A good friend of mine told me once that cowgirls wear many hats. Some wear that of a mother, a wife, a home maker, a career woman, a Christian, a sister, an aunt, a steward of the land, and care taker to her animals. Along with those sundry titles goes a sense of responsibility, and the need to learn how to prioritize when and where to wear those hats.
I know for me, I've been a daughter, a sister, a care taker of my horses. The past five years have seen me become a wife and a mother as well. The changes in our lives can come gradually, marked by time, something we ourselves can watch after a substantial step back to get an appreciation for what has tangibly transpired in our own personal time line. More often than not, the changes that occur aren't the friendly, easily remarked upon times that are so easily accustomed to...they're harsh, unforgiving and more of a struggle than most of us let on. Life possesses so many erratic tendencies that it's only true constant is change itself. Just as you settle in and things seem to "make sense", things seemingly up-end themselves, and with never a thought or notice otherwise. Learning to deal with those changes is what makes the core of a true cowgirl. A mother may be looking at her child as they struggle with their first "big horse", knowing full well that it's only a matter of time before the cues become smoother, more fluid. Softer hands, a gentler touch--thinking ahead. Watching their eyes light up with pride as they begin to accomplish more and more every day, whether it's leading their horse by themselves or simply getting their boots on the right feet that morning.
I know as a mother I want my kids to enjoy what I do; to love the same things that make my heart beat a little faster. Being raised in the country as I was, having the ability to play outside, get dirty and covered in grass stains...that's priceless for me to be able to give that to my kids. I'm more driven now to get Smoke started and finished on the barrel pattern, so that by the time Jolie is old enough to ride a big horse, she'll have one waiting for her. If she decides when she's four or five that she'd rather be a ballet dancer, or a softball player, or a swimmer, I'll take up with whatever suits her, but the horses will always be there if she decides to go back to them. I want my kids to have every chance they can to do the absolute best that they can if they decide they want to ride, rope, play basket ball, show livestock-just whatever floats their boat!
I think that's where the ability to prioritize comes in...learning when to put the kids' wants/needs ahead of my own, and to recognize when it's OK to have have time for something for myself. Everything works in cycles it seems like-Jackson spent last summer and all of this summer really learning to ride as I stepped back from competing. This summer was somewhat out of necessity, aside from just having our baby girl, my poor horses can't seem to stay sound these days. I know that things happen for a reason, so I'm trying to step back and look at the bigger picture. There's something here--something that God is wanting me to do different. By not spending time on either of my horses, it makes me wonder what God has planned for me. I suppose being patient and praying about it will help...of course, wrapping them both in bubblewrap can't hurt either!

Thoughts on a cool morning...

A cool morning is always appreciated around my house. It usually evokes two emotions for me, and has since I was about 15. When I first open my eyes and take in the world around me, I'm more than 100% content to laze around in bed and literally just lay around in the cool morning hours. Nothing makes for better sleep than a cool morning just before the sun gets to showing his face. The other emotion is the one I should follow more often--the urge to go catch a horse, and do something constructive!
This time last year I was getting up at 5 a.m. every morning to catch my barrel horse , and work on conditioning him. We'd ride the fence line of our little place at a long trot, building his wind a little more with every stride. A snaffle bit and split reins went along way to relax him and take some of his anxiety away about life in general. He's a laid back sort of feller most of time anyway, but when it would come time to saddle up, he became a worry wart. He never made a nuisance of himself, but he was apt to push on the bit and hollow his back out, blow a lead change on a circle, just little niggling things that drove me crazy. We went back to basics-stopping straight on a loose rein, flexing, keeping an arc from nose to tail as we loped a circle, backing without hesitation. Sidepassing, stopping without throwing his head straight up in the air was my biggest obstacle--it drove me crazy when I would ask him to slow down or stop!
For years he'd been ridden in a tie down no matter what-don't get me wrong, I'll still crack one out and put a horse in one if I think it's really necessary. I used one on him after I first acquired him, but as time has gone on, I've tried to teach him that he CAN travel without one. That he doesn't have to look for that noseband ever time he goes to stop...that it's easier to follow his nose when I ask him to give than to do things on his own and muscle through a turn like a musk ox! He was just as nice and broke as they come when he first came to me, but he just didn't handle like I wanted him to. I'm proud that he'll lope off with his head low, that a bump of an outside leg will tip his nose toward whichever leg I bumped with, and that I can run him without a tie down now. He's a more responsive, softer, thinking horse now. Before, he didn't think, he responded, and it was usually rough! The way he's built makes him rough to ride at a trot, so long hours of long trotting allowed him to learn to carry himself differently, to not ride like such a lumber wagon! He still has his moments where he wants to do things the easy way, but the longer I have him the fewer and farther between those moments become.
My boy is standing out in the pasture under the pecan tree as I type; he's sidelined for the foreseeable future with yet another "ouchie" as Jackson calls it. Just through the thick part of his left hind heel bulb, it's an odd place for a cut. Every time he put weight on that hind foot (which he does all the time now, thankfully!) it spreads the wound apart. It's healing well, my darlin' husband has done a wonderful job keeping me supplied with all sorts of powders and potions to keep Woodrow on the mend. I'm so thankful to have him--he does all he can to spare me any sort of hurt any time any of our horses are hurt. I tend to be a tad emotional when it comes to the horses, they're like my big four legged babies. I hate feeling helpless when it comes to them, when it's so obvious that they're hurting and don't know how to ask for relief.
As Woodrow makes his way out from under the pecan tree I can't help but smile. As he stood dozing, the other geldings ambled away from him, intent on finding more tender shoots of grass to munch no doubt. When he woke from his nap, he jerked his head up, realizing he stood alone-and he trotted off. No limping, no bobbing of his head or hesitation to stride out across the trap. He's resigned himself to thrusting his head through the fence, stealing bites from our yard of freshly mowed grass....once again, in the shade. He's a happy sort, it's never hard to spot him. Look for the closest shady spot, and you'll find him. He's my faithful steed through and through-I believe he would eat rocks if I offered them from the palm of my hand. A short whistle and a "Ro Ro...come on!" will bring him to the barn lot as fast as he's comfortable with. It never fails to bring a smile to my face, he's as predictable as the day is long. When it comes to matters of the feed bucket and his belly, make no mistake, that feed in the trough is worth all the grass in the pasture to him! He's always up for one more bite of whatever it is that you might have...
And he's not above lipping at pockets for treats! He learned quickly that Jackson will bring treats just as long as he would stand at the gate with his head down where Jackson could pet him. I love to watch Jackson with the geldings. All four of them become different guys when he comes around...their heads drop, ears come up, and for a minute or two they even stop their fighting. Looking for apple flavored horse treats, bites of carrot and pieces of cattle cake are all that's on their minds when the little man is around.

I'm one of those people that has to believe that God has a sense of humor. More than that, I think I believe that so that I can justify thing to myself sometimes....that being said, I'll relay my tale.
I realize that with all things considered it could have been much worse, but what happened is still so disappointing and disheartening. I spent seven or eight months watching my belly and Woodrow's grow bigger-mine from my baby girl's rapid development and Woodrow's from his constant consumption of grass and hay. I was happy to turn him out and give him a break for awhile, a good lay off never hurts a solid, finished horse like him. More often than not, they're all the better for it when you bring them back from their little vacation. As it was, I had been a nervous wreck about things--I'm the type that like to be on one everyday until I think they're "ready", then I'll relax things a bit and go on an every other day basis to keep a horse legged up. With Woodrow that's always worked best for him, once he's in shape he really is able to stay in condition with just the most minimal amount of riding you can imagine. It's really handy in a situation like mine, when a "minimal amount" of riding is all he's going to get at times. I was extremely hesitant about the whole thing, but the more I rode him the better he got. He was soft and responsive, more so than when I had been running and competing on him last winter. His feet weren't in the best shape, but his feet are always a tad on the shoddy side, no matter how often Jason gets under him to trim or shoe him. I suppose that's just part of him.
He came back so quickly and easily that I was elated! I wasn't too far behind myself, just a little "off". Not riding at all, let alone competing would be hard on anyone, so I was so happy with how we were doing. I had been praying--night and day, day and night that I'd be able to sit in the middle of him and ride him as best as I could. I truly believe the good Lord had heard me, and it was apparent to me, at least, when ever I was on Woodrow. We were just in a groove, man! It was great. We placed at the little Warm Up that the round up club had last weekend, and I knew exactly what I needed to do to be able to jockey him to a win...I had to sit up, hustle him and stay IN THE MIDDLE!! I had been on my knees every day, every night, just asking for whatever it was that I needed to be able to stay with my horse. I wanted it desperately, it was so close, I knew it was within reach if I just asked someone who could really help me.
We had someone coming to look at my filly Monday evening, and it was bothering me a little. I was excited that someone was interested in her, but was still a little melancholy at the thought of actually selling her. Jason went out to catch her, with my phone in his pocket. He'd been using my phone to field all of the numerous calls we were getting about Barbie, so he didn't want to miss any of them while he caught her for me, before I gave her a good grooming. It seemed like forever before I heard from him--and when he called the house, I automatically knew something had to have been amiss. He was hesitant to tell me, but did his best to tell me that my horse had hurt himself some how. Immediately tears filled my eyes...I could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn't the sort of thing that would be fine and wasn't going to bother him at all. As I walked out, I could hear the water running, coursing it's way down Woodrow's left hind leg. A think ribbon of water snaked it's way through the lot, a testament to how long Jason had been hosing him down for me. I raised the chain latch on the gate, watching as Jason moved around from side to side of the horse, trying to soak his foot as best he could. I made my way towards them, all the while chewing my bottom lip to fight back the tears. When I was a teenager I was never very emotional at all, but as I grew older and had our kids something in me changed. My emotions don't obey me now as they used to, it's near to impossible for me to hide how I'm feeling and keep things safely under the surface. The dirt under my feet had lumps, orangish-brown blood clots. As I caught a ragged breath, I realized that he'd been hurt for some time, and I hadn't even known. His left hind foot was sporting a good sized cut just about his right heel bulb, just through the "meat" for lack of a better term. It was tender, he was none too thrilled with Jason's attempts to spray scarlet oil on it, or to wrap it with gauze and vet wrap. As the evening sun bore down on us, it hit me. I had spent weeks trying to get him in shape again, trying to discern whether or not we were fit to compete again, or whether we would just be donating! It was bad enough that my poor guy stood there in obvious pain, shuffling back and forth from foot to foot, but to realize that the entire process was going to have to be repeated again, and at an even slower pace this time was almost too much.
We turned him out with our nurse cow as the prospective buyers pulled in our drive way. To their credit, they're nice people, and I can honestly say I wouldn't mind if they took Miss Barbie home. I'm thankful they showed up when they did. I had to hold what little composure I had left together, rather than be a big blubbering baby as we tried to talk about Barbie. The depression over it all didn't catch up with me till later, but as I fought with it I realized how much worse it truly could have been. I was thankful it hadn't been any worse, and that I had a husband who could take good care of him for me. I know things happen for a reason, so I'm trying not to dwell on it. It seems like I'm doing just the opposite by laying it all out here for the veritable world to see by putting it in a blog, but really it's more like I'm purging it from my mind. It's hard to talk to people and not show how disappointed that I am. It's the time of year that everyone is going somewhere or doing something, and want to know when you're up, what you're headed to next. I just have to hang my head and smile a little, knowing that my horse is right where he needs to be, munching grass and on the road to recovery. This break with him will give me a little time to ride Smoke, who desperately needs it! He has a tendency to be a snot head if given the chance, and here lately he has done his best to act as though he has no manners what so ever. Smoke was loping a pattern last summer before he was put on the back burner, maybe now is the best time to bring him back to the forefront!

So this past weekend has brought about a change or two, to say the least. My filly that was my pride and joy and *futurity prospect* is now on the market, and I'm back to entering a can chase or two. That being said, here's the dish on my filly--
2006 Sorrel filly, cute as can be, super athletic, extremely smart! Has had groundwork done, stands to have her feet trimmed, but hasn't been started under saddle yet. I wanted to give her plenty of time to mature, ha, I guess it may have just been too long! Her full pedigree can be seen at: http://www.allbreedpedigree.com/lch+checkersgal
I'm pretty bummed to be selling her, but she's so nice she deserves to go somewhere where she'll be appreciated and worked with every day. She has too much potential to stand around in my pasture being bored every day. Give a holler if you might be interested, or if you know of anyone that's looking, she's priced right for her type. She's got the breeding and the build to excel at just about anything if you give her some time. Barrels, poles, roping, even the broodmare band--she has bloodlines that aren't a dime a dozen! She's my "Barbie Doll"....

I entered a little jackpot Sunday evening, sort of an acid test to see where me and ol' Woodrow were at! We did extremely well on our first two barrels, but, uh---I just about fell off coming out of our second barrel. Lost my reins, which made it nearly impossible to set him up with a good pocket for our last turn...as such, we blew by it real wide, causing us to sabotage what could have been the winning run for the entire jackpot. As it was, (HA HA HA) we won the 3D even with our awful run. Now, if I can just keep my rear end in the middle of my saddle, we'll be golden!
It was a great feeling to have that first one over, since it's been over seven months since I had been entered anywhere at all on him.

*Pen Riders and Totem Poles*

It's hard to whistle if you're smiling. Did you know that? Too hard to pucker! I run across that problem from time to time, as I did this afternoon. My husband was supposed to be home in about fifteen minutes, well, give or take a customer or two that wanted to visit. All four of our geldings were penned up in the lot behind our little block barn, a result of their arrogant and what some might call "rude" behavior in the last few days. Well, to be honest, that "some" would be my husband, and he didn't perhaps call it rude behavior, he um--called it lots of things, rude being one of the kinder terms! With the onset of cooler weather and a touch of rain in our last few days, our boys took a liking to their freedom on their little patch of grass. Coming in at night to eat a meager supper of wheat mids had even become less popular than it had before in their little bunch, what with the grass being so green out past the catch pen...
Long story short--they all get a day or two worth of dry lot! I love to watch them, the dynamics of a group of horses is something I could study and comment on from now on. The little idiosyncrasies of each one, where he is in the pecking order, basically, who's the boss!

The herd numbers four these days, my two blue horses, Jackson's "big horse", and my husband's spitfire of a sorrel bronc. As it was when there were just two, it was an even keel. Smoke and Sorrely were fairly amicable to one another, each had his own feed tub and they liked it that way. They had plenty of grass, a shady spot that fit both of them standing nose to tail--life was good!! Then I added a barrel horse to the herd...that threw a kink in the works! He had been a tad higher on the totem pole at his last home so I heard it told, but you'd have never known it to see him out with Dumb and Dumber! It was the most horrendous squealing fit you've ever heard the day we turned them all out, so bad in fact that the newest addition hurt himself with in the first ten minutes of being added to the mix. He eventually secured his spot in the pecking order, but not without taking his share of scrapes and kicks along the way.
Our son's horse gets thrown in with the other three from time to time, just to let him get his fill of grass between his dry lot sessions. He has a better outlook on being a good kids' horse when he's not too revved up on good green forage, so he spends some of his days in the barn lot from time to time. "Romeo" is not one to take an insult lightly, he makes no bones about his spot at the feed trough, and will remind the others just where his spot is as he uses teeth and hind feet to reinforce that point, much to the dismay of those on the receiving end of those teeth or hooves!

As I walked out this afternoon to catch and halter all four of the geldings, I had to smile. I had been whistling as I walked from the house to the barn, and my barrel horse had heard me. He stood with his ears up, standing right by the gate, waiting for me. He's always the first to be caught, especially if there's a feed bucket involved. Even if the other boys decided to throw caution to the wind and ignore the sweet smells of a feed bucket, Woodrow is ever so dependable, making his way into the pen for a bite of feed before the other guys realize they're missing out. He ambles across the pen towards me, as I sort out which halter I'll use on him for the day. I've slowly but surely started to get him back in shape, he's had quite a lay-off since I got pregnant and had our baby girl. Close to six months, so he's had a good break.
He's the low man on the totem pole as far as the herd dynamic goes, so he's always eager to please when it comes to the humans in his life.

My husband's sorrel gelding and my own blue gelding were cowboy's horses, adept at the finer arts of being a pen rider's horse at a feedlot. Both are excellent examples of what "having a job" can do for a horse, and by that I mean they have both put in countless hours with Jason in the saddle, daylight to dark and then some, unloading trucks, pulling sick cattle, dragging the occasional chronic that just didn't quite make it. There's no tougher proving ground for a horse than a feedlot, in my opinion. In the drier days, they learn to tramp through the dust that's always thick in the air, and in the wet days they work in mud that can come up to their knees. They learn to handle their feet on wet concrete, to sidepass to a gate, and how to walk in a bunch of cattle with their head down and their ears up, staying calm and quiet as they go. I've always heard it said that patience is a virtue, and for a pen rider's horse, truer words have never been spoken. Saddled before daylight as the massive feed trucks rumble past, they munch their hay or grain with a hind foot cocked, barely noticing the ruckus going on all around them.

Cattle bawl as they hear the sounds of the routine they've come to know; tractors and trucks that bring them hay and feed make their ways down the concrete and gravel alleys that border the feed bunks that will soon be teeming full of all sorts of bovine dietary concoctions. Distiller's grains, ground alfalfa, molasses, corn, all in the name of a pound of gain. Cattle know no holidays-they can't read a calendar or a clock either, for that matter. Every day is the same to them, especially when it's feeding time. In the western world there's always been a term, "Ride For The Brand." Well sir, when you work at a feedlot, that's not the exception, it's the rule. Trucks with grain arrive to unload at five in the morning, trucks to haul cattle away don't show up until 12:30 at night. Cattle that show up at three in the morning stay in a quarantine pen for an hour to settle, then are worked an hour later to keep them from getting too stressed in the heat of the day. People ask, "What's that smell?!?" as they drive by...the answer that comes from the mouths of the folks I know is always, "Money."

I went out to *doctor* on Woodrow this morning. He's doing better, putting weight on his hind feet, getting around just fine. He will limp if he gets out of a walk, but that's not too big of an issue for Woodrow, he's a laid back kind of guy. After I gave him his "medicine" this morning, I wondered to myself if he would be as good when I brought him back from this layoff as he was the last time. I just hope he comes out of it sound--it looks so gnarly!

I have always been one of those that thinks a horse that is in good physical shape is much less likely to injure themselves. That being said, I wish that was the same for people! When I'm out of shape, I tend to stay in the house and avoid doing much that will get me hurt in the first place, but horses don't get that option. When I first started riding again, I'm not sure which one of us was in worse shape to tell the truth, me or my horse!! Too many months spent lounging, not doing quite as much "cardio" as we should have I suppose! His lay off was a direct correlation to my own...although I'm a full time, stay at home mom, I did take a form of maternity leave that most folks never even think about.

I took maternity leave from my own passion--my horses. It was hard for me to walk into the tack room day after day, looking at my saddles and bridles as they quite literally sat and collected dust all those months. Riding was not banned by my doctor, nor was it something I or my husband felt was a danger to me or our baby. As the months passed, our baby and my belly continued to grow, to the point that it was becoming cumbersome to lift myself into the saddle on my own. That was my biggest indication that it was indeed time to scale back on my hours in the saddle. I continued to be very active even after I stopped riding, taking care of bottle calves and pitching in to do my fair share of the chores that go right along with a herd of roping calves and our saddle horses. I only stayed in on the coldest and nastiest days, when my common sense over ruled my desire to be out and about. As I got bigger my balance went haywire, so anytime it was slick from mud or ice, I stayed inside. A good girlfriend of mine had broken two bones in her foot when she was not quite seven months pregnant--a result of flip-flops and railroad ties around a parking area at a favorite tack store. I took that occurrence to heart!!! No flip-flops for me, not for the entire nine months that I carried my baby girl.

I suppose more than anything, this little set back has been a wakeup call. It made me get back on my other horse. My "B-String" as a good friend called it, all though it seems ironic that my B-String could be as good or better than my A-String, if I'd get my rear end out there and put the hours into him. Smoke had an even longer lay off than Woodrow; he'd been put on the backburner as I competed on Woodrow, and after I got pregnant he was usually too fresh to fool with. There's no time like the present to literally get back in the saddle, on our way to becoming a team again. :)

Thinking back on things...

We went and had supper with my parents last night, much to my little boy's delight. Chips, french fries, cheese dip and root beer flow freely when he gets to visit with his Grandad--I can't recall that he's heard the word "NO" when he's ever been in my dad's presence! I suppose every little one should experience that, well, to a certain degree anyway. A little indulgence goes along way however, the fallout of a free-for-all supper with my dad has it's effect for a night or two afterwards! He expects chips and cheese dip, root beer and ice cream for dessert, whether or not he finishes what I cook up and put on his plate, with never so much as a care. That being said, I have to admit that I enjoy watching my dad spend time with my son. I never knew either of my daddy's parents, they passed away years before I came along. My mother's parents had been the same, they passed many years before I was born. The only grandparent that I knew was my great grandmother, and I was so lucky to have her! She was an absolutely amazing lady--I wish I could go back and take a pen and paper and write down every word she ever said to me. The things she lived through and saw with her own eyes were a continued fascination for me--it was a veritable history lesson every time she opened her mouth to speak.

Stories about longhorn cows, specters along the creek beds at night, trifling women, renegade horses and bedbugs were some of the things that have always stood out in my mind.

When she and my Grandad lived on the Chapman Barnard ranch, the ranch was running longhorn cattle. She told me of how peculiar a group of cows can be, "How snooty they acted." She told me that the different colored cows would separate themselves off-the red cows would stay in their own little bunch, while the blacks would be in another, and the whites in their own bunch as well. I never imagined that there would be any truth to her stories, I was maybe 7 or 8 years old at the time she told me this particular one. Years later, as my husband and I drove past one of our counties' most historic ranches, there happened to be a herd of longhorns grazing along the road. The grass was belly deep, shade was scarce. It was the time of day that there wasn't much room beneath the blackjacks for more than a few cows at a time--their massive head gear prevented much lounging about together--talk about a good way to get an eye put out! It was a warm day, but not so hot that those big girls wouldn't venture out in the glorious sunshine to graze a little. As we slowly drove by, we remarked on the horns of those closest to the road, some seemed to be as wide as the front of the pickup we were in! Some curved up, some spread way out and then came up at the tips, doing nothing but if to prove how glorious the good Lord's creations can truly be. We crept along the road, hugging our side of the gravel as to get the best view of the herd that sprawled across the pasture as if they were posing for a post card. The farther we drove passed the herd, it hit me all of a sudden...those cows are in little bunches!! I could hardly believe my eyes--two big white cows with massive horns rested together in the shade just at the edge of the clearing, as four or five black and white cows grazed along with their tiny babies. Another bunch, these being a deep, ruby shade of red stood in a thin sliver of water that made it's way through their little patch of grass. The story my grandmother had told me so many years ago came rushing back in my mind, and it was almost as if I could hear her words again, it was so fresh in my head that it brought tears to my eyes. "Snooty," I said, with a little chuckle to myself. "What was that?" my husband asked as we finally pulled back along the road, leaving the longhorns behind us. "I said, that those ol' cows were all about half way snooty," as I turned back around in my seat, content to leave them behind us now. "Snooty?? How'd ya figure that?" he asked, giving me an amused look from behind his mirrored sunglasses. As we pulled into his parents drive way, I relayed the tale for him, as best as I could, trying to keep the edge off of my voice. As bright of a memory as it might have been, it hurt to think back on now. I realized that I was just a little girl then, but that her stories had been nothing more than just that--stories. I think back on all of those things as often as I can, trying to keep them sharp in my mind so that I can tell them to my kids someday.

So many other memories come to mind when I think of my grandma--tales of the days during the oil boom in Osage county, of hunting dogs and baby coyotes. So many things, but I still wish with all my heart that I could have heard them all. She had seen more than 100 years pass before her, enough even that she wasn't sure anymore exactly how many there had been. Born in 1899, well, maybe 1900-she hadn't been sure. Her birth certificate had been stored at a church when she was a little girl, and most unfortunately, said church had been burnt to a cinder when she was still a very young girl. Her younger days had been filled with cowboys, cattle, babies, horses and hounds--every word from her lips was a tale of another lifetime, all 100% true. Things like that I had no doubt were true...you couldn't have made those stories up unless you'd lived them and seen them yourself. I miss my grandmother more and more, the older I get. I think of her often, when I see my baby girl smile, or when I watch my little boy's grin grow from ear to ear as he rides his 'big horse'. Whenever I see a herd of longhorns, I think of her and smile. It's second nature to me now, a story that is forever ingrained in who I am.

Typing till I'm sleepy...who needs paragraphs?!?

It's late enough that everyone in my house is asleep. Well, everyone but Jolie and me. Jason always tells me how hard it is for him to sleep when the wind blows a gale outside....hmmm....I can hear the sound of his breathing (snoring, really) over the wind outside, the hum of the freezer, and the whirring of the ceiling fan! It's almost as if my mind knows that I'm going to start having later nights in the near future--like this is a self-imposed trial run. Let me tell ya---I'm not so high on it. I will admit, I have a tendency to want to sleep in. I think I get that from my daddy, no, scratch that. I KNOW I get that from my daddy! He's the world's worst about staying up watching sports, movies....anything that interests him really-until all hours of the morning. I remember a long time ago, back in the earlier years of my teens, I woke up to hear the sounds of a documentary on Edgar Allan Poe. I thought I'd left the TV on that channel so that I might wake up later and watch it, but then I realized I hadn't. (I used to read lots and lots of Edgar Allan Poe, until it all burned off my bookshelf back in '04.) As I walked into the living room, there was daddy. Sitting in his chair, a book in one hand and a big diet pepsi in the other. That's his thing really-reading. He may buy a pay-per-view movie for $4 or $5, then spends the most part of the movie with his nose in a book. My old room is almost inaccessible--there are paper grocery bags filled with paperbacks that he's read and done with. I don't mean one or two bags....I'm talking 10-15, all full to the brim. I can remember all the times when I was younger, when my daddy would take me to the book store. More often than not, I found more that I wanted in the book store than I ever did in a toy store. I realize now that I think back on it, many times in the book store I was never told no, as far as to what I could pick out for myself. Lots of times when it came to books there was almost no limit--on the other hand, at Walmart or the toy store, there were much more stringent limits as to what a little girl might pick out for herself. It stands out so clearly in my mind now how important the love of reading was to my father, and how thankful I am that he invested the time and effort in me to instill that same love in my heart for the written and printed word. I just ordered three books from Amazon.com, which isn't uncharacteristic of me. Over the last few years, I read in spurts it seems. I adore anything by Nora Roberts, and over last summer read one of her series in a matter of days. I managed to come by the first installment of the series, then absolutely had to have the rest of the saga to know how it all turned out. I told you that to tell you this--I treated myself to a new book at our little hometown *discount* store earlier this week. Very rarely do I ever have the time to read, so it really is an indulgence to buy any sort of book. I had heard so many people rave about Stephanie Myer's series, that my brain itched every time I saw one of her books on a shelf. As we perused the magazines last week, I saw a book that caught my eye...I admit, I was almost ashamed to pick it up and put it in our basket. I bought it, then read it in less than 20 hours. I loved it! I can honestly say it was hard for me to put it down, and a book had to be exceptionally enthralling for me to read it cover to cover in such a short time. I was temtped to read it again today, but I was afraid that it would take some of the effect away from the story if I already knew what was going on! I managed to wait until very late today to order the rest of the series--I finally talked myself into buying them. I'm positive I could've borrowed them from someone or even found them at the library here in town....but it wouldn't have been the same. For me, when a book captivates my attention the way Twilight did, I have to own it myself for future reading! I have several sets of books from my teenage years that I almost wore out. I'd read them all once or twice during the year, sometime more than that. I lost a few of them when my house burned, and it was heart breaking for me to lose some of those books. I was more upset about losing most of my books than I was about losing all of my clothes! Rambling about books incoherently at midnight is probably an often unnoticed symptom of hormone fluctuation.....but I wouldn't bet on it! Now that I've written my own short novel, the yawns are working their way up the back of my throat, making my jaws pop and my eyes water. Mission accomplished.

This time of year always makes me restless. It's like the world is going through a rebirth-and in a way, it is. Brown, lifeless ground begins to give way to the slender green growth that will carpet the country in a few months. Trees that looked like giant sticks of firewood start to show the first signs of the buds that will become fragrant blossoms and glossy leaves. I see it in the coats of our horses before I ever see it anywhere else. Fluffy, furry, not much unlike the coat of grizzly bear, they pack a good two or three inches of insulation warmth around all winter. Our horses lived outside all winter-they're tough guys. No blankets, well, only when they'd ride to town in the stock trailer.... That dense winter growth has begun to loosen it's hold on their hides, a little at a time. A week or a month from now will bring on the sunshine and longer days that will flip that proverbial "Shed" switch...minor flurries of horse hair will be intermitten as I desperately work with a shedding blade trying to "keep up with the fluff." Jackson's little mare packs long hair all year around, even in the hottest times of the summer she has an almost goat like profile if she isn't attacked with a set of clippers once a month.
Spring showers bring on such a change in this part of the world, it's always a welcome relief for me to see rain forecasts instead of the ice, snow and sleet that we all too often see in the dead of winter in the Osage. As I look out on our pecan tree, bleak and leafless, I think back to last summer...it was glorious about June, just thick with glossy green leaves. Our nurse cow, Clementine, could more often than not be found napping under it for the longest parts of the day, perfectly content to rest in it's shade. It was always tempting for Woodrow to reach out and try to grab a mouthful of leaves as we would trot by in the evenings, just for the sake of doing it I suppose....
This time of year is all about transitions-from brown and lifeless to green and abundant....dry and dusty to wet and muddy. Fluffy and hairy to shedding fur balls.... The last few years, spring has been a rough time for me. When things change drastically, suddenly, violently even-it's hard to accept sometimes. In the spring of 2004 I was dealing with a self inflicted move, to a part of the country that was drastically unlike everything I'd grown up in. The people, the places, it was all different. I was struggling, I admitted it to myself but refused to give in. Two months after my move, I lost an amazing friend from my life. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever been through, but there again, it was a transition. With the loss of that friend came the loss of others, in one way or another.
Fast forward-A year later found me in love with a man that I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I'd never been one for long relationships, I was always the first to bail out when things got serious....my way of thinking was that it was better to leave, and hurt yourself than to let yourself be hurt. Jason changed that for me, so once again, it was another transition for me. Learning that love doesn't have to hurt was refreshing to say the least! I was still struggling with some things, things that now that I look back, made me a different person. I have no regrets with any of the decisions I've ever made. I do wish that I would've reacted differently in some of the situations that I went through, but you know-hindsight is 20/20.
This spring is one full of anticipation and excitement for me! Our little girl will be here in the near future, so that will open a whole new chapter for our lives. I'm excited for her to get here, and so excited for all the things life may hold for her. I'm so anxious to be able to go catch on of my horses, saddle up and ride. I went almost two years without riding at all after I had Jackson. I really felt like I was just "getting my groove back" when we found out we were having Jolie. It was almost bittersweet-as excited as I was to have this new addition to our family, I knew it meant taking a break from my beloved ponies for awhile. I know that it hasn't hurt them a bit to just be horses for the last few months, but I still miss riding. It won't be much longer. Maybe that's part of the reason we were blessed with Jolie-so that I wouldn't rush things. It could've been the good Lord's way of saying, "Alright-slow down. Don't get ahead of yourself." Then again, I think I'll shy away from making assumptions about the big guy upstairs...he knows the way things should be, so it's not my place to jump to conclusions! I will say it has probably taught me a little more in the way of hanging back and being patient, which is always a good thing.

Kids and Calves

Just between me and you, being a mama to a little cowboy isn't always the easiest thing in the world. It's also not any easier being the wife of a big cowboy, for that matter. A good friend of mine has said before that as a mama and a cowgirl, a woman will wear many hats, and the roles that she's expected to take on aren't always the easiest things...I agree with that 100%, whole heartedly! Jackson has had a head cold this last week, kinda been hanging on since last weekend. He's a tough little guy, hates having his nose wiped, and sure doesn't want to suck on those nasty cough drops that his daddy seems to think he needs. It's hard for me to tell him, "No, we can't go outside, you're sick." With all the cold weather we've had, he's just itching to get outside and play. I made the mistake of buying a ball glove, foam bat and a foam ball for him this week at our local rip off store...(Alco-NO!) Anywho--I took him outside yesterday afternoon to "play ball". The wind was blowing so hard that the little foam ball wouldn't hardly stay on the T---he was not a happy camper! He'd been playing inside all day, so he was just a touch cranky, which sure didn't help. As hard as the wind was blowing, it made me wonder if I needed to check the weather, so we came in for just a second. Jackson promptly threw himself down on the floor when we came in the house, and proceeded to throw a temper tantrum. He's gotten much better at them as he's gotten older, (is gotten a word?!?) so he really makes an effort when he has a fit now. It busted his proverbial bubble when I told him we wouldn't be going back outside at all as a result of his fit, which sure dried his crocodile tears up pretty fast! We decided it was really too windy to play ball anyway, so we put his stuff up for the day, and in a much better mood may I add! We stayed inside until the wind layed a bit, then went back out to start feeding the calves and horses. He wasn't exactly thrilled about having to help feed everything, but then again, he never really is!
We have 8 calves in the pen behind our barn right now, some wooly little buggers if I do say so myself, with the exception of Charlie, my bottle baby. Jason bought Charlie on Jackson's birthday, back in November. I've lost track of how many bottle calves we've had in the past year--it's been that many! It always starts out the same, Jason locates some for what he says is a great price...next thing I know, I'm getting up at 6 in the morning to try to get all 7 of them fed, and still get Jason ready and off to work. Our first batch were pretty easy, but of course, I got attached to them. Our second batch wasn't nearly as bad, we had a nurse cow by then, so I didn't have to do so much with them, just turn them in with the cow and then bodily remove them from her when they were done... We made the decision earlier this summer that coming into fall, we'd try to get our nurse cow dry, then get her bred. She'd raised 8 or 10 calves by then, some of which had already been sold. Most of the folks we know are aware of the fact that we've had a nurse cow for awhile, so anytime they come up with a bottle calf, they try to sell it to Jason. Jason's always on board for another bottle calf, "It's so much fun for Jackson!" Yeah. Sure. Let's keep in mind, neither of my boys are the ones that make it out to feed a bottle calf (or several) in the mornings, and seldom are they the ones that do the evening feedings either! BUT-back to Charlie. With this one, Jason and I'd had some good discussions about ALL future bottle calves. We decided that for the time being, I'd do the morning feedings, as long as Jason would take care of her in the evenings. No big deal....until she really got here. It was the same with Charlie as all the others had been, with me doing most of the feeding, morning and evening. No big deal, I just chalked it up to another bottle baby I'd be rediculously attached to. Once again, we had made a mutual decision--to buy more calves.
Jason found 7 that were pretty nice calves, all black, pretty well uniform all the way across. They were all pretty spooky, snotty noses and runny butts all the way around. We let them settle in, then gave them all a good dosing of the best stuff we could, crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. Meanwhile, my dear sweet little Charlie had been in with our nurse cow, our butcher steer, and two of our "roping stock"...really, they're just some of our calves that won't even bring enough at a sale to justify taking them! One of them is a sure enough Holstein that was one of my favorites when he was a little bottle baby--he was so tiny he looked like a baby goat! Jackson loved him to pieces, "Oreo" would follow him around like a puppy any time he came in the pen. "Oreo" is now a pot bellied, knob-horned, stinky, wheat mid eating machine! He's not really good for much, but Jackson can track him around on his little mare, so he does serve a purpose once in awhile. Our other keeper is a heifer Jason bought with intentions of kicking her out with our nurse cow--she was tiny. From what we could tell, she'd been on feed for alot longer than we had expected, and didn't even consider nursing when she was in with the cow! She walked right past the business end of things as far as the cow was concerned, and stuck her head in the trough and commenced to eating with the cow. She's still the same size, we're pretty sure she's somewhat stunted as far as growth is concerned. Charlie had been in with this lot for a few weeks, and was getting knocked around at the feed trough being the low gal on the totem pole. I had the bright idea to put her in with the newer, little calves so that she would get a little more to eat and not get knocked around quite so much. That was dumb idea #1. I had assumed (dumb idea #2) that our new calves were enough on the mend that she would be fine, they'd all had their necessary shots and what not, so we figured she'd be fine. Long story short, she got sick! This is all going on while Jackson has his head cold, so I had two "babies" that were sick.
The bovine baby was much worse of than my real baby was, but it was not much of a comfort either way. I didn't feel nearly as helpless when it came to Jackson--I could give him a hot bath, slather on some mentholatum, fire the humidifier up, give him some medicine, and he was better. I could see that he felt better as his low fever came down, and as his cough eased a little. He'd knod off as I read Hank The Cowdog, and be perfectly content until he had to get up and go pee later that night. With the calf, I felt useless. She'd not been sick a day the entire time that I'd been hauling my butt out to feed her twice a day, she'd been the healthiest bottle calf we'd ever had. A great appetite, she'd knock a bottle out of a cage she'd bump at them so hard when she was hungry. Now she just stood by the water trough, leaning against the south wall of the barn. Needless to say I was less than happy about it-I think I may have put a few gray hairs on Jason's head! Another one of the new calves had some issues around the same time, but it never seemed to bother me as much as things did with Charlie. I had to bite my lip and make myself not "act like a girl" when we tied Charlie down so Jason could give her all of what he said she needed...it seemed like seventeen different syringes in my hands, and that he was trying to turn her into a little black pin cushion! She was so weak, she didn't kick, she didn't bawl-it made me sick to my stomach. Jackson cried because he didn't want "Daddy to give Chardy those stinkin' ol' shots!"....that sure didn't help! Thankfully, everything we gave her did it's job. Yesterday she was the first one at the gate to meet me when I went to feed them. I just about cried I was so happy!! She even played with Jackson a little, running alongside him as he bucked and played through her pen. As I watched them running alongside each other, a huge wave of relief hit me all at once. Both of them were feeling good enough to run and play, just as they should've been. As a mama, I hate to see my baby suffer at all-whether he's sick, hurt, or just unhappy. As a cowgirl, I hate to see any animal suffer for any reason, no matter what it is that causes it. When it comes to animals, it's hard to keep that mama instinct under the surface sometimes. I want to be strong and set a good example for Jackson, but then my heart's in my throat as I have to hold back the tears. As a cowboy's wife, there aren't supposed to be tears, and sure don't act like you're upset or your feelings are hurt...
It's such a complex thing-being a mama to a little cowboy, being a wife to a big cowboy. You have to have that tender heart to explain what happened to that old dog or horse-why they won't be around anymore. To have the strength to stand up to the big cowboy when the little cowboy can't do something, as tired as you all are... You have to have nerves of steel to help with that foot-rot calf that was your favorite bottle baby, and act like it doesn't bother you a bit to jab that big syringe full of medicine in his foot as your husband sits on his head while he bawls...it's helping him, after all. You can't show an ounce of emotion when your barrel horse sticks his leg in the fence, tearing hair and hide. Likewise, when your young horse acts like an idiot for one reason or another, you have to swallow that huge lump of pride in your throat and step off and let your husband line him out...you're pregnant, you can't be riding an idiot.It takes a lot to take care of kids and calves. Sometimes it's hard on the heart.

Our geldings are havinga good time this morning. Bucking, playing, running-just acting goofy for the most part. It's just cool enough to make them frisky, but not so cold that they stand with their tails turned to the wind, trying to keep warm. They have four or five acres that they can play on, the span of the little trap we keep them in. The run up and down the fence with my filly who happens to be on the other side of the fence. They run as far as they can, wheel, then run the other way. Jason's sorrel horse looks like a dressage horse, trotting along doing an extended trot, almost floating above the ground. Woodrow's not quite so graceful--he runs across in front of Smoke, bucking and throwing dust up behind him. Smoke's too dignified to cut up like the other two, but he gives in just in the wink of an eye, catching full speed in two strides, catching and moving past Woodrow like he's not even there. He throws his head up-"Ha-catch me." Sorrely falls in behind Smoke, happy to play a game of catch me if you can. Barbie squeals and prances at the corner of her pasture, jealous of the three boys that can play together. She spins and takes off after one of our pokey little calves, who don't satisfy her with much of a chase. The calf ambles out of her way, only to make his way back to the round bale, and resigns himself to chewing his cud as he lays down. Our nurse cow watches everything from the peace of her pen behind the barn. She's skittish this morning, the cool air seems to make her feel lively as well. Clementine isn't much for attention from people today, she got a good dose of being whacked with a water hose last night--she wouldn't go in the chute so we could worm her. She's such a pet she normally goes anywhere we want, but she knows full well what goes on when we drive her towards the chute with the head gate. Normally a shot or two, nothing too horrible, but horrible enough for her just the same. A vitamin shot and some Ivomec and she was back to eating her feed for the evening, none the worse for the wear, other than her delicate feelings. This evening when I go to feed her she'll be back to her old habits, nearly knocking me down to get to her feed trough before I pour her feed in.The horses are still now, grazing peacefully on some of the last few blades of bermuda. In the summer there was grass belly deep in their trap, and in some spots there's still some left. They've been through three round bales since it started getting cold, but most of it went to Woodrow and Clementine. They don't stray far from the bale feeder, usually just far enough to go in the pens for a drink from the big trough, then back out to nap or munch on hay. Jackson's goat watches everything from her little pen, pacing back and forth intermittenly. When she tires of wearing a track around her pen, she hops up on the roof of her house, and rests in the sun. The horses find this delightful, usually lipping at her ears or any little tuft of her hair that happens to press it's way through the squares of the wire on her pen. She's a character, she bleats to beat the band anytime anyone comes outside, she's a bottomless pit when it comes to eating. Hay, scraps, some wheat mids of an evening...they all keep her much fatter than most goats would be. She loves to be turned out with the horses, but has a tendency to wander if left our for too long. She's faithful in her way, a shake of a bucket or a feed scoop sends her scrambling back towards her pen as fast as her short legs can go. The horses will play with her when she is turned out, exceedingly gentle with her, they seem to know she shouldn't really be out with them but have a good time while she's there none the less. Our life is filled with animals of all kinds, and I'm reminded at times like this how thankful I am to have them in my life. Not only to have them in my life, but to be able to afford them, and to take care of them like they all deserve. No, we don't need a goat, or the two dogs, or even the little short, fat, paint mare that Jackson loves so much. We could manage fine without all of them, but why? They bring a smile to our faces everyday, between their silly habits and the silly things that they let Jackson do. Jackson's little mare will flip her feed pan towards him, closer to the gate when she sees him coming with her supper in the evening. If Jason or I come in the pen with her, she bucks and runs for the other end, but if Jackson comes in, she stands quietly by until he pours her feed in the rubber pan. He'll more often than not give her a big hug around her neck as she dips her nose in the tub for her first bite, or he may pat all down one side and walk around to pat down the other. She's different with Jackson than she is with Jason or me, almost forgiving to an extent. She won't hesitate to run sideways or jump on my foot if it's just me around, but with Jackson, she never moves a muscle. Suzy takes Jackson's tough love in stride, and can't wait for the next time he decides to come and play. Between wrestling, trying to ride her, and throwing her toys where she can't reach them, it would be enough to drive any other dog crazy, but Suzy doesn't mind a bit. She wags her tail, and licks his face if he lets her get close enough. He'll smack her, tell her to get down, then she usually does it again as she runs off with whatever toy he's brought her. Our border collie is just as good with him, much better than I could have hoped for with a dog that someone dumped on us. He loves to roll around on the ground with Jackson, often letting Jackson pull his tail, legs, ears, what ever Jackson happens to get his hands on. Their favorite game is to take turns chasing each other, giggling and barking, one right after the other. Stitch is funny about things, he loves to sit in my lap and be scratched, but doesn't care at all to ride on the back of a truck. He can stand flat footed next to our four foot tall round bales, and jump on top of them with never a thought. For a long time that was his perch-it seemed like he was watching over things. There when we left, there when we came back. It was almost comforting, knowing that he was always there. In the summer when I'd exercise my horses in the pasture, he'd often follow me, matching them step for step, stride for stride as we went around the fence line. He'd find a spot nearby when I'd start to lope circles, watching all the time with his head resting on his paws.