Every morning at my house, there's a slim window of quiet. It may occur at 5:34, it may happen at 7:48. It's a pristine time for me-I can hear the birds chirping outside from the branches of the big black jacks in the yard. I can hear the baby calves bawling, announcing that their hunger has yet to be satiated....little farts are gluttons, they can never get enough it seems. The first pale yellow rays of sun have begun to kiss the windows on the east side of our house, they turn the old blinds a warm amber color as they strengthen with the rising of the sun. Our themometer mounted to the frosty glass of the window on the porch reads 22 degrees, and the cold temperature is further supported by the array of ice crystals that have formed in the mud all around. Intricate patterns of them glitter like jewels in the premature sunlight, adorning the track of a foot print from a gloriously dirty mud boot.

Birds always seem to announce the arrival of spring...mocking birds and red winged black birds especially. Red winged black birds were always plentiful at my parent's place growing up, the memory of being a young girl laying in my bed in the early morning hours listening to their cries is never far from my mind. I'll never forget listening to their calls as I made my way to our little barn, making my way down the little dirt road. Every child should have times they can sit and think, put their bare toes in the mud and just ponder their existence. Sitting in the damp grass, my bare feet in the dirt, I decided many things growing up. Things that I liked. Things I didn't like. As I look back, I'm thankful for a raising that gave me an appreciation for quiet times and birds in the mornings, no matter what time that quiet comes.

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.

Wish I had that one back...

Looking through old pictures from jackpots back during my high school days make me run the full gamut of emotions--from sentimental to smiling, giggling to bawling. A picture of me on Slick at Nowata reminded me of the first time I ever won the 1D on him---the picture wasn't of that winning run, but of the week before it, when I was a half second off of placing in the 1D. I fell in the crack between the 1D and the 2D that week, but was determined to ride better and not fall in the crack next week when we ran.
I was so proud that my horse was coming along so well! I'd only started him on barrels a few months before that, and was the only one who'd ever taken him through the barrels. Slick was really laid back that evening, and was a breeze to warm up. He'd progressed to the point that I just hauled and ran him, no more exhibitions before we ran. The ground was always good there, and my horse felt awesome under me. He felt waspy, just full of energy. He wasn't trying to run off or buck, but he sure wanted to move! Three or four really tough horses ran before us, but I always made it a point then not to watch the "competition"...I guess it was a mental thing for me then, just like it is now. (I was horrible about not catching the times that I ran then, I always just hung around to see if my name was called.)
When it finally came our turn, we were at the bottom of the ground, but that wasn't much of an issue there because it was always so deep and they watered it so well most of the time. I knew we were going to make an awesome run after he turned the first barrel-I could hardly catch my breath to smooch him around the second barrel! I was carrying a bat, and swatted him once going to the third barrel--I thought he was running hard before, but he grabbed a higher gear I didn't know he had! Just as quick as he had hit that stride, he rated then blew out of the third hard enough that I lost a stirrup. I kicked for all I was worth all the way to the end of the arena. I sat back and quietly said the magic word..."Whoa." ....He slid half the length of the alley way, sending up rooster tails of dirt and groans and grumbles from the girls dumb enough to set right next to the gate and the alley way. I don't think you could've knocked the smile off my face with a baseball bat! I hadn't even been listening for the announcer to read off our time, I was too busy listening to my friends hooping and hollering at me, and let me tell ya, it was a GREAT feeling! I wouldn't let anyone tell me what we ran, I just swung down and started to uncinch my horse. He was in great shape, not even breathing too hard. By the time we got back to the trailer he was ready to graze, not too worried at all about anything. I took his boots off and let him graze around the trailer for a minute. As he ambled around at the end of his lead rope, he started sniffing for a spot to roll in. He rolled in the road around the arena, it must have been just the right type of sand, he seemed reluctant to get back up! I let him shake off then tied him up and went in search of a water hydrant to fill my little pink bucket. After drinking two full buckets, Slick resigned himself to a little hay and a nap before the ride home.
I sat in a lawn chair and tried not to listen to the times as the remaining girls ran-I was so nervous I could hardly sit still! There had been around 30 or 40 girls there that evening, with a lot of them being open caliber horses that rarely placed below the 1D. The last horse left the arena, and the announcer told every one they'd take a minute and have the results for us. They were pretty efficient, just 10 minutes later they started reading off the winners....first came first through third in the 4D...then the same for the 3D and the 2D. I felt like I was going to be sick! They'd read the 4D, 3D and the 2D, and I hadn't heard my name called yet. They started to read the 1D off as I sat on a big railroad tie, Slick's lead rope rested at my feet as he grazed behind me. They took their time to read third and second place, making sure to tell who won and what their times had been, even telling how much they'd won. I was on my way back to the trailer when I heard them announce, "And the winner of the 1D with a 16.43"....ME!!!! I jumped and squealed like I'd won the lottery, to the point of spooking my poor horse. He was sure he was about to get beat for something, after all, the only time he'd ever seen my jump around and holler was when I was furious! I couldn't hardly believe it-I tied him up to the trailer again, then ran all the way to the announcer's stand. Sure enough, I'd heard right! They had the most beautiful white envelope I'd ever seen waiting on me, with my name written across it in pretty blue ink! Let me tell ya, if I'd been able to do cartwheels, I'd have done them all the way back to the truck. I'd placed before, and won my fair share from the 4D all the way to the bottom of the 1D, but I'd never won first in the 1D before. I think I may have used all of my cell phone minutes for the month that night, I called everyone I knew! I was ecstatic!! The only person more excited than me was my Daddy, he'd given Slick to me before he went on a pipe line job the fall before, just as something to keep me occupied. "Keep him legged up for me, play around and take him through the barrels if you want." He'd had no clue that he'd turn into a seriously competitive horse in less than a year, especially with little more than "local" hauling and limited seasoning.
Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I'd trained this horse myself, the other was that I'd just a few months back sworn off barrel horses all together. A little mare that I'd been riding had flipped over backwards with me, ruining me on barrel horses as a collective group for awhile. I'd always loved rope horses, Daddy always had one or two around ever since I'd been born. They were so laid back and easy going, they were such a welcome break from the hot headed, hind leg walking bunch of barrel horses that I went through. To this day, I don't like to buy a "finished" barrel horse. It's too hard to find one that isn't crippled or crazy!
Slick was my dream horse. Something that I could turn out for a month, then catch him and leg him up, then haul him to a jackpot and get the money on him. He was pretty as they come, halter bred of all things. Coosanova and Dontcha Luv Quincy. He'd been in AQHA Western Pleasure classes his three year old year, but obviously hadn't really fit in that world. He was one of a kind, that was for sure. Heading, heeling, steer roping, those were all old hat to him when I started him on barrels. I'd rather take a team roping horse that's been there and done that and start them any day over a goofy 3 or 4 year old that's never been anywhere!
I have no doubt that in the right hands Slick could've easily carried his rider to the NFR. He was just that good. I think about him alot, more than I should I suppose. He was my constant in those last crazy years of high school, the only thing that kept me at home. I knew if I left home that the horse couldn't go with me, so I toughed it all out so that I could keep my horse. My dad would give him to me a few years later, just for me to give him right back after some family problems. He was sold to a family in Arizona back in the spring of 2005, shortly before I married my husband and found out we were expecting our first baby.
For all the happiness ahead of me, I realized that I had a little hole in my heart. I'd gone to the barn and rode him for a week or two, just to tune him up before he went west, and it may have been one of the hardest things I've ever done. As I unclipped him from the cross ties for the very last time, he refused to move, seemingly frozen in place. Naturally thinking the worse, I thought something was wrong, and began to feel joints and legs, feeling for a heightened pulse and everything in between. Nothing seemed to be wrong, he simply wouldn't budge. My emotions got the best of me when I realized that this was the last time I'd ever put him up in "his" stall, and that I'd never get to fill his water buckets or hang his hay bag again. I stood and sobbed into his mane like a little girl, to this day I'm not sure how long he stood there with me. My cell phone rang quite unceremoniously, breaking me out of my stupor. The call was from my dad, letting me know that the folks wanted him there a day earlier, that they'd already sent a bank transfer for the full amount for the horse, and that the trailer to Arizona would be there within the hour. after the call ended, I gave him a kiss on the nose and walked out of the barn. As I shut the door behind me, I heard him nicker down the the alley-and I lost it again. I couldn't go back though, it was time to move on. I kept his halter, that was the one thing I couldn't part with. It hangs in our tack room now. I don't have the heart to put it on any other horse--the lead rope is on my husband's rope halter for his sorrel horse.
*A black nylon halter with leopard trim on the nose band and cheeks isn't something that looks great on a dark gray horse, so for now, I'm happy to look at it hanging on the wall.*

Before I start my gripe, let me say this first.
About 5 or 6 years ago, I had an extremely aggressive gelding. He wasn't a problem if he was saddled and being ridden, but if you tied him up where other horses would be walking or moving around him, he was a demon. Kicking, biting, squealing--he was a huge pain in the ass. That being said, if I hauled him anywhere at all away from home, he was NEVER tied around other horses. I just didn't do it. It didn't matter if I had to walk a half a mile to and from the arena, he didn't get the option to be a jerk to everyone else's horses while we were there. If it was raining/cold/sleeting, I put him in the trailer. He was better off in there, he couldn't bite, kick, squeal or hurt anyone that way. He couldn't hurt himself, or more importantly, anybody else, or anybody else's horse. I would've been absolutely mortified if he had ever hurt another horse because I was too lazy to tie him up outside at my trailer. I never once had a problem with him, in the 3 years that I hauled him. I just assumed it was my responsibility as the owner of an aggressive, some what neurotic gelding to keep him away from ALL the other horses around.
*NOW*
Here comes my gripe--
I have a very meek and mild sort of gelding that I'm running barrels on now. He's on the bottom of the totem pole at our house, and because of that, he gets his own pen. When he's turned out with our other geldings, he has to be fed apart from the other two-or he gets whipped. Plain and simple. He's a lover, not a fighter I guess! He's very easily "cowed" I suppose you could say, and he has a VERY high sense of self preservation!
I've had this horse right at five months-and haven't really had the time to "click" with him. I've taken him to some local jackpots here lately, and we've been improving a little each time. Friday night, I took him to a jackpot, and made the best run we've ever made. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. After our run, I was cooling my horse off and stopped for just a second to visit with an old friend about a horse she used to run. In the 10-15 seconds it took to loosen my front and back cinches, a horse tied across the fence decided that my horse was in his bubble. We were on the other side of the fence, completely at the opposite end from where he was tied. Here he came, teeth bared, squealing, front feet flying at the pipe rails...what did my dear sweet Woodrow do? He shagged ass! He made it clear in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to stay there and let psycho sorrely eat me for dinner, I was more than welcome to, but he wanted NO part of it! Fast forward to 30 MINUTES LATER-I was again, on the other side of the fence, opposite end from where psycho sorrely was tied. Once again, he decided poor Woodrow was in his bubble, but this time decided to try to kick over the fence at him. Freaked Woodrow out again, he pulled back (something he's never done since I've owned him) and of course, thrashed like a fish on the end of a line. He thrashed so hard and was so scared, he bashed himself off of the fence, and of course tore the right side of his head up. His eyelid got a chunk torn out of it right at the lash line, and about 3/4 of the hide above his right eye was peeled off. He hit the fence so hard that he has pink streaks across his forehead under his forelock part of the fence was painted red-he hit it so hard it rubbed off). His right eye lid is now puffed up to the size of a softball, no telling how bad he's going to need a chiropractor! I was afraid he'd cracked his poll, I've seen several horse that have pulled back and had to be put down because of their violent thrashing. I realize that it was partly my fault, I should've had him somewhere else I suppose.
**What really gets me though, is that this sorrel horse that freaked mine out so bad, had been doing this same thing ALL night! Squealing, trying to bite across the fence, kicking at anything that moved. I don't know how many people remarked at how horrible he was. I understand when a horse is herd bound, really I do! This guy seemed to be almost mentally challenged as soon as his buddy was bridled and ridden away. He weaved, pawed, screamed-everything you can imagine because he was so upset at being left alone. At one point, there was a woman (I'm assuming a friend of his owner) who stood for over 30 minutes with him, across the fence of course, trying to calm him down and keep him from screaming. I realize who ever owned him had just as much of a right for him to be tied there as I had to tie mine ALL THE WAY DOWN THE FENCE from him, but come on! He had almost a six or seven foot stretch of the fence all to himself because he was so awful! NO ONE in their right mind would tie their horse directly across the fence from him, or even on the same side as him, it was ridiculous.
I think the thing that bothered me the most, was that who ever owned psycho sorrely had no respect for the rest of us that were there. She (or he, I don't know!) couldn't have possibly thought, "Oh, Shnookums will be just fine while I sit in the warm up pen for an hour with his buddy out of site!" Really, I used to have a neurotic horse myself. Guess what-he stood tied OUTSIDE-to my TRAILER!! NOT INSIDE WHERE HE COULD BE A NUISANCE AND A DANGER TO EVERYONE AROUND!!!
Friday was the first time I felt like I'd "clicked" with my horse. Now?? Bless his heart, it's going to be at least a month before I even TRY to ride him. I guess it's selfish of me, being pregnant means that I have a smaller and smaller window to be able to compete, and now, it's almost shut. I care more about him than to try to ride him when he's hurt, but in a month, who knows what will be going on?? It kills me to walk outside and see him with his head drooping, like he knows that he's on the injured list. He literally jumped into the trailer that night, and was dancing all four feet in place after he got in, he was SO excited to be going somewhere. He loves his job, and now all he can do is stand around and heal. He's doing great, taking his meds like a trooper, his appetite is great, he doesn't act like he feels too bad. I just want to stand in his pen with his head in my hand and kiss him and tell him it's okay! LOL-ok, and maybe bawl a little.
*I think that might be hormones, too, not gonna swear to it though!*
I have a few people interested in buying him, and now that's put on the back burner as well. I'm not going to let anyone try him, until I know for sure that he's 100% back to his A game. I guess I shouldn't let it get to me, that it shouldn't bother me like it does. So many people would point out that "You're pregnant, you have so many things that are more important than that horse!"
I guess in some ways I suppose they're right, but to me-that horse is like one of my kids! I've been working SO hard to get him in shape, and try to get in a groove with him, before I get to big to run him anymore. Oh sure, I'll still ride when I'm farther along, but I know not everyone is happy with my choice to still be competing, even at this point. My timing isn't off, my balance hasn't shifted yet, so I don't feel at all like I'm putting me or this baby in danger. I trust my horses, both of them for that matter! I'm very aware of my own limitations, and I really wish that people would stop underestimating me. I don't know if I don't buy into the concept of pregnancy making a woman weak and vulnerable, or if I like to think I can handle MY life. I know what I'm capable of, I always have. Why is it when a woman becomes pregnant that everyone else in her life gets the automatic right to tell her what she can and can't do?? I think that may go right up there with the people that think they can put their hand on your belly the minute you're showing---OH THAT DRIVES ME INSANE. If I wasn't pregnant, you wouldn't touch me, what make you think me having a baby growing in my belly changes things??
Me thinks I'm having a mood swing.....

Goodness-I do believe I may have neglected this blog for a bit.
Things are going along swimmingly! LOL We've sold a horse or two, some calves, got our nurse cow turned out for the forseeable future, so we have considerably less to do around here.
It's not much fun without Clementine (our nurse cow) around, but oh well.

Ick. Just ick. No other words, just ick.
Okay, maybe a few words other than, well, you get it by now.
So, the ranch rodeo?? It was ok, we did better than we expected, not as well as we had hoped.
I've been riding Woodrow, actually entered a barrel race last Sunday. Didn't make a great first barrel, but the second and third were awesome. We ran a 16.1, which I thought was great for our first time entering. We did have a few little kinks, but it was a short pattern so we made it up pretty easy. I was ecstatic after we came out of the arena, it had been so long since I had been good at something! I'm still entered for the big amateur rodeo, and I also entered an even bigger 6D jackpot for the same weekend. I'm up during the week for the amateur rodeo, and then up Saturday for the jackpot. I hope I can work all the kinks out of ME before then. I'm having a heckuva time remembering to sit up and R_I_D_E!!!! I went to a little playday last night, and didn't make real good runs. I entered us in the barrels and poles....I made a decent first barrel, hit the second, and went a little too wide on the third. I'm struggling with giving him the right size pocket, and getting over myself and letting him work. He has a solid pattern, he WILL NOT run by a barrel or a pole, but I can't help but try to shut him down before he starts to turn. He's so quick that I get a big case of the Chicken Shits, and my heart shrinks to the size of my little finger! I can tell it frusterating my horse--heck, it's frusterating me!!
I suppose the only thing to do is to get off my butt and ride him. I was embarrassed last night....
Jeeze. I'm cranky this morning because of last night, and I genuinely feel like crap! LOL
I spent my day cleaning on my house yesterday, I don't think I'm going to do much of anything today...maybe ride this evening here at home.....Hmm....BLAH! Oh yeah, and--ICK!!

I'm the sort of girl that jumps into stuff feet first, eyes shut, fingers clamped over my nose, praying I'll be able to see the bubbles and figure out which way is up!!!

__________________________

That being said, I'll get to the central topic here. I entered a BIG BIG BIG amateur rodeo.

On Woodrow. I entered the barrel race AND the pole bending. I've ridden Woodrow a total of 3 times now...Jeez. I really hope I'm not going to push him too hard, I'm trying to be patient about this, but goodness it's hard to do. If I have to, I'll ride my other horse just for the heck of it. It's not like he couldn't use the trip to town! I'm hoping between now and then I'll be able to really get in the groove of things with Woodrow, and that he'll be ready when the time comes.

We've just been walking and trotting these last few nights, simple stuff really.

I even had my husband ride him around night before last, he thinks he needs more, "Manners".

Yeah, I'll keep you posted on how that goes! Jeez-he backs up crooked once, and he's a dink for life! I had to remind him, "He's a B_A_R_R_E_L Horse! He hasn't had to work for a living like our other two horses have, he just doesn't know any better!"

SO, any who, this should be fun!
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I can even START to express how excited I am for this women's ranch rodeo! I know all of the girls on my team are excited, too! I am so ready to get back into the competition aspect of things. Four years--It's been over four years since I've entered anything. That would astound the 18 year old me, that I would go that long without entering anything! Oh sure, there were times back then that I'd be short on funds, and would go a few weeks without hauling to anything, but it sure was never as long as this last spell! I'm just giddy over it! I don't know how else to describe it...I'm a little nervous, but I'm not a nervous person by nature. I think it's more the anticipation that has me all amped up, not really nerves so much. That whole weekend is going to be a blast-
A barbecue and dance to kick it all off, then a day full of ranch rodeos, then the big event...
the memorial steer roping. The steer roping is near and dear to my little ole heart because it's a memorial roping for my Grandad. Ironic really, the arena it's being held at was named in honor of my uncle, and the roping is for my Grandad. Well, anyway, here's to barrel races and ranch rodeos, and many great rides in between!

Updates

*Woodrow Update*

His knee is much better--*Enter big sigh of relief here!*
He didn't really cut anything but hide on the side of his knee-the pressure from sticking his leg between a pipe and a weld-on panel just basically sheared (is that the word I'm going for? LOL) the skin from the outside edge of his knee for about three inches. My heart dropped to my stomach when I first saw him, basically because his leg was covered in blood. After he was cleaned up and covered in pink medicine, I realized that he wasn't even limping. I had to fight the urge not to drop to my knees and say, "THANK YOU JESUS!!!"
...So, now that you know I'm somewhat overly emotional and prone to religous outbursts, here's the fun part---My other horse, Smoke, that's going to be my main mount for the ranch rodeo, hasn't been ridden in a week! JOY-he'll probably act like an idiot when I get on him tonight.
Oh well-as humid as it is, I bet he won't put up too much of a fight!

Here they are world--my goals for my horses (and me!)

1. Keep up my work with Smoke.
He's really starting to come around, but he needs at least 2-3 days of work a week. He's so much better about his leads, stopping, backing (we still back a little cock eyed sometimes, it's a work in progress!) flexing-all the things he needs to know to be a nice barrel prospect. He's trotted the pattern a few times, more walking than anything else. I'm a firm believer that a solid foundation for a barrel horse comes from walking and trotting the pattern, because they can learn to run on their own. I've never had a horse that didn't understand the running as hard as they could aspect! Once they realize they CAN run, and that they're not going to be pulled up, it's just a matter of time before they really start trying. I can feel it in Smoke even now. I'm excited!
WOO HOO! SUMMER FINALLY GOT HERE!
2. Ride Woodrow as much as possible to get "with" him.
Woodrow is my new barrel horse. He's got some issues, but he's a gentleman when he's under saddle. I haven't really ridden a *real* barrel horse since 2004, before I gave my horse back to my dad, after which he promptly sold him, LOL. I have to fight the urge to drag him to every nickel and dime jackpot around...it's so hard to tell myself no!
*THIS JUST IN*
I went outside about 30 minutes ago....to turn Woodrow out with the other geldings.
Looks like about 15 minutes or so before I came out, he hung a leg in the fence, and of course, it's sliced like an apple at a day care center. Well, I'm TRYING to look on the bright side...at least I won't have to fight with myself to NOT take him to afore mentioned jackpots now!