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.