I helped my Dad farm our leased 160 acres with draft horses; now the Palouse is farmed with machines and the units are in two thousand acres.

For years I made house calls in my Chevy with a black bag; now an emergency house call results in four EMTs, three firemen and two big rigs with flashing lights.

I knew Sheila Varian when she had two Arabian horses and a sandy pasture. Now we see a hundred Arabians and acres of green pastures, barns, arenas, and flowers.

One thing hat never changed was Sheila's determination to breed and train correct Arabian horses with soundness, good temperaments, attractiveness, and consistent reproduction as she sought ever and ever to improve each generation's quality.

The Arabian industry was much different in 1962 when Bay Abi was named National Champion Arabian Stallion at Estes Park, Colorado. The publications were limited to The Arabian News, published by Anna Betts Joder in Colorado. Most Arabian owners were reluctant to haul their mares any distance for breeding as all breeding had to be done by natural cover, as is still the case with Thoroughbreds, and the mare was generally at the stud farm for weeks as she was teased, bred, and kept until she was in foal. This was ascertained by the veterinarian palpating the swollen uterus about forty days. Consequently, the owners of a stallion had to furnish safe places for the visiting mares. There was concern about transmission of diseases, and quality of car while at the stud farm. As a consequence, most of the breeding was done with a stallion in the owner's back yard.

Bay Abi was an outstanding Arabian. Very correct with excellent legs and hooves, good size, big beautiful eyes, and a good mitbah. He did not have a particularly long neck, but it was well set and he could flex at the poll easily. The primary reason hew on the National Champion class as a five year old was the fact that Sheila had been using him pretty strenuously on Syd Spencer's mountain ranch. He was muscled and fit, whereas his competition was more likely to be a bit fat, not muscled and untrained. Sheila ws away before her time as a halter trainer. In that era, and even today, stallions were abused and are in a battle with the trainer. Sheila had taught Bay Abi to play with her, so he could relax during a class and then abruptly become animated as he watched her to see what entertaining thing she might do to get him to pose. The National Class he won lasted about four hours!

Because Sheila lived in Arroyo Grande/ Halcyon and the majority of the Arabian mares in the West were around Greater Los Angeles/ San Diego or in Northern California's triangle of Stockton- Marin- San Jose, there was a reluctance of owners to haul a mare to the in-between barn of Sheila when Fadjur, Serafix, or Witez II, Abu Farwa or Ferseyn were geographically closer. (As an aside, when *Bask arrived in Scottsdale, he attracted visiting mares from everywhere.) Additionally, Bay Abi won his qualifying classes for the National Stallion Halter so readily as a four-year-old that he did not have a long history of championships in the multiple shows to acquaint the breeders with his greatness. As a result, Bay Abi didn't get a lot of mares who would have benefited from his quality and correctness. Sheila showed Bay Abi in Western Pleasure and English Pleasure after his national champion halter win which helped to get him recognized. (At that time, all Arabian show horses were limited to a four-inch toe and ten-ounce shoe. English Pleasure classes didn't require elevated trot.)

Fortunately, Sheila had Patricia Lindsay in England choose three mares from Poland for her. I think Wenonah, Sheila's Mom, was the person who first recognized the opportunity that the Polish bloodlines offered. Americans could not trade with Poland at that time during the Cold War, but the English could do so. Sheila specifically told Patricia that she was interested in quality breeding mares, less so in show fillies. Those three mares crossed wonderfully well with Bay Abi and truly established her position as a breeder as well as a trainer. The rest, as they say, is history. Bay Abi sired numerous champions from several bloodlines. He was truly a world-class stallion...

Seven degrees this morning. Looking out the window at the white landscape as the sun came up, I said to myself, "hey, I'm not the only one out there that can't ride all winter!" I don't have a toasty indoor arena, and I'm really not much into arena riding anyway. Sure, I sometimes like to work on precise skills and break things down to practice and perfect my communication in the arena, but my big deal is to ride out doors. Out where the birds sing to me and the squirrels chirp. Out where the rivers run and the mountains reach for the clouds.

But that is not happening now. Not until probably April at the earliest. So, maybe I can start up a little "riding and writing" blog. This way I can (selfishly) relive my rides of the summer time, and I can offer to bring you along.

These stories begin with a series of emails that I sent to Sheila during the last summer of her life. I had brought one of her horses up to Idaho to get him comfortable in the mountains. I wrote these up as a report to tell her how he was doing (he did great of course) but we discovered that it made her feel like she was out there doing what she loved the best, riding the high places on a good horse.

Come join me ...

Jaime handed me the reins and I reached up and stroked his long brown neck. His eyes were alert and bright. He looked at me straight. Little perfect ears pointing forward.

"He's a little hotter than what you're used to" Sheila said.

I raised my eyebrows to her.

"His breeding is for the show ring, he's a trotting horse. His bloodline can be pretty hot."

We walked out into the arena. There was still a nip in the air but the day was sunny and there was no wind. Lester Buckley had come out to visit Sheila and we'd gathered together to ride in the arena. I think Sheila was hoping that Lester could teach us a thing or two. Even the birds seemed to be waiting to hear what he would say. Audrey's mare had her head down, half asleep, grateful to not be chasing after cattle. They were all waiting for me. 

Shortening my reins, I stroked his neck once more, and grabbed a hank of his mane. My right hand held the back of my saddle and I swung my leg up and over. He stood still, but he felt like a rocket on the launch pad, tight as a violin string, he was. I asked him to move forward and he did, head high, tail high, feet doing a little tap dance. Jaime had been the only person to ride him and I am certainly no Jaime. We walked around the arena one time and went to stand next to Lester to hear his words of wisdom. 

Commotion fidgeted and fussed and was very concerned about the other horses in the arena with him and who in the heck I was and what all was going on. I asked him to move away and we walked around the arena. We just walked. I stroked his necked and cooed to him. "Goood Boy" I said in a deep soft voice, trying to sound like Jaime. I kept my seat relaxed and my hands soft on the reins. We walked around, then we trotted, he did have a big trot. We loped a little and did the whole routine over again. As Audrey, Kristin, Sheila and Lester would pass us by, he would tighten back up but he was certainly trying hard. Now and again, I would try to get in with the group, but Commotion had far to much joie de vivre to stand still, so we just did our best to relax. By the time the girls and Lester were through, about an hour later, his head was down and his body was relaxed. I'd missed a great lesson with Lester, for sure, but Commotion had given me a fine lesson. 

Back in the barn, Sheila walked up to me and said, "What do you think?"

"He's nice."

"Are you afraid of him?"

I thought for a moment. I was going to Idaho to ride steep, jagged narrow trails, with water everywhere and wildlife and birds abundant. I figured if it was all over his head, at least I could pony him around a bit. I knew he tried really hard and seemed to be honest.

"No, I'm not afraid of him, I think he'll do fine."

She smiled at me. "Okay!"

Three days later we left for Idaho.

 

 

David backed the trailer into the open area at the trail head, insuring that we could get out when we left, and leaving plenty of room for anybody else that might show up at Eagle Creek. It was a beautiful Wednesday morning. Eagle creek is a great first ride for a young horse. It's a pretty boring road ride, but beautiful, and not very well known, just an out and back that goes about 5 miles round trip. By now, after the drive from California, and four days out in the big pasture, Commotion had pretty much decided that if Roy said something was okay, then surely it must be. Before getting on I trotted him around a little bit to check his attitude, then I gathered up the reins, made a little mental sign of the cross, and climbed aboard. As I set down into the saddle, two SUVs drove in, two women got out and let their dogs out of the back. Commotion stood as close to Roy as he could and watched, waited, quivering. We had another friend along too, Carol, with her seasoned gelding Badger. Carol and David chatted with the women but I stayed quiet. It's not that I'm unfriendly, it's just that the only conversation that I want to be having at a time like this, is with the horse. If I'm talking to someone else, I can't listen, or focus, on him. So I was quiet. He had plenty to say. After a minute or two we turned and followed Lily, my dog, bounding joyfully up the road ahead of us. 

About a quarter mile along, Commotion took a breath and exhaled deeply, blowing out all that stress. Looking around the wide open valley before him, enjoying the company of Badger and Roy, smelling the pines and clear mountain air, his body relaxed, his mind relaxed, and I relaxed a bit too to be perfectly honest. 

It was almost like I could hear him say to me "Lisa, this is wonderful!" I could tell he was enjoying the day. Now and again I would ask him to go off the road, up or down a small hillside, a little distance from the others, and then back. We walked along beside the creek, which was in full flow. He cocked his head and looked a little sideways at it, telling me he wasn't really happy about that whatever it was, so we walked closer and farther a number of times. 

A mile from the trailhead, the creek crosses the road. It's a wide shallow crossing, the water moving slowly and the water crystal clear. As expected, Commotion stopped, seeing it as a bottomless well that he would surely drown in if he got his feet wet at all. Keeping close to Roy, he sort of fell into the water (I think it was accidental) and then bounced like a big beach ball to the other side. We all laughed at this, I petted him and on we went. A mile or so further and his feet started to hurt. Somehow he'd lost his front shoes in the pasture, so we turned around to go back. Staying off the road, on the softer dirt, we circled sagebrush and went looking for logs to step over. Something caught my eye. Right there, to the right of Commotion's feet as we walked by, tucked beside a sagebrush, lay a tiny brand new fawn. Clean white spots in his fur, his body completely still except for his little nose, smelling for danger. His dark eyes watched as we walked by. We kept on until we found ourselves back at the water crossing.

Okay, we all know how hard water can be for horses to understand. For some it's harder than others. I have to say that I tried everything to get him into (and across) the water. This horse was NOT going there. We tried all the tried and true methods and still he was terrified. There was no better place to cross, so we had to stick with this spot. Agreed, he didn't know me well enough yet to know he could trust me, but there was Roy, standing in the ankle deep water, there was Badger, splish splashing on through, but Commotion knew he did not have what it took to get across. (water wings maybe) I have to tell you here that this was one of those days where I had to keep hold of my frustration, trying again and again. I was starting to think we might have to drive the trailer up there and load him, which would have been a huge bruise on my ego. We finally made it across, but it took quite some time and he and I were both emotionally spent. 

That night, laying in my bed, in the silence, looking at the dark, I went over that part of the day again and again. I felt that I'd betrayed him for the way I sort of forced him across in the end. There had to be a better way.

My mind went to a trail obstacle clinic I'd gone to a few years back. At the time I was not overly impressed. A good horseman does not always make a good clinician. I recalled one part of the clinic where a horse refused to go over a bridge and instead of insisting and arguing with the horse, the clinician had everyone else ride around that horse and across the bridge. After what seemed like a very long time, with hardly a nudge from the rider, that resistant horse just up and walked across with the rest. 

Hmmm, that rang a little bell in my head.

Then I remembered one day at Sheila's when they were taking a mare and her new foal out of the foaling stall out to the pasture. They held the baby and circled the mare around it, so he could 'lock on' to the mare. Sheila explained that if they didn't do that, a foal sometimes will run off in fear.

There was a connection with these two moments. I figured I would use the support horses in a better fashion, not let them stop mid stream to wait, but to keep the momentum going, to pick up that young horse and pull him through with only the energy of the older horses. No stopping allowed.

I couldn't wait to try out my new theory.

.

Don't you love it when your horse trots over to greet you when you walk in the gate? Armed with a new set of shoes, we were ready to get back out there. I tied Commotion and Roy to the trailer where we saddled them up. This was the first time I'd saddled him tied to the trailer, which is a different deal for a horse than cross ties. Sometimes they pull back. Carefully and slowly, I swung the saddle pad and saddle up onto his back. He didn't worry at all, probably due to Roy next to him. I trotted him around a few times in the grass. His tail was up, his head was up, his nostrils flared. I made him keep it up, just at a trot, just long enough where he relaxed a little bit and started to listen to me, then I got on. 

We rode right out from the house, Commotion, Roy and Badger, just cross country out in the sagebrush covered hills.

There is a sort of trail that runs behind the houses there, down to where Dip Creek slithers toward the Big Wood River. Dip Creek is a tiny little waterway that is hidden in deep grass. It's completely invisible to see, but the horses must be able to smell it. Most horses don't like this little hidden creek. My mare, Ruby, who was pretty trail savy, never did get used to it. 

We rode right up to where the creek is, but instead of attempting to cross it, we took a turn to the east and followed it up past the willows and around the hill to its source. Walking around the large mud bog in a wide half circle, we were on the other side. The terrain is such that following the creek back is impossible, so we zig zagged up the steep (and I mean steep) hill under the pine trees. Leaning forward in my saddle I held tight to his mane and ducked my body as low as I could, burying my head in his mane, as we scrambled across the soft ground to the top. There we stopped. Commotion's heart was beating away and his expression looked like he'd just accomplished an impossible feat. 

"Gooood boy." (trying again to sound like Jaime.)

We followed Roy around the hills, no trail to follow. Badger was sometimes behind us or sometimes off somewhere to either side. The day was warming up and there was a gentle breeze.

From below Roy's back feet a sage grouse burst out from the bushes and fluttered away right in front of us and to the left, trying his hardest to lift his fat little body toward the sky. Commotion didn't flinch. He watched it but that's all. It seemed he'd never even known there were things like that out in the world that might be worth spooking at. 

"Gooood boy."

Climbing and descending the hills, he focused on where to place his feet, how to balance his body. One place in particular, I could feel him hesitate.

"Oh, Lisa, we can't do that, it's way to steep."

It wasn't, and he could, and we did.

Walking back toward the house, our route led us back to Dip Creek. By this time he was very relaxed, his nose right in Roy's tail. Focusing on the far side of the creek, I tried to not let my body let him know that there was water ahead. Roy strode across with barely a pause. Commotion followed along and right as he crossed over, his head popped up a few inches, as if he'd been stirred a little bit from a deep dream. 

He may have not even known he crossed over it. We didn't go back and do it again, I like to keep things as little of a deal as I can and we know there is plenty of water to play in all summer, so that was it for the day. I believe for a young horse, the more time spent where there's nothing to worry about, the easier it will be when the time comes that there is something to worry about. Today was a good easy day. 

June 21

The temperature at Smiley Creek, where we were headed, was 34 degrees. It was only 8:00AM but I knew it would take some time to gas up the truck and get ourselves up there. By the time we saddled the horses, near Chemeketan campground, it was almost 10:00 and 50 degrees. No wind. Perfect. Quiet. Peaceful.

My main objection of the day was to get Commotion V comfortable with water. Chemeketan campground lies right next to the Salmon River, close to it's headwaters. This mighty river that flows all the way to meet up with the Columbia River in Washington State, is only creek size here. 

Before we got started with the water, we rode out into the open country, through sagebrush and willows, over gently rolling hills, then into the forest. Following Roy, we stepped over downfall laid out like pick up sticks. Our dog, Lily scampered at our feet in search of squirrels. Commotion seemed to be having a good time of it.

We wandered down to the Salmon River, running clear and fast, with a sandbar that jutted out into the water. Roy went into the water, but Commotion halted at the edge. The dog jumped in and took a long drink, looking up at Commotion as if to tell him it's all okay. Here was my opportunity to try out my new theory for learning about water. Roy came back and circled around us and went back in the same way, the same place. He did this a number of times, each time going all the way around Commotion's behind and into the water. Roy never stopped moving. Each time Roy passed us and went back in, I could feel Commotion wanting to follow. I could feel the pull on Commotion instead of resistance. Each time as Roy passed by, I would tap with my feet and kiss to him. If he refused that was okay, we just waited again for Roy to come back around again. We didn't fight or argue about it, we just kept that flow of energy going through Roy. After he circled us four or five times, Commotion rose up and made a big leap right into the water behind Roy. I think he surprised himself. We all stood still for a while so he could think about it. I petted him and we watched Lily swimming in the deeper pool to our right. Do dogs smile? (Mine does) When he seemed relaxed about the water around his ankles, we took a few steps forward into the water, still following Roy, where it was a little deeper, almost to his belly. Turning around, we retraced our steps and walked out the way we came in. He was a little bit electric, but he seemed more excited than frightened. I was elated. 

We traveled around the countryside and found ourselves back at Chemeketan campground where a side creek crosses the road. Commotion stopped. Once again, Roy circled around us. On the third pass, Commotion braved up (I could feel this, like he took a big breath) and made a little hop into the water, followed by splash splash splash as he walked nicely across the creek. Such a good boy.

The creek and the river offered plenty of different crossings. We snaked around, crossing here and there about twenty times until he felt nice and relaxed about it. There were two places that we tried that were to advanced for him at this point so instead of undoing what we'd accomplished, we just went and found another spot that was easier. 

I just about petted the hair off him today. He's a little superstar.

​June 23

Big Basin. Aptly named. The last mile of road before you get to the trail head is a skinny twisty road, one lane only, with a steep high drop off on the right. It's a little intimidating because heaven forbid you should run into a horse trailer coming the other way. Turning around to park is another challenge, with a four horse trailer loaded with four horses, so we unloaded the horses, and in four wheel drive bumped up and around and got ourselves set for the drive out. 

Today was Commotion's first true trail ride. What we'd done before was sort of like little practice sessions. This time we were without Roy, (his fearless leader), and were with three women (LB, Carol and Renee) and their good solid sensible mounts. Today would be a full day. Right off the bat there was a tough water crossing. The water was rushing very fast, with big boulders and a deep water hole right in the middle. We tucked in behind LB and her horse Mac, and without hesitation, followed right on through. Carol and Renee followed behind. I stroked his neck, "good boy."

The wildflowers were in full spring bloom. All around us in meadow size swaths were Mountain Paint Brush, Sticky Geraniums, Forget me Nots, Daisies, Larkspurs, on and on. It was spectacular. Breathtaking and we'd barely got started.

The trail climbed and climbed, crossing Hyndeman creek a number of times. We crossed a few fallen trees on the trail, maybe knee high. No problem. Two of the horses are very slow walkers, so pretty soon we found ourselves out in front. Commotion's ears were busy and he looked at everything, but he seemed confident and his body was relaxed. The bigger creek crossings were pretty easy for him and he crossed them first, but the smaller ones with mud and tight crossings were a little harder. We'd have whoever was behind us go first and he was happy to follow. Such a trooper. We passed a pretty impressive water fall on our left as we neared the top of the trail. Well, actually, the trail had sort of petered out and we were just meandering along cross country, but we were nearing the top of the BIG basin. Wide open space. Clear blue skies, wispy little clouds.

We found ourselves at a rough spot. Dropping down a very steep dirt hill behind LB, and crossing half of the rocky creek onto a small island, I knew this was a pretty big deal for Commotion. He'd never been down anything that steep and soft, but he kept himself together and braved up to get to the little island, mid-stream, but that was it. All bravery went right out his head at that point and he was terrified. Frozen. I asked Carol to go by, which she did, little Badger delicately maneuvering the rocky crossing. Commotion wanted to follow, but hesitated again. I asked Renee to go by so she and Smoke squeezed passed us and through the creek. Commotion decided to go for it. I knew it was not going to be pretty, but he was willing to go, and we did.

When I was young, I studied ballet for a while. This jump across the water, was similar to what is known in ballet as a "Grand Jete." It was a grand moment and at the top of the leap, I did let out a "WHOOP!" and we landed just fine. We all laughed and my friends remarked at how they all could see his belly button as we flew over the creek. The bad place was behind him then, he relaxed and we went on just a short distance further. 

I loosened his cinch after taking off his bridle and tying him to a tree. He deserved a good little rest after this morning's ride. The four of us sat by a large waterfall and had our lunch, then went off on foot to explore the tallest of granite peaks. On our way back down I looked for a better crossing for our return trip.

After bridling him up, I walked him over to a spot for him to get a drink of water. He'd not drunk at any of the crossings and it was a warm day. We found a happy spot but he was not to sure about it. I petted his neck and waited, holding the end of his reins. Suddenly his knees buckled, kneeling on both front knees he stretched his neck out as far it would go and was slurping up the cool water. Not very comfortable, but it seemed to work for him. He stood up and did the same thing again twice more, both times getting a little bit closer to the creek. When he'd had his fill, I got on and asked him to cross. He hopped over just fine and on we went.

The two and a half hours back down the trail we were in front most of the time. He made most of the crossings just fine. Not perfect, but fine. The further we went, the more confident he became. We had to do a number of circling and stops for the others to catch up with us. Not because he was jiggy or nervous, but only because he has a nice long stride. To me it felt like we were just mozeying along but we'd just move on out way ahead in no time. The first honest to goodness water crossing (meaning a pretty challenging one), I could feel him brave up and commit to getting through it. He was tense, his head was arched up, feet stepping high across the water. I was so proud of him. The girls all applauded. 

At the bottom of the trail, back at the very first water crossing with the boulders and big pool, he stopped. I asked him one time to go for it, but he didn't want to do it. Renee was behind me, so I asked her to go ahead. He followed her right on through. I wanted him to get a drink of water, so we went back in again and in the middle we stopped. I pushed on his poll to put his head down and he dropped his head and drank and drank. The others came in and there we all sat, bellied up to the bar, getting our fill.

Back home, I gave him a good scrubby bath to get rid of the sweat and let him out in the pasture. Instantly he dropped and rolled, scratching his back and snorting his accomplishments to the world. 

 

June 28, Sunday

8:00 AM and already it was very warm. My phone buzzed as I was watching my Sunday morning program. It was Carol inviting me to go ride before the heat really kicked in. 

We settled on Eagle Creek, where we'd had our first ride with Commotion and all that angst with the water crossing. We wriggled the trailer into a parking slot amidst the many other cars parked at the trailhead at about 8:30. Hikers and dogs were everywhere. We saddled up and headed on out. Commotion was a little bit on his toes when we began up the canyon but he soon relaxed and fell in beside Badger. He'd had about a week off and was happy to be out there, I could feel it. Traveling up the arroyo, we kept our watch out for sheep, since they were grazing all over the Big Wood Valley and we hadn't called to check the sheep report. A band of a thousand or more sheep can really unnerve a horse. 

Suddenly Commotion jumped to the right, looking at a log and bushes to his left. I couldn't see anything worth jumping about, but apparently he smelled something in there that he didn't like. We looked at it for a moment, to assure him that there was nothing there. I petted his neck and rump and then we moved on. Ahead was the big water crossing that we'd struggled with before. Walking toward it, he looked, hesitated and suddenly realized that Badger (Carol's horse) was going to cross it. He braved up and walked in ahead of him. It was as if he didn't want Badger showing him up. Laughing, I stroked his neck, rubbed his shoulder and I could almost hear him telling me that he was so brave. 

Further up we found another nice side creek off to our right that we went down to play in. Again, once Commotion could see that Badger was going to cross it, he'd almost race him to do it first. He didn't leap or get pushy at all, just a change of attitude. It was awful cute. Now and then he'd do little twinkle toe tip-toeing across the creek, but no giant leaps. "Good boy".

Man it was hot. Another mile or so ahead, I carefully took off my sweatshirt and tied it to the back of my saddle. Commotion didn't flinch even a tiny bit. In my head I thanked Jaime for already teaching him this sort of thing. Stopping in the shade under some tall pine trees for a little rest stop. I got off on the off side (the right side), walked around him, running my hand down his side and around his rump and got back on from the off side. He didn't care. Thank you again, Jaime. 

It was time to turn around now, so we retraced our route. Walking toward us was a handsome couple with three beautiful golden retrievers. The youngest, barely out of puppyhood, had never seen a horse before. He barked and barked and bounced around the trail running toward us and back to his people. Commotion did not tense, just watched him with a look of wonder. No doubt wondering what all the fuss was about.

Back at the big crossing again, there was no hesitation at all. We walked right on in ahead of Badger, stopping in the middle for a nice long cool drink. Did I say how hot it was? High nineties at high altitude, man it was hot. 

Commotion felt like he was just in such a good mood, striding out, looking around and enjoying the beauty of the canyon, the sun on our backs. Half way back to the trailhead, we saw a mountain biker approaching us. 

"Hello!" The biker knew enough to announce herself to the horse, since a mountain biker can look about like a mountain lion if a horse hasn't seen it before.

She kept pedaling toward us, lost in her workout. 

Commotion STOPPED dead in his tracks. "Snort" 

I asked her if she could hold up a minute.

"Oh! Of course! I'm so sorry!" What a nice girl.

I told her that he'd never seen a bike before and asked her to just wait still for a minute while he processed this. About 30 seconds later we calmly walked right on by her, no prancing.

Thankfully, there were no sheep in this area today, but at that same spot where he'd spooked at earlier, he spooked again. It was just a spook in place, no bolt, no spin, just a planting of his feet and a snort, but then it was nothing after all.

He did so well today. Back in his pasture, with his tail way high and his ears up and nostrils flared, he trotted a huge trot in a big circle around the pasture, showing off all of that good Arabian breeding, he was so pleased with himself and was about bursting with happiness. 

​Wednesday, July 1

We arrived at a place that I can't even tell you where it was because it doesn't have a name. We parked near a single campsite on the east side of Highway 75 about half way between Billy's Bridge and Phantom Hill. Wide open spaces, forests thick with aspen trees, beautiful green meadows sprinkled with wild flowers called to us from across the Big Wood River. Where we parked, the river was not that wide, but it was more impressive than any water Commotion had seen before, belly deep and moving fast. 

I should mention here than my husband, Dave, sometimes forgets that I'm riding a young horse that is neither as confident nor capable as his big horse Roy. Also, Dave gets bored just following a trail so off we go cross-country. It's usually a bit challenging and fun. I had been bragging to him about what a super star Commotion was when we rode up to Big Basin. Dave, full of enthusiasm, swings up into the saddle next to the trailer and says over his shoulder, "follow me!" and slides down a steep hill right into the rushing river. I pointed Commotion down the hill and he said "NO STINKING WAY!" I agreed with him, this was too much for him at this point and surely there was a better place to cross. We made a left turn and began to follow the river upstream, shadowing Dave on the other side. Dave of course, doesn't look back, doesn't have his cell phone, and keeps right on moving out. Roy on the other hand, does not like to be alone, his one big flaw, and as they dove into the thick willows that were way over his head, he began to whinny. He whinnied louder. Commotion and I found a better place to cross, but by now Commotion was very worried about whatever Roy was worked up about. I had my hands full. David appeared from the bushes across from us and yelled, "Well, come on!" (I guess I had bragged a little to grand). Noticing that things weren't going that well, he came toward us, and dropped down into the river. In the middle Roy slipped on a rock and stumbled and fell. He scrambled up and out of the water and they came up through the bushes to where we were waiting impatiently (pawing, dancing). 

I am pretty sure here in my assumption that every married person at times finds themselves exasperated with their spouse. Telling Dave what I thought of him going across the river and not keeping an eye on us and what was going on with Commotion, what a youngster he still was and how we needed take baby steps and on and...

Then I realized that something didn't look quite right. David and Roy were standing there still and quiet, with the most innocent looks on their faces. Under Roy's belly, the cinch hung loose, unattached on one side and hanging down from the right side of the saddle, swinging from the strap that connects it to the back cinch. The back cinch was still fairly tight (we don't want to get sticks stuck in there as we bushwhack). When Roy fell in the river, the latigo broke. Looking toward heaven, I thanked God for getting them out of the river and up onto the road safely, and for David's good centered seat.

Back at the trailer, we dug a new latigo out of the spare parts bin and started over.

This time, we crossed the river and wove through the willows to a wide open meadow ringed by aspens and cottonwoods. The Boulder Mountains towering beside us in full glory. Those mountains never fail to take my breath away. Game trails led us to multiple dead ends where they'd fizzle out. We climbed along the side of a large hillside, Lily struggling to get through the dense sagebrush and tall grasses. Stopping near the top, we got off to have a little light lunch, a couple cookies and an apple, sitting on the slope, holding our reins, looking out across the vast wilderness.

The flies and mosquitoes chased us off our perch, and it was hot, so we mounted up and went back down toward the creek flowing down to the Big Wood. There was plenty of downfall for us to negotiate, and places for Lily to cool off in the water. 

By the time we got back to the river, our earlier escapade had all but faded from memory. Commotion followed Roy right on through the deep rushing water, wetting his chest and belly. We unsaddled at the trailer and let them both graze for a while, meandering down to the river for a good long drink.

This day took us a little out of our comfort zone, but only for a short time. We all lived through it and ended the day in in a happy place. 

​July 3 and 4.

The fourth of July weekend can be such a nuisance, so many people, so much noise, so on impulse, we hustled to the grocery store, loaded up the horses and headed up over Galena Summit to the Stanley Basin once again. There were plenty of people camping here and there, but here in Idaho there are so many single camp sites, and sure enough, we found one right on a stream with a place to high line the horses and a flat spot to park the trailer. This would only be an overnight. I thought this would look really good on Commotion's resume.  

The high line, when done right, allows a horse to walk around in a circle, eat off the ground, and even lie down to rest. We carefully set the ropes high on two trees, using protection to not scar the bark, set the swivel ties high over their heads and tied them to it. After setting our bottle of wine in the creek to chill and laying out our rug by the trailer and our camp chairs by the fire, we congratulated ourselves for being so dang smart. After a while we saddled up and went exploring. 

One our earlier years living up here, we came up to this same area for another overnight, with our two horses, and a third, which we loaded up with all our gear for a mini pack trip. What we'd failed to do was to check with the forest service about the trails, after all, it was the last weekend in June. After a lovely ride and a night somewhere deep in the Smokey Mountains, found ourselves on our return trip in a bit of trouble. Snow blocked our trail and after a few bushwhacks, we could not turn around. It turned out to be quite rowdy, slipping and sliding down steep soft slopes through the trees, but we did pop out right at the trailhead not long before dark. This time we meandered around the trailhead trying to revisit where we'd been. Commotion, by now, had become pretty confident. We looked around a bit, scrambling around some rough country and hopping over big logs, then returning to camp. 

It's so delightful up north in the summer, the sun doesn't set till around 9 or 9:30. We finished our steaks and took the horses off the highline, walking them to the creek for a drink, then out into the wild grass to graze for a bit while the last light of day faded from pink to purple to black. Everyone was in the same peaceful mood. We put them to bed with a big pile of weed free alfalfa, and then with Lily, climbed into the trailer for the night. 

I know what you're thinking. Did I worry about Commotion during the night? Well, to be honest, yes. I did go check on him once in the night, his big dark eyes looked at me, questioning. I gave him and Roy both some petting and went back to bed. 

The morning was clear and cold. David cooked up some bacon and french toast for us, the smoke from the fire going straight up through the trees. Our trip today would be to retrace the first part of our trip and then see if we could ride the section we'd missed the previous year. The trail follows the Salmon River to it's source. We climbed the steep canyon up to a large meadow literally filled with purple flowers. At the intersection we took a right turn, heading toward Mule Creek, and rode the section that had been completely buried in snow that first year. No wonder we couldn't make it through. It wasn't long before we found the area where we'd abandoned the trail and shook our heads over our innocence. The loop would have taken two days, so we turned around and went back to the meadow. As we came down the last of the steep hill toward the purple meadow, I noticed that Commotion seemed to be a little cranky. His body was tight and he seemed to be stomping his feet, shaking his head. What was this? He's never acted this way before. Maybe he didn't sleep well his first night camping. I told Dave that this would be a good place for our picnic. In the meadow, we got off, loosened our cinches and tied the horses to some trees. We had our BLTs right there, on the top of the world. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see the horses resting there in the shade. Looking closer, I could see Commotion was sound asleep, his head dropped low and his eyes closed, one foot cocked. He just needed a good time out. Taking the horses, we led them around, letting them eat the sweet spring grasses and drinking that cold water. The meadow is a puzzle of waterways but we did find the one SPOT where the Salmon runs one way, and the Big Smokey river runs the other. 

We got on and started our trip back down the trail where we'd come up. Commotion was his normal happy self. Most of the trails up here are non-motorized trails and since there are about a billion miles of trails and so few people, this is not normally an issue at all. As we were riding down the canyon, we started hearing motors. Loud revving motors. Motors coming our way. As they got closer, David walked on ahead, waving his arms. "HEY! HEY!" The guy in front of course could not hear him, but stopped the moment he saw us. The three behind him came up and stopped on the trail as well, their motors all idling. Horses have the right of way in the mountains, over hikers and bikers, but we are also much more agile, and this was a kind of tight spot, so we tucked in to the side of the trail in the trees and told them to go ahead. Commotion watched, alert but standing still as they revved up and jammed their bikes up the trail, right beside us. Good boy.

He didn't hold on to any nervousness after they'd gone, just fell right in behind Roy for a bit, then we got in front and led the way back to the trailer.

He seems to have turned a corner. No longer does he seem like a baby, he is beginning to feel a little bit worldly. 

 

August 7. 

For days I fretted whether to take Commotion on our three day girls trip to the back country. It could be a good experience for him, but I feared it might be over his head. The trails up there are gnarly and ragged, and if he could not handle it, the repercussions could be pretty tragic. Finally I determined that if I was this doubtful, that I should take Roy.

We loaded the horses in the rain at 7:15. By the time we got to Iron Creek trailhead, it was 9:30, the sun was out and the day was warming. We loaded our big saddlebags onto our horses, locked the truck and trailer, and headed on up the mountain. The trail to Alpine Lake is pretty straight forward, a few little slick spots, but all in all pretty friendly. The next half a mile or so up to Sawtooth lake can be quite intimidating. Renee, who hasn't ridden all that much, but has hiked hundreds of miles in this region was right behind me and I kept hearing her saying "THIS is AMAZING, what these horses can DO!" The trail switches back and forth and back and forth up a steep hill and in places the rocks are smooth stone. Now and then one of the horses would slip a bit, but catch himself with his other three legs. At Sawtooth lake, we took a right turn and followed the skinniest of trails across a scree field and over a dip in the skyline. The other side of the pass, the landscape was like entering the world of Mordor. A fire had raced through there two years ago and the land was still parched, black and white, with dark muddy swamps between charred skeletons of trees. There were plenty of downed trees we had to bushwhack around, slowing our progress. We came to an area that the fire had missed, so we sat there by a lake and rested, eating our lunch, for about an hour. Soon we came across a spot that caused all four of our seasoned horses to pause. They had to step over a downed tree into mud. Not boggy mud, but deep soft black mud that was about knee deep. It was the only place to cross. Right there I knew this would have been over Commotion's head. Our old guys did fine after a minute and then we dropped down into the next canyon. Here we saw our first people. Two men were clearing the trail. Paid by the US Park Service, they spend their summers hiking and sawing downed timber from the trail. One of them, Josh, looked just like Paul Bunyon. He was huge. Seeing them was good news because it meant the rest of the trail would be cleared all the way to Grand Jean, a tiny spot in the wilderness with a small lodge and a few cabins, which is where we were headed. Down and down and down we followed the trail, crossing many streams and creeks, snapping pictures of the waterfalls and jagged mountains. The day was perfect. just a breeze and sunshine over our heads. At the bottom of the canyon we met up with the south fork of the Payette River. After crossing the bridge and passing the campground, after another 1/2 mile or so, we ended our ride at the barn, unsaddling our horses and throwing them loads of hay. Fourteen miles. My body was tired. 

The cabins you could call "rustic". plywood walls, linoleum flooring, wood burning stoves. Each cabin has two full beds. Quickly, we jumped into our swimsuits and raced to the pool, which is fed with warm water from the hot springs that bubble up here and there all over the state of Idaho. This felt just about better than anything that has ever happened to me. We bobbed around in that hot water, stretching our weary bodies every which way, diving deep under water, until it was time for "dinner".

MENU:

Hamburger

Grilled Cheese

BLT

Pastrami

But they were all out of hamburger. My BLT was made with the thickest pieces of sourdough bread I'd ever seen. I wrapped up the second half for lunch tomorrow. After dinner we checked on the horses and went to have s'mores by the campfire. We met the proprietor and his wife and their daughter. Here in the woods, this guy was retired from the US government, he'd worked in intelligence for foreign affairs all over the world and had adopted ten kids from different countries of different ethnicities. Boy did they have stories to tell. We talked until our eyes began to droop and straggled off to bed. 

In the morning after breakfast, we went for a short ride up the Payette River. The forecast was for thunderstorms. We rode for an hour or two, the sky turning darker and darker. After a leisurely lunch we started back. We heard rumbles of thunder in the distance, then we were hit hard by huge rain drops. The storm was racing right toward us, loud thunder and flashes of lightening were off to our right and left. We kicked up our speed a notch and hurried back. Back at the campground, a group of campers waved to us from under their awning. At that very moment a FLASH of lightening and a CRASH of thunder boomed right over our heads. All four horses jumped and spun. We got off and hurried to the barn, where we unsaddled and laid out all our things to dry. By the time we got to the pool the storm had passed and the sun was peeking at us from behind the cloud.

The next day was our ride out. Our return trip was up Baron Creek, different from the way we'd come, up and over a pass to the opposite side of Sawtooth lake. Breathtakingly beautiful and silent, the canyon was wide open with a huge granite escarpment rimming the south side. To our dismay, this trail had not been cleared and we soon found ourselves stopped by a large tree across the trail. Too steep on either side, I got off and asked Roy to jump over it, which he did. The others followed. We did this three more times. I was beginning to think about having to turn around and go back the way we came, how late we would be, how tired we all would be when we turned a corner, and there was Josh and Jason! Hallelujah! We visited for a few minutes and Josh told us that the trail was clear above us, then he said that their contract was only for sawing logs and that there was some pretty thick brush ahead in some spots. Then he wrinkled his brow.

"Oh, there is that one place in the boulder field by the lake, your horse might have trouble getting around there."

Carol told them that she knew that boulder field and that we'd be okay.

"No, there are a few new boulders that fell this year."

On we went, with his words echoing in my brain. The trail was overgrown and hard to find in spots and we did have to shove our way through some really heavy brush now and then. We finally crested the last ridge line and came to a lovely spot for our lunch. The wind had picked up and it was quite chilly. We talked about the boulders and about our options if we had to turn back. After lunch the trail meandered around a number of alpine lakes, ribboned with little yellow daisies and through some rock fields. LB was leading, suddenly she stopped. Hmm. Was this the place Josh was talking about? She got off and asked Mac to squeeze through, and he did, very carefully, twisting his body through the maze of rock. Wise old Smoke followed. Badger started to go but when the boulders bumped both of his stirrups, he backed up.... no way... but after a few minutes he went on through. I tied my stirrups up over the top of my saddle and Roy tip toed very slowly, very carefully through as well. We made it!

Just before Sawtooth lake (around mile 9) there was a big boulder right in the middle of the trail. LB walked around it, asking Mac to follow. Very slowly, testing each step before putting weight down, he followed. One by one we all did the same. As we rounded the corner at Sawtooth lake we found a group of hikers, all bug eyed, snapping photos of us, "Horses are the LAST thing we thought we'd see up here!" 

The last five miles we retraced our steps to the trailer. After fifteen miles of rough riding, we shouted for joy when the trailer came into view. It was about 5:00 PM. We unsaddled our weary horses and headed for home. 

Commotion was standing in the far corner of the pasture, looking off in the direction we had driven three days before. He whinnied for joy and trotted over to the gate to greet us.

Boy was I tired.

Boy was that fun.

Sheila wrote to me after that ride to Grand Jean. 

"Great story Lisa!!! Can't call you a scardy cat! I love your reports and pictures... I agree, that would have been too big a step for Commotion. Thanks Sheila" 

I loved the idea that I was getting her out of her big brown chair, even if only in her imagination.

 

Thursday, July 14

9:00 AM. Still a bit chilly out, and Commotion had been off for a week and a half. After saddling him I put him on the lunge line and offered him to move about. He was very happy to oblige, tail and head up, a few joyful leaps. We changed direction a few times and he began to focus on me. Up I went onto the saddle and off we went. Carol and Renee and I rode out of the pasture gate into the million miles of open space beyond. At the start he was a little enthusiastic, but not bad at all, just happy to be doing something. We followed the tracks from where the shepherd's water truck had gone, and through a valley where a massive flock of sheep had been grazing until just the day before. It was still quite smelly. The  valley turned into a gully and we followed it until it turned into a game trail and then it just disappeared altogether. Commotion volunteered to go first and I agreed. We were totally off trail and the ground was rocky and steep. Then it got steeper. I grabbed a hank of mane to take some pressure off the saddle as we climbed higher. The day was warm and we needed to stop a number of times for the horses to catch their breath, especially Smoke, the twenty three year old horse Renee was riding. We were in an area where the deer and the elk and the coyotes live. Commotion bravely strode out ahead like he owned the mountain. Up and up we went. This was a real work out for that tiny little behind of his and he did great.

The day was perfect, we'd shed our jackets, then the sun would go behind a cloud and a breeze would blow and we'd zip back up again. 

With a last big effort, we scrambled to the top, meeting up with the Taylor Canyon trail, which would loop around and take us the easiest route back down. 

We took a right turn and followed the high ridge before the long downhill to the valley. Commotion remained very happy in the lead; he was not jiggy or nervous at all. Occasionally he looked at a rock or thick brush (where the wild things can hide) but always kept his composure. He seemed to be having a very fine time. 

Ahead of us In the distance, around one long curve in the trail, we saw a couple of hikers with their dogs coming toward us. Commotion stopped to take a look at them, and moved on. As we got closer, he kept an eye on them. They were chattering away like a couple of chickens at breakfast time. Commotion was totally focused on them and their dogs when a huge sage grouse flew up just ahead of us and to our left about a foot away, flapping wildly, trying to keep his fat little body airborne. This was his biggest spook so far. It was an honest to goodness spook, but really, not that bad. He wound up just off the trail, facing the other direction, but he did not flee or do anything bad. Then we went on like it was no big deal. 

What a nice boy.

Down, down, down we went. As we neared the final down slope, Commotion was starting to stumble now and then. I believe his legs were tired. I rarely think a horse gets truly tired, but let me tell you, this was a work out. He was eager to get home (to Roy). He was still not jiggy, just stepping out. I thought I would just keep him motoring right over that little hidden dip creek, which is a stickler for most every horse, so, focusing on the far side, seat relaxed, I kept him going. We strode right up to it and he STOPPED. Snort. When Badger got up beside us, he stepped over it like a big boy.

For the rest of the ride, we stayed behind of the other two. Back at the barn he got a good scrubby soapy bath and I let him back out into the giant pasture with Roy. He galloped around for a minute to let me know that he was not that tired.

He gets an A for today.

He is a mighty fine boy.

August 15. Our 23^rd anniversary

Carol wanted to drive her big fancy new truck today, which delighted us because our old Ford has about a billion miles on it and the drive up Trail Creek Road to Summit Creek is a hard pull up a steep crazy road. Should have named that road Vertigo Road.

The trail starts right out with a simple creek crossing and then climbs a steep hillside. Soon we were on a skinny trail, the creek far below us. LB and Dave had brought their young bird hunting dog, a two year old pointer named "Covey" with LOTS of energy. I kept my eye on the bouncing dog that bounded from one side of the trail to the other, sighting her way in front of the horses, then behind. She was crazy! I was hoping to make sure that she never scooted under us, like dogs will sometimes do. Commotion didn't seem to mind her much. The trail went up and up, the morning light filtering through the pines and the smell of sage permeating the air. Commotion was relaxed and followed happily along at the back of our little group of five. These trails change every year after the snow melts and I hadn't been on this trail for seven or eight years, so it held a feeling of adventure. We came to a creek crossing that looked pretty nasty. Tangled roots and wet mud led down into the creek, with a steep climb out the other side. Mac went in carefully, and stumbled on a root, kicking up a piece of wood as he scrambled out the other side that flew off to my right. I asked Commotion to go in and he did, but the ground was very strange, sort of like a floating mass of hard mud with roots over the underwater flow. As he went in, what looked like solid ground collapsed. He lost his footing. Scared, he tried to turn around to go back out but somehow he sort of raised up and fell down at the same time. He never tipped over and I managed to stay balanced right in the middle of the saddle as he launched back out of the creek on the same side as we'd gone in. He looked at Smoke, wide eyed, telling him no doubt, to NOT go that way!

"There has to be a better place." I said to Dave.

Sure enough, there was a better spot just upstream. We had to step over a handful of fallen aspens to get to it, but it was easy peasy. Then we went on.

In places, the woods were so tight with young trees, our boots brushed on both sides. He remained calm and happy, following Roy everywhere and anywhere. 

I thought to myself "Thank God that bad spot is behind us".. then my old brain called up an earlier memory from the last time I'd ridden this trail. I was fairly certain we hadn't come to that spot yet, and it was much worse. 

And then, sure enough, it was there before us. A tight little steep and muddy crack where the creek flowed, with exposed roots to get tangled up in. The trails maintenance crew had built a little bridge of skinny logs that hikers could walk over, but it was not at all sufficient for a horse. Roy went first, carefully picking the best way to go. He did get to the other side, but it was so bad that David went up to the right to look for a better place while we waited. Roy fell down to his knees and could not get up till David got off. Looking back at us, David shook his head, eyebrows raised. It didn't look good. Dave B got off Smoke (it's so confusing when there's more than one Dave) and led him across just below the bridge. Smoke is the 23 year old and has more miles than any of us can count in the mountains. He carefully, very slowly, picked his way through. Carol got off and led Badger the same way, but Badger got nervous and leapt one spot, knocking Carol down into the mud. She said a very bad word right then, but was not hurt. I went the same way, leading Commotion. He cautiously placed each foot, slowly, thoughtfully, and stayed away from me as we crossed. What a good boy. LB went bushwhacking down the hill looking for another spot. Soon she came crashing through the bushes back up to us on the other side and on we went.

We reached the top about two hours later. The horses munched on that sweet mountain grass while we had our lunches admiring the raw beauty of the Pioneer Mountains.

This is an out and back trail, not a loop. This means we had to maneuver those bad places again, but I wasn't that worried. Commotion and I got in the lead to start out. There were places where avalanches had roared down from side canyons in the winter, depositing all sorts of enormous broken trees and stumps like little pick up sticks. 

By this time, after all the really challenging and various water crossings that we'd been across this summer, we went through every thing we came to confidently, with hardly any hesitation. When we got to the nasty place, Dave B crossed first, the same way, by getting off and leading him. I didn't like that place. LB and David and I went off trail down the hill to cross the creek further down. We crossed once (easy) and then had to cross twice more to get back to the trail. The entry was a little flimsy, but following Roy, Commotion went right in. Getting out however, was a not very easy and it was another launch. He can really get some air sometimes. I laughed out loud and up we scrambled to the trail, me petting him and telling him what a good boy he was. 

As we neared the end of the trail, Dave B was behind me.

"How long have you been riding this horse?"

I told him about how when I picked him up that he'd never been in a trailer before and how nervous he was that first day I got on him, but that since we'd been in Sun Valley, for about two months, that he's been a real gem. I said that he liked it out here in the mountains. Dave agreed and said he was mighty impressed, that today had been some truly serious riding and that he could hardly believe Commotion was so young with so little experience. "I'd say that horse was worth about $100,000. After today!"

Made my day, let me tell you. I gave Commotion a good little stroke on his neck and his rump. "I agree."

What a perfect anniversary day. Can't think of anything I'd rather be doing. 

August 22, Saturday

This would be our last ride of the summer together. Our route would be up the East Fork of the Hyndeman creek to Pioneer Cabin and down Johnstone Creek, a nice loop of about twelve miles. I called Martina on our way to pick up Carol and the horses, and with very short notice, she met us at East Fork road and we drove out across the corduroy roads to the trailhead. LB and Dave B came too. David and I had ridden this trail about nine years ago, and I remembered a few things about it. I remembered it was beautiful and steep, very steep.

We started out at the Hyndeman trailhead and the trail was lovely, following the creek. I was delighted to have Martina along and to see Cowgirl Lena V, who was just a mere wisp of a filly when we rode last, and was now a full figured mare of eight.

The trail followed the creek for quite a ways before it began to make the climb up to Pioneer Cabin. The scenery became more and more impressive, in spite of the smoke from the fires in Washington and Oregon that hazed up the sky. I did not recall that the trail was quite this sketchy but then again, these trails change every year with the snow, rain, and mudslides. We climbed and climbed. The trail switches back and forth for a few miles, rising 2,400 feet to the top. Not a good place to shortcut the trail, a misstep off the trail would be a long bad slide to the creek below. Commotion was his normal mindful self and took it all in stride. This was, no doubt, the longest and steepest hill he'd climbed, and it was a struggle for him, with his tiny hiney, but he just went along with the group, like it was just another day. No worries.

Finally, we reached the top. Pioneer Cabin is a tiny little wooden cabin built in the 30's as a cross country ski hut for overnighters. It is a basic little shack really, full of years of graffiti. The view from the cabin looks right out at Hyndeman and Cobb peaks. Breathtaking. It was a perfect day, not too hot, not too cold, no true wind, just good friends, old and new. The horses grazed until they lost interest, then we tied them in the shade of a circle of tall pines. We had our lunches and visited with some hikers that passed by (from New York City no less.. that were very enchanted with our horses) and after an hour or so, continued on our way over the hill to the intersection to Johnstone Creek.

We were, no doubt, on top of the world.

There were not many logs nor much water on this ride, but it was steep and narrow. Once again, we had Covey, the bird dog (is that the perfect name or what?) and she was darting to and fro and enjoying the day as only a dog can do. We rode down and around the hills to a place where the Pioneer Mountain view just about blows your hat off with its beauty. Down we went, following Roy, solid as ever, to a meadow about half way down. Suddenly a YIP and shout… woke us all up from our slumber of the views and of the day. YIP YIP YOWL. Darned Coyote, we were in her territory and she was sounding the alarm. Covey smartly tucked in right between Roy and Commotion, head down, not wanting to cause trouble. On we went, with the coyote following along the other side of the creek, yipping LOUDLY that we were most definitely in her territory. On we went, down down down, the trail was better on this side of the mountain, nothing too difficult. Just when we thought we'd passed the rocky path out of her concern, she BARKED again at us. That coyote sound is so devilish… she was tracking us, shadowing us down the trail. We could see her, focused intently on the dog.

At one point, she came closer and closer to Covey, who was hugging Roy's heels. When she came too close for comfort, Dave B blew his dog whistle to call her back to him and David made a little motion toward the coyote. It was a little intense at this point, as the coyote came quite close to Covey, and a couple of horses became quite concerned, and we were in a narrow part of the canyon. Commotion looked at Roy, who was not the least bit concerned, and wondered what that devil dog was barking about. Dave B got off his horse and walked Covey down the trail, collar in hand.
After a long while, she gave up on us and we were in the clear. Dave B got back on his horse and we came across a few stream crossings where the horses took a nice long drink. There are a few places on this trail that a horse really needs to pay attention to, and all did well. Add that noisy predator and it was quite a day.
Then we turned a corner, and there were our trailers. A fine finish to an Idaho summer.

After an oil change and a check up on the trailer brakes and lights, it was time to go. As I loaded my things into the trailer, a mental movie played in my head about the summer and what Commotion V taught me and what I was able to give to him. There were a number of rides that we took that I did not write a story about. One day we focused simply on crossing bridges, starting with the biggest we could find down to little ones. One day an enormous band of sheep flowed like a single living creature over a hill, coming our way. One day riding out alone a para-sail floated out of the sky above and landed a short way in front of us, and many days where a whole lot of nothing went on. Just lovely scenery, good horses and laughter between friends. Many miles of just quiet riding. Never did I stop 'riding his mind' while we were out there, even if it was after hours of silence and nothing to deal with. I believe that all those quiet hours with nothing happening is what creates a quiet horse. By the end of the summer our brains worked in tandem. It was a beautiful thing.

Many people (like my husband) like to travel like this; they get up at a silly hour in the morning and pull out of the driveway before dark. They drive till dark again, only stopping for bathroom breaks and gas. Not me boy. I'd say my maximum is about six hours on the road. After that I start to turn into a she-devil. This is why David stays home. 

Lily, my travel buddy, wouldn't mind if this was our full time gig. I think she is happiest in that big truck. (Lily is my dog, in case you missed that) As the miles roll by below our tires, she smiles at me while I practice my Spanish or sing out loud off key.  She sleeps through all my audio books (there is an interesting short book about Sarah Winnemucca called 'The Paiute Princess' by the way. Interesting to listen to while driving through big barren Nevada). 

Lucky for me  Winnemucca is just about six hours from Sun Valley and the fairgrounds there are delightful. There's a nice big sand arena for the horses to race around and roll and blow out all that travel stress, then plenty of nice open stalls for them to spend the night. I can park my rig right next to them, and they even have a bathroom/shower where I can pay twenty five cents for every eight minutes of hot water. I unfolded my blue camp chair and table right there next to my rig, facing the horses, nibbled down my Winnemucca Pizza while Lily had her dinner. We watched the sun go down while the horses munched their hay and then we climbed into the bed in the gooseneck of the trailer. It's the only time Lily sleeps on the bed with me, and she thinks it's a real treat. The second day was only about four hours to my cousin's house. Rachelle lives up in the mountains above Sacramento. I got there early and we visited on her beautiful patio, drinking wine and catching up on all things. The horses travel well with a schedule like this. Nice easy days rocking down the highway. Always plenty of room and fresh water when we stop. Day three brought us home to Los Alamos, California. 

Looking them both over as they raced around the pasture, tossing their heads and snorting, after their thousand mile journey from Sun Valley, I marveled at what a grown up Commotion had become over two or three months of summer. Such a sweet boy. I wanted to keep him for just a little while longer, to ride him through some cattle and to try to fatten him up a bit before giving him back to Sheila. I couldn't wait to show what a grown up he'd become.

 

 

"Are you sure you feel like going? We could just go to breakfast maybe."

I could hear by the smallness of her voice that she wasn't feeling very strong. "No, I need to get out there."

I smiled. "Okay, I'll be there at 9:30 to pick you up."

I have to admit, I was eager to show her how well Commotion would do after his summer experiences but more than that, I was just tickled that she wanted to ride. She'd been in that big brown chair for almost two years since her diagnosis and it was really getting her down. Plus, we suspected that the cancer was beginning to wake up from it's remission.

It was Sunday, so the farm was very quiet, just a skeleton crew there for a couple of hours in the morning. Most everyone had the day off. As I pulled around the back of the show barn, there was Jubilation, clean, brushed and saddled, tied to the vet trailer. A few of the guys were finishing up their duties. I waved to them and walked up to the house. She had a couple phone calls to make but we were heading out the gate by 10:00. 

The Biddle Ranch is only about five minutes away from the farm. We parked at a place called Windmill flats. It's a wide open place with an old rusty windmill in the middle of it, but no water trough. The well must surely be dry. You can see for miles from this point and it was parched and brown. I unloaded the horses and tied them to the trailer. Sheila grabbed her boots and sat down at the tack room door to put them on. Like a little school girl yearning for approval from the teacher, I very much wanted Commotion to make me look good. He was a little lean after all that mountain boot camp but he was ready for anything. As Sheila dropped her boots and plopped herself down to put them on, Commotion pulled back, slipping off his halter. 

Darn! We hadn't even got on yet and there was my first demerit! He didn't go anywhere, just stood there while I put his halter back on (it was one of those string halters and it was loose). He had done that twice during the summer and both times for a reason. She suggested I get a "blocker tie", a gadget that allows the rope to slip, but not easily. They don't get hurt and they don't get loose and they figure it out to just not do that. I filled our water bottles and put one in Sheila's custom bottle holder that Doug Cox built into her saddle. I was walking around to hold on to Jubilation while she got on or to be there if she needed any help, just because she was pretty weak and Jubilation hadn't been ridden in months, but she just popped up there like a shot, before I even got to her. Okay, time to go. 

As I grabbed my stirrup to get on, I could feel her eyes on me. All summer I'd made sure that Commotion stood still as I got on and off and so I puffed up inside, silently saying "okay, watch this!" As my leg swung up over his back, he took one step. 

DANGIT!

Two demerits and we hadn't left yet! I couldn't say "well, he never does that" because he just did it. She told me to move him forward, backward, get off, get on, keep him facing the same direction. She was a pretty strict teacher but I liked it. Then we rode up the valley, past areas where we always told the same stories, the Chris Pankau hill, the high ridge line where Mike Massey would send her to gather because she was on the Arabian. So many stories that ranch holds. On the inside I was like the five year old girl shouting "hey! look at me" as I went sliding down a hill or crossing a giant log, but Sheila was not talkative. She was not very comfortable, but was happy to be out there. I just entertained myself instead, enjoying Commotion and knowing this was probably my last ride with him. The day held a silence almost like that moment right before someone whispers in your ear. Even the birds were quiet. We came to "Shady lane" that travels up a long narrow canyon, shadowed by enormous oak trees, the only sound was that of the dried leaves crunching under the hooves of our horses. 

At the top, there is a place called 'Triple trough'. There is only one water trough but there are three directions you would go to gather the cattle, so I guess that's why they call it that. We stopped and the horses had a long drink. I pointed to her water bottle and reminded her to drink. She was so easily dehydrated. 

"How're you doing?" I asked

She shrugged her shoulders and after a minute said "Let's go home."

I nodded my head. She pointed Jubilation toward the trailers (not toward the way we came up) and we went straight there. Straight to the trailer. It didn't seem to matter what was in front of us, we just went straight there. 

At the trailer, she slid off her saddle, opened the tack room door and sat down, breathing hard. I took Jubilations' reins, loosened his cinch, took off his bridle, put on his halter, and tied him to the trailer. I did the same with Commotion and loaded them both into the trailer. When we pulled in the driveway at her place, I stopped by the house.

"You go in, I'll take care of Jubilation."

"Thank you Lisa"

I watched as she marched those impossibly long legs up to the house. After both horses were unsaddled and put in a couple of pens by the lab with some hay, I went to the house to check on her. She was sprawled out on that big brown chair sound asleep. 

"YAP!" Libby, her little dog, jolted her awake. She smiled that pretty smile at me and said "Are you hungry?"

"What?"
"I'm hungry, want to go have lunch?"

She never ceased to amaze me. We got into her big black car and drove to town. Had a nice big lunch, the waitress bringing a little dish of water for Libby while we talked. She told me she was very pleased with Commotion. I thought she wasn't paying much attention, but let me tell you, she never missed a thing.

It was a long time before I saw Commotion again. A year and a half. So much had happened. He'd gone off with a sweet woman that spent her summers in Wyoming and winters in Southern California. Together they rode many happy miles together. Somehow though, he was back at Varian Arabians and back up on the sale page. It was right before Christmas. 

"He's down in the twelve stall barn." 

I smiled at Angela, and trotted out the door, eager to visit with my old friend. Walking down the aisle, peering in each stall, I found him near the end, in the second to last stall. I checked to make sure and there was his name, posted on the door "COMMOTION V". He was standing with his head in the far corner, one foot cocked, snoozing. As I unlatched the clasp, he lifted his head as if to say, "Oh, hello."

He turned to face me as I walked in. I reached out my hand to him and he took a couple steps toward me, sniffing at my hand. Suddenly his head lifted about an inch, his ears perked a little more forward and he looked at me more closely, taking another step. He sniffed my hand deeper, then my arm, then my shoulder, neck, head. I stepped closer to him, petting his withers, then putting my arms around his neck, burying my face in his mane. He sniffed my back, my behind, my legs, my boots, then he wrapped his long graceful neck around my body. We stood quiet in that embrace for a few moments, tears on my face. In the silence we told each other everything that had happened. When he let me go, I backed away, stroked my hand all over his body, down his legs, under his belly. Finally I told him goodbye and that I would see him tomorrow. His ears were perked as he watched me close the stall door. My dear friend, Commotion.

The next day, I walked into the show barn, and there were Commotion and Murietta, tied to the grooming cross ties, brushed and saddled. What a treat. Roy was waiting tied to the trailer. David and I climbed into the truck with Kristy, the sweet, smart and beautiful young woman that is the breeding manager at Varian Arabians. Hard to believe it, but Kristy had not been to the Biddle Ranch since she was a little girl. At Windmill Flats we swung up into our saddles, David on Roy, me on Commotion, and lucky Kristy on Murietta. (Riding Murietta feels like you are out strolling with the King. He is a real dream). Commotion felt as good as ever. Happy to be out in the open and calmly walking with the other horses, watching Lily chasing after squirrels and listening to the birds sing. We chatted a little bit but all three of us were somewhat nostalgic, missing our Sheila. I could feel her right there inside my heart, enjoying the day, the fine horses, the friendships. I could almost hear her voice.... "ain't life grand!" 

​Prestigious V. Audacious PS x Pretty Pauline V. 

I'd ridden him once for about five minutes in the arena, and he seemed very nice. Bright. Flashy. Innocent. He had been out of the arena, but not much and not far. He and Roy settled into their little pens at the V6 Ranch horse camp with a pile of alfalfa. Boy it was good to be back. There is no place on earth like the V6. Twenty thousand acres of beautiful California countryside that is owned by Jack Varian, Sheila's cousin. I could go on about this ranch, but that's a whole different story. You'll just have to google and then go there to know exactly what I mean by that. You won't be sorry.

In the morning, my cousin Rachelle, and I saddled our horses. I saddled Roy, pivoted around and picked up the lead line for Prestigious. I'm pretty sure he'd never been ponied before. He was a little pushy but I gave him a little shove on the side of his head when he'd crowd us and he figured it right out. We just went on a short flat ride for about an hour and a half. After all the rain in California, the creeks were all full, the flowers in full bloom, the grass was green and the sun was out. Prestigious hesitated the first time at the creek but when Rachelle's horse passed him up, he leapt over it, crashing into Roy's butt and hopping about. On we went.There was plenty more water ahead. The next creek he did better, then better still. We came to some pillars that Jack built made of rocks put into a circle of fencing. Pretty weird looking. Prestigious decided no way was he following Roy through, pulled back and got loose. He watched us on the other side of the opening. After letting him snort and look and think about it for a minute, I walked back calmly and picked up his lead and he followed us right though. "He's a smart one," I said to myself.

In the afternoon most of the guests had arrived, and at 4:00 we saddled again and were ready to ride. There were probably about twenty riders and we rode out, crossing the creeks and climbing some pretty big hills. Prestigious went right along, I think he was enjoying the day as much as the rest of us. "He's a happy one," I said to myself.

Some of the horses were a little bit fresh and as one of the "wranglers," I thought the next day I may need to switch horses with someone or do something that would require me to be on an experienced horse, and I learned that we would be at the headquarters all day, about 2 miles from camp. I left a big pile of alfalfa for Prestigious and left him there with a couple of horses in pens nearby. We had a great day playing with the cattle and chatting through lunch, the whole group lined up on picnic tables under the giant oak trees.

Then the rain came. Friday it drizzled all day long. I had rain blankets for both horses, but just because it's raining, that doesn't mean everything comes to a stop. We rode out during the day but I left Prestigious tucked in his blanket in his pen. Heck, I have all summer with him, why rush it. 

As it turned out, it was not until Sunday that I actually rode Prestigious. this was fine with me, since it gave him time to get comfortable with where he was and with all the other horses. He'd been cooped up for a few days and also I'd never really ridden him before, so after I saddled him,  I took him down the the arena and clipped the lunge line to his halter. 
"kiss kiss" and he loped off to the right. I'd taken off my back cinch. The straps where you buckle in the back cinch slapped at his sides and my strings behind the saddle flew out as he ran. He made just one or two slight bucks, and was running, nostrils flared and tail high. I asked him to change direction a few times and with a few soft "whoas" he slowed to a trot. Soon he was locked on to me and trotting, stopping, turning, when asked. I slipped the snaffle in his mouth and climbed aboard. David had shown up on Roy and we walked around the arena together, then went to join the group. I'd forgotten my hat, but more importantly, I'd prepared my horse. 

The Manzanita Trail is a beautiful ride, about 4 or 5 miles I would guess. We kept to the front where he was comfortable. He was very alert but relaxed at the same time, just observing everything and carefully placing his feet. The trail climbed steeply and weaved through the thick manzanita bushes. At the top we stopped for the Quarter Horses to rest (that's a dig for John Varian, he is such a tease). I carefully unzipped my jacket and tied it to the back of my saddle. Thank you Jamie. Prestigious stood still, just checking out the view and all the other horses. As we all know, what goes up must come down, and the trail down is quite steep. I rounded his back to help him balance with his feet under him but he was a little unsure, so I put him right directly behind Roy's tail, not letting him pass, and we followed him all the way down. On the flat, riding back toward camp, I began to put him in the middle of the group, then in the back, then out to the left and right, but would do that for just a little while and then go back to the front where he felt the most comfortable. Just as I was about to start bragging on him, he started to get a little jiggy and prancy. "What the heck is this?" I wondered. Then I noticed the photographer ahead of us a little to the side, hiding under a big bush. No wonder he powered up. She did look very much like a predator.

At the water trough in camp, he took a nice long drink of water. Such a good boy. Happy camper, joyful and trusting partner. I'm so looking forward to summer days in the mountains with this handsome boy. 

​I swear, I feel I must be dreaming. Up in Idaho there is still bits of snow hanging on here and there in my garden, but here we are in California and it is most definitely springtime. We drove in to Windmill Flats, circled the truck and unloaded the horses. Normally I back the horses out of the trailer, but today there were a plethora of good sized gopher holes hidden in the tall green grass, so I turned Prestigious around, let him check out the world, and walked him out facing forward. We saddled and started up the dirt road up the canyon. No lunging needed today because Prestigious was so relaxed. His tail was down, his eye was quiet. I moved him around a little bit before getting on to make sure the saddle was not pinching him. Right off the bat we came across about thirty five cows and calves, lounging in the shade under a couple enormous oaks. Prestigious got a little bit taller but we walked on through them. One of the cows from up the hill spotted Lily, my dog, and started to trot down the hill toward us. She probably had lost track of exactly where her baby was and right in the herd was a predator. You know what Lily does when she feels threatened? She runs to me. David took a few steps toward the cow and she decided that Lily didn't look that scary after all. Thank you David.

Just beyond the cattle we came to our first little water crossing. Prestigious jumped it, but it was just a little jump, and we went on. I want him to learn that water is no big deal, so I don't go back and do it over and over, because then it can become a big deal. The creek was fuller than I'd ever seen it. There was even water falls and pools. We rode all the way up the canyon, crossing the creek a few times and squishing through some muddy spots. The day was pretty warm and Lily was happy to jump in the water, smiling up at us. 

At the end of the canyon we found a few more cows with one happy bull. We got up close to them and just stopped. We stood there for quite some time. I believe that horses think slow but react fast, so it's a nice thing to just hang with the cattle and let it soak into the brain that cattle are docile creatures. We walked toward them just enough to make a few walk away from us, then we turned and walked on.

We found some skinny trails that didn't go much distance. We found lots of good mud. Prestigious learned that I would only ask him to go somewhere that I felt was safe and he never did get into trouble.

I love that every creek crossing is different. Some are muddy, some are a steep exit or entry, some are wide. There were none today that were really rushing, but that will happen later in Idaho. Prestigious leapt now and then, but not big leaps and on the bigger crossings, he braved up and walked on through, carefully, slowly, willingly.

Riding back to the trailer, Prestigious now and then would shake his head, like there were so many thoughts processing in there he had to shake them out a little bit. It wasn't a huge ride, and there was a lot of nothing that went on, but he did have to think about a few things. When we put them into the trailer, he began to paw. David and I decided that we were a little hungry, so we went over to the little cafe/tasting room at Edna Valley and split a sandwich. The horses waited in the trailer there in the shade, with the windows open so they could stick their heads out. Sitting at our table, we could hear Prestigious pawing the trailer, but little by little he did it less and less. We noticed that everyone that came through the parking lot stopped to visit the horses, petting their noses and talking to them sweetly. When we were finished, we walked around to close the windows and found a group of women fawning over the horses, taking selfies and laughing.

See what I mean? Surely I must be dreaming.

 

 

​Winter is officially OVER. With Roy, Prestigious V, and little hitchhiker named Zip's Amerigold in the trailer, I drove out Varian Arabians driveway at about 10:00 AM on a Thursday morning. The drive up highway 101, 46, 41, 5 and then 80 to Grass Valley, east of Sacramento, is always crowded, no matter what day of the week it is or what the time of day. I never even look at my cell phone while I'm on this route, so I get set up with my audio book or my podcasts at gas station stops, which are frequent in the old diesel truck. I was just glad that it was nice and cool compared to earlier drives, cooler is much easier on the horses than too hot. Day two got us to Winnemucca. There was a bad wreck just west of the Nevada Stateline, which kept us parked on highway 80 for a hour or more. This was enough time for the horses to get over any need to paw in the trailer. They also were exposed to sirens and emergency vehicles. In Winnemucca at the fairgrounds, all three horses were happy to run around and roll in the sand and blow out their travel stress in the big arena, then I put them in their pens for the night and crawled into bed.

I woke up to rain falling on the roof of the trailer. Lily wagged her tail at me as if this was just the best thing that could happen. I sort of agreed, because who doesn't love a little rain.. but by the time I fed the horses, brushed my teeth and got ready to load up, it had turned to snow. Zip's Amerigold was shivering, even though they were all in covered stalls, and dry. They'd all shed their winter coats and this was too cold! Out came the horse blankets, I closed up all the roof vents, and off we went. It was an all out blizzard off and on all the way to Elko, then the sky cleared and the sun came out. We were home by about 2:00 in the afternoon. Prestigious looked at me like we'd just landed on Mars. This is such a different world, 6,000 feet altitude, pine trees and darn it was cold! It was like winter all over again. I left their blankets on for the first few overnights until it quit raining and the temps warmed up. At first I had to chase him to put his blanket on but after two days he was the one running to me.

Zips Amerigold soon went off with Martina, a good friend and excellent horsewoman who is riding her for the summer (we will be hearing more about Martina and this pretty little mare in months to come). After a few days, David and I saddled up the horses and went out for a stroll. There is a large piece of property just north of us that we call the polo field. It's about forty acres, all flat, like a big rectangle. It would be a perfect polo field.. also the guy that owns it plays polo, but he lives in England, so for now it is just a big flat field. We just rode out to the far end of it and back. It was a cold, blustery, windy afternoon, probably not the best day for a first ride out on a green horse, but I just couldn't stand to wait another day. Prestigious was happy to be out, with Roy, and nothing to much happened, just cold wind. He was a little tense at first, but it turned out to be just right. This is a new place, a new life, and you know, it might be okay. 

 

The sun is out and it's actually warmed up to above sixty degrees. We'd been working in the garden all weekend. Sunday morning three guys came to build a little garden wall by our bedroom window. Boy it feels good to get a lot done. While we were working around the garden, I left the horses tied to the trailer, just learning about patience and to just stand still. When the guys all went to lunch, David and I saddled up both horses and rode up the canyon behind the house. (My trailer is full of hay at the moment). I had ponied Prestigious a couple days earlier on the same route, and we'd had to scramble up and around an enormous bank of snow that blocked the canyon from side to side. 

Prestigious was calm and easy from the very start. He confidently walked out in front, was not nervous or hurried, he went along just like a nice broke horse. When we got to the snow, we climbed up the steep slope on the right, walking around the snow, going first before Roy. I reached down and stroked his neck "Good Boy Prestigious" I tried to sound like Jaime, with a soft Mexican accent. A little further we found more snow, but this was not as deep, so we walked on through it. I have to say that I have had horses up here that NEVER got used to snow. Prestigious preferred to go around it, but we approached it in a way that looked like we had no other choice. We kept close to Roy, and he braved right up and followed across. He tip toed and hopped the first few times, and then quickly became more used to it. It was perfect because there were lots of places to walk through patches of snow, each one was a little deeper. 

By the time we turned around, he was better about going through first and in some places it was about 8 inches deep. When we got back to the big drift, we were behind Roy this time and David chose to go down the other side. We had to cross a little bit of snow and then the lower side was really rough and really steep. It was only about 15-20 feet high, so not a big hill, but it was something he had to think about. We did a little bit of sliding on his rump to get down to the road, and we went happily the rest of the way home. 
When we got home, the guys were back at work in the garden, when they saw Lily trot up, they looked up the hill and saw us. They smiled and waved. We unsaddled and instead of putting them in their paddock, we let them graze some of the nice green grass by the creek.

Every now and then he'd pick his head up to me as if to say "what a great day today is!" I rubbed his beautiful forehead, and he closed his eyes, then dropped his head down for some more sweet grass. Such a nice boy. Today showed what a good mind he has. Definitely another "A". 

I just love this photo. I take a lot of photos, but often, when I'm riding, I'll get these rainbows and colors. This didn't happen until last year, after loosing Sheila. There are plenty of technical reasons why this thing happens, but lots of people that say it is a spirit. I don't know for sure, but it sure makes me feel super happy to think she's right there, riding double with me, one finger hooked on my left pant loop, the other hand rubbing on Pegasus' hip, leaning back enjoying the view. Oh, how I miss her.

I've been riding every day. If I don't have a chance to get out in the hills, I'll just ride around my paddock, practicing on teeny little moves (one foot here, one foot there) or side passing or backing in a circle or gait changes. Prestigious has such a lovely lope, balanced and smooth. The other day we rode with David and Roy up the canyon again, late in the day. That's where this picture was taken. Prestigious scrambled back up around the snow bank first again, but this time he seemed much less anxious about it. This felt much more like real determination. A short distance beyond, he shook his head a number of times as if he was mighty impressed with himself for tackling that obstacle. We rode further than we'd gone the other day, bushwhacking around fallen trees and plodding through dwindling patches of snow. Sometimes he'd lead, sometimes he'd follow Roy. One spot the aspens are coming in so thick, it's like a curving hallway where you can't see what's ahead or behind. Eventually after about an hour, we came to a place where two enormous trees had fallen across our path. They were neck high and in order to get around them would have been quite a task, we decided it was late in the day, so we turned around to go home. Both horses picked up their speed, after all, it was dinnertime. We had to correct that, because dinnertime or not, we don't hurry. It's not polite. Instead of just pulling on Prestigious to slow him down, I collected him, rounding his poll, and began moving his hip in or out, or I kept him moving straight, but had him arc his neck around to the left or right on a soft rein. When he got with me and did these things correctly, I completely let him loose. Pretty soon he was walking along nice and relaxed. About half way back, he began swishing his tail around and his body tensed up. I rubbed around his tail and asked David to look to see if something was biting him. This kept up for a few minutes. I stopped him, asking him to stand still. We stood there for a full two minutes and then he suddenly stretched out and took the longest pee. It can take a while for some green horses to figure out they can pee with a rider on their back. After that he was totally happy. 

All around our property, the poplars and cottonwood trees are in full bloom. As the dense blossoms release their pollen into the air, little white puffs float on the breeze. Drifts of white pile up in the corners everywhere. Summer snow is what we call it. As the horses grazed in the early evening, I looked up toward the tall trees. I swear, it looked like fairy dust. 

It was late, close to evening when we decided to ride. At the snow bank, instead of going around it this time, David said "Stay here, let me see if this is okay." He and Roy stepped in and went right up the middle, stepping on the snow, not sinking in to badly. The melting snow has become so compacted that it's pretty solid. Prestigious hesitated, "no.. not to sure about that..." but with a few clucks and squeezes with my feet, he went right on up. At the top he shook his head a couple times. We rode up to where those big logs had fallen across the trail and this time bushwhacked around them. Easier said than done, because the woods are so thick up there. We had to go quite a distance up and around. Prestigious is starting to really relax about things and get the idea that we are a team and that I won't let anything bad happen to him. He shoved on through the thick young aspen trees. They were so thick I had to turn my feet in so not to hook them. Limbs scratched across my hat as I ducked down low over the saddle. Once at the other side, we rode on further to a place that was such a mess we had to stop. Right before it though, was a sweet little patch of snow. 

He's starting to relax enough to just slow his brain down, think it over, and trust. This is what I get the biggest kick out of. 

We had to shove back through the brush and trees going back down. At the snow bank, I took out my cell phone to take a movie. I filmed while he slowly, cautiously stepped down the steep snowy slope. A couple of his steps slid just a little bit but he never lost his composure. That put a smile on my face and after we made it down, he didn't even shake his head. What a trooper.

Now they get a vacation, We have a business trip to go on, and while we'll be staying at the Red Lion, the horses will be at a place I like to call the Four Seasons. Huge green pasture surrounded by tall pines, with a trough full of fresh water and a big salt lick. What more could a horse want?  

 

It was sort of late in the afternoon, and the horses were still up at Carol's, where they stayed while we were away on business. We got there at about 5:30 at the end of a warm day. Prestigious was very aware of the hot wire as we opened the gate and led them out. We saddled up and I led him around to the other pastures, where Badger, Carol's horse, roamed free. At the second gate I got on and we rode around the irrigation sprinklers that were sending out giant arcs of spray across the enormous pasture. He was tight, I hadn't ridden him for one week and this was a new place. After about 1/4 of a mile he began to relax a little. We got to the little Dip Creek, hidden in the tall grass. I had placed ourselves behind Roy, who crossed the creek first, carefully, and asked Prestigious to go. He was insecure about it, stopping and shaking his head. Roy came back, circled around us and went back across. This time, Prestigious wanted to go but was still unsure about it. The third time Roy came around, he made just a little hop and was across. 

We rode out to the south through the open meadow. It was not as warm as we'd thought, but we were still fine in our t-shirts. Big puffy clouds kept the sun off our backs. The wildflowers are starting to bloom all around. We'd ride along side Roy for a while and then ride out a distance away, then back.

We went up and down some pretty good hills, no trails, just sagebrush and rocks. Prestigious was pretty good at picking his way or following my cues to get around nasty bushes or bad places. He still worries about steep downhill but he's getting better about it. 

We crossed another little creek, this one muddy on both sides. He followed Roy on our second try. Then we circled back around to go home. He was not eager about going back like he has been in the past, no hurrying today, he was just doing his best to be good. We rode back down toward some giant homes and empty lots being developed, and rode across the roadway and across a street bridge that runs over a culvert. The lines in the concrete didn't bother him, nor the fire hydrant, but the bridge sounded funny to him and he got up on his toes but was still responsive and did fine.

Coming back to Dip Creek, we were out in front. (He does have a nice walk.) I focused on the trail ahead, not on the creek, and sort of willed him to cross, but he stopped and shook his head. Roy came right up behind us, passed us, and crossed. Prestigious LEAPT across the creek, not wanting to be shown up, I guess. Funny, it's a tiny creek and he must have cleared about 6 or 7 feet with his leap. On the other side he kept shaking his head and shaking his head, like he had a swarm of flies in his ears. This seems to be what he does when he gets really concerned about something. After a short distance we stopped to let him compose himself, which he did. I petted his neck and shhh'd to him softly. Then we went on home and he was perfect. 

He's very willing. He's a little bit prissy about some things, but he's certainly doing his best. He's not resistant at all and gets braver as time goes on. For not being ridden in a week and for this being a totally new environment (off the trail and sort of rough, with that pesky creek) he did great.

We left them up there in that green grass for a few more days, since we have some grading to be done today and tomorrow around their paddock. Boy I miss them not being at home with me but I'm sure they are not missing me one bit, ankle deep in all that grass.

This horse is so smart. I have ridden almost every day, sometimes little shorty rides and sometimes bigger challenging rides. 

This is about one ride, about a week ago. David and I loaded up the horses and drove down and picked up Martina and her "V" horse, El Tejon. We went out to a canyon that I'd never been to before. We rode out through a couple of gates, riding through the sagebrush on a dirt road. Between gate #1 and gate #2 we picked up the trot. Prestigious was in front and went along pretty nicely for a young guy that hadn't been out for a few days. The other two trotted along behind us and all was pleasant and well. We rode through a group of cattle and came to a wide water crossing. Prestigious made it though, after the other two horses, but it certainly was not pretty, he splashed and scrambled out the other side, so we went back and did it again. Boy, this horse is smart! The second time he walked along side Roy at a normal walking pace, he was tight but he'd already figured it out. Third time across was like he'd done it a million times. We climbed and climbed up some very steep sandy hills to an old abandoned mine, then followed the mining road east, holding on to our hats, as the wind up there was really howling. The only thing that Prestigious looked sideways at was a little shepherd wagon on the top of the hill. I was happy there was not a band of a thousand sheep to deal with, one thing at a time. This was Prestigious biggest ride to date, time wise and climb wise. 

The trip downhill was long, very long... and very steep. Most horses when they first get outside have a little difficulty with the downhill, but they get over it. I rounded his back up, getting his feet underneath him on the steepest parts. We all still had our hands on our hats and the wind probably was not making him any happier, but he made it to the bottom without any real fuss. We went over to a water trough, sitting out in the middle of all the cattle, dozing in the afternoon sun. This was one weird looking water trough. Made out of a giant machinery rubber tire, with a bobbing float in the middle, that made noise when the water moved, and of course, the circle of mud at it's base. Prestigious walked right up and took a nice long drink. He was thirsty. After walking through and around the cows, we trotted off ahead from David and Martina, then loped on down the road to the gate. He has such a lovely lope, like silk. He stayed nice and relaxed the whole way. 

When he's a little overwhelmed, he shakes his head, like there are flies biting him. He only shook his head a little bit going down the hill and at the end, when he thought he'd just conquered the world by climbing and descending those hills he was mighty proud of himself. Little does he know that he's got a lot more work ahead of him. It's such a joy to ride a horse like this.

Summer has arrived. I switched out my t-shirt for a long sleeved cotton shirt, to protect my arms from the sun. Carol picked us up a little after noon and we drove out to the Greenhorn gulch trail head. This was a new trailer for Prestigious. It's a nice big stock trailer, but there are no dividers in it and there was a new horse in there. I put Roy in next to Smarty (Carol's new horse) and asked Prestigious to step in. It's a high trailer and it took him two tries but he hopped right in. At the trail head, since he was in the back, I asked him to back out. We've been working on backing out since he used to rush out backwards, and this time he went out nice and slow and careful. A few minutes later, Martina drove in with her horse. We started off heading north, up a long steep climb, stopping twice for the horses to catch their breath before reaching a trail intersection about two miles up. With each step the wildflowers filled in all around us. Yellows, purples, reds, oranges, pinks. 

Turning west, we rode the rolling hills, gentle ups and downs, coming to our first water crossing. It was just a normal little crossing, about two feet across with willows on either side and some rocks. We had three sort of green horses here. Roy went through first, then Martina and Carol, who's horses struggled just a little bit but went right through. Prestigious went in, on tip-toe, crashing through the bushes and on we went. There were about a dozen more water crossings on this ride, all different. Each one had it's own different considerations, a moldy log in the middle, rushing water or wide water or mud. Each one different. Each time he understood it better and was more relaxed. 

The wildflowers were just over the top. Entire hillsides looked like they'd been laid out by a landscaper, all the colors blending just right amid big boulders and rocks. The sun was out, now and then a gentle breeze would fan us. Another perfect afternoon

This loop is about seven miles, so about a two and a half hour ride. We had a long downhill, some areas were a little steeper than others. Prestigious still isn't happy about going downhill, but he's getting better about it. At the bottom, the trail follows the stream for a couple miles. 

"Beaver!" David shouted, pointing toward a beaver dam in the stream. I saw a fat little brown body swimming downstream for just a moment before his tail flipped and he was gone. This is only the second beaver I've seen in our twelve years up here. Pretty exciting.

The last mile took us through two wide and deep water crossings, the water rushing pretty full, and a little short bridge. Prestigious was pretty brave, following the other horses right on through the more than knee deep water without any flouncing about. At the bridge, he stepped onto the first board and backed away, snorting at it. He decided then that maybe if he tap-danced over it that would be best. How funny, we all know that Jaime has had him over that bridge in the arena at Varian Arabians about a thousand times. I guess he never expected to find one out there in the woods. 

Back toward the trailer, I rode out in an arc away from the others. He looked, and would have liked to never leave the little group, but did not fidget or whinney at all. 

Ah.... summer.

In the past few years, when we have headed out for what I call a "Dave Thompson Adventure Ride", it usually goes like this: We start out saying that it'll just be a short ride, something really easy for the young horse I'm riding. Then somehow we find ourselves lost in the wilderness, sometimes with scratches and scrapes across my face and hands and maybe even a tear in my shirt. But it usually turns out to be really fun. Lately our rides have become a bit more mild, but they still push the boundaries. This is one reason I love to ride with David, he's never boring.

We got to the Cow Creek trail head at about 9:00. It was going to be a hot day. We wanted to catch another glimpse of those wildflowers before they faded and we caught it just right. Still blanketing the hills all around, so many colors, it was almost like eating too much with my eyes. We rode up the same trail as before, and I found myself singing a little song in my head. "Sweet Pea" by Amos Lee. I realized it was a perfect nickname for Prestigious. 

"Sweet Pea, apple of my eye….."

It's a nice little song."Sweet P."

Prestigious and I were in the front. We came to a water crossing, where he hesitated. Roy didn't change his pace and was soon passing us. Prestigious didn't want to feel foolish so he walked right on across it, but he was still beside Roy. When we got to the high point on the ride, there was a lake off to our left. Here is where we left the trail. "Ah" I said to myself, "here we go, on another Adventure Ride."

We rode down and around the lake, pushing through bushes into the woods and stepping over many logs. The ground under our feet was covered in pine needles and spongy. It was cooler under the shade of the tall pine trees. David's hat was brushed off by a low branch and landed right in front of us. Prestigious just watched it fall but did not jump at it. I got off and handed it back to David and we went on. We climbed to the top of a ridge line where the view spread out wide before us, and then we followed the ridge, pushing through plenty of thick bushes. A deer jumped up and bounded off. This cross-country rough riding can be a little beyond a young horse's comfort zone. The thing with Prestigious though, is that he does not buck or rear or spin or run off, he just shakes his head. After a while he was shaking his head so much I thought he just might tip over. In an attempt to distract him from all the trouble in his head, I sort of shoveled him past Roy and away to the side. He kept up with the head shaking but a little less because he had to watch where he was going. Then right in front of us we found the trail that we were hoping we'd come across to take us back down. As soon as we were back on a trail, his head stopped shaking. Completely. On the trail we met a couple of hikers, dogs, mountain bikers and motorcycles (most of the trails are still closed because of snow and mud) and after a little while I almost could hear him thinking; "Ah, I get this." His mind seemed to change from a place of innocence and insecurity to complete ease. At the creek crossing, the water was rushing fast but not quite as full as the week before, he dropped his head and took a big drink. That cool water must taste so good. Then he stepped right on in and across without any tom-foolery.This was his first time to cross the creek first. Apparently he was ready because it was no big deal. Put a smile on my face. "Good boy," I petted his neck and tried to sound a little bit like Jaime.

A few days later, Martina and her son Elias came to the house in the late afternoon. The four of us just rode up the canyon behind our house. When we got back we sat on the patio, eating pizza and drinking our wine and watching the three geldings in the paddock (Martina's mare was tied to the trailer). Roy, being the older stately gentleman that he is, stood off to the side and watched as Prestigious V and El Tejon V frolicked in the evening light. Two Audacious sons at play. It was fun to compare the two, their size and shape very similar, their color much different. It was great entertainment, way better than watching TV. 

As our Sheila would say "ain't life grand?"

When I was in my twenties, living in Las Vegas, my "thing" was dance. I know what you're thinking, something along the lines of very scanty clothing and big feathers on my head, but no, it was more like Ballet and Jazz, and it was what kept me sort of sane in a crazy place and time. Often, in class, at the start of a new routine, I would feel like I had two left feet. Later it would all came together.

This is how I felt the first day in Dayton, Washington, at Buck Brannamans' Horsemanship I class. I felt like a total rookie, but not for long.

Martina had decided to join me in this little adventure and arrived the night before with Zip's Amerigold. The first day was hot, not a breeze anywhere in the county. We'd watched the colt starting session in the morning, and now we were in the arena, thirty of us, in a wide circle listening to Buck, telling tales of Ray Hunt and how important it is to control your horses' feet. "If you can't control your horses feet, you have no control over your horse." 

We worked on controlling those back feet initially, then on to the front feet. Easier said than done, when you're trying to do it perfectly and balanced. I'd started the day with a small headache, that combined with the fact that I forgot to eat breakfast and didn't have enough to drink in the 98 degree heat, and all those little circles in the arena with twenty nine other riders and soon it was time for me to take a time out. I'd lasted about two and a half hours, but I was as limp as a wet coffee filter. 

Day two was much better. We arrived after a good breakfast, armed with fruit, cheese and crackers, plenty of cold bottles of poweraide. I wrapped a wet bandana around my neck to help stay cool. Before the afternoon class began, Martina and I rode out onto the race track, practicing the intricate moves from the day before. Prestigious V seemed to say "Thank God you're getting this, because I had it all figured out yesterday!" He'd paid close attention to everything Buck had to say and it all made perfect sense to him.

For the rest of the afternoon we worked on collection, rounding the horses back, getting his rump underneath himself, and returning now and again to the pivots on the front and hind or crossing over with the outside leg. It was a good day.

Each day, and the start of each session, Buck comes out on the horse he's riding, and does a little warm up. The stands are totally silent as we watch, mesmerized by this masterful horseman working his horses. All of his horses have a look about them, it's as if they are so honored to be HIS horse, so respectful and relaxed. Watching them on Sunday I was overcome with how much I miss riding with Sheila. Her horses had that same attitude and it was a pure joy to watch her spend time with them. A silent tear rolled down my cheek. Then he went on to the colt starting. By day three the participants and their little colts were loping around the arena, some were more relaxed than others, it was serious fun watching them figure it all out. 

Then it was our turn. Again, Martina and I rode our horses out onto the racetrack before the session started. Both horses were a little bit zippy, most likely because they'd been in that tiny stall and then standing still or walking tiny steps in the clinic for a few days, but we warmed up a little bit, then wandered back to the arena. The other participants started coming in little by little. I could feel Prestigious a little tight at the energy of the other horses. We walked about, trotted, and then I kissed him into a lope. Whoops! He surprised me with a few little bucks. They weren't big bucks, just a little easy rolling buck. Thank GOD I didn't hit the dirt! Once that was over, he seemed a little embarrassed at what he'd done and for the rest of the day he was pretty much perfect. That day we worked on correct leads, transitions, backing up, all on a loose rein. By the end of the day, Buck would say "slow walk" "fast walk" "turn on your back end to the right" "back up" "trot"... and so on. 

When the day was over, we circled Buck one more time so he could give us our farewell talk. He's a good man, that Buck. He is a true friend of the horse to do what he does day after day. As we walked back to the trailer to unsaddle and go home, I realized that what we'd been doing in that arena that afternoon, was very much like my old dance lessons. It was a dance routine and Buck was the caller. Sheila always said that riding your horse was like a dance, and with this clinic I really got to see what she was talking about. 

I'm sure that Prestigious appreciated my dance lessons, as will any other horse I'm priveledged enough to ride. 

Christmas 2017. 

Arizona Mac V (Major Mac V x Ames Perfection)

Rene led Arizona down from his pen and into the barn, clipping him into the cross ties. He brushed him all over as we chatted away in Spanish. I watched closely as Jaime placed the saddle pad and saddle on his back. Arizona pawed and fidgeted around, shaking his head, acting very coltish. 

"No… no!" Jaime made him stand still. Arizona's big dark eyes shined, full of youth and joy and intelligence. It was Monday morning and he'd had three days off. I followed Jaime out into the cool morning as he led him into the arena, clipped the long line onto his halter, and lunged him around, allowing the excess energy to bleed out of him. I watched his ears, his body, his speed, and his eyes. I could see his demeanor shift from being a little over enthusiastic into a more relaxed and steady flow. 

"Whoa." Arizona stopped, started to turn toward Jaime, but Jaime walked toward him, tapping his neck, making him stay in position in the circle. 

"Good boy." 

He changed direction a few times, and each time Arizona did it better. He looks to be a fast learner.

"Now you." Jaime handed me the lead line and coached me as I tried to mimic what he'd done, insisting that Arizona stop and stay facing the same direction instead of turning to face me. 

Jaime got on him then and with two little batons and a squeeze of his legs, walked off. I watched him walk around, trot around and lope a little, Jaime using perfect timing with his legs, his body, his hands, and the bat, reinforcing the cues that teach a horse the language between horse and rider. Jaime rode over to me and got off.

"Now you."

"Oh! …… Really?" Arizona had only six rides on him and I certainly didn't want to confuse him. I was thrilled just to be there to watch. 

"No, he'll be fine." Jaime said, nodding his head and handing me the reins.

It's really handy that my legs are the same length as Jaime's. No adjustments needed. Taking the reins, holding on to his mane, I swung up and settled into the warm seat of the saddle. For a second, I closed my eyes. I felt like I was dreaming, I was so darn happy. It felt so right. Arizona's head raised just a hint as if he was assessing this new person on his back. I asked him to go forward and he did, nice and quiet, slowly, almost cautiously. I petted his neck and we walked around, me smiling from ear to ear. Giddy. He walked confidently over the poles and then onto the bridge, stopping at the top when I asked, just as Jaime had taught him. He paused for a moment at the edge of the bridge, needing to think about it for a second, then stepped gently down. "Good boy" I tried to sound like Jamie and petted his neck and rump. A couple minutes later I asked him for a trot. He picked right up into the smoothest, silkiest trot I have ever sat in my life. Since my smile could not possibly get any bigger, I did the next sensible thing. I burst into tears. Trotting around that beautiful arena in the sunshine, I could see the ghost of Sheila right there at the rail, Libby on the wall by her side, clapping her hands, that beautiful smile on her face, she looked so happy. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I asked for a lope. He had to think about that for just a moment, then picked up into a nice lope, correct lead and all. I only did a couple of rounds, then slowed to a trot, to a walk and went back to where Jaime was standing next to the bridge. He was wearing the same enormous smile as I was. I got off and hugged him tight. This may sound really corny, but it was one of the happiest moments of my life. 

Later when I saw David, he could tell right away that the day had been a real winner. Telling him about it I started to cry again. I hate to tell you this, but I wept a little bit all day long, it was so emotional for me. To have this little gelding, who was so sweet, so perfect and so beautiful, and so very much a part of the woman who was my friend, my mentor. I dream about all the adventures I will have with Arizona, all the things he will teach me and I will teach him. This was the very best Christmas I can remember for a very long time. 

Go ahead, offer me any amount of money for this horse. The answer is no. He's mine for life. 

​After being in the land of ice and snow for a number of months, seeing the hills of California blanketed with bright green are a real feast for our eyes. We arrived at Varian Arabians on Easter Sunday. It was late in the day when I went out and found the horses. Roy was out in a big pasture munching away, but when he saw me, his ears perked up and he strolled right over with a lively step to say hi. After burying my face in his mane and breathing in that delicious aroma of horse, I left him and went to find Arizona Mac V. He gave me a very similar response. I'm sure he remembers me. He looked much more grown up than he had at Christmas. 

In the morning, I pulled my jeans on, zipped up my jacket and headed for the arena. Jaime had been riding Arizona up until about a week ago, so he'd had a good three months worth of education. Out in the sun in the arena, he circled around me a number of times in each direction  at a walk and trot and a lope.

"Whoa" I asked him to stop. I tried to make him stop straight, like Jaime taught me when we were here at Christmas time, and like Sheila had shown me a few years back. Arizona didn't have an over abundance of enthusiasm, so after a bit, I stopped him, grabbed a hank of mane and up I went. 

AHHHH... I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in, and out. It felt so good. We stood still for a moment and I petted his neck and asked him to go. He had learned a lot in the last three months with Jaime. He knew what was expected and he was delighted to comply. We walked, we trotted, we loped. We stopped, backed, side passed, pivoted on his hind end and front end, we walked and trotted over the bridge and the cavalettis. Right then he was the smartest, most beautiful, sweetest and most fun horse in the entire world. 

Two days later, at around 3:00, David and I decided that we did have enough time to go out to the Biddle Ranch for a quick ride. This is where Lester Buckley and Angela and I went just over two years ago to make that video with Major Mac. It is a spectacular ranch. Especially in the spring time. We got there at about four in the afternoon. It was warm. It was sunny. There was no wind. It was heaven. Arizona had never been ridden outside so this was a pretty big deal for him. He paused at the trailer door and took a deep breath, his big dark eyes scanning the horizon, seeing little black dots that were cows in the distance. 

I checked his cinch, turned him around right and left. He dropped his head and opened his mouth for the snaffle bit. As I swung up and settled into the saddle, I could feel his body, tight as a drum. His ears were straight up (those cute little ears) but his feet stayed perfectly still. David and Roy were right beside us, completely calm, being a good influence. I asked him to go ahead and he briskly walked on out. After about five or ten minutes he blew out a big butterfly exhale and his body relaxed a bit. We stayed on the trail, walking through some deep piles of fallen oak leaves, past little meadows of poppies, around huge rock outcrops. A few miles up we stopped to drink in the view and his ears told me to "look over there!". I saw a fat coyote lope across the hillside. 

We never want to just go back the way we came, so we took a round about way back, climbing little steep banks and forging our way down and across some dried creek beds. At one point, David said "Follow me." Hearing this from David sometimes has given me pause, especially on a young colt. These words always delighted Sheila, because he's more of an "off the beaten path" sort of guy. He'll go anywhere, places most people wouldn't dream of. He does understand that a little bit goes a long way with a colt, so we didn't go far, but we followed Roy down a steep little trail to a mossy little creek crossing. Arizona stepped right down behind Roy, but at the water he stopped and said "oh Lisa, I'm not sure about this...." I let him look at it for a minute or two, just let him relax there at the water's edge. I nudged him with my heels (no spurs) and he took one tiny step. "good boy"... I petted him and we stood there for another minute or two while he relaxed. Then I asked him to step again. His body tightened up again but I could tell he was wanting to be brave. He put one foot in and then another, very carefully. He walked out the other side almost like a big boy. We roamed around a little more and crossed the creek again at another spot. I thought for a moment he was going to jump it like most youngsters do, but he tip-toed and then we were through it. "See," my own voice said inside my head. "he IS the smartest, most beautiful, sweetest and most fun horse in the world." 

We stepped over a few logs, big and small, navigated over hills and down through little rocky areas and just before we came to the trailer, there were a bunch of cows not very far off. He just looked. Body tight, At full alert, but not at all in a panic. A number of the cattle began to trot toward us, along the fence line, followed by a hiker that probably had no idea that he was making the cattle move. Arizona watched, but stood still. I got off, he lowered his head so I could slip the bit from his mouth. I loosened his cinch and he hopped right back into the trailer. 

It was just a little short ride, just over an hour. He did great. Sure, there were a couple of moments where he was a little overcome with joy and he made a few hops and tosses of his head, but it was just impossible to hold in how much fun we were having. I felt exactly the same way he did. The word is "Ebullient." Meaning: More than chipper, more than happy, more than delighted is ebullient — meaning bubbling over with joy and delight.

Walking through the green spring grass, Murietta and I silently shared our memories of Sheila. The day was warm and still. I reached down and petted his neck and he dropped his head and blew out a big sigh. We were like two old friends reminiscing over coffee about a loved one they'd lost and about the travels we'd had with her, to Texas, Montana, Idaho and more. Fun memories. Riding him again was very sentimental. 

I've lived in Idaho now for thirteen years. I never get enough time to visit my sister as much as I'd like, but here we were, with Murietta, Roy, and Arizona Mac V in the trailer, pulling into horse camp at the V6 Ranch for a five day ride. Like having a four night sleep over. We both were tickled pink. We got there just in time to get the horses settled, unpack our things into the bunk house, freshen up and soon it was time for dinner. 

Arizona Mac V had been outside once, the week before, at the Biddle Ranch, with only Roy for company, for about an hour. I like to play fair with a colt, so the first couple days on the ride, I ponied him next to Roy or Murietta, to get him familiar with groups of strange horses. Also at the V6, there is plenty of opportunity to get your horse used to cattle. Arizona had been so relaxed about just about everything else, I figured I'd give it a go.

I saddled him and rode down to the arena, where they were learning about working cattle. He'd never seen cattle up close before so we spent a little time outside of the arena looking in. He was okay with that, so we went in and rode up to the line of horses.

"Are you going in?" Kathleen said to me.

"No, I think we'll just watch."

Then John Varian looked over at me. He did that little 'come here' finger thing, which was okay, since Arizona was pretty relaxed and because that was just what I wanted, to expose Arizona to whatever I could as he seemed ready for it, and he was in a good frame of mind. Following John on his horse, we rode into the little group of cattle, teaching Arizona that he could influence the cattle to move away from him and that it was no big deal, they were just cattle (vegetarians), no big deal. There were cattle on either side of him, in front and in back. Not only that, but there were more cattle in the next pen. Even though they were really quiet steers, that's still a lot for a kid to think about. He was very alert and for a while I could feel his heart beat, but he never lost his mind. A little bit of stimulation goes a long way for a baby, so that was it for the day. We rode around camp a little bit and I could feel that he was enjoying it all as much as I was. 

The next day, I figured Arizona was ready for something a little more challenging. The competition was the next day, so the energy level in the arena had raised considerably. There was very much hollering and laughing and charging around, so we rode down to the arena. I knew that inside the arena would be too much energy, so instead, we stayed outside of the arena, watching, standing still or if he wanted to move around a little that was okay, we went to work and then came back. Arizona was tight, but not afraid. I kept petting him, and worked at keeping him relaxed. A guest came toward us on a nice quiet horse. "Hello." I said, with a smile. This would be perfect, I thought, to go roam about with her.

"I'm trying out a new saddle, just thought I'd go ride around." She said to me.
"Mind if I join you?"

She agreed, so we stepped in beside her, walking toward the road. Arizona thought this was just dandy. He was very content. As we turned left at the road, another guest appeared, trotting toward us on a paint horse with long flowing mane and tail. Arizona had never seen anything like this animal that was coming at him, multi-colored, with hair to his knees. (no, I'm not exaggerating). We followed them around for a little bit but the paint horse was so distracting for Arizona that I decided we'd be better to just go look at the cattle some more. 

At the arena, there were two round pens with horses and riders sorting and pushing the cattle. In the middle was an alleyway with cattle that would be traded out so they were not over worked. Arizona's little ears flicked from one pen to the other. Just as he seemed to be okay with all of it, one of the dogs did what cattle dogs do sometimes, and zipped under the boards, nipping at the cattle in the pen on our right. All ten cows leapt in the air en masse and snorted at the dog. Well, this was over the top for Arizona. Scared the pants off him. After a spin to the left, we walked by the cattle some more, then we walked out to the open spaces. I was trying to get his head back to a happy place but there was so much to figure out, jumping cattle, trotting kaleidoscope horses, dogs down there by the arena that he couldn't get it right in his head, so we went back up through camp, where it was quiet and we'd ridden earlier, moseying around the pens and campers and then going up the road a bit and up and down a few hills and across the creek. It didn't take long before he was completely relaxed and happy and had forgotten all about the scary things. This was his third time outside under saddle and that was quite a bit of excitement down at the arena. 

"Good boy." I tried to sound like Jaime. 

That last night in camp, my sister and I stayed up late, talking in the dark, filling in the missing parts of our lives that you just can't color in when you don't see each other enough, laughing at silly things, just loving being together.

As we loaded up the wheelbarrow, the water buckets, tied up the hay, Arizona looked at me with those big liquid dark eyes before stepping into the trailer. I know he enjoyed the challenge of this little trip, because nothing bad happened, he advanced beyond his fear, and he got a glimpse that it's a big world out there and it could all be interesting, safe, and fun. 

I picked up Murietta's lead rope and he regally stepped in behind Arizona. I tied the knot and stroked his beautiful neck. "Thank you Murietta." I said to him. We looked at each other and I swear we both nodded our heads just a tiny bit, agreeing that we both loved our Sheila and miss her every day. Putting my arm over his back I rested my cheek on his withers, gave him a pat, closed the door and headed for home.

​One thing that delighted me about Sheila was her never ending quest for knowledge. Constantly and consistently curious about all things, even the one thing she was most known for, horses. I'd watch her in that big arena, completely focused on Jubilation or whichever horse she was on, making the perfect circle, keeping the perfect frame, placing each foot precisely, and so on. I'd watch her and then I'd try to do the same. It was nowhere as pretty, let me tell you. 

These days the horse is the one training me. I keep Sheila close in my mind while I ride, trying to re-hear her words. We have the whole summer ahead to get out there in the mountains, but for now, until the snow melts, we mainly work in the arena. This is not where I spend a lot of time, so I have a lot to work on. Posture, hand position, cadence, transitions, stretching out, collection, leg yields. The list goes on. Every horse I ride teaches me. As soon as I think I have something really figured out, I'll have a day that I feel like a real dufus. Another day will come along when I feel deflated, like I'll never be a horsewoman, and the horse will make me feel darn spectacular. 

Arizona has been in the arena at Varian Arabians, with Jaime for a few months, but here we are in Walla Walla, Washington. My friend Anita invited us to come to an 'open ride' at an arena in town, where people come together to ride, leg up their horses, and visit. I was pretty sure Arizona had not been in a big arena with a number of other horses and I didn't know what the other horses would be like. We arrived early, thinking that it would be easiest on him if he got comfortable in the arena first before anyone else showed up. I lunged him a little bit and got on. He was pretty relaxed, but was a little on tip toe, his little ears and dark eyes soaking it all in. We just walked. There were speakers playing music that was something new, and there was a heel-o-matic roping dummy in the corner. 

"What the heck is that?" he stopped, looking at the brown plastic calf. I could have shoved him past it, but he's never seen that before. We just stopped and looked. I could feel his body soften as he thought maybe it was not a predator after all, and I asked him to take a step. One step closer and he looked at it again, pretty sure it was going to bite him. I like to give the horse the respect of checking something out if he's never seen it before, and in about two minutes he was licking the back of the dummy. Then we went on. 

The other riders dribbled in, we all said hello as we passed each other by. Arizona's attention went to each of the other horses,  wondering were they safe? We just stayed walking beside Roy and I gave him the opportunity to figure it all out. When he seemed relaxed about everyone there, I asked for a little trot, then slowed to a walk. Slowly we separated from Roy, then returned. I just asked for little bits and then we'd go back to his comfort zone. The energy in the arena rose as the horses warmed up and soon most everyone was loping nice big circles or around the edges. One horse got a little humpy, bucking across the arena. Arizona watched, wide eyed. (the young girl stayed on, bravo). 

The biggest problem he had, was when I took him far away from Roy, with the other horses loping around. We just worked it out quietly and eventually we were able to stand at one end of the arena, horses loping/trotting by close in front and behind, looking at Roy standing at the other end. I could almost hear the wheels in his head turning but his feet stayed still. That was enough for me. 

A couple nights later, we went to the arena at the Fairgrounds, just the two of us (or four of us if you count people and horses). This was a no brainer, he was completely content and not at all distracted, not at all worried about where was Roy, so instead of working on his mind, I got to work on my skills, which are quite a vast distance from what he's used to, Jaime. Like patting my head and rubbing my belly, I worked on my body. As long as he kept the gait I asked for, I worked on keeping my spine straight, shoulders relaxed and back, hands low, I worked my legs and seat. He rewarded me promptly when I did it right. He let me know what we need to work on some more. 

I could do this every day. It's a tall mountain to climb, this horsemanship stuff, and I'm pretty sure we never reach the top. Well, very few do at least, but I'm on my way.

 

"Oh! Is that a Varian Arabian?" Jenni noticed the "V" on Arizona's left hip.

"Yes, he is." I replied, smiling wide, head down, keeping my focus on the horse as we walked past the spectators in their chairs just outside the arena.

"How old is he?"

"He's three." I looked up at her, still with a big smile on my face.

"Very nice! Thank you for bringing that sweet little guy to the clinic!"

Jenni Grimmett, a large animal veterinarian and Cowboy Dressage Clinician is a delightful woman. I'd signed up for her two-day introduction to Cowboy Dressage in Walla Walla with a friend. I figured it would be good exposure for Arizona. Plus, I was hoping to learn some new things.

She started us out the first morning on the ground, doing leading exercises "You're riding them from the ground," she kept saying. Arizona walked on out there like a little prince, and other than the distraction of the flatbed truck with some scary camp chairs and a banner on the fence and a loudspeaker, he was pretty cool with everything. After lunch she broke us into two groups and told us to saddle up.

Jenni turned out to be a fabulous educator. She's positive, insightful, and fun. This Cowboy Dressage stuff looks pretty simple from the outside, but it's true essence is precision, something to strive for that always leaves room for improvement. When she coached me how to place Arizona's body into an arc to do a ten-degree circle, it was different than how I'd been doing it all my life. I thought to myself, well, Arizona's just a baby and he's not going to understand this, but I gave it a try. His body right away softened and bent into the most perfect little ten-degree arc. How about that! It was like magic. We had a harder time figuring out the counter-bend, but that move is a bit more complicated. She gave us little maneuvers to do with our horses to allow them to stretch out their walk, trot, or to round up a little bit. She coached the people on the nervous horses to allow them trot in a nice relaxed cadence, with a loose rein. The lessons that every one of us took away individually from these two days will improve our skills for the rest of our lives. 

At the end of the clinic, as I walked out of the arena, a few women came over to me as I was filling up a bucket of water for Arizona. 

"Is he really only three?"

I told them he was. They complimented on his his quiet mind, his body, his intelligence. This made me feel like a proud mother, just about to bust my buttons with pride. I patted his withers and told them about his sire, Major Mac V and how Sheila's breeding program included making horses that were easy to train, as well as well built and beautiful.

I walked up to Jenni, putting my hand out to thank her. 

"No, this is Cowboy Dressage, this is how we do it!" She opened her arms and gave me a big hug.

"Your little guy did great!" 

I nodded my head, petted his neck, "I think so too."

Driving home, I found I still had a big smile on my face. 

I heard Sheila in my head…. "Ain't life grand?"

Walla Walla has an historical old Fairgrounds that's been standing proudly since 1866. I've used their arenas a number of times to ride Arizona and Roy but today, as I pulled in, there was a long line of enormous trailers all checking in and setting up for a big AQHA show. Time to switch to plan B. I turned the trailer around and drove out to Bennington Lake, east of town. I figured that at least both horses would get some exercise. David and I had gone there last week, and Arizona handled everything, even the one wide water crossing, very well, so I expected it to be a no brainer. 

They hadn't been out for almost a week and Arizona was pretty full of enthusiasm. As we started down the trail, he was being an unruly kid, pushing at Roy and trying to nip at his neck. Each time he eyed Roy's neck, I would tug on his lead just a little bit or swing the end of the lead rope over, tapping him on the neck. The moment he was where I wanted him beside me and not being silly, I let him out on a very loose lead. Soon he got right in step and stopped being silly. 

There is a wide inlet that brings the water supply to Bennington Lake that's made of concrete with what look like big square blocks. The water's only about four inches deep, but since horses can't see how deep the water is, this is sometimes an issue. Arizona stopped, and since I didn't want to drop his lead line, so did I. He dropped his head and stepped right in, without any encouragement from me. What a good boy. 

We wound our way up and around the perimeter of the park, a soft cool breeze in our faces, birds singing to us from our left and right, both horses in a relaxed matching cadence, the lead rope swinging between them. The aroma of the green grasses and the sun on my face completed the picture of pure bliss. 

To our left was a wheat farm. Miles and miles of wheat blanketed the rolling hills all the way up to the base of the Blue Mountains. Suddenly out of the tall waving wheat, two white tailed deer bounded up and right across our trail about 30 yards in front of us, heading to the shelter of some trees to our right. I thought for a moment that neither horse saw them, but they both did... they just sort of watched them go by without loosing a step. 

The trails here at the lake, vary from dirt roads, to two or three tracks, to single track. Just as I was telling myself what a genius Arizona must be, and how absolutely perfect everything was, he decided to act silly again. Well, he is only three, and life is full of challenges. As we climbed a hill on a single track trail, he reached up and bit Roy on the rump. Roy gave him a little warning kick, which sent Arizona backwards a few steps, head in the air, being overly dramatic. Roy didn't make contact, his foot barely left the ground. The rope slid through my hand and then I pulled a little for him to continue on. Arizona stopped. Just stopped, like he was just done with this ponying bit. I rode Roy around him left and right, asking him to move his feet. He would turn around but he would not move ahead. Instead of fighting him, I figured that he was just having some sort of busy bee action going on in his head and we just stood there, "reassessing the situation" is how I look at it. I wouldn't let him eat. We stood there for about 60 seconds and then his mind came back to him. I petted his neck. "You okay now?" and we went on the rest of the day in a pleasant mood. 

So, it wasn't a total no brainer. Arizona learned about boundaries, that he's expected to behave like a gentleman, he got some fresh air and some wide open spaces. 

I patted Roy on the neck after taking my saddle off. "Thank you Roy" He dropped his big head down to accept my rub on his forehead, closing his eyes. With the curry comb I began to brush the sweat from his back. Arizona stood quietly beside him at the trailer, head down, one foot cocked. 

Such a fine day. 

 

 

The Big Flat... it didn't sound that enticing to me when I heard the name, but since the trails up high in the Blue Mountains east of us were still pretty littered with downfall, and since I completely trust my new friend Anita, who knows everything about riding in and around Walla Walla, and since flat was probably just fine with Arizona, I said "Sure, let's go there!" So David and I loaded the horses and followed her rig about an hour to the Big Flat Nature Preserve that sits right on the west side of the Snake River. On approach, I was delighted to see enormous trees and thick bushes and even a few little hills. It looked like a little paradise. The day was perfect, warm, not hot. Anita had brought a friend along, a man named Miles. Great guy. We walked out past some fishermen hidden in the bushes. Dalton Lake on our left and the Snake River on our right. Wide mowed paths led us through thick brush and around tall trees. Miles grows wine grapes here in Walla Walla, so he and David had plenty to talk about. http://www.lodmellcellars.com/pageContent.cfm

It's kind of fun to go exploring, taking a turn here and there, not knowing where in the heck you're headed. The paths seemed to be endless, snaking through wide meadows and little copses of trees. Since we knew the river was to our east, it was pretty hard to get very lost. The Preserve had been restored after the creation of the Ice Harbor Dam. About a billion birds sang to us from the trees and deer scampered away from us. 

Sometimes you meet the nicest people. Last year when I went to the Buck Brannaman clinic in Dayton, I met the Phinneys, Robert and Janet. They host Buck's clinic each year in Dayton and are fine clinicians themselves. They are a very quiet couple, good looking, and rode a pair of very nice horses. I ran into them again at the Cowboy Dressage Clinic last month, they'd stopped by just to watch the morning session and visit for a while. The more I chatted with them, the more I liked them. 

We talked about introducing Arizona to their cattle, so on a fine Wednesday, David and I loaded up Roy and Arizona and drove to Dayton. From town we followed their very detailed directions up about ten miles of paved road, winding through tall rolling hills of wheat bending to the breeze, deer appearing like apparitions as they stood up to watch us pass. Then about ten more miles of gravel road, bringing us high into the vast views of Washington's undulating landscape. The last ten miles or so was on a narrow dirt road, the hillsides turning to forest. Janet waved to us with a bright smile as we pulled in and told us where to park our rig.

Arizona wondered what this place was. It smelled different. There were tall trees and shrub bushes and a few horses out there in a big area under tall trees. We saddled up and rode out into their Shangri-la, tall grasses brushing the horses' bellies, blue skies over our heads. We maneuvered a little ditch or two, and then went to check fences. From their property we looked out over what must be a hundred miles or more. Arizona reached a time or two at the shoulder high grasses, and watched the new horses. He was a little tight, but was responsive. We rode through a couple of gates, down and up a few little canyons, stepping over some downfall. I asked him to follow Robert down a slope to peer into a canyon at the fence line. David and Janet stayed high, near the gate we would be going through. It was only a little way, and it was a push on Arizona's comfort zone, but heck, you have to get them a little out there now and then, and he could still see Roy. As we turned to go back up the hill, he tightened up a little more, and then went up. It might not have seemed like much if we weren't already on an uphill slope, but this was a surprise to me. I leaned forward and released all pressure on the reins and clucked him forward as quick as I could. He came down, shook his head and walked on up the hill. 

About a minute or two later, I hear Robert's voice behind me. "Is that type of behavior common with this colt?" I loved that his comment was quiet, cool, not anything like the "what the heck was that about?" that one might expect to hear, (and actually was what was whispering in my own head). "No, it isn't. He's very quiet minded. He only went up a little bit, once before, at the V6 ranch when the dogs fired up the cattle, making them all jump and snort." 

Arizona went right back to being quiet after that, as we crossed into the new pasture where the cattle were grazing. I stayed close to Roy as we approached. The fat black cows with their calves were scattered about, some resting in the shade, some of the babies nursing. Little by little we stepped in closer. I watched Arizona's ears and listened to the wheels ticking in his brain. When the wheels clicked real fast I asked him to stop. We'd just stand and look at them, when the wheels slowed down, I asked him for a few steps more. The cattle were perfect, the Phinneys, no doubt, have them very well trained. At one point, Robert talked about controlling the cattle, looking at their eye or their hip to make them move, and how a horse can influence the cow to step away by sidepassing toward the cow instead of going at her straight on. Robert and Janet were very patient, (so was David, but he's my husband) as Arizona and I little by little got closer and closer. In about a half hour he'd become pretty brave, pretty relaxed, pushing the cattle away from us, going back and pushing another one. Easy as pie.

"Lisa, turn around, there's a calf following you." Robert's calm voice coached me from the side. I thought they were all just visiting, but he was watching. I was so focused on what Arizona was looking at, I wouldn't have seen this calf in his blind spot. Sure enough, there was a curious little guy following behind us. We turned around and I asked Arizona to step toward the calf. He did, and the calf moved away. Since the whole herd was moving off, I figured that was just a perfect introduction for Arizona. We rode back to the trailers.

Back home, I wondered more about that little pop up in front, what caused it and what to do about it. I knew at the time, before we headed out, that it would be good to do a little ground work with him, but you know how it is when you're with someone new, I was a little bit timid, and he's been so easy. He's been outside a number of times, but has always been able to see his footing, here he could not see the ground through all that grass, and there were gullies and branches hidden in there, and I hate to admit it, but I probably had too much contact on the reins. I think he was overwhelmed, and being a youngster, he just boiled over at that point. The great thing is that he just did that one pop and then came right back to me.

I don't like the idea of putting a gadget on a horse to fix a problem, because it doesn't really fix the problem, so I decided to step back and make sure the next few rides will be easy for him to deal with, unless we run into some moose or something unexpected, and I need to be sure to let him out on more of a loose rein. On a colt, they need support, but they need to be loose at the same time. It can be a fine line. Then I talked to Robert, since he has much more knowledge than I do about these things. He gave me some very good suggestions for doing ground work and under saddle work to help him stay connected and to help me control his feet. He reminded me of something Jack Brainard says, "If you can control their feet, you control their minds." He also suggested that I could have done some ground work before I got on. My eyes pinched shut when I read that, because I knew I should have done that… and I didn't. Here is a link to the Phinney's program. They are delightful folks. 

http://www.thehorsefellowship.com/

So, new friends, spectacular country, adventure and learning on a fine young colt, what could be better than that? 

Even though the weatherman said "zero percent chance of rain", we didn't believe him. The skies were black and threatening. We saddled up anyway, and zipped into our rain gear. Arizona Mac V, (Ames Perfection x Major Mac V) just turned three in March. He is pretty worldly for his age. We brought him to Idaho two years ago as a yearling and ponied him around a little bit. His training began last winter with Jaime and Mike at Varian Arabians. These guys are so good at teaching the horse respect without fear. Arizona is very confident that the world is a happy place. He spent last month in Walla Walla, and now we are here in Sun Valley, Idaho.

Our first ride out, we picked a nice long flat ride, with a couple of easy water crossings. Arizona had Roy, his best friend, for company. Roy is a big yellow gelding, quiet as a mouse, big as a mountain. In silence we rode out toward the high peaks, dusted with fresh snow, to the east of us. The world was silent other than the sound of the creek beside us. At the water crossing, Arizona hesitated, but as Roy calmly walked by him and into the water, and with a little wiggle of my heels (no spurs) he stepped right in like a big boy. My theory for getting a horse nice and quiet in the mountains, is to have a whole lot of nothing go on, interspersed with little bits of somethings. Pretty soon the somethings become nothings.

The next day we met up at a friend's house. She has a very quiet little buckskin that I felt would behave very well for us. About 1/2 mile from Carol's back gate, Fox Creek gurgles through the meadow, well hidden in the tall green grass. Arizona has a very good walk and is happiest out in front. When we got to the creek, he stopped, sniffed, and was a little doubtful that this was a safe thing to do. Roy walked by him and stepped over the creek. (The little creeks are harder for a young horse than the big wide ones). Arizona still hesitated. Twice more, Roy came back, circled around his behind and walked over the creek again. Each time, Arizona believed that it was a little more possible for him to do this, and the third time he made a tiny little hop and we were across it, no big deal. From there, we rode up along the trail, then turned left and headed up toward Red Robin Woods and then up a long climb to a high point, where you can see for miles. We stopped to enjoy the breathtaking view for a few minutes, Arizona's eyes scanning the big world, then followed a rocky trail down a steep hill. Arizona grew up on "colt hill" at Varian Arabians, and like I said, he'd been ponied around a little bit up here when he was a yearling, so hills are not something new, but with a saddle and a rider on his back, it's much more complicated. I did my best to try to help him round out his little body, to tuck his bottom underneath him. He'd get it for a few steps and go softly down the hill, then he'd loose it and he'd flounce and hurry and bump into Roy's behind. It was not pretty, Back at the creek, his first attempt to cross was a rather large leap, so we had to do it again, but only once more in each direction. His last crossing was about as perfect as I could have asked, he stepped nice and easy, no big deal. He's darn smart, this boy. At the end of the ride, as we were crossing Carol's big pasture, a bird blasted out from under his feet. It must have been a ground nesting bird, hopefully we didn't break any eggs. Arizona spooked, in an instant we were four feet to our left, but that was it, just a spook, once it was done, he was over it. "Whew!" he said to me... "that little bird surprised the heck out of me!"

Yesterday, we decided to ride up the canyon behind our house, just David and I. It's a long narrow canyon with no water, but it's thick with brush and sometimes there's downfall. It's a long slow climb up and a long slow downill back. Both horses got a good sweat going as we walked, side by side, up and up. Turning a corner, we found where the sheep had been a few days earlier. Even I could smell that the sheep had been there, and that's after a bit of rain, so I'm sure it was pretty pungent for the horses. Arizona dropped his head, smelling the ground, curiously, and then looked at the steep hillsides where the sheep had nibbled down the grass before they moved on. I watched his ears as he thought this over. I gave his rump a little pat. "Good Boy," I told him. When we turned around to go home, he stayed quiet and steady, and as the steepness varied, got his body put together nicely so it was comfortable for him. I left his reins loose, and used my body to tell him to round out. This was much easier for him to put together on a milder downhill. As we headed back to our house, I petted his neck. "He sure is a contented little guy" I said to David. David chuckled. He chuckles every time I gush over this horse, but hey! I just can't help myself. It's so fun to take this journey with him and see with each ride, how he learns, how he accepts the world he lives in.

After each ride, we come home and have a little grass party. It's not a bad life. Not bad at all. 

We had to take a little trip out of town for a couple of weeks, so the horses had a vacation out in a large pasture with good green grasses to their bellies. When we got home, we decided on a short ride at a trail I hadn't been on in over a decade. I seemed to recall that it was a little rough, but a friend had hiked it and the trail report said it had some new bridges. I wanted to introduce Arizona to bridges and this looked perfect. Murdock creek is just a short drive north from their pasture. The trail started out wide and flat with tall trees. There were three big new bridges that spanned the creek. Arizona hadn't seen any bridges other than the one that Jaime uses in the arena. He paused a moment behind Roy, braved up and marched right on across. About half way, he froze up, hesitating at the sound of his steps on the boards, and the sound of the creek rushing under his feet. I squeezed my legs on him just a little and he kept on going. We went on, soft footfalls sounding on the dark forest floor, birds singing all around. After about a mile, we came to the spot that renewed my memory of why I didn't really care for this ride. You might know that steep doesn't really bother me, and a narrow trail on the side of a steep drop off doesn't bother me too much either, but a steep narrow trail with crumbly footing bothers me. We followed Roy up, me standing on my stirrups holding on to his mane, reaching the top of the slope at a slow lunging gallop and scramble. The nearer we got to the top, the more concerned he became. Once at the top, he shook his head two times, shaking the worry and stress from his brain. Then he was fine. The trail continued on along the side of a steep hillside, the dirt still crumbly beneath our feet. Normally this sort of thing is short lived and then gets better, but as we continued on I felt less and less enthusiastic about where we were headed. We came to another steep narrow climb and I stopped.

"I don't like this." I said to David. "The trail seems to be degrading and I feel this is over his head".

"Yeah, I see your point." (Good husband, that David).

So, we turned around and headed back after only about a mile and a half. As we approached the steep crumbly narrow downhill, I considered my options. I could ride down, which would be the brave cowgirl way, but he could flounce like he has done before on much less of an incline, and step off the trail. I could lead him down, but he could flounce and run me over because I knew it would be a small crawl down for me in my cowgirl boots. Or, I could ask David to lead him down. Think about it, would you rather walk down a steep narrow trail by yourself.... or with a fifty pound backpack on your back? I figured he was probably best handling his own body without me on top of him or in front of him, so this would be the easiest for him, and the safest for me. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and said to David, "I think I'd like you to lead him down and I'll walk." He agreed. 

He is improving getting his body soft to go down the hills, but this was very steep. He did flounce, he tossed his head, he sort of slid his feet around, but he stayed right behind Roy and on the trail (good boy). They waited for me to side step down the hill. Back in the saddle, we walked pleasantly back toward the trail head. One thing about this horse (I believe this is a Major Mac thing), he doesn't hold on to his fear. When something startles him or gets him rattled, as soon as it's over, he's over it. By the end of the trail, he was bravely crossing the bridges in front of Roy, his body calm, his eyes and ears alert. 

Since our ride was cut short, we returned to Eagle Creek, just down the road a couple miles, and played in and out of the creeks and waterways some more. I always check the sheep report before heading out, and they reported a band of sheep the next canyon over, but here we found a little sheep wagon, with a stake for the sheherd's horse, but no sheep, no horse, no shepherds. We went over and inspected the wagon and then moved on. We got into some knee deep water and slid down some banks to get in and out of the creek, and that was enough for the day. We had a bigger plan for tomorrow, so we headed home. 

He's a fast learner. This is so darn much fun!

 

It was going to be a hot day. I checked the sheep report and even though they said there were sheep in the area of the Lodgepole trail, which lay at the end of our route, I figured they would be tucked up into the canyon and not in our way. If we did run into them, it would be at the end of a pretty long ride and I figured Roy and Arizona could work through it. I also like the Cow Creek trail because it starts out with a long steep climb for about two miles, then we'd have about seven miles of fairly level or easy downhill, with lots of water crossings. 

We left the trailer at about nine in the morning, and followed Roy up up up. The wildflowers got better as we climbed. Bright yellow arrowleaf balsamroot, purple mountain lupine and delicate little white wild lilies were everywhere. Arizona felt really good underneath me, balanced and happy. The first water crossing, he stopped and took a big long drink. I believe he truly enjoys the great outdoors. From the water crossing just beyond the first trail intersection, the trail meanders over and through a number of slopes and eventually drops down into the Lodgepole canyon. He's taken on a little brother role with Roy, and he loves to sneak up behind him and bite him on the butt.. only now, since he knows he'll get into trouble, he only pretends like he's going to bite him, and then jumps back and throws his head in the air as if he's been reprimanded. It's just him amusing himself really, just thinking about how great it would be to take a big bite out of that big yellow rump. The best way to deal with this, in my mind, is to get out in front. This makes him pay attention and stop goofing off. He walked on out, pretty bravely, hesitating only for a moment to take a quick look at a big rock or a fallen tree. Many of the water crossings on this trail are sort of hidden in thick brush in the elbow of a wash. If he stopped at any crossings, I'd just let Roy come on by us and as he passed, Arizona stepped on through as if he always really intended to that anyway. No drama. Only one time, after a leap across a tiny creek, did we go back and revisit a crossing. On his second try he did perfect. With each water crossing he felt more confident.

He's getting his body under him going down hill, too, which is certainly good to feel. At one point, we heard a couple of motorcycles headed our way. This always strikes me as a little painful, as we're up there in the wilderness, miles from anywhere, with nothing but bird song and rushing water or the breeze to listen to. These big engines roaring up toward us.. well, it just doesn't seem right. BUT these guys (and girls) on their motorbikes, clear out all the fallen trees on the thousands of miles of trails every year. We might never get any where without the work they do, so that makes them our friends. Proper trail etiquette is for all other trail users to step off the trail and give horses the right of way, and 99% of the time, that's what people do. The motorbikes are especially respectful. They steer off the trail if they can, and turn off their engines, and talk to the horses. We had stepped upslope from the trail when we heard them coming, since it's easier for us to get off the trail than them. When they saw us, they clicked off their motors, saying hello. While we talked and thanked them for clearing the trail and what a glorious day it was, Arizona looked them up and down, but didn't seem concerned at all. They started their bikes back up and off they went. We marveled at how crowded the parking lot was, and that these motorcycles were the first people we'd seen all day. 

We never saw the sheep. As we got closer to the bottom, there were more hikers, more mountain bikers, more dogs. None of it mattered a bit to Arizona, he just smiled at everyone and walked on, enjoying the sunshine and the sweet mountain air. He did dip his head at one little dog, but that was it. Just a dip, not a threat. I just can't imagine a nicer day. We were back home before noon, when it started to get pretty darn hot.

This was a good nine mile trail, his longest ride yet, with some good hills for developing that hind end of his. He did great, so well that I thought, well, maybe I'll give him a couple days off to let him rest, see if he's tired or sore in the morning.

A little while after I fed them in the morning, I went out to see how he was feeling. He left his food and trotted right over to me. "Where are we going today?" He seemed to say. Jubilant, that's a good word for how he seemed to feel.

How good is that?

There is a trail that goes from Oregon Gulch to Fox Creek, which is right across the street from Carol's house. We decided on the shorter one, which is only about six miles I would guess, ending with a big solid bridge over the Big Wood River, which is rushing by at full force. The trail is shady and cool, following a route through the forest and then a climb up over a ridge line. There were a couple of tiny water crossings but it was mostly an easy ride for Arizona. Roy and Smartie were along for company. For the first half we didn't see a soul. It's days like this that fill my heart, refresh my mind, the scent of pine and a cool breeze now and then and the sun peeking down at us through the tall branches. As we neared Fox creek we started to run into hikers and bikers, which were no big deal. For years this trail had some skinny little bridges that were very technical for a horse to cross, but they were washed out and instead of rebuilding them, the trail crews just rerouted the trails. At the end, rounding a corner, stood the big bridge. "You ready?" David said. 

"Go ahead, we're set."

Roy walked up onto the bridge. At the sound of Roy's hooves on the bridge, Arizona hesitated. I gave him a little squeeze and he cautiously stepped on, trusting me, trusting Roy. Clomp clomp clomp the two horses made a lot of noise on the wooden boards. Arizona was tight as a drum but this bridge has good tall strong sides, so where could he go? Carol and Smartie waited to follow, since that sound behind a young horse can be very frightening. The energy from the water roaring by below us seemed to bleed up toward us on the bridge. At the half way point he stopped, legs splayed a little, body trembling. I petted his neck, squeezed just a little with my legs. "Come on, honey, it's okay." He kept going to the other side. Like he's done before, he shook his head once, and calmed right down. Carol followed. The last obtacle was the highway. Highway 75 is the main road that comes up from Twin Falls, and runs right through Ketchum to the Sawtooth Basin. It's a spectacular drive and very busy in the summer months, with motorhomes and campers and trailers stacked with mountain bikes. We stood at the side of the road, waiting for an open spot. He was nice and still. We walked along side of Roy across the white stripes on the road and there we were, at Carols. Her big pasture is leased out to two pack horses for the summer and as we rode around to the gate at the back of their pasture, they barely lifted their heads from the lush grass. These two were the biggest concern of the day for Arizona. He was fidgeting around under me, tossing his head and not paying much attention. We rode through the pasture and managed to open the second gate horseback, Arizona had one eye on the big horses as they slowly made their way toward us to investigate, but stood still. On the other side, as David was shutting the gate, we waited, (as is the proper etiquette), when Arizona started kicking and jumping around. "Okay, you need to move? Let's go." We just walked and trotted around in a couple of circles, left and right, my legs cuing in sync with my hands. I think he had flies bothering him and these big horses were coming over, and who knows what else was concerning him, but he got over it and the three of us walked over to the hitch rack and that was the end of our day. I was very proud how he handled that bridge. I am thrilled at how fast he is learning about the mountains and all of the delights and challenges. 

We dropped our saddles next to the pasture they're in and as Carol drove David back up to pick up the truck, I brushed them down and checked their water. It seemed I could almost hear their conversation, Arizona asking Roy about that big bridge, the highway, and those huge horses in the field. 

He's a keeper.

We had no idea that this trail had become so popular. I picked up Carol and Smartie on Saturday morning and we drove down the road to the Taylor Loop trailhead. This trail is only about four miles long, but it's a pretty steep trail. We chose the easiest direction, with the steepest part on our climb instead of our descent. As we were getting ready at the trailer, one car after another drove by us. "Oh my, it's a busy day today!" Carol said.

Right at the start, Arizona was crowding Smartie from behind, so we passed him at a wide spot and bravely led the way. The trail starts out in the woods but soon climbs up into a sunny slope, covered with sage and flowers. There were hikers everywhere, dozens of them. I remember the first time I rode this trail, I marveled at what a good work out it was with the long steep climb and how nobody knew about it. I don't think it was even on the map yet. Now, on a Saturday, it seemed everyone's favorite trail. Arizona was happy to be out front, and seemed pretty strong on the climb up. We did stop a couple of times to let them catch their breath. At the top of the ridge, the trail levels out somewhat and heads north in a meandering way. As we approached a solitary pine tree, on a hillside of solid blue sage, a fat blue grouse bird exploded out of the bush, followed by a younger blue grouse. Arizona planted all four feet, like he'd nailed them to the ground, and in a second or two another young bird flushed out in front of us. The fat birds, fiercely flapping their short wings, swooped out and over to the tree. Arizona just watched, then we calmly walked on.

"WOW!" Carol's voice came from behind me. "What a good baby! That was fabulous!" 

I was pretty proud of him, I admit. I stroked his neck and on we went. Most of the hikers had hiking sticks that some horses will see as a threat, but they didn't bother Arizona. I kept my eye on the dogs, another thing that most hikers have with them. I have seen a dog come aggressively at a horse, and that's no fun, with a young horse especially. Everyone stopped and stepped off the trail, holding their dogs. We'd chat with each group, stating what a lovely day it was and how nice their dogs were. "Nice horses!" we heard from just about everyone. One couple stepped off their trail, their dog on a leash, but where they stood was inches from the trail. Arizona dropped his head as if to just say hello to the little dog and walked on by. There had to be forty or fifty hikers today on this trail, I'd never seen so many people on a trail in my life! One amusing pair were a couple of young men we ran into at the top. They stepped off the trail. "Hello!" I said "Thank you for stepping off, this is a young horse, it helps him to know that you are a human being if you say something." (I try to offer this information if it seems appropriate). "Hello." They both said in unison. "Oh my God, is that beer you're drinking?" I said. They both gave me the thumbs up. "Right on!" Bill and Ted's excellent adventure.

On the downhill section, Arizona was not so eager to be in front. He stopped now and then, so we put Smartie in front and followed him down, zig zagging through the forest, passing more hikers and dogs. Most of the time he did pretty well but on the steeper sections he sort of fell apart a little bit, slipping or tossing his head. At the end of the loop, back at the trail head, was the one creek crossing. They both took a long sip of water before we stepped over it and walked back to the trailer.  

Well, he's passed his hiker/biker/dogs on the trail course. He is still just the happiest little guy out there. Boy I wish summer lasted forever.

I can still hear Sheila's voice in my head. "I'll ride with David any day!" She would say, and it's not just because he's handsome and fun, or because he rides a nice horse. It's because he likes to go off trail. He likes to explore and look for challenging places. I call these rides the "Dave Thompson adventure rides." You can't be a wimp if you ride with David.

Our intent was to go to the Fourth of July trail head, a trail we'd been to when we first came to Idaho, thirteen years ago, and haven't been to since. Twelve miles of STEEP winding dirt road, we found the trail head so packed with cars that we were barely able to snake through with the truck and trailer. Since there was no place even for a small car to park, we made our way back down to highway 75, and drove to an area that does not have any trails, or people. The headwaters of the Salmon river begins as a tiny stream at a high meadow between the Sawtooth Valley and the Big Smokey Valley. It tumbles down a canyon and into this area where we parked and unloaded Roy and Arizona into the sagebrush. 

Arizona seemed to be fussy after that long dusty bumpy trip in the trailer, not quite his cheerful self. We saddled and started off heading southwest through the sagebrush. Acres of delicate white mountain lilies lay interspersed with the sage and pines. Ahead of us and to our left, I saw a huge herd of pronghorn fleeing from us, even though we were about a half a mile away. They floated across the prarie like an apparition. Beyond them on a hillside David spotted an elk. About five minutes later the herd was circling back to where they started, now to the right of us. Arizona didn't care much about them. David was heading toward some thick willows. "Hey, we could just go straight ahead here in the wide open for about five miles might be a good idea." I said. I wanted Arizona a little more relaxed before asking him to try anything that might require some try. "Oh, okay." 

We came across a little creek crossing, where both horses got their fill of cold fresh water, and eventually found our way in and out and through some tall thick willows. We went into dense aspen forest and areas covered with downed pine trees. He had to really think about how to get around what looked like giant pick up sticks and stepping over some fairly large logs. Now and then we'd get back out onto the road, which was where Arizona was the most comfortable. It's a little work out there with thick sagebrush, rocks, muddy places, and downfall. The road was a good pause for him. He had returned to his normal relaxed attitude, as we found our way down to the river. We crossed a number of narrow crossings first, then we headed to the main flow. We followed Roy in and out a couple of times, then followed him upstream, with the cold water rushing over their legs. As we walked ahead, the floor of the creek rose and fell, making some pretty deep pools. The first time he got in belly deep he hesitated, then realized he had to push hard through the resistance of the deep water. The sound of the water hitting his legs and chest and splashing around him got his attention, but since Roy was okay with it, so was he. We walked up a ways, then stopped, slipped on their halters so they could graze while we had our lunch. We got back on and retraced our steps, this time with Arizona in the lead. He was very focused and was giving me all he had and was being very brave. Wandering back through the sage and the forest, David spied something, maybe an abandoned road, across the river from where we were. "Let's go over there!" he said, pointing his finger (looking like Lewis or Clark). I thought that Arizona had worked really hard for me already, but we'd only been out for about two hours, and he'd barely gotten sweaty, and he's such an agreeable guy, so I said yes. We found a place that looked like we might be able to cross, so David helped Roy pick his way down a little step to a ledge, and then they plonked down into knee deep water.  Even Roy hesitated at this place, it was a bit technical. I was not too sure if Arizona could figure it out, but decided to give it a go. Arizona did just what I asked, placing his feet just where I asked, and then plopped right in to the right of Roy's hip. The water was deeper than he'd expected and he jumped up into the air and landed just to the left of Roy's hip. Made me laugh out loud. Then he stood there, no doubt seeing how relaxed Roy was. 

Exploring the other side of the river, the skies were turning dark. The slight breeze every now and again would shift into a blast of wind, about 40mph and then quiet again. As we dropped down onto a steep slope going down to the river, one of these blasts hit us again, blowing my hat off my head (stampede string saved me from having to go retrieve it). Roy had shuffled off ahead of us and here is where Arizona reached his limit. Light on his feet and shaking his head, he let me know that he didn't have much left to give me, he was done. It was just a bubble though, and after dancing down the slope we went on. After we crossed the river one last time, and were topping the last hill before our trailer came back into view, I heard an unfamiliar sound. "Did you hear that, David?" "Yes, what was that?" We heard it again but closer this time. We looked up and saw just over our heads, two trumpeter swans, heavy in the air, flapping their wings and honking above us, flying north. 

At the trailer, we shed our saddles, put their halters on and let them graze a while before the first drops of rain started to fall.

What a great day. 

​A true friendship withstands the test of time. I've known Martina for a long time. We've laughed together, we've cried together, we've held on tight to one another through our darkest hours. Her life is very busy, and to squeeze in a little time together is always a real treat. Even though she is working with three green horses this summer, she said yes when I offered her Roy for a little evening ride. I met her at the Greenhorn trail head at 5:30. She threw her saddle up on Roy and off we went. The trail climbs for about two miles before coming to an intersection. I've always turned left at this point, and gazed out at the right fork, wondering where that leads. I've just never had the time to go check it out. 
"Want to go that way?" Martina asked.

"Sure! I've never been up there before."
"Oh, it's only about a half hour longer." 

I thought her timing was a little suspect, because I've looked at the map before, and it sure seemed longer than an extra mile, but the days lasts long in the Northwest, and I love to find new trails, and it was so beautiful.

Arizona and I were in the lead. The trail climbed up toward a northern ridge line, rimming a line of willows and a creek, looking like perfect moose habitat. Arizona walked on out like a ten year old, confident and content as the day began to cool. The grasses were eyeball high for him and it was hard to get him to not eat while we rode. Grasshoppers buzzed out around us as we wound our way to the top, where we felt like we were a million miles from civilization, on the very top of the world.

We talked of all sorts of things. We chuckled sweetly as we told our Sheila stories. We again remarked on her blood lines, on her philosophies, on her funny sense of humor. We talked about past horses and family and all kinds of things, but much of the time we were silent, listening to our horses and our own thoughts in our heads. 

Every now and then we'd change places. Arizona would hesitate and Roy would pass us, or Arizona and I would take a little short cut, and find ourselves out in front again. As we rode, and the day cooled, and the shadows grew, I giggled to myself that our "half hour extra" was now about forty five minutes later and we were still headed away from the main trail. That was perfectly fine with me. The evening could not be more perfect. 

Eventually, we made a left turn and headed back toward the trail head. We routed along a trail with some good water crossings at the very end. Arizona paused, just a split second, to look at the water, and then with a little encouragement with my legs, walked right on it and took a big long drink. He's got the water thing down pretty well. Such a smart one. 

There is one little bridge at the end of the trail that is nothing at all to a seasoned horse, but to a youngster, it can look pretty strange. Arizona stopped there at the bridge, backed up one step. I let him look it over for a minute, and asked him again to go on over it. Just as he got up the nerve to step on the bridge, a chipmunk scampered from underneath it, squeaked at us and ran into the bushes. "WHOA!" Arizona seemed to say. I asked him again and he lightly stepped on across. That put a smile on my face. 

As I walked into my house, after throwing two big flakes of alfalfa into the feeder, my phone rang as I switched on the kitchen lights. 

"Where have you been?" David asked

"I was out riding, with Martina." 

"Ah." He said. I didn't need to say anything more. He gets it. 

We picked up Roy and Arizona Mac V and drove an hour south and east, past a small town called Tollgate and parked in the Andies Snow Park parking area in the Umatilla Forest. We saddled and crossed the highway, finding the Horseshoe Trail trailhead. Dropping down onto the trail, we followed it through dense forest and ferns. Arizona feels so much older than he did this spring, his body is different, his mind is too. But he is still only three. I reminded myself that as we went along. Some of the last few rides in Sun Valley had wild grasses as high as his eyeballs, so he learned all about eating on the trail, a bad thing in my view. I try to let a young horse alone and not micromanage if possible, but here I was, bumping one rein, bumping one leg, telling him that's not acceptable. He said okay, but then strode up to Roy's rump and went for a little bite, which he thinks is kind of fun (see, he's only three after all). I would ride him straight with his head tipped away from Roy's rump for a while, or slow him down, making a space between us, but after a few minutes I figured he just didn't have enough to occupy his thoughts, so I put him out in front. The sun trickled down on us through the boughs of the tall pines. The air was fresh and cool. Ferns taller than me blanketed the sides of the trail. It was fairly level trail, just following the contour of the mountain. The footing was soft and sandy, with just a few little water crossings. We rode for about an hour or two, stopping at one point to look over the distant view. Smoke from the fires in Canada have drifted down and settled in and around Walla Walla, so the view was not what it could be, but was still darned impressive. Big country up here. After we turned around to go back, I put us in front again. We were going along nice and relaxed when a mountain biker appeared, coming at us at a good clip. Smart little Arizona did spook, but spooked right in place, standing his ground as the biker slid to a stop, got off the trail, saying hello. We walked past him, on tip toe, neck arched, head tipped toward the biker, and then went on. A minute later there was a large tree stump (what made it different from the other hundreds of tree stumps he's seen, I don't know), he stopped. He backed up. I motioned to David and he and Roy walked past us, so we then were behind and it was no big deal. It was like a delayed reaction to the biker. To the left of us and downslope, there came a cacophony of bird sounds. He stopped again, wondering what that was about. It was loud and for a moment even I wondered if it were birds or something else. These are definitely not Sun Valley nor California birds. We stood still for a few moments, letting him figure out that it was not something coming up to eat him, then moved on. About ten minutes later, we got back in front, leading the rest of the way back to the trailhead. 

Back on the road, we found a little log place with a sign out front that said "Ice cream". This is real important to David. Looking in the window at all the flavors, I saw Spumoni. I haven't had that flavor in decades. Life is so full of little discoveries. 

At home, I pondered Arizona's behavior. He's grown up so much this summer and has had some fabulous experiences. He's tried his hardest to be good, to be brave, to be agreeable. We've traveled some good miles. He deserves a nice long vacation soon. What a good horse he is. I am totally smitten.

I decided that the only thing to do was to open the window and fling my ego right out there into the breeze. My perfect young Arizona Mac V had begun to go from that contented agreeable little soul to more of a schoolyard bully. He was biting at Roy, he kicked another horse, he was pushing through the bit and was being unresponsive to me. I remember Sheila saying that if things weren't working, she'd just get off, sit on the ground and think it over, and figure out what to do. So that's what I did. We all know that doing the same thing and expecting different results is silly, so I had to do something different…. But what?

With my ego out there on the breeze somewhere, I confessed Arizona's sins to a few knowledgeable people I know. After some very reasonable opinions from my savvy friends, and after pondering it over, I finally figured his behavior stemmed from these reasons.

* My theory for getting the horse to be confident out on the trail, is for me to help him discover that he is capable of doing things that he doesn't think he can do. Instead of fighting with him to find out that he can, or trying to force him, I enlist Roy to help me. With a lot of help from Roy and a little signal with my legs or hands, Arizona made up his own mind these last few months, to cross that creek, to step over that big log, to cross that bridge. I just did my best to not over manage him and to stay in the middle. It works very well, BUT, at the same time, I was letting him make the big decisions. Hmm. There was something to think about.

* He was still only three. Now that he'd gained some confidence, he figured it was a good time to test his boundaries. 

* I'd been giving him a nice big scoop of grain every day, trying to keep his weight up.

Well no wonder! 

Away went the grain. I made a date with Robert and Janet Phinney, my new friends you might recall from an earlier post. http://www.thehorsefellowship.com/ . These two are so knowledgeable, and helpful, and soft. We agreed that what Arizona was looking for was more direction. I spent one morning up in their beautiful covered arena working on the ground with Janet. She pointed out to me about the goal of the horse finding his "happy place," which, as it should work out, happened to be right where I was asking him to be. I continued at home in the round pen, quiet, with no distractions. We practiced the things Janet and I worked on, controlling his direction, pace, hip, shoulder, backing up. A week later I worked with Robert. I can't tell you how fun these two are to work with. I miss being able to just call Sheila and chatter away about horse behavior, I'm so lucky that these two are practically in my backyard. Robert firmed up what I'd learned with Janet, and added to it, more precision, more subtlety, and keeping Arizona's focus on me and only me. Arizona seemed as happy about all this new knowledge and interaction as I was. 

This is what I love the most about a horse. Every day with them is a new lesson. I never expect to make it to the day where I say to myself "WELL, I guess I have that all figured out!" Each new lesson is rewarding, for me and for him. It's all good. 

In that time between sleeping and waking I see Sheila and I in her big arena on a beautiful fall day. Mostly she is just riding her horse, enjoying the bliss, the dance that is her and her Jubilation. When she looks up and happens to see me doing something that she doesn't' like, she corrects me, as if it disrupts her dance. I focus, try to emulate….. Oh my. 

Sheila marveled in the beauty of the Arabian horse and it's abilities. Her first "Aha" moment with a horse, though, happened when she got up on Syd Spencer's bridlehorse "It was like cutting butter with a hot knife," is what she'd said. She wanted that in her horses. She loved the beautiful gear, the rich tradition, but mostly she loved the feel of it, the artistry, of a true California Bridlehorse.

I'd met Jeff Derby at the V6 Ranch a few years back. Since then, he'd gotten together with Bruce Sandifer and the two of them have been reading, researching, applying the techniques of the Traditional California Bridlehorse, (very similar to what Syd taught to Sheila), and in the last number of years, have been putting on workshops for interested horsemen. My cousin, Rachelle, was hosting them in Grass Valley the end of September, right when I would be driving south with the horses. How about that?

Since I am on a real quest for knowledge, and I respected what I'd seen in Jeff, and I knew of Bruce's reputation, and I love my cousin Rachelle, I signed right up.

Friday morning, Bruce helped me fit my hackamore to Arizona, and into the arena we went. The atmosphere was a bit over the top for him. There was a giant paint mule and a couple of quite energetic horses in that big grand arena (the location was breathtakingly beautiful). Jeff offered to do a little ground work with him, then he got on and rode him around a bit before giving him back to me. We did our best the rest of the morning, trying to put together what we were supposed to be doing and keeping all four feet on the ground. There were a few moments however, when my brakes, steering and transmission all went out from under me, so at lunchtime I decided to switch horses. With Roy it was an entirely new ballgame. As I fumbled through the signals, it was easy to see when I did something correctly, (a moment of cutting butter with a hot knife) and when I did it wrong. The method is not only about the hackamore, two rein, and spade bit, but also about balance, signal, response, support. There was a lot to work on. Toward the end of the day, Bruce got on Lego, his young Azteca gelding, and rode as if he were just at home working his horse. The dance was on. I realized that his balance was very similar to Sheila's. His horse danced much like Sheila's horse danced. I had to look away, it was achingly beautiful. 

Day two began with Bruce and Jeff doing a talk, explaining the history, the beauty and functionality of the gear, the signal and response of riding this way, and the psychology of the horse. They brought out "Skully," a horse's skull, and showed us how different bits work in a horse's mouth. Pretty smart to give this talk on day two, after we'd had a day to build up some questions. After lunch all I could really accomplish with Arizona, was to get him (with Bruce's help) to walk, keeping his focus with me, around the arena and the other horses. I believe he is a smart and brave horse, he's just young and this was a lot for him. I got back on Roy when they brought in the cattle to play with. 

At the beginning of the third day, I did what I should have done on the first day. I ponied Arizona around with the other horses in the arena. He was pretty animated, but being at Roy's side surely helped. I put him away then, and with Roy, played with the cattle, did a little roping. I thought only little kids could have this much fun.

My cousin Rachelle was riding her horse, Nordico, a four year old black PRE gelding that she bought from Jeff. In the evenings, through weary eyes, over dinner, we would tell stories and laugh before climbing into our beds. 

Rachelle and I are of early California blood. That's part of the lure that drew her, and intrigues me, to this method of horsemanship. Riding there in our hackamores, especially as we gathered the cattle from the golden hillsides studded with live oaks, I could almost see our great great grandfather, Augustin Janssens, riding along between us, a quiet smile on his face. 

Arizona Mac V and Roy had been hanging out in their own nice roomy pens at Varian Arabians since we'd arrived after the clinic in Grass Valley. Arizona had developed a rather large white spot on his withers, telling me that I either needed a new saddle, or a change in my padding. Possibly he'll fill out more by next year. Nevertheless, I figured Arizona's riding was over for the summer. That was until Shelley (she's the one who gives supplements to and keeps an eagle eye on all the horses at Varian Arabians) suggested we go to the Biddle Ranch to celebrate her birthday. Never to turn down an offer like that, I whole-heartedly agreed.

Roy and Arizona jumped into the trailer. Shelley and I wore grand smiles as we pulled out of the driveway. It was one of those idyllic days at the Biddle. Blue sky, little breeze, perfect temperature, little birds singing to us, fat cattle watching us mosey by as they laid in the sun, the hills and trees turning golden to tan. Arizona was his normal relaxed self as we rode up through the windmill pasture. As we got to Shady lane, I asked for a trot, then a lope. This was Arizona's first time loping out in the open. He was relaxed and stretched out into a nice easy stride. Roy followed along behind. We only went a few hundred yards, and then stopped so I could point out a few landmarks and tell some stories that go along with the location.

We stopped at triple trough, where there were a handful of big cows standing by the water. They didn't move away at all, they just watched us suspiciously as the horses drank from their trough. I thought about making it a short ride at that point, but it was such a glorious day that from the lookout point, where one can see all the way to the ocean and beyond, we turned left, and followed the contours of Suicide hill down to Bettencourt Lake. Now and then, Arizona would bounce and flounce and crowd up behind Roy, especially going downhill. I realized that quite possibly, my saddle may be uncomfortable going downhill, (hence that big white spot). At one of the steeper hills I got off, slipping in the soft dirt in my cowgirl boots, but leading him down the hill. He seemed much more comfortable without me on his back. At the bottom I got back on and he did fine. We ended the ride relaxed, happy, and content. 

It was a perfect last ride to finish a most enjoyable summer with this sweet little gelding. I petted his beautiful neck, buried my head in his mane, smelling that wonderful aroma, and thanked him (with a little tear in my eye) for being such a good boy. He'll never know how much I appreciate what he did for me this summer.

Fernando pulled his shoes, trimmed his feet and handed me the lead rope. I think he knew where he was going next because he could barely contain his joy. He leapt, he danced, and whinnied as I led him through the ranch, down the road, across the street and into the pasture with the other 3 year old boys. I slipped the halter from him, thanked him one last time, and watched as he ran up the hill with two other colts. Back they came, tossing their pretty heads, tails in the air. 

A thought came to my mind… it is possible to be sad and happy at the same time. Sad to know that I would be 1,000 miles away for the next few months, but so happy to know he's having a grand time out there, just being a horse, with other horses, in the most bucolic setting. 

In the long run, it is the best thing for him. I remind myself that daily. 

Boy I'll miss him. 

"Lisa, this guy is a genius!" Sheila was talking about Jack Brainard. She had met him through the Light Hands clinic, had picked up his book, "If I were to train a horse," read it and re-read it, voraciously studying every word and practicing his maneuvers. She was a perpetual student her entire life. A year later, there we were, in her arena, with Jack himself, practicing shoulder in, shoulder out, placing each foot precisely. "Nuno Oliveira was the best horseman in the world that I know of!" Jack said, with enthusiasm. Boy, I thought, that's pretty high praise. "Nuno is no longer alive, but he rode a horse, communicated with a horse, better than anyone… EVER!" Jack doesn't' hand out compliments freely. I thought, "who was this guy?"

Master Nuno Oliveria was a classical dressage trainer in Portugal that died in 1989. He supported that teaching and practicing riding should be based on lightness, freedom, beauty and harmony. He is quoted, "The horseman who constantly holds his horse with a strong touch can never improve; only the horseman who knows how to work his horse free, will discover the art of riding." I also found out that Tomaz Alarcao, a student of his, had bought Nuno's farm and was well respected himself in the world of dressage, having students come from all over the world to study with him in Nuno's beautiful arena.

We found our way to Malveira, Portugal in a downpour. We'd had two days to adjust our internal clocks in Lisbon and were now headed to Nuno's old farm, to ride with Tomaz. When we finally found our way to his gate (Siri could get us only so close, the last few miles were a challenge), a tall, thin, very dark man with a huge smile named Amado picked up both our heavy bags and trotted up the hill in the heavy rain to our apartment. "Do you speak English?" I said. "No" he replied. "Espanol?" He shook his head again, "no, France." "Oh… um, obrigada!" I said (Portuguese for thank you.) He shook the rain from his jacket, built a fire in our little living room, and then left us alone to settle in. 

Tomaz and his wife Antonia came to our door a couple hours later to introduce themselves. They came in with open arms, like we were long lost family. Inside I felt like a five year old on Christmas morning bursting with joy.

Now, I have to fill you in here. I have never ridden dressage, (only that little bit that Jack Brainard had worked into his program and a smidgen of Cowboy dressage). I have had very little formal equestrian education. I've had some fabulous horses and some very accomplished friends that have coached me, but basically, I'm a cowgirl. Most of my time in the saddle has been chasing after cattle or scaling tall mountains. At breakfast I had the jitters. What in the world had I got myself in for?

My horse's name was "Diu." He's a gorgeous, tall, eleven-year old bay Lucitano, which is the official horse of Portugal. Alexandra, a pretty Hungarian woman who was there interning with Tomaz, placed the little saddle on his back, the bridle on his head, and walked him up the steep hill to the beautiful covered arena. Tomaz smiled at me with a sparkle in his eyes, gave me the thumbs up sign, "Okay?" I put my foot in the little metal stirrup and settled into the soft leather saddle. "Left, please." Pointing to the left. With my heart hammering away, I tried to sit very straight in the saddle, tried to emulate the videos and pictures of dressage riders that I'd watched since making my airplane reservations. "Shoulders… BACK!" he said. "Legs… BACK!" "Relax FEET!" Every time I adjusted one thing, the other parts of my body would fall apart. "Sit… DOWN!" It was harder than patting my head and rubbing my tummy. I walked, then trotted around the arena. "Straight ahead, please." "Circle, please." "Diagonal, please." "Half pass, please." After a few minutes I had to stop just to catch my breath. I wasn't over exerting myself, I was just concentrating so hard that I was forgetting to breath! "Fix your hands…. GALLOP!... PAH!! PAH!!" Diu was every bit a gentleman, riding him was a dream, he was so balanced, so powerful, so elegant. My feet kept slipping the stirrups, but once I got myself in correct position, it was pure ballet. "Slow, slow…." All of a sudden I was Piaffe-ing. I wasn't sure exactly how, but Diu was doing that sort of lifting trot right there in place (Tomaz was cueing him from the ground). This was definitely a gateway drug. After an hour and a half, I almost fell off the horse from shear mental exhaustion. Then I came back after a little drive around the country, for another hour and a half in the afternoon. 

We did this for three days. Each lesson I could feel myself "get it" a little bit more… "step by step"… Tomaz told me, with a broad smile. I was having a blast! I tried my hardest to listen and tried to do what he told me with a clean slate, to put away everything I'd ever done on horseback for the last 40+ years, but it was like the chalk marks of my past experience kept showing through. By the third day, my body was very sore. My legs, my stomach, my shoulders, my back. 

Thank God we'd arranged to go to Golega (pronounced golGA) for the Festival of the Horse. This celebration has been going on for hundreds of years (hundreds!). It was still raining. Tomaz and Antonia, along with Alexandra, Jolanda and Victor (a delightful couple from Holland) kept making frowny faces about the bad weather. It rained all the way to the festival, but as soon as we got there, the rain stopped. Golega is a pretty little city, and all through the little cobblestone streets were beautiful men and women on spectacular horses. We walked down to the center of town, where the competition arena lay, tall banners floated in the breeze, huge thunderclouds backlit the scene. Since it had been raining, we were spared the normal crowds, but still, it was extravagantly festive, electric, beautiful. Our eyes wide, we marveled at the horses, the costumes, the smells, and the music. Tomaz was greeted by many friends, embracing and chatting away. Soon we found ourselves in a restaurant at a long table, eating traditional Portuguese food and drinking a fine vino verde wine with about fifteen other people. I looked across the table at David, who was talking to a trainer that lives in Malaga, Spain. He looked over at me and we both smiled. We didn't need to say a word, we both were euphoric. 

We had two more days of riding lessons, and one evening rode the horses out from the farm, along little dirt roads and cobblestone streets through tiny villages. Tomaz rode up beside me and smiled. Looking down at his horse, and without any notable cues, his horse went into a beautiful passage. Tomaz smiled back at me, his brown eyes bright. It's undeniable how much this man loves his horses and his art. "See there? Sintra!" he pointed to the west, at a magical little city north of Lisbon, the Moorish castle outlined on the high point of the horizon.

Saturday night was our last night at Brejo. I asked Antonia if there was a church that we could go to mass on Sunday morning. "Oh YES!" she said, tickled that we wanted to go with them to church. After breakfast, I trotted up to Diu's stall. He was eating away, but when I opened the door and walked in, he turned and looked at me, a look in his eye as if to say, "do we get to ride again today?" Petting his neck, rubbing his withers, I thanked him for being so forgiving with me, for never getting worried as I tried to figure out how to be in correct position with my hands, legs and body. I truly appreciated what he did for me. He dropped his head to my stomach, closing his eyes. "You're welcome" he seemed to say… He is one very special horse, that Diu. 

We drove a short distance to the tiny church at Santo Estevao das Galas. As we settled into our pew, Tomaz leaned over to me.. "This is where Nuno is buried, in the little cemetery in the back." With my eyes closed, I listened to the congregation singing the familiar songs, reciting the familiar prayers in an unfamiliar language. I felt the music wash over and through me. Like always, in church, I could feel whispers of people now past circle around me, My Mom, my Dad, my ancestors. Then there was Sheila… in church! (that made me smile) and then.. there was Master Nuno, a vague shadow, strong and silent, there in my circle. Oh my, so very nice to meet you Master Nuno. 

December 27^th, two days after Christmas. The morning was perfectly glorious. No wind, no clouds, the sun warmed my back through my jacket. I found Mike at the wash rack hosing the soapy suds off a big bay horse. "Good morning Lisa!" his blue eyes smiling at me. I'd asked him the day before if I could shadow him and watch while he worked with the young horses. It has always impressed me how well behaved every Varian horse behaves. It's like they've all been to finishing school, they're all so polite and poised. He waved his arm at me to follow as he walked the horse back to his stall.

After picking up the little black halter from the hook, he slid open the door. "This is a Major Mac baby." He said. The yearling bay filly floated around inside the stall, head high, tail straight up in the air. He stood still and let her watch him and think it over, figure out that he was not going to hurt her. He'd only worked with this filly for three days, and only inside the stall. Peering through the door, I watched as he quietly, gently used his body to encourage the filly to move around as he directed. He spent a lot of time without putting the halter on. She circled him, left and right, little by little trotting around more relaxed and comfortable. He asked her to stop, and when she did, he cooed to her, petting her neck and head, wrapping his arms around her, then he'd let go and step back, and wait for her to think about it. He gently brought her head left and right, and gently pushed on the front of her neck to make her back one step. Once she got curious about him, connected with him, he worked at having her follow him around the stall. Not until she was good at this did he put the halter on, very slowly, very gently. He waited until she said it was okay. There was no head shaking, no dancing around in the stall, it was just a quiet agreement between them. He had no need to pull on the lead rope, she followed his direction like a little lady. He asked her to back up a step, holding loosly to the lead rope, and turning her head just a little bit to unlock one back foot. The instant she stepped back, he dropped the rope and petted her. He slid open the door, and walked her outside into the alley. Delicate little steps carried her hesitantly under the arbor, across the driveway, to the round pen, her big dark eyes scanning everything around her. She'd been out here before, but always with her mother. She kept close to Mike, she was already figuring out this was the safe place to be.

In the round pen, with the halter still on, and with a stick to encourage her forward, he asked her to walk, trot, and lope. He never touched her with the stick, it was just an extension of his arm. He asked her to back up, turn around, speed up, slow down. When he put her away, I thought that was it, we were done. 

Hanging up the halter, he pointed down the row of stalls. "Now we have another filly, she's the same age, but will be shown in halter class." He'd worked with her a week or so longer than the Major Mac filly. She was an elegant chestnut, taller and more animated than the bay. He brought her to the round pen after a shorter amount of time in the stall with her, and again, I peeked through the big open door while he worked with her. His whole demeanor was different with this filly, because she was a little further along, but also because she was going into the halter class in the show ring. He asked her to do the same things, but with higher energy. After a few minutes, he had her trotting along beside him on a long loose rein, exactly like they do in competition. Then he stopped, with a loose rein asked her to stand and pose, head set just right, legs positioned perfectly. It was like watching a magician. "Sheila always told me that we can't train them in the show ring, they have to do it all perfectly here, first. If we try to train them in the show ring, it's ugly!" When he was finished, I walked with him and the filly back to her stall. "That was great Mike, thank you so much!" He smiled at me again. "We have one more!" He loves his job, and so loves these horses. He haltered a three year old that was almost ready to go under saddle. I followed him back to the bigger round pen at the back of the big arena, and climbed the stairs to the observation deck. The big grey gelding took my breath away, he was so perfect, standing there in perfect condition, perfect conformation, dark eyes bright, giving all his attention to Mike. His dappled coat shimmered. After a little bit of ground work, Mike picked up the surcingle and introduced the horse to it. He'd never had that on him before, so at first he flinched. Miked rubbed the horse's body with it, swung it under his belly, then softly, slowing buckled it around his cinch line. Mike asked him to move around to the left and right, then put a bridle on the horse, with a snaffle bit (another first) and drew the long draw reins through two loops on either side of the surcingle. He drove the horse left, right, changing gaits. The long reins drooped down now and then around the back of the horse's legs. After a while he had the horse standing perfectly still, facing away from Mike, looking at the wall of the round pen, with Mike right there behind him in his blind spot. This is very hard for a horse. It requires total trust.

Walking back to the stalls, I thanked him again. "This is what I love to do," he said. "I don't want to ride the horse, I do a better job with them on the ground." With my head down, watching my boots walk along I smiled, appreciating that he had thought about his presentation to me. Picking the youngest first, then one slightly further along, but much different, then up to one almost ready to go under saddle. He has that invisible, kind and grounded energy that the horses can immediately rely on. He puts the time in, working a little bit every other day consistently, building on each lesson. Nothing happens over night. No wonder all of his horses have such a regal carriage, such respect and trust. There is no fear in his training, just straight and clear communication between Mike and the horse. There is nothing for them to worry about.

What a fine way to wrap up 2018 and this year's quest for knowledge. 

I can't wait to see what next year brings!

Happy New Year to all. 

It had rained for days…. and days. When my plane landed in San Luis Obispo, the clouds were clearing out. In the morning, the sun felt good on my back as I put Arizona's halter on and walked him down to my trailer, where my saddles and bridles waited. Scrubbing the mud from his belly, his legs, his neck, his back, I looked up and saw Mike waving at me as he walked a pretty little filly to the wash rack. "Good morning Lisa!" "Buenos Dias Mike!" It felt so good to be here at Varian Arabians, this farm wraps me in a feeling of such love and joy. 

I swung the saddle up onto Arizona's back, and fitted the new hackamore on him. The main arena was soggy wet, much too mucky to ride in, so we walked back to the covered round pen where Jaime starts his colts. Arizona had been out romping in the hills with the other youngsters since Christmas and I figured that I, as much as he, could use some practice on the basics. After a bit of groundwork, I put my foot in the stirrup and settled into the seat of my saddle. His body was relaxed, he stood perfectly still, listening to me. I asked him to move forward and he complied politely. Keeping with the rhythm of his walk, I focused on my body position, closing my eyes and checking off the boxes, where were my feet, how were my hands, where were my seat bones. Even at a walk, there is so much to work on. With the rest of the world and all it's worries far away from my mind, I focused on my hands and the mecate and my seat when I asked him to step aside or around in a tear drop. We did some flexing and transitions, and that was it. He was so perfect. 

That night, in Sheila's bedroom, sitting by the fireplace, I had my leftovers from the night before, watching TV and laughing out loud at some of the scenes. You might not know this, but Sheila's house does not have central heating, and the only heat is from wall heaters or a fireplace and the rest of the house was freezing cold. Sipping my wine, I looked over at where she would be, leaning up against her headboard, plate on her lap, long legs stretched out in front of her. She laughed that deep chuckle at the same things I thought were so funny. It was so much like she was right there with me. 

For the next couple of days, Arizona and I did more of the same, but each day I added just a little bit more to our time together, we did some side passing, some shoulder in and out, some hip in and out, stopping on "whoa" and backing. 

I think it was the third day, after we'd been fussing around in there, he started to tighten up over silly things, a bird chirping, a tractor starting. "Really, Arizona?" It was only because he was bored with the repetition. He's a smart boy and he was looking for something else to pay attention to other than me, so with a little smack on his hip from the end of my mecate, that was over. I was more interesting then, than the birds and tractors. Our last day, I put on my spurs. I did this only because he was a little slow on his response when I asked him for a lope. Jaime had worn little spurs on him, so I knew he was familiar with the idea. As we worked up through our transitions, and I asked him for a trot, he was lazy about it, so with a touch of my spur to his side and a kiss, he woke right up. There was a bounce or two, but from then on, when I asked for a lope, guess what. He stepped right up to it. After leaving the round pen, I got back on him and we walked around the farm. This was the first time he'd not had a buddy with him outside of the arena and although he knows every inch of this farm, it's much different when being ridden instead of being lead. He was alert, but not worried, his ears and eyes watching for any surprises. His Dad, Major Mac V, appeared from behind a bush as we walked by his pasture, and that made him jump a little bit, but that was it. No biggie. He is....so smart.

As I walked him up to his pen, watching the clouds darken and build up around us, I thought about what we'd worked on, which was such tiny little things, and then building up on each thing every day. I was sorry I had to leave and could not build more on what we'd played with. Since most of the time I just get on a horse and ride out in the hills, this was a delightful change and I understood more clearly the building on a foundation that all the good trainers talk about. All those tiny steps forward each day. In that round pen, it was easy to sink in to each other's feelings and responses and movements. It felt so intimate.

As I sit in the airport on my way home, I replay in my head all the moments of my visit. I thought of Sheila there, watching TV with me, laughing at stupid stuff. Remembering Major Mac sort of jumping out of the bushes when we walked by, I realized that would be just like her to challenge me JUST like that, and then laughing. It sure felt like she was there.. and she seemed very content.  

Waking up in Sheila's bedroom, the sound of the cars on Corbett Canyon told me that it must be around 5:30 AM. The early light seeped through the lace curtains as I stretched my legs and imagined what the day would hold. At around 9:00 I walked Arizona to the trailer, saddled him up and walked to that big beautiful arena, saying hello to the cat on my way. What a glorious day, sunny and warm. I was even wearing a t-shirt for heaven's sake! Arizona had been out in the hills romping with other youngsters for most of the last six months, so I expected him to be a little enthusiastic about things. After a bit of groundwork, I got on. Smiling from ear to ear, I marveled at how quiet and smart he is. Soon, a sixteen-year old girl, Jessica, and her cousin came into the arena on two quiet, older geldings. Suddenly Arizona's focus was all about them instead of me. After a little flouncing and bouncing around, I said "QUIT THAT!" with a chuckle, followed by a little smack on his rump with the end of the mecate, and more driving with my legs and seat.. he came back to me and settled in just fine. I love distractions like that, because life is full of distractions, and he needs to learn to deal with it… and get over it. The next day, after some time doing circles and transitions, we rode out of the arena and around the barn a few times. Day three we rode all over that farm, all alone, just he and I. We rode past yearlings racing around the large pastures, past mares standing over their sleeping babies, past tractors and farm trucks piled high with cuttings, and past the breeding lab and around the stalls, full of curious horses, big and small. Finally, I stopped, I patted his neck and asked "well, now where should we go?". He looked left and right, and then quietly told he was enjoying this blissful day as much as me, and wanted to keep going. We went on and pretty much explored the whole property all over again.

I left Arizona at Sheila's while I went to the V6 Ranch for their Spring Ride. I need to be as capable as I can be on these rides, since I am one of the "wranglers". I have to admit that I am fully aware that I am not one of 'those guys' (those guys being Matt Allgood and Quentin Hall, the guy wranglers) I'm okay with riding a young horse, and I'm okay at a gallop across a meadow, and I'll happily go a lot of places with a horse that many people would never dream of going, I've even roped a handful of little calves and lived through it, but I have seen these guys riding all out, down a steep hill, swinging a rope, and catching a wild steer on the run with fire in his eyes. They'll do this on a three year old, laughing and goading each other the whole time. You won't find me doing something like that. Nope. For five days, Roy and I (and Martina Vala, on Zip's Amerigold, who is for sale by the way, on the Varian website) accompanied a number of guests all around the V6 ranch, across creeks, around lakes, through blankets of wildflowers, owl's clover, lupine, poppies, little dicks, buttercups, popcorn, bright blue eyes. Enhanced by birdsong, with just a whisper of a breeze, it was hard to believe we were not living a Disney movie. Five days of Barb's delicious meals and laughing with many of the guests that have been coming every year, for the past fifteen years. It's pure joy.

After a couple days doing some laundry and taking hot showers back at Sheila's, I was ready for my trip north. Before leaving town though, I had one stop to make. With Roy and Arizona waiting in the trailer, I walked through the tall Eucalyptus trees and through the gate, into the tiny cemetery. In my hand I had the pedals of three of the enormous roses that are blooming all around Varian Arabians. Kneeling down by Sheila's headstone, I laid the pedals down around her, brushing the twigs and dirt from her stone. Sitting there in the grass, I talked to her a little bit, but mostly I just remembered, and was grateful for our friendship. Then it was time to go.

I like to take three days to get home. It's easier on the horses and it's easier on me. I'm in no rush. In Woodland, California, I slept in my trailer, the horses in a huge pasture right outside my window where I could see them in the full moonlight. When we got to Bend, Oregon, and I took them from the trailer, they both looked around as if this traveling life was all so interesting, enjoying every day in another town, with other horses to look at, other grasses to nibble. In Walla Walla, I dropped some alfalfa into their feeders, and thanked them for being such good travelers. Walla Walla greeted us with huge tulips in saturated colors, in full bloom, welcoming springtime all over town. I fall into spring with arms wide open. Life is good.

 She startled me! She'd zipped right in through the big north window of the arena, stopped right in front of my eyes underneath the brim of my hat and hovered there for a few moments, looking right at me, intently it seemed. It took a second for my eyes to focus on her, she was so close. Her colors were of the rainbow, but more intense, her tiny beak an inch from my nose. I considered reaching out to touch her in wonder, maybe to see if she was real, and in a flash she flew away, out the window again.

This happened in the afternoon of the first day of our three-day clinic with Robert and Janet Phinney. Their place is way up high in the forest of the Blue Mountains above Dayton, Washington, about an hour drive from Walla Walla. "Develop Collection, Trust, and Increase your Joy" was how their clinic was presented. I'd found myself with a few challenges lately with Arizona, so this sounded like just what we needed. I hoped to figure out a few pieces of the never-ending puzzle that is horsemanship. The first thing I will say about these two, is that besides being superb horsemen, the Phinneys don't have much room up there between the tall evergreens and pines for many horse trailers to park. And, even better, they prefer to keep it intimate, so they limit their clinics to six riders. .

The first day we worked mostly on groundwork, which is truly where you can mind meld with your horse, where you can tuck in tight and find out really what makes each other tick. With each exercise, Arizona learned that he could rely on me more than worry about whatever else was going on in his world. Little by little, our exercises expanded out to achieving more precision, and in a magical way, having more control and allowing more freedom at the same time. Robert and Janet were gentle, knowledgeable, and supportive. 

The second day, after reviewing day one, we rode out from the beautiful covered arena, into the wild woods. We traveled up and down along roads and trails and through thick grasses, knee deep, the birds in the trees chirping over our heads in the trees. At one point, all the horses spun and spooked together. As I turned my head back toward the sound of rustling in the bushes, I could see the flagging white tails of two huge deer bounding away, disappearing into the woods. Toward the end of our ride, we found a log to walk or jump over. We were like kids, all of us out there on our horses, going again and again over the log and splashing through puddles.

In the evenings, (after nice hot showers in the outdoor shower), we gathered together and communally ate our dinner, reviewing our day and telling stories of our lives. By about 8:30 we were all in our beds. 

"We have a great day planned for you guys today!" Janet said enthusiastically to me with her sweet smile as I came through the gate after feeding Arizona his breakfast. She was just back from walking her young dog, Maggie. In the arena, she and Robert had set up an obstacle course, which we were instructed to take our horses through first from the ground. Here is where we found where our holes were, which we then we could work on, getting to the point where our horses were so in tune with us, they would wait, one foot hanging in the air, waiting for instruction from us on exactly where we wanted him to place it. When you get your communication that precise on the ground, it directly translates into your communication when you're riding. After lunch we did the course again under saddle. At the very end of the day, as Janet and Robert were working with the others, Arizona and I worked on transitions, on leg yields, on backing, on leg and seat cues. From a lope, I sank into the saddle and softly said "whoa" and he stopped, on a loose rein, as soft and easy as silk. He felt so connected with me, we were in our own intimate little bubble, like there was no one else in the world. I tell you, it was absolute bliss. I figured we couldn't top that, this was a good place to finish. I got off and petted his shoulder, "good boy!" (I still say that trying to sound like Jaime, with a soft Mexican accent). Arizona seemed as content as I was.

I took off his hackamore, slipped on the halter, loosened his cinch and turned to Robert. Tears began to pool in my eyes, (which was a little embarrassing) "I'm NOT going to cry… but Thank you guys so much!" I turned and said goodbye to Janet, my hug a feeble expression of the joy in my heart. 

As Arizona stepped up into the trailer, a soft rain began, even though the sun was shining bright. Driving across the high country on my way home, the radio played John Prine, Gillian Welch, Roy Clark. I was silly happy, drunk with joy. Ebullient, that's the word. Something caught my eye… and then my breath, in the side mirror. I stopped and got out of the truck. Stretched across in front of the towering gray and white clouds, was a complete rainbow, arcing high above the bright green rolling hills and pines from one side of the horizon to the other. To feel such bliss with my horse, to laugh and learn so much, and to finish it with a gift of nature's beauty, I truly had discovered a pot of gold.

When I got home, I thought again about that funny little hummingbird. It was such a mystical moment, as if time stopped for a few seconds when she looked at me that way. I typed in "hummingbird" into the search bar, and began reading. This is what I came across: 

The hummingbird and the power of swiftness and flexibility

The hummingbird is one of the most fascinating birds because of its ability to move its body swiftly, change direction quickly and smoothly, seemingly gliding from one place to another. 

When the hummingbird shows up in your life, it may be an invitation to flex your path, perhaps even bending backward or forward, in order to accommodate life's circumstances. You may be required to adapt to a situation that is a bit more demanding than usual. The wisdom carried by this spirit animal emphasizes flexibility and lightness in your approach to the unexpected.

(Elena Harris, spirit animal.info)

Is that good or what??

It had been a whole week since I'd even looked at Arizona. A short trip to Seattle followed by three days of intense work requirements took up every minute of my days. Finally it was Saturday. After a leisurely breakfast with friends at the Farmer's Market, I said hello to him, burying my face in his mane, rubbing my hand over his perfect back and hip. It didn't take much groundwork before he was right there with me, so I gave him a bath and put him back out in the pasture with Roy. He rolled in the green grass and shook. He felt ready for our little clinic in the evening.

It was a two and a half hour introduction to working cattle. It sounded like the perfect scenario. Slow and easy. He'd seen cattle before, first at the V6 Ranch, but all he'd done was follow John Varian through the herd, one time. Another day, with the Phinneys, we'd slowly walked through some cattle grazing and dozing on the mountain top. This was going to be different. We got to the WBarM ranch a little early, took a look at the ten heifers dozing in the pen, met one of the other two participants, and saddled up. Heidi Thomas, our teacher, runs hundreds of head of cattle all over, from the high country in the Blue Mountains, to large plots out by the Columbia River. She had a number of exercises in mind for us to do. 

We stepped up to the little herd. Arizona was tight underneath me. I gave him a little time to think, and look, and asked him again to step closer. He was hesitant, but trying to be brave. As one cow bumped his head into the side of another, making a "whuph" sound, BOOM we were five feet away facing the other direction. Boy, he's quick! We turned back to the cattle and Heidi rode in beside us for support. For this exercise, we had to cut out one cow at a time, take it from the herd through a gate, into another pen. On the third cow, Arizona seemed to need a moment to reassess the situation. He stretched his neck toward the cattle a little, his ears alert, his eyes focused, looking intently from one cow to the next, thinking hard. Then he exhaled a deep breath and we went on, I guess he decided it wasn't really that big of a deal after all.

A number of times, I was glad that I stayed in the saddle, as he swooped to the left or the right, after a cow did something he didn't expect, but he's so smooth when he moves, it just made me laugh. 

Heidi switched it up every time, sometimes only one cow, sometimes two or three, sometimes the whole herd. Sometimes it was only one of us at a time, sometimes it was two of us, and sometimes it was all three together. One of our last exercises was for each of us, alone, to cut out three cows from the herd, take them together through the gate to the arena, circle them together around a barrel, then drive them down to a place where Heidi had placed four poles, making a box on the ground. Our challenge was to get all three into this little box, barely big enough for all three to stand in, and stop. Then we were to turn them and take them back out, circle the other barrel, and back to the herd. By this time, he was much less afraid of the cattle, and when that third cow stepped into that little box on the ground with the other two, I felt like I'd won the blue ribbon. 

As the lesson wore down, Heidi had us box a cow at one end of the arena. The first cow I picked was a little jumpy and once again I had a couple of blasts to the side, but each time we faced back to the cow and then followed her around at a trot. Arizona started to understood the program, and know that he could make the cow move instead of the other way around. We put that frisky one back and picked a more docile one to work with. We finished up as the sky filled with pinks, purples and deep blues, the wispy white clouds high in the sky. 

Taking his saddle from his back, I thought of Sheila, how she so loved working cattle, I could hear her laugh, watching Arizona and I, as he zipped out away from the quick moves of the heifers, I could feel her delight as this little colt thought hard about this lesson, and figured things out so well. Twisting her ring on my finger, I sent a little thank you to her, for making my Arizona Mac V, and for continuing to bring me such joy in life. 

Ain't life grand? 

Here in Idaho, there are shepherds. They are mostly Peruvian men, non English speaking, that live the entire summer out in the mountains and valleys with enormous bands of sheep, a few great pyrenees dogs and a couple of horses, roaming from place to place grazing the grasses from springtime to fall. For decades, these men have carved their names and the dates on the aspen trees and as we ride by, we see things like "Gonzalo 1972" in a raised scar in the pale bark.

We loaded Smartie and Arizona Mac V into Carol's trailer, with the divider breaking the space into two, and drove north up highway 75 towards the trailhead. We'd been in Idaho for two weeks now, and Arizona had been out to a few of the trails and felt much more substantial now under me, than last year. He's shown me that he is a thinker and oh, so smart. Keeping in mind that he is only four, and hasn't built up much of his mountain climbing rump muscles, we'd kept to the low lands mostly. Today was going to be a long pull.

This was Saturday. Our goal was to avoid the weekend crowds of hikers, mountain bikers, and dog walkers, so we picked a trail that is on the map, but not much on most people's radar. Driving up the dirt road, we encountered an immense band of sheep. The sheep bunch together tightly and follow the two Pyrenees dogs, that lead the way. In the back there were two men, on foot, and two horses in the back, saddled, following the sheep. The band spilled off both sides of the road, into the forest. In the forest was another couple of guys, and pack horses, loaded up with all their necessities. We stopped the truck to let them pass. 

Picture this, you are a horse. You are a prey animal. Your first instinct when you encounter another animal, is to flee, especially if you've never seen this animal before. Now picture seeing 800 of these animals, all bunched together, flowing toward you, engulfing you, making strange little bleating noises, and their little feet pitter pattering down the road and all around you. Where you can't see what's happening, there are men yelling to keep them moving. 

The trailer started to lurch behind us. Smartie had seen plenty of sheep as they passed by his pasture and had gotten pretty used to them, but Arizona was not okay with this scenario. I got out of the truck, and not making eye contact with the Pyrenees dogs (their job is to protect the sheep and you certainly don't want them to think you have any interest in those sheep) and walked back to the trailer. Arizona was tied to the ring in the trailer, and his feet were very busy. His head was up, he was fighting the lead rope and shifting back and forth. I patted his rump and talked to him, but that didn't make a bit of difference. I walked around to the other side, and carefully untied his lead so he could have the whole half of the trailer to move around in, looping the lead rope around the saddle horn. Instantly, his anxiety dropped by about half. He still was quite concerned, his nose sticking out of the trailer, his eyes wide, but he could move, which made life much better. Just being able to turn and look this way, that way, turn all the way around was much better than being confined, tied in there. It took about ten minutes for the band to pass, and he watched with his nose out the back of the trailer as the last of the sheep trotted away behind us down the road.

When we got to the trailhead, I took him out and he was looking everywhere for those wooly monsters, their footprints still in the dirt at our feet, their scent hung in the air. Quietly, I asked him to back, to move one foot, then another, to move and to pay attention to me. In no time, his back relaxed, his focus came to me. I slipped on his hackamore (and my jacket) and we headed up the trail. 

As we climbed, the trail meandered through meadows and forests, high rocky ridges framed the view on either side. We could see where the band had spent the night. Now and then as we approached a big white boulder, Arizona hesitated, "is that a sheep up there?" Then he'd realize it was just a rock and walked on by. Whenever we came to something that caused him very much insecurity, Smarty would go ahead and show him the way, calmly. Near the top of the trail, wildflowers blanketed the meadows on either side of us, purple, yellow, blue, red flowers smiling up toward the sun. A red tailed hawk screeched and flew out from a pine tree, swooping down the valley. 

At the top, we came out into a huge bowl, large rock cairns marking the direction of the trail. We rested there, at the top of the mountain, I shared my apple with Arizona, and he nibbled at the high grasses. 

I led him down the first part of the trail, where it's steep. It's more comfortable for his little body to walk down steep without me on his back, and I haven't gotten to hike as much as I'd like anyway. When he thought it was time to play with me and my hat, I stopped, abruptly. He stopped behind me. We backed up two steps. I stopped once more, sharply, and he decided maybe nibbling on my hat wasn't such a great idea after all. I got on after a mile or so, and as we walked down the hill, I relished the joy of our "together of mindedness" that was going on. He is so bright minded, so enthusiastic of this world we live in. It's a real pleasure just being with him. 

Roverto was leading a young mare across the road when I drove up. She was following politely, but would startle, flinch, at something to the right, then at the gate, then at a sound from the house. I watched this perfectly put together little bay in awe. She simply could not be any prettier. 

Earlier that morning, I'd stopped by the little graveyard in Halcyon, walking through the tall Eucalyptus trees and up to the western edge of the headstones to Sheila's grave. After some time, I placed both hands on the stone, closed my eyes and invited her to come spend the day with me, to see through my eyes, to smell through my nose, to feel through my touch. With each big inhale of air, I could feel her spirit with me, enjoying the smell of the sea air, the eucalyptus trees, the air of California. I opened my eyes to a powder blue sky with wispy white clouds overhead. A tear ran down my cheek. I miss her so.

In the parking lot at Oceano Beach, I slipped off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and walked south. It was early but there was a nice breeze. Seagulls drifted in the updrafts overhead and sandpipers skittered at the water's edge. The waves rolled in just as they have been doing for centuries. I walked. There was not yet the ATVs, the motorbikes, or many people, I had the beach pretty much to myself. I imagined Sheila as a youngster with Judy, or with Jack, or with friends, racing hell-bent and bareback along this long stretch of white sand. An echo of hoof beats racing by put a smile on my face.

It was after my walk that I drove out to the ranch.

"Andres?" I asked, looking at the handsome face of the man from the Major Mac Videos of late. 

"Yes." He put his hand out to shake mine, wondering who I was.

I told him that I was a visitor and would like to just be a fly on the wall and watch him as he worked the horses.

"Yes, of course!" He said. 

I told him that I had been a friend of Sheila's, and that we'd ridden together, mostly after cattle or in the hills. He told me Jaime was still not back to work and that this little filly had not had much work since he'd left, about a year and a half ago. Her name is Faddaja (Audacious ps x Elite Lady Fadjur). Her huge dark eyes watched us, as we talked. Roverto groomed her body and spoke softly to her. Walking back to the round pen, Andres and I chatted about Sheila, about her philosophies, about his life and experiences since coming from Columbia ten years ago and how happy he was now to be working with such quality horses and how much he wished he could pick Sheila's brain and talk about the horses. He commented on what a difference he'd noticed in these Varian bred horses.

In the round pen, he slipped off the halter and with nothing more than a subtle suggestion from his body language, suggested she go off to her left. With regal air, she trotted around the pen, head high, nostrils flared, stepping brilliantly and beautifully. Watching him.. and her, I caught the moment that she just barely started to relax. Instantly, he took a step back, relaxing his shoulders. She kept up the trot, but one ear came toward him, her neck relaxed, and her pace slowed just a bit and her stride lengthened a little. He never took his eyes off her, he never broke concentration, he was never aggressive or intimidating, just completely with her in her world. When she was relaxed in one direction, he did the same in the other direction, following her feel. A couple of times, when she stopped and switched around to the other direction on her own, he stepped in quick, with the flag, and turned her back to the direction he'd sent her. It was not in anger, or force, it was more like he was protecting her from doing the wrong thing. His intent was purely in her best interest. His energy stayed even. At the precise moment, when she would relax and look at him, he stepped back and invited her to him. In a few short minutes, she was completely focused on him, completely relaxed, following him around and not paying any attention to the tractors driving by, the horses whinnying around the ranch, there was nothing in her world more interesting to her, than him and her. It was like music, so beautiful.

No doubt Sheila would have really enjoyed working with Andres. One can quickly add up that horses are in his blood, in his every moment. 

When he was finished with her, it was about 12:30, time for Andres to have lunch. I found Roy up in the pens by the lab. They'd brought him up from his winter vacation on the hill with Jubilation and bathed him, groomed him, and had him ready for me. He's having the summer off, and this was my last day in California, so I didn't feel that one ride would do him any favors, so I just went in and checked him out from nose to tail, head to toe, burying my face in his mane like a 6 year old girl. I told him that we'd bought him a house with pastures and arenas and that I'd be picking up Arizona (who is in Arizona with Jeff Derby) and him in April and bringing them home again soon. 

He looked deeply into my eyes, into my soul, and then sniffed again at my pockets. 

Roy is forever hopeful. 

He is simply brilliant… and humble, and well-read, (and not at all hard to look at, either). 

He'd picked up Arizona Mac V the end of October after he and Bruce Sandifer had put on a California Bridlehorse workshop in Walla Walla, Washington, and taken him home to Colorado. There, he'd ridden him in the snow, hauled him to the fairgrounds, ridden out after cattle, and just ridden him right, in balance, and with grace. In January the Derby family moved to their new home in Prescott, Arizona. Yes, Arizona was in Arizona, and I was eager to see how he'd matured in six months.

"I hope he's been able to put the time on him that I was hoping." I said to Karen at 37,000 feet somewhere over the Nevada desert. Her horse, Brego, had gone to Colorado as well and we were on our way to visit, escaping Walla Walla's cold March weather.

Walking up to his pen, he lifted his head, perked his ears, and came over to me, intently sniffing my head, my shoulders, my hands, my jacket. "Is it you?" He seemed to say. I like to think he doesn't react to everyone like this, but that he remembers me and feels some affection for me. He certainly was more fit. His top line was stronger, his hind end more muscular.

Jeff brought out both horses, saddled them up and rode them for us, showing what he's been working on for the last six months. Karen and I both stood watching, with our hands in our pockets and our mouths open. It was so beautiful. I knew Arizona was athletic, and the way he moved brought a little tear to my eye. 

"I want to do that." I whispered to Karen.

"Me too!"

The next day, we got there around 10:00. It was the one day promising good weather. Jeff was riding a very nice looking little stud horse that he has in training. We rode in the big sand arena, with the vast high desert views of the jagged mountains of Prescott to the south of us and puffy clouds overhead. Karen and I distorted our bodies, trying to grasp what Jeff was telling us, about our how changing our posture/weight and balance affected the horse. Instead of "Hold and Release", his instruction was "Ask… and Allow." We fumbled around for an hour or so, then decided to ride out while the weather was still warm and dry. Rain was forecast for the next few days. Out there, in the big open spaces, we rode through sand, between bushes, Joshua trees, and a number of bovines. We rode and talked, while Bella, his black and white border collie, skipped along at our feet, exhibiting joy as only a dog can do. 

The next couple of days, with rain falling on the roof over his covered arena, Jeff (again and again) repeated and clarified his message. 

"Ask and allow." 

"Don't pull."

"Inhale, exhale, jiggle the rein, rock your body a little, crunch your obliques, contract your abs, LESS IS MORE."

Little by little things started to make sense. 

"OH!" It was an "aha" moment. "This is like dance class, (isolation exercises), where you keep your hips and shoulders still, but move just your ribs to one side or the other!"

"YES!" Jeff said. "Exactly!"

I felt like I'd struck gold.

The last day we were there, we asked Jeff to ride our horses once more, and review everything we needed to figure out. He rode Brego (who is a tall, very handsome Morgan horse), once again putting him up into a dance, light and quick and smooth. He stepped down, patting his big neck. Brego had such a contented look in his eye. It was so easy for him, with Jeff.

"I want to show you something." Jeff said, handing the mecate to Karen and walking back to his trailer.

He came out with a bosalito and bridle and explained once again the why and how of this method. Why your hands need to stay in the middle, not reach out to the side, how the horse finds the sweet spot in the bridle the exact same way as he finds it in the hackamore. 

"You never want to put a bit like this in a horse's mouth until he's 5 ½ years old, their teeth are not yet right." 

He swung back up into the saddle and we watched, as Jeff went through the same movements he'd done with the hackamore, watched as Brego figured out how to hold his head, not low down, not high up. Jeff just rode, letting him figure it out. He showed how, with the bridle reins loose, he used the bosalito reins for the signals, and let the horse just carry that bit. 

"When you can ride pretty much one handed", he said, "you can shorten the bridle reins so both the bridle and bosalito are giving the same signal at the same time." He slid the bridle reins up in his hand. "If you need to help him out, you can pick up the mecate and clarify the signal."

Once the horse really has it figured out, it's okay to move up to a spade bit, or to leave out the mecate on your bosalito and ride just in the bridle. 

This is an art form that was born in the early days of California. This feeling that Karen and I felt just a glimpse of, is what captured Sheila about this method, under the tutelage of Sid Spencer. "Like cutting through butter with a hot knife" is what she'd said. 

I can picture Sheila and Jeff, huddled together, talking tack, talking method, horse psychology, horse physiology, telling stories, cracking jokes. They so would have enjoyed one another. 

​If you would like to know more about Jeff Derby and the methods used in the California Bridlehorse tradition, go to: https://www.derbylivestockcompany.com/

As our September 2021 trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota drew nearer this summer, I watched my mare TU Sihr With Love ("Lovey") closer and realized quickly that her being in foal to Major Mac V again had brought her barrel size much larger than I recalled her being when pregnant at the same point with Sihr Brigadier Mac V ("Sonny").  So, I re-evaluated my plans to take her on the trip, thinking that the long 2 day trailer ride from Las Vegas, Nevada would not likely be an amusing trip for her.  By July, I had made up my mind that Sonny, at just 4 1/2 years old was going to go instead.  I set my mind to getting him out on the trail at home, just to ensure he was ready.  Well, that didn't happen.  Life happenings got in the way, and pretty soon it was only a few days away, and we were packing up to leave for South Dakota.  Once we got Sonny in the trailer (or let him make the decision to get in, I should say), the trailer ride and overnight half-way in Wyoming were no big deal for him.  What a trooper you are Sonny, good boy!  

We arrived at our destination near Custer, South Dakota on Sunday afternoon, unloaded the horses, and got them all settled in at the beautiful equestrian campground.  Sonny took it all in stride, and settled in quickly, taking in the surroundings and the cooler temps.   On Monday, a group of us tacked up and did a short 5-6 mile ride on the trails leading out from the campground.  I mounted Sonny, and off we went.  I mentally said to Sonny (and to myself), ok my buddy my pal, let's not embarrass each other... rub rub rub on the neck - one ear back... ok mom, let's do this!  To my surprise (and thankful pleasure) the ride was fairly uneventful.  Sonny was attentive and alert, yet calm.  As time went on during the ride, mile by mile, I felt him relax under me, slowly but consistently accepting all the unknowns and new experiences which, with many even more seasoned horses that I've ridden, could have been terrifying for the horse, and then a hair-raising ride for me.  Sonny had made it through his first-ever trail ride, and by the last 1/3 of the ride I felt him fully relaxed under me.  Thank you Sonny, good boy!   

The next day was the pre-planned Mount Rushmore ride.  Although the first trail ride went so well,  I do have to admit, I was a little apprehensive about this next trail ride on Sonny, and I secretly said to myself the night before "maybe I shouldn't", a bit of self-doubt lurking in my brain. Nonetheless, we loaded up in the horse camp's older open side stock rental trailer, carrying 4 horses to the trail head, another trailer with 3 following us. Sonny hesitated to load in the scary contraption, but as usual, he eventually conceded as I did my best to remain calm and (with Sheila and Mikey's voice on my shoulder) allow him to take his time, reward him with release of pressure on each try, and let him make it his decision.  At the trailhead, we all saddled up, and off we went on Sonny's second-ever trail ride.  To my surprise he was as calm as could be right off the bat. I told him this was to be quite longer and more technical than yesterday's jaunt, but he moved forward at a smooth steady walk on a loose rein, pulling up the rear of the group, confidently taking in all the sights and sounds. Good boy Sonny!

As we got deeper into the trail going up, there were several sticky spots that he just wasn't ok with. Big step-down boulders and moving creeks were his nemesis he thought. No spook, just real hesitant. So, as to build his young-minded confidence (thank you Julie Renfro-Cross), and to spare myself from any unplanned dismounts, I chose to get off and walk him through many of the scary parts. With some persuasion from our trail buddies pushing him forward (mentally), his barn-mate Big Sky's encouragement from in front of him, and my patience, he got better and better with each 'obstacle'. By the time we reached the top, his confidence had grown ten-fold, and I felt our partnership solidify more and more. I talked to Sonny most of the way, I wonder if he understood, or if it was my voice that he liked hearing? After a short rest and lunch at the top (where he stood tied to a hitching post napping like a champ), and some great photos for prosperity, we tightened our cinches, mounted back up, took a deep breath and headed back to the trail head. 

Sonny mastered the narrow 30 foot long, 3 ft. wide wooden 45 degree angle bridge, bushes and branches were no longer a worry, logs were easily and carefully stepped over, and he was much more brave going up boulder stair steps (except one spot where an unplanned stop caused his back-end to slip off the edge… but no worries… we recovered with no fall, and within seconds I had his brain back. Whew!!! Heart pounding. Good boy Sonny!) A fluffy squirrel crossed our path at one point, for which he startled, but then (with one ear turned back to me) he seemed to 'ask' me what to do. Just move forward Sonny… good boy. Moving water in the rocky creeks were still a concern for him, but with each one a little better hand-walked through, and one or two narrower ones ridden through. Yey Sonny! 

Close to the trail head, the others began trotting and some cantering to get to where the trailers were parked. But not us, Sonny walked forward calmly and relaxed as if to say, "what the heck are they in such a hurry for"?  There's that one ear back on me again.  Yes, Sonny, you're making the right decision... good boy!

We took the next day off to let our horses rest, and visited Deadwood, South Dakota to play tourist for the day.  Then, on Thursday, just my husband on his horse Big Sky, and Sonny and I did a short ride off the campground again, a different direction.  Although there were no big technical boulders or moving creeks to deal with on this third ride, certain other new and exciting things appeared here and there for Sonny to experience (signs, cars, dogs, tractors, big birds, etc.).  He addressed each of them, one by one, usually without any hesitation in forward movement, checking in with me with that one ear and one eye, on each encounter.  We had become a team!  

By the end of the week, I found Sonny to be almost a different horse than I had just 48 hours before. His demeanor always was calm and attentive,  But, now he had graduated, and I couldn't be more proud! 

GOOD BOY SONNY, Good Boy!  Oh, the trails we will travel and adventures we will have now!  

 

Every spring and fall, the El Zaribah Shrine Mounted Patrol puts on a roundup at the EZ Ranch in Cordes Junction, Arizona near Prescott. We've attended and worked it every fall for several years, and this year I decided it was Sonny's turn to go. I felt he was ready for another experience and adventure, since he'd been doing so good on the trails. So, off we went to the cattle drive. We arrived early on Thursday and unloaded the horses, got them settled in their pens, and spent the first afternoon just setting up our LQ, getting caught up with regulars that return at least annually to this fun event. It was a quiet, sunny, beautiful day. Sonny settled in amazingly well, and was attentively curious as he watched as many more trailers arrived, lots of horses were unloaded, the caterer's trailer was getting set up, and people milled around laughing and cutting up. Tons of activity to observe for a young horse. But, I was happy to see it was not impacting his solid calm brain.

Early morning Friday was slated for the 'round-up' cattle drive. Before the sun was up, the breakfast bell rang and cowboys and cowgirls were filling their plates with a hearty hot breakfast and sucking down a quick cup of joe. By 6:00am folks were saddling up. Our LQ was parked right in front of the congregating area, so we heard the activities and laughter. My husband will attest, I'm not much of a morning person, so this crack of dawn stuff was killing my incentive to do anything except find the nearest cup of coffee. When I stepped outside of the trailer, I was literally shocked at the number of people already mounted, and more saddling up to go. I stopped counting at 20, and looked over at Sonny in his pen, taking a deep breath and wondering what he must be thinking as he looked at me, then looked at the crowd of riders, and then looked at me again. Big Sky had his rear-end to the activities, much more interested in the hay on the ground. I had spoken to the ranch owner the night before at dinner, and he said they had about 130 head to bring in, and they were farther out, which will require us to ride out about 12 miles, and then drive them back in. Of the 20-something riders, at least half of them were on hot horses, some running in place, a couple spinning and stirring up the dirt on the road. Of course, once a few started, a few more fed off of them and joined in. I evaluated the scenario, and said in mental telepathy to Sonny, 'is this what you want to experience for your first time pushing cows?'. Our silent communication agreed… Nope! As Sonny's 'partner' I felt I owed it to him to make his first cattle working experience a positive one, a confidence builder, and not a scenario of frenetic activity! We waived them off, and waited about an hour before saddling up. A few others had the same analysis of the situation, and decided that they would hook up with us and just ride out to where the others would eventually be coming through the far mesa gates. Six of us took this option, and we all agreed we were happy to have taken a pass on the drive this year.

Our ride was wonderful, Sonny couldn't have been in a better frame of mind. He was happy, moving forward at a good working walk clip, and glad to get out, albeit leaving his barn buddy Big Sky back at the pens. We rode in the back and enjoyed the beautiful views with Sonny so relaxed, passing through a few gates carefully, through a few thicket tree areas, dodging Arizona grasshoppers the size of stealth bombers that popped up in front of us every 10 feet (yikes), and over some rock beds that during some parts of the year are full of running creek water. Sonny found a new pal to ride behind, and along side of. As we were returning to the ranch, I suddenly looked back and realized that we were in the middle of the group. Way to go Sonny, look at you building your own confidence! Turning the corner on the return to the ranch we had to pass right through the middle of the equipment yard. Cranes, tractors, dump trucks, water trucks, gasoline and water towers, stacked panels…. You name it. I thought, 'oh no…. this isn't gonna be good'. Deep breath… relax… feet loose in the stirrups… rub rub on Sonny's neck. Not a flinch! Sonny looked up ('are you my mommy') at the crane. But, just kept moving through the yard…. Whew! We made it! Coming back in to the ranch, several folks mentioned how good-looking and what a good boy Sonny is. I covered his ears and told them not to say that out-loud, he already knows it all too well! It was a good 4 hours before the herd was brought in. Sonny and I both had time for lunch and a nice nap in the cool breeze and warm sun. What a great day. 

Saturdays at this event are traditionally set aside for gymkhana activities where participants pay a fee to run (most trot through) barrels, poles, and a key hole for donated prizes, and the entry fees go to the Shriners for the kids, a great cause. Hilarious to watch, but not my cup of tea. I had no intentions of entering with Sonny, but I did hand-walk him down to the arena to watch. He wasn't sure at first what to think of all the whooping and hollerin', signs, flags, bull-horns, PA system, and lots and lots of riders milling around (beers/seltzers hanging in their water packs off their saddle horns). He was definitely hesitant to get too close, but 4-6 steps at a time, and we got to a good viewing position. Alas! There's grass growing around the fence line! Sonny decided that was a great reward for all this standing around and watching the shenanigans.

Later that morning, Jeff and I saddled up Sonny and Big Sky for a long hubby-wife trail ride. We were parked right next to a travel trailer with 6 adults and 4 children under 5 years old. Oy!!Sonny stood tied to the side of the trailer, and although he looked at the kids and all their toys a lot, he never got shook up about it, even when the bubble machine went off and a big bubble floated right in front of his face. Good boy Sonny! I took the trail ride opportunity to do some more slow confidence building with Sonny. From time to time, Jeff and I would ride away from each other staying 100 yards or more apart. Sonny was perfectly fine with this, turning his one ear to me occasionally to ask if all was ok. Yes Sonny, you're doing great! Rub rub. We took a wrong turn as we headed back, and ended up on a bluff above the ranch looking right down in to the cattle pens. We heard them loud and clear as we walked along the bluff edge, they were mooing and calling and crying since the babies had now been separated from their mamas. Around the bend we suddenly ran in to a small herd of deer which we thought were Mule Deer, but later learned were Red Deer (I'm told it's the best venison you'll ever have) which are raised at the ranch for hunts. So beautiful were these crimson-colored creatures, standing literally 20-25 feet from us. Sonny flat stopped and stared! His ears were so acutely focused on the little herd that his lovely tippy Varian-bred ears were almost touching at the tips. "Halt!" he said to them I'm sure, Big Sky following suit and staying close by. The 'stand-off' between the equines and these other interesting four-legged beings lasted for what seemed like several minutes. Sonny took a careful step forward, dropping his head and giving his best Arabian snort, to which the deer moved up the embankment about 10 yards and re-assessed the situation behind them. Sonny took another couple of steps forward to which the deer scurried around the bend and out of sight. I'm sure Sonny was totally aghast at what had just happened. But, within seconds, I felt his tense body relax and heard his deep sigh of contentment. Good job Sonny! As we re-entered the ranch gates, I noticed him turn his head toward the hill-side where we saw the deer and wondered if he could still see them. Good boy Sonny, good boy.

The rest of the weekend was spent relaxing, introducing Sonny to cows through the no-climb fence, and showing him all the other fun things that are frequently seen on a cattle ranch. He was sure he was quite powerful when a group of heifers lying next to the fence immediately got up and moved away from him. He looked right over at me as if to say, "Wow, mom, look what I did!". Yes, Sonny, you're cowy for sure! And, someday soon, when you're ready, we will work the cows up at the V6 Ranch in Parkfield so that you can really participate and start to learn how to be a cow-horse.

Heading home to Las Vegas, I did a lot of thinking about Sonny's progression to date. I can't help but feel we've been doing this the right way. Author Louis Sachar once said, "It is better to take many small steps in the right direction than to make a great leap forward only to stumble backwards. "Sonny and I whole-heartedly agree.

~ 

In horse raising and training, we as owners don't always share the bad stuff. Maybe it's a pride or ego thing. Regardless, all pride and ego set aside, I've discovered that lots of things can start occurring in a young horse's brain after he turns about 4 ½ years old, and Sihr Brigadier Mac V ("Sonny") has been no exception to that rule. The start of this young man has been exceptional, and just about as perfect as it can get. He's been alert and responsive, willing to learn, and calm with little to no spook. His confidence has grown immensely since his first few rides a year or so ago. Somewhere along the way though, about four months ago at just about 4 ½ years old, a bold and questioning attitude came to the surface. Not bad, not mean, just sort of 'testing'. Sonny had discovered that he just might know a thing or two, and suddenly he thought he knew everything. He was saying to me, 'No, I don't want to do that… I want to do this – I want to stop now, I don't want to keep going - I'm bored, I don't want to have lessons today, I want to go play in the field'. Fortunately, this sudden behavioral change was not my first 'rodeo' with a teenager's attitude (I have raised human children to their 20's and 30's, so it was all too familiar territory for me). But how do you sit a horse down, be stern and tell them what choices they have, or don't have!?This, for me was a huge challenge. In his first several trail rides, Sonny had been perfectly happy to pull up the rear and just follow his buddies. Suddenly he was anxious to be in the front section, leading the crowd. Going forward in training sessions suddenly was occasionally met with a sull up, and then wanting to back up instead. Of course, my reaction was some hip-yield corrections, which seemed to help a bunch. Experienced horsemen and friends assured me that this phase was not abnormal and they encouraged me to keep working through this phase in Sonny's training.

The Bruce Sandifer Hackamore Clinic at Varian Arabians farm, held in early November this year, came at the absolute perfect time for this dilemma I was in. The large arena was filled with 20-something horses and riders, and Sonny accepted (actually shined) as the new tools were introduced to him. He was very good in the crowded arena, and he was attentive and supple like butter in his new bosal and mecate set up by Brad Tarp. But, after several hours of stand, watch, practice, listen, stand, and practice some more… his baby-brain was just done with all of it. Bruce was amazing and offered to mount Sonny and steadily work him through his teenage attitude display. Wow!… Sonny wasn't expecting that! Ha! I had to giggle as I could see the whites in Sonny's eyes after the third or fourth extended trot around the big Varian arena, in and around so many horses standing and watching this whole ordeal unfold. Like magic, or like a teenager threatened with military school (lol), Sonny emerged as a wonderfully obedient young man. I was so proud to watch the lightbulbs go on over his little typey head! 

Upon returning home to Las Vegas, and with the beautiful season change from hot desert summers to cool fall/winter weather, we had several opportunities to get out and ride the beautiful mountains and desert areas surrounding our city, and boy did we take advantage of it. Sonny and I have several wonderful trail riding friends that we go out with almost weekly. With each ride, Sonny was again showing significant improvement in his confidence and trail abilities. What was 'training' six months ago was slowly but surely becoming a partnership. One development was going down big rock steps, which had become a gladly attempted challenge and no longer a scary obstacle for him. Large man-made obstacles became easier to move through with no more refusals. 

One cold December morning, just before the holidays, we ventured out into the Southern Nevada desert with a small group of friends. On this particular ride, Sonny showed a bit of initial agitation at the onset (a very cool morning with no time for warm up, new horses, dogs on the ride with us and under hoof, not being next to his usual buddy Sockets, first trail ride in the hackamore, etc.). But, within about 10 minutes, and the standard initial trail group order of go rearranging, he was perfectly fine. There was a dusting of snow that had fallen the night before, and Sonny was very curious about this weird crunchy white stuff on the ground. To my surprise, he was happy to step in it and test it out, after which it was nothing of any worry. After about 2 miles, we came across a couple of bicyclists, who courteously pulled aside as we meandered by on the trail. Sonny was not concerned about them at all (thanks to the kids in my neighborhood that ride their bikes in the dirt lot next to my barn for Sonny to closely observe over the fence…desensitization at its best). By the third mile on the trail, I moved Sonny from the back to middle to front positions to reassure him that regardless of his position in the group, he was safe with me. He was happy to follow, happy to lead, happy to be in the group. I was elated at this new-found positioning acceptance.

Here's where it got a little 'sticky'. At the top of the bluff, the group stopped for a photo-op and rest. I decided this was a great place to dismount and check my cinch, which I felt was a little loose. After doing so, I led Sonny around the area to find a large enough rock to use as a mounting block (yes, necessary at my age and his unusually tall self). Once one was located and tested for stability, I set Sonny up next to it to stand and wait for me to mount, this being another teenager test he's recently come up with… attempting to walk off as I mount. Anticipating this, I bounced up and down and checked his mindset. So far, so good. Just as I lifted my left foot into the stirrup and began to pull myself up, the "stable" rock teetered slightly, throwing my momentum off just enough, and Sonny slowly stepped away, just one little step at the same time. My reflex was to catapult myself up and into the saddle…. Ya, right! The next thing I saw was my face looking right at the right-side stirrup, upside down. Sonny decided that I was apparently "on", so he continued gently meandering and walking away… all whilst this old cowgirl hung literally over the saddle, legs in the air! I kept telling myself to "hold on" and don't bail! I found the rein on the right side and steady bumped up on it as best I could, requesting "woah" a few times until Sonny finally halted, standing still as a statue. Dragging my body back in to position and swinging my right leg over where it was supposed to be, I sat in the saddle and looked at the mountains in front of us and took a deep breath, shaking my head in awe of what had just happened. I turned Sonny around to face where my riding partners were sitting on their horses, dogs at the alert at their sides. All of them were just looking at me, mouths wide open, deer in the headlights look. Before I could even get my thoughts together, the first thing out of my mouth was, "PLEASE tell me someone got that on camera!" Of course, they had not. They had been too worried about what my demise was going to be. We all had a good laugh, and I quietly and to myself thanked our trainers and Sonny's heritage for his good mind and unruffled reaction to what could have been a total disaster.

Along the trail we went, hilly switch-backs, slippery icy rocks, frozen-over water puddles to crunch under hooves, hikers and their dogs. It was a beautiful day and all was now going so well. We headed along a section of the trail where it became narrow requiring head to tail riding. On our right side it was an up slope, and on the left side a pretty steep down slope. All of a sudden, Sonny plunged up the hillside slope, spinning and throwing his body around like he'd been attacked in the butt by a Raptor! I struggled to stay centered in the saddle, but somehow I did. After the surprise, and things got somewhat under control, my riding friend behind me yelled out "he's got a cholla cactus branch stuck in his tail!". Now, anyone that knows me, knows that I absolutely despise cholla cactus, they're utterly awful! These buggers literally jump out at horses and riders (hence their nickname "jumping cacti", and for a horse who's never experienced them it can be truly traumatizing. The 7-8 inch stickery spiney branch was literally banging against Sonny's hocks as he continually swished his tail all around trying desperately to remove it. I knew what I had to do. I dismounted quickly keeping my mecate get-down rope firmly lodged in my belt, found the sticker-filled culprit in his tail, and held his long thick tail away from him to create some semblance of calm without touching the darn thing myself. Deep breath. I immediately dug my leatherman tool from my trail pack, and rubbed on Sonny's neck with my gloved knuckles to reassure him that I'd get it out for him, which I did, all while we both stood at a precarious angle on part of the hillside. Inspecting his tail, hocks, and legs for any remaining needles, and clearing any that I could see, I took another deep breath, remounted, and we headed along the trail. And, what a beautiful day it was.

As we headed back to the trailers along our several mile ride the sun was shining, we could hear the crunching of the frozen ground and ice under our horses' hooves, and warm breath created steam from the mouths of all of us, horses, riders, and dogs. It was pretty crisp and cold. But I had an amazingly warm feeling in my heart. Sonny and I were still building our partnership. His young mind, although smart and questioning, alert and responsive, was learning to trust me… and more importantly, I was learning to trust him. I realized as we sauntered along that no horse is perfect, and that it's the experiences, the growth, the trust, and the bonding during these unplanned yet notable incidences that build the great horse and rider relationships and partnerships. We just need to keep moving, keep working through these situations, don't give up, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and Hold On! I'm so looking forward to Sonny's and my 2022.More challenges, experiences, and exciting adventures to come, to learn from, and to share. I can't help but feel that Sheila somehow had a hand in this.

Finally, spring in the Las Vegas valley presented itself, other activities on the home-front began to slow down some, and it was time to get out on some more trail rides. I couldn't wait. A few days ago, I loaded Sihr Brigadier Mac V ("Sonny") up (er, rather he loaded himself, which is a far cry from taking 5-10 minutes to load just a few months ago. Now, he jumps right in as if to say 'Where we goin' today Mom?'). I trailered him out to a really nice desert trail southwest of Vegas, with plans to meet up with a riding buddy. We were a little early, and the trail-head parking lot was completely empty. I thought to myself, oh boy… this could be a challenge. Sonny had never been unloaded from the trailer into an empty lot with none of his trail buds there at all. Well, here goes! He backed out of the trailer nice and slow and easy, stepping down calmly, and I tied him to the side of the trailer in the usual spot. Sonny looked around and saw nothing but baren desert all around him. Then, he let out a big long sigh to which I raised my eyebrows in pleasure and relief that being alone out there to him was just no big deal. I hung his grass bag and some water in front of him, and began grooming and saddling him up. Soon my friend and her horse arrived, unloaded, and saddled up. It was a super relaxing morning, no one was in a hurry. We mounted (and YEY, Sonny stood completely still for the mount this time… the training is working!) Off we went on the trail in search of the wild mustangs that live in this general area. The first few minutes of the ride Sonny was a bit excited and on the muscle having not been out for a while, but nothing that a few circles and hip yields couldn't correct. Then he settled into a nice even walk-cadence, hip swinging and head slightly bobbing in full relaxation. He liked being in the lead, so we held that position for most of the ride this time. Things that really got his attention before barely received a glance this time (dead trees shaped like monsters, cholla cacti lining the trail, strangely shaped boulders that appear from around the bend unexpectedly). He noticed these things for sure, looked, and then moved along cautiously but calmly. At the top of the plateau we found out that it wasn't such a calm day… the wind was really howling up there! At one point, it blew my cowboy hat off from behind us, stampede string and all, and wham!, it hit Sonny right on his pole between the ears, and then flew off rolling on the ground in front of him. He flinched…I braced. Then, suddenly I realized… Sonny hadn't moved an inch. Talk about spooking in place! My heart was racing at first. But, his calmness reassured me that I could trust him. Be still my heart… braver and braver… I love this boy.

Then, yesterday another trail ride opportunity with some other friends at a different and more mountainous location presented itself. This one a little longer and more challenging. I couldn't wait to get Sonny out. More new experiences for him, for which he questioned, but then listened to me and accepted the task. More bravery, more trust. We did quite a bit of bush-wacking (through the bushes and trees where no actual trail existed). Up some pretty steep hills with very loose ground, and back down the other steep side. Sonny found his feet and took his time, except one hill he decided to do what the horse in front of him did, and canter up the hill. I allowed him a few strides at the calm canter to give him some impulsion. And, then asked him to taper down to a walk before we reached the top. The horses were all huffing pretty good once we reached the hilltop, so we stopped and let them rest and think. As the three of us old gals sat there on our mounts, sipping water and sharing stories during the 'break', I found myself slowly stroking Sonny's long soft mane just in front of the saddle horn. He likes that, so I have kind of made a habit of it. It made me think of Lester Buckley when he rode Sonny's sire, Major Mac V at Varian Arabians farm one time and stroked his mane as he talked to the participants. As we moved along we came upon a steel pipe 'gate' on the trail which the forest service installs with the intention of keeping motorized bikes and ATVs out, those low pole boxes about 15 inches off the ground and about 3 x 5 feet in diameter that humans and horses can walk through. Sonny had never even seen one of these contraptions before in his life. So, I told the other gals to go through first on their much more seasoned horses and I would follow closely behind. Sonny stopped dead just before the point where he would otherwise put a front foot over the pole and into the box. I moved him in a circle and without hesitation, dismounted to hand-walk him through. (These 'gates' have some sharp edges at the tops and I wasn't up for accidentally impaling myself on them.) We walked through together with no refusal or hesitation at all. Once through, my friends and I agreed he should try again. So, I turned around and hand-walked right back through that gate again, and again, no hesitation…even though this time we were walking away from his friends. On the opposite side, I quickly re-mounted and headed straight through the contraption in the saddle, thinking to myself that my trainer would tell me not to give him a chance to even think about refusing. Voila! Sonny, lifted his feet and calmly one foot at a time stepped cleanly through the box, expressively looking at those poles every second of the way. We continued through and received cheers of congrats from our friends, and Sonny got a hug of delight around the neck from me in the saddle, with scratches under his thick mane as an added bonus. My friends told me his expression was as if he KNEW he'd done good. Braver and braver.

The rest of the 8 ½ mile ride was a wonderful adventure, some fun things to practice, and in such beautiful country to do it. Up and down big boulder steps, over logs, up and down hillsides, through thick trees overgrown into the trail, over bushes that tickle and scrape the belly of the horse, crunching clusters of pinecones under foot. Sonny was the leader most of the way back to the trailers, and loved being there. His walk was a nice working clip that says "let's go somewhere", as he looks to the left, and to the right alerting me to some deer off in the distance scurrying away up a hillside when they heard our hooves crunching along in the rocky wash.

Each ride (on the trail or in the arena) gets better, creating an anxious desire for me to get on this 5 year old boy again. With every ride we encounter something new, something scary, something challenging. And, with each ride Sonny's confidence grows, and my trust in him gets stronger and stronger.

Braver and braver… both of us, together.

June 2022

One Step At A Time 

These times have created an expectation of immediate gratification for most people. It takes just a few clicks on your phone to order some food, and a few minutes later someone knocks on your door with your meal. Unable to get to the store? Click an order, and the item can be on your doorstep in one day. So few things these days take time and patience to create or attain. Sad, but true. Bringing along a young horse is definitely NOT one of those things that can be expected to provide immediate gratification… even one as good-minded as Sihr Brigadier Mac V ("Sonny").I will say though that your eyes are pleased pretty immediately… the handsome fella that he is, and yes, I'm partial. But, as we progress through his training and have new experiences, I have truly come to appreciate the necessity of not rushing a good training program for a young horse.

In April this year, Sonny (now five years old) and I were able to again attend a Bruce Sandifer & Jeff Derby workshop, this one in beautiful Clovis, California. It was quite a drive from Las Vegas, but Sonny as usual traveled well, happy to drink water inside the trailer at stopping points, and generally snoozing the majority of the time just like the kid that falls asleep every time they get in the family car for a drive. This trip we took my big living quarters horse trailer, since that would be my accommodations during the workshop. Having my friend and her horse along for the trip was nice as it provided both Sonny and I company for the trip. The big trailer has this wonderful thing called "air ride suspension", so I'm positive Sonny had a much more comfortable ride.

Anxious to get there, we stopped minimally and kept on our way. We arrived at the lovely Carden Ranch in Clovis on Thursday afternoon, and then waited for all the other arrivals to get their horses unloaded, put away, and the rigs parked and settled for the weekend. Because of the layout this required us to all wait while each trailer did the routine one at a time. When we pulled in Bruce and Jeff were working with a client's horse in the arena right next to the drive where we had stopped. The pause gave us an opportunity to open the windows of the truck and listen to what they were saying, and watch the interesting interactions between horse, clinicians, and rider. Soon it was our turn to pull up to the open space and unload the horses. I lowered the air pressure in the suspension, which lowered the trailer so that the ramp is not so steep for the horses to unload. I was so proud of Sonny when he calmly and slowly backed down the side ramp of the trailer, one step at a time, head lowered on his own to check his footing on the ramp. Easy Sonny, look around, yep… take it all in. One more step my buddy… you got it. Sonny's beautiful white V brand on his left hip shined along with his nice bay coat in the afternoon sun. And, I smiled when a couple of folks who had gathered around noticed it and knew exactly what it was. The power of the V! After getting the horses settled in to their pens with water, it was quickly time to get the big rig parked in its spot for the weekend. We lucked out and were given a spot right next to the horse pens on the hilled-curve with a fabulous view of the surrounding pastures, trees, and other distant ranch sites. I walked the site location and realized that getting my rig in that tight spot was way above my capabilities. I looked in horror at the tight fit, the top of the barn next to the spot, and decided to ask the rancher if he would mind parking it for me. Whew, thank goodness, he was happy to. It took quite a lot of back up and go forward adjustments. But, one step at a time, he got the rig positioned in a perfect spot and almost level. We spent the evening getting the horses and ourselves settled in, visiting with participants we knew, meeting new ones, and having dinner. Then, a glass or two of wine, and off to bed to rest up for the workshop weekend.

The first day in the arena, Sonny was a little excited. New place, new smells, several horses of varying breeds, several people in the arena, and needless to say I was probably a bit nervous wanting to be sure I was doing my best. Workshops and clinics are funny that way, even though you're not competing, there's always a bit of competitiveness amongst the participants. Before we even mounted, I'm sure Sonny could "feel" my anxiousness, he feels everything. Jeff Derby (gosh this guy notices everything!) saw that Sonny was being uneasy, and he offered to work with him for a minute. Let the clinic begin! All stood around and watched as Jeff worked with Sonny on the ground, verbally explaining everything he was doing. Not a single lunge or move around him on the long line, nope. Jeff calmly spent the time to slowly walk around "with" Sonny close to him, moving his front feet, and then his back feet, one step at a time, stopping in between each step or two to give Sonny time to think and regain his confidence. "Stay with me, you're ok", Jeff said, explaining that sending them away (lunging) seemed to him to send the wrong message. "Stay with me, it's safe and comfortable here", adding a scratch or two for reassurance as Sonny eased in to a calm and yet attentive posture. Now there… isn't that better? It took a few minutes, but step by step the worry and anxiety visibly melted off of Sonny. What a good demo horse you are Sonny. After this little interaction between Jeff and Sonny, I walked Sonny over to the mounting block, and stepped right on. Sonny stood calmly and patiently, waiting for me to get my feet settled in the stirrups and my mecate get-down rope securely tucked in to my belt. I was pleased he did so patiently, because we have been working on that a lot lately. When he's excited to 'go do something', he sometimes takes a step or two forward without me asking. Not this time, whew! Day 1 of the workshop was great, working on softening our ask using our seat bones, inner thighs, and calves instead of pulling the horses head around. Bruce emphasized riding the horse, and not riding the head…staying centered in the saddle. We worked on the rhythm of our body movement to be in sync with the horses cadence as he moves. I immediately noticed how everything we were learning was being done slow and steady at a walk, most times just a few steps at a time. We didn't have to walk all the way around the arena rail, or all the way up and down the arena to achieve the goal of getting the horse to "be with us" and be in sync with us. We achieved the refinement one step at a time, so that we could actually feel the change. What a concept!

The morning of the second day was a refresher of the prior day. Sonny made me proud by proving that he was a quick study and worked well with me as we attempted laterals, roll-backs, backups, and just some soft turns. The afternoon and the rest of the weekend we introduced the horses to cows, and learned how to apply what we'd learned to working the cows. Everything was done methodically, slowly, and with intention to move a cow (or three at a time) where we intended to. There was no rush about it. I quickly realized how different this was from what I've observed of team penning or sorting. Everything we did was one or two steps at a time. Take a step, wait… see what that cow does, don't anticipate. Take another step, move, change directions, but all done at one step at a time. I was reminded of stories of cattlemen that would be annoyed at their hands for pushing the cows on the prairies too fast across miles and miles of terrain. Afterall, who would want to buy a worn-out skinny cow! Click… it all made perfect sense to me. This was true working cow stock horsemanship. And what a dance it was. I found Sonny to be a very 'cowy' Arabian horse. He LOVED doing this. Each time we took our turn to move a couple of the cows, Sonny became more adept at it, and began to really understand that HE was moving them.

By the third day, we all headed out to the pasture to bring the small herd in to the arena. At first Sonny was doing pretty good, considering there were at least 10 horses and riders with us and he had never been on a "trail" ride with that large of a group. As the stiff sticky grass got taller and taller, the ground underneath us got softer and softer, and the grasshoppers got larger and larger and much more aggressive. Deep breath, stay calm…. I could feel Sonny building under me as we walked along in the tall grass. All of a sudden, he decided he had had enough of this new feeling of being poked in the belly by stiff grass, little miniature grass monsters attacking his face and legs, and the unforgiving and unknown footing under his feet. Suddenly I was riding a 3-year-old bronc stud colt instead of my steady 5-year-old solid-minded gelding. With some circles and talking, the shenanigans stopped but then after walking about 50 yards they started right back up again, seemingly building on the prior fears instead of becoming calmer. I knew that Sonny's anxiety was beginning to impact other horses in the group, one feeding off of another. So, I directed Sonny to a dirt opening in the field about 10 feet wide and had him walk in a small circle in the open area until he stood somewhat quietly. I could tell he wasn't a happy camper and continuing with this undertaking might result in an accident, either my own or someone else's. I made an "executive decision" to dismount while he was standing still, and we walked slowly on lead line through the tall grass the final 75 yards or so to the gate, taking time to stop occasionally so he could get his footing and find his brain as we followed the rest of the group who were slowly pushing the cows. Once we reached the ranch gate where there was no more tall grass, I quickly found a small gully in the dirt, placed Sonny in it, and re-mounted. He was immediately a completely different horse. The ground-walk back to the gate (and little talking and some rubbing that we had along the way) was exactly what he needed to get his mind back on me where it was safe. I rode him to the front of the group and let him push the herd of cows the short rest of the way. He was visibly a happy boy again. I ceremoniously and imaginatively pat myself on the back for doing what for he and I was the best decision. And, I very visibly and openly rubbed his neck and mane in praise telling him how proud I was of him. The boy was really building some serious confidence now!

When I returned home I had a completely different perspective on how the next year or two of Sonny's training would go. I no longer expected him to get better and better and better at a consistently expeditious pace. I knew that we would have to take the next phases of his training a bit slower and more meticulously, ensuring that whatever we work on is building on something he had already mastered, or at least done really well at. My session with my trainer at home a couple of weeks later included something new for Sonny. He was going to learn how to pony another horse. Sonny had been ponied by another horse, but he had never ponied another horse. I was not sure how this was going to go. But, my trainer insisted that he was ready for it and that it was an important thing for him to learn because with all the trail riding we do you never know when you could be in a situation where you have to pony someone else's horse or a pack horse. The session went very slow, moving just a couple of steps straight forward at first, and then moving into a full trip around the round pen, to finally making some turns and circles in both directions keeping the ponied horse at my knee and just behind Sonny's shoulder. Lo and behold, Sonny not only did well, he did great. As we wrapped up the session, and I was grooming Sonny I noticed he had not even broken a sweat. I knew that was because we took the lesson slow, building the second 10 minutes on the first, and the next 10 minutes on the second. No rush, no pressure, just one step at a time.

The spring of 2022 has been filled with unbelievably fabulous trail rides and training sessions. Each one getting better and better. Sonny and I recently did a trail ride in the Southern Nevada desert near our ranchita in Las Vegas. As we set out on the trail I began to realize how many cholla cactus, Spanish daggers, and yuccas were on the trail. I had to take a few deep breaths as we serpentined through them, occasionally swiping one with my leg or Sonny's side. No tragedies occurred though. He took it all in stride and moved forward with confidence as the leader of the group the majority of the day. Rocky downhill sections on the trail that used to cause Sonny to stop and hesitate, became no big deal and no break in stride. I was so happy and proud of him that I wanted to hug him (and I did), and I shared my peanut butter sandwich with him from the saddle, which he seems to just love. Our partnership is growing steadily.

The other day, realizing that the heat in Las Vegas is way too much for a desert ride, my friends and I headed up to Mount Charleston, about an hour or so outside of Las Vegas. We selected a trail that is quite long and pretty steep in parts, with just a few tricky spots to get through. As usual, when we arrived at the trailhead Sonny stood calmly at the trailer for tacking up, looking around at other cars, trailers, and activity in the parking area. We saddled up, making sure to have our knives, cameras, tracking devices, snacks and plenty of water for the long ride. Off we went, with Sonny in the lead of the four horses. The first few miles of the ride were a fire access dirt road, with pretty steep drop offs. Sonny did excellent. But, darn it, I couldn't understand why he seemed to want to walk right along the edge instead of in the middle of the dirt road. I kept my leg on him, and repeatedly had him move inward away from the edge. The views were phenomenal. We actually were riding across the canyon area from the ski slopes where I'd snow ski'd as a teenager many times. No snow on the trail right now though, just beautiful green pine trees, aspens, and mountain berry bushes of some kind, along with lots of new spring wildflowers in purples, yellows, and oranges. At the end of the fire access road we took a detour up on to a single file trail, and headed up the mountain where we were met with large pine trees and branches overhanging the trail. Warning the rider behind us, we'd shout out "head!", and when a low branch stuck out, we'd yell out "leg!". The smell of the pungent spring blooms and the fresh new growth on the pine trees was wonderful, the only sound we heard was the crunching of the ground underneath our horse's hooves. It was about 80 degrees and temperatures lowered slightly as we climbed higher and higher on the switchbacks to our planned destination of about 10,000 foot elevation. All of a sudden, one of the gals yelled to watch out, there was a bicyclist coming down the switchbacks toward us. I looked up, and sure enough he was flying down the trail, heading right for us. All four of us yelled out "whoooaahhh, whoooahhh, hey!". Thank goodness he heard us, and slowed down just before reaching the switchback turn to our position. Many of these bicyclists wear headphones and would not have heard us at all. Hearts were racing, tension building amongst us all. He stopped at the turn, dismounted from his bike, and got off the trail to yield to the horses. Whew, that could have been bad. As concerned as I was during that 3 minute encounter, I suddenly realized how calm Sonny was. He just watched the biker as we climbed the corner to pass him, almost as if to say "don't worry mom, I got this". Once again, I was just so proud of this young gelding. Later, at the top of the trail we encountered a small band of wild horses that live in the area. That was where we decided to turn around and head back down the mountain. The two mustangs that we came fairly close to (about 20 yards or less), began taking steps towards us as if they were trying to claim their territory. Sonny became a bit agitated and unsure of these wild cousins. So, we did not hesitate to heed their warning, not knowing if they were stallions or mares. Back down the trail we went at a good working walk clip, occasionally looking behind us to check if they were still there. Yep, they were following us! Let's move ladies! And with that the trotting began. Around curves, over logs (one of which I had to quickly dismount to lead Sonny over, and then quickly remount as fast as I could, all the while my heart racing).After a mile or so, they stopped following us (we think), and we came to a clearing where we could stop and take a break. Good time for some water and a peanut butter sandwich (and of course, Sonny got all the crust).I hugged Sonny again, buried my head in his thick black mane, and thanked him for being such a good boy. 

The last couple of months have been an enormous change in my Sonny. We have put in a lot of training and a lot of miles, and he is slowly but surely becoming that wonderful trail horse we all hope for when we start a young gelding. With each ride his confidence builds, and his calmness increases. A little bit each time. One step at a time. 

 

May 2023

"Unexpected Surprises"

The high mountains of Southern Nevada, about an hour to the Northwest of the famous city of Las Vegas, contain some of the most beautiful country in the lower USA. The area is known as the Spring Mountain Range and Mount Charleston Wilderness. The area hosts miles upon miles of great trails for hiking and horseback riding. This time of year, late spring to early summer, the area is recovering from a winter of snow, rain, and windstorms. The rains and snow melt have cut massive ditches in the loose earth bringing down the mountainside with it a deluge of loose rocks, soil, roots, and downed trees. Many of the previously well-groomed trails become almost impassable after mother nature takes her toll on the mountain.

On the last Tuesday in May this year, a trail riding friend, Mary Sue, and I decided that the snow was mostly gone on one of our favorite trails in the area called Trail Canyon. We had heard from some hiker friends that the trail was badly washed out in some parts. The main trail stretches out around 4-5 miles long up and back, and extends via cutoffs at a high landing to several additional miles of loops to high peaks throughout the wilderness. It's a very popular trail for both hikers and horseback riders. So, we decided we really needed to get up there and check out the damage, see what is passable and what's not, take photos, and report to the forestry service and our Back Country Horsemen of Nevada chapter so that any seriously needed repairs can get scheduled and hopefully done early in the summer. 

We arrived at the trailhead parking in the morning, happy to see another familiar truck and horse trailer already there. Yey, if they made it up the trail and didn't head back, then we should find it clear enough to ride. We saddled up our horses, making sure that they had their fill of cool water to drink as we tacked up. The weather was cool (lower 60s).Being very familiar with this trail, we knew the ascent was around 2000 ft. from the trailhead to our normal stopping point. That's a pretty steep climb and our horses hadn't done that in a few months, so we knew we'd stop often enough to let them catch their breath and give their legs a rest.

We mounted up and left the gravel parking area headed toward the trail head. No more than 50 yards from the start we ran in to our first section of washed-out ground. The trench was only a couple of feet deep, and ran right alongside the trail, leaving us just enough room on the trail to pass. The horses both looked curiously at the trench, but didn't seem concerned or nervous about it at all. Up through the trees and bushes, it was obvious we should have brought our small saws and clippers. The extra snow and rain this year has resulted in more hang over and new growth than we were used to. But, we pushed through careful to duck our heads, and push branches away as needed. Sonny soon figured out that it was easier to tip his head down and to one side or the other using his head and neck to push away the branches as we passed through the thick sections. So smart, and so brave.

At one of the bends just before the steepest part of the climb starts, we ran into a huge washed-out trench. This thing was at least 4 foot deep, and from a foot to 3 feet wide in some spots. We stopped, looked down (even the horses looked) into the big dark trench, we looked around to see if there was an easy way around it…. nope. Well, we thought, if the other riders ahead of us got over it, there must be a way! As Sonny and I strolled alongside the big trench, I noticed a very small section that was only about 2 feet across… although still about 4 foot deep. I felt myself asking my horse, "what'd ya think Son-buns, can we do it?". I turned him toward the trench, mentally preparing myself for a big jump like he's done occasionally over ditches and water, asked him for forward movement by pushing my loose reins forward, rubbing my spur rowels softly on his flanks, and stroking across the crest of his mane with my hand.(I kept hearing my trainers saying, "believe it and it will happen, know that you know, trust your horse, trust yourself".)Sure enough, and without hesitation, Sonny lightly, slowly, and easily crossed the big trench, front feet over it together and then a coordinated roll of his hind quarters just like a smooth canter transition. Wow! We did it Sonny! Mare Sue and her horse, Kodak, followed over the same spot, and off we went up the trail. Even though the trench got smaller and shallower as we ascended up the mountain, there were a few spots that rendered dicey and almost impassable at the actual trail. So, we found clear ways to go around them, pushing through the tree limbs as we worked our way from and back to the trail.

As we continued our way up the mountain, we ran across the other rider coming back down. Great time to stop for a chat and rest. Continuing up the steep trail we had to maneuver over and around big fallen trees, branches, loose ground, rocks and boulders that weren't there before, and a patch of snow here and there. Riding along, and listening to the quiet, the birds, the rustling of squirrels on the ground, and of course the crunch and clip-clopping of our horses' hooves in the dirt, rocks, and over some slate hard ground, I felt like I needed to pinch myself. Just six years old, Sonny was being the best horse he'd ever been. In the quiet, I thought back on the last two years of lots of consistent training, and regular trail rides over various types of terrain. He was being so good! No rushing, no spooking, no refusing… just a great trusting horse.

At our normal stopping location at the 'top', we were surprised to see that two massive pine trees had fallen, literally covering up our little area of sittin' logs. Wowza! One tree looked like it had been split possibly by lightening, and then fell onto the other tree which was completely uprooted. Winds? Heavy snow? The root ball was so huge, I'm guessing 13-15 feet in diameter or so. Riding Sonny up close to the mess left by mother nature, I half expected him to balk, snort, or refuse to get close to it. But, I was surprised and pleased that he went right up to the root ball and the split tree, just as I asked. He smelled it all, touched it with his lips, and then just stood there waiting for me to give him his next instruction. Several hikers arrived at the flat area, many of which wanted to pet the horses and take their pictures with them. Sonny and Kodak even got a couple slices of apple from one hiker.

Soon it was time to head back down the mountain. Sonny led off, carefully placing his feet every step he took, but maintaining a good solid cadence. We stopped a few times on the way down for the horses to rest. I feel like it's just as hard work for them going down a steep grade as it is going up. At the trailers, I dismounted, loosened my cinch, and thanked Sonny with a hug for an absolutely perfect ride (he had done everything I asked of him and did it correctly).I gave him a good rub and scratch on his favorite spot just below his whither, and tied him to the trailer in reach of his full water bucket. I pulled the saddle and pad off and… OMG!...He hadn't even broken a sweat! I was so surprised. With some happy tears my eyes, and a good (no, great) feeling in my heart, I hugged Sonny around the neck once again. I felt his soft sleek coat against my wet cheek and on my neck, and noticed that he wasn't breathing hard at all. I looked at his face realizing that he was actually smiling. He loves this stuff! The fresh clean mountain air, good friends to ride with, beautiful views, a challenging and fun trail, and a good buddy and leader to ride on his back giving him soft guidance and just letting him be the super horse he truly is. This was the best ride we'd ever had, and the greatness was so unexpected. All those rides ("wet blankets" as they say), countless training sessions, clinics, practice, and ground work… all the hard work has really paid off. I was (and am) so proud of Sihr Brigadier Mac V (Sonny). Onward to more learning, more trails, and more accomplishments!