Horses of the Past

I have this new fancy scanner, photocopier and printer.  I thought I'd test it out and work on uploading some of my old horse pictures.  From most recent to oldest, here are some (I don't have photos of my first horses.) of my current to old horses.

Guinness - AQHA aka Single Malt Whiskey

This is his mom the first summer I owned her.

Whiskey - AQHA aka Miss Soft Shoe

Bacardi - AQHA aka Royal Purple Coke

I couldn't find a picture of Charger.  Here we are doing grand entry for Lacombe ProRodeo.  I sold Charger when I hurt my shoulder and couldn't rope anymore.  Looking back I wish I'd kept him.  He was a nice solid all around kind of horse.

L - Me on Yeller - AQHA aka Two T Rebel Gold

2nd from L - friend on Charger - AQHA aka Kole Charger

Yeller - AQHA aka Two T Rebel Gold (and an uncle to Guinness).

Yeller - the horse I trained but should have bought.  Another one I tried to find with no luck.

Shorty - Grade colt - took him in to help him heal - he was in rough shape - traded him for Whiskey.

My school master rope horse.  He had successfully won in the area of 30 grand at rodeos throughout his career.  He piloted his one armed owner to numerous wins.  The horse that sent me into a tailspin of depression when he suffered a catastrophic and life ending injury.

Roo - Grade

Roo and Charro hanging out and grooming each other.

The horse that did it all.  He would have made a superstar endurance horse because he could go all day!

Charro - Arabian aka Charro Rafinara

Polish bred going back to Tornado - Bask.

Another horse I tried to find with no luck.

Charro and I at a local Arabian show.

The horse of my heart. Best friend and confidante.

Smokey - Arabian aka Nova Sherocco

Picture taken by D. Kirk Photos.

Smokey and I at a big 4H show.  He was a regional A champion halter stallion and absolute hoot to ride.

Ansata Ibn Halima and Crabbet lines (Egyptian).  

Picture taken by L. Carroll.

 Haida - my first 4H horse and the one that taught me how to ride.  Mostly because she bucked me off every other day.  Nasty beast.  Picture taken at my first 4H achievement day (and first horse show ever).  I would have been 9 at the time.

Haida - Anglo Arabian - and for the life of me I can't remember her papered name.

I don't have pictures for Pilot - the grade cowboy horse who was my first horse.  Or Jet or Maggie - the ponies that didn't last too long on the place.  Nasty little farts.  (My dad went for cheap not quality - to be fair it's not like there was a lot of money floating around.)

And there you have the pictorial of my horses past, and present.

Dream Horse from a Past Life

There was a time I would have turned my nose up at the thought of riding anything other than an Arabian.  The very thought of riding a clunky, ugly quarter horse left chills going down my spine.  I believed my Arabians could do anything any other type of horse did.  My horses showed (local and A), went cattle penning, made many miles on trails, took all kinds of clinics, did gymkhana and college rodeo, and I even roped off of the one horse (Charro).  These horses were my best friends when the world went wrong.  I rode a lot.  I rode close to seven days a week and was usually in the saddle for well over an hour.  

When I got more serious about the rodeo and roping world I knew I needed to specialize, so I bought an old "school master" rope horse.  While I still had my Arabian he began to spend more time sitting in the field than getting the miles he so enjoyed. With student loans and adult responsibilities looming I made the decision to sell him (and I've since tried to find him again - but no luck.)

One of my friends has an Arabian left over from her days prior to her breeding paints.  Jonnie or Bay Cyty Roller is well bred, has an awesome disposition, size, and has already accumulated halter wins at the local and regional (A) level.  I love this horse.  I've loved this horse from the day I first met him years ago.  Back when he was a little sprout I loved this horse.  He's by Cyty Heat who's making waves up here.  I had told Lynsay that if I could sell Bacardi I'd buy Jonnie.  Well, Bacardi is still here and a lot of tire kickers have come and gone.  And Jonnie is still wasting away in one of her pens.  This love for him is completely irrational.  I want to cut.  I'm 99% certain that is not his role in life.  But I *heart* him.   And I want him.  And I've pretty much decided smart or not, if the opportunity arises that I can buy him - I will.  

Here are some pictures of Jonnie.  The pictures are courtesy of Lynsay.

Knock Me Over With A Feather

With ugly weather slated in the forecast, I drove out to my parents.  There I had planned to work the dogs on stock and pester the two baby horses.  The wind was blowing and the snow started falling about 5 minutes into my training session with Ryder.  I decided to see how the dog works went before messing with the horses.

Ken had given me some advice that I decided to follow.  I don't always.  Some days I can be alarmingly obstinate.  I stopped worrying so much about being perfect and started working him and letting him work.  I stopped lying him down so frequently and began to move more.  It was as though everything clicked.  He began working really, really good.  So good I was startled into realizing there's a darn good possibility he'll be ready for trials come spring.  He was taking his flanks pretty consistently.  I began with lying him down, moving half way between him and the sheep and then asking him.  He was doing so well I thought I'd try to send him on a mini outrun from my feet.  And he consistently did it!  We're a hair off of being able to manage an arena trial.  Given the fact that I haven't exactly been training him regularly I was pretty impressed.  His drive continues to be pretty good and we have enough distance driving to do an arena distance.  The next step is to start adding some short flanks into the drive and see how we do.

I was so pumped I even worked Diva.  Let me tell you, that dog was thrilled to be on stock.  She, as per her normal, worked tight and fast.  But all the ground work I've put into her is showing on the stock.  She was softer to take her prompts.  Her working style is so reminiscent of Tessa as a young dog it's eerie. I have to wonder what Diva would be like if she'd had the same opportunities and upbringing as Tessa.  I was happy to see even as fast and slicey as Diva wanted to be she wasn't as tight as she had been before.    We're down to only slicing the Away flank but then blowing out.  (It might have something to do with me chasing her with the stock stick...)  Not ideal but better.  Perhaps it's because her style is more like Tessa's but I'm actually more comfortable working her than Ryder.

We were doing great.  She was helping me bring the sheep into the corral from the field.  I stopped at the gate to let the sheep pass.  She waited for me.  As the sheep drifted through the gate the earth moved my winter boots lost their traction on the icy surface and I went down like a graceful ballerina with a thump. Diva (just like Tessa once did) was off like a shot to correct those nasty sheep.  From my sprawled position I watched sheep skating across the ice with Diva in hot pursuit.  Deciding the sheep were stupid to bolt (away from me, and the round bale I might add) and deserved what was coming, I carefully regained my footing, latched the gate and made my way towards the three ring circus.

Diva had the sheep cornered in a shelter and was watching them from a respectable distance away.  Getting between her and the sheep I called her name.  And she came.  No seriously.  She CAME!  To me.  (She has been known to bypass the human to reach the sheep.)  Gathering up my safety cord (on the dog - not me), I had her help me drive the sheep back into the pen with the hay.  With a pat we left the corral.

How sad is it that my dog's do better when I don't work them.  What a commentary on my training that is...

Would You Do It?

I had the most interesting phone call.  It was from a stock dog trainer I know and am friendly with.  He wanted to know if I know of anyone with younger dogs for sale.  This is a man who has helped me in the past, whom I respect, and has a pretty good reputation.  He has seen my dogs.  If I were interested in selling, he'd be interested in buying.

Question of the day:

Would you sell Diva?

This is a dog I've been busting my rear end over trying to build a relationship with.  She is to put it politely high maintenance.  But, we've also been making progress.  She wants to be near me now.  She is developing an interest in play.  She is slowly, slowly listening and responding to training better.

But it would be one less responsibility.  It would also mean a loss of a playmate for Ryder.

Pros:
She's high energy and athletic.  She'd be well suited to a ranch environment.  She is very keen to work.  She'd have her own opportunity to shine with a high end trainer.

Cons:
The trainer would flip her once she had enough training on her to be more money and sale-able to a rancher.  I'd have no control over her future homes.  She'd likely end up in a run or chained in a yard - many, many Border's live that way on ranches.

What would you do?

Take the easy way - sell her?

Or persevere and continue working through her issues - long run, takes time but will ultimately make me a better trainer - I hope...

Lofty Goals

While tardy, I have been contemplating my personal goals for this coming year.  I may not say them, but I always have them.  This is something that's been weighing heavy *no pun intended* on my mind.  I really, really want to get myself back into shape.  This is something that really bugs me and upsets my mojo.

What I know is that when I'm active I feel better.  I'm happier.  I have more energy.  And everything else in the world around me seems to fall into place.  The world just seems better.

So here it is, my one big goal.  Get back into shape.

(Oh, don't worry I realize I won't ever be in the pre-chemo shape.  My body has undergone too many changes.)

Raise your glass to the treadmill, bosu ball, weights, yoga, and dogs & horses (my personal trainers)!

Do Something That Scares You

I'm a confident driver.  You might even label me aggressive.  I grew up driving Alberta country roads, can handle snow, ice, gravel and roads with no lines on them.  I've also been driving a truck and trailer since I was 18.  My parents did not believe anyone younger had sufficient driving experience to manage a live load.  I began hauling with my mom riding shotgun to local horse shows.  With time I was hauling to gymkhana and shows alone.  Soon I was hauling hours to get to the rodeos and roping's I was competing in. I learned how to navigate a section with a loaded trailer full of cowboy's horses (and a truck full of often intoxicated cowboys) to get closer to the cattle we needed to check.

When I moved to Consort I learned how to manage hauling my horses through an isolated and sometimes hostile environment.  I remember once after doing grand entry for a ProRodeo a couple of hours away the wind came up.  (Out there when the wind came up - it came UP!)  Across the rolling prairie I could see the wall of dirt off the fields headed towards me.  Knowing I quickly would see nothing I began to slow and pull onto the shoulder of the highway.  As the wind rocked and buffeted the truck and trailer I could hear steel screeching.  When the dirt storm moved past I notice the wind had peeled the rock guard off the front of the trailer.  Once on my midnight trek home from roping (I used to travel 140km each way to practice roping.)  I split a herd of deer in two as they settled on the highway in front of me.  While not one of those natural drivers who can park and maneuver a trailer in tight spaces I am competent and comfortable with a loaded trailer.

Yesterday I made attempt number two at Fort St. John.  My brother who works up there had just flown back from his vacation would follow me in his car up north.  We pulled out of the yard at around 8:30.  We reached our destination around 5:00.  For the vast majority of the drive it was lovely.  It was sunny, and the highway was dry and clear.  The final four hours involved driving into a head wind which is always lovely for fuel economy, and there was something wrong with my trailer brakes because they kept grabbing on the rough road.  Also lovely for fuel economy.  Once we reached Dawson Creek my brother and his wife hopped in with me.  We would go the remainder of the distance together.  This last hour and half stretch is the stretch that had me scared.  It involved a serious hill/mountain over a metal bridge and then into the bush on secondary roads.

I had turned off my trailer breaks because they weren't working well.  Baby (my 3/4 ton Chev diesel) is equipped with an engine break and this is what I planned to use.  Easing off the pedal we passed the signs telling people we were entering a chains and winter tire mandatory area.  We passed the signs and pull out where the semis were required to check their breaks before continuing on.  As the road began to drop and twist out beneath us I began to tap and release my breaks to keep the rig from gaining momentum.  It took a few minutes for Baby to figure out that we were doing some serious work, but she quickly kicked in the engine break and slowed the truck to a crawl.  With the engine roaring we crept down, down, down and past the final hair pin turn.  Next we began the incline up the long, long, long metal bridge.  With the truck and trailer shimmying I tried to keep a steady hand on the wheel and a steady pressure on the pedal.  Huffing out a breath I looked over at my wide eyed brother and said "See why I was scared?"

Steadying myself we began to work our way off the beaten path.  We had 30km of back roads to reach the ranch where Whiskey was moving to.  As we cleared the city of Fort St. John, I realized the dry clear roads had come to an end.  Keeping my pace slow but steady I began navigating the chunks and sheets of ice.  Reminding myself to breath we forged on.  And then it happened, as we began an incline the truck hit ice and the hind end shifted.  My brother chanting "Easy, easy, don't break, don't break." I managed to keep the truck (and trailer) under control and on the road.  At this point if I had been alone I would have been crying.  Pulling into the middle of the road (secondary highway), I tried to keep my tires on the rough sanded looking part, and crawled up the hill.  And then it got really, really scary.

My next road was their gravel road.  This road was white and shiny with rained on snow.  It was a skating rink.  Popping my truck into 4x4, I began easing my way down it.  Chanting "scared, scared, scared" I slowly, carefully made my way the 5 km to their driveway.  We did the entire 5k doing 30 km/h.  As I eyeballed the driveway and wondered if we'd make it up it, Jay looked and me and said "giver" we'd made it this far.  By this time daylight was quickly fading into black and I was eager to beat a hasty retreat.

Settling Whiskey in, we went into the house to do the paperwork.  She couldn't remember how much we had agreed on and I was oh so tempted to up the price.  Restraining myself I stayed honest.  Tempted though.  Very, very tempted.  (Does this make me bad?)  She was very impressed with Whiskey (as most people are who meet her) and kept muttering what a nice horse she was.  Paperwork done, we began to head back to civilization.  Thrilled at the prospect of driving back over the scary roads I took some deep breaths, patted Baby, asked her to be good, and pulled out.  It felt surreal to leave Whiskey behind.  I'm not sure it's really set in that she's not coming back.  Ridiculous I know.  I know she'll be cared for and loved.  I know she'll have some really, really nice babies.

We made it through the roads from the devil and headed to the next town where my brother is currently living (working a job).  But the fun wasn't done.  I still had to park the truck and trailer in his apartment parking lot, which as many things are in Northern BC, was on an incline and icy.  Parked and safely in his apartment I shook with exhaustion.  After a short visit, I took an Advil and crashed.  An adrenalin hangover if you will.  You know how they say you should do something that scares you every day?  Well I say HOGWASH!!!!  I hate that feeling.  I don't care that everything worked out in the end.

The golden lining was the time spent with family.  Due to decisions he's made in the past my relationship with my brother is shaky and somewhat fractured.  We've only begun to carefully rebuild a relationship.  His support meant the world to me.  I tear up when I think how he made sure I didn't have to do this alone.  He knew how stressed I was about doing it.  I think the whole reason Whiskey was destined to go north and I was destined to drive it once he was back in town was for us to have the chance to spend time together.  I took the opportunity to visit with his wife and get to know her better, and I think that all of us have a deeper understanding of each other.  It was a great building block and I feel more connected with my brother.

That being said, I've reached my quota for risky and scary behavior the last couple of days...

Now off to spend time with my needy and active dogs.

Going Nowhere Fast

Last night I carefully checked the road reports, carefully packed up my supplies, my dog supplies,  walked around the trailer and added things that I thought I'd need.  This morning I was going to attempt a run at Fort St. John, British Columbia which is where Whiskey's new home is.  Click here to see the Google Map.  This was no small undertaking.  My plan?  Get up early, drive, deliver, turn around and come home. I was looking at around 16-18 hours of driving.

Here's what really happened.  I got up, showered, loaded my truck while playing with the dogs and feeding the horse.  My tummy was upset so I chugged some PeptoBismal and packed that as well as a kit full of my "safe" foods.  I then took the dogs out for their final pre-leaving potty.  And Ryder had the trots.  Fabulous.  I had planned to take Ryder and Diva, with my mom scheduled to come and take Tessa to the farm until I returned.  Leaving Ryder behind meant I'd also leave Diva (so they had play buddies).  This also meant rearranging my garage so that they couldn't eat anything they're not supposed to - such as recycling or shoes.  I took the Exercise pens out of their boxes and created a barrier, leaving them the one parking space, front and access to the doggy doors.  I filled up an extra water bowl and placed it in their area, and pulled their collars off.  I didn't want to risk them hooking their collars on anything or getting tangled while wrestling.  (This is why I love Sherry's slip collars!)  This change of plans set my departure time back by an hour.

Feeling somewhat strange I loaded and left.  It's weird for me not to travel with at least one dog.  Hitting Whitecourt (about 2 hours in) I had a great conversation with an older man who was filling up next to me.  (Part of my strategy was to top off my tank at each larger center - this is my wilderness driving strategy!)  He asked where I was headed and then informed me they were calling for freezing rain.  Pointing my truck north I kept driving.  It was drizzling off and on but our temperature was hovering around the melting mark so I figured I'd be okay.  Because my homemade CDs would not work (!!!) I was flicking and finding radio stations as each area lost reception.  It was in the Grand Prairie radio zone when they announced a freezing rain warning was in effect and that it was anticipated freezing rain would last the next 24 hours.  Nervous now, I kept driving.  I kept driving through the increasing rain.

I was about 15 minutes from reaching Valleyview.  (To get to Valleyview takes about 3.5 hours.)  My phone rang.  It was Kelly (where I was headed).  She said it had started snowing 20 minutes ago.  Eeek. I am an admitted wimpo.  I'll admit it scares me to drive the mountain passes in the winter with a trailer.  It makes me nervous without a trailer when there's snow on the ground.  Yes I have 4x4, but I don't have chains - and that was the type of country I was headed into.  I told her I'd think about what I was going to do.  I needed to decide if I was going to turn around or push through.  The road I was driving on was wet.  This meant once dark hit there was potential for ice.  Even more potential for ice if the storm hit.  My gut clenched with stress I called my mom.  I wanted to get her opinion.  Valleyview was my point of no return.  Any further and it would just be shorter to keep on to my destination (still 4-5 hours away).  I stopped at a truck stop, parked and fretted.  Weighing the various options.  I didn't have time to get a hotel and wait it out.  (Which could take 1-2 days.)  Plus I didn't pack a bale of hay for the horse - who I could turn loose in the stock trailer, making it into a stall.  Finally my fear of the mountain passes during a storm pushed me into a decision.  I decided to turn back.  I called Kelly to let her know.  Of course she tells me the snow seems to be letting up.  That's fine given the fact that there's still 500 km (about 310 miles) to drive.  With the rain warning in effect I would basically be driving into the storm front and not away from it.  This made me worry.  Even if I made it safely to BC I still had to make it safely home.  My gut was screaming at me that it wasn't a good decision to continue on.  I decided to listen to it.

So I turned around.  Poor Whiskey.  What a good girl.  When I got home and unloaded her she looked around, seemingly confused.  You could see her thinking - isn't this where I just left?  The trailer is a mess and I need to take it to the farm to clean out and put fresh shavings in.

Tentative plan is to make another attempt on Friday - once the weather up north clears.  My brother who lives up north will be back from his trip and I'll have some extra people around.  This makes me feel a bit more secure and safe.