Red Feather

There comes a time in every horse's life when they get to retire. For Joe, retirement comes in the form of endless days in the pasture, some special senior feed to help him keep up his weight, and perhaps the occasional short ride to enjoy the beauty of the day. Not that he ever worked too hard to begin with, but cattle work has just become too much for him to keep up with. He is 26 and as beautiful as ever.

Enter Red Feather. He is a somewhat distant relative to Joe and was purchased from the same breeder that Joe was purchased from 24 years ago. That's a long time to be raising horses, especially the same bloodlines. His dad is a 3/4 brother to Joe. Red Feather (or Fedder as the kids like to say) is four years old and just getting started in his career.

He was purchased with the intent that Danish Cowboy would use him for cattle work. His devotion is falling towards my little girl, though. She loves all things soft and what could be better than a thousand pounds of velvety nose, tangled mane, and hairy ears.

What is it about girls and horses?

The Perfect Day

 Sometimes we get Autumn.  Sometimes we don't.  Although a brief mid-September snowstorm threatened to put a damper on the fun that can be associated with fall activitities, October is shaping up to be the perfect month of Autumn that it should be.

So on Saturday morning, Danish Cowboy and the other adults in the party headed out at daybreak to gather a portion of our cows out of the pasture and head them east towards home so that the calves can be conditioned prior to shipping them in a few weeks.  I was left behind with the kids and horses (which tend to merge into one on some days in terms of money spent, frustrations caused, tears shed, and love expended) to meet them at about the halfway point.  Three riders, three four wheelers, a side-by-side utility vehicle and two pick-ups with horse trailers comprised our group.

 

The cows didn't have a chance. 

Argo behaved.

 

My kids got to hang out with their favorite people and do things that would ordinarily send fear into their mother's heart.

These are the reasons that I love living here:  fresh air in your face while on the back of a good horse, the opportunity for horseback photography, calves trying to steal some of their mother's milk while everybody is on the move, the exhaustion that hits you when you return to the house, the knowledge that we are just days away from wrapping up another year of production.  It's a good life.

Perfection, Big and Small

His hair an auburn red, I bury my face and hands in

His straw colored mane for warmth,

He stands quietly, just being.

His perfection in my eyes is massive, just like his stature.

I look to the side to discover perfection of a different form,

Snowflakes.

Quietly and delicately latching on to his auburn side,

Surviving the warmth which he exudes.

The gentleness and beauty of the moment is not lost on me,

The perfection I see, both big and small, puts me at ease.

The 12 Days of Christmas #7

We awoke to a heavy fog in our little valley yesterday. Bitter cold is soon to be returning and the cows are back in the routine of being well fed with several bales of hay each day.
"What a perfect morning to do a little cleaning, listen to A Prairie Home Companion and enjoy a hot cup of tea while Danish Cowboy takes the kids feeding with him," I thought naively to myself. (Above: Do you see them? Do you see them slowly plodding towards us?)
"You have to help me feed," Danish Cowboy lovingly says. The words break my trance. His brother has to go to church and can't help? During Advent? Then I have to hear all about how this self-proclaimed meteorologist I am enjoying my breakfast with and all of the other fake meteorologists before him have figured out that precipiation falls 90 days after a heavy fog. I'm not sure if light fog means a slight drizzle or flurry and heavy fog means a downpour or blizzard. I'll let you know in 90 days. If Danish Cowboy's weather predictions hold true, we are setting ourselves up for a house full of baby calves come March 20th as this is the time we are scheduled to start calving. I'll stock up on the air freshener. The cow apparitions finally become reality and they disperse into small groups to enjoy the hay that Danish Cowboy has spread across the prairie. They will parade into the feeding grounds over the next 10-15 minutes, some cows being hungrier and more aggressive than others. It amuses me to watch how they will stop at one pile of hay, take a bite, decide whether or not it suits their needs, then quickly move on to the next pile. Herd relationships also play a role in who is allowed to graze at a certain pile and who is not.
Eventually everyone settles down to their chosen hay and we gladly watch as they contentedly munch and crunch. Tucker Dog keeps an eye out for the tractor and his master as well as any snowshoe hares that might happen to cross his path. One of these things is not like the other.

It's my poor, starving horse. The cruelty of feeding the cows on one side of the fence and not giving Argo any of the goodies is just wrong, don't you think? Send your complaints to Danish Cowboy. I'm not in charge of the hay distribution around these parts.

Git along little doggies

The crops are stored in the bins, the hay is hauled, the winter wheat is planted, the equipment and tractors used so heavily during the warmer months are cleaned and tucked safely away in the shed. Which means that it should be vacation season, only it's not.
Remember those cows? Those cute little calves that were born this spring? Well they are no longer cute and will be off to new "homes" in a few short weeks so we need to bring them in to the corrals, vaccinate them, and put in fancy new electronic ear tags.
But before that happens, our cattle herd, which was split into three groups earlier in the summer, needs to be reunited.So it's on to the horses we go, a husband, a niece and myself, to move about 30 pairs 7 miles due south.
As the official photographer for this little adventure, I was pleased that my beloved horse (who would be considered useless by any halfway-legitimate cowboy) only tried to kill me for about the first 20 minutes of this little trail ride.
And then this big guy came along and threw our whole world upside down. But I perfected the one-handed shot and we moved on past this pretty horse's pasture, without any major mishaps.

Per standard operating procedure, Danish Cowboy, Joe and Tucker Dog do most of the work. The horses put on about 7 miles. The dog probably put on about 20.
Tucker Dog has learned to push the herd from behind (as was difficult for him to do because Australian Kelpies are naturally headers rather than heelers) and was a great asset to us this cold, blustery day because the cows were unwilling to move. Do you know how boring and cold it is to follow a herd of cows for 7 miles at a pace of about 2 miles an hour? It's painful, sometimes. I'm glad I had my camera in hand.

We did have a few exciting moments. There were two or three cows who seemed determined to pulverize Tucker Dog into the ground. It all happened so fast, I just couldn't catch it on camera. I ended up catching a blur of dog and cow hooves, or as is the case here, the tail end of the fight.

But because the cows moved so slowly, I was able to drink in all of the scenery. Towards the end of our trail ride, we move through the gravel hills formed by the seas of an ancient time.
It's my favorite place in the world: the low rain clouds moving in quickly, the patches of red grass (ironically named little bluestem) dotting the hillside, the raw wildness and loneliness of it all.
When we finally got to our land and had just two miles to go, we traded the horses in for a four wheeler and a pick-up. Danish Cowboy and I finished moving them south while the other half of our party took the horses home for a well-deserved rest (well-deserved for two out of the three, anyway)
Rain and mist started to gently fall upon us and the cows seemed to move even slower. You can see forever out here and while our end goal was clearly in sight, it took a great while to get there. I was thankful for the beauty that surrounded us.

Neglect

It's been awfully cold and rainy around here, a weather trait not very conducive to harvesting wheat. With a high in the sixties on both Saturday and Sunday and the calendar still telling us that it was August, Danish Cowboy and I began to experience a mild case of cabin fever. So we hopped on two four-wheelers, Tucker Dog included, and rode off into the sunset. Actually we just rode about a quarter of a mile out in to the summer horse pasture for an evening visit with the three amigos.

Three poor, neglected, starving amigos that rarely feel the touch of a human hand anymore let alone the weight of an adult on their back. Ginger the paint (almost named Giselle by my niece), Joe the quarter horse, and my beloved Argo.

The most neglected of them all? My oversized and pot-bellied Tenny Walker. I think it's sympathy weight for me. I gained. He gained. We'll both lose it when there is time to get back in the saddle.

And our hope is that we can get back in the saddle soon and share the joy of horses with our children. My little girl will need a bit of work. She talks about horses all of the time and loves to look at my horse-themed coffee table books, but when it comes right down to it, she only wants to be around them from a safe vantage point -- with a death grip on my hips or cozily wrapped around dad's shoulders.
I think she likes the idea of horses, but the reality of them is a different story. They are big and quick and she can't grab on to them and toss them off of the deck like she can with the cats (sorry cat lovers, but it is kind of funny to see this). It is very similar to me wanting to tear down a wall in the kitchen and make an island out of the space. I like the idea of this home improvement, but actually tearing into it is a whole different ball game. It will happen eventually though and my little girl will also come to trust horses in her own time. I know this to be true.

The little guy on the other hand has no fear of these creatures. 1200 pounds of horseflesh and he is ready to gallop away if we would let him. And then the next day he screams a fearful sound and refuses to pick up a worm out of the garden. If I could only read his mind.

Introducing our passions to our children is the best part of being a parent. We share with them our love of something and hope that it sticks -- or at the very least they learn to find a passion of their own. Horses, sports, life -- I want them them to reach for the stars and make the most out of what they love to do.

And between my Argo and Danish Cowboy's still-quick and still-beautiful 25 year old quarter horse named Joe, we'll give these little people lots of memories to hang on to throughout their lives all while instilling in them that it is okay to love another creature wholeheartedly and with total abandon.

An Old-fashioned Cattle Roundup

I love my horse. I love my horse. I love my horse. Most of the time.

It all started out so innocently. Danish Cowboy on Joe, Tucker Dog, and me and trusty Argo wandering along towards the north pasture where the cattle herd was located. We never (as in this is our 2nd time in 7.5 years) ride together and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Argo was behaving, it was a beautiful morning and we were off to gather cows so that we might brand the calves. It was all going so well...

until this well-behaved horse showed up. While this picture was taken a bit later in the morning after the cows were pretty much gathered and corraled, the trouble started as soon as our good friend and helper showed up. You see, my horse Argo isn't very well socialized. I think he gets it from me. We tend to typically wander the ranch at a slow walk singing John Denver songs, enjoying the birds chirping, daydreaming about anything and everything, being completely by ourselves. And so Argo decided he needed to try to kill this horse while I was on him. Needless to say, we were shunned away from the socializing roundup time and relegated to clean up duty...

Not that you can really clean up when you are 1/2 a mile behind the herd, but this is MY fantasy world and MY blog. The saddle was falling off, the horse was crazed and I was of absolutely no use to the roundup. Also, my camera had a pretty severe smudge mark in the lower right hand corner, just in case you were wondering if I had noticed that. Once again, while out riding, I had no one to talk to but myself and the horse. It's a good thing we are well practiced in this sort of thing.I was only able to take this picture because Argo stopped to pee. Did you know that a horse can not pee while walking? I suppose most creatures can't, but anyway... Immediately after snapping this picture Argo took off, once again, to try and kill the other horse. (***See Blog Footnote 1)
I asked him to do circles and go in reverse while we waited for the cows to get through the gate. Horsemanship "stall tactics" for those in fear of their life. And their camera's life.
We then took off in our own direction to try and get some enjoyment out of the day. Danish Cowboy and the useful people on horses and or 4-wheelers continued to push the herd towards the corrals where we branded later that afternoon. (Don't worry, those pictures are soon to follow.) We did eventually make it back home without major incident, with an intact camera, and with only a slightly bruised ego.

Argo is not a very good ranch horse. First of all, he's a Tennessee Walker (this is quarter horse country), he's too tall which does not allow for easy mounting, he's slow, he's fat, he eats too much, and he is not a very good team player. But that's okay. I didn't buy him to win any rodeos or rope any cows. I bought him to be my buddy. And he's done a pretty amazing job of it. I love my horse.

***Blog Footnote 1: Regarding the horse/4-wheeler picture: This illustrates so vividly the crossroads that our western ranching culture is quickly arriving at. It was only three or four years ago that our friend on the 4-wheeler rode his horse at branding time. The simplicity and physical ease of motorized vehicles is quickly taking over. While some ranchers still ride every day to complete their work, the vast majority have pensioned their horses to the pasture. Danish Cowboy only rides a few times a year for work and never for pleasure (there just isn't time, although he does thoroughly enjoy the horses). This is just one way that the open range culture which so many (including myself) dreamily envision, is fading away. Society changes, I suppose, and this isn't necessarily good or bad. Just different.