Horse-brained and Happily Hobbled

Horse-brained and Happily Hobbled

Some folks are born to love horses. A child whose attention is riveted to the horses in a movie rather than to the dialogue is a child who is horse-brained. The Western movies that were so popular from the 1920s through the late 1950s had two attractions to some people—the heroes/heroines and the horses. Even by the time Clint Eastwood began to make movies, the horses were the beautiful Spanish barbs that made riders seem secondary necessities. Some of us just enjoyed watching the horses and dreaming of being the riders of such wonderful steeds.

My first ‘horse’ was the saddle that my daddy had stored in the old well house on Granddad Pollard’s farm. Dad brought it home and fastened ropes to it and hung it from our swing set. It didn’t last long, but oh the dreams that rode out on that saddle! But then, Dad would tell stories about his horse Rabbit and how the paint horse could outrun just about anything around. This same horse was the one that Dad had taught to take off as soon as Dad’s foot was in the stirrup. That lightning take off happened to be the cause of Grandmother Pollard’s injured kidney after she chose to ride the horse to the field to take Granddad his lunch and drinking water. Rabbit was well trained, but Grandmother wasn’t prepared to play a cowboy chase scene.

In among the pictures taken when I was a young child was one showing Dad leading a little pony with a happily grinning daughter sitting pretty with her skirt spread out over the top of the saddle. Little girls did not wear jeans in those days. The pony was one of those little Shetlands that were used in a circular riding ring that kept the children out and the ponies in. No doubt the owner made enough money to feed the ponies and pay for whatever tack might have eventually worn out. But back then paying even one dollar to let a child ride a pony was an extravagance.

Another picture shows a little girl in a winter coat up---way up—on the back of a mixed breed work horse of huge dimensions. Old Dan was a gentle giant that was used in a team to pull stumps out of the Louisiana gumbo. And that gumbo was dirt, not something to eat! Strength and patience was in Dan’s blood line, but for the little girl who was turned loose on his back, he was the nearest thing to heaven that a horse crazy child could imagine. One summer Dan was the center of one of those “take turns” that every child dreads. His back was plenty big for two children, but holding the reins and deciding the destination was part of the excitement of riding the horse. So when one rider ducked as the horse went under the clothes line and the second rider was left hanging by her chin, well, it is just possible that taking turns turned out to be a little less equal than expected.

One grandfather had a beautiful mare named Nellie who had a very deep objection to a curb bit strap. A sweeter little horse and more docile horse one could never expect, but just fasten her up with a curb bit that had a strap under her mouth and watch her head go up! She was good with the cattle as long as the rider didn’t try to do too much reining. Hit that bit a couple of times and the rider could expect some fireworks. One rider ended up in the middle of a stock tank when he could not get the mare to turn loose of the bit and turn. But he learned how to rein and began to leave her mouth alone. One summer she even worked as a diving dock out in the middle of a stock tank as the grandchildren swam back and forth in the pond. It was a sad day when she left the farm to go to another family.

Dawn and Patty were the offspring of Nellie. Neither had her fire, but Dawn was a pretty good horse for a child to ride just for fun. She had no problems with a curb bit and enjoyed a good run over the meadows just as much as her rider enjoyed the ride. It was Dawn who ran through the winter snow and fell, rolling over her rider. But that is another story all by itself.

Another wonderful horse was named Dusty and lived in a pasture near Granddad Pollard’s farm. He belonged to a man who worked with our dad. But Jeff Jeffries hardly ever rode Dusty because Jeff was getting pretty old and stove up from the work he did during the week. Dusty was spirited and had a tendency to rear up when he was in a tight place, so Jeff rarely used him to go get the cattle from a pasture south of Granddad’s place.

Jeff once asked that one of us kids ride his horse to go get the cattle for him. In bringing the cattle down the hill below the tank, Dusty slid in the mud and fell on top of his rider’s leg, but both horse and rider got up and moved the cattle on back to the barn. Somehow little mishaps like that were never shown in the movies.

The movies always showed the wonderful Mustangs and the friendly horses of famous cowboys, but never did those horses attack a rider. One rancher, Buster Zachary, kept rodeo horses on his ranch one year under a contract to keep them pastured and fed for the winter. When Buster rode out to check on the heifers in his cattle herd, the stallion that was kept with the rodeo mares attacked Buster and his horse. Buster ended up with a huge hunk of his leg torn and bruised. Shortly thereafter the rodeo horses were moved to the pasture north of Granddad Pollard’s place. It was there near the lane to the farm that we would stop and watch the horses as they grazed. And the little horse crazy girl would dream horse dreams for days.

Once upon a time Christmas seemed to make the impossible possible—at least for some of us. Dad did his best to make Christmas wonderful, but he still asked about our heart’s desire. A selfish little girl said that a horse was the only gift she would ever want. Frustrated, Dad quipped that a jackass might have to do. The girl’s smile was too much for Dad. That afternoon a muddy little donkey arrived to be kept in the back yard for the next four or five years. That was back in 1959 right before John F. Kennedy was to run for president in 1960. That donkey with a patriotic hat was one of the first pictures of Sir Clyde the First. He went on to become a symbol of more than democratic politics; he was the first of the flying donkeys. No one who has ever ridden a donkey bareback for any length of time needs to be told how wonderfully balanced a rider can become after riding for a few months. And a donkey that runs and jumps with its rider is especially good for building confidence and strength.

Family dynamics are not always sweetness and light, and for that reason, Dad felt that he needed to put a big raw boned gelding in our back yard. Chico was over seventeen hands tall and so skinny that he seemed mostly bones. He needed what the horse trader called ‘groceries.’ He survived being wormed and stumbled around until he was well fed enough to be ridden. It was the dead of winter when he came to us, but his presence became the foundation of a warm friendship. Chico understood his rider without reins or any other accoutrement of tack. Not many horses are as forgiving of a rider’s mistakes or awkwardness as this horse was.

Duchess came to us as a yearling. She was wearing her scraggly foal coat and needed to be brushed badly. And she had not even been weaned. She stood under the clothes line in the back yard where Chico’s saddle blanket was hung. She rubbed her head on it and lay down on the ground under it. Poor little filly missed her dam. After a year of training and handling, no one could have asked for a better young horse. But she had spirit and speed and the youth that made each fairly unpredictable. It took very little effort to take a wild run down the lane to the Groves’ farm, but then, she also was willing to work around the cattle with her head held down and her eyes on the cattle. The only problem with Duchess was really that she did not like to be alone. She could jump anything around four feet tall with plenty of space between her and the top of a fence or a pole. So she would not be kept away from the house or from our home overnight. It only took once for us to understand that she would NOT stay on the farm unless we were there too. Four gates and cattle guards were nothing to her. And because she demanded personal attention, she remained in my parents’ back yard when I went off to college.

The stories Dad told about his days on the farm and the horses and the big Holloway lake always made us wish we could have been back there with him in those days. Truth be told, he was probably pretty lonely out there on the farm with no other kids around for more than three miles. And I realize now that he relived those happier days in his memory from a different perspective than he had back then. Like the cowboy movies never showed the accidents, the tired muscles, and the lack of food out on the prairie, our memories often leave out some of the harder parts of reality. Maybe that is why it is so easy to love horses when the price of hay, the lack of pasture, the price of veterinarian bills, and the assorted heartbreaks involved can be left in the background with the typical movie music.

Ovenbird vs. Governmental Regulations

A man I know--well, I have read many of his posts, but have never met him otherwise--made an observation about the oven bird pictures that I sent him that showed the process involved with its nest building techniques. His reply and observations just tickled me pea green, so I thought I would share. Now to give background, the oven bird builds its nest with a series of teeny tiny beaks full of mud stuck to a flat surface somewhere away from the ground in a normally inaccessible place. But that type of structure would NEVER be beyond government intervention in Keith's mind:

Interesting pictures. I was curious and looked up the bird. Took a little effort in Google to confirm my first impression. It’s an Ovenbird, more precisely a Red Ovenbird. They get their name from the mud nests they build that look like small mud ovens. I found another picture of a similar nest in a tree. Not sure what the greatest skill involved is. I don’t know of many carpenters who work with mud. It certainly is a feat of engineering. It got me to thinking.

If we would build a similar home for ourselves we’d first have to submit the idea to the engineering department. They would propose multiple designs and subject them to thorough testing over a three year period. Other engineers would experiment with several varieties and consistencies of mud and do more tests. Chemists would look in to making synthetic mud in case the demand for mud houses resulted in mud shortages. Prototypes would be built and cost estimates determined. The marketing department would develop a strategy to bring the design to the public and convince them they really need this. Finally blueprints would be submitted to appropriate government agencies for approval who would reject the plans because the house has only one point of egress.

There would be a host of social and political issues to deal with. Residential window and door manufacturers would oppose them since houses with only one door and no windows would pretty much eliminate most of them. The carpentry and woodworking unions would protest that this is a Republican conspiracy to take work away from them. Home Depot and Lowes would lay off thousands of employees and shut down their indoor lumberyards as demand for two-by-fours and plywood dried up. Environmentalists would be pleased with a reduction of logging but worried about strip mining mud for all new houses. A super PAC would be formed to support only politicians who subscribed to their motto, “Mud houses are for the birds.”

Well, I didn’t say it got me to thinking very clearly.

Keith [Mattson]

Eye Wash On Demand

Well, this has been a week of eye wash on demand, especially if one considers tears that fall involuntarily a simple eye wash. The 'on-demand' part just means that thinking about Fang caused my eyes to blur with tears. And what really seems strange is the happy parts that still made me cry. A visit to Betty J. had us both in tears when we talked about our husbands. Then a message on the answering machine caused so much distress that tears were right on the surface for the rest of the day and into the evening. By the time dinner was served by the hosts of Under Angels Wings, several of us had cried together again. Yet we were able to find a good laugh when told the story of a friend who had stepped on her boob---after surgery for breast cancer, she had one of those bras with inserts that looked like boobs. She dropped one on the floor and accidentally stepped on it. Then she went in and told her husband that she had had a terrible accident. All concerned, he asked whatever had she done to hurt herself. "Oh," she said, "I didn't hurt myself; I just stepped on one of my boobs."

When we finished laughing at that story, we had a wonderful potluck dinner and visited for a couple of hours. Each of us comes from totally different backgrounds, but we all have some traumatic loss in our lives--husbands, children, parents, siblings--even a divorce. No matter what the cause, we needed the reassurance of like-minded friends to help us through this part of our lives. It doesn't help for anyone to tell us that time will heal, we will get over it, or that we should 'get on' with our lives. We are irreparably scarred by this experience. And we hurt. However, it helps to know that others have been where we are and were able to get their minds back to some semblance of normal. The immediate two or three weeks after Fang's death are a fog in the back of my mind by now. Our daughter reminded me of something that happened shortly after his death, and it simply was not 'there' for me. It undoubtedly happened, but my memory just did not record it.

Today should have been a fairly decent day. A friend whose husband died last December came by and picked me up for a run around town to several of her errand sites. We talked almost non-stop going from one place to the other. Then we had breakfast at a place we both know and enjoy--Pioneer of Texas on Maplewood Avenue. Again, the waitress knows us and was so sweet. The food was good, and the chatter was simply special with several good laughs. Then when I opened the front door of my house, a special UPS delivery (next day air) was in between the inner and outer door. That was a relief! Now I don't have to deal with Ameritrade or any of their financial brokers ever again. When the check clears, I can leave an account open for the estate affairs and go on with whatever I need to do without someone trying to tell me that I am not handling money wisely. Plus, the lady at the bank was able to tell me how to invest the funds for the most interest without any fees attached or any risk involved. Whew! It is simple; but I would never have known that without having gone through this other mess with a financial broker. I think the word broker is pretty well descriptive. 'Nuff said, I suppose.

The neighbor down the hill came this evening and put extra screws in the car shed roof and in its legs to better anchor the thing against the constant wind we have on this hill. When it was built, the men used the least amount of screws necessary. Their technique might have been fine and dandy in a state that has no wind, but in this part of Texas, we have wind when we don't have anything else. Anyway, he and I talked about the old dog he loved for 14 years that died last night. I had already heard from his wife about Max, and we had both shed some more tears together. Dang! No one knows how important love is to a person until that love has to be put away. Our old cat has been slowing down a bit more every day, and I just dread the day that he curls up somewhere and gives it up. He is over 12 years old now and skinny beyond belief despite foods that should be putting weight on him. But he still purrs and sheds hair all over me when he rubs up under my chin and paws my arms. He has no kitten left in him, but he is as loving as he ever was.

I guess I don't have any 'kitten' in me either at this point in my life. Kitten, kid, or filly...whatever that youthful little spark is that keeps a gleam in our eyes...it just isn't there at the moment. Who knows, maybe someday it might light up inside again. But right now it's still eye-wash time and more solemnity than the proverbial judge. Eventually that will have to change if possible, but it may take a real effort to find joy in the little things of life. Ah well, fall might bring some rains and that HAS to be a better portion for everyone in this part of the world.

Provocation and Protection

Yesterday I took one of those CHL classes so that it would be legal for me to carry my revolver in my purse or truck whenever I travel here in Texas. I learned a few things about the laws of Texas that I had never known before. And, come to think of it, I learned a few things about the reasons that our country came to respect the rights of its citizens to “bear arms.”

Everyone has heard the arguments about disarmament and keeping guns out of the hands of irresponsible folks. One of the first things our instructor told us about those ideas was to make a comparison of automobiles to guns—they are both tools. We can’t outlaw F150s because so many die in pickup truck accidents, and by the same token, we can’t outlaw guns because there are idiots out there using them against others. Knives, baseball bats, tire irons, or any other handy hammer would be as easily utilized up close and personal. And my guess is that one of those big Humvees would be just as deadly as anyone’s .45 revolver.

When our instructor compared our abilities to protect ourselves against much larger and stronger opponents, it made sense to the women in the room that we would not stand a chance with a baseball bat or pepper spray against a man three times our size and strength. The man could easily take the bat away from us, and the pepper spray might not have any effect unless it actually hit the person in the eyes. Then too, one man who had been an MP said that someone hopped up on certain drugs often would be unaffected by the pain element from pepper spray because of the overriding effects of the drugs.

Two incidents—go ahead and call them tragedies—were discussed yesterday. One part of the discussion covered provocation of violence in regard to the confrontation and death in Florida of a teenager. Everyone has heard about it by now because of the extreme media coverage. Again, the long and short of the situation came down to bad decisions by both parties. But beyond the ‘who did what to whom’ part of the story, too many people see the right to carry a concealed weapon as the culprit or determining factor in the mix. The fact is that if the man carrying the gun had not used it, he would not be around to be standing trial. It brings back the old saw, “Better tried by twelve than carried by six.”

The second situation is the horror of slaughter at a movie theater among innocent people who never had a chance to either defend themselves or–in the case of a three-year-old child—never had the chance to really live. I seriously doubt that anyone in that theater was armed except for the insane man who murdered those people. But, if anyone had been more alert—and had been armed—it is just possible that the number of dead and wounded would have been greatly reduced. In Texas, it is not unreasonable to assume that as many as four out of ten men would be armed in almost any setting—theater, city park, or anywhere that handguns are not prohibited by law. And lately, it is not a stretch of the imagination to think that one of every ten women in Texas is also armed. At least, I know two that will shortly have their guns tucked safely away in a holster in their purses.

One of the reasons that Japan chose not to bring the war in the Pacific to the actual shores of America was the fact that they knew our nation was armed to the teeth. Every farmer, every rancher, and many businessmen were armed with either handguns or sports rifles. And all of them knew how to use them quite effectively. That was true all over this nation at that time. And the ownership of guns has increased in most states since World War II. More folks are members of the NRA now than of AAA.

Recently a treaty or firearm regulation agreement was supposed to have been discussed at the UN, but like so many other ideas, a few folks took off with the idea that our president was trying to totally disarm Americans. The Supreme Court had this to say: District of Columbia v. Heller, 26 June 2008: (T)he enshrinement of constitutional rights necessarily takes certain policy choices off the table. These include the absolute prohibition of handguns held and used for self-defense in the home.

The treaty that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton said that the administration seeks is one that has “legally binding standards for the international transfer of conventional weapons." Furthermore, the language of the discussion included this: that a provision in the resolution’s preamble – included at the request of the U.S. – explicitly recognizes the right of nations to regulate gun sales and ownership within their borders, including through their constitutions:

UN General Assembly Resolution A/C.1/64/L.38/Rev.1, Oct. 28: …Acknowledging also the right of States to regulate internal transfers of arms and national ownership, including through national constitutional protections on private ownership, exclusively within their territory…

FactCheck.org is one of the best places to dispel rumors and other stupidities that circulate about political or economic absurdities. Americans are pretty easily convinced of conspiracies and other hoaxes, unfortunately. But on the other hand, they are also one of the most stubborn and defensive in the world. Somehow one might have to really stretch the imagination to even think that America would be as easily disarmed as France or England or any of the other European nations were before World War II.

According to an article in Time magazine: “Though it may pale in comparison to America's 88.8 registered weapons per hundred people, the rate of gun ownership in Europe is higher than one might imagine. In Switzerland there are 45.7 guns per hundred people; in Finland, 45.3; France's 31.2 is a little higher than Germany's 30.3. The U.K., which banned most gun ownership after two massacres, has a rate of 6.2 registered guns per 100 people.”

And in another publication: Although Norway has far and away the highest firearm ownership per capita in Western Europe, it nevertheless has the lowest murder rate. Other nations with high firearms ownership and comparably low murder rates include Denmark, Greece, Switzerland, Germany and Austria. Holland has a 50 percent higher murder rate despite having the lowest rate of firearm ownership in Europe. And Luxembourg, despite its total handgun ban, has a murder rate that is nine times higher than countries such as Norway and Austria.

According to an article in GOA [Gun Owners of America] of 2008:

Nor does the "more guns means more murder" belief square with our own experience. The earliest American figures, dating from just after World War II, showed both gun ownership and murder rates holding at low levels. Today our murder rates are almost identical, despite six decades of massive gun buying whereby Americans have come to own five times more guns than they did in 1946. The intervening years saw a dramatic increase in murder followed by a dramatic decrease. These trends had no relationship to gun ownership, which steadily rose all the while (especially handgun ownership).

Finally, if common sense makes any difference in life at all, we should all know better than to purposely provoke someone. But we should also be aware that we need to be able to protect ourselves and our families from the insanity that seems to run rampant in today’s society. In a few years I will be too old to handle a gun effectively. At least, I cannot imagine being able to hold a steady aim. By then maybe I will get an old-fashioned scatter gun to keep by the bedside table and a big dog to growl at anyone silly enough to bother me. Until then, I will carry a gun with me for those situations that just may arise, and I will continue to appreciate the men and women who have taken this class in order to protect themselves and others around them.

By the Dawn's Early Light

Unlike what we have had today, the bombs are now bursting in air around here. Today only firecrackers were banging and cracking, but tonight the rockets are really glaring on the water of the lake and sizzling through the neighborhood. Because any blade of grass that is still standing is as dry as tinder, it will be a miracle if the houses make it through the night without being burned to ashes! Wichita Falls is under strict water rationing because of this extended drought. The city has even decreased the water pressure to conserve water since our lakes are at less than 50% capacity. And Lake Wichita where our house is located has golden algae so that the fish are dying without the oxygen they need to survive in this heat. But folks can still buy and blow up anything they can light a match to at this point. Yes, it is the Fourth of July, but for the critters and for a few folks like me who don't trust others with dynamite, we look forward to seeing the dawn's early light!

Following Hope

When things are looking mighty bleak or just plain sad, it helps to look ahead or otherwise find new horizons.   A friend of mine is dealing with some rather large changes in her life and one of our children finds himself wanting to look ahead to a less constricted and limited lifestyle. In my way of thinking, a type of hope can be found in travel or in looking for other places to live--whether in imagination or in reality. So, I have invited my  friend to visit Texas and look over some of the scenery. Now I can't give the child a different outlook as easily other than to tell him that the place he is dreaming about DOES exist, even if we don't own a piece of it. We at least know some folks who live there and maybe they will invite him out to visit.

One of the things I have learned about lately is the reason for bus loads of old folks--widows, widowers, and older couples who don't do much driving--to be found on the highways and byways. It is the simple need to get away from the same four walls for a bit for a change of perspective, attitude adjustment, or just plain fun and companionship. We get pretty dadgummed stale sitting here day after day on our tails. If you don't believe me, just ask any activity director in any nursing home or senior retirement center. Folks need a change of pace from time to time. The same can be said of folks who work day after day at any job. Vacations simply are not enough time to really help a working man take a breather--even if he has two weeks and plenty of cash to spend. Old folks don't take vacations. One day is about like another in their lives. Whoopty big doo...Pretty hard to look forward to the weekend when it looks the same as Monday or Wednesday except for lack of mail.

Back when my parents were going through this period of life, they told me about all the farms they "owned" at different places in Texas and about all the chickens and cows that they were raising. I understood that they  were dreaming about being in different circumstances without the work and other hardships that go along with living in the country. Then many days during the hot summer or the coldest frozen winters, Dad would say how happy he was that he did not have to take care of any animals or cut ice on the tanks for them to have water. Reality is not nearly as much fun as our day dreams. But day dreams are an essential part of our lives, in my opinion. The dream of visiting Normandy and Whithorn in Scotland are two of my latest dreams. And then, if it is possible, I want our daughter to get to go with me to see the Louvre in France. Two women turned loose in France to see the sights! We should have a ball!

One of these days the world may fall down and gasp to have peace and prosperity for all its inhabitants. That will probably be the day that Christ Himself will walk this earth again. Until then, we can only follow the hope that we can imagine for ourselves. Anything as big as peace just seems more than unrealistic!

The Day Will Come

The Day Will Come

I knew—I knew the day would come

That you would leave me here alone

I knew—but I didn’t think

About the pain, the deep hurt

I would feel every day

At every turn

You left me with memories—good ones

And I realized at the time we lived

Together we made good loving

Good memories, good for us

Good for the grands

Even good for those who knew us

The waitresses come and hug my neck

The woman at McDs smiles twice—she knows

Even Mother remembers and talks of you

And Dad asks if all the machinery works well

Not that he could fix it—but he asks in your place

For you—he misses you, too

The house is quiet, too quiet—no squeaks

No footsteps down the hall

I only sit in your chair once in a while

But the cat and the dog still need

To be touched, reassured

They still need to be loved—like me

The day will come—I know it

My tears won’t happen as often

Or as unexpectedly—but the memories

I don’t want them to stop—ever

I still love you—always will