Horse Bling

New Mexico Rough Rider Path

2008-10-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

The New Mexico trip was a surprise for me. I had not planned on going but somehow Sheila tricked me into going and then threw in my daughter Ashlea as a bonus. Anyway - we packed up the trailer - sounds easy but when Sheila is involved "packing up the trailer" is no easy task .... it is quite the ordeal and involves all kinds of lists, equipment and supplies - probably a good thing though, the last trip to New Mexico when I was involved with the packing Ashlea ended up having to go up the most difficult trail without stirrups and in a dressage saddle! Seems I forgot to include stirrups with her saddle ... uh oh! Good thing she takes these kind of "situations" with a grain of salt and instead of having a complete meltdown and staying behind (which is what I would have done if I had found myself with no stirrups in the Mountains) - she just laughed, hopped up on her trusty horse Dash and headed out as if riding in the Mountains with no stirrups was no big deal! I wasn't there for that trip but I would have loved to see everyone all geared up with their western saddles and saddle bags and my little brown eyed girl on her slippery dressage saddle with her legs dangling heading up the steepest mountain laughing all the way!

OK - back to the 2008 New Mexico trip ..... where was I? Oh yes, packing the trailer which like I said took literally days! Finally we were off with both our horses and two kiddos and ALOT of stuff! We took turns driving through the Texas flat lands and spent the night in Lubbock and then headed for the Mountains. Somehow when we got to the base of the huge Mountain (and I mean huge as in steep and rocky and windey and scary)- I was asked to drive in the front of the group. WHAT? Me ..... lead the entire convoy of experienced trailer drivers up the ridiculously treacherous narrow terrifying road? Me, who has trailered maybe a total of 20 times (including to the vet and back)? Yep, that would be me and I did it. I made it up with my precious cargo in tow and leading the pack. Whoo Hoo - mark that one up for my quest to be an experienced horse person.

We set up our tents strategically facing the woods so we could see the bears coming. Of course I also brought my earplugs so even if they did show up, snug inside my tent I would have never heard them coming. I was relying on Sheila and Katy and my roomie Ashlea to alert me. After all, I had brought them up the Mountain so they owed me at least that!

The first morning we saddled up our Mounts and headed up the first trail. We got about 5 minutes into the ride when we discovered there were two paths - that of the chicken and the path of the rough rider. As you can read in Sheila's blog - she and her adorable daughter chose the chicken path (her words ... not mine) and Ashlea and I chose the other. We scrambled up the Mountain - later we found another trail that would have been so much easier ... sure we could have taken the easy way but we were rough riders and we wanted our path to be rough!

I was riding a Peruvian Paso Fino named Tina. She had just been through some traumatic thing where she had been sold to some evil people who treated her poorly and then by some twist of fate ended up back with Sue and then with me as her rider in the beautiful New Mexico Mountains. Tina was great except for the small little habit of jumping over every body of water - and I mean EVERY body of water, no matter how small or large (did I mention that I am not trained in jumping in any way shape or form). Tina didn't seem to care if the stream was four feet or four inches, she jumped them all. So there we were with all the breath taking views and beautiful Mountain trees meandering down the trails that were crissed and crossed and dotted with what seemed like a gazillion streams (or to Tina ... jumps). That's right people - me, the non-jumper that I am jumped my way across the Mountains of New Mexico. Chalk that up as another accomplishment on my quest to become an experienced horse person. OK - I'll admit, I use the word "jump" loosely - Tina jumped, I held on. Bottom line is that we made it across and I never came off. So there ........I jumped!

Second day we started saddling our horses and Tina had apparently had a good night sleep and was frisky as all get out - I would go as far as to say she was Coo Coo. My definition of Coo Coo is twisting and pawing and jumping around. So .. I'm thinking - do I really want to try to ride her acting all Coo Coo up the Mountain and jump the streams and puddles and damp spots? Easy answer ....Nope - so Sue came to my rescue with some Ace and she calmed right down. In fact she calmed so down that about halfway up the first Mountain she gave up and was barely making it. I seriously thought she was going to drop dead right there on the trail so I got off and walked - she didn't get any better but the trail was narrow and we couldn't turn around so I literally dragged her up to a spot where it was wide enough to turn back. We stopped every few feet to allow her to catch her breath (note to self: Tina does not need Ace .... ever!). We made it back down and ended up spending the day in the camp. Not my best day - I'm not going to lie - I was pretty bored!

The third day we headed out choosing a different path and quickly discovered that this path was challenging .....really challenging. This way was going to separate the real rough riders from the pseudo rough riders. OK, I'll admit it - I was scared about ten minutes in. I'm blaming it on Antonio though who was tossing his head and trotting in place the entire time. Antonio, who is a kids horse and used for kid lessons. Not that I was scared of him - like I said, he is a kids horse ....but he was just exhausting me with his head tossing and jigging. Ashlea and Sue said that I have a "hot seat" - they are two of the best riders I know so I guess I'll believe them. Unfortunately, I guess until I can do something about my "hot seat", my quest to be an experienced rider is not possible. Having a hot seat and a horse who is tossing his head combined with narrow trails that go straight down are not a good combination (did I mention that I was having a BLAST ..... no really, I was having the best time ever!). Now back to the actual trail. It was challenging almost from the beginning and then we came to "the bridge". This was the sort of obstacle that very experienced trail horses would find difficult - it was over water and wooden and narrow. YIKES! After our first initial reaction of "Are you kidding me ... we have to cross THAT?" - Sue rallied the troup's and we agreed that if everyone could get across, we would go on. After all we were real rough riders ...... right? So there we went, one by one leading our horses across the bridge. My little head tosser went right across and I was glad to be off for a minute and even more glad to arrive safely on the other side. We all made it across so headed on our way. And then we came to the scary part. I didn't realize it was scary until we were a few feet in and I looked down ..... way down. Good thing I was on a horse because had I been on foot, I would have frozen and clung to the side until a helicopter rescue crew plucked me off the mountain. Antonio picked his way along the trail carefully stepping over rocks and overhanging foliage. I wanted him to concentrate on his task but he didn't seem too worried as he was tossing his head the entire time. I just knew that with one of his tosses, we would both plunge down the mountain so I was ready to jump off at any minute. It made for a nerve wracking time. I have no idea how long we were on that section of the trail but it seemed like hours. When we arrived at the other end of "the trail", I wanted to kiss the ground but thought I would risk my position as a real rough rider so decided against it.

The next few hours were filled with beautiful breath taking scenery and amazing views. At one point we came across a tree that was leaning against the trail. This tree ended up being filled with bees that swarmed us and our horses. This would make the third time that I have been attacked by bees while riding. Once by killer bees that left me with over 100 stings to my head and an injured knee the day before the cattle drive trip and the second on the cattle drive trip. What the heck ...... could this have anything to do with a hot seat? We all survived the bees and continued on our way.

During our ride, we ran into a group of boy scouts and met up with a hiker from Santa Fe named Dave Golden and a few of his friends who we would continue to cross paths with as we made our way through the Mountain. This turned out to be a God send as we found that we were lost due to a trail being closed which forced us to take another .... you get the picture. Our 4-5 hour trail ride was quickly turning into 6, 7, 8 ... And then there he was - Dave Golden and his group of happy hikers coming up over the hill with the light shining around them and I'm pretty sure there was a choir of angels singing and they had a map and walkie talkies and then he said it.... "you have to go back the way you came". The angels stopped singing and the light became dark and he held up his evil map and pointed to it ... "the trail" followed by "the bridge" and he said it again ... "you have to go back - you have to go that way" and his long crooked finger pointed to the trail that we had just survived. Then he smiled and said "take my really really really expensive walkie talkie so you can call if you get lost or need help" and the light came back up (not as bright) and a small tiny angel kind of sang a little and we carved his number on a stick (no one had a pen and the boy scouts were no where to be found) and we silently headed back to "the trail".

Being the smart cookie that I am, I decided to trade horses with my daughter Ashlea (remember her - she rode the difficult trail without stirrups) - I thought she could handle the head tossing thing better than I could. My arms were tired and I just couldn't face going back on the narrow trail with the constant picture of plunging down. I got back on Tina who had on my slippery dressage saddle but kept her head steady and walked instead of trotted. She was calm and steady between two horses - one foot in front of the other. The perfect mount for me on that narrow scary trail. Of course Antonio didn't toss his head once with Ashlea - now it is confirmed, I definitely had a hot seat! After we made it through "the trail", we were all happy and pumped up and ready for "the bridge" and camp. Suddenly I had a great idea - I could take pictures of this momentus event. I would get off my horse and take pictures as everyone crossed. Wow - I'm brilliant! I was second behind Sue so I got off and tied Tina to a tree a little way from the bridge where I would have a good view of the crossings. I got my very nice Nikon camera ready and signaled for Sue to go across. Now remember, my position on the trail was right behind Sue so Tina felt that she was being left behind immediately and began to get nervous. She swung around and hit me and my camera trying to get a view of where the horse that she was supposed to be following was going. So much for a picture of Sue - oh well, I thought to myself I have 7 more pictures to take. One by one everyone crossed the bridge and with each horse Tina became more and more freaked out. She called out to them and swung around trying to see where they were going and eventually pulled herself loose so there I was trying to hold her with one hand and take pictures with my really really nice but what I realized now was really really heavy Nikon. Each horse would clip clop across and then make a final leap off the end of the bridge to the other side and then disappear down the trail. Suddenly my brilliant photo op seemed ridiculously stupid .... what was I thinking? The bridge started looking more and more dangerous as I watched each nervous rider and horse approach and quickly dash across with the horses shaking and their riders letting out a "whoop" as they landed safely on the other side - relieved to have made it. I was feeling more and more like Tina and wanted to call out to them - we were both two mares getting left behind and wondering how we were going to make it. Both insecure about our abilities. I know I had already determined that Tina couldn't have Ace but if I had some, I would have split it with her!

When everyone had gone across and Tina and I were both about as worked up as you could get (I'm not sure who was shaking more ... me or her), Kristy was waiting on the other end. I nervously told her that I was going to just secure Tina's reins and let her go across alone and Kristy in her ever calm rational voice said that would be OK. At the last minute though I felt that Tina and I were in this together and decided to walk her across .... she and I together, a team of two. Tina apparently didn't feel the same way - she had the "every man for himself" philosophy and when we stepped up on the wooden bridge, she bolted dragging me with her to the other side. Besides the part when she flung me against a big rock (remember I had my really really big and really really heavy camera around my neck), we made it to the other side in one piece. I was alone in my relief though because Tina was still feeling abandoned and I apparently was not a comfort to her (remember, I have a hot seat which does not make a nervous horse feel comfortable).

Kristy tells me to get on quick - don't think, just 1 2 3 GET ON! I told her that I was shaking too bad - you know that kind of shaking when you have no control over your knees. Kristy in her calm voice said "I know, but you have to do it now". Her voice was hypnotic and I somehow controlled my shaking enough to jump on. 1 2 3 ... GO! The second I hit the saddle Tina took off looking to take back her place in the line. Did I mention that it was a dressage saddle and not a western saddle with the horn and other safety features attached that make you feel secure? Being the almost experienced rider that I pretend to be, I knew that when a horse is running away you pull hard on one rein - I was proud of myself that I chose the mountain side rein to turn her into the mountain. Quick thinking cowgirl! Tina in her terror reacted to my quick thinking by quickly turning into and up the side of the mountain. Now I don't know about you all but up the side of the mountain is not a good place to be because the other side is down. In this case it was down to the trail and then the other side of the trail was down to the water (remember the bridge ... it was there for a reason). I remember being told that if you have to get off, get off on the mountain side so I did. I was in a precarious position right against the mountain so it was easy to just put my foot down and step off. There, I did it - I followed the rough rider rules. Tina apparently didn't attend the rough rider meetings and took the opportunity to continue up the mountain so now I found myself below her. Below her was not good - it was a definite no no in the rough rider manual. I remember vividly seeing Tina's belly and four hoofs and thinking Uh Oh and then I just kind of pushed myself down and away. As I was going down, I heard her coming down after me - hooves flailing trying to get herself upright. We both hit the trail - she got her footing and took off and I went over the other side. Somehow I grabbed a rock and pulled myself back up the side. I wanted to throw up - I was sobbing and relieved and overwhelmed and alive. Now, who knows how close I really came to perishing on the mountain - the whole thing took probably less than a few minutes. My hand was bleeding and I was bruised and thank goodness at the beginning of the event I had given my camera to Kristy who was still standing there on her trusty calm horse Teddy watching the whole thing unfold.

Ashlea heard the yells and hooves and rocks sliding and saw Tina come running around the corner with no rider and jumped off Antonio. She came running down the trail to see me with tears streaming down my face crawling back up to the trail. "Mommy" - She led me back up the trail where we switched horses again and I got back on Antonio who was no longer tossing his head because Sue had rigged up a martingale (had to say that to make myself look better).

As we rounded the last curve and saw the camp we all let out a collective Rough Rider WHOOP and walked calmly into camp with thoughts of bridges and narrow trails and Dave Golden and walkie talkies and bees and closed trails. We were truly real Rough Riders. It was the best ride I have ever had and I would do it again in a heart beat!

Kate

The Butt Bone is Connected to the Wrist Bone, So Take Your Own Fireman: More Adventures From a Neophyte Trail Rider

2008-10-01T13:01:00.000-07:00

Having posted my Ellie, on “Dream Horse” after the June riding trip to heaven, hell and back in New Mexico, I proceeded to get the help I needed for my head and that of my horse. The posting was a call to action to get over my equine challenges and keep my horse, or give her over to a better handler. Remember, I take “the path of the chicken” when the horse going gets too tough with my seven year old tough-head of a Quarab. I’m not game for rearing and spinning on trails. With coaching from my trusty riding community (and you know who you all are), Ellie and I embarked on a three month bootcamp to sync and grow at this three year point in our partnership or to part ways.

We rode some intermediate Texas Hill Country trails – up and down canyons. We did our ground work. I expected more from her and did not put up with evasive behavior. Ellie liked all this. Infact, she was a calmer horse for the harder work. Riding off her familiar territory, to test her willingness to listen to me rather than act out fear and take the lead over me. So far, so good.

We kept building, and our three months of work culminated in a test ride at Perdenales State Park with a trusted friend, Marcia K, and her horse, Honey. This would be a day long expedition and the make or break watershed event. Ellie loaded within ten minutes, in a new trailer. She did not beat up Honey. She remained calm yet focused while being tacked-up and saddled at the state park. We walked, trotted, and did trail challenges for four hours. She even drank strange water, and when Honey signaled to her to “back off, you’re covering my Bling,” Ellie did indeed back off rather than bite her butt. Yes, Honey rides with Horse Bling and seems to enjoy showing it off. That day was the best day of riding I have had in my entire life. I basked in this delight for two days. I had actually begun to feel exhilarated after a ride rather than relieved that I had survived without injury.

Trail riding is Ellie’s joy; her “thing.” She may never be a dressage or show horse, but she can haul up and down trails, picking her way sure-footedly. With a calm and confident rider, she remains calm and confident, for the most part.

Three days after this personal triumph, we were riding our usual trails with friends. I tend to ride with a loose cinch or girth, but I learned an unexpected lesson that day: tighten your cinch or girth. Ellie jumped down a boulder and got up her momentum and speed. I was about to yell, “yee haw,” as the wind rushed through my hair and I felt as if I were flying. Then I felt her saddle slip completely sideways. I can ride centered, when the saddle is on the horse’s back. I cannot do this when the saddle is on the side of a horse. No “butt dance” will jig that saddle back on, especially with speed and angles added in to the mix.

I did what I had been trained to do: I rolled on my butt cheek! My right butt cheek to be exact. Turns out, I must have done some other stunts, as my wrist hurt. Turns out I broke it. Get this, an EMS-trained fireman was riding with us that day. Six foot four, athletic and handsome. Let me repeat that all-important fact: Six foot four, athletic and handsome. This is the second time that Rich, the burly fireman, has talked me through my really irritating habit of nearly passing out on a hard fall. I know that I have fallen, but my body has its own peculiar over-dramatic reaction. How can I pay attention to the handsome fireman when I have my head between my knees and am clenching to avoid barfing on his jeans? In Britain, we have a horse belief that seven falls turns you into a real rider. I am just two falls off that graduation level, and I hope that Rich is there when I graduate. In the meantime, find yourself a fireman to ride with, or an orthopedic surgeon. Both professions draw athletic handsome guys.

The Horse Tip to Heave, Hell and Back: Part II Horse Communities Strengthen Usr

2008-07-27T15:11:00.000-07:00

The Horse Trip to Heaven, Hell and Back: Part II - Horse Communities Strengthen Us

Riders have strong communities and bonds. They need it too, since unexpected events and injuries to horse and human alike require help from others. Whether the help you need is to find the right spot on a horse's neck to inject medication without nicking an artery, or an empathetic helpful hand to haul yourself up off the ground and get back on the horse you've just fallen off.

Last month we shared part of our story about our June riding trip to New Mexico, "The Horse Trip to Heaven, Hell and Back." Many of you wrote to, talked with, or e-mailed us to tell us how much you laughed and were itching to read more. Several asked what “monkey nuts” were. It’s peanuts in their shells. Being British and having lived in Texas for over 17 years, I can’t tell if I am speaking Texas English or English English any more.

To catch us all up to the same part in the story, I learned many lessons quickly on our riding trip:

Lesson 1: Carry your own supply of Rescue Remedy, or some other calming agent, at all times. You will undoubtedly need it.

Lesson 2: Don't take the lead when your leaders don't want to under the pretence that their trailers are too long.

Lesson 3: Take monkey nuts on any mountain trip, no matter how good the driver, or you might be tempted to crunch on their hands to ease nervous tension.

Lesson 4: When a riding trip starts in this way, it is a sign of more to come.

Lesson 5: Pitch your tent near chipmunk holes as they serve as ready-made port-a-potties. According to the Forestry Commission notices, when going to the restroom in the wilderness, first dig a hole and then cover it.

Lesson 6: A mule call sounds like a grizzly bear.

Lesson 7: Don't ride near the leader, as you cannot chicken-out.

Lesson 8: Don't go on a mountain riding trip when you do not like mountains, except to look at them. You need to be a "Tough Rider" to do that, not just a "Rough Rider."

While The Tough Riders roamed the mountains, my daughter and I, having taken “The Path of the Chicken,” roamed the campsite. I attempted to make my horse, Ellie, do some work after her big, rearing refusal on a steep incline. I decided to ride her bareback.

Being five foot one inch and a quarter tall, and not athletic, I perform a “mounting dance” every time I have to get on my 15 hand horse on a trail. My patient riding friends have learned that if I get off they are going to have to wait 30 minutes while I find the perfect spot, build my stable rock pile, and proceed to putz around.

So, if you’re wondering how I would manage to get on Ellie bareback on a flat area without my two mounting blocks piled on top of each other, let me share my secret. Let me pre-curse this secret with stating the blindingly obvious: everything was more difficult on that trip to heaven, hell and back. It took 30 minutes and involved a lot of evasion by my horse, as well as biting, and spinning. I had to out-think and out-maneuver my equine “pain in the posterior.” Not being the analytical, engineering type, it took me thirty minutes to find a solution, whilst campers watched me bemusedly. I resorted to climbing on a picnic table while pinning Ellie between a BBQ pit and the picnic table.

Lesson 9: If you’re short and not athletic, get a pony.

In order to recover from the stresses of the morning, I decided to read my book while taking in the stunning landscape of The Santa Fe National Forest. Having had a cup of coffee that day as I brought my French press and good coffee with me, I was suffering from caffeine-induced ADD, worsened by the altitude of 8,000 feet. This triggered my fidgety inability to concentrate, and instead of progressing through my book, I watched other horse riding campers. Maybe I would learn a thing or two.

There was the man with his mules, who came up to the site for a three month period to take people on packing excursions into the million plus acres of wild forest. He had set up a temporary electric fence, which seemed to work for his herd of working mules.

There were the cowboys hauling 10 to 14 horses at a time in their trailers with ease, quickly unloading them and hobbling them in grassy areas while they set up camp. With their quick back and forth, their efficient appraisal of how they would set up camp given that there were no more camping spaces left, and their well-behaved horses (unlike mine) critical thoughts crossed my mind about what I was observing.

I whiled away day one of riding by watching other riders, and I started to relax. Two of our Rough Riders joined us early in the evening on that first day of riding, having started their journey later than the rest of us. Dena’s horse, Whitley, was colicking after having refused to drink on the way, and having become dehydrated. Each Rough Rider took Whitley for a “colic-relieving” walk. One hour passed, and then another. Still, Whitley was not recovering and was declining further. We began to worry more. This colic was not going to be walked out.

Darkness had settled in, and the nearest vet was probably a two hour drive away, down a treacherous mountain road. To get to a working phone would take 30 minutes. The options were limited at the top of the mountain, at the end of the trail. We were literally stuck between a rock and a hard place: do what we could there or make the hair-raising drive to a vet who may not be there late at night anyway.

We found the park ranger, and he confirmed that the possibilities of getting timely help were slim. He did, however, remember that a vet just happened to be camping further up the mountain and that he might have some ideas. Immediately, two Rough Riders volunteered to find the vet on the other campsite. Quizzing everyone in every tent, they found the vet. Pretty miraculous. The vet was pessimistic and without his medical kit, so told the Rough Riders to do what they could, and declined to help given the low odds of success.

What transpired was the best of horse communities coming together. Five minutes after his sobering message, the vet came down to our camp. He assessed the situation, knew that we had one of those one percent cases of severe colic, but decided to do all that he could to help Whitley.

The cowboys, upon whom I had passed judgment, rolled up their sleeves, and in the dark, cold night, created an emergency room in the middle of a grassy knoll. Circling Whitley, the vet asked the cowboys to hold him down so that he could start the treatment process. The Rough Riders created another circle, holding flashlights on the horse, running for whatever the vet needed.

“We need a narrow hose so that we can get oil down him to try to dislodge the obstruction. We need oil,” shouted the vet.

“I have a narrow hose,” replied Laurie and she ran to her trailer.

“We have vegetable oil,” shouted another cowboy.

The cowboys held Whitley and the hose, while the vet administered the treatment. We waited to see if there was an improvement.

“We need more Banamine and Ace. Who has some?” urged the vet. The lead cowboy, in charge of their medical supplies, handed over their entire supply of meds. intended to get them through their long packing trip into the wilderness. As the hours ticked on, their whole supply was used to give Whitley some relief.

“O.k, onto the next phase here,” said the vet. “Has anyone got a large bag? We need to rig up a drip as Whitley is so dehydrated.” Silence. Thinking to problem solve.

“I have a solar shower,” piped up Donna, and ran down the slope to retrieve it.

We watched, with mixed emotions of worry and admiration, and realized that we actually had a lot of useful items amongst our camping supplies – hoses, cutters, more hoses, oil, bags.

Setting up the drip in the dark was difficult, the cowboys acting to restrain Whitley, without proper medicines to fully anaesthetize him into stillness. The cowboys were getting tired, but they did not stop, complain or ask us to hold down the horse.

The vet, clearly instructed the cowboys what he needed them to do, and willingly, they followed his lead. This was true teamwork in action. Holding up the two gallon bag of glucose liquid at different heights to allow the liquid to find its natural path to drip down into Whitley. Adjusting the shunts every time Whitley heaved up and pulled them out. The cowboys and vet worked for strangers, aching, getting cold, and putting their well-being at risk as the horse, put up the fight for his life, and found the will to repeatedly stand up. Each time Whitley jumped up, the vet asked “Is everyone alright? You sure? O.k. good. Stay away from his feet, as he will jump up again. Everyone ready? Let’s go…”

At one point, a cowboy took off his shirt, when it must have been a chilly 50 degrees out, to put under Whitley’s face so that it would not get too scraped up. A Rough Rider went to find her jacket to provide the cowboy warmth. It was gratefully received .

Seven o’clock ticked by. Eight o’ clock, nine o’ clock, ten, eleven, twelve. The vet and cowboys worked. They did not stop to drink when they, too, were dehydrating at altitude. The Rough Riders acted as runners. We all wanted to sleep, and our leg muscles ached from running up and down hill for hours, but we dare not leave. We had to see this through to the end. “I know you are all praying,” said the vet. He was right. Even my young daughter was praying.

Everything that was humanly possible was done for Whitley, up at the top of his mountain emergency room. He looked like he was getting a bit better. 12.15 a.m., and the final step of getting tens of gallons of water into Whitley’s system, was completed. The vet and his cowboys could do no more. It was now up to Whitley.

Dena, in shock, was instructed to sit up with her beloved horse through the night. We all retired, saying very little.

The day started with our horses playing out their nervousness or inexperience in the mountains, and ended with total strangers coming together in community to help the animal that united them all – the noble horse – so strong yet so fragile.

Lesson 10: People are not always what they seem. Even the toughest cowboy will help. As wise people always remind you, “do not judge.”

Lesson 11: With lateral thinking, you can find the resources to get you through intense medical challenges, even at the top of a mountain, in the dead of night.

I did not sleep, worrying for Dena, yet not wanting to get up and sit with her incase I invaded her private time with Whitley.

In the wee hours of the morning, around 4.00 a.m., I was lying awake and heard Dena scream, “Whitley, no!” I dared not move, but I relaxed a little hoping that Whitley had stood up. I drifted into sleep, and at 4.30 a.m. heard hooves and snorting right outside my tent. A horse had come up to our tent. A horse was loose. Perhaps it was Whitley who had sneaked away to eat grass and Dena had fallen asleep.

It was cold. Really cold. I listened intently to check what I was hearing. Indeed, a horse had got loose. What else was going to happen on this trip to heaven, hell and back? I shouted to Ashley and Kate, sleeping within three feet of our tent, as I put on my shoes to go out. Ashley and Kate did not reply, as it turned out, because they had ear plugs in. Fat lot of help they were!

I stood in the field lit by a full moon, and saw not one, but two horses out grazing. Whitley was nowhere in sight. “Horses are loose,” I bellowed again to my trusty tent neighbors. No helpful reply was returned.

I guess I am going to have to make sure that these two horses don’t make a run for it into the million acres of lush wilderness, I thought. As I got closer to the horses, I was able to make out who they were – guess who? Yes, Ellie and her Houdini-buddy, Blaze. They had both managed to push open the heavy metal gate of their corral to get to the green meadow.

I walked up to my Ellie, softly and unthreateningly. She was still ticked off at me and galloped off. I wished that Kate and Ashlea, the real horse women, would come and help. Then I realized that the two horses would probably stay near their familiar herd, so I decided to walk up to Blaze and put her up. She complied beautifully, and as I was standing near the gate, Ellie decided to gallop by within two feet of me, with the metal fence behind me, showing me her butt. I am going to give Ellie away tomorrow, was the thought that went through my mind. She is a black demon! (This is the polite version.)

I breathed in the crisp air to think things through, and decided not to move. I opened the corral gate, Ellie came by and walked in. I tied every lead rope I could get my hands on to make sure that the gate could not be opened again, and went back to bed.

I lay awake listening to the horses to make sure that they were all in. The downside of pitching our tents a long way from the other campers in order to get a glorious valley view, was that we were the de facto security guards for the horses. I listened to every whinny and footfall. Within minutes of putting up Ellie and Blaze, the rest of our herd started to get cold and start vying with each other for the hay that would help them stay warm, and for water. Hooves thumped on each other, competitive ugly whinnies, and lots of chasing ensued.

I was beginning to get grouchy as I had not slept for two whole nights now, and I needed to get up to feed 12 or so horses and get them water, in my pink pajamas. If Ellie is being ugly, I am going to give her away today, I determined. Two could play that tough nut game and the war was on between Ellie and me. Then suddenly, I remembered that more serious issues were at hand, and I, a. needed to go to the restroom – in my bright pink suburban pajamas, and b. needed to find out about Whitley.

As I walked across to the restrooms, I shocked a few cowboys in my bright pinks. I didn’t care though. I went down to water the horses, and learned that Whitley had passed. As we got up to make breakfast, The Rough Riders were not saying much: feeling disappointment and sadness for Dena and Whitley. All of our efforts did not pay-off for sweet, good-natured Whitley, who in preparation for the trip, had been the perfect horse on all the exercises and riding we did. He went across bridges, he dragged logs, he conditioned himself going up and down hills – with a willing attitude.

We all spent more time with our horses that morning.

The park ranger came by to check on Whitley, and was sorry to hear that he did not pull through. He told Dena that Whitley had died as close to heaven as he could get at 8,000 feet high in The Santa Fe National Forest. No words can take away a loss, but this insight was indeed true. If every horse, person, or other animal, could die with dignity, in a natural setting rather than in an institutional setting, then maybe death would be a little easier.

The Rough Riders tacked-up to ride. Dena was asleep. I stayed at the campsite as I knew that I did not want to ride. The far distance from medical help and the stark realities of what can happen in an emergency hit me.

Lesson 12: I may not be A Tough Rider, but I could be helpful at a time of loss.

Dena stirred, and with dignity that matched Whitley’s, got on with her day. We were in community and communion, cutting mane and tail to hold onto to a piece of her favorite horse, finding the vet to thank him, finding out how to dispose of Whitley’s body, thanking the cowboys before they trekked off. They refused to let us pay for all the medications we used. It is difficult, with words, to capture the gratitude we felt towards these good people. They did not even let us cook them breakfast.

We drove down the mountain, and after making many calls, Dena found a man who was willing to drive for hours up the mountain to take Whitley away. When Dena asked how much this would cost, so that she could get money for it, the kind man replied, “Whatever you can pay. I will be there at 3.00 today.”

This trip was one miracle after another; and one psychedelic event after another. We finished our chores and headed back up the mountain. The Rough Riders were back, enquiring how Dena was. We circled Whitley, prayed for him and Dena, and my ten year old daughter ran to get her bible. She quickly opened up to a passage that was exactly what we needed to hear at that moment: “Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” Ecclesiastes, 7:7

The kind man came on time to take Whitley away, and with his seven brothers, they carefully and reverently lifted his body onto the trailer.

We prepared a meal, and talked. A man started chatting with The Rough Riders while they were riding that day. Donna asked him to keep an eye out for the lost horse, and proceeded to tell him about the idiot who had turned his horse into bear bate by tying him up, fully tacked, in the forest. “I am the man who tied up my horse,” he retorted. Donna, quick-as -lightning recovered, “Oh no, this was two weeks ago when I came up here.”

At least he was looking for his horse, and had booked locals who knew the forest intimately to search for him too. They parted on good terms. We laughed at Donna’s tale.

The riders planned the ride they would take the next day, our last day of riding. Tex was chosen to be Dena’s horse. She had to ride. Laura decided to take on my Ellie: Ellie would be put through her paces on what turned out to be a long ride.

Fast forwarding to the last evening, when the riders returned at 9.00 p.m.. Kate will tell the story of The Tough Riders’ last ride and their late return to camp, so watch this space.

As we were retiring to sleep, a half-drunk cowgirl shouted at us, “Hey, whose horse is this?” We walk up to look at the horse, knowing that it wasn’t one of ours, but because of the weird events that had transpired on our trip so far, we thought it best to double-check the horse. Maybe Ellie had decided to find a better owner. “It’s got its saddle and bridle on,” she continued.

“It’s not one of ours,” I replied, “but maybe it’s the lost horse.”

“It can’t be,” she uttered.

My daughter piped up, “I think it’s the lost horse.”

“It can’t be,” re-iterated the tipsy cowgirl.

A Rough Rider adamantly proclaimed, “Listen to this little girl. She knows what she’s talking about. Someone get a flashlight, and let’s look to see if this horse has a hole in its back left leg.”

We shone the flashlight and observed the hole in the leg. We were disbelieving. We checked to see if it had hurt its mouth from breaking away from the tree to which it had been tied. Sure enough, it had bloody lips, and was dehydrated. The stumbling cowgirl jubilantly announced, “This is a miracle. This is a miracle. This is the lost horse. Let’s put it up and get some food. This is a miracle.”

The Rough Riders looked at each other shocked. When we first arrived we were disquieted by the story of the horse, lost by his twerp owner. On our last night, the lost horse found safety. The horse used its horse nature to find its way to other horses. The power of nature is a miracle.

Indeed, this was the trip to heaven, hell and back.

To read more about the five hour ride that turned into an 11 hour endurance ride, read Kate’s installment.

Horse Bling Holy Cow

2008-02-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

Holy Cow!

OK ... so Sheila and I were out riding our horses (Dash and Ellie) all relaxed and talking about life (we can figure almost anything out on the trail) when we came around the corner headed toward the spooky shady part when I see it. Big and brown just staring at us with its huge eyes and then Dash sees it and immediately goes into his imitation of a Giraffe Statue at which time I go against the advice of the wise Sheila (who from looking at our profile has obviously read more in the last month than I have in my life time) who once told me when we were facing the inappropriate fox (that's a totally different story) that she had read somewhere that we should make our horses face the perpetrator instead of turning which will put them in "flight mode". So ... I promptly put Dash into "flight mode" and decided that this was not the day to face the Cow. Dash broke his Giraffe Statue stance and was happy to turn around. This made me happy because I had forgotten my crop this particular day and anytime Dash complies immediately when he is in full out Giraffe Statue mode is a good thing. After thinking about it I wonder if Dash would have kept going towards the Cow - I think he might have but it is the "might" that makes me feel OK about not pushing forward. Maybe I will make an intention charm that says "face the cow" or just "Holy Cow". Hey - I'm serious, these intention charms really work, if I had just remembered that I had the "Sit Deep" on my saddle, I would have reached down and touched it like I do when I realize that I am about six inches off the saddle in some sort of jockey position when I am stressed or afraid (which is more often than I would want to admit .... no really - the "sit deep" is going to eventually disappear). I am thankful that Dash had his Mane Bling on - Turquoise with a red feather, I believe that the jingle of the bell and rhythm of the stones tapping against his neck is what kept him calm. My plan is to clip on the "Holy Cow" intention charm and head back out to the trail, take Sheila's advice, face the perpetrator, sit deep and see what happens!

Kate - www.horsebling.net