Foal Frenzy: Why I Chose This Path

Lincoln at 3 days old.

     Foals are probably some of the cutest beings on the planet. I mean, what's not to love? Bottle-brush tails, soft foal coats, bright and inquisitive eyes, and SO snuggly! (See photo at right. Admit it, you want to snuggle it.) But breeding and young horses are a long game to play, and the stakes are high. Plenty of people on a budget invest in a foal, whether in-utero or pre-weaning, in order to get a nicer quality horse than they might be able to afford if they waited for the same horse until it was 3-5 years old. An investment in a foal means you assume a significant amount of risk: the foal could injure itself in turnout, or by playing with a field mate, it could grow incorrectly or too quickly, or certain issues could come to light as it develops. A perfect example of this is the traditional Irish stallion, Jackaroo. His full-siblings, Mandiba and High Kingdom have indelible records. Mandiba was the World Breeding Federation Event Horse Of The Year in 2010, he went to the 2008 Summer Olympics and placed 8th. High Kingdom has had an equally illustrious career: finished 10th at the 2011 Burghley 4*, 8th individually at the 2012 Olympics, and one of only nine pairs to go clean inside the time. So certainly, for a rider, Jackaroo would have been a sure thing. A clear winner with full-siblings doing so perfectly well. That is, until he was injured as a young horse and could not compete. Luckily, both his pedigree and his direct relations were successful enough to warrant sending him to stud. Not everyone is so lucky!

Lincoln shortly after turning 3 years old. 

     Certainly there is always a risk in horse-ownership. So why put ourselves through the uncertainty and potential heartbreak when they don't develop how we hoped/they choose to prefer another job than they were bred for/they injure themselves beyond ride-able repair? While I cannot answer for everyone, I chose this path for a big reason: the bond and relationship you develop with a horse when you are a part of it's life from conception. Eventing is a test; a test of endurance, stamina, obedience, and agility, but also a test of the bond between horse and rider. We willingly gallop our horses at solid-obstacles, risking life and limb to compete and test ourselves. To put it simply, our horses trust us to navigate them well, and to set them up correctly for each obstacle, and we, in turn, trust them to be honest to the fence, see the distance we ask them to, and that all their feet go where they should. This is truly a challenge, physically, emotionally, and mentally. Imagine being the one person that stays consistent in a horse's life from the moment they open their eyes. You are a constant in their life, and they in yours. I know that with Lincoln, it has made all the difference. He doesn't worry that I won't come around anymore: he has no idea this could ever even be a possibility. He greets me the same, and certainly treats me with more care and possibly more sass because of it. But I know him. I know why he acts a certain way about flies (his dam is hypersensitive to them, and I think he must be too), or how he threw out his back playing in the field as a weanling, or how he got that tiny scar on his left-front knee... The ways I know this horse are infinite. And inversely, the same is true for him. He has molded himself around me, he knows what my expectations are of his behavior, and he knows how exactly far he can push me before he is reprimanded (and trust me, he toes that line daily), and he knows ME. If he could talk, he could tell you more about me than I probably can. He is constantly focused on me, analyzing my behavior and discovering how I work. And even at three years old, we work pretty seamlessly together. He definitely is a young horse with energy and an opinion, but he also knows that I have yet to ask anything of him that he is not capable of, and he trusts that I can lead him positively in the right manner. The other day, I was shortening his mane, a time-consuming and tedious process, but not painful in the way traditional pulling is. I fly-sprayed him in two layers (he doesn't dance when he's sprayed well in the summer), and proceeded to groom him and then moved to his mane to start shortening it. He reached around and rested his muzzle on my forearm, signifying he needed a moment before I continued. I obliged him happily. I paid him some attention, snuggling him and offering scratches in his favorite places before returning to his shoulder to continue my work. He faced forward and lowered his head slightly, indicating he was ready for me to continue. This may sound like a conversation between two people, but he speaks through his body-language and facial expressions. And I know the entire spectrum of his language, and how that spectrum has expanded as he has aged. I may have been his leader as he has grown, but it has slowly developed more and more into a friendship, two partners whose journey's seem to be heading in the same direction.
     And someday, he will be the leader, blazing the way cross country, and saving my tail more than I could ever possibly repay him for.