The Red Headed Fury

As I reflected today on my time with Sandy, I remembered a little note sent to me by a friend about how God puts people in your life..."People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime," it begins.

Sandy was here for a reason...and a season. How blessed to have two of the three! I learned a lot from him about myself and what I'm capable of. He also gave Darling a good start to becoming quite the young horsewoman. We've been blessed to have him in our lives. But for whatever reason, God had me wondering aloud one day about letting him go...and in stepped Valarie and Dave. And so my season is done, while Dave's reason, season or lifetime is just beginning.

And into Sandy's place steps Tika. The Beautiful Wadatika, who has stood patiently waiting for over a year now for me to step up and give her a reason to be in my life.

Tika was meant to be a TIP horse...one that came, was gentled, and then left with a new adopter. One that wasn't given much thought again, other than mentoring should problems arise in her new home. But by the end of three months it was painfully obvious to me that Tika simply was not a candidate for just any home. She was fiery and fearful and quite aggressive when she felt threatened. Where on earth could this lovely girl go? She simply was not a horse most people would be willing to deal with...and she had at this point captured my heart.


The other day I decided it was time to get serious with Tika. Again. She'd not been handled (again) for a good 2 months. Why is it that I work with her for three or four days, then leave her for 2-3 months? I don't know why...but I do. Something always stops me from moving ahead with this mare, despite her being completely ready for me to take those final steps with her.

Saddled and bridled the other day, I stood next to my red head. And I began to tremble. Fear gripped me. Why? What did I have to be afraid of? It was unreasonable. I took a deep breath and bounced up into the stirrup, my body and weight lifting up above the saddle. I didn't swing my leg over. I don't know why. I just stayed up...then lowered myself down.

Tika stood there quietly, patiently, wondering what the heck I was waiting for, no doubt.

I stepped up again, and again. And finally I lifted my leg across her back and settled myself into the saddle. And I sat there...for 10 seconds at least. Then I was off. Off, trembling, shaking, and crying. I buried my head in her mane, arms wrapped around her neck, tears running down my face.

Why was I crying? What was I afraid of? Tika turned to look at me with those most beautiful eyes of hers. I felt my burdens lifting. How is it she can lift me up? I pulled the saddle from her back, led her to my makeshift mounting block (an upside down water tub), and slipped onto her back. This felt good. It felt right. My butt fits Tika. My legs felt just right laying against her sides. I asked her to move, and she didn't. So I asked again, and got a couple of steps.

Fear was still there. I'm a mind over matter kind of girl, and this had me frustrated. Why was fear not leaving? So I asked Tika to move a few more steps, which she did, hesitantly, and I then slid from her back. I hadn't conquered the fear. But I had gained ground.

I've been told that it's a normal reaction after having been hurt. My toe is still broken, after all, and my right leg has deep tissue bruising...I feel mild pain all up and down my thigh, knee and calf. Self preservation, they tell me, is what has me rattled. I suppose that's true. I've been very protective of my leg, knowing that it's not got it's full strength. Could this be what's slowing me down?

My confidence, it would seem, needs boosting. And for this, I look to Tika, the red headed fury. God doesn't only place people in your life...he places beautiful mustangs with you, too.

Saying Goodbye

Goodbyes are never easy. It doesn't matter what the relationship status...it's hard to say goodbye when you know that it means you may never see the one you've poured your heart and soul into again.

I'd love to have photos and video of Beamer and Darling's last day together for you. In fact, she's been working all week on her video, but youtube refuses to allow it to upload. And so we are without that goodbye...which may be a good thing in the long run, though it would have been nice to be able to share the competition with you.

Darling and her filly did quite well, finishing fifth out of ten. Beamer, not having learned to trot until 2 days before the competition, did not hesitate to pick up the pace each time she was asked. She trotted over poles and did her best to trot a serpentine around trees in the trail class. Despite never having worked on sidepassing, she did her very best to try to figure out what Darling was asking for. We've never been asked to sidepass at any of the makeovers and I simply didn't make it a priority for either of the girls here to learn...but there was a LOT of sidepassing in the trail portion, as well as in showmanship.

The competition was stiff, to say the least, and I believe Darling was quite happy to place as well as she did. And I know she loved the trainer's belt buckle that she earned!

Beamer was not the only horse we parted with recently. Sandy left for his new home yesterday.

Darling took him out to groom him so he'd be beautiful when Dave and Valerie got here with their horse trailer.

Naturally, I had to go and make myself all sentimental by hauling out the camera and taking shots that showed a relationship...and by the time Dave and Valerie showed up and asked me (hesitantly) how I was doing, I got all weepy eyed on them. Thankfully, no one was taking photos of me yesterday!

After picking up Sandy, Valerie and Dave picked up her young gelding, Stetson, and the two horses went together to their new home. Valerie emailed to say they'd settled in together just fine. The new barn has two stalls and separate paddocks so that they can be buddies without anyone picking on anyone else (you hear that, Sandy? No picking on poor baby Stetson!)

For some reason, I've got Roy and Dale singing Happy Trails running through my head. I'll miss my boy...but Dave has fallen in love with him. Happy Trails, Dave and Sandy, till we meet again!

Mr. Snavely comes to Dinner

Twas the night before YAY and all through the house...

Oh, never mind. I'm simply not feeling creative enough for that sort of nonsense. Let me just tell you like it is. Pigs lie. Remember that.

Darling had Beamer trotting. Finally! Only 2 days from showtime, but it was enough. Like everything else, once Beamer knows how to do something, she does it. And honestly, she knew how to trot, she simply had refused up until Thursday. But on that day, she became a trotting fool; let's trot here, let's trot there, trot trot trot trot trot. And all was good.

Both yearling's had their brands shaved. Dave (Sandy's new owner) stopped by to trim their little footsies. Those little last minute training touches on Friday evening were being applied, but other than that, they were as done as they were going to get.

And then? I decided there was just enough time to go get the pig.

At the fair in August we'd committed to buying a pig from an FFA student. He'd agreed to keep the pig until we got back from Oregon. But when we came home, we simply didn't have time to run over and get him. After all, we'd just adopted Lefty, so Darling & I were back on the road almost immediately. Then I got kicked. Then the Cascade Horse Fair. Then...well, the YAY show. But hey, it's been a long time! And we need to pick up the pig. So off Darling and I went.

Off we went to pick up the pig.

The black and white hog loaded easily into the horse trailer. On the way home, we stopped to top off the tank of gas so that we'd not need to do it in the morning. The pig sat silently in the trailer. Not an oink or a grunt or a squeal. We drove the rest of the way home, and I'm assuming the pig was just as silent the remainder of the journey.

Upon backing the trailer up to the pig's new corral (four round pen panels had been set up by City Boy earlier in the day), we opened the doors to find the pig quite content, laying down in the bit of hay that the horses had left behind after their last ride. He looked up at us and grunted, but did not move.

I climbed in with the pig and urged him forward, and he walked to the edge of the trailer where he looked out...then down. "I can't step down there," he grunted, and promptly turned around and headed to the front of the trailer where he again laid himself down with a soft thud.

I explained to Mr. Snavely (as I began calling him...his former owner's last name was such and it seemed to suit him) that he must exit the horse trailer as it was now dark and I had horses to load in the morning, at 6:30 to be precise, and I could not bring a pig with me to the horse show.

Mr. Snavely wasn't terribly obliging. We coaxed with grain and cucumbers from the garden, and placed the wooden trail bridge at the edge of the horse trailer in hopes of Mr. Snavely deciding it was safe to step onto it. Mr. Snavely did not. Though he did rather enjoy chewing on the wood.

For an hour my son and I stood out there, talking, pushing, prodding, coaxing, cooing and bribing. But Mr. Snavely firmly refused to exit the horse trailer. I got behind him and began pushing, and Mr. Snavely moved towards the edge, but as soon as he saw the step he plunked down with a thud and refused to move.

We gave up. City Boy was at work, and wouldn't return until 7 am. I'd simply get a late start in the morning.

Before City Boy arrived home the following morning, I decided to grab a long rope and wrap it around Mr. Snavely's mid section, behind his elbows, and attempted to pull him out.

Which is when Mr. Snavely promptly told the entire neighborhood that someone was being murdered...skinned alive!...in my backyard. You've heard the expression 'Squeal like a pig'? Well, let me tell you, this pig tells lies. Mr. Snavely fought and squealed and screamed and cried loud enough to wake the dead...and then some. After five seconds I gave up. Half the neighborhood had already called 911 thanks to that pig. Rope still around his middle, Mr. Snavely promptly laid back down when the pulling stopped, and there he waited until City Boy made it home. And then? City Boy walked to the back of the trailer, picked up the end of the rope, gave one big heave, and before Mr. Snavely could get half a lie out of those thin pig lips of his, he was out of the trailer and laying on his side on the ground.

He looked around, blinking his eyes, gave a small grunt and began eating the grass that was now beneath his feet as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Forty-five minutes late, two yearlings were loaded into a trailer that smelled much like a pig and off down the road we went. And Mr. Snavely? Trust me...that pig is coming for dinner.