There is Power in Naming

 "How do you name a horse after a spider?"

You have your sister fly from Utah and hunker down into a heavy-duty-research-mode!

Introducing: Tangled in Time, aka Ciri.

The spider theme started out early on, right when I heard I had a black dot. As much as I love the horse community, I think we can all agree that one downside is its excessive prevalence of gossip. I knew that there were some not nice things being said about my decision to breed over buy and early baby names were related to rumors. The animal representation of gossip is a spider; when the vet arrived after foaling, he saw the photos and said something along the lines of it looking like Ruby was giving birth to a giant spider. 

There is a jumping spider species called Cyrili, from which I derived Cyri. I thought people might struggle with the pronunciation, so decided on Ciri- which is the name of the Witcher character; a book series, video game franchise, and most recently tv series of which I have always been a fan. 

It is tradition in my family to chose a patron saint when you name your child (mine is the patron saint of horses, saint Laurus of Illyria, August 18th). The patron saint of spiders is Saint Felix of Nola, January 14th. Out of curiosity, I looked to see which saint was honored on March 18th, and it is Saint Cyril Archbishop of Jerusalem. If I was looking for a way to wrap this all together, I found it!

Spiders are creation deities in old mythology and are associated with weaving fate and destiny (similar to Norns, Fates, and Morai). Our time is measured, and spider weaves the threads of our lives. 

And Time: what a funny thing. It feels like not too long ago I was a timid, insecure, and bullied adolescent who showed up at a horse farm to meet a pony who was just as scared of me as I was of her. Together we learned trust, patience, confidence, and friendship.  Here we are, 15 years later: in some ways the same and in many ways very different. But life has its ups and downs and I spent too much time "surviving:" doing the daily grind telling myself one day it would slow down or be worth it; listening to others tell me who I should be; pleasing people whose opinions I believed were more valuable than my own. 

This is the first step in the right direction for me: I don't want to survive, I want to live. 

The name I chose is "Tangled in Time" (thanks for the suggestion Julia) as a nod to "tangled in a web of fate" and that the witcher Ciri is a time traveler-a gift I sometimes wish I had: to go back and buy the photos from the show, to spend more time at the barn, to undo the one mistake that nearly took Ruby from me (and broke her confidence). The reality is, time doesn't wait for us, and I doubt I'll be on my deathbed one day wishing I had worked extra hours. 

Ciri, my spider baby: our fates are entwined and I can't wait to see what we learn together. Onward, to the next big adventure; an adventure in which I sure hope to learn to prioritize my life- correctly.

Fun fact: the tarot card associated with spiders is the 8 of pentacles; which represents mindfulness, hard work, devotion, and creativity.

The Wild Unknown 

8 of Pentacles

Making Dreams Come True

"This is one BIG baby!"

March 17 2022: After nearly a week of watching Ruby from the barn video cameras (culminating in a solid 3 days where my amazing barn owner and I tried to rally each other to stay awake for 24h surveillance (shout out to her husband who also picked up shifts so we could catch some z's!)) we had entered the "any moment now" window of Ruby stamping her feet, dripping milk, stretching, and flank-checking. 

We ate dinner, checked Ruby's milk pH, loaded her stall with straw, and hunkered down to wait. 

And wait.

And wait.

March 18 2022: The sun peeked above the horizon. A full moon (in Virgo) hung overheard, obscured by thick red and grey clouds. A flash of lighting, a clap of thunder, and a sudden torrential downpour of rain. It was right around 6:30am.

This was when Ruby decided to go into labor.

The barn owner came to me and simply said "it's happening."

I had never felt such an overwhelming mix of fear and excitement in my entire life: this was it, my baby was coming. I thought of all the scenarios that had been covered in my CSU foaling class- would the baby be positioned correctly? Would I be able to identify a dystocia? Did we have the equipment needed to re-position? What if the foal got stuck in the birth canal? What if there was a red bag?

All sources say that when the mare's water breaks, you should leave her alone and let her figure out what to do. We stayed back and watched Ruby pace as her water broke. She seemed uncertain, worried. I went to her.

I will never forget the way she nicker/huffed and came straight to me. 

I was her person.

I was her rock.

I was going to be with her through this no matter what.

The foaling process went smoothly for the first part, but the foal got elbow-locked and was stuck. I said words of encouragement to Ruby while the barn owner (thank God for her) helped pull with each contraction. With a few good pulls, out slid a baby.

"It's a girl!!!!"

At 7:04am, I had a baby on the ground. 

We let Ruby and her filly get to know each other with supervision (Ruby was having a hard time with after-birth contractions). We cleaned them up, we cleaned the stall, we checked the placenta to make sure it was intact. 

All was settled, and all went well. The vet was on the way to check mom and baby. 

I had spent hours researching horse coat color DNA to make spreadsheets with the possible foal coat color outcomes (black, smoky black, bay, buckskin) based on Ruby and Hero's color DNA. I made statistical charts to predict the probability of each color outcome; for each color outcome per gender. My best friend and I worked on vision boards, where I had put together a collage of foal photos showing what I had hoped for.

I wanted a black filly so bad-- and there she was: my black filly, from my beloved mare. 

When everything was done, I remember turning to my barn owner and simply saying "can I freak out now?" She laughed, I think she absolutely knew what I meant.

I cried. Tears of happiness, relief, and probably some extreme fatigue. 

I followed my heart, and it led me here. 

One Pinch of Beauty, One Pinch of Kindness

 "Well, I guess this is happening then."

I took a few years letting Ruby enjoy her retired life and catch riding the horses that I could find around town /taking lessons in the area. For a while that was "enough;" working on confidence, keeping my skills honed, keeping my body fit. 

I knew I needed another.

Looking back, some of my best memories with Ruby revolved around the "baby steps" and the "firsts" we shared together. As an Adult Ammy with a full-time engineering job, I had been warned by peers and friends that maybe a young or green horse was not the best fit for where I was in my life. 

Did I listen? Ha, please. 

For months I scoured Facebook, reaching out to breeders. I researched breeds and registries. I looked up parentage and traits for the types of horses I thought I wanted (GRP, connemara, appendix qh, welsh/x, etc.). I toured breeding barns and seriously looked at foals who met my list of requirements. None of them felt "right:" I noticed that most breeders focused on the great accolades of the stallion and his traits and his show records and his breeding. But what about the mare? The mare raises the foal and is half the DNA, shouldn't she be important too?

I couldn't let go of the idea that I already had the cutest little mare who adored me (I mean, that goes both ways obviously). Ruby had good confirmation, was an exceptional hunter, sweet personality, and put up with all sorts of crap from me in our early years when I was still trying to learn how to ride. 

Instead of looking for foals, I started looking at stallions. 

I whittled down my sire options to Thoroughbred or Trakehner. The ATA keeps a list of active stallions, with biographies and lineages. More research, contacted stallion owners. 

My final selection:  Heroic Measures, OSB-A-S438.

The foal contract was signed, the stud fee sent, and I told my vet: "we only have one shot at this. If she doesn't take the first time, I am not going to keep trying; if she does, then we go forward."

Ruby was confirmed pregnant at her first follow up. 

The End of an Era

 "She is telling me she is done."

Quick update on what has happened over the past couple years, between my last post and now: Ruby tore her suspensory in September of 2018; we did extensive rehab, stall rest, hand-walking, and slow progression back into work. Ruby was cleared to full work the following February; I opted to do dressage only to reduce the risk of re-tearing. 

We trained, we were working first and second level movements...and her heart was not in it. She was resistant, she was not having fun anymore, and she was trying to tell me she was done.

In October of 2019, I hopped on her bareback; we had a very enjoyable ride together, I stopped her in the middle of the ring, and I cried. I knew, in my heart, that this would be our last ride.

After 12 years of competition spanning the hunter ring (HUS and equitation), dressage, and eventing, she had earned her retirement. 

Ruby lives the life of luxury where has everyone wrapped around her little hooves and where I can still see her a few days per week.