In With the New

So there's this new horse. She's young, sassy, solid, and silly. Part of me is broken off and floating somewhere nearby with the stress of working again with a young and way different new horse. But part of me is 4 years older from having worked with Dewey all that time, and able to slow down, give her a chance, and correct her when she's being a fruitcake. Without getting mad. (have not totally accomplished this yet.) Maggie is from Oregon, buttermilk colored, like a giant dog with love and a wagging tail. She is also exactly like the sheep - busting into to whatever you're doing, saying PICK ME PICK ME when going to work with her, but then when actually working has the attention span of an amphetamine addict jumping on a trampoline. But I do LIKE the old girl. For some reason. She lets Dewey boss her around. She's pretty bright about not freaking out at new things, she is half angel half devil. I have to remember that she is still a youngster who wants to play and eat everything including me at times. This is part of her charm. She will become a horse that will turn right and left, and stop, and walk calmly on a leadrope. She will be able to cart me and our kids around safely and sanely. She is already making Dewey very happy just to have a buddy who is an actual horse, near him at night in the barn when he must have been very dark and lonely, on his little empty horse planet. I just have to survive it, and sometimes stop trying so hard, and love instead. Maybe in all areas, moms.

Lose a Ball, Gain Some Insight

So it's best not to ride when you have a cyst in your pants. I found that out two weeks ago, on a Monday. When I rode the last time, and swung up into the saddle and felt like hmm, sitting on a hard golf ball that is actually my BALL. Attached to me. Painful. I rode anyway, because I was all dressed for it and Dewey and I were aimed toward the trail and the creek is on the trail, and well we had to do that. When you're all geared up for water, and nature, you just have to keep going, balls and all. Three days later I was driving to the ER to have my ball drained, and it was not as fun as it sounds. The good news is it's only temporary and I get to have it permanently removed this Thursday, for those of you marking your calendars. It was just an old cyst, but too much riding made it an old, big mean villain cyst. I hope to keep it with my sheep's ball that I have in the tack room. Maybe we can make a little necklace. In the mean time (and I am mean when not getting to ride), although it's nice to not have to ride sort of-- in the mean time the kids are getting to actually ride, and get their chance to learn the basics like I wanted but never was ready to do. Two kids have already been up and I'll keep it up in the next month while I'm grounded. I'm also back to teaching Dewey to drive, and we got to have him wear his driving bridle with blinkers for the first time. Then I walked him around with that on. Then I drove him around the paddock with that on. Then I drove him around the arena with that on. Next we'll try the street. He seems fine with not being able to see me. Something interesting I learned- if he's used to your steady hands on the reins, and your voice, and your reassuring touch, he doesn't much mind not being able to see you. The horse feels you, hears you and trusts you - he is built for work, and to be a team. He's way better at all this than you are. So really you are the one learning while he's saying of course we're working together. That's what we're doing. All this time. So one ball lighter, and maybe Dewey will pull a cart eventually. And I become aware that I am more than I knew I was, and that Dewey already knew this.

It's All in the Delivery

Dewey's Nemesis. Effing Fed Ex. If you're a rider on a young tall horse, and you're riding next to the road, Fed Ex will find you. Fed Ex will test your skills at staying on and controlling your horse when he turns and tries to run the other way. I don't know if Dewey got a bad package once. A letter bomb. Some sort of hate mail. Because when he sees Fed Ex he knows DANGER. Fed Ex has the biggest, whitest, rattliest trucks on the road. Fed Ex is not going to slow down. They are Federal EXPRESS. They are in a hurry. Young thoroughbreds do not enjoy a big rattly white monster coming at them at 45 miles an hour on our road. I always put my cowboy blinders on and scan the road for the white monster. The delivery hell. Delivering me from my spinning and terrified horse to the hard ground. I keep a watch. You can hear me mutter, out on the trail, when I see it coming. F**cking Fed Ex... And turning my horse into the nearest driveway or getting off and making space. Dewey can do space between him and the evil. Just can't do bearing down, rattling, speeding, white vision of hell. We never wave at FedEx.

On the mountain, with Fed Ex at a safe distance, Dewey thinks. Someday. I will get a delivery I like.

Saddle Up

So I got a new old saddle for $150 bucks after selling my Aussie saddle since it was too wide for Dewey anyway, and I like to switch things up. I decided a Big Horn half synthetic saddle could be my western lightweight alternative, and it's been fun to try. I like to worry about the saddle fit, and then make the blanket match the saddlebags (I guess I am a girl in some ways), and I like to take Dewey out for the nice walk through the neighborhood trail because it's quiet and no one is talking to me and I see birds flying and I get to test my skills if Dewey gets nervous. But either turning 8 is making him mature, or we've just been lucky the last few months, because Dewey is becoming a laid back guy. He'll do whatever I ask, he's seemed to stop throwing in the occasional buck and stopped being wary of things. Now if he's worried about something on the path, he'll stop and we'll both look at it and then we'll keep going, or I'll get off and walk him past it, or we'll just give it a little more space so he feels comfortable. The riding is giving me a place to put all the stress of summer. The kids have only been back in school for a week but I'm still dumping all the activity and food preparation for those two months of sunup to sundown service out on the trail. I've been too tired to actually do the big trail that requires walking over a huge hill to get there. It's the more beautiful trail, it has water and large empty space. For now I'm just doing an hour ride a day, walking around trying out the different saddle. Letting my mind wander. I will get back to writing and doing work. Getting to ride Dewey is the one place I don't have to do anything else except ride Dewey, and contemplate things.

Saddle Up

Sold my Aussie saddle, and going to try a big horn synthetic western saddle. We'll see. Just wanted something lightweight that I can climb on and off on trails and won't kill my butt or his back. Kids going back to school and then I'll be working too so do I ever actually get to ride? Maybe my riding is less than I want, but I do GET to ride, and I get to have this tiny farm and the future hopefully will be more time on a porch sitting and looking out at rolling green hills. Dewey has still managed to get out every other day mostly, even in this busy summer. But it will be nice to spend a little more time less harried and slower. Horse time is stolen time.

A Road Less Travis

Did I mention the sheep is a pain in the ass? Dewey loves the sheep. No sheep, he seriously freaks out if Travis is somewhere out of his eyesight. So Travis doing his job. Filled the job of best friend. Company. If Travis is laying by the fence, a cottony lump at rest, Dewey is standing near him, head lowered. We used to have sheep here that ran away if you looked at them. Travis is more the bust into the barn type. If you come out to the barn, he comes running over. If you open a door, he says thank you, I will go in first. He's like a hundred pound hunk of solid wool bashing into everything. He is a ram. His style is knock it over, ask questions later. He would kill for hands. As it is, if he wants to break into something, he knocks it over, paws at it, attacks it basically with his face. But if I get him out of the chicken house, let's say, where he has escaped and is ransacking it like he's on the SWAT team, all I have to do is grab the top of his wooly neck and he comes along with me peacefully. Like hey, where ya been. Sure I'll go. Sorry. Sorry I made this huge mess. Just foolin around.

I'm Not the Only One Who's Nuts

The f**ing squirrels. It isn't enough that they raid my chicken house. They started eating the chicks. Not eating them like, cleaning their plate and leaving a nice tip. They just eat the head off. They leave it for me to find, like a calling card. Like a challenge. Like WE DID THIS. What are you going to do about it? So now they're caged in behind wire at night. And then I start checking my chicken house a billion times so I can get the eggs before they do. I plug every hole, so they can't get in. I open the door and there's a chicken on the nest doing her low warning crrrrrrrr when she sees me and there in front of her is a dumbass squirrel just waiting there with his tail twitching, he's just standing there like he's at the drive thru. He knows his food is coming. Dammit! So I put poison under the tack room and blocked all the holes there and there should be a serious Jonestown going on under there with I hope every squirrel on earth. Today I walked out and no death. First thing in the morning. Chicks all safe. Now to tackle the flea issue. Maybe animals are the dumbest thing to do. But the eggs are good. And the dog is good company. But we could have gone to Europe on the time I've spent problem solving out here. But we live here. So I made living here as fully invested in the land as I could. Earth is solid. Living things are lively. Flea bombs now. Europe later. Send me a postcard and a Xanax, cause that's the future of air travel for me.