Officiallly named Abraham, many other monikers took over, including Rib Eye, Meat Loaf and of course, Feedlot. I am probably missing a few as well as many epithets hurled his way as he found myriad ways to get into mischief.

Feedlot’s curiosity about anything unusual or different in his range of vision requires him to investigate, test and terminate. Young trees, new fences, containers of all types, nothing misses his attention. Growing trees in 我和公发生了性关系公 is one of the most difficult endeavors one can imagine,and trying to give them a real chance of survival means overcoming Feedlot’s determination to break branches, chomp leaves and strip the bark with his horns.

Caught in the act of invading a small chicken pen next to the garden, he contents himself with eating the remains of a bale of straw he dug out of the shed, broke open and scattered about. NIce going, Feedlot!

Tru Tahlequah Miss arrived at Penrose, CO on Mother’s Day. We bred one of my niece Sue’s mares, a sorrel with enough splash to qualify as a registered paint to a handsome registered black and white paint, Sugs Tru Luck and our lives took on a whole new dimension.

My dog Rosie is curious about these new additions to the family. She is cautious around them but very interested in staying close. Feedlot stopped crying and wailing for his mama when Tilly arrived. After Tilly overcame her trauma of traveling from Colorado in a trailer, she seemed to be getting along reasonably well. With Tilly, I have learned you never know her real attitude until she unwinds in an explosion of bucking, kicking and stomping. She will be 10 on Mother’s Day, 2022 and it has been a decade of fun and fury.

Draining the bird bath was a minor nuisance from this pair. What one did not think of,the other did. And when they were apart, they were always on the lookout for each other. When Tilly had to go to the vet, Feedlot became agitated and would follow the horse trailer to the cattle guard. He was always on hand for her return to check in with her.

Feedlot does not have a “full rack” of horns that his Longhorn mother has. One horn grows up, the other down near his cheek. It became apparent something had to be done so a trip to the vet ended in a chunk being sawed off. It was a pretty gruesome experience and he is being bandaged to stop the bleeding. He was so happy to be home again and I am certain Tilly was sympathetic to his plight.

When it came time to put Tilly under saddle, Feedlot was bad news. A maiden voyage with me on her back and my trainer leading her around the pasture created tension between Tilly and her possessive friend Feedlot. When we managed to elude him and traveled through a gate that contained him, he threw a fit, running along the fence snorting and raking his horns along the fence. When we drew out of sight, Tilly was agitated. At first she seemed to calm down, but shortly did what I have learned is her modus operandi. She bucked me off. Ord, my trainer took her back to the barn, while I trailed along with severe lower back pain. He took her out and made her follow the trail we had outlined for our ride. She gave him no trouble, but that was small comfort to me.

Tilly expresses irritation and frustration with loading in the horse trailer. It took quite a while and many rodeos to convince her.

A tree collapsed in a storm and we piled up branches for days to be burned. This pair could not contain their curiosity, checking to see if there were any remaining leaves to chew on. Typical of their behavior. We decided to build a fence to separate them and see if we could produce a foal to keep Tilly company. Plans to breed Tilly began in earnest and consumed two summers and a small fortune in vet fees and stud fees. To no avail. The vet reasoned that since she was an “old maid” she might be difficult. I question that assessment and am debating whether to try again. Perhaps if we found a real nice guy instead of doing artificial insemination, she would cooperate?

Feedlot was thrilled this past autumn when we invited his mother for an extended visit to help graze the pastures along with a couple other cows. They nuzzled and loved on each other while Tilly had to just watch from afar. Hmmm. She needs a friend without horns!

Feedlot was Panda the Longhorn cow’s last calf and she lives next door where she can keep an eye on him. Their bond is truly heartwarming – a mother never forgets. It is almost as great a friendship as Tilly and Feedlot share.

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 我和公发生了性关系公 . . .

Tilly faced a dramatic event when she was weaned from her mother and loaded to travel from Colorado to 我和公发生了性关系公.  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!