New Years Resolutions and Desires

Wednesday January 2 2008 HORSES: DIEGO: To keep looking cuter than everybody else no matter what I do. To not have to work beyond standing still and wearing a bonnet and saddle and necklace. To get lots of hugs and lots of carrots because I am funny and cute. To keep rubbing my mane in the sagebrush so I always smell very good and M buries her head in my mane with more hugs. To be fed grain. FINNEAS: To be worshipped. To get lots of attention. To have my way in everything. To not have to be ridden away from the house onto the trail (though once I'm out there, it's kind of fun). To get lots of kisses. To have Connie come visit me and ride me. To get lots of carrots dipped in molasses. To get all the women. To be The Ultimate BIG BOSS. To be fed more grain. MAC: To be retired. To find my Nebraska ranch home. To find cows and ride herd (if I must work). To not be eaten by those Horse-Eating Monsters hiding in and under sagebrush. To get more carrots. To be fed more grain. PRINCESS: To be treated like the Princess I am. To have M always scratch my hairy itchy neck. To get more carrots. To be fed grain. DUDLEY: To remain slim and cute while eating lots. To eat lots. To get into as much mischief as possible. To escape from every pen I am in. To be remembered as the famous Equine Houdini. To be in the circus or Cavalia (those Lusitano stallions have got nothing on me!). To get more hugs. To get more carrots. To be fed grain. QUICKIE: To not get caught. To get more carrots. To be fed more grain. DOGS: QUINCY: To get M to take us on walks twice a day. To get to sleep inside on the couch every day and night. To eat more horse poo without getting caught. To get more dog food. AUSTIN: To get M to take us on walks five times a day. To get to sleep inside on the floor every day and night. To catch a rabbit. To eat more horse poo without getting caught. To get more dog food. GIRLIE: To get M to take us on walks ten times a day. To get to sleep inside on the couch every day and night. To be petted till I explode. To catch a deer. To catch a rabbit. To eat the cat. To eat more horse poo without getting caught. To get more dog food. KITTY: To not get eaten by Girlie. ME: To ride more. To eat more. To touch a (live) Raven. THE RAVEN II: What more is there, after you've climbed Mt Whitney, ridden 3000 endurance miles, sat on the Royal Yellow Carpet, rode horses around the world? Well then, just to do more more more!

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Good Bird Day

December 31 2007

Without trying today, I saw: a bald eagle, 2 red-tailed hawks, several kestrels, ravens, and magpies. The bald eagle was impressive (and not so common around here; we mostly have golden eagles), and the flashy, iridescent, long-tailed magpies are entertaining to watch - sometimes they like to play around and on the horses.

But of course it's the Raven that I'm obsessed with. Who wouldn't be, with all the history and mystery and myths of Ravens down through the ages and different cultures:

In Norse mythology, Odin, the father of the Gods, had two Raven informers, Hugin and Munin.

In Celtic mythology, Branwen, Goddess of love and beauty can take the form of a white crow.

In several Pacific Northwest Indian cultures, the Raven is revered as the creator of humans, or the one who found the first humans in a giant clam shell and let them out; the stealer of light (he stole the sun from a greedy man, and put the sun, moon, and stars in the sky for humans); a perpetual trickster, and a storyteller.

In Arabic, the Crow is "Algorab." My friend Maryanne in Egypt lives right by the partially buried ruins of an ancient sun temple, Abu Ghorab. It is rumored to be one of six sun temples, only 2 of which have been discovered so far. Abu Ghorab means "Father of Crows." In Egypt, crows are a nuisance to the farmers. Farmers try to scare them away or shoot them, so the clever crows hang out during the day at the trash dump and other places away from humans, and in the evening they fly one by one to hide behind the sun temple. There they wait until the call to evening prayer, when they fly into the orchards at the edge of the desert to roost, because they know people are at their prayers. : )

In several cultures, the Raven and crow were originally white.

In Australian Aboriginal legends, the crow turned black after he wrestled with a hawk (they fought because the crow would not share his meal, as they had agreed to do) and rolled in the black ashes of a campfire, which never washed off.

In ancient Greece, the White Raven was a sacred bird and messenger of Apollo, the God of light, sun, music, poetry, and fine arts. (In some myths, it was a crow.) But, due to some mischief the Raven got into, as Ravens are wont to do, (depending on the tale, either narking on Apollo's wife, or mistress, or it didn't fetch water quickly enough for Apollo), Apollo flew into a rage, as Greek Gods are wont to do, and turned his white Raven to black.

And I came across this nugget from this spring: a clutch of white Ravens were abandoned by their parents and rescued in a churchyard in England - see link at bottom.

Any Ravens I see here at home in the canyon, I think one of them must be Hoss, one of the baby ravens the neighbors Linda and Mike and Carol raised last year. Especially when even I can get fairly close to him without him being very concerned. Maybe he's a distant descendant of one of the Ravens in myth and legend, comfortable being around people and Gods.

Then there's always the Raven II, popping up at random places.


See the 3 White Ravens in England

Alert

Saturday December 29 2007 Strangely enough, the dogs weren't barking, but the horses were on high alert. All pointed up canyon, all heads high and ears pricked sharply forward. A cougar perhaps?? I grabbed my binoculars and searched from the porch. I heard a shot up-canyon - oh, hunters. But that wasn't it; the horses did look that way also, but it was something else more to the east that had their complete attention. Finally, through the trees, climbing the southeast ridge - 2 cowboys herding two late winter strays. Carol had seen the two cows up the canyon yesterday and called the local rancher. The cowboys had ridden out with a couple of cow dogs, found the cows, and were now heading down toward Oreana in tow of their probably hungry and thirsty strays. I ran for the camera - first focused it on the horses who were still riveted on the western scene on the hillside, then on the procession. Princess was most excited, running around then stopping to stare, her long neck stretched like a giraffe and eyes wide. Mac and Finneas watched with interest, but Diego, he knew what cows were. Not so excited by them after his close encounter a few weeks ago. Old hat to him now.

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Four Minutes

Thursday December 27 2007 That's all it took for Dudley to escape from his new pen this morning when I put him in with Quickie. It was, however, not his fault, it was the fault of the Skibunnies. For three minutes he was sniffing, trotting, bucking, rolling, romping around his new, bigger, wood-railed pen (out of which he escaped twice the first 24 hours after he arrived a few months ago) now reinforced with an inner electric fence. Minute four he turned on the turbos, making a sprint across the pen, something he hadn't been able to do for months in his smaller pen. Coming to the fence (about the same spot he'd broken through before), he put on the brakes. But he forgot to factor in the ice-and-physics calculations that affect the stopping time in two inches of snow when the Skibunnies slip skis on your feet when you're not looking. Or - maybe he did! You never know with Dudley. He always has the most innocent look in his eyes, even as he's trying to unlock his gate or bulldoze down a fence rail, and looking right at you while he's doing it! He stopped moving, 4 legs outstretched in front of him, which on dirt would have skidded him to a stop; but his body, a big freight train (though now a hundred pounds lighter!!), kept glissading on top of the snow, as if he had skis on. He slid right through the electric tape and 2-rail fence, popping the rails off as if they were matchsticks, and spun a donut 180 - rather artfully, I might add - coming to a stop facing me, (with my mouth hanging open and his eyes really wide), with the electric fence tape wrapped around his head. He ducked his head, the tape came off, and - wheee! Off he wheeled on a good gallop that he hasn't had for several months in the big pasture. I let him go have his fun - couldn't have caught him anyway for a while, and ran to put the other 2 rails back up to keep Quickie in the pen and grab the electric tape out of her way. Dudley had a great old time, running around all over the place, dashing by his smaller pen and tossing his head up at it in disdain, kicking up snowballs, and romping around when the other horses joined him. He then took to exploring everything he'd seen over his fence for months. I left him out there while I repaired the fence, because he didn't go directly to the hay pile. Since he's lost so much weight - he has defined hipbones now! - I let him graze a while at the hay pile before catching him and bringing him back into his big pen with Quickie. I'd chalked up this new record four-minute escape to an accident, but, come to think of it - maybe Dudley DID know what he was doing when he skied through the fence. The more escape stories I hear about Dudley from when he was younger, (and he's escaped 4 times in the last 2 months with me now), the more it makes me wonder. I wonder what tomorrow will bring from the equine Houdini?

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Just Call Me Studley (by Dudley)

Thursday December 20 2007 To all of you out there who were calling me Fat, Chunky Monkey, Buffalo, (DIEGO!), all I have to say is just look at me now! I am slimming down so much M can now make out where I was hiding my hip bones! My neck crest is shrinking and I don't look like so much like a Percheron stallion or a big fuzzy triple marshmallow. And anyway, I was not Fat, I am just Big Boned. Well OK, I did have SOME extra padding all over. It's been a lot of painful sacrifice, let me tell you. I am stuck in a pen, which is NOT something I would recommend for anybody. I only get fed twice a day because I am on a diet, which is something else I would not recommend. I have been so hungry at times I could explode. I get a lot of flexercise right before my two (measly) meals a day, because I get so hungry and mad and excited and impatient as soon as I see M coming, that I run around and back and forth in my pen and I buck and crowhop and leap and rear and spin and run some more! And since I have lost weight, I can jump pretty high now, without all that bulk to heft in the air. I also learned from my mama Quickie to throw my head in a big circle. It gives my crest a specialized workout, so it's trimming down, not to mention I look pretty handsome when I do it because it tosses my mane and forelock in the air which then falls carelessly over my eyes. Diego had been coming up to my fence and calling me a Buffalo, and teasing me about him being able to eat at the hay bales all day and night. Well, I've noticed that his little belly is getting to be pretty big around while mine is shrinking! When I am Slim and Cute and I get let out of my pen I am going to chase that Diego down and sit on him! Even when I'm Slim and Cute I will still be bigger than him, but that's just because I am Big Boned. Sometimes I have someone in the pen with me to keep me company, or, like now, Finneas is penned up next door because the big Dork got his leg caught in a fence while squealing with the ladies next door, and he has to heal for a while. So misery loves company. But even with company I really get bored in my pen, especially after I finish my food and have nothing at all to eat. I have some toys - M gave me Diego's necklace, which I've pretty much flattened, and she gave me a cone to play with. But my favorite toy is the pen itself. I am studying up on how to break out again. I've already escaped confinement 3 times. The first time I was in a bigger pen and I led Princess on an escape twice in the first 24 hours after I got here in November. Once I shoved open a gate, and the next time I just pushed a board off the fence by leaning on it, and we just hopped out. I got out of another gate in this smaller pen by shoving it open. M couldn't figure out how on earth I did it, she said it would have taken a bulldozer to get it open. Yea - a bulldozer or a Buffalo! Then there's one gate to my pen that M had to latch, then tie triple to make sure I won't get out. Well, I can stick my head through the gate, and I work on trying to get those knots out. I'll get them one of these days. I've also started working on dismantling the wood rails on one side of the pen. I was pushing the upper rails off, and M would have to hammer and tie them back on. Well, now I pull the bottom poles off and eat them. I pulled two rails off today, and started shredding one to pieces and eating the splintered wood. M wasn't too happy with that and so she brought me another cone to play with. I humored her and messed with it a while, but I was waiting for her to go somewhere else so I could go back to working on eating the fence down. Sometimes I am sad because my diet is SO hard and I am SO bored, and I know M feels guilty, so sometimes I work it with the sensitive look, blinking my big brown eyes and looking soulfully sad. Sometimes she caves and give me a little more food. Sometimes she comes in and spends time with me, brushing me and giving my lots of hugs. She tells me I'm a Whole Lotta Horse to Love, and she calls me handsome Studley instead of Dudley. It almost makes being stuck in this pen on a diet worth it.

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Horse Queen of Idaho

December 19 2007

No, it's not me, but today's history lesson looks back at someone who, a hundred years ago, was a day's endurance ride away from here.

The "Horse Queen of Idaho" was Kittie Wilkins, born in Oregon in 1857, lived in Oregon, Washington and California before coming to Owyhee County in her 20's. She was partners with her father and brothers in the ranching business, eventually taking over the horse business from her father. Theirs was one of the largest horse ranches in the world at the time, the Wilkins Horse Co, on a ranch near Mountain Home in the Bruneau Valley.

Kittie was known as an excellent horsewoman (this was sidesaddle back then, mind you), riding the range with her buckaroos, helping during the roundups, and breaking horses.

The horses they raised were a mix of Morgans, Hambletonians, "Black Hawks," French draft horses (including Percherons), and mustangs. They were sold all over the country, with Kittie eventually taking over all the sales. Every year she'd load up hundreds at a time onto freight trains with a few hands, and she'd conduct all the sales and even ride the horses for demonstration in her stylish riding clothes.

Her horses sold to farms and ranches and the US Cavalry; some ended up in Buffalo Bill's wild west shows.

Her opinions on horse slaughter: "The killing of horses for food, which has lately been introduced in this country and in some of the foreign countries, is an enterprise that I cannot too severely condemn. No lover of the most beautiful animal ever created will ever submit to having him killed and eaten. I would almost feel like a cannibal should I attempt it."

Kittie's father died in 1904, leaving the running of the ranch to Kittie and her mother. When kittie's ma died in 1917, Kittie was 60, and apparently lost interest in her horses and ranching, as the car came into being, and horses weren't worth much anymore. Herds of horses were shipped off for chicken feed and rustlers made off with many others.

The "Horse Queen of Idaho" died of a heart attack in 1936 at 79, her obituary reading, "famous Idaho stock grower who once had a herd of 4000 Broncs."

Apparently the vacancy for new Horse Queen is still open. I'd apply, but I'm having a hard time keeping up with just 6 horses, and none of them buck.

Dashing Through the Snow

Friday December 14 2007 Dashing Through the Snow The first time I rode in the snow was not by choice. I was 12 miles back in the Sierra Nevada backcountry with a Wilderness Ranger. We'd gone in on horseback leading one pack horse to pack up and winterize and close Piute cabin for the winter. We were a day late in our mission. An early storm hit the night before we left, and we woke up to over a foot of snow. Everything pristine, untouched, silent, beautiful, cold - the way a wilderness should be in the winter. But the trail was gone. We'd have to cross rivers, ride on switchback steps, ride right past ponds, ankle-turning rocky draws, downed trees, ride on cliffs above a river - and we couldn't see the trail. Margaret had been out this way more than I had - I sure didn't know exactly how to get out of here - but everything was under snow, and everything looks different under snow. Who could tell where the trail went? We did have gear if we got lost, but we didn't want to think about that. Didn't matter anyway. The horses knew exactly where to go. They'd been in and out of here to this cabin more than both of us humans put together, and most horses seem to have a compass in their heads, especially headed for home. When we got going, sometimes Margaret and I could distinguish just the very slightest indent in the snow where the trail was, if we looked very closely. But we didn't have to. The horses never put a foot wrong, no matter which way the trail twisted, or what they had to step over, and 4 hours later, we were at our trailer, a bit frozen, a bit sad to leave the quiet white magic wilderness, and very proud of our excellent horses. Today's Owyhee ride with Carol was a pleasure ride in the snow. It was cold, sunny, crisp, dry, beautiful. The trails were obvious, the snow wasn't too deep, it was dry enough that it didn't ball up in the horses' feet, and it hadn't thawed-frozen enough to have treacherous ice underfoot. The horses seemed to somewhat enjoy the outing, though Mac had some mighty suspicions about some things, especially the snow-covered sage and rabbit brush. Mac's not too sure about sagebrush and rabbit brush anyway, being from grassland South Dakota (not a bush in sight), but the snow really makes everything look different. White droopy blankets harboring multitudinous little gray skeleton fingers that might very well be parts of horse-eating creatures ready to leap out and grab a horse's feet. August had some misgivings himself of artistic wind-drifted snow across the trail. Canyons and washes and hills and folds can be deceiving in the desert, and the snow really does drop a layer of disguise on everything. Heading back toward home, Carol and I thought we had ended up in a different wash than we wanted. Not until we crossed our tracks did we see we were indeed in the same wash. The snow has stuck around for over a week now. If it stays like this all winter, I won't whimper too much.

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