Snow Princess

The snow still falls.
One must keep one's self occupied somehow, right?

People...I Don't Get Them

Okay, sure. He's pretty. He's got a long, romantic mane. He's got eyes that speak to you. He's also 20 years old, so not exactly adoptable.

This filly is pretty, too. She has a romantic mop top and is a pretty buckskin color. At just two years of age, she, too, will have a hard time finding a home unless someone comes along and gives her a head start, getting her gentled and halter broke.

The old guy will be sent to Long Term Holding with a couple hundred other geldings, where he can live out his days on a ranch, getting fed year round rather than starving in the winter like he did when he was wild.

The filly, on the other hand, will travel back and forth from adoptions to short term holding facilities, and eventually be shipped back east where she can again be hauled back and forth for people to look at and possibly adopt. But probably not. And she will continue this cycle until she is six years old, at which point she'll be shipped to Long Term Holding.

So tell me, why are people so anxious to sponsor the old gelding? Why do they want to spend their money to ship him to a sanctuary, where his life will be no different than if he were at Long Term Holding?

Why do they turn up their nose at helping a youngster, who could have a shot at a home?

I don't get it.

Yesterday, the Snow Fell

I looked out the window, and this is what I saw.

I was not happy.

So I went outside.

Because doesn't everyone go outside, in the cold,
on a snowy day, which makes them unhappy?



But I knew someone who could make me happy.

See? She even makes you happy, doesn't she?

Just looking at her, looking deep into into the lens of the camera.

Puts a smile on everyone's face.



Still in wild mustang mode.

Looking for sweet spring grass beneath the snow.

Or maybe just playing snow plow with her nose.



Next time the snow falls, I will venture outside again.

Because someone out there makes me happy.

******



Psst! Hey, y'all, trot on over and visit the newly updated blogs!
http://adoptalivinglegend.blogspot.com/
http://mustangu.blogspot.com/

I Want You to See This

I want you to see this.


Do you know who that is up there?


It's Buck Brannaman.

Do you see what that is up there?

It's announcing the official selection

of the documentary done

on Buck Brannaman.

Cool, eh?




Do you see that photo down there?

Down below these words?

That photo was selected to be in the documentary

The documentary on Buck Brannaman

The one that was selected and premiered

At the Sundance Film Festival

****

Yeah

I know

I'm cool, too

Or maybe I'm just a lucky goober

Probably the latter

I Feel the Earth Move

Fire Breathing Red Head

A week had passed since my last ride. Things were busy, with Curt working on his house projects and me not wanting to distract him. But that day, he said let's ride, so I did.

And then I left.

Tika had been moved home while I was gone over the weekend, and this time she didn't move back. Once more, she sat. The wind was blowing and there was no way I was going to step into that stirrup and climb on her back when she was snorting and blowing. No way.

But today the sun was out, and the air was calm and warm. I turned Tika out for a bit, and she didn't run. That is...not unless I pushed her into it. She was content. At ease. Relaxed.

I brushed my girl off, the winter hair flying about us, getting caught in my own hair, and in my mouth, and sticking to just about everything. The saddle blanket soon lay across her back, followed by the saddle, and the cinch tightened about her belly. I put the bridle on, and grabbed my helmet.

A few circles in my super sandy (and deep) round pen showed that I had a mare who really wasn't into snorting or working very hard. I climbed onto her back, rubbed and patted, and climbed off. Best to put the dogs away.

When I came back, I decided maybe I'd put her in the paddock, which was just a wee bit smaller than the round pen. Then I was again on her back, and we began walking, turning, whoa-ing, walking and turning, left and right, and stopping with great big pats on the neck. And all was well with our first ride at home, alone, and in the great outdoors.

Choose Me!

They come in all shapes and sizes. All sorts of colors, too! From sweet to sassy, fat or classy. I'm certain you've got room for just one...haven't you?

Red Dun mare gives a little stretch, hoping that doing tricks may get her noticed.



Prehistoric! Cute little gelding will shed out to be a sooty buckskin.



From Palomino Butte, this lovely yearling gelding is looking deep into your eyes...



Two for one deal! Poor gray mare...she looks so uncomfortable.



Yearling filly will have people thinking you're riding a Kiger. She's going to grow up to be something special.



Cute appy from Warm Springs. Like tradition? Look at that tail!



I must admit I'm a little sweet on this mare. I believe she's two...maybe three?



Very nice yearling filly. Good size, pretty head.



Okay, she turned my crank. Nicely put together and a pretty little face.



Two years old. Likely to be overlooked due to her coloring, this little filly was CUTE!

Me Day

It was lesson day with the girls. Sometimes I ride, sometimes I don't. Today, I did. I saddled up Sheeza, the lovely gray daughter of NCHA world champion Quiote Mac. I've ridden her before...she's way better than I am! Today, for whatever reason, she was feeling her oats; her tail was flagging like one of those nutty Arabian horses (sorry, Mikael!), and she was snorting and breathing fire. I hadn't gone more than one full circle when The Master decided he'd put on his boots.

It's not often that those who are there for lessons have an opportunity to watch The Master at work. The old cowboy who now gimps and limps and talks about the aches and pains suddenly transforms into a most capable athlete. Light, balanced, sheer poetry on horseback. The young woman who'd come along with a friend sat on the wood bench and let a 'Wow...' escape from her mouth. It wasn't long before Sheeza was whipped into shape and I was back in the saddle.

No, no I do not have photos of me on the horse. I was on the horse. Do we need to go over this each time?

Time to put Sheeza away, and Patch comes out to play. And Tika, too!

Someone forgot to turn the water off in the back barn, and the hose was leaking, and water was everywhere inside Tika's stall, which happens to be the lowest point in that barn. I shall not name names as I do not want to incriminate anyone. Or myself. Or anyone else, because it may not have been me. But it was me who cleaned up the mess while Tika ran and played.

Once Tika was put away, I pulled out the other old man, Dox Chex, and let him take a spin around the arena. How old is Dox now? I think 33. Dox likes to jiggy jog all the way from his stall to the arena, and he's not a horse most people want to handle because of it. Nothing wrong with him, except he's always jogged and at this point in his life he doesn't feel the need to change any habits. He nickers all the way down the alley way, talking to the ladies, letting them know that the King of Everything is strutting past. And of course, the ladies all look out their stall doors and swoon at the appropriate time. And Dox is proud. Very, very proud, believing he is the studliest of all studs. Which, of course, he is.

Somedays...

...you just know spring is around the corner!

Darling's Decision

"I love jumping...but I think I like cutting more," she said. "But Steve Holt! isn't a cutter..."

No, Steve Holt! is a lot of things, but a cutting horse he surely is not. No stop on that boy, not in the least. We ran into more than one wall those first few weeks of riding before he finally figured out that when I said 'whoa', I meant stop now, not to the rail and hang a right. Oh, sure, eventually he did catch on, but he's simply not built for dragging his tail in the dirt sort of stop needed when working a cow.

I told Darling she could take some time and think about it, that she didn't need to rush into anything. Hang onto Steve Holt! and ride a bit down at Curt's, and see what she really wanted to do. But the days, weeks, and even a couple of months have slipped by, and Darling has not ridden. She asked me to bring the western saddle home (it's been with Tika) so she could use that to ride, saying it was just too cold to get breeches on and sit in a little english saddle, but the motivation simply has not been there.

We talked about her working with Primera while she was here, but that wasn't sparking her interest. This summer, all she wanted to do was be the first to climb on, but now? No...it wasn't really a priority.

We discussed the possibility of finding a youngster at the corrals, a yearling or two year old that she could work with and eventually cut with, or maybe taking Whispr, the coming two year old great granddaughter of Dox (Curt's old stallion) that is with us right now. Both of those options seemed like what was looming in the future. But then...

Last night after coming in from doing chores, Darling said to me, "I think I want to sell Steve Holt!...but I don't want to get another one. Not right now. If I want to ride, I can always go down to Curt's and ride."

I know...I ought to have warned you to sit down before reading this...

Giving Lip and Lotsa Bull

About a week ago, friend McDebbie delivered a couple of horses here for Darling and I to start working. One of these was Primera, that adorable filly we had with us at the fair this past summer. Primera had only been saddled up once or twice since that time, so it was almost like starting over...but of course since it wasn't a huge issue the first time, it wasn't anything to write home about this time, either. We're looking forward to seeing how this girl progresses!

Meanwhile, down at Curt's, Tika has decided to start giving a little lip in objection to being tied and left to stand at the rail. This is not her favorite exercise, but certainly one she needs to figure out.

Of course, considering the happenings and goings on, she did quite well to only stand and make faces. Out behind the arena the tractor was busy loading manure from the compost bin into the dump truck, and inside the arena, raging back and forth directly behind her, was the bull.

Given all the extra noise and distraction, I opted not to climb aboard. Good enough just to stand and absorb all that was happening. She's a lovely observer, isn't she?