I love the singing of "Celtic Woman". I've been known to watch their concerts on the telly more than once. The family BR thinks me a bit daft, but I like enjoy their singing.
Since childhood, I have also loved Christmas music. That has not changed as I have aged.
So, Celtic Woman and Christmas Music. I must search out a CD.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Issue
The current occupant of the White House recently signed a bill which will allow the horse slaughter industry to resume operation within the United States. Make no mistake, the industry itself did not end, it merely resulted in horses being shipped to Canada and Mexico where the unseemly deed was carried out.
I've been waffling over whether to post about this issue. As a result of my delay, Jessica over at the Spotty Horse News beat me to the punch with this post, and this one. Both are well written, cutting to the heart of the matter. Horse slaughter does not exist because greedy people want to make a buck selling their meat to those who will eat it. It exists, as Jessica points out, because we have allowed the breeding of too many horses. The situation is exacerbated by current economic woes, causing good people to be faced with terrible choices.
This is an issue over which I am torn. While I understand why it happens, I am not in favor of the practice. One need only look into the eyes of horse, and see the intelligence hidden behind them to know that this is a fate they do not deserve. I would have a veterinarian euthanize my horses before I would send them to a kill pen, or worse, abandon them to face starvation.
I've been waffling over whether to post about this issue. As a result of my delay, Jessica over at the Spotty Horse News beat me to the punch with this post, and this one. Both are well written, cutting to the heart of the matter. Horse slaughter does not exist because greedy people want to make a buck selling their meat to those who will eat it. It exists, as Jessica points out, because we have allowed the breeding of too many horses. The situation is exacerbated by current economic woes, causing good people to be faced with terrible choices.
This is an issue over which I am torn. While I understand why it happens, I am not in favor of the practice. One need only look into the eyes of horse, and see the intelligence hidden behind them to know that this is a fate they do not deserve. I would have a veterinarian euthanize my horses before I would send them to a kill pen, or worse, abandon them to face starvation.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Good Neighbors
In 1900, Frederick Weyerhaeuser purchased 900,000 acres of prime Washington timberland from the Great Northern Railway, thus establishing the Weyerhaeuser Timber Company and it's legacy in this state. Depending on your personal feelings, that legacy may or may not be somewhat dubious, considering the vast swaths of old growth forests which were felled in the first half of the 20th Century.
But that isn't the subject of this post. For the most part, Weyerhaeuser has been a good neighbor, permitting non-motorized recreation on their lands, provided it was compatible with logging operations. Hiking, horseback riding, hunting, etc.
In the past decade, Weyerhaeuser has sold most, if not all, of their timberland to an investment group, who shall remain unnamed. By all accounts, they were continuing the tradition of permitting recreation on the lands.
At least until Dec. 31st of this year. Effective Jan. 1, 2012, non-motorized recreation access will require the purchase of permit, at $75 per person, or $150 for the family. The claim is that this is for equitable treatment and to establish rules for behavior on the lands. I tend to believe that ill-behaved recreational users will scoff at the permit, and perpetrate bad behavior undeterred.
I, and others with whom I've discussed the matter, are inclined to believe that, this is nothing more than a means to make a few extra dollars. Recall that the current owners are an "investment group", charged with making money for their shareholders.
There are millions of acres of public timberland in this state. I'll keep my $75, thank you.
But that isn't the subject of this post. For the most part, Weyerhaeuser has been a good neighbor, permitting non-motorized recreation on their lands, provided it was compatible with logging operations. Hiking, horseback riding, hunting, etc.
In the past decade, Weyerhaeuser has sold most, if not all, of their timberland to an investment group, who shall remain unnamed. By all accounts, they were continuing the tradition of permitting recreation on the lands.
At least until Dec. 31st of this year. Effective Jan. 1, 2012, non-motorized recreation access will require the purchase of permit, at $75 per person, or $150 for the family. The claim is that this is for equitable treatment and to establish rules for behavior on the lands. I tend to believe that ill-behaved recreational users will scoff at the permit, and perpetrate bad behavior undeterred.
I, and others with whom I've discussed the matter, are inclined to believe that, this is nothing more than a means to make a few extra dollars. Recall that the current owners are an "investment group", charged with making money for their shareholders.
There are millions of acres of public timberland in this state. I'll keep my $75, thank you.
On The Subject of Comment Notification
As it turns out, all of the notifications were in my spam folder. Makes you wonder way gmail would think that comments form Google blogger are spam. Sigh...at least I know where to look from now on.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Grrr...
For reasons unbeknownst to me, I am receiving only sporadic email notifications of comments left on my blog. Thus, my failure to acknowledge your comments is not intentional.
In the same vein, I'm not receiving notifications of comments left on other blogs. I diligently click the box requesting notice of follow on comments, but, alas!, none is received.
I'm not sure how much one can complain about a free service, but still...
In the same vein, I'm not receiving notifications of comments left on other blogs. I diligently click the box requesting notice of follow on comments, but, alas!, none is received.
I'm not sure how much one can complain about a free service, but still...
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving!
And I am thankful for being an American. For all the current problems and differences we face, we still live in a land of opportunity paralleled by none.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Winter Wonderland
The Blacktail Deer population of Western Washington are pleased to report they survived another season of yours truly lugging his rifle over the hill and through the woods. I aspire to one day approach hunting in a more serious fashion, scouting in the spring and summer, planning each hunt in detail, sighting in my rifle, and having my gear meticulously packed weeks in advance.
As it stands, my current technique is more akin to "I think I'll go hunting this weekend. Has anyone seen my rifle?".
My outdoor equipment is kept in a series of rubbermaid bins, clearly marked with the subject of their contents, such as "camping", "hunting", and, of course, two marked "horse". On the surface this would seem to simplify matters, except for the one variable in the equation. Me. I tend to lack consistency in where I put certain essential items, such as my Survival & First Aid Kits. Since they are most often carried when riding, they can usually be found in the horse bin. But if last carried while hunting, I probably left them in the aforementioned hunting bin. Or worse, left them in an unrelated location. Case in point: my binoculars are sitting on my dresser right now, where I put them to dry. With any luck, I might return them to their proper location before next season.
The net result is that packing consists of a mad scramble to find and pack my gear, and usually consists of me throwing things around the garage and cursing, all while attempting to locate theless important items, such as bullets and hunting license.
When one considers that Blacktail Deer are considered by many to be the most elusive, difficult to hunt members of genus Odocoileus, it becomes clear that I am not exactly setting myself up for success. Maybe someday. At least I enjoy being out in the wilderness.
Mother Nature was kind in that she provided a nice treat in the Cascade Foothills this past weekend:
At times, it was snowing so hard that visibility was down to a hundred yards. I had to keep shaking the accumulated snow off my hat.
There was no wind, and when one stopped and stood perfectly still, the most noticeable thing was the unbroken silence. Not a sound. Nary a rustling leaf, or chirping bird. The kind of silence that should only be found in a tomb. Eerie is the only word that adequately describes the sensation.
Since it was deer season, the elk were plentiful:
As it stands, my current technique is more akin to "I think I'll go hunting this weekend. Has anyone seen my rifle?".
My outdoor equipment is kept in a series of rubbermaid bins, clearly marked with the subject of their contents, such as "camping", "hunting", and, of course, two marked "horse". On the surface this would seem to simplify matters, except for the one variable in the equation. Me. I tend to lack consistency in where I put certain essential items, such as my Survival & First Aid Kits. Since they are most often carried when riding, they can usually be found in the horse bin. But if last carried while hunting, I probably left them in the aforementioned hunting bin. Or worse, left them in an unrelated location. Case in point: my binoculars are sitting on my dresser right now, where I put them to dry. With any luck, I might return them to their proper location before next season.
The net result is that packing consists of a mad scramble to find and pack my gear, and usually consists of me throwing things around the garage and cursing, all while attempting to locate the
When one considers that Blacktail Deer are considered by many to be the most elusive, difficult to hunt members of genus Odocoileus, it becomes clear that I am not exactly setting myself up for success. Maybe someday. At least I enjoy being out in the wilderness.
Mother Nature was kind in that she provided a nice treat in the Cascade Foothills this past weekend:
At times, it was snowing so hard that visibility was down to a hundred yards. I had to keep shaking the accumulated snow off my hat.
There was no wind, and when one stopped and stood perfectly still, the most noticeable thing was the unbroken silence. Not a sound. Nary a rustling leaf, or chirping bird. The kind of silence that should only be found in a tomb. Eerie is the only word that adequately describes the sensation.
Since it was deer season, the elk were plentiful:
Can you see her? (Click to enlarge)
A rather good weekend, I daresay.
In other news, Smokey Joe got a new blanket. I think the color is rather apropos, myself.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Another One Off the Bucket List
Since my blogging has been rather non-existent lame as of late, I haven't shared my latest "new adventure while riding a horse", which occurred while packing gear into elk camp.
After the first trip in, unloading the gear, lunch, beer, and other appropriate lollygagging at camp, my nephew and I made the two hour ride back to the trailers to pick up the rest of the gear. After more beer, chocolate chip cookies from the folks semi-permanently camped at the trailhead, and loading up the panniers, we mounted up and headed out, pack horses in tow. Departure time may have been on the wrong side of 6pm. No worries, we should make it to camp before dark.
I wasn't wearing a timepiece, so I don't have any reference times, but it did not seem all that long before the light began to fail. And I do mean fail. The moon was out, but it rarely penetrated the canopy of the heavy timber. Soon, it looked like something like this:
I exaggerate only slightly. The only things I could make out in the dark were Smokey's neck (there's something to be said for a Buttermilk Buckskin), and the occasional cross-section of fallen trees which had been cut from the trail, which provided the only assurance that we were still on the trail. I was riding lead, ponying the Appaloosa (Jack) pictured in a previous post, and, as I saw it, I had two choices:
1. Trust my horse, or
2. Trust my horse
I opted to trust my horse. For all his antics in the arena, Smokey has long since proven himself to be the wise old trail horse, who is no slouch in the wilderness. We weren't about to break out flashlights, as that would only serve to ruin the night vision of our trusted steeds. On we rode.
I'm not big on talking when riding the trail. For me, quiet is a key component of the wilderness experience. The solitude this night was amplified by the complete darkness, the quiet broken only by the soft sound of hooves on the trail, and the occasional snort of equine nostrils. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I found that, with nothing to concentrate on, save my own thoughts, I reveled in the feeling of senses stripped bare.
All good things come to an end, and before long the raw glow of a lantern appeared through the trees, snapping me out of my reverie. The horses, not surprisingly, had found camp. Soon, the gear was unloaded, horses settled, watered, and fed, and we settled in to a warm dinner ourselves, this new experience behind me.
On a side note, an old packer once told me that when riding at night, hanging a glow stick from your neck would light the trail ahead of you. I can attest, from experience this night, that the claim is pure horse puckey. I gave this a try, and the only noticeable effect was total loss of what little night vision I had. Within two minutes, I shoved it in a pocket, never to be tried again.
After the first trip in, unloading the gear, lunch, beer, and other appropriate lollygagging at camp, my nephew and I made the two hour ride back to the trailers to pick up the rest of the gear. After more beer, chocolate chip cookies from the folks semi-permanently camped at the trailhead, and loading up the panniers, we mounted up and headed out, pack horses in tow. Departure time may have been on the wrong side of 6pm. No worries, we should make it to camp before dark.
I wasn't wearing a timepiece, so I don't have any reference times, but it did not seem all that long before the light began to fail. And I do mean fail. The moon was out, but it rarely penetrated the canopy of the heavy timber. Soon, it looked like something like this:
I exaggerate only slightly. The only things I could make out in the dark were Smokey's neck (there's something to be said for a Buttermilk Buckskin), and the occasional cross-section of fallen trees which had been cut from the trail, which provided the only assurance that we were still on the trail. I was riding lead, ponying the Appaloosa (Jack) pictured in a previous post, and, as I saw it, I had two choices:
1. Trust my horse, or
2. Trust my horse
I opted to trust my horse. For all his antics in the arena, Smokey has long since proven himself to be the wise old trail horse, who is no slouch in the wilderness. We weren't about to break out flashlights, as that would only serve to ruin the night vision of our trusted steeds. On we rode.
I'm not big on talking when riding the trail. For me, quiet is a key component of the wilderness experience. The solitude this night was amplified by the complete darkness, the quiet broken only by the soft sound of hooves on the trail, and the occasional snort of equine nostrils. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I found that, with nothing to concentrate on, save my own thoughts, I reveled in the feeling of senses stripped bare.
All good things come to an end, and before long the raw glow of a lantern appeared through the trees, snapping me out of my reverie. The horses, not surprisingly, had found camp. Soon, the gear was unloaded, horses settled, watered, and fed, and we settled in to a warm dinner ourselves, this new experience behind me.
On a side note, an old packer once told me that when riding at night, hanging a glow stick from your neck would light the trail ahead of you. I can attest, from experience this night, that the claim is pure horse puckey. I gave this a try, and the only noticeable effect was total loss of what little night vision I had. Within two minutes, I shoved it in a pocket, never to be tried again.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
State of the Blog
After several (well, one anyway) inquiries into my well being, I thought I'd better check in. Since I'm rather uninspired with respect to the written word, I'll catch up on my doings with pictures.
What I've been up to:
1. Giving away a Bride.
2. Riding to Elk Camp
3. Coveting Appaloosa pack horses at elk camp:
4. Returning from Elk Camp
5. Giving away another Bride.
6. Taking my rifle for a walk, and enjoying some fabulous views.
That about sums it up. I know, I know...I lead a boring life.
What I've been up to:
1. Giving away a Bride.
2. Riding to Elk Camp
3. Coveting Appaloosa pack horses at elk camp:
4. Returning from Elk Camp
5. Giving away another Bride.
6. Taking my rifle for a walk, and enjoying some fabulous views.
That about sums it up. I know, I know...I lead a boring life.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Observations
In the course of my life, I have met a sum total of three people who could be categorized as "famous". That word being applied to those likely to be known by a larger segment of the population than us regular folk. By the term "met", I mean having engaged in conversation beyond "can I have your autograph" (Sorry Bob Griese).
The first was Barbara Bush. She was the sponsor of the second submarine I served aboard, USS Houston (SSN-713). Touring the boat while on business in San Diego, she stopped in the Chief's quarters to chat with a few us. A very nice lady, and while the meeting was brief, I feel that I am better for the experience. She told us "George doesn't miss being President, but he misses you fellows."
The second was Tony Curtis. Having served aboard a Submarine Tender in the Second World War, and starring in Operation Petticoat, he was invited as the guest of honor to the Submarine Birthday Ball in San Diego (1997 I think). Having served in the Navy, he was wise enough to know that hanging out with the Chief Petty Officer's would, of course, prove to be the most fun. He was exactly what one would expect an actor of his generation to be. That is, politically incorrect, and absolutely funny.
The third was today. As it occurred at work, I will adhere to personal policy, and not divulge the details.
The point of this post is not to say "look at me, I've met famous people!" No, it is simply my observation that upon meeting people who, until that moment, seemed larger than life, I instantly realized that they are merely people. Perhaps more successful, richer, or well known, but still flesh and blood people.
The first was Barbara Bush. She was the sponsor of the second submarine I served aboard, USS Houston (SSN-713). Touring the boat while on business in San Diego, she stopped in the Chief's quarters to chat with a few us. A very nice lady, and while the meeting was brief, I feel that I am better for the experience. She told us "George doesn't miss being President, but he misses you fellows."
The second was Tony Curtis. Having served aboard a Submarine Tender in the Second World War, and starring in Operation Petticoat, he was invited as the guest of honor to the Submarine Birthday Ball in San Diego (1997 I think). Having served in the Navy, he was wise enough to know that hanging out with the Chief Petty Officer's would, of course, prove to be the most fun. He was exactly what one would expect an actor of his generation to be. That is, politically incorrect, and absolutely funny.
The third was today. As it occurred at work, I will adhere to personal policy, and not divulge the details.
The point of this post is not to say "look at me, I've met famous people!" No, it is simply my observation that upon meeting people who, until that moment, seemed larger than life, I instantly realized that they are merely people. Perhaps more successful, richer, or well known, but still flesh and blood people.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Small Projects
When it comes to riding, particularly trail riding, I'm always looking for ways to improve my gear, while not spending a grunch of money.
One item that has continued to be a minor irritant is carrying water. At first, I carried Nalgene bottles in the horn bags. This is okay, at least until one is removed for drinking. The other gear in the bag settles to fill the void, requiring the availability of two free hands to clear a space and return the bottle. This also draws your focus away from the reins and the horse, which is never a good idea. Should you be a trailing a pack horse, it becomes downright impossible.
The next method I tried was one of these:
I hung it from the saddle horn, which soon presented two challenges. First, when going downhill, it would end up on Smokey's neck. No good. And, on at least one occasion, it flew off the horn and into the bushes when Smokey felt the need to pull some antics. Scratch that idea.
I asked myself "what did the Cavalry do?" As it turns out, during and after the First World War, they used this. "Great" thought I, I'll get via eBay or some other internet resource. Except that the going price is about $75+, a bit much to pay for a water carrier. A tad steep for a drink of water.
Imagine my luck at a recent gun show, whilst perusing a table of military surplus items, I spied this gem:
Yes, folks, that's a M1918 Cavalry Canteen cover. For the low price of $15. I already possess a M1944 canteen, and felt that the leather strap and hardware would be easy to replace, so I snapped it up.
Some saddle string leather and a few pieces of brass hardware were all that was needed. Here's the finished product:
I'll report back on whether this proves to be a good solution to the water problem.
The next item on the agenda: Lead Rope for the trail. I prefer to carry a and lead rope, as one may find it necessary to stop and secure the horse to a tree to permit trail clearing, lunch, attending to various bodily functions, etc. The easiest method is to leave the halter on under the headstall, with the lead rope attached and looped up over the saddle horn. I use a rope halter, since is it as no metal hardware to break. I decided it was time to switch to a lead rope which does not have a snap on it, similar to this product from Double Diamond. Unfortunately, my local tack store does not carry them, and to purchase one via the interwebs, I was looking at close to $30 after shipping, which is a bit much for a lead rope.
Undaunted, I purchased 12 1/2 feet of lead rope material, which, combined with two pieces of electrical tape and a length of saddle string leather leftover from the previous project, resulted in this:
It may be not be pretty, but the total cost was under nine bucks. And it gave me something to do on a dreary afternoon.
One item that has continued to be a minor irritant is carrying water. At first, I carried Nalgene bottles in the horn bags. This is okay, at least until one is removed for drinking. The other gear in the bag settles to fill the void, requiring the availability of two free hands to clear a space and return the bottle. This also draws your focus away from the reins and the horse, which is never a good idea. Should you be a trailing a pack horse, it becomes downright impossible.
The next method I tried was one of these:
I hung it from the saddle horn, which soon presented two challenges. First, when going downhill, it would end up on Smokey's neck. No good. And, on at least one occasion, it flew off the horn and into the bushes when Smokey felt the need to pull some antics. Scratch that idea.
I asked myself "what did the Cavalry do?" As it turns out, during and after the First World War, they used this. "Great" thought I, I'll get via eBay or some other internet resource. Except that the going price is about $75+, a bit much to pay for a water carrier. A tad steep for a drink of water.
Imagine my luck at a recent gun show, whilst perusing a table of military surplus items, I spied this gem:
Yes, folks, that's a M1918 Cavalry Canteen cover. For the low price of $15. I already possess a M1944 canteen, and felt that the leather strap and hardware would be easy to replace, so I snapped it up.
Some saddle string leather and a few pieces of brass hardware were all that was needed. Here's the finished product:
I'll report back on whether this proves to be a good solution to the water problem.
The next item on the agenda: Lead Rope for the trail. I prefer to carry a and lead rope, as one may find it necessary to stop and secure the horse to a tree to permit trail clearing, lunch, attending to various bodily functions, etc. The easiest method is to leave the halter on under the headstall, with the lead rope attached and looped up over the saddle horn. I use a rope halter, since is it as no metal hardware to break. I decided it was time to switch to a lead rope which does not have a snap on it, similar to this product from Double Diamond. Unfortunately, my local tack store does not carry them, and to purchase one via the interwebs, I was looking at close to $30 after shipping, which is a bit much for a lead rope.
Undaunted, I purchased 12 1/2 feet of lead rope material, which, combined with two pieces of electrical tape and a length of saddle string leather leftover from the previous project, resulted in this:
It may be not be pretty, but the total cost was under nine bucks. And it gave me something to do on a dreary afternoon.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Diagnosis
The discomfort in my lower back has not subsided. Standing and lying down relieve the pressure, but prolonged sitting results in a dull throbbing sensation down low. Walking is at times easy, at others a struggle. On Saturday morning, I noticed bruising where there had been none. Growing mildly concerned about the possibility of a fracture, or worse, I visited the Sawbones today.
I'm pleased to report that "Lumbar Contusion" is the diagnosis. The treatment: Alternating ice and heat, Alleve, and beer (I may have added that last one myself).
This constitutes my first visit to a physician since I retired from Uncle Sam's Navy. As my employer provides health coverage free of charge, I opted to take the civilian route, as opposed to navigating the murky waters of TriCare. I was most pleasantly surprised. While there, I disrobed and dressed twice, was examined by the Doc, x-rays were taken and examined by a Radioligist, back with the Doc, treatement discussed, and a tetanus shot for good measure. One hour and ten minutes later, I was sitting in my pickup headed home.
Prior to this, my visits to medical fell under the heading "Adventures in Naval Medicine". A typical experience goes something like this:
Viewing the obviously broken bone in my hand, I proceed to visit the ships "Doc". Submarines only carry a specially trained enlisted Independent Duty Corpsman for medical staff. I was, at varying times, convinced that said training consisted of two things: 1) How to convince someone that they were, in fact, not hurt, but malingering. 2) How to dispense Motrin.
Doc: "Stop malingering. Here's some Motrin. Now get back to work."
Me: "But this bone is pointing in the wrong direction."
Doc: "Yes it is. Stop malingering. Take your Motrin, and get back to work."
Me: "I can't move my fingers."
Doc: "It's getting close to lunch time. Go malinger at Squadron Medical."
A similar scene is repeated at squadron medical, only this time you are sent to Balboa Naval Hospital. Never mind that your hand is obviously broken, drive yourself malingerer.
I was lucky, getting in to see the Doctor a mere two hours after the scheduled appointment. After viewing the obviously broken fifth metacarpal in the x-ray, the Ortho Doc looks at me and asks "what would you like us to do?" (I'm not kidding. You can't make this shit up.)
Uh, gosh, I don't know, give me some Motrin? Reset the bone maybe?
Of course, after said bone had been reset, I was left wondering if I had chosen poorly. No anesthetic or such things. That hurt worse than breaking it did.
"There's your cast, malingerer. Get back to your command." Gladly.
The only hiccup in today's visit came when the Doc asked if I need a note for work. I said no, the only thing this injury is affecting is my ability to ride horses. To which she replied "that's probably for the best."
She obviously does not own any horses.
I'm pleased to report that "Lumbar Contusion" is the diagnosis. The treatment: Alternating ice and heat, Alleve, and beer (I may have added that last one myself).
This constitutes my first visit to a physician since I retired from Uncle Sam's Navy. As my employer provides health coverage free of charge, I opted to take the civilian route, as opposed to navigating the murky waters of TriCare. I was most pleasantly surprised. While there, I disrobed and dressed twice, was examined by the Doc, x-rays were taken and examined by a Radioligist, back with the Doc, treatement discussed, and a tetanus shot for good measure. One hour and ten minutes later, I was sitting in my pickup headed home.
Prior to this, my visits to medical fell under the heading "Adventures in Naval Medicine". A typical experience goes something like this:
Viewing the obviously broken bone in my hand, I proceed to visit the ships "Doc". Submarines only carry a specially trained enlisted Independent Duty Corpsman for medical staff. I was, at varying times, convinced that said training consisted of two things: 1) How to convince someone that they were, in fact, not hurt, but malingering. 2) How to dispense Motrin.
Doc: "Stop malingering. Here's some Motrin. Now get back to work."
Me: "But this bone is pointing in the wrong direction."
Doc: "Yes it is. Stop malingering. Take your Motrin, and get back to work."
Me: "I can't move my fingers."
Doc: "It's getting close to lunch time. Go malinger at Squadron Medical."
A similar scene is repeated at squadron medical, only this time you are sent to Balboa Naval Hospital. Never mind that your hand is obviously broken, drive yourself malingerer.
I was lucky, getting in to see the Doctor a mere two hours after the scheduled appointment. After viewing the obviously broken fifth metacarpal in the x-ray, the Ortho Doc looks at me and asks "what would you like us to do?" (I'm not kidding. You can't make this shit up.)
Uh, gosh, I don't know, give me some Motrin? Reset the bone maybe?
Of course, after said bone had been reset, I was left wondering if I had chosen poorly. No anesthetic or such things. That hurt worse than breaking it did.
"There's your cast, malingerer. Get back to your command." Gladly.
The only hiccup in today's visit came when the Doc asked if I need a note for work. I said no, the only thing this injury is affecting is my ability to ride horses. To which she replied "that's probably for the best."
She obviously does not own any horses.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Art of Getting Out of the Saddle
In the simplest sense, there are two means for dismounting a horse. The planned method, and the unplanned method. The former is, of course, preferred, but does not make good blog fodder.
On Independence Day, Daughter #2's Husband (henceforth known as DN2H), and I went for a trail ride on Weyerhaeuser land north of Enumclaw. DN2H rode Smokey, while I rode Dozer. You may recall, from this post, that Dozermeister has been a tad skittish. This may become important later.
Dozer is shaped somewhat like a barrel, and is lacking in a significant withers. When going down hill, it begins to feel like the saddle is going to end up on his neck. To combat this, I brought along a crupper. Any wise horseperson will tell you to only introduce new things in the arena or round pen. I do not claim to be wise. I put the crupper on in stages, and once secure, let him sit with it for about ten minutes. No reaction, so all must be well.
I put the saddle bags on, again with no problem. Until I started to walk away. This was apparently one thing too many as he started jumping around like a bronc. Oh boy. After a few tense moments, we got him settled down. I removed the crupper. This seemed to calm the youngster, and we soon hit the trail.
The next three hours were uneventful, as we enjoyed the quiet and the nice weather. We were moving up a logging road, when I heard the sounds of other riders approaching on an intersecting road. Soon, a white horse showed up on the trail.
Dozer spooked so suddenly, and so quickly, that before I even realized it, I was flat on my back on the ground. I'm fairly certain the only reason Dozer did not manage to bolt is the fact that old Smokey Joe was standing in the way, with a look on his face that seemed to say "what's all the commotion about?" Finding one rein still in my hand, I jumped to my feet and gave a jerk on it to stop him. As quickly as the rodeo had begun, it was over.
I straightened the bit in his mouth, and climbed back in the saddle. A quick self assessment revealed the bottom of my left forearm to be, well, a bit scratched up. More on that later. A few other cuts and bruises, and my back was a wee bit sore. We rode up to the other party. Lo and behold, it was a friend of ours, and a whole group of her friends. We talked for a few minutes, laughed about my dismount, and then headed in on our separate paths. As DN2H put it "only your family would run into someone you know in the middle of nowhere". This does seem to happen regularly.
I asked DN2H's what happened. He put it rather succinctly: "Dozer did a rollback, I heard a thud, and you were the ground. You got back in the saddle, rode up, and started talking to your friends".
We headed back to the trailer without further event, unsaddled, loaded up, and took the ponies home.
It wasn't til later that the pain set in. It was a hard landing, cuz I don't bounce like I used too. My lower back hurts (sitting down is the worst), and my forearm looks like someone took a cheese grater to it. But, as they say, pain let's you know you're alive, so I'm alive and well. Although it may be a few more days before I climb up in the saddle.
BTW, this was my fault. I know Dozer has been skittish, and I heard the other riders coming. I should have been prepared for his reaction. Had I been, I probably would have stayed in the saddle. Sometimes I just have to relearn a few lessons.
On Independence Day, Daughter #2's Husband (henceforth known as DN2H), and I went for a trail ride on Weyerhaeuser land north of Enumclaw. DN2H rode Smokey, while I rode Dozer. You may recall, from this post, that Dozermeister has been a tad skittish. This may become important later.
Dozer is shaped somewhat like a barrel, and is lacking in a significant withers. When going down hill, it begins to feel like the saddle is going to end up on his neck. To combat this, I brought along a crupper. Any wise horseperson will tell you to only introduce new things in the arena or round pen. I do not claim to be wise. I put the crupper on in stages, and once secure, let him sit with it for about ten minutes. No reaction, so all must be well.
I put the saddle bags on, again with no problem. Until I started to walk away. This was apparently one thing too many as he started jumping around like a bronc. Oh boy. After a few tense moments, we got him settled down. I removed the crupper. This seemed to calm the youngster, and we soon hit the trail.
The next three hours were uneventful, as we enjoyed the quiet and the nice weather. We were moving up a logging road, when I heard the sounds of other riders approaching on an intersecting road. Soon, a white horse showed up on the trail.
Dozer spooked so suddenly, and so quickly, that before I even realized it, I was flat on my back on the ground. I'm fairly certain the only reason Dozer did not manage to bolt is the fact that old Smokey Joe was standing in the way, with a look on his face that seemed to say "what's all the commotion about?" Finding one rein still in my hand, I jumped to my feet and gave a jerk on it to stop him. As quickly as the rodeo had begun, it was over.
I straightened the bit in his mouth, and climbed back in the saddle. A quick self assessment revealed the bottom of my left forearm to be, well, a bit scratched up. More on that later. A few other cuts and bruises, and my back was a wee bit sore. We rode up to the other party. Lo and behold, it was a friend of ours, and a whole group of her friends. We talked for a few minutes, laughed about my dismount, and then headed in on our separate paths. As DN2H put it "only your family would run into someone you know in the middle of nowhere". This does seem to happen regularly.
I asked DN2H's what happened. He put it rather succinctly: "Dozer did a rollback, I heard a thud, and you were the ground. You got back in the saddle, rode up, and started talking to your friends".
We headed back to the trailer without further event, unsaddled, loaded up, and took the ponies home.
It wasn't til later that the pain set in. It was a hard landing, cuz I don't bounce like I used too. My lower back hurts (sitting down is the worst), and my forearm looks like someone took a cheese grater to it. But, as they say, pain let's you know you're alive, so I'm alive and well. Although it may be a few more days before I climb up in the saddle.
BTW, this was my fault. I know Dozer has been skittish, and I heard the other riders coming. I should have been prepared for his reaction. Had I been, I probably would have stayed in the saddle. Sometimes I just have to relearn a few lessons.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Flyover Country
Seems it isn't dead yet. Follow the link over at Lex's place.
I wonder if you could find that much civic pride in a city of roughly 775,000 people on either of the coasts?
I wonder if you could find that much civic pride in a city of roughly 775,000 people on either of the coasts?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Freedom Isn't Free
In Flanders Fields
John McCrae, 1915.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae, 1915.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
News on the Front
Despite appearances from the previous post, it wasn't a bad week...just a long one that seemed like it might never end. But Friday finally came, and since I woke up this morning, the much anticipated Rapture appears to have been postponed.
As DN3 had qualified in four events to participate in the High School Equestrian State Meet, last weekend was spent at the Grant County Fairgrounds in Moses Lake, WA. It was a good weekend overall, and she and her riding partner placed 5th in Ranch Sorting.
On the down side in the horse world, there has been an outbreak of the neurological form of EHV-1 (Equine Herpes Virus), which can be deadly to horses. This article from the local news sums it up in layman's terms. There have been conflicting reports as to whether an exposed horse was present in Moses Lake. In addition to the WAHSET meet, there was a Reining Horse event at the fairgrounds. I would conservatively estimate that 500-600 horses were present last weekend. Thus far the two horses we took aren't showing any signs, and while we doubt they were exposed, we are playing it safe.
So is most of the horse industry. Shows, organized trail rides, and just about every planned gathering of horses for the next three weeks have been cancelled. Boarding facilities are in lockdown, with no horses permitted to come or go. While this may seem a bit knee jerk, when dealing with a virus that has no prevention or cure, it is the safest course of action to take. While I would much rather be on a trail ride today, it's more important to know that my horses are safe.
Deb sent me this link to a good video* about EHV-1 that may be of interest to horse owners.
*Posting this video does not constitute an endorsement of Parelli.
As DN3 had qualified in four events to participate in the High School Equestrian State Meet, last weekend was spent at the Grant County Fairgrounds in Moses Lake, WA. It was a good weekend overall, and she and her riding partner placed 5th in Ranch Sorting.
On the down side in the horse world, there has been an outbreak of the neurological form of EHV-1 (Equine Herpes Virus), which can be deadly to horses. This article from the local news sums it up in layman's terms. There have been conflicting reports as to whether an exposed horse was present in Moses Lake. In addition to the WAHSET meet, there was a Reining Horse event at the fairgrounds. I would conservatively estimate that 500-600 horses were present last weekend. Thus far the two horses we took aren't showing any signs, and while we doubt they were exposed, we are playing it safe.
So is most of the horse industry. Shows, organized trail rides, and just about every planned gathering of horses for the next three weeks have been cancelled. Boarding facilities are in lockdown, with no horses permitted to come or go. While this may seem a bit knee jerk, when dealing with a virus that has no prevention or cure, it is the safest course of action to take. While I would much rather be on a trail ride today, it's more important to know that my horses are safe.
Deb sent me this link to a good video* about EHV-1 that may be of interest to horse owners.
*Posting this video does not constitute an endorsement of Parelli.
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