tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18588367794571635402024-03-07T16:25:24.022-08:00Mustang DiariesTraceyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06369244473889348601noreply@blogger.comBlogger918125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-50136014959281616072013-08-17T15:01:00.002-07:002013-08-17T15:01:46.645-07:00Around the TownDarling had to run into town to get a photo of herself holding a....well, I can't say until after the scavenger hunt. While we were there I snapped a few photos of our town.<br />
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City of Subdued Excitement</div>
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The old Burlington Northern terminal, no longer in use</div>
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This chain was an anchor of sorts, wrapped around a log and tumbling into the lake.</div>
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Fire Escape leading out of the old Parberry Building</div>
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The original City Hall, now housing the Whatcom Museum of History and Art</div>
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Darling strolling down the waterfront.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-4148494699148109932013-08-15T22:06:00.002-07:002013-08-15T22:06:41.733-07:00She's got LEGS....Today's word prompt on the photo challenge was Feet & Legs. <br />
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I started out thinking I'd do something fun with Joe's legs. He's always wanting to play out in the pasture. Tonight, however, he just trotted right back to the round pen. And did he even cooperate there? Nope, not really. Just stuck his nose in my lens.</div>
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Well, really, how original are horse legs, anyway? Over half the photographers there spend their time with horses, so maybe I needed to go a different direction. </div>
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Which direction? Miss Henny's direction!<br />
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Miss Henny was not entirely sure why I was messing with her. What was the attraction with her legs, anyway? Was she pigeon toed? Had she been walking like a duck? </div>
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Miss Henny climbed down to take a closer look at <i>my </i>chicken legs. She pointed out that I was obviously deformed. I only had one toe!</div>
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She marched back and forth across my legs. Where were my feathers? Why was I taking her picture,when obviously I was the odd duck, here? Featherless and one toed.</div>
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She pointed out (rather rudely, I might add) that my thighs were rather plump and maybe she needed to call the Colonel. </div>
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Unimpressed with me, Miss Henny fluttered back up to what she has claimed as her perch...the barbecue.<br />
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So I used this for my photo of Feet and Legs. It didn't stick it's nose in my camera lens or mock my chicken legs (or lack of feathered physique!) Rather, it posed patiently and let me photograph it to my heart's content! <br /><br /><i>PS...if anyone knows who may have sculpted this? It is called ' The Mustang', and signed B Kay.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-38850731085716589912013-08-12T20:02:00.000-07:002013-08-12T20:02:23.174-07:00Three E's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The daily photo challenge is certainly a challenge...partly because we seem to be busy around here. But I'm forcing myself to take those shots whenever it's possible. Today's prompt was Eyes.</div>
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Now, when I think of lovely eyes, I think of Tika. She's got the MOST beautiful eyes. But as I wandered about early this morning, snapping this and that, I spotted all my chicks lined up in a row on a little log.</div>
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I got down low and snapped and clicked and then got up and walked away to visit the horses.</div>
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The horses were having one of the 'pretty pony eye shots', however. Instead, they were racing about like a couple of wild horses. Which, of course, is what they are. Or were. Snap, snap, snap.</div>
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By the end of the afternoon it didn't seem like I'd gotten much, but I sat down to the computer and uploaded my day's work. One photo of the chicks was pretty cute, but this assignment was Eyes. Blowing it up, I closed in on my two guineas...it almost looks like a blurry, double exposure! I don't know why, but I like it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhyGK7KgXG4bgHmeWEQopxjwXayMXKCEVgZWfaVSzlKqJhiqB0vBOATkxmKYuhNTINufYwlLd3zzxOwPyNkMC34WCtToCBhIuWG8e8kAOEAoiEYKY0DjuH8mGvXwPoYqiWqammI4e6-8Y/s1600/eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhyGK7KgXG4bgHmeWEQopxjwXayMXKCEVgZWfaVSzlKqJhiqB0vBOATkxmKYuhNTINufYwlLd3zzxOwPyNkMC34WCtToCBhIuWG8e8kAOEAoiEYKY0DjuH8mGvXwPoYqiWqammI4e6-8Y/s640/eyes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yesterday we shot for Expression...and I couldn't resist this young barn swallow. The day before he was tucked safely behind the wall of his muddy nest, but not on this morning! By now I'm certain he's flown out on his own.<br />
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Also a good candidate for expression yesterday was Tika! But then, when doesn't the Diva express herself?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjy_pseZWndAf4Fs-nZy5NrGaxqotTYfwKU1lrJKGTH4y6IrbDdjREksNwNtul1Fg2EIdxJkuign5OQRwZvHr11mri2xS61xGQUcoClVGJ2P4QS7XRK9PwxZYFNwAeBBfC0jBx3uipwdW/s1600/tika+air.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjy_pseZWndAf4Fs-nZy5NrGaxqotTYfwKU1lrJKGTH4y6IrbDdjREksNwNtul1Fg2EIdxJkuign5OQRwZvHr11mri2xS61xGQUcoClVGJ2P4QS7XRK9PwxZYFNwAeBBfC0jBx3uipwdW/s640/tika+air.jpg" width="634" /></a></div>
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The day before we lost our Rocket, we learned that the Cowboy was sending three horses to Wyoming to Ken McNabb. Ken will use them on the ranch, then put them in his sale this summer. Darling took this particularly hard, as the gelding she's been riding this past year was among those slated to go. She'd thought, hoped, dreamed that he'd never leave...at least not until she was in a position to buy him for herself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcMtSUP03Zlr02HsD7HXH3Yd-MWLkIyvMYpgWS7mjYHtzOb74nL6wKYtxp-a4662wUDtzvx7euXhVWtjkaHKD0KhLgx69nQib_PBGF8CVQEtaFJvBMwBap_Xt8PblwnB7N7_fMhyphenhyphenW8rx2/s1600/goodbye+riverWEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcMtSUP03Zlr02HsD7HXH3Yd-MWLkIyvMYpgWS7mjYHtzOb74nL6wKYtxp-a4662wUDtzvx7euXhVWtjkaHKD0KhLgx69nQib_PBGF8CVQEtaFJvBMwBap_Xt8PblwnB7N7_fMhyphenhyphenW8rx2/s640/goodbye+riverWEB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Darling and River, or River Monster as she called him, were quite a team. He wasn't a horse to trust just anyone, but he trusted her, and she loved him. Saturday was her last day with him, and it was wrought with emotion. Saying goodbye, two days in a row...not an easy thing to do. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-74009444309373978752013-08-10T20:27:00.002-07:002013-08-10T20:27:20.368-07:00A Difficult Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Sl9sAOIoH5V90Cf2a8_7N87eBNG_beEF4AtDIS2ZdS0wUmn-22BH5SLserjlgL1SY3MuqRV6etPs-yInotvNa_vhe0NnrFI-K29vCsl_DSATOd9rc1oRa0jxPx5upIvdRtCXws29IlHE/s1600/rocket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Sl9sAOIoH5V90Cf2a8_7N87eBNG_beEF4AtDIS2ZdS0wUmn-22BH5SLserjlgL1SY3MuqRV6etPs-yInotvNa_vhe0NnrFI-K29vCsl_DSATOd9rc1oRa0jxPx5upIvdRtCXws29IlHE/s640/rocket.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's not unusual for Rocket and Rufus, our two mighty warriors, to run out into the night, through the trees, in search of coyotes or raccoons or whatever else they perceive as a threat to their domain. Over the years, they've killed plenty of vermin, and it wasn't until 2 months ago that either of them came back injured. Rufus managed to tangle with a coyote and had a puncture to his groin. Once he was stitched up and healed, he was back in business.</div>
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The other evening, just past dusk, the boys sounded the alarm and off they ran back towards the creek. I have learned over the years that when they decide there's danger, calling them back is simply impossible, and this night was no different. An hour or so later they came running back into the yard, panting and smiling at a job well done.</div>
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I had the door to the rec room open and Rufus bounded up the stairs happily. Rocket, however, looked at me sheepishly and slipped beneath the steps where he laid down. This wasn't always unusual...he spent a lot of time beneath the stairs, so I didn't give it any thought at all, and closed the door with Rufus inside. Rufus, after all, was the trouble maker of the two, so locking him indoors would mean the neighborhood would sleep in peace, rather than listen to my boys as they chased four legged criminals through the trees all night.</div>
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Come morning, it was obvious that Rocket was in pain. I needed to go to the farmer's market that day, so we gave him a little asprin, thinking and hoping that would help with the pain that he was obviously feeling. He didn't want to use his hind end much at all, putting his weight mainly on his front end. Asprin should help with possible inflammation, too, and I was hopeful that he'd be a little better when I returned that evening.</div>
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No such luck. Rocket was still tender and not wanting to use his back legs. He was, however, very happy and smiling as usual, and running our hands along his body was showing nothing out of the ordinary. And when food was carried out? He managed to hustle just a little more in order to get to it. His appetite wasn't lacking...a good sign, right? Two more asprin...and a hope and a prayer for a better Rocket come morning.</div>
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But he wasn't better.</div>
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I called the vet, and City Boy carried him to my truck. He laid on the floor at Darling's feet as we made the 30 minute drive. When we arrived, they got us into a room and went to find a vet. Any vet...they were booked full, but had squeezed us in hoping that someone would have a few minutes to have a look. A young woman came in and took Rocket to the back where she took X-rays. She came back to tell us that there was good and bad news. Good news? No broken bones. There was arthritis in his back, but it was something he'd been dealing with for years. Bad news? He had no feeling in his tail, and while the area of his anus had feeling, he had no muscle control.</div>
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Rocket's bladder was full, and from the Xrays she could see that he'd not defecated in awhile, either. She could, if we wanted, give him a catheter and either keep him there overnight (recommended) or send him home. He'd need to be carried in and out, as walking was obviously out of the question. We should keep him in a bathroom, preferably, for easy clean up. </div>
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Ultimately, though was the fact that Rocket had nerve damage, and there was no way to know if he'd ever recover. </div>
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Darling and I took a few minutes alone, and came to the difficult decision that Rocket, at age 12, certainly did not deserve to suffer. <br /><br />And so it was that we arrived with our loyal Rocket, and left with only our memories of that little red dog with the heart of a warrior. He will be greatly missed. Rest in Peace, dear, sweet Rocket, until we meet again.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-2001476430723681482013-08-06T11:11:00.001-07:002013-08-06T13:59:32.379-07:00So, Joe, Whaddya Know? Back in 2008, when I was fresh out of the first makeover with Sandy, Darling and I made a trip to Molalla Oregon where I picked up three geldings for TIP (trainer incentive program.) One of those was a gelding that became known as Joe.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVSDBc12ymPh2w61UtOEYivBB6Qi_gxVx4SzTlJceMcyXW_9Z81QdqpghTe8mI7n0zYXOFhqbPCB3-ZXinDdNWlYGJklBQlTbgjzA-JQ7mg0Wb-iryufOoNCgadbKpFtmwfwTBF3r6aAD/s1600/whip+over+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVSDBc12ymPh2w61UtOEYivBB6Qi_gxVx4SzTlJceMcyXW_9Z81QdqpghTe8mI7n0zYXOFhqbPCB3-ZXinDdNWlYGJklBQlTbgjzA-JQ7mg0Wb-iryufOoNCgadbKpFtmwfwTBF3r6aAD/s640/whip+over+back.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Joe was a pretty little bay with a sweet disposition. He was easily gentled and enjoyed attention.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7g9WfKwPEWAgf-73kjTB4wqmao-wUfRoKIlrSKKGeuC3448JL5mbcnjr1lNcMuwIZ1U0DGVCezf8pXI1S3je6loqA6E5rbNMahGZbjMkQ6TqzoWcdNie54jhrX8zIcLteuTASletaFO6b/s1600/nose+hand+lead+snap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7g9WfKwPEWAgf-73kjTB4wqmao-wUfRoKIlrSKKGeuC3448JL5mbcnjr1lNcMuwIZ1U0DGVCezf8pXI1S3je6loqA6E5rbNMahGZbjMkQ6TqzoWcdNie54jhrX8zIcLteuTASletaFO6b/s640/nose+hand+lead+snap.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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For some odd reason, Joe was the last of the three geldings to find a home, despite being the one we felt was going to make the easiest transition. You can just never tell about people and what they want to adopt. Joe was here for three months before a woman came along who fell in love and wanted him. <br />
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Joe was sent to a trainer and started under saddle. His adopter loved him, but there was a little accident that set them back a few months. Joe went to another trainer and again did well, and the adopter still loved him and rode a little in her yard and round pen at home.<br />
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Then the adopter had an accident, and Joe has been sitting for the past ten months. She'd really like to get him out on the trails, like she's done with her halflinger, but she's not sure Joe has the confidence out there just yet. So Joe is here with Darling and I, and we'll be getting him going so his adopter can enjoy him even more.<br />
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Isn't Joe a pretty boy? We sure think so! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfvwJDJMz7VGeBG3tdl-8bzc2XBF2rGd4u9M73xopEXqhcKD-858hWhDD5NIwAEF9Lavx6wLbiJtDt4yQogtzYaXyyINnONummIaguzaxyZ8JL6o9sb3c3tidSTxKMMMfThU9KaFC8Za5/s1600/joe+portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfvwJDJMz7VGeBG3tdl-8bzc2XBF2rGd4u9M73xopEXqhcKD-858hWhDD5NIwAEF9Lavx6wLbiJtDt4yQogtzYaXyyINnONummIaguzaxyZ8JL6o9sb3c3tidSTxKMMMfThU9KaFC8Za5/s640/joe+portrait.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-19377980490759678622013-08-05T22:30:00.004-07:002013-08-05T22:30:56.763-07:00Lights! Camera! Action!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25nkNOxDasijzWJ_hyphenhyphentYoTGdq7b7gZyO6HwGPGpRMJxU_wDo_1pWC0QE-nKDfb3WcJtx0kQLlzT3CEKaEQ8zebcHsmkfm4AZOZtPCpLSMubuU-J5GgpwJAfZhAQnzZY3vbQ6q6c6M3KnY/s1600/doxee+shoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25nkNOxDasijzWJ_hyphenhyphentYoTGdq7b7gZyO6HwGPGpRMJxU_wDo_1pWC0QE-nKDfb3WcJtx0kQLlzT3CEKaEQ8zebcHsmkfm4AZOZtPCpLSMubuU-J5GgpwJAfZhAQnzZY3vbQ6q6c6M3KnY/s400/doxee+shoe.jpg" width="396" /></a></div>
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<i>Doxee's first shoes</i></div>
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I've been taking part, halfheartedly, in a Facebook group called Daily Horse Shots for the past couple of years. Mostly, I look at other people's images, feeling like I'm way out of my league most days. When the admin of the group announced she was planning an August Challenge, I wished longingly for the confidence to participate. Sure, it was meant to be a learning experience for all skill levels, but still...I just didn't think I had it in me. </div>
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When the deadline came I didn't give it another thought. Went about my day, puttering around the house, a trip to the Cowboy's place, and the general daily drivel. I checked into Facebook halfway through the afternoon and was somewhat surprised to see I was getting notifications from the private August Challenge group. What? How'd that happen?</div>
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I continued to read the rest of the notifications and found the one where a friend had added me to the list of participants. </div>
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Well...why not? If I was stumped for a photo, I could skip a day, right? But the object of course was to grow...so I may as well play along.</div>
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Each day there is a new word that we are to shoot for. It need not be horse related, but of course many of us are around horses day in and day out, so that is the main focus for many.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7PiX_6bZkuPdzITnIqzNyhjL73ALGgTi6JFDUXVahSgHQcwPRyyGHzzwe-Y_cB7qzN9RI2LvmXyxPbk3sfO6QoHgq_B5_8V0B5B7DoVPR2rrR9YAbr7AnmJNIK7WYTVblf4t5aTDerbK/s1600/abstract+basket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7PiX_6bZkuPdzITnIqzNyhjL73ALGgTi6JFDUXVahSgHQcwPRyyGHzzwe-Y_cB7qzN9RI2LvmXyxPbk3sfO6QoHgq_B5_8V0B5B7DoVPR2rrR9YAbr7AnmJNIK7WYTVblf4t5aTDerbK/s640/abstract+basket.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Abstract?</i></div>
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The first day the word was Abstract. I'm not real comfortable with abstract. I was afraid I'd get it wrong. Darling assured me that it's art, and there is no wrong art. Darling is wrong. But I shot abstract anyway. Or what I hoped was something similar.</div>
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Second day? Action! I much prefer action. I went out into the pasture and requested the help of two of my friends, Tika and Chase. The results? Much more fun than abstract!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyihQ59vjDuzQB3gqpitXvlSXqJa6VgRzpWZuh9d6bsG68ZOL3ts7EyzDcjv6W90jsbQHz3wKpHlnRLQ-rOAwWN7Xfv3W887pR_NQrA-e10EvBW5h4dy83f_TZwB_Oj_aKyPbb0S1lLv65/s1600/wild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyihQ59vjDuzQB3gqpitXvlSXqJa6VgRzpWZuh9d6bsG68ZOL3ts7EyzDcjv6W90jsbQHz3wKpHlnRLQ-rOAwWN7Xfv3W887pR_NQrA-e10EvBW5h4dy83f_TZwB_Oj_aKyPbb0S1lLv65/s640/wild.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<i>Tika in action!</i></div>
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Of course, we all know that Tika is incredibly photogenic. They simply don't come any prettier. I thought I'd work a bit on cropping skills with my entry for the action challenge, showing a bit of flying mane and of course her lovely eye and smooth muscle.</div>
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The photos of Chase were less than appealing, however. He simply is not an attractive horse to photograph. He has got one amazing feature, however.</div>
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His mane.</div>
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It's thick and curly, with red at the base and blond highlights at the bottom. I began messing around a bit with one of the photos, and suddenly found myself with what I thought was a rather attractive image. Just enough of a hint of his face, some muscling on his shoulder, and that glorious mane. Yes, I liked it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9U4HrZ_NPgHFnHwXj350WwpeKSbV-BceBXjg5VufnGOezVZ40KHA50Zrp_L6Ibh-x-COG6V66-7CIFU3Hb4hyphenhyphenn6LLJGppYVF2qlX8n1ra1-_X1PV0eNkf1rMcV-uJNddC5R2aVsPOfrN/s1600/chase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9U4HrZ_NPgHFnHwXj350WwpeKSbV-BceBXjg5VufnGOezVZ40KHA50Zrp_L6Ibh-x-COG6V66-7CIFU3Hb4hyphenhyphenn6LLJGppYVF2qlX8n1ra1-_X1PV0eNkf1rMcV-uJNddC5R2aVsPOfrN/s640/chase.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Because I'd cropped it down, I wondered just how big it would print and still look good, so I went to the company where I order my canvas prints and uploaded Chase's photo. I changed canvas sizes a couple of times, then on a whim, I switched it from landscape (which is above), to portrait.</div>
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Oh, my...the only thing that was in the canvas was Chase's mane. Look at it! So bright and splendid and artsy and...<i>ABSTRACT! Really?</i> Look, I'm an abstract photographer!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuoHGaHLqKeARLTXFGIo2V57s-Saf5diqsE6W7cQtSjbFeM7geHpza4hN17E0FhxyFU48wHILoh0QRyFq5o95_BrAyZApfse8USUOcfYfP81JZRFMC4Jp5GsdEXUbN3VLIKTlb6L1Lnz0/s1600/chase+mane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuoHGaHLqKeARLTXFGIo2V57s-Saf5diqsE6W7cQtSjbFeM7geHpza4hN17E0FhxyFU48wHILoh0QRyFq5o95_BrAyZApfse8USUOcfYfP81JZRFMC4Jp5GsdEXUbN3VLIKTlb6L1Lnz0/s640/chase+mane.jpg" width="482" /></a></div>
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I was having so much fun with this new style that I did Tika as well. I'm not quite as happy with how she turned out as Chase. Isn't it funny that she is so remarkable to look at as well as photograph, and yet this particular style really suits the rather homely Chase much better? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCswBaW67AtUmmq_c3ToAdWVW7rAuqA-DNLgMBwCHUz_SFj-DeVKPh2X4jCSNYdHh3xQKsyVfN7hP09fW7P_eujIMDUNSjRBdXQiryRN8DfLEklmj97W0nFcezj02Q51fSocLi8x7oLnGw/s1600/the+natural.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCswBaW67AtUmmq_c3ToAdWVW7rAuqA-DNLgMBwCHUz_SFj-DeVKPh2X4jCSNYdHh3xQKsyVfN7hP09fW7P_eujIMDUNSjRBdXQiryRN8DfLEklmj97W0nFcezj02Q51fSocLi8x7oLnGw/s640/the+natural.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-48314052695696389432013-08-04T20:55:00.000-07:002013-08-04T20:55:17.876-07:00What Would it Hurt To Look?<br />
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It's been 3 months now since the fall. I've hit the trail a few times, carried carefully by the wonderful Sandy. Up and down hills, through rivers and over bridges. It was wonderful therapy for both my body and my mind. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_J-rqbh3I91nBo2T05wO7quH_mEhV9izI3UjT2wdtx7eYJnA67jU1llLbSQdXTbllhm2C5EZ27Qzy0iu9ZGffTbR0p2lCKKjHNoagcDUWJVIU-Uq0tA69X92EsdoG4o6eCuEayE4PUUA/s1600/sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_J-rqbh3I91nBo2T05wO7quH_mEhV9izI3UjT2wdtx7eYJnA67jU1llLbSQdXTbllhm2C5EZ27Qzy0iu9ZGffTbR0p2lCKKjHNoagcDUWJVIU-Uq0tA69X92EsdoG4o6eCuEayE4PUUA/s640/sunrise.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In late June, Darling and I made a trip to Oregon to look at horses. This time, however, they weren't mustangs. Instead, we stopped at a couple of farms to look at cutting/reining prospects. The first place we stopped was Airlie Farm in Monmouth, a little southwest of Salem. There was a lovey bed and breakfast run by the farm owner, Nancy Petterson. She had three 2 year olds saddled and ready for me to ride when we got there. All three were nice, but there just wasn't that special something that makes my heart race.</div>
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There was a young gal named Dani who worked there. While Nancy was busy tending things in the house, Dani showed me not only the 2 year olds in the arena, but offered to show me around the farm. There'd been a lovely buckskin filly I'd seen online that I'd wanted to see. Dani warned me she only had 10 or so rides on her. Darling was fussing, making sure I understood that this was a mission to find a horse that was already going well enough for me not to go getting myself hurt again. Sure, sure...but what would it hurt to look?</div>
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The filly was cute, to be sure, but I was heeding Darling's strong warning. </div>
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Dani continued out back with us, showing us the broodmares and a few other horses. Up at the end there was a large paddock with a couple of horses, a red yearling colt and a bay 2 year old gelding. Dani explained that this 2 year old was really catty at the end of a lunge line, but he was also a somewhat hard to catch boy. Of course, just then the two of them came running right up to the fence to see us. So much for hard to catch. The bay began sniffing my face and blowing in my ear. I began to melt.</div>
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Can we see him on the lunge line?, I asked. Darling began to steam next to me. Dani smiled and said he really hadn't been ridden more than a handful of times. That was okay, I said...let's just see him move.</div>
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Darling went to the car, angry with me. This, she repeatedly whispered in a hot tempered sort of way, was <b><i>not </i></b>why we were here. But what could it hurt just to look, I asked?</div>
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Sure enough, the bay tried pretty hard to scratch his belly when stopping and turning at the end of that lunge line, and I was smitten.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNCT7kFdNEqnBPzXR33ZHdwgHfofmsjGEFrOCQFEZkp1crPOT5XoXjqgzlbri3UfCykh8P-wzs9-mWZqsrgIUkJclsN3N-h3lYFwpi6Uw8ZNV_Ft9T4tnoFpZ38ucakFuA_LYsAO-fz6N/s1600/fiver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNCT7kFdNEqnBPzXR33ZHdwgHfofmsjGEFrOCQFEZkp1crPOT5XoXjqgzlbri3UfCykh8P-wzs9-mWZqsrgIUkJclsN3N-h3lYFwpi6Uw8ZNV_Ft9T4tnoFpZ38ucakFuA_LYsAO-fz6N/s640/fiver.jpg" width="548" /></a></div>
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<i>CD's High Five, aka Fiver, is the sire of the youngsters at Airlie Farm</i></div>
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We still had another farm to visit, this one a few hours south in Roseburg. We drove down and met up with our friend (and fellow wild horse photographer) John Wheland for dinner. Early the next morning we headed to another farm where I tried out a couple of three year olds. The filly worked really well for me, enough so that I could drop my hand while working the flag. She was nice...really nice. No sparks, but hey, she was nice. Plus, she was strong enough under saddle that I wouldn't need to worry about getting myself hurt.</div>
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What to do?</div>
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I knew the family would want me on a well grounded horse, so I made an offer with the trainer on the filly. Instantly, I regretted it. What if the owner accepted? I went to bed completely stressed, finally putting it in God's hands. Who would know better what would work for me? So God...if they take the offer, then the filly it is. But if I'm meant to get the gelding, the one who blew in my ear? Then the offer will be turned down.</div>
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The next morning I got my answer.</div>
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Meet Toby, also known as One Tuff CD</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7UaCeZR0IML7dDIgH_Qqu-95tP3S1DMv-Qke1sj91ugRGRvDsKwjl776jB1lmTiqlbkT6vNUhTB7PD2kNlyB-k7mV3UK8N45uU_7ABysDUBB2_cfCRqKh-AebQK8dV4CyoK-pn_iwSlGy/s1600/toby+patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7UaCeZR0IML7dDIgH_Qqu-95tP3S1DMv-Qke1sj91ugRGRvDsKwjl776jB1lmTiqlbkT6vNUhTB7PD2kNlyB-k7mV3UK8N45uU_7ABysDUBB2_cfCRqKh-AebQK8dV4CyoK-pn_iwSlGy/s640/toby+patch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Nancy gave me a great deal on this young gelding, enough so I could hire a trainer to get him started. She'd asked me who I rode with, and when I told her the Cowboy, she smiled and said she knew him. She felt confident that Toby would be going to a good home who would promote him, and that surely is what I'm going to try to do. Right now he's with Roger Saur for a couple of months so that he'll have a solid foundation by the time he comes home to me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea8vMDAPnTkVkvj_oqBuqhrVfUJ_g66JPrL9xnu6zsC2XNpJGCyPQG4BMLC5U7o22TjMO3y9Fy108nhhNJ7UC6lfLp8uQA0q99uHG1V9qQmuJxnCXdL4dYPvqpn7OGf7nn5711LpW-noj/s1600/toby+lope+roger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea8vMDAPnTkVkvj_oqBuqhrVfUJ_g66JPrL9xnu6zsC2XNpJGCyPQG4BMLC5U7o22TjMO3y9Fy108nhhNJ7UC6lfLp8uQA0q99uHG1V9qQmuJxnCXdL4dYPvqpn7OGf7nn5711LpW-noj/s640/toby+lope+roger.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Five rides!</i></div>
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The past few months I've taken myself almost completely out of the mustang circle, but now that some time has gone by, I find myself still feeling the tug. Tika, of course, is still here, as is Chase. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZRNYbMDm5KzAfmrIVbJXmGMUsUBbKg3VqSHAuQF0EFm9tQqJXzx4k2sLD6rgP5z__LJviHtZiKgtcHNXvNl5ZxQQ7iRaCORUsfjh4E3ZnW_qERItdSKy4gMTdmW00G4aD-8qxJeZB6wM/s1600/chase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZRNYbMDm5KzAfmrIVbJXmGMUsUBbKg3VqSHAuQF0EFm9tQqJXzx4k2sLD6rgP5z__LJviHtZiKgtcHNXvNl5ZxQQ7iRaCORUsfjh4E3ZnW_qERItdSKy4gMTdmW00G4aD-8qxJeZB6wM/s640/chase.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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While I wait for Toby to come home, I'm going to work on my photography skills. This blog will likely be taken over by photos for awhile. I hope you don't mind. This one is Chase (in broad daylight, I might add.)</div>
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Where am I heading? I'm not entirely sure. But hopefully we'll have fun getting there!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-87062736431371746332013-05-31T14:48:00.000-07:002013-05-31T14:48:14.953-07:00Rose to the Rescue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFhoEgtsDBDfPGfinBX00UJ_nzBmOJV8KND1SLGhiAPcv_rrTfz9RgTvhORCbxZDPE7H6_XcJtPStqZyToyuS_O-teRrlSq7r3z0iDID-_Es4ChyU2yQilnEMk4VbacJ1KgUB7vJpra2h/s1600/me+and+rose1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="622" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFhoEgtsDBDfPGfinBX00UJ_nzBmOJV8KND1SLGhiAPcv_rrTfz9RgTvhORCbxZDPE7H6_XcJtPStqZyToyuS_O-teRrlSq7r3z0iDID-_Es4ChyU2yQilnEMk4VbacJ1KgUB7vJpra2h/s640/me+and+rose1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rose is my therapeutic pony. Not my horse, but the Doc's good old tried and true cutting horse. That said, I use her like she's mine whenever I'm feeling blue. Doc has let me show her in the 'Never Won a Buckle' class at the a couple cuttings last year (I've still not won a buckle, I always come in second!), and she's my 'go to' pony when my body is hurting.</div>
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A few weeks into moping about having nothing to ride, I decided to sneak into the Cowboy's barn while he was busy elsewhere and throw the saddle on Rose. He caught me, but didn't stop me. Just said, "Shoulder's probably not sound enough to work the bull, you think?" He wanted me to say it was. I wasn't going to let him down!</div>
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He went slow, giving me lots of time to sit in the middle, but I was tense and didn't ride my best. The following day I didn't work the bull, just rode in a few circles in the arena. It felt good to be in the saddle.</div>
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Yesterday my friend stopped in, pulling her horse trailer, telling us she'd just dropped her mare off at the vet. We knew what that meant....she had Wobblers, something there is no recovering from. I held her in my arms and she cried, but then we went into the barn and she pulled Kitty out of her stall. She's been riding Kitty in lessons since finding out her mare was no longer safe. I pulled out Rose, and we rode together, each of us downing our own sorrows while sitting astride.</div>
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The Cowboy fired up the bull and we each worked a little bit. He suggested I switch hands, because I wasn't able to push on the horn with my right hand while stopping...not enough strength. So I put the reins in my right hand and held the horn with my left, and Rosie worked like the pro she was, and I managed to sit relaxed enough for an enjoyable ride. I love that Rosie horse.</div>
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My good friend Valarie just let me know she's hauling a couple horses to the arena. One of them is Sandy...all tacked up and ready to transport me in a few more circles. My body may not be fully healed, but my mind is getting better with the help of some old friends!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW58MID27LDx0mp87RHE2P0xpsItBLYjZ8mENRZvQPshOKdcmSLmQ8ZaifJuAMBcal4IQXiXYhkqdF4TyCFuQfmofGIF6yZR8XYkel5RtvzL30Eo7vzfWenUmkNZZeCHN8irgnk4kIkiH/s1600/flirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW58MID27LDx0mp87RHE2P0xpsItBLYjZ8mENRZvQPshOKdcmSLmQ8ZaifJuAMBcal4IQXiXYhkqdF4TyCFuQfmofGIF6yZR8XYkel5RtvzL30Eo7vzfWenUmkNZZeCHN8irgnk4kIkiH/s640/flirt.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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A lovely couple stopped by today to visit with Flirt. I must admit that when I first placed an ad for her, that I bawled when the first person called. A second email came in hot on the heels of that call...and I pulled the ad down. </div>
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Truth be told, Flirt is getting too tall for a cutting horse. Beautiful, fluid mover. But she's not got the hard stop and rocking over the hock action I've got in Tika. And did I mention tall? She'll end up 15.2 to 16 hands without a doubt. So I knew I'd sell her come next spring, but I'd thought I'd at least have some time with her under saddle. That's half the fun of it, right? Unwrapping the package to find out exactly what your mustang will do, then finding the home that matches?</div>
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So the ad came down and I pondered my dilemma. I couldn't justify keeping her if I was only going to sell her anyway, but emotionally I was struggling. She had to have the perfect home. </div>
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Then a friend posted something on facebook. She'd begun to once again look at the BLM photos, and her significant other was calling her an addict. But she knew she needed a good, solid horse for him, and hey, who can blame her for becoming a mustang addict? Plus, her man's horse had been struggling for some time with coffin bone issues, and they'd just found out she'd never be sound. He'd need a nice, tall horse for trail riding.</div>
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Now, to me it seemed a no brainer. Hello? I've got one here! She's gentled, she's tall, and I always knew she'd make a better husband horse than Oz. So I just happened to mention it, out loud, on facebook, yesterday. And today they came, they saw, and they messaged me this afternoon to say YES!!!</div>
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And so my Sensational Flirt is going south a bit to live with a mustang named Chance, and another mustang named Rio, and a certain blogger we all know and love name <a href="http://adventuresofthepaintedcreekfarm.blogspot.com/">Paint Girl</a>. And I couldn't be happier. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9mX3rdqRxIE5cwu0rkm1wbw96HbwXvqaGDlSmmOPtpEUROnNyWI5k3N0RcNtZlH7_o34MZVmJE5UJkj8PvPakY8j3MCql__KiY1_V4M7neMSzXnUOmssq1mdBITTxLNqV1gfAeozHJre/s1600/tika+flies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9mX3rdqRxIE5cwu0rkm1wbw96HbwXvqaGDlSmmOPtpEUROnNyWI5k3N0RcNtZlH7_o34MZVmJE5UJkj8PvPakY8j3MCql__KiY1_V4M7neMSzXnUOmssq1mdBITTxLNqV1gfAeozHJre/s640/tika+flies.jpg" width="440" /></a></div>
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<i>Tika isn't happy about Fly Season</i></div>
<br />I got a cold. It's no fun. I've been worried about pneumonia, because they told me if I start coughing with a broken rib, that I'd likely not be able to expel the unwanted mucus out and it may settle in my lungs. That, I can say, would not be fun.<br />
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I woke up coughing in the wee hours on Monday morning. Deep, wet, heavy coughs. I grabbed a pillow and held it against my right side, but it didn't really help much. As the morning wore on, and then the day, my throat became all torn up. </div>
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On Tuesday the coughing continued, but now there was a little, shall we say, drizzle? My nose was beginning to run just a bit. My son said I needed Mucinex to help thin the mucus, thereby making it easier for me to cough it up or sneeze it out. Okay, sure, whatever you say. Just get me something.</div>
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Wednesday, and my nose was 90% stuffed. I was breathing through my mouth. Colds never stick with me more than a couple of days, and while this was only the third, it seemed like an eternity to me. I was getting beyond cranky with my family and finally drove myself to town in an effort to find something that would help. I'm sure they were happy to see me go.</div>
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By Thursday morning my mood was better, and my nose was functioning at least a little better than it had been the past couple of days. I had an appointment for an ultrasound to see if there was any damage to the rotator cuff. Mobility in my arm has been increasing due in part, I'm sure, to the fact that I'm using a horse and a curry comb as part of my personal therapy program. It hurt like the dickens the first time I reached across in front of my body, holding that curry comb and then dragging it back along the horse's side. Wow...who knew? But after a few strokes, my body loosened up a little. Each movement started stiff, but ended feeling a little better. I've been doing that every day, haltering, grooming, leading...anything small that doesn't involve weight, but keeps my shoulder moving. So as it stood, when I went into the tiny room and was handed a robe, I was capable of tying the strings behind me, much to the surprise of the young woman who'd been waiting outside the door to help me.</div>
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Later in the afternoon I was to see my regular doctor regarding my cold. Really, it was likely nothing more, but better safe than sorry, right? The pharmacist I'd just spoken to had said there were bacterial things floating around right now, and I really didn't want to be fighting off infection on top of everything else. I was the last appoint of the day, and though the ultrasound folks said it would be 24-48 hours before the results made it to the doc, I opted to ask just the same.</div>
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The nurse pulled up the information and told me that it had been referred to the orthopedic surgeon that I'd been referred to. However, she still had a copy of it which she happily printed up for me. Of course I don't read medical speak, but I was totally able to make out what it said at the bottom. I'm unremarkable. Or at least, my shoulder is. Hooray! Not that being unremarkable has always been my goal, but today it quite suited me. No rotator cuff damage.</div>
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Additional news was that there was no additional moisture content settling into my lungs, so the heavy coughing must have done the trick, despite having a broken rib. Quite good news!<br /><br />I'm anxious to climb back on a horse. To once again start Chasing Dreams...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJLVAwGGOUSmoUoVd765Hzg6ORS42t-dFoIU6jrAnAPDlYPleSngcIejayDNVaQn0lNdUDl9WPBOP1wqJwxyer5ZWpJYJFaZ3IZRmBzL0RJnmVIiz2xEbfiK_ic5R8qt9nWAZ0hY_t8y2/s1600/chasing+dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJLVAwGGOUSmoUoVd765Hzg6ORS42t-dFoIU6jrAnAPDlYPleSngcIejayDNVaQn0lNdUDl9WPBOP1wqJwxyer5ZWpJYJFaZ3IZRmBzL0RJnmVIiz2xEbfiK_ic5R8qt9nWAZ0hY_t8y2/s640/chasing+dreams.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-67634539061339334922013-05-11T07:33:00.001-07:002013-05-11T07:33:02.789-07:00Changes...Continued<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88gS777Tjcjn2rCY4heJ3eukGMxXDxisLHQmoS9nQTzk4jqa3CVby_eZBkDGDock5IHdZMk9Rk6nHvOas2-p-tmToyI4V2ru8j1xeMFhvyjYvyIgSKXH6s9nSFHLqvd8Ia2I5vKeNSz1Q/s1600/oz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88gS777Tjcjn2rCY4heJ3eukGMxXDxisLHQmoS9nQTzk4jqa3CVby_eZBkDGDock5IHdZMk9Rk6nHvOas2-p-tmToyI4V2ru8j1xeMFhvyjYvyIgSKXH6s9nSFHLqvd8Ia2I5vKeNSz1Q/s640/oz.jpg" width="462" /></a></div>
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My muscles were tight, and I was pretty sure they were simply trying to prevent my movement so that I didn't injure whatever was hurt. That's what the body does...protects itself like that. After being transported from bed to bed to bed, visiting the MRI and CT Scanner, the ER Doc finally arrived with the news.<br /><br />"No head injuries. Shoulder is a 2nd degree separation. Need to see an orthopedic specialist...or your doctor...in about four days. In the meantime, here's a sling for your arm to help support the shoulder."<br /><br />I played the fall over and over in my head. Darling had said it looked like he'd jumped over top of me. That may explain the big bruise on my shin...perhaps his hoof clipped it? There's a scrape under my chin...stirrup? Speculation....thoughts you think when you're unable to move and get on with your life. </div>
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The faces of my children had unnerved me. To see me laying there in a heap, unable to get up...can't be good. Before the medics even arrived I promised City Boy, no more colt starting. I'd never not been able to stand up before. Even when I broke 4 ribs a couple years ago. Yeah, it hurt like nobodies business, but I got up. This time, there was no moving on my own due to the muscles that locked up.</div>
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On Thursday I trotted off to the doctor, driven by Darling, who asked if this is what it was like for me before she got her license? Yes, Darling...quite! Verdict on this morning was that I'd also broken a rib (I kinda wondered) and the separation was more likely a 3 than 2. Oh...maybe some rotator cuff damage? Jolly.<br /><br />So more appointments. I set one up for an ultrasound next week. Waiting to hear back from the orthopedic specialist. And physical therapy...she wants me to do it and I know I'll say no thank you. Just tell me how much I can lift for now, and if there's a direction not to move my shoulder. I'm pretty good at getting myself moving through the pain on my own without those terrorists of therapy, thank you!</div>
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I'd hoped to get some interest in Oz during next weekend's trail challenge. Created a flyer and priced him reasonably, but not giveaway. I'm now grounded...can't ride. And how does one sell a horse who just threw them? I dropped the price significantly, put up a couple ads online and had him sold in 24 hours. I greeted them with my sling, told them what happened. Told them he was young and did a young horse thing. They weren't as experienced as I'd hoped, but they brought along the barn owner, an eventer, who told them she'd have preferred to see them with something a bit more solid in training, but she was really impressed with this horse. She told them to expect to need some help from a professional trainer. I may have turned them down if they'd not brought her along, but felt good in knowing I'd done my best to inform them fully of what had happened, and knew the barn owner would help guide them.</div>
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Leslie had commented that she'd not noticed me in a helmet in any of my photos. And I will admit I've become lax abut it! But yes, there was a time when I always did. Probably should get back to it. And yes. I know. I'm damned lucky to be alive.</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-37843565007861938652013-05-10T12:00:00.000-07:002013-05-10T12:00:45.474-07:00Changes<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's funny, is it not, how life can change in the blink of an eye? One minute you're riding along, happy and carefree, and the next you're slammed into the ground, wondering just what the damage is and if you'll be able to move without the aid of others.</div>
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Let me just say, right now, that yes, I visited club dirt, and yes, I'm able to move. But for awhile there, I wasn't so sure.</div>
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Darling had been at a reining show over the weekend. Saturday's show was full of low scores, and while Darling was disappointed, as the day wore on and more people had similar scores to hers, she began to feel a bit better about her first time out. On Sunday, her ride was wonderful, with Doxee making her simple changes and not breaking gait, giving Darling a score of 68.5, enough to secure a tie for third place. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5VHjyVX1oBfeLOs23GZOP3X5_rPy4d8eCagcGxS7yEPoaSShGjIs_e2pcw9PO-1AZyeiAah6EgXuhk9H-SWzZT4UmcSQPqnZPNwevl-9A-Rqm0sMloUnkCopnsuVpFIQ9QauImT8XMIE/s1600/katie+doxee+reining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5VHjyVX1oBfeLOs23GZOP3X5_rPy4d8eCagcGxS7yEPoaSShGjIs_e2pcw9PO-1AZyeiAah6EgXuhk9H-SWzZT4UmcSQPqnZPNwevl-9A-Rqm0sMloUnkCopnsuVpFIQ9QauImT8XMIE/s640/katie+doxee+reining.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>A happy Darling and a goofy Doxee</i></div>
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The sun was shining and it was such a warm, beautiful afternoon, that rather than haul Doxee home to the Cowboy's, we decided to haul her to our home instead. Darling thought it would be nice to take a couple days off from the arena and just hang out with her horse. We decided that once it got cooler, maybe we'd take the two of horses out for a short ride together.</div>
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It was early enough in the day that I decided to saddle up Oz for a couple of relaxing loops around the path behind the house. He was so good the other day, and I wanted to know if he would be again. He was. Just drop the reins and go. I was loving that he took care of where his feet were placed, not rushing, just methodically taking his time. I made two loops and then spotted Darling watching us. "Want to ride him?" I asked her. Yes, of course she did! So she, too, took the big red gelding for a little spin.</div>
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When she climbed off, her comment was, "He's going to be a nice horse, Mom." Neither Darling or I are in love with Oz. He's been so tight and tense that we've not felt comfortable. But this is the new side of him, and it's been nice to see.</div>
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After dinner, Darling and I went out and saddled up both Oz and Doxee. I was on first and spent the extra few minutes walking around the driveway. When Darling was ready, we walked down the trail that went past the creek, then turned toward the path behind the house.</div>
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Doxee was jittery. Darling was laughing. I was recommending she not get too close to the business end of Oz, because he wasn't happy about what was going on back there and we already knew he would kick if he felt anxious. Darling asked to go around us, so I had Oz sidestep out of the way and they went on around.</div>
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I could feel the change in Oz. Not a big change, but enough. He didn't like the excitement. He was used to traveling with steadfast Sandy, not this jittery little mare. I asked him to move on down the fenceline, past Doxee and Darling (as they were working out their differences about stepping over a log) and towards the side of the house.</div>
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The old dog kennel sits up there, full of straw because our son had used it for raising turkeys last year. Oz's step changed. There was a stiffness to it. Trees were now between us and Doxee, so he couldn't see her, but he knew she was there. My mind took into account the change in pace, but I wanted him to stay relaxed and not give him a reason to think he needed to be worried. I stayed loose, lowered my hand and asked him to continue as we'd been.</div>
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And then there was that half step, and the holding of the breath. And it was all over. The explosion that I'd been waiting for in the round pen and arena finally came out there under the canopy of trees. Big monster bucks and lurches across the ground. I felt myself being thrown up and down, told myself to grab hold of his head, thought I'd done it at one point, but then down it went again. Keep your spurs out of his sides, I told myself. I could see my feet...nowhere near his sides. Then I saw his feet as went falling toward the ground, and I remember thinking that he was going to step on me. But he didn't.</div>
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He was gone then. Pain was searing through my right side, the shoulder especially. I called to Darling to get help. I tried to push myself upright, but didn't get too far. I wiggled fingers. I looked at my boot and wiggled toes that were down inside the leather. A sigh of relief. But the right side hurt, and there was something wrong with the shoulder. City Boy was there, kneeling down. My head was resting on his leg. I couldn't rise up any further. Something told me my muscles in the back were protecting an injury, not allowing me to move from the semi upright fetal position. All I could think was what if I'd had some trauma to my head? </div>
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I couldn't get up, so an ambulance was called. In truth, I was afraid to get up just as much as I was unable. I wanted professionals on hand. They checked my vitals and asked all the questions that they ask, and it was determined I was not in shock. I was placed on the gurney and off I went, sirens and lights and all. City Boy followed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjZeoYW1mb809c2QJrH4vfSDJyBYZ3IaQfUiinkSCGLgxNsNBORTEjMw8SUavtSFYWVIyOuKrtVcyDa28mGEERJeJD-d0ZN5Onq9DIJaWszEUMg9d_sHCvf7_XTAkGDTedLriHqbN8Ad3/s1600/oz+trailweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjZeoYW1mb809c2QJrH4vfSDJyBYZ3IaQfUiinkSCGLgxNsNBORTEjMw8SUavtSFYWVIyOuKrtVcyDa28mGEERJeJD-d0ZN5Onq9DIJaWszEUMg9d_sHCvf7_XTAkGDTedLriHqbN8Ad3/s640/oz+trailweb.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<i>Oz and I on the trail, a couple days earlier</i></div>
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To be continued...</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-44913616619278877462013-04-29T22:16:00.000-07:002013-04-29T22:16:38.642-07:00It Didn't Stop There!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMrwQ4DDJZQCoFoxhNTtI4KgxR9VheiRrHB1Td0CVz76AIPMfpZP5vMSTl5u4LBWg7o1cYZ12xA8LMp0S6hL-Xw845HVt-jKHg9UBRr0ZsZmjoaalg72wDl6sUxXQM8rilI6Hf1MFYZcs/s1600/oz+sandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMrwQ4DDJZQCoFoxhNTtI4KgxR9VheiRrHB1Td0CVz76AIPMfpZP5vMSTl5u4LBWg7o1cYZ12xA8LMp0S6hL-Xw845HVt-jKHg9UBRr0ZsZmjoaalg72wDl6sUxXQM8rilI6Hf1MFYZcs/s640/oz+sandy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Sandy with <a href="http://www.willfullyguided.com/">Allison Trimble</a>, and myself on Oz.<br />Photo Courtesy Valarie Richey </i></div>
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"Hey, wanna ride?"<br />
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"Uh, yeah! But Darling won't be here and I'd like to make sure we've got someone to ride Sandy so Oz can follow."<br /><br />"No problem, I'll find someone!"<br />
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Before long, Valarie, Allison and myself were heading up to the trail head. I had my big cowgirl panties on and was planning on riding Oz on his first official ride. Weeee!!!!!!!!!</div>
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Sandy had ponied Oz on this trail two weeks ago today. Oz tried his best to walk as close as he could to Sandy, nearly pushing us off the trail a couple of times. He was nervous and it came out in typical youngster fashion as he nibbled on Sandy's saddle blanket, nipped his shoulder, and when he had the chance, grabbing at the reins and trying to lead us off.</div>
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Being steady as Sandy is, I was comfortable riding Oz just so long as that steadfast bay was right in front of us. And things went pretty well. Yes, Oz was fidgety. He was tense. He tried trotting when we first started, but was easily pulled back. He managed to negotiate the downhills relatively well, though his head was always tucked and low. </div>
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After the first couple of hills, Oz settled into a nice walk, and even managed to pick his way carefully over a steep hill that had an exposed rock face at the top. We made it down a muddy hill and across a wooden bridge. Once out of the woods and into the clearing, he walked up alongside Sandy, but didn't try to pick his own way, rather just walked alongside, borrowing confidence from the older mustang.</div>
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And while his attitude was positive, there was still that underlying feeling that he was holding his breath...at least halfway. Always tense and waiting for the unexpected. </div>
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<i>Oz makes his way gingerly into the water, fearful of being swept downstream.</i></div>
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<i>Photo courtesy Valarie Richey</i></div>
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When we got to the creek, he was totally unsure that it was in his best interest to cross. Sandy went first. Two weeks ago, Oz jumped it while being ponied. I half expected him to try it again, but instead he simply refused, backing away, doing tiny half hearted rears, turning and trying anything he could to avoid getting his pretty white toes wet. It took a few minutes, but when Sandy walked back into the water, Oz finally decided he'd give it a try. Amazingly enough, the water didn't sweep him downstream, and we managed to make it back to the trailer in one piece. </div>
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We came home and Oz went out into a grassy paddock. I came inside and was happy to see that my riding buddies already had photos up on facebook. While I used to pack my camera on all my trail rides, I felt it was a bit big and cumbersome when riding such a greenie as Oz, and I've not got one of those new fangled 'smart' phones. I felt pretty good about our ride, but now I was itching for more. I couldn't stand it, I had to go back outside and saddle him up again!<br />
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Oz is always nervous out behind the house. Darling's former jump course has been transformed into a trail course, but Oz struggles to get beyond the step down log. He's very insecure, and wants his herd, so a small loop around the trees and back up to the barn is about all we manage to get done (mostly because there's never anyone around to realize I'm down in the dirt should he happen to uncork!) </div>
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Today was no exception. Though the earlier ride may have burned off a little bit of his apprehensiveness, he was still on edge. I rode a couple circles up near the barn, then headed out behind the house. I didn't even recognize that he had a 'do not cross this line' spot picked out in his mind. Just stepped right on past it! He wasn't sure what to do. I rode an extra five feet and then turned back to safety. He breathed a sigh of relief and carried me up over the log and back to the barn.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd30xT1CIdtF2rtBT5uvuuY-C010i-gMZ9zzreaGmsc3p_lxBBAJosYeVAKphsD54BQCGB_ti7_XrApgwhmoP2gYSI_O3OooQIGlev9H7VLIYGj5f9dFjIPC1CzRZZ66NEsHEm3q6TNnV8/s1600/logs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd30xT1CIdtF2rtBT5uvuuY-C010i-gMZ9zzreaGmsc3p_lxBBAJosYeVAKphsD54BQCGB_ti7_XrApgwhmoP2gYSI_O3OooQIGlev9H7VLIYGj5f9dFjIPC1CzRZZ66NEsHEm3q6TNnV8/s640/logs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Now, Oz was quite content with leaving, but the fact of the matter is, it was my choice, and we'd gone past the point where he was comfortable before turning back. So another circle up near the barn, and back down the path we went. This time, we went a little further. Oz had a panic attack. He tried to stop. He rocked back over his hocks just a bit. But I urged him to take a few extra steps, and then we again turned and went back to where he was comfortable.</div>
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We did this two or three times, taking in an extra ten feet on each trip, or turning a different direction, or crossing a log rather than stepping around it. Oz began to focus on where we were walking, knowing that he'd head back to the barn.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZJnvgaANPh0E_Jojk1b8t5xjH6o5WeZk-Y7vTskyb5ORLFGdqyYH94FYqMH50zW67Ot9QeXpJYm6k-3aT2Emw8KXHMFBp2PI9DozuAuZEq7p1MUdNIqGA1G4L7ueKEJuaYvj8U0Y_IrA/s1600/oz1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZJnvgaANPh0E_Jojk1b8t5xjH6o5WeZk-Y7vTskyb5ORLFGdqyYH94FYqMH50zW67Ot9QeXpJYm6k-3aT2Emw8KXHMFBp2PI9DozuAuZEq7p1MUdNIqGA1G4L7ueKEJuaYvj8U0Y_IrA/s640/oz1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then it happened. Rather than turning from the barn back down the same trail, I headed straight back to the creek. Oz put up his ears. He was curious, and didn't hesitate to head down the new path. His step was relaxed and light. We turned a corner and walked back onto the trail that went behind the house. No hesitation. No tense body. Ears up, easy steps. We stepped down over the log, crossed a couple more, walked over the bridge that's sitting out among the trees. I tried to get him to cross some mud, but he sank a few inches, so we backed up and turned around and went somewhere else.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWDGDout_9LotPqKCy_wkuBmNacIayK0BMu1-hoknlMJ0_BITLK1GNHPLvQKPdcCFurI6j2fz6ze51azxyO2SvcPWcPGhRskMsESmnVFEnMryAZvntKFkFJGeip286ETmqDBNzckFW2Bl/s1600/mud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWDGDout_9LotPqKCy_wkuBmNacIayK0BMu1-hoknlMJ0_BITLK1GNHPLvQKPdcCFurI6j2fz6ze51azxyO2SvcPWcPGhRskMsESmnVFEnMryAZvntKFkFJGeip286ETmqDBNzckFW2Bl/s640/mud.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
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Oz didn't bat an eye. We walked past the old dog kennel where the ducks and turkeys had lived the past couple of years. Robins were flitting in and out, and he did a double take, but continued on. He began searching out pathways to explore in his big backyard. I was wishing the backyard were bigger! Finally, Oz wasn't worried about trying to protect himself, and allowing me to simply drop the reins and trust that I wasn't going to send him into some place scary where he'd need to use his fight or flight instincts.</div>
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It was, in a word, glorious. A huge weight slid from both of our shoulders this afternoon, and we're both a little more prepared to conquer the world!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-6501673930922111852013-04-29T10:26:00.000-07:002013-04-29T10:26:09.584-07:00Never Forgotten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The year was 2008. It was December, and we were in Oregon to pick up my new mustang for the upcoming Extreme Mustang Makeover. My friend Andi drove us up the mountain in search of wild horses. It was the first time I came fact to face with these lovely creatures, and I stood in amazement as they mingled around us, cautious, but not afraid enough to leave. It's when Darling met Dibs. It's when I named Honor. And it's when we first met this incredible stallion who became known as Golden Boy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzwtki-_NivgZyGLzTx2Ocot8_z-pDLaQfa-A1qxrnqs9FGFcRVSdEqO9vMJ_ipwSuTNZgm6FFPvqglr0xvC1tsFubywBbD8HnmlpNVhTpkRCZE0-pxFtGAy8Lzpr3qSvFmHIWBGWfxNR/s1600/dun+on+the+move+web+8x10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzwtki-_NivgZyGLzTx2Ocot8_z-pDLaQfa-A1qxrnqs9FGFcRVSdEqO9vMJ_ipwSuTNZgm6FFPvqglr0xvC1tsFubywBbD8HnmlpNVhTpkRCZE0-pxFtGAy8Lzpr3qSvFmHIWBGWfxNR/s1600/dun+on+the+move+web+8x10.jpg" /></a></div>
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Golden Boy kept to himself. Many other band stallions had a second in command, but not GB. No, he'd selected some of the finest mares on the mountain and he wasn't about to allow anyone else into his inner circle. Now and again, as on the first day we saw him, he could be found with the Hollywood Herd, where several bands mingled together, but more often he was on the outskirts, not too far away, but never so close as to encourage another stallion to think he could get away with breeding or stealing one of his mares.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUd_Tnz60o3HLLBZuMyoqGPl0FoodrCLPlA9ihXBs3fMLe0r5n6MhPiK-cDfmk9rzKCX_YiXZ9WK1s5AlunAuIuU4jvYGylD4Pt_bCSuc1JB97MOepLDwLJwqNF0T-1o-qKGQXvRwYIjc/s1600/GB+bucksin+nursing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUd_Tnz60o3HLLBZuMyoqGPl0FoodrCLPlA9ihXBs3fMLe0r5n6MhPiK-cDfmk9rzKCX_YiXZ9WK1s5AlunAuIuU4jvYGylD4Pt_bCSuc1JB97MOepLDwLJwqNF0T-1o-qKGQXvRwYIjc/s640/GB+bucksin+nursing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Clover, the buckskin, and Kamali, the pinto, were among the mares with Golden Boy in 2011.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGl5_gQSDVpxUeelElEX4yri_YHIYKjNmPM-5Gy_tTF-mXgN678wCdMCbMoBO5nFvx37hz8C6MWc1v_1ZWv_knNssMawkWLkIUc_8-sKqzLq1o2EH89VniyA7zIkAOfn3XBA-Wmy69aHH/s1600/golden+pinto+mare+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGl5_gQSDVpxUeelElEX4yri_YHIYKjNmPM-5Gy_tTF-mXgN678wCdMCbMoBO5nFvx37hz8C6MWc1v_1ZWv_knNssMawkWLkIUc_8-sKqzLq1o2EH89VniyA7zIkAOfn3XBA-Wmy69aHH/s640/golden+pinto+mare+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Golden Boy and the always lovely Delight, February 2011.</i></div>
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When we got word last year that Golden Boy was injured, and that he was under attack by other stallions, it was devastating. Backed up against the rimrock, Golden Boy and his mares fought hard when bachelor stallions came in hopes of picking off mares for themselves. One photographer was present at the scene. Golden Boy's injury was such that he had no hopes of living through the onslaught. She contacted the BLM office, and Golden Boy was immediately put down so as not to suffer any longer. The mares were then fought over by the remaining stallions.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcohSR99uiVuiO_HTtenvKUVWcDf5m2TZveYxd1ksUSzgtrg9lhnDl5nb4-zOtS7Jw2gWyLxqHOPDIiVhNwWMCbB5R3r7S4_AMxvWV0dVDXZGHMu6aK8XCdwgBjgKTXLaLLwYVURpnitf7/s1600/cortez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcohSR99uiVuiO_HTtenvKUVWcDf5m2TZveYxd1ksUSzgtrg9lhnDl5nb4-zOtS7Jw2gWyLxqHOPDIiVhNwWMCbB5R3r7S4_AMxvWV0dVDXZGHMu6aK8XCdwgBjgKTXLaLLwYVURpnitf7/s640/cortez.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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After a great amount of scuffling, chasing, and stealing, things finally began to settle down on the South Steens. Delight, her yearling filly (Whisper), and Cotton ended up with Cortez, the feisty little pinto who'd lived as a bachelor the past couple of years. He'd also picked up Holly and her dam, Noelle, earlier in the year, so he was now quite happy to have four mares and their offspring. Life was looking good again on the mountain.</div>
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The South Steens is loved by photographers as the 'Hollywood' horses, as they are known, tend to stick around near the roads and they don't panic when they see people walking in to get a few pictures. Of course, a soft approach is needed to get up close and personal with them, but it could be done, and never did we leave disappointed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gQ5fwW8ohL7Z_U4CITuTu4_fAROBNhDcAge5NnC6l0B5By8QFuSm-bjSgsSpTKWJrpoS8rTRINz2kUOq8HSRYyVIAoweMOuyiA-t2NXChg7i3rH34xkhcpRfnle_P_GDaeOYpv995D76/s1600/delight+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gQ5fwW8ohL7Z_U4CITuTu4_fAROBNhDcAge5NnC6l0B5By8QFuSm-bjSgsSpTKWJrpoS8rTRINz2kUOq8HSRYyVIAoweMOuyiA-t2NXChg7i3rH34xkhcpRfnle_P_GDaeOYpv995D76/s640/delight+copy.jpg" width="414" /></a></div>
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<i>Up close and personal with Delight.</i></div>
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With the band broken and mares scattered, photographers began documenting where they'd gone and which stallions had which mares. New foals were expected to start arriving in February, and everyone was interested to know if Golden Boy's mares had been bred by him, or their new stallions. Of course, we knew there was no real way to identify sires short of DNA, but odds are always good with GB's girls, that they are carrying his colts.</div>
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A visit around the first of the year by my friend Carolyn saw everyone content. In February, two mares were missing from Cortez's band...Delight and Clover. But their foals from the previous year were both still with him. This is odd. Two mares leaving in the same time frame, but colts not going along? It just didn't add up.</div>
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<i>Zephry, a beautiful colt with one blue eye</i></div>
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Meanwhile, in Cascade and Sox's band, the yearling colt, Zephyr, appeared to be missing. A colt missing isn't such a surprise...anything could happen to a baby. But the mares? They were older, wiser, larger. A big cat can pick off a colt, but rarely an adult unless it's ill or injured. The mares had been healthy. And they were <i>both </i>missing. A predator would not take down two.</div>
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Then there was another report. The remains of a horse and three dead antelope, all in close proximity to one another, had been found. There was enough hair remaining on the horse to identify him. It was Little Brother. Carolyn had seen him in February, so he'd died after the mares had disappeared. But the fact that his remains were so close to the antelope, and it appeared that they'd died in the same time frame, that things are looking a little suspicious on the South Steens.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqxx5Nxm4S4RRqIEGQu5NHJVvbZZktiIrdke5YxZqoZIZyGIOo9NBdqdGqzUoAEQ_6RRanukCPogmWyw7AdsYK7RH27a3eAiaRXot3Udt4u5xD4cZXSKwtYGv-ltvqpRhQYtVKISNsBud/s1600/little+brother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqxx5Nxm4S4RRqIEGQu5NHJVvbZZktiIrdke5YxZqoZIZyGIOo9NBdqdGqzUoAEQ_6RRanukCPogmWyw7AdsYK7RH27a3eAiaRXot3Udt4u5xD4cZXSKwtYGv-ltvqpRhQYtVKISNsBud/s640/little+brother.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
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<i>Little Brother, as he was in June 2012</i></div>
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Another photographer reported back in early April. He'd made a trip to the mountain and found two skeletons with just enough hair for him to assume that it was Delight and Clover. They were near a water hole, not far from each other.</div>
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While there is no proof of how our horses are dying, there is enough speculation. And with that speculation, a deluge of people keeping watch over our beloved wild horses on the Steens. If someone has been up shooting, we know they've been there at least on two occasions. Please pray that they are never successful again.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-76040674517155873942013-04-28T03:35:00.000-07:002013-04-28T03:35:18.758-07:00Apparently...<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/efUiRAHml40" width="560"></iframe></div>
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I put Oz back to work after getting his 'I dunno' results from the vet. He coughed twice...then worked for half an hour with nothing. Then again last night, hauling him to the arena. One measly cough. Seriously, Oz? What the heck? Not coughing is nearly as aggravating as having a cough that you don't know where it's coming from. Apparently, all I needed to do to 'cure' him was stuff his nose in a glove and try to suffocate him. Who knew? </div>
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Darling and I made our way up to the Reined Cowhorse Show yesterday where I snapped a few photos of friends (and strangers) who were competing. Wonder if any of my mustangs would be well suited for this event? The object of the game is to perform an easy pattern showing your horse is able to do lead changes in both directions, a couple of stops and back up. This is called the 'dry work'. </div>
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Dry work is followed by the cow being turned into the arena with you. This is when it gets tricky, because the cow hasn't read the rule book.</div>
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First, you work your cow off the back wall, which is the end of the arena where the cow just came through the gate. You want to show that your horse can 'box' the cow, or keep it contained in a smaller area. This is similar to cutting, though you've not got a herd behind you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTeS3EQIqFVzk5-nQuepYuPNy1jllGcxuWUYdGYq1SU7kQjUXu4rUvwzMJUCVGeZw1qngzKkBsbBnqFFtWZxlVshclXp7zWMzS0LOGnY6mNtdlzv6MwufKmmMmyRf43eIP9Hbbb6FONLe/s1600/250c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTeS3EQIqFVzk5-nQuepYuPNy1jllGcxuWUYdGYq1SU7kQjUXu4rUvwzMJUCVGeZw1qngzKkBsbBnqFFtWZxlVshclXp7zWMzS0LOGnY6mNtdlzv6MwufKmmMmyRf43eIP9Hbbb6FONLe/s400/250c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then you allow the cow to move up along the long side of the arena, as though it's making a get away. Now your horse is tested on how well it can rate the calf, move ahead of it and turn it back the other direction. You want to get a couple good turns in each direction to show how well your horse can handle it.</div>
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Once you've made those hard, fast turns, you drive your cow out into the arena and show how your horse is able to direct the cow by circling it. You want to circle both directions, which can be tricky as those little suckers can move pretty quick when they want to! A nice, pretty circle will get you more points than something that is, say, egg shaped, or free form.</div>
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Once you've circled to the right, you allow the cow to move just slightly ahead of your horse, and you then move to the cow's opposite side, and circle to the left. </div>
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This is all done at what is often times similar to a hand gallop. Or, in other words, break neck speed. As previously stated, the cows don't read the rules and have no clue that there is any sort of pattern involved. Sometimes, they turn the wrong way and dive under the horse, causing great accidents to happen. Thankfully, we didn't witness anything like that yesterday.</div>
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Darling had thought this may be a fun sport until we sat and watched. Then? "Those people are crazy, mom. Just crazy. I mean, I do crazy stuff, but that's <i>CRAZY</i>!"</div>
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Guess I won't need to worry if my mustangs can do it or not!</div>
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Hope y'all have a happy Sunday!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-37383188220627670452013-04-26T21:56:00.000-07:002013-04-26T21:56:54.111-07:00Cough. Cough. Cough.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3i6GMHaXYmbpYqyG3vEOk2Uw9kztaqYuzQjB6AGDM1VEu4JofuOoDI8W21Lj35Sbw9OLbJA6827ZNOem-5aEoj2UeYSBW3W2-jBPxRAoA-x70tI0uVHzR_BbMHxbS86NOsXW-TtrZomA/s1600/bareback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3i6GMHaXYmbpYqyG3vEOk2Uw9kztaqYuzQjB6AGDM1VEu4JofuOoDI8W21Lj35Sbw9OLbJA6827ZNOem-5aEoj2UeYSBW3W2-jBPxRAoA-x70tI0uVHzR_BbMHxbS86NOsXW-TtrZomA/s640/bareback.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Got brave and hopped on bareback!</i></div>
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Another day of sunshine and lollipops! Minus the lollipops.<br />
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Oz has developed a little cough the past couple of weeks. It's annoying. Each time we start to trot, he coughs. I hate when that happens, because I'm afraid that if I'm riding with others, they'll worry that he's contagious. I'd taken his temp, but it was normal. I'd soaked his hay, but he still coughed. It was only with exertion, like when we trotted, or when I ponied him on the trail and we climbed a hill. So I wasn't terribly worried...but since it hadn't gone away, and since I've got 3 weeks until game time, I opted to have it checked out.</div>
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The heart sounded good. The lungs sounded fine. Nothing at all in the trachea. And again, no temp. Eyes were clear, as was his nose. So nothing viral, said the vet, and no one need worry about catching the creeping crud. At this point, he pulled out a long glove, one that is intended for use when a hand goes up the end of a horse that one's hand should never travel into. Oz, of course, had no clue. And this time, the glove was for the front end, anyway. A knot was tied where the wrist would normally be, and the opening slipped over Oz's muzzle. It was left there for a couple of minutes, just long enough for Oz to become uncomfortable breathing, at which point the 'bag' was pulled off and the vet's stethoscope placed onto his side. Oz gave a hefty cough, induced by the bag. The vet listened to see if he could hear anything in his lungs. Nothing. A second time of breathing into the makeshift bag, a second time listening, and again, nothing.</div>
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The needle came out and blood was drawn.</div>
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Then we went outside for a quick trot around to show the good doctor what we'd been experiencing, and true to history, Oz coughed. We turned and trotted the other direction, and this time a little chunk of what looked like chewed grass or hay came shooting out when he coughed.</div>
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The vet suggested we wait for the lab to check the bloodwork, and then, if nothing showed up, we'd make a plan.</div>
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What showed up was...well...nearly nothing. A wee bit of inflammation, I was told, but nothing terribly bad. So I was told to return to exercise and see if whatever it was would work it's way out in the next few days. Then, if he didn't get better on his own, we'd put him on banamine for a few days and see if that helped the cough.</div>
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The past few days I've not done anything other than walk a few circles, but after the phone call I went right out and saddled up. We had a good, solid workout, and yes, he coughed a couple of times, but it wasn't bad, and I didn't let it stop us. I'm anxious to get things back on the road. Or, in this case, the trail! </div>
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<br /><i>Sandy and I ponying Oz down the trail. Next time? I'm riding the red man!</i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-22953181292177928342013-04-25T22:07:00.000-07:002013-04-25T22:07:03.074-07:00It's a Good Day to Die<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's what I told myself, anyway. I mean...is any day really a <i>good</i> day? So today was just as good as any other, I figured. May as well at least go with a bang...or a buck...or a bolt...</div>
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So the first thing I did (after trying to kill myself on one of the Cowboy's spooky quarter horses) was go out and take a look at my wild, rambunctious, untamable hoodlums of the horse world known as mustangs. And I said to myself..."Self, you may as well go big, or go home. No point putting your life on the line at the end of the day. May as well step right up to the plate and do the riskiest one first."</div>
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And that's just what I did. I went out and sweet talked the oldest, wildest, most unpredictable of all my mustangs (not to mention the most beautifulest) and asked her, pretty please, will you let me put a halter on you today?</div>
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And she did.</div>
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After sending her in a few circles in the round pen, I pulled out the saddle and bridle and held my breath and put it on the Diva. And again, she was good and allowed it. And again, I told myself it was a good day to die, and to go like a brave cowgirl, not a wimpy little wannabe. </div>
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I gave the red head a pat and stepped into the stirrup. I reached across and patted her neck. She wiggled her lips, but stood still.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy_3mah96l8giUReP6mBPvsLBPRAIadZEmyuS4tT7FEZrL7kmq9aCBHJ66OfmWpm4w_c0tc3Pd8e4Q0tT7onPkkJdvp98qcHICujl2cmKtuAOPP1ch4YmI-nfRPssRmkVupoKQ5tr4SLW/s1600/tika+mounting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy_3mah96l8giUReP6mBPvsLBPRAIadZEmyuS4tT7FEZrL7kmq9aCBHJ66OfmWpm4w_c0tc3Pd8e4Q0tT7onPkkJdvp98qcHICujl2cmKtuAOPP1ch4YmI-nfRPssRmkVupoKQ5tr4SLW/s640/tika+mounting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Go big! Go big! I stood all the way up, still rubbing and patting. First the shoulder and neck, then back behind the saddle on her hip and rump. She stood patiently. No fire, no flames.</div>
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And then there I was, up top, astride, back in the saddle again. The mare I'd brought home as a seven year old, put a couple dozen rides on as a nine year old, was now standing quietly beneath me two years later as an 11 year old. And no one died.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozKtjzNHkuKqkyMRVYHdi0iJqx4kcej6VWoq7V68dKQWKSqCfs-9Pv2UTIjG0gUdh1M9M2o6ITzqsYMhNnCZ3NU9GP314HNcr5_j3kwL9jU1v_UB0SCuO9r2GRyZBFediYVlAwqDUZCOr/s1600/tika+mounted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozKtjzNHkuKqkyMRVYHdi0iJqx4kcej6VWoq7V68dKQWKSqCfs-9Pv2UTIjG0gUdh1M9M2o6ITzqsYMhNnCZ3NU9GP314HNcr5_j3kwL9jU1v_UB0SCuO9r2GRyZBFediYVlAwqDUZCOr/s640/tika+mounted.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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With that done, Darling decided she, too, wanted to get into the act. Beamer's been out on a couple of trail rides this past week, packing me for a couple of hours each time, over bridges, through water, up and down hills, trudging right along.</div>
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<br />Darling decided that Beamer needed to go English, so she pulled out her saddle and climbed aboard.<br />
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After a few laps around the pen, Darling decided that she'd be riding Beamer on the trails from now on!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMUXtWv8npCJI5mVvR6swUvKJurUXM3RsMYMnNcSkEpY8QblFqe9K9ZumKMUyHAwz9brzqkHWV620jqhspjKHuKC0BserPRvMevaX9ehJo8gJgQxCrN8V9n3f1iRRCRau-YerpTdktSKy/s1600/beamer2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMUXtWv8npCJI5mVvR6swUvKJurUXM3RsMYMnNcSkEpY8QblFqe9K9ZumKMUyHAwz9brzqkHWV620jqhspjKHuKC0BserPRvMevaX9ehJo8gJgQxCrN8V9n3f1iRRCRau-YerpTdktSKy/s640/beamer2.jpg" width="592" /></a></div>
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As Darling was trotting about, posting up and down, I was saddling Flirt. She's been at the bottom of the 'to do' list for quite some time. Counting down to the <a href="http://youtu.be/efUiRAHml40">Trail Challenge with Oz</a>, and knowing I needed to get Beamer ready to sell, meant that Flirt was just going to need to wait. until I had a bit of time. Well...today I had a few extra minutes. And, apparently, a death wish. So I saddled her up and for the second time this month, and then I climbed on board.</div>
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Maybe my death wish wasn't really as strong as I'd thought, because I didn't ask her to go anywhere. Just climbed on and off a couple of times. Or maybe it was that I was saved by the dinner bell? City Boy called from the patio, and who was I to turn down a meal?</div>
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With nightfall creeping closer, and a full tummy, we sat down and watched a movie. But my heart was still restless. Something more needed to be done. I returned to the barn as the sun slipped behind the trees and mosquitoes came out for their evening meal (seriously...blood sucking winged miniature vampires!) I called to Oz, and saddled him up. We made a couple of quiet walks around the pen, then I opened the gate and rode into the paddock where Flirt stood waiting, wearing her halter and lead. She turned to face us and I reached out to pet her face, then slid my hand down her halter to her lead rope.</div>
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I asked Oz to turn and we headed back into the round pen, this time leading the two year old behind us. Talk about the green leading the green. And while it was a tiny space, there's still enough room to get into trouble. The lead rope bounced off Oz's hip, crossed around behind him, even got clamped under his tail at one point (which I didn't know until I was ready to get off), and he just walked quietly while she followed nicely.</div>
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Seems it wasn't my day to die after all. Good thing, because I have a trail challenge to go to in just...<i>oh my word!</i>...three weeks! </div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-48933296941179900912013-04-19T10:20:00.001-07:002013-04-19T10:20:02.329-07:00The Funeral<span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"type":45}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; outline: none; width: auto;" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"></span></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_51717c237b1670f74368355" style="display: inline;">
"As a guitarist, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost.<br /><br />I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There we<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">re only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch.<br /><br />I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play.<br /><br />The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man.<br /><br />And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my guitar and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.<br /><br />As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.”<br /><br />Apparently, I’m still lost…</span></div>
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<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: grey;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="fbPhotoTagList" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="fcg" style="color: grey;">I had to share it. Hope it made you smile!</span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-7171185736538323302013-04-13T06:14:00.000-07:002013-04-13T06:14:22.476-07:00When One Gate Closes...<div style="text-align: justify;">
What is it that Mother Superior said in the Sound of Music? "When God closes a door, he leaves a window open"? Something to that extent. I'm waiting patiently for that open window to show up. Somewhere, that cow cutting mustang of my dreams is out there. I just wish it was <i>here.</i> But until it shows up, I'll trudge forward and get done what needs to be done here and now. Besides, I've got a Trail Challenge to prepare for!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5R90_JJzXxV8sXNOj2hRbn91UlMkuFJEaOC8YVeQ7ouebo6Ayp1iZ6eFt_aFfL-l-XBJs6OBzAn24zpucjs1PDrK_-Iru7pxot8yJXrJGCrZ8xr8VZCC11hgCIo4Auv4nFk1IfVpWy8D/s1600/oz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5R90_JJzXxV8sXNOj2hRbn91UlMkuFJEaOC8YVeQ7ouebo6Ayp1iZ6eFt_aFfL-l-XBJs6OBzAn24zpucjs1PDrK_-Iru7pxot8yJXrJGCrZ8xr8VZCC11hgCIo4Auv4nFk1IfVpWy8D/s640/oz.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Darling came outside the other afternoon when I was on Oz. She's not ridden him in the past few weeks and asked if she could climb on. Of course! She was happily surprised at how far he'd come and how easy he was to ride in the round pen. She even dropped to one hand and did a couple of figure 8's with him. He maintained a steady walk throughout, which is exactly what he'll need once we hit the trail classes down in Oregon.</div>
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I mentioned the other day that I like working through gates with my horses. Stopping, waiting, moving the front and back end of their bodies independently of each other...it builds to better overall body control. Oz caught on so quickly to giving his rib cage when we were getting him started, and that has helped him figure out gates quite rapidly as well.</div>
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I asked Katie to grab a quick video of Oz and I coming through the gate. I'd already practiced backing through (which he struggles just a little bit with) and walking through forward (it had been impeccable!), and I wanted to capture at least the walk through on a video clip.</div>
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As it turned out, once the camera was there, we backed through perfectly (Katie turned it on as she noticed it was going so well), but when Oz realized she was standing there with the camera on our way back in, he had to stop and look and wiggle a bit. But for a greenie, he's doing well. We have a long way to go when it comes to actual obstacles, but body control is there! I guess until my cutting prospect comes along, these are the gates I'll be traveling through!</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-67864664308669286822013-04-12T20:33:00.000-07:002013-04-12T20:33:13.647-07:00Heartbroken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I turned Lucy out in the back the other day. Sunshine had dried it out for the most part, and while there wasn't a lot of grass, there was some for the nibbling, and Lord knows Lucy could use the extra feed. Long backed girl that she is, it will be some time before she's carrying enough pounds to make her look even lean...she's just downright skinny at the moment. </div>
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I'd been trying to quench the excitement I'd felt growing within me. Lucy had done so well on the bull that I'd begun to contemplate finding a new home for one of the other horses. But who to give up? It wasn't an easy choice. Could I find someone to foster Tika? That would be difficult, though in all honesty, it would make the most sense. Neither Flirt or Oz fits the job description I'm looking for; Oz is just a bit too big and lumbering, and while Flirt is a lovely mover, there's nothing quick and catty about her. Tika is the only of the three who moves remotely like I want a cowhorse to move, but of course we're back to it being Tika, and that just isn't going to happen.</div>
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Lucy had about a week off, doing nothing but eat, when I decided I'd haul her along with me to the arena for a little bitty ride. I didn't want to burn too many calories when I'm trying to pack them on, but what would a 15 minute ride hurt? Just a few circles and stops. Nothing else. I loaded both her and Oz and off we went.</div>
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I had Lucy saddled and climbed on board. We walked and did a little bending and giving of the rib cage, then I asked for the trot. Hmmm...what's that? It didn't feel quite right. Not overly wrong, just not quite right. We walked again, and the feeling went away. But it was definitely there, if ever so faint, at the trot. I sighed and unsaddled her, feeling for heat of which I found none, and moved on to Oz.</div>
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Lucy was given a day off, and she played hard when turned out, showing no sign of lameness. That is, of course, until I went out to halter her 2 days later. I could see her head bobbing as she trotted up to the gate. Putting the halter on, I led her to my sandy round pen and asked her to trot at the end of the lead. I didn't see any discomfort, so I loaded her into the trailer and off to the arena we went, where she walked soundly across the footing toward the round pen nestled near the corner.</div>
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I glanced down and backward at Lucy's legs and feet as we traveled, and something caught my eye. What was that lump? I stopped and reached down. A hard knot was on the outside left of Lucy's coronet band, no heat, not soft. Lucy didn't seem to mind my pushing and prodding, so I continued to the round pen where I asked her to trot while I watched her travel.</div>
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Lame. Her head was bobbing and there was no doubt it was from the left leg. She didn't have any trouble swinging it forward and using her shoulder, so I figured it had to be the lump that was giving us trouble.</div>
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The following day a farrier was at the Cowboy's, so I hauled Lucy down for a look see. In the meantime, the night before, I'd done some research and came across two possibilities; ringbone or sidebone. Since I'd never dealt with either, I hoped the farrier and the Cowboy could give me a little insight.</div>
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The farrier said he was sure that it was <a href="http://www.thehorse.com/images/content/0703/sb_rb.html">sidebone</a>. Of course, xrays would tell us for sure, but he had a client with a horse who had it, and it looked and felt the same. Lucy was a bit young, he said, but he would bet on it being sidebone.</div>
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The Cowboy looked at me, and I didn't even need to hear the words. "You'd better find her another home, Trace," he said, knowing I wasn't wanting to hear what he was saying. "It's not the forward motion, it's the turning that hurts them. Bugger...I know you kinda liked this one."</div>
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The rest of the morning was a blur, most likely due to the tears I was fighting back. I left Lucy there. A second farrier was coming down tomorrow. Never hurts to have a second opinion, right? </div>
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I called the vet that afternoon to find out about the possibility of xrays. I was told they'd want to do a nerve block first, to determine that was the actual cause of the lameness. Then after that, they'd do xrays. He rattled off the costs of farm calls and office calls and fees for procedures associated with Lucy's knot. I mentally tabulated it in my head, landing on the magic number of $500. Sigh...not exactly in the budget after all of Flirt's escapades last fall and the recent visit from the dentist. And in reality, all I needed was to have it confirmed that it was, indeed, sidebone. Lameness aside, from what I was reading all afternoon, Lucy didn't have a shot at any hard work in the future.</div>
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The following day, farrier #2 showed up. Indeed, he said, it was sidebone. He'd seen it in a lot of draft horses, but was surprised to see it in my four year old mustang. He'd just seen her 3 weeks ago when he trimmed her, and said it hadn't been exposed then (whew! I'd wondered if I'd just not noticed it?), and that the stress of the work I'd done the week before must have brought it to the surface. He also said not to give up on her as a riding horse...but again, light work.</div>
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My heart came crashing down. All that potential...those dreams of finding the mustang who may be competitive in the cutting arena...<i>poof</i>. Gone in an instant. I hadn't realized just how excited I'd been until that moment. I allowed myself to weep for my loss of a mare who'd captured my heart the remainder of the afternoon, but then reminded myself that, with the right care, Lucy would still have a productive life with the right home. She would still be able to go for nice, leisurely rides down the trail with someone who didn't want to chase cows or ribbons or trophies. There are those people out there, yes? I need one for Lucy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSohr2EOhTbjHy6uU8_QYoyRUNy5eklxfeQliGR11E2qLZ6MOzj1c1lnNhm5Y-QcZH8NCBjYzgWo9ZZS6l3bIGvNnNe49_YAjJvOmRSLuo8Gqd1aiOHjsbErQ68xyLRyWtDeARhWjKWQM5/s1600/lucy+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSohr2EOhTbjHy6uU8_QYoyRUNy5eklxfeQliGR11E2qLZ6MOzj1c1lnNhm5Y-QcZH8NCBjYzgWo9ZZS6l3bIGvNnNe49_YAjJvOmRSLuo8Gqd1aiOHjsbErQ68xyLRyWtDeARhWjKWQM5/s400/lucy+face.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-42839121541940140702013-04-10T07:00:00.003-07:002013-04-10T07:00:45.752-07:00Big Girl Pantie Time!<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was Big Girl Pantie week for me here at the Mustang Diaries this past week. Here's how it played out.</div>
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<b>Beamer</b><br />
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Beamer went for her second trail ride down at the local tree farm. This ride was not quite as smooth as the first. Oh, sure, it started off just fine. I met another friend and Beamer stepped right out into the lead. That suited her companion, Gertie, just fine, as Gertie prefers to mosey along and let someone else blaze the trail. </div>
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Blazing trails, it would appear, is something Beamer enjoys. </div>
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One of the things that the Cowboy likes is Beamer's large hindquarters. They're very strong and athletic, and on this particular day Beamer opted to use them. No, she didn't kick out or anything of that nature. Instead she opted to launch the two of us like a rocket up a hill with little regard to whether there was an actual trail or not. Thankfully, there was a trail, but when we hit the switchback, she wanted to continue straight on up. </div>
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It's a blessing she's such a small thing. Had I been on Oz, I'd have been toast. Beamer, at least, I was able to pull around and under control once she hesitated at the top of the switchback. A second attempt to hurtle us up the hill, at which point I dismounted and walked to the top. A short walk, thankfully! Obviously, Beamer has some issues we need to work through, so back down to the Cowboy's she went where we can get back to some basics.</div>
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The thing is, she doesn't act this way in an arena. Out on the trail, she calls for the horses at home. And really, since we're less than a mile away from them (probably half that as the crow flies), she may smell them or even hear them if they answer. Either way, she needs more manners, and that can happen in the safety of the arena for now.</div>
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<b>Oz</b><br />
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Six weeks. That's all the time Oz and I have to get things together before the Mt Trail Challenge in Oregon. <i>Eeep!</i> That's not much time! I hadn't even ridden the boy outdoors yet. I mean...sure, if you count my round pen at home, but actually<i> outside</i>? Hasn't happened. Nor in a full size arena. </div>
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Since having his teeth done, Oz has seemed a little depressed. What better time to try something new? No high spirits to deal with, right? I'd given the boy the week off. The Cowboy had taken down the panels inside his arena which had created a nice safety net for starting colts. Lots of territory that had never been available to us (nor had I wanted to use it), but I took a deep breath, saddled up and climbed on board. </div>
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Oz walked and trotted politely around in circles where the pen had been set up. Then we began moving outward and using most of the arena, though avoiding the very front where the doorway led to the barn or the bulls were parked. After a few minutes of arena time, I decided it was time to open the gate and head outdoors.</div>
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I love gates. They teach a horse so much! Moving willingly toward a solid object, standing patiently, moving either the forehand or hindquarters separately from one another, and trusting your rider to maneuver you safely through a small opening. There's a lot of finesse in working your way through a gate. Oz did his best to please me. For a colt who's just been started, he did quite well. We got out into the yard between the barns, then opened the gate into the old buffalo pen and walked around in there. </div>
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Wide tractor tires had left deep tracks in the soft earth last fall, so I steered Oz into one, walking the length of it. I know there are trenches at the trail challenge that are a few feet deep. The tire track wasn't anywhere near that...just a few inches...but it was something!</div>
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Oz came home that afternoon, and I'm happy to report that we've had a couple of rides over obstacles in the big arena at the riding club now, as well as walking around outside in the driveway at home where we navigated around trees and through a big puddle. </div>
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<b>Flirt </b></div>
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No description needed. Just suffice to say I nearly peed my pants. In excitement, of course!<br />
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I was all alone until Darling showed up. She wanted to get in on the excitement, too!</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-71879383074000574482013-04-01T20:49:00.000-07:002013-04-01T20:49:24.158-07:00Would you go to your GP for dental work?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfEyuABDy3GqaGO0Tt5B-lBHxPhbqWCU_HEz0Ew6-YjOL3q6opJH7VfZeWfQfDGrLjfg8kevFMagK2DNgXVz-3xUSHcUwtRkbXsY0PMO-7cbCCK50N2louoXc0ccrHATmWiLf4wObrgM/s1600/ozzie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfEyuABDy3GqaGO0Tt5B-lBHxPhbqWCU_HEz0Ew6-YjOL3q6opJH7VfZeWfQfDGrLjfg8kevFMagK2DNgXVz-3xUSHcUwtRkbXsY0PMO-7cbCCK50N2louoXc0ccrHATmWiLf4wObrgM/s640/ozzie1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Oz would like to know, how much will the tooth fairy leave him? Because after his day with the dentist, he surely believes he deserves <i>something!</i></div>
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We had a gal from Oregon come up to the Cowboy's barn to do some work on Thursday. In the past we've had different vets do our dental work. They've come and slung a rope up over a beam in the stall door, then we'd stand the horse in the stall doorway, and the rope would be attached to their halter. This would hold the head up where the vet was able to work easily on the teeth.</div>
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When I asked where the dentist would like to work on the horses (stall, alleyway), she said she'd like to have a corner somewhere with good light. I assumed she must have a stand which the horse could rest it's head. Nope. She had me. I was the helper, the head holder, the one who was expected to keep the horse's head where it was supposed to be so she could work. </div>
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She explained to us that she'd seen horses get their heads pulled up so high that they'd had strokes, and decided a long time ago that she really didn't need to work like that. So a head holder, aka human assistant, was what she used.</div>
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<i>Tools of the dental trade sit inside a bucket of water</i></div>
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On Thursday, Doxee was the first to be done. We knew it'd been a few years since her teeth had been looked at, so it was no surprise to hear that her teeth had a lot of ridges, hooks, flares and waves. What was a surprise was when she told me to put my hand up there to feel. No one had ever had me do that before! But with Doxee wearing that special dental mouth piece (called a spreader bar) that kept her teeth from crunching down on me, I happily reached up to feel what the dentist felt. </div>
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I was amazed at how far back I had to reach. I mean...I've seen skulls and know those are long faces, but reaching up inside, I expected to get to the teeth sooner. Leslie reached up there with various tools while I propped up Doxee's head, grinding and filing until it was all smooth. Then she did something I'd never seen a vet do...she sawed off the front teeth! </div>
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Okay, she didn't saw them off, but she did saw off 1/8" or so. The reason for this was that while the top and bottom teeth in the front met up, her molars in the back had a big gap. They'd been filed down...they didn't meet up. The only way to make them meet up so that Doxee could chew her food was to alter the length of the front teeth as well. </div>
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Doxee was the first of six horses that day. Most were in worse condition than Doxee, which came as a shock since three of them had just come in from a big training barn. The molars on a couple were so full of ridges that their cheeks were ripped up. </div>
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<i>Oz is always playing with his tongue</i></div>
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By the end of the day on Thursday, I was beat. Holding heads all day is hard work! I'm not sure how Leslie's back holds up to doing that much dental work in a day, or more! She's been an equine dentist for 16 years now, however, so maybe she's used to it?</div>
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Today she came back to do five more, one of whom was Oz. We elected to start with the older horses, knowing that they'd be the harder ones. One mare had just been done 6 months ago. Once again, she had me put my hand up inside the mouth. I was disappointed...how could it be so bad in such a short amount of time? According to Leslie, many vets simply don't know how to properly care for teeth. How would they, she asked? That's not what they've been trained to do. They get a little bit of training for a wide variety of things, but nothing in depth like a specialist. </div>
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Which makes perfect sense, right? Would you go to your general practitioner for <i>your</i> dental work? Probably not. So why should we trust our horse's mouths to someone who hasn't had the in depth training of an equine dentist?</div>
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Oz, being a baby, is losing baby teeth. He also still had his wolf teeth. I've been wondering if the reason he's always got his tongue out is due to dental issues. Of late, he's also begun to lose some weight. Leslie confirmed that the weight was almost certainly due to him losing teeth right now. She told me to expect the same in about another year. She took a look up inside his mouth and commented on his big wolf teeth. That didn't surprise me; every vet who's pulled wolf teeth on a mustang always comments on the size. Oz's wolf teeth were not only large, but they were sharp and pointed. No wonder they call them wolf teeth...they look like they should be inside the mouth of a dog!</div>
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Further back, Oz had one loose tooth and one that seemed to be stuck; it should have come out but instead was jammed in their between teeth. That, we decided, was why he was always sticking that tongue out. "It's like the world's biggest popcorn kernel," said Leslie, "and he's trying to push it out with his tongue."</div>
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<i>Three pairs of teeth; the wolf teeth on the left, baby molars on the right, </i></div>
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<i>and in the center filings from the front teeth.</i></div>
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We'd thought that Oz would be the last, but the Cowboy asked Leslie if she could look at a mare who was just done a few weeks ago. Seems she had some head issues, so they had a vet come and work on her. After he left, she had a whole new set of issues with her bit. Leslie slipped the spreader bar inside the mare's mouth and took a quick feel of her teeth. She turned to me and said, "Reach up in their and tell me what you feel."</div>
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I reached inside, and the first tooth felt like it'd been filed. I reached further back, and began feeling ridges and hooks on both sides, top and bottom. I turned to look at Leslie, who was shaking her head. "It feels like they just did the first tooth," I told her. So rather than being done with Oz, I found myself holding one more head.</div>
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It was long day with horse's heads propped up on my shoulders, or resting in my arms, or my arms stuck up inside mouths. Things I learned; never trust a vet to do a dentist's work, performance horses need to be checked every 6 months, and never tell your three year old the tooth fairy will come if they lose a tooth in the process because they quickly add up the fact that they just lost four.</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-23646612531456926542013-03-30T05:43:00.002-07:002013-03-30T05:43:29.445-07:00Lucy, the Bull, and Beamer's Blue Moon<div style="text-align: center;">
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Lucy's fourth time working the HydraBull. She's coming along pretty nicely, so the Cowboy stepped it up a notch here. Lucy wasn't terribly sure about it being so close, but all in all handled it pretty well. She's definitely got the moves. I'm not sure how long Lucy will be with me, but for now I'm really enjoying her. At some point over the summer, once she's fattened up a bit and has some more training miles on her, she'll be up for sale (keep that in mind all you roan mustang lovers!)</div>
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A few years ago some of you may recall Darling competing in the Youth and Yearling program, where you take a wild mustang yearling and gentle it for an in hand competition. One of those yearlings was a bay filly she named <a href="http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com/search?q=beamer%27s+blue+moon">Beamer's Blue Moon</a> (she wonders now why she called a bay horse blue?) She's pictured here with Tika, who was more than happy to play mamma to this sweet little girl.</div>
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Beamer has recently come back into our lives, as her owner was unable to keep her any longer. She's now four years old and lightly started under saddle. This spunky little mare is testing her boundaries just a little, but deep down she's still the same sweetie who was here before. She's a tiny little sprite, only 13.2 or 13.3, but this girl packs a powerful punch! From Murderer's Creek, she's got a lot of athletic ability. She can stop and turn well enough to make you think you've got a cowhorse on your hands.</div>
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Yesterday a friend asked if I wanted to go for a nice trail ride, and with Oz and Lucy at the Cowboy's, Beamer was the only one at my disposal. Well...sure, why not? Most of our rides were only 20 minutes in length, and always in the arena (flat, easy footing.) And over the past 2 weeks, I've spent far more time with my other three projects than with the little bay, so I wasn't sure if she'd be up for much. I needn't have been concerned. A 40 minute climb up the hill had her no more out of breath than a 20 minute arena workout. Sweating, yes, but no huffing and puffing. And her feet are amazing! Barefoot over rocks without so much as a short step.</div>
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Beamer and Tika seemed to take back up right where they left off. Flirt wasn't so sure she wanted a <i>BAY</i> colored horse on the place, so she was a bit aggressive with the new girl when she first arrived. After having them separate for a couple of weeks, though, I turned them all back out together and Flirt found that just because she's 4" taller doesn't mean she's boss. Beamer pinned her ears and snaked after my red dun baby, showing some teeth and making it known that she wasn't to be pushed around.</div>
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Now that order has come to the trio, they frolic and play and race around like wild ponies should. Beamer won't be with us for long. Like Lucy, she'll get some saddle time, some manners, and then be available for sale to someone who'll appreciate our little bay dynamo!</div>
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<sup style="bottom: 1ex; font-size: 0.75em; height: 0px; line-height: 1; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;"></sup> <span class="pronset"><span class="prondelim" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[</span><span class="pron" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">in-<span class="boldface" style="font-weight: 700;">kawr</span>-i-j<span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">uh</span>-b<span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;">uh</span><img alt="" border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://static.sfdict.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: text-top;" /><img alt="" border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://static.sfdict.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: text-top;" />l, -<span class="boldface" style="font-weight: 700;">kor</span>-</span><span class="prondelim" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">]</span> </span></div>
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<span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">not</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">corrigible;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">bad</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">beyond</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">correction</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">reform:</span> </span><span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">incorrigible</span><span id="hotword" name="hotword">behavior;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">incorrigible</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">liar.</span></span></span></div>
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<span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">impervious</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">constraints</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">punishment;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">willful;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">unruly;</span><span id="hotword" name="hotword">uncontrollable:</span> </span><span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">incorrigible</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">child;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">incorrigible</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">hair.</span></span></span></div>
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<span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">firmly</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">fixed;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">not</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">easily</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">changed:</span> </span><span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: italic;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">incorrigible</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="cursor: default;">habit.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Flirt had been home for a week or better when the sun began shining and I began pining for a little time with my girl, so I loaded her up and hauled her to the riding club for a little one on one time. She walked easily out of her paddock and even self loaded...a first! I simply closed the door behind her and we were off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once at the arena, I began noticing little changes in Flirt's attitude. She was a bit pushier, completely ignorant of the bubble concept, or the 'this is my space, this is yours idea'. All space was her space. She wasn't a happy pony in the round pen, either. I'd been free lunging her while at the Cowboy's and thought I'd do the same here. Mistake. She had no desire to be obedient. I'd send her in a direction, and when I asked her to stop, she continued on, completely disregarding my commands and pushing forward. I snapped the whip out in front of her to get her attention, but she'd run right through it. If I'd stepped in front of her, I believe she'd have simply mowed me down. </span><span style="font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Obviously, she went back on the lunge line, but even then she was pushy and crowding my space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We worked until there was a bit of sweat clinging to the both of us, though, and by the time we left for home, Flirt was at least tolerable. I even got her to drag a bicycle tire around for a bit.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMkGOjpyz1RCjAjPMCFVDKLvmssd9qSxfdMTYeglF9qfjiQixpdm5xX9CV-QZyZny29mLFEmJUn-J6zEfvtUrED0xD9MZ3BrmKql9ReMu6bBsAvVtmDmBCb6aDfGRMQck7NA-eM4z4_VS/s1600/flirt+tire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMkGOjpyz1RCjAjPMCFVDKLvmssd9qSxfdMTYeglF9qfjiQixpdm5xX9CV-QZyZny29mLFEmJUn-J6zEfvtUrED0xD9MZ3BrmKql9ReMu6bBsAvVtmDmBCb6aDfGRMQck7NA-eM4z4_VS/s640/flirt+tire.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The following day the Cowboy had a clinic which I'd organized for him, so I didn't work with Flirt at all. But on Monday I went out and, being as it was so nice out, decided to work her at home in our own pen. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once again, I thought I'd start with a few laps free lunging before moving on to saddling. And once again Flirt threw a red headed two year old tantrum. She raced around, ignoring my body language, pushing through my attempts to slow her down or turn her around. A couple of times she rushed to the panels and stood straight up on her hind legs in an attempt to see if she could lift herself over them. That was a scary sight, given her past! I decided to back off completely and simply stood in the center, an action to which she responded to by coming over and standing with me. On went the lunge line and back to work we went, this time with a little more respect.<br /><br />After a few minutes of positive action, I led her to the barn where I tied her to the post. All those times she stood tied so patiently while at the Cowboy's...she made up for it now. She tossed her head and stomped her feet and tried to dig herself to China. Sigh...what happened to my sweet girl?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPIAhuUfTK3IrQRBdhLG-nk02lZtpKxuCsh4Lwj2V4prt7xw5STy91XfWJtXqyarOuCBdcUrQmRVeVAWyVrr6duIZOQxzo6e4QBzQV0dOemxVd6EXjiMPapOP5DihqqlqI3z0maXhoO1-/s1600/flirt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPIAhuUfTK3IrQRBdhLG-nk02lZtpKxuCsh4Lwj2V4prt7xw5STy91XfWJtXqyarOuCBdcUrQmRVeVAWyVrr6duIZOQxzo6e4QBzQV0dOemxVd6EXjiMPapOP5DihqqlqI3z0maXhoO1-/s640/flirt1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Obviously, Flirt needs daily handling. So Tuesday she was lunged (lunge line) and saddled, and she was an absolute doll. So much of a doll that I started bouncing in the stirrup and stood all the way up over top of her, rubbing along the other side of her body, patting her rump and scratching under her mane. No one around...should I swing my leg over? Probably stupid...so I resisted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday Flirt was again perfectly willing to behave herself. This time Darling walked out while I was working her, so after bouncing up and down a couple times, I swung my leg over her back and sat in the saddle. I was only there briefly, but my seat was firmly planted and my legs were resting on both sides. Then I stood up and swung off. Quick and easy on and off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I sat on my girl. It was Sensational!</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvijepu7B9tc9otr2J1N0o_FgG2c4zkJ0oit6AAfhyphenhyphen_kdZ0D0X2FCRTdDCFWB-CnAW0qm-Um5W3nuHtLwVZvyRAC6Mzummc3KC-izl_JHzT34BWIiA6ZQ84GlwkaB3Zg6gW4yaNaWNa96E/s1600/flirt+eye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvijepu7B9tc9otr2J1N0o_FgG2c4zkJ0oit6AAfhyphenhyphen_kdZ0D0X2FCRTdDCFWB-CnAW0qm-Um5W3nuHtLwVZvyRAC6Mzummc3KC-izl_JHzT34BWIiA6ZQ84GlwkaB3Zg6gW4yaNaWNa96E/s640/flirt+eye.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://technorati.com/faves?add=http://mustangdiaries.blogspot.com"><img src="http://static.technorati.com/pix/fave/tech-fav-1.png" alt="Add to Technorati Favorites" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858836779457163540.post-58702411157179145362013-03-25T17:50:00.000-07:002013-03-25T17:50:04.568-07:00Oz Goes to School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCO1SDQIFVYcVw6FKN1Dru7Z_r5yK8Lhe_vbKbdfDOJmTf6xL0Iv20Z5L9nnAcI04bMtbdw1HLbXvrWmzfXQmerPDiaNEeJpFFMfmIkUgsB8vPQcKZ63jD-zNvm6pHs-p5tQBTIcRoVRrE/s1600/oz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCO1SDQIFVYcVw6FKN1Dru7Z_r5yK8Lhe_vbKbdfDOJmTf6xL0Iv20Z5L9nnAcI04bMtbdw1HLbXvrWmzfXQmerPDiaNEeJpFFMfmIkUgsB8vPQcKZ63jD-zNvm6pHs-p5tQBTIcRoVRrE/s640/oz.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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While there are no photos to prove it, nor videos even, I've been spending a few hours in the saddle every day. Mostly on cutters, keeping them legged up or warmed up for the Cowboy, but the past couple weeks I've been putting a bit more time into Oz as well.<br /><br />Darling has been busy with Doxee and life in general, leaving me on my own to get the big moose of a mustang going solid under saddle. We rode a few times at the riding club in the round pen, but then Oz discovered himself in the mirror. And while the mirror is at the other end of the arena from the round pen (and not really even visible to him, in terms of his reflection) he is certain that he must spend all his time there focused on that handsome horse he is certain lives through the looking glass.</div>
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So...what to do? He'd been working very well at home, but the round pen here was wet with rain and just a bit small to get this big lug moving into a lope, something we really were ready to do. Down to the Cowboy's he went, then. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4pHqKWD52sryG-z20N6IuGLbI7lgFGlMNaQtnajQBS2A-dDKLFrJ5ObPyiz4DvvhcAjYAtDDCs6O2LMO8rjh3Wfy13v7UN4YsQPWu-iTnjMqLizM6H7wJ3cpaSeMOpsa67T2gG0uV3EK/s1600/flirt+tied.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4pHqKWD52sryG-z20N6IuGLbI7lgFGlMNaQtnajQBS2A-dDKLFrJ5ObPyiz4DvvhcAjYAtDDCs6O2LMO8rjh3Wfy13v7UN4YsQPWu-iTnjMqLizM6H7wJ3cpaSeMOpsa67T2gG0uV3EK/s400/flirt+tied.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Flirt stands tied at the Cowboy's barn</i></div>
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And home came Flirt. She'd been just on the cusp of ready for me to climb onto her back. In fact, I'd been on the mounting block, leaning over top while she was saddled, swinging the stirrup on the other side around, pounding and banging and patting and talking. She had no reaction. She was standing tied quietly and patiently in the alley way of the barn, too. A nice, solid start for my flighty redhead. So why not bring her home, yes? Just let her relax with the others for a bit, then start saddling her in my smaller pens and climb on here. So I did that. That, being bring her home and turn her out. Heck, she's just a baby, so no rush. I had to start setting priorities, I decided, and Oz needed my attention before I really got serious about Flirt.</div>
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Oz is a year older and NEEDS to get going. And going he got. With the help of the Cowboy and a long dressage whip (which got popped at the Cowboy's side for encouragement), we finally convinced Oz that he could indeed lope a circle with a rider and stay upright. Actually, Oz is convinced he's unable to lope <i>without</i> a rider most of the time. But three times last week we rode and loped, and it was good. So good that today I rode without the Cowboy there and managed a lope all on my own. Both ways, too! </div>
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I have conflicting feelings about this big boy, truth be known. He's not my style of horse, really. I like small and nimble. Oz is not small. Oz is not nimble. But he has his good points, such as he can sidepass over a pole raised up on cones. He doesn't spook at lambs looking at him from the other side of the arena gate. I can ride with one hand already and ask for a leg yield and get one 75% of the time (not a pretty one, mind you, but he gives it a go just the same.) Oz also won his in hand class at the<a href="http://youtu.be/ygnKD7Z2E0A"> Oregon Mt Trail Challenge</a> last spring. That was a big deal...he's not your ordinary horse. He can win halter classes and trail classes, don'cha know!</div>
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But cut a cow? Not really his deal. So what to do with the boy? Well, I got an email with a link to the 2013 Mt Trail Challenge, and what do you know? <i>There's a Mustang Only class this year! </i> Paint Girl...are you reading this? We need to go!</div>
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So that's my goal, then. I figure what the heck? I'll have a solid 2 months training on him by then (nothing before last week was solid, trust me!), and if I can take Sandy and Steve Holt! to a makeover in 90 days, why not Oz to the trail challenge is 60? Definitely something to sink my teeth into. A few more solid rides at the Cowboy's place, and Oz will come home and go to trail horse school!</div>
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"You see? I <i>told</i> you there was a horse in the looking glass!"</div>
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