Mud and Blood

With the extra chromosome given to the mule as if a gift, by its father, they are at times firm in their convictions. A parallel to, "The Boy named Sue" song, they have been part of western and in fact world history through the ages. You see their father "The Jackass" gave them this extra baggage so that the civilized people of our planet could expand, upon the backs of these beasts. Sturdy, strong, dependable, surefooted and notably defiant when harm to itself is in the way.


Like General Crook the famous fighter of The Indian Wars, my father preferred the mule as mount of choice. He had a few that really stood out among the many he owned. This story is about Four Eyes. She had two pink eyes that were almost difficult to look at. They seemed to have a never ending flow of matter dripping from them. Her gait was unrivaled. She could cover country as if the miles were mere feet. Her ears bobbed in time with a drummer somewhere above the ridges she so easily climbed. She is solid white in color, giving her a contrast to any setting other than a complete blizzard. Her mood always gave one the feeling she was a step ahead of even your own thoughts. My father had brought my brother and a close friend up the mountain that day to angle out a few trout, from a crystal clear, deep, crag embedded lake. One obstacle lay between a bent rod, jubilation, and a good time had by all. Four was refusing her long time master and friend, due to a mud bog no farther across than one could toss a feed sack. Yeltsin and Reagan met that day,there at that little seep spring. The Cold War Ended, I am sure shortly after this event took place. Something that had been brewing some 15 + years came to a head. Silver spurs began to let fly. Rommel poppers began to smack, like Kentucky squirrel rifles at Valley Forge. Four, however was unimpressed, she stood her ground completely knowing that there were China men just below the surface of this nasty bog. The battle raged for at least 20 long and grueling minutes. Hoace Grasie and Dan Severne locked in a cage match in Madison Square Garden. As if a whistle blown at the end of Super Bowl XXII, the battle ended. Blood now began to drip to the trail beneath this glorious steed of such a nobleman. Who as if on cue from a set director, my father said," I can't spur anymore, my legs are cramped".

Shorty Ties one on

Have you ever heard the term used by the older and wiser cowhands,"slow down so we can get done faster?" This, on many a frosty fall morning is used as a kind of prophesy when a neighbor comes to gather strays on outfits all across The Great Basin. Inevitably, with most fences around the basin built by the CCR sometime after the Big War, there are gaps. So what ends up happening around weaning time is a rodear to sort strays. On this particular morning there was a fair assembly representing just about every neighboring ranch. Occasions like this seem to cause anomalies in cosmic energy to shift. For example for some un researched by science reason all K9's forget their names on mornings like this. It is kinda thought of as the norm for a few cows to be missing ears and tails after such a rodear. That simple fact seems to stir the cattle a bit. Now stirred cattle, to a dyed in the wool buckaroo, for some strange reason causes him to automatically think that something needs to be roped. Perhaps like when Cro-Magnon Man discovered fire and just had that impulse to roast a slab of mastodon prime rib. Somehow satisfying the use of his canine teeth. Well Shorty was no different, nor was his partner Slim. They picked out about a 700 lb weanling that had a whole bunch to much fur covering its early spring iron. Just to be on the safe side of verifying ownership, all were in agreement to shave his brand. For sure, Slim threw a positive down right true head catch complete with a heap long dally. Before he could shorten a little Shorty reached and caught both hind feet. Now I am not saying he was hung over or anything like that, but all the clues kinda pointed that direction. Slow and dramatic reflexes being one of those clues. All things from here on slowed for reasons none of the buckaroos present shall ever fully comprehend. As the cow boss unmounted and proceeded to shave this foreign and unknown brand, that big fellow just kind of let out a bellar. Now Blacky did not take a whole lot of compassion on this calf. Quite the contrary he got a little cross. One tiny crow hop into this now front row type of event. Shorty whispers, " um I have a small problem." For somehow, when he went to stack his dallies, he had successfuly included about four complete dallies of his heavy shirt tails. Lucky for Shorty, as the rest of the hands went for popcorn for proper wreck viewing. Slim slid a coil or two of his 65 footer across the mule hide, to the cow boss, who wasted little time in undoing Shorty's predicament. About 30 whoa- easy sons later, Shorty's breathing came back to him in short powerful surges. Blacky let out about two gallons of conserved up perspiration. You know we never did figure out who owned that maverick!

Grandmas Mule

A rancher once told me," I wouldn't be caught dead on a mule". Oh you poor unwilling soul. Other than, them being half donkey, they are in reality quite suitable for most occasions. For example, like when grandma or Moomah came to visit the grandchildren. She said that she wanted to ride with them, it made perfect sense. In unison, all the kids shouted out with enthusiasm and joy "SALLY." There are many misguided and simply untrue behavioral traits surrounding the mule. Sure, when ill treated, one accurate swift kick with a hind appendage will send you to "The Big Roundup In The Sky." Or because of a mules' extremely elevated sense of survival, them being thought of as stubborn. It is a case of misunderstanding this beast of burden as a whole. I don't mean to keep striking the who is dumber cord, but listen to any old time mule skinner they will tell you, "You won't ever be as smart as the mule, you just need to be slow enough to listen to him." If we as humans have ever lived in a time, that is so fast that even our thoughts speed by, that time is at hand. So the day that I watched Sally and gramma walk down the arena at about one third of the normal Sally pace, I was brought from preschool to kindergarten in the equitation vocation. You see, Sally happens to be the product of a well bred gaited mare and a small Jack, giving her a very swift walk, perfect for the high strung and energetic child. When she moved off in tune with the pace congruent to that of my mother, I slowed myself enough to respect even more, our family pet.

Cowboyin With a Blackberry

It has always been said that there is only one species less capable in thought process than Mammalian Bovidae. That of course being, Mammalian Homosapien cowboyus. Through genetic and micro-chip-ology there seems to be some advancement occurring. Just the other day, I was privy to witness a true leap forward in this crucial race towards total dominance between the two. As I was horseback during the entire incident, I stand as a witness to the entire spectacle. For the sake of infringement policies we shall replace names of both parties, insuring further embarrassment and court costs to be minimal. We shall call our hero (Shorty) and the Bovine (Bronkle). Shorty for soon to be obvious reasons and Bronkle due to her not quite bald white face. More of a got hit with a muddy snowball type look, than all white.
It all started when Shorty was checking his so called stock on his brand new communication tool. First of all, he is a little lost in the whole Stock Market thing. He thinks cattle futures are based on the Farmers Almanac and Bonds are a set of hobbles that hang from his Visalia saddle. He has never been long in the educational side of things, thus Shorty. By the way he thinks Columbus had three horses. Nina a little bay mare, Pinta the paint and Santa Maria, that was born around Christmas time. So in one hand was this device, over the big horn of his saddle loosely hung his two rein setup. On that particular day he happened to be setting in the middle of Earl Grey. A fine looking type horse, although a tad goosey. Unbeknown to us Shorty had programmed his wife's number to ring his new found time waster, with a series of high pitched growls. The first growl set all parties involved, Earl, Bronkle, Shorty on higher alert. All time and forward motion was at a complete standstill for what seemed to be an eternity. Bronkle was the first to break point, with perhaps neck breaking speed. She did a 180* turn, to locate the predator that was threatening her now half grown calf. The second notification from Shorty's, now worst enemy, proved to be the starting pistol for the oncoming storm. Bronkle jumped right over Earl's lowered stiff ears. All buckaroos know without a shadow of a doubt, that Visalia only created their saddles for one passenger. Earl must have read this somewhere in Western Horseman. He proceeded into a horse swan dive. Complete with hind hooves and tail perpendicular at all times with Mother Earth. On that very first jump is when I witnessed the most intelligence ever displayed, before or since, by Mammalian Homosapien cowboyus. Shorty answered his wife's call and said," Honey I am busy".

Afraid of the Future

It seems that all horse owners are obsessed with staying away from the future of Equine America as we know it. The words filly, brood mare and dam have become synopsis with a few words that sailors and convicts use repeatedly. With the exclusion of barrel racers all would be horse owners avoid them as if Black Death were gripping their manes, in a bareback ride into their lives. Even the leading producers are dumping them in huge numbers across the country. Look anywhere horses are advertised and you will read discounted, dispersal, fire sale, price reduced and the biggest word used in pedaling mares today, FREE. Let us ask ourselves are they really that bad? As much as I like going in the dark of a cool summer morning to halter a good quiet gelding to be used on the days circle. A mare can and does the exact same job with one advantage. If she were to run into a badger hole at mach one, resulting in a fractured cannon bone or worse, because your one year old Kelpie kept pushing calves, so that they felt that breaking back was better than disappearing into the thickness of the herd. She still could be turned out with the brood band and produce many capable remounts for your outfit. If that same horse happened to be your fine gelding. Well look on the bright side, he most certainly would feed your ill mannered not yet broke pup.
One more thought before we as horse enthusiasts completely get out of the filly business. How would you feel if atomic war reduced the world only to leave untouched one lone bar in San Francisco to be responsible for procreation?

Winter Horse Trading

There is snow covering the sage, shoes are pulled for the winter, cows are out on the desert trying to make a living on scrub brush. How's a fellar s'post to make his? Well, in this modern age of C list and DreamHorse.com, it is getting a little scarce to find a market for that wonderful little pony that now has clinkers stuck to its fuzzy coat. Sure, during the summer, it was looking real nice, all slicked up and sassy, braided mane and tail like a school girl. Now it kinda looks a lot like the back end of a cow dog that just ran through a cockle burr patch. Is there a place to sell such a thing as a project horse? Or a steed that needs a little work, so to speak. The answer is No, No, No. Ok, so we all realize that and are getting over the fact that a bunch of vegetarians in leadership ruined "The Horse Nation" as we once knew it. The question should be asked,"What can I do to rebuild it?". Blog turned advice column says, do what I did. Go down to the auction, lift up your weather browned, gnarled, rope burned hand and buy something. I am not saying you have to do exactly as I did, in naming her Minka and putting your daughter on her to move cows in the middle of a very cold snap. But, I found that it worked for me. Next day we sold a solid cow pony for a real nice, times-being-what-they-are price.