hunterseat df: Hunter Seat Equitation is a division that is judged on the ability and the style of the rider. The riders can be judged both over fences and on the flat.
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
Don't Forget the Sugar!
Posted 08-15-2014 at 08:05 AM by hunterseat
I’ve had dogs my whole life. Babette was my poodle-dachshund before designer dogs were cool. There were hounds, shepherds, rescues, mutts of all types, and there was Sugar. She was a snow-dog mix. I once looked into the eyes of a Malamute and saw Sugar. I think she had Malamute in her but who knows? Her coat had the underfur that turned every carpet she touched snowy white. Her shedding was unmerciful.
Sugar was a stray, that is to say she strayed from whence she came. I was on my lunch break and noticed her moving through the warehouse parking lots. I called her over and shared my hot wings with her. She immediately fell asleep under the warehouse steps. “Wow,” I thought. “Maybe she loves me! We must have bonded!” Little did I know we would never bond. But let me back up to that first day. The sun shifted and so did the dog. I kept peeking and saw she had moved to the shade next to my boss’ front truck tire. As closing time approached she still lay there. Wondering if the hot wings had been a good idea and peering closely to see if she was breathing, I assured my boss she would move.
Finally he called to me as he started his truck. She still lay wedged against his tire. “C’mon girl!” I called in my best dog motivating voice. No movement. I opened my car door, went to the still-sleeping dog and heaved her up by her armpits in a bear hug that enabled me to walk her stiffly over to the car and dump her in. She WAS my dog, right? My boss looked on with the skepticism that I was beginning to feel.
I had a German Shepherd named Butch. The kids thought Sugar was a good name. Butch loved Sugar. She loved him. She led him down the road where he was hit and required orthopedic surgery.
She required spaying, Parvo treatment, heartworm treatment and the basic upkeep expenses.
She was the first dog I’ve ever had that wouldn’t come when called. Quite the opposite, she became deaf when called. And she ran (explaining her exhaustion that first day) as long as it took to catch a squirrel or rabbit. Then she came back and ate it on the front lawn, too exhausted to dodge me when I grabbed her. She was a housedog but spent her outside time tied if she wasn’t being walked. I did feel bad for her.
Butch would rat her out, waking me from a nap to the sound of Sugar rummaging in the trash. He wanted me to know he had no part in it!
I came home one day and had trouble opening the door because Sugar was there with, what? She’d stuck her head through the plastic dome-shaped swinging trashcan lid. She must have walked around for hours with that thing on her head. She didn’t seem to care. She was very good natured. I’d walk her down the street and neighborhood cats would run up to greet her. I called her “the keeper of the cats”.
The first time we heard her bark it was so loud, dry dogfood flew from Butch's mouth. But that’s why she barked. She wanted more food. She could only count to two. She watched me dish out three scoops to Butch and, after one scoop in her dish she waited for more. I began giving her two half-scoops which equaled two in her mind. It didn’t occur to her that more-than-one wasn’t necessarily three. It made her happy.
I taught her to speak but her first bark was so loud, I’d say “sweeter” and her second bark was a whispered “woof” that always made me smile.
I’ve used Avon Skin-so-Soft for pest control on dogs and horses for years. Sugar hated SSS with such a passion she would dive off the porch to avoid it. She became super-dog. She could disappear instantly if she suspected it was nearby. Never before or since have I encountered anything with such a hatred of SSS.
One day we moved to the country and I turned her loose. She looked suspicious and glanced around. The only time I intentionally let her run was after a snowfall when there was no traffic on the road. She took off running and I waved goodbye. She stopped. This was no fun. At this point Sugar was getting old. She’d been with me for over 15 years. She couldn’t run like she used to but she enjoyed her freedom, at last. I felt good about that. It took a while but she was living the life of a country dog. She deserved that.
So even though I drove home one time and saw a black dog and a white dog hunting a ditch about 3 miles from my house on a busy road… SUGAR!!!!
And even though she never really seemed to love me or care about what I asked her to do, I loved her anyway. It was a strange relationship. I can’t believe I don’t have a picture of her on my computer. I’ll have to dig one up.
When I got orders to the Middle East for 6 months, I had less than a month to get ready. I had 4 horses and many dogs and cats to figure out. And Sugar. She’d been on joint supplement for years but her back end had nearly given out. She would try to get up the deck steps and her hips would give and her back legs would slide between the steps. She was stuck. I was stuck. She was so frail and elderly and was unable to move around without falling. I wasn’t sure if she’d make it another 6 months but I was sure it would be unfair to board her in a kennel. I wasn’t really ready to make the call – she might have made it another couple of months with close monitoring. But we were all out of time.
The vet was wonderful and Sugar was in my arms. I cried like a baby. It was nearly 5 years ago and, of course, I’m tearing up now. I think about that dog often. She was like the kid who frustrated the heck out of you but managed to embed herself in your heart somehow. And I miss her, even if she would probably never miss me. Good dog, Sugar. I won’t forget you.
Sugar was a stray, that is to say she strayed from whence she came. I was on my lunch break and noticed her moving through the warehouse parking lots. I called her over and shared my hot wings with her. She immediately fell asleep under the warehouse steps. “Wow,” I thought. “Maybe she loves me! We must have bonded!” Little did I know we would never bond. But let me back up to that first day. The sun shifted and so did the dog. I kept peeking and saw she had moved to the shade next to my boss’ front truck tire. As closing time approached she still lay there. Wondering if the hot wings had been a good idea and peering closely to see if she was breathing, I assured my boss she would move.
Finally he called to me as he started his truck. She still lay wedged against his tire. “C’mon girl!” I called in my best dog motivating voice. No movement. I opened my car door, went to the still-sleeping dog and heaved her up by her armpits in a bear hug that enabled me to walk her stiffly over to the car and dump her in. She WAS my dog, right? My boss looked on with the skepticism that I was beginning to feel.
I had a German Shepherd named Butch. The kids thought Sugar was a good name. Butch loved Sugar. She loved him. She led him down the road where he was hit and required orthopedic surgery.
She required spaying, Parvo treatment, heartworm treatment and the basic upkeep expenses. She was the first dog I’ve ever had that wouldn’t come when called. Quite the opposite, she became deaf when called. And she ran (explaining her exhaustion that first day) as long as it took to catch a squirrel or rabbit. Then she came back and ate it on the front lawn, too exhausted to dodge me when I grabbed her. She was a housedog but spent her outside time tied if she wasn’t being walked. I did feel bad for her.
Butch would rat her out, waking me from a nap to the sound of Sugar rummaging in the trash. He wanted me to know he had no part in it!
I came home one day and had trouble opening the door because Sugar was there with, what? She’d stuck her head through the plastic dome-shaped swinging trashcan lid. She must have walked around for hours with that thing on her head. She didn’t seem to care. She was very good natured. I’d walk her down the street and neighborhood cats would run up to greet her. I called her “the keeper of the cats”.The first time we heard her bark it was so loud, dry dogfood flew from Butch's mouth. But that’s why she barked. She wanted more food. She could only count to two. She watched me dish out three scoops to Butch and, after one scoop in her dish she waited for more. I began giving her two half-scoops which equaled two in her mind. It didn’t occur to her that more-than-one wasn’t necessarily three. It made her happy.
I taught her to speak but her first bark was so loud, I’d say “sweeter” and her second bark was a whispered “woof” that always made me smile.
I’ve used Avon Skin-so-Soft for pest control on dogs and horses for years. Sugar hated SSS with such a passion she would dive off the porch to avoid it. She became super-dog. She could disappear instantly if she suspected it was nearby. Never before or since have I encountered anything with such a hatred of SSS.
One day we moved to the country and I turned her loose. She looked suspicious and glanced around. The only time I intentionally let her run was after a snowfall when there was no traffic on the road. She took off running and I waved goodbye. She stopped. This was no fun. At this point Sugar was getting old. She’d been with me for over 15 years. She couldn’t run like she used to but she enjoyed her freedom, at last. I felt good about that. It took a while but she was living the life of a country dog. She deserved that.
So even though I drove home one time and saw a black dog and a white dog hunting a ditch about 3 miles from my house on a busy road… SUGAR!!!!
And even though she never really seemed to love me or care about what I asked her to do, I loved her anyway. It was a strange relationship. I can’t believe I don’t have a picture of her on my computer. I’ll have to dig one up.When I got orders to the Middle East for 6 months, I had less than a month to get ready. I had 4 horses and many dogs and cats to figure out. And Sugar. She’d been on joint supplement for years but her back end had nearly given out. She would try to get up the deck steps and her hips would give and her back legs would slide between the steps. She was stuck. I was stuck. She was so frail and elderly and was unable to move around without falling. I wasn’t sure if she’d make it another 6 months but I was sure it would be unfair to board her in a kennel. I wasn’t really ready to make the call – she might have made it another couple of months with close monitoring. But we were all out of time.
The vet was wonderful and Sugar was in my arms. I cried like a baby. It was nearly 5 years ago and, of course, I’m tearing up now. I think about that dog often. She was like the kid who frustrated the heck out of you but managed to embed herself in your heart somehow. And I miss her, even if she would probably never miss me. Good dog, Sugar. I won’t forget you.
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