Cowgirls Don't Cry

Steve Holt! had a close encounter with the hotwire...poor baby!

Monday was so beautiful! I hauled Sandy and Steve Holt! to the tree farm and took a short ride in the sunshine. Steve Holt! didn't turn one sweaty hair, and Sandy was only barely damp beneath his saddle after our 45 minute ride. And without a single sign of a cough after climbing the hills on Steve Holt!'s part, I decided it was time for him to get busy under saddle again.

Tuesday I hauled him to the riding club and let him play for a moment in the round pen before tossing his new saddle on and mounting up. Being not entirely stupid, I climbed on in the round pen just in case he had a lapse in judgment and decided to go all three year old on me after his month off. But no reason to worry...Steve Holt! was his normal self. Big trot, responsive, not goofy in the least, so I rode him to the round pen gate, opening and closing it from his back and continued my short ride in the arena. It didn't last more than ten minutes since I didn't want him too stressed. We jogged a lot, did serpentines, practiced some one handed circles. He was fine.

Wednesday morning I hauled back up and since the day before had been text book perfect, I didn't bother to start in the round pen. I led him into the arena, asked him to stand while mounting, and found him walking off as I stood in the stirrup. I thought briefly that this was a bad habit, and as my leg swung up over his back that thought was driven home...and hard...because Steve Holt! took a three year old mental break, ducking his head down to the right as he kicked his heels up into the air.

Had I been all the way in the saddle, the ending would have been different. But I wasn't. I was in the air and launched further by his playful buck. Somewhere in the air I did a somersault, something I'd never managed to do in my gym classes, but the landing was pretty similar. Flat on my back, I watched my boy lope freely to the other end of the arena where he stood admiring his reflection in the mirror.

D*#n horse. Okay, so I may not be entirely stupid, but obviously there was just a little stupid in there somewhere or I'd have been in the round pen again, or had reins shorter at the very least.

I stayed on the ground doing a mental checklist of my fall and the body parts that hurt. My ribs, my back...the inside of my right knee which had slammed into the horn of the saddle; that's where the pain was. The wind had been knocked out of me. My head? Hadn't touched the ground, thankfully. Thankfully from the center of the arena I had cell phone service. I don't in the round pen. But in the center, still sitting in the dirt, I called home and had my son come get me. I managed to pull myself up and get Steve Holt! tied to the rail, removing his bridle and martingale, and by then the Geek Boy was there and took the saddle for me. We left Steve Holt! in the round pen and he drove me home where I laid on ice for awhile; calling a friend to go pick up the horse and truck/trailer.

By evening the pain hadn't subsided so I checked into the hospital. The nurse asked if I wanted a wheelchair. I said no. She told me I didn't need to be tough...I wasn't a cowboy, after all, I was a cowgirl. I smiled..."Cowgirls don't cry, haven't you heard?" Eventually I caved and took the wheels; no way was I able to walk to the back of the building where they were taking me for xrays.

While I was barely functioning yesterday, the xrays showed what I knew deep down...just bruised. And with enough Ibuprofen there is little pain today. So the plan for the weekend remains the same.

What, you'd forgotten my plan? Wild Horse Adoption this weekend, kids! I'll be hauling down Friday, and the Youth And Yearling kids will be picking up their new babies Saturday along with 20 other mustangs being available. So, if you're in the northwest and not attending the Daffodil show in Puyallup, come say hello! We'll be at Black Raven Stables in Arlington.

Welcome to Club Dirt, Darling!

Yesterday marked the first day back to school after spring break as well as Darling's first jump off the school bus at the barn where Sandy is currently residing. What a feeling of freedom that must have been! No mettling mother to tell her what to do or how to do it...just a girl and her horse.

As planned, she called the moment she arrived at the barn to let me know she was there. 30 minutes later she called again to tell me she'd forgotten her camera, and could I bring it?

I arrived to find waiting at the gate for me. "I got bucked off and didn't have my camera to video it!" she said in a disgruntled voice.

Whaaaa?!?!

Shame on Sandy! Seems he got a little playful with the wind blowing about and I'm sure it didn't help that he'd had a fast paced workout on Saturday followed by Sunday off. Thankfully Darling wasn't hurt...at least not much. She'd landed on her hand, which felt sore, but other than that she was fine. Not catching it on video was more upsetting than coming off, it seems. Kids.

I climbed on just to put him through his paces. He'd felt frisky at the lope with Darling, and I could feel him thinking it through while I was up there as well. Once he'd been made to behave, Darling climbed back on and cantered off without any problem. Hopefully this is a one time thing as she'd wanted to haul him to a show this weekend. She doesn't appear to be phased...just me!

I'm trying to be more like Darling. Not only in bravery, but in my video editing skills. I'm not there just yet but did put this together from Saturday's cow day.

Memories...in the dusty corners of my mind

MiKael asked us this morning what our story was. It was followed by 50 questions.

FIFTY!

I'm not into self inflicted pain this early in the morning, so I won't bother to answer them all...both for my sake and your's! But a story she asked for, and a story you shall get...

I was born a poor white girl with a rare (okay, not probably that rare) disorder known as Horse Fever. It struck from an early age and one can only imagine if my parents knew what they would be up against when they put me on my first rocking horse.

"Will Work For Pony"

Never one to turn down child labor, my parents were quick to take advantage of the situation and put me straight to work. Of course, it would be a few more years and a great deal more floor mopping before I saw the rewards of my labor.

My new pony was named Prince, and he came to me when I was nine. Look at that sporty little outfit I'm wearing! And the open toed sandals while on horseback!? Oh, yeah...we were a picture of safety back then, weren't we? But what I really want to know is, where did those chicken legs go? Cuz I could sure use a chicken leg (or two) right about now.

Prince was anything but princely...at least I didn't consider him to be at the time. This boy would back up beneath the clothesline when he didn't want to leave the yard, rearing in protest, which of course had me ducking my head down into his neck to avoid strangulation. He'd take off down the road, jumping ditches and leaving me in puddles of melting snow. One day he slammed my leg into an old cottonwood try in an effort to rub me off his back, although he wasn't successful because instead I was pinned to his side and screaming like a banshee.

But on Prince's back I did learn to ride. We lived in town, or at the outskirts back when it was okay to have a horse there. A large park was across the road and we'd ride over the bridge and through the trails, or up the road past Grandpa's house and around the neighborhood. Of course, there was never a saddle involved and it didnt' take long for me to learn the most valuable lesson of all...get your pony sweaty so your butt sticks to him better! A slick dry pony who darts left when you're thinking right is not something you want between your legs, because he won't be between those legs for long and you'll find yourself riding at club dirt.

I rode that sweaty little pony everywhere, including from our home on the outskirts of town to our new house about 7 miles away. We didn't have a truck or trailer, so up I went onto that pony when I was about 10, and with my Dad driving slowly from driveway to driveway to make sure I made it alright, I hi-ho silvered my way around the lake, only taking out a couple of mailboxes along the way.

Eventually I outgrew Prince and sold him to a man who drove a four pony hitch in parades. Prince was to be his wheel horse. I never saw him again, but I think of him often. Mostly when I'm being stepped on, riding a runaway, finding my way back to club dirt, or in any other semi-life threatening situation on horseback.


Ahhh....those were the days!

Welcome to Club Dirt

Sandy the cow horse...sorta

Yes, that's right; Club Dirt. Sandy had been doing so well, and we'd taken our first two solo rides a couple days ago. Then Tuesday morning I figured we'd ride again...without my beloved Jay to start us off, and I didn't work enough of the nerves out of him, so as soon as I got on he was ready and willing to get me off.

This boy looks like a poster child for the Pendleton Round Up when he gets to going, let me tell you! I saw him do it the first week he was here; head tucked between his knees and shoulders flying high into the air before his feet drop to the ground in a thud and his head flies up...then down...then up...all in a rolicking motion that makes a sea sick person wish they'd taken their dramamine before mounting up.

And that's what he did with me. At first it was a trot off just as soon as I landed on his back. I had my left rein shorter from the mount, which was good as I could pull him into a circle. But rather than slow down and relax as he found himself doing something he'd done before, his fear elevated and his head lifted; he began dancing on the front just a little and pivoting rather than circling. And just when he seemed to relax just a wee bit and I thought to change hands and take him the other way, down went his head and up came those powerful shoulders. Hump wump bump...a couple of good rolling moves and that was it. I was sunk and rolled off backwards over the cantle and into the dirt.

Welcome to Club Dirt...I'll be your seating hostess. Would you like to start with a mouthful of gritty sand on the rocks?

I managed to pull myself up onto my feet and caught the last couple of good bucks as Sandy reached the wall on the other side of the round pen. He turned around, eyes glazed with fear and shot straight back at me, panting and snorting and wondering what the heck had just happened. His eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty. I have him a pat, apologized for letting him down by not working him first, and wondered just how bruised my body was going to be by morning.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working him from the ground, then called Jay before heading for home, leaving an absolutely pitiful message for him to find later in the day. Poor guy. He's an absolute God-send, really, and if I were about to jump off the ledge of a building, he's the guy you'd want to call to have come talk me down. He got me back up into the saddle yesterday and talked both Sandy and I into relaxing, and today it was solo again, but of course with my 'rock' standing in the pen with me to help me through those initial jitters.

I'm not convinced that Sandy will be ready to ride through the obstacle course in Sacramento. He's come such a long way, but his lack of self confidence gets in his way even though he's trying hard to understand what I'm asking and to please me. By the end of today's ride he was once again listening closely and working hard to understand the direct rein and leg cues I was giving him, and Jay was encouraging me to pick up the program another level. But we've all agreed that it's better to be safe than sorry once we reach the show in four weeks. It's a bit disappointing, really, as I think this is a terrific horse and would love to show him off. He's just one who needs a little more time to discover how truly wonderful he really is and I'm not willing to push him beyond his comfort and security level. (Okay...and I really don't want to visit Club Dirt in front of 5,000 people, either!)

Bridges? Piece of cake!