KJ Farms: Breeding Torture

I've been putting off writing this blog for a week now, mainly because I know it's going to bring up a lot of anger and emotions that I think I've done a darn good job of ignoring for the past fourteen months.  I don't deal with my emotions well, and I've pretty much accepted the fact that I have only two real recognizable emotions as a human being: happy, and "stab-you-in-the-eye-socket-just-to-watch-you-bleed-to-death" angry.  But, since Oliver's story has finally come to an end, leaving behind a lot of angry, hurt people and one devastated little girl, I think it's high-time the truth comes out and people find out who the monster behind all of this pain and suffering really is.  Oliver's story will be told as soon as I finish writing it, but the story of all four Durand babies needs to be told first for background information.

I met Tom Timms when I responded to an ad of his on Craigslist looking to sell hay.  At the time, he charmed me into believing he knew all there was to know about hay, proper feeding for optimal performance, and that he could save me more money than anyone else when it came to feeding my program (20+ horses at the time, mostly rescues).  Music to any barn owner's ears, for sure.  I'd call Tom, tell him what I needed and what I wanted to pay, and he'd tell me when he'd have it delivered to my place. It was a beautiful thing, really.  Life was good.

I knew Tom had quite a few show horses of his own, but had never been to his place in Durand (Michigan, for my out-of-state readers).  He talked the talk, knew his pleasure-horse bloodlines backwards and forwards and knew all the dirty little secrets about the big names in the Michigan Quarter Horse world.  I was impressed.  As a fairly new seller (I'd sold a decent number of ponies back in high school, when I was still small enough to ride the snot out of them and make them into nice little youth mounts, but was just coming back into the rescue/rehabilitation/resale process after many years off), I looked to Tom as a sort of mentor.  He knew the finer points of writing a good sales contract, what to say to avoid getting sued, and how to make sure you'll win in court (without an attorney) if you DO get that far.  Common sense should have told me that anyone that affluent in courtroom-proceedings when it came to bad horse deals is NOT one that I should be idolizing, but again, I was star-struck.

My assistant, Amanda, and I had to travel north early in March of 2011 to pick up a horse, and were heading right past Tom's place (according to him) on Vernon Road in Durand.  He'd said he has a few really nice "project youngsters" that he wanted me to stop by and take a look at.  "They'll be cheap!  Right up your alley!" he said.  Never one to want to miss out on some quality-bred, "cheap" projects, we decided to detour over to Tom's and see what he had that I needed to call my own.

That day, walking through Tom's stall barn full of fantastically-bred, horribly-maintained horses changed the way Amanda and I looked at horse-dealers forever.  Those horses were in stalls 2' deep with shit, it didn't look like a farrier had seen that place in at LEAST six months, and Tom didn't seem to have the slightest bit of a problem with it.  The horses weren't skinny, by any means, but it was painfully apparent that they were not getting deworming, or proper nutrition.  The problem with this (since I'm sure many of you are wondering why I didn't call Animal Control) is that they WERE being fed hay and had water available to them in their stalls.  Animal Control won't touch a farm full of stalled, hay & water-fed horses.  It doesn't matter if they're atrophying away to nothing but rotting corpses with a heartbeat.  They're being fed and sheltered from the elements, that's all that's required under law.  Raiding a situation such as what was at Tom's barn (also known as KJ Farms) brings with it far too much legal liability and a very high chance that they'll lose the court case & have to return everything to the owner with no reimbursement.  I get it.  I know how the story goes, I've had this fight many times with other situations since then.  Sometimes (as much as I hate to say this), it's best to shut up, play along, and get what you can out of a situation like that without stirring up too much shit.  Stirred up shit has to fall somewhere, and chances are, you're going to wind up with a face full if you're not careful.  Additionally, I was much quieter, easily-bullied, and more soft-spoken then than I am now (hard to believe, I know, but people like him have made me the way I am today).

Here's the arial photo of the KJ Farms property, as provided (involuntarily, of course) from their website: http://kjsfarms.tripod.com/index.html

The great big barn furthest to the left is the stall barn, complete with fancy indoor arena (not new, but completely functional for its' purpose).  Now, as you're looking at this photo, please take note of all the obvious pasture space surrounding these barns.  This isn't any sort of rookie-maintained operation.  This is the real deal, with more than adequate turnout facilities.  The barn that's a shade lighter than the other barns (all the way on the right)?  That's the equipment barn.  Our focus now is on the middle barn, with the high roof.  This is where my "projects" were living.

This picture is rather deceiving, but it's all I've got, so it'll have to do.  What you don't see is that when you come off of Vernon Road, you pull into the dirt lot between the stall/arena barn and the road, but have to walk to the left to get to the falling-down, dilapidated "baby barn".  I'm not sure how old this photo is, but that barn sure didn't look that nice when we were there.  The roof was caving in, nothing had been maintained in years, and yet Tom felt it was an adequate place to house a bunch of babies and his stallions.  

Yes, I said stallions.  As in, more than one.  See, the KJ Farms website indicates that they used to stand two stallions, Doc's Gotta Be Gold, and Watch Sonny Shine.  Watch Sonny Shine is dead...and I invite anyone to ask Tom how he passed away.  You won't get a straight answer, I tried for months after our initial visit in March.  

Anyway, so walking into this shit hole barn, you're greeted by a very angry red Heeler male that will, if given the opportunity, rip your face off.  No joke, that's what he's there for, security, and yes, Tom said he's been to court to defend a dog-bite incident as well (imagine that).  Right inside the door, on the left, was a low-ceiling cattle-panel enclosure maybe 10'x25' in size.  This is where the babies were kept.  The conditions were dark, damp, the roof leaked, and the only sunlight came from the cracks in the wood siding unless you left the sliding door open.  This wasn't even suitable for death-row inmates, yet there were five wide-eyed youngsters crammed in there like it was a feed lot holding pen.  Just like the stalls, these babies were living in at LEAST 2' of shit & old hay, with a filled water tank full of green slime on its' sides, and weren't the typical skin-and-bones skeletal horses you'd expect, more like pot-bellied, wormy adolescents.  They were getting hay, but had never seen a vaccine or dewormer, and it was apparent that their farrier care was long overdue.  We were looking at two leggy bay roans, a tiny palomino, a black and white overo, and a grey.  Genders and ages were anyone's guess, none had halters on and there was certainly no catching them.  They'd sooner run you over than let you touch them.

Amanda and I were instantly drawn to the grey horse hiding in the back.  He was thicker than the others, had a quiet, kind eye, and I'm a sucker for a good looking grey, although his true shade of grey was unknown seeing as he, like the others, was caked in an inch of manure over his entire body.  He barely had a tail, and his feet were considerably worse than the others, but it looked like we might have been able to fix him and make him into a nice hunter pony prospect.  Then Tom says "You can have all but the black and white filly, I'm keeping her, the others are $500 a piece".  Yes, because I have $2000 to shell out for a bunch of project babies.  The price was not negotiable.  I had to leave them there.  

The ride home was much quieter than the ride up.  Amanda and I were both more than disturbed by what we'd seen, but $2000 was impossible.  I'm all for saving a project when I can but I cannot, in good conscience, justify paying someone that kind of money for what he'd presented us.  Too many horses needing an escape from certain death in Canada get dumped at auction for pennies on the dollar for me to shell out $500 for one soul.  Plus those babies were being fed and watered, though it was the absolute bare minimum of what they needed to survive.  I had to put them in the back of my mind and keep going with our efforts at home until the opportunity presented itself for me to act.  I stopped buying hay from Tom that day, although we still kept in touch regularly.  One of the hardest things for me to do, to this day, is to "play nice" with someone I want nothing more than to destroy in every way possible.  But those babies needed me.

They haunted me most of the summer, and when Tom called in August and offered them to me for $500 total for the group of four, his wife wanted a divorce and he needed to raise cash quickly, I hooked up and headed back to Durand.  For $125 a piece, I'll make it work.  I had no idea how old they were, what their genders were, nothing.  It didn't matter.  They needed to get out, I needed to get them out, we'd work out the logistics later.  August 3, 2011 was the youngling's day of freedom.  I backed the trailer up to that shit hole barn, swung open the door, and we built a cattle panel chute from their pen to my stock trailer since none were halter broke.  Unfortunately, this required a 2' drop down off of their shit platform pen, a few steps on level ground, then another 2' step up into my trailer.  Not exactly inviting for even the most seasoned loader, not to mention a bunch of babies with no muscle.  

After we got them loaded, and I'd paid Tom the hardest $500 I've ever handed to someone, he said (and I will never EVER forget this) "Ya know, that palomino is the only nice one of the group, you're really only paying for her.  It's like the other ones are free!".  It was at that time that I realized that Tom knew damn well what he did to those babies, and he didn't even care.  I asked him why he didn't just turn them out to let them grow (remember all of that pasture space?), he said "Well I wouldn't be able to do anything with them if they were out there."  Remember, these babies weren't even halter broke.  What did he need to do with them?  I asked him how long they'd been there, he said "They go in there when its time to wean them!  I've gotta put them somewhere!"  He handed me an envelope with the registration papers on the grey (the only one of the four that was actually registered), and I left with the babies in tow.  The black and white overo wasn't in that pen when I got there that day, I have no idea what happened to her.  

Now, I'm not much of a crier.  I prefer to get angry and hit something rather than shed tears.  But as I stopped to get gas just inside of the town of Durand, I peeked in the side of the trailer and I lost it.  Those four babies crammed themselves up in the front half of my trailer to lean against the walls and, heads hanging, were barely strong enough to hold each other up.  As I watched, occasionally one of their knees would buckle and they'd catch themselves before they went down.  We'd only been on the road for ten minutes.  The magnitude of what I'd just done, the overwhelming amount of responsibility and financial cost this was going to require of me (keep in mind, at the time I was 23 years old) and just how bad these babies really were hit me like a runaway freight train and I experienced what I can only describe as "rescuer's guilt".  I couldn't save them back in March, and they suffered for another four months because of me.  I finished pumping gas, got back in my truck and cried for at least another ten minutes.  

And then I got angry again.  I'm most effective when I'm angry, and I got on my phone and rallied my troops.  I'm incredibly blessed to have a wonderful group of supporters whom I'm proud to call my friends and they know that if I'm asking for help, it's because I truly NEED their help.  I called my farrier, Koren Knox, and told her what I had behind me in the trailer, she said she'd be waiting at my house when I arrived.  

Once home, I backed up to my round pen and made another chute to unload with.  Koren brought rope halters with her (because she's a heaven-sent angel that God outfitted with a rasp & nippers before he sent her to Earth), and we snuck halters onto the exhausted babies before they unloaded themselves.  There's nothing more depressing than watching four crippled babies stumble out of a trailer and stand huddled in the middle of a round pen too exhausted to be bewildered as to what's happened to them.  We photo-documented everything as soon as they were off the trailer:

The bay roan colt, (approximately 2 y/o), who later became known as "Houston", sired by Watch Sonny Shine, out of an unknown mare.

The bay roan filly (approximately 2 y/o), also sired by Watch Sonny Shine.  She aborted a 4-5 month old fetus 45 days after arrival, which means she was pregnant when these photos were taken.  The fetus was most likely sired by her half brother (above), as the only other stallion was too crippled to mount her.  Note the left hind fetlock, she has severe tendon damage from lack of muscle & exercise.  

The palomino yearling filly, sired by Doc's Gotta Be Gold, and youngest of the bunch.  

 This was the only registered one in the group, a FOUR YEAR OLD APHA breeding stock stallion named "Bettin On Boston".  He'd been kept in that pen since weaning.  Further research showed that Tom purchased the mare with this colt on her side from a breeder promising a "wonderful, forever home" for the pair.  The colt, who was later named Oliver, had never seen a farrier in the four years of his life until the day he arrived here.  We lost Oliver last week due to the physical damage caused by living in that enclosure, and he has his own story : Oliver's Story

We trimmed what we could of their feet while they were too exhausted to put up much of a fight, and let them rest & eat the rest of the evening.  

The next day, they all got baths and the magnitude of how bad they really were set in....

Now I ask you this:  What "breeder" raises a foal crop just to lock them up in a cage for their lives?  I've never met Tom Timms's wife (if she's even still his wife), but I hold her just as responsible for what happened to these babies as I do him.  She walked by that barn every day, just like Tom did.  She saw their faces, their living conditions, yet neither one of them made ANY effort to put an end to it.  That is something I cannot forgive.  Tom called me about a week after I picked these younglings up and left a voicemail telling me he got in some really nice hay and would sell it to me at a great price.  Never once asked about the babies.  He called every few days after that and left messages saying he didn't understand why I won't call him back, but that he misses me and would like to talk to me again.  Again, never asked about the babies.

Now a lot of people asked why I didn't go directly to Animal Control when I finally got possession of the babies.  Here's why: back then, I was afraid of things.  Afraid of getting sued, afraid of violent retaliation, afraid of the assholes I worked so hard to get horses away from.  Since then, I've lost a lot of my reasons for being afraid.  I no longer have a facility full of horses to protect, and I drive a different car every year because I get bored and buy something else so good luck trying to find my car in a parking lot to damage, and I'm a damn good shot with a handgun, so if you come after me, make sure you're bulletproof.  Also, go ahead and sue me, I dare you.  I'm a 24 year old college student who has two boarded horses and $400 in my checking account.  I'm uncollectible, asshole.  I have nothing left except my big mouth, which is why I'm taking it into my own hands to call out the sorry excuses for human beings who want to do things like this to horses and find a way to justify it in their minds.  

I don't know where Tom's ex-wife is, I know they lost the farm in Durand when they divorced, and I know Tom is currently in Metamora training Saddlebreds for the farm owner and peddling horses to whomever he can sucker into paying him for them.  I certainly invite anyone to call the phone numbers on their website or the MULTIPLE fliers he hangs up at MSU during horse shows advertising hay for sale or the local Metamora, Oxford & Lake Orion tack shops (cell phone: (989) 721-7105).  Maybe pick his brain a little, ask him about the babies he sold in the summer of 2011...see what he has to say.  I'd be quite curious if he even remembers them...

I know watching Oliver die last week made me damn sure I'd never forget them...

The Horsechick's Guide To Men

I have horses.  I'm also in a long-term relationship with a man (yes, a real, live one that doesn't require double-a batteries, which I thoroughly consider to be a win!).  While most people find the latter fact miraculous in itself, I know deep down its really because I'm completely awesome.  And because Pat's hopefully too lazy to find someone better.  I'm kind of banking on that fact, really.

Anyway, for some reason, people seem to think I've got it all together, and they come to me with their relationship problems.  I don't mind this, in fact I kind of enjoy having free-counseling/advice sessions....somehow they make me feel like my relationship is a whole lot better than most others.  Although, as I write this, he's sitting next to me on the couch annoying the hell out of me, but I'm still better off than most of my friends, so I still win.  Right?

In my horse experience, I've realized that the way I treat horses and the way I treat men share a lot of common theories and training methods.  What doesn't work with one probably won't work with the other, and when all else fails, be prepared to take another angle to achieve your goals, or send them on their way.  The best part about horses and men is the fact that there's ALWAYS someone else around the corner that will happily take your leftovers when you've had enough of their crap.  Sometimes you'll even get paid for them.  The horses, too!

Men are fairly simple creatures, much like breeding stallions.  It takes three basic requirements to successfully maintain a healthy, happy stallion.  Feed them properly, give them time to go out and play on their own, and an opportunity to get off as frequently as possible.  That's all it takes to make them pretty easy to get along with.  I think the majority of relationship problems stem from women neglecting these three basic necessities of man-management.  It's not the men's fault...it's their handlers'.

Many problems arise when women want to keep these men locked up in a stall 23-hours a day, and then want to wonder why they can only come out and behave themselves in public with a stud chain around their noses.  They become hormone-charged raging dickheads ready to rape the first thing that spreads its' legs in front of them.  Then they get in trouble for it, and that's not fair.  Men are genetically programed to stick their manjunk in anything that will allow it.  You wouldn't need the chain/discipline if they were allowed to vent their frustrations properly in adequate turnout opportunities.  Send them to the garage to work on something, ship them off to the bar with an Accountabili-Buddy (a close friend that you've pulled aside and threatened to castrate if they let your man do something stupid that night), let men be men.  Just make it more lucrative for them if they behave themselves!

The second problem I've seen with relationships is that women shop for the wrong kind of man to suit their needs.  Form fits function.  You don't go out and buy a Tennesee Walker with plans to show the AAA hunters.  Consequently, if you met this great guy at a dive bar in the middle of nowhere, you paid the bar tab because he "forgot his wallet", and you always have to drive because he's still going to court to get his driver's license back (but it'll be real soon!), don't expect him to take you to the opera and all of the five-star restaurants in town!  You can put a Walker in the finest hunt tack money can buy, but at the end of the day, it's still going to gait its way around the ring.  Now, with that being said, there's absolutely nothing wrong with Walkers!  Some people love them and wouldn't ride anything else.  I've met quite a few Walkers that I've liked just fine!  Would I buy one for myself?  Probably not, because they just aren't my particular cup of tea.  Just like some women WANT to have a man that they have to raise like their own child.  Sure, they can be nice guys, but I have no desire whatsoever to deal with one on a regular basis.

And then we have the asshole-lovers.  I've been there.  I used to want a horse that would "challenge" my skills as a handler/trainer.  And I was convinced that a guy that "challenged" me would force me to be a better girlfriend in the end.  Let me tell ya, there's NO shortage of people that will give you their asshole horse.  Same with men.  It is NOT a "deal"!  If the guy has JUST gotten out of his third marriage or relationship (because of COURSE it was "that bitch's" fault), there's a reason no one else wanted to keep him.  You're taking on someone else's problem, be prepared for it.  Fix it, or shut up.  Nothing irritates me more than the girl who wants to bitch about how badly her horse/man treats her, yet takes NO steps to correct the behavior.  He bites?  Clobber him.  He hits you?  Shoot him.  He calls you names?  Have his ass beat in the parking lot of his work.  Seriously, I've got guy-friends that'll take care of it, cheap.  If you can't get through to him OR the horse, and other options haven't made any progress, be prepared to put a bullet in his head.  There's NO reason to send your problem-situation on to the next owner.  

Ground manners are also an often-overlooked aspect of horse ownership and man-management.  It took about two days of work before my colt learned not to walk in front of me...and it took about 20 minutes of wandering through Meijer before my man learned the same.  Constantly changing direction in a store causes them to pay attention, to watch where you're going, and to learn quickly that if they hit you with the shopping cart, there'll be hell to pay.  I'll randomly speed up and dive down an aisle, throw in a few u-turns, hell, I'll even stop and back up just to make sure he's on top of it.  Furthermore, if your horse has trouble standing still, he should stand tied for extended periods of time to learn patience.  Personally, I'm a huge fan of the time-out tree.  Likewise, if your man has problems going to the mall, take as much time as you need to pick out another white t-shirt.  He will learn patience.

There's no "forcing" a horse, or a man.  They're bigger than we are, and when they've finally had enough of your nagging, bitching & nit-picking, they retaliate.  It's usually not pretty.  There's an easy way to avoid all of this, let them think your goals were their idea to begin with.  This takes a certain amount of skill, and usually a lot of reward when they offer the right response.  Horses and men are both pressure-animals.  Need to get them out of the way?  A finger in their flank and a click or two should do it.  But remember, you won't teach a horse to pivot with the first poke, and you won't move a man from the fridge in the first try either.  As soon as you get that first small step away from your pressure, reward!  A pat on the neck, a quick fondling of the man-junk through the pants, maybe a quick peek down your shirt....its all the same.  Simple rewards that don't cost anything from you, but mean the world to them.  It won't take long and you'll have them yielding every way you ask them to if they think there'll be an enjoyable experience in it for them.  Soon, you'll have the overachieving ones doing showmanship patterns for you all over the kitchen floor!

I've always said that good stallions make great geldings.  With that being said, if your man seems to have a problem with wanting to mount everything in sight, and you find this particularly offensive (as most of us do), either geld him, or sell him.  Hormones are hormones.  Sometimes training just can't fix instinct.  He may be awfully darn talented "under saddle", but chances are that the next woman will probably agree.  You can fix the problem, get rid of the problem, or you can be prepared for an unplanned foal out of a different mare showing up at your doorstep asking for child support.  

I sincerely hope that my observations and words of advice help those in need.  If I help just one man or horse in this complicated world, I'll have met my goal in writing this.  For those of you with additional questions, please don't hesitate to ask and I'll do my best to help.  Just remember: if it takes you six shots of Cuervo before you're willing to get on top of him, he's probably not the right one for you!

There's A Special Place In Hell....

Please note:  This was NOT written by Day Dreams Farm, and they are not responsible for it's content in any way, shape or form.  It is merely my observations, opinions, and thoughts. If swear words offend you, please do NOT read this blog and get off of my page.

As my readers know, I've bitched and I've bitched and I've bitched some more about the ignorance of backyard breeders and the irresponsibility of incapable horsemen & women.  This one truly personifies all of my bitching and wraps it all up into a cute little black Quarter Horse package.  It's a goddamn shame that he had to die.  It's a bigger shame that he's been suffering for weeks because of this jackass....

On Tuesday, as I was perusing Facebook instead of focusing on my Research Design class, I noticed that Day Dreams Farm (a close friend of mine) posted a Craigslist ad link.  Now I know damn well that Lisa doesn't put things on the DDF wall unless they're well-worth reading...so I clicked, and read this:

"Hello,
I have a black well bred colt who was born 43 days late and still is having prob he has a bad canna bone in the laft front leg was have a vet bill that needs to be paid and We don't want to put him down or take to the auction I would just give him away for a pasture mate but we need help with paying off this vet bill, He can he paperd but I'm not going to give them to how ever get him, He is sweet I had to bottel feed him for the frist 3 days of his life, he now is 2 months old and still need alot of help as his dam dosen't let him nurse very much. I would like to get want we owe the vet $475.00 out of him if some one paid that I just might give a app for reg to them. the vet said he could be fix with a 50/50 % chance of him walking on it right he can run with out a prob but walking he is very slow and lays around alot. He is the great grandson of Peppy San Badger on Top side and Three Bars on botton and is a 20% linebred THREE BARS QH.."

I don't have the remainder of the original listing because by the time I got enough anger built up to fire off a blog, the posting had been deleted.  I also don't have the original picture from the ad itself...in that picture, you see a relatively-newborn black colt with a very grotesquely-misshapen cannon bone (CANNON, not "canna") on the front right and a strange, but not clearly discernible angle on the left front fetlock.  Nowhere in the ad do they take CLEAR, easily-viewable photos of this colt's condition.

Now I have several major issues with this ignorant excuse for a human being right off the bat.  First, grammar.  Some of you know that I consider the ability to use proper grammar when writing an ad NUMERO UNO when considering a human being's rights to survive and reproduce in this world.  This chick is so abhorrently awful, she herself should probably be euthanized.  Had someone actually DONE this, this colt may have never been brought into the world, and the world as a whole would be a better place.  

Secondly, OH LOOK, he has Three Bars!  Big fucking deal.  85% of quarter horses these days have Three Bars if you trace them back far enough.  AND she wants to negotiate and him-haw around about whether or not she's going to give the new owner a registration application?  Really, bitch?  Is that what makes him worth $475?  Or is it just because she's too goddamn cheap and stupid to consider the ramifications of her decision to breed shit to shit just to make shit that MIGHT be able to run around a barrel, except that now she has a crippled baby and a vet bill she apparently 'can't afford', so she wants someone else to buy her mistake to bail her out of the mess she made?  By the way, yes, I know she barrel races.  Fortunately for me, I have a few contacts on that side of the state and it didn't take me long to learn that she brings skinny, wormy, neglected horses to speed shows and barrel races all in the name of....well, I don't know if she does it for fun, but she apparently doesn't give a flying fuck about the welfare of her horses.  Now I find out she has a stallion of her own?  Well that's great fucking news!  Heads up, you pathetic excuse for a human being, you already have a TERRIBLE reputation over there, and now, thanks to your Craigslist mistake, it's spread over here!  I'd suggest selling everything and looking into permanent birth control methods, for the good of mankind.  

But, alas, back to the foal itself (who had NO name, by the way, Lisa's nine year old son named him Jackson as they buried his body yesterday).  Lisa and one of her closest supporters, Mary, drove ALL the way to Kalamazoo yesterday to pick up this little guy, and brought him back to her vet's office in the back of her Suburban.  Would the owner sign him over free & clear to the rescue?  No.  The $475 was DONATED by a Day Dreams supporter to bail this guy out of the shithole life he'd had thus far.  Talk about greedy.  I will say this, Lisa is absolutely brilliant in that she paid the VET directly instead of giving money to these sorry excuses for breeders.  Anyway, so they take this little man right to the vet for treatment and xrays.  The "canna" bone on the right front is looking considerably better, actually, but the fetlock is broken in not one, but TWO different places...essentially shattered.  
This picture was taken upon Lisa & Mary's arrival to the farm.  THIS is that fetlock....

Now, you tell me, what RESPONSIBLE breeder leaves an ankle looking like THAT unwrapped and untreated?  How do I know its untreated?  Because, my dear Lisa, in her infinite wisdom, called the treating vet today for a little more insight into this woman's mindset.  These are Lisa's words:

"It's taken me a while to get my head together to sit down and write my feelings surrounding the last 24 hours. For as horrible as that pic the owner posted looked, he actually had a good prognosis. I talked to the vet today. She said he had contracted tendons. She saw him 2 times within the first four days of his life. She braced him and told her to remove the braces in a few days to check for sores. She was instructed to call the vet if the braces needed to be put on longer, but she never made that call. His ankle was NOT damaged in any way and she called the owner SEVERAL times to follow up with him, but her calls weren't returned. But, the fact is, she wanted to sell him as a barrel horse and if he couldn't do that, he was worth nothing to her. She kept claiming that the vet saw him and said he would just heal on his own, but we now know that is a lie. "

This new information baffles me.  What possesses someone to allow an innocent young creature like this colt to suffer for WEEKS?  Did she just not see him every time she walked into the barn?  This injury could have been repaired and potentially healed to make this colt into a perfectly fine "THREE BARS-BRED!" trail-sound mount one day, but by the time Lisa and Mary could get to him, he was too far gone to save.  The injury had been left for too long, was actually scraped and calloused from him walking on the joint itself and dragging his hoof behind him.  The damned baby was suffering.  No pain meds, no wrapping, no support of any kind for him from his owner.  Lisa and Mary loaded him up in the Suburban (because, let's be honest, what other way IS there to transport such a tiny patient across the state?), and hauled him home.

There was no saving the little man.  Dr. M (who is a WONDERFUL woman and one of the finest veterinarians I know) gave this guy his first experience with pain relief and let him snooze while xraying, and the decision was made to let him go peacefully.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all for saving a little life if it can be done, but I know when the suffering dominates the quality of a life, its time to make that decision.  Do I support the decision?  100% absolutely.  Do I think charges should be brought against the owners for neglect and cruelty?  Absolutely.  Do I think Jammie Weeks should go to jail?  100% whole-heartedly.  Perhaps someone should shatter HER ankle and let her walk around on it for a few weeks without so much as a goddamn Motrin.  

Mary, who is the most soft-spoken, kind-hearted, probably-didn't-even-cuss-during-childbirth sweetheart of a woman even wrote this bitch an email after the fact.  It was mean, I was VERY impressed.  She really let this broad have it, and unfortunately received an email full of "God bless"es and "I wish you the best" bullshit that comes with replies from the lowest of the low who refuse to acknowledge that they did anything wrong, and have the audacity to "forgive" those that point out to them how fucked up their priorities and decisions are.  These are the animal abusers that hide behind a Bible and try and use God and religion as a shield.  

Now I went to fucking private school....seven damned years of it, as a matter of fact.  I have my beliefs, I also cuss like a sailor.  I DO NOT, however, ABUSE BABIES AND WATCH THEM SUFFER!!!  You want to be biblical?  Two can play this game:  

"A righteous man cares for the needs of his animal, but the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel." Proverbs 12:10

So, Jammie Weeks, where were you on THAT one?  Take one good last look at this baby that you put through weeks of pure living HELL.  I hope you sleep well at night.  There's a special place in hell for people like you.  

p.s.:  Should anyone like to contribute toward the efforts of Day Dreams Farm so they can continue going out and helping horses like Jackson, PLEASE see their website at: http://www.daydreamsfarm.com/  or visit their Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/daydreamsfarm

Thank you for your support!

Responsibility & Horse Prices

Well, I finally did it.  I think I finally managed to cut the cord and do something I should have done a year ago.  Pending a test-ride tomorrow, I think my oh-so-fabulous buckskin mare will be heading north to Ludington and to a new luxury-filled life as a show horse again.  She deserves it, its what she had before she came to Michigan, and she needs go to back to that life.  That mare is FAR better than I deserve and I'll finally be able to go to the barn without that pang of guilt and the itty bitty voice in my head saying "Why do even you have this mare?  You don't do anything with her.  She's been to the worlds, you take her to a fun show and are thrilled with a trail class win. WTF." (yes, the voice in my head uses text-abbreviation-slang).

I'll be down to two geldings, my hellion of a 3 year old, and Pat's "vintage" ranch horse, and as every good horse owner knows, two is never enough.  Since I'm anticipating a neat little wad of cash in my hand on Sunday, and nothing soothes a mourning soul like buying something new, I've been horse shopping.  A little premature, yes, I know, but I'm going to be a mess when that trailer leaves on Sunday and shopping makes for an excellent distraction.  I want a shiny new toy with hooves.

Now, I'll admit, I've spent a combined total of approximately 35 hours in the last 2 days screwing around on horse classified sites and Facebook pages dedicated to horses and ponies for sale.  When I shop, I shop hard.  Food, sleep, showers, everything takes a backseat to the all-important task of finding something to blow my money on.  The boyfriend has taken this opportunity to truck-shop and take advantage of the fact that the only real response he can get out of me when asking for anything is a "Mhmm, yep.  Whatever you want, babe, as long as it'll pull the horse trailer." I was informed this morning that I apparently gave the permissive "okay" last night to drive to southern Illinois and buy a $12k F-350.  It's green.  I sincerely dislike green pickups.  I really should start paying attention when he talks to me....

Anyway, in my searching, I've realized that I've apparently missed the point when the horse world collectively lost their damned minds.  Please, could someone tell me how horse owners can realistically expect to collect $2000 for an unregistered, "husband-safe-prospect" two year old?  I know your ad says "Or best offer, MUST SELL!!!!" but you and I both know your horse isn't worth $350, so don't tell me you'd "really like to get $1500" and then get offended when I laugh.  Well, dumbass, I'd really like to be 5'10" and model for Victoria's Secret as a side job, but that's not going to happen either!

Hay is skyrocketing, and fuel is right behind it.  In case no one selling their horse owns a calendar, IT'S SEPTEMBER 1st!  And here in Michigan, it SNOWS in the winter!  Your gem of an equine isn't worth a third of what it was worth six months ago, I don't care how many ads you put up.

To those people claiming to be "running out of hay" in hopes that guilt will entice someone to pay 10x what your horse is really worth: Really?  You had all year to know hay prices were going to be insane.  They were high in June and they're even higher now.  Sorry to say, but the hay fairies forgot to drop a few loads on Michigan this year, so deal with it.  All your ad tells me is that you're hoping there's someone out there with disposable income that could possibly be dumber than you are.  In the spring, yes, you'll find people like this (especially if the horse is a flashy pinto).  Going into winter?  Forget it.  Even stupid people know they have to get bundled up in the cold to go feed a horse when it snows.  Granted, not everyone actually DOES it, but they all know they should.  Man up, take some responsibility and either drop the price to next to nothing so someone with the money to feed it might buy it, or put the horse down yourself if you're not going to put out the cash for winter hay.

As for the group of you that wants to send out the "poor me" emails to the area rescues and beg them to take in your unwanted horse, please consider something for me for a minute.  Rescues don't get their hay for free, they pay for it just like you should be doing.  Why in God's name should a rescue take in your 25+ year old horse because you "can't afford it anymore"?  You had to have that horse, it's YOUR problem now.  If you don't want the responsibility, don't take the damned horse to an auction.  Be a responsible owner and euthanize.  Yes, I said it.  PUT. YOUR. HORSE. DOWN.  Get as pissed off as you want at me, and tell me how heartless and insensitive I am, but there is absolutely NO MARKET WHATSOEVER for a 20+ year old horse at an auction, and as much as you want to feel good when you pull out of the parking lot and think that some little girl bought your old horse, they didn't.  One person WILL be buying it, and it's going to get on a trailer for a one-way trip to Canada.  Now look out your window at those great big eyes of your "best friend" and tell me you'll feel better at night sending that horse to its death via auction rather than an IV injection at home and a peaceful ending.

"But the vet bill is so expensive!  I can't afford it."  Fine, find a gun.  There are plenty of helpful forums online to tell you how to do it quickly and painlessly for the horse.  If you can't work up the guts to do it yourself (and I don't blame you there, it's tough), find a hunter-friend that will.  You owe it to your four-legged friend to give them peace & dignity in the end, not send them through an auction ring to be packed into a truck.

Moral of the story: The horse market sucks.  Badly.  It's not going to get any better any time soon.  Take some responsibility for your horses and make plans NOW (and I don't mean go plastering websites with ads, no one is going to buy your junk right now!), not in January when your horse is skin and bones.  There's nothing worse than having to watch and bet whether the horse down the road will starve or freeze to death first.  If you go the euthanasia route, MSU will cremate for $140 (at last check).  Also, remember: you can't dig a hole with a backhoe when the ground is frozen.

Common sense statements, I know.  But sometimes these things have to be pointed out.

See everyone when I get back from Illinois.  God, I hate green trucks....

Trail Riding 101: The Art Of The Booze Cruise

I've never been much of a recreational trail rider.  I respect those that do it, both the weekend-warriors and those who actually have the ambition to camp somewhere with their horse, but it's never really been my "thing" per say.  I'm more of the type of rider to have a set plan of goals when I tack up, go into the arena or work area, and I accomplish those goals.  I've always been of the mindset when training that once those goals are reached, we end it on a good note and call it a day.  One brick at a time to build a castle, right?  Some of my workouts have been a simple 20 minutes learning a canter depart on a youngling for the first time, some end up 2 hours or more when teaching a flying change.  It all depends on the horse.  Regardless, I always try to end on a good note.  When I ride, I do productive things.

Lately, since I'm not doing much of anything in the way of productive horse-related activities, I've found myself venturing into this trail-riding thing more and more.  I have a few very close friends in Goodrich who trail ride religiously, and quite frankly, they're a riot.  They're slowly venturing into the horse-showing world thanks to their children who want to do more and more with the horses, so I help them.  In return, they've taught me this whole "relaxation" thing which I wasn't too familiar with.  Apparently, it involves significant amounts of booze, which works for me.  Thankfully, I own 3 phenomenal horses that have made the adaptation from show-toys to "hooved ATVs" rather smoothly, and I suppose this has helped shape my new outlook on the whole adventure, I'm not really sure I'd feel the same if I had a group of chicken-shit bastards.

Here are a few of the handy things I've learned while trying my hand at this whole trail riding thing:

1) Put the slowest horse in front.  This eliminates your need to trot every 10' to catch up to the others.  If the slow horse is in front, the others will simply push him along, or the whole ride will be slowed down, leaving much more time to drink.  Either way, problem solved.

2) When cars pass, its is completely appropriate to scream offensive names and profanities at the driver if they choose not to slow down for the horses.

3) If you choose to do this, make sure you're riding with a police officer.

4) Wave and yell "THANK YOU!" to those drivers courteous enough to slow and move to the far right of their side of the road for you to pass.

5) Your horse does not care how tall you are when on their back.  Overhanging branches are your problem, not theirs.

6) Horses don't come with cup holders for your beer.  Make sure you can neck rein.

7) They also don't come with a restroom.  Plan ahead.  Make mixed drinks stronger so you don't have to consume as much mixer.

8) Don't ride in homeowners' yards, some of them get quite pissed.  Stick to the shoulder of the road, if at all possible. If your horse manages to wander onto the grass before you notice, imitate a struggle with said horse, cuss repeatedly ("God damnit, Seabiscuit!  I thought you could STEER!") and make it look like the horse's fault.  People don't get angry when you obviously can't control your 1,200 lb animal.  They just prefer you keep it as far from them as possible.  Leg yield back onto the shoulder of the road and apologetically yell "I'm sorry!".

9) Neighborhood kids will want to pet your horse.  Don't be a dick, it'll take a minute and a half of your life and probably make their day.  However, if your horse views children as appetizers, it's probably best to wait from a distance and let another horse from the group entertain them.

10) Sewage drains eat horses.  They smell funny and make wierd growling noises and should be leaped away from at every opportunity.  Even from thirty feet away.  Everyone knows this, so be prepared.

11) Dogs are not to be messed with, under any circumstances.  The little ten-pound dogs that are safely confined behind their fenced yard talk a lot of shit, but can't do much about it.  The loose, aggressive dogs are the ones to watch for.  Be prepared to run if need be.  But if running means you'll spill your drink, all bets are off.  Pick the boldest horse and charge the dog if it comes after you and you obviously can't get away safely.

12) Again, make sure you're riding with a police officer if you have to run over someone's dog.  It helps considerably.

13) Yes, its true that horses have been considered a mode of transportation long before bicycles were invented, but give them a break.  These people are riding around peddling their asses into oblivion with lycra wedgies and are probably sweating a whole lot more than you.  They can have the right of way.  Teach your horse to deal with it.  Take this opportunity to drink more.

14) Having a horse that can back on command is a wonderful asset for trail riding.  Occasionally you'll run out of trail and have to back fifty yards to be able to turn around.  If your horse cannot back under saddle, put him in the front of the line, so he's the last horse out.  He'll figure it out quickly.

15) Following the theory behind #14, the last horse in line is the first horse to get eaten by the forest-monsters.  This indicates that the most obnoxious horse should be last in line, preferably behind a boss mare that has no problem letting a kick loose if it gets too close.  Manners are manners, folks.  No one likes a tailgater.


I hope this has been helpful.  Stay tuned for Trail Riding 102: Off-Roading

My New Best Friend

Back in April-ish, I wrote a piece about the blue roan quarter horse yearling I had for sale, and the ensuing shit show I accidentally created for myself by putting the ad on Craigslist for the crazies to find. The filly never sold, as a matter of fact she is still out at my mom's place in White Lake, doing god-only-knows what and probably being an adolescent holy terror due to lack of capable handling at this point.  I'm good, don't get me wrong, and I can make a heck of a well-mannered youngling...but I'm not good enough to train and work on it without seeing or touching the horse in 45 days.  I can only imagine how she is now...

But I digress.  Anyway, back in May, I received a few (as in, more than two) phone calls from an obviously crazy man in "riiiight around there South Bind, Eeeendiana" regarding this filly.  The first one was essentially him asking me all sorts of asinine questions which, had he actually READ the ad, he would have already known the answers to.  Did he read the ad?  No.  Why?  Because he doesn't have a computer. Oh hell...here we go....

Side note: If I ever find the sonofabitch that keeps giving out my name and phone number to people looking for horses with NO other information aside from "She has a horse you might like!  Call her!" I'm going to strangle them.  They apparently ONLY know idiots without computers.

So after we establish everything that was already mentioned in the ad, (several times, because of COURSE, he's hard of hearing), he tells me that he's sixty-something years old, lives on his pension, and used to drive a truck for a living.  Okay?  This matters to me, why?  Pension = broke or fairly close to it in my book.... you say "Pension" to me, and I automatically end the conversation in my head.  How do you plan to care for a youngster on a fixed income?  Babies have death-wishes, its a proven fact. If you can keep one alive until it turns 3, you're usually home free, but from 4 months till 3 years, you're best bet is to lock them in a padded stall.  One vet bill and this guy's screwed.  Plus, he's 60-something years old....he's going to get KILLED trying to deal with this horse.  

Apparently this information was given to me to supplement his point that along with his lack of a computer, he is also lacking a fucking MAP and could I give him directions from South Bend? 

Ask me if I know where South Bend is....  I know most of Oakland County, and I can get to the Ohio state line from I-75, I-275 AND US-23.  That's pretty much the extent of my travel knowledge, and to me, that's pretty impressive.  While I'm not exactly familiar with South Bend, I know its not in Ohio or Oakland County, so no.  I cannot give him directions.  He says he'll call me back in a few days.  Yippee. 

A few days goes by, then a week, then two....I think maaaaaybe I've lost him.  I thank the Powers That Be and continue fielding calls and dodging potential bullets from various jackasses that think they need a youngling.  Nowhere during this time do I think this guy was ever serious, and pretty much dismiss him from my brain-space.

And then one day the phone rings...

"Hi there darlin!  This is Randy Green from Indiana!"

Oh fucking hell.....

This time, the conversation circles around the fact that this horse is five hundred dollars.  And no, that price is not negotiable.  Yes, I'll take payments, but I charge $250/month board while the horse is being paid for (its wasn't REALLY that high, but I've found that you can sometimes price things out of people's ideals and they might just go the hell away).  Now, to MOST people, this equates to something very similar to highway robbery, and they'd tell me to screw myself and buy a horse elsewhere.  But I've got a REAL winner on the line here, and he tells me this:
"Well, darlin, that's quite okay with me. Ya see, I don't mind payin' ya the extra two-fifty because down here, that's what it'd cost me to board her anyway.  So I don't mind payin' you instead. Then I'll just come up and see her every week or so and pay ya a little bit on her every month when I get mah check."
"So you're going to drive SEVERAL HOURS to come see a horse every week?"
"Yep!  I figure I'll sleep in mah truck at a truck stop or sumethin' 'n just stay the weekend each time.  Ya'll got a truck stop 'round there, right?"

Yes, THIS is the guy I want to deal with on a weekly basis when he drives himself up here however many hours just to look at his horse through the fence and maybe pet her.  I ask him how long he's planning on taking to pay for her....

"Oh, 'bout nine months or so I should think...."

So I'm going to keep this hellion of a youngster who doesn't believe that fence lines apply to her, AND deal with Crazy McGee for NINE MORE MONTHS?  Ohnowayinhell.

I tell him that his plan isn't going to work.  And tell him to call me when he's got $500 and is ready to come pick this horse up.  If she sells in the meantime, too bad.  I save dear Randy Green's number in my phone as "Crazy Indiana Guy".  Common sense would indicate that this would be the end of our dealings with one another.  But common sense does not apply in this situation.

Two months goes by...we're now well into July, I've moved from the White Lake facility, and my mother has taken the yearling and that's the end of it.  The ads for the yearling came down at the middle of June, when I first decided to leave.  There is no indication anywhere that this yearling is still for sale.

And then, the last week of July, my phone rings....

"Crazy Indiana Guy".....oh. My. God.

I send it to voicemail.  Afterwords, I listen to his message, saying how he lost the phone number of the horse he really wanted, and he's pretty sure this is it, and could I please give him a call 'cuz he's still REEEAL interested.  
Yeah right, buddy.  Hold your breath.

Now, I'm holding my cell phone next to me as I type this, for verification purposes....

The missed calls from "Crazy Indiana Guy" on my phone read as follows:
July 25, 2:23 pm
August 2, 8:23 am
August 7, 8:19 am
August 12, 9:24 am  AND 2:11 pm
August 13, 11:37 am, 11:38 am (because OBVIOUSLY I'm going to answer a full minute after the first missed call), AND ALSO 4:57 pm, and 5:10 pm
And today, August 14, at 8:56 am.

Now I'm not sure what the legal definition for stalking or harassment is, but I'm pretty sure that COLLECTIONS AGENCIES don't try this hard to get ahold of someone.  Every time he calls, he leaves a voicemail.  And every time he leaves a voicemail, he tells me he's not sure if this is the right number, but could I please give him a call.  

NO. FUCKING. WAY, Amigo!

Now I get it, most of you are probably saying "Why don't you just call him and tell him the horse is gone?".  Here's the thing with that scenario: I don't know one SANE person that calls what could POSSIBLY be the correct phone number about a horse this many times, and quite frankly, if I DO talk to this guy, I feel like it's going to open up an ENTIRELY new bag of worms and I just really don't want to deal with it.  I don't know this guy, other than the information he's told me about himself which I've already shared.  I don't know if he's truly obsessed with this $500 yearling, or if he's some sort of serial killer/psychopath that's going to trace my call to find my address and come kidnap me and take me to a truck stop where he proceeds to rape and kill me and cut me up into teeny tiny pieces and dispose of me along the freeway back to South Bend...whichever freeway that might be because, quite frankly, I don't even know at this point.

I don't even like truck stops.  

Pat says I wasn't mean enough to him back in the beginning.  I tell him I generally TRY not to be mean to the older folks that call, because sometimes they just don't know, and how was I supposed to know he was going to be an overflowing basket full of crazy?!  He says he's going to call him and tell him to knock the shit off before we get a restraining order.  I tell him he's better off telling him I died and that he's harassing my family members now.  But then I feel like that might send this guy off the deep end and he'll come searching for my grave to pay his respects to his obviously newfound best friend.  I'm half tempted to tell Pat to give him my mom's address...he can randomly show up to her house if he ever gets a computer and directions...maybe she'll sell him the horse.

My father, the motivational speaker

Now that I'm (for all practical purposes) unemployed, I've been spending my free time at my father's auto-repair shop.  Essentially, I get up FAR too early to do nothing but shuttle repaired mail trucks back & forth to home offices, run to pick up parts, and essentially spend 4-6 hours a day being that freeloading daughter that's done nothing remotely productive with her life, and now doesn't even have a stupid hobby to piss away her free time with.  


As I think I've mentioned before, I am the oldest of four children in my family, and still haven't graduated from college.  This is a point of contention between my father and myself, and I'm fairly confident that he's resigned his thoughts of me to somewhere between "Where did I go wrong? Why didn't I just pull out?" and "Well, at least she's too chubby to be a stripper."


This was the pep talk we had this morning in the truck on our way back to the shop:  


"So I got a call back from one of the temp agencies I sent my resume to."


"Oh yeah?  How are you gonna get a job?  You're twenty-four years old, ya got no skills. Ya been playing with horses your whole life. Ya got no job. Ya got nothin' goin' for ya."

"I've got skills!"

"Sleeping around doesn't count cuz you're too damn stupid to charge for it.  Even the smart girls charge for it!"

"...Thanks Dad."






I need a real job.  Stat.