Cow? Not cow...

Etta is doing fantastic on the fake cow. Unfortunately, about the time she's really getting good at it, we're quitting it, but I guess we'll survive.

Day one, she was still kind of nervous about it. Especially when it moved. But she settled down by the time we were done.

Day two, she could have cared less about the cow moving, but she really didn't want to turn with it either.

Day three she started getting the idea that she was supposed to move with the cow, but she wasn't really sure she was supposed to do it without me telling her to.

Day four.. WOW. She was excellent, just a little leg to encourage her and she was turning with it, and stopping with it, just like a real life cutting horse. She was snappier to the left than the right, but that's ok, she still wasn't waiting on me. I'd love to get her on a real cow, but there are a lot of advanced training students, and they're using the roping steers... not enough room, steers, or time, usually. I may ask anyway, but I'm not counting on it. If nothing else I'll get Farmmom out with me when the horses go home and she can hold herd on which ever horse I'm not working.

All in all, I'm pretty danged proud of the little girl. She surprised me a couple of times Thursday and I had to grab my ass or come out of the saddle, she turned around so quick. She got atta girls for those turns.

I just wish I could keep working her on cattle, since that's what she's gonna do....

Book Review

Ya'll know I don't do this often. I probably read ten or fifteen books minimum for every one I mention here, because this isn't really supposed to be a book blog, but I just got done reading The Wednesday Letters by Jason F. Wright.

Folks, this one gave me the sniffles.

A young husband writes a letter on his wedding night, while his bride sleeps. In it he makes a promise; to write a letter to her every Wednesday for the rest of his life. And he keeps that promise. Fifty-two letters a year, for nearly forty years, through tragedy and triumph, and debilitating disease.

At the end of those forty years, he writes a final letter, while gazing once again at his bride lying alone in bed, this time dead of a heart attack. He writes the last letter, takes her into his arms, and joins her.

And that's just the beginning. Wright goes on to tell a tale of a grieving family, three siblings with their own histories, and the people who loved them, and their parents, all in the space between the deaths and the funeral.

If you haven't, go out and buy it. And then write a letter to someone you love....

Say Wha?

A Few Weeks Ago:

"Oh come on, Etta, it's not that scary. It's a nylon pillow, vaguely shaped like a cow, with... weird staring eyes... that follow you.... Ok so it's creepy, but it's not going to hurt you!"

My horse was standing her ground, ten feet from the set of three ropes that strung across the width of the arena, and the fake cow, or "flag" that hung from them. Her eyes were glued to the synthetic bovine, as some part of her brain told her that it was definitely going to eat her.

"Come on, you're cutter-bred. Your ancestors have been working this thing since it was invented. Generations! Your great grandsire probably knew how to run the controls!"

She eased closer, a step at a time, as I kept up a running litany of nonsense. Finally, she was close enough to smell it. Once convinced that it was an object, and not an actual animal that floated in the air, she relaxed.

Then I moved it. It wasn't supposed to move. Her usual reaction to scary things when under saddle is to jump in place, drop her head, and give whatever object startled her (empty beer bottle on the ground, line in the sand, water puddle...) the hairy eyeball. When I'm on the ground, however... she doesn't think she needs to be quite so accommodating.

Head up, nostrils flared, flashing the whites of her eyes, she tried to back away. Since I had ahold of her reins, it didn't work so well. I stepped out from the ropes and started lunging her in a circle, pushing her out away from me when she tried to cut across and stay further away from the flag.

Eventually she calmed down, and I could move the thing without her doing much more than snorting at it. Score one for me.

Thursday:

"We're in a rut, so Monday, we're going to start on the flag." There was a decided glint in Marilyn's eye.

"Um... Marilyn... You do realize that most of these horses are going to absolutely freak as soon as that thing moves, right?" I stared at her a bit incredulously.

"Well, they're always pretty scared of it the first day. They start to calm down by the end of the first week though." I could hear a snicker hiding in her reasonable tone.

"What about B's horse? He just got over being scared of the arena fence. That big old straight-off-the-track sucker is going to have a conniption."

"He might. But it'll be good for them to do something different. I thought you'd be happy about this, Farmgirl... Your horse is cutter-bred, and I've heard you muttering about wanting to get her on the flag." Marilyn's eye was still twinkling.

"Well, yeah... but I also don't want to be stuck in a tiny arena with eight freaked out ponies. Possibly nine, if Etta is feeling dumb. She's little... we could be squashed like bugs!"

"Well, lets see what happens."

Uh huh. Admit it Marilyn, we haven't had any major wrecks all semester, and you're getting desperate, so you're gonna see if you can cause one. JJ is a bad influence on you.

Friday

"We're gonna work our horses on the flag... we want to do a grand entry at the show."

"What the hell, it's something new and different... I'll give it a shot on Etta."

"Yeah, like she's gonna do anything. Wild pony you got there."

You just had to jinx me, didn't you.

So, I had someone else hold the flag while I walked her around near it, then up to it, and let her smell it, and finally took it. We walked around for a while, and were fine. She could have cared less.

Then we trotted, and the breeze of our passage lifted the improvised flag, and gave it just a touch of flap. Not much. But then, Etta still doesn't always see the point in the slow trot, and I was riding one handed.

She sped up. So did the flapping of the flag. I tried to slow her down, and she wasn't having any of it.

She broke into a lope... and the damn thing was chasing her. At this point she completely lost her mind. I dropped the flag and hollered for everyone to look out as we ran straight for the fence. She turned her head to the side at the last minute and took the impact on the side of her neck and her chest, rather than across that rock that occasionally replaces her head.

Meanwhile. I was popped up in my stirrups stretched over her neck, and blessing many years of catching myself on small targets throughout my life as my hand grabbing the top rail of the fence was the only thing keeping me from finding out what the birdies felt like that day.

I shoved off using my hand on the pipe, and got my ass back in the saddle where it was supposed to be, just in time for her to show off her cutter blood and jump into a run down the fence, without, apparently, ever turning her body. One second we were stopped, the next we were halfway down the fence. And she wasn't about to listen to me, no sirre.

When I finally got her stopped, she shook her head and blew and stood there like she was going to go to sleep... so I went back to where I'd dropped the flag when she decided to leave the area like a striped-assed ape, and walked her around it for ten minutes while she gave it ye olde hairy eyeball. Then she stopped, and I got off and picked up the flag, and flapped it. Nada. Draped it over her butt. Minor twitch. Shook it at her head... well she didn't like that, but it wasn't a rodeo. Climbed back in the saddle and took off at a walk, with the flag... again.

Bout half a circuit of the arena, and she broke into a trot, without my asking.

Well, shit. Here we go again.

I prepared to drop the flag, sat my butt down in the saddle and sure enough, off she went. It probably would have been better for training purposes to keep the flag and just let her run, but there were others in the arena, and I have a strong aversion to causing wrecks of that magnitude.

Anyway, Lather, Rinse, Repeat, one more time. Then I called it quits with the flag, and simply ran her around the arena one time. That's when I discovered that she didn't have brakes. So we spent about an hour reminding her that when I say "whoa" it means "stop or I'll drag your head around so far you'll have to wipe your own crap off your nose."

I was extremely frustrated by the time we got done, needless to say.

I think I'll go to the barn early Monday, and lope her down... a lot... before we try the flag. This is gonna be... interesting....

There Is Goodness

In The World

The bookbag that was stolen from my car was host to a collection of pins and little things, just personal touches that I liked. Three of the pins were from the comic A Girl And Her Fed, which I simply adore. It starts out as seriously political in the beginning, and morphs into something a bit more whimsical as it goes along.

Who doesn't love a talking, code cracking koala named Speedy? Who wouldn't want a pin of a Koala with a gun? No one, that's who.

Brooke Spangler, aka Otter, the artist and author of the comic, is very in touch with her fans, and, since I was feeling depressed over the loss of the AGAHF pins, I figured that someone ought to feel good about it, and wrote her an email, about how much I missed the pins, and how I planned to replace them as soon as finances would allow.

She thanked me, and said that she would like to replace the pins that I had lost. After wrestling with my concience for a while (the sales of the pins and other AGAHF paraphernalia are what funds the webcomic's operations) greed won out and I agreed to give her my new address. Three pins, fifteen bucks. Not a huge amount, but not money that I had to spend, either.

Yesterday, I received a package in the mail. I recognized the return address, having ordered swag from her before, not to mention one of the comic's characters displayed prominently on her return address labels.

Except... the package was... poofy. And soft. And way too large to contain three pins.

Inside was a medium sized bag, covered in pins and buttons.

The four pins below the zipper are the cloissone pins that Brooke sells. The first three, left to right, I had. The fourth, I didn't. I also didn't have any of the buttons that are arrayed over the rest of the bag. In case you can't see, the very top pin is of a tanker in the background, spilling oil, and in the foreground is a robot, kneeling on a beach, picking up a dead bird, and flipping off the tanker. I love that one!

The note she included said "Hope this gets the collection back on track."

Oh, it did, Brooke, it did, and so much more. I was utterly speechless when I opened it, too. The roommate thought I was having a heart attack.

Now, I just have to get back to trying to figure out how to turn a cloisonne pin into a hat pin, so that I can have a koala with a gun on my Stetson....

Oh, and I'll be pulling Etta's tail to thin it out soon, and I'll be collecting the hairs that I pull to braid into a bracelet, to include with the pictures I'll be sending to Brooke with a thank you note. I may be broke, but I can still say thank you with a little class!

Wild, Crazy Horse

She's wild, she's nuts... she's... not quite dead.

Etta is a doll. I've been trying everything I can to get her to spook, or even show serious displeasure, and aside from a few "mare days" where she hasn't wanted to do anything, she's been an absolute dream.

The only thing I've found that makes her really unhappy (other than a stiff poke with the spurs, which is a no brainer, and only makes her hop) is water from the hose. She doesn't like the fly spray, but it doesn't totally freak her out. The water thing is easy enough to fix, there's a round pen with a hydrant next to it, and enough pressure on it to reach the far side. I'll just let her out in the round pen and spray her until she quits spazzing one of these weekends.

I can hang off the side of the saddle while she's walking... nada. I can whoop and holler, rattle the gates on the bucking chutes in the rodeo arena, swing a rein, slip behind the saddle and sit on her butt, lean forward over her neck, lean back on her butt (Mamaw has some pictures of me standing around in class, feet out of the stirrups and hands on her butt, if I get them, I'll share)... anything. As long as she's not having a colt/mare day (they're pretty much the same thing, one is from being young and the other is from being female, some of ya'll know what I mean) she doesn't care.

You can even ride double on her. This afternoon I was playing around and had one of the girls get on behind me. After I smarted off with "she doesn't buck hard, when she bucks" the girl decided we were closer friends than she thought, and wrapped both arms around me to hang on to the saddle horn, but other than keeping an eye on the proceedings (she climbed the fence to get on, rather than using the stirrup, since it's easier to go slow that way) Etta was pretty ok with it. She wasn't positive she was supposed to move, but with a little encouragement she stepped out and walked quite nicely.

I don't see us going doubles very often, she's just not big enough to do it very much, or for very long, but it can be quite useful if another horse goes lame to have one that will carry two, when you're out in the middle of nowhere.

Tomorrow or Saturday I'm gonna take her in the round pen and see if I can't get on her bareback. She's doing quite well with neck reining, as long as I'm paying attention and don't try to rein on top of the martingale.

She's also far more compact and nimble than I'm used to. Marilyn has been having us move our horses over by doing large circles, coming in to small circles, and then floating back out to the large circle again.

Lemme tell ya, Etta can do a small ass circle. Sometimes it feels like we did more of a roll back than a circle, and when you ask her for it, she really digs in and pushes with her hindquarters. It's another of those things that I'm not used to after riding Monkey, with his long strides and much less drive from the hind, and I never could get the Old Man to work quite that well... he didn't think I was ready for it, and he was probably right.

All in all, she's working really well for me, and Mamaw should be proud.

Life...

Well, classes are well and truly underway, and I've just about settled into the routine. I don't have to check my schedule anymore to make sure of what class I'm supposed to be going to, at least.

The barn is as much fun as it always has been, with the interesting change of a new horse. Huge kudos to E for his fantastic job with Etta, she's still green but she's doing great, with a few small caveats. She doesn't like her left lead, for some reason. But only when we're asked for it in class. And, since I got used to Monkey, the horse who's leads you could feel in your sleep, I don't always catch that Etta, miss compact, is off lead. Grr. It is a great thing, though, to be able to control speed without having to hold her in like a race horse. I sit down, and she slows down. It helps, too, that the advanced training students are using the top arena for their reining, and they've been working it pretty much every day. Stays nice and deep. I think the instructors are trying to get the arena in shape to do sliding stops... they've got a ways to go yet.

Management... well it's basically doing a big project all semester. Designing, building, and "running" (on paper) a set of stables.

Computerized Farm Records... bird class. I am learning some new things about Excel, and maybe about Quick Books once we get into it, but it's all concepts that I've grasped for a while.

Math, is math. I don't like it, but I still have to do it. Coming up on the Chapter One (if John has one hundred and twenty cows, and wants to buy a bull for every thirty five cows, how many bulls must John buy?) test Thursday. Obviously, I'm not that worried about it.

Intro to PC Applications. Snore. Seriously, if I had Office 2007, I could go through the book at home and get all of the projects done in a couple of weeks, and then show up in class, turn them in, and go home. As it is, I have to go to class to do them, because I don't have Office 2007. It still doesn't take me nearly the whole class, unless the book is being psychotic (which it sometimes is,) and leaving essential instructions as to formatting in tiny little side notes, instead of with the rest of the instructions on the projects. Occasionally frustrating, but mainly it's the most basic of PC usage.

Things are going well, I think. None of my classes are stressing me out yet, although the project for Management will get that one done eventually I'm sure. And, I have excellent entertainment at the barn in the form of a kid from the next town over from the Old Homestead, who knows he knows me, but can't figure out where from, or who exactly I am.

He's going slightly nuts trying to figure it out, while also doing his best to be charming and flirt, on the off chance that I leave CM to fall swooning into his waiting arms. Not gonna happen, but he's leaving it at the goof around and have fun stage, so I haven't had to offer to break his fingers for him yet.

Other than that, it's just a case of life as usual. I did replace my wallet and book bag, finally. I think a part of me was hoping that they would resurface (hey, I'm a creature of habit, I find something I like, and I stick with it) but I finally gave in when I'd gotten the replacements for the debit cards, and my drivers license, and had too much stuff to carry in my pocket again.

I also bought a purse, which I fully expect to lose, but CM smarted off the other day about how I need to carry a purse like a normal woman, and it was one of those comments that hunker down in the back of your brain and pick at you. Apparently, I can't be a tomboy forever. I don't really see why not, but CM says so and apparently my subconscious agrees with him, because when I was done picking out a new wallet (they all sucked, because none of them were my wallet) my brain was going "purse. Purse. Ah hem. PURSE!!!"

We'll see how long it takes me to lose this one and remind my subconscious of just why I don't carry a purse.

Misery Loves Company

And if you don't believe me just ask my bowels and my stomach.

I've never been one of those people who pukes and pukes and pukes. Never. Excepting when I was in third grade and had a broken arm rubbing on a nerve that wouldn't allow anything on my stomach for more than two minutes, ("Mommy? Which bowl do I eat out of again?") it's always been puke once or twice, and it's all over.

Often, it's been puke once, and miraculously feel better.

Not last night. Stomach cramps, puking, diarrhea, absolute misery. Every twenty minutes I was in the bathroom, dealing with one end, and then the other. Never just one end per trip, noooo that would be too simple. I had to bend over the toilet to puke and aim carefully so that if my ass decided to go all splody it would fly across the bathroom and hit the easy to clean areas of the tub instead of my roommate's shower supplies.

I found myself contemplating whether or not it really was possible for an anal prolapse to occur in the human body, or if I might really be able to get up close and personal with my upper digestive tract. And, if my stomach did decide to crawl out and escape, whether it would exit through my mouth or my nose.

I never realized how many muscles are involved in the process of vomiting until they all got sore today. I feel like someone hit me with a freight train.

But, things are improving. Liquids and a little bit of food has stayed down, so maybe the worst is over.

Oh, and by the way, Thanks AD, for the story about the ex-lax in the food. You know, the one where you told us all about crapping clear water? If not for that I might have thought I was hallucinating around five this morning, when I was spending twenty minutes with my ass running like a faucet, with no evidence.