Ciao, Bella!

Ciao, Bella!    

                                                                                                                     

Originally published in Horse Directory,  August 2012

By Tom Gumbrecht

 I have, it seems, been blessed with a love for all horses.  Some, however, have at times been difficult to get along with.  For me, Bella had fallen into that category. Like many strained relationships, it was born of a lack of communication. Although in my barn, on and off, for quite a few years, I really didn’t know her.

Bella was Samantha’s second horse, purchased after her first horse, Magic, passed away as a senior.  She came from a farm in northern Connecticut, the fruit of Samantha’s exhaustive internet searches. She was as beautiful as she was young, only three years old when we met her.  Sam was 15 then, but we had both put in seven years with packers and schoolmasters, so with the help of a trainer, I believed her to be up to the challenge.

Bella, a buckskin pinto half-Arabian, half-Saddlebred mare, turned heads wherever she went. She proved a bit difficult to handle, but her speed and Sam’s keen eye and unshakable demeanor allowed her to do quite well in the local jumper shows.  At college, however, the instructors there were not as amused by Bella’s antics as we were, resulting in switching disciplines, and ultimately ending up in her not being used as much as we had hoped.  At one point, she sustained an unexplained lower forelimb injury and she ultimately came back home to recuperate.

She was given time off to heal, and during that time Sam had begun training with my Paint gelding, DannyBoy, who had just come off of a two year layup from his own injury.  During that time, I had been working with my recently rehabbed OTTB mare Lola, and our horse calendars were pretty much full.  Where Bella was concerned, the picture I had in my mind when I thought of her was with her ears perpetually pinned flat back, and teeth frequently bared.  She was a cranky mare.  I had a soft spot for her, but I never felt that my feelings were reciprocated.

Out of necessity, I had gained some experience in the years previous, rehabilitating orthopedic injuries in my horses.  The time had come to begin that with Bella.  In my back yard for seven years, save the four semesters at college in Ohio, I had nonetheless never ridden her.  I got on her in our ring and she seemed fine and offered no surprises.  So, I loaded her on the trailer and we drove to Blydenburgh Park in Smithtown for some light walk-therapy.

With a tiny bit of trepidation, I mounted up and we hit the trail.  She was a natural, blazing through overgrowth with ears forward and alert, cupping backward in acknowledgement of the slightest of aids.  She was reluctant to get her feet wet or muddy, so at first the puddles proved a challenge.  But she was otherwise brave, willing and interested.  Not wanting to overdo things on the first day, we headed back to the trailer after about a half hour of walking.  And then a crazy thing happened…

I untacked her and gave her a cool bath with a sponge and a bucket, scraping the excess water off so the remaining moisture could evaporate.  I noticed that unlike most horses, she seemed to want her face washed and actively encouraged it.  As is my routine, I brought out my little picnic lunch and let her graze peacefully as I enjoyed it.  She came over to investigate and gave me a look with such love in her eyes that was so intense and so unexpected that it gave me shivers.  She licked the side of my face and went back to grazing.  I didn’t see her ears pinned once during our excursion.  In subsequent days, the increased attention she paid me was at first curious, then disarming.  I was used to her being one way, and now she was acting another.

In one afternoon, a new friendship was formed.  We had only needed some one-on-one time to forge it.  The love had always been there; it was the “like” that we needed to work on.  That can be hard when someone seems to not like you.

 Sometimes, a little adversity forces us to work together.  And we discover something brand new, that has been there all along..

Diamond Girl

Diamond Girl                                                                                                                                        

Originally published in Horse Directory magazine
July 2012

 By Tom Gumbrecht                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Lola in her racing days. Apparently, she liked to play in the mud!

A week or two ago I heard the Seals & Crofts 70’s song, “Diamond Girl”. Like much of the music from my youth, I loved the song and it made me happy to hear it again.  Not because it reminded me of some 70’s high school sweetheart; no, this song evoked warm thoughts of my own “Diamond Girl”, my Off-Track Thoroughbred mare, Lola, who raced under the name, “One Precious Gem”.

Acquired from the New Holland auction, Lola had (unknown to me at the time) been raced actively at several Pennsylvania tracks until two weeks previous to our eyes meeting at the racks of the auction house.  As I laid the cash down at the auction office, I held high hopes for our future partnership. The elation lasted about 36 hours, when the medication wore off and my future champion couldn’t walk.

Veterinary reports confirmed the unfortunate truth: Lola had sustained soft tissue damage. I was later to find, after uncovering her identity and researching her history, that the injury occurred in her last race, and although her career appeared to be promising prior to her injury, she ended up what is sometimes a way station on the last road for racehorses that can no longer race.  But then fate put Lola and I at the same auction on the same day. 

At home, post-diagnosis, in the privacy of her stall, tears flowed hard into her mane. I can’t do it! And I can’t (won’t) bring her back. Denial was a prelude to remorse, which gave life to anger, where I lingered for a short while until I realized that Lola wasn’t going anywhere, and that there was a reason why the paths of our lives had intersected. Under doctor’s orders, we got to work.

The first year of her life with me was spent mostly in her stall and in the stable yard, being cold-hosed, hand walked, and wrapped twice a day. Lola’s frequent and furious welcoming knickers, her cooperative nature and her grateful eyes made me look forward to our time at the barn. The prospect of her rehabilitation which had once seemed like a huge mountain in the windshield eventually appeared in the rear-view mirror.  As the mountain got smaller and smaller in the mirror while coasting down the other side, it felt satisfying and encouraging…. until the next mountain appeared on the horizon through the windshield. Could we climb another?  We could and did.  Eventually the terrain flattened out and we were ready to begin training.

I was already working with a trainer with my other horse, and through our good fortune, that same trainer possessed the knowledge and patience needed to retrain a racehorse, and the willingness to, rather than do it all herself, train me to train the horse.  Lola, while a good student, demanded that her concerns be respected.  Sometimes, mistaking her willingness for fearlessness, I would not.  She would have me pay for those transgressions in the form of remedial training.  We continued to figure each other out over the ensuing months, which fell together and formed two years.

A time came where I began to yearn once again for the rewards of setting and achieving goals that, for me, can only be met by showing.  Our preparations led us to the Horse Trials at Good Shepherd Farm on Long Island, NY, on a late spring morning. Our goals were simple: To bring Lola to the show grounds, let her acclimate to the unfamiliar surroundings and activity level, and if she was up to it mentally, ride a single dressage test.

The mare uncharacteristically revealed her racing heritage as soon as she got off the trailer, with more nervous energy than I had ever seen in her.  The closest I have witnessed lately was the energy level and body language of the recent Belmont Stakes entrants being led from paddock to starting gate.  At once it occurred to me that the last time she was in the presence of so much horse activity, she was probably on the way to the starting gate herself.  She was recalling her job... which was to go fast!

I tacked up and mounted.  At this moment I have no fear of riding Lola, and it isn’t because I am particularly brave. It’s because today, at this moment.. I understand. I understand and I trust.  This horse has learned to trust me implicitly.  Today I can reciprocate.  My early concerns were all about me: What if “I” don’t do well?  What will “I” look like if this horse tears up the arena? What if “I” don’t look like I can control my horse? Silly, self-centered fears that I needed to be rid of.

Schooling in the field before our test, a beautiful thing happened. That song came into my head again:

“Diamond Girl

You sure do shine..

Glad I found you..

Glad you’re mine…”

My tenseness began to melt, and so too, hers.

This day was about her, not me.

“How can I

Shine without you..

When it’s about you

That I am…”

All of my concerns and trepidations fell away as I realized, I love this horse. I’ve loved other horses before, but not like this one. In the practice field, I sang the verses to her.  If anyone heard, they might have thought it strange. Or if they saw me choke up at the line,

“I could never find

Another one like you..

…Diamond Girl, now that I found you

Well it’s around you

That I am..”

A glance at my watch revealed our time approaching. I took a breath and headed for the arena and staged ourselves in position to wait and be called.  And she stood. Quietly.  Remarkably so, and she waited.  She dropped her head, and waited. And when called, gave a performance that while far from the perfection demanded of those dedicated to the discipline, was complete, under control, and made more than a few people proud.

It was just one little class in one little show.  For the occasion, Lola sported a new leather show halter. She had been wearing the same old halter that I bought at the auction house back then, another small detail. But symbolically, in my mind, Lola made the transition today from project to performer. That looms huge.  Of course she will always be a work in progress, as will I. Acknowledging that, a sign in the barn aisle outside Lola’s stall declares , “Progress, Not Perfection”.  I hope we never finish our journey… because it’s a beautiful thing to just be on it with my Diamond Girl.

 < The author and Lola at her first horse show.

     Good Shepherd Farm, Training Level     

       Dressage Test 06/12.
        
          More photos.. V V  

                         

    The author and Lola ("One Precious Gem") await the judge's bell....  >>                                                                        

                                                                        

<The author's wife, Mary, holds Lola after

 her successful first horse show performance...

Finding The Authentic Me

Finding the Authentic Me  

                                                                                                                          

Originally published in Horse Directory, June 2012

By Tom Gumbrecht

We all have friends who we haven’t seen for awhile, but when we are reacquainted we pick up right where we left off, months or even years later, seamlessly as if no time at all had passed. So it was with my friend Diana O’Donnell. We had both taken up riding as adults, at around the same time, independently but as the Long Island horse community is a small world, the paths of our horse lives had crossed many times over the years. We supported each other, as friends do, in those times that invariably frustrate the adult student of riding. Time and distance limited our collaborations in more recent years, but my respect for her innate kinship with her horses and for her dedication to becoming a more intuitive horseperson has never waned.

I recently learned of Diana’s Life Coaching Practice, Equus Spirit, where she combines her unique qualifications along with an equine “facilitator” to help you to find your own pathway toward choice and change. A longtime disciple of the “horse as teacher” school, I jumped at the chance to experience a session at her Manorville farm, Enchanted Acres. 

< Diana O'Donnell with Keko

It was threatening rain when I pulled in to the farm. I was introduced to Sue Dooley, the equine specialist in the practice. After a brief tour of the facilities, Diana, Sue and I settled in to the barn studio and began our journey. Diana briefed me on what was going to happen and Sue set the tone for our morning’s work with a guided meditation.

I had submitted some background information pre-session outlining some things in my life on which I’m currently working, and suggesting what might be my goals for the coaching session. In our session we expanded on that, and went through a process by which I chose my equine partner. I chose Hal, an amicable senior who although we hadn’t met, had a familiarity about him. After introductions, I was briefed on the next phase of our journey. Using some ingenious tools and methods that I didn’t understand at the time, I headed out into the arena, unmounted, to “create my life”.  Diana gently guided me with a few well chosen words which seemed to be almost in the background as I had become immersed in the process. When I was done, I traversed the life I had created in the ring with my equine partner, Hal, in hand, three separate times, from three different gently guided points of view. After symbolically experiencing my life through these three different perspectives, with Hal by my side throughout, we retreated back to the studio where we talked about what we had experienced and had a closing meditation. After some coffee and pleasantries, I embarked on my trip home.

On the trip, made longer than normal due to the now steadier rain, I reflected on what I had experienced. At that point it seemed that I had experienced a series of exercises that were interesting, challenging, and made pleasant by my human and equine friends. But I had a hard time relating them to the things I had hoped to accomplish in our session. And while Hal was a gentleman and fine companion, from a strictly pragmatic viewpoint I didn’t really understand his function in the process. Maybe I was a person whose ability to benefit from this type of experience was limited, I thought. But then….

In the hours and days to come, an amazing thing happened. Answers to my questions began hitting me seemingly from out of the blue. Things that were a vague blur seemed to at once assume crystal clarity. I began to see different facets of my life that once seemed separate and unrelated as connected and part of a cosmic blueprint of sorts. It was an experience that I won’t soon forget. What happened? I’m not sure, but I think perhaps my human guides prepared me and encouraged me and set me on a course that was challenging and perhaps a little bit scary to navigate. My equine guide made it safe to do so.

I recall some years ago, when I was building my barn, I had been working late at night in the tack room and had left my wallet there. I realized it and headed back in the darkness to the far corner of the property and in doing so, felt a slight tinge of fear walking into the black hole that was the incomplete barn. A few weeks later the barn was complete and occupied by my first horse, Buddy. I have never felt that tinge of fear heading down to the barn at night since. The cast of equine characters has changed, but the feeling has not. My horses evoke a feeling of well-being in me, a feeling of safety, a feeling of rightness. It is a feeling shared by others I know, inexplicable perhaps, but undeniable as well. It is the reason why horses are the perfect guide for the soul.

 

My experience that day has made an impact that remains. I’m glad that I was at some point blessed with a mind open enough to experience some things that I didn’t totally understand. And I am happy to acknowledge that I don’t need to understand everything in order for me to be accepting of its effectiveness.

“God gave unto the Animals
A wisdom past our power to see:
Each knows innately how to live,
Which we must learn laboriously”.
~Margaret Arwood

You may learn more about Diana and Sue and Equus Spirit at www.ponystrides.com

< Hal, my equine partner in self-discovery....

A Horse's Last Will and Testament

A HORSE’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT 

Originally published in Horse Directory, May 2012

By Tom Gumbrecht

 The author's mother, Helen, and

his first horse, Buddy: Love and

kindness is their legacy.....

I hereby appoint you, my human, to carry out these, my last wishes:

Upon my death, I hereby bequeath to an unwanted horse of your choosing, the wonderful home you have given me.  I give her all of my warm blankets, my feeder, my water buckets and my hay rack. I give her the use of my stall, my paddock, and the fence that kept me safe.  I give to her the heater that kept my water from freezing in the winter and the fan that kept my stall cool in the summer.

I hereby acknowledge that these are just possessions, and that as such, they’re really yours, not mine. But you really don’t have a use for them yourself, do you?

What I really have to bequeath is the wonderful place in your heart that I helped you discover.   That place full of love so pure and unconditional that you didn’t even know was there until we came into each others’ lives.  This is what I helped to create, and this is what is mine to give.  It must be passed on to the next unloved horse.  My hope is that it won’t die with me, to let it would be to dishonor what you and I created together.

To the poor, confused, scared athlete at the auction, recently earning a handsome living for his owner and summarily discarded when no longer able, I give the solemn promise that you once gave me: “No human will ever do anything bad to you again”.

To the favorite camp horse who taught countless children the joys of riding and caring for a horse, only to be shipped off unceremoniously at summer’s end by those unwilling to feed him over the winter, I give an end to the fear and uncertainty that each change of seasons brings. I give the place on the stall door where his nameplate will stay forever until one day, like mine, it will take the place of honor you will give it in your home.

To the loyal senior horse who once babysat someone’s daughter and gave purpose to her life and ribbons to her wall, now forgotten as life took turns that didn’t include him,  I give your soft touch, your easy smile, your soothing words, your undying respect and your unshakeable commitment.

Through our partnership you became a better person.  You did for me, what you once thought yourself incapable of.  That was my gift to you while I was living, and now I humbly ask that you pass along what I have taught you to the next deserving horse.  Please don’t say, “I will never have another horse again.  No other horse could ever take your place, and the pain of loss is too great”. 

Go instead and find an unloved horse whose hope has all but disappeared and give my place to her.  That is really all I have to give… the love I helped you find in yourself.

This story was inspired by “The Last Will and Testament of a Companion Animal”, a topic explored by my friend Peggy Hoyt, of The Center for Animal Advocacy.

Serendipity

Serendipity

By Tom Gumbrecht      

Originally published in Horse Directory,  April 2012                                                                                                               

 

Serendipity. ser-en-dip-i-ty. n. The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.

There was only one reason that I found myself on the half-mile driveway at Hunters Isle Show Stable

In Brookville, NY, and that was to decline a job that was offered to me in my capacity as an electrical contractor. I was just too busy. And I had lost the slip of paper that I had transcribed the message on, so I hadn’t returned the call. Skip Lauinger, the owner, called back again, now two weeks later, and not wanting to appear ungrateful, I decided to deliver the bad news in person.  By making a personal visit, I could also get a feel for the job and perhaps recommend someone else to do it.

That’s what I thought. But somewhere, some wheels had been set into motion that would change my life, and that of my family, forever. I just didn’t know it yet. I didn’t know that three months later my truck would be wearing down ruts in that driveway, and that I not only would be a student of English riding and horsemanship, but my name would be engraved on a stall plate in the barn where the horse that I was leasing, Circus, lived. There was absolutely nothing to suggest that from one day to the next, the path of my life would be so radically different. Testimony, as it were, to the power of the horse.

It took only minutes to become absorbed in the vibe of the place, and it was unlike any other place I had been.  I had been in similarly constructed buildings, and on similarly bucolic landscape. With friendly and accepting people, similar to those I had met here.  But there was a difference somehow. The difference, I was to discover, was that there were horses here. And the difference was huge.  An animal lover since birth, I was no stranger to kinship with another species. Dogs, cats. But this was different. My dog looked up to me. My mother’s cat looked down on me.  These horses … looked right at me, into me. Literally and figuratively, it felt like we were on the same level.  It’s difficult to find the words to describe that epiphany, but I think all of us who love horses have shared it, and so will understand it.

I forgot about declining the job and began taking notes and making sketches.  I was going to find a way to spend time around there.  And I did. I was a regular fixture at the barn for several weeks as I rewired the main barn. I imagine that I was a bit of a curiosity at first, just a regular guy, a middle aged tradesman in a world of polished, accomplished equestrians. A tradesman who incidentally was developing an infatuation, like that of a schoolgirl, with all things horsey.  I liked this world, but could not yet picture myself in it.  It just wasn’t something that people like me did. In fact, I believed that I didn’t know a single person who was actively involved in horses and riding. So… I brought my niece, Samantha, there for riding lessons. She was eight years old and I was.. a lot older. After two weeks I succumbed and signed myself up. Sam started out on Lucky, a 40+ year old, bay pony, and I started my career on Circus, a chestnut Appendix gelding who used to work for Ringling Brothers. We both took to it with a passion. Things went well until it was rumored that Circus’ owner was going to take him to a different barn. Since Hunter’s Isle was a show barn, Circus was one of only two “schoolies” and the other, Silver, was too small for my stature. I feared my riding career would be over.

Within days, another random call came in to my electrical business. The name, Marjorie Cordero, sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it at the time. Of course, she was the wife of Jockey Hall-of -Famer Angel Cordero, and an accomplished jockey in her own right, being one of the first female jockeys in the industry. From the enthusiasm, bordering on obsession, of a new rider with three months experience under his belt, I talked horses nonstop, until she stopped me: “Wait a second. Where do you ride?” she asked. “Hunter’s Isle,” I replied. “I have two horses there!” she said.“What are their names”?  “Arizona and Circus.” “Oh my God! I’m learning to ride on Circus!”

That’s the way my horse life has gone. Many happy coincidences that perhaps weren’t coincidences.

She explained Circus’ situation to me. He had been a rescue, and was happy now teaching beginners to ride. But the focus at Hunter’s Isle was moving away from beginner lessons and more toward competition, which would mean that Circus would be out of a job. There was another job waiting for him at the track, as a pony horse for the racehorses. Apparently he was good at that. “But,” she said

“I know you really like him and you seem to be doing well with him. I you want to pay his board, I’ll still own him and take care of him health-wise, but you can use him and love him and treat him like your own horse. Think about it.”

I finished my job there and rushed over to Hunter’s Isle. Skip was waiting with a big grin. “Marge called me,” he said. He made me an offer to board Circus that was probably less than half of the going rate at the time. My head was spinning. “What’s the matter, not a good enough deal for you?” asked Skip. “No,no… It’s just that… well as much as I love it, it seems so far out of reach. Like, I just can’t picture myself leasing a horse,” I replied. “Well, once you’ve done it, then you can picture yourself doing it. OK?”, he said. Things seemed so simple when he explained them…

That is the story of how I drove down a driveway in Brookville, NY in August, looking to decline a job offer, and wound up taking riding lessons, riding daily, and leasing a horse in October.

A year later, Skip sold the farm for a bigger one in Virginia. I once again thought my riding life was over, but it was just beginning. There was a lot more in store for me: western lessons, dressage lessons and jumping lessons, cross-country riding, equi-trekking in Colorado and Ireland. Becoming a horse property owner, building a barn and filling it with four horses. Sadly, Samantha’s mom died and my wife Mary and I became her adoptive parents. We became a horse family, with Sam excelling in the jumper ring. I became a proud horse-show parent, and after Sam went off to college with her horse, I had my own modest show career in low-level eventing and jumpers. Currently, I’m working with a trainer in the pursuit of giving a second career to my wonderful OTTB auction mare.

I sometimes wonder what life would have been like, had I not lost that paper with the phone number and driven to the farm that day…. It all seems so random. But so does a maze, until viewed from above. Perhaps that’s where the plan came from.

Barn Fires

Barn Fires   

By Tom Gumbrecht     

                                                                                                                                

 Originally published in Horse Directory, March 2012

There are few things in the news that affect horsemen more than reading about yet another barn fire in which multiple horses have perished.  More so than from other tragedies, I find myself physically as well as emotionally effected by these stories.  As the horses usually have absolutely no chance of escaping, I think it is probably the horse owner’s worst nightmare.

Emotions aside, in my job as a professional electrician, I am mindful that the majority of these fires are caused by faulty electrical wiring or fixtures. Over the years I have borne witness to my share of potential as well as actual hazards. Designing a barn’s electrical system to today’s codes and standards is a topic for another chapter.  For today, let’s address what we can do to make the existing horse barn safer.

I can’t cite statistics or studies, but my own experience shows the main safety issues that I am exposed to fall into three general categories:  1) Using extension cords in place of permanent wiring; 2) Exposed lamps in lighting fixtures, and 3) Overloading of branch circuits.

The first item I am addressing, extension cords, was the subject of an entire earlier article. In summarizing, I am often asked how extension cords can be UL listed and sold if they are inherently unsafe.  The answer is that cords are not unsafe when used as intended, but become so when used in place of permanent wiring. The main concern is that most general purpose outlets in barns are powered by 15 or 20 ampere circuits, using 14 or 12 gauge building wiring, respectively. Most cords, however, for reasons of economy and flexibility, are rated for 8 or 10 amperes, and are constructed of 18 or 16 gauge wiring. That’s no problem if you are using the cord as intended – say, powering a clipper which only draws 1 to 4 amperes. The problem comes when the cord is left in place, maybe tacked up on the rafters for the sake of “neatness”. You use it occasionally, but then winter comes and you plug a couple of bucket heaters into it. When the horses start drinking more water because it’s not ice cold, two buckets become four – or more. If they draw 2.5 amperes each, you are now drawing 10 amperes on your 18 gauge extension cord that is only rated to carry 8 amperes. The circuit breaker won’t trip, because it is protecting the building wiring which is rated at 20 amperes.  Next winter, you decide to remove two of the buckets and add a trough outside the stall with a 1500 watt heater, which draws 12.5 amps at 120 volts. If you thought of it, you even replaced the old 18 gauge cord with a 16 gauge one that the package called “heavy duty”.  Now the load is 17.5 amperes on a cord that is designed to handle 10 amperes. In this case it is possible to overload a “heavy duty” cord by using it at 175% of its rated capacity, and never trip a circuit breaker. What has happened is, we’ve begun to think of the extension cord as permanent wiring, rather than as a temporary convenience to extend the appliance cord over to the outlet. In doing so, we have created an unsafe condition.  Overloaded cords run hot. Heat is the product of too much current flowing over too small a wire. The material they are made of isn’t intended to stand up over time as permanent wiring must. It’s assumed that you will have the opportunity to inspect it as you unroll it before each use.

The second item on our list is exposed lamps (bulbs) in lighting fixtures.  Put simply, they don’t belong in a horse barn. A hot light bulb that gets covered in dust or cobwebs is a hazard.  A bulb that explodes due to accumulating moisture, being struck by horse or human, or simply a manufacturing defect introduces the additional risk of a hot filament falling onto a flammable fuel source such as hay or dry shavings. In the case of an unguarded fluorescent fixture, birds frequently build nests in or above these fixtures due to the heat generated by the ballast transformers within them. Ballasts do burn out, and a fuel source such as that from birds’ nesting materials will provide, with oxygen, all the necessary components for a fire that may quickly spread to dry wood framing . The relatively easy fix is to use totally enclosed, gasketed and guarded light fixtures everywhere in the barn.  They are known in the trade as vaporproof fixtures and are completely enclosed so that nothing can enter them, nothing can touch the hot lamp, and no hot parts or gases can escape in the event of failure. The incandescent versions have a cast metal wiring box, a Pyrex globe covering the lamp, and a cast metal guard over the globe.  In the case of the fluorescent fixture, the normal metal fixture pan is surrounded by a sealed fiberglass enclosure with a gasketed lexan cover over the lamps sealed with a gasket and secured in place with multiple pressure clamps.

The last item, overloaded branch circuits, is not typically a problem if the wiring was professionally installed and not subsequently tampered with.  If too much load is placed on a circuit that has been properly protected, the result will be only the inconvenience of a tripped circuit breaker.  The problem comes when some “resourceful” individual does a quick fix by installing a larger circuit breaker. The immediate problem, tripping of a circuit breaker, is solved, but the much more serious problem of wiring which is no longer protected at the level for which it was designed, is created.  Any time a wire is allowed to carry more current than it was designed to, there is nothing to stop it from heating up to a level above which is considered acceptable.

Unsafe conditions tend to creep up on us; we don’t set out to create hazardous conditions for our horses.  Some may think it silly that the electrical requirements in horse barns (which are covered by their own separate part of the National Electric Code) are in many ways more stringent than those in our homes. I believe that it makes perfect sense. The environmental conditions in a horse barn are much more severe than the normal wiring methods found in the home can handle.  Most importantly, a human can usually sense and react to the warning signals of a smoke alarm, the smell of smoke, or of burning building materials and take appropriate action to protect or evacuate the occupants. Our horses, however, depend on us for that, so we need to use extra-safe practices to keep them secure.

As I always state in closing my electrical safety discussions, I know that we all love our animals. Sometimes in the interest of expedience, we can inadvertently cause conditions that we never intended. Electrical safety is just another aspect of stable management.  I again use the words of Show Jumping Hall of Famer George Morris, now Chef D’Equipe of the US Equestrian Team, to summarize: “Love means giving something our attention, which means taking care of that which we love. We call this stable management”.