About Clyde

I have hazy memories of a Saturday in the fall of 2003. I rode with my dad in the diesel truck pulling our rusty horse trailer. It was long drive through the country. We drove over railroad tracks and down a winding road. Our destination was a modest horse farm with an old red barn out front and pastures in the back. We met the lady and she showed us to a pasture full of paint foals. All of the foals were black and white, except one. He was white with sorrel markings and had one blue eye. His legs were straight and his muscling was already defined.

I told the lady that I wanted him. She said that was the one foal that she wanted to keep; he was not for sale. I looked over the other foals, but I still wanted him. I don't remember how it all shook out, but my dad must've worked her over because we loaded the white and sorrel foal and an older bay gelding into the trailer. I learned the foal's name was Mosey Into Class, or Clyde. His momma was a good old broodmare named, Oh No Mosey, and as we left, we saw his daddy, prancing down the fence row. He was a big, sorrel stallion that was built like a freight train and named, Stoned In Class.

Clyde and I became fast pals. Before he was old enough to ride, we went for walks up and down the country roads. I trained him with "natural horsemanship" methods. He was a quick thinker and was excellent at figuring things out. In the early days, I realized that he was spookier than most. We spent hours with plastic bags and tarps, but it was a hurdle that I didn't have the experience to jump. So we sent him down to an Amish farm for a couple weeks. When we pulled down the long lane to pick him up, the young kids were riding him. Apparently, they were confused. The Amish man said he was the easiest horse they have ever broke to ride. I struggled with his spookiness for years. For him, growing up has been the best cure.

When he turned three, I entered him into 4-H. I had no idea what to expect. Some thought I was crazy for bringing a three year old to the fair. He won his first class: halter, courtesy of the excellent muscle tone that he inherited from his daddy. Clyde and I both learned so much in those early years. He excelled in the show ring, and he seemed to love to work.

My youth showing days were too quickly over. But a friend of a friend referred me for riding lessons for her daughter, and an awesome partnership emerged. The family leased Clyde during the summer, but he stayed at my barn. I would give Katlyn lessons and help her with showing him. In 2008, when Clyde was only five, she showed him at the fair. They did great and have done great ever since!

There have been challenges. His "spooky" stage was frustrating, and he still gives Katlyn fits with loading into the trailer. Clyde is stubborn and smart as a whip, which is a blessing and a curse. He strives to please, and he's got heart like you wouldn't believe.

Last year, a week before fair, Katlyn and I noticed Clyde acting strangely. At random times, he would bob his head up and down, over and over. It was almost like he was having a seizure. What ever it was, we knew it wasn't right.

The vet came and gave us the ugly news. Clyde was diagnosed with EPM. We felt like it was a death sentence. And frankly, we weren't far off. It's a degenerative, neurological disease that attacks a specific part of the spinal cord and expands its assault from there. Clyde's EPM was on the part of the spinal cord that was closest to his brain. It created a brain lesion that was causing him to bob his head uncontrollably.

The vet gave him several IV treatments to get us through fair week. After that, we had a big decision to make regarding treatment options. I chose a six month treatment with a very high success rate. My dad or I faithfully pushed that messy, milky liquid into Clyde's mouth every day in the fall and through the winter.

And it worked! He kept his head still and seemed healthy as a hippo. Katlyn and I took advantage of the early spring this year and rode to prepare for the show season. The first few shows went well; we got some kinks worked out.

We knew there was a chance the EPM could come back, but he was doing so well.

But now it's back. I know it for sure. For awhile, I thought I was overreacting or being hyper-vigilant. Now, there's no denying it, and our vet isn't available. I've got an appointment with a different vet this week to discuss our options.

I'm in that great divide with money and the realities of life on one side and this horse that I have loved and grown up with on the other.

It makes me weepy. Seriously, I went in to work late this morning because I knew before, after, and possibly during my conversation with the vet, I would not be able to keep it together. And doggone it my coworkers care too much and would all want to know what was wrong. They'd be so empathetic, which would make me even more weepy. It would've been ugly. I know because it's happened before...

As much as it hurts to admit, I feel purpose in it. But that story is for another day.

I just love this guy, and I don't want our journey to end.