Yee Haw!!

This evening being clear, cool, and dry, I decided that Smokey needed some exercise, so off to the arena we went.

Well, 'ol boy is apparently feeling his oats. Each time I kicked him up into a lope, he wanted to run. Since no one else was in the arena, I did what any cowboy would do...I indulged him, and round and round we sailed, the horse choosing the speed, while I chose when to turn. It was one of those times when everything between horse and rider just clicks. My mind cleared of everything, enjoying a catharsis that I can't quite explain. A far cry from four years ago, when I was as green as a rider could get, and sometimes wondering if perhaps I had picked the wrong hobby.

I don't know how long we raced around, but I finally decided to bring him down to a walk, as I don't want him to overexert himself, nor do I want to spend an hour trying to dry out a sweaty horse.

On another note, I've been accused of being a bit indulgent with regards to our dogs. I can't imagine why.

Goats, Blankets, and Flying Pigs

I'm quite certain that at this moment in time, somewhere in the world, there is bacon on the hoof in flight. Why do I say this? My Father has a Facebook account. This is the man who didn't own a computer until a few months ago.

That leaves me as the final hold out in our family. I obstinately refuse to join Facebook. I ask you, gentle readers, am I being stubborn, or do these social networking things allow us to put too much of ourselves out there for all to see?

I took today off work, because I could. The weather was clear, albeit it a bit cool. Smokey and Bailey were paid a visit from the farrier to have their hooves trimmed and shoes replaced. Smokey's soles are a bit soft, which is common for him this time of year, so we opted to keep the pads on until next time. Neither of them had much hoof growth since last visit. This is not unexpected, as much of their nourishment through the winter months goes toward coat growth and staying warm.

With the warm days and cold nights, we remove horse blankets in the morning, and replace them at night. Most of the horses are non-plussed by this event. Note that I say most. With Dozer, our 8 year old Paint gelding, blanketing is an event I refer to as "Blanket Rodeo". As you approach with the blanket, he tenses up and gets this wild look in his eyes. On about half the occasions, the young punk will wait until you are within arms reach, and then bolt, bucking and running across his paddock. Thus one has to march off after him. He got past me twice tonight before I was able to use my best cutting moves to force him into a corner, and applied said blanket. I know I should get a halter and lead rope for this, but it just seems ludicrous for it to be such an ordeal.

"What??? I have my blanket on. See?"

On a final note, for Laura over at Fetch My Flying Monkeys, I snapped a couple photos that I know she will appreciate.

Inspiration from Buck

Buck prefer's David Lindley's version, but I'm more of an Alan Jackson man myself.

Rehabilitation Does Not Work

I guess it's my day to be pissed off. First the story about the Iwo Jima veterans, and now this.

I have three daughters, so this story hits close to home. I cannot comprehend how it is that our society continues to believe that these deviants can be "rehabilitated". Time and again, we hear stories of convicted sex offenders committing the same crime after being released from prison. I firmly believe that crimes of this nature should be accompanied by a mandatory death sentence. One appeal, no prison time. Castrate them, and then hang them. Publicly. Clean up the gene pool, and make society just a little safer.

I guarantee this. Had this sick bastard hurt one of my girls, and survived long enough to make it to prison, his ass would have disappeared forever the day he got out of the big house.

How Soon We Forget...

Why is it the U.S. Military can't help these Marine Corps Veterans?

These men willingly gave up the best years of their lives for the service of their country. They endured horror that few, if any, of us can possibly imagine. Fighting a fanatical, relentless enemy, death was all around them on that lonely island in 1945. Yet they perservered, as Marines always have, and always will, until the island was firmly in American hands. If you have never read about the battle for Iwo Jima, you owe it to yourself to rectify the situation. One casualty figure states that 22,000 American serviceman died or were wounded on the island. Over 23,000 Japanese soldiers perished in the epic struggle. Those casualty figures far outweigh those of D-Day, the invasion of France.

The debt our nation owes to these men can never be repaid. The least we can do is provide them transport to a place where so many of their friends still remain.

UPDATE: Looks like we pulled through for these guys.

Gordon Has Moved!

Many of you are familiar with frequent commenter and blog bud Gordon, a provider of insightful commentary, political and otherwise, over at A Political Glimpse From Ireland. The domain for APGFI has expired, and since Gordon was not the owner, he has been forced to ply his wares elsewhere. He can now be found at:

Tequila & Javelinas

Make sure you update your links and stop by to say hello.

Bummer!!

It's a crying shame that I'm too old for the Border Patrol, because this would be my sort of gig.

Horses, guns, and a paycheck. Does it get any better than that?

Olympic Courage

When we think of bravery, courage, and strength, many of us will think immediately of the military, police, and firefighters.

Often, however, it shows through in other forms.

A Good Sunday

Global Warming has finally arrived in the Pacific Northwest. About damn time, in my opinion. Daily highs have been approaching 60F. We're talk shirtsleeve weather. We've been removing the horse blankets during the day, letting the horses get some fresh air, and some quality rolling in the dirt/mud. The lack of cloud cover means it's been dipping below freezing at night, so the blankets go back on in the evening.

I was all set to ride Smokey in the arena this afternoon, but when I arrived there were already some folks riding. Two of them are people with whom I will not ride, for reasons related both to my personal safety and sanity. Not one to waste beautiful riding weather, I opted to head out and ride along the Puyallup River. This, of course, can be a hit or miss affair with Smokey. Since we were alone, I was removing him from his herd mates, and since home is "back that way", there is always the chance that he will spend most of the trip walking as slowly as possible, and repeatedly trying to turn around.

I was pleasantly surprised. We set out without trouble, and with only minimal application of spurs. There were quite a few people families out walking along and playing in the river today. The small kids are always excited to see a horse, with shouts of "look at the horsey", and "wow, he's big!". One lady's poodle was going bonkers barking at us, but fortunately, Smokey is dog broken, and was rather non-plussed about it.

At some point, Smokey finally decided we had gone far enough. It began to feel like I was riding a snake, as we he started weaving from one side of the trail to the other. Occasionally, he would try to fake me out with a long sweeping turn, but to no avail. Once he was back on an even keel, I let him turn around.

Now, he's fully aware that we are headed home. And is determined to make the trip as fast as possible, to minimize the risk of any chance encounters with lions, tigers, or bears. Seeing as the woods are full of them. So he starts to trot. I hate trotting. It's like riding a jackhammer, and my 44 year old spine does not appreciate it. So I slowly pull back on the bit to ease him down. He slows down, but only until I release pressure on the bit. So we repeat the process until the message sinks into his pea brain that we are going to walk home.

It was good ride, and the capper for today was watching the USA men's hockey team beat Canada, 5-3!

The Art of Gaining Political Traction

Or, in this case, how not to do it.

I feel that the person who made that statement is an asshat. Allow me to explain.

I'll be the first to admit that Patty "the mom in tennis shoes" Murray, like her counterpart Maria Cantwell, is at best, an ineffective Senator, and at worst, little more than a tool of her political party. But, Washington being the decidedly "blue" state that it is, her political career is in no danger of immediate jeopardy.

Of course, had someone from, oh, let's say code pink, said this same thing about Senator (insert Republican here), the folks on the left would have found it to be quite the knee slapper, and the lamestream media would have given little, if any, press. Nothing to see here, move along folks.

However, since this came from the right, folks on the left will feign outrage and demand apologies, while the media fans the flames, because they have proven unable to recognize an exaggeration when presented.

We could, of course, engage ourselves in much wailing and gnashing of teeth, bemoaning how wrong and unfair it all is. Or, we could accept the fact that life isn't fair, and operate within the parameters we are faced with. If you choose to thrust yourself upon the public stage, the thinking, reasoning adult should be able to accept that what you say and do comes under public scrutiny (a fact which seems to allude many folks in Hollywood). Through an ill thought out, albeit passionate, statement, the speaker gave the left and the media fodder, and they will, predictably make much hay over nothing. The result being that attention has been taken away from the real statement and purpose, making this particular rally appear to be little more than a circus.

Let's get our act together, people!

Small Town Experiment Fail

I can't imagine that anyone actually thought this would work.

In a town that small, it's a safe bet that everyone knows everyone, and most are related at least by six degrees. Invariably, anyone who relocates there is going to viewed suspiciously at best, and treated like the outsiders they truly are. Likely few, if any, of the resident's made any meaningful effort to fit in.

I also suspect that the Tristani's didn't go out of their way to fit in. A Lexus, gold chains, and a Rolex are not the order of the day. Might as well drive around with a boom-boom-thump radio in your car while your at it.

I can understand the motivations of the parties involved. Most of us want to live and raise our families in a place where we feel safe. If one is looking to relocate to a more rural surrounding, it isn't necessary to move to the middle of nowhere in a place as inhospitable as North Dakota. Think about it, there is a reason that small towns like Hazelton are dying, as people are forced to move on for better opportunity's. That's not a criticism of small towns, in North Dakota or elsewhere. It is just a stark reality of our times.

Things You Don't See Every Day

At least not in Washington during the month of February

My Horse is a Fraud

I haven't ridden with any consistency since before Christmas. To be more correct, I've only thrown my leg over the horse twice since his leg healed. The first instance ended after five minutes due to Mrs. BR's horse colicking. In an act of self preservation, I terminated the second ride after ten minutes due to an overload of fools riding in the arena at the same time.

Some horses can sit in the pasture for months on end, and then be ridden as though they been working daily for that entire time. Smokey is not one of those horses. And lest I forget, he spared little time in reminding me.

A wall is being built at one end of the arena, to serve as a wind break. As a result, there are 2x6's, ladders, tools, some cones, etc. at that end of the arena. As soon as we approached the work area, Smokey just about jumped out of his skin. He whirled, and would have headed for the hills, except that with a pull on the rein, and well placed spur, I turned him around to stare at the horse eating demons. He would turn his head as if to leave, and I would gently pull it back. Once he had settled down, I forced him to take one step toward the work materials. This went on for about five minutes, until we were standing next the pile of lumber, and he was idling sniffing it. Then we moved over and stood next to the ladder, until the same result was achieved. The rest of the day's ride was uneventful.

Rumor has it that a horse was eaten by the pile of building materials last night. Or so it would seem, judging by Smokey's reaction today. We were trotting towards the pile, when, in the blink of an eye, he whirled and started in the other direction. Again, rein and spur pointed him in the direction I wanted to travel. Again, he whirled. This repeated itself as we spiraled ever farther from the object of his fear. Having had entirely enough of this, I pointed him at the pile, and dug in. He took off towards it, until realizing it was still there, he slid to a stop and began power backing.

At this point, I nearly fell out of the saddle, I was laughing so hard. I found the whole thing to be terribly amusing.

We finally worked thought it. although not without much snorting and blowing. Or so I thought.

Some time later, we were riding past the pile, when he spooked sideways, again headed for the hills. I straightened him out. When this again repeated itself, I decided enough was enough. This horse is being an imbecile, and it's going to end right now.

With Mrs. BR providing helpful cues, I rode the hell out of him near the construction area. Tight circles, figure eights, and rollbacks. Once he was sweating and breathing hard, and paying attention to me, and not his fears, I walked him over to the pile and let him stand. Not a peep. The goal of this is for him to associate the "scary place" with the ability to rest. Thus, instead of something to fear, it becomes a safe haven.

Believe it or not, I call this a good ride. An opportunity to school the horse, and to test my riding abilities. I must have a good seat, because when Smokey spooks, it's BIG, and comes without warning. I could very well end up in the dirt.

Why do I say he's a fraud? While riding yesterday, one of the resident goats broke his moorings and wandered into the arena. I rode right up to the goat, and Smokey just sniffed him. No fear. We have encountered bears, deer, and elk in the wild. Not a flinch.

But construction material? Run for your life!!

Bookends?

Petey (left) and Ellie this morning:

Petey's New Shoes

Good hoof care is one of the basic needs for our horses. As the saying goes, "no hoof, no horse".

As I mentioned in the previous post, Petey's feet were in need of some quality care. Said care came in the form a visit from our farrier, Jake, last night.

He found signs of an old abscess in one of his front hooves, and one of the back hooves is rolling under slightly on the inside. Jake feels that this can be corrected over the next few trimmings, and shouldn't present any problems.

Before trimming:


Post trimming, and sporting shiny new shoes:


As I was observing the work last night, it dawned on me how rather amazing it is that these half ton animals stand perched atop four rather spindly legs. Honestly, there legs are smaller around than a human leg.

Apparently We Needed Another Horse...

...seeing as we drove all the way to Port Townsend to pick up a six year old gelding named Petey.

DN3 has been in need of a new show horse, as her mare Bailey has become burned out on the whole affair. So we picked up Petey the Paint Horse on a one year care lease, with an option to buy. Care leasing is a situation where the leaser does not buy the horse, but is responsible for all care and associated costs for the period of the lease. Not unlike leasing a car, but no monthly payments are made to the rightful owner. The money is spent on feed, vet costs, hoofcare, etc. The advantage for both parties lies in the fact that the owner doesn't pay for the care, and the leaser doesn't have to keep said horse if the animal and rider prove unsuited for one another.

Petey's owner is in college in California, and has not seen him in some time. He was under a care lease with another person, who couldn't pay the asking price, so was letting him move on.

Here is Petey as advertised:


Here's what he looked like when we got home today:

If you blow the second picture up, you can see ribs. He is easily 100-150 pounds underweight, and clearly hasn't seen hoof care in awhile. We do not believe it to be due to willful negligence, but rather a tight budget, and perhaps a dose of ignorance thrown in.

Had we been looking to purchase Petey, we would have left with an empty trailer. We are, however, reasonably certain we can feed him up to his ideal weight, and with a few visits from the farrier have his hooves returned to pristine condition. As a precaution, we are going to have the vet give him the once over.

He's a big sweetheart, with an easygoing disposition. He was completely non-plussed at being moved to a new home, and wasted no time digging into his alfalfa and beet pulp. And DN3 is completely in love with him already.

I'll keep you posted...

The Good Life

My fellow blogger Rude1 has a great post which explores the very real differnce between living in the country or the city.

I grew up a city boy. There is no denying that fact. Yet, somehow, I always a felt a little out of place. There was a yearning for wide open spaces.

While having not achieved the goal of being "independently wealthy", and thus having the spread in the "middle of nowhere", I have reached a satisfying compromise. We live in a small town (one friend described it as "Mayberry"), while being within reasonable driving distance of the Seattle metro area, which provides the income to for the family BR to live the good life.

I'm not saying one lifestyle is better than the other, it's just a case of individual needs.

Update on Smokey

It would appear that old MoJo is on the mend. The swelling is gone, and he is no longer limping. He's even been spotted trotting around his paddock. Time to get the farrier out to put the shoe back on that foot. He clearly hasn't been too hurt to roll in the mud:



Since he was a little tender footed after pulling the shoe, I bought this contraption called a Hoof Wrap. It consists of a foam pad for the bottom of the foot, and a wrap with numerous velcro straps. I honestly thought that it wouldn't last a day before getting sucked off in the mud. To my surprise, it took him a week to get it off. The interesting thing is that it was torn down the back. I can't figure that one out, since it was on a back foot. Oh well, it served it's purpose, and I'll probably purchase a replacement, just for the sake of having one on hand.

I'm going to wait a few more weeks before riding again. No point in pushing him too fast, too soon.

I climbed up on the roof to pull down the Christmas lights yesterday. I know, I know...but better late than never, right? While I was up there, I snapped this photo of Mt. Rainier:


The sight of The Mountain is one that I never tire of.

Caretaking

In the comments on the post "Horse Injuries Don't Take Holidays Part II", Gordon, from A Political Glimpse from Ireland, left the following:

"There's a reason why, despite the romantic lure it has for me, that I don't keep livestock. I miss the rewards, but I think I might not be the best caretaker."

I wish there were more people who thought like that.

Equus Caballus holds a special place in the hearts and minds of many American's. They are majestic, intelligent animals, and were an integral part of the "taming of the west". Prior to the invention of the internal combustion engine, they were the automobile, the semi, the tractor, and the postal jeep. Even today, the power generated by man-made machinery is measured against the "horsepower" standard.

I have two consistent grievances with my fellow horse owners. The first is willing failure to properly care for the animals (I hope there is a special place in hell reserved for these people). The second is lacking the common sense to educate oneself. Which in some cases can lead to the first condition. Many of these people are well intentioned, but are either too stubborn, or perhaps too stupid to do a little research.

Make no mistake, owning a horse is vastly different from owning dogs or cats. Their digestive systems are complex and sensitive. Sudden changes in diet, too much grass, or too much grain can lead to serious illnesses, and even death. Consistent hoof care is required, and is not inexpensive. Like children, they're accident prone. Injures can, and often do, require constant attention. There is no equine 911. You must be capable of triaging injuries, and rendering immediate first aid. If you are fortunate enough to have a vet that will answer the phone 24/7, there is still a finite period of time before they will arrive on site.

Five years ago, had you told me that I would own horses, I would have recommended you seek medical attention for your obvious head injury. Therefore, bear in mind that, as horse people go, I'm still a newbie. I do not have the decades of experience that real cowpokes do. I can only envy the knowledge and skill that comes from those years of experience, particularly in light of the things I've been through in my four short years of my horse ownership.

I've spent a long cold night in the barn with a colicking horse. Helped wrestle the corpse of a dead mare out of the stall where she had to be put to sleep following a severe stroke. Shoveled tons of horse puckey in the driving rain. Vaccinated horses.

I've trudged back to the paddocks on dark snowy nights, to catch a sick mare who did not want to be caught, for the purpose of giving her penicillin shots and forcing an array of medicine down her throat. That she did not want to take. I was mixing the medication in applesauce that was freezing as quick as I could pour it. She felt like hell, and was as tired of being caught and medicated, as I was of catching and medicating her. Yet every night there we were, performing the "medicine dance" in the barn.

I've been bucked off, reared off, fallen off, and jumped off. I've not yet been kicked, but not for lack of effort. I've stood my ground to prevent a running horse from getting past me. I've progressed from being afraid to let my horse trot, to enjoying a pleasure and freedom which can only be experienced while riding a horse at a dead run. I went through periods where I was convinced that learning to ride a horse was not something I was capable of.

I've learned patience. Trust. Balance. The art of keeping the horse between me and the ground. Found that brains can in fact overcome brawn. How else could a 170 lb man push a 1000 lb horse around on the ground?

I suppose, after reading the above, one might conclude that I am trying to discourage horse ownership. To the contrary, I have at times wondered how I went through the first 39 years of my life without realizing what I was missing. But, I do believe that things happen for a reason, and only when the time is right. I would not trade one single experience that horses have provided me. Well, maybe I could have done without the second dirt landing after being reared off twice in two minutes. Even in that, there was a life lesson.

Whatever you choose to do in life, educate yourself. Delight in and learn from every experience. At the risk of sounding cliche, life is short. You might not be here tomorrow, and, when you are standing in line at the Pearly Gates, there will be no place for regrets, and limited odds for a a second chance.

Happy New Year!

While there seems to be a general sentiment that the passing of 2009 is a good thing, I must admit that, from a personal standpoint, last year was a good one.

I started a new job, with all the uncertaintly and trepidition that accompanies such changes. To my pleasant surprise, it turns out that I could not have made a better decision, both personally, and professionally.

I learned that starting young horses is perhaps not for me. While it took three hard landings in the dirt, I escaped with little more than a bruised ego. While success may have not turned out the way I envisioned it, I did learn more about horses, and my own limitations, thus I do not chalk the experience up to complete failure.

I still have a wonderful family, good friends, and my health.

Politically, the year was not so good. I do fear, however, that we "ain't seen nothin' yet". Perhaps elections in the fall will help place the powers that be in check. I'm not certain that I have the confidence in my fellow citizenry that it would take to be overly optimistic in that area.

But, all things considered, while we may be a bit bruised and battered, we still live in the greatest nation on earth.

Happy New Year, all!