Three days old . . . .

My dream of once again owning a paint horse came true with the birth of Tru Tahlequah Miss, born Mothers’ Day, 2012.  What a life-changing event this has been!  My love of horses, and my fuzzy memory of how it was to catch and ride one of our horses here on the ranch, led me down the primrose path, so to speak.  Here we are, once again living on what was the old ranch headquarters, with enough acres to support a few head of livestock.  What we needed was a horse, of course!

On her feet and ready for action! . . . .

JBS Terrific Miss, the dam we rented from my niece Sue,  is a solid with just enough color to qualify as a registered paint.  Sugs Tru Luck, a magnificent black and white tobiano, was the sire.  Our little filly, soon nicknamed Tilly, took her colors from her maternal grandfather JB Classic, a sorrel overo.  With two blue eyes, she made a pretty picture when she arrived.  I soon forgot my dream of a blue-eyed black and white paint like the one I rode as a girl.  Tilly would have to fill the bill.

The journey to 没带罩子让他c了一节课 . . .

Tilly faced a dramatic event when she was weaned from her mother and loaded to travel from Colorado to 没带罩子让他c了一节课.  Her best friend Sue would soon depart and leave her in the land of strangers, without the care of her dam and other horses she had known.  What was a filly to do?

A pair to draw to . . . .

As it turned out, Tilly wasn’t alone.  We placed her in a corral and barn with a six-month old steer who was in the same predicament, bawling for his mama and miserable.  The steer was baptized Abraham, but his nickname immediately became Feed Lot.  Born on the place to a longhorn cow, he was such a pretty calf I couldn’t part with him.  So began a tempestuous relationship.

“Hey, get moving – we’re going up the lane!” . . . .

Feed Lot likes to bully and snort, pawing at the ground and shaking his head, but he acquiesces when Tilly pushes hard.  She was particularly feisty on this day and insisted they go up the road.  She came at him from several directions and he eventually found it hard to ignore her.

“Oh alright!” . . . .

The first couple of years with Tilly were a learning curve I was unprepared for.  First, she seemed prone to allergic reactions, minor infections, major infections, minor injuries, major injuries, the vet was on speed dial–and still is.  Overall, she is in good health, in between crises.  Her personality and attitude range from sweet and docile to ornery and pushy.  I have to keep reminding myself she is after all female, and very much like dealing with a 5-year-old child.

“I bet if I lean under the fence I can get those flowers” . . . .

As a three-year old her spring training was postponed due to lameness, a major infection in her gutteral pouches (similar to our sinus cavities) and missing the window of opportunity with the potential trainer–a crusty cowboy who gets busy in the summer months.  One more year as a pasture pet will do no harm, right?  I read the history  of the famed Lipizzaner stallions and learned their training did not begin in earnest until they were 4-years of age.  Besides, half the fun of owning a horse is the daily interaction of trying to figure out what they will do next.

“If I hold my breath” . . . .

After countless hours of round pen exercises, desensitizing routines and grooming, it was time to try something new.  A bareback riding pad seemed like a harmless addition and she had no reaction to it.  Moving right along.

“I think I can eat this!” . . . .

A new halter with her name on it came from Santa, but she is more interested in eating the wreath I hung on her barn.  Can’t believe that would taste good!

“they think I’m going in–ha!” . . . .

Trailer training became an ordeal.  All the coaxing in the world would not do the job.  It took a cotton rope strung across her butt and pulled tight to convince her there was no way out.  In the meantime we lost a few battles, tore up some equipment, raised a few blisters, wasted a lot of horse cakes and bribes and thought we would never overcome her stubborn resistance to taking a ride to town.  It may have had something to do with all those trips to the vet for some pretty terrifying procedures, but we did some rides just for fun and she never seemed to remember those.

“This is what I think of that trailer!” . . . .

After a lengthy experiment with the trailer opened up to her corral, loaded with a sack of hay, a bucket with her apple and some supplement feed, this was her reaction.

“I’m not done yet!” . . . .

Tillie reacts with displeasure by bucking, kicking and letting me know she isn’t happy.  It’s not hard to figure that out.

I think this is a horse laugh . . . .

We borrowed a junior saddle from a neighbor to add more weight and substance to see how Tillie would react.  After getting her all cinched up, I longed her around the corral and she crow hopped a little but didn’t really have much of a reaction.  So it goes.

“We are really thirsty!”

Cannot believe this pair needed a drink so badly they drained the bird bath!  Feed Lot is letting her get the better part of a tiny drink and she didn’t leave any for him.

“How can I get rid of this thing?” . . . .

Her first bridle has a snaffle bit and she was resistant to having it in her mouth.  I left her tied up for a period of time and she wiggled and maneuvered to try to get it off.  No surprise here.

friends . . . .

unfriended . . . .

Feed Lot has grown into a 2,000 pound critter to be reckoned with.  He occasionally acts up and everybody runs for cover or a fence to climb, but most of the time he is docile and just likes to eat.  He is very protective of Tilly, however, and that can lead to problems.

“I have my own ideas” . . . .

True love . . . .

Tillie’s last training session ended up a mixed bag.  After three months with a renowned horse rowdy, she came home and we went for a few rides around the place.  The one that became memorable was a day we encountered Feed Lot near the barn yard and he pitched a fit of some sort.  I guess he didn’t like Tilly to be ridden and leaving him behind, who really knows what goes through a steer’s brain??  He started making a nuisance of himself and Ord grabbed Tillie’s reins to lead us out of harm’s way.  We made it about half a mile away and Tillie caught me completely off guard, lowered her head between her front legs and pitched me up and then down.  I landed with a kerthud on the ground–never even touched the saddle horn to hang on–never pulled the reins to lift her head–just took flight so suddenly it left me shaken, breathless and dazed.

This is how it starts . . . .

As near as I can recall, this was kind of how Tilly approached off-loading me.  Ord was riding in front and when he turned around all he saw was  her hind legs in the air and I was somewhere in between.  I made it back to the barn and climbed up on the corral while he mounted her and rode her back the same route we had been taking.  She did not give him any trouble.  She never gives HIM any trouble!  We decided to call it a day and I made it back to the house, back straight, shoulders erect, head upright, all the while  holding in a silent scream for a pain killer.  The following week the orthopedic doctor shook his head when I explained the reason for my lower back pain.  He was trying to imagine a woman my age being thrown from a horse.

When she’s good . . .

I am struggling with a number of choices.  Get on and try riding her.  Hire somebody else to work with her for a period of time.  Consider breeding her for a foal, which would be big fun, more hay, more work, and more expense (two horses on vet panic button).  Tilly turned seven on Mother’s Day and to date is what is derisively referred to as a “pasture pet” by horse people.  I have to consider what she has cost, not just in terms of money, but pain (broken finger when she pulled a knotted lead rope through my hand; smashed big toe that she accidentally stepped on that has taken two years to grow a normal toenail; and my lower back pain which Tilly is partly to blame for.)  But then, there have been a variety of assaults over the years in this area!

No shelter . . . .

This painting of Tilly and I got away from me.  The artist, Luke Anderson, offered it to me and I waited a bit and it sold from the gallery where it was hanging.  So, I begged him to paint me another one and here it is.

At home on the range . . . .

Whatever choice I make with Tilly, we are in it together ’til the end.  She is a magnificent animal and I believe she trusts me to make the right decisions for her.Now if only I can learn to trust her and take another ride!

“Who said this was gonna be fun?” .

Springtime means branding time.  没带罩子让他c了一节课 cowboys and cowgirls gather and travel from ranch to ranch to help get a job done that takes lots of hands.  They can always count on a cold beer, a hot lunch and lots of hard work as hundreds of calves are branded, castrated, vaccinated, ear tagged and returned to their anxious mother cows for sympathy and a little something to eat.

Gridlock in the barnyard . . . .

The day starts early with lots of riders to gather cattle from the range and herd them into corrals or holding pens.  Calves are separated into separate pens and the fun begins.

Who’s going to be first? . . . .

The wranglers drop a loop and try to catch a heel, then drag the calves to the open arms of a vast array of helpers, each with a specific task.  The dust flies, the sun climbs in the sky, and the work goes on.

Hold ’em . . . .

Calves are sometimes branded with different brands, reflecting ownership and tagged as to male and female.  In this instance, the guys get the bad breaks and are castrated to become steers to be fattened and sent to market to become burgers and steaks.

These gals can handle the job . . . .

Ranching has no clearly defined roles.  Women build fence, ride horseback, gather cattle, brand calves, irrigate meadows, help with cutting and baling hay, run combines and tractors, tend baby calves and lambs in their laundry rooms to keep them alive in a blizzard, raise poultry, plant vegetable gardens, and at summer’s end, preserve fruit and vegetables for the winter.  That is in addition to running a household and being wife and mother.

“Oh, no – my turn” . . . .

These black Angus calves are the lifeblood of a ranch.  Some of the females, or heifers, will be held back to add to the herd–and some are sold to other ranchers who are building their herds.   Without the revenue raised from these cattle, ranches would not exist.  Nobody gets rich, but the lucky ones who can maintain the lifestyle of ranching are rich indeed.  (Dad always said the best way for a rancher to get rich was to have an oil well or two!)

Man and horse – partners . . . .

In spite of all the buggies on four wheels that seem to proliferate on every country road, nothing gets the job done like a horse.  I don’t think they will be replaced any time soon.

Start ’em young! . . . .

Kids love branding time.  I can remember sneaking my first cold beer from a tub of ice in the back of a pickup and I couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9. All the adults were too busy to notice. Getting old enough to ride on the roundup, even though it meant getting up at 5:00 a.m. and shivering in the cool morning air on horseback, was a thrill and an honor.

“Don’t let those calves go this way!” . . . .

As the calves are released from the trauma of the branding, they are diverted to another pen.  These young cowpokes make sure they don’t head off in the wrong direction.

“I want my mama!” . . . .

Cannot help but love these babies.  Their antics as playful calves aren’t any different from puppies, kittens, foals or any other of God’s creatures.  I can remember loving my 4-H lambs so much we brought them home from the fair rather than sell them at the livestock auction.  Dad thought I might forget about them once they were turned out to pasture, but I still remember searching through the herd for their familiar faces.

“Hey, that’s not my mom!” . . . .

A little chaos makes for a good day’s fun.  Hardest part of the day was grabbing all the action on a camera.  Maybe a videotape would have been easier??

Ladies in waiting . . . .

Relative calm in this direction, as some of the calves have begun to find their mothers.

Putting on the brand . . . .

Branding is not for the faint of heart.  The calf bellows and tries to escape and it takes several pairs of hands (and feet) to get the job done.  It is over in a matter of seconds and the brand mark will sting for awhile and heal like any wire cut or scratch from a tree limb.  But at the moment, it is hard not to feel sorry for the calves.

Boots and red Barnum dirt . . . .

Some say the ranching way of life is threatened and going the way of small farmers. Certainly rising land costs, uncertain cattle markets, inheritance taxes, generational disputes and one-thousand other things can all add up to make things difficult.  But the ranching families with grit and determination will hold on.

Hang in there, Ethan! . . . .

horse social . . . .

Tilly is quite enamored with the new silver appaloosa gelding who lives next door.  She raced him and the other three horses in the group to the top of the hill to share a friendly hello.  I tried to catch all five horses in my camera lens as they ran but they were too fast for me!

“hey, wait up!” . . . .

After a spirited run uphill, they are headed back down.  Who knows what goes on in a horse’s mind?

“what do I have to do to get some attention?” . . . .

It appears the friendly gathering has turned into a rout.  Miss Tilly appears to be having a temper tantrum or a play for attention.

Back to business . . . .

A little grazing takes the edge off the confrontation.  No vet bills from barbed wire cuts today, thank heavens!