Warrior Dolly and Warrior JD

Sorry I've been gone from the blogosphere for so long. It's just that my new part-time job is taking up a lot of my time. I am working every other week away from the ranch, so it seems I spend most of the weeks in between getting stuff done so I will be ready to go back to work the next week. It's a vicious circle, as the work-a-day world just is.
But, I like my new job. It's pretty much the same old job I did for 23 years, only for a new company. The new guys are all great to work with, and even some of the old ones I worked with before seem glad that I am back, so it's pretty pleasant so far. The only things I worry about are my horses and if everything is ok back at the ranch. I fill up the feeders and waterers before I leave, and leave Nacho, the dog, with my sister. Everything has been fine, so far.
But Jana and Chexy's breaking in is on the back-burner for now, at least through the holidays. I might get in a ride or two while my son is here visiting. I retrieved his mount from some dear friends of mine from Cheyenne Cowboy Church, who had boarded her in return for being able to use her for about four years. They took great care of her. Here's Dolly as a foal. She's a nine year-old registered Quarter Horse whose registered name is Warrior Dolly. Her lineage traces through Hot Warrior back to Seneca Warrior and Hot Foot Bar on her top side with Zan Parr Bar and Hancock Twist on her bottom.
She's a sweet mare and a joy to ride. Anyone can ride her. She loves to work cattle. I told my friend when I left her with him she didn't know much. He had some neighbors who asked him to come help gather and work off calves for weaning, and he told them he would, but that the horse didn't know much. He said he rode her out amongst them, and she just put her head down and went to work, almost doing it all herself. He said the neighbor's mouths fell open and they said, "Thought you said that horse didn't know much!"
So I'm looking forward to a reunion of a soldier with his horse. My son has been in the US Army for a little over eight years. He has just separated from the service this fall, as a Staff Sargeant wearing a Green Beret. Dolly was only a year old when he inducted, and my son owned a half-brother to her that was killed a few months after he left for basic training, so I gave him Dolly to replace the gelding that he loved. Dolly has many of the same characteristics that Shy had, so I know he's going to love her, too, he already does.
Merry Christmas.

Hi Ho, It's Back to Work I Go

Old pipe liners never die; they just keep monkeying with their wrenches! My Thoreauian experiment living in the wilderness lasted about as long as Henry's. I loved being retired, living and working on my little ranch with the horses. I knew the money was going to be tight when I moved home, but I hadn't counted on prices for propane, electricity, insurance, gasoline and groceries all increasing at a phenomenal pace. I also hadn't anticipated the stock market crash and losing over 100K from my little retirement fund. When a former colleague called offering me a part-time job back on the pipelines, I jumped at it.
I had been looking for work here in the smallest county in the USA almost since I moved home, but opportunities are few and jumped on by many. The great thing about my new job is that they offered to pay mileage from the ranch, so I can base here, and per-diem when I have to stay elsewhere, so that made it workable. I thought I had erased all that data from my memory bank, but it all started coming back. I guess after 23 years, it's kind of etched in the old hard drive. All the old crew seemed happy to have me back, and the new guys were all friendly and helpful. I guess they are happy not to have to spend a lot of time training someone.
I will be working ten days a month, so that means I will still have twenty days a month at the ranch.
The weather has been fantastic this fall. I rode Jana again today, and I am so pleased with the way she is progressing. She stands still for saddling and mounting. She now knows what "whoa" means, backs when asked, and is starting to neck rein a little. Today I started working on side passing some. She doesn't like that, but I can reach out, open a gate while on her back, and ride through it. She's going to make some lucky kid a wonderful riding friend.
The fillies are growing like crazy. They are all getting gentler every day as I feed them and brush and mess around with them.

Chexy's Breaking In

Chexy is a three year-old Quarter Horse filly that I acquired in a trade deal with my horse tradin' friend. I have just begun to work with her to get her used to the idea of having a rider on her back and doing as she is told. At left is a picture of her wearing the saddle for the first time. She wasn't too keen on the idea of wearing a saddle. She pitched it off a couple of times when I started to saddle her. Eventually I got it on her and strapped down with the cinch, and then she acted like it was no big deal.
The second time I went to saddle her, she was having no part of that, so I decided I'd best go to the basics, square one, and pretend that she had never been handled before. I put her in the round pen and started wiggling a Walmart plastic bag tied to the end of a buggy whip at her. She nearly went into orbit. I thought she'd calm down after a short time, but 20 minutes later, she was still doing laps around the round pen at a gallop. I confined her a little tighter and went at her with the dreaded horse getter bag. She tried to knock the pen down when she found she couldn't get away from it. She thought about trying to climb out a time or two, but I would just raise the bag in front of her face, and she would think otherwise. After about ten minutes of this treatment, she finally stood there and let me touch her with the bag. I guess I would call this part, "sacking out." In the old days we used to do it with a burlap bag or the saddle blanket.
Today, I caught her again and led her to the round pen. She balked at the gate, knowing something dreadful was going to happen in there. I led her over to the saddle and blanket lying near the center of the pen. When I picked up the blanket, I showed it to her and let her sniff it, then placed it on her back. She tossed up her head and bolted. I just let her. Then I got the horse-eating whip with the Walmart bag still tied to it and gave her all the more reason to run. She ran for about 20 minutes before she finally decided to let me get near with the bag/whip. Pretty soon, she was standing still while I rubbed her all over with the Walmart bag. It had become more tolerable than the running.
Then I led her back over to the saddle and blanket. I placed the blanket on her back again and rubbed it up and down her neck to just behind her ears and let her wear it there for a few minutes. She didn't flinch. I slid it back into place on her back, then picked up the saddle. I let her sniff the saddle, then went calmly up to her left side and set it on her back. She just decided to quit resisting and stood quietly as I cinched it loosely on her back. I led her off--nothing, not a jump, not a hump. Again, she acted like it was not a big deal.
I trimmed all four of her feet, since we'd had some moisture to soften them. She stood for that pretty well, although whenever she took a foot away from me, I would make her do a few laps around the round pen. When I finished up with her feet, I got the bag/whip again and flicked it all around her body. Chexy just stood there, hardly even flinching. It was like she was saying, "You can't make me run!"
I rewarded her by turning her loose and giving her some hay. I think this mare is going to do just fine, she's just going to take a bit longer than the ones out of my old stallion, because she has a little "hotter" disposition. She has a lot of cutting horse blood in her, which, according to my daughter, makes them fighters. But in the end, she will make a fine cow horse. I am looking forward to her being the first horse I have trained from start to finish in about seven years now.
Speaking of which, my fun retirement is about to come to an end. I was offered a part-time job on the pipe line filling in for the guys I used to work with when they need a day off. Since the horse market has been in the basement for a couple years and my retirement fund taking a licking in the stock market, I decided I'd best jump at the chance to work for wages once again. I am grateful it is only part-time, though and I will be able to spend time with Chexy...and Jana...and King...and Dixie...and, and, and!

Riding Weather

I rode Jana Jet Jones for the first time today.
I have had this six-year-old red dun mare for about three years. She was abused as a youngster and then her owner bred her as a three year old, so her growth is stunted. I bought her shortly after he bred her at age three, basically to rescue her. She had a nice little sorrel filly foal about nine months after I bought her and Dixie is another story for another post.
When I weaned her filly, I sent her to a trainer to start her under saddle because I still had a full time job and two homes 150 miles apart to care for. She was with this trainer for several months, but I don't think she was ridden much, if any.
She has a funny personality for a horse. She is a touch-me-not until you get her caught, then she immensely likes attention such as brushing and petting. She fought me tooth and nail a couple times before when I was attempting to trim her hooves, but we worked through that trauma and now she is pretty good about her feet--once you get her caught.
So I bridled and saddled her today. I used a ring snaffle on her because that is the most forgiving bit there is. She resisted the bit for a while, and I just let her stand and get used to carrying it. Then I mounted her in a very small pen just in case she might want to pitch. They know they can't do much in a small enclosure, so they usually don't do much. She didn't offer to buck at all, but she was not giving to the bit and there really wasn't room to turn around well.
I took her to the 50' round pen and put some driving lines on her. I worked with her for about 20 minutes on moving out, stopping, and giving her head. She was pretty sweated up and her head had lowered to show she was receptive. I mounted up in the round pen. She still wasn't appreciating having to give her head to the direction of the piece of metal in her mouth, but she never tried to pitch. I rode her around the pen for about another ten minutes.
She's a small little mare, about 14.2 hands, with a very pretty head. She has Easy Jet, Smart Little Lena, and Pa Jones in her background, so she should have some speed and I think she will make a wonderful little pony for some lucky kid...maybe my grandson! She's a little stubborn, but usually those make the best mounts because they have a lot of try. Plus, she is a proven producer, having delivered another fine filly foal this spring to go with the one she was carrying when I bought her.

Weaning Fillies

I took the fillies away from their mamas a little over a week ago. I shut them in one corral with their dams just across the fence in another for a couple of days. They were about five and a half months old, so it was time, and time to get the mares dried up so they could gain a little fat on their ribs before winter sets in.
The foals didn't fuss much the first couple days with the mares right across the fence. They just wandered around trying to stick their heads through the fence so they could nurse, to no avail. After I let the mares back out on pasture, the put up a small fuss, though. They ran up and down the fence and whinnied for their moms. The moms didn't really care, they were ready to get out and eat some grass down on the creek, and ready to be free of their little charges, I think.
I had started feeding them a little grain along with their dams a couple months back, so they made the transition in feed just fine. It's amazing how much they settle down after being taken away from mama. Right before weaning, they were all full of themselves and would run by and kick up their heels at me on the way. I had spanked a couple of them for kicking, and I thought that might be a problem after I confined them to the corral, but there has been no such bad behavior. I guess they lose their bravado somewhat when their security force (mom) is removed. I put my 25 year-old gelding in with them to babysit. He needs the supplemental feeds they will be getting, also, and I figured he would make the fillies feel more secure. He has. The weaning has gone very smoothly so far.
After a week, I started letting the babies and old Gremlin back out on pasture during the day, then shutting them in at night, for fear of Mountain Lions. Whenever I have colts, the big cats seem to wander through. They can kill a colt and drag it up in a tree where they will return to feast for days, I have been told.
Two of the fillies have really settled down and become very approachable and even coveting my attention when I go to the corral, so I scratch, brush and pet them and pick up their feet to get them used to that. The littlest one, which I call Tiny, is a little stand-offish. She comes by that naturally, though. Her dam exhibits the same trait, besides Tiny was the one that knocked herself silly during halter breaking. I'm sure she remembers having had a headache as a result of contact with humans. Horses don't forget easily, especially a very frightening experience. But Tiny will come around just like all these excellent Permalight offspring.
Poor old Gremlin is having trouble maintaining his weight, and I'm afraid he is not going to survive the winter if it gets bad, like I think it is going to by reading the signs. I surely am dreading the day of his inevitable passing, somebody close the gate!

Hunting Season

I dread hunting season more and more each year. This year, Wyoming lengthened the season an extra week, so bowhunting started the last week in August. I had three antelope hunters here from Ohio hunting with bows and arrows. They each got a nice buck without too much trouble and they were fun to have here. I enjoyed cooking for them and visiting with them.
Then gun season started and that's when the fun ended. The state went around and put up signs designating all the state lands as walk-in areas. There is quite a bit of state land around here, and some of it is fenced in with the ranches, making it hard to tell where it starts and ends. Quite a few hunters found the state land that is right over my west boundary fence and it got a lot of pressure.
Historically, I haven't allowed much hunting to take place on my small ranch, simply because it is so small. As a result, the game feels pretty safe hanging out on my property. The deer had gotten into my expensive hay last winter and ate over a ton of it, so I decided maybe I should allow a little hunting. Some guys hunting the state land noted the game was hanging out on my property, so they came and asked to hunt. I agreed since they were considerate enough to come ask, and the guy had two small boys with him, so I figured it would be a good family time for them if they could be successful. They were.
Last Sunday a guest and I were out riding. While we were opening the wire gate to ride onto the state land, a black S.U.V. with Arkansas plates pulled up and a bearded man got out with landowner coupon in hand.
"This your ranch?' he asked.
"No," I answered, "this is public land. It goes in the box," motioning toward a wooden box on the fence, which he already knew was there.
My guest began visiting with the man a little as another man climbed out of the car to take pictures of us on the horses. The Arkansawyer said he had gotten a nice buck and my friend rode over to look at it in the back of the car.
"Where did you get it?" he asked.
The Arkie pointed and said, "Down over that fence yonder," which meant he had shot the buck on my land! I started to get my dander up, but my horse was dancing around in the road ditch because, unlike her sibling which my guest was riding, she didn't like the smell of the dead animal in the S.U.V., so I just moved off a ways. My friend said the man had gut-shot the antelope and hadn't field dressed it, so the guts were still in it! No wonder my horse didn't like the smell.
I decided he was too stupid to even upbraid about hunting on private land without permission. He wouldn't have comprehended. If he took the game to a locker plant, I bet he got a thorough chewing out. That meat will not be fit to eat. It rather made me mad that he had already put his landowner coupon in the state's box, though. I made a mental note to post more signs on the fence before hunting season starts next year.

Where's the Farrier?

Trimming and shoeing horses' hooves is hard work. I guess that's why there are very few people who are willing to do it these days. The muscles of the back, arms and legs get a workout while doing this. My nearest farrier is 72 miles yonder, so when I get him to come, we usually try to do ten to twelve horses in a day and that day's work costs me from $300-400, depending on how many are trimmed and shod, plus lunch. I don't usually keep them shod, though, so I have been trying to do all my farrier work myself to save money.
When you have 15 horses, though, that is a lot of feet to keep trimmed. When I first quit my cushy town job and moved back to the ranch, I could only manage to trim one or two hooves a day, at most. A while back, I trimmed six feet in one day! I am getting tougher.
I usually try to wait until after a rain or other moisture to soften up their hooves before I attempt to trim. It makes the job a lot easier. We had a long dry spell after all the rain that fell in May. It just shut off and there has only been about an inch or two that has fallen since. So after a rain, I have my work cut out for me. They all need trimmed three or four times a year.
It is better to have someone hold the horse while trimming, rather than tying them up, but that is usually not an option for me. I did have some hunters staying at the ranch the first part of September, and I had one of them hold a couple for me while I trimmed. He had filled his tag on the way in, so he had a lot of idle time while waiting for the other two to get their game.
I learned a little trick from my trainer that helps a bunch when they don't want to stand still and keep trying to take their feet away. You just lunge them (make them run around in circles) until they decide it is easier to stand and let you work on their feet than it is to do otherwise. Works like a charm and it also is good for their minds and training. Usually only 15 to 20 minutes of lunging is all it takes, but the more stubborn ones take a little longer, some up to 45 minutes.
A friend asked me if I was not afraid of getting kicked while trimming the back feet. The back ones are actually easier to trim than the fronts. You just sort of bend your knees and balance the foot on one knee with an arm over the crook of their leg, while standing slightly to the side of them. That way, if they try to kick, you can hold their leg steady if you are strong enough, and if not, it will toss you back and out of their line of fire. The front feet are more of a problem because you have to brace them between your legs so that you can use both hands to trim. You have to lean in slightly under their bellies, and if they try to jerk one away, you have to be quick to get out from under them. I have had their feet get tangled in my pants leg a little and have ripped more than one pair of pants, plus their feet can come down on the top of your foot if you are not quick enough.
I have a pair of very large palomino paint horses and one of them did a number on the top of my foot while I was trimming her last summer. She jerked her foot away, and it came down right on the arch of my left foot. It is still a little tender in that spot. Lady is almost 17 hands and probably weighs around 1,200 pounds. At right is her offspring, King, and he is slightly larger than Lady, but he's a teddy bear and never tries to take a foot away.
You have to be careful not to trim their hooves too short. They can be crippled that way. First you take your hoof pick and clean out the bottom of the foot. There is usually a little rim where the hoof wall meets the sole. It is best to try to trim the hoof wall even with the sole, then trim up the frog (the rubbery, v-shaped thing in the center of their foot) so that they are not putting too much pressure on it after you have trimmed the hoof wall. Then file down the freshly trimmed hoof with the rasp to make it all smooth and avoid cracks later.
Simple, but hard work, and I recommend you hire a farrier if there is one closer than 72 miles! Oh my, it looks like rain, where are my farrier tools?

Fall Work

The temperature has fallen abruptly and that reminded me I have several tasks that need to be done. First on the list was to get some wood cut and split when I seriously thought I would awaken to a blanket of snow the next morning. I lit the furnace and promised myself I would cut some wood the next day.
I began the woodcutting by working over my old chainsaw. I sharpened the chain, but it didn't want to run after being stored all spring and summer. I put fresh gas in, then pulled the spark plug. It was fouled, so I cleaned it and put it back in, not having a new one. The saw then ran for about an hour; enough time for me to cut about three days' wood. The wood was a little damp from the rain that fell the night before, so I decided to wait another day until the wood dried out a little.
The saw still didn't want to run when I went back after the job, so I decided it will have to wait until I get a new spark plug and also a new chain. I have sharpened the one I have so many times, there isn't much left of it. But these items probably can't be found in the nearest town, which is 30 miles away. I will probably have to travel at least 60 miles and maybe 100, or more, to get them.
Abandoning the wood cutting, I turned to roofing. The wind has taken most of the roofing off the west sides of my barn and a couple of sheds. It is a job I have put off as long as I can. The snow and rainstorms of this spring certainly pinpointed all the trouble spots with a vengeance.
I have quite a collection of galvanized steel that has collected here through the years from buildings torn down in the oilfield and used mobile home skirting, so I decided to put it to use in covering the holes in the roofs. I don't particularly like getting up on a very steep roof anymore. I used to like climbing around on roofs as a youngster, and would even leap off a low-hanging edge to the ground. My agility level has gone down dramatically as I age, however, and I no longer relish the thought. Yesterday as I teetered around on the steep roof of one shed, I almost knocked my ladder to the ground. "Don't do that, you dummy," I told myself, thinking that poor Nacho wouldn't know what to do to help me get down.
Today I made blisters on my hand using tin snips to cut the metal, and where the hammer rubbed against my forefinger as I hammered many, many nails through steel. Although the outside Farenheight temperature was only 65 degrees, it got hot up there on the roof in the afternoon, so I came down. I will go riding for awhile, then try to finish the first shed before dark.
Well, I went riding, but I didn't quite finish the roof. I got sidetracked by going after the mail, then unloading the wood I cut yesterday. That's the beauty of being self-employed. There's always tomorrow, and you don't have to explain to anyone why you didn't finish the job.

Watching Mustangs

I attended the Wyoming Mustang Challenge at the State Fair this year. I have never been a big fan of mustangs, but I gained a whole new appreciation for them at this contest. I had two friends in the competition, so my butt was glued to the bleachers for the duration of the two-day affair.
Area horse trainers were given the opportunity to test their horse training skills against others on a young horse that had never before been handled by humans. They were assigned a mustang through a draw pot and had about a hundred days to work with the animal and teach it as much as possible. The nice young man who starts colts for me was in the competition and I was asked to write a recommendation for him to be included. Another fine young man from the ranch I grew up on was also involved. They didn't win the competition, but their horses were some of the best trained and actually some of the high sellers in the adoption "sale" that followed. I kind of felt like the folks who voted with their dollars maybe saw some things the judges missed.
The horses were all three and four year-old geldings that had probably only been touched once before at the time they were castrated. This, of course, would not have been a positive experience with humans for them. So the trainers started with a large animal that not only had a disturst of humans, but probably also a fear.
It was simply amazing what they were able to accomplish with some of these animals in 100 days. Several of them had their mustangs jumping and nearly all of them could work cattle and even rope and stop a cow from their horse. One girl actually had hers jumping rope. Several of them could stand up on their mount's backs and one guy would do a back flip to get in the saddle and then do a front flip on his dismount.
I only saw one mustang buck with his trainer. He bucked so hard the rider's boot flew off. The guy was one of the older trainers out there, and he stayed astride. He was laughing as he rode out of the arena after retrieving his boot and getting back on. He tipped his hat. The next day he explained the mustang's behavior somewhat, saying he had neglected to warm him up properly, then gave him a "rude spur." The bucking exhibition rather hurt the horses price in the adoption, however. It brought nine hundred dollars, which was more than I thought it might.
The high-selling mustang brought $5,000. He was a large, high stepping bay ridden in a tight tie-down, and I didn't think he was one of the better trained horses. They had noted that he could be registered with the Pinto Association due to some white spots he had, and I think that is what caused his price to go up. The one I thought was the best trained brought $4,100 in the sale. He was doing high jumps while his owner shot a pistol and would drag a kid around the arena on a plastic tarp at a full gallop. His trainer said he started riding him the first day he had him home. He was the overall reserve champion in the competition.
Some of these "Mustangs" didn't fit the typical body and bone structure type of a feral horse. Many of them looked like typical Quarter Horses, and I suspect some are closely related to domestic horses that have been turned out on the range to run with the wild ones. At any rate, the Mustang Challenge Competition was a stroke of genius by someone to promote the training and adoption of these animals which are too plenteous and posing problems on the public range.
For more information, see http://mustangheritagefoundation.org/.

Busy Signal Going Off

Yikes! I didn't realize I had gone so long without blogging. I've been very busy. I finally got out of the hay field, and then I had a fourteen year-old girl wanting to stay with me to help halter-break the foals. She was with me all last week, and she kept me BUSY! I forgot how active young teenagers could be, since moving home and away from my South Cheyenne redneck kids. Besides, I had to cook regular meals again, which I am out of the habit of doing.
We played with the foals, and she jumped aboard and rode any of the grown horses that would stand still for her to get on. She's a pretty good rider for no more than she gets to practice, and she actually has her own horse. She just doesn't live near where her horse does, so she doesn't get to spend much time with it.
We worked with the two larger foals the first day she was here, and they did pretty well, considering they were haltered only once before this. Here are some pictures of Marissa with those two.

However, we had a wreck with the smallest foal, Tiny, on the second day. She was being a little pill, and resisting the halter. Marissa was handling her as I led Tiny's dam, Jana, around the enclosure to try to get her to follow mama. Suddenly, Tiny sat back on the rope, and then reared up on her hind legs. Marissa let the rope go, and the foal lost her balance, falling over backwards and bonking her head on the ground. She floundered there, having involuntary muscle spasms and her head and neck were all out of control, so I ran to try to aright her. I thought she had broken her neck or back at the worst, and maybe put her eye out, too, as it instantly swelled shut. Her tongue was lolling around and she was having trouble breathing. I grabbed her tongue and held it so she wouldn't swallow it.
Marissa kept her cool throughout and I had her hold the filly's head up while I ran to get the vet box. By the time I got back, Tiny had come to, jumped to her feet, and was whinnying for her mama. Jana, who is not a very good mother, just continued munching on weeds in the corral through the whole episode.
I gave Tiny some Bantamine for her headache and she walked around very slowly for a couple of days with a lump on her head and her eye almost swollen shut. She's very cute, but she's a little fighter. I guess it's that cutting horse blood in her. My daughter has worked with cutting horses a lot and she says fighting is bred into them because they have to have that instinct to cut out and hold a cow. Tiny finally started paying attention to the lead rope after knocking herself silly and scaring me into a fit.
Here's a picture of Marissa goofing around on JR, my five year-old stallion. She was riding him around bareback with a halter. She rode into the barn and as she was coming out, she reached up, grabbed one of the exposed pipe rafters, and let JR go out from under her. Well, almost. He stopped as soon as he felt her lift off him and looked back as if to say, "What's going on back there?" He stood very still and she slid back down onto his back, and then did the whole thing again so I could get a picture. He did exactly the same thing the second time. When he felt her come off his back, he stood still as a statue, probably not wanting to step on her if she fell under him. That's the kind of horses you want!

Holy Cow, It's Hot!

Summer is here with a vengeance. It's not quite as hot this summer as it was last, but it is hotter than I like it to be. We've had a few near 100 degree days and this coming Saturday is supposed to be over 100. At least it is cooling off at night this summer, unlike last summer. Last summer there were lots of nights that didn't go below 80. This summer it is going down around 60. Another argument against global warning.
I finally made it out of the hay field. We put up over 1000 big round bales of hay, each weighing around 1,300 pounds. Hay! Tons and tons of hay. It is the stuff Wyoming winters are made of.
I missed the 4th of July and Rawhide Days in Lusk because of being in the hayfield.
When I first came to Niobrara County, there were no Rawhide Days. A long time ago, Lusk had a writer in it's midst who came up with this romantic tale about cowboys and Indians, settlers, soldiers and bloodshed. It became a large outdoor play that was re-enacted every year before an audience, complete with horses, wagons, tipis, gunfire, milk cows and chickens. After many years of production, it was discontinued when interest flagged.
A few years after I moved here, it was resurrected. My friends and coworkers were all talking about it and signing up to be in it. Having never seen it, I didn't know exactly what it was, but they talked me into going to a rehearsal with them. I was just breaking Gremlin (black and white pony referred to in many other articles) who was about three at the time. My ex advised me I didn't have a horse that would "do the pageant," as he had seen it in it's earlier years. But I took Gremlin in to the rehearsal anyway, because it would be good for his training. I thought I would maybe sign up to be in the Cavalry, because I had a great big part-thoroughbred bay gelding I could use for that part. When I rode up to the grandstands on Gremlin, they asked me what part I wanted to play and I said, "I want to be in the Cavalry."
They said, "But you're an Indian!"
"No," I said, "I have another horse."
"You're an INDIAN," they stated emphatically, so I was an Indian for about ten years on Gremlin. He was great the first year as a three year old and everything was new to him, but the second and third years, he bucked me off. Then after a few years, he got so he knew the cues better than most of the Indians. He carried my son as an Indian for a couple years, and then carried my daughter one year as Mother Featherleggs and was a little confused by the change in roles.
The Pageant is amazing to me in two respects, one being that it continues to fill the grandstands after all these years, and that it involves a cast of hundreds, counting both people and animals, and it goes off without a hitch usually, and now with minimal rehearsals. I have never personally witnessed any fights or arguing about the Pageant itself, although I have witnessed a few "drunken Indians."

Here's a picture I took of my favorite Indian. Teresa plays the part of the Indian maiden who gets shot by a hot head from the wagon train, then doubles back to ride as an Indian warrior, then jumps off her horse and onto the travois to be carried out to the funeral pyre. She does get her revenge! She's an expert horsewoman.

Making Hay While the Sun Shines

There is nothing like the smell of new-mown clover and alfalfa. It is heavenly. There's an old saying that goes, "Make hay while the sun shines." Well, that's what I've been doing--making hay. I got the opportunity to replace some of the truckload of hay ruined by the late spring rain as I help a neighbor put up his hay.
I've been running his swing tongue swather, which is a very large, complex machine that cuts the forage, rolls it through a crimper, and then throws it into a pile behind called a windrow. I absolutely love running the thing. I used to own one of my own, so I am an old hand at it, although I hadn‘t done it for so long, it took a short time to get back in the “swing“ of things. I thought I may never get to do it again, but by the grace of God, here I am.
When I get rolling with that machine, I just lose all track of time and I don't even care if I eat, which is unusual for me. I sit up there watching the hay pile up behind the swather as I listen for unusual noises, which tell me there is a problem either occurring, or about to occur. I spend time praying and just thinking. Sometimes I get to daydreaming and that's usually when I veer off my path or pick up a rock, which sometimes wreaks havoc with the cutter mechanism.
The breakdowns are as onerous as the operation is sweet. Everything on these machines is huge, except the little sickle sections and bolts that are usually damaged by the rocks. I have to get off the tractor, block the hydraulic cylinders that raise and lower the header, then crawl under the machine to replace the section and sometimes a rock guard, which is the second half of the cutting equation. It is hot, dirty and hard work.
When I took the job, I didn't know how my body would react to the long hours in the heat and dust. I really don't think I could have done it a year ago, just after my retirement from my "town job." Although I was active on my job, it was still a cushy job, usually in an air-conditioned office or company pickup truck. I was tired after the first twelve-hour day, but it was a good kind of tired, not the brain boggling stressful tired I used to be when I came home from a long day on the pipeline.
ConocoPhillips and all other DOT regulated pipeline operators insisted on so much emphasis on safety, that we hardly had time to get our work done. Right before I retired, we did a half-hour job and it took me three hours to round up and fill out all the required paperwork beforehand, then do a little bit more when the job was done! Today as I roaded the swather down the highway to a new location, I was thinking how we do need to be very aware of our own and other's safety, but not so much that we don't get our work done. The sun is shining and it's time to make hay!

Dog Days

My daughter was home for a few days last week and this for her tenth class reunion. I can hardly believe she has been out of school that long. She brought her dog and I served as the dog sitter as she ran back and forth to town. I didn't know how my dog, Nacho, and hers, Cinch, would get along because they are both males. They never had a problem and even shared food with one another, which is quite remarkable. Nacho has a very easy-going nature, but Cinch can be rather territorial. He lived here as a puppy, but I guess he knows this is no longer his home. He's been in Texas for more than six years. Here's a shot of Cinch relaxing on Nacho's couch. He is very camera shy, though, because he's been shot at with guns before and he can't seem to differentiate the two.

Both boys are red-heeler crosses, but Cinch is quite a bit larger than Nacho. They were hoodlums when they got outside together. Cinch thinks he can chase anything that will run from him, and Nacho would take off behind Cinch when he was chasing something, although Nacho normally never chases anything. The cats were thoroughly terrified of Cinch.
One day as my daughter was leaving to go to town, she encountered a very mad rattlesnake in the driveway. She came back to the house wanting to know where a shovel was so she could kill the snake. We had to scramble the dogs back in the house so they wouldn't be bitten. This was the first rattler I have ever seen in my yard in the twelve years I have owned the place. I saw a bull snake puttering around the yard a couple days before that, and I left it alone because they are harmless and they catch mice, and I heard an old wives' tale once that says bull snakes will chase the rattlers away. I had an old aunt who once said, "You kind of quit believing in those old wives' tales, if you live long enough."
I surely didn't want my baby horses to get snake bitten. They are so curious about everything. The first thing they do is stick their noses down there to investigate a snake or porcupine, another creature I hate, and wind up getting bitten or a nose full of porcupine quills. I pray that doesn't happen.
Summer has arrived in full-force. We’ve had some ninety degree days. Last night we had a thunder-shower that bestowed six tenths of an inch of rain on us. The thunder and lightening was rocking the house again and Cinch was scared out of his wits. My daughter and her dog are gone again, and Nacho is moping around, missing his buddy. I'm moping around missing my daughter. Here she is with both dogs.

First Haltering

I had some friends out Sunday after church and we haltered the foals for the first time. The foals didn't like it very much, but settled down after only a short time. Here's a picture of these friends leading a mom and baby and one of Doug holding and talking to the wee one.

This is what I love about raising horses. The foals are almost addictive. The disposition that my stallion puts on them just causes them to love people, and they are so smart. They learn quickly what you want them to do and they just want to please.
I feel like it's the death of a dream, however, when I remember just a couple months back when I was fighting for all I was worth to keep them alive, and I wonder if I want to ever go through that again, so I haven't turned the stallion out with any mares yet. Besides the horse market is so oversaturated, I wonder if it is responsible to breed any mares at all.
Maybe my accountant is right. I should get some cows. I have one, but she is going to the sale tomorrow. She's slightly over a year old and she weighed in at 930 pounds on my neighbor's certified scales last week. You want that kind. She started out small, and then really packed on the pounds. She has been strictly grass and hay fed--no grains of any sort and coming off a severe winter, so that rate of gain is almost unheard of under those conditions. I wish I had a whole truckload of them to sell.
I don't get nearly so emotionally invested in the cattle as I do the horses, and I just happen to have a whole truckload of what the rain has turned into cow hay, so perhaps I will get some cows.
Gremlin got to haul some kids around at the horse camp last week. He did well and the kids loved him. He was the only paint horse there, so they gravitated toward him and asked if they could ride the "pretty one." Here's a picture of him doing his thing with the kids.

The camp was a lot of work, but it all became worth it when I heard one little boy telling his friend that the horses were "the best part of the whole camp." I was shocked because they had many other fun activities for them, such as floating the river, picnics, games, crafts and "big toys," whatever that was.

Summer has arrived right on time. Temperatures are getting close to ninety during the day. At least it is cooling off at night, unlike last year at this time.

Kids and Horses all Week

This week I'm helping with a kids camp horse riding activity. I took good old Gremlin since he is my best kid's horse. I surely do wish I could clone that old bugger. He was the only paint horse there and several times, I had more than one kid wanting to ride him. Several people made comments on the shape he is in for his age. He's 24, and is beginning to show his age a little, but they didn't know what he looked like before. He still has a surprising amount of spunk for his age, and the kids like that. Gremlin likes the kids also, but he was too tired to even lie down and roll when we were done with him today. That is usually the first thing he does after being turned loose, especially if he's sweaty. He was sweaty today. The temperature was 85 when the last bunch of kids stopped riding. Summer is finally here.
Yesterday as I was gathering things to take to camp, I heard my big palomino paint gelding whinnying at me. He was at the gate all by himself, and I thought something was amiss, because the rest of the herd was not in sight. Horses are very social creatures and it's very unusual for them to leave the herd on their own. At first, I thought he was just fighting flies and wanting in the barn for that reason, but he just kept hollering at me, so I went to see. My heart sank when I saw his bloody front foot.
He had gotten into some wire apparently, cut his pastern and didn’t even want to put any weight on it, so I opened the gate and he hopped through it. I let him in the barn and put some fly repellant on him, for which he seemed grateful. Since I was heading for town with Gremlin for the camp, I called the veterinarian and asked if I could bring him in. I wasn't sure how deep the cut was.
King even seemed grateful to hop onto the trailer. He is so smart. He knew he was in trouble, needed help, and he knew where to go to find it. He behaved perfectly at the vet clinic, even when the vet gave him a huge shot of penicillin.
So now, I've got one in the sick bay and Murphy continues to hang out at my place. I have to administer more penicillin for several days and re-bandage every day for a while. Fortunately, it wasn't very deep, but it's in an area that flexes at every step, so it will take some time to heal. I listed him for sale a couple weeks ago, but now that will have to be postponed.
He loves attention and now he's getting some, but he hates being penned by himself. That's good for him, though, because it helps break the herding instinct and they go out alone under saddle more readily.

Murphy Moved In

Murphy has come to live at my ranch this spring. I keep trying to kick him out but he doesn't want to go, so whatever can go wrong, has gone wrong. Today I attended the funeral of a friend who served as my spiritual mentor these many years since I made my decision about 20 years ago. She was only 69. That's not old enough. This community still needs her. Carolyn had the red phone to God. When she called on Him in prayer, she never got the "busy" signal. God heard and answered her prayers. I don't know who will take up her mantle now.
Carolyn always had a sweet smile and an encouraging word. She was a 4-H horse leader for many years and I never saw her be critical. She coached the kids by praising what they did well.
Tommorrow I have to attend another funeral for a friend with whom I worked in the oil field. He was 70, and, like Carolyn, a great prayer warrior. Seems like God is mustering His army.
Right after the big rainstorm that caused me to struggle with my foals and cost me a truckload of hay for the lack of $100 worth of tarps, I went to flush out my swamp cooler and get it ready for summer use. The motor is seized. I replaced the motor about 12 years ago, and could replace it again, but the rest of the cooler is almost shot. I think it is as old as the house, probably. Besides, I don't like the humidity it puts into the house. Then my washing machine quit. What else can go wrong? Murphy, you've got to GO. Somebody close the gate behind Murphy as he leaves.

Going Home

I had the pleasure of returning to a piece of my past this past weekend. Some friends who own the ranch I grew up on invited me to their cattle branding. I took Turkey, the horse, to ride, and my niece with her gray and white paint horse, Jack, to ride along with us. Here's a picture of Wendy on Jack.

As we drove past the house I grew up in, I couldn't help but slow down to gawk as memories flooded my mind. Then I remembered my niece was behind me with her truck and trailer, so I sped up. She said she had been doing the exact same thing. As we rode by on horseback, she remarked that she almost expected to see her grandmother, my Mom, come out on the porch and wave her apron. I could visualize that, also, and almost heard her voice. I should have taken a picture of the old place, but I didn't.
The creek that runs by had flooded, as did the creeks almost everywhere in Wyoming during the recent rainstorms. I remembered the floods we used to have almost yearly there on Middle Bear Creek when I was a kid. We could go out and play in the water if the current was not too rapid, but sometimes one couldn't cross in a vehicle for a day or two, because the water would drown out the engine, or there were big washouts you couldn't see under the surface of the water. This year's flood was substantial, like the ones I remember from my childhood.
The creek was still running and we had to cross it several times in the course of following the cattle back up the pasture to the branding corrals. Although Turkey has to put his feet in Lance Creek every day to get a drink, he thought he had to leap Middle Bear each time we crossed it. That was making me upset, but it was too beautiful a day to be upset. The sky was blue, the creek was running, the sagebrush and the pine trees smelled heavenly, I was back in my element, amongst people I know and love, and I was happy.
Gathering went off without a hitch and we didn't even spill them while trying to get them into the corrals, although the owner said he thought we might have missed a few down in the trees. There weren't as many riders as there usually are. It is getting harder and harder to find help to do the annual spring and fall cattle work on the ranches. High school and college kids no longer want, nor do most of them know how, to do it.
There was plenty of help this day, however everyone had a job. I'm not sure how many we branded, but we finished up just as the Boss Lady and her helpers brought in lunch. (The Boss Lady reads this blog because she was my high school English and Journalism teacher and now a publisher, and close as a sister, Hi Nancy!) Lunch was out of this world delicious. It always is. Nancy and her daughter knock themselves out cooking. They spread the feast out on the 20-foot bed of a gooseneck trailer. There was barbeque beef, bean salad, coleslaw, lettuce salad, scalloped corn, several jello salads, potato salad, carrot cake, chocolate pie, and peach cobbler with lots of iced tea.
Another highlight of the day was when two other of my nieces and their families showed up. I didn't know they were coming, and it was a great surprise. I gave a weanling filly to one of the niece's sons about five years ago, he started and trained her himself, and he had her there. Here's a picture of Layne on May. Layne has done a nice job with her and is, justifiably, very proud of her. That's the way I was hoping it would work out. There's nothing as good for the inside of a boy (or girl) as the outside of a horse.

Here are some general pictures of the branding activities, mostly the ropers who are the stars of the show.

Ode to Chester

I have to tell a story about my friend who raises horses and is wheelchair-bound. It was his colt I struggled to save during the rainstorm. The colt died, by the way, but that's another story. This friend (I won't mention his name) lives in Texas, but maintains mares, foals and stallions on some land that is only about 40 miles from my ranch.
He planned to drive from his home in Texas to Wyoming, arriving late Friday. He had bought airplane tickets for a woman horse trainer to come help him load and haul a mare he wanted to take back to Texas. This college-aged woman, went out on the town with friends on Friday night and wound up spending the night in jail, thus missing her flight to Denver and leaving my friend with no help on the return trip.
Don't you think most people confined to a wheelchair would have abandoned the plan? Not my friend. I hardly believe he did this myself, but he hooked up his trailer, loaded the mare and headed back to Texas, driving non-stop except to fuel his van. He said he found some nice people at a gas station that helped him water his mare partway through the trip.
The alternator went out of his van about 30 miles from his destination!
I tried to drive straight through to Mineral Wells, Texas, when my daughter lived there, but was unable to make it. I had to pull over and sleep a while. My friend continues to be an inspiration.
Now, about the dead colt--the little guy had problems from the start. His mama didn't want him, and he started following another mare that had lost her foal, but had already stolen another foal from another mare. Now the "robber" mare had two foals following her. We corralled them and paired the colt back up with his dam. She still really didn't want him, and had to be haltered and made to stand while he nursed as she tried to bite and kick him. My friend thought they would mother up in a few hours, but that wasn't happening. I needed to get home, so I offered to take them both back to my place and continue the process there.
The mare did start accepting the foal more and more, but something just didn't seem right with this foal from the start. He was not jittery as most are, and was not aggressive about nursing, either. Then he was straining to eliminate. I thought he was compacted, so I gave him some mineral oil by mouth. Nothing happened. I called my daughter, who has a Master's Degree in Equine Reproduction, and she said to give him an enema. This was a new one for me. I had never given anything an enema before, but here I was giving a colt an enema! Still nothing passed.
He got a little stronger for a few days, and then the rain hit in. Over half our annual average precipitation fell from the sky in two days and three nights. My corrals turned to soup, so I had to shut him and his dam in my tiny little barn so he would have a dry place to lie down. After I confined him to the small area, I noticed he was eliminating, however, his urine was dribbling out in a strange way, so I looked under his belly, and there were no male parts, to speak of. He had a little nodule with a couple little holes in it where the urine was coming out. I called my daughter and my friend in alarm. My friend asked me to inspect his apparatus to help pinpoint the problem. It felt like he had a penis, but it was turned inward and encased.
He was becoming weaker and lying down a lot of the time, only standing to nurse occasionally. Then his hind leg swelled. I thought the mare had stepped on him. By now, there was no possible way to get him to a vet because the creek was flooding and my road was so muddy, I could not have gotten to the county road with my trailer. My friend asked if I had any Bantamine and I gave him some of that. That seemed to help a little, as the swelling subsided and he was able to stand better. My daughter said the swelling in the leg and joint was probably rather related to the waste material going throughout his body than to his being stepped on by the mare. I'm sure she is correct. My friend thought that since he did have some urine coming out and it seemed clear and not cloudy, the situation might solve itself.
"Chester," as I had begun calling him, gave up his fight for life on Saturday night. I fully expected to find him dead that morning, but it still hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried as if he had been my own colt. I couldn't go to church Sunday because I knew I would be crying like a baby during services and everyone would think I was a lunatic. All this just makes me know I should not try to run a horse breeding operation.
Chester was nobody's fault, just a freak of nature. His dam knew all along and that is why she tried to reject him. Horses just know. Yet it tore me up to lose him after I had fought so hard to save his life. RIP, Chester. You were a good little colt, and I know I will see you in heaven. Somebody close the gate while I wipe my eyes again.

Oh Lord, I think I want my drought back!

I now officially declare the seven-year drought over. Five or six inches of rain, one flooded creek, water in the basement, and mud everywhere testifies to that fact. What wild weather. I haven't seen anything like this since I was a kid. That's a long time ago. My friend from Texas just asked me if I ever had to worry about the creek getting up to the house. I told him only every 50 years or so do we have a flood that would threaten the house. This must be the year.
The weather service predicted it, as it was coming in almost a straight line down the center of Wyoming starting on Wednesday, May 21. As I drifted off to sleep, I watched a phenomenal light show going on outside my window, and the thunder literally rocked me to sleep. Unbeknownst to me, the lightening was as close as to strike a tree down on the creek about a quarter mile from the house. It knocked a big chunk of the tree to the ground and set it on fire. Fortunately, the rain put the fire out. Two or more inches fell that first night.
I went out the next morning to check my babies and see if they weathered the storm. They did; luckily, we didn't get the hail along with it that other areas got. The corrals had turned to soup, and there was not a dry place for them to lie down, as I had a colt belonging to a friend in the sick bay, my barn. The storm continued all day Thursday, Thursday night, and Friday. I hovered over the sick baby in the barn and prayed for the storm to end and the baby to live. The rain finally stopped early Saturday morning. Everyone is still alive, including me, but just barely. This seems like a never-ending nightmare. My fence washed out in only one place where the creek crosses it, so I'll have fencing to do when the water recedes.
If I live to be 100, I will remember the winter and spring of 2007-2008. Here are some photos of the creek flooding.

Sick Babies and Me

After my marathon foaling, I jumped on a plane to head to North Carolina to visit my other baby, my six-month old grandson. I had to scramble to get thing arranged so I could be at my son's for Mother's Day. Friends from church volunteered to keep my stallion at their place to keep him out of trouble. A neighbor would check the rest of my livestock on his way by every day. I had to build some fence to be sure there would be no wrecks. The storm and the foaling, along with getting ready for the trip had so stressed me, I came down with a terrible cold.
It was horrible on the flight. I was coughing and sneezing and blowing my nose until I thought my seatmates would ask for a particle mask. My grandson already had a cold, so I didn't worry about infecting him. He was all smiles. What a good baby. The only time he fusses is when he is hungry. He watches TV already, and not just glances. He watches intently for up to 20 minutes at a time and he actually giggles when something funny happens on TV. One of the children's DVDs his parents have for him has a duck puppet that reaches out with its beak to grab a dog puppet's nose and then there is a honking noise, and that baby giggles every time he sees that. Here's a picture of him watching TV from his "office," a little place for him to sit that has a swivel seat with stimulating toys surrounding him.

He's not crawling yet, but did learn to flip from his back to his stomach while I was there, then his first tooth erupted a day after I left. I knew he was teething, not because he was cranky, because he wasn't, but he was slobbering and chewing on everything in sight, including his toes after his bath, as in this picture. So I was there, basically, for two "firsts" in his life.

My cold got a little better on Saturday and Mother's day. My daughter-in-law took me for two "firsts" in my life on Saturday--a professional manicure and pedicure. This was quite different, because my feet are so ticklish, but the results were great. Not sure I would ever do that again, however. Too urbane for this country chick.
The cold came roaring back on Monday just in time for the flight home. I was very ill when the plane touched down in Cheyenne. My friend insisted I stay the night with her, and I was grateful, because I didn't think I could drive the three hours home with every part of my body aching--even my teeth.
When I did get home, I had sick babies here, of the equine variety. I had turned the mares and new foals out on the meadow and two of them had foal-heat diarrhea. The palomino paint baby was the worst. She had it so badly she should have died. I corralled the mares and foals and went to doctoring them, even though I should probably have been seeing a doctor myself. I poked some large doses of Pepto Bismol down them and cleaned the paint filly's behind so I could put some ointment on it. The acid from the diarrhea had already eaten a lot of her hair coat off and the skin below her tail dock was just raw.
I went and retrieved my stallion then fell into bed, seriously thinking I might die in my sleep. Although I'm not afraid to die, I didn't know how long it might be before someone missed me, so I said some prayers for both my fillies and me. The good news is that all of us are better, although the cold is still with me. Palomino paint was feeling so much better today, she even struggled a little when I gave her more Pepto. I followed that with some plain yogurt, as recommended by my daughter, to replace the good flora in her stomach. She rather liked the yogurt, I think. She swished it around in her mouth awhile before swallowing, probably to get rid of that bad Pepto taste. I don't blame her, I don't like Pepto Bismol, either, but it works.

A 72 Hour Blizzard and Foal-a-thon

I just survived seventy two hours of hell and I feel like I've run a marathon. I know I worked harder than I've ever worked in my life. I had three more mares to foal, all of them due last week. The National Weather Service began posting a winter storm watch for our area on Weds. One mare foaled mid-morning on Wednesday. That was Peggy. I was a little concerned about her, since I hadn't owned her when she foaled previously. She did fine, but now I had this little baby to worry about keeping warm and dry.
The storm began closing in. I got as ready as I could. I had all three mares in the corral due to the wreck I had with the first one foaling early and not surviving it (see earlier post). My barns are pretty drafty, though, and the corrals turn to soup whenever they get moisture of any kind. I worried how I would keep the new babies warm and dry.
I set up camp in the truck parked out by the barn. It was just easier than running in and out of the house, removing overboots, coats and hats, and getting in and out of a warm bed every hour. I have trouble making myself get out of a warm bed once or twice a night to go check, let alone every hour. Nacho and I dozed in the truck. I prayed to God to make the storm miss us. Listening to the radio in the truck, it sounded like it was going to do just that. The winter storm warning went back to a "watch." About 8:30 p.m. they said maybe just some flurries with high winds. About 9:30 the flurries and the wind began. Soon it looked like a scene from "Battlestar Galactica" and there were big snow flakes coming down sideways driven by about a 50 mph. wind. I got soaking wet when I got out to do the 10:30 check.
Each time I got out all three mares were in the barns, just blinking at me. The storm worsened. I went to the house at daybreak and napped a little. When I went back out, the wind had kicked up to about 60 mph and Peggy's poor little baby was cold, wet and shivering as the snow swirled around her in the barn. I fashioned a foal blanket for her out of a wool saddleblanket and strapped it around her middle with two small halters. I had to cinch them rather tight to keep the blanket on her. I held her ears and nose in my hands to melt the ice cicles out of them. When I turned her loose in the corral, she acted like a rodeo bronc because she didn't like the halter chinched tightly in her flanks. She squalled and bucked twice around the corral, slipping and falling in the mud. All the other horses came running to see what was happening. I was laughing very hard. The blanket served the purpose, and she remained warm enough.

The wind was just howling and driving the snow. It was the worst blizzard we'd had here in about nine years. By eleven a.m. when I went out to check mares, I couldn't see to get to the barn. The snow was swirling around in my face so hard I couldn't keep my eyes open. I prayed and waited for the wind to go down. The weather service said it would clear out about noon. It was 2:30 when the wind began to die down. Thankfully, neither of the other two mares foaled during all that.
I knew the one was getting very close, though, as she had started pushing a lot of wax out her teats. That's a sure sign they are going to foal soon. I also knew the temperature would drop like a rock when the storm cleared out. I prayed hard and cleaned the snow out of the barn so she would have a dry place to foal. Then I hunkered down for another night in the truck.
About midnight-thirty Friday night, the stallion, who was up in the stock trailer next to the truck for safe-keeping, and because I needed his stall, became very agitated. I went to check. I heard Lady grunting before I got to the barn. I shined the flashlight and could see the head and both front feet of the foal, so I knew things were going well. She gave another small push, then a great big one, and out came a large foal. Lady sighed and wanted to rest a minute. I could see the foal had the placenta over it's head, so I stepped in to tear it open so she could breathe. Then Lady jumped up and went to cleaning her foal. I went to the house to call my best friend who was awaiting news and get some towels to help dry the foal.

I looked at the thermometer. It was 18 degrees above zero. I didn't want a crop-eared horse, which would result if her ears froze. Lady had the foal pretty much cleaned off when I got back to the barn and she was floundering around, trying to stand. I dried her ears carefully, then rubbed the rest of her body as I tried to help her stand. Lady put up with me for a short time, then she started just sort of tapping a front foot on the ground in front of the foal, as if to say, "Enough already, I can take it from here." I went back to the truck for another half-hour. When I checked back in, the foal was standing and trying to nurse. It was a palomino paint filly-- just what I'd prayed for. I breathed a sigh of relief and went to a warm bed for some sleep.
Saturday dawned bright and beautiful, so I went back out and moved the other mare into the "birthing place" about eleven a.m. She foaled at noon that day all by herself. I think I was as relieved as the mares to be done foaling. It seemed like a nightmare that was never going to end. I called my friend and screamed for joy.

Live Foal, Finally!

This morning when I did the 5:30 a.m. check, I could tell my bay mare was very close to foaling. I moved her into a corral by herself, fed her and the rest of the horses, then went back in to make coffee and breakfast. When I went back out in about an hour, she had foaled, passed the placenta, cleaned the little filly off and Pooh was trying to stand up. I was more than thrilled. This is Permalight Junior's first live offspring. She already shows his great disposition. I just did the noon feeding, and she "talked" to me. She was near the fence when I went to throw the hay over, and she faced me and nickered! She's sorrel with a big, even white blaze and hind stockings, plus maybe a short sock on at least one front. It's hard to tell sometimes when they are first born, because their legs are kind of grey and the white is not very distinct. Here's a picture of Pooh and her dam.

This mare is wonderful. Anyone can ride her and she is very responsive and soft-mouthed. She also has a great disposition. Prescription Check is her registered name, but her common name is Peggy. She is AQHA Incentive Fund registered and goes back to Doc Bar, Dash for Cash and Poco Bueno. Here's another pic that shows her maternal side. She's nuzzling Pooh's behind as she nurses.

Call me Calamity Jane

I am so discouraged. It feels like my prayers have been hitting the ceiling, bouncing off and not getting to God for a whole year now. I thought He was leading me to retire from my job and move back here, and that all worked out beautifully, but almost nothing has worked as I planned since then. I heard an interview with Art Linkletter on the radio the other day and he said, "If you want to make God laugh, just tell Him your plans." I must be a continual source of amusement for God.
I knew the finances were going to be a little tight until I either get my newest truck paid off or sold. I tried selling it and that didn't work. Nobody wants to buy used vehicles anymore, or if they do, they want a bargain basement price. I tried selling some horses and that didn't work, either. I even tried to give one away and she came up lame, so no one wanted her. I just took one to a sale, but had to pass him out and bring him home. I thought God had given me a good position in the sale line-up, but it turned out to be a bad one. My horse was number nine, but several ahead of him just didn't show up, so everyone was reluctant to bid, because the market was not yet established. Several lesser quality horses sold later in the sale for more money than my bid. With all commodities for living and ranching going sky high, I am considering looking for another job.
Disaster struck again when one of my best mares died trying to foal. It was her first attempt, but she was nearly five years old, so she should have been able to foal on her own. The foal looked completely healthy, but had a front foot folded back. She was the last mare to breed, so I wasn't expecting her to be the first to foal and I wasn't paying as close attention as I could have been. I have three more pregnant mares and I have been arising out of bed two or three times each night to check for trouble. They have all foaled before, so hopefully, there won't be any further problems. Does lightening ever strike twice in the same place? I hope not. I've had enough setbacks.

Do you Boycott Roedos?

Well another band pulled their magic carpet out from under Cheyenne Frontier Days and what few fans may have attended their scheduled concert. This time it's Matchbox Twenty, of whom I had never before heard. They cited potential animal abuse that may or may not occur at rodeos. Carrie Underwood did the same a couple of years ago.
I've really had to search my heart about this subject since my younger sister, who has lived in New York for over 20 years, told me her family boycotts rodeo. I, on the other hand, have been not only a fan, but a participant at times. Frankly, I think the livestock that is supplied to the rodeo circuit has a better life than a lot of "pet" animals, especially horses. I have seen far more horses abused by their riders in the English Equestrian type sports, such as jumping and eventing, than I have at rodeos.
The bucking horse has an advantage in that there is no bit in its mouth and it is expected to buck. Some horses are just renegades, and not good for anything except being in a bucking string. They love to buck. They revel in it. If not for rodeo, they would be otherwise dispatched in a hurry.
I had the pleasure of seeing Khadafy Skoal being paraded around the Thomas and Mack Arena in Las Vegas the year he was voted the top bucking horse in the world. He was the picture of health and didn't look abused to me--but then I was two seats from outside and way up in the nosebleed section! I did have a good pair of binoculars, though. His perfect blue roan flesh rippled as he came through the arch of roses they prepared just for him. He pranced and arched his neck in enjoyment as he gazed at all the spectators, then went on to drill another cowboy's head into the arena sand that evening. Hank Franzen retired him a couple of years later to their ranch in Wyoming.
My sister seemed to object mostly to the use of spurs on the animals. Professional rodeo regulations call for blunt tips on the rowels (little wheelie things) and that they roll freely so that they are just more of an irritation than anything. Horses and cattle have much thicker skin than we do, usually with a thick hair coat, and normally don't feel pain from the spurs, just an irritation, same as the mild shock from a cattle prod. Rodeo is a part of our western heritage, and spurs are part of that tradition.
There are over 60 rules in place and enforced by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association and others governing the care and handling of rodeo stock. Also, statistics are kept on the rate of injury to the animals and according to the National Animal Interest Alliance that rate is somewhere around five hundredths of one percent per animal exposure. I think that compares favorably with the rate at which my domesticated livestock gets injured as it lives life out in the pastures on my ranch.
The comments in the Casper Star Tribune online concerning the cancellation by Matchbox Twenty, were running about 50 percent more in favor of the sport of rodeo than those opposed the last I checked. But this is Wyoming, not Long Island. That would probably be reversed out there.

Riding a Turkey

I have been getting a gelding ready to sell, so I have been riding nearly every day. I love to ride, but riding by yourself is definitely not fun. Turkey has never bucked, but he is a little herd-bound. He doesn't like to go out by himself, either. However, I've been making him do it. I worry about getting bucked off, hurt, and nobody would know for a week or more. Here's a picture of me on Turkey.

Turkey got his barn name when he was a weanling. He picked up a nail in his front hoof and became lame. My daughter and her boyfriend had the task of dislodging the nail and disinfecting the wound. Turkey really didn't appreciate what they were doing and he acted like a real "turkey." They got the job done and Robin Boy Blue (his registered name) got his common name.
Turkey has a unique personality. He can't keep his lips off anything, especially anything plastic or rubber. He would turn the hydrant on, so I put a splitter on and covered the hydrant with a plastic bucket, which I wired to the fence. Well, it took him a few days, but somehow Turkey was able to wiggle the bucket up and managed to turn the little flipper on the hose splitter. The hydrant was gushing water when I got home from work that day. Between Turkey and me, we are not very good conservators of water.
I got so mad at myself yesterday. I needed to fill the stock tanks with water. I started the first one, which was almost empty. I figured it would take about 20 minutes to fill, so I went in the house to have coffee. Guess what, I forgot. I goofed around for over an hour before I remembered the water was running. I even went back outside, unloaded some hay, and moved some equipment around without remembering the overflowing tank. I cursed myself and went to fill the next tank. Guess what? I forgot again. That one was in the barn, so now I have a wet barn, and it's not due to the five to six inches of snow that has fallen in the past 12 hours. I think old age has come and lit. Somebody close the gate.