What the hell is wrong with people?
I like my horses, but not this much.
I think it would have been justifiable homicide, and one less virus in the gene pool.
Ms. Kenley is my kind of dame. Knows her way around a shotgun and all.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Saving the Wild Horses
Admittedly, I'm biased on this topic, but I must say that for once, I approve of a plan that is working it's way throught Congress.
After the untold quanities of money that have been thrown down blackholes that provide no benefit beyond filling re-election coffers, I find it almost laughable to hear politicians suddently worried about "Taxpayer Drain". I hate to state the obvious for our challenged politicians, but that horse has already escaped the barn. Pun intended.
Not only does this help the wild horses, but it also preserves untamed land, keeping it free from further unchecked growth. Granted, much of the land is probably in the boonies where it won't be developed in the first place, but still...
I approve.
After the untold quanities of money that have been thrown down blackholes that provide no benefit beyond filling re-election coffers, I find it almost laughable to hear politicians suddently worried about "Taxpayer Drain". I hate to state the obvious for our challenged politicians, but that horse has already escaped the barn. Pun intended.
Not only does this help the wild horses, but it also preserves untamed land, keeping it free from further unchecked growth. Granted, much of the land is probably in the boonies where it won't be developed in the first place, but still...
I approve.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Work Party
As a member of the Backcountry Horseman of Washington (BCHW), I had the privilege of spending last weekend participating in a work party to repair a section of the Pacific Crest Trail. The goals of the weekend were to build two bridges, replace another that had collapsed, and redirect a section of the PCT that had been washed out for years.
The United States has thousands of miles of trails in the wilderness. Winter, and the never ending onslaught of nature, take their toll on these trails. Once upon a time, the United States Forest Service used summer work crews to perform trail maintenance in the wilderness. A victim of ever shrinking budgets, they have, for the most part, been forced to discontinue their efforts. Much of this work has now fallen on the shoulders of volunteers. The Pierce County Chapter of the BCHW, of which I am a member, has teamed up with the Tahoma and Enumclaw chapters, and the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) to adopt a 35 mile section of the PCT, between Crystal Mountain and Government Meadows. Bear in mind that much of this section of trail can only be reached on foot or horseback. While the USFS has little budget for this work, they do provide tools, and through grants received by the PCTA, hay and water for the horses, as well as food for the workers was supplied. What is needed is labor.
We were operating from the Government Meadows Horse Camp. This accessed via National Forest Development Road 70. For the first ten miles it is a paved, windy road. After that, it becomes a dirt, windy, logging road. When traveling a dirt road, towing a horse trailer, and you reach sign that indicates a 12% grade, you will crease the seat a bit. And although I was traveling 10-15mph at best, I was throwing up quite the cloud of dust. This is the view from the drivers window on the way up.
We were fed like royalty at this event. Chicken Friday night, steak on Saturday, with no shortage of food. A huge breakfast each morning, and an ample sack lunch for the trail. The evening entertainment was anothe of the highlights, courtesy of Denny, a colorful old mulerider, who is a talented guitarist and singer. His repartoire consisted of country songs, none newer than 30 years old. In his words, modern country music is "rock and roll with a twang".
Sunday consisted of some minor trail work, and the major endeavor of breaking camp. I rolled out around noon, dirty, hot, sweaty, and tired, but with an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction at having played a small part in something that is bigger than me.
Some hikers happened upon one of the work crews, and stopped to help them work for awhile. This is IMPORTANT. I will discuss why in my next post. As my picture of the cabin at Government Meadows fell victim to my shoddy photography skills, I was searching online when I came across this post by one of the hikers involved.
How cool is that?
The United States has thousands of miles of trails in the wilderness. Winter, and the never ending onslaught of nature, take their toll on these trails. Once upon a time, the United States Forest Service used summer work crews to perform trail maintenance in the wilderness. A victim of ever shrinking budgets, they have, for the most part, been forced to discontinue their efforts. Much of this work has now fallen on the shoulders of volunteers. The Pierce County Chapter of the BCHW, of which I am a member, has teamed up with the Tahoma and Enumclaw chapters, and the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) to adopt a 35 mile section of the PCT, between Crystal Mountain and Government Meadows. Bear in mind that much of this section of trail can only be reached on foot or horseback. While the USFS has little budget for this work, they do provide tools, and through grants received by the PCTA, hay and water for the horses, as well as food for the workers was supplied. What is needed is labor.
We were operating from the Government Meadows Horse Camp. This accessed via National Forest Development Road 70. For the first ten miles it is a paved, windy road. After that, it becomes a dirt, windy, logging road. When traveling a dirt road, towing a horse trailer, and you reach sign that indicates a 12% grade, you will crease the seat a bit. And although I was traveling 10-15mph at best, I was throwing up quite the cloud of dust. This is the view from the drivers window on the way up.
I'm sure that by this time, Smokey was certain that he had died and gone to hell.
I arrived early Friday afternoon. People had been arriving and working since late Wednesday. After checking in, I saddled up, and headed out on the trail to one of the designate work sites. Shortly I began to pass riders who were heading back to camp. Talking with them, I learned that work had stopped for the day, and most were headed back. I decided to continue riding, to see the trail and enjoy the solitude. Soon, I reached the first section of trail that had been rerouted. It was a nice series of switchbacks that led up to the place at which the trail crosses the 7080 Road. At this point, it was still necessary to ride about 100yds up the road to pick the trail back up. Turning back onto the trail, Smokey and I headed another mile or so down the trail, before turning back.
This is a view of Blowout Mountain from the trail:
Returning to the 7080 Road, I soon realized that I had not paid as much attention to the location of the trail as would have been wise, since the new signs had not yet been posted. I wasn't lost, just geographically misplaced. We went up and down the road a few times before I finally spotted the freshly turned dirt between two small trees. Picking the trail back up, we rode back to camp.
Saturday morning, we ate breakfast at 7:30. This was followed by a riders meeting, and work assignments. Lunches were picked up, horses saddled, tools loaded on the pack horses, and then the teams would set out for work. I was on a team of six that would be posting new signs, assisting with the final section of trail that was being rerouted, and then helping to complete the bridge that was being replaced. An active group to say the least.
On the trail:
Smokey and his new found friend tied up at the trail work site:
Where are those darn horses hiding?
While chainsaws and weedwackers were available to clear the brush, the work of trailbreaking fell to basic hand tools, such as shovels and pulaski's. After our stint on the trail, it was time for our group to return to Government Meadows to assist with the bridge. Government Meadows lies along the Naches Trail. This was a trail that used by wagon trains back in the day.
Government Meadow:
Signs at the Government Meadow Cabin:
From what little I can find, Mike Urich was a trail worker back in the first half of the twentieth century.
Upon arriving, the task of gravel hauling became our primary focus. This involved shoveling gravel from the bed of a pickup into wheel barrows and then hauling it 100yds to the bridge.
This provided one of the highlights of the day: The Pickup Ride. To get more gravel we had to drive about a mile downhill on a dirt road to where a dump truck had deposited the rock pile. Now, this "road" might be considered a road to jeepers, but to those of us riding in the back of the 25 year old F350, it was anything but. And the driver seemed to have forgotten that there were six of us in the bed. More than one of us was nearly bounced clear of the pickup. The cackling laughter coming from the cab of the truck didn't exactly help, either.
Arriving bruised, but intact, we shoveled a huge pile of gravel into the pickup, then traveled uphill with the load. For some reason, I had a mental image of the tailgate fallling up, and being washed out in a cascade of rocks and dirt.
Back at the worksite, we shoveled the gravel out, then back for more. The second and third trips were a little less chaotic. It may be related to the threats that were levied at the driver, but I could be wrong.
The bridge complete, we headed back to camp. After watering and feeding the horses, we settled in to await dinner.
We were fed like royalty at this event. Chicken Friday night, steak on Saturday, with no shortage of food. A huge breakfast each morning, and an ample sack lunch for the trail. The evening entertainment was anothe of the highlights, courtesy of Denny, a colorful old mulerider, who is a talented guitarist and singer. His repartoire consisted of country songs, none newer than 30 years old. In his words, modern country music is "rock and roll with a twang".
Sunday consisted of some minor trail work, and the major endeavor of breaking camp. I rolled out around noon, dirty, hot, sweaty, and tired, but with an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction at having played a small part in something that is bigger than me.
Some hikers happened upon one of the work crews, and stopped to help them work for awhile. This is IMPORTANT. I will discuss why in my next post. As my picture of the cabin at Government Meadows fell victim to my shoddy photography skills, I was searching online when I came across this post by one of the hikers involved.
How cool is that?
It's HOT!!!
Personally, I think the whole Global Warming/Climate Change thing is a bunch of hype and hooey perpetuated by a narcissistic, hypocritical politician.
With that said, it's hot here in my part of Western Washington. 100F right now. Now, I know it's probably hotter where folks such as Buck are, but at least it's a dry heat in his neck of the woods. And I don't say that tongue in cheek. I've been in Yuma, AZ when it's 115F, and it was more tolerable than the weather we've been having the last two days.
We had a bit of a scare with one of the horses last night. When I went to get DN3's mare, Bailey, to bring her up for the farrier, I immediately noted that she hadn't touched her hay, and was standing listlessly in her shelter. Bailey is normally a voracious eater, wasting no time devouring her flakes of hay. In the barn, we noted that her breathing was fast and shallow. Taking her temperature, it came out at 103F. Normal temperature for our equine friends is 99.8F to 101.3F.
Betting that it was the heat that was getting to her, we gave her some electrolyte paste, and 2 grams of bute. This was followed by hosing her down for about 15 minutes with cold water. By this time she had noticeably perked up. DN3 let her graze on some grass for awhile, then hosed her off for another 15 minutes.
By 8:30 her respiratory rate had returned to normal, and her appetite had returned. Returning to her paddock, she drank some water, then attacked her hay as though she hadn't been fed in weeks. By this morning, her temperature had returned to normal. As a precaution, DN3 has been hosing her down periodically with cold water.
With temperatures expected to remain near 100F most of the week, this will continue for a few days, just to be safe.
With that said, it's hot here in my part of Western Washington. 100F right now. Now, I know it's probably hotter where folks such as Buck are, but at least it's a dry heat in his neck of the woods. And I don't say that tongue in cheek. I've been in Yuma, AZ when it's 115F, and it was more tolerable than the weather we've been having the last two days.
We had a bit of a scare with one of the horses last night. When I went to get DN3's mare, Bailey, to bring her up for the farrier, I immediately noted that she hadn't touched her hay, and was standing listlessly in her shelter. Bailey is normally a voracious eater, wasting no time devouring her flakes of hay. In the barn, we noted that her breathing was fast and shallow. Taking her temperature, it came out at 103F. Normal temperature for our equine friends is 99.8F to 101.3F.
Betting that it was the heat that was getting to her, we gave her some electrolyte paste, and 2 grams of bute. This was followed by hosing her down for about 15 minutes with cold water. By this time she had noticeably perked up. DN3 let her graze on some grass for awhile, then hosed her off for another 15 minutes.
By 8:30 her respiratory rate had returned to normal, and her appetite had returned. Returning to her paddock, she drank some water, then attacked her hay as though she hadn't been fed in weeks. By this morning, her temperature had returned to normal. As a precaution, DN3 has been hosing her down periodically with cold water.
With temperatures expected to remain near 100F most of the week, this will continue for a few days, just to be safe.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Random Photo
Mrs. BR wanted me to post this photo:
Sunday was the monthly gaming day at Meridian Riding Club. Smokey and I are resting between events. The odd thing is that he sat there with his nose resting on my hat for a good five minutes. And his big ol' noggin is rather heavy.
On a positive note, Smokey has been in the ribbons for the last two outings, with steadily improving times. And I've figured out how to sit a run without getting my ass beat by the saddle. Riding a horse at a dead run has to be one of the biggest adrenalin rushes I've ever experienced.
Sunday was the monthly gaming day at Meridian Riding Club. Smokey and I are resting between events. The odd thing is that he sat there with his nose resting on my hat for a good five minutes. And his big ol' noggin is rather heavy.
On a positive note, Smokey has been in the ribbons for the last two outings, with steadily improving times. And I've figured out how to sit a run without getting my ass beat by the saddle. Riding a horse at a dead run has to be one of the biggest adrenalin rushes I've ever experienced.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Elbe Hills Poker Ride
Each summer, the Pierce County Sheriff's Posse sponsors three Poker Ride at the Elbe Hills Horse Camp, in order to raise funds for their sponsorship of the Special Olympics. Not only is it a great cause, but it's a makes for a darn nice trail ride. On Saturday, the family BR, plus a few friends, attended the first ride of the season. The weather was beautiful, the horses well behaved, and the company good. It was a great ride.
One of the great things, for me at least, about living in Washington is the beautiful country we have. Top on the list is Mt. Rainier. Elbe lies on on Highway 7, along the rode to Mt. Rainier National Park. One of the most fabulous views of the mountain, IMHO, is found along a series of switchback trails that we were on yesterday.
My camera isn't fancy, and my photographic skills are not of Ann's quality, but, without further adieu, I give you a few of the pictures I took yesterday.
In regards to the light blogging of late, it's summertime, the weather is beautiful, and when faced with the choice between blogging or riding the horse...well, the horse will win out everytime.
One of the great things, for me at least, about living in Washington is the beautiful country we have. Top on the list is Mt. Rainier. Elbe lies on on Highway 7, along the rode to Mt. Rainier National Park. One of the most fabulous views of the mountain, IMHO, is found along a series of switchback trails that we were on yesterday.
My camera isn't fancy, and my photographic skills are not of Ann's quality, but, without further adieu, I give you a few of the pictures I took yesterday.
In regards to the light blogging of late, it's summertime, the weather is beautiful, and when faced with the choice between blogging or riding the horse...well, the horse will win out everytime.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
I'd Have Never Made a Good Teacher
Honestly, I don't know how Chris does it.
It's not just because I generally don't care for other people's children. No, not at all. It's because I would find the endless grading of papers maddening. I'm talking men in white coats bringing me the shirt with extra long sleeves maddening.
I'm in the process of judging record books for the 4H Horse Department. I've been at it for three hours. Four hours last night. Looking at the same thing over and over, ad nauseum. My brain is numb, my eyes going cross.
Gee, only two more boxes to go....
Like I said, I don't know how Chris and his fellow teachers do it. They have my undying respect.
It's not just because I generally don't care for other people's children. No, not at all. It's because I would find the endless grading of papers maddening. I'm talking men in white coats bringing me the shirt with extra long sleeves maddening.
I'm in the process of judging record books for the 4H Horse Department. I've been at it for three hours. Four hours last night. Looking at the same thing over and over, ad nauseum. My brain is numb, my eyes going cross.
Gee, only two more boxes to go....
Like I said, I don't know how Chris and his fellow teachers do it. They have my undying respect.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Random Musings
I spent most of yesterday afternoon watching the Military Channel. The programming consisted of a series of shows, narrated by Charles Kuralt, profiling the history of the Revolutionary War. It was very well produced, making use of re-enactors for many scenes, and IMHO, time well spent.
When I was 8, my father was transferred to Norfolk, Virginia. This was the age that I began to develop my fascination for history, particularly American history. One of the great things about living in Virginia was the presence of Colonial history. We were constantly exposed to this history, particularly the Revolutionary War, in school.
While watching the show, I began to wonder how many people in our country today truly understand what Independence Day celebrates. Do they understand the principles upon which this country was founded? Or, is it just a day to light fireworks and drink beer?
In my case, it was both, with the emphasis on the former.
********************
Mrs. BR and I went grocery shopping this afternoon at the local WinCo. Today's theme: Trailer Park meets South of the Border.
********************
Rode the horse yesterday and today. I seem to have made some cognitave breakthrough in my riding ability. It's difficult for me to put my finger on what has changed, but others have noticed and commented on it. In simple terms, it feels that Smokey is responding quicker, and my cues are more subtle. Less use of the reins and bit, more use of light pressure with the spurs. In short, I'm pushing against that barrier that lies between being a horse and rider, and working as one. I know that sounds a bit corny, but that's the best explanation I can find. If you watch the video of Stacy Westfall (two posts ago) you can get a glimpse of what I'm referring to.
When I was 8, my father was transferred to Norfolk, Virginia. This was the age that I began to develop my fascination for history, particularly American history. One of the great things about living in Virginia was the presence of Colonial history. We were constantly exposed to this history, particularly the Revolutionary War, in school.
While watching the show, I began to wonder how many people in our country today truly understand what Independence Day celebrates. Do they understand the principles upon which this country was founded? Or, is it just a day to light fireworks and drink beer?
In my case, it was both, with the emphasis on the former.
********************
Mrs. BR and I went grocery shopping this afternoon at the local WinCo. Today's theme: Trailer Park meets South of the Border.
********************
Rode the horse yesterday and today. I seem to have made some cognitave breakthrough in my riding ability. It's difficult for me to put my finger on what has changed, but others have noticed and commented on it. In simple terms, it feels that Smokey is responding quicker, and my cues are more subtle. Less use of the reins and bit, more use of light pressure with the spurs. In short, I'm pushing against that barrier that lies between being a horse and rider, and working as one. I know that sounds a bit corny, but that's the best explanation I can find. If you watch the video of Stacy Westfall (two posts ago) you can get a glimpse of what I'm referring to.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Happy Birthday, America!
On July 4th, 1776, our Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence.
233 years later, our Republic still stands, warts and all. Happy Birthday!
233 years later, our Republic still stands, warts and all. Happy Birthday!
Breakthroughs
As it turns out, there is much more to riding a horse than merely sitting in the saddle looking good. Which is fortunate, or I’d be doomed from the outset.
Convincing a horse to do what you want, when you want it, involves “cues”. These cues are generally transmitted via the hands, thru the reins and bit, or by leg pressure applied with the calves, heels, or spurs for those of that wear them. The better trained the horse, and the better the rider, the more subtle these cues are. Take this video of Stacy Westfall, for example (it’s a bit long, but please watch):
That’s right; she’s riding bareback, with no headstall. That is a combination of an amazing horse and an amazing rider.
One of the challenges, for me at least, to owning an older horse, is deducing how he was trained, and what his cues are. I have most of them down, although Smokey’s modus operandi is to pretend that he has “forgotten”, particularly when we haven’t worked on something in awhile. He’s not a pushbutton horse. If I don’t cue exactly right, he frequently gives some bizarre response that isn’t even close to what I’m trying to get. This means I’m doing it WRONG. It’s always the rider, never the horse.
For some time I’ve been trying to master the side pass. Side passing means walking sideways. This is not natural for a horse. Watch them in the pasture. You will never see them side passing. Getting Smokey to side pass has been a huge struggle. I usually end up moving his shoulders or his hips, but never both at the same time. The harder I try, the worse it looks.
Wednesday night, after working on collection on turning off leg pressure, we were standing in the middle of the arena, relaxing. Almost subconsciously, I shifted my weight to the left, and gently pushed my left spur into his ribs. He side passed perfectly! Thinking that perhaps I entered the Twilight Zone, I repeated the cues. Again, he side passed. I repeated it again in the other direction.
I frequently relearn the lesson that trying too hard does not always render the desired results. Sometimes you just need to relax and let it come naturally.
I’ll be the guy on the horse that is walking sideways around the arena.
Convincing a horse to do what you want, when you want it, involves “cues”. These cues are generally transmitted via the hands, thru the reins and bit, or by leg pressure applied with the calves, heels, or spurs for those of that wear them. The better trained the horse, and the better the rider, the more subtle these cues are. Take this video of Stacy Westfall, for example (it’s a bit long, but please watch):
That’s right; she’s riding bareback, with no headstall. That is a combination of an amazing horse and an amazing rider.
One of the challenges, for me at least, to owning an older horse, is deducing how he was trained, and what his cues are. I have most of them down, although Smokey’s modus operandi is to pretend that he has “forgotten”, particularly when we haven’t worked on something in awhile. He’s not a pushbutton horse. If I don’t cue exactly right, he frequently gives some bizarre response that isn’t even close to what I’m trying to get. This means I’m doing it WRONG. It’s always the rider, never the horse.
For some time I’ve been trying to master the side pass. Side passing means walking sideways. This is not natural for a horse. Watch them in the pasture. You will never see them side passing. Getting Smokey to side pass has been a huge struggle. I usually end up moving his shoulders or his hips, but never both at the same time. The harder I try, the worse it looks.
Wednesday night, after working on collection on turning off leg pressure, we were standing in the middle of the arena, relaxing. Almost subconsciously, I shifted my weight to the left, and gently pushed my left spur into his ribs. He side passed perfectly! Thinking that perhaps I entered the Twilight Zone, I repeated the cues. Again, he side passed. I repeated it again in the other direction.
I frequently relearn the lesson that trying too hard does not always render the desired results. Sometimes you just need to relax and let it come naturally.
I’ll be the guy on the horse that is walking sideways around the arena.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Yet Another Reminder Why I'm Proud to be an American
I just finished watching Somali Pirate Takedown The Real Story on the Discovery Channel.
The Navy did a superb job. The right people made the right decisions at the right time. But they are trained professionals. This is what they do.
IMHO, the true heroes of this story are the crew of the Maersk Alabama. Civilians, not trained, or armed, for interdiction on the high seas, they refused to let the pirates take their ship. They fought back. And won.
The Navy did a superb job. The right people made the right decisions at the right time. But they are trained professionals. This is what they do.
IMHO, the true heroes of this story are the crew of the Maersk Alabama. Civilians, not trained, or armed, for interdiction on the high seas, they refused to let the pirates take their ship. They fought back. And won.
The Art of Cinching Up a Saddle, Part The Last
Smokey's last "episode" came shortly after the incident at the saddle shop. I was not present, so I am relaying this story second hand.
Mrs. BR, DN2, and DN3 were going on a trail ride. One of them was going to use Smokey. As the other horses are easy to saddle up, and they did not routinely ride Smokey, it slipped their minds to take care. The cinch was tightened in one fell swoop. And, of course, the horse rears up and flops over. However, there was one key difference. The previous times, I had been holding his lead rope. This time he was tied to a fence railing. He landed with his head and neck stretched out, suffocating himself on his halter. His eyes rolled back in his head. Mrs. BR told me the thought passed through her head to just let him kill himself and put an end to this nonsense.
Realizing, of course, that I might not take too kindly to such things, she undid the quick release knot on the rope, thus thwarting Smokey's effort to travel over the Rainbow Bridge.
It has been close to three years since he has overreacted to being cinched up. I've learned to tighten the cinch incrementally. He will put up a token protest, dancing around a bit, but I just ignore it, and it quickly stops.
The question arises: Why would a horse behave so while being cinched up? There is no way to be certain of course, but I suspect one of two possibilities.
1. A previous owner frequently cinched him up too tight, causing him to be in pain.
2. This behavior scared a previous owner, who would, instead of ignoring it, unsaddle him and put him back in the pasture. This would have taught him that behaving badly resulted in what for him was a reward.
I tend to lean towards the latter option. Through the grapevine I've heard that he had an owner who was scared of him. This behavior certainly scared members of my family.
One of the things I've learned in my limited experience is that most horses have their quirks. Some quirks can be trained out of them, but with others, we have to decide if we are willing to live with them. If the quirk is dangerous, such as bucking or rearing, it's time for a different horse. Otherwise we just cope with, and for the most part, ignore, the habit. Smokey has learned that bad behavior will not be rewarded, and that I am not going to go away. I have learned to tolerate the little things that really just don't matter.
Horses are capable of teaching us a great deal about ourselves, if we are smart enough to pay attention.
Mrs. BR, DN2, and DN3 were going on a trail ride. One of them was going to use Smokey. As the other horses are easy to saddle up, and they did not routinely ride Smokey, it slipped their minds to take care. The cinch was tightened in one fell swoop. And, of course, the horse rears up and flops over. However, there was one key difference. The previous times, I had been holding his lead rope. This time he was tied to a fence railing. He landed with his head and neck stretched out, suffocating himself on his halter. His eyes rolled back in his head. Mrs. BR told me the thought passed through her head to just let him kill himself and put an end to this nonsense.
Realizing, of course, that I might not take too kindly to such things, she undid the quick release knot on the rope, thus thwarting Smokey's effort to travel over the Rainbow Bridge.
It has been close to three years since he has overreacted to being cinched up. I've learned to tighten the cinch incrementally. He will put up a token protest, dancing around a bit, but I just ignore it, and it quickly stops.
The question arises: Why would a horse behave so while being cinched up? There is no way to be certain of course, but I suspect one of two possibilities.
1. A previous owner frequently cinched him up too tight, causing him to be in pain.
2. This behavior scared a previous owner, who would, instead of ignoring it, unsaddle him and put him back in the pasture. This would have taught him that behaving badly resulted in what for him was a reward.
I tend to lean towards the latter option. Through the grapevine I've heard that he had an owner who was scared of him. This behavior certainly scared members of my family.
One of the things I've learned in my limited experience is that most horses have their quirks. Some quirks can be trained out of them, but with others, we have to decide if we are willing to live with them. If the quirk is dangerous, such as bucking or rearing, it's time for a different horse. Otherwise we just cope with, and for the most part, ignore, the habit. Smokey has learned that bad behavior will not be rewarded, and that I am not going to go away. I have learned to tolerate the little things that really just don't matter.
Horses are capable of teaching us a great deal about ourselves, if we are smart enough to pay attention.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Titles
Some people get a little too wrapped up in their titles.
Demanding that someone refer to you by a certain title is small minded at best, and arrogant at worst. When I was a Senior Chief and Master Chief in the World's Greatest Navy, I never once admonished any sailor who omitted "Senior" or "Master" and simply referred to me as "Chief". Being called Chief was sign of respect enough. I'm certain that more than a few sailors had other titles which were reserved for use when I wasn't around. Heck, I'd be disappointed if they didn't, since that would mean I probably wasn't doing my job.
In the military, the use of the words "ma'am" or "sir" are used as signs of respect when addressing an officer. If Ms. Boxer would take a moment to step past her arrogant ignorance, she would realize that being addressed as "ma'am" by the good General was a larger sign of respect than being addressed by a title simply bestowed upon her by the voters of her district.
Demanding that someone refer to you by a certain title is small minded at best, and arrogant at worst. When I was a Senior Chief and Master Chief in the World's Greatest Navy, I never once admonished any sailor who omitted "Senior" or "Master" and simply referred to me as "Chief". Being called Chief was sign of respect enough. I'm certain that more than a few sailors had other titles which were reserved for use when I wasn't around. Heck, I'd be disappointed if they didn't, since that would mean I probably wasn't doing my job.
In the military, the use of the words "ma'am" or "sir" are used as signs of respect when addressing an officer. If Ms. Boxer would take a moment to step past her arrogant ignorance, she would realize that being addressed as "ma'am" by the good General was a larger sign of respect than being addressed by a title simply bestowed upon her by the voters of her district.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Government Broadcasting Company
This gives me an uneasy feeling.
Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it somehow feels like the beginnings of state run media. Something we would expect to occur in Venezuela, not the United States.
"ABCNEWS prides itself on covering all sides of important issues and asking direct questions of all newsmakers -- of all political persuasions -- even when others have taken a more partisan approach and even in the face of criticism from extremes on both ends of the political spectrum. ABCNEWS is looking for the most thoughtful and diverse voices on this issue.
"ABCNEWS alone will select those who will be in the audience asking questions of the president. Like any programs we broadcast, ABC News will have complete editorial control. To suggest otherwise is quite unfair to both our journalists and our audience."
I nearly choked on my beer when I read that. Bullshit!
If the man wants to give a speech, then why not give one, and encourage it to be aired on all the major stations. Why cozy up to ABC, at the exclusion of others? And, will ABC permit any rebuttal speeches? Somehow I doubt it.
ABC will no longer be able to feign an air of impartiality. Of course, those of us who have been paying attention have long ago realized where the loyalty of the main stream media lies. What worries me the most is a gnawing fear that the average citizen will not take notice of this impropriety. Too many people choose to be ignorant, stupid, or uniformed. Those who speak up against it are quickly shouted down.
If this proves to be an isolated occurence, then I will have gotten my knickers in a twist over nothing. I hope I am wrong, truly I do.
Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it somehow feels like the beginnings of state run media. Something we would expect to occur in Venezuela, not the United States.
"ABCNEWS prides itself on covering all sides of important issues and asking direct questions of all newsmakers -- of all political persuasions -- even when others have taken a more partisan approach and even in the face of criticism from extremes on both ends of the political spectrum. ABCNEWS is looking for the most thoughtful and diverse voices on this issue.
"ABCNEWS alone will select those who will be in the audience asking questions of the president. Like any programs we broadcast, ABC News will have complete editorial control. To suggest otherwise is quite unfair to both our journalists and our audience."
I nearly choked on my beer when I read that. Bullshit!
If the man wants to give a speech, then why not give one, and encourage it to be aired on all the major stations. Why cozy up to ABC, at the exclusion of others? And, will ABC permit any rebuttal speeches? Somehow I doubt it.
ABC will no longer be able to feign an air of impartiality. Of course, those of us who have been paying attention have long ago realized where the loyalty of the main stream media lies. What worries me the most is a gnawing fear that the average citizen will not take notice of this impropriety. Too many people choose to be ignorant, stupid, or uniformed. Those who speak up against it are quickly shouted down.
If this proves to be an isolated occurence, then I will have gotten my knickers in a twist over nothing. I hope I am wrong, truly I do.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Rise and Fall of Civilization
This story was linked on Drudge late last week.
Slowly, quietly, seemingly unknown to the population at large, once great cities in the United States are dying. I was taken aback by the names on the list. Detroit, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Memphis. Buck and others have blogged about the decline of Detroit, but I had little idea that the problem extended so far. My initial reaction is one of sadness. I try to imagine the plight of the people forced to walk away from their homes, losing their investment, and perhaps their dreams, moving to someplace unknown in search of better opportunity.
However, upon stepping back and casting an analytical eye toward this, one realizes that this is simply part of the cycle of civilization. Cities have sprouted, thrived, and withered into history for centuries. Carthage. Spartus. Troy. Thebes. Once, thriving metropolises which are now relegated to names in the history books. Why should we be any different? Because we are modern? More civilized?
I could bloviate, ad nauseum, regarding the reason these cities have declined. Politics, race, business, you name it. The reasons are what they are, and ruminating about them now will not change the facts.
Regarding the razing the abandoned portions of these cities. I'm sure some will rail against the thought of tax dollars being used for this reason. I for one am in favor of it. We need to clean up after ourselves. Return these areas back to nature. The die has been cast as far as the Stimulus Package goes. We cannot put that tiger back in it's cage. The effort to raze the abandoned sections of these towns will at least create some jobs for those who are still holding on.
And it simply makes sense. If the city is physically smaller, it will reduce the stress on basic services, such as fire, police, and sanitation. Give these areas a shot at survival.
Now, if only we could convince them to raze Seattle.
“The government, looking at expanding a pioneering scheme in Flint, one of the poorest US cities, which involves razing entire districts and returning the land to nature.”
Slowly, quietly, seemingly unknown to the population at large, once great cities in the United States are dying. I was taken aback by the names on the list. Detroit, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Memphis. Buck and others have blogged about the decline of Detroit, but I had little idea that the problem extended so far. My initial reaction is one of sadness. I try to imagine the plight of the people forced to walk away from their homes, losing their investment, and perhaps their dreams, moving to someplace unknown in search of better opportunity.
However, upon stepping back and casting an analytical eye toward this, one realizes that this is simply part of the cycle of civilization. Cities have sprouted, thrived, and withered into history for centuries. Carthage. Spartus. Troy. Thebes. Once, thriving metropolises which are now relegated to names in the history books. Why should we be any different? Because we are modern? More civilized?
I could bloviate, ad nauseum, regarding the reason these cities have declined. Politics, race, business, you name it. The reasons are what they are, and ruminating about them now will not change the facts.
Regarding the razing the abandoned portions of these cities. I'm sure some will rail against the thought of tax dollars being used for this reason. I for one am in favor of it. We need to clean up after ourselves. Return these areas back to nature. The die has been cast as far as the Stimulus Package goes. We cannot put that tiger back in it's cage. The effort to raze the abandoned sections of these towns will at least create some jobs for those who are still holding on.
And it simply makes sense. If the city is physically smaller, it will reduce the stress on basic services, such as fire, police, and sanitation. Give these areas a shot at survival.
Now, if only we could convince them to raze Seattle.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Art of Cinching up a Saddle, Part II
After the event described in the previous post, the problem settled down to a mild annoyance. I learned to tighten the cinch in increments, and he learned not to flip himself over. He would squirm and shuffle around as I snugged up the cinch, but in comparison to his circus act, I was willing to live with this. One benefit of the dancing around is that I soon learned to keep track of where his feet were in relation to mine. A cowboy boot will lose to a #2 horseshoe every time. It also tends to result in the nearby air turning a shade of blue as I express my displeasure.
Many beginning horse people go through a stage that I simply refer to as the “will I ever find a decent saddle that fits my horse, is comfortable for my butt, and that I can afford” phase. We are usually destitute from buying the horse, so purchasing top of the line tack is generally not in the cards. Craigslist and the Auction become our friends.
The first saddle I purchased was a cheap POS. So bad in fact, that I threw it in the trash after a month, as my conscience would not let me sell it to anyone. The second saddle was better. It was comfortable to ride in, and it fit Smokey well enough, if only for a little while.
Smokey had seen little riding for the two years prior. As I started riding him and feeding him better, he began to bulk up. By spring, saddle the second was becoming too tight on his withers.
Fed up with this nonsense, I loaded Smokey in the trailer, and off to the tack store we went.
My favorite tack shop is owned by a Texan named Mike. This man can sell you your own shirt if you aren’t paying attention. But, he’s an honest fellow, and he won’t steer you wrong, because he wants you to come back and spend more money at his place of business, as well as sending all your friends.
Mike sized Smokey up, and then headed into the store. He carried out three saddles, and alternately set them on Smokey’s back. The two that provided the best fit were both Crates saddles. Mike began cinching up the one that was currently on the horse.
“Be careful Mike, he’s a bit cinchy.”
In hindsight maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. It could very well be that I invoked a self fulfilling prophecy
As you’ve probably guessed, Smokey was now standing high on his back legs. I remember contemplating how much it was going to cost to get my new, broken saddle repaired. I also wondered if he would throw himself down, in a repeat of the first experience.
Not one to disappoint, Smokey toppled over like a tree, landing on his right side again. “I guess I’ll buy that one” was the prevalent thought in my mind.
As the horse got up, wearing the same dopey, embarrassed look as the previous time, Mike turned to me and asked, “what was that?”
“I warned you.”
Now that Smokey was back on his feet, I looked the saddle over while Mike checked the fit. I was relieved to see that it had suffered no damage. Mike declared it to be a good fit, and proving himself the salesmen he is, managed to up sell me on a saddle pad, and cinch. With my wallet lighter to the tune of $1200, I loaded the horse and saddle, and set off for home.
I still have the saddle. Heck, I still have the horse, too. Smooth talking salesman or no, Mike knows his saddles. It fits Smokey as though it were custom made for him, and is incredibly comfortable for me. It has never once slipped, even on those rare occasions where the cinch was not quite as snug as it should have been. I loaned it to a friend once, and she promptly went out and bought two of them.
The tale does not end here, however…
Many beginning horse people go through a stage that I simply refer to as the “will I ever find a decent saddle that fits my horse, is comfortable for my butt, and that I can afford” phase. We are usually destitute from buying the horse, so purchasing top of the line tack is generally not in the cards. Craigslist and the Auction become our friends.
The first saddle I purchased was a cheap POS. So bad in fact, that I threw it in the trash after a month, as my conscience would not let me sell it to anyone. The second saddle was better. It was comfortable to ride in, and it fit Smokey well enough, if only for a little while.
Smokey had seen little riding for the two years prior. As I started riding him and feeding him better, he began to bulk up. By spring, saddle the second was becoming too tight on his withers.
Fed up with this nonsense, I loaded Smokey in the trailer, and off to the tack store we went.
My favorite tack shop is owned by a Texan named Mike. This man can sell you your own shirt if you aren’t paying attention. But, he’s an honest fellow, and he won’t steer you wrong, because he wants you to come back and spend more money at his place of business, as well as sending all your friends.
Mike sized Smokey up, and then headed into the store. He carried out three saddles, and alternately set them on Smokey’s back. The two that provided the best fit were both Crates saddles. Mike began cinching up the one that was currently on the horse.
“Be careful Mike, he’s a bit cinchy.”
In hindsight maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. It could very well be that I invoked a self fulfilling prophecy
As you’ve probably guessed, Smokey was now standing high on his back legs. I remember contemplating how much it was going to cost to get my new, broken saddle repaired. I also wondered if he would throw himself down, in a repeat of the first experience.
Not one to disappoint, Smokey toppled over like a tree, landing on his right side again. “I guess I’ll buy that one” was the prevalent thought in my mind.
As the horse got up, wearing the same dopey, embarrassed look as the previous time, Mike turned to me and asked, “what was that?”
“I warned you.”
Now that Smokey was back on his feet, I looked the saddle over while Mike checked the fit. I was relieved to see that it had suffered no damage. Mike declared it to be a good fit, and proving himself the salesmen he is, managed to up sell me on a saddle pad, and cinch. With my wallet lighter to the tune of $1200, I loaded the horse and saddle, and set off for home.
I still have the saddle. Heck, I still have the horse, too. Smooth talking salesman or no, Mike knows his saddles. It fits Smokey as though it were custom made for him, and is incredibly comfortable for me. It has never once slipped, even on those rare occasions where the cinch was not quite as snug as it should have been. I loaned it to a friend once, and she promptly went out and bought two of them.
The tale does not end here, however…
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Art of Cinching up a Saddle
I purchased Smokey in November of 2005, when he was 16, and I was 39, and as green as the grass where horses are concerned. The only thing I knew was that he looked amazing, and that I must have him for my very own.
In short order, Smokey and I were off to our first riding lesson. I'm at the age now where if I don't know how to do something, I will readily admit it. False bravado will at best make you look stupid, or at worst result in serious injury or death, at least where a 16HH, 1100 lb horse is concerned. Having no desire to become a statistic, I set out to learn the basics.
One of the first things was to get old boy saddled up. While I held the lead rope, the trainer placed the saddle blanket and saddle on his back, showing me proper placement. Following this, she ran the latigo through the cinch, and pulled the cinch up tight.
It's rather amazing how tall a horse can get when standing on it's back two legs. Why do I mention this, you ask? Why simple, dear reader, because Smokey had reared up instantly, and I was looking up at his head which was by now somewhere in the rafters.
With the realization that my arms were getting longer, and vaguely aware of someone shouting "let go of the lead rope", I dropped the rope, and backed away from my registered American Quarter Giraffe, pondering how this act was going to play out.
Not one to disappoint an audience, Smokey set out to really show us. Like a tree being felled, he threw himself down on his right side.
As the dust settled, the trainer asked me, "did you buy this horse?"
"Yes."
"That's too bad." I remember being pissed at this comment. Could she not see that this was the most beautiful horse in the world, and he was simply having a moment?
Don't let anyone ever tell you that a horse can't look sheepish and embarrassed. For that was exactly the look in Smokey's eyes after he got back up and walked over to stand by me. This was the only display of bad behavior that evening. The rest of the lesson went well.
At some point, the trainer commented, "he likes you". I took great satisfaction in that.
To be continued...
In short order, Smokey and I were off to our first riding lesson. I'm at the age now where if I don't know how to do something, I will readily admit it. False bravado will at best make you look stupid, or at worst result in serious injury or death, at least where a 16HH, 1100 lb horse is concerned. Having no desire to become a statistic, I set out to learn the basics.
One of the first things was to get old boy saddled up. While I held the lead rope, the trainer placed the saddle blanket and saddle on his back, showing me proper placement. Following this, she ran the latigo through the cinch, and pulled the cinch up tight.
It's rather amazing how tall a horse can get when standing on it's back two legs. Why do I mention this, you ask? Why simple, dear reader, because Smokey had reared up instantly, and I was looking up at his head which was by now somewhere in the rafters.
With the realization that my arms were getting longer, and vaguely aware of someone shouting "let go of the lead rope", I dropped the rope, and backed away from my registered American Quarter Giraffe, pondering how this act was going to play out.
Not one to disappoint an audience, Smokey set out to really show us. Like a tree being felled, he threw himself down on his right side.
As the dust settled, the trainer asked me, "did you buy this horse?"
"Yes."
"That's too bad." I remember being pissed at this comment. Could she not see that this was the most beautiful horse in the world, and he was simply having a moment?
Don't let anyone ever tell you that a horse can't look sheepish and embarrassed. For that was exactly the look in Smokey's eyes after he got back up and walked over to stand by me. This was the only display of bad behavior that evening. The rest of the lesson went well.
At some point, the trainer commented, "he likes you". I took great satisfaction in that.
To be continued...
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Gaming Day, Part Deux...
Towards the end of Gaming Day, there are "team" events. One of the more, uh, interesting (dangerous?) events is known as Hangman.
Hangman consist of two riders, one horse, and a tire suspended in the air. The goal is to ride over to the tire, where the passenger grabs the tire and hangs from it, while the horse and rider run down to a barrel, around it, and then back to pick up the "hangman".
In the interest of understatement, let us just say that many of the horses are none to keen about getting close enough to the hangman. Hilarity can, and usually does, ensue. Oh, did I mention that the tire is filled with cold water, just to liven things up for the lucky soul hanging below.
DN2 and her boyfriend decided they wanted to try Hangman. They practiced riding double, just to make sure Dozer would tolerate it.
But, as many of us know, sometimes the real thing turns out a bit differently:
Beyond some bumps and scrapes, and bit of embarrassment, no one was hurt.
Hangman consist of two riders, one horse, and a tire suspended in the air. The goal is to ride over to the tire, where the passenger grabs the tire and hangs from it, while the horse and rider run down to a barrel, around it, and then back to pick up the "hangman".
In the interest of understatement, let us just say that many of the horses are none to keen about getting close enough to the hangman. Hilarity can, and usually does, ensue. Oh, did I mention that the tire is filled with cold water, just to liven things up for the lucky soul hanging below.
DN2 and her boyfriend decided they wanted to try Hangman. They practiced riding double, just to make sure Dozer would tolerate it.
But, as many of us know, sometimes the real thing turns out a bit differently:
Beyond some bumps and scrapes, and bit of embarrassment, no one was hurt.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Gaming Day
Since it is no longer considered socially acceptable to ride the wild and woolly West for to mete out range justice wherever it may be needed, we horse folks have been forced to turn to other venues for our entertainment. To this end, one of the local riding clubs sponsors a monthly Gaming Day. Gaming consists of timed events, the most well known being Barrel Racing. Other events have catchy titles such as International Flags, Cal Stake, Texas Rollback, and Pole Bending, to name a few.
As you’ve probably surmised by now, today was Gaming Day. The weather could not have been better, and there was a great turnout. DN2, DN3, and I would be riding today.
These gatherings tend toward the chaotic for the first few hours, what with many of the horses being rather high strung, combined with a number of people of questionable breeding. Smokey, being half Thoroughbred (I like to blame it on that, anyway), reacts very strongly to his surroundings. This tends to manifest itself in a general unwillingness to be parted from the horses of his “herd”. Disregard the fact that he treats them with a general sense of disdain, if not outright hostility, at home. He suddenly has the epiphany that they are now his best chums.
During warm up, he spent a great deal of time throwing his head around, in part because he’s part doofus, and in part because I was constantly on the bit to prevent Flash Gordon from bolting to make the mad dash back to the trailer where his pals were. Needless to say, we both had a pretty good sweat going prior to the first event.
The first two events weren’t much better. With ants in his pants, he absolutely would not stand still while waiting to go in the arena. While making our runs, he was headed only he knows where, causing us to zigzag down the course as I constantly corrected his direction of travel.
By the end of the second event, I was ready to hang the FOR SALE sign around his neck. Perhaps trade him for a bottle of water, or a cold beer.
Now, the horse folks reading this have probably already figured out what is happening here. Horses are very sensitive to their rider. As he got amped up, I got amped, in turn causing him to get more amped up, which caused me to get more amped up, ad nauseum. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s up to the rider to break the chain.
After the second run, I dismounted, collected my thoughts, and put myself in the correct framer of mind. Remounting, we rode over to the end of the arena where the entrance gate is. My only goal was for him to stand still. We didn’t actually spend any significant amount of time standing still, and I must have said the word “whoa” about 1456 times, but we never left the area near the gate. A great many circles, plenty of backing up, but he did not get his way.
When we entered the waiting box for the Pole Bending competition, he stood stock still. Success! I was relaxed, and in turn, he was relaxed. The event went perfectly. To wit:
We clearly didn’t set any course records, but we were in control the entire time, and didn’t knock over any poles.
In the next few events, I really opened him up. Damn, he’s fast! Sadly, no one got video of those times. I’ll correct that situation next month.
As you’ve probably surmised by now, today was Gaming Day. The weather could not have been better, and there was a great turnout. DN2, DN3, and I would be riding today.
These gatherings tend toward the chaotic for the first few hours, what with many of the horses being rather high strung, combined with a number of people of questionable breeding. Smokey, being half Thoroughbred (I like to blame it on that, anyway), reacts very strongly to his surroundings. This tends to manifest itself in a general unwillingness to be parted from the horses of his “herd”. Disregard the fact that he treats them with a general sense of disdain, if not outright hostility, at home. He suddenly has the epiphany that they are now his best chums.
During warm up, he spent a great deal of time throwing his head around, in part because he’s part doofus, and in part because I was constantly on the bit to prevent Flash Gordon from bolting to make the mad dash back to the trailer where his pals were. Needless to say, we both had a pretty good sweat going prior to the first event.
The first two events weren’t much better. With ants in his pants, he absolutely would not stand still while waiting to go in the arena. While making our runs, he was headed only he knows where, causing us to zigzag down the course as I constantly corrected his direction of travel.
By the end of the second event, I was ready to hang the FOR SALE sign around his neck. Perhaps trade him for a bottle of water, or a cold beer.
Now, the horse folks reading this have probably already figured out what is happening here. Horses are very sensitive to their rider. As he got amped up, I got amped, in turn causing him to get more amped up, which caused me to get more amped up, ad nauseum. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s up to the rider to break the chain.
After the second run, I dismounted, collected my thoughts, and put myself in the correct framer of mind. Remounting, we rode over to the end of the arena where the entrance gate is. My only goal was for him to stand still. We didn’t actually spend any significant amount of time standing still, and I must have said the word “whoa” about 1456 times, but we never left the area near the gate. A great many circles, plenty of backing up, but he did not get his way.
When we entered the waiting box for the Pole Bending competition, he stood stock still. Success! I was relaxed, and in turn, he was relaxed. The event went perfectly. To wit:
We clearly didn’t set any course records, but we were in control the entire time, and didn’t knock over any poles.
In the next few events, I really opened him up. Damn, he’s fast! Sadly, no one got video of those times. I’ll correct that situation next month.
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