Blog
February 2007
All Ahead Full
The server move is done, so comments are back on. I am going to put the HorseBlogs submission form back right after I post this, as well, so that should be working too.
I will eventually get around to making a non-techy post. Really.
Full Stop!
I’m moving this site to a new server. Actually, I’m asking my hosting provider to do that, because they’re awesome about those sorts of requests. The reason? It has to do with the cliff hanger thing in the last post—which I’ll tell you about next Monday. 
In the meantime, I’m turning off comments and the “Add a Blog” part of HorseBlogs, and I won’t be making any new posts—this is to make sure all the content transfers over to the new server. As soon as things are set up again, I’ll turn everything back on.
And if the site goes down for a few hours—it shouldn’t, but it might—consider it a planned outage. It’ll be back.
What’s happening with HorseBlogs?
There’s good news, there’s bad news, and there’s a cliff hanger.
The good news: I’m ready to start moving the HorseBlogs directory over to the new system. Prior to this, I’ve been playing with the software and getting a feel for what is and isn’t possible and how to best organize the data. I’m always surprised at how much work actually goes into the planning stage of a site like this, but I’m trying to plan ahead, for future possible additions to the site, and not just focus on its needs right now. In the long run, all this planning should pay off, although I know it’s frustrating to wait on some of the updated features I keep promising to add.
The bad news: It’ll take at least a week. I have to do this in between my day job stuff, and I’m trying to redesign it as well (since there are some display issues with various browsers). So, to keep me motivated and on task, let’s say the new version will debut a week from Monday. What is that—the 12th?
The Cliff Hanger: I finally got notification today that something I’ve been trying to set up for a week is set up and ready to go. It affects the HorseBlogs directory (and this blog, to a lesser degree)—you’ll find out what on Monday.
Meanwhile, of course, keep adding new blogs to the current directory!
In which the horse and I fool around together
Why is it that the one time I don’t copy my post before I hit submit (in case my control panel arbitrarily decides I’ve been idle too long and decides to make me log in again instead of posting the post), my control panel arbitrarily decides… look, you’re not going to make me type out that whole parenthetical statement again, are you?
It was a lovely post, but now it’s gone.
The gist of it:
While I love lessons, and they are invaluable, sometimes I really miss the chance to just ride. Me and the horse. And, sure, sometimes we’ll make mistakes. And sometimes, when I go to correct the mistakes, I’ll make them worse. But you keep trying until you make them better, right? And when you’re done, there’s a certain satisfaction in having worked through it on your own, even if it did take longer than it would have taken in a lesson.
Well, when I’m done. I shouldn’t speak for “you.” It’s this weird habit I have—I say “you” when I mean “I”. For that matter, I say “we” when I mean “I” too. The latter can be credited to my secret desire to the be Queen of Halt Near X-dom, and the former comes from years of poetry workshops, where any poem with “I” in it got the kiss of narcissistic death, but any poem with “you” in it was a brilliant attempt to bridge the gap between author and reader. Or something like that. I think my workshops eventually figured out “you” meant “I,” but they were too polite to mention it. Deep down, I’m horribly narcissistic. It’s why I blog. Wait… am I supposed to admit things like that? In public, I mean?
Anyway. My lesson this week turned into, in effect, an open ride for me—my instructor and I discussed the exercise I was going to work on, and then she let me work on it without any comments from her. It was really nice; I’d sort of forgotten how enjoyable it can be to concentrate on just the horse and the exercise, without keeping half an ear out for the instructor’s comments. And there’s a little more room to play—like permission to make mistakes—where I can keep trying slightly different things to see what effect they have on the exercise. It’s a different sort of learning process than what happens in an actual lesson, but it’s one I really miss. It was a good ride—by the end, I “got” what I needed to do in order to do the exercise correctly, and I got there on my own. Well, not on my own—with plenty of feedback from the horse. We got there together, which is how it should be, really.
January 2007
Comments, Twelve-Month Pseudo Update, and Barbaro
This has been one of Those weeks. I don’t think I need to say anything more.
So a few half-posts that I’ve been trying to make, and then I’m off to bed for five hours before I get back to work. Again. (Ah… life. What am I whining about?)
First:
Everyone whose comments I appear to be ignoring: I’m reading them, I swear! I appreciate your thoughts and suggestions and recommendations and have laughed quite a few times as well (only when it was meant to be funny!). I’ve also been able to check out a few new blogs thanks to your comments, and although I certainly hope to get over and leave a comment soon… erm… give me a bit to get back on track.
You can blame technology for my apparent anti-social behavior at the moment. I know I do!
Second:
The Twelve Month Plan update, whenever I get around to doing it, will be positive for the first time in months. Not meeting my goal, but positive. I know, because I just paid off one of the small (very small) loans. Any progress is good, and that’s the one thought that’s going to get me through the rest of this week.
Third:
Barbaro.
I hate racing. Love TBs, but hate racing. It makes me cringe and leaves me feeling ill, and I just can’t watch it. I admire the legends who succeed at it in a general sort of way, the way I admire any athlete who is at the top of their game. But I’m not emotionally invested in them. So I may be the only horse person who will say this, but Barbaro the Racing Legend doesn’t captivate me. You won’t find me bidding $300 for a Breyer model of him anytime soon.
However. However.
I have followed the story of his recovery—not because he was a great race horse, but because… because of Super Saint, really.
The year before I bought Super Saint, he had a horrible accident at a show. I wasn’t there, but I heard it was heart-rending to see him immediately after. I had sort-of imagined the scene, but seeing the pictures of Barbaro was, in a way, like “seeing” Super Saint’s injury. Not that their injuries were the same, by any means—but that the situation was similar. I think many people in the area expected Super Saint would be euthanized.
Super Saint’s owners made the decision Barbaro’s owners did: give the horse a chance, every chance they could. We were in the same barn, and I spent the next year watching Super Saint and his recovery. We were all affected by it, even if we weren’t directly involved in his care or (obviously) any of the decisions.
I appreciated Super Saint while I owned him, but watching Barbaro this past year has brought home to me how close I came to not having that chance.
And as a result of all this, what drew me to Barbaro had nothing to do with his status as a legendary racehorse, although I acknowledge his story would never have been what it was without that status (how’s that for a conundrum?)—the powerful part of the story, for me, was that relationship between vet, owner, and horse. I think most horse owners have been through this at some point, to some degree—if not personally, at least on the edges of someone else’s experience. At the very least, most of us have at least given it serious thought:
What would you do to save your horse? What should you do? And when is it too much, so that the best choice you can make is to give the horse a peaceful ending?
Behind all the fame, and hype, and publicity, and money, Barbaro’s story was one we all worry we’ll face. In some cases, already have faced.
I followed his recovery not because I thought he was a great race horse who “deserved” to survive more than any other horse, but because here were owners trying their hardest to save their horse. That’s a story I’m emotionally invested in.
I am happy there are others who will celebrate Barbaro for his accomplishments as a race horse—I think he deserves that. And I know I’m not the only one thinking of his owners. But I can’t help but see Barbaro’s recovery without thinking of Super Saint—of how lucky I was his owners gave him a chance, and how doubly lucky that he recovered, and, eventually, the decision I had to make for him.
It’s a bittersweet mix of emotions that has very little to do with a race track and quite a bit to do with the simple joy and risk of owning a horse. Any horse.