My Buckin' Tailbone

I had looked forward to this ride with a couple friends on hilly and brushy trails, and pushing cattle to another pasture. I was riding a borrowed unknown-to-me buckskin mare. She was a grumpy old girl, that hadn't been handled much or ridden in a few years (I even wondered if she were only greenbroke in her younger years), pretty much simply a broodmare. Our task for the day was moving cow-calf pairs and some hefty bulls to another pasture. We had a heck of a time moving one particular big, young, and athletic beefcake who refused to pass the area he knew to be 'hot' where he had a run-in with the electric fence before, which used to cross there. It was the job for the three of us, along with another hand to push this impressive black angus ribeye over and beyond this 'hangup' to get him with the rest of the herd. The still-in-shock buckskin broodmare I rode, never having experienced any of this before, did surprisingly well. Though far less responsive than I was used to with my rope horse, Gus, and I spent much time and energy with my heels in her sides, but she minded reasonable well considering her life as a paddock pet... with this bull that outweighed her two times.

We finished our job of moving the herd, however, no matter the tricks, the reins, the hollers and clucks, we couldn't convince Ribeye to see things our way, and instead of risking life and limb as he grew ever more agitated with our coaxing, demonstrating his disdain for our help by mock-charging our horses and pawing the grass, we figured he'd follow the herd once they began moving up the hill and out of his sight, on his own. Calling it good, it was time to head a big stretch back to the stocktrailer and go home, so the three of us did what cowgirls 'on coffee' do and that is run our cowponies, full throttle, all the way back yipping and hollering. My two friends were up ahead of me, and me being me, couldn't let that happen... but my rusty ride, now tired and irritated with my heels in her sides demanding mock speed to regain lost ground, refused to go up another gear- and as she was galloping began bucking trying to rid herself of her coffee'd cowgirl with a need for speed.

I've ridden out bucking horses while working them in roundpens before, but never while on the run. Unwilling to be beat I held on with determined might- my legs and mostly my pride reined her in hard. The buckskin finally pulled up hard & fast but put in one more hard heave and dive onto her front legs. My pride still held strong, but not without my seat passing the saddle horn, as I watched the bronc's neck and flying mane rise at my face....and nearly going completely over. With time for only momentary surprise when I pushed forward and down in my stirrps that I regained my balance, and slamming my tailbone down... but not into the comfortable thrown of the saddle, but right onto the saddle horn itself- and hard. Momentarily stunned by the uncomfortable surprise, but relieved, as I could feel the angry old mare give to my reins, I reflected on my successful buckout as I got the mare to stop. Snorting & shaking her head mad, but stopped. Regaining composure and overall pleased with my performance, I looked ahead expecting to see my friends waving their hats with admiring smiles and adoration. However, instead I took note that they apparently missed my impressive ride, they even appeared somewhat let down to see my gentle lope to catch up to them (after the bucking). I made more than 8 seconds but no one noticed but Ribeye. Friends being friends, laughed their heads off when I told them about my buckin' saddle horn mishap. I still hear about it today.

Nope, I didn't go to the doctor, what can they do, certainly can't put a cast on it. Just dealt with the hand given me... a sore fanny. And if I sit on the hard ground, I'm still reminded of that day, especially when I'm out by the firepit and enjoying a good ribeye. ;)

Where the wild winds blow,
Sonya
http://www.wildwindart.com
http://www.cowgirloncoffee.com

Newest Drawing, "Tessa" Progression from pencil to color...

Newest drawing, "Tessa"....
Completed December 9, 2009

Here you can see a progress comparison, from pencil to pastel...





Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

If It Were Your Last Day....

Someone on my facebook page asked the question "What would you do if it were your last day?", I mulled it around, and here's what I came up with. One day, I will have to draw the image of the steel grey mustang....

"... so last days, like Paul asked....
As I already mentioned but it got buried in the bantering :).... I would ride off on my favorite horse and old '76 Circle Y. Paul, I think roping and beer are really good choices. So had to rethink my choice and combine the two... roping some and riding the rest of the day...
... I would rope like my 30' RH 3... Read More/8" true's on fire, roping the fastest steer on the fastest headin horse I could sink my spurs into, breaking some records and getting a story in newspapers and magazines, with local... heck national news coverage. Then, riding fast with my duster flying behind me, I'd ride off to the big open country on my favorite horse~ where there are no fences (but I bring my Leatherman's just in case... ). I would then look for and locate my steel gray mustang with the windknots tunneling through her insanely long mane.... and grab handfuls and ride the badlands. At the close of the day, I would then blog and status about it (LM@O) as I'm sitting by the fire drinking a Snakebite and eating the best ribeye! Yup, sounds like a good last day to me...
What would others do?"

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani: "I must have a reputation with the blue heron by our pond like the 'poporoci'. He's gone in a flash as soon as he sees me with camera in hand at the top of the pasture, yet he's calmly perched on one leg with 3,300 lbs of horses around him."

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Cash... You Never Count the Cost

Last winter, during a heavy wind storm, I found Cash stumbling in the wind and rain outside when I went to feed. I didn't know what happened, as it was dark, could barely see by the ambiant, residual light. He nearly toppled over me as I was putting on his blanket. I walked him two steps at a time back to the barn, and closed him into a smaller stall with a door to be seperated from the other horses. Being late at night, with only a small flashlight, I assumed perhaps a stroke/seisure. He stood with frightened eyes, and stood with his legs splayed out for additional balance. It was a long night.

The following day, I found 2x4 boards in one of the stalls bent and broken, and the vet also concluded head trauma by viewing his eyes and witnessing the structural damage to the barn. Not sure how it occured, but mostly likely the fierce wind had something to do with it. The horses have free access into the barn at will from the pasture.

Nearly a year later, he's still recovering, with still a slight tilt of the head, but even that is nearly gone. He's doing well, even kicks up his heels when called up for dinner, though his gait is a tad unsteady. He has a harder time keeping his weight up, probably bc he eats slower. It was touch and go last year, as he got so thin and sick that we nearly lost him. It was daily intensive care, as well as the meaningful times sitting in his stall, talking to him. He needed to be stalled for long periods of time away from the other horses, as well as for the harsh Oregon winter weather.

Prior to his head trauma, he was top of the rung in the equine social pecking order here, but sadly dropped below the young filly, who too also attempted to pick on him, and behaved like a cutting horse in attempt to dominate him. He had to be kept away from the other horses, for his safety, as well as being able to eat enough without the other running him off.

Now, he waivers between being back at the top, down to second with the mane mare, Blaze.... but he continues to assert himself and continues slow but steady improvement.

It was a long road, but Cash is one of those horses with those big gentle eyes, that no matter how bleak the situation, and how I was urged to put him down by others... I couldn't let go, and wouldn't give up, no matter the cost.


Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani: "Got home from Halloween fun after dark... fed the horses late in the pasture by brail and filtered moonlight. Must say it was a bit of an odd sensation feeding them in a hooded cloak in the pale moonlight. Caught a glimpse of my shadow from the moon....LOLLL! Ended up getting the bottom hem stepped on by curious horses, and I'm still picking hay out of it. :)"

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani "COWGIRL COMPOSURE": "When I was in college, hanging out with my buddies and showing off my athlete of a thoroughbred newly off the track, I took her out to burn pent-up energy from being in a stall for a day or two... She was fresh, but oh so pretty, arching her neck, snorting, and prancing like a dressage horse next to me as I walked her.

I looked at her amazing arched neck with rippling muscles beneath, aching to be set free. I smiled to myself. Once in a while she'd let out a kick bc she felt so good and was excited to 'go run'. My friends stood atop the hill watching me walk her to the pasture below, and I'm certain 'in awe' too as they watched my gorgeous bay and shiny specimin of horseflesh next to me. Well on one of her happy 'kick outs', she happened to turn sideways and nailed my thigh with a back hoof. Being farther away, my friends exclaimed asking if she'd kicked me and if I was ok. 'Nope! Didn't kick me... just looked like it' I said, mustering a normal voice and smile through gritted teeth. Later that night, my thigh was a giant bruise with my thigh muscles in knots. I could barely walk, but I had to drive them all home, using that leg on the clutch of my rig, which was about all I to could stand, yet still maintain 'cowgirl composure'. No one knew any better... ever.

I still walk or ride fresh horses, wear flipflops, and am accused of showing off on occasion... I never did say I was smart. ;)"

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani

Facebook | Sonya Malecky Spaziani "Popsicles": "just came in from feeding 3 horses, 3 cats, and a 3-legged dog (and one raccoon who eats like 3) on this very cold, blustery, and rainy day. My fingers feel like, and work this keyboard, like a set of popsicles."

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

River

All pets and critters have their own remarkable stories. I often pet my mutt-girl River, and I think out loud for her tipping ears to hear, that there’s a story in my head about her that needs to be told. So unfortunate there are many "throw away" pets out there, and living out in the country, we’ve met quite a few sad and confused animals that were no longer wanted and dropped off at a lonely crossroad near our home. River was one of those "throw away" dogs.

Yelling and shouting caught my attention while out in the yard. Down the road lives a nice, but pet-less couple in a quaint little farmhouse about a 1/3 of a mile away. When I looked up to see what the commotion was about I saw a little black dot streaking across their manicured front lawn like a bolt of lightning toward the road with the farmer chasing behind throwing rocks it’s direction. Sad, I thought, wondering about the little black critter. I went back to my tasks.

The following day while out at the barn, I noticed a little black speck down in our pasture past the pond, along the riverbank. “Oh…just great” I thought. Now, I’m not one against helping critters if they need it, but I was sure hoping this one was just one of those dogs that left for the day, taking itself for a walk, but was making it’s way back home. We’re already inundated with kids and critters, and I maintained my hopefulness with that thought, and went about currying the horses. I watched the black speck for 3 days looking for food like blackberries and moles, along the river’s bank.

On the fourth day, I spotted the black speck trotting up the road along our pasture fence heading this direction. “Shoot!” my head exclaimed! And I knew, once passed our driveway is a series of sharp and windy corners as you head up the hills back toward town, some of which are dangerous blind curves… I knew an intervention was inevitable. A little black critter would be impossible to see once sundown fell upon the dark road and it would certainly become a road stat. I had had enough, and no longer wanted my conscience to be nagging and tugging at me. This little black speck turned into a skinny little half-breed dog as it neared the driveway. My heart hurt as I worried for its safety as I could hear a truck of some sort make it’s way down the windy road.

From my long driveway I called to the aimless and confused little dog in a playfully high-pitched voice, getting down low and gently patting the ground. I was concerned that I may make it bolt and cross to the other side with oncoming vehicles. To my relief, the little black dog dropped her head and ears as she turned into the driveway acknowledging my offer. Extremely uncertain and fearful, she wagged her tail and down onto her belly she went, doing a belly-crawl the whole length of the long driveway to me. My heart sank for her. So skinny and frightened was she. Fearful and timid, she stopped short on her belly and lay on her side in submission smacking her tail on the ground and licking the air. She showed her submissive posture, but on edge and was ready to bolt if she thought necessary. I was able to slowly make my way to her and touch her, easing her anxiety by a thread.

We fed her and made her a comfortable bed in the doghouse with clean straw next to our German Shepherd, Ace and she became quite comfortable and befriended my very loyal and protective canine. Ace guarded the property and would never consider leaving the boundaries without my husband or I. That is, until the lure of a female… and one in heat, nonetheless! Gone for a day, but they both returned, exhausted with burs, berry vines, grass, and stickers covering their coats, in their ears, and between their toes. Ace had been gone nearly 12 hours and that was enough for me. I contacted the dog control and tied her to the front deck with my lungeline, awaiting for the county to take her away.

So away she went in the truck and they said they would do all they can to find her a good home… for 72 hours. I watched as the truck drove down the driveway with her, and I went back to what I had been working on. The county worker had mentioned that they post the photos of the new dogs on their website. The following day, I was curious, and I looked up the website, hitting the link to new dogs. There I saw a picture of this little black dog on a leash through the front glass doors of the pound… on her belly, like the belly-crawl she did up my driveway. My heart couldn’t take it, and the next day I made a phone call and drove to pick her up. I had to pay $40 dollars and get her in the books with the county to reclaim this abandoned dog. Needless to say after she was ‘bought and paid for’, she was then promptly taken to the vet fixed, to assure there would be no more ‘lure adventures’. Though abandoned, she certainly didn’t come free, because besides those expenses, she’s also endured 5 surgeries in an attempt save her back leg from a truck-riding accident. I say that with a smile on my face because of the irony in acquiring a “free” abandoned pet, that has cost us more then some of my horses. But, like family you don’t count the cost.

So, her name is River, and since that one day when she was taken to the pound, she hasn’t left since. We named River for a couple reasons, as that’s when she became ours, those days she spent trying to take care of herself along the water’s edge, alone, hungry and cold. Sometimes people are sent ‘gifts’, and don’t realize it or don’t know why unless they open themselves to the possibilities. During the days when she was down along the riverbank, we also had an old advanced-aged malamute-wolf hybrid named Kobuck (also an abandoned pet, and named after a river in Alaska) who would never leave the yard unless we took him with us…. That is until the last few days before he passed on. Like his wild ancestors, daily, Kobuck walked himself down to the river, crossed it and laid there waiting for his time to come, away from the ‘family den’. Each day he slowly walked himself down, (very unusual for him to leave the yard/deck), and each evening my husband and I went down with a small trailer and carried him back to the house. When Kobuck passed away, River came to our lives. Coincidence? Maybe.

Today, River is a fat and sassy girl with adoration for the whole family in her sweet eyes. Because of her unfortunate experiences, she seems that much more grateful. When tossed a treat, she never fails to stop to give a second look as if to say “thank you” and wags her tail. She’s so attuned to us that she pays attention to where your eyes are. She’ll sit, quietly attentive, watching. You don’t even have to turn your head, but if you just turn your eyes to look at her, her ears drop with adoration, her tail thuds on the ground, and licks the air. On occasion, we can even get her to howl with the whole family when we are out by the firepit. River… aka Cajun Sausage is fat, black, shiny, and happy and no longer a ‘throw away’ pet, but a fixed member of this family.

Simple things.
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

My Art at the HEART OF THE WEST Show & Sale

These are the two of my originals headed this October to the very prestigious HEART of the WEST Show and Sale in Wyoming. Only 40 artists are selected for this event each year. I am deeply honored to have been one of the selected western artists.

I'm primarily a pencil & pastel artist, but I also paint in the detailed hair structures using dark acrylic paint and strands of authentic wild horse mane hairs found in the high desert. So essentially each drawing is touched by an American mustang... our western heritage, living legends that are our National treasure!! I also donate to wild horse organizations to protect them and keep them roaming free.

To see my art work on Heart of the West's website, click this link and look on the bottom right and you'll see these two there! www.landerchamber.org/artpiecespage4.aspx Thanks for all your well wishes! The original photograph I used for "The One for the Job" is by wonderful equine photographer, Pam Nickoles of www.nickolesphotography.com .

Headed out on Friday to mat & frame with name plates:


"The One for the Job"
L/E 250 signed and numbered





"Water Paints"
L/E 250 signed and numbered



Where the wild wind blows,
Sonya

www.wildwindart.com
info@wildwindart.com

Boots Can Tell on You

I have a pair of boots that have cleaned stalls, walked undaunted through soupy mud and cowpies, ridden over miles of amazing trails and prairies, ridden many a horse, and clung on to wanna-be broncs, chased down steers, licked by dogs, ran from rattlers, and snuck up on mustangs. They've seen their share of drought, ice, snow, puddles or driving rain. They've kicked some booty, stomped to get their way, & hustled pool or target shooting. They've walked many miles whether concrete, packed dirt, marsh, through sagebrush, grass, dust, or rock.

They are half my age and took a long time to mold to just how I want them, and now are more comfortable than slippers. When I go out on the town to blow some steam and play pool at a tavern, I kick some dirt off & proudly wear them with grit, scuff marks, and their share of scars. One thing they refuse to do, however, is dance... not because they can't.

It's an easy habit to notice others' boots, which tell their own stories by the shape they're in, whether they're hard working & real riding or buckaroo boots, or just clean & shiny wanna-be weekend or fair-weather show-off boots to give an impression. Boots tell a lot about a person and the kind of person they are, but mostly if they ride and how well they sit a saddle.

My boots' stories about me?... They've been sworn to silence!

Simple things.

Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Sweet As Molasses

... waited 'til well past sundown, and under the light of the full moon, slipped a rope around the old resting paint's neck. Once he discovered there was no escape, I braced for a fight. But the old man began licking the palms of my hand like an over-grown puppy....

I was given the advice by a couple knowledgeble cowboys to use molasses with worming paste to get a horse to take his medicine... a method passed down from early cowboyin' days they said. It worked very well, better than expected.. simple yet ingenious! I had made a comment yesterday about the fact that I had missed putting the worming tube in the corner of my wise old paint's mouth (and...yeah without a halter)... and with Cash, you ONLY have one chance. Once he knows what you're up to, you only see dust in the wind... afterwhich he won't let anyone about three horse-strides near him! He's a wise horse full of experience, and once he sees the halter in your hand figuring what you're up to, he's gone.

So taking their advice, I dipped part of the worming tube in molasses (happened to have some left over from my husband's barbeque recipe). Of course, some had gotten on my hands.. and while I was gently interacting with the horses, they investigated and tasted the sticky molasses. Like a big puppy Cash lapped up the molasses with his big soft tongue, and I slowly put the tube in the corner and in went the medicine! No drama or dust to settle. He looked mildly surprised but continued his full enjoyment of licking the sweet molasses off his lips and my fingertips... He looked like a teenager who's found new love, even "starry-eyed". Reminded me of myself when I'm eating chocolate!

I shared the sticky stuff with the others as well and had horses all around me, smelling it, tasting it. They were all very enamored with this as well... there was no pecking order, no one horse bit or flattened their ears at another, all were "starry-eyed" and seemingly entranced .. almost a little eery. Blaze couldn't get enough of the aroma of the molasses, more so then eating it in this go-round. Reno, the same, only she touched some with her lip, and then curled her upper lip toward her nose to concentrate the heavenly smell.

I had the whole herd fighting for my "worming" attention!

Then like over-energetic children feeling a candy-sugar rush, they all bucked and played in the pasture for quite some time after. I must admit sampling it myself and attest it to be very tasty. I wonder if there's a candy made of only molasses.

Simple things.

Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Riding & Dirt Clods~ at a GOLF COURSE

So, okay... so I did my own thing as a kid. Never ran with the herd, but blazed my own trails. Authority? I bucked it. But I wasn't a bad kid, just quietly rebellious.

I was about ten when I worked at a stable in California. I didn't get paid, I got one better... in exchange for grooming a string of class horses, I got to ride! But I missed the part about rules, arena only, supervision, and something about a controlled environment. A few weeks there, I blended into the goings on and was part of that ecosystem. And lucky for me at the time, those that ran the place never took notice and did their own thing or were gone at horse shows most of the time. Life was good.

One hot day, after knocking the dust off of a horse, I went to the coin-operated pop dispensers in an aisle way, and got myself an Orange Crush. That sugary-caffeine-infused-orange-stuff sure quenched my parched thirst. Holding that icy cold pop bottle wet from the condensation was great too, I rubbed it all over my forehead. My parents never had pop in the fridge, so this was a big deal to me. Surprised when I felt some change in my pocket, I had to get me some ... I remember feeling so grown up putting that change into the dispenser and drinking a pop of my choice ...I was on my own and loving it! Why am I spending so much time on this tangent, because it's better to shift the blame onto anything other than me! Yeah, it was the caffeine. Really.

It just was too hot... Hot air in a cloths-drier hot. The air was stifling and work just didn't sound appealing. Wiping the dirty sweat off my face, and chewing dusty grit and horsehair was the buzzer on my time clock. I had a good friend of mine who stabled there, Katherine, who had a gorgeous black morgan gelding named Tonka. Katherine and I spent a lot of time hanging out together and riding, growing all kinds of riding adventures. So after some caffeine and brainstorming, my 'time-clock' buzzed, and we 'checked out'.

It was eerily quite around there. What's a couple kids to do on caffeine and high fructose corn syrup and no supervision! GO RIDING! That day was a horseshow at the local fairgrounds, and the stable looked more like a ghost town. With a little caffeine rush and a few wild oats, Katherine and I saddled our horses and rode off... off the stable grounds. Have either of these horses ever been ridden off the property or trail experienced? The thought never occurred to us. I remember the exuberant feeling of riding on the dusty path that took us out of the gates.... free of confines.... the kind of free called - kid free.....

We rode up to the top of a nearby 'Californian river' (a concrete riverbed... or aquifer). With it so hot, the faster you rode the cooler you felt, most of the time we had our pedal to the metal. We rode atop this dried up aquifer, not sure where it would take us, just rode... talking and laughing most of the way. Our horses pranced and jogged, side-passing much of the way when we weren't loping, and the boys were blowing and snorting hard. Their ears twisting nervously, necks arched and glossy from sweat. We were kids, we didn't worry about their apparent emotions... heck no, they looked so pretty like that!

We rode for what seemed like hours. I was riding a beautiful bay saddlebred gelding, I didn't even know how well broke he was, or if he'd been out of the stable at all. Katherine, well she had her big black glossy morgan who was a bit head strong and a lot of horse. While prancing and side passing, he always had the look like he wanted to perform a fancy spin and run back. Like a big pigeon, he had a major homing instinct.


Well looking ahead, this big empty aquifer just kept going and going, but to our right a ways down, we spotted some lush green grass on the other side of some wild prickly desert shrubs, but to get there we needed to ride under a highway overpass. Katherine and I looked at each other questioningly, but neither of us led on that our better judgment screamed, "turn back!" So our uncertain legs urged the green horses toward the underpass of the busy - noisy highway above. I gulped (but hoping she didn't notice), and she probably said a silent prayer... but we were cowgirl tough and no way no how was the other going to know about the other's quaking knees.... Our knees shook harder as we got nearer, especially when each horse would take turns stopping, and at times refusing to move forward. It took some constant convincing with our heels and clucks, but with bits and curb chains jingling from chomping their bits and veins pronounced on their slick necks, they moved on.


So what's the big whoop? You ask. Well, to ride under this overpass was a little human footpath, not wider than a coyote trail and with a hundred foot drop to the empty concrete riverbed to our left with no guard rail. We continued squeezing our horses until they'd give... my bay gelding went on up ahead, apparently tired or my clucking and loud kissy noises, and nervous Tonka followed close behind, like a fly on flypaper. The noise of the traffic overhead was loud... cars and trucks whizzed by. It was louder once under there than I anticipated. The noise echoed between the concrete highway above and the riverbed below.


By this time the horses ears were anxiously flicking back and forth full of uncertainty ... we couldn't turn back, Katherine tried backing Tonka out, but that didn't fly... we had no choice but to carefully trudge ahead. My horse began prancing in place and when I urged him forward he began prancing a sidepass... a gorgeous dressage move! But I wasn't thinking dressage at that moment, especially when I felt a stumble. But that stumble was this bay trying to regain his footing after his left hind hoof slipped down the steep angled concrete side of this hundred-foot death drop. By instinct I remember shoving my heels in his sides and he lunged forward. The rest was a blur.


Katherine and I once safely on firm footing, looked at each other briefly and rode on in silence. Of course, both horses' knees were also shaking. But even though my own legs felt jello-fied, I didn't say a word and we cowgirl'd on.

To our dismay, that cool large and lush grassy oasis beckoning us on the other side.... was not a little garden of Eden... nope, it was a golf course! So we weighed our odds. We were certainly not going to tempt fate a second time, so the next reasonable thing was to ride through the golf course! What's the harm in that anyway? So happy with our justifications we rode our sweaty horses to the golf course. Luckily there were no fences to cut through on this ride. It was too easy to get in. Gentleman's club.... paahhhh!

Okay, so the men in their clean and pressed white shirts and beanie hats didn't look so happy we were there. Thinking they were waving and enjoying the eye candy of our gorgeous sweaty prancing horses, I realized to my dismay that they were waving their fists, and at us! So Katherine and I looked at each other stunned, but with a cowgirl smirk spurred our horses into a full heart-throbbing gallop. Looking back over my shoulder through watering eyes from the shear speed of our race horses, I could see the men getting smaller fast, but still shaking fists. Geez, but why did they look so angry and shouting? We galloped on at mock speed, with dirt clods flying....

But alright, so we were in this middle of this lush green golf course galloping faster than I've ever ridden in my life, actually watching each horse move themselves into faster and faster gears. Tonka was blowing like a warrior horse, or locomotive full steam ahead... the big black pigeon was headed home! I could see him next to my horse and they each tried to out-pace each other… each wanted to be the one ahead as they knew they were headed back to their barn! This was a rad ride, that I'd forgotten about the little bald men, and the one with the beanie cap with the shaking fist, I was feeling too exhilarated to have them a second thought! What a rush to be galloping in this great green expanse with all kinds of topography.... hills, sand, little valleys and knolls, back up steeper hills, and water! We galloped so fast that other golf parties ahead of us didn't see or notice us until we were upon them, and then galloped like the wind past them! I think it happened so fast they didn't have time to throw up any hand signals. The horses' manes, tails, and everything not sewn down was all flying. This was the most fun I'd had as a jubilant free-spirited kid. That is until I heard Katherine yelling something about not being able to stop Tonka... he grabbed his bit and was on a dead-headed run!

So yeah, I had visions of galloping my horse next to hers and jumping on and reining ol' Tonka in. T'ya, right.... the thought quickly dissipated. What seemed like a time-warp, and Katherine pulling hard and constant on the reins, Tonka like a freight train finally showed some give... with mouth open and shaking his head, she finally got him to a working hard trot. Both horses were lathered and blowing hard.

Okay, so our adventure was nearly over, and we were all in one piece. Sitting atop our still worked up horses, we were all beginning to relax, except for Tonka who with his arched neck was chomping his bit. I still hear the bit chains jingling. Settling deeper and more relaxed in our seats, but with parched throats we spotted a water fountain. We picked up the reins, and trotted on over to it, and decided to get us and the horses a drink. We hopped off and drank some water... the horses each looked sideways at this contraption with the moving parts. Somehow, still don't know how, Tonka got away from Katherine and galloped himself back to the stable. Before I could finish my question, "Katherine! How did that ha....?" MY horse got his reins out of my hands too, and together he and Tonka busted out, and ran back towards home.

They sure looked pretty galloping together. So with our cowgirl prides, we walked our little selves on back to the stable. Did we do it again? Yup, but through a game of friendly football.


Time and caffeine when mixed well together can create some good hair-raising tales, so drink responsibly!


It was good being a kid.



Your local cowgirl bandit
Sonya
www.wildwindart.com
aka: Cowgirl On Coffee
www.cowgirloncoffee.com

Horse Spit

Ah, the lazy days of summer. What a beautiful day, 81 degrees and a gentle summer breeze. Life as a ranch kid has it's perks.

The boys somehow found themselves in the newly scrubbed water trough... Of course seeing me approach, they attempted to scamper out, that is until they heard me laughing with camera in hand. Of course, having not lead our horses to water, while I was there all three horses took turns to slirp the water the boys were playing in. Reno, the playful, still baby of the herd, spent much time there wiggling her lips in the water, even after she had her fill.

The boys, being boys, marvelled at how the horses suck up the water through their lips, and of course with that there was plenty of "horse spit" involved. "Cool" was a favorite term at that moment. Of course, Reno would play in the water, drink some up, lift her head near one of the boys with water still pouring from her lips and onto one of the boys. Shreaks resounded through our little valley. I'm certain her well placed wet lips were fully premeditated!

Simple things.

Sonya
www.wildwindart.com

Rootballs

I can sit and watch horses tirelessly. Aside from their obvious beauty and stunning fluidity of movements.... they capture my attention in other ways. If I were to zero in on one particular detail of interest, it would be how amazing and sensitive horses' lips, tongues, and whiskers are.

I marvel watching the horses pick through their hay or grass, carefully selecting all their favorite pieces first. I'm amazed watching them pick up remnant pieces after they've polished off the alfalfa. At first glance, I wouldn't see anything, but in for a closer look I can see they're picking up the smallest of digestible materials. If it were me, I'd have a mouth and face full of dirt, probably missing any piece I was after in the first place. Horses can manipulate the tiniest of pieces finely with their lips as effectively in their world, as we do with our hands and fingers in ours.

While weeding in the garden, I pulled out some big chunks of grass, some with roots still attached and tossed them over the gate for the 3 pasture clowns to have fun with, much like my children with a pile of dessert between them. All three horses attacked the pile by pecking order, establishing their spots, and after the dust settled, ate peacefully the sweet greens. Once they picked up a clump with roots attached, their different personalities kicked in, but each effective in their own way.

They'd work on them beginning from the seed tops, working the rootball upward towards their mouth as they contentedly chewed. Recognizing this, the grass was nippled down to the roots, and with a few nods of a head, the remnants tumbled to the ground. Another, once the grass was down to the offending roots, rubbed the root end on the gate or ground until the roots gave way. The last just tenderly with great care and sensitivity and with the percision of garden shears nipped the grass around the rootball clean off, no fanfare. The youngest of the three, if rubbing it along the fence or bobbing her head didn't work, would simply step on it, ripping the rootball away from the grass.None of them looked dismayed or perplexed by the task of derooting their morsels. They went right back in for more to repeat what worked best for them, whether it's rubbing the roots on the ground, the wall, or nearby fence, or stepping on it, or my favorite, happily and gingerly nibbling the grasses down to the roots and with the aid of the tongue, spitting the rest out.

Horses are able to preform delicate tasks with their big soft mouths. They have such sensivity that I can't help but watch and marvel. But then I have to laugh when I'm working them in the corral, and notice how their sensitivity quickly vanishes, such as when asked to move off of leg pressure or yeild to the bit. Amazing and entertaining animals they are!

Simple things.

Sonya

http://www.wildwindart.com/