Why Blessi Has a 34 Pound Bag of Dog Food on His Back

As some of you may know, Blessi has been accepted into the All Breed Competition to be held March 22-25, 2012, in Albany, OR. My dressage instructor Dannelle is going to ride him in this 4- day competition. So Dannelle is in charge of furthering his gait and dressage training and I have taken it upon myself to further Blessi’s training in potentially scary things.

http://equinepromotions.net/northwest-horse-fair/event-details/special-events/

Someone told me that last year at this event the riders were expected to dismount, throw a 30-lb sandbag (simulating an injured calf) on the horse’s back, lead the horse some 30 feet, remove sandbag, remount,and continue with the competition. Several of the horses seemed to have problems with this activity. I had just picked up 34 lbs (15.4 kgs) of dog food for my dog Ollie so I decided to stop at the stable on the way home and work on this obstacle with Blessi. I wanted to take some pictures to show Dannelle how well Blessi did with strange and unusual activities.

Jordan the dog is really interested in
that dog food served a la cheval

When I get to the stable, I park my truck at the barn rather than the arena. Rena the stable owner is at the barn and I ask her to take some pictures. If things go disastrously wrong, nobody ever needs to see the pictures—right? 

I put on Blessi’s halter and lead line and lead him to the truck. I know that Rena wants to feed the horses since it is dinner time so I decide to practice this activity in the parking area rather than the arena. After all, what could go wrong?

So I lead Blessi to the back of the truck, open the truck bed cover, and lower the tail gate. Blessi is very interested in the contents in the truck bed since there are leftover hay and interesting containers to explore. I pick up the dog food bag and let him sniff the bag. Blessi definitely knows it contains food of some kind and wants to investigate. Enticed by the interesting smell, the barn dog Jordon also comes over. Well the bag is heavy, Blessi seems quite calm about the process, so I decide to fling the bag on Blessi’s bare back. What’s the worst that can happen? 

Right after the bag fell--Blessi really wants to get that bag

I put the bag on Blessi’s back and he stands quite nicely. I lead him around a bit and Rena snaps some pictures. It is really hard to keep a 30 lb bag of dog food stabilized on the back of a horse and lead the horse at the same time but I manage. We stop to pose for a few final pictures. And guess what, the bag slips off Blessi’s back and crashes to the ground. Blessi doesn’t move a muscle. Rena and I laugh. I am very surprised that the bag doesn’t break. But I have some pictures and what else could happen?

Hole that Blessi chewed through bag-
-he did not read the directions for how to open!

So Rena gives me the camera and I put the dog food in the back of the truck. As I turn around to move some things in truck bed, Blessi reaches into the bed of the truck, grabs the bag of dog food in his teeth, and lifts the bag out of the truck. He proceeds to shake the bag. I must confess that I am so surprised by a 34 lb bag flying by my ear that I make a noise--the closest word I can come up with is screech. Or would that be shriek? I have visions of the bag bursting and $30 of dog food flying all over the place. I kick myself for not getting a bag of bark mulch or a real sand bag or something not so fragile. Not at all perturbed, Blessi continues shaking the bag but it slips through his teeth and hits the ground. Amazingly, it does not break. Rena and I burst out laughing and wish that we had kept the camera out. As I lead Blessi back to his stall, he starts licking and chewing. I have to stop and remove some bag remnants from his mouth. Rena comments that Blessi and I are a good match—I am not sure if that is a compliment to me but I am sure that it is a compliment to Blessi.

Blessi--Grass, Grass Everywhere and Nary a Bite to Eat

Blessi in a grass muzzle--this one is too small for
his muzzle but it was bought so I could take a picture
for an article on laminitis

Blessi and I used to live in Chester County, which was home to a lot of thoroughbred breeders. Smarty Jones, the winner of the 2004 Kentucky Derby, was born in Chester County. The typically large pastures consisted of rich grass and clover—which was like a candy store for an Icelandic horse. By midsummer, Blessi was overweight and well on his way to obese.

I asked advice from the local horse owners about how to deal with this potential problem and they recommended a grass muzzle. “Just snap a grass muzzle onto Blessi’s halter. He’ll be able to get some grass through the muzzle openings but he won’t be able to vacuum up grass like he normally does.” Riding around the country side, Blessi and I had seen a lot of thoroughbreds come trotting up to the fence to greet us—many of them contentedly wearing grass muzzles.

So to avoid the risk of founder, I started to use a grass muzzle. Well putting something on Blessi that restricted his eating was like giving him a Rubrik’s cube to play with. He was getting the grass muzzle off in shorter and shorter time periods. I tried many models--muzzles attached to halters and one-piece grass muzzles, cage muzzles and sieve-type muzzles, muzzles with big holes and muzzles with little holes. I even tried adding additional metal clips—all to no avail.

Blessi had many different ways to defeat the grass muzzle puzzle. He would scrape the bottom of the plastic muzzle against the ground to wear a bigger hole in the bottom of the muzzle. He would position the muzzle against a handy post or stump and rub the muzzle off. Somehow, I never figured out how, he undid the clips on the muzzle and removed the muzzle but left his halter on. Once I walked into the pasture to find another horse tugging on Blessi’s grass muzzle as he was wearing it—probably because there were wisps of grass stuck in the muzzle.

It got to the point that I was spending more time walking the large pasture looking for the muzzle than Blessi wore the muzzle. I would find the muzzle in a different place each day—hanging off a fence, sitting on tree stump, buried in a clump of grass. As I was searching the fields, I would find a detached grass muzzle, sometimes the muzzle-halter combination, and, occasionally, muzzle and halter in different parts of the field. Just a note of advice to those of you who also own clever Icelandics: Never get a muzzle/halter combination in any shade of green. And all those thoroughbreds watched me search the field while they contentedly grazed through their grass muzzles.

And the pounds kept piling on. In desperation, I went to a local Amish harness maker for a customized grass muzzle. The harness maker confessed he had never been asked to do custom work on a grass muzzle so I explained the situation. After he stopped chuckling, he went to work on the design. The muzzle had two extra levels of straps around the muzzle and an extra chin strap; it was attached to a cribbing collar.

Blessi in the pudgey pony pasture.

I wanted to make sure that Blessi did not feel trapped or uncomfortable with the new muzzle. I slowly introduced him to the muzzle and made sure he had no problem with it. However, he did look like Hannibal Lecter wearing the mask in “Silence of the Lambs.” We spent a half hour hand grazing to see if Blessi had any issues; he immediately put his head down and started vacuuming up much smaller amounts of grass—the difference between a portable hand vacuum and the industrial shop size vacuum.

Since he was comfortable with the contraption, I led him back to his pasture. When I turned him loose, Blessi took a dozen paces into the pasture, stopped, dropped, rolled to his back, and used his front leg to brush the muzzle off the end of his nose. When I was done laughing, I gave up on grass muzzles and put him in the pudgy pony pasture, i.e. an almost dry lot, for the rest of the summer. He even managed to lose some weight. Now if I can just find a pudgy pony pasture for myself.

Blessi Goes to Braiding Class

Photo by Sherry Wallmark

Blessi (denoting Blessing in Icelandic) and I attended a clinic at Rose-el Stables, Port Orchard, WA to learn the different styles of braids used on a horse's mane and tail. The braiding clinic was interesting. Eight horses and braiders attended the session. One of the attendees was a 5-year old girl who had brought a small ladder to work on her 15 hand horse.

Evie the instructor takes one look at Blessi and says she has never seen a horse who had so much hair. She walks away because she said she needs to think about how to handle that much mane. In the mean time, I am suppose to use the Sticky Goopy Paste (hereafter referred to as SGP) to move the partial left mane to the right side with the rest of Blessi's mane.

The first problem is the SGP comes in a light green, round tin and Blessi is convinced that this is a Granny Smith apple just for him. He tries so many methods to get to the plastic bag with the braiding supplies that we have stuff--crochet hooks, yarn, ribbons, shears--scattered across the arena. It does not help that the SGP has a pleasant, apple scent to it.

The second problem is the SGP just isn't going to do the job. Nothing short of industrial strength glue is going to get the left mane to stay on the right. SGP holds the mane over for about the time of an Apollo countdown--10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1, Reykjavik, we have lift off--as you watch the left hand mane separate from the right side and move back across Blessi's neck. The SGP does get the short 4-inch stray mane hair to stand straight up in the air.

Evie returns in about 10 minutes and I have made no progress. Blessi still has a full right and partial left mane. So Evie decides to do a long French braid across the bottom of Blessi's mane. We can pull in the left mane as we braid.

The third problem is that Blessi has shagged his mane. He has three levels of mane--about 16 inches, 8 inches, and 4 inches--each level has more hair than a normal horse. So we decide to do 2 rows of French braid. Evie shows me how and it looks easy so Evie lets me on my own.

The fourth problem is that Blessi has now discovered that there are real carrots in the supply bag and he redoubles his efforts to claim them. At one point, he gets the bag and we play tug of war with the carrot bag until it bursts. All this time, the little girl's horse is standing perfectly still like an equine angel as the little girl works from her ladder.

The 2-hour clinic is almost over and I have two rows of French braids down Blessi's mane. The other participants are starting to lead their horses around with beautiful braided manes and tails in short French braids, button braids, galloping braids, etc. One young woman has created galloping braids on her bay horse--picture wide braids done every six inches down the mane and then pulled over into overlapping arches. Entwined among the braids are ribbons in shades of purple. The black tail is braided with matching purple ribbons--just a beautiful picture.

Back to Blessi--he looks like Courtney Love on a bad hair day since that 4-inch hair at the top is sticking straight up out at the crest of the mane. Evie has no advice on this so I decide to take a gold and white ribbon and sew down the top of the mane using a back stitch. This works and actually provides a touch of elegance. Blessi now looks like Courtney Love on a really good day--ready for the red carpet or the judge's booth.

Evie and I discuss what to do about the forelock which is almost a 4-inch thick cylinder of hair. Evie suggests that when I have another hour or so I do a single braid and somehow glue the ends in a ball under the braid. There is no time to do anything with Blessi's tail.

The event organizer snaps a picture of Blessi. As I lead Blessi back to the refreshment table for people, all the braids start to come loose and we are back to the Courtney Love bad hair day look. Oh, and that little girl and her horse are adorable as she leads him around in his short French braid with green ribbons.

Note: Blessi has an average or less than average mane for an Icelandic. I think Evie might have had a breakdown if she had tried to work with an Icelandic with a "good" mane for the first time.