REST IN PEACE GIA

Rest in peace Bereton Tanager Gia, Aug. 1, 2014 - May 20, 2024, my beloved Scottish Deerhound who did not survive an episode of cardiac and other systems failures. She was loved by all who ever encountered her, and she loved them back profusely. Gia is shown above smiling, because as a photographer, I want you to see what I saw, a totally sweet dog, a pillar of goodness.

If one ascribes to the philosophy, Mr. Twister, Gia and Annabelle are basking in one another's love all together again, along with their Deerhound pals Eroica, Callahan and Norris from our dog playdates. (All Deerhounds depicted here though are Gia.) (Later blogs will tackle the recent deaths of my soulmate/husband of the last 50 years Mr. Twister, and of my beloved brother Randall; my horse Indiana Jones has already been eulogized. Dedicated readers may have noticed the slowdown of content in the Fastfilm blog. There has been an inordinately gigantic amount of loss, grief and heartbreak within the last couple of years, not to mention countless medical emergencies, caretaking, and difficult treatments that ultimately did not work; there's only so much emotion my heart can untangle at a time...)

Gia always knew how loved she was but... much of her life proved less fun than those of my previous dogs. There were 3 years of lockdowns (California's unique exceptionally long ones unlike every other state, and further restrictions because we humans were ~ gasp ~ over 65 years of age!) meant no outside the home activities like dog shows or coursing (running) events to interact with new canines. These were the same 3 years of her pack co-leader Mr. Twister being frequently disabled with his severe illness, then his leaving the pack forever. So much sorrow for Gia. At least the two younger pups Livia and Bella, seen below with Twister and Gia, always respected her hierarchy position as "first dog." (I reinforced this as well.)

It's appropriate here to mention that thanks to my friends Sherry, Ian and Paul (and occasionally Katrina) Gia enjoyed doggie playdates with other Deerhounds and Borzois every Sunday that we could manage it, and that Livia, Bella and I look forward to a continuation of this, (avoiding the new, permanent nighttime incursion of a baby boom of dog-aggressive skunks.) Gia's rarer visits with Waddy and Annie obviously were treasured as well.

Boy, do I ever miss Gia's constant kisses, from her now vacant place on the couch. One of the above photos is my selfie of same, which I'm glad I have to commemorate her unflagging love. 

As with all mammalian species, the giant-sized sighthounds do not live as long as little dogs. These giant sighthounds' winning ways of total devotion, outstanding beauty and everything good and pure that dogs can be continually keep us in their sway. We who love them (and, dare I add, soulmates) always know the eternal gamble going in: no matter strong that love or how worthy those to whom it is given, the house always wins.

 Below, Gia, having gotten in the mood by dressing the part, watching the film "Oppenheimer." This photo of her appeared in the "The Claymore," the house organ of the Scottish Deerhound Club of America.

Addenda: 1) Over 578 friends on Facebook expressed their condolences of Gia's passing. 2) Gia died on the day before what would have been Mr. Twister's 76th birthday.

 

SANTA BARBARA HORSE SHOW for gaited and other breeds JULY 9, 2021

Cue "I Hope I Get It! God I Hope I Get It!" from "A Chorus Line." Lining up for the final judge's decision at the Santa Barbara gaited horse show at Earl Warren Showgrounds, a National Multi-Breed show, my photos from July 9th of a four day show. 

On left, a Rocky Mountain Horse hopeful, on right, an Andalusian hopeful. The one on the right needn't have looked so worried: she earned a blue ribbon.

                          

Above and below, Mindy Smith, who trained my own Rocky Mountain Horse mare, riding SG's Singing Sinatra owned by Natalie Hodges, in Trail Pleasure Open, stallions and geldings, for this breed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Below, Mindy Smith and husband Brandon Wayment's gorgeous black Rocky Mountain Horse stallion Sam's Ebony, ridden by the latter.

         Above, an equitation class of disparate steeds. Below, Tennessee Walking Horses.

 Above, speed demon Hackney ponies in the Roadster Class. Much of this high elevation of the legs is natural. Carriage horses and ponies were bred that way for 100s of years to safely traverse muddy roads. Where I learned to ride as a child over a half century ago had a Hackney specifically for beginning jumping riders. "Yogi Bear" naturally lifted his feet so high that he never hit a rail of the jumps ever, giving these beginners a lot of confidence.

 

Small equestriennes on enormous, shiny American Saddlebred horses.

Above, stunning Andalusian in a class labeled Iberian Dressage Suitability.

Below, beautifully turned out vintage carriage and Andalusian team in "Concours D'elegance" class.

 

RLB INDIANA JONES, REST IN PEACE DEC.12, 2020

Rest in peace RLB Indiana Jones, March 12, 1994 to Dec.12, 2020.  Indy earned 2002 Sport Horse of the Year in Dressage in the National Show Horse Registry, the first of his breed to do so as noted in the records of the American Horse Show Association. 

 Below, showing with his primary trainer Christy Monfort astride in a dressage show. (Other trainers were Tricia Hamilton and Claudia Roberts. As a result, Indy knew far more dressage technique than I ever would.) That one year I could afford to show him, Christy would win the first prizes, and I'd add a few points with my second places in the less complex dressage classes. Otherwise, I rode him on the trail in dressage saddles, unlike most of the Western buckaroos in our native Southern California. In the following pics, Christy is riding him correctly, I am the other one (and yes, uncooperative thyroid plays havoc with weight variation over 23 years of documentation.)(All photography by me except the ones of me, by Kurt Ingham, Christy Monfort, Kathleen Hellman and Liz Taylor.)

 

 

 

 

I bought Indy (Indiana Jones, so named because he was an adventure to ride) when he was three years old, a grey tobiano pinto National Show Horse whom I knew would lighten, as do all greys, into pure white. His coloration not remaining visibly pinto is probably the only reason he was affordable to me. So we were partners for twenty-three years together. He always was a bright eyed and friendly as this headshot implies. He was a "sosh" (social) and liked nonstop company human or equine: luckily I could afford to keep him in a riding academy's large dirt pasture with shelters and with two other horses with whom he loved to play.

Also below with pics of Indy's darker coloration when young, a pic of Indy as a foal, and his famous American Saddlebred sire Rhythm Commander. National Show Horses are a recognized breed, made up of part American Saddlebred horses and part Arabian horses. It's a good nick (cross breeding success) and breeds true. Arabians give endurance, athleticism and very amiable, people-loving natures (they had to be sufficiently calm and friendly to share a Bedouin's tent in a sandstorm in the desert): Saddlebreds also give athleticism, showy trotting action, guaranteed comfortable gaits, friendliness, larger size and two extra gaits that come naturally with training to encourage same. I could make Indy slow gait on the trail when he was anxious (Arabian trait)(and euphemism for frightened) and the few times I rode him at a rack (the faster version of the gait) it was thrilling.

 

 

On the trails bordering the hills of the Angeles Forest, and at right, with my better half on a friend's Arabian. this northeast section of Federal parkland has endless, lovely trails from easy ridin' ones to "I'm never coming here again!" hairy (nobody likes cliffs this steep) ones. Unfortunately it remains a target for arsonists and mentally disturbed homeless who make cooking fires in the 80mph winds of our hot Santa Anas. We had to evacuate for huge wildfires six times in the last ten years. One of these fires burned down our stable and all of our saddles and tack, but no one cared because all the horses were saved.

Right, us in a lesson

 

What we ended up doing the most as he got older, whiter and a trifle less frisky and I got more and more painfully damaged from life: hacking around our beautiful boarding ranch bareback (above). People who don't ride have trouble understanding the relationship between rider and horse. I simplify it for them thusly: a) it's as if your dog had lived for 25 years with you instead of half that and b) horses are halfway between a pet and a sports car: there is mutual love, but there's always a performance issue at hand. Actually, it's more like the sport of sailing (were the sailboat alive): a lot of fun for a lot of prep and post work, and a great deal of unpredictable forces of nature changing what one does all the time. It makes total sense to me that Poseidon was considered the god of both The Sea and of Horses. 

 

Horses, like people and dogs, do not die easily on their own, so when Indy colicked badly for the third time in his life, the vet said that unlike the other two times, his vital signs and heart rate now were so bad that there was no other choice. Unlike illnesses with people and dogs though, one has to make this life and death decision within seconds of diagnosis. The vet thanked me for being a loving owner to him, saying, "So many horse owners wail 'I'm not ready, I'm not ready!' whereupon I have to firmly remind them it's not about them, it's about the horse. They are in terminal agony." In this short conversation, I learned that painkillers only last for about five minutes when the patient is that badly off. If  the horse is still standing, everyone has to run away from his side the second the veterinarian gives the injection, because the 1,000 pound horse falls over immediately.  

I stayed with his body for two hours waiting for the truck that takes horses to landfills, the only option in a densely crowded metropolis like Los Angeles. (this ranch is the only 600 acre private boarding facility therein, and it abuts the public trails of the Angeles Forest for endless riding possibilities.) I looked at all the surrounding majestic hills and marveled that Indy and I actually had ridden over all them, and on both sides of the highway, with many wild rides with trainers and other friends, plus too many to count oddball to scary adventures.  I avoid funerals, but this experience taught me the importance of vigils: thinking about all the good in the deceased's life to try to block the pain of losing them. I cried on and off for the entire two hours, which didn't get it out of my system like I wanted.

Someone from the boarding barn fortunately reminded me before I left that up until that last terrible morning, Indy was happy and playful for every day of his life. That helped. What also helps is an amazingly poignant passage by novelist Irving Townsend. Usually only the first three sentences appear online, in reference to grief of losing a dog, but the complete words were written about losing a horse:

     

 “We who choose to surround ourselves with lives more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan."

 

"The life of a horse, often half our own, seems endless until one day. That day has come and gone for me, and I am once again within a somewhat smaller circle.”

 

 – Irving Townsend “The Once Again Prince”

Good bye, Indy...

SOUTHERN GOTHIC FOND REMINISCE

These were from a 1928 book, "My Pets at The Maples" by my great-aunt Eva drawing and musing about her childhood animals in the 1890s. They included her brother/my grandfather's Borzoi (then called Russian Wolfhound) named Vodka, her pet raccoon who tried to ride him, her ponies, dogs, cats and assorted birds. The idyll of this rural reminisce of a Tennessee farm at the turn of the previous century was frequently broken by sad ends 
to the smaller pets, but overall, what a fun childhood she experienced...

This is the home in which my grandfather and his sister grew up. In the typical yin-yang of Southern Gothic, it burned to the ground the night his wife/my grandmother gave birth to their first child...

For more of the stories of these relatives and their times, go to LINK*, LINK** and LINK***.


*  http://fastfilm1.blogspot.com/2010/03/adventurous-relations.html
** http://fastfilm1.blogspot.com/2011/03/grandmothered-tales.html
***http://fastfilm1.blogspot.com/2010/11/tennessee-death-trip.html