides on the dogs by laying in other rooms where the dogs cannot go to find him.  Both cats are dog savvy (they'd have to be) and get along well with all of the dogs in our house.



You seriously cannot read a paper in our house.
Harry is fixated with newspapers!



Gus camped out on my stepson's porch.

Harry likes to crawl under things, especially newspapers, dog beds, and carpets.  If you see a dog bed moving across the floor, it's Harry underneath it motoring it along.  Gus is a relatively quiet cat that loves to investigate closets.  As such, he often gets locked in them and we notice he's not around and have to go search for which room and which closet he may be in.

Finally, we have our chickens.  Before we had our chickens, we had the "great chicken debate"--to have or not to have.  I was personally always on the HAVE side, but my husband saw no redeeming qualities to HAVING.  So it wasn't until last year that I mentioned I was interested in chickens to the owner of the boarding barn.  She raises chickens and meat goats.  In April of last year she handed me a cloth bag with two hens in it and a second cloth bag with a rooster.  I put them in my car, drove home and sprung them on my husband. 



Penny (black and white), Henny (red) and Screech,
the original crew.

 After rolling his eyes, he built a coop in one of the spare rooms of our barn.  He also built a brooder for the hens.  We now have fresh eggs every day and we've found out that chickens are actually VERY smart.  For instance, if you feed them ONCE by going out the front door and they happen to be in the drive way (they are free range, and we let them roam the property...they have figured out that coming into the fenced in area of the yard, where the dogs are, is not a good decision)...so anyway, if you go out the front door ONCE with a bag of roasted sunflower seeds, they remember that you gave them roasted sunflower seeds once when you came out the front door, and they start looking for you AT THE FRONT DOOR every day! 

We named the hens Henny and Penny (see what I mean about the naming thing?) and the rooster, Screech...because he does.  At all hours.  Several months after the first round, we added Jenny.  We figured our closest neighbors could probably hear our rooster.  Roosters don't just "welcome in the day."  They yell for the hens, send out warnings if the cats are nearby, yell for the hens, squawk at the horses, yell for the hens....all which involve crowing.  So our standard approach with our neighbors has used the following sentence syntax:  "Hi!  Have you heard our rooster?  Here's some fresh eggs for you."  We've had no complaints.



Our rooster, Screech, with his little buddies
looking through the window of the front
door, wondering where I am with the
treats!!!

 I am sorry to report that we lost Penny just a few weeks ago.  We have no idea why.  She was about two years old and from everything I've read and everything chicken folks tell me, that is a critical age and alot can go wrong.  She was not ill, and she was not egg bound.  Paul found her in the barn one morning and she was already gone.  All of our chickens are friendly, and are trained to the white treat bowl.  If they see anyone with a white bowl in their hands, they come running.  We treat grapes, lettuce, peas, corn and roasted unsalted sunflower seeds (their favorite).  This ought to make our summer parties interesting if we use any white bowls.

When the chickens first came to the farm, our horses were not amused.  I think the whites of their eyes were very prominent most of the time.  When Screech started crowing, I thought our horse Pharaoh would never come in the barn again.  Here is a cute photo of Pharaoh and Gifford hiding from them.


Pharaoh and Gifford hiding from the
chickens!

I think they were pretty successful camouflaging themselves, don't you?  Nope, you can't see them at all! 

And with that, I leave you for the night.

Aarrrroooooo