So, I'm sitting in business class, listening to the lecture, when my phone vibrates. I check it to see what's up and it's a text message from T.
Not too worried about missing something in the lecture, it's all covered in the book, anyway, so I answer.
A few messages later, after I've told him how I'm starving and can't wait to get out of class so I can get some lunch, he tells me he's eating a big steak burrito, smothered in green chili.
Brat.
So when I got out of class I called him, and told him he was a *expletive deleted, but it rhymes with clock* and that he flung a craving on me for Taco John's.
Which flung a craving on him for Taco John's. So I kept him on the phone until I got home with my food, and dipped a potato ole in the nacho cheese sauce, and yammered on for a bit about how good it tasted. He called me a *expletive deleted, but it rhymes with itch* and I told him he'd started it while talking about his big burrito...
Which took us into an entirely new world of innuendo....
Let's just say I'm not gonna look at "sour cream on the inside" in quite the same way for a while.......
Man, I miss that little twerp.
Monday, September 10, 2007
D and Me.
A while back I posted the Best Worst First Date Story Ever, and I mentioned that the guy, D, and I became good friends after that, but never dated again. We did, however, take a few road trips together, which, due to D's strange road trip Karma, never seemed to turn out quite like we expected.....
The first such road trip was actually across the state to pick up his girlfriend at the time and move her back to D's place. At this point, D was no longer managing the ranch, and was helping his dad out on the family place instead.
I had just gotten my first car, a '91 Mercury Tracer with no amenities, not even power steering. It was a little four-banger five-speed manual transmission, so it was cheap on gas, but it would still go like striped assed ape if you knew how to drive it. This was it's first long trip, and I was excited.
It was January or February, I don't remember exactly, and we had two different mountain passes to go through, each way, so we ran into some ice and snow.
I picked D up at his house around six in the morning, and we headed out, both of us groggy and grumpy, FM radio turned up loud enough to wake the dead just to keep us awake on the road.
Soon enough we were woken up and we started singing along with the radio, neither of us any good, both of us caterwauling like crazy people, trying to drown each other out. At least until we hit the mountains, and couldn't get any reception.
We made it to Durango, got to the girlfriend's place, and started loading her stuff.
It was at this point that I discovered that she had four cats. And she was bringing them with her. And she didn't have a carrier.
Picture it. A maroon Mercury Tracer, the trunk and half the back seat stuffed with black plastic garbage bags full of what I can only assume was all of her junk, three people in the car, and four cats loose.
One of the cats about caused a wreck, we were talking and not paying much attention to where they all were, because they had been in the girlfriend's lap or the back window... but one of them had come down out of the window, crawled under the driver's seat, and curled up under my brake.
We only discovered this fact when I went to stop at a stop sign and actually stepped on the brake instead of just tapping it to slow for towns. The yowl went up, my foot came off the brake and we rolled right through the stop sign as I fished for the cat with one hand and tried to keep us on the road, D went head down in my lap and the floorboard trying to catch the cat, and the girlfriend in the back seat yowled just as loud as the cat about how it was my fault the stupid little fuzzball crawled under the brake and got itself squished.
I was not amused.
I kept that cat in my lap for the rest of the trip just to make sure it didn't do that again.
Shortly after this we discovered that with three smokers in the car... we were, collectively, down to two cigarettes. I had forgotten to grab my cash that morning, and had been assured by D that he'd take care of any costs... shortly thereafter to discover that instead of the hundred dollar bill he'd thought he had grabbed, he had a twenty, and we'd already spent fifteen of that on gas. And the girlfriend was a chain smoker.
So we stopped at a convenience store in the mountains and paid an outrageous price for a pack of cigarettes that we all had to share on the remaining six hours of drive time. At this point I was getting a little cranky, the girlfriend's constant whining about being hungry, being thirsty, being tired, her cats being tired of being in the car, and a myriad of other poor-pitiful-me complaints along with the furball in my lap deciding that I was an excellent scratching post, and the ensuing lecture about proper care of animals from the girlfriend when I picked the little furry set of needles up by the scruff of it's neck and growled at it, (which brought about an argument as I explained to her that the cat wasn't hurt, and I was disciplining the thing like another cat would, which was far more psychologically effective than patting it on the bottom and saying "bad kitty") along with being hungry myself, all added up to my own little slice of hell.
That is, until a song came on the radio that reminded both D and I of a party we'd gone to where a mutual acquaintance had gotten knee-walking drunk and stripped to skivvies before her boyfriend had walked into the room and kept her from tossing her bra with a flying tackle, and we started discussing this, and other funny incidents that we were reminded of.
Now, this here is the part that I just don't get. Girlfriend had said she was ok with D having female friends. Girlfriend hadn't said a word about any of the other short bits of banter that D and I had engaged in. But for some reason, talking about mutual friends/acquaintances that did stupid things caused her to lean in between the seats, glare at D and then at me, and say "Well, maybe you two should date instead!"
And for some reason, us looking at each other and saying in chorus "Tried that, didn't work," only pissed her off more.
Ah well. We made it back to D's place, where D, girlfriend, TC, A (D's twin brother, if you missed the last story) and myself had a grand old time bsing, dancing to the music, and eventually, getting a little crude with an ice fight.
Ladies, let me tell you, when you're being held down by a big ol' cowboy while two little wiry cowboys sit on your legs and stuff ice in your bra and underwear... well, there's not much you can do about it, until they let you go.
On an interesting side note, apparently it's really hard to get ice out of the crotch of tight Wranglers, even when you go commando.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Farmgirl.
The first such road trip was actually across the state to pick up his girlfriend at the time and move her back to D's place. At this point, D was no longer managing the ranch, and was helping his dad out on the family place instead.
I had just gotten my first car, a '91 Mercury Tracer with no amenities, not even power steering. It was a little four-banger five-speed manual transmission, so it was cheap on gas, but it would still go like striped assed ape if you knew how to drive it. This was it's first long trip, and I was excited.
It was January or February, I don't remember exactly, and we had two different mountain passes to go through, each way, so we ran into some ice and snow.
I picked D up at his house around six in the morning, and we headed out, both of us groggy and grumpy, FM radio turned up loud enough to wake the dead just to keep us awake on the road.
Soon enough we were woken up and we started singing along with the radio, neither of us any good, both of us caterwauling like crazy people, trying to drown each other out. At least until we hit the mountains, and couldn't get any reception.
We made it to Durango, got to the girlfriend's place, and started loading her stuff.
It was at this point that I discovered that she had four cats. And she was bringing them with her. And she didn't have a carrier.
Picture it. A maroon Mercury Tracer, the trunk and half the back seat stuffed with black plastic garbage bags full of what I can only assume was all of her junk, three people in the car, and four cats loose.
One of the cats about caused a wreck, we were talking and not paying much attention to where they all were, because they had been in the girlfriend's lap or the back window... but one of them had come down out of the window, crawled under the driver's seat, and curled up under my brake.
We only discovered this fact when I went to stop at a stop sign and actually stepped on the brake instead of just tapping it to slow for towns. The yowl went up, my foot came off the brake and we rolled right through the stop sign as I fished for the cat with one hand and tried to keep us on the road, D went head down in my lap and the floorboard trying to catch the cat, and the girlfriend in the back seat yowled just as loud as the cat about how it was my fault the stupid little fuzzball crawled under the brake and got itself squished.
I was not amused.
I kept that cat in my lap for the rest of the trip just to make sure it didn't do that again.
Shortly after this we discovered that with three smokers in the car... we were, collectively, down to two cigarettes. I had forgotten to grab my cash that morning, and had been assured by D that he'd take care of any costs... shortly thereafter to discover that instead of the hundred dollar bill he'd thought he had grabbed, he had a twenty, and we'd already spent fifteen of that on gas. And the girlfriend was a chain smoker.
So we stopped at a convenience store in the mountains and paid an outrageous price for a pack of cigarettes that we all had to share on the remaining six hours of drive time. At this point I was getting a little cranky, the girlfriend's constant whining about being hungry, being thirsty, being tired, her cats being tired of being in the car, and a myriad of other poor-pitiful-me complaints along with the furball in my lap deciding that I was an excellent scratching post, and the ensuing lecture about proper care of animals from the girlfriend when I picked the little furry set of needles up by the scruff of it's neck and growled at it, (which brought about an argument as I explained to her that the cat wasn't hurt, and I was disciplining the thing like another cat would, which was far more psychologically effective than patting it on the bottom and saying "bad kitty") along with being hungry myself, all added up to my own little slice of hell.
That is, until a song came on the radio that reminded both D and I of a party we'd gone to where a mutual acquaintance had gotten knee-walking drunk and stripped to skivvies before her boyfriend had walked into the room and kept her from tossing her bra with a flying tackle, and we started discussing this, and other funny incidents that we were reminded of.
Now, this here is the part that I just don't get. Girlfriend had said she was ok with D having female friends. Girlfriend hadn't said a word about any of the other short bits of banter that D and I had engaged in. But for some reason, talking about mutual friends/acquaintances that did stupid things caused her to lean in between the seats, glare at D and then at me, and say "Well, maybe you two should date instead!"
And for some reason, us looking at each other and saying in chorus "Tried that, didn't work," only pissed her off more.
Ah well. We made it back to D's place, where D, girlfriend, TC, A (D's twin brother, if you missed the last story) and myself had a grand old time bsing, dancing to the music, and eventually, getting a little crude with an ice fight.
Ladies, let me tell you, when you're being held down by a big ol' cowboy while two little wiry cowboys sit on your legs and stuff ice in your bra and underwear... well, there's not much you can do about it, until they let you go.
On an interesting side note, apparently it's really hard to get ice out of the crotch of tight Wranglers, even when you go commando.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Farmgirl.
I've Been Blog Luv'd
AD has sent me some blog Luv!
The rules of the meme are Thus: I post the little picture in my sidebar, and tell Ya'll about five other bloggers that I love. So, hang on to your hats people.
Murph, over at Murphy Was A Grunt. This dude is hilarious, go check him out, and feed his ego. Maybe he'll post more regularly then, instead of in spurts.
Monkey Girl at Musings of A Highly Trained Monkey. I gotta agree with AD on this one, she needs to take her rest, chill out, and come back to us.
CrankyProf at Cranky Epistles. Even though the posting rate has gone way down since the Prof popped out the latest sprog, which I am definitely not going to criticize, there's still plenty in the archives. If you haven't checked her out, go do so.
LawDog, of course, at The Law Dog Files. Ya'll should already know why.
And, since I'm jonesing for more Star Of Life I'm going to go ahead and hit AD with this one again, for that one.
And, since the last one was a tag-back I'm gonna go ahead and give ya'll one more...
On The Clock is a great blog, Sam is giving us the story of how she got into the bambulance business, and the amusing things which happen along the way. This girl is a very good writer, and keeps you on your toes. Go check her out.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Brrrr and Rambling Thoughts
Going from around seventy five, eighty degrees yesterday morning while I was working with the bay, to 55 degrees this morning... brr. Welcome to Southeastern Colorado, where if you don't like the weather wait five minutes.
So, we played in the round pen a little bit before we had to give it up for E to work with someone else's horse, watched him work for a while, letting the Big Bay Wonder Horse look around and see all of the activity and just relax to it, which he did, and nibble on my jacket because the poor dear is just starving. Never mind the weight he's put on since being in a stall most of the time and getting good alfalfa hay every day, he wants you to think he's just perishing of hunger and should have some grain.
E wants me to try his gelding out.. he's wanting to just ride him around like a normal person so that the little guy doesn't get too stuck in steer-wrestling mode. Some horses, that's all they ever do, so that's all they know how to do... warm up, run like hell, and then get lazy. I'm not sure why he chose me to ride the guy, but hey, he seems like a sweetheart of a horse, so we'll see. May let E ride the bay while I'm riding his gelding, if he wants to. Won't hurt bubbah to deal with other riders, and E is good enough to stick on through his fights, unlike the kid that wanted to ride him Friday. It's not that I don't trust the kid's riding skills... I don't trust the bay. I know his quirks and what he tries to pull, so I can pre-empt him, that kid doesn't, and I don't want anyone getting hurt on my horse.
I know E can deal with it though, I've seen him ride out worse on his mare. And, I trust him not to let bubbah get away with his shenanigans, or cause problems that I'm going to have to fix. We'll see though, E may not want to ride him. It's only polite to offer, though.
Last night with the Best Friend was fun, we got my hair dyed, then went to the barn, with Best Friend looking her usual drop dead gorgeous perfect-in-public self, which gave me lots of entertainment, because she was a little out of place, although she didn't get all "ewwww" over things, I was proud of her.
However... after I finished my duties we went out back to bs with E because, well, Best Friend had heard a lot about him and wanted to meet him... And E and R were watering... R couldn't stop staring, and E turned into more of a chatter box than ever, filling water buckets to over flowing. I swear, if E was white, he'd have been bright red the whole time. I suspect he was blushing, but since he's a long tall drink of dark chocolate hot cocoa, I couldn't tell. Best Friend said she'd never felt stared at quite as intensely as R was doing it, and then she paused, tilted her head to the side and said "E has such beautiful eyelashes... it's not fair."
After the barn we came back and she finished my hair with a trim, and we got ready to go out. She did my makeup, because she likes doing that, and we drove around for a while, ran out to the race track (cars, not horses) and took her old phone to her sister in law, said hi to her dad and her brothers and her husband, and I proved that I can indeed run in my high heeled boots, when I chased after one of her brothers for saying "All right! Who called for the hookers?"
We've all known each other long enough that all I had to do was take one step towards him and he took off running. Of course, when we were all kids I used to tackle him in their yard and give him wedgies... he's bigger now, though, I'm not sure I could get him down, but at least the training has held. *snicker*
So yeah, I'm gonna end the rambling thoughts here. If you read through all of this, congratulations, you're persistent, you get a gold star!
So, we played in the round pen a little bit before we had to give it up for E to work with someone else's horse, watched him work for a while, letting the Big Bay Wonder Horse look around and see all of the activity and just relax to it, which he did, and nibble on my jacket because the poor dear is just starving. Never mind the weight he's put on since being in a stall most of the time and getting good alfalfa hay every day, he wants you to think he's just perishing of hunger and should have some grain.
E wants me to try his gelding out.. he's wanting to just ride him around like a normal person so that the little guy doesn't get too stuck in steer-wrestling mode. Some horses, that's all they ever do, so that's all they know how to do... warm up, run like hell, and then get lazy. I'm not sure why he chose me to ride the guy, but hey, he seems like a sweetheart of a horse, so we'll see. May let E ride the bay while I'm riding his gelding, if he wants to. Won't hurt bubbah to deal with other riders, and E is good enough to stick on through his fights, unlike the kid that wanted to ride him Friday. It's not that I don't trust the kid's riding skills... I don't trust the bay. I know his quirks and what he tries to pull, so I can pre-empt him, that kid doesn't, and I don't want anyone getting hurt on my horse.
I know E can deal with it though, I've seen him ride out worse on his mare. And, I trust him not to let bubbah get away with his shenanigans, or cause problems that I'm going to have to fix. We'll see though, E may not want to ride him. It's only polite to offer, though.
Last night with the Best Friend was fun, we got my hair dyed, then went to the barn, with Best Friend looking her usual drop dead gorgeous perfect-in-public self, which gave me lots of entertainment, because she was a little out of place, although she didn't get all "ewwww" over things, I was proud of her.
However... after I finished my duties we went out back to bs with E because, well, Best Friend had heard a lot about him and wanted to meet him... And E and R were watering... R couldn't stop staring, and E turned into more of a chatter box than ever, filling water buckets to over flowing. I swear, if E was white, he'd have been bright red the whole time. I suspect he was blushing, but since he's a long tall drink of dark chocolate hot cocoa, I couldn't tell. Best Friend said she'd never felt stared at quite as intensely as R was doing it, and then she paused, tilted her head to the side and said "E has such beautiful eyelashes... it's not fair."
After the barn we came back and she finished my hair with a trim, and we got ready to go out. She did my makeup, because she likes doing that, and we drove around for a while, ran out to the race track (cars, not horses) and took her old phone to her sister in law, said hi to her dad and her brothers and her husband, and I proved that I can indeed run in my high heeled boots, when I chased after one of her brothers for saying "All right! Who called for the hookers?"
We've all known each other long enough that all I had to do was take one step towards him and he took off running. Of course, when we were all kids I used to tackle him in their yard and give him wedgies... he's bigger now, though, I'm not sure I could get him down, but at least the training has held. *snicker*
So yeah, I'm gonna end the rambling thoughts here. If you read through all of this, congratulations, you're persistent, you get a gold star!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
The things I do...
I'm sitting here with dye on my hair, my best friend is in my bathroom doing her ablutions, the country music channel on my digital cable is blaring, I have feed crew in a couple of hours, for which I will have a brand new wacky dye job... And tonight, Best Friend and I are going out.
I'm reminded of highschool days when we would pull all nighters just because we wanted to, drive forty five minutes to Wal Mart, or two hours to Dairy Queen on a whim, do crazy things with hair (less mine than hers, then, I've only recently come into the area of telling her to do what she wants as long as it doesn't look insane) and generally just be nuts together.
It's good to know that in spite of years of working, three kids (for her) and many relationships, break ups, crazy stresses and moving away from each other, we still have the wacky camaraderie that got us through those intense, hormone-driven days of junior high and high school.
Besides, who doesn't want to drag their prissy friend to the barn to hang out while she feeds and sweeps up horse poo?
This is gonna be fun..... hehehehe.
I'm reminded of highschool days when we would pull all nighters just because we wanted to, drive forty five minutes to Wal Mart, or two hours to Dairy Queen on a whim, do crazy things with hair (less mine than hers, then, I've only recently come into the area of telling her to do what she wants as long as it doesn't look insane) and generally just be nuts together.
It's good to know that in spite of years of working, three kids (for her) and many relationships, break ups, crazy stresses and moving away from each other, we still have the wacky camaraderie that got us through those intense, hormone-driven days of junior high and high school.
Besides, who doesn't want to drag their prissy friend to the barn to hang out while she feeds and sweeps up horse poo?
This is gonna be fun..... hehehehe.
Good Times
Yesterday I had my daily battle with the bay, and did my feed crew duties... then hung around to watch the rodeo team practice.
And, of course, being me, help with the practice.
One of the steer wrestlers is training up a new gelding, a good prospect, but he's still pretty green on it. E was worried that the gelding would stop when he dove off on the steer, instead of keeping running, so he wanted to give him a little supplemental training... just a couple of runs along the fence, E would snag the rails and go off... but to keep the gelding moving, someone needed to be moving him along, so he asked me to come in and lead the gelding along at a trot while he dove off.
Of course... the ropers were practicing in the same arena while we did this.
We got funny looks, but we didn't really care.
I had to hop the fence a couple of times when the ropers came at us... nothing I didn't have to do at home working cows, but folks were kind of twitchy when I'd watch the header horse coming at me, and wait till I was sure I was gonna have to before I went up the fence.
It was fun, though, and I stuck around long enough to cheer E on while he was doing his runs.
The rodeo coach's horse had his own little party, while F was chasing steers up into the chute, the horse took off the other direction down the alleyways, chasing the other steers back to their pen, then giving a few bucks to celebrate his good job, and going back to his rider.
Them's some good times, right there.
And, of course, being me, help with the practice.
One of the steer wrestlers is training up a new gelding, a good prospect, but he's still pretty green on it. E was worried that the gelding would stop when he dove off on the steer, instead of keeping running, so he wanted to give him a little supplemental training... just a couple of runs along the fence, E would snag the rails and go off... but to keep the gelding moving, someone needed to be moving him along, so he asked me to come in and lead the gelding along at a trot while he dove off.
Of course... the ropers were practicing in the same arena while we did this.
We got funny looks, but we didn't really care.
I had to hop the fence a couple of times when the ropers came at us... nothing I didn't have to do at home working cows, but folks were kind of twitchy when I'd watch the header horse coming at me, and wait till I was sure I was gonna have to before I went up the fence.
It was fun, though, and I stuck around long enough to cheer E on while he was doing his runs.
The rodeo coach's horse had his own little party, while F was chasing steers up into the chute, the horse took off the other direction down the alleyways, chasing the other steers back to their pen, then giving a few bucks to celebrate his good job, and going back to his rider.
Them's some good times, right there.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Battle of Wills
I stride into the barn, pausing a moment in the door to close my eyes and smell the sawdust, traces of sweat, hay and manure.
This is my moment, the moment when the worries of the day fade gently into the background. I roll my head on my neck and shake out my shoulders and arms, feeling the tension slide away into the dusty, scent laden air.
I continue into the barn, finding a convenient piece of wall to lean against, or stretch of concrete to park my sweaty butt on, and wait for roll call.
People stream in the doors, talking, laughing, roughhousing with each other, and I smile at the people I know, exchange a few words, trade advice on how to handle the latest quirks each horse has developed, or exchange stories of past adventures a-horseback. There are always a few boasts that they can ride anything with hair, and I jokingly offer to let them ride my horse, at which point they start muttering about having to exercise their own horses.
The instructors come in, joking with their students, commenting on the progress, or lack thereof, of each horse and rider. The middle of the barn is crowded now, bodies just beginning to sweat from the heat gathered together, twitching limbs and shaking heads in an imitation of the horses in their stalls as flies buzz around in a cloud that seems to multiply daily.
Roll call, names are shouted out, some with short comments or instructions for the day's class, each student answering, some with "here," some "yep" or "yeah," and a few with "ready and rarin to go boss!"
After roll call, instructions are given for each class... there are two at the barn at this time, one with the young colts, just learning the basics of bearing a rider and working in concert, and one, mine, riding the older horses, working on particular quirks and their own riding skill.
Students scatter at the now familiar call of "Saddle up!" Each one goes to their own horse, whether in its stall or out at the hitching rail already, and I walk to the bay's stall.
As I approach, I see through the barred upper part of the stall that he's facing the stall door, ears forward, nostrils flaring as he scents me, knowing what we're going to do, and looking forward to it, as much as I am.
He's a stubborn, independent soul, my horse. Bratty and full of youthful spirit, he knows that I'm going to make him do what he's supposed to, just like I know he's going to try to do things that he's not.
I unfasten his halter from the rail on the stall door, pulling the end of the lead rope to undo the braid that keeps it from dragging on the floor, and slide the door open far enough for me to slip inside.
"Hey, big boy, how are you today?" I eye him, especially his legs, quickly, while I pat his neck and speak softly to him, his ear rotating to catch the sound of my voice and his eyes fixed on the door, eager to get out into the sunshine.
"We're going to have a better day today, aren't we? You're going to do good enough to get some grain when we're done, huh big boy?" I step to his head and reach over his neck, grabbing the head band of the halter with my right hand and swinging the halter up, while he tips his head down and shoves his nose into it, rubbing the side of his head against my forearm as I buckle it on.
"Let's go, bubbah."
Out at the hitching rail the battle begins. Once I have him tied, I go back to the tack room for a curry comb and a brush, to get the dirt and dust out of his coat before I tack him up. By the time I come back he's sidled over until his right side is along the rail, and I begin grooming his left, before walking around him to the small wedge of space he's left me on the right, and putting a hand on his hip. I lean into him, and he leans back, as I talk to him, nonsense mostly, but with a general theme of moving his big butt over for me, until he does. I praise him and pat his neck as I finish the quick pass of grooming, and pat his butt as I walk by, headed back to the tack room to get the dreaded saddle.
Saddling up is a constant stream of soft spoken words, clucks and pats, and I revel in the smell of his hide, the silken glide of his coat under my hands and the familiar weight of the saddle. His ears swivel to catch my voice and the multitude of sounds as everyone is engaged in the same activities as us, some with more success than others, and his head pivots to watch as others walk by, headed for the high arena, or the round pens, or the rodeo arena. We're always one of the last pairs to get to the arena.
Some people ride their horses from the hitching rails to the arena, but the bay and I walk. His breath is hot on my hand and my arm as he follows me, and I keep a gentle pressure forward on the reins. He pretends to be reluctant, but his ears are forward and his eyes are bright, even as his step is sluggish.
Just outside the arena gates I tighten the cinch, and tie it off. His head comes up and he cranes his neck to look at me, a mischievous glint in the depths of his warm brown eye.
"Yeah bud, I know."
Inside the arena I lead him to one side of the gate and face him towards the fence, separating the reins and hooking the off side over the horn before taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders. I string the near rein back to the horn and gather the off side, shortening the reins until he gives me his head, and step to the stirrup, following him as he backs up, increasing rein pressure and clucking to him to make him back further, before letting him stop and grinning at the amused snort he gives.
I yank on the stirrup, making it pop, and he starts and sidles away, just like he always does. One ear is turned back towards me and I take a moment to chuckle, before setting my left boot in the stirrup, and waiting for him to relax.
Once I swing into the saddle, he tenses again, but the reins are short.. not pulling on his mouth but keeping contact with it, letting him know that I won't let him get away with anything, just now. Leaning down over his shoulder, I adjust my right stirrup, both stirrups being shorter than I usually ride, the better to keep my butt firmly planted on his back.
He shifts slightly and I murmur a soft "whoa," before sitting back up in the saddle.
"All right, baby boy, lets ride." I give him light inside rein pressure and lay the outside rein against his neck, nudging his ribs with the heels of my boots and clucking to him. Just like always, he tries to go back through the gate, back to the barn and his stall, just to see if he can, but I keep him moving past the gate and around the arena, walking a while to loosen him up, and then moving him into a trot.
Everyone is warming up, and there are horses everywhere, walking, trotting, and loping, circles and figure eights, their riders relaxed and flowing, or stiff and nervous, patting necks and cursing under their breath, and while we're walking I have time to appreciate the beauty of the sight. The sun glints off of bays and blacks, sorrels, grullas and grays, riders call encouragement or teasing to each other as they pass, and there's a chaos of missed turns, recalcitrant mounts and over it all the sky is so blue that it hurts the eyes.
The instructor and her assistant come in, and watch us warm up for a few minutes, before calling for us to get on the rail and walk. They're looking for any strains in the horses, or misplaced tack, and soon enough they call out for a slow trot.
I take a deep breath, and increase leg pressure, clucking to the bay and keeping my attention on his ears and the horse in front of me. This is usually the moment of truth for the day. If he tries something, usually turning off the rail to head back to the gate or going faster than everyone else, I have to keep him in line. If I don't manage to curb it now, he'll try harder for the rest of the class. If I do, he'll still try, but he won't expect to get away with it, so he won't try as hard.
He moves into a trot with a little urging, and I shorten my reins to hold him in, he's trying to run over the horse in front of him, a lazy older sorrell that has the slowest slow trot in the class. I slow him almost to a walk and make him maintain the prancing gait for a few strides before I use my right leg to move him to the left, to the inside, to pass the slow horse. I know he can't keep up a trot that slow for long, his legs are too long and he's got a longer trot than any other horse in the class, at the long trot.
His head is up and he's starting to enjoy himself, moving out and loosening up. I feel the difference in his stride and smile to myself, but keep alert.
He's trying to cut the corners, now, coming off the rail at the arena ends and rounding out the turn, and we argue over which way we're going to do things for a moment before he gives in to my leg and rein cues and moves back to the rail.
He knows that when we're on the inside, we're going faster than the other horses, and he's a go-fast kind of horse. At a full gallop its like riding a gleeful avalanche, all thunder and wind whipping at your face and that joyful sense of being perched precariously on top of it all.
He struggles a little when the call comes to slow to a walk, as the instructor gives a student a hint, or a lecture, depending on what's needed. Then the stop, which we're supposed to perform smoothly... the horse stopping on cue and the rider giving the right cues. Some use a verbal "whoa" as well as sitting deep in their saddle and pulling the horse up, and I'm one of them. I've figured out that the bay listens better when you talk to him.
He stops beautifully, and I release the reins, patting him on the neck and praising him, telling him what a big beautiful boy he is. The gray in front of us is feeling frisky and fights the whoa, prancing and dancing forward and back. His rider, a tall young man, starts to get nervous, which communicates itself to his mount, which makes the horse more fractious. The instructor and her assistant are with other students, so I holler out for him to take a deep breath, relax into his seat, and simply block him from going forward, instead of hauling on his head. The gray stops and settles, resigned to standing still, and I shake my head as his rider looks around, rather than praising the correct behavior from his horse.
The call for a walk comes, and then a long trot, and then a lope. I sigh in resignation and begin the argument with the bay over speed. He resists moving into a lope as long as he can, but once he's there, he wants to lope hard, passing everyone and stretching out like a racing thoroughbred. I have to keep him held in, and try to match the speed of the rest of the class. At least I don't have to worry about his leads, he always picks up the proper lead in class, no matter how I have to battle him at any other time.
While we're loping I keep my eyes on his head and neck, paying only minimal attention to those around me. This is a prime time for him to misbehave, the open strides of the lope give him an opening to crow hop or wheel, or he'll drop back into a fast trot with a short stride, decidedly uncomfortable to ride.
Watching his neck and feeling for the tensing of his muscles under my legs that heralds his ornery coming to the surface, I sink into a place inside myself that I only reach on horseback. It's a nice place, peaceful and calm, and the outside world intrudes only so much as I let it. It's as if I'm surrounded by a cool refreshing breeze on a summer's day, while simultaneously being curled up in a big fluffy comforter on a cold winter's night. It's every home cooked meal I've ever eaten with my family laughing and talking around me, and it's quiet nights in a tent with only the stars and the crickets for company.
This is why I ride, even stubborn, restless horses like the bay. This place where the cares of the world don't just fade into the background, they vanish entirely, and its all peace, and joy. This is the place in my mind that I can't find anywhere else, not in music or books, not in learning, or teaching, or meditation. Just here, on the back of a horse. It doesn't matter that there's sweat rolling down my back, soaking my hat band and running down my cheeks. It doesn't matter that there are a dozen other people in the class, the instructors shouting directions and students cussing at their horses. I hear it all, respond to the directions, but I don't really hear it.
What I hear is the bellows of the bay's breathing, the rhythm of his hooves in the sand, the creak of my saddle and the faint sound of the breeze in my ears. What I see is the shine of his coat, the way the sun brings out the red in his coat, as if someone painted him with copper.
Even the battles bring me joy, pitting my will against his, anticipating his thoughts and feeling his movements before he completes them, teaching him something new every day, and realizing from his body language, the way he responds, the way he "talks" to me, that he's enjoying things just as much as I am, and that the battle is more of a game.
All too soon, the call comes to cool them out, and I come back to the world, to realize that the rodeo team is practicing in the other arena, shouts and whistles and the bellowing of the calves as they practice their roping. Some of the other students look exhausted, even though they have the more cooperative horses. Some of the horses are coated in sweat, lathered and blowing hard.
I slip my fingers between the blanket and his shoulder, feeling the sweat and heat from his muscles. He got some exercise today, but he's not overly hot, it won't take long for him to cool out. He's not blowing hard, he's in good shape, and he's used to being out in pasture all the time, with room to run and buck and be a horse, so this is nothing for him.
We walk a couple of circuits of the arena, and then trot a couple, with me holding him to a slow trot, and then walk a couple more so that his muscles can cool down again, before I take him to the gate and make him stop and stand for a few moments, and then dismount.
We walk back down to the barn and I unsaddle him and put my tack away, clean his stall, and then bring him inside.
When I pull off his halter and pat his neck, he turns his head and whuffles at my shirt, nosing me gently.
"You're right, bud, we had a good ride today. See you tomorrow."
This is my moment, the moment when the worries of the day fade gently into the background. I roll my head on my neck and shake out my shoulders and arms, feeling the tension slide away into the dusty, scent laden air.
I continue into the barn, finding a convenient piece of wall to lean against, or stretch of concrete to park my sweaty butt on, and wait for roll call.
People stream in the doors, talking, laughing, roughhousing with each other, and I smile at the people I know, exchange a few words, trade advice on how to handle the latest quirks each horse has developed, or exchange stories of past adventures a-horseback. There are always a few boasts that they can ride anything with hair, and I jokingly offer to let them ride my horse, at which point they start muttering about having to exercise their own horses.
The instructors come in, joking with their students, commenting on the progress, or lack thereof, of each horse and rider. The middle of the barn is crowded now, bodies just beginning to sweat from the heat gathered together, twitching limbs and shaking heads in an imitation of the horses in their stalls as flies buzz around in a cloud that seems to multiply daily.
Roll call, names are shouted out, some with short comments or instructions for the day's class, each student answering, some with "here," some "yep" or "yeah," and a few with "ready and rarin to go boss!"
After roll call, instructions are given for each class... there are two at the barn at this time, one with the young colts, just learning the basics of bearing a rider and working in concert, and one, mine, riding the older horses, working on particular quirks and their own riding skill.
Students scatter at the now familiar call of "Saddle up!" Each one goes to their own horse, whether in its stall or out at the hitching rail already, and I walk to the bay's stall.
As I approach, I see through the barred upper part of the stall that he's facing the stall door, ears forward, nostrils flaring as he scents me, knowing what we're going to do, and looking forward to it, as much as I am.
He's a stubborn, independent soul, my horse. Bratty and full of youthful spirit, he knows that I'm going to make him do what he's supposed to, just like I know he's going to try to do things that he's not.
I unfasten his halter from the rail on the stall door, pulling the end of the lead rope to undo the braid that keeps it from dragging on the floor, and slide the door open far enough for me to slip inside.
"Hey, big boy, how are you today?" I eye him, especially his legs, quickly, while I pat his neck and speak softly to him, his ear rotating to catch the sound of my voice and his eyes fixed on the door, eager to get out into the sunshine.
"We're going to have a better day today, aren't we? You're going to do good enough to get some grain when we're done, huh big boy?" I step to his head and reach over his neck, grabbing the head band of the halter with my right hand and swinging the halter up, while he tips his head down and shoves his nose into it, rubbing the side of his head against my forearm as I buckle it on.
"Let's go, bubbah."
Out at the hitching rail the battle begins. Once I have him tied, I go back to the tack room for a curry comb and a brush, to get the dirt and dust out of his coat before I tack him up. By the time I come back he's sidled over until his right side is along the rail, and I begin grooming his left, before walking around him to the small wedge of space he's left me on the right, and putting a hand on his hip. I lean into him, and he leans back, as I talk to him, nonsense mostly, but with a general theme of moving his big butt over for me, until he does. I praise him and pat his neck as I finish the quick pass of grooming, and pat his butt as I walk by, headed back to the tack room to get the dreaded saddle.
Saddling up is a constant stream of soft spoken words, clucks and pats, and I revel in the smell of his hide, the silken glide of his coat under my hands and the familiar weight of the saddle. His ears swivel to catch my voice and the multitude of sounds as everyone is engaged in the same activities as us, some with more success than others, and his head pivots to watch as others walk by, headed for the high arena, or the round pens, or the rodeo arena. We're always one of the last pairs to get to the arena.
Some people ride their horses from the hitching rails to the arena, but the bay and I walk. His breath is hot on my hand and my arm as he follows me, and I keep a gentle pressure forward on the reins. He pretends to be reluctant, but his ears are forward and his eyes are bright, even as his step is sluggish.
Just outside the arena gates I tighten the cinch, and tie it off. His head comes up and he cranes his neck to look at me, a mischievous glint in the depths of his warm brown eye.
"Yeah bud, I know."
Inside the arena I lead him to one side of the gate and face him towards the fence, separating the reins and hooking the off side over the horn before taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders. I string the near rein back to the horn and gather the off side, shortening the reins until he gives me his head, and step to the stirrup, following him as he backs up, increasing rein pressure and clucking to him to make him back further, before letting him stop and grinning at the amused snort he gives.
I yank on the stirrup, making it pop, and he starts and sidles away, just like he always does. One ear is turned back towards me and I take a moment to chuckle, before setting my left boot in the stirrup, and waiting for him to relax.
Once I swing into the saddle, he tenses again, but the reins are short.. not pulling on his mouth but keeping contact with it, letting him know that I won't let him get away with anything, just now. Leaning down over his shoulder, I adjust my right stirrup, both stirrups being shorter than I usually ride, the better to keep my butt firmly planted on his back.
He shifts slightly and I murmur a soft "whoa," before sitting back up in the saddle.
"All right, baby boy, lets ride." I give him light inside rein pressure and lay the outside rein against his neck, nudging his ribs with the heels of my boots and clucking to him. Just like always, he tries to go back through the gate, back to the barn and his stall, just to see if he can, but I keep him moving past the gate and around the arena, walking a while to loosen him up, and then moving him into a trot.
Everyone is warming up, and there are horses everywhere, walking, trotting, and loping, circles and figure eights, their riders relaxed and flowing, or stiff and nervous, patting necks and cursing under their breath, and while we're walking I have time to appreciate the beauty of the sight. The sun glints off of bays and blacks, sorrels, grullas and grays, riders call encouragement or teasing to each other as they pass, and there's a chaos of missed turns, recalcitrant mounts and over it all the sky is so blue that it hurts the eyes.
The instructor and her assistant come in, and watch us warm up for a few minutes, before calling for us to get on the rail and walk. They're looking for any strains in the horses, or misplaced tack, and soon enough they call out for a slow trot.
I take a deep breath, and increase leg pressure, clucking to the bay and keeping my attention on his ears and the horse in front of me. This is usually the moment of truth for the day. If he tries something, usually turning off the rail to head back to the gate or going faster than everyone else, I have to keep him in line. If I don't manage to curb it now, he'll try harder for the rest of the class. If I do, he'll still try, but he won't expect to get away with it, so he won't try as hard.
He moves into a trot with a little urging, and I shorten my reins to hold him in, he's trying to run over the horse in front of him, a lazy older sorrell that has the slowest slow trot in the class. I slow him almost to a walk and make him maintain the prancing gait for a few strides before I use my right leg to move him to the left, to the inside, to pass the slow horse. I know he can't keep up a trot that slow for long, his legs are too long and he's got a longer trot than any other horse in the class, at the long trot.
His head is up and he's starting to enjoy himself, moving out and loosening up. I feel the difference in his stride and smile to myself, but keep alert.
He's trying to cut the corners, now, coming off the rail at the arena ends and rounding out the turn, and we argue over which way we're going to do things for a moment before he gives in to my leg and rein cues and moves back to the rail.
He knows that when we're on the inside, we're going faster than the other horses, and he's a go-fast kind of horse. At a full gallop its like riding a gleeful avalanche, all thunder and wind whipping at your face and that joyful sense of being perched precariously on top of it all.
He struggles a little when the call comes to slow to a walk, as the instructor gives a student a hint, or a lecture, depending on what's needed. Then the stop, which we're supposed to perform smoothly... the horse stopping on cue and the rider giving the right cues. Some use a verbal "whoa" as well as sitting deep in their saddle and pulling the horse up, and I'm one of them. I've figured out that the bay listens better when you talk to him.
He stops beautifully, and I release the reins, patting him on the neck and praising him, telling him what a big beautiful boy he is. The gray in front of us is feeling frisky and fights the whoa, prancing and dancing forward and back. His rider, a tall young man, starts to get nervous, which communicates itself to his mount, which makes the horse more fractious. The instructor and her assistant are with other students, so I holler out for him to take a deep breath, relax into his seat, and simply block him from going forward, instead of hauling on his head. The gray stops and settles, resigned to standing still, and I shake my head as his rider looks around, rather than praising the correct behavior from his horse.
The call for a walk comes, and then a long trot, and then a lope. I sigh in resignation and begin the argument with the bay over speed. He resists moving into a lope as long as he can, but once he's there, he wants to lope hard, passing everyone and stretching out like a racing thoroughbred. I have to keep him held in, and try to match the speed of the rest of the class. At least I don't have to worry about his leads, he always picks up the proper lead in class, no matter how I have to battle him at any other time.
While we're loping I keep my eyes on his head and neck, paying only minimal attention to those around me. This is a prime time for him to misbehave, the open strides of the lope give him an opening to crow hop or wheel, or he'll drop back into a fast trot with a short stride, decidedly uncomfortable to ride.
Watching his neck and feeling for the tensing of his muscles under my legs that heralds his ornery coming to the surface, I sink into a place inside myself that I only reach on horseback. It's a nice place, peaceful and calm, and the outside world intrudes only so much as I let it. It's as if I'm surrounded by a cool refreshing breeze on a summer's day, while simultaneously being curled up in a big fluffy comforter on a cold winter's night. It's every home cooked meal I've ever eaten with my family laughing and talking around me, and it's quiet nights in a tent with only the stars and the crickets for company.
This is why I ride, even stubborn, restless horses like the bay. This place where the cares of the world don't just fade into the background, they vanish entirely, and its all peace, and joy. This is the place in my mind that I can't find anywhere else, not in music or books, not in learning, or teaching, or meditation. Just here, on the back of a horse. It doesn't matter that there's sweat rolling down my back, soaking my hat band and running down my cheeks. It doesn't matter that there are a dozen other people in the class, the instructors shouting directions and students cussing at their horses. I hear it all, respond to the directions, but I don't really hear it.
What I hear is the bellows of the bay's breathing, the rhythm of his hooves in the sand, the creak of my saddle and the faint sound of the breeze in my ears. What I see is the shine of his coat, the way the sun brings out the red in his coat, as if someone painted him with copper.
Even the battles bring me joy, pitting my will against his, anticipating his thoughts and feeling his movements before he completes them, teaching him something new every day, and realizing from his body language, the way he responds, the way he "talks" to me, that he's enjoying things just as much as I am, and that the battle is more of a game.
All too soon, the call comes to cool them out, and I come back to the world, to realize that the rodeo team is practicing in the other arena, shouts and whistles and the bellowing of the calves as they practice their roping. Some of the other students look exhausted, even though they have the more cooperative horses. Some of the horses are coated in sweat, lathered and blowing hard.
I slip my fingers between the blanket and his shoulder, feeling the sweat and heat from his muscles. He got some exercise today, but he's not overly hot, it won't take long for him to cool out. He's not blowing hard, he's in good shape, and he's used to being out in pasture all the time, with room to run and buck and be a horse, so this is nothing for him.
We walk a couple of circuits of the arena, and then trot a couple, with me holding him to a slow trot, and then walk a couple more so that his muscles can cool down again, before I take him to the gate and make him stop and stand for a few moments, and then dismount.
We walk back down to the barn and I unsaddle him and put my tack away, clean his stall, and then bring him inside.
When I pull off his halter and pat his neck, he turns his head and whuffles at my shirt, nosing me gently.
"You're right, bud, we had a good ride today. See you tomorrow."
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