Fuzz

I can tell what kind of person someone is just by looking at their horse. It has nothing to do with breed, or size, or color. It has a little to do with how fat they are, but not much. Their name doesn't come into play, and I couldn't care less whether they ride english or western. I know the people with the fuzzy horses will get along with me.

I live in New England. We have cold nights, snowy winters, and- as horrible as it sounds- ice in our water buckets sometimes. I love it here. I spend time every day smashing ice out of buckets, and our ponies grow fur. Lots and lots of fur.

I don't want to be the one to say it, but it seems I don't have any other choice... We're not going to blanket anyone. We have ten ponies- eight of which find pleasure in rolling in mud puddles- and I'm not going to chase them down to put clothes on them. Their winter coats start growing around mid-September, and as the seasons change so do they. It's natural.

We worked inside in the CT Expo Center last November (a treat for the critters, yes) and across the aisle from us was a Horse Farm. Fantastic! More critters! Except... compared to ours... their horses looked awfully... sleek.

Oh. They must be THAT KIND of Horse Farm...

Their barns are heated. And air conditioned. They have an indoor arena. Their horses don't behave well outdoors. They blanket their horses to transport them in their heated trailer. They have a jack russel terrier and probably a lot of riding crops and silly dressage hats and special tools to teach their horses to jump over fences.

If it gets too drafty in their heated and air conditioned barn, they have entire outfits to put on their horses. Sheets for the summer, blankets for the winter, boots for traveling, face masks if there are flies (there shouldn't be- don't they have automatic fly sprayers?), and tons of other silly things we don't put on our ponies.

Our ponies grow thick winter coats because it's what ponies (and horses!) are supposed to do! They get fat because they eat well and when you stand in the pasture and yell "Cookie!" at the top of your lungs even the oldest ones come running. When the winters are light, the coats aren't as plush. When winter is over, they shed. We don't clip them. Each pony, depending on their breed, size, age, and personal preference, sheds when they want to.

Fluffy winter pony coats keep Casey busy year-round. In the spring the first ponies start shedding and it's his responsibility to keep them brushed, and every year his designated one shedding blade as "his" brush. (http://www.jeffersequine.com/jeffers-double-shedding-blade/camid/EQU/cp/IA-E4/cn/2511/ This one is usually the one.) Patch and Jazzer don't usually let their coats go till July, and by the time they're all done Casper is growing his coat back in for the autumn. Casey's favorite brush in the winter is one of our many metal curry combs (http://www.jefferslivestock.com/reversible-curry-comb/camid/LIV/cp/D5-C2/cn/31092/ ) which seem to be the only things that can tackle the mud they always manage to get into.

Because they do get into mud. Because they're outside, growing their winter coats, like they're supposed to.

Moving on

Sometimes, things don't work out like a farmer (or a farmer and his herdsman) plan. Sometimes the redesign of the barn doesn't work. Sometimes the job doesn't go like it was planned. Sometimes the lamb doesn't make it. Sometimes the pony isn't a good fit.

There are times when it's difficult to make the responsible choice. It's never easy to sell something you've spent so long growing to love. It's difficult to make that "adult" decision.

I loved Ingrid the moment I laid eyes on her. She needed us as much as we didn't need her. She ran with a fluidity I had never seen in a pony before, and it amazed me. She had been bounced from home to home, and tracking down her lineage was far from easy. It took us a month to get an answer back from the Fjord Horse Association, and another six months before the results from her DNA test came back. Eight weeks before I could take her by the halter. A year and a half before she would take a cookie from Ted. Things always took time with her. A lot of time.

Rocky was a spitfire. I called him our "Donkey-in-training" because, to me, he was pure donkey. He was stubborn and sneaky. He didn't like having a long mane (donkeys don't, you know) so he would rub his mane off- and his neck raw- if I didn't keep it roached. When he worked with girls on the pony wheel he would do his best to make sure they payed attention to him. He was good at making sure they payed attention to him. When they would turn away from him to lift a kid onto his back, Rocky would turn his head and nip them on the butt. Never very hard, and never when they told him not to. He never bit a child. After all, why bite a child when you can kick the parent instead?

What we do is a business, in the end. It's a sad but true fact. Sometimes, just like with people, ponies don't work out here. Patch loves what he does. He wants to come with us. Jazzer practically glows when he sees his saddle. Truffles will bully her way into the trailer.

Rocky wasn't happy. He needed a backyard and a bratty spoiled princess to be at his best. I hold out hope that he got that.

We weren't Ingrid's forever home. I wish we could have been, I really do, but we weren't. We didn't have the time, the training, or the funds to keep her. We understood that.

Sometimes, in a farmer's life, you have to sell what you don't want to. You have to cull the herd. And you have to learn to accept it. I'm trying.