Welcome to Bayridge Stables

Maggie Stilwater | 38 F | Barn Manager / Instructor

Location: Barn & North Pasture 3 | Tags: Open

It had been a whirlwind morning, full of the usual chaos - a feed delivery that was supposed to come tomorrow, rescheduling issues with a farrier, and enough phone calls from paranoid parents to give her the biggest headache. Retrieving a cold soda from the fridge in the feedroom, Maggie pressed the aluminum can to her forehead with hopes to relieve the tension. Her cell phone rang - the annoying ringtone programmed specifically to alert her to office calls. A glance at the screen let her know it wasn’t a known important number, so she clicked the side button and stopped the piercing electronic music.

Maggie, a middle-aged woman with light brown hair swept into a bun at the base of her head, dressed in dark wash jeans, a navy blue polo with the farm logo and her name embroidered on the left chest, and a heather grey team jacket over the top. With an afternoon of lessons and running around the barn, she opted for her trusted set of sturdy leather hiking boots. Back in the office next to the feedroom, the thirty-eight-year-old noted the flashing red light on the phone indicating a voicemail but decided to leave it for a few more minutes, She was sure it was something to do with “Little Timmy can’t make it to Pony Club because he has a soccer game” or some other obnoxious reason that parents came up with. Riding is just as serious as those other team sports - even more so because your partner can’t speak the same language as you! But no, people just dismissed it as “the horse does all the work anyways” - not even bothering to understand that equines aren’t machines and their care is more important than sitting in the saddle.

Ugh! She huffed, frustrated with her current mind-space. The cure for such foul thoughts and negative energy - a stroll through the barn and out to the pasture. Only a few horses were actually in the barn - two because they were on overnight turn out and they were snoozing in their stalls, soft grunts and snores escaping out of the stall doors. Another was in getting an early lunch before their lesson - munching contentedly on a full hay bag. The barn smelled like home; horse flesh, pine shavings, fresh hay, recently conditioned leather, and even the dust just made it smell like heaven.

A sound of water running caught her attention and she peered down the aisle where the wash bays were. One of the grooms was bathing a show horse in preparation for clipping. She greeted them with a friendly wave and a quick how-do-you-do chat and of course a peppermint for the good-natured equine. Unconsciously she hummed along to the pop song playing on the radio before heading towards the barn exit and out towards the north pastures.

A gentle bass rumble greeted her even before she made it to the fence. Heaving herself up the bottom two rungs, she saw her faithful old man was already making his way towards her. “Hello, Mister!” Maggie greeted the thirty-year-old with a fond smile. Followed closely by his black swishing tail was the gelding’s partner in crime, another aged gelding. The woman held out a palmful of treats towards each gelding’s nose - she always made sure to bring enough for the two old men in her life. Honor whuffled his thanks as he softly licked his owner’s right hand clean, inspecting it for another few sugar cubes he may have missed. Spangled, the retired lesson horse gobbled up his mouthful before taking an interest in a patch of particularly tasty-looking grass. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, Maggie couldn't help but let all her worries slip away as she held her faithful horse’s head in her hands. Honor was her horse of a lifetime - having given so much of him to her, just as much as she’d given to him. Her younger lesson students were always in awe when she showed them pictures of the pair of them flying through equitation courses and out in the foxhunting field - not a lick of grey on the deep brown horse (or her either). The memories flooded her mind, as they always did when they had a quiet moment together - no obstacle had been insurmountable to them back in the day. “You’re no dinosaur though!” She said softly to the delicate ear that was flicked toward her, after all these years still ready to catch her secrets. “I saw you racing Spangled towards the gator this morning when breakfast was served. Was that you bucking or him?” She teased the gelding.

Maggie’s pocket vibrated a quick succession reminding her to get back to work. With a muzzle kiss on the velvety soft fur, she slipped back out of the paddock and headed back towards the barn to see who needed her.

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Julianna Schofield | 41 F | BRS Owner / Trainer

Location: Main Arena & Barn Aisle | Tags: Open

It was her fifth ride of the day and she really had to pee, but also really needed coffee. Walking on a loose rein, she guided her current mount around the jump obstacles in the ring for a short cool-out. Sometimes she remembered the days when she didn’t have a full staff in the barn to help her give the highest quality of care to each horse - and disliked not being the one to see to all of her mount’s needs. She repeated the same mantra she’d been saying to herself for years - the extra help means she can help even more horses. The young horse under her had been a lovely ride to end the day’s training sessions; responsive and willing. It was a total change from when it first had arrived six weeks ago for a tune-up. Reaching the arena gate, she guided the horse over to the mounting block and quickly dismounted, running her stirrups up and loosening the girth - an almost forty-year habit that wasn’t going to break any time soon. A groom was readily waiting to take the young horse and give it a proper cool down and groom.

Julianna grabbed for her water bottle and phone, guzzling one and screening the texts she’d received in the half an hour she’d been in the tack. An alert for an upcoming auction caught her eye and she immediately clicked the link. Of the several dozen horses listed, she noted a few in pretty rough condition and a few that sparked her interest for the BRS rehabilitation program.

Screenshotting the images, she typed up an email to the vet for a quick eval. Part of her program was to not only try to rehab horses who could go on to another career but also do the final service for horses who were suffering beyond care. Nothing hurt her heart more than knowing an animal was suffering for no reason. Low-end auctions were notorious for having battered horses with unknown fates spending several months in feedlots waiting for the next shipper - never knowing if it’s to the rendering plant or to another “home” where the abuse would continue. It was better to give the kindest gift of putting a suffering animal out of its misery than to have it spend more time in endless agony with no solution. Fortunately, Dr. McCoy of the local equine hospital and veterinary clinic was a trusted member of the BRS Rehab & Rescue Team. She valued his input above all else and he was always candid about a situation, if there was hope or if euthanasia was the best option. Expense was rarely considered with cases that could be helped - they had some grant funding to help offset costs, a local university for a wealth of knowledge, and kind supporters like Dr. McCoy who helped with services. The best part of the whole program was watching the incredible transformations these horses went through with a bit of TLC and kindness. Students in the Rehab program worked daily with the horses assessing, prescribing a program, and administering the much-needed care. When a horse was deemed rehabilitated - given a clean bill of health and passed the training program - the equine finds its forever home; sometimes even staying at BRS with the student trainer that worked with them from day one. For every horse that left the program to a happy new life, another one was rescued to take its place.

Julianna sighed as she scrolled through the pictures again, her phone was filled with them - and just as many with those same horses but fat and happy and gleaming with care. It made her think once again, just how much sometimes people truly suck. How could you do that to a living breathing being!

The trainer mentally yanked herself back to the present and the reason she had her phone in hand. Clicking an app that kept track of her notes, she dictated aloud how the latest session with the young horse had gone. The start of the ride; the goal she had going in; what she’d worked on during the ride; and her final thoughts of the training session. It was her version of a riding diary and one that she was able to share with her clients to keep them updated on their horses. About once a week she would sit down (ugh paperwork) and write emails to her clients utilizing the training session entries to inform them of what was worked on, how the horse was coming along with the overall goals and any information about health and wellbeing. She would include any information on show performance or if a service provider came (farrier, vet, bodywork, etc.) attaching an invoice if necessary. It was one of the more tedious parts of her job - something that Maggie had nagged her into doing (and a job sometimes delegated to the wonderful barn manager) that her clients have appreciated immensely. It kept them out of her hair for the most part (there was always that one who would text at three am to see if dear Bobby was just as snug as a bug in his night rug and bedded deeply in his pristine stall).

The middle-aged trainer was lithe with long legs and arms, clad in ropey muscles that had done a lifetime of work. She was dressed in a tan pair of unexciting full seat breeches, black tall boots that could use a good cleaning, and a long-sleeve navy technical shirt displaying the stable logo and trainer’s name on the left chest. A black wide-brimmed helmet was semi-permanently stuck to her head, black hair tucked up without strands showing. Julianna stopped in front of the whiteboard that dictated her life - it was situated on the aisle wall by the office. It had tons of information about all the horses, their exercise schedule including turnout and lessons, as well as farrier/vet/bodywork visits. Her main concern was the column that had her name at the top and the current day of the week. Checkmarks next to the horses she’d already worked, either groundwork sessions or training rides; the clock above the board showed that she was running on time. Just about two o’clock meant that she had a couple of lessons to teach and the Competition Team Meeting in the early evening. She might actually get out of the barn at a reasonable time.