Horse rehab & recovery care
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Remembering Lena
Lena came to us as a bag of bones after her owners no longer wanted to care for her. We worked hard to build up her strength through regular physical exercise and proper food, supplements and regular deworming. She was introduced to flexion and muscle building workouts both on the lunge line and from the saddle. Within a year she had regained her appendex AQHA confirmation and muscle mass. She gained 185 lbs with us and we noticed her attitude and aptitude both came to life. Sadly, when her owners reclaimed her, they found that maintaining that routine was too demanding on their schedules. They put her down in early February.
This happens way too often. Horses are put down because they are "too much trouble." Our mission is to educate the public with real life experiences so they are prepared to make the best decision when contemplating horse ownership. Lena could have easily lived another 2-3 years. We were happy to give her the best, last year she could have had on this earth. RIP gorgeous lady.
JOIN OUR TEAM!
There are so many ways you can get involved with The Albee Farm! Volunteer, join our Kids Club, Take a class or become a business partner! Every cent we earn goes directly to our general fund to provide quality vet care, medicine, housing, feed and barn supplies for our disabled equine. Call us today for more information at 816.676.2267!
About The Albee Farm
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
I don’t remember much. I don’t remember what I had for dinner on March 3, 1969 or what day we landed on the moon. But I know I watched the lunar landing on our console TV and I am sure my mother fed me something every day of my life.
I do remember that I had a goldfish. Don’t know where it came from. But I remember the glass bowl a
I don’t remember much. I don’t remember what I had for dinner on March 3, 1969 or what day we landed on the moon. But I know I watched the lunar landing on our console TV and I am sure my mother fed me something every day of my life.
I do remember that I had a goldfish. Don’t know where it came from. But I remember the glass bowl and how much I loved watching him (or her) swim around in it. I also remember getting a light blue “princess” phone. I don’t remember when I got it. But I know that I did. There are so many things I remember and many more that I do not.
However, I remember Mr Fred. He lived two doors down. He didn’t have a wife or children that I knew of. Maybe he was divorced or something. I have no idea. But I do know that he had lot’s of
tattoo’s. Those tattoo’s made my mother nervous. She did not like them. Thought people who sported them were trouble.
I think Mr Fred was aware of this because he never came to our house. But my daddy would go his house. Not often. Just every now and then when he was working on some sort of project. Mr Fred knew a lot about repairing windows and hanging doors and stuff like that.
Sometimes I would see Mr Fred in his front yard mowing the grass. I remember riding my bike around the curve of the road that led to my house. I would always pedal my really hard to get by his house as fast as possible. I stood up and huffed and puffed and pushed my feet as hard as I could. Then released the pedals and just glided quickly on by. Sometimes I could glance over my shoulder and I would see Mr Fred gazing at me like I was some kind of nut.
Mr Fred wasn’t really creepy. He was just different. At least that’s what my mother always said. However, when I set up my barbie dolls on the front porch, I would hear him over there just puttering around doing normal stuff like washing his car or painting shutters. Every so often he would notice me and kind of nod.
Mr Fred even had friends. They would come by and sit in the carport and talk for hours. Some of them smoked cigarettes. Most of them drove pick up trucks. One day a man drove up in a shiny red pick up truck. It had polished chrome all over it and it glistened in the sunlight. He had a big outdoor grill in the back with a big bow on it. Mr Fred met him in the driveway and they laughed and carried on and carefully pulled that grill out and walked it around to the carport. Before long I could smell the smoky aroma of hot dogs and onion and corn. Suddenly my dad hollered at me to come in and change clothes ‘cause we were going to a bar-b-que at Mr Fred’s house.
A few minutes later me and my dad and my mother walked down the street and for the first time in my life I came face to face with Mr Fred. My mother carried over some potato salad and my dad carried a stack of hamburger patties wrapped in tin foil. I was given a big plastic pitcher of Iced tea to haul being sure “not to spill a drop.”
Mr Fred smiled brightly as we entered the carport and gave my dad a robust handshake.
Before long, a few other men with tattoo’s showed up and they and my dad made a circle of chairs near the grill and talked about “old” times. That is how I came to learn that Mr Fred and my dad had served in the army together. That’s also how I came to be acquainted with Mr Fred’s homemade spicy mustard.
Not on a hot dog, although my dad liked it that way. No. I tried it on a big, hot, doughy pretzel that Mr Fred had. He got them from some sort of shop on post. A German lady made them. My mother didn’t like Germans so she wouldn’t touch them. But I could not resist. I cautiously dipped the pretzel, which was almost bigger than my hand, into a dab of the deep yellow concoction and took a very small bite. Wow! It was fabulous. Mr Fred was watching from across the room and our eyes met about the time I finished my first pretzel and grabbed for a second one.
At first I thought I was in trouble but Mr Fred broke into a huge smile and came over and handed me the whole basket. ‘Help yourself, young lady,” he bellowed and with a wink he went back out to the carport with the menfolk.
To this day I think of Mr Fred as soon as the smells of summer come wafting across my porch. Hot dogs and hamburgers are as American as apple pie, they say.
But for me the best part of being American is knowing that this country was built on guts and grit.
Determination and sweat.
And tattoo’s and mustard.
JUST FISH
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
Took a trip recently. To Arkansas. Wanted to try my hand at fishing. I have fond memories of fishing as a kid with my dad. He loved to fish and I loved to be with my dad so I learned to fish. Actually my job was to put minnows on hooks and set the bobbers to the right depth just in case a fish should “hit” one of our cane poles. We usu
Took a trip recently. To Arkansas. Wanted to try my hand at fishing. I have fond memories of fishing as a kid with my dad. He loved to fish and I loved to be with my dad so I learned to fish. Actually my job was to put minnows on hooks and set the bobbers to the right depth just in case a fish should “hit” one of our cane poles. We usually had 3 or 4 hanging off our little aluminum fishing boat.
My second job was to keep watch for water moccasins while daddy stood on the bow of the boat casting for big bass.
I never got to do much casting. Every time he would set me up with a rod and reel and lure I would get it stuck on something. I Don’t know how many lures I lost. But it was a lot.
Daddy always encouraged me. He would put another lure on the rod and hand it back to me and say sternly, “Just fish.”
I still hear those words when I look at daddy’s tackle box and his old ZEBCO.
I was pretty optimistic as I pulled into Eureka Springs. A Nice little town nested in the twisting, turning roads of the Northern Ozarks. Apparently there is only one “real” bait and tackle store there. So walked in to the Beaver Dam Store and introduced myself to Cal. When I told him I wanted some cane poles, he almost fell over.
“Wow, you really are old school.” He said as he admired daddy’s old rod and reel. “Don’t you catch plenty with this?” He asked cautiously.
“Nope.” I told him. “But my dad did.”
He thought that was pretty cool and I think he thought I was just as cool to be throwing it in the water 40 years after it caught it’s last Striped Bass.
He got to work setting me up with everything I needed. Spinning lures, sinkers, fishing scissors and all sorts of new gadgets. Then he put my new Arkansas fishing license in my hand and directed head up the street. He told me to make a hard left and drive all the way to Beaver Creek.
“Then what?” I asked.
“Just fish,” he replied.
My heart swelled with joy. Those words. Don’t think Cal had any idea how special they sounded to me.
I found a place on a large rock and threw a beautiful first cast. Way out in the middle of the lake. Dad would have been so proud of me.
Or maybe not.
Just as I had done 40 years ago, the damn lure got snagged.
Would daddy have been disappointed? Maybe.
But he would have cut that damn thing off-and put on another one. So that’s what I did.
As the day wore on, I learned to bounce my rod to keep the lure moving so it wouldn’t snag. I learned to wade into the water so I could fish deeper, away from the rocks. I also learned to tie my own lures and to try different ones. Most importantly I learned that fishing requires patience, focus and tenacity.
I didn’t catch any trout today. But I learned a whole lot from my dad.
I learned to be quiet, stay calm, remember what you were taught
And just fish.
Our Team
TATTOO'S & MUSTARD
Our Team
At The Albee Farm, we have a team of experienced equestrians who are passionate about horses and the equestrian lifestyle. Our team includes riders, trainers, and horse enthusiasts who are dedicated to providing our customers with the best possible products and services.