She's not for sale...



 

I'm thinking about selling Aces Tootsie Bar (Tootsie.) She is in foal to The Money Depot for a 2017 colt.

 

She is crippled due to minor navicular. There may also be some extensive inflammation or minor tears in her deep digital flexor tendon as well since she does not respond favorably to shoeing alone and her radiographs do not show any pronounced navicular changes. I have not opted for an MRI at this time. She is too big and bold and regal and the epitome of everything we imagine we'd like ourselves to be to reduce her to prescriptions and x-rays and shaving her legs to stick needles in them.

 

She will stay lame without expensive and thorough maintenance and even then her performance career will be short albeit sweet. If I sell her it will be as a broodmare only. It would be your choice to do any vet work as you see fit.

 

She was the reserve world champion in the barrel racing at APHA worlds. She was a 1D horse against any competition, in any ground conditions, in any pen. She'll run in the 1D bareback and with a halter; ask me how I know.

 

 

 I've shown hunt seat on her. She has a frame to die for and she travels with the collection and extension of a high level dressage horse. She's not a fan of jumping, jumping flower pots beneath fancy painted oxers is pointless in her book but it's okay because you can get away with a lot when you're pretty.

Most recently she was my head horse. I didn't really know what I was doing but Tootsie has always been smarter than me. They don't breed roping cattle to run fast enough for this horse. If you miss it's not because your rope was too short.

She was my first pick ranch horse when I needed to doctor yearlings, drag calves or rope bulls. She would drag a mama cow into a trailer like you didn't have anything tied on. All with only a war bridle. I've carried weak calves on her and she didn't so much as prick an ear when they came alive bawling and kicking her neck. She would run through cactus and mesquites, she has swam rivers and slid down deep draws. She could pick her way through the rocky outcroppings on the edge of deep plowed wheat fields. She was the most sure footed horse I have ever ridden. And tough. She wouldn't even flinch while I picked thorns out of her legs and sharp flint rock out of her hooves.

She's gentle enough for your grandmother and your infant child. At the same time. She has never spooked at anything and she's seen more than most. She doesn't do anything you don't ask her to do or that she doesn't already know she needs to do.

If you're an idiot she'll make you look good and if you think you look good she'll remind you that she's better.

She had a horse colt in 2015. It was her first one. I wanted to help her but she has never needed anyone to get a job done. She found herself a spot while I was sleeping, brought a little roan monster in the world, encouraged him to nurse then whooped off five mean old geldings until I could drag that spindle legged pile of hair and hooves into a separate pen. She moseyed a few strides behind us, watched us struggled and she smiled.

 

I'm not much of a horse trainer or a cowboy but she's put the bluff on a few old timers for me. Saved me from having to brag on myself.

 

I've never actually taught her anything about being a good horse. She just knew. And I guess that was her way of teaching me everything I needed to know about a good horse.

 

 

He Doesn't Call Himself 'Cowboy'...

 

I have a friend who is a cowboy. I know he's a cowboy because he never told me; he just is. I've never heard him tell a story about how he's punchy; he just is. He's not a rodeo hand and he doesn't tote his half top trailer to town to have dinner at the café. As a matter of fact, he lives too far from town for anyone to notice him. But I notice him.

I think he gets lonely. It's in the job description. He never said he was but he knew that it has been exactly seven months since he had a visitor. New Mexico is pretty but the yuccas and sage and mesas and antelope aren't a suitable substitute for an old friend and old stories and staying up late.

My friend isn't even 21 yet but I won't say he has never been drunk in a bar. That cowboy charm has encouraged more than one bartender to slide a bottle of keystone across the bar top. I know, I've been there. He has seen more than most but I assume he has traveled less than many. There's more to see off an old two track, on the back of a bronc and beside a cooking fire than common folks care to know.

He patched up his felt hat with a few cross stitches across the crown. I imagine it fits too well to replace and a new one is a weeks worth of wages. It's the hat he wore to brand spring calves, to wean the same ones last fall, to doctor the sick's on wheat over the winter months and to ship them when they were straight. It's the same hat he took off to shake a woman's outstretched hand, the same hat he wore to dance with her after a few drinks to loosen up and the same hat he took off and sat on the kitchen table when she invited him into her house.

My friend sends me pictures of the country he rides across. You can see to the end of the earth, or maybe you can see just as far as what matters. The snow that collects in the low spots between the cactus and the flint rock, the sky turned red from the wind over the flat land, the hills and rock outcroppings more beautiful than any northwestern mountains I've ever seen. All the pictures I receive have the tips of a horses ears in them and maybe that's why they're better than any museum painting or professional photograph in a magazine, because a cowboy took them.

He's multitalented. He can weld, he can train horses, he can shoe horses, he has an endless supply of work ethic. But I don't think he'll ever not be a cowboy. When you're born with it, you're stuck. Like the color of your skin, the sound of your voice and your mannerisms. He didn't choose this and I don't think he'll choose to quit. He'll never stop carrying his bedroll in the back of his pickup, trading colts at a Saturday night beer drinking and enjoying his coffee black.

But when you're a cowboy, a real one, it's pretty obvious that you're a genuine type of character. And you, my friend, will always have a friend in me.

To my sisters...

The only picture I have of the three of us :)

Say "no" more than you say "yes." You don't need one more beer. You don't even like him that much. You have nothing to prove. Go home before you get kicked out. It's ok if nobody remembers your name.

Find something you like. Then work for it. Study without being told. Spend Saturday nights and Sunday mornings with your passion. Believe it or not; friends can wait, family can wait, everything can wait because time invested in yourself is infinitively more valuable than time invested in someone else. The people who care about you know this and respect it.

Quit. Be a quitter. You don't like tennis? Quit playing. Marine biology was a terrible major? Quit school. Your best friend is being a dick. Quit her. There will never be a valid reason why 'sticking it out' is better than finding something else that actually makes you happy. Quit everything! You're worthless if you half-ass your way through life.

Work everywhere. The gas station. Fast food. On a farm. Be a construction worker! Make yourself uncomfortable, it's not forever, it's for a paycheck and you'll thank me later for having a completely strange life experience. It's ok to leave before you get cozy but don't let the opportunity pass you by. NEVER let an opportunity pass and ALWAYS give your two weeks.

Show humility. Your parents may think you're a genius. You may think you're a genius. Hell, you may just be a genius! But the reality is, the world perceives you as a moron. Let them think you're a moron and prove them wrong with your actions. You will never be able to talk yourself onto a pedestal so let the judges in your life carry you to the throne. And once you sit on the red velvet do not look down your nose and do not adopt an attitude. You got to the top by practicing humility and you stay there by showing poise.

Love a boy. And then hate him when it's over. Put everything you have into a relationship; at first it'll be every bit of love and loyalty and passion that you can muster then it'll be anger and pain and distrust. Love so hard that you lose your appetite, food and water is secondary to the way you feel. Then cry until your eyes won't make tears anymore. Cry until you think you may die. But guess what? You won't.

Don't give in. You move out in a fury? Don't come crawling back. You break up with the cheating prick? Don't drunk dial him. You stand up to your chauvinistic boss and he fires you? Don't apologize. This is strength of character.

Have a 'type.' Every sex starved boy who shows you attention is not your type. Determine what you deem is acceptable (physically, mentally and emotionally) and stick to your guns. Make a list! Write it down and keep it in your wallet! If it's concrete then you can't make excuses for yourself later. If a red flag even catches the faintest breeze, back down. He's cute but he's dumb. He's smart but he doesn't listen to you. He's emotional but he's an ogre. Don't worry, someone will want the poor fool, it doesn't have to be you.  

Love yourself. So cliché but here's a twist; don't love yourself too much. You have to change to improve. You have to love yourself to succeed. Find common ground. You know you have the potential to be the perfect human being, so work towards it. Don't forget where you came from but always move faster in drive than you do in reverse. You're perfect today and you're perfect in 20 years but you will most definitely not be the same person. You are the only one who has the final say as to whether or not you are acceptable, and you know what? You are. But you can be better. Always.

Sister...

I love you.