Cowgirl Rescue

Regardless of the experience, some horses just never quite learn how to stay away from things that have gotten them in trouble in the past… 

That was the case yesterday with one of our two year old race prospects.  His name is Stolicknaya, and he’s by the trendy Thoroughbred sprint-sire Quick Action, and his dam is a stocky triple-A producing daughter of Stoli.  He is one of a good handful now that we’ve watched through the office window as he took his first look at the world through bleary eye’s in the foaling stall adjacent.  I don’t think any of us will forget the moment he first stood on his sturdy legs, his outline sharp in the red darkness cast by the heat lamp.  “Whoa…!”  His depth of heartgirth was simply awesome, and sometimes I still wonder what that colt has idling under the hood.

One evening about two months later, it was near dusk and we were feeding and finishing up with our evening chores.  I heard my mothers voice call out with considerable urgency:

 "Lick is caught in the fence!" 

 

We dropped our feed pails and halters where we stood, and made a bee-line at a flat run for the high pasture west of the barn.  My (then just 12) year old neice and I arrived to find my mother holding the colt’s head in an attempt to keep him still, and my father arrived only moments later.  Stolicknaya was caught all right, and he was caught good. 

You do your part as a steward of these fine animals to ensure their enclosures are adequate – in our case pipe and cable fencing - but they still try to remove their own limbs on occasion.  Stolicknaya had somehow, at his tender age, woven his leg between two very tightly sprung cables and fallen to the ground, creating a twist that was vice-like around his hind leg.  Three pairs of hands shot to those cables and attempted to pry them open, to no avail; my mother did her best to keep him calm.  My father went to fetch a means to sever the cable, and at that moment my nieces’ eyes met mine, and with Supergirl strength, we pried those cables widely apart with not but our bare hands and his leg fell free.  Despite the blood blisters that nearly spanned from our thumb to smallest finger, all was well with Stolicknaya.  He was probably no more sore than we, really.

Fast forward two full years to yesterday afternoon.  My niece (thank God for her) is now fourteen, and with me again today in another unforseen act of perfect timing.  Our duties were done in the barn, and we were just about to take a break and head for the hacienda.  We glance into the bottom pasture where Stolicknaya now resides with his lovely (and very palomino) ’girlfriend.’  I had seen him itching himself on the fence not moments ago, and now he had managed to get himself cast against the fence with all four legs sticking through into the lane.  We stopped to process the scene, until my niece broke the silence: “Okay, that is not right…”  How swiftly legs can carry you when something is wrong in the fields. 

There we were again: standing above our track-hopeful having flashbacks to ‘Nam, and then it was Cowgirl-Rescue time.  Stolicknaya, bless his intelligence, offered not a single movement as we gripped his front legs to pull half of him further away from the fence.  I moved to his hind legs, and in a very coordinated effort that results from her and I working together so often, my niece and I managed to pull all four of his limbs back through the fence and proceed to roll him over.

Visualize if you will–  A girl on each end of a very good sized young horse, with a hand on each of his hooves, spotting him through a graceful 180 degree prone plie’-squat.  Once turned, he gathered himself immediately and loped away without so much as a courtesy nod.  Only after he was free did we highfive and laugh at how funny that really must have looked, and also how kind he was to not completely rearrange our facial features in the process. 

 He was again – perfectly fine. 

The moral of this story?  Don’t underestimate the hair-trigger quick judgement of a cowgirl when her horse is in danger, because she will jump in heart first.  Horses are incredible beings, and capable of more intelligence and understanding than we sometimes give them credit for. 

Nieces, too.  - C.s.

A Good Morning

We’re fortunate to live not but 15 minutes from the Grady County Fairgrounds, where D&G Barrel Productions hosts a couple of events every year.  They have a race going on this weekend, and this morning I hauled two of our prospects in to the Grounds take advantage of the open arena they were offering to give the horses some needed exposure.

Viperous and Winneys Peppy Girl made the short trip with me this morning.  Viperous hasn’t been hauled to a “public” setting in over a year, and that was even before he was started under saddle.  I was very curious today to see if my normally gentlemanly young stud would suffer from sensory overload, or if he would maintain his reputation as a fairly reliable stud colt.  He was very good today, and never made a sound nor a jump.

Winneys Peppy Girl also impressed me this morning, considering where she was in her mindset when she arrived here at the Angel Spurs.  To step on a horse who was completely comfortable with everything new she was encountering, was an awesome feeling, and the reason I am a die hard fan of the Mr San Peppy bloodline.  Winneys Peppy Girl has it on both sides, and though they strike some as a hotter natured family of cow horses, I have found that their quirks are very much worth working around.  They are the kind of horses who handle an honest days work.

Today gave me a good sense of where both of these prospects are at, and what I can expect from them this year, and it looks like smooth sailing as we roll on.  Until next time – C.s.

Welcome to DtH

Hello, and thank you for visiting my blog!

I am looking forward to sharing my thoughts and experiences from both at home in the arena, and on the road.  It should prove to be an interesting year for not only myself, but also for the Angel Spurs Ranch breeding program.  The wheels are being set in motion to prove what our horses can do, and that is both an exciting and terrifying thing.  Much of our success (or failure) will undoubtably be due to my abilities, lack thereof, or inadequate relationship with my horses.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a horse trainer – never thought of myself that way – I just try to listen to what my horses say they need. 

Horsemen and women are in many ways, like artists; their horses being their canvas.  I find it incredibly fascinating on the part of our horses how they reflect, with mirror like quality, an individual trainers’ style and methods.  When we are with our horses - whether on “the back forty” where there is noone but you, your horse, and the Lord watching - or in a colliseum where your run is not only scrutinized by the hundreds watching in person, but potentially webcast and televised – either way, it really puts a horseman on the spot!  A horses’ first footfall into the arena is exactly the same as the upward flick of a lightswitch in an art gallery.  Picasso or Divinci, our horses reveal our abilities, experience, and even our disposition.

I haven’t personally shown a horse since December of 2008 when I had the incredible fortune to take part in the NCHA Futurity, but on a horse that was prepared for me.  Not since 2005 have I shown a horse that I’ve trained.  Strangely, I feel almost nervous to get back in the arena, but I’ve missed competition and we have young horses of a good calibre in our barn this year.

I pray that 2011 is a great year for us all, in all of our endevors.  Thanks again for stopping by my little corner of this massive cyberspace, and if I don’t see you here again, maybe I’ll see you on the road!  Here’s to hoping summer gas prices don’t get too high. – C.s.