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.