Attack Palm Trees and Black Mailboxes

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

I don't know about anyone else, but when it comes to getting away from my high-stress level job, I escape to my horses.

I know my girls look forward to seeing me (when I'm bringing them treats, or feeding them,) and when they run away from me it just means they're playing hard to get. And they really are; hard to get, that is. My docile backyard nags turn into winning thoroughbred racers when it comes time to saddle up.

It's not that they don't enjoy getting out, it's just my three boys thought it would be great to teach my sweet equine babies how to play tag when they were just nubbins. Um, hum. Yep, nothing like having your neighbors selling lottery tickets on how long it's going to take to catch those silly girls.

Over the years my four-legged critters have gotten it all figured out, let me tell you! When they first started playing un-tag, (Tag=they come after you, Un-tag=they come nowhere near you!), we used to bring out a treat to coax them in. A nice juicy carrot, a plump red apple, a left over pancake (a big favorite of theirs), especially if it was smothered with peanut butter, and within 2 minutes we'd be haltered and heading out the gate.

As you know, though, God's creatures have their own spin on things, and then something awful happened. They got SMART! If you had the halter or a rope over your shoulder, even a 3 tiered wedding cake wouldn't have coaxed them to you on a trot, no sir. Nothing short of 10 people helping to box them up in a corner was going to get those mares caught.

We had to start getting sneaky so, we brought out the big guns. Yes siree, we resorted to the (sound of harps and horns) GRAIN BUCKET. Nothing like the lure of sweet feed to get an obstinate Appaloosa and her mischievous Arabian cohort to come around, that's for sure. Of course, there are those days where not even the big red bucket works, and you just have to play their game.

They'll stick their noses 10 feet straight up into the air, snort, swish their tails and then proudly prance across their pasture. If you try to head them off, they peel off like a banana, one heading left, the other going right. And we aren't talking a nice little jog, either. We're talking snorting, galloping, thundering pounding hooves on almost three thousand pounds of horseflesh and you're the melting puddle of ice cream right in the middle without a cherry to be seen.

I'm not saying they come straight for you, noooooo. You might catch them if they got too close, un-huh, they're running circles around you, literally. Did I tell you I do this to get away from my high stress-level job?

Anyway, I discovered if and when you catch one, it's like all of a sudden you've become air to these creatures. Take away one and the other one believes she's going to die, in fact she becomes very verbal about it, and trust me, when a fifteen hundred pound mare starts talking to you, you should listen!

These girls hate to be separated. Whichever one may get left behind, immediately becomes the Rodney King of my little valley, her neigh echos around the neighborhood, inciting other equines into believing my babies are being horrendously tortured and causing all others in the area to begin adding to the cacophony of sound. Yes, riots all around for sure.

So, once out in the saddle on one of my beauties, you'd think it would be smooth sailing? Hah, you don't know horses do you? I must mention that my sweet April (the here-to-fore mentioned Appaloosa) has been part of my family since she was just a wee yearling, (she's now 20 years old and looks just as good as any 10 year old, I must say.)

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

Anyhow, she went through a period of diabolical plots designed explicitly to torture me, and about 8 years ago she began implementing them. I thought I would just glean over one or two to give you an idea of just how diabolical my angels can be. A bit of background first here, though, if for nothing else other than to prove how brave April can be.

When I first bought her, the man who sold her to me was very big in the cutting industry. For those who may not have a clue what cutting is, it's when a horse separates, or 'cuts' a cow from the herd and keeps them separate for any number of things; branding, culling, castration, whatever! This is the most basic description of a cutter, but you get the idea.

Well, both of April's grand dams were professional cutters and since it was in her blood, I kind of thought she would be good at it too, so I hired a guy to come out and train her. She spent months living in a herd of cows, mixed in with some pretty mean ones too I might add, as well as a huge rail depot that bordered the pastures so she got very used to loud trains and noises.

When she was done she could stare down a full grown cow and not twitch an ear at a roaring crowd-filled arena, peppered with the occasional air horn and various rodeo paraphernalia. So keeping this all in mind, let me tell you about her first plot.

It all started when we were passing a stand of palm trees that we passed hundreds of times before, when a very slight breeze began to blow. Now, palm fronds are made to allow wind to flow through them so that they can survive hurricanes and the like, and therefore have a very porous leaf structure. Well, this day, when the breezes began to blow, one of these very stately palms decided to become Madonna, because it began whistling! Well! April was having none of that and she let me know in no uncertain terms.

She planted her feet square in the road, turned her head, ears, and neck in the direction of that siren song and let out a squeal that would have stopped a semi truck. I have never heard a horse squeal like that before.

I have heard a three year old little girl scream like that at a mall once, when her mommy wouldn't buy her some trinket or other. That child scrunched up her face, took a deep breath, then let out a sound that was part train wreck, part fingernails-down-a-chalkboard, then topped it off with the sound of someone being stung by a swarm of bees!

Oh, yeah, it was that kind of a sound my horse let out while I was up in the saddle on her back. Her body began trembling from her hooves on up and I honestly thought we were having one of our famous Southern California earthquakes before I realized that it was just the mare.

My legs worked faster than my brain did and of that I'm thankful else I'd have been eating some asphalt that day for sure. I had just gotten my knees locked tight around her barrel when she spun like a washing machine out of balance and headed for home.

We must have galloped for almost half a mile before I had the presence of mind to pull back on the reins. My goal that day was to just keep my butt glued to that strip of leather between me and a crazed, out of her mind mare.

At about three-fourths of a mile she began to listen to me and slowed to a very jerky jog and when we made it to the front gate I had her at an almost calm walk. Her head was held high, her body covered in sweat, yeah, I was almost sorry that I had to turn her around and head back to those attack palm trees.

See, funny thing about horses. You can't put them away after a bad episode until you've replaced it with a positive one. If you don't, then the chances are next time, it will be ten times worse. I did tell you this is my stress relief, right, yeah I do believe I may have mentioned that.

So we turn around, April and I, and start heading back the way we came. Of course, now I'm coaxing and pleading and soothing and bullying April just to keep her going the right way. When we got about half a block from those attack palms, my little girl wanted to climb into my lap.

I ended up dismounting out of the saddle, and pushed and pulled and prodded her until we were back where we had started from before the whistling had begun. Her body was still trembling, and every step she took was more a stumble than anything else.

She planted her feet and just about sat down like you see in those old black and white movies with those Hollywood trick mules, understand? Her haunches were about two inches from the ground and if she'd got it in her mind to take a leap, I'm sure I'd have been flattened. On the same hand, if I'd have let go the reins, she'd have flown over backwards for certain.

Well, lucky for us both, April got tired or just made up her mind there was nothing there to cause such a fuss, and stepped forward, safely navigating past those terrible attack palm trees.

I got back in the saddle and headed home, via another route mind you, and have I told you how stressful my job is?

This little story reminds me of another little oddity, with Maya, a very self-indulged Arabian, being the object de ridicule this time. Maya came into our family about five years ago as a mothers day present to myself, paid for by my loving hubby.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

When I'm asked about her personality, I've always called her my "Prancy-dancy, prissy-missy, flashy-dashy Barbi horse", and that's what she still is. This animal knows she's gorgeous. She tosses her head and shows off her best gaits when anyone is near enough to notice; and occasionally when no one's around at all. There are days when I can look out from the upstairs balcony and see her trotting around with head and tail up like she's some kind of Queen of the desert.

On her behalf, I must say she can be most affectionate, loves to be brushed and petted, and enjoys a good ride as much as whoever's on her back. She has an intelligence that borders a psychotic 3 year old's. Yes, that's one of my prancing pride and joys.

Well, one time she had the bad luck to prance right into an innocent black mail box that was completely minding its own business. Well, the mailbox didn't budge, and Maya took a good bump on the knee for her troubles and after that, she couldn't pass a black mailbox without baring her teeth and flattening back her ears in righteous indignation to be sure.

She even kicked up her heels at them a time or two! That was three years ago and she still occasionally reverts back to that missish behavior.

Then there was the time my oldest boy was riding Maya, I was on April, and we chanced across a camper shell from a pick up truck that was sitting on the ground, apparently for sale. April got it in her head she wasn't going to pass it, (reminiscent of the attack palm tree incident), and Maya decided it was her duty to protect April from the camper creature.

My son and I became about as important to these two as a dust mote might have been. Maya proceeded to rear up and attack the offending fiberglass monstrosity while April decided she wanted to go back the way she had come. I jumped off April and then grabbed Maya's reins, thankfully before she did any damage to the camper or my son.

April, now about a block away, realizes Maya is far behind her and begins neighing in an effort to get her to follow. Kenny and I are by this time laughing at the whole thing, except that I now have a loose horse to catch before she causes a car accident or some such. I tell him to start walking Maya in the opposite direction April's going in so that she would be more likely to come back.

I was going to wait by the nasty camper shell and try to snag April as she came by. Well, it did work after a fashion, and we continued on our ride, mostly none the worse for wear. The girls, feeling very proud of themselves, pranced and snorted the rest of the way.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **           ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

I won't bore you further with the tale about the mighty three inch wide river that caused me a two hour delay on one trail ride, or the baby rattlesnake incident either.

I don't think I'll mention the one where a wooden bridge caused a major catastrophe on a search and rescue training mission, or the one about the menacing miniature burro.

I don't think I'll even bring up the one where we had the seven o'clock news helicopter, two separate fire departments, and an ambulance response when a sink hole in the river had the temerity to move on us.

Nope, I'm just too tired to go and bring those up. Maybe I'll just save them for next time, a little short story or an anecdote, who knows? Maybe next time, when the girls won't be caught, or the weather turns bad, or a stray wind blows and they have their tails up, their hooves flying, and their noses in the air I'll think about it.

Have I told you how I go to work to relieve the stress my horses cause me?