Holes

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I made you a promise last year to share the good, the bad and the ugly. Things got truly ugly when I posted a photo of the enormous bruise Sandy deposited on my hip the day I was thrown. Today is not ugly so much as scary. Very, very scary.

I'd had so much fun working both horses in the arena that yesterday morning I decided to do it again. I loaded up Sandy, then returned to get Steve Holt!. Steve Holt!, however, had other ideas. He's been catching up and haltering so well that it took me by surprise to have him throw his head up in the air and refuse my attempts at getting the halter on. It was though we were back to square one...although he was allowing me inside his circle enough to touch or caress his face, the moment the halter was presented I had a wild horse again.

And as a wild horse would do, Steve Holt! bolted past me to the other end of his run, across the melting ice pack, in an effort to avoid capture. And as a mustang tamer would do, I decided to push him back and forth a couple of times in an effort to make him think about what we'd learned and get his focus back where it belonged...on me and not freedom.

But it was not to be. In one of his passes down the panels, Steve Holt! realized that I had not pushed the panel closed completely when I'd walked in. The direction of his gaze caused me to look in sheer terror towards the opening. Surely it wasn't large enough...surely he wasn't going to...

He did. The panel is attached to his stall at one end by chain, and it sometimes rocks and leans. With him bouncing against it a few minutes earlier, it had rocked, but I hadn't taken notice that created just enough space for him to lift himself through the opening at the other end. But it had, and in slow motion I saw a frightened horse jump through and scoot out into the yard, and back into the trees. Across his back was my long rope, and attached to that the lime green halter that I'd borrowed from Darling. And they, like he, were gone.

City Boy had just come out of the house Seeing my predicament, he ran back inside to grab his boots. I grabbed Sandy and we made our way across the creek. Did I mention the snow is melting? Melting snow means swollen creeks, and the water was splashing over the top of my muck boots. Sandy wasn't all too sure why I was rushing him through the raging, knee deep water, but he followed obediently.

Steve Holt! had dashed through the wood and crossed the creek. Last glimpse I had of him, he was in the neighbor's yard, undoubtedly confused by the excess water and unable to find the trail he and I took the day before, he let out a shrill whinny, a clear distress call. Freedom wasn't so grand now. An answering call came from across the road where another neighbor has two mares. This is where Sandy and I found him, trotting up and down their fence line and looking very relieved to see Sandy coming to get him.

City Boy showed up a moment later. He held onto Sandy while I tried to slip a lead rope around Steve Holt!'s neck. Happy as he was that we were there, he was too excited and aggitated to allow a full capture. "Touch my neck, stroke my muzzle, but don't try to put a rope on me!" I told City Boy to just start home with Sandy. He was doubtful, but I was certain Steve Holt! would leave the mares and follow his friend. And while it wasn't as smooth a return trip as I'd have liked, we did manage to get him home and back into his run.

I guess the open gate is a hole glaringly larger than a whoa, eh? Perhaps I need to work at filling in my holes as well as Steve Holt!'s. I got sloppy and didn't secure the gate behind me, feeling over confident in my horse. Thankfully he returned home safe and sound. Hopefully I've learned my lesson as quickly as my horses learn there's, and won't make this mistake again.