Summer at SCR '09: Nature's Call

I've blogged before about camping out during a branding.  It just so happens that the night after we gathered and branded in Chico was my first experience with "roughing it".  It turned out to be memorable in more ways than one. . . .

I rubbed my sore forearms with stiff fingers as I made my way to the camp site.  I hadn't dropped trou to look yet but I was pretty sure that the inside of each of my knees had been rubbed raw.  There was so much dirt caked on my face that I probably could've passed as belonging to an ethnicity with a shade more melanin than my own and any chance at a shower wouldn't come for at least twenty more hours. I was bone tired.

But, I was absolutely happy.

Even with the constant battling with Breeze, the uncertainty of not having a clue what I was doing, and the dirt, grime, and soreness I was having the time of my life.  I was totally immersed in a world that I had only dreamed of before and the entire day had been surreal.  Colors seemed too bright, the sounds too clear, and smells too sharp.  Everything was beautiful.  Hills rose up from the ground while a creek bed cut through to reveal the red dirt below.  Cedar trees and cholla cactus dotted the landscape with shades of green and the grass glowed amber as the summer sun bounced of its blades.  In the distance, great bluffs of crimson and white provided a stunning backdrop.

Situated amongst the cedars at the base of a small hill, our campsite was comprised of several canvas cowboy tepees and an enclosed stock trailer that  served as a chuckwagon.   Weary and with the knowledge that the next day's work would come early, the lot of us ate our dinner, visited for a short while, and then turned in for the night before the sun was even out of the sky.  As the only two women, Connie and I were granted luxury sleeping accommodations in the form of an air mattress on the floor of the stock trailer.  As tired as I was I would have been happy to bed down in a cradle of cactus.

Dressed in the clothes I would wear on the morrow, I barely made it through the "Dear Lord, thank you" portion of my prayers before I was sound asleep. 

Unfortunately, my peaceful slumber would be short-lived.

At 2:15 I was awakened by the disgruntled rumblings of my innards.  It took a few seconds for it to register in my sleep fogged brain just how ominous the sounds really were and even then I lay there for a bit staring into the dark in denial.  When the cramping became too much and I realized it wasn't going to just go away I began formulating a plan for taking care of my, ahem. . .problem.

I threw back the covers and eased my generous length off the air mattress, taking care to not jostle Connie too much (air mattresses have a tendency to shift considerably when that much pressure is removed from the surface).  Fumbling around, I found my glasses and the flashlight I had laid on the floor beside the bed.

Gloop-gloop-gloop.  Gloop. 

My intestines continued to protest.

I dug furiously through my duffel for my roll of toilet paper.  Finding it, I unraveled several feet and then crammed the wad into the pouch of my hoodie.  Beads of perspiration had started to form on my forehead and upper lip by the time I located my boots and shoved my feet into them.  I creeped over to the trailer door and pushed it open.

Creeeeeeeaaaaaak!

I sucked in a breath and held it, expecting to see a cowboy, or two, pop out of their tepee to see who was skulking about.  When none came I exhaled and gingerly stepped down.  I closed the door ever so slowly then turned the narrow beam of my flashlight out into the void beyond camp and began walking. 

Determined to get far enough away to be out of hearing distance, I wound my way around the cedar trees and scrambled over rocks  until I met a fence line on the opposite side of the small hill we were camped beside.  The cool night air was filled with the sounds of birds singing and chirping and I remember considering it odd that they would be so noisy in the dead of night.

Gloop-gloop. 

The rumblings of my stomach joined in the birds' chorus.

Deciding this was as good a place as any, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and shoved them down around my ankles in desperation. 

I hesitated for the briefest of seconds when, as if in anticipation, the birds' joyous chorus came to an abrupt halt and the night became very still.

Self conscious now, with the sudden silence, I was mid-squat when something occurred to me; just that morning one of the cowboys had shot a rattlesnake and we'd all gathered round to take a gander at the thing as it lay dead in the grass, forever frozen in the middle of consuming a hapless rabbit. And here I was, in the middle of the night, exposing my very white derriere like a beacon to all the vermin.

I quickly swung my flashlight round behind me and shown it all over the ground surrounding my makeshift privy.  When I was satisfied that nothing was going to suddenly sink its fangs into my rear, I relaxed a little and resumed my previous stance.

Then. . .

I gave in and answered the call of nature.

*********
The trek back to camp seemed much shorter than the trek out had.  Mindful of the creaky door, I slipped back into the stock trailer, shucked my boots, carefully lay down on the air mattress, and fell asleep for the second time that night.

Summer at SCR '09: Fish Out of Water

Breeze and I survived our first gather.  Barely.  And even got a compli. . .er, comment. 


It came after we topped a steep incline that the Monster Mare made short work of.  When we reached the top, the cowboy who had come up behind me looked at us and said, "She's athletic, ain't she."  All I could do was nod my head, clear my dry throat, and make a suspiciously squeaky sound of agreement.


I think by "athletic" he really meant "a lunging beast of a horse". 


The Chico pasture was a relatively small one and by mid-morning we had the cattle brought in and had begun branding.  My first impression of the branding pen was one of controlled chaos. 


Smoke and dust merged with the acrid odors of burnt hair and blood.  It was a haze you could both feel and smell.  The worried bawls of cows and calves added a cacophony of sound to the bedlam.


Two cowboys on horseback roped and drug calves from within the milling herd.  As each calf was brought up innoculators, branders, cutters, and flankers worked efficiently to get that one done before the next was drug up.  Rays of light from the blistering sun glinted off the metallic surfaces of hot irons, knives, and large guage needles.  Cowboys weaved behind and around each other with all of the intricacy and fluidity of a well run offense.  I lost myself in the rythm of it all and was surprised when the last calf ran bawling back to the herd in search of its' mother.

 I washed the blood and grime from my hands in the stock tank and dried them on the thighs of my blue jeans.  My ball cap, white when we started, was now a dingy brown and sand was a grit in my teeth.  I looked across the pen and, through the bars, I could see Breeze tied to the stock trailer. 


There were mounds of earth built up on either side of her and she stood in the hole between, head still high and eyes still rimmed in white.  I had lost track of her during the branding but from the looks of things she had carried on just as I had left her; flopping from side to side like a giant fish on a line.


As I stood there staring in bewilderment at my batty mare Grant walked by and cuffed me on the shoulder.


"She'll probably be sore tomorrow.  Might slow her down some," he said.


My answering smile was more of a grimace. 


Physically, Breeze was in good shape.  It was her mental state that was lacking in fitness.


I wasn't going to hold my breath that what hadn't been fixed in twelve years would suddenly right itself overnight.

Summer at SCR '09: Cowboy Meeting, a Juxtaposition

juxtaposition (noun): an act or instance of placing close together or side by side, especially for comparison or contrast.

**********

 
To be fair, I never really set Breeze up for success in this venture. I took a horse that I knew needed little encouragement to become slightly mental and completely rocked her world.


From miles of flat cotton rows with a horizon that goes on forever to hills and rocks and trees and limited vision.


From just the two of us, maybe three's a crowd, to the cowpony horde.


From the dog is following us to following the doggies.


There was no gradual acclimation to the change either. We arrived on a Saturday and by Monday morning, earrrrrly Monday morning, we were gathering the pasture named Chico. . . .


The sun was just peeking over the bluffs when we pulled up to the white gate with the red bar S welded on. One truck and trailer waited for us on the shoulder of the road, another topped the hill just as we pulled in and more would trickle in shortly thereafter. Dew clung to the long blades of tawny grass and the cool air nipped at my cheeks and ears as we unloaded horses.


Being a mare and an outside horse gave Breeze the dubious honor of riding at the back of the long stock trailer and being the first unloaded. I untied her and allowed her to turn around and step off. Later, I would learn that the cowboys preferred I keep her head facing forward and have her back off the trailer. It was one of many things I learned that summer.


RRRrrrrrrrrrfffffffftttttttt!!!


Her snort punched at the air as she stood at full attention with nostrils flared and head held high. At that moment, she looked more than capable of creating flames deep within her chest and letting them erupt from her nostrils.


I gained Breeze's attention long enough to lead her out of the way so the rest of the horses could be unloaded. Had we been at home, I would have taken time to do groundwork until her state of mind was a little less volatile. But we weren't at home and the cowboys' horses were already saddled and bridled and I still needed to get a bridle on a head that was eight feet in the air and showing no indications of coming down. I sure as heck wasn't going to make them wait on me.

 I hastily bridled as the others mounted and made their way over to Grant, who was already sitting on his horse in a little open area. I tightened my cinch, thrust my foot in the stirrup and threw myself up on the moving target that was my horse. Gathering the reins tightly in both hands, I rode over to the circle of cowboys.


Cowboy hats and leggins' and compact cowhorses.


Ballcap and hoodie and Gee-raffe.


We were the proverbial sore thumb.


The cowhorses stood quietly. Bay, dun, and sorrel. Their eyes were soft, their heads were low and reins hung from their bits with a generous drape.


The Gee-raffe and I argued over the idea of standing still for two seconds.


Jig, jig, jig. Snort. Head toss. Jig, jig, jig.
She puts her left foot in, I back her left foot out.
She swings her butt on in and she shakes it all about.
We do the hokey pokey and we turn ourselves around. . . .


Although not a single cowboy raised an eyebrow at our antics, I became worried that we were a distraction so we excused ourselves from the cirlce and found a little space to the side and began doing serpentines. If moving her feet is what she needed to do then move our feet we would. We made our own circles. Many, many, many of them.


I kept one eye on the cowboy gathering until, in unison, they turned and pealed off into the pasture at a long trot. I pointed Breeze's nose in their direction and released her from our endless circling. She powered forward at a ground eating trot, her long legs eating up the distance between us and the stream of cowboys in no time at all.


We passed one cowboy then two, three, and four. My fingers ached with the stress of clamping on the reins. Breeze's chin was tucked tight to her chest as we performed a piaffe born of ignorance. All the while Grant's advice to not ride in front of the cowboys echoed in my mind. 

Boy, was I ever screwing that one up.

Summer at SCR '09: The Night Before

I arrived at the ranch on a Saturday afternoon. On Sunday I helped Connie prepare enough food to feed the cowboys for the next two days. She's a hard worker and I was bushed by the time I went to bed early that night.

My alarm clock read 9:15 mst and I was lying in my bed in the little dwelling called the bunkhouse, which was actually more of an efficiency apartment. I could hear the breeze coming throught the blinds of the open windows and the occasional yip of a coyote. I knew that I needed to shut my mind down and go to sleep, 4:15 would come quick, but it was racing about like a rat in a maze, bouncing off walls and constantly switching directions.

Which was probably exactly what Breeze was doing down in her pen: racing about, bouncing off fences. Besides the occasional break to eat or drink, I don't think her head had been below her withers since I'd unloaded her.

We were both excited and worried, a volatile combination.

I thought about the things Grant had told me about earlier that evening. About the cowboy etiquette that I would need to follow. Grant was a man of few words at this point in time so the lecture was short, sweet, and to the point. He would later open up and talk a whole dang lot, mostly to give me a hard time, which I understood and reciprocated a lot better than all that stinking quiet.

The most important thing, he told me, was to never ride in front of the other cowboys. There was an heirarchy and, understandably, I would be at the bottom of it. This rule also carried over in to the branding pen where most of us would be on foot. Not only was this a sign of respect but it would also prevent wrecks from occuring.

I had no problems with being a follower. My entire reason for coming to the ranch was to learn. Breeze, on the other hand, was a boss mare through and through and I was concerned that it was going to take more muscle than I had to keep her from trying to get to the front.

I finally fell asleep but it turned out to be a fitful night. I dreamt of riding a great red dragon with fire flaring from its' nostrils. There were cattle all around and the ones that weren't burnt to a crisp were taken out by giant swings of the dragon's great tail.

See any resemblance??

Summer at SCR '09 - The Call

“Might be best if you just brought your own horse and rode her. Figure that way you’d be more comfortable cause you already know her.”

Oh crap. Yeah, I knew her and comfortable was not the word to describe the way I was going to feel riding her on the ranch this summer.

“Ooookaaay. Uh, sure.”

I sure as certain wasn’t going to voice that concern to my cousin, Grant. The last thing I wanted was to give him the impression that I was going to be more trouble than I was worth. Breeze, on the other hand, I knew she was waaay more trouble than she was worth.

“I’m going to leave here right after in-service. That’ll be over around noon, so I should get to the ranch around five thirty.”

“Okay, adios.”

I pressed End and stared down at the cell phone in my hand. My stomach was churning with a toxic mix of excitement and dread. This was the chance of the lifetime and I had romanticized it in my head for three full weeks now. In not one of those daydreams was I mounted on my own mare. No, the only thing my bi-polar Appendix mare would star in was an equine knockoff of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

I hastily dialed Debbie, my friend and sensei for all things horse.

“Hey D, what’s up?”

“He wants me to ride Breeze.”

I’m guessing she could hear the tension in my voice. She laughed, the jerk.

“It’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. There will be so much to going on, she’ll have plenty to keep her mind busy.”

Oh please Lord let that be the truth.

“Okay, sure. You’re right. I’m going to choose to believe that or else I won’t sleep a wink tonight. Okay, you’re right.”

If I repeated it often enough maybe I could convince myself.

“You’ll be fine D. Really. It’s going to be awesome.”

“I know. I’m still super excited. Just a little unconfident. I knew that I was going to be clueless but I thought I would at least be riding a horse that knew what was going on. Now I’m going to be clueless on a bat-crap crazy mare.” My voice rose an octave at the end.

She laughed again and I tried to remember why I had called her. . .

“Well, I’ve got to pack and get Breeze’s stuff ready too so I guess I’ll let you go.”

“Alright, you’d better call me and let me know how things go. Ya’ll will be fine, D. Just have fun.”

“K, Bye.”

I quickly busied my mind with the details of what I would need for both myself and my horse for a month long stay. Maybe Deb was right and everything would be fine. Besides, Breeze could be absolutely great on a good day. I just needed to pray that she could put together a string of them.

Miss Bi-polar herself, aka Breeze