As you recall from yesterday's post, life with a certain employer was always exciting.
Maddening. But exciting nonetheless.
The weekend following the saga of the crazed cows, my sometimes employer informed me we were to attempt to gather them again.
I refused.
He promised to have his son and another hired hand on horseback with us. He also said he had a new plan that involved driving the cattle down the road. I guess to his house. I don't recall exactly where we ended up. I just remember the process of getting there...
Dad convinced me to help out. And Granddad promised to be there. I agreed. And when I say "agreed" you should read that while Dad "asked" he was really "telling" and refusal was never a real option.
So it's Saturday again. I had the horses in the corral unsaddled until my employer showed up, miracle of miracles, by noon (7AM was the planned start time) with two horses saddled in the trailer. It turned up that his son was to be on Star, his hand was on Smokey, and he was to ride one of our mounts. I quickly spoke up that Blue was mine. And I saddled him with my saddle before you could say "boo."
We unloaded at the pasture, and Granddad met up with us. I've always wondered how Granddad happened to be there no matter what time we started. I guess he was called from the house. Heck I don't know, as we did not have CB radios or cell phones...
The cattle predictably bolted to the far southwest corner. Our plan was to drive them through a gate on the North side. I was feeling pretty confident in our game plan as we now had four horses, and you can do darn near anything with three horses, so four is a bonus! Well, as we were burning daylight it was suggested that we trot until we got closer to the cattle.
Did I mention Smokey was old? It took lots of energy just to get him to trot. And his rider probably weighed over 300 pounds. Poor Smokey. He also had a tendency to let out unfortunate bursts of air from his backside as he trotted along...
My employer's son was on Star. I had experienced gathering cattle with him when we were younger. It involved him being on Smokey and crying. Because he was cold. He ended up going back to the trailer and reloading his horse and riding in the pickup. The big baby. I was hoping I wouldn't have to see any tears that day. However, as I felt the sweat run down between my shoulder blades I was relatively certain that his seventeen year old self wasn't going to cry because he was cold.
We drove the cattle up the fence and to the gate they were supposed to exit. The gate is one I didn't even know existed. And neither did the cattle. In fact, the gate had been opened, but it was overgrown with some sort of tall weeds or something. I can't remember what it was. I do remember that the weeds/feed/whatever was taller than my horse's head. And Blue was not happy about riding through it. He stomped and snorted and hopped around and resisted and did NOT want to go in. So it definitely wasn't corn. We had some cattle get in our neighbors corn and like to never got them out because all my horse wanted to do was eat. Dang horse.
Anyway, the gate was overgrown. You could not even see a gate there. Nobody had bothered to stomp down or drive through the trash grown up around it so we could go through the gate.
The cattle bolted fifty different directions.
My employer proceeded to yell at me. His son was utterly incompetent and seemed incapable of moving out of a light canter. Poor Smokey was too overburdened to move out of a jolting trot...
We started all over, gathering up small bunches of cattle that had bolted then grouped up...Granddad had driven through the gate a few times so it appeared that there was an actual place to go.
After much swearing and yelling on the part of my employer and much ineptitude on the part of the "help" provided that day, we finally got the cattle through the gate and headed north up the road. Granddad took his pickup and went the opposite way to hurry around the section and make sure the cattle did not go the wrong direction at the various road intersections..
I guess we drove them to my employer's corrals. I don't remember sorting cattle. Although I'm quite certain I did help. Gathering cattle to just dump in a corral would be pointless. Perhaps we just herded them in then let them cool off for a day before sorting was done. I don't know.
I do remember that when we went home, Granddad followed in his pickup. And I also remember that my employer said, "Hey! I need to pay you for all of your help." I wearily walked up to him, relieved to finally get some monetary reward for my suffering...
He reached in behind the seat of his pickup, then dug around a bit in the console...
And he finally turned around and handed me a ball cap and a pen. The ball cap was a "ladies" cap. The kind that has a really short bill and a pompom on top. They both proudly read "Jones Trucking Company."
I wanted to throw the pen and cap at him. But I merely took them and turned to walk away. Granddad had witnessed the exchange and called me over to him. "Did he pay you last week?"
"No." That was all I said. I don't deny that I have a smart mouth, and that I did even then. However, there were certain people I did NOT smart off too. And Granddad was at the very top of that list.
He quietly reached in his wallet and handed me some cash. "You don't have to do that," I said even as I took the cash from his hand.
He simply lifted his straw fedora hat with his left hand, ran his hand over his nearly bald head with his right, then took a drag on his cigarette which was always firmly held between the first two fingers of that right hand. He gave me his Granddad smile and told me to take it.
So I did. I stuffed the money in my pocket, gave him a big hug and a smack on the lips then went to unsaddle the horses.
(I miss the smell of Granddad. His kisses always smelled like Marlboro Light 100s and Original Chapstick. I still remember him every time I crack open a tube of Chapstick. Sometimes he had cherry, but I always liked it best when he used the Original. It still comes in the black tube I can always remember him fishing out of his pocket to apply between drags on his cigarettes.)
And I did not so much as say goodbye to my employer, his son, or his hired hand that day. I merely walked to the house with my cash in my pocket, and the stupid pen and hat in my hand.
"How did it go?" Mom asked when she heard me come stomping through the back door. I showed her what my "days wages" were according to my uncle.
I think she actually started laughing. And then I did too. Dad got an even bigger laugh out of it...
Because you see, Gentle Reader, Jones Trucking was my DAD'S trucking company. And it had not even existed for at least ten years by the time my employer was "paying" me with the promotional items!
I guess that maybe says something about the quality of work I was doing.
My employer had deemed my two days of sweat and near tears worth a ball cap and pen that my dad gave out as promotional items for his trucking company.
Some people are just utterly clueless...
Guess what? That's not the end! No sirrree bob! I have yet at LEAST one more tale to tell...
But I think that my final tale is the very last time I worked for that employer. At least it's my last memory of it...
Maybe I've blocked the rest out for sanity's sake.
Stay tuned!
Showing posts with label horses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horses. Show all posts
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
A Day's Wages: A Cowgirl's Story
I should probably change my background. But who's ready to let go of Christmas?
I need to shower and run to the store. Sadly, I only found three good coupon deals for me this week, and that is not worth the trip. However, Popcorn has once again shared all of her pencils to never be returned, and Studmuffin asked me to buy him some new socks.
So to the store I will go.
However, as my mom was telling me about cleaning out some junk I was reminded of a situation I faced as a teenager. And I realized it was a blog that I MUST write. So, instead of showering, or doing housework, I brewed another cup of coffee and here I sit to write...
I will not disclose who my employer was at this particular time, as I hate to disparage his name. However, those who know me will know who this is and they will chuckle and shake their head.
So, here's the background: In my teenage years I was "forced" by my dad to help a certain gentleman with his cattle. Whether it be gathering cattle, working cattle, whatever. If he needed help and called to ask for me, I was pretty much required to say "yes." I would like to share a sampling of why I did not LIKE to help him.
Example One:
"Andi, we will need to get these cattle gathered on Saturday. I will be by at 7:00 to pick you up. Have your horse saddled and ready to go."
At 9am he would finally show. Only, his horse trailer was empty. "Where's your horse?"
"Oh, I haven't caught him yet. I need you to help me."
In all honesty, I found the less I tried to truly communicate with this individual, or understand his thought process, the better things went. So, I simply loaded my now irritable horse who has been saddled and tied to the corral for two hours, and climbed in the pickup.
We pulled up to his corrals and there is no horse in the corral. "Well, they won't come in. I need you to bring them in." I was dismayed to realize he meant he wanted me to herd his HORSES in on my horse. I had never done such a thing in my life! We always went to the end of the lane where our corrals go to the pasture, shook a feed bucket and yelled, "HEY HORSES!" And the horses would come running...
So, I tightened my cinch (it's not nice to have the cinch tight until just before you ride. Especially if you have no idea when your "employer" will be by to pick you up for the day's work) and climbed on Appy. I am not sure why I was riding Appy that day, but I do remember it was him. I usually preferred Blue. Anyway, I climb on Appy and trotted out to the pasture where I see the horses. I slowed down as I approached and made a kissing sound with my lips and called softly to them. Imagine my surprise when a horse who I'd never met, but later learned was named "Bugsy" suddenly laid his ears back, and charged my horse full speed ahead, teeth bared! I don't know if I reined Appy out of the way or if he dodged out of sheer instinct. I do remember that in the midst of our dodge that a pair of hooves came flying at my head. And Bugsy ran away.
You will be impressed to know that I did not immediately concede defeat. Instead, I focused on Star and my employers ancient horse Smokey, the horses that I knew and tried to herd them to the corrals. Star had no interest in going where I was directing, and he led me on a merry chase over the river and through the woods...Well, except there was no river or woods, simply a pasture with junk in it. Smokey merely looked at me as if I were crazy and resumed grazing.
As I was unsuccessfully herding Star and cursing under my breath at the idiocy of some people who don't feed their horses in the corral so they'll learn to come, and the sheer stupidity of myself for agreeing, yet again, to help this person I heard a thundering sound.
Only it was a sunny day.
And it was not thunder. It was Bugsy. Coming at me full speed ahead. Again. At the sight of that big red horse with the white blaze down his face with ears back, teeth bared, Appy started throwing his head and snorting and stomping. And facing him.
I was not happy with this reaction.
So I gave Appy a good kick in the sides and a firm click in my cheek and we headed to the corrals.
With Bugsy hot on our heels...or hooves as it were. He and Star both ran behind me all the way to the corrals where my enterprising employer stood at the gate and promptly shut it behind all of us. I can still remember that shaky feeling in my chest as I cut into a smaller corral and tried to swing the gate behind me, but of COURSE the gates didn't swing easily and that stupid Bugsy was pitching and kicking the entire time like a crazed thing. I jumped down and yelled at him to get away as I shut the gate, then took Appy OUTSIDE of the corral to be tied up.
Then I fear I may have voiced some displeasure to my employer over the mental stability of his mounts.
"Yeah, well Bugsy has been a little crazy every since he got mauled by those dogs in town."
Lovely.
Well, I don't remember the details of how he caught and saddled Star with the loony Bugsy in the corral with him, but I do remember it was nearly dinner time (which is noon on the farm) when we were unloading to gather cattle.
FYI: We were gathering cattle so he could pull the calves that were ready to wean off their mamas.
It was hot. I was irritable. And hungry. Never a good combination.
We unloaded our mounts at the pasture. The plan was to gather the cattle into a corral in the pasture, then my employer would haul them out by stock trailer. Sounded like a good plan. It would have been an even BETTER plan if a feed wagon would have been there to help things along. Instead we had the two of us and my Grandad who was probably there to keep the peace. (Grandad was ALWAYS in a pickup. I know he COULD ride a horse. He just chose to drive a pickup like a maniac through the pastures herding cattle much the same as I did on a horse. Only scarier.)
I realize not all of my readers are country folk. So please allow me to explain how this scenario would have played out if Dad were in charge. He would have been planning to bring in the cows to sort off calves. Even though it was summer with plenty of food to eat, he would have been feeding them a smackeral or two of feed daily with the feed pickup so that they would come to him. The system is to pull into the pasture honking the horn on your feed wagon, which is an old beat up pickup with the regular bed removed an replaced with a flat bed where you put a bin of feed and a hay fork on back for winter time. The feed bin has a chute that you lower down and a lever inside the pickup that you flip and drive forward as the "cake" pours out so you can scatter it. (Before we had a caker, Dad would stand on the back of the pickup with bags of feed while one of us kids would "drive" as he poured it out. He did the same thing when we still used small square bales. He stood on top of the stack of bales and scattered out the bale to the cattle while he trusted his offspring who's feet may or may not reach the pedals to drive him. Did I ever tell you Dad is brave? Or crazy?)
Sorry, I veered there for a minute. Back to topic: Dad would have been feeding the cattle even if it wasn't necessary in anticipation of gathering them. He also would have instructed his hired hand (that would be me) to ride through them several times early in the morning so they would be used to the sight of a horse and not go berserk.
Well, my employer of that day had done none of that. He simply planned for the two of us to show up on our horses, herd the cattle to a gate they'd probably never gone through, into a corral they'd never been fed in, and all of this was to be done starting hours later than it should have.
Well, I'm sure you can imagine all did not go as we would have liked. The cattle bolted at the sight of the horse. Once they all reached the far corner of the pasture, we decided to drive them along the fence to the corral. My employer at drag, me along side as the wing, and Grandad there for moral support.
And to scare the dickens out of me.
You see, drag is an easy job. You simply stay behind the cattle and keep them moving forward, which if they're scared of your horse is pretty easy. The job on the wing is to make sure any cattle who might like to deviate from the course chosen are quickly stopped and herded back with the others....
The problem was that when one would try to break off, I'd have at least one other trying to break free at the same time. So I would try to head off one, and Granddad would chase the other, full speed ahead, and make me nervous as a cat that I was going to collide with him in our highly disorganized state of chaos.
Not to mention Appy had an unfortunate habit of deciding to pitch in the middle of pursuing cattle at least one time every time. It was maddening, as he would kick up his back hooves in the middle of chasing a calf and it would just tick you off...He also liked to jump over things instead of go AROUND them. I hated that tendency. Especially considering he may not jump the next bit of sage brush, but instead cut sharply around it, making it difficult to maintain a dignified seat if one weren't on guard. Again, I have no idea why I'd chosen to take Appy that particular day. I'm getting annoyed with him just thinking about it.
After what seemed like hours we finally got some but certainly nowhere near all of the cattle in the corral. But not until Granddad had a blowout on his pickup from running over a piece of junk in the pasture in mad pursuit of a cow...
My employer began to yell from his position atop Star "Close the gate! Close the gate!" I quickly dismounted and went to grab the panel that was the "gate" and drag it closed. I say drag, not swing because on old corrals that are found in pastures, the gate is seldom still on a hinge. Instead it is held up by baling wire and it drags in the dirt all the way closed. One must physically lift the panel (an old wooden one in this case) and carry it closed. I was closing the gate and the cattle are running circles in the pen as I'm dragging and shooing at them each time one darts toward me to escape. Just as I was trying to wire the gate shut with the ever helpful baling wire hanging on another panel, a large charolais cow came charging at me. I waved my arms and yelled at her to "Get outta here!"
She completely disregarded my gesture of dominance. Instead she chose to smash into the gate, knocking it completely down and all of the cattle went running out as my employer, finally dismounted and now tying his mount up begins to yell "Stop them! Stop them!" Only there were many, MANY more adjectives that were thrown in that are not suitable for blogging...
I didn't get a single one stopped. And somehow it was all my fault. By now it was blistering hot. The cattle were hot and mad. Appy was staring at me with ears pricked forward as if I should be better than this. My employer was yelling. I was mad and trying not to cry. Granddad was yelling at him because he was yelling at me, and it was just a lovely day.
Lovely.
When all was said and done, we loaded our horses BACK in the trailer because Granddad insisted we were not going to accomplish anything good that day and we went home. I was not at all secretly relieved. I think my relief was quite apparent to anyone who had an ounce of observation skills.
And he failed to pay me...
I was madder than an old wet hen... But I didn't say anything. I just took my horse to the corral and unsaddled him...
You would think that would be the end, wouldn't you? It's not. I have more to tell you. But that will be tomorrow's post.
I need to shower and run to the store. Sadly, I only found three good coupon deals for me this week, and that is not worth the trip. However, Popcorn has once again shared all of her pencils to never be returned, and Studmuffin asked me to buy him some new socks.
So to the store I will go.
However, as my mom was telling me about cleaning out some junk I was reminded of a situation I faced as a teenager. And I realized it was a blog that I MUST write. So, instead of showering, or doing housework, I brewed another cup of coffee and here I sit to write...
I will not disclose who my employer was at this particular time, as I hate to disparage his name. However, those who know me will know who this is and they will chuckle and shake their head.
So, here's the background: In my teenage years I was "forced" by my dad to help a certain gentleman with his cattle. Whether it be gathering cattle, working cattle, whatever. If he needed help and called to ask for me, I was pretty much required to say "yes." I would like to share a sampling of why I did not LIKE to help him.
Example One:
"Andi, we will need to get these cattle gathered on Saturday. I will be by at 7:00 to pick you up. Have your horse saddled and ready to go."
At 9am he would finally show. Only, his horse trailer was empty. "Where's your horse?"
"Oh, I haven't caught him yet. I need you to help me."
In all honesty, I found the less I tried to truly communicate with this individual, or understand his thought process, the better things went. So, I simply loaded my now irritable horse who has been saddled and tied to the corral for two hours, and climbed in the pickup.
We pulled up to his corrals and there is no horse in the corral. "Well, they won't come in. I need you to bring them in." I was dismayed to realize he meant he wanted me to herd his HORSES in on my horse. I had never done such a thing in my life! We always went to the end of the lane where our corrals go to the pasture, shook a feed bucket and yelled, "HEY HORSES!" And the horses would come running...
So, I tightened my cinch (it's not nice to have the cinch tight until just before you ride. Especially if you have no idea when your "employer" will be by to pick you up for the day's work) and climbed on Appy. I am not sure why I was riding Appy that day, but I do remember it was him. I usually preferred Blue. Anyway, I climb on Appy and trotted out to the pasture where I see the horses. I slowed down as I approached and made a kissing sound with my lips and called softly to them. Imagine my surprise when a horse who I'd never met, but later learned was named "Bugsy" suddenly laid his ears back, and charged my horse full speed ahead, teeth bared! I don't know if I reined Appy out of the way or if he dodged out of sheer instinct. I do remember that in the midst of our dodge that a pair of hooves came flying at my head. And Bugsy ran away.
You will be impressed to know that I did not immediately concede defeat. Instead, I focused on Star and my employers ancient horse Smokey, the horses that I knew and tried to herd them to the corrals. Star had no interest in going where I was directing, and he led me on a merry chase over the river and through the woods...Well, except there was no river or woods, simply a pasture with junk in it. Smokey merely looked at me as if I were crazy and resumed grazing.
As I was unsuccessfully herding Star and cursing under my breath at the idiocy of some people who don't feed their horses in the corral so they'll learn to come, and the sheer stupidity of myself for agreeing, yet again, to help this person I heard a thundering sound.
Only it was a sunny day.
And it was not thunder. It was Bugsy. Coming at me full speed ahead. Again. At the sight of that big red horse with the white blaze down his face with ears back, teeth bared, Appy started throwing his head and snorting and stomping. And facing him.
I was not happy with this reaction.
So I gave Appy a good kick in the sides and a firm click in my cheek and we headed to the corrals.
With Bugsy hot on our heels...or hooves as it were. He and Star both ran behind me all the way to the corrals where my enterprising employer stood at the gate and promptly shut it behind all of us. I can still remember that shaky feeling in my chest as I cut into a smaller corral and tried to swing the gate behind me, but of COURSE the gates didn't swing easily and that stupid Bugsy was pitching and kicking the entire time like a crazed thing. I jumped down and yelled at him to get away as I shut the gate, then took Appy OUTSIDE of the corral to be tied up.
Then I fear I may have voiced some displeasure to my employer over the mental stability of his mounts.
"Yeah, well Bugsy has been a little crazy every since he got mauled by those dogs in town."
Lovely.
Well, I don't remember the details of how he caught and saddled Star with the loony Bugsy in the corral with him, but I do remember it was nearly dinner time (which is noon on the farm) when we were unloading to gather cattle.
FYI: We were gathering cattle so he could pull the calves that were ready to wean off their mamas.
It was hot. I was irritable. And hungry. Never a good combination.
We unloaded our mounts at the pasture. The plan was to gather the cattle into a corral in the pasture, then my employer would haul them out by stock trailer. Sounded like a good plan. It would have been an even BETTER plan if a feed wagon would have been there to help things along. Instead we had the two of us and my Grandad who was probably there to keep the peace. (Grandad was ALWAYS in a pickup. I know he COULD ride a horse. He just chose to drive a pickup like a maniac through the pastures herding cattle much the same as I did on a horse. Only scarier.)
I realize not all of my readers are country folk. So please allow me to explain how this scenario would have played out if Dad were in charge. He would have been planning to bring in the cows to sort off calves. Even though it was summer with plenty of food to eat, he would have been feeding them a smackeral or two of feed daily with the feed pickup so that they would come to him. The system is to pull into the pasture honking the horn on your feed wagon, which is an old beat up pickup with the regular bed removed an replaced with a flat bed where you put a bin of feed and a hay fork on back for winter time. The feed bin has a chute that you lower down and a lever inside the pickup that you flip and drive forward as the "cake" pours out so you can scatter it. (Before we had a caker, Dad would stand on the back of the pickup with bags of feed while one of us kids would "drive" as he poured it out. He did the same thing when we still used small square bales. He stood on top of the stack of bales and scattered out the bale to the cattle while he trusted his offspring who's feet may or may not reach the pedals to drive him. Did I ever tell you Dad is brave? Or crazy?)
Sorry, I veered there for a minute. Back to topic: Dad would have been feeding the cattle even if it wasn't necessary in anticipation of gathering them. He also would have instructed his hired hand (that would be me) to ride through them several times early in the morning so they would be used to the sight of a horse and not go berserk.
Well, my employer of that day had done none of that. He simply planned for the two of us to show up on our horses, herd the cattle to a gate they'd probably never gone through, into a corral they'd never been fed in, and all of this was to be done starting hours later than it should have.
Well, I'm sure you can imagine all did not go as we would have liked. The cattle bolted at the sight of the horse. Once they all reached the far corner of the pasture, we decided to drive them along the fence to the corral. My employer at drag, me along side as the wing, and Grandad there for moral support.
And to scare the dickens out of me.
You see, drag is an easy job. You simply stay behind the cattle and keep them moving forward, which if they're scared of your horse is pretty easy. The job on the wing is to make sure any cattle who might like to deviate from the course chosen are quickly stopped and herded back with the others....
The problem was that when one would try to break off, I'd have at least one other trying to break free at the same time. So I would try to head off one, and Granddad would chase the other, full speed ahead, and make me nervous as a cat that I was going to collide with him in our highly disorganized state of chaos.
Not to mention Appy had an unfortunate habit of deciding to pitch in the middle of pursuing cattle at least one time every time. It was maddening, as he would kick up his back hooves in the middle of chasing a calf and it would just tick you off...He also liked to jump over things instead of go AROUND them. I hated that tendency. Especially considering he may not jump the next bit of sage brush, but instead cut sharply around it, making it difficult to maintain a dignified seat if one weren't on guard. Again, I have no idea why I'd chosen to take Appy that particular day. I'm getting annoyed with him just thinking about it.
After what seemed like hours we finally got some but certainly nowhere near all of the cattle in the corral. But not until Granddad had a blowout on his pickup from running over a piece of junk in the pasture in mad pursuit of a cow...
My employer began to yell from his position atop Star "Close the gate! Close the gate!" I quickly dismounted and went to grab the panel that was the "gate" and drag it closed. I say drag, not swing because on old corrals that are found in pastures, the gate is seldom still on a hinge. Instead it is held up by baling wire and it drags in the dirt all the way closed. One must physically lift the panel (an old wooden one in this case) and carry it closed. I was closing the gate and the cattle are running circles in the pen as I'm dragging and shooing at them each time one darts toward me to escape. Just as I was trying to wire the gate shut with the ever helpful baling wire hanging on another panel, a large charolais cow came charging at me. I waved my arms and yelled at her to "Get outta here!"
She completely disregarded my gesture of dominance. Instead she chose to smash into the gate, knocking it completely down and all of the cattle went running out as my employer, finally dismounted and now tying his mount up begins to yell "Stop them! Stop them!" Only there were many, MANY more adjectives that were thrown in that are not suitable for blogging...
I didn't get a single one stopped. And somehow it was all my fault. By now it was blistering hot. The cattle were hot and mad. Appy was staring at me with ears pricked forward as if I should be better than this. My employer was yelling. I was mad and trying not to cry. Granddad was yelling at him because he was yelling at me, and it was just a lovely day.
Lovely.
When all was said and done, we loaded our horses BACK in the trailer because Granddad insisted we were not going to accomplish anything good that day and we went home. I was not at all secretly relieved. I think my relief was quite apparent to anyone who had an ounce of observation skills.
And he failed to pay me...
I was madder than an old wet hen... But I didn't say anything. I just took my horse to the corral and unsaddled him...
You would think that would be the end, wouldn't you? It's not. I have more to tell you. But that will be tomorrow's post.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Home for the Holidays
Note: I wrote this post on Sunday, but could not get all of my pictures to load. So, I'm publishing it on Tuesday!
We are out at my folks for the Labor Day weekend. Today has been the perfect day after months of triple digit weather. We woke up to the wind howling out of the north and the temperature at a cool sixty degrees. The three younger kids have not come in the house at all, except to replace two way radio batteries and eat meals.
Studmuffin and The Man have been hunting dove and prairie dogs with the kids. Today they took Dead Eye, my sister's oldest hunting. They apparently have plenty of opportunity for bathroom humor when they are together. So it was probably a good thing that my precious little angels decided to ride horses with Elvis. Because quite frankly they can come up with enough bathroom humor on their own without their Dad and Uncle adding to the mix.
In an attempt to make some sort of money in this drought, my brother has bought 38 little calves. He has figured up some total feed ration for ninety days then sell them again where he can still turn a profit even with a thirty percent death loss. I pray it works for him. Something's got to give. They only have 40 bales of hay between the two of them, and they typically go into winter with over 600. Round bales are up to $130/bale depending on what it is and where it's from, and even how old it is. It is a scary time for my family...
Three of David's calves are on the bottle, and a few others appear so little as if they should be too, but they would not take it. Oh well, they only have two bottles, and besides three bottle calves and three kids who are still not to cool to play with calves is a perfect balance!
I helped my dad doctor some of the sick ones. It seems to go with the territory of buying calves that some come down with shipping fever. It only took maybe fifteen minutes to sort off the sick ones and run them through the shoot. Dad suggested I hold the rope to drop the gate behind the first one in the shoot...
That is the weeny job. "Really? I have to do the boring job?"
And, of course he "let" me run them from the crowding pen and into the lane to the shoot...Sadly, not one single calf kicked me, or balked at the shoot, or even pooped down my leg! Which really seems as if they aren't truly sick, just faking it so they can get a shot.
Or something weird like that.
Anyway, I love being with the cattle and horses. It brings back memories of all the time I got to spend with my dad growing up. I am 6, 8,and 12 years younger than any of my siblings. My brother was in a Prodigal phase through most of my growing up years, so since the age of about ten, I was the only one home. Dad, Mom and I could work a truck load of cattle at less than two minutes per calf. The bull calves would slow us down, but we had a system, and everyone knew exactly what role to play. At that time, my dad ran a yearling operation and he ran about 2000 yearlings each year. This translated into working cattle or moving cattle every single weekend. It seemed as if a Saturday was not complete if I wasn't washing cow poop out of my pony tail at the end of the day...
And I loved it.
While Dad &; I were doctoring cattle my girls and Elvis, my sister Paula's boy, were riding horses. Dad was suggesting that after we finished we ought to go down to the trees where the kids have a fort that is constantly under construction. He wasn't sure they could get back on the horse themselves. Appy may be 29 years old, but the old bronc never did learn enough patience to stand still while you mount. And he's ridiculously tall.
I think if we just leave them be with the horses, they'll figure out how to take care of themselves. After doctoring cattle, bandaging Dad's hand where a calf slammed it up against the side of the chute, then decided to jump around, cleaning the five pounds of mud off of Elvis's shoe where he "had" to wade into a pond to retrieve his dove yesterday, we headed down to the trees, a mile north of the house to see if kids were ready to remount. We topped the hill to find them all mounted and returning home.
Bookworm figured out that if she hooked her knee in Appy's stirrup and muscled her way up, she could swing her right leg over, then get in the saddle. Sugar is just an average sized horse, so Elvis was able to reach his stirrup to mount, then grab Popcorn's hand and drag her on behind him...
And all of this after Sugar decided to rear up with Elvis on her! The kids are getting so big and brave!
I refrained from saying "I told you so." But I wanted to.
After the kids got home, I helped them unsaddle and walked the horses back to the pasture to remove their bridles. The kids stood and petted them for about thirty seconds, then they were off to do whatever it is they do...
I stood there and rubbed Sugar's ears and took my knuckles and massaged the spot on her forehead between her big brown eyes that all horses love. I stroked her all over and talked about how sweet she was, even if she did give the kids a little rodeo today. I assured her they would be better cowboy's because of it.
Then I moved on to Appy. Sugar was not happy with her session ending, and she reminded me of her presence numerous times by placing her right ear on my left shoulder and rubbing her head on me. I chuckled, gave her another little love down, then told her to let Appy have a turn.
Darling, cantankerous old Appy. We have had him for twenty six years. Where he used to be mostly red with white appaloosa speckles and a white rump, he is now gray. He is skinny and he drools when he eats. Dad has even moved to buying him senior formula horse feed in the hopes of putting some meat on him for the winter...
It hurts my heart to look at him, and it worries me to think of him being ridden. But he loves to be ridden and kicks up a big fuss if he suspects he will be left out. I rubbed his forehead and he closed his eyes in horsey bliss. I moved to his side and scratched his cheek and ears and buried my face in his neck. He let out a great contented sigh and I breathed in a deep breath.
He smells so perfect. There is just something so perfectly "home" about the scent of horse sweat. It is not a bad smell. It is musky and unique. It smells like wind and grass and carefree days. It smells like blistering hot days with dirt in your teeth from chasing cattle. It smells like leather gloves that have been soaked in the stock tank to form perfectly to your hands. It smells like your dad's lap after he has come in from working all day long and is sitting in the recliner to catch the weather before he sits down to supper.
It just smells perfect.
For another take on life out at my folk's, go take a look at Paula's blog. She did a great touching story! Anyway, it brought a tear to my eye!
What makes your heart yearn for home?
We are out at my folks for the Labor Day weekend. Today has been the perfect day after months of triple digit weather. We woke up to the wind howling out of the north and the temperature at a cool sixty degrees. The three younger kids have not come in the house at all, except to replace two way radio batteries and eat meals.
Studmuffin and The Man have been hunting dove and prairie dogs with the kids. Today they took Dead Eye, my sister's oldest hunting. They apparently have plenty of opportunity for bathroom humor when they are together. So it was probably a good thing that my precious little angels decided to ride horses with Elvis. Because quite frankly they can come up with enough bathroom humor on their own without their Dad and Uncle adding to the mix.In an attempt to make some sort of money in this drought, my brother has bought 38 little calves. He has figured up some total feed ration for ninety days then sell them again where he can still turn a profit even with a thirty percent death loss. I pray it works for him. Something's got to give. They only have 40 bales of hay between the two of them, and they typically go into winter with over 600. Round bales are up to $130/bale depending on what it is and where it's from, and even how old it is. It is a scary time for my family...
Three of David's calves are on the bottle, and a few others appear so little as if they should be too, but they would not take it. Oh well, they only have two bottles, and besides three bottle calves and three kids who are still not to cool to play with calves is a perfect balance!
I helped my dad doctor some of the sick ones. It seems to go with the territory of buying calves that some come down with shipping fever. It only took maybe fifteen minutes to sort off the sick ones and run them through the shoot. Dad suggested I hold the rope to drop the gate behind the first one in the shoot...
That is the weeny job. "Really? I have to do the boring job?"
And, of course he "let" me run them from the crowding pen and into the lane to the shoot...Sadly, not one single calf kicked me, or balked at the shoot, or even pooped down my leg! Which really seems as if they aren't truly sick, just faking it so they can get a shot.
Or something weird like that.
Anyway, I love being with the cattle and horses. It brings back memories of all the time I got to spend with my dad growing up. I am 6, 8,and 12 years younger than any of my siblings. My brother was in a Prodigal phase through most of my growing up years, so since the age of about ten, I was the only one home. Dad, Mom and I could work a truck load of cattle at less than two minutes per calf. The bull calves would slow us down, but we had a system, and everyone knew exactly what role to play. At that time, my dad ran a yearling operation and he ran about 2000 yearlings each year. This translated into working cattle or moving cattle every single weekend. It seemed as if a Saturday was not complete if I wasn't washing cow poop out of my pony tail at the end of the day...
And I loved it.
While Dad &; I were doctoring cattle my girls and Elvis, my sister Paula's boy, were riding horses. Dad was suggesting that after we finished we ought to go down to the trees where the kids have a fort that is constantly under construction. He wasn't sure they could get back on the horse themselves. Appy may be 29 years old, but the old bronc never did learn enough patience to stand still while you mount. And he's ridiculously tall.
I think if we just leave them be with the horses, they'll figure out how to take care of themselves. After doctoring cattle, bandaging Dad's hand where a calf slammed it up against the side of the chute, then decided to jump around, cleaning the five pounds of mud off of Elvis's shoe where he "had" to wade into a pond to retrieve his dove yesterday, we headed down to the trees, a mile north of the house to see if kids were ready to remount. We topped the hill to find them all mounted and returning home.
Bookworm figured out that if she hooked her knee in Appy's stirrup and muscled her way up, she could swing her right leg over, then get in the saddle. Sugar is just an average sized horse, so Elvis was able to reach his stirrup to mount, then grab Popcorn's hand and drag her on behind him...
And all of this after Sugar decided to rear up with Elvis on her! The kids are getting so big and brave!
I refrained from saying "I told you so." But I wanted to.
After the kids got home, I helped them unsaddle and walked the horses back to the pasture to remove their bridles. The kids stood and petted them for about thirty seconds, then they were off to do whatever it is they do...
I stood there and rubbed Sugar's ears and took my knuckles and massaged the spot on her forehead between her big brown eyes that all horses love. I stroked her all over and talked about how sweet she was, even if she did give the kids a little rodeo today. I assured her they would be better cowboy's because of it.
Then I moved on to Appy. Sugar was not happy with her session ending, and she reminded me of her presence numerous times by placing her right ear on my left shoulder and rubbing her head on me. I chuckled, gave her another little love down, then told her to let Appy have a turn.
Darling, cantankerous old Appy. We have had him for twenty six years. Where he used to be mostly red with white appaloosa speckles and a white rump, he is now gray. He is skinny and he drools when he eats. Dad has even moved to buying him senior formula horse feed in the hopes of putting some meat on him for the winter...
It hurts my heart to look at him, and it worries me to think of him being ridden. But he loves to be ridden and kicks up a big fuss if he suspects he will be left out. I rubbed his forehead and he closed his eyes in horsey bliss. I moved to his side and scratched his cheek and ears and buried my face in his neck. He let out a great contented sigh and I breathed in a deep breath.
He smells so perfect. There is just something so perfectly "home" about the scent of horse sweat. It is not a bad smell. It is musky and unique. It smells like wind and grass and carefree days. It smells like blistering hot days with dirt in your teeth from chasing cattle. It smells like leather gloves that have been soaked in the stock tank to form perfectly to your hands. It smells like your dad's lap after he has come in from working all day long and is sitting in the recliner to catch the weather before he sits down to supper.
It just smells perfect.
For another take on life out at my folk's, go take a look at Paula's blog. She did a great touching story! Anyway, it brought a tear to my eye!
Friday, August 26, 2011
My Future as a Bull Fighter is in Jeopardy
A few weeks ago I went out to see my folks. It was hot. It was dry. But that did not keep us from riding horses! No sirree bob! My mom offered to drive us in the pickup to find the horses. They have a full section of land to wander (that's one square mile) in this drought, along with a herd of cattle. Now, I could have accepted this generous offer but it just didn't seem like the thing I would have done as a girl on the farm. I decided to show my children the proper way to catch your bronc if you live on the farm and you are around the age of nine or ten.
You take two feed buckets. One bucket has a nibble or two of sweet feed in it. The other has a bridle to catch the bronc with. Two buckets is necessary only if you are going after two horses. Otherwise I'd just toss the bridle in with the feed. I was also known to tuck a lead rope in my back pocket and head to the pasture with a handful of cake to catch a horse. However, I was unsure if these horses had a halter on, and I intended to ride the horses back, so a bridle for each was more in order. In addition, we planned to ride them as soon as we caught them, so naturally we at least needed a bridle!
Please also understand that I really had no idea where they were. The most logical place was by the pond. Or the trees. Or perhaps anywhere at all in the pasture...The only thing I was certain of was that they were not in the 40 acres behind the house. We decided to cut at a diagonal across the pasture to the pond...As we entered the field on the east side, I spotted the horses further to the east of us.
"Heeeey horsES!" I gave the cry my dad has always used to call the horses in to eat...I confess, I did not hold out much hope that they would respond to my cry as I am not the source of their breakfast on a regular basis.
Imagine my surprise when they not only came, but came at a trot to greet us! They were so ready for diversion that they all but stuck their heads in the bridles for us! You will notice the very authentic cowgirl gear my girls have on. Because clearly every cowgirl wears brand new Pumas or purple sparkled Sketchers through a pasture and to ride horses! Right?
In truth, the little hooligans had left their boots and old shoes at our house and brought nothing but brand new shoes to their grandparents...*SIGH* And they even failed to pack a single pair of JEANS! Good grief, who ARE these children?
As you can see the cattle were quite interested in the treat the horses were receiving...
And also you can see that I did NOT get to ride a horse back to the house. I was informed that the girls were riding by themselves. I shrugged to myself and decided I could use the exercise to walk back home. After all, carrying two buckets through the hot dry pasture wasn't enough exercise.
So, the girls left me and my buckets and headed off, no saddles, no blankets, nothing to pad Bookworm's delicate derriere from old Appy's bony back. Remember, Appy is 29 years old. I have all sorts of sad thoughts about how hard this hot summer has been on him. But we will not get into that right now.
What you are interested in (hopefully, and I apologize for taking twenty minutes to get here) is why I fear my future as a bull fighter...
So, I put my kids on the horses, and sent them off. I watched them ride off with a little catch in my chest at a memory of happier, simpler times, picked up my now empty buckets and headed off to the road...
I had walked about 25 feet when I realized I had company. Two black angus cows were walking at my hip. And head butting each other. And trying to stick their heads in my bucket without actually touching me.
Now, I realize I've been away from the country for a while, but I was completely inappropriately dressed. As in, bermuda shorts (I realize nobody calls them bermuda shorts any more, but I'm not sure what one does call them), tank top and thin tennis shoes inappropriately dressed. I tried to ignore my bovine companions and continue on to the gate. And they kept head butting and shoving each other.
I kept visualizing them shoving each other into me, and consequently stepping on my inadequately shod foot...In addition to the fact that my brother was barely moving as a result of a run in with a cow two weeks earlier...Oh, I'm sorry but simply have to give a back story here:
Due to the severe drought my dad and brother have had to sell off a good chunk of their herds to avert a bigger financial disaster than they are already facing. David had decided to sort some cattle (by himself, I think) while my parents were on vacation. Apparently one mama cow did not appreciate being sorted from her calf. She took off after David...
Okay, I just have to back track even further right here and say that many times as I was helping sort cattle my Granddad Marvin would say "Quit jumping out of the way! The cows don't want to run over you. Stand your ground. They will back off." In fact I remember very clearly him saying that very thing to me just before I found myself plastered against the fence with the wind knocked out of me. I can also remember marveling at my dad's ability to put one hand on the top rail of our six foot corals and vault over them when a particularly angry cow was quite upset with him...
I never did master that fete.
So, back to David. The cow chased David. David tried the one handed fence vault trick, and suddenly found himself flying through the air. From what I understand the cow caught him and threw him, and he landed on his tail bone...I don't know if he cracked it or what (he doesn't tend to believe in doctorin') but I do know two weeks later he could barely move.
Now. Back to the hungry cows. I was thinking of my toes. And the fact that I like having all of my nails on them. And I was thinking of David who could barely move without groaning...
I decided to just set the buckets down and let the cows satisfy their curiosity.
They kicked and snuffled and licked the buckets...And they licked and snuffled them some more. Eventually they lost interest in their game, and moved on.
I chuckled to myself and picked up my buckets and began to whistle the Andy Griffith tune as I headed to the gate. As I walked I heard a cow bawling behind me, and it sounded as if she was quite close. I looked behind me, and I saw this not so little lady not walking up to me, but flat out running, neck stretched out and bawling like I was in the feed wagon, complete with caker and hay fork on the back.
I looked around and though there didn't seem to be any other cattle paying attention, I decided to abandon my buckets. After all, there was a perfectly good pickup at the house that I could drive back to fetch my abandoned buckets.
So. I walked the mile back the house. Bucketless. As I got to the house and told my tale, I only had one thing to say to my parents. "Please don't tell David I couldn't get home with the buckets. He will never let me live it down."
Nope. Sibling rivalry never dies.
P.S. I feel compelled to explain cattle terminology. I realize 98% of my readers know this, but just in case: The term cattle refers to a mixed herd of cows, calves, heifers, steers, bulls, whatever. It's kind of like saying "people." Heifers are females who haven't calved. Cows have had calves. Calves are calves, bulls are bulls and steers are....well....They just don't rattle when you shake them.
Kapeesh?
Friday, September 10, 2010
My Dog is Determined to Die a Traumatic Death...
Or at the very least have me die of a heart attack....
I'm sure all of you remember our harrowing experience last Thanksgiving. If you feel compelled to refresh your memory, you can click here to read the entire drawn out ordeal of mental anguish and suffering she caused me...
On Monday morning, Bookworm and I decided to go for a ride. My dad asked if we would mind riding through the cattle near his house. Our goal was to count 86 grown and 76 calves...
We headed off to do our duty, and of course Kelsey decided to accompany us. I told her to go home, but really, I only have so much ability to enforce her leaving while I'm up on the horse, And since I was too lazy to go back home and tie her up, I decided she'd be fine. She had been around cattle before, and knew to not chase them and pretty much stay out of their way.
As I got off and opened the gate, I noticed a black calf watching the dog. Sure enough, as soon as we got through the gate, he chased after Kelsey. She quickly ducked back under the fence and out of harms way. She then followed us up the fence line until she was safely away from her 400 pound attacker and trotted back up to our horses...
Where she was fine as long as she was diligent enough to stay close to us the cattle would watch her, but not approach...
You realize some things are just so tempting that they override common sense, right?
Well, a jack rabbit jumped up in front of us, and of course Kelsey tore after it...But, she quickly spun around and ran right back to us when a cow took off after her! I chuckled and tried to keep a closer eye on her, and keep my horse between her and any cattle that seemed bent on removing the four legged canine threat from their herd...
Well, Bookworm had counted 51 calves, and I had 53 cows and 1 bull, when we noticed that the rest of the herd were north and west of the pond where the gate is to go into the remaining pasture land Dad has this particular herd on....This is the pond that my brother and nephew happened to be hunting around, and as I know Appy to be acutely terrified of guns, and I did not desire to test Sugar's tolerance of fire arms with my sweet baby on her back, we decided to ditch our assigned duty and return home...
Well, as we returned home, Kelsey got comfortable in her surroundings and anticipated where we were going. Consequently, before I knew it she was quite a ways in front of me...By the way, how far is "a ways?" I'm totally unsure. I'm pretty sure it's improper grammar, but this is a blog, not an English paper, and "a ways" is truly how far she had gone...In this case I will clarify it to be maybe 50 yards or so...
I noticed the black calf that Dad surely needs to wean, watching her...I had just began to mentally debate what was about to occur when the scenario played out...
The calf tore after Kelsey...
Kelsey panicked.
She was right along the fence line, but instead of darting under it, she turned to her right...
Directly into the herd.
Did you know that cattle consider dogs a threat? My heart leaped into my throat as I saw about 6 cows immediately begin to charge and circle around her...
Remember Appy? He's all of 28 years old. Well, apparently if you kick him hard enough and start to yell at the cattle, he responds rather quickly...I didn't know he & I could still sort cattle off so quickly, or that Kelsey would so quickly understand that she needed to keep the horse between her and the cattle...And she tore back to the house like as fast as her little legs would carry her.
Gentle Reader, please do not be overly impressed with my sorting abilities...It was all over with very quickly. I think the cattle were startled to have the horse go from a calm walk to tearing up to them, so they all decided to get going while the getting was good...
I'm sure the entire episode was over in a few seconds...And I was shaking when it was all said and done...
I breathed a gigantic sigh of relief...
Then I heard a voice yelling "Mooooommiiiiiiieee!"
I looked behind me, and there was my precious child with her horse running up to me, and the reins both on the left side....
Apparently, Bookworm decided that she did not want to see Kelsey die a horrible death, and she had closed her eyes...
Of course when Appy & I took off, Sugar did not want to be left out of the fun, so she shook her head and took off...Flipping the right rein over her head, and leaving Bookworm uncertain of what to do but yell for her mother...
Of course, the horse stopped as soon as she reached her destination...
And we had a safety lesson on never closing your eyes, keeping a tight grip on the reins, and remembering to drag the horses head to your knee if they ever try to run off with you...
After we got home, we unsaddled the horses and laid on the ground with the dog, hugging her neck and telling her how stupid she was for pulling stunt like that.
I'm sure all of you remember our harrowing experience last Thanksgiving. If you feel compelled to refresh your memory, you can click here to read the entire drawn out ordeal of mental anguish and suffering she caused me...
On Monday morning, Bookworm and I decided to go for a ride. My dad asked if we would mind riding through the cattle near his house. Our goal was to count 86 grown and 76 calves...
We headed off to do our duty, and of course Kelsey decided to accompany us. I told her to go home, but really, I only have so much ability to enforce her leaving while I'm up on the horse, And since I was too lazy to go back home and tie her up, I decided she'd be fine. She had been around cattle before, and knew to not chase them and pretty much stay out of their way.
As I got off and opened the gate, I noticed a black calf watching the dog. Sure enough, as soon as we got through the gate, he chased after Kelsey. She quickly ducked back under the fence and out of harms way. She then followed us up the fence line until she was safely away from her 400 pound attacker and trotted back up to our horses...
Where she was fine as long as she was diligent enough to stay close to us the cattle would watch her, but not approach...
You realize some things are just so tempting that they override common sense, right?
Well, a jack rabbit jumped up in front of us, and of course Kelsey tore after it...But, she quickly spun around and ran right back to us when a cow took off after her! I chuckled and tried to keep a closer eye on her, and keep my horse between her and any cattle that seemed bent on removing the four legged canine threat from their herd...
Well, Bookworm had counted 51 calves, and I had 53 cows and 1 bull, when we noticed that the rest of the herd were north and west of the pond where the gate is to go into the remaining pasture land Dad has this particular herd on....This is the pond that my brother and nephew happened to be hunting around, and as I know Appy to be acutely terrified of guns, and I did not desire to test Sugar's tolerance of fire arms with my sweet baby on her back, we decided to ditch our assigned duty and return home...
Well, as we returned home, Kelsey got comfortable in her surroundings and anticipated where we were going. Consequently, before I knew it she was quite a ways in front of me...By the way, how far is "a ways?" I'm totally unsure. I'm pretty sure it's improper grammar, but this is a blog, not an English paper, and "a ways" is truly how far she had gone...In this case I will clarify it to be maybe 50 yards or so...
I noticed the black calf that Dad surely needs to wean, watching her...I had just began to mentally debate what was about to occur when the scenario played out...
The calf tore after Kelsey...
Kelsey panicked.
She was right along the fence line, but instead of darting under it, she turned to her right...
Directly into the herd.
Did you know that cattle consider dogs a threat? My heart leaped into my throat as I saw about 6 cows immediately begin to charge and circle around her...
Remember Appy? He's all of 28 years old. Well, apparently if you kick him hard enough and start to yell at the cattle, he responds rather quickly...I didn't know he & I could still sort cattle off so quickly, or that Kelsey would so quickly understand that she needed to keep the horse between her and the cattle...And she tore back to the house like as fast as her little legs would carry her.
Gentle Reader, please do not be overly impressed with my sorting abilities...It was all over with very quickly. I think the cattle were startled to have the horse go from a calm walk to tearing up to them, so they all decided to get going while the getting was good...
I'm sure the entire episode was over in a few seconds...And I was shaking when it was all said and done...
I breathed a gigantic sigh of relief...
Then I heard a voice yelling "Mooooommiiiiiiieee!"
I looked behind me, and there was my precious child with her horse running up to me, and the reins both on the left side....
Apparently, Bookworm decided that she did not want to see Kelsey die a horrible death, and she had closed her eyes...
Of course when Appy & I took off, Sugar did not want to be left out of the fun, so she shook her head and took off...Flipping the right rein over her head, and leaving Bookworm uncertain of what to do but yell for her mother...
Of course, the horse stopped as soon as she reached her destination...
And we had a safety lesson on never closing your eyes, keeping a tight grip on the reins, and remembering to drag the horses head to your knee if they ever try to run off with you...
After we got home, we unsaddled the horses and laid on the ground with the dog, hugging her neck and telling her how stupid she was for pulling stunt like that.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Moments of Idiocy: The Horseback Version
Remember my mention of Blue, our temperamental appaloosa I grew up on? Well, I didn't completely grow up on him. My Granddad Pat gave him to my brother when I was nine years old. I remember, because the same year he gave me a paint horse colt, whom I promptly fell madly in love with and named Mischief. I groomed him and played with him, and sneaked him treats...(Okay, I gotta say. Sneaked seems totally wrong. I want to use snuck, but spell check denies it's existence. But, still, I'm more a snuck kinda gal, so I'm using sneaked under protest.)
Never name a horse Mischief. He will undoubtedly live up to his name. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I was never allowed to ride any of the horses at my Granddad's because they were never gentle enough. I'm sure there was no hereditary "mean gene" in him. All I do know is that horse was mean.
He liked to try and bite my shoulder when I was distracted dealing with his cinch.
Or, he would get mad in the middle of a ride, and turn his head and try to bite my foot. No kidding. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is. Or, he might decide to start pitching. Or run off. Whatever he could think of to get out of a ride.
Obviously, Mischief and I never advanced our relationship much passed the scratch his ears, give him a treat phase...
My brother had no interest whatsoever in anything that could be conceived as remotely "farm" at that phase of his life. Also, the horse I had learned to ride on died tragically. His name was Bay Dandy. He developed pneumonia in his old age, and when Dad sent him to the vet, he had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic. That is the first time I ever saw my dad cry, and we both sat on my bottom bunk and he held me and cried silently while I sobbed all over him...
Anyway, all of that to say, I ended up riding Blue. Yes, he was temperamental. Yes, he was high strung, but he had heart. And he loved to work, so I loved him.
One day when I was in high school Dad sent me to ride through some cattle a mile north our house. Do you remember I told you that Blue had a tendency to tear things up if not properly tied? Well, I got to the gate, and there was a tree hanging over it, and Blue absolutely refused to go under it for me to get to the gate.
Another detail about this gate that will be pertinent later in our story: This gate had what I call a "cheater" on it. The cheater is a lever action clamp type thing that goes around the fence post on tight gates. You hook the chain loop over the post, then flip the lever, and it pulls the gate taut. Reverse that to undo the gate...
I looked around, and realized that there was no place safe to tie him up, and I hadn't anticipated my problem, so I didn't have a lead rope on me. We used a roping rein on Blue. This is a single rein that loops around the horses neck and clips on the opposite side of his bridle. This is convenient when you rope, as you never have to worry about dropping a rein when you are trying to rope, then dally off on the saddle horn all before the calf hits the end of your rope. Not that I ever roped successfully. I never advanced beyond roping the steer head on a bale of hay, or a fence post in the corral...
But, returning to the situation at hand. I needed to get to the gate. And, Blue was having none of it. When I tried to lead him under the tree he planted his feet, rolled his eyes and started throwing his head.
I stopped and thought...
I had an idea!
I took the aforementioned roping rein that is in a continuous loop, attached to either side of the horses bit, and hooked it around the toe of my boot. I then proceeded to stretch into a balancing stick pose to flip the "cheater" on the gate.
Well, when that cheater flipped, and the gate sprung loose, Blue went berserk. He reared up and started backing up...
With his rein still around my boot. I was immediately jerked off balance and did a face plant in the thankfully sandy dirt of the gate....Then, I began to eat dirt. I was being drug backwards by my loyal mount!!
I quickly flipped onto my bottom so I at least wasn't face down...
He drug me about 20 yards and I got my foot worked loose...Then, he stopped. Sides heaving, nostrils flaring, body trembling, he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. I got up, snatched his rein into my hand and started stroking his nose...
"It's okay, Blue. You're going to be okay. Calm down. I didn't mean to scare you. Sorry old boy," and so on. It took me a few minutes to get him calmed down. Then, we walked to the loosened gate, drug it out of our way, then he let me lead him back under the former tree of death to relatch the gate, gentle as a lamb.
Then, to my memory, we rode through the cattle, and returned to the house without further mishap.
Dumb horse.
Dumb girl for hooking the rein around my foot.
Never name a horse Mischief. He will undoubtedly live up to his name. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I was never allowed to ride any of the horses at my Granddad's because they were never gentle enough. I'm sure there was no hereditary "mean gene" in him. All I do know is that horse was mean.
He liked to try and bite my shoulder when I was distracted dealing with his cinch.
Or, he would get mad in the middle of a ride, and turn his head and try to bite my foot. No kidding. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is. Or, he might decide to start pitching. Or run off. Whatever he could think of to get out of a ride.
Obviously, Mischief and I never advanced our relationship much passed the scratch his ears, give him a treat phase...
My brother had no interest whatsoever in anything that could be conceived as remotely "farm" at that phase of his life. Also, the horse I had learned to ride on died tragically. His name was Bay Dandy. He developed pneumonia in his old age, and when Dad sent him to the vet, he had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic. That is the first time I ever saw my dad cry, and we both sat on my bottom bunk and he held me and cried silently while I sobbed all over him...
Anyway, all of that to say, I ended up riding Blue. Yes, he was temperamental. Yes, he was high strung, but he had heart. And he loved to work, so I loved him.
One day when I was in high school Dad sent me to ride through some cattle a mile north our house. Do you remember I told you that Blue had a tendency to tear things up if not properly tied? Well, I got to the gate, and there was a tree hanging over it, and Blue absolutely refused to go under it for me to get to the gate.
Another detail about this gate that will be pertinent later in our story: This gate had what I call a "cheater" on it. The cheater is a lever action clamp type thing that goes around the fence post on tight gates. You hook the chain loop over the post, then flip the lever, and it pulls the gate taut. Reverse that to undo the gate...
I looked around, and realized that there was no place safe to tie him up, and I hadn't anticipated my problem, so I didn't have a lead rope on me. We used a roping rein on Blue. This is a single rein that loops around the horses neck and clips on the opposite side of his bridle. This is convenient when you rope, as you never have to worry about dropping a rein when you are trying to rope, then dally off on the saddle horn all before the calf hits the end of your rope. Not that I ever roped successfully. I never advanced beyond roping the steer head on a bale of hay, or a fence post in the corral...
But, returning to the situation at hand. I needed to get to the gate. And, Blue was having none of it. When I tried to lead him under the tree he planted his feet, rolled his eyes and started throwing his head.
I stopped and thought...
I had an idea!
I took the aforementioned roping rein that is in a continuous loop, attached to either side of the horses bit, and hooked it around the toe of my boot. I then proceeded to stretch into a balancing stick pose to flip the "cheater" on the gate.
Well, when that cheater flipped, and the gate sprung loose, Blue went berserk. He reared up and started backing up...
With his rein still around my boot. I was immediately jerked off balance and did a face plant in the thankfully sandy dirt of the gate....Then, I began to eat dirt. I was being drug backwards by my loyal mount!!
I quickly flipped onto my bottom so I at least wasn't face down...
He drug me about 20 yards and I got my foot worked loose...Then, he stopped. Sides heaving, nostrils flaring, body trembling, he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. I got up, snatched his rein into my hand and started stroking his nose...
"It's okay, Blue. You're going to be okay. Calm down. I didn't mean to scare you. Sorry old boy," and so on. It took me a few minutes to get him calmed down. Then, we walked to the loosened gate, drug it out of our way, then he let me lead him back under the former tree of death to relatch the gate, gentle as a lamb.
Then, to my memory, we rode through the cattle, and returned to the house without further mishap.
Dumb horse.
Dumb girl for hooking the rein around my foot.
Monday, March 22, 2010
More Riding Adventures...
The kids decided they wanted to ride the horses down to "the trees." Now, "the trees" is a grove of trees a mile north of my parents...Popcorn rode in Sugar's saddle, with her freckle faced cousin riding behind. Bookworm rode in the saddle on Appy, and I rode behind. I was along to be sure the horses behaved, and to help the kids remount after they got off to continue construction of the fort in the trees.
However, my nephew decided that instead of building a fort, he should work on his mad horse riding skills. "Can I ride Sugar while they play?"
"Sure!"
I helped him back in the saddle. "Is this how I hold the reins?"
"No. Turn your hand like this, with your index threaded between."
"I can't get my feet in the stirrups."
"No problem." And, I helped him adjust the length, gave a quick and dirty reining lesson (actually, a reinforcement to make myself feel better about putting my sister's baby on a horse that tried to unseat me the day before), and sent him on his way...
As you can see in the above picture, he totally had it down.
I decided it was a great time to get a mugshot of Appy's old, gray face. I took several shots before I got him worried about the camera enough to actually look perky and hold both ears forward...
Wait a minute, how's my bronc rider doing?!
He came back at a quick trot. If that isn't the picture of a nine year old totally in control of his mount, I don't know what is! We'll not focus on the hard and fast rule, "never let your horse run to the house. She'll get barn sour."
I was so encouraged by his horsemanship, I put them all on the horses by themselves, and sent them on their way.
Yep. I was totally confident in their ability to keep things under control. I was walking behind them merely to document this moment in history. Yep, that's the only reason...
However, when they decided to ride to the pond a half mile away, I insisted they let me ride with them. NOT because I'm overprotective, but because there's the whole gate opening, remounting issue all over again.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
However, my nephew decided that instead of building a fort, he should work on his mad horse riding skills. "Can I ride Sugar while they play?"
"Sure!"
I helped him back in the saddle. "Is this how I hold the reins?"
"No. Turn your hand like this, with your index threaded between."
"I can't get my feet in the stirrups."
"No problem." And, I helped him adjust the length, gave a quick and dirty reining lesson (actually, a reinforcement to make myself feel better about putting my sister's baby on a horse that tried to unseat me the day before), and sent him on his way...
As you can see in the above picture, he totally had it down.
I decided it was a great time to get a mugshot of Appy's old, gray face. I took several shots before I got him worried about the camera enough to actually look perky and hold both ears forward...
Wait a minute, how's my bronc rider doing?!
He came back at a quick trot. If that isn't the picture of a nine year old totally in control of his mount, I don't know what is! We'll not focus on the hard and fast rule, "never let your horse run to the house. She'll get barn sour."
I was so encouraged by his horsemanship, I put them all on the horses by themselves, and sent them on their way.
Yep. I was totally confident in their ability to keep things under control. I was walking behind them merely to document this moment in history. Yep, that's the only reason...
However, when they decided to ride to the pond a half mile away, I insisted they let me ride with them. NOT because I'm overprotective, but because there's the whole gate opening, remounting issue all over again.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Greenhorns
Well, we got a new kid saddle for the kids to use on Sugar. She and Appy got lots of experience over Thanksgiving weekend. They were both rode for about 3 solid hours over Thanksgiving weekend. Believe me. Those two aren't used to that much activity...
Neither was my nephew. Of course, he is an adult sized 11 year old. In a kid saddle. He hasn't quite mastered moving with the horse. Consequently, he moved, well, err....I think the picture speaks for itself. At this point of the ride, he was getting, ummm, well...
Hmmm....How do I say this?
Sore? Yeah. Let's go with that. He was getting sore. So, he was trying new positions to relieve some....Shall we say "pressure?"
Now, these two goof balls got their fair share of riding too. Of course, neither one of them are capable of inactivity for more than 8 seconds, so they spent their "down time" on the hay bales.
After we were finished catering to the kids, Dad & I went for a little ride. Did I mention it was Thanksgiving? That means deer season. I'm pretty sure we were taking our lives in our hands by riding at this time of year. And, we didn't even have on blaze orange so we could be easily spotted. Do you see the deer in the distance in this photo? We scared them up while riding. You can barely see them because my camera was zipped in my pocket, and by the time I dug it out, they were nearly gone... My dad said there are more deer than rabbits now. Sure enough, we saw 4 deer and only 1 rabbit in all of that time riding. Weird. Maybe it's due to the mountain lions. Or coyotes. I don't know, but it sure is weird to not see rabbits. However, we did see one armadillo. That reminded me of my grandma, Shootsmanyarmadillos. Go read about her here.
After all their hard work, it was time for the horses to get a treat for reward. My dad tried to stay out of the picture, but I'm quick. See the horse in the front? That's Appy. Believe it or not, he used to be nearly as dark as Sugar. With lots of speckles, of course. Anyway, as you can see we had a great day. Sugar is fulfilling her purpose in helping the next generation learn to ride a horse on a trusty mount.....
Hey, funny story here. Dad asked me early in the day if I was brave enough to try riding Sugar double later on. "Sure. Why?"
"Well, I just want to see how she does with two riders." This statement mystified me, and I failed to ask for more details.
Fast forward to my cousin Beth showing up with her kids. Her son Sawyer was afraid to ride alone. My niece Sarah was on Appy, and I tried to assure him that Sugar would just go where Appy went, but he was not sure. His brother Seth, who I think is a Senior, volunteered to ride with him. Initially Seth was going to sit up front, but obviously he couldn't fit the kid saddle, and I didn't want to change gear. I completely forgot my earlier conversation with Dad and though Seth tried to balk, I bullied him into riding behind his brother.
Fast forward to about 4pm. Dad said, "So, are you game for trying to ride Sugar double?"
"Yeah. Why do you want to see how she does with 2 adults?"
"It's not two adults. I want to see how she reacts to the weight and legs dangling down her back. Remember when we bought her they said she pitched with saddle bags."
*Crickets chirping*
"OOOOoooh....Well, I'm not really worried about that any more." I said, laughing.
"How come?" I explained that I hadn't paid close enough attention to what he was trying to say earlier that day, and she did just fine with Seth and Sawyer. Sawyer knew absolutely nothing about riding, and Seth has maybe ridden 3 or 4 times before that day.
Dad just laughed and decided he wasn't going to worry about that any more.
That's what I'm here for Dad. Got a worry? I'll blithely blaze through life, never even considering what might happen. I had a friend in South Texas who told her parents that any time she was afraid to let her kids try something, all she had to do was send them to my house, and I'd have them do it without even thinking about it...
Monday, October 12, 2009
Git along little doggies...
Dad's cattle up by the house had the entire section of land to roam and graze. Until I brought a new bronc into the mix this weekend. Appy had been roaming with the cattle. Appy hates to be alone, so he was quite happy to be a foster horse to this herd of cattle. However, now that Sugar is here, Dad decided to shut the cattle out of the 40 acres directly behind their house, and let the horses spend some special bonding time.
We had been told that Sugar was on a ranch at one point in her life, but buying a horse is kinda like buying a used car...You're just never sure what you're getting until you get it home and have it for a while.
As it turns out, she's pretty well we hoped for, if a bit slow to move. I was mounted and walked her to the corral gate. She immediately brought me directly to the panel and sidestepped to let me close and latch it with no prompting on my part. Call me impressed. I know some of you may not be impressed by this, but I can say, I myself have battled many a temperamental horse over opening and closing gates while mounted...
Then we headed out to the herd of cattle. She didn't even tense up. Now, honestly, this could be a good thing and a bad thing. My beloved horse Blue loved to gather cattle. Okay, Blue was not MY horse. He was my brother's horse. But I loved him, and I loved his flightiness, and David never truly appreciated him. Plus, when David was a teenager, he hated the farm and all things to do with it, so he hardly used him. So for all intents and purposes he was MY horse. So there. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Dave... But back to Blue: His whole demeanor would change when you approached cattle. You could feel every muscle bunch, and he was the first to run after a calf that tried to break out of the herd. This was a lot of fun for me as an experienced rider. However, I don't know how my little greenhorns would handle a horse that sprung into action of her own volition...Probably tumble to the ground. Just like I did a time or two...Or maybe more, but let's not go there.
She didn't even flinch when this red angus bull that you see to the left of the mottle faced cow started pawing the ground and bellering at us...I gotta say, I tensed a tad bit. It's been a few years since I faced down a bull on a horse. But we approached him anyway (I was not about to let my daddy think I'm getting yella in my old age.)
Of course, Dad & Appy were completely unconcerned by our plight..."Hey Dad! The cattle are over here! I know it's Sunday and all, but is it really time for a stroll?"
Well, there ya go. I showed him who's boss...He meandered away from us and toward the gate we were directing them to...Snorting and bellering the whole time.
Ummm....Sugar, don't look now, but he's doing that pawing thing again. And he's bellering again. Do you suppose we should take our time and let Dad approach him?
Sugar completely disregarded any hesitation I might have shown, and the bull relented and headed out the gate with his lady friends...
And we all arrived safely back in the corrals. Sugar and Appy were rewarded with a little sweet feed for their heroic efforts...Okay, Appy didn't seem all that heroic over there wandering around by himself, but still....I gave him a little smackerel or two just because he was there. And also because Popcorn said she was worried he would be sad because we are all oohing and aahing over Sugar. I would hate for him to feel left out.
And yes, Gentle Reader, I realize "bellering" is not a word... But that's the best descriptor I can come up with to describe the complaining from that bull.
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