The Two Minute Catch

Yesterday when I went to feed the rescue ponies, it took me a longer time than usual to catch the saddlebred. I had not caught her the day before because of time constraints and now I was having to make up the lost time. I finally resorted to playing the old trick i had learned as a kid with a horse that was so hard to catch it made me inventive and patient at the same time. I tied a long rope to a section of the round corral and eased her up to the triangular corner made by the rope and fence. She will let me rub her butt here, but not get close enough to actually catch her. With two in the round pen, playing the run around a look at me until “join up” or whatever you want to call it happens, is beyond my talents. Once she is eased up with the rope against her neck, I let her walk forward and take the rope through my hands and with her. She is making her own rope loop this way and I just have to close it around. Technique is everything and has to be learned, I guess, since the horse can bog their head down and back up and slip the loop. You just have to handle the horse and the rope in a way that does not happen. Then you can just stop the “getting away.” This does not work with a frightened horse that is running through the ropes in a panic, just the ones not quite ready to give in and be caught.

While I had her last night, she got her oat toasties, got rubbed and brushed and then we spent the next hour or better getting caught. I would walk away and come back, throw the rope over her, take it off, walk away come back - until she was bored. I then did some flooding, which is a nicer way of doing the old “sacking out.” Rubbing all over with exaggerated movements (with just hands) until she could stand still. She is touchy about her head, so I really concentrated on that and flipped the rope up and over her muzzle and head until she was anticipating it and catching it so it would rub her better.

Tonight it paid off. I went into the corral and just started to walk up to her like we had done the night before. At the last moment, she decided to walk off. I walked up again. She walked off again. I tied the rope to the corral panel and walked her into the triangle. She walked right in, pulled the rope forward, turned just right to make a loop on her own and was caught. Less than two minutes. We will keep going back to where she is comfortable until she doesn’t need the entire routine to be caught. Since she did so well, it was time to just sit with her while she ate and not ask anything more. For the first time, the last two days, she has offered to sniff me and be curious. The fear is subsiding. I hope to have new photos tomorrow.

Drafting Film

Thanks to Maggie on the Greywaren Art blog, (her link is on the blogroll) I ordered some Durafilm drafting film in the double sided matte. I was familiar with drafting film for technical pens and that “old’fashioned” way of doing some layouts, but I had never tried the matte or using it with colored pencils. It was great! Very buttery. It did not take many layers, but Maggie warned about this drawback. You can color on both sides though which can make some funky effects. I started small with an ACEO sized piece and had a wonderful time. I will be playing some more with this film and seeing what a bit more planning can do to increase the detail and the effectiveness.

I sloughed around in more mud today- it rained yet again. Yesterday I fixed fence for the coyote pen. The ground is so soft, posts are just falling over on their own. My dogs were incredibly happy and incredibly muddy. It was a two shower day for them. Tonight they stayed home while I played with the new pony and fed the rest their oat toasties.

New ponies are settling in well. I got their vaccines at the vet and received a 20% discount for the shots. A good citizen discount for “rescuing” the little horses. I never knew there was such a thing. It makes you have the same sort of dubious pride as being able to park in a handicapped spot.

I love mud

I just drove home barefoot.

This morning, the famous and fabulous MeToo (son Johnny’s horse) had gotten into the small pasture surrounding the round pen and the new fillies. The idea had been to keep the newbies quarantined for a couple of weeks until we could see what cooties they might have. MeToo had other ideas and being a girl, wanted to hang out with the new girls and gossip.

I went out this afternoon to check on everyone, and thinking I knew where MeToo had slipped under the wire, took some extra wire down to splice into the fence line.

I drove home barefoot because I lost my shoes in the mud at the bottom of the hill trying to fix the fence at the gap. It is the muddiest place I could have tried to walk. Of course it did not look muddy until it was up to my knees. I walked out of one shoe and had to go back and find it. The next thing I knew, both feet were stuck and I was sinking fast. As I tried to lift a leg to get out, I tipped over into the mud. You know I grabbed the hot wire on the way down. (Feeling much better now. Everything is so clear)  I dug my shoes out, walked up the hill in my socks and got in the small horse tank to wash off enough to be able to sit in the truck. My jeans and socks are in the washer and my shoes drying outside. I am done fixing fence! Done. Done! blech! That mud and water was incredibly stinky. Of course, before I could leave, MeToo had slipped under the fence again (from the look of her legs, she had crawled on her knees) and was right back where she wanted to be. She is welcome to all the cooties she can stand.

Horseaholic Part 2

The weather, work, and other things kept us from going back until yesterday to try and bring the rescues home. For once, the weather cooperated with a planned event and we trucked south again to see if we could capture our wild horses.

This time we backed the trailer into the pasture and we were ready to stay until finished.

I walked out and caught the remaining Haflinger mare, DeeDee, and tied her up. Jim herded the wild bunch up the hill while I put some grain into the corrals. When they did come up, they all decided five in one corral would be more fun and cozy. Work with what you get, I always say. I had Jim hold the rope that formed the gate and sorted out the three we did not want to catch and let them slip out.

Jim went first and using the stick, started where he had left off with success before. It only took about 20 minutes this time to get the halter on. He lead the bay out and left me to work with catching the chestnut. I had to find a place she was comfortable again and work up from the back to the front. It only took fifteen minutes, but it seemed like forever. I had to really work on keeping my intent from showing - it takes so little for a person to focus on the goal (catching) instead of what the horse needs. They are still flinchy, but not over reactive and scared out of their gourds this time.

After the halters are on, things move along pretty quickly. We repeat the going up to the trailer. You work out here, you rest near here. Some hay and spilled grain on the trailer floor adds to the pleasant time they are having when by the trailer. We wait and let them explore and then walk away.

When they are becoming bored by this, we ask for more, until they try to get into the trailer… and then walk away again. Finally, with some rump tapping, my filly jumps into the trailer. We walk around in there. Have some good scratches and come out again and go for another walk while Jim tries it. When his filly decided to jump in, she did so with drama. She was airborne, looking like a Pegasus, when she realized what goes up must come down and decided at the last moment to put her feet down and land in the trailer. Same deal and out again. My next time at the trailer, a couple taps and she jumps in. This time I take her up front and tie her and close the stall gate. Jim’s filly decides she has had enough for a day and tries to convince him that it would be much more fun to drag him around in the muddy places instead of going anywhere near the trailer. She changes her mind quickly. These gals are so poorly, they don’t have the stamina to put up much of a fight for very long. She decided the trailer is a better deal and jumped in.

We stopped in the little town of Exline for an ice cream to celebrate and then brought them to to the pasture with nothing note worthy to report. We bedded them down in the round corral. Shared a tube of ivermetic paste wormer between them and called it a night. All in a day’s addiction for a horsaholic.

I have found I have another addiction. I decided to clean up my paper files to see what I had in stock for drawing. I found I have been hording bristol paper. Like a lot. I had not been using it lately because I did not think I had any. Of course, I had just ordered some more the day before. So, now I really have a lot. I need to make some art on it now and use it for the book I want to try and finish! More on that later!!

Horseaholic

I apologize for being MIA the last couple of weeks. Lots of things going on. Spring they claim, is here, although we had a tornado one night and two days later it was snowing and the next thing you know there was an earthquake.

It is time I made my confession. I am a horseaholic. I wrote a piece a couple of years ago about being a horseaholic, but my latest relapse has made the totality of my addiction public.

While cruising the local craigslist out of curiosity I found two large rabbit pens for sale for $50 each. Our house rabbit has been in the same pen for four years now (he lost house privileges not for being un-housebroken, but for a penchant for chewing computer wires in places unseen and unnoticed until way too late). I called the number and left a message that I was interested in the cages. As I went down the page, a listing caught my eye for five rescue “ponies” needing a home. They were within 25 miles it seemed, so I emailed the listing and asked for photos and information. I know I am addicted, but I still do these things when I have a spare moment and my meds have not kicked in. I receive an email back. Not only does the gal have photos, but she is the same person I had called about the rabbit cages. Hum. I figured I was meant to see these “ponies”. We planned a Sunday afternoon to pick up a cage and look at the horses. The photos she sent did not tell us much about the ponies, except that they were thin and all had four legs each.

When we arrived, we could walk close to the horses, but not touch them. We looked. Took photos. Watched them move. They had come from an auction lot where the younger animals were stock piling. No market for slaughter for small animals, so it seems these were slowly starving to death. Some had shaved places on their necks. They had been used by some sort of vaccine lab in the Dakotas and their blood was used for the antibodies. A couple had been shaved on the top of the mane and that was where a microchip was supposed to have been placed for record keeping. Our hostess, Kate, had picked these five from the lots to try and upgrade and salvage. She had them for six weeks and had been feeding them well and getting some weight on them, but had only been able to catch one and halter her in that time. There was potential in the raw here. Very raw. Before we decided to do anything, we loaded our rabbit cage and drove home to look at the photos and talk.

Jim decided he would like to work with a two year old filly that has application papers to the APHA and had been a part of the “lab” herd. I choose an unpapered yearling Saddlebred filly. For a grand total of $100, we had two new horses to rehab. The trick was going to be catching them.

As a kid, I was always told I could catch a bird or a rabbit by putting salt on its tail. I totally believed that. I still do, since if the critter will let you get close enough to salt the tail, you are probably in a good place to actually make contact.  Getting these fillies caught was exactly like that. The only containment  we had to work with besides the big pasture were some 12 x 12 roped off corrals against the fence. We would be very happy to have that much.

We started after work in the evening a week ago. Kate tied up her Haflinger mares so they would not help in the process and it was fairly easy to get the fillies into the corrals since Kate had been feeding them in there. Since too much pressure would cause the fillies to blast out or over the rope, it was a study in patience and perseverance. Kate and her family went to have supper and left us to our devices. At first my filly could not look at me from her left eye, so we played with see me here, now here, now here, until she could stand still on either side. I was able to get a hand on mine and slowly follow her around and rub her itchy spots… for an hour. The first itchy spots where on her rump and I started with what she gave me and worked my way up. If I would advance to far, she would jump away and we would start over. Twice I was too pushy - I would raise a hand too quickly or the wind would flap my jacket, (of course the wind was only 30 mph that day) and she jumped the fence. I was able to walk her around and back into the enclosure each time… and start over. While we are doing this, Jim is still asking his filly to tolerate a touch. She can’t stand a human hand on her yet and he does not want to replicate my jumping bean horse.

Slowly, slowly. I have managed to rub my filly with the lead rope and she allows it to dangle near her withers. She has finally given me permission to touch the front of her neck and that was a huge break through for her and you could feel her relax. I keep rubbling and scratching and snag the off side lead with a finger and bring it around. I fasten the quick release snap on the rope and I at last have a handle. I keep rubbing and getting closer to her head. It takes another 20 minutes to get her to let me scratch her head, but it feels good and she decides I am all right. I work the loop of the rope up with my scratching and make a loop around her muzzle and fashion an “indian”  halter. I have some more control now and I play with her face and muzzle. No way the halter is going on there until she allows it. I rub with my hand and scratch with my fingers, then add the rope halter to the rubbing. Before long, it is rubbed up and in place and tied. I rub and move the rope halter off and clip it to the halter. We practice inside the pen leading. She does very well at first and then, as is typical, she has to try something different and she rears up, but catches in the ropes and topples through. I release everything and kick away all the ropes and ask her to be still. She is. She waits for me to get her untangled and then gets up. Since we have graduated suddenly to a bigger area, I switch to a longer lead and we head out for a walk. A few times she decides to test the rope and go away, so I let her drift and then ask her back. By the time it was dark, she was leading like a pro.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Jim decides to try and touch his filly with a fiberglass stick. That works. He can be far enough away for her comfort level and still get some scratching in. Within five minutes she is accepting him close enough to rub with his hands. His patience pays off and within a very short time, he has the halter on.

Chestnut filly and I walk and go out to the horse trailer and walk by that a few times. We stop and look inside. I sit on the deck and let her stand for a while and then walk off again while Jim and the bay filly have a one on one discussion about leading. By the time we decided we had enough for one day, I was sitting on the trailer deck and my filly was standing next to me with her head and neck in the trailer. Good enough.

I was so wiped that night, I had deep charlie horses that would not walk out. My eyes were crusted shut from all the dust and dirt the wind had blown into them. I could barely move and I couldn’t wait to go do it again.

An Interview with Cathy Choyce

RURAL HERITAGE magazine has given the go sign on a new series of articles about artists that excel in creating draft animal artworks. The magazine will publish a one to two page spread on a living, contemporary artist. I have used the Equine Art Guild as my hunting ground to find the best artists out there to feature in each issue of the magazine from now until…?
RURAL HERITAGE is published every other month, or six times a year for you math scholars. I can’t give away the articles here on the blog, you will need to find the magazine and read them (available at all Tractor Supply Stores) of course.
I would like to share that my first interview and choice for a draft artist is Cathy Choyce, http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
Cathy was a delight to interview and was free with tips and techniques that as a wannabe sculpturer, I was delighted to discover. My choice was Choyce. That was NOT intentional!
Cathy was a horse trainer for 35 years and knows the look and attitude of horses, and it shows in her work. She has been drawn to the large breeds especially as a subject for her sculptures. Cathy also works in oil paint on canvas.
While you wait for the article to be published, either in the Spring or Summer issue, (no control over the editor) please stop by Cathy’s site and take a look at her work.
For all you other drafty artists out there: I will be calling more artists and trying to get a good selection gathered for the upcoming issues. Given all the weird emails and requests we sometimes get as equine artists, I wanted you all to know this is a legitimate effort.

2000 miles later

I am back at home base after a trip to Nashville and from there to Fletcher, North Carolina to attend the Parelli weekend there. The Parelli weekend was the bait that daughter Echo used to get me to come down for another visit. We had a blast, but all too short. I was able to play with the new camera (a Nikon D80) that I had been saving and trading older cameras to acquire. The low light, inside, and lots of action made getting a nice shot interesting. Boosting the ISO to the max helped and by day two, I was getting some acceptable shots. Next I will read the manual and fine tune what I found out by experimenting. The 75 -300mm lens really could reach out and touch someone as well. More later on drawing and horses, but first I have some actual “job” chores to catch up on.

The Unofficial “AARP” Guide to Easter Egg Hunting

For those who would like to know how the game is played, here you go:

First, the concept is pretty simple, it is just like the game daily played here called “where did I put the car keys/purse/coat?” with some variations.

1. You are purposely hiding the objects.

2. You will try to remember where you placed the objects and recover ALL of them.

My first year in school, my first school Easter celebration, the teacher hid all the eggs we had colored in class. Then the class had an Easter egg hunt. Everyone located their eggs but mine. It was at that time I knew the universe had a sense of humor and had singled me out to be a part of the punchline. I was special and singled out in the kindergarten class in a way I did not choose to be. Plus, my finely crafted food colored egg was gone. I was grief stricken. The days wore on. Talk of the missing egg faded.

I remember it was a nice warm day. Most days in southern California are warm in the spring of the year. The class sat down on mats around the piano to sing songs with the teacher. She opened the piano bench to retrieve the new music for the day. Inside the bench sat my egg.

Even hardboiled eggs can reach a certain bomb like state when left in the heat for too long a time. This egg was showing signs of transmorphing into something much more memorable than an Easter egg. It had gained a few interesting colors I did not remember adding to it at the time of decorating. With the skill of a trained squad agent, the teacher gingerly took hold of the egg and placed it into a large bed of facial tissues. Lifting the tissues by the corners, she then placed the egg into a box left over from Valentine’s Day. I don’t remember if I took that box home. Since I don’t remember, I am pretty sure I did not.

3. Traditionally, as in the story above, colored hardboiled eggs are used for the hidden object. Since we now need incentive to hunt, I suggest using only chocolate eggs and good chocolate eggs at that to insure that all will be retrieved in a timely fashion.

4. It helps to make a map of your hiding places. This should not be a casual activity like laying your keys down just anywhere, but needs to be thought through.

5. Count the number of chocolate eggs before you hide them. You can make a tally of the empty wrappers as you complete the search.

Have fun!

Gallery

Fencing 101

The two three-year-old colts met me at the gate again. The problem was it was the gate to the large pasture, not the gate to the horse pasture. I had just fixed the fence two days before, I thought. Not good enough to impress these two it seems.

I call Jim. “MeToo and Cirrus are out again.” “Where did they get out?” “The west side.” He sighs, “Can you be more specific?” “Okay, the southwest side.”

That’s the best I can do. The first half of the fence to the west is a thing of beauty. Wood fence posts alternated with steel. Wire strung tight enough to play a tune; it rolls gently down the hill to a small creek where a small culvert lets the water flow east into the pond.
From there south is “The Hill” and what passes for a fence, when visible, is not a well planned or secure construction. Scattered steel posts and electric wire and sometimes a quarter inch rope for visible effect make up the southwestern boundary of “The Hill.” It is one of those fences you hope you don’t’ have to fix because the animals probably won’t go there.

I put the colts back into the pasture and go for the white fiberglass electric fence posts and some tape and insulators. I know there is no way to carry steel posts and a post driver up there. I decide to start at the furthest corner away, since odds are that is where the problem will be.

I take the long walk up the east side of the pasture to the top of the hill and across the ridge to the southwest corner of the pasture. Sure enough, there is enough slack wire for some enterprising youngsters to slip under by the gate at the top. Easy fix. I make a few patches as I work my way down. Very soon I am at the edge of “The Hill.” For a brief moment I am smug that the colts are athletic enough to have figured out how to get through this fence at these extreme angles. Then my feet start to slip out from under me and I realize I am not athletic enough to fix fence at these angles.

I hook a loop of the electric tape over a sturdy looking steel fence post and use it to rappel down the side of “The Hill” to the next patch spot. The tape works well and I make my way from spot to spot this way – until the tape runs out – and I have to tie it off and climb back up “The Hill” without its help.

The time to try and remember if you turned the juice off the solar charger before you left or if this particular remaining wire is hooked into the real electric charger is not when you start to slide and forget and grab at the nearest hand hold.

I’m not sure where the notion that Iowa is flat originated. I t must have been an ill-fated marketing ploy to entice flat-earth believers to the state at some time. I feel lucky that there are enough deep-rooted weeds to hang on to or at least slow my fall if I should slip.

I finally reach a spot I can stand up straight again and survey my work. I come from a great lineage of fence cobblers. My grandfather used broken farm machinery to patch fence. Cows get out; drag the old hay loader into the broken wire. He never sold or got rid of anything that broke. It was far too valuable as fencing material. I’m not too certain he didn’t go to the neighbor’s farm sales to buy their broken machinery and haul it home.

I never had the wealth of broken and rusty objects to fix fence, but something in the DNA allowed me to see the potential of small trees and branches, metal sheeting and other found materials like coat hangers for fixing fences. Since all I ever had to contain were horses, my theory was if you can make it look really scary, they won’t get close enough to find out if they can get through it.

I am pleased with my work. It looks substantial if not scary. There is only so much you can do with this new modern electric stuff. Just one more thing, and it will be perfect.

I walk back to the pasture gate, again taking the longer, eastern route, to avoid another confrontation with “The Hill.” I start the tractor, stab a large bale and take it into the horse pasture. The way I figure, they should be so busy eating me out of house and home they will forget about the fence on “The Hill” or if they do remember it, they will be too fat to do a Snowy River through my cobbling.