Saddling Up and a Redneck Revelation

December 6, 2008

I have found my Meryl Streep farm-in-Africa destination: Jinja. In particular, Maredy’s idyllic cottage at the Gately Inn on the Nile. Leaving the chaos of Kampala behind, we drove through rolling sugarcane and tea plantations, and I was instantly smitten (Editor’s note: with Jinja, not Maredy, although she is lovely too).
The cottage offered privacy that I haven’t felt since I arrived, with so many volunteers under one roof at the Jane Goodall office. Here I could reenact Tom Cruise’s Risky Business underwear scene if I wanted, I could sleep in the buff without worry of Debby’s infamous knock-and-walk entrance…I could eat a bag of cashews without sharing. Here, I could become really selfish and a recluse.
Maredy and I reconvened for sundowners on the star-studded balcony of her inn and picked at a mezza plate of fatty salami, olives, warm pita and cheese. As darkness fell upon us we were privy to the celestial display that won’t be witnessed again until 2052 (when I’m 78 and will need a telescope to read the newspaper). It was a spectacular one-night stand, Venus, Jupiter and a thumbnail of a moon clustered together over our heads. We wondered about an apocalypse and decided we should drink more wine just in case. And then Amarula on ice for good measure. The beauty of Africa is that there is an unspoken, universal agreement to stop and enjoy a sundowner wherever you might be.
In the morning I was feeling a bit wobbly, but went for a punishing run anyway. As I rounded the golf course the Amarula hit me like a sucker punch. I was going to shit my pants. The non-beauty of Africa is that there are locals walking everywhere, all the time. I looked behind me and ahead of me, I was doomed. The flag pole on the eighth hole offered little cover, I wasn’t that skinny. I was sweating in overdrive and kept focused on the health club sign ahead. I ran past the guard at the gate and barged inside. The housekeeping staff was milling about and I asked where the washroom was. ‘’Are you a member?” I said no, but with a very panicked look on my face. “Please, I am in dire straits.” The woman rested her chin on her broom, “Your name is Dire what?” Oh god. “I just need the toilet,’’ I nearly yelled at her. “So, you want to shower?’’ I was about ready to shit on her flip flops. I walked away from her and asked someone else who luckily didn’t interrogate me and was saved. Only when I sat on the toilet could I laugh that she thought my name was Dire Straits.
After an African trucker breakfast of milky, spicy tea, eggs and sausage sweetened with nutmeg, I decided to go horse-back riding. The trail was along the Nile, and it seemed like an appropriate thing to do. I always had Brokeback Mountain kind of fantasies, you know—plaid shirts with snap buttons, belt buckles as big as your head with Holsteins on them, eating beans out of a can and slugging whisky out of the bottle around a fire.
I took a boda to the stables, and my driver quickly stopped beside a horse pulling grass from the other side of the fence. ‘’I have never seen before! Only in picture books in school. It is like a cow!’’ I was stunned that a grown man had never seen a horse in his life. Amazing.
I was greeted by Natalie, who looked very much the part of cowgirl with her dusty cowboy hat low on her brow and faded jeans, naturally distressed by wear, not the marketing minds of Diesel and Rock & Republic. I sat down to fill out a form that asked if I had insurance, my nationality, and “how many times ridden?” I laughed. I asked Natalie, “how many times have I been ridden?”She remained stone-faced, like I imagine Clint Eastwood would as well. “Your form, it says, ‘how many times ridden’—that’s funny.” She wasn’t biting and only clarified in slow English, “how many times have you ridden a horse.” Well, clearly this number was different from my first calculation. She made me write ‘’novice.’’ And I was, my Aunt had horses but we looked at them more than we rode them. And that time in Bahamas with my brother and sister, that was horseback hell as our horses decided to bite each other in the ass and randomly swim in the ocean instead of cantering along the beach like in Club Med commercials.
Natalie introduced me to Tuscany, a 15 hander. I took a horse massage course just last year, but I never sat on the horse, I stayed on the ground, hoping I wouldn’t get hoofed in the shins as I pulled the horse’s tail for a low back traction. I bravely saddled up and came to the instant conclusion that horses are fucking tall! I needed a bigger belt buckle. Instead of a cool cowboy hat a la Eastwood, Natalie gave me a dorky helmet which ruined my Brokeback Mountain fantasy in a second. However, I was happy to be helmeted because now I was having awful visions of Christopher Reeve and Madonna’s tumble. If the Material Girl could break three ribs, a collarbone and her wrist, how could I be invincible?

Once I got over how tall Tuscany and I were combined, I was able to take in the surroundings. Daniel, my guide, led us through small mud hut villages where every kid ran out at top speed shouting “mizun-goooo! How ARE YOU!” Instead of the intonation of a question, they were shouting at me. ‘’HOW ARE YOU! HOW ARE YOU!’’ Two kids came to the edge of the trail with pieces of wood pressed to their ears—mimicking cell phones. “Hello? Jambo, Mizungo. HOW ARE YOU!”
We passed through sugarcane plantations and along the rapids of the Nile. In no time my ass was resisting the saddle. Tuscany was resisting me. Three times Daniel scolded me for letting Tuscany eat corn from the villagers crops (which consist of about seven stalks). How was I to stop Tuscany from a corn snack with measly reins? He was like a fat kid on a Smartie, there was no stopping him. Daniel fashioned a discipline stick for me to strike him with when he attempted to steal corn again. I can’t even use a flyswatter, and when Daniel wasn’t looking I accidentally dropped my stick.
Soon I was learning how to do the seated and standing trot. Daniel remarked, “you are very good at trots.” I wanted to tell him just how good I was at trots last week with shigella. Apparently he felt I was advanced enough (despite the few times I had been ridden) to canter. I followed his instruction, and white-knuckle gripped the saddle, with reins in the other hand, feeling like I was holding on to nothing at all.
I kicked Tuscany as told (apologizing at the same time), and we were off, chickens running like hell across the path, goats threatening to cross, kids chanting, and me, thinking this was my Madonna moment. I was starting to list to the right and Daniel was yelling something but I could only feel and hear and smell inertia, and kept my eye on the ground that I thought I might soon be flat out and bleeding upon. He stopped ahead of me, and so did Tuscany. I told Daniel that was enough cantering for me. Besides sliding sideways, my bladder wasn’t cut out for the Wild West. Instead, we did seated and standing trots back to the stable where I was happy to hop off my Hummer of a horse.

The following day, feeling every bit of my bruised rump, I agreed to go 4×4-ing with Nee. It was her 41st birthday and she was keen on the quad bikes. Why not? Now, this is when my Brokeback fantasy fell flat and I realized my true redneck nature. We donned the heavy overalls, Steven knotted a bandana behind my head, put on my helmet and aviator goggles. Now, this was cool. I loved the outfit, and the aviator goggles topped off the experience. We roared along the trails, past that famous Nile and were told not to race or pop wheelies. Well, as if I would even know how to pop a wheelie on a quad bike. Nee and I were both in our element, even when I went for a near tip. I misjudged the incline and went on a decline instead, but Steven was quick to hop off his bike and reverse me. We rode for an hour, and I was actually sad that it had to come to an end. I had no idea that I had 4×4 blood in me! We had a beer, even though it wasn’t the prescribed sundowner time and looked over the menu at the De Nile Café. At the Adrift bar the night before they advertised ‘’humbergers,’’ while De Nile offered a beef party with chips! Who doesn’t love a good beef party, especially after 4×4-ing?
And that was Jinja. I was sad to leave my cottage and Maredy’s company, but it was time to push on to meet my Jane Goodall crew in Kampala to head to Budongo to paint murals. Maredy’s engineer, Steve, came with me on the ‘’coaster’’ (bus). At 6’3 he was folded up like origami in the seat beside me. After two hours I was back to my public transit self-talk. I had to sit sideways because the bus seats were built for African pygmies. My knees were dented from the cross bars and I felt like I had hip dysplasia. If the bus were to slam on its brakes, I would have fractured both my knee caps into puzzle pieces. The bus was ripe with body odour, I wanted to pass around my Ban Mountain Breeze deodorant stick out of goodwill to men. I’m beginning to develop armpit-itis.
In Kampala I rushed to the underground parking lot which is also the very odd location of NY Style Bagels. I wolfed one back while a group of Missionaries ate pizza behind me and talked Jesus in the exhaust of the parking garage. Would you like some diesel with the pepperoni on your medium pizza?
I met up with Mary-lou at our agreed upon destination and we were off to Budongo, the bliss of Jinja long gone from my mind. We arrived at the eco-tourist center in the dark, my ass still feeling the horse, and my back feeling every elephant-sized pothole. We had beer and beef curry then limped off to our cabins, ready to be in a horizontal position.
My rude awakening came in the form of Debby, who I shared a cabin with, barfing. Big barfs, in the sink. Then, the quick pounding heels to and fro to the toilet as she spent equal time heaving and shitting her pants. I can handle cat fur balls, and my nearest and dearest barfing, but anyone else? Mmm, not in sickness and in health. I went from feeling fine to wondering if I too was ill. Then, when the cabin became somewhat quiet, I listened, terrified, to what had to be a snorting bush pig in our cabin! The longer I listened, I realized it wasn’t a bush pig, it was my other roomie, Julie (one of Maredy’s inn staff on holiday), having a sleep apnea attack. Great, just great. I couldn’t decide what was worse, the guttural barfs or the sound of someone suffocating in their sleep.
Morning came far too early, and Debby was done in. She was so quiet it was almost disturbing. I wasn’t accustomed to her being mute! At this point everything started going sideways. The Budongo forest guides decided to strike, leaving Mary Lou to deal with four eager Germans waiting to see chimps. Then there were death threats from the guides, talks of witch doctors, hexes, Lou getting run off the road by the Ugandan Wildlife Authority as they drove at her head on and at the last minute sheared the mirror off. It was all too Dian Fossey for me.
The palpable danger and potential violence of the striking guides was sending Mary Lou into a tailspin. To avoid Debby’s cooties and also to offer some sense of safety and protection, Julie and I slept with Lou. In one bed. At 6’4, Lou is like sleeping with a small giraffe, and Julie had her knees tucked into my bum within minutes. One sleep apnea attack and I was outta there. Plus, Lou in her frantic state had tried to encourage serenity now with lavender oil on the pillows and I felt like I was sleeping with someone’s grandmother’s feet. I returned to the contaminated cabin in hopes that my bacteria fighter-off-er’s were in fine form after shigella.
We left by noon the next day, with a near-comatose Debby who gave a few good heaves into a towel just as we pulled away. The road back to Kampala was like driving across the prairies. I ate macadamia nuts and listened to my iPod until it was dead. We stopped at The Surgery for Debby to see a doctor and arrived home eight hours later. The dust in my ears was a three Q-tipper. I ate a tuna and apple sandwich in the silence of my room, my body trying to readjust to not banging over the roads. My duvet was covered in a hundred dead lake flies, but they were on top, I could deal with them in the morning.
And I found sleep. No barfing. No pseudo-bush pig apnea. No grandma’s feet in my nose. Just me, dead lake flies, the incessant hum of mosquitoes, Pops on my left and Levi on my right. My Jupiter and Venus, we were all aligned again.

Massage Therapy: Galloping In a New Direction

Massage therapy for animals is not a recent phenomenon. Historians have traced roots back thousands of years to Greeks who would massage both warriors and horses before battle.

Equine (horse) sports massage therapy in the United States emerged most prominently in the early ’70s. Jack Meagher, a highly respected human physical and sports massage therapist for the National Football League adapted his techniques to be used on horses. “The Meagher Method” is still the classic standard today.

Meagher joined the U.S. Equestrian Team in 1976, and his pioneering work recognizing horses as athletes in need of bodywork established massage therapy as a mainstay of the U.S. Olympic equestrian teams and the horse racing industry. Even amateur horse show competitors began to embrace the field.

Unfortunately, animal massage is not a regulated industry. There is no governing body, no minimum requirements, or standardized testing. A Google search for animal/equine massage therapy schools pulls up several pages of listings advertising various online courses, diplomas and certificates.

The D’Arcy Lane Institute in London, Ontario offers the only registered equine massage therapy program in North America. Students enrolled in the 2,200 hour program are taught to consider themselves as an extension of veterinary health care. The challenging curriculum addresses equine behaviour, anatomy, pathology, kinesiology, hydrotherapy and research.

Anthony Guglielmo, a New York state licensed Massage Therapist and Equine Massage Practitioner, was easily coaxed into the field of animal massage. A patient’s mother called Guglielmo and asked, “Will you massage my horse?” She had bought the horse unaware of the history of abuse that Champ had suffered. The previous owner had tied Champ up and beat him before competitions.

With little exposure to horses in his life, Guglielmo was hesitant, but his love of animals made the decision easy. He soon found himself driving to Synergy Farms in Ohio, to adapt his palpation skills for human muscles to a horse. Intimidated initially by his horse-friendly classmates, Guglielmo’s confidence was boosted by his solid knowledge of massage techniques and anatomy.

After successful sessions with Champ, implementing what he had learned at Synergy Farms, other horses followed. Then there were calls from the nations best zoos and aquariums asking Guglielmo to treat two senior dolphins (40 years old) known affectionately as the Golden Girls. Guglielmo’s burgeoning reputation led him to working on a 2,000 pound walrus named Nuka who could no longer swim as she had lost the use of her rear flippers.

Guglielmo wrote The Walrus on My Table, Touching True Stories of Animal Healing in 2000 with Cari Lynn. He colourfully outlined his years of practice treating not only humans, but a penguin with kyphosis, a shark with scoliosis, and one of the oldest beluga whales living in captivity.

There is still a fierce battle for acceptance of the merits of massage therapy and other non-traditional healing methods for animals by veterinarians. Horse owners recognized the needs of their horses long ago. They understood that their horses suffered the same stress and muscle soreness as human athletes post-competition. Horses have physically demanding roles as jumpers, in polo matches, racetrack competition and even trail riding.

workshop participant performing lumbar traction

 

 

By nature, horses are stoic about pain. A vicious pain and fear cycle can easily be created when a horse suffers an injury. When the horse resists the painful movement and the rider’s commands, the rider often adds more tack. This increases the pain the horse experiences, and as the rider takes the horse on longer, harsher, corrective rides, the horse begins to associate work with pain. It is only natural that the horse would also become fearful of being ridden as it exacerbates their pain.

Anne Turner, an Equine Therapist at Wit’s End Farms near Vancouver, British Columbia has spent over 30 years working intimately with horses. She has been involved with rehabilitating retired racetrack horses who had lost perception of their hind ends and how to use them. The racetrack horses had become accustomed to a bit holding them back from falling forward in a race. The weight of a rider on their back was new experience as well, as the racetrack horse is only familiar with the weight and positioning of a jockey.

Turner, during the years she lived in Jamaica, was exposed to horses hooked on heroin an cocaine. The horses had learned to eat their own feces to get high again. They attacked anything that moved in their anxious state. Turner tells troubling stories of horses in withdrawal, galloping non-stop in circles around the barn as she hosed them with cold water to calm them down. She expresses deep sadness and teeth-clenching anger for the people responsible for introducing the horses to such addictive substances. A poor diet and reliance on drugs results in minimal nutrient absorption, bacterial infections, dehydration, skin hypersensitivity, and for some, near liver failure.

Racetrack horses are routinely fed high carb diets of corn and beet pulp, which is a sugar byproduct reprocessed with added molasses. Equine diabetes is a common diagnosis. Turner’s detox program involved using iridescent green marijuana pestled and steeped in hot water. Methadone, and the amount a horse would require would be an exorbitant cost. She fed the horses apple flavoured electrolytes, yogurt, iron-rich Guinness and flax to help leach out heavy metals and decrease lactic acid levels. Oats and barley, with their high fiber content helped sweep the guts. Turner also incorporated homeopathic remedies like dandelion (for kidney detox), and white willow bark (a natural pain killer). Proper nutrition is essential for horses as their stomachs are only slightly bigger than humans, and they are susceptible to ulcers as well.

The anatomy of a horse is surprisingly parallel to a human, however, a horse carries 55% of its weight forehand, and 44% in the hind. Their brain is similar in size to ours, they have seven cervical vertebrae, and a nuchal ligament that stretches to allow feeding and lowering. The 18 dorsal vertebrae mirror our thoracic spine, but the horse has 18 ribs as opposed to 12. The lumbosacral joint, comprised of 5 to 6 vertebrae is often referred to as the “coupling transmission” that permits pelvic flexion and the engagement of the hind quarters to jump or gallop. The sacrum is identified as the “croup”, and the tail has an additional 18-20 vertebrae.

Despite having scapulae, horses have no collarbones. The true horse knee is posterior, and a unique locking system of the stiple joint/patella allows the horse to sleep standing up.

The shoulder sling (serratus anterior, scalenes) extends from C4-C7 to the ribs, and the rhomboids are actually found on the posterior neck of the horse.

The “withers” is the top of the horse’s back, and it can be easily stretched by a therapist using a carrot to entice the horse to move its head in certain directions. Carrot stretches are effective for the pectoralis group, posterior neck muscles and the latissimus.

The unique anatomy of the horse is most evident in its skin. A horse can feel a fly land on its back, and the skin twitches in response to messages from a nervous system that independently controls the skin. The knowledge that a horse can feel the weight of a fly suggests that a lot of force isn’t necessary when applying techniques.

Similar to human client assessment, a therapist can observe wear patterns on the horse’s shoes. Poor shoeing and a hoof imbalance can lead directly to incorrect weight-bearing and altered gait.

As Guglielmo discovered, massage techniques are interchangeable between humans and animals. Easier yet, a horse’s face and whorls can indicate a lot of information. If the profile is straight (as opposed to a Roman nose with the comic slant and hook), the horse is uncomplicated; long nostrils indicate intelligence and more than one swirl or whorl can serve as a warning of temperament.

Changes in a horse that indicate a need for massage therapy include weight loss, bucking under the saddle, rearing, aggressiveness, biting while being ridden, fatigue and depression. If the horse suddenly dislikes grooming, flinches, or can’t hold up its feet for a farrier, bodywork is recommended.

The use of tie-downs and side reins can cause temporo-mandibular joint dysfunction and atlas problems. A common lumbo-sacral joint hyper-extension strain is called a “hunter’s bump”. This strain can lead to overuse of hamstrings and inner thigh muscles compensating with added weight.

Lack of musculature in the horse’s top line can be a sign of back pain which in turn affects the horse’s digestive system. The nerves controlling the gut can increase or decrease gut action, resulting in excessive gas and colic risk.

Head trauma to a young horse can lead to a distortion of proprioception that can affect them for life. The birthing process can sometimes result in a head trauma if the horse is dropped. Skittish, highly reactive or spaced-out horses may be displaying signs of central nervous system damage. With an over-firing sympathetic nervous system, the horses react with instant flight to stimulus like noise.

A horse’s immediate environment can also leave them susceptible to injury: trailering accidents, falls in muddy fields and paddocks, ill-fitting saddles and a rider’s hard hands. Riding a horse hard causes increased muscle contraction in their necks and poll (between their ears). Dressage horses who spend so much time tucking their chins love to have their polls massaged.

Horses will naturally lean into you during a massage if they want you to stay in a particular area. If you move your hands they will step forward or back to relocate you back to that sweet spot. In this way, non-verbal communication with a horse is simple. Horses groom each other as a sign of affection. They will nibble, nuzzle, yawn and pass gas in appreciation of a massage.

The massage treatment for a horse is identical to the structure of a human’s. The massage begins with effleurage and progresses to petrissage, tapotment, trigger point work and thorough stretching. The benefits are the same: increased lymphatic circulation, nervous system stimulation, increased digestion, elimination, and improved heart function. Most importantly, the horse can experience a decrease in stress from hard work, competitions or an uptight personality. Massage can also be linked to helping the horse gain weight. Improved circulation helps promote hoof growth which in turn improves weight-bearing issues responsible for altering gait.

Following a massage treatment, the therapist needs to ride the horse to assess the difference in gait. Detecting problems while riding the horse is the most effective method. Successive treatments will allow for muscle and strength training which will become evident in the horse’s rhythm, hind-end engagement and “travel in a frame”.

For riders and horse owners, education is necessary to help determine the cause of repetitive injuries. Ground mounting can cause spinal torsion in the horse if the mounts are always on the same side. Unbalanced riders can cause horses to compensate for the uneven load, as can riders weighting on one hip.

Turner, nicknamed the “Florence Nightingale of the horse world” is currently working on a novel that will address the spiritual, mind and body connection of horses and their owners. She wants to share the healing power of horses with women who have been abused. Her priority is to ensure horses and their riders grow closer together through a relationship of mutual respect and trust. Certainly, introducing horses to bodywork is one of the essential methods.

Gulglielmo and Turner’s work proves the scope of massage therapy is expanding in all directions. As Guglielmo points out in his book, “the great divide between humans and the animal kingdom isn’t all that great.” Animals have emotions, intuitions and “they respond to and crave the same things we do, namely personal contact and interaction.”

Visit http://www.witsendfarms.com/ for information on upcoming workshops.