The Last Day

Friday morning, I filled Jackson's bucket with sweet senior feed and carrots.  No meds.  It was everything he loved (and shouldn't eat) and none of the stuff he hated (but had to have).  He was out in the small arena, on the damp sand -- another no-no -- no longer confined to his covered round-pen prison. 

He finished his bucket, ate some hay, and then stretched out on the sand for a nap.  I sat on a small pile of wood, with my jacket zipped to my neck and my hands, gloved, and folded under my arms.  As the sun warmed the sand, he stretched his neck, rubbed his face in the soft ground, closed his eyes and groaned.  I unzipped my jacket partway.

A van rumbled up the driveway, with friends who were coming to help Brett cut up more of the oak, and Jackson sat, and then stood up.  The arena gate was wide open and I invited him to follow me out.  He slowly made his way along the side of the barn, towards the pasture where Tex and Flash were watching, grazing as he went.  At the fence, he and Tex rubbed the sides of their faces together a few times.  Flash approached, and both Tex and Jackson retreated. 

Next, Jackson made his way to the front of the house where the men were unloading their chainsaws and other equipment.  He greeted everyone, checking for cookies, and then wandered off following the stream along the side of the house.  He circled back to the barn (still grazing as he went) and touched noses with Lucy, who was in her stall turnout watching. 

Meanwhile, Tuffy had come to the fence in the donkey pasture.  Jackson reached his nose over the gate, and Tuffy stretched his nose up to meet him.  Finessa stood a few feet back, watching.

When the vet arrived, Jackson was up by the dressage court, grazing in the deep grass under the oaks and pines.  I slipped his halter on and we slowly made our way back to the barn.  Jackson likes the vet, and especially her assistant, so his relaxed mood never changed.  They loved on him for awhile, before giving him a sedative.  He went easily, peacefully, and quickly.  After he was on the ground, I knelt beside him with one hand on his withers and one on his neck.  I wept, sending all my love to him through my hands.  Brett knelt at his head.  Tuffy brayed.  And brayed.  And brayed.

Over the course of the weekend, we've been adjusting.  I tossed all his medication jars into the trash.  I scrubbed his vitamin bucket and put it away.  Brett drained his water trough. 

All of the comments on my last post have been incredibly comforting to me.  There is a whole community who knew him, and understood him, and miss him too.  I am thankful that I have been able to convey his spirit to all of you over the years, and that you have understood.  I was one of the lucky ones, to have the gift of a relationship with a horse like Jackson. 

It's Hard to Say Goodbye

...even when you know it is the right thing to do.

...especially when it is your heart horse.

Jackson's loved trail rides the best.  He would cross anything - water, mud, logs.

Jackson's white line not only didn't respond to treatment, it got worse.  He foundered.

He asked me --- no, he told me -- that he was done.  Done with pain; done with trying.

Lucy adored Jackson.  He was rather amused by all the attention she lavished on him.

Jackson had more try than any other horse I've ever known.  When he said he was done, I had to honor that.

Jackson tried to do dressage, he really did.  But he was built crooked and it was difficult for him.  I loved that he tried.

But, oh Lord, I will miss that horse.

At the vet -- about a year ago when we learned he had Cushings -- in addition to everything else.  I love our matching fly-away hair.

Sweet, goofy, beautiful Jackson.

We rode on the beach a few times.  I think he got a big whiff of seaweed here...

My partner.  My friend.

Godspeed, Jackson.  Safe passages and I'll see you some day on the other side of that rainbow bridge.

Jackson

After Jackson's escape from his round pen, I thought a lot about his situation from both a medical and a mental health standpoint.  He is, of course, a medical mess.  His winter coat is particularly heavy this year, directly related to his Cushing's.  He turns slowly and painfully, and walks only in straight lines.  He is uncomfortable, if not in pain.  Some days, definitely in pain.  On good days, just uncomfortable.  His white line is not improving.  I worry about him making it through the winter.  I've known for a number of years that his days are numbered; this year I feel that number shrinking before my eyes at a rapid speed.

He can't be cured of anything, except, maybe, the white line.  If he stays in his round pen on dry ground for six to nine months, we might beat the white line.  He will still be gimpy -- he will still have navicular and laminitis.  He will never be sound or completely comfortable.

Being confined to the round pen feels cruel.  He hates it.  So, I decided to give him time outside, in the open air, on the almost-dry sand in the small arena, every few days.  It has made a huge difference in his attitude.  It may mean that we don't beat the white line.  It  may mean his remaining days shrink even more -- but misery is not a life. In the arena, he sweats a bit in his heavy coat even though the weather is not warm.  He nibbles on the grass trying to grow through the sand and around the perimeter.  He rolls.  And he meets me at the gate at the end of the afternoon, his eyes bright and his ears pricked forward, ready to go in for dinner.

He thoroughly enjoyed his photo shoot with Camille.  The portrait shots were taken by Kyle's girlfriend, Ana, when she was up visiting a few days after Christmas.  She has a very cool portrait setting on her iPhone.

Cabin Fever

Jackson's white line has not improved, despite special shoes and soaking in Clean Trax.  Our farrier wants to try resection -- basically removing part of his hoof in the hopes that it will grow back healthy.  Given the myriad medical conditions that Jackson has, I don't think he would survive the healing process from such a drastic procedure.  He's like a fragile diabetic, with all the complications (and foot problems) that go along with it.  I repeated the Clean Trax treatment last weekend, and we are going to try reverse shoes at the recommendation of our vet.  She specified that Jackson must be in a bone dry environment for the next 6-9 months if he is going to have any success in recovery.

So, Jackson remains confined to the round pen.  While the other horses relax in their pastures, he is surrounded by walls and a roof, with just a window and a door from which he can view the outside world.

He is pretty depressed about the whole thing.  Lately, he has stopped meeting us at the door for his morning bucket, standing instead with his back to us and his face to the wall.

Yesterday, Brett wheeled the muck cart into Jackson's cell roundpen and began picking up manure.  He swung the metal gate closed, but didn't latch it.  Jackson is a friendly sort of guy who usually follows us around and sniffing at the poop in the muck cart.  Yesterday, he walked over to the gate, pulled it open, and walked out before Brett had time to put down his muck rake.

Jackson headed to the hay bales stacked in a corner of the barn.  Brett grabbed Jackson's halter from the chair outside his pen, and followed.  Jackson, the easiest horse on the ranch to halter, the horse who prefers human company to almost anything else, pulled his head away and headed out the door.

Brett followed in hot pursuit as Jackson rounded the corner by the small arena.  Jackson picked up the pace, bucked and kicked out.  After a few more futile minutes where Jackson snatched bites of grass without letting Brett close, Brett went to plan B.

With a red bucket full of senior feed and cookies in his hands, Brett approached again.  This time, Jackson allowed himself to be caught and returned.  He was wearing trail boots at the time, as our farrier won't be out until this afternoon to tack on the reverse shoes.  So, he feet didn't get wet.  And, honestly, I couldn't blame Jackson for taking the opportunity offered by the open gate.  All the running and bucking was probably bad for his feet but it made him happy.  And, sometimes, that is more important.

Patient and Long Suffering

Jackson has always been a level-headed horse.  He was unflappable on the trail -- crossing anything, be it water, logs or boulders.  If we encountered something new, he would drop his head and study it for awhile.  Then he'd carry on.

He's also been through many abscesses, standing with his hoof in a bucket of warm water and Epsom salts.  He no longer jerks his foot out, but stands stoically with a bored look in his eye. 

Saturday, I treated his white line.  This required slipping a bag with a nasty smelling solution over his hoof and leg.  It was tied above his knee; and he had to stand like that for 45 minutes.

I did the treatment at lunch time.  Brett brought his feed bin out to the tie rail and filled it with hay.  I brought Jackson out and tried slipping the long sleeve over his leg.  I wasn't sure how he would react and didn't want to try it with the solution inside, until I'd managed it empty first.  Jackson was unconcerned about the whole operation. 

I poured the contents of a small bottle into the bag and added a gallon of water.  Then, I slipped it over his hoof and up his leg, securing it at the top.  Jackson stood in the sun, with the heat bouncing off the black stall mats, sweating, for the entire time.  He rocked back and forth on the leg a few times, as he ate, but stood quietly. 

Our farrier will put his pad and shoes back on tomorrow.  In six weeks we will see how it looks -- and repeat if necessary. 

Thank goodness he is such a good boy about all these treatments.

White Line

Jackson has white line.

Its not surprising given that he has the world's crappiest feet.

Jackson eats his morning vitamins and meds from a feed bag.  That way, Pistol and Lucy and can't "share" and he eats all of it.

We will treat it, of course.  But conservatively.  White line happens when bacteria gets into the hoof and grows, causing the sole to pull away from the hoof wall.  Our farrier was able to put a nail into the crevice, all the way to the nail head.  Don't worry, Jackson couldn't feel it.

You can go crazy with treating white line: cutting away most of the hoof and then having the horse live in a fake shoe for a year or more.  Meanwhile, you cross your fingers and hope that there are no complications.  With Jackson, you can bet your bottom dollar that there would be complications.  So, we won't go that route.  We will treat it with a topical (White Lightening) and a frog pad which pushes on the frog, creating better circulation.  We already know circulation in Jackson's feet isn't great.  Fingers crossed this works.

Riding the Retirees

A few months ago, when Jackson started his regime of multiple medications to manage his Cushings disease, thyroid imbalance, and navicular, he could hardly walk.  Our vet said, "You may be able to ride him again once we get all this managed."  I was dubious.  I've been trying to manage Jackson for years and, yes, I've sat on his back bareback on a good day and we've walked a handful of steps.  But that's it.  On a good day.

Brett wanted to ride Flash on Saturday.  Flash is 21 and very arthritic but he wants to go.  So, I understood.  Brett misses riding his mounted patrol partner and Flash misses it too.

I wondered... who should I ride?  Tex was a possibility but I wanted to work on other things with him.  Lucy needs some fitness work first.  But Jackson... he's been trotting to the gate in the morning for his breakfast, and striding along with the comfortable smooth gait of a sound horse.

When I brought him to the tie rail and began tacking him up, Jackson's anticipation grew.  When I mounted, he strode confidently forward (and then stopped).  We waited for Brett and Flash and then spent 20 minutes or so meandering under the oaks, crossing the dry stream bed, and walking past the pastures.  Jackson didn't take a bad step.  I felt like I was back on my old trail buddy.  He was tired after 20 minutes, so we stopped.

Jackson was happy.  I was happy.  Lucy was irritated, jealous and vocal about it.  Tex was curious, standing at the fence watching us go by.  Flash and Brett finished up a few minutes after us.

Summer Schedule

There isn't much to blog about in the heat of summer.

Pistol and Jackson, headed to dinner.

We are up before the sun to feed and finish barn chores before the heat of the day starts settling in -- around 7:30am.

Brett bringing in the hay cart.  Pistol has her nose in it -- they all ignore the manure cart.

During the day, we hide inside (I hide at work during the week).  Brett tosses more hay at lunch, but other than that the name of the game is trying to stay somewhat cool.

Wait for me!

In the late evening, we venture back outside to feed.

Brett always has cookies.

There isn't much else going on.

That's all?  Just one cookie?

Watch Me Fly

Wednesday, the farrier came to check on Jackson and to trim Finessa.

Finessa looks wonderful and is walking about happy as can be on her trimmed hooves.  The x-rays were consistent with founder but there wasn't anything truly bizarre that would keep her from getting a thorough trim.  I am very, very happy.  Our farrier has concerns about her, long term.  I have those concerns also; and have had them for quite a few years.  But, as long as she remains happy and comfortable, I'm not going to think about what will, inevitably, come at some (hopefully distant) point in the future.

Jackson is doing very well too.  Between his meds and his special shoes, he's a new horse.  He is in the pasture with the girls 24/7 now and moving well.  No more gimpy, prissy steps for him.  No sir.

Wednesday evening Lucy followed me around the pasture while I picked up manure.  From her standpoint, I come into the pasture to provide wither and back massages.  The fact that I have a muck rake and a cart mean nothing.  I pull the cart along, stop near a pile of poop, and prepare to scoop.  But no, Lucy stands between me and the pile, positioning herself so the preferred spot to be scratched is right in front of me.  She twists her neck and wiggles her lips, and sometimes offers to groom my hip.  By the eighth or ninth pile, my fingers get tired and I stop complying with her requests.

We were at that point Wednesday evening.  She was standing next to me and I was ignoring her, focused on my scooping technique.  She darted her head to her flank in a rather violent way, spun and took off.  I don't know what bit her, but it clearly hurt.  She ran through Pistol and Jackson, who were standing near the gate, and kept going -- screaming as she went.  (Yes, she is dramatic).  Pistol and Jackson joined in.  I stood at the fence line and watched them careening from one end of the pasture to the other.  After a couple laps, Lucy stopped.  As did Pistol.

Not Jackson.

He kept running.... and running ....and running.  His ears were forward and his mane was flying.  I swear I heard him say,

"Look at me!  I can run!  I can fly!"

He finally stopped; covered in sweat and ridiculously happy.  He stood bobbing his head at me before strutting off.  Gimpy?  Ha!  Not this horse.  Not anymore.

...which made me wonder.... where did I put his bareback pad?

Four Feet off the Ground

Its been doggone hot here since the middle of last week.

On the one hand, there isn't much activity going on other than trying to stay in the shade or the house -- or an air conditioned office.

Last weekend we escaped the heat: we spend Saturday in San Francisco visiting my son and his girlfriend.  Sunday we hoisted the kayaks onto the top of the Subaru and drove to Bear River Lake.  Snow melt is still rushing into the lake, making the water cold and the lake level very high.  We paddled over submerged picnic tables and fire rings.

The horses are spending the day time hours in the barn where they can escape the sun and the flies.  In the evening we turn them out into their pastures to stretch their legs and their brains.  It gives me the opportunity to work with Tex twice a day and he's been rock steady.  It helps, of course, that he wants to go to the barn for breakfast and to the pasture for dinner.

It has also given me the opportunity to work with Lucy and Jackson on their manners.  Neither of them were doing well with "wait" but instead were diving their noses down to the grass whenever I paused on our walks back and forth.

Lucy was a quick study.  Robin said to me, a while back, "Don't yank on the lead rope; that's abusive.  Instead, make one very strong correction with the whip.  Lucy will jump with all four feet off the ground, but she won't do it again. One clear correction is kinder than continuous, nagging, yanking on her face."  I had to agree.

And she was right.  Lucy dove for the grass and I snapped the whip, hard, on the ground next to me.  Lucy hates whips so I knew I didn't have to touch her with it.  Sure enough, she levitated, landed, and began to piaffe (trot in place).  I looked at her mildly, waited for her to regain her composure, and we walked on.  I carry the whip when we walk, but I haven't had to use it since.  When we halt, she looks at me for permission to graze.  If she is calm and polite about it, I say "Have some."

Jackson was a bit more work.  He's getting with the program, though.  After Robin pointed out to me during one of my lessons, that her horse, Red, was subtly moving me instead of vice verse, I became more aware.  Jackson is a lot like Red.  He's sensitive, enjoys interacting with people, and enjoys seeing what he can get away with.  He never pushes me.  No, no, he would never be that ... obvious.  He just drifts into me as we walk and I used to step away, to alter my course.  Now I pick a path and he has to alter his path to accommodate me.  Its funny to watch him, really. He's so confused.

When he dove for the grass, I snapped the whip -- right in front of his nose.  He jumped back, and with his head high in the air, he gave me his most offended look.  He likes to push boundaries so he tried again a bit later.  This time his nose would have been stung if he hadn't lifted it so quickly.  He didn't try again... for a few days.  The last time he tried to very sneakily drop his head, I wasn't carrying the whip (and he knew it).  I reached behind me and smacked him with the end of the lead line.

Oh.  Hmmm.  Maybe not a good idea.

Its amazing how polite he's become.  I can walk both he and Lucy on a completely slack lead, and they walk quietly beside me, across the green grass, and only eat when I stop and invite them to do so.

Brett has been working with Flash... he brings him into the barn in the morning at liberty.  Flash knows his bucket is in his stall so he's happy to follow Brett there.  In the evening though, forget it.  Brett tried to take him back to the pasture at liberty and Flash decided to turn and go the other way.  It was pretty funny watching Flash amble down the barn aisle while Brett went chasing after him.

Its Hard to Wait

With Tex, I work a lot with "draw."

With Jackson and Lucy, I don't have any problem with "draw."  They both are learning "pause."  This is particularly hard for Lucy -- a pushy, dominant, princess mare.

Left to right: Pistol, Jackson and Lucy

I use pause when I am walking Lucy and Jackson between pastures, or the barn, or just hand grazing.  Basically, they are not allowed to drag me around and graze at will.  I choose where we walk, and I choose when they graze.  Of course, I make sure that the spots I choose are superior to those that they see.

Pistol is in heat again... Jackson continues to be a bit confused.

Jackson has always been a bit rude.  Before he was retired, I didn't tolerate it and he stopped (with me; he still tested everyone else).  After he was retired, I got lax.  He has been retired for six years -- so he's back to being pretty rude.  Fortunately, it only took one reminder for me to establish the ground rules.  We walk; I stop; he waits for me to say "have some," and then he grazes.

Lucy is a bit more work.  We walk.  We stop.  She dives for the grass.

"Wait." I say, in a firm voice.

She dives for the hay.  I repeat, while correcting with either the whip touching her nose, or a yank on the lead rope (if I forgot to carry the whip).

She raises her head and looks away from me in disgust.  When she turns to me, I say "have some."

She understands, but she'd rather not comply, so we repeat this a lot.

Jackson is Improving

Jackson is doing much better, thanks to his multitude of medications and fancy new aluminum shoes with pads.

When we first started him on the meds, he stood by the window of his round pen with his head drooping and didn't take an interest in much of anything.  I read that depression is a common side effect of pergolide and would resolve within a few days, which it thankfully did.

With all his medication mixed together, it equals about a quarter cup of powder.  It was too much to mask in food so I gave up on that pretty quick.  Jackson is our pickiest eater, by far.  Fortunately, he is also the easiest to medicate with a syringe.  I bought a big jar of applesauce and use a couple spoonfuls of that as the base.  I add the powdered meds and a bit of water, then mix it up thoroughly.  It resembles pancake batter in consistency, except that it is a lovely shade of brown.

Next, I load it into a great big syringe and squirt it down his throat.  Then I give him a carrot or a cookie.  I repeat this three times -- I told you its a lot of meds.  He doesn't mind it (way better than wormer), and looks for the treat.

Now that everything is dry, he is also spending time outside in the back arena.  I put him out in the evening and bring him back into the barn in the morning.  He always rolls first.  Lately, he's also been adding some bucking and rearing moves to the repertoire.

He gets his medication slurry in the morning.  In the evening, he gets some senior feed with two tablespoons of one of the meds, and then he wears special bell boots during the night that create heat and increase circulation to his hoofs.

It's a lot to manage, but he's definitely improving and he loves all the attention.

Another Jackson Update

Jackson's lab results came back and they weren't good.

He has Cushings, although it must be in the early stages because he shed out his winter coat well.  It did seem extra thick to me this year, but I figured that was just him adjusting to our Sierra climate (which is significantly colder than where we came from in Southern California).  Other symptoms of Cushings include frequent abscesses, drinking copious amounts of water and laminitis.  Although he isn't currently laminitic, he has a history of that in the past.  And he has more pee piles in his round pen than are normal so he is drinking a lot.

He also has abnormal thyroid levels.

His insulin levels are normal, though.

So, Jackson is now a highly managed horse.

He's on multiple medications; five in  total:  thyroid (2 meds), Cushings (1 - pergolide), and circulatory for his feet/navicular (2 meds).
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He is wearing special boots at night to increase circulation in his feet for the navicular.

He will be wearing special shoes and hard pads to protect his thin soles.  My fingers are crossed that the shoes stay on.  His hoof walls are thin and weak.  Maybe our farrier can use glue on shoes, if traditional ones don't work.  I'm still hopeful we can get him comfortable, but it may be more challenging than I anticipated.

Its not all Sweetness and Light

I don't want you to think that this liberty work/relationship focused interaction with horses is all tootie-fruity fluffy marshmallow stuff.  Tex is getting a heck of a lot of treats right now -- because he is tentative and still learning to trust.

Take, on the other hand, my brave and independent heart horse: Jackson.

He's been retired for a number of years now.  And we all know what happens when you retire a horse.  They gradually become rude and pushy.  Jackson is no exception.  And because my heart aches when I think about the pain he lives with everyday, I haven't been as, um, firm as I should be.

One of the things I learned at the clinic -- well, I knew it, but it never stuck before -- was making sure that my horses fully understand that I am the one in charge.  I am the alpha mare and you don't move me around; I move you.  The next morning after we got home from the clinic, when I brought Jackson his morning vitamins, I noticed that he was crowding into my space and trying to herd me to his feed bin.  I told him to back up.  He bumped me with his head; kind of a side-ways friendly punch to my arm.  Except that it wasn't acceptable.  I asked him to back up; to cede me ground; to acknowledge my rank -- and he pushed back.  I stung him across his lower front legs and said "I told you to move."

He hobbled backwards and then circled around me, snaking his head in a belligerent way.  I ordered him to whoa in my best I-mean-it mom voice.  He stopped; looking a bit shocked.

I continued walking to his feed bin.  He started out walking next to me, and gradually was drifting sideways towards me.  I stepped into him, and he moved away.  He tried again.  I held my ground and gave him the stink-eye.  His head went up and he stopped.

When he dropped his head, I walked over to him with the bucket.

"Wait," I said.  He paused.  I held the bucket to him and said "Have some."

"Thank you." he meekly said.  "I'll be respectful.  I promise."

And he has (pretty much) kept that promise.

Worried

...about Jackson.

Remember, we have a new farrier who came out and did a bit of work on Jackson three weeks ago.  He didn't get too aggressive because Jackson was clearly uncomfortable.  So, he scheduled a return visit a few weeks later to finish up the trim.

That few weeks later visit was Wednesday.  And it didn't go well.

Since the last visit, Jackson spent some sunny days in the arena, on dry sand, with Lucy and Pistol and then we moved him into the pasture with them, when Brett finished repairing/replacing their fence.  The pasture is 99% dry, with one patch of wet ground in the bottom corner.  Jackson has spent months -- since last November -- living in the covered round pen.  He was stoic about it; but he doesn't like it.  He wants to be out with the rest of the herd, to be out in the sunshine and the wind, to live like a horse.  I couldn't deny him that.  If you don't have quality of life, what's life worth?  Not a whole heck of a lot.

So, Wednesday.  The farrier found thrush in three of four hooves; laminitic flare up; possible white line; some blood at the toe; an abscess (that the farrier burst and now Jackson thinks this farrier is the best thing ever).  And, the front hooves (where he is most laminitic) are just growing really funky.  He didn't want to trim much with out the benefit of a vet exam and x-rays.

Jackson has an appointment next week with our favorite vet.  I trust her completely and I don't want to take him to someone with whom I don't have full faith on this situation.  If the prognosis is grim... well, I don't want to be second guessing the source.  Last night I wrote up his entire medical history for her.  It was a depressing exercise.

Between now and then, I am treating the thrush with this stuff called Dry Cow.  It's an antibiotic.  The farrier cleaned out the frogs and gave them a thorough treatment with thrush meds; now I'm flushing with the antibiotic twice a day.

And I'm trying to stay positive.  But, deep down, I'm very worried and my heart feels like a sack of stones is pulling it down.

Stupidly Happy, Tired and Sore

As Brett and I drove out the front gate this morning, on our way to the corner market so he could get mushrooms for his scrambled eggs, I looked over at Lucy, Pistol and Jackson contentedly grazing and said, "Is it stupid that I am so happy that they are back in their pasture?"

Pistol

Brett has been working on replacing the fence that came down under the weigh of the falling oak tree.  It's been slow and difficult work for him -- getting the holes dug, the posts set (perfectly straight), and the rails up -- all by himself.  He had about half of it done, including a new gate to go with the new pedestrian bridge (made from the oak tree), at the start of this week.

Thursday, his friend Marty came up to help put up the rest.  It looks awesome.

Saturday morning, I helped Brett clean up the piles of old fencing, old bent and rusty wire, and the pieces of left over wood.  It took us a couple hours to get the pasture horse ready.

And then we brought them over, out of the confines of the small arena.

Lucy and Jackson

We brought Jackson over too.  The weather is warming, and the ground is dry in most places.  I did find him, this morning, standing in the one marshy area eating away.

Jackson

The water in their water trough had turned a lovely shade of green in the three months since the tree fell and we moved the girls out.  All the gold fish had died, and the water looked disgusting.  I emptied it, throwing bucket after bucket of water over the fence since the drain doesn't work.  We refilled it with fresh water and bought some goldfish.

Lucy

I think we're set.

Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage

You know the tune; sing along as I tell the story of Jackson and Pistol.

The sun was shining on the weekend, and Jackson is now under the careful care of our new (awesome) farrier.  He's feeling great, walking great, and ready to rock and roll.  I moved him into the arena/paddock with Lucy and Pistol.  He immediately rolled, then did airs above ground, a few rodeo bronc bucks, and a lovely elevated trot.

Oh, my.  Said Pistol (who is in heat).

Lucy acted as chaperone but when I worked with her Saturday, Pistol and Jackson were left alone together.

Pistol has been married a few, ahem, times.  She's been bred and had a baby and knows the drill.

Jackson was gelded at a young age (I assume).  He was interested but confused.

They touched noses, nuzzled each other, and Jackson went so far as to grab the crest of her neck.  Pistol lifted her tail and parked herself.  I'm ready, big boy.

Jackson just stood there so she carefully backed herself up, until her butt was on Jackson's chest and her tail was up his nose.

He looked at me with a mix of utter confusion and, dare I say, boredom.

Of course, as soon as I put Lucy back in the arena, she broke it up.  I think Jackson was secretly relieved.