Allow Me to Introduce Myself

This blog isn't the only thing I've neglected lately.

That bay on the right?  The one turning his better side to the camera?  That's him.  Sam has been nothing but a pasture ornament for... over a year.  It feels like forever.  He's right to show me his backside.  He's entitled to hurt feelings and treating me with an air of disdain.

I don't have time for him these days.  He is meticulously cared for, of course, but he isn't ridden and I can tell he misses having a job. 

It's not just that I need to manage my time differently (though I could always do a little better), it's that there's only so much time in the day.  It's hard to admit I can't do everything, but... I can't.  And I have had to pick and choose.  He has lost, and I admit I've lost some of myself in putting him aside.

Motherhood is blessed but hard.  Being a working mother is without a doubt the ultimate challenge of my life.  I fill my days with work, with babies, and the few minutes left over is spent trying to conquer housework.  I love my family, but it becomes a grind and I do feel depleted.  So!  I'm working on learning to leave the house dirty and fill up my spirit instead of a bucket of mop water. 

A few times lately I lunged Sam, and I swear I started to feel the stirrings of my horsewoman's heart.  It was an amazing feeling.  

On Mother's Day I asked for nothing more than two hours, uninterrupted, with my horse.  It took me the whole first hour to get Sam cleaned up and assemble some dirty, cobwebby tack.  I lunged him, and he bucked and kicked and bolted around me in a maniacal circle.  When he settled he was lathered but pliable and content, and I dared to climb on. 

It was familiar, and strange, and triumphant.  It was just him and me.  I could do nothing more than sit in the dappled sunlight, pat his neck, and breathe.  I didn't even really think at all.  I just sat as a near stranger on his familiar back and silently asked him to remember me and the partnership we used to have.  I communed with him and my innermost self, the one that used to ride until my legs quivered and I sweated through my jeans.  The one who chased knowledge and skills by riding any horse I could, the one who loved to jump and learn new skills and work together with my horse, every day.

He was calm and happy.  I was peaceful and hopeful. 

When we'd had our fill of our quiet time, I hopped off and untacked.  I asked for Beep to join me so I could have a helper for Sam's bath.

The guys came out to keep us company.

 

And my baby girl and I scrubbed our beloved horse clean, and spent some time with our friend Sam.

Mission Accomplished

I am 37 weeks pregnant, and it's usually about 100 degrees outside.  Because those facts do not, in fact, happily coexist in any universe, my time outside is extremely limited these days. 

As in, I avoid it like the plague.

When I do venture outside, it's usually done grudgingly and quickly, with a specific (and limited) objective in mind.

One night, Beep and I set out on a mission, which was thus:

Hoist Beep onto Mama's hip

Find Sam

Love on Sam

Waddle inside ASAP



Puckering up

Planting one on Sam

Horsehair-y faces are easily washed clean (eventually)

A little hand loves well

A big hand loves, too

Mission accomplished.

Extreme Close Up

If any of you are children of the corn 1990s Saturday Night Live era, the following will make sense to you.  If you are not, I recommend you indulge in some youtube time watching these quality educational skits.

Party on, Wayne.
Party on, Garth. 

It's time for an extreme close up!  Excellent.

 
We're not worthy!

Sorry, I'll stop now.  You guys have a good weekend.

Sam on the Ranch

Some of you have asked me, one way or another, how Sam has been doing at Cabbage Ranch.  It's been an adjustment to have him home with us instead of boarded about 8 miles away.  It's more work, especially for Cabbage (who does most of the horse chores while I commute) but also so comforting to have him at home.

Sam seems to like it here.  After all, we have two pretty girls in the pasture just across the fenceline.  Goldie and Cedar are his new girlfriends.

Obviously, that makes this gate his new hangout.  Hey, ladies.

Come here often?

The upshot of this situation is that Sam spends so much time ogling the mares, he sometimes doesn't even eat right away.

Sam?  Not eating?  *Gasp.*  That's how we know it's true love.

The girls, in turn, find him totally hot.  Despite his status as a gelding he's apparently enough of a stud that they've been flirting nonstop.

Which in turn makes him crazy.

And so he hangs out at the gate, tells them Goldie and Cedar they're pretty, and whispers sweet nothings in their long and hairy ears.  He motivates them to preen and posture, flirt and tease.  And so they tell him he's cool, and want him to be their boyfriend, and call for him when he's in the barn.

So... How's Sam?  He's great, man.  He's got two pretty girlfriends who hang on his every nicker. 

Window Bale

This is what happens when horses play with their food.  

That hole in the middle of the round bale is juuuuuust about the size of a horse's head.  Depending on the care with which Sam and Junior proceed their gastonomical adventures, plus certain environmental factors such as moisture/wind/phase of the moon, and other sundry scientific things...

.... it may soon be a window in the rock bale. 

It reminds me of the mashed potatoes incident in Close Encounters.   

Coincidence?  Is Arizona's famous Window Rock their final objective? All I'm saying is, I may be a little freaked out.    

Any Given Sunday

Like most families, our weekends are crammed full of errands and chores.  I always go to bed late on Sundays tired and achy from doing too much.  I kinda dread Sunday nights.

But Sunday mornings are another story.  We feed horses, we feed ourselves, we stay in our pajamas a little longer than usual.  Sometimes I make pumpkin pancakes, sometimes we eat oatmeal.  A recent Sunday morning was a little extra special.  It was just Beep and me, because Cabbage was off hunting and doing man things. 

When he's off in his man-cave, partaking of extra testosterone, and submerging himself in the esoteric rituals of eating jerky and lying in wait, Beep and I have girl time.  

Of course, around here, girl time means there's fewer hands to do the work, but it's manageable on Sunday mornings.  On this Sunday we followed our favorite routines. 

I awoke early as usual, and watched vacuous television until the sky began to lighten.  I listened for my girl on the monitor and relished some lazy time.  When she began to stir I finally roused myself.  When she started talking about Annie, and milk, and asking for Sam and Tabor, I padded down the hall and lifted her warm, footie-pajama'd body from the crib for a snuggle on my left shoulder.  Beep wakes up slowly, like her mama.  

When she was fully awake, I got her dressed and we both put on shoes.  I warmed a tall mug of milk with cinnamon and agave, poured some into a sippy cup for her, and took the rest with me.  Out we went into the grey morning to take care of animals.

We go through a lot of deer corn these days, because *someone* insists on feeding the deer anytime she thinks of them.
 

I haltered Sam and we walked him to the tree to tie him for a few minutes while I cleaned his stall.

This is not a polo field and those are not divots and we are not cultured.  Something- either a raccoon or an armadillo- is digging up chunks of hardened mud in front of our barn.
 

Welcome to my life.

Naturally, Annie contributed to the mess by dragging out a piece of trash from somewhere.  Because we need help junking the place up.

With the stall cleaned and Junior's breakfast waiting for him, I gathered him from the pasture and put him in the stall. 

Then I put Sam's feed in the pasture and turned him out.  It's so nice to finally have my old friend out my back door.

We fed the mares.

Then we (I) became distracted by a sudden impulse to finish taking down the last of the Christmas decorations on the gate.



And finally, it was time for us to go inside and feed ourselves.  A few short minutes and we had scrambled eggs and english muffins.

After, it was on to laundry.

And so on.  Eventually, it was time for a morning nap.  That meant a clean diaper, a few sips of water, three books read, and a blessed snuggle in the small wooden rocker in a corner of Beep's room. 

I bury my nose in the nape of her small, silken neck and feel her fine hair move with my breath.  She leaves her cheek on my shoulder, pats my back with her little starfish hand.  She squiggles in, drawing her knees up, then thrusting her feet in a way that reminds me of her kicks in the womb.  I gather my baby closer, and rub her back in circles.  It is a singular moment with my child.     

It is any given Sunday.

Homecoming

For the last six and a half years my horse Sam has been my escape, my challenge, my sweet and spoiled horse.  One thing he has never been is my neighbor. 

When I bought him in 2005, I boarded him at a wonderful barn on Colorado's front range.  There, I reveled in the gorgeous surroundings and tried to trust in a happy ending for the two of us.  Tucked down a half mile long driveway off a country road, the barns perched on a rise at the edge of a pine forest.  On clear days, Pike's Peak was clearly visible from the outdoor arena.  But even when I couldn't see the mountains, it was just peaceful and glorious.

That barn was forty-five minutes from my home, and a few times the roads from me to him became impassable from snow and ice.  It was worth the inconvenience, though, for the excellent care and wonderful community of fellow horsemen.  Some of the best horses and horsemen in the region all shared arena space with Sam and me, and although I trained him myself, we were warmly welcomed and easily accepted.

The only reason I contemplated moving Sam was that I was moving to Texas to be with Cabbage. 

In May of 2007 I left Sam at our beloved barn, in the able care of the managers, and moved myself to Texas.  That was not easy for me to do, since I'm a no-man-left-behind kind of person, but it was the right choice for his well-being.  Once in Texas I quickly found the barn you've seen in all my pictures, and there Sam has lived since 2007.  Same stall, same paddock, same arenas.  Consistency is good for horses, and he had it. 

I struck gold a second time with that barn, sharing space with more wonderful and warm people, their hilarious horses, and finding that second home all horsemen need.  Having spent my adolescence in a barn teeming with lessons, students, and a busy atmosphere, there's nothing I like better than riding in a busy arena.

Lately, though, it seemed a burden to have one more stop at the end of each long day.  I couldn't carve out time to drive there to ride, or even brush Sam, if Cabbage was busy or the baby was napping or any number of small everyday obstacles.  And then there was the cost... Although the price was fair, it was very expensive to board Sam. 

Even Sam himself seemed to say it was time; in Colorado he was notorious for galloping wildly (and foolishly) through his pasture.  Over the past few years, though, he's mellowed and learned to be a bit wiser.  In talking with Cabbage I discovered that I really felt Sam could deal with our rocky, treed pastures.

I was still nervous.  Moving him meant taking us both out of our comfort zones, and I was worried the change might go badly or he might hurt himself.  And... there's no place to really ride on our little ranch.  We have land, yes, but it's peppered with rocks and studded with trees and cactus.  Cabbage has done a lot to clean it up but it's not as if there is an arena or open field- or even a good perimeter- to ride Sam along.  Oh, for the open grassiness of the ranch in Ocala!

Ok.  All misgivings aside, every argument weighed out, and each caution addressed, I realized that it was just time to bring Sammy home. 

I rubbed Sam's star and said "Will you come home and live with me?"  So on the last day of the year, Cabbage left with the trailer to bring home my horse.

Meanwhile, I rearranged our other four-legged friends.  Earlier, Cabbage had cleared the front junkyard pasture of some last-minute junk. (thank you, previous owners!) 

Cedar and Goldie were then turned out in that pasture.  It meant drama.  Crazy galloping and much drama.

And snorting.

They were foolish.  They were wild.  They were exuberant.  I described it to Cabbage later and said "That is what equine joy looks like."

Eventually (finally!) they settled a bit.

Junior was next.  Because of his colic surgery last summer and some slow healing at the incision site, he has been on stall rest for five months.  That's an extremely long time for any horse to be confined, but especially one so young and vibrant.

And that, my friends, is why he was sedated. 

Without some good drugs, Bro would have been nutso.  With some chemical help, he merely paced and hung out, trotted a little, watched the girls' antics from across the fence, and nibbled on some hay.  Pharmaceutical companies: holla!

Just as the sun dropped low, my husband and his precious cargo rounded the bend in the road outside Cabbage Ranch.

Hello, my horse.

Please stay here with me, and be happy.