As planned, I awoke at gawdawful in the morning today, to sit with the nephews whilst the majority of the FarmFamily made the pilgrimage to the Black Friday sale.
Ok, ok, I was awakened at gawdawful in the morning by Farmmom because I had forgotten to set the alarm on my cell phone. Sue me.
Froze parts that I'm rather fond of on the trip to the Farmbrother and Sister In Law's house, then stretched out on their couch to catch a couple more hours of z's before the munchkins awoke for the day. Or so I thought.
A few minutes into my warm up period I heard a rustling in the other room. Well, along with FB, SIL and the munchkins, there are two cats and a dog living there, so I didn't think too much of it. That is, until I heard something else.
"Auntie Farmgirl,"
The oldest nephew was awake, and the sleepily annoyed expression on his face told me he'd been being very quiet (just like his mother and father had told him he had to be when he got up before anyone else), but I was supposed to have heard him anyway. Considering his volume at that point was somewhere slightly above that of a mouse tiptoeing across plush carpeting, I thought I was doing good to have understood him at all, personally.
"That would be me."
"What are you doing here?"
"I was trying to sleep."
"But why are you sleeping here??"
At this point I decided that as fun as playing word games with eldest nephew is under normal circumstances, if we continued in this vein he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Which, of course, meant that I wouldn't be able to either.
"Mom and Dad had to go to Lamar to get some stuff, so I'm staying with you till they get back."
"Oh."
"What did you need, kiddo?"
"I'm thirsty."
"Ok, let's get you a drink, then you can go back to sleep."
"Ok."
He stepped back from the edge of the couch and turned to walk to the kitchen, and I realized that while he was big enough to want underwear like his dad's, he wasn't quite big enough to fit the boxer briefs, since they were hanging off of one cheek.
After FB and SIL came home from the war, I migrated back to the Old Homestead and curled up with a good book for several hours. I then realized that I had to make a trip to the horses, since I had left Red shut in the top pen for ease of catching when I had time to ride him again.
See, early this morning, sometime between Eldest Nephew's groggy interrogation and the time I woke up for the day, it snowed about two inches, and then froze.
Red's pen had only a shallow tank, shallow enough to freeze solid. Red's pen also had the hay bale. Snow on the ground, freezing temperatures...
I had to let Red out where he could get to water that didn't resemble the world's largest ice cube, and so that the other horses could get to the hay.
So, I bundled up and went... eventually. See, there's a secret about driving in rural areas in the winter time. If the highways are icy, but the entire world isn't one big bruised tailbone waiting to happen, your best bet for travel is the dirt roads.
That is, as long as they aren't muddy. The moisture will make them slick, but if the temperature is below freezing, and they haven't been churned to muck, they're safer than the highways. Better traction.
By the time I realized that I had to go to the horses, the temperature had risen above freezing, but it was already on it's way back down. So I waited.
Got Red turned out (for which he was eternally grateful, and showed it by farting in my general direction as he ran out of the corrals calling for his buddies) and checked the big water tank... Which they hadn't gotten the tank heater in yet.
So, I had to break ice. Without an axe. Or a hammer.
I was in my car, fer gossake, I didn't have anything bigger than a socket wrench, and my tire iron is collapsible.
So I broke ice with my foot, and Farmmom's Toastytoes Boots.
It worked, and I didn't wind up hip deep in cold, cold water, mostly through luck and excellent traction on the soles of the boots... I had to jump up and down on the ice a few times to get it to crack, then balance on one foot on the edge of the tank (and holding on to the fence) to get it broken up. But I did.
Tomorrow, I'll take an axe.
After that, it was more laziness with the book, and my feet up. Best way to spend a winter day, I just wish there was a fireplace.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Be Thankful....
Now that the food portion is out of the way, I thought I'd post something more along the lines of the original meaning of Thanksgiving.
Feasting is an integral part of the day, but there's also the fact that we're supposed to be thankful for everything in our lives.
I'm thankful for the opportunities that I've had. I'm in college studying in one of the best programs in the country, doing what I love to do.
I'm thankful for the things that I have, because let's face it, nifty toys are fun.
I'm thankful for my friends, and all of the memories that we've made together.
I'm thankful for you, my readers, and your patience and support when my muse goes wandering, or my time is simply taken up with the necessity of life and school. This blog gives me a vent for my creative energy, and you all give me an ego boost whenever I see a compliment, or look at my sitemeter. I'm woman enough to admit that there are days when that boost is sorely needed.
But most of all, I'm thankful for my family. I realized today, while I was flaked out in the recliner, listening to them chat and loose the occasional turkey flavored belch, (and they all thought I was in a triptophan induced coma) that no matter the embarrassment they sometimes cause (mostly on purpose), I wouldn't have anyone else.
I wouldn't be who I am, or where I am, without them, and their support.
Mamaw, who has taught me the high art of the prank gift, and that it's best when the gift is really nice, something extremely touching, or perfect, and it's lovingly packed in the perfect sized box, beautifully wrapped... then taped to the bottom of a refrigerator box, surrounded by bricks, buried in ghost turds, the box covered in duct tape, then wrapped with garbage bags and topped by a smashed bow dug out of last year's Christmas things and attached to the whole thing with a large piece of duct tape over the top. (Don't get any ideas, woman! It's just an example.)
Farmdad, who always encouraged me to be curious and learn, and who turned me on to science fiction by naming me after a Heinlein character, and making me read the book when I asked him why.
Farmbrother and his wife, who gave me two fantastic nephews, and also give me other things, like their old couch, and who I can count on to be where I used to be, and help out where it's needed on the Old Homestead.
Grandpa, who rekindles my enthusiasm for what I'm doing now every time I talk to him, no matter how lagging it's gotten thanks to business class or the sheer exhaustion of Feed Crew, simply by being so enthusiastic himself.
Farmmom, for so many, many reasons. For being my mother, for supporting me no matter what I chose to do, for crying with me over my first heartbreak and for everything else that she's done for me, (and to me,) over the years to help me become the person I am today. But most of all, for being my friend, no matter what.
I'm thankful for each and every one of them, for many different reasons, most of which aren't even mentioned here. I don't think I could ever compile a complete list, it's just too damned long.
So remember to be thankful for the blessings in your life, whether they're people, things, or just a warm ray of sun to curl up in while you're reading a good book.
And maybe, when you think about the small blessings, you'll realize that they've added up to a pretty danged good life, when you weren't looking.
Feasting is an integral part of the day, but there's also the fact that we're supposed to be thankful for everything in our lives.
I'm thankful for the opportunities that I've had. I'm in college studying in one of the best programs in the country, doing what I love to do.
I'm thankful for the things that I have, because let's face it, nifty toys are fun.
I'm thankful for my friends, and all of the memories that we've made together.
I'm thankful for you, my readers, and your patience and support when my muse goes wandering, or my time is simply taken up with the necessity of life and school. This blog gives me a vent for my creative energy, and you all give me an ego boost whenever I see a compliment, or look at my sitemeter. I'm woman enough to admit that there are days when that boost is sorely needed.
But most of all, I'm thankful for my family. I realized today, while I was flaked out in the recliner, listening to them chat and loose the occasional turkey flavored belch, (and they all thought I was in a triptophan induced coma) that no matter the embarrassment they sometimes cause (mostly on purpose), I wouldn't have anyone else.
I wouldn't be who I am, or where I am, without them, and their support.
Mamaw, who has taught me the high art of the prank gift, and that it's best when the gift is really nice, something extremely touching, or perfect, and it's lovingly packed in the perfect sized box, beautifully wrapped... then taped to the bottom of a refrigerator box, surrounded by bricks, buried in ghost turds, the box covered in duct tape, then wrapped with garbage bags and topped by a smashed bow dug out of last year's Christmas things and attached to the whole thing with a large piece of duct tape over the top. (Don't get any ideas, woman! It's just an example.)
Farmdad, who always encouraged me to be curious and learn, and who turned me on to science fiction by naming me after a Heinlein character, and making me read the book when I asked him why.
Farmbrother and his wife, who gave me two fantastic nephews, and also give me other things, like their old couch, and who I can count on to be where I used to be, and help out where it's needed on the Old Homestead.
Grandpa, who rekindles my enthusiasm for what I'm doing now every time I talk to him, no matter how lagging it's gotten thanks to business class or the sheer exhaustion of Feed Crew, simply by being so enthusiastic himself.
Farmmom, for so many, many reasons. For being my mother, for supporting me no matter what I chose to do, for crying with me over my first heartbreak and for everything else that she's done for me, (and to me,) over the years to help me become the person I am today. But most of all, for being my friend, no matter what.
I'm thankful for each and every one of them, for many different reasons, most of which aren't even mentioned here. I don't think I could ever compile a complete list, it's just too damned long.
So remember to be thankful for the blessings in your life, whether they're people, things, or just a warm ray of sun to curl up in while you're reading a good book.
And maybe, when you think about the small blessings, you'll realize that they've added up to a pretty danged good life, when you weren't looking.
Turkey Day
Ahh, Thanksgiving. That one day of the year when even the most svelte supermodels sit back from the dinner table and unbutton their two hundred dollar jeans. Well, who could blame them? They're not used to eating, after all.
Me? Well, I restrained myself from donning pants with an elastic waist this morning, mainly because of the cold, and I regretted it.
Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy with giblets, hot rolls, corn, peas, egg noodles in turkey gravy, deviled eggs, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, and quartered cornish game hen with it's own stuffing. Plus all the goodies on the relish plate, and to top it all off.... pie.
I stuffed myself, leaving a carcass on my plate from the game hen that closely resembled something from one of the Saw movies. Then I sat back and sighed and digested. For about twenty minutes. Then I had pie. And more pie. And then... you guessed it... more pie.
Leftovers are packed away, game hens in the freezer. I think I'm going to wind up with most of them at the apartment.
We'll see how many people I can convince that game hen is pigeon. There's a long tradition of eating "pigeon" for holiday meals in the family.
The first year that we tried it, just for something different, Farmdad told my great grandma that he was just going to go out and shoot some pigeons for Christmas dinner. She laughed, until she saw the little birds in the kitchen. She was about half horrified, but she was good farm stock, and meat was meat, so she agreed to try it.
As long as we got a turkey breast and cooked that too.
It wasn't until she'd eaten nearly half of one, and pronounced it "good bird" that anyone told her what it was, and from there on out, cornish game hen was pigeon.
Wonder if I can gross the city slickers out with it?
Tomorrow I'm getting up at gawdawful in the morning to go watch the nephews whilst Mamaw, Farmmom, Farmbrother, and his wife go to the big city to hit Walmart the second it opens, and cash in on the Black Friday sales.
I'd rather have the four year old and the toddler. If I wanted to see Black Friday at Walmart I'd watch Jerry Springer, it's safer.
Me? Well, I restrained myself from donning pants with an elastic waist this morning, mainly because of the cold, and I regretted it.
Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy with giblets, hot rolls, corn, peas, egg noodles in turkey gravy, deviled eggs, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, and quartered cornish game hen with it's own stuffing. Plus all the goodies on the relish plate, and to top it all off.... pie.
I stuffed myself, leaving a carcass on my plate from the game hen that closely resembled something from one of the Saw movies. Then I sat back and sighed and digested. For about twenty minutes. Then I had pie. And more pie. And then... you guessed it... more pie.
Leftovers are packed away, game hens in the freezer. I think I'm going to wind up with most of them at the apartment.
We'll see how many people I can convince that game hen is pigeon. There's a long tradition of eating "pigeon" for holiday meals in the family.
The first year that we tried it, just for something different, Farmdad told my great grandma that he was just going to go out and shoot some pigeons for Christmas dinner. She laughed, until she saw the little birds in the kitchen. She was about half horrified, but she was good farm stock, and meat was meat, so she agreed to try it.
As long as we got a turkey breast and cooked that too.
It wasn't until she'd eaten nearly half of one, and pronounced it "good bird" that anyone told her what it was, and from there on out, cornish game hen was pigeon.
Wonder if I can gross the city slickers out with it?
Tomorrow I'm getting up at gawdawful in the morning to go watch the nephews whilst Mamaw, Farmmom, Farmbrother, and his wife go to the big city to hit Walmart the second it opens, and cash in on the Black Friday sales.
I'd rather have the four year old and the toddler. If I wanted to see Black Friday at Walmart I'd watch Jerry Springer, it's safer.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Vacation? What Vacation?
I arrived at the Old Homestead to a lovely and relaxing Sunday afternoon, chilled with the FarmParents for a while, and went with Farmmom to ensure that moving the water tank where the horses are didn't cause what we here in Blowdirt County, Colorado like to call a "flash flood," before reminding myself that I get to ride the world's most neurotic horse this week. But first I have to call the Courthouse Coc... I mean our fine upstanding County Commissioners... and ensure that I won't be stepping on any toes by hauling him in and using the County Fairgrounds.
I wouldn't worry about it, really, since I can close the gate to the corral for a little while and have an enclosed space, but the fairgrounds has one overwhelming bonus... the track.
Yep, our tiny little town has it's very own race track, used for... well... nothing, anymore. They used to hold wild horse races on it but then some tree hugging fur-is-murder pansies had to spoil the fun for the rest of us.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "Farmgirl, you're not usually so mean!" It's true, I'm not. But, in this case, I feel it's justified, because around the same time the wild horse races went out, so did a good 90% of the fair attendance, and thus the revenues generated by it. It's all been downhill from there. Now we have butt-ugly scrap iron statues on Main Street, the local kook is debating one of the pastors in the Letters to the Editor section in the news paper and signing them "The Reverend Priestess," and you can't find a decent party to save your life. What really tweaked me off about the wild horse races though was the whole attitude that people had towards them:
"People could get hurt!"
... Kind of the point, I thought. Darwinism in action! Kinda like Nascar.
Well, I'm probably going to re-instate the tradition all by my lonesome, with Red. I plan to run that little sucker till he can't run anymore. See if he tries any crap then. Not to mention the old tried and true fact that if he's busy running forward, he can't get much vertical. I really have no desire to be all bruised up... and I don't have as much time as I would like to work him into behaving gently, for the sale, so, we'll take the faster (but less long-term) method of running off all the excess energy so that he might actually listen.
I'm not going to try to pass him off as broke, I just want him to not act like a completely neurotic little skeez in the sale ring.
And yes, I am building up my expectations of his performance already. I do expect him to be the worst horse I've ever ridden, that will take all of my skill and some velcro on my ass to stay on.
Ya know why?
Because that way, he won't surprise me unpleasantly. Unpleasant surprises with horses tend to be painful and I plan to be able to pig out this Thanksgiving.
What an embarrassment if I was too sore to lift my shovel..... er..... fork..... at the dinner table!
Not to mention my family would have enough leftovers to feed a small third world country if I didn't eat my fair share, which according to Farmmom is approximately equal to three times my body weight. (This instead of having enough leftovers to feed a platoon of Marines, which is the usual amount. When the FarmFamily does a holiday meal, we do it right!)
No one is really sure about that measurement, they haven't figured out how to tie me up well enough to keep me away from the food long enough to weigh it.
Although it is kind of priceless when the pizza delivery guy tries to flirt and ask me if I'm having company when I order a medium pizza and a double order of breadsticks, and I tell him no, but the smell of dinner in the oven was driving me nuts and I needed a snack.
(On re-reading this, I had a thought: Perhaps I should wait an hour after watching Jeff Dunham before writing a blog... like eating and swimming, except with snark instead of cramps...)
I wouldn't worry about it, really, since I can close the gate to the corral for a little while and have an enclosed space, but the fairgrounds has one overwhelming bonus... the track.
Yep, our tiny little town has it's very own race track, used for... well... nothing, anymore. They used to hold wild horse races on it but then some tree hugging fur-is-murder pansies had to spoil the fun for the rest of us.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "Farmgirl, you're not usually so mean!" It's true, I'm not. But, in this case, I feel it's justified, because around the same time the wild horse races went out, so did a good 90% of the fair attendance, and thus the revenues generated by it. It's all been downhill from there. Now we have butt-ugly scrap iron statues on Main Street, the local kook is debating one of the pastors in the Letters to the Editor section in the news paper and signing them "The Reverend Priestess," and you can't find a decent party to save your life. What really tweaked me off about the wild horse races though was the whole attitude that people had towards them:
"People could get hurt!"
... Kind of the point, I thought. Darwinism in action! Kinda like Nascar.
Well, I'm probably going to re-instate the tradition all by my lonesome, with Red. I plan to run that little sucker till he can't run anymore. See if he tries any crap then. Not to mention the old tried and true fact that if he's busy running forward, he can't get much vertical. I really have no desire to be all bruised up... and I don't have as much time as I would like to work him into behaving gently, for the sale, so, we'll take the faster (but less long-term) method of running off all the excess energy so that he might actually listen.
I'm not going to try to pass him off as broke, I just want him to not act like a completely neurotic little skeez in the sale ring.
And yes, I am building up my expectations of his performance already. I do expect him to be the worst horse I've ever ridden, that will take all of my skill and some velcro on my ass to stay on.
Ya know why?
Because that way, he won't surprise me unpleasantly. Unpleasant surprises with horses tend to be painful and I plan to be able to pig out this Thanksgiving.
What an embarrassment if I was too sore to lift my shovel..... er..... fork..... at the dinner table!
Not to mention my family would have enough leftovers to feed a small third world country if I didn't eat my fair share, which according to Farmmom is approximately equal to three times my body weight. (This instead of having enough leftovers to feed a platoon of Marines, which is the usual amount. When the FarmFamily does a holiday meal, we do it right!)
No one is really sure about that measurement, they haven't figured out how to tie me up well enough to keep me away from the food long enough to weigh it.
Although it is kind of priceless when the pizza delivery guy tries to flirt and ask me if I'm having company when I order a medium pizza and a double order of breadsticks, and I tell him no, but the smell of dinner in the oven was driving me nuts and I needed a snack.
(On re-reading this, I had a thought: Perhaps I should wait an hour after watching Jeff Dunham before writing a blog... like eating and swimming, except with snark instead of cramps...)
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Monkey Vs Sparky, Rounds 2 & 3
And, why it sucks to be a know-it-all.
So, the day Monkey went home, Sparky got his second crack at riding him.
And got dumped... again. This time I got to watch.
Sparky saddled him up, got the bit in his mouth, led him to the arena, everything was fine. When Sparky went to mount up, Monkey started acting nervy, tensing up and backing. Sparky got into the saddle, and Monkey sidestepped.
Here's where things started to get hairy. See, Sparky hadn't gotten his right stirrup yet, and in his nerves, not wanting to cue the horse forward and set off a rodeo, he relaxed his legs just a wee bit much, and his right foot flopped against Monkey's side just a bit. Which made Monkey jump sideways. Which, since Spark was trying to be so careful about not setting him off, tossed Sparky to the side a little, which startled Monkey because, well, I don't do that, and he's not used to it.
These fairly minor errors were compounded by the fact that Sparky, being a nice guy, gave Monkey a lot of rein when he was mounting up, and since Monkey started going neurotic as soon as Sparky's posterior hit the saddle, well, Sparky didn't have a chance to gather the reins.
So, Monkey crow hopped a couple of times, and Sparky flopped around in the saddle looking a bit like a rag doll, and Monkey started to break in two. Sparky hung on until Monkey made the turn at the corner of the arena, where, apparently (I was at the wrong angle to see this) Sparky's foot got caught in the fence and he was pretty much dragged out of the saddle. Which sent Monkey hightailing it to the other end of the arena.
Well, I hopped off the fence and called Monkey, and he came trotting back over... until the kid that was there for an interview for the program decided to come "help," that is. New person, nervous about this horse that he'd just seen unload someone, Monkey wasn't coming anywhere near him. So I asked him to stay where he was, walked about ten feet away and called my horse. He came right up to me, (snicker) I grabbed the reins, and asked Sparky if he was ok. He kind of shook himself all over and said yeah, I checked Monkey's legs, cause it had looked like he was gimping, but it was just a bit of a muscle strain from getting so excited when he wasn't warmed up, so I asked Sparky if he wanted another shot right away, or if he wanted me to throw a leg over first.
He asked me to ride first, and I set the reins (a lot shorter than he'd had them, while explaining why you always have a short rein on a horse you don't know, especially if you know the horse might blow up on you.) Of course, Monkey was wound and decided to back away when I went for the stirrup, so I kept him backing until I was satisfied, and made it my idea. Then I mounted up, and Monkey went all nervy again. I didn't bother with my other stirrup, just told Monkey to quit his shit, his ears swiveled back and he realized who was on him, and he relaxed all over. (snicker)
We loped a couple of circles, he chilled out a little, and I rode back to let Sparky get on again.
Lets review. Sparky has been on Monkey a total of two times. Both times Monkey managed to get him off. Monkey is, at heart, a pain in the ass. You have to convince him that he's not going to intimidate you, or get you off, or even if he does, he's going to have to work twice as hard when you get back on.
Yep, Monkey tried him again, and in between laughing I called advice to Sparky.
"Bwahahahaha! Hey! Get his head up! Pull on them reins, boy! He's not gonna listen if you don't get mean about it, he thinks he's got your number! Snort! Chuckle! Stick with him! Don't let him do that shit! Kick his ribs in, make him run instead of bucking! That's it! Hahahahahaha! Hey, wait! Don't yank on his head when he's rearing! You'll haul him over on top of you! Good! Now kick hell out of him, make him flat out run for the other end of the arena! Pull him up now.... now trot.... now walk. Good."
Sparky won, finally, and we all got a good laugh.
Then I went to find Ed, since he'd said he'd ride Monkey to see if it was just Sparky, or all men. When he offered, he was fairly relaxed about the prospect, since he'd witnessed Monkey taking a cow up the rear hard enough to lift his back feet off the ground, and not blink an eye. Once I told him Sparky got dumped again, Ed was a little more nervous.
He made me hold my horse when he mounted up. He then proceeded to take Monkey around the arena a few times, tell me how hard mouthed he is (hey, he's better than he was!) and dismount, shaking his head that Sparky got thrown, and muttering about "this horse doesn't buck."
Then I rode Monkey some more, to give him a good work out, and got cautioned by one of the HTM sophomores "Don't run him to death!"
This is the same kid that told us, when we were working with Diablo on loading in S's tiny trailer, that we needed to push him in. Since we'd already established that when pushed from the rear or pulled from the front too vigorously, he simply refuses, and we were working on making him want to go in the trailer, we thanked him for his advice and sent him on his way.
On this occasion I simply stopped Monkey (A beautiful stop, if I do say so myself) turned him in a circle, sidepassed, stopped, looked at the kid and said "Take a look at this horse. Is he breathing hard? Is he sweaty? Does it look even remotely like he is getting tired, let alone being run to death?"
"Well, no."
"This horse moved cows for over eight hours, going a good fifteen, twenty miles, in the process. At the end of the day his main concern was that he was hungry. I've been riding this horse all semester, he's gotten at least a half hour more exercise than the rest of the horses in the class, and more often an hour more, and I do mean exercise, and he still wasn't tired at the end of it. I think I know more about what my horse is capable of than someone who has watched me ride two or three times."
Monkey helped me get my point across, since half way through the speech he decided to start dancing in place, eager to keep going. I don't let him flat out run much. It's a treat for him, even in the arena. We made about four more circuits and he started slowing down on his own, so I pulled him to a slow lope, and started cooling him out. The know-it-all in question was watching, so before I dismounted, I gave him a couple of nice, shiny roll backs, nice and snappy, to prove that Monkey wasn't dead, and we exited the arena with dignity.
Which I spoiled by giggling when I heard Mr. Know-it-all say to the other person in the arena "That horse wasn't even breathing hard, and she ran the shit out of him!"
Thank you, thank you. Someday, Monkey and I are going to enter an endurance race, and kick some ass.
So, the day Monkey went home, Sparky got his second crack at riding him.
And got dumped... again. This time I got to watch.
Sparky saddled him up, got the bit in his mouth, led him to the arena, everything was fine. When Sparky went to mount up, Monkey started acting nervy, tensing up and backing. Sparky got into the saddle, and Monkey sidestepped.
Here's where things started to get hairy. See, Sparky hadn't gotten his right stirrup yet, and in his nerves, not wanting to cue the horse forward and set off a rodeo, he relaxed his legs just a wee bit much, and his right foot flopped against Monkey's side just a bit. Which made Monkey jump sideways. Which, since Spark was trying to be so careful about not setting him off, tossed Sparky to the side a little, which startled Monkey because, well, I don't do that, and he's not used to it.
These fairly minor errors were compounded by the fact that Sparky, being a nice guy, gave Monkey a lot of rein when he was mounting up, and since Monkey started going neurotic as soon as Sparky's posterior hit the saddle, well, Sparky didn't have a chance to gather the reins.
So, Monkey crow hopped a couple of times, and Sparky flopped around in the saddle looking a bit like a rag doll, and Monkey started to break in two. Sparky hung on until Monkey made the turn at the corner of the arena, where, apparently (I was at the wrong angle to see this) Sparky's foot got caught in the fence and he was pretty much dragged out of the saddle. Which sent Monkey hightailing it to the other end of the arena.
Well, I hopped off the fence and called Monkey, and he came trotting back over... until the kid that was there for an interview for the program decided to come "help," that is. New person, nervous about this horse that he'd just seen unload someone, Monkey wasn't coming anywhere near him. So I asked him to stay where he was, walked about ten feet away and called my horse. He came right up to me, (snicker) I grabbed the reins, and asked Sparky if he was ok. He kind of shook himself all over and said yeah, I checked Monkey's legs, cause it had looked like he was gimping, but it was just a bit of a muscle strain from getting so excited when he wasn't warmed up, so I asked Sparky if he wanted another shot right away, or if he wanted me to throw a leg over first.
He asked me to ride first, and I set the reins (a lot shorter than he'd had them, while explaining why you always have a short rein on a horse you don't know, especially if you know the horse might blow up on you.) Of course, Monkey was wound and decided to back away when I went for the stirrup, so I kept him backing until I was satisfied, and made it my idea. Then I mounted up, and Monkey went all nervy again. I didn't bother with my other stirrup, just told Monkey to quit his shit, his ears swiveled back and he realized who was on him, and he relaxed all over. (snicker)
We loped a couple of circles, he chilled out a little, and I rode back to let Sparky get on again.
Lets review. Sparky has been on Monkey a total of two times. Both times Monkey managed to get him off. Monkey is, at heart, a pain in the ass. You have to convince him that he's not going to intimidate you, or get you off, or even if he does, he's going to have to work twice as hard when you get back on.
Yep, Monkey tried him again, and in between laughing I called advice to Sparky.
"Bwahahahaha! Hey! Get his head up! Pull on them reins, boy! He's not gonna listen if you don't get mean about it, he thinks he's got your number! Snort! Chuckle! Stick with him! Don't let him do that shit! Kick his ribs in, make him run instead of bucking! That's it! Hahahahahaha! Hey, wait! Don't yank on his head when he's rearing! You'll haul him over on top of you! Good! Now kick hell out of him, make him flat out run for the other end of the arena! Pull him up now.... now trot.... now walk. Good."
Sparky won, finally, and we all got a good laugh.
Then I went to find Ed, since he'd said he'd ride Monkey to see if it was just Sparky, or all men. When he offered, he was fairly relaxed about the prospect, since he'd witnessed Monkey taking a cow up the rear hard enough to lift his back feet off the ground, and not blink an eye. Once I told him Sparky got dumped again, Ed was a little more nervous.
He made me hold my horse when he mounted up. He then proceeded to take Monkey around the arena a few times, tell me how hard mouthed he is (hey, he's better than he was!) and dismount, shaking his head that Sparky got thrown, and muttering about "this horse doesn't buck."
Then I rode Monkey some more, to give him a good work out, and got cautioned by one of the HTM sophomores "Don't run him to death!"
This is the same kid that told us, when we were working with Diablo on loading in S's tiny trailer, that we needed to push him in. Since we'd already established that when pushed from the rear or pulled from the front too vigorously, he simply refuses, and we were working on making him want to go in the trailer, we thanked him for his advice and sent him on his way.
On this occasion I simply stopped Monkey (A beautiful stop, if I do say so myself) turned him in a circle, sidepassed, stopped, looked at the kid and said "Take a look at this horse. Is he breathing hard? Is he sweaty? Does it look even remotely like he is getting tired, let alone being run to death?"
"Well, no."
"This horse moved cows for over eight hours, going a good fifteen, twenty miles, in the process. At the end of the day his main concern was that he was hungry. I've been riding this horse all semester, he's gotten at least a half hour more exercise than the rest of the horses in the class, and more often an hour more, and I do mean exercise, and he still wasn't tired at the end of it. I think I know more about what my horse is capable of than someone who has watched me ride two or three times."
Monkey helped me get my point across, since half way through the speech he decided to start dancing in place, eager to keep going. I don't let him flat out run much. It's a treat for him, even in the arena. We made about four more circuits and he started slowing down on his own, so I pulled him to a slow lope, and started cooling him out. The know-it-all in question was watching, so before I dismounted, I gave him a couple of nice, shiny roll backs, nice and snappy, to prove that Monkey wasn't dead, and we exited the arena with dignity.
Which I spoiled by giggling when I heard Mr. Know-it-all say to the other person in the arena "That horse wasn't even breathing hard, and she ran the shit out of him!"
Thank you, thank you. Someday, Monkey and I are going to enter an endurance race, and kick some ass.
Cleaning House Today!
Today I will be cleaning the apartment, and getting it ready for me to be gone for a week. Cleaning out the fridge, getting rid of trash, triple checking all the window locks, clearing out the DVR so that I don't run out of room, and all that stuff.
I've decided to be a typical college student and take my laundry with me to the Old Homestead, and do it there for free, rather than pay two fifty a load here (a dollar twenty five for the washer, a dollar twenty five for the dryer).
So, that eases up the amount of stuff I have to do, but I still have a kitchen full of dishes, and a carpet full of tracked in dirt and wood shavings from the barn. Plus I need to get ahold of my old boss today and find out exactly when she's planning on selling the mare she wants me to ride through the sale, and discuss the plan for that, because frankly I need the money.
I've done pretty well with my financial aid money, I think. I've made it most of the way through the semester on just what was left over after my classes, but, what with food, and rent, and food, I'm just running out of money. I'm probably going to spend part of my time over the break throwing the smackdown on Red, so that I can sell him when the mare goes through.
He's a challenge that I was happy to accept when I had the money to spare, and if I knew someone would be there that was capable of riding him next semester, I'd keep him and let the program use him, but Sparky has decided to switch tracks and abandon us, so I can't guarantee that anyone else would have the skill required. So, unless he undergoes a major personality change when I start working with him every day, he'll be going back to the sale, hopefully to net me more money than I paid for him, since I plan to make him show better than he did when I bought him.
In the mean time I'll be bringing Legs up for next semester, and getting her rode down some so that she's useful to work.
What with Ed training Etta, by mid-spring or so we should have three horses that are rideable, and won't give too much trouble. Although, I want to do some watching and some extra curricular training on Monkey before I pronounce him trained, since I've discovered that he simply doesn't like Sparky. More on that in another post, it's too entertaining to tag on the end of this one.
I've decided to be a typical college student and take my laundry with me to the Old Homestead, and do it there for free, rather than pay two fifty a load here (a dollar twenty five for the washer, a dollar twenty five for the dryer).
So, that eases up the amount of stuff I have to do, but I still have a kitchen full of dishes, and a carpet full of tracked in dirt and wood shavings from the barn. Plus I need to get ahold of my old boss today and find out exactly when she's planning on selling the mare she wants me to ride through the sale, and discuss the plan for that, because frankly I need the money.
I've done pretty well with my financial aid money, I think. I've made it most of the way through the semester on just what was left over after my classes, but, what with food, and rent, and food, I'm just running out of money. I'm probably going to spend part of my time over the break throwing the smackdown on Red, so that I can sell him when the mare goes through.
He's a challenge that I was happy to accept when I had the money to spare, and if I knew someone would be there that was capable of riding him next semester, I'd keep him and let the program use him, but Sparky has decided to switch tracks and abandon us, so I can't guarantee that anyone else would have the skill required. So, unless he undergoes a major personality change when I start working with him every day, he'll be going back to the sale, hopefully to net me more money than I paid for him, since I plan to make him show better than he did when I bought him.
In the mean time I'll be bringing Legs up for next semester, and getting her rode down some so that she's useful to work.
What with Ed training Etta, by mid-spring or so we should have three horses that are rideable, and won't give too much trouble. Although, I want to do some watching and some extra curricular training on Monkey before I pronounce him trained, since I've discovered that he simply doesn't like Sparky. More on that in another post, it's too entertaining to tag on the end of this one.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Ahhh
Thanksgiving vacation has officially started!
Well, ok, it actually officially started for me yesterday after we loaded our foals for their owners, but I went to the show today, so I count it as starting now.
A couple more weeks after Thanksgiving, and then semester break.
I'm really looking forward to next semester, my classes promise to be interesting, plus we lowly freshmen EBM-ers get to show next semester.
The show was good, everyone did really well, and the FarmFamily got official thanks over the PA system from the head of the Ag Program, for letting them use our calves to train on. Even though I was the only one there, lol, I got a mention too, as being in the program. Then, when they were actually showing the cutters, Del (the program head) told me we'd gotten them too gentle, and I had to explain to him that ours had gotten cut out, and left.
In other news, I finally won the battle with the DVD recorder, and I can record some of the movies off of my DVR, and get some space cleared out on it! I've nearly filled it up with movies, and I'm going to be gone for a week, which means I'll need the space to record the ER episodes I'm going to miss, and Scrubs. And House, and Heroes, and Supernatural.
I love my DVR!
Well, ok, it actually officially started for me yesterday after we loaded our foals for their owners, but I went to the show today, so I count it as starting now.
A couple more weeks after Thanksgiving, and then semester break.
I'm really looking forward to next semester, my classes promise to be interesting, plus we lowly freshmen EBM-ers get to show next semester.
The show was good, everyone did really well, and the FarmFamily got official thanks over the PA system from the head of the Ag Program, for letting them use our calves to train on. Even though I was the only one there, lol, I got a mention too, as being in the program. Then, when they were actually showing the cutters, Del (the program head) told me we'd gotten them too gentle, and I had to explain to him that ours had gotten cut out, and left.
In other news, I finally won the battle with the DVD recorder, and I can record some of the movies off of my DVR, and get some space cleared out on it! I've nearly filled it up with movies, and I'm going to be gone for a week, which means I'll need the space to record the ER episodes I'm going to miss, and Scrubs. And House, and Heroes, and Supernatural.
I love my DVR!
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