Quinn the Destroyer, an Introduction.

Love at First Sight

Quinn plays a very large (figuratively and literally) role in many of my adventures so it would be impossible to encompass the entirety of our relationship in just one post.  In fact, I could probably fill an entire book with just stories of him.  This is just a (not so) brief introduction to QTD (Quinn the Destroyer) also known as QTTS (Quinn the Turtle Slayer-that will be another story all together) and the most fitting, Quinnycakes.

When I was beginning to think about having another horse, I had some hesitations.  I'd had heartbreak with my previous horse, and had taken a couple of years off of riding.

My childhood trainer and lifelong friend Lindsay, had suggested I take a road trip to look at some horses in central Virginia. She knew my requirements.  Quiet, self sufficient if I was too busy with work to ride often, and large enough to always make me feel small and have potential to be what we in the biz call a "husband horse."  I was still unsure if I was ready but began to check out the website.  I soon came across a horse at that farm named Tacoma. Less than a week later, on a cold day in early 2007, I met my soulmate of a horse. He was a year and a half old.  It was love at first nuzzle.

Smooches

Quinn was  PMU throw away foal.  (I recommend searching that term if you are not familiar with it, as I am sticking with the lighthearted theme with my blog). He fit the bill in every way.  (side note, I now have the husband horse 10 years later and no husband...but that would be an entirely different novel). Plus he had the added bonus of tolerating nose smooches and cuddling. It didn't hurt that he was and is the most adorable horse I have ever laid eyes on.  Do not begin argue this point with me, I am a mother, he will always be the best in my eyes.


My dear friends, the Martins, were kind enough to allow me to board The Mighty Quinn (as he was now known) at their home.  I believe they regretted that decision almost immediately.  Quinn was as advertised, quiet and sweet.  However, he also possessed some qualities we were not prepared for.  The ability to eat anything that fit in his mouth, the strength of a freight train, in addition to the mischievousness of a kitten, toddler, and naughty pony all rolled into one to name a few of his bonus qualities.  Picture a 1200 lb kitten set loose in your yard.

There were many mornings that I received calls about Quinn standing in the water trough..again...or that Quinn had broken the fence...again...basically, the Martins were saints for putting up with us.  I helped as much as possible ( I was working overnights in a veterinary ER) around the barn to try to balance it out, but not sure that I could ever repay their kindness.  On the plus side, Mr. Martin seemed to thoroughly enjoy QTD's (now the nickname came into play) playful nature and helped to train him to have his hooves picked up and be handled regularly.   One of the funniest stories from that barn was when we decided that maybe an electric fence would hold the big man.  I missed it, but apparently QTD walked right up to the electric and promptly tried to take a bite.  Who knew a draft horse could jump three feet straight in the air?  I am only sorry nobody caught a video of that.  Good news is, he learned to respect electricity!

Once we eventually relieved the Martin family of the Quinn burden in the winter of 2008, we began to share various barns with dear friend Marilynn all over beautiful hunt country Virginia.  This is where the legend of QTD really began.

Now, QTD has been responsible for many a tack room break-ins, but these two in particular stand out.  One day, I was dealing with saying goodbye to my elderly mare (and first horse) Aldie Mountain, so Marilynn was keeping tabs on the big man for me.  I received a call that she had become concerned because she did not see Quinn in the field.  As Marilynn looked around the field, she noticed some buckets outside that had previously been in the tack room. The tack room door was closed tight. This particular tack room had an extremely heavy door that was not easy for us to open.  It also had a plywood floor.  It was also about a quarter of the size of a stall with no windows.  When the door was shut, it was pitch black.

Marilynn eventually opened the door to put the buckets away, and was shocked to be greeted by the business end of one large black and white horse.  To this day, I have no idea how he managed to open the door, but remain in awe of the fact that once the door blew shut, he clearly was unfazed.  He was calmly munching on a bar of glycerine soap when he was interrupted.  I am not entirely sure how Marilynn managed to get him out, as his, um, plus sized rear was blocking the entryway, but she did. By the time I arrived, Marilynn had begun cleanup but it looked like a tornado had come through.  Saddles pulled off the racks and chewed on, bridles, martingales and other various tack strewn about, grooming tools everywhere and all covered in a thick layer of fresh steaming manure.

Somehow the floor held him and other than hours of clean up, no permanent damage was done.  I was, however, disturbed by the base of a broken lightbulb I found. No glass.  I wanted to hang a sign on his stall that said "Hi my name is Quinn and I eat lightbulbs."  Somehow, Marilynn did not kick us out and we began to develop the Quinn-proofing techniques that I still use today.

Gracie, momma dog (now owned by a dear friend, Shawn)

Fast forward to Snowmaggedon 2009.  By this time, we had moved to another barn and Marilynn was living close by.  I was concerned leaving her to care for the horses alone is what was supposed to be a massive snow storm.  I had been fostering a momma dog and her 2 puppies, limiting my ability to be at the barn for long hours. As luck would have it, the rescue had found a new foster for mom and homes for the pups and I was able to hand them off just as the snow began to fall.

foster puppies!

 I somehow made the hour drive through pretty rough road conditions safely, but in my excitement to be there, I misjudged the driveway border hidden under the snow, and managed to park over a stone wall and destroyed something expensive under my Tahoe ( I cannot remember what now, just that it cost me a paycheck to repair.)  QTD and I are soul mates, remember?

Marilynn, her wonderful husband Adam and I entertained ourselves in the snow and prepared the barn for the impending storm.  We thought.

Dogs helping or hurting Marilynn?

We woke early to go check on the barn.  The walk proved to be quite the workout itself!  Once we managed to make it through the winter wonderland and to the barn, we quickly noticed that Quinn did not greet us as he normally would.  Then we saw that the barn doors had been opened somehow.  ( I cannot imagine who would ever do that...)

Gerry and Bax helping with clean up

The scene we came upon in the feed and adjoining tack room was reminiscent of the disaster zones I have worked in. I could have easily been convinced that a bomb had been detonated.  Doors were off their hinges, empty feed and supplement bags had been shredded and strewn about as if put in a giant blender with the lid off. Neatly coiled hoses had been unraveled, blankets were sprawled out everywhere, and, as usual, everything was covered in a nice stinking layer of watery manure (a result of eating half a bag of feed and an entire bag of flax meal).

Marilynn surveying the damage

Trapped

As my brain was trying to interpret what my eyes were seeing, I finally noticed that the perpetrator was caught in the act.  Literally.  You know who had knocked down a ladder and gotten his giant tree trunk of a leg stuck in the rungs.  I, being the ever caring mother, decided to take a photo before releasing                                                           him from his self imposed restraints.  I suppose he did not want me to be bored during the snow storm.  He is so thoughtful. Nothing quite like scrubbing floors in below freezing weather.  Unconditional love...sometimes it is a one way street...

The Hard Way

If I were to write an autobiography, I believe I would call it "The Hard Way."  Ever since I was a little girl, my father has expressed his frustrations and amusement with many of my actions by saying "You do everything the hard way!"  He was not wrong.  He continues to not be wrong- at least in this particular area.  What can I say? This is how I learn!  Try first, read directions when your first (or second or third) try does not work.

Before I begin the farm stories, I wanted to share a little background for those who do not know me well.  I was fortunate to be raised by two loving parents in a wonderful neighborhood with my big sister Stacy.  I had a rather charmed childhood, although, like most children, I never appreciated it at the time.

Although I give them a hard time, my parents both always support me, even when they disagree with my choices. My dad, who has a strong dislike of horses and my riding, has always made sure he is at every event to cheer me on.  My mother who worries constantly about me being alone is always still pushing me to enjoy life and not take anything for granted.  My sister has grown to appreciate my farm life as she thoroughly enjoys a farm fresh egg every morning!

Us- (im the one making the first of many awkward faces.) plus a friend of the family.

As easy as it was for me, I am afraid my childhood was not easy on my parents. My father's hair went gray prematurely, and nobody had any doubts as to who caused that.  I inherited my mother's big heart, independence, sense of adventure, in addition to her daydreaming. I also inherited my father's infamous stubbornness and laser focus on getting what he wants. I look at my friends and their kids now, and find it so entertaining to watch them argue with mini versions of themselves, and wonder if that is how my parent's friends saw us.

I've always had my own way of doing everything.  I threw tantrums.  I never wanted to go to school. Not because of anything specific that I can recall, it was just because I was told I had to.  My sister was always the perfectionist. She listened and took advice before trying anything. She was responsible with her money, dressed nicely, did well in school and in sports.  She was social and had many friends.  I preferred to wear whatever was around (usually riding pants and a hoodie,) having 1-2 close friends, participating in non team sports (riding) and working hard to earn money just to spend it.  Often times that money was donated to an animal rescue or on horse things.

I'm the bald one

All of the above still holds true for both my sister and me.  As soon as I began to dig myself out of debt, I immediately began to foster horses and donate to local rescues rather than save for the future.  I no longer buy expensive riding clothes, just shoes for the horse and acupuncture for the dog.  Do not ask when the last time I purchased new shoes for my feet or went to the doctor for myself.  Some things never change.

Trouble

Rather than being satisfied with allowance for doing my chores, I took on cleaning stalls and working at the farm to earn my riding lessons and to have as much financial independence as a 12 year old could.  I have never wanted to feel like I owed anyone, or that something could be taken from me...if I earned it, it was mine.  (That being said, I frequently had barn time taken away when I did not keep my grades up etc. which caused even more tantrums to be thrown.)  My parents would have rather given me everything I needed and have me focus on school, but that seemed easy, why would I want to do that?

 By 16, I was working at the local saddlery, pet sitting, and working at several barns in addition to my riding and taking care of my mother and helping my trainer as they both went through chemotherapy. This is not one of those stories where a kid overcomes all of these first world struggles and goes on to be a Nobel Prize winner. That is not me. That would have been easy with all of my resources. Nope. I wanted to party with friends and skip classes and be a normal teenager.  I did manage to pass my classes and never got into too much trouble (or at least I never got caught.)   By 18, I was living alone on a farm, working full time and attending college.  Again, my parents would have preferred me to stay at home and not work, just focus on school...but I wanted pets and independence, so off I went!

I never wanted be told what to do or how to do it.  In fact, I always took it as a challenge when someone would tell me how I should be doing something.  I aimed to get the same results but in my own way.  As an adult, this has continued.  I will accept my GPS' directions (usually,) but when they say arrival time in 17 minutes?  Pshhh, I can easily make it in 13.  Challenge accepted!  Live in an apartment in a city close to work and have no physical work to do or move to the country and constantly have projects and things to do and drive super far for work?  Sign me up!

My loving family has finally come to terms with my choice of lifestyle, although I can always manage to get an eye roll when I tell them how I meet people in empty parking lots to hand off eggs, and how sometimes I cannot talk because I am chasing a rogue hen back into her pen at bedtime.  Explaining how the horse needs his teeth floated and his hooves trimmed and shod and his coat clipped and cared for always brings on a barrage of questions. I am always just as curious about how they sit in traffic all the time and deal with meetings and big contracts. We may speak different languages but we never run out of things to discuss in our family!