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.

I don't want your damn umbrella...

 

So, this picture has made it's rounds again. I die a little inside for women everywhere whenever I see this.

 

I guess I should cook and clean and have babies for my man while he works outside everyday and provides for my weak mind and body. I wonder what it would be like to have soft hands.

 

I've tried a million ways to interpret this differently but I just can't change my opinion. This is crap. It's a slap in the face to someone such as myself that has worked so hard, and as an equal, to have everything I want and then be cut down like I will never be in a successful relationship because I don't know where my 'place' is.

 

I know where my 'place' is...

 

It's not under your umbrella and it's not using my umbrella to shelter you. It's getting a bigger umbrella and standing shoulder to shoulder.

 

It's not being submissive and allowing you to single handedly run a household. It's talking about choices and coming to mutual agreements with you. It's compromising.

 

It's not taking care of a house and a life you fund because the man is the financially stable one in a relationship. It's sharing responsibilities and being dependent on one another regardless of our job titles or salaries.

 

It's feeling like I'm important and loved and cared for but it's also knowing that I'm more valuable than what my womb can produce and my ability to bleach your socks.

 

My 'place' is with someone who respects me, not with someone insecure enough to feel the need to lead me.

 

Let's stop sharing this garbage in an attempt to organize the family dynamic to your ideals. I might've put on a long skirt and had the dishes done if I was born 40 years earlier but today I'll kick off my boot the same place you did and we'll warm up some pizza rolls.

 

 

 

I've never been lost...

I've never been lost. I've also never been found. I'm a runner, a reformed drifter. I follow the rules I make for myself. I break the rules I make for myself. The devil can't catch me if he can't keep up with me. Too often I can't keep up with myself.

It was 11:11 and I insisted everyone should make a wish. It's a game I like to play, life is a game. I silently made my wish, it was typical, the same wish shooting stars are getting bored with. I've got my wish memorized, I think if I make it enough times whoever is in charge of granting wishes will allow me my glory out of sympathy. He'll say, "this poor girl is hopeless, let her have that boy." Everyone deserves a fair shot after all.

That boy told me he knew what my wish was. I hadn't said it out loud. I may have eluded to my desire, my eyes might say more than my lips. My face flushed because I knew he had seen through me. Where is this person that grants wishes and why isn't he listening to me? It's remarkably hard to let go of something I've never even touched.

All those songs you make me listen to; the words that tell my story, the words that tell your story. Those thoughts you make me think, the dreams that come when I force myself to sleep. I've changed a little since way back then, when we danced and I didn't want to let you in. I didn't want to let anyone in. Now you have the key, I'm vulnerable in a way I haven't allowed myself to be before. You're wrong for me, but gosh dang, you're so right.

I need you to keep up with me; be someone who can rope a stray because I've strayed for too long. Lead me to a better pasture because I can't survive this drought. See me through my better days because I've weathered too many storms. Find me because for the first time I think I'm lost.

Once Upon a Time...

Today I'm sad for all the 'once-upon-a-time' dreamers who forgot who they really are. They laid down what they wanted and they picked up what they thought they needed.

The girl who found Mr. Right Now and turned him into Mr. Good Enough. They got married because that's what they were suppose to do. An illegitimate child might be the worst thing that could happen in such a small town so they rushed the nuptials. She was happy for the moment. It could've been the hormones. Staying home all day couldn't be that bad but cleaning crayon marks off of the walls is a far cry from her wild ambitions she once clung to so defiantly. The late nights wrinkled her face, the dishes and laundry wrinkled her hands and the weight of losing herself wrinkled her heart.

The boy who had a few too many drinks and didn't get to make a decision when he found out his mistake a few months too late. Her daddy sat him down and he thought for the first time he was a man, and he tried, but he wasn't. Working midnights was a lot harder than running amuck at midnight and it wasn't any more gratifying. His friends didn't waste any time finding new adventures when their old pal hit the end of his chain. Everybody finds their time to settle down, to live a life worth living. That's what they say anyway. He needed to shed it, it was time to grow up, but rushing things never quieted his restless soul.

When asked, they'll reply. "I didn't lose my dreams, they just changed," and then they'll add with a tired smile, "for the better."

They've had a lot of time between sitting at a steel press sometime around last call and praying that the crying will stop long enough to take a bath to come up with appeasing answers to the trivial questions of childless, unwed commoners.

If it's your dream then you should chase it and have pride. Congratulations on your life well spent.

If you've had to change it to fit your circumstances then it's not a dream, its a prison sentence.

Today I'm sad for the 'once-upon-a-time' dreamers.

National Day of the Cowboy

Lazy or fun??

I'm an hour late for the "National Day of the Cowboy," but it only seems fitting that I was at a ranch bronc riding.

I'd like to thank all the cowboys that have let me in. Some of y'all have welcomed me into your inner circle and for that I am forever grateful. I've lived a life so far that is better than any book and wilder than any imagination.

Thanks to all the old cowboys who have shown me the ropes and taught me how to act right; that ever so important cowboy etiquette. Thanks for being patient and explaining yourself more than once and thanks for making me do things on my own.

Thanks to the young cowboys, a little less patient but wise enough to look up to. Thanks for yelling at me when we were in a rush and I didn't know which way to go; you gave me a hole to fill and it made me feel important. Thanks for cussing me when I missed a yearling that we really needed to catch; you were kind enough to give me a chance. Sometimes I got upset but I sure learned fast when I was threatened with a chapping, y'all never followed through but I always took it to heart.

Thanks to the cowboys with good reputations who talked their bosses into letting me help. I don't know what kind of strings you had to pull but I will always remember cashing my first check for day work. That is the most honest $100 I've ever made. Thanks for trotting through all of your country with me and telling me the names of every pasture; I've tried to remember every one.

Thanks to the cowboys who let me shoe your horses, if I can't be horseback with you I'm thankful I get to help you do your job. Thanks for trusting me with your livelihood and thanks for paying me your hard earned money.

Thanks to the cowboys who didn't laugh at me when I wanted to do cowboy stuff but who helped me instead.

Thanks especially to the cowboys who call me a cowboy, there is no bigger compliment.