“RESIST NOT CHANGE”
By Tom Gumbrecht Originally published in Horse Directory Magazine, June 2015
The list of uncomfortable changes that I've gone through in
my life with horses is an extensive one. To the casual observer, it might seem like
some really bad luck in copious quantities. Here are a few highlights:
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| Circus gave the author many firsts, including his first unintentional dismount. |
The first seems so minor now, but it felt like a big deal
when it happened. I began riding at a lesson/ show barn. I enjoyed my lessons
and free riding on the flat, but I kept exploring the far reaches of the
property during cool-down, secretly always wanting to canter the vineyards
across the street. I finally talked my trainer into taking me over there, and
within the first minute my horse got spooked and after a bad spin I hit the
ground and my horse high-tailed it back to the barn, crossing an active roadway
in the process. I emerged from my first unintentional dismount ok physically,
as was the horse, but I was riddled with guilt for having pushed and pushed to
do something that ultimately put a horse in danger. I vowed to never leave the
safety of the property again.
The next episode was a tough one. I had slowly become part
of the horse culture, if not yet the show culture, of the wonderful barn where
I had learned to ride. It was my first exposure to a barn family and I was
accepted into it. Life was good. And one day it all changed when the owners
made the decision to relocate out of state. The farm was sold as a non-horse property
and the horse facilities were dismantled. My comfort zone and new-found barn
family just evaporated. My riding life was over.
In another instance I found myself in a rough board situation,
sharing a horse with a very experienced owner who no longer rode. I had almost
unlimited access to a really good horse, a wealth of knowledge at my fingertips
and magnificent trails on an adjoining preserve that no one else used or even
knew about, for the price of some hay. All this within 10 minutes of my western
Long Island workplace! It seemed to be too good to be true, and I guess it was.
There developed some conflict at this little barn that ultimately made the arrangement
unworkable. With a heavy heart I had to say goodbye to what seemed like
paradise.
The first horse I ever actually owned was perfect for me. He
had a great personality, and was older and
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| Buddy, the first horse owned by the author, seen with mom Helen.. |
Our second horse was a stalwart. She was, dependable,
healthy, honest and fun. Always there, always up for anything and a great
baby-sitter. A senior also, she brightened our days for four years, when she
had a bad colic and was gone within several days of taking ill. It seemed as if
our dreams were star-crossed.
A point came sometime later where I had gained enough experience
and confidence to enter the world of horse showing. In the small world of
eventing on Long Island, I had acquired a courageous horse with a natural talent
that we developed with the help of a trainer and did well in the lower levels
over two years or so. Unexplainably he injured his suspensory ligament and had
to have surgery which put him, and me, out of the
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| DannyBoy with the author at an early eventing show. |
My focus was diverted to a side project at one point, and myself
and another person planned to try our hand at procuring an OTTB at auction,
retraining and showing the horse and selling it before picking up another in a
small effort to give some ex-racehorses a new start. A magnificent plan which
fell apart 24 hours after we picked up our first one at New Holland. The
following day the drugs that had apparently been given to this very recently
off the track mare, wore off revealing an injury that would have her incapacitated
indefinitely. My project partner was understandably not up for this level of
challenge so I found myself in way over my head and alone. It was beginning to
look like I should have perhaps taken up a different sport. But things are not
always how they initially seem…
So here is, as Paul Harvey used to say, the rest of the
story:
The incident in the vineyard did not lead to never leaving
the supposed safety of the riding ring again. Instead, it enticed me to find a
different and safe venue to explore trail riding. While still learning to be a
better technical rider on my leased horse at the farm, I would supplement that
with weekly (or more) trail rides at a local hack stable. I learned to ride
many different horses under many different conditions and met a lot of people
who shared my enthusiasm.
The closing of my home barn set into motion a creative quest
to stay connected to horses in some way. That
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| Magic was dependable, brought comic relief and gave us our first lesson in letting go. |
The difficult loss of relationships with horses, and its
effect on me, prompted my wife to suggest that I get my own horse. I expanded
on that to include getting our own barn and she went along with it! That's in
effect how Dreamcatcher Farm got started.
My first horse’s illness was devastating for him,
inconvenient for me. When I finally was able to see things that way, I was able
to use the skills I had learned at the rough board barn to keep him comfortable
and nurse him back to health. That was a long journey but along the way I
became a horseman. I learned how to not give up when situations looked dire.
But I needed another lesson. I needed to learn when and how
to let go, and our second horse, the mare, taught me that hard lesson. That
there was a difference between giving up and releasing with love. Later, the untimely
injury of my event horse allowed me to spend a lot of time just being with him.
He was (and is) a take-charge kind of guy, and although we worked very well on
course together, he was not an easy horse to bond with. Hour-long leg
treatments, wrapping and handwalking every day for many months provided that
opportunity and provided valuable experience for what would become my next
challenge.
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| Lola, not long before she landed at the author's stable. |
The lofty dreams I had for my beautiful, muscular
ex-racehorse were dashed when the veterinarian confirmed our fears of a serious
front leg injury. I felt as if I was between a rock and a hard place, and I
didn't know if I could willingly take on a situation as grave as this. Yet the
alternatives seemed to be to misrepresent and re-sell her as had been done to me,
or euthanasia, and I wasn't willing to consider either.
As I wasn't able to fathom the level of commitment that I would need to muster,
I just took things a day at a time. And a day at a time we worked, and we
bonded; we were jubilant with small victories and crushed by setbacks. We asked
for help when we were in over our heads, which was frequently. And she got
better, and I got better. She didn't know much except the racetrack, and how to
be a good horse, but that ended up being enough. We got trained to train her,
and we did. And we got to ultimately be the person in the irons when she
trotted into the show ring in front of the first crowd since the one at her
last racetrack. That remains my most cherished ribbon.
Through her and all of the others I found my little niche in
the horse world. It wasn't bad luck forcing situations upon me, it was the
universe opening doors that I would not have otherwise known were there. The
thing is, I wouldn't have chosen any of these situations had I been given the option.
Were they good things or bad things? Neither. They were necessary things.
Necessary in order to bring me to the point where I am now, which is prepared
for unknown opportunities already on their way.
Even though I seem to not always remember it very well, things
work much better for me when I live my life in preparation for something better
to come.
