Backing Siggi

Backing Siggi

The term break has traditionally been used to describe getting on a horse and riding. I much prefer the term back, which has more positive connotations. I was the first to back Siggi; this took place on April 15, 2009. This was a milestone, an event that Pete and I had doubted would ever come about.

Today I backed Siggi. As I did with Raudi, I placed a bucket of hay under his nose, pulled the mounting block up next to him, and climbed up onto his back. As he chowed down, I reminisced. Like the proverbial third child, Siggi’s attributes have been overshadowed by those of his barnmates. Visitors oww and ahhh when Raudi and Tinni clamor for attention. But they seldom take note of the lanky individual who hovers in the background.

I met Siggi on May 12, 2004. He was, from the day of his birth, inquisitive, but lethargic. During his first few months of life he stood watching, as his half-sister Elsa tore around the pasture. Raudi picked me out; however, Siggi had no say in the matter. Instead, his dam, Roskova, determined that Pete and I should own him. I remember this day quite well. I was riding Ros, and Siggi (who was then two months old) was grazing at the distance. When the usually taciturn mare took me (unbidden) in the direction of her offspring and neighed, her message to me came through loud and clear – she wanted Pete and me to purchase him.

I agreed with Ros—purchasing Siggi was a good idea, after all, we needed a companion for Raudi. I didn’t tell Pete about Ros’s wish because he’d half-joking say that the mare had too much of a vested interest in such a deal. I instead told him that Siggi, like his dam, was extremely mellow. This appealed to Pete, who’s always had an affinity for calm animals.

We purchased our new acquisition in December, 2004, and then we began deliberating about his name. I said to Pete that we had to remain consistent with the Icelandic practice of naming this horse after its physical or personality-related characteristics. Before he could ask why, I explained that this is an indirect way of acknowledging that Icelandics are a specific breed type.

At birth, Siggi had a zig-zag stripe down his back, and a few white hairs on his forehead. This was why Pete decided to name him Ziggy Stardust, after the David Bowie character. Pete remarked that while Bowie’s Ziggy was “the man who fell to earth,” Ours was “the horse who fell from earth.” I liked this ambiguous comparison, for it implied that our horse was some kind of an ethereal being. Little did either of us know that this character-related association would ultimately be most fitting.

I also insisted that we follow tradition by making sure that Siggi’s USIHC registration be the Icelandic translation of the English version. Pete, who is a compulsive researcher, found the direct translation of Ziggy Stardust in a English/Icelandic dictionary, and verified it, by running it by Gudmar Peturrson. Siggi Halastjarni fra Alaskastadir was a mouthful; however, both Pete and I assumed that the foal would grow into it.

I learned from Siggi and Raudi both that buying a young horse is like buying Forrest Gump’s proverbial box of chocolates—you never know what you’re getting. As one observer put it, “Raudi (now four) has taken full advantage of all she’s been given genetically and environmentally; however, Siggi (now three) has not.”

Siggi has a steep croup, is cowhocked, and stands with his left rear hind leg cocked at a 45 degree angle. He’s one-gaited, and this gait is the pace. I’ve become hardened to the look of dismay that crosses my veterinarian’s and farrier’s faces when they watch Siggi move. He flails at the air with both his front and rear legs. My research has confirmed what my veterinarian told me – that Siggi, who is winging out, is expending energy that would otherwise be used to propel him forwards. His conformation-related ungainliness, combined with his above-average size (13.3 hands), and his mousey color (blue dun), have most thinking that he must be part moose.

Virginia and Ben Crawford (Siggi’s breeder) have twice offered to buy him back. We’ve refused because Siggi’s character-related strengths have always outshone his conformation-related deficiencies. Siggi’s a gentle soul who has taken it upon himself to be my spiritual guru. I have often taken him for walks in which he’s stopped, planted his feet, and refused to move. Once, after standing in the middle of the road for fifteen minutes, I looked into his calm brown eyes. Maybe, I thought, I’d be more at peace with myself, if I, like Siggi, learned to live for the moment.

Siggi’s also Raudi and Tinni’s confidant and mediator. By choice, he spends half his time eating with Tinni, and the other half with Raudi. Tinni and Raudi don’t miss one another when I take either out of their pen; however, they both get agitated when I remove Siggi.

It’s a good thing that Siggi’s all guy, because this is the attribute that’s endeared itself to Pete. Both have a mutual interest in construction-related tools—skill saws, drills, hammers, and the like. It’s a given, if Pete’s working on the shelter, fencing, or gate, Siggi’s standing next to him, checking out the tools or eyeballing the work-in-progress.

Siggi’s one other virtue is that he’s easy to work with. I’ve attended three clinics at the Icelandic Horse Farm, in part because I wanted him to both become better balanced, and to become more cognizant of his legs. I’ve followed Christine Schwartz’s and Robyn Hood’s advice, and repeatedly lead him through what I call “The Alaska version of the Playground of Higher Learning.” I’ve also experimented with body wraps, and done a wide range of TTouches on him. He really seems to enjoy python lifts and leg circles. There has been some improvement. Siggi’s balance, when he picks up his legs, is now better than that of Tinni and Raudi’s. And his very discernable two-beat pace has become a somewhat discernable four beat walk.

But my hope, that Siggi’s conformational defects would rectify themselves as he grew older, has not come to be. Instead, these flaws raised a question that for some time was the focal point of Pete and my daily breakfast time conversations. Was Siggi in pain? Pete and I have always been on the same page when it comes to the subject of euthanasia. If say, an animal is in misery, and will continue to be in misery, then we as good animal citizens are duty-bound to send him or her in the direction of the Rainbow Bridge.

Round and round we went, weighing the variables, in an attempt to determine Siggi’s fate. His resting temperature, respiration, and pulse remained normal. He always had an alert look in his eyes. And aside from having a hitch in his gait when he was two (an upward fixation of the patella, perhaps?), there were no other signs of lameness or pain. But conversely, he was the quintessential napper, lead grabber, and slow motion machine. Were the latter pain indicators? We hadn’t a clue.

There was only one way to find out, and this was to go to the source. After reading a dozen or so books on horse communication, I figured that I’d have a serious talk with Siggi. Pete was skeptical about my getting any kind of response because of what he’d observed – horses eating, sleeping, drinking, and pooping, all day, every day.

Together, we walked down to the shelter. “Siggi,” I asked, “are you hurting? The horse looked up from his hay, but remained mum.

Siggi’s rather non-committal response led me to believe that I should seek out an intermediary. I put this at the bottom of my List of Things to Do, because I wasn’t up to asking a stranger to converse with my horse. I mean, what if he or she lied and said that Siggi wanted to be put down? Maybe, I thought, I’d eventually meet someone who I trusted to give me an accurate and honest response.

I got lucky. This past August, I made my third yearly trek to the Icelandic Horse Farm. There, at the seven-day TTeam-Centered riding clinic I met Nella Missnell. The gray haired, soft-spoken woman didn’t, when we first conversed, tell me that she was an animal communicator. Rather, I discovered this a few days later.

Siggi, I thought, would enjoy conversing with Nella. There was just one drawback – she lives in Ontario, Canada, and so she would be unable to meet Siggi face-to-face. In the past, I would have regarded this as an insurmountable obstacle. After all, body language—the flick of an ear or the blink of an eye – can tell one a great deal. But I liked Nell so much that direct contact seemed to me to be immaterial.

On September 19, 2007, Nella conversed with Siggi. What he told her is as follows:

“In the physical Siggi is solid, balanced, and grounded. But Siggi is much larger in that he is very connected with the universe. He feels at one with the stars and night sky and he is so much more spiritually connected with the universe than he is here in the physical. He has the sense of just being and belonging.

“Physically, when Siggi runs he tries to stretch out the upper left leg.(I do not know the proper name of that part of the horse.) I’m thinking left inner thigh just down from the tail. It seems to have been strained at one point. He appreciates the neck work you do for him and wants you to please continue. It relaxes him. He likes the connection with you, and feels that if he could carry you and through you, you and he would be even closer to the universe. He would be proud to carry you, and when you ride him you will be as one. Siggi is there most of the time, so if he appears to be a bit spacey, he is; he’s very connected with the universe. Alys, I cannot put to paper well enough the special being your Siggi is.”

Nella’s heartfelt message brought tears to my eyes. Here it was, verified, what I’d always suspected, that Siggi is the horse who fell from earth, and more. I was pleased to note that he made no mention of being in pain, or wanting to move on to the netherworld. And so, if Siggi was in pain, it wasn’t having an adverse affect on his life.

Siggi’s snuffling brought me back to the present, and the fact that I was backing him. The sense of solidity that I’d felt when I’d climbed on Raudi a year before just wasn’t there. Being on Siggi’s back was akin to being on a Play Dough horse made of toothpicks. As he shifted from side-to-side, he confirmed what Ros knew, and Pete and I were then unaware of – that her boy would have limitations as a riding horse. No matter, I thought, I’ll wait until he’s five before climbing back on him. And if he remains incapable of carrying my weight, I’ll make it official. He’ll remain Raudi and Tinni’s lifelong companion. And of course, he’ll always have a home here at Squalor Holler.

Alys
Pete
Raudi
Siggi
A MooseEncounter
Around the Loop
Backing Siggi
Siggi’s Big Day
Tinni
Bootleg
Rainbow
Jenna
Goats
Chickens