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.