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Stewing over horse neglect stew
The wheels of justice turn slowly...
It appears the District Attorney's office is starting to take notice of the mess at Foul Play Farm in Clinton.
I can only hope that simultaneously, they're taking note of the derisory investigation by Animal Welfare, too.
I mean, if Animal Welfare were truly invested and truly capable, there wouldn't be any need for the DA to appeal directly to the public for help, right?
We are willing to give the lawyers time to work on this specific case. We wish them luck and will help whenever possible.
But good will has exhausted itself when it comes to Animal Welfare.
When the time's right, there will be a call for Big Change.
Effective people rise to the occasion in times of crisis. We've seen the exact opposite at Animal Welfare. Crisis came. Animal Welfare scurried for cover. The Ingrahams need to be held accountable for their actions. Norma Worley and Dr. Christine Fraser need to be held accountable for their inactions.
Regardless of the outcome at Foul Play, that AWP tactic won't change unless the horse community rallies together and pushes for change.
Patience for now.
Action soon.
Carrots for a toothless pony?
In a quirky swap benefiting all parties, my Shetland pony, Trixie, moved to a friend's farm this week.
And Pep, the troublesome pony at that farm, came to my place.
Trixie seems to be settling in well. She has a lovely companion, a big draft mix fittingly named Cupcake.
carrots.jpgTrixie is now being cared for by my friend, Rick. Rick is new to horsemanship. But this week I learned once again, how creative he can be in delivering tender care to his charges.
During the first few days, he was concerned that Trixie was anxious and wasn't eating all her grain. (She needs to eat her grain because she has next to no teeth and quids most of her hay.)
He wanted to give her a treat and make her feel better. So he ground carrots and fed them to her by hand.
In all my years, it never dawned on me to do something so special, yet so simple for her! Ok, I gave her warm mashes. But grated carrots -- how yummy! Trixie thought they were marvelous, too.
Animal un-Welfare
We continue to hear nothing from the folks at Animal Welfare. My prediction was that Director Norma Worley and Commissioner Seth Bradstreet would stick their heads in the sand and hope we'd all just go away.
Indeed, that seems to be their strategy.
The horses at Foul Play Farm are fewer and fatter. They got rid of the neglected and abused ones. Good job on the "investigation," y'all!
I sent pleas to Stan, Sue, Chellie, John, and Olympia (Gerzofsky, Collins, Pingree, Baldacci, and Snowe) and have heard back from only Gerzofsky. Auto-replies don't count.
Gerzofsky expressed his concern and told me he would be in touch with the Department of Agriculture. Stay tuned...
I have made several calls to District Attorney Evert Fowle.
I'm not wringing my hands anymore, I'm grinding my teeth.
In other words, the emotional element of this crisis may have passed. But the problem still festers.
I think I can speak for a lot of Maine horse folks when saying I'm not settling or walking away.  I'm just reloading.
A Maine Horsewoman with all her teeth
I love all the comments - positive and negative that have been flowing through the NickerNews portal lately.
I'm particularly amused by the "Go Back to New Jersey" comments -- those left by folks who seem to think I'm some out-of-state interloper, here to bring down the locals and institute a new foreign order.
Hello?
Just because I managed to get an education, manage to express myself alright, and have all my teeth, doesn't mean I'm From Away! And guess what? There lots of folks just like me around here!
Yup, Born and Raised in Maine. And proud of it.



Open Gate? Mares don't Care
Open gates are a scary thought at my place. Twenty feet from paddock, there is a lovely lawn covering an aging septic system.  It would not be cool for horses to hang out and graze over there.
So I'm usually extra attentive with my gates.
But during this week's deluge, I left a gate accidentally open while I hustled a bale of hay from the shed, into the paddock. Yikes!
But when I got to the gate, the girls were looking at it with indifference. They could have walked right out and grabbed the first mouthful of grass in months.
But they stood contentedly in their stalls - out of the downpour, sheltered from the whipping wind. We'll pass on the grass right now. Thanks, anyway.


Maine Horse Community's own earthquake
I met last night with a fantastic group of Maine horse ladies. We shared our distress over the horses in Clinton and exchanged information about animal welfare (or lack thereof) and the latest scuttlebutt on blogs.
But we also talked about our own recent news, long-suffering-horse-husbands, the upcoming mud season, and the planning of our summer's exciting adventures.
New readers might think NickerNews is just a place to disparage the state's animal welfare program OR to report on abusive horse farms OR hound for public outcry.
But look farther.
Explore the articles.
Check out the Your Horse and Memorial pages.
Check out the fun videos. (Especially the cutting horse on his own!)
You will see that NickerNews is actually devoted to the positive side of horsemanship and horse ownership. My usual policy is, "If I can't say something nice, I won't say anything at all."
But this crisis demanded outcry.
When there's a calamity as big as a Haitian earthquake, you have to cover it.
We look forward to better times and hope you all stay along for the ride.
All Riding is Therapeutic
Sorry to be waxing philosophical, but that headline has been looming large comfort.jpgfor me lately!
I had a few minutes today and threw a rope halter on Shea and hopped aboard.
All of a sudden, thoughts of threats, survey results, more abuse complaints -- all that stress faded down through my lower back, down each leg and out my toes.
All of a sudden, what mattered most was connecting with my horse and not screwing up...Trying to improve on some riding elements shared by my friend, Kim...Trying to breathe. Of course, I screwed up a little. We got confused and worked through it, walking, trotting, backing, cantering...It was the best thirty minutes I've had in days!

There are still horses to feed
I was having a sleep-deprived meltdown yesterday. Along with many members of the horse community, NickerNews has been working around-the-clock to advocate for the horses in this wretched, wrenching story of abuse.
How can people be so evil?
How can animal welfare officials be so negligent?
The world is a terrible place!

Then I caught my horse looking from the paddock in my general direction. It was like someone shaking me by the shoulders.
C'mon, Maddy. Get your head out of your hands and give us some hay!
Soldier on, folks. Soldier on.
Clinton Horses - dead or alive
clinton5.jpgI'm guessing you all know about the devastation going on at Fair Play Farm in Clinton.
But I'm told all the neglected horses have been removed.
To another farm where they will be lovingly rescued?
Not likely.
My guess is that they've been hauled off and unceremoniously put to death.
If so, I hope their suffering ended quickly.
If not, I hope they will see better days soon.

If you haven't already, please do what you can to provoke change at the state level.
If you can, please offer an empty stall or donate to your local rescue agency.
If you haven't picked up the phone or figured out how to contribute positively to this situation, what's holding you back?
Thanks and stay tuned.
WCSH and me
This morning I had the dubious honor of being interviewed by Vivian Leigh, a reporter for WCSH 6 news.
It was about the Clinton horses, of course.
Later, she phoned to say that the owner of all these starving horses wanted to talk. Yooray! But, said Leigh, she wanted to talk with her attorney first.
Please do your part to stay on the case and demand that justice is served. Make phone calls.
Agitate.
We need to beat down the doors of complacency at the Animal Welfare department!
Mini Donkeys Are the Bomb

minijacks.jpg












 I had the distinct good fortune of caring for a pair of mini donkeys this week.
They were uncut jacks, about eight months old. Cute as buttons!
They were alternately shy, guarded, playful, and bold. But never rude. Kudos to their owner.
Check out their feet! Don't they look like little leads on the end of little pencils? I swear their hooves were no bigger than my two thumbs put together.
And their ears! So long, fuzzy and telling. I was tempted to open my car door and say, "c'mon boys, let's go to my house!"
donkeyfeet.jpg
Shipped Out to Footloose Farm
After the skeletons came out of the closet and Yours Truly literally ate dirt at the Cabin Fever Clinic last month. I thoughtterry.jpg long and hard about the next step for me and my beloved rescue mare, Brooke.
So last week, I headed north to Footloose Farm in Brownfield. Home of trainer Terry McClare.
I knew within a few minutes that it was the right call.
Terry had Brooke figured out quickly. She rode her. I rode her. We talked about specific issues and I left Brooke there for a few weeks of training. down.jpg
Hard things to do:
Leave your loved one, of course.
But also, to admit that you need help and place your trust and your horse completely in someone else's hands.
Nonetheless, I'm really  looking forward to working with Terry!
Stay tuned for more reports about progress made and steps towards improvement -- like the change to a snaffle and why the hackamore was sending mixed messages.

...Meanwhile, certain equines are downright depressed by Brooke's sudden departure. Shea stares down the road, wondering when she'll see that trailer returning with her girlfriend. She mopes around the paddock, nibbles indifferently at her hay.
Sheddy Already
sign.jpgI've noticed most of the horses I see on my weekly rounds are starting to shed out their thick, winter coats.
How about yours?
Spring can't be far away! Considering this week, I'll take a good thaw or even a few afternoons above freezing.
I'm NOT complaining
clammers.jpgIt being 10 degrees, windy, and all, I was starting to piss and moan about the cold this morning.
That was until I saw these guys out clamming.
I may be outside all morning, but I’m not literally sinking my hands and feet into cold, unwelcoming mud.
I know that mud. I grew up trudging across the flats of Middle Bay. That mud clings to you like burrs in a field. It gets into the cracks of your skin and tints your hands four shades darker.
But I know this from summer months. Then, you could just jump in and swim it off. Yippee!
My friend, Rick, was telling me about winter clamming when he was a kid.
“It was a matter of survival,” he said.
Rick, his father, and brothers went clamming to earn enough to put food on the table. (Half a bushel yields about a gallon of shucked clams – that’s about 80 bucks wholesale.)
He remembers clamming one winter day. His gloves weren’t keeping his hands warm enough and he was complaining. His father gave Rick his gloves and he continued on, barehanded.
Barehanded!
So I have respect for winter clammers and I appreciate them showing me that Everything is Relative.
I have respect for winter water, too.
My brother and I used to go iceberg-hopping with friends. We were a band of dumbasses, I guess you could say!
The tides break up the ice into table-size chunks. And at high tide, they float around in loose groups. If conditions are right, you can jump from iceberg to iceberg.
It’s fun, until you fall in.
I fell in once or twice (yes, I am a slow learner) and found out how quickly five layers of warmth can become fifty pounds of ice cold.
Kinda scary. I was glad I wasn’t over my head.
It took a long time to warm up.

So now, like I said, I try not to complain! But I do love visiting barns with heated tack rooms!

Poor Charlie
shoeup.jpgCharlie is a friend of mine who gave me this horseshoe. He bought it at a flea market for me to hang on my wall.
But no wonder it was for sale...do y'all notice what I noticed right away?
Yup, it has to be hung upside-down. As any superstitious, horseshoe hanger would know, you simply cannot hang it with the ends pointing down. And if I were to hang it correctly (according to superstition), the horse head would be upside down. And that wouldn't work, either!
I was polite and accepted his gift. But it won't ever go on my wall. Too darn superstitious. So there it sits horizontally on a coffee table. That's the best I can do, Charlie.
Scruffy to Spiffy
hoopges.jpgBack in the day, I spent a lot of time following college hoops. Yes, I was a hoops junkie. But I was also a sports reporter for a Connecticut newspaper, covering women's basketball (among other things) in southern New England.
One winter, our local junior college team qualified for the big tournament in Texas. I covered them at the NJCAA's in Tyler, Texas. The Big Dance for junior colleges.
I noticed how the women got sweaty, scruffy, messy and maintained a certain 'baller' demeanor on the court.
But off the court, they put on a totally different face. They wore make-up, dressed to kill, and were impressively ladylike.

What the heck does this have to do with anything??images-2.jpg

Another one of my resolutions, of course!
When I wake up and start my barn chores, I'm dressed for the game, so to speak - Scruffy is my middle name. Sweatshirt, jeans, barn boots is my uniform.
Problem is, I don't transition when I meet someone for coffee or head out to a non-horse outing. Scruffy is STILL my middle name.
So, this year, I'm going to dedicate ONE pair of shoes for non-horse outings. This pair of shoes will not have manure around its edges anscruff.JPGd won't smell like the barn.
Sure.
This year, I'm going to dedicate ONE pair of jeans to non-horse outings. It won't be marked with barn stains or ripped from horse accidents.
Promise.
This year, I'm going to change out of t-shirts and sweatshirts every once in a while when occasion calls.
Absolutely.
I went to a funeral last month and someone said, "You look so nice!" Ohmigod. You know it's pitiful when the only time friends and family see you anywhere near presentable is at church.
Time to make an effort!
I want to go there
sable2.jpgWe've all heard of Assateague and Chincoteague - the islands just north of North Carolina's Outer Banks, home to wild horses and ponies. But have you heard of Sable Island?
It's MUCH farther off any coast and, yes, there is a stable Sable population of wild horses.
Sable Island is about 110 miles off the coast of Nova Scotia. There are about 250 horses there. Horses were introduced to the island by shipwrecks hundreds of years ago. They were also brought out sable.jpgfor domestic use.
For more info and photos, check out the Green Horse Society and Paul Illsley's site.
Heading to Haiti
Dr. Rebecca Gimenez, major in the United States Army Reserve and TLAER Logo.jpgpresident of Technical Large Animal Emergency Rescue, has been activated for a short stint in Haiti.
She will assist in post-earthquake efforts related to animal welfare.
Stay tuned for more updates.

Stay Safe and Be Well, Rebecca!
Aching body, no. Bruised ego, yes.
You will soon read about Chris Lombard's successful Cabin Fever Clinic at Riding to the Top Therapeutic Riding Center. But here's a tease:
Yours Truly brought lovely Brooke. NickerNews readers know Brooke as an old green horse (broke at age 13) with issues from many years of abuse rck.jpgand neglect.
We did fine in the morning ground work session.
In the afternoon, we did alright at walk and trot but I could feel her coiling up on me. Or was that me, getting nervous in anticipation.
Sure enough, when we tried to canter, I got bucked off. Chris took over and gave everyone their money's worth as he worked with her, stayed on through many bucks, and talked about her issues. (All at the same time - amazing!)
I spent most of the next day, blaming myself for 1. not being a better rider, 2. not being a better partner on the ground and in the saddle, 3. misreading her, 4. letting her get away with little disrespectful stuff, and so on.
But, heck, shit happens. I'm going to learn from it and move on -- on her, I hope. So what if I literally ate dirt?
White Castle in the making
bank.jpgAnd I'm not talking about a burger joint, either.
It's the growing pile of snow in my paddock. In years past, I've dismissed the accumulation in front of my stalls and then paid dearly for my neglect. That's because the snow pack melts into the stalls.
So this year, I'm being diligent about keeping the snow downhill from the stalls. Come Hell or, you know, High Water - I will not have flooded stalls on the first thawing days.
Check out the pile behind me and Shea - I'd say it's about 6 feet high and growing!

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