Choice

I've got a habit of debating with atheists once in a while in the comment sections of online news. I'm curious about what makes people tick, what their core thought processes are. My last exchange got to the core of someone's issue. He (or she) declared they had no choice in what they believed, they just believed it. The line of reasoning was "well I think Santa is cool but I can't just choose to believe in him. That doesn't make him real."

My first question was, well, if you think beliefs are something one just has (I guess something we are born with), then why waste all this time trying to convince me my belief in Jesus is wrong?

The main point is choice. Choice is the beginning of human consciousness. Adam and Eve had choice. That is what made them human. Our beliefs are an aspect of our core values. These shape our behavior and influence our thoughts. Everything we do or say, everything we choose (there's that word again) to pay attention to, has to do with our worldview, based on our core beliefs. We may feel like we were born with these beliefs because we obtained them from our families or our environments before we had much awareness of choice. Yet the choice was there. Every second involves a choice.

When I was a baby, and I got dropped, I made a choice to believe that the world was unsafe and I was unbalanced. That choice affected my behavior for years until I recognized it for what it was; a choice that could be changed. I changed my mind, and that took care of a whole host of fears I had dragged around. We do indeed have a choice about what we believe or do not believe, and this is a liberating thing!

Santa Claus is a nice idea I guess, but that person missed the point. This isn't about Santa. This is about examining the result of your core beliefs. Remember, your beliefs shape your behavior. Do you believe that you are alone? Unloved? The only one who "gets it" in a world full of idiots? Do you believe life is random? Meaningless? Okay. Let's follow those beliefs to their logical conclusion in your behavior then. Dr. Phil may say it best: "so, how's that working out for you?"

 Perhaps the idea of being on this earth isn't who "wins" by being the most intellectual. Perhaps smarts have some other facets, like love, joy, peace, perseverance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. (That's not original by the way, that comes from Galatians 5:22-23). Perhaps intellectualism can be another word for pride, which also is a choice. Pride is incompatible with the fruits of the Spirit mentioned earlier. So perhaps, just for one day, try an experiment. Choose to believe something different. Just try it, just to see. Choose to believe we are not alone, that life is not meaningless or random, and that we aren't fatalistically tied into any one belief system. Choose to believe that every single person you meet is your brother and sister and there is something valuable and precious about them, even when they are mostly unloveable. Choose to believe that you are loved, you are loved unconditionally, eternally, and completely. How would that affect your behavior today?

I have had a request to resume blogging. Apparently some people read this!

I'll just start where I am at, since part of what I preach is to let the past go :-)

Where am I now? Married to that trainer. Born again, certified Jesus girl. Zealous. Full of love. And riding still, of course, that never gets old.

I had another glorious moment of pure joy while riding Fallon again today. I love riding all horses or at least most horses that I get to ride, but for some reason this yellow filly and I just click. I feel so free loping her. She feels it too and boy we have fun. How do I describe this? The peace of pure love. It is every cell of my body and hers breaking apart in to little bubbles like carbonated soda and spilling out all over the atmosphere we are flying through, mixing and hopping all over the place. It is no thoughts, a still mind, the Presence, the everlasting Presence right there, well pleased with us for living out our purpose, for nothing more than the glorious adventure of just being. She loves to run and turn. She'll be a champion some day. It goes to show that performance doesn't have much to do with looks, because despite her beautiful golden color she isn't really all that pretty. Not refined anyway. Well neither am I, but when I'm riding I can feel beautiful.

I pray everyone on earth can find this feeling. This is why we are here. This is why we are alive. We are meant for joy. We were designed for love. There is something beautiful in every single one of us, something uniquely beautiful. Our highest potential is so much higher than we even imagine. All creatures great and small are in this. All creatures great and small are His. What a relief, to rest in Him, to be assured of our purpose and lovingly live it out in every mundane detail every day.

Goose

I worked the Goose filly today. She just hasn't settled down. She is prone to sudden violent explosions in which she tucks her butt and takes off like a bat out of hell or kicks out and/or bucks. She will be going along fine and then suddenly do that. She is never really relaxed. Even when she is standing still and allowing me to brush her or saddle her, she is holding herself tense and she has no trust. I do not know if it is manmade or if it's just her but I have my suspicions. She has rope burns on all of her fetlocks. She got in a tangle, that's for sure, and it has left her scared and claustrophobic.

I read that book by Eckhard Tolle called A New Earth in which he talks about a collective pain memory that is present in humans, because of war and past hurts. I think horses have this too. (They went to war with us, unwilling participants, and have a history of misuse and abuse). Sorry if I sound too out there but I do believe it.

Some horses just seem born tame. A lot of the cutting and cow bred horses I deal with are this way. They don't seem to have major emotional hangups and are logical and intelligent. Some other horses are not like that. Speed bred and ranch cowboy bred horses are often different. Harder headed, require different tactics, slower, and more methodical dealings. Some are less intelligent but this filly is not dumb. She is scared.

The other day, I had a major "discussion" with her about not bucking and kicking out in the drive lines. The day after the discussion, she was a seeming changed horse. She was looking to please, to show me she understood and was trying, and so I kept everything easy and praised her a lot. Then one day off, then I get her out yesterday and start to work her and my friend shows up in the barn to hang out. He comes over once in a while to watch me ride and such...he's a great guy and he rides, but not well. He actually has a bad effect on horses. Something about his energy, he can make a horse that is tied to a post pull back in a panic just by walking up to that horse.

Anyway he watched me work the filly and she just never could relax. She would bolt past the pace in the round pen where he was standing on the outside. The kicking out and bucking behavior reappeared.

I worked her easy and chalked it up to my friends anti-horse-relaxed energy. Today, however, she was awful again. Tense and fearful. I brushed her and she stood there ready to explode the whole time. I saddled her and asked her to move out on the lunge line and she bucked and I could tell she knew she wasn't supposed to but she is just wound so tight she couldnt' seem to help herself.

After she went round a bit I asked her to come into the center of the pen and I rubbed on her for a while. She was so tense she was actually vibrating. She was standing still and allowing me to touch her because she knew she was supposed to but she wasn't really there with me. I was going to ask her to go out and move around me again but something stopped me and I started massaging her face instead, her lips and ears and above her eyes. I was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming rush of sad emotion. It was very strange because I knew this emotion was not mine; I can't explain it but I know it wasnt internal, it was the filly. It was so overwhelming I actually started to cry a little and I am not a crier.

I just kept rubbing her and let the emotion travel through me and then I just let it go. I think I might have helped her let it go. As I rubbed her her head came down and the tension left her body. we stood like that for about five minutes more. I actually put my head against hers. I would never have done that before because she would have taken my head off.

Then I asked her to move out again. She took off running but it was a different sort of running. I let her run it out. I recognized this sort of running because I've done it myself. When I have a horrid day and I'm not right in the head I go on the treadmill or I go to spin class and I just move out until all that is left is my breathing and my beating heart, and I sweat out all that sadness. This is what this filly was doing. After a while she slowed on her own acord and she had a changed attitude. She was more relaxed. I left it at that for the day.

Giraffe Horse

I do like stallions. Well, scratch that. I like GOOD stallions. Ones with manners and sweet personalities, who want to work and want to be a teammate. I like their strength and their stamina and their boyishness and how when they are trained well you can ride them quite aggressively and they just "get" it, get in and get done.

It might be too early to tell if Giraffe Horse will be this way, since I haven't rode him yet, but so far I think he might be. Despite his horrendous front legs and feet I find myself liking him. He wants to work. Once we got past the posturing and spoiled asshole behavior and established the boundaries, things became fun and he gets a little better every time I get him out. And he is always waiting for me to get him out. He waits politely and asks with his eyes if he is next. When he sees that he is, he comes to his door and sticks his head in the halter. He lets me lead him easily now and knows I expect him to be quiet and mannerly. He goes to the round pen and goes to work and there isn't any of the head jousting or malicious looks I used to get from that awful stallion, Skeeter, or any of the other bad stallions I have met. Those ones are always testing and always letting you know with their jeers and sneers how they feel about what you are asking them to do, even if they do it, grudgingly. It's always a little argument with them, like a sullen teenager, who isn't quite bad but isn't good and is certainly unpleasant to be around! No, Giraffe Horse is definitely not like that!

Perhaps he needs a new name now. Originally, Giraffe Horse was fitting, as he is a light sorrel paint with small white markings on his neck. Well more of it had to do with how he was and not how he looked. His enormously long neck looked even longer when he was walking on his hind legs, head straight up in the air almost inside out. That is when he resembled a giraffe. Now he is beginning to look more like the Pleasure bred horse that he is, with a lower more relaxed head and cadenced rhythmic gaits performed at the end of the lunge with just a suggestion from me. He likes this work.

The cutters don't like this work so much. They patiently go through the circles in order to get to the working the cow part. It is a chore to be endured. For the pleasure bred ones, they live for the circles. I know that sounds funny but I believe it, and have felt it. Like a race horse lives for the thrill of the gallop, the pleasure horses seem to take pride in a well performed jog or lope. It gives me a glimpse of what Pleasure horse riders strive for, enough for me to appreciate their sport but not quite enough for me to enjoy it or want to try it myself. I will do my best to help Giraffe Horse get a good start in this sport however, so he can go on and become something.

Texas In July

Houston in July is like a steam bath. I'm not sure how people stand it. I certainly don't know why July is the month my family picked for a reunion! When I touched down at Hobby I called Bob Hunter and told him I was in town again and would love to come on out to see him. He said, perfect timing, there is a show on Friday in Yoakum, and he had a horse I could show if I wanted to go.

Well why not?

5 am Friday morning I set out from Clear Lake City and got on the Sam Houston Tollway. It was still dark but already hot. The day before, my family and I had gone to Kemah boardwalk on Galveston Bay and I had rode the ferris wheel. Stopped at the top of the ride I looked over the bay and saw the oil tankers coming in the channel to Texas City. The other side showed miles of green, flat and low, trees intersperced with white buildings, downtown gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. The humidity is a palpable thing, visible even, a sauna over the lush semi-tropical landscape.

The roads are so clean and there isn't any traffic; I sped along unfettered and I was soon out on 10, through Katy and beyond. Texas goes from city to country so quick. Country for miles and miles, just green trees and green pastures and cattle everywhere. There is nothing comparable in California to all this green open space.

As I came into Sealy the sun was rising and the humidity was like mist, hung low like tule fog in the Valley, except already I had the air conditioner on. I pulled into Bob's drive and went to help him load horses in the trailer. He gave me a bucket of oats and told me to take the mule and catch a 2 year old out of the back pasture. Off I went and caught him easily.

Turning back to go towards the barn something in the long pasture grass caught my eye. At first I thought they were sprinkler markers, all over the ground, but another look, this time from the side, showed me what I was really seeing was spiderwebs, dozens of them, made in the grass. A long piece of grass would be bent down like a scaffold and the web was built using the grass as a frame. Dozens of perfect webs stood wet in the humid mist, lit up and dazzling in the rising sun. What to say to a sight like that? It was a piece of heaven. I stood there gaping without a sound.
Yoakum was another hours drive from Sealy, on two lane country highways through miles of Red Angus and little country homes, interspersed with towns with a Mayberry feel. Nothing corporate or modular or mass produced in this landscape. The day started out with promise and I was joyful as I drove along.

The showgrounds were full, and like any show I go to, getting there in the morning, pulling in and finding a place to park among the rigs filled me with excitement and anticipation. I don't tire of this; it is a thrill every time and I feel so grateful to get to do it. Walking around at a show a couple of states away from home, among strangers, I am comfortable and joyful. They aren't strangers, not really, for we are all there with the same ultimate goal and the atmosphere is welcoming. Walking into the arena and the warmup pen is like walking into any warmup pen anywhere and this is where I belong.

I helped Bob's wife, Sandy, saddle, and we hopped on his two 10,000 Novice horses and went to loping. The horses settled right in to the familiar show routine, and after a long four days with my family in Houston it felt like a release to be back in my real home, on the back of a horse. In the house with my aunts and sisters and parents I had begun to lose a bit of myself and more than once the idea that I may be adopted occured to me. Certainly I don't come from the same place as these people who are my family. There is a little resemblance here and there, and none of them are bad people but as always I am a bit of an outsider, looking in and marveling at our different worldviews.

Soon I struck up conversation with others while we loped and the dialogue flowed easily and unfettered by self consiousness or ulterior motives, unlike the days before with my family. The heat was not stifling thanks to low hung huge fans in the indoor arena. Right before Bob went in to show, the rain started. It was raining sideways, hot rain; the sun still shone in the sky. I accepted that I would be sticky and wet and that was ok. I continued loping, wiping smeared mascara away and wondering, as I have wondered before, how the Texas ladies always had such good hair and makeup. My hair hung lank in a tangled wet rope down my soaking back, my shirt stuck to me like a second skin. I've just never been meant to be a glamour girl.

As usual, excellent showman that he is, Bob won a check in his class and I was happy to see I had not failed him in warming up his pony. Later he told me that was the horse I would ride in my class. Chet, a red roan gelding by Smart Little Riccochet out of a full sister to Cash Quixote Rio; he was a mover and a shaker!

First I rode the two year old I had caught earlier that day. He was a sorrel Chula Dual gelding with a thin crooked stripe down a slightly roman nose, with a kind but young face. He was lightly built and small, with good bone and good legs. As I settled in the saddle and wrapped my legs around him he focused in on me and allowed me to guide him into the warmup pen and merge into the traffic. He was a bit goosey- preoccupied with the big and unfamiliar herd he suddenly found himself in. Like the intelligent little boy he is, he handled the situation well, with minimal stress. Soon we were loping along with the seasoned show horses. For his second time "in town," he was a good boy. Bob had obviously done an excellent job starting him and I felt completely comfortable on his back.

I also took Rubin Pringle's Peptoboonsmal filly for a spin. Her mama is Smart Fancy Lena, same mama as Blue Duck Okie. I felt pretty special riding around on that little princess! And little princess was what she was, no doubt. She looked and acted just like our own Pepto, a baby version. Silly and full of mischevious energy, turning into a wiggle worm every time a horse came up behind her, she had me giggling and concentrating on maintaining a soft back and a secure, centered seat. Sometimes it is possible to get on a horse and just know...just know, that horse is a good one. A star in the making. Well that little Pepto is a good one. I look forward to seeing her in the Futurities!

Later in the afternoon it was my turn to show. First I went into the office and filled out my ACHA membership renewal and gave the secretary a check. I was suprised and pleased to find that the secretary remembered me from last year! She was happy to see me and asked me about mutual friends and aquaintences in California.

Before I went in I rooted for Bob's non pro rider as he went in on his CD Royal gelding. He made great cuts and marked a 73, for second place in his class. A former polo player, he had taken up cutting as something to do in the off season for polo. Like anyone, he had become hooked ..ting, the simplicity, the precision, the laser sharp timing and tempo that is necessary to do it well. Once in a while it clicks in, the rhythm, the rhythm, and just a taste of it can keep someone coming back for more and more and more.

All day Bob and Rubin, jokers that they are, had been loud and boisterous, laughing and joking with each other across the show pen. "Hey Rubin! I got some Pacific Coast on my two year old! She got a 73 on that old nag of yours last year but this year she's going to get a 74 on my horse!" And of course Rubin would have a smart response. By the time I was warming up Chet for my class, everyone in the place had heard their boasts and I was receiving lots of curious looks.
For a moment it made me nervous. Last year there was no pressure; it was a free ride in a place where I knew no one. Last year no one expected anything of me. Last year I had won a check on a horse I had never seen and now the bar had been set. Could I do it again? Oh wow.

As I loped I thought about it and decided not to think so much. This is not the girl scouts. I have worked so hard to become accomplished at this, to feel brave enough to show up out of the blue somewhere and get on their horse and do that horse justice. I didn't come all this way to blow it because of nerves. Why did I have to get nervous anyway? All I had to do was go in there and do what I do, do what I practice every day, feel that feel yet again and let everything click into place. If I want to make this my career then I better just get used to pressure and laugh in the face of it.

So 74? Sure, I can do that. I had watched Chet mark a 73 earlier in the day and I was secure in the knowledge that this horse knows his job inside and out. Bob gave me a few pointers. He said keep him pointed up and don't get to swordfighting when making a cut. Show him the cow I want, set it up square in the middle and ease him into position with my feet. He said I could rely on this horse to match anything a cow gave me if I stayed with him, but don't get to kicking too much, because that would encourage him to "write checks he can't cash." Hmmm. Sounds like my horse Hal!

I was first up in a class of 18 riders. On my first cut I walked about 1/3 the way in the herd and eased the top part out towards the center, letting them settle and shape, keeping my eye on the top cow, a smallish mot faced black. I was patient and the cattle started rolling around me and I stepped Chet up through the traffic, keeping my legs in close, bouncing on his sides, encouraging him towards the mott's face, my rein hand just above his neck. I cut clean in the center and put my hand down and Chet went to work.

The mott had a little life to him and he took off with his tail over his back and Chet matched him. I wasn't quite in the rhythm with him on the first stop and I felt a little bobble but Chet never blinked an eye, he hit his stop and came back through himself and I put my cow-side leg on him and then got in time with him. I could do this. This horse was a lot like Hal! I got that cow broke down in the center and went back in for another one with 1.30 left on the clock. The next one I pulled out was a red cow that wanted to look at Chet a little and gave him a chance to do his dance for a few beats before running hard at us to the left. I put some leg on him and told him to stop that cow and he did. It then took off at an angle away from us and Chet broke fast with it but as I saw the angle change I sat down on him and we did a perfect half halt and slowed down to rate that cow. One more stop and turn and off to get a third cow to finish strong.

I sliced a charolais off the top and agressively pushed her out towards the center and threw my hand down. This one wanted to play and came in hard, ducking one way and then the other. This is where Chet and I really got together. He jumped out a bit long on one side and I felt comfortable enough to sit, wait, and then SEND him back strong to the other side to even us out. I felt him respond to me and the tempo of our run hit another level. I had one moment where I wished I had another 30 seconds; I had gotten the feel of him now and knew I could get an even higher score if I had had just a bit more time. I didn't want it to end. I could ask this gelding to write some pretty big checks before we came up with one he couldn't cash.

We walked out and heard the score...74. First place. I had done it. And it wasnt' because I went in there trying to win or worried about the others, on their fancy horses, familiar to them, among friends in an arena they had no doubt shown in before. I just did it because it is what I do. All that other stuff is extraneous. In the movie "Greatest Game Ever Played" Shia LeBouf stares down the fairway as the amateur golfer Francis Ouimet, and he has the million mile stare. The camera pans out over the fairway, thronged with expectant faces, trees, clouds. All of a sudden the people disappear, the trees disappear, the clouds fade from the sky and all that is left is the fairway, on a plane of nothingness, out in a vaccuum, in space. The golfer and the hole, marked with a flag. No sound, no croud, nothing. He aims, he fires.

When the show goes well, that is why. If I can get into that focus, that state of allowing, of being here, comfortable in the here and now. It is a liberating feeling and afterwards I walked around free and easy, no resistance anywhere in my body. My limbs swung loose and my joints were free and flexible. Chet walked with me to the washrack and he walked free and easy too, content with the world and the job he had done. I hosed him off and gave him a drink and a pat and thanked him for the wonderful time.

Hot Summer

When the temperature gets in the 100's I like to take a drive with the top down and feel the oven heat at 55 mph. There are fires a lot here, but not like this year. This year is extreme and unique. When it hit 105 I lowered the top in my Pontiac and set out through the foothills. The sky was brown and I could look directly at the sun without squinting. I cranked up the radio and felt the superheated air flow over my face, over my arms. Around me the grass was yellow and the oak trees looked dry. Small daisy-like sunflowers lined the road and birds flew up. The music started to get into my cells, my soul. The air lifted me up and the music lifted me up and something amazing happened. In my mind I was totally present in the here and now, the moment. I felt my body get light. How do I explain this exept to say it was an infusion of joy and energy and spirit. My body broke in a million pieces and started to disintegrate and mix in with the atmosphere around me, all of it; the air, the grass, the car, even the music. I was a million bubbles floating around the car flying through the air vibrating with the song. Joy and Love flashed through my being. Then I laughed and just like that was back in my car, driving. I couldnt' get the grin off my face though.

Some Days Are Just Full

Where do I start? Well at the beginning I guess. My friend Krista is a barrel racer. 9 years ago she got a horse, and when it was three, she had a cowboy start him. The cowboy probably rode him 10 times, and then sent him home. Anyway, after that, she rode this horse a few times. Enough times for him to buck her off, run off with her, and do the same to a few other people. He is a big, tough, hard headed paint gelding.

Anyway, Krista hurt her back. She couldn't ride for almost 6 years, and the paint sat in the pasture and nobody did anything with him. Then she got back surgery and can ride again. She brought painto and her other horse over for me to ride for a few weeks, as a favor to a friend, to leg up so she could get back on. Well the other horse was no problem. Broke, already a winning barrel horse, no attitude, etc. Painto was tough. He tested my limits on how tough I am willing to be to get points across to a horse. I got him rode about 10 times and then had her ride him, after I got him tired.

It was determined that Krista should sell this horse. Lets put it this way. If one were to put a flank strap on this horse, he would be a rodeo horse. Not like he needed the flank strap to want to buck. If I get on Pepto and she has a hump in her back, I laugh, kick her forward, and enjoy the hops. If I get on Brownie, and she has a hump in her back, same deal. This horse, though. I get on him and he has a hump in his back I get right back off and lunge him some more. Because I know he could and would fling me 20 feet in the air head over heels like a lawn dart and not feel slightly bad about it. The others are just fresh and having fun, but he is a coyote.

Well who is going to buy a horse like this? A green broke 11 year old paint gelding with a big coarse head, a tail that goes like a helicopter the whole time he's being ridden, and serious resistance issues, who has to be worked into a full body sweat to relax? And all you natural horsemanship people out there I don't want to hear a word. My trainer is the only one Tom Dorrance ever would let train his wife's horses. Yes, my trainer traines Tom Dorrance's wifes horses, and was endorsed by Tom. Pat Parelli thanks my trainer in the acknowledgement section of his book. Sweating is not bad for a horse. What's bad for this kind of horse would be someone thinking they could get through his tough skull in some coddling way and get themselves killed. I know how to feel a horse and feel his moods. This horse would relax when worked hard. Some people are like that too. I am, so I know. A good hard workout can focus my mind and relax my body. I have enough savvy to know how to get through to this horse. And I have, the times that I rode him. After lunging him bitted up until he was (somewhat) relaxed, I could then get on him (without spurs) and have a shot in he!! of keeping him checked up. He would try what he could to bulge and pop and stop and charge through my hands or my legs and I would sit on him firm and centered and just keep kicking him back underneath me. He would bulge his hip out trying to get away one way and I would kick him with that leg and he would let fly double barrels and I would ride him forward some more with set hands trying to get through to the concrete steel that was his mouth. I would gallop him at a wall and double him right into it and out the other side until both of us were breathing hard and his head would start to come down. Then I would ease up on him and let him see how nice it is to just walk circles on a loose rein, following his nose easy and letting my legs shape him. And it was working. If I spent lots of time, he would get broke.

That's the problem. It takes an expert to do that. And honestly, most people with the skill to do this don't want to bother wasting their time with these kind of horses. I don't. Some may say that's harsh, but what of it? Why on earth would I spend all my time and energy on a horse like this when I have a barn full of champion cutting horses who want to be ridden, who want to work, who want to show and win, who don't want to hurt me or buck me off or run off with me, who learn quickly, are intelligent and athletic, willing? It takes me three times as much time and energy to ride this horse as it does one of the cutters, even the unbroke babies. And for what? Even if he gets somewhat broke, he is still worth about $500. Or less. It would take years before he could be considered safe for anyone but a skilled hand.

So then I broke my hand. (On this horse). And Krista won't ride him. So he sat and sat for two months while hay is $250 a ton and shavings are $6 a bag. Some people came and looked at him but no one wanted him and I can't say I blame them. Krista as a last ditch effort put him in a local ranch horse sale. Now this isn't the bottom of the barrel killer sale. I have sold horses at this sale and gotten good money for them, they've gone to good homes with local ranchers and ropers. Perhaps some cowboy would buy him and use him to work in the hills all day every day until he got broke.

I told her to find some cowboy to ride him through the sale. But no one would. It never occured to her to ask me to do it, and I didn't offer. I am known at that sale and others for always having a nice well bred horse that usually tops the sale, and wouldnt' really want to have my name attached to this horse. But no one would even consider helping her.

The night before the sale I was already in my pajamas reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel. My trainer knocked on the door and said Krista was outside, she got her horse in the sale and she was going to lead him through in the morning. Wow...lead him through? That would be a guarantee kill buy. No one would want to touch him with a ten foot pole. My trainer told me I should ride the horse through the sale for her. Yikes!

So I got dressed and went out and got him out and started lunging him. He hadn't been saddled in two months. I put the saddle on and bitted him up (I know him well enough to know this is necessary if I didn't want him to kick my saddle to pieces) and let him lunge. He bucked for probably 10 minutes. (I' m not exaggerating). I lunged him until he was breathing hard, and then bitted his head to the side and let him stand, blow, and relax a bit. After 15 minutes he had relaxed and gotten his air back and I got on him in the round pen. He wanted to buck; I kept him checked around to the side and gently eased him forward with my legs until he felt unstuck and then went into a trot. I worked him in the roundpen at a trot and a lope for about 5 minutes and then decided if I had to ride him at a sale in the morning I better get brave and come out of the round pen. I opened the gate and went out.

After riding him around the courtyard and in the cutting pen, I felt more confident, like maybe I could get through it in one piece. I know how these things work. All I needed to do was to show him smooth, low headed, on a loose rein, walking around easy. Some people go to these "performance horse sales" and yay-hoo their horse all over the place trying to make him look like he is ready to win the Snaffle Bit Futurity. Of course they have no skill or savvy and their horse is a reflection of it, gap mouthed, chomping, breaking out all over with nervous sweat and hopping and jumping and flinging (which the people think is cool, like rolling back or moving hard. Sheesh. Idiots). Their idea of a rollback is jamming a horse's front end in the ground and then the butt passes up the front end in a pogo stick motion and they scramble out the other way. This is called the "sale barn rollback."

I get depressed every time I go to these kind of sales. I like going to the sales at Fort Worth and seeing the well bred, expensive horses ridden by good hands, who will go to good places and have lots of money time and effort put into their upbringing. Many of them become champions. I don't even mind high end ranch sales where at least half of the people can ride and aren't crucifying their horses.

Here's a tip for anyone showing off a horse for someone else. No one wants to see how much you can "train" on your horse. That is not a good way to demonstrate skill. No one wants to see your horse stiff, scared, hopping around and overfaced. No one wants to see how much you can "make your horse do." You just end up looking like a yay-hoo. Show your horse smooth. Be cool and still and soft and show how relaxed you can get your horse. Do your homework at home and show off what you got in public, even if it isn't as much as you would like to have.

Anyway, the next morning, I got up at 5 and rode him again before taking him to the sale. I wanted him tired. Tired enough that he wouldn't plant me like a lawn dart in public. I got on him and bridled him up (in a smooth snaffle) and drove him up into my hands and pushed his ribs over one way and then the other, at a trot. Circles, changes of directions, until he quit trying to bulge and resist. Then I let him gallop. I took him in the big arena and let him out all the way. Holy COW! This horse found his special purpose. I could feel him loving to run, like a race horse loves to run. And he was fast! Fast enough for me to know he had some extra gears he hadn't hit yet. As we galloped, I gave in to the feeling and felt him relax and let go of some long held resistance. I could feel his hot energy coming up through the saddle and I locked in with him and we were one. He took me for a couple of glorious laps and then started to slow on his own and I let him. Then we walked around nice, on a loose rein, content with ourselves and the world.

I drove up to the sale with hope, hoping someone would come along and find what I had found in this horse, and be willing to work hard enough to bring it out in him so he could have a good life. The sale was smaller and of lower quality than it has been in years past, when I have been there with good horses. The economy has changed and this is a sign of the times. There were a few ok horses but nothing great, and there were a few barrel racers and ropers who could ride ok but also some real yay hoo sale barn types who just muscle and spur horses around. These people make me mad because they don't even seem to like horses. I don't know what their motivation is but I do know I don't like being around them.

Well he was tired at the sale, and therefore walked around nicely on a loose rein. I showed him in the preview and thought he did well. I rolled him back on the fence and kept him on his hip and made everything manageable and smooth. But you can't make a silk purse out of a sows ear and the experienced hands there could see he wasn't broke. I eased him into the ring but couldn't get him to do much. I know when to push and when not to. Now was time not to. I stood still and eased him into a small circle at a walk while the auctioneers tried to find something to say. He was a late add in the catalogue. No one knew anything about him. He has no bloodlines to speak of, no accomplishments, and his limited potential is buried under a mountain of reisistance and it would take a pro to unearth it.

He brought $300. A horsetrader bought him. My only hope is that some cowboy will get him and he will have a shot at having a job.

As I walked out of the ring the cowboys lining the exit were amazed. "You let him go for that?" They are used to me having a lot more horseflesh under me. I could just nod and go back to my car to unsaddle him. Old painto seemed strangely subdued too. Like he caught a bit of my depression. He groundtied like a broke horse and let me unsaddle him and toss the saddle in the back of my car. We didnt' speak. Just then the skies opened. It had been upwards of 100 degrees all day, and thunderheads had been building. It is rare in California to get a summer storm. Usually it stops raining in April and doesn't rain again until late November. But lightning cracked (lighting fires all over the hills) and the rain came splattering down. It was fitting. I left him tied to the hotwalker and drove away.

Although the day was only half over and I really hadn't worked that hard, according to what I usually do, I was exhausted and low. I had a headache and I felt too hot. With a heavy heart I walked through the barn and greeted all my ponies. I felt dirty, like I had been at a slave auction. Not only been there, but participated. Participated in playing god, having power over the fate of another living creature. I wish there was other answers. I wish all horses could be saved. I wish that more people had skill so more horses could realize their potential. It's nobody's fault, I guess, but it is sad anyway.