My Most Difficult Ride

I've been going to write about this ride since October, when it occurred, but I had a hard time (and still am) gathering my thoughts about it.  It was perhaps the most frustrating ride I've ever been on, though Estes came through like the Queen she is.

Compass wanted to make a commercial for her livery and get some promotional pictures, so she hired a photographer/videographer and invited people to come participate in exchange for a free ride.  Deejo, Mrs Deejo, Mrs Junior, Mr Nebalee, and Autobot went along for the ride.  I actually started out my ride NOT with the group, but met up with them at about the halfway point when I went to talk to College Boy.

Let me tell you about College Boy.  Her Highness loves him very much.  When she likes someone, she makes up her mind and that's all there is to it.  I don't know what it is about him that she likes so much, but she immediately bonded to him.  Whenever I had her out and College Boy was around, she would bury her head in his chest and just sigh.  For a very stand-offish horse, that's saying a lot.  Granted, he's a great guy, good looking, and has a naturally easy way with horses, so I guess it's not really surprising that Estes developed such a crush on him.  He's never even ridden her, though I wouldn't hesitate for him to do so.

Last summer it was very hard for me to deal with the livery.  If it wasn't for College Boy, I wouldn't have ever set foot on the property.  Really, it was a lot of little things that made me insane and created a lot of resentment and anger on my part.  Mom and Bill are so much better at taking the high road than I am and are much better people. Once I'm done, I'm d-o-n-e.  And last summer, I was d-o-n-e.

So it was probably my frustration with the entire summer that made the final livery ride so difficult; take this post with a grain of salt, for it probably wasn't *as bad* as I thought it was.

I've worked on Julie Goodnight's TV crew for a few years now, so I had a fair idea of what it was going to take to get the pictures and videos needed.  I knew there would be a lot of "hurry up and wait", which is fine.  It was a beautiful day and I had no place I needed to be except on the back of my mare.  When we ran into the livery ride, I headed over to talk to College Boy and no surprise, Estes buried her head in his chest and decided we'd go along and help out, which really meant ponying and holding the photographer's horse.  Not a big deal, Estes is experienced at ponying and the photographer's horse, RC, was one that I'd known forever, so I didn't think twice about the fact that we were bareback.

RC, Estes and I stood around and talked to College Boy while the photog did his thing.  He wanted some shots of College Boy galloping along a trail.  He got some excellent pictures, but I was unhappy that these pictures were going to be used for advertising.  Guests are absolutely NOT allowed to gallop along those trails, it's a safety issue.

I do actually love the pictures, though.  This one is my favorite.  Not many people have a professional photographer clicking away the very first time they gallop.  College Boy had a blast.

Photo cred: Allenspark Livery

After the running like their tails are on fire shots, we moved on to the trench trail, where I got twitchy all over again.  They wanted more pictures of horses and guests running.  Off trail.  In the direction of home.  Who else thinks this might not be a good idea?

It turned out okay, they did it a couple of times and got some good footage to use, but I really, really was unhinged by the fact that they were videotaping a business breaking the rules they were bound to by their permits.  All commercial rides must stay on the trail and must stay in control.  Oh, and the dog off-leash?  In direct violation of Boulder County's leash laws. (And I'm the one who went to jail for a loose cat!)

As we moved on, College Boy forever earned a place in my heart when he told the photographer that my mare would do anything I asked.  And he's right, Estes is pretty much the bomb (and bomb-proof).  So Estes and I ponied RC back and forth across Fox Creek for some really pretty footage of a water crossing.  By that time, I'd resigned myself to just getting through the ride.

We got everyone across the creek and headed back to the picnic area, which is rarely used, but there are some hidden waterfalls back there that would have made for beautiful pictures.  The trail isn't used very often and can get kind of narrow.  In fact, there are pictures around here somewhere of that trail - it can get pretty gnarly in areas.  Nothing high or scary, just tight quarters.  We had along with us, the livery's two new mules, Mike and Ike.  They were bought for packing, but didn't have much training on them.  We got to a particularly tight section of trail and realized that we couldn't get them through with their packs on, so the decision was made to reverse course.  The photographer, College Boy, and I were kind of in the middle of the line, so when we had to turn around, they ended up ahead of me.  This is important in just a few minutes.

Since we had to reverse course, the decision was made to send College Boy and the photographer up the Goat Trail, which we would have to pass anyway.  The views from the Goat Trail are stunning, there's no doubt about it, so of course, there had to be pictures taken up there.  However, the Goat Trail even from the "good" side is not for beginners (or intermediates), so the plan was for the rest of the riders to wait at the bottom of the trail while College Boy and the photographer went up for some quick shots.  Again, they were astounding.

Photo cred: Allenspark Livery

Yeah, the plan was to wait at the bottom of the trail.  But remember that crush that Estes has on College Boy?  I let my guard down as he and the photographer headed up the trail and Estes decided she was going too.  I can't even tell you what happened; I was ponying the mules (oh God, a whole OTHER story), waiting on the trail and then suddenly Estes and I had hopped up on a boulder and she started scrambling after them.  I got her stopped, but we were on shale and there wasn't any way to turn her without falling to our deaths.  I wish I was exaggerating.  The mules had not followed her up the boulder, so I dropped the lead rope and veeeerrrrryyyyy slowly slid myself off her her back, feeling with my toes for the ground.  College Boy and the photographer had stopped on the Goat Trail ahead of us, mostly, I think, because the photographer dropped his tripod.  Since I was on the ground, I could easily get the tripod.  That was the only easy thing.  They went on to the top while I figured out how to get us out of our little predicament.

I finally told Estes to stand, picked up the tripod and squeezed by her with it.  I didn't have a good angle to put the tripod in one of the mule's packs, but I leaned off of the boulder, out over the open space and just jammed the damn thing in, figuring I could fix it once I got my horse back down.  Standing behind her on the trail, I looked at our options, which were very few.  I had to take her up the trail ten yards or so before there was any space wide enough for me to turn her around.  The old girl can turn on a dime, so I didn't need a hugely wide spot on the trail, but I did need something more than I had.

I squeezed by her again, aware of the shale slipping out from under my boots, picked up her reins and lead her up to the wide spot to spin her around.  In order to turn her and stay out from under her hooves, I had to scale some loose rock, but we managed to get her turned around and headed back in the right direction.  We descended the trail very carefully.  My boots were slipping on the rocks and I was afraid that if I fell, she'd step on me or slip and fall herself.  We weren't very far up the trail, but it seemed to take forever to get back down.  Of course, while I was getting us situated, the rest of the line had bunched up and there wasn't any room for us to get back in line.  I had the front of the line move up, I think by that time Compass had the mules, to make room for us.  I perched on the boulder above the trail, extended my hand with the reins in it and told Estes to step down into the trail.  And then I held my breath just in case she jostled me on the way by.  I have a severe allergy to falling under a horse's hooves.  I should have never doubted her.  She stepped down into the trail and looked at me like I was an idiot for doubting her.  There wasn't any room to mount, so I slipped down into the trail ahead of her and led her for a few yards until I could find some place to mount up again.

Hell, after all of that, the rest of the ride went smooth-ish.  We had no sooner lined up and started out and College Boy showed back up.  Either they were very fast moving up and down the Goat Trail or it took longer than I thought to get Her Highness back on the trail.

For some reason, I had to move up and take the mules from Compass, though I don't remember what the reason was, but I ended up leading the ride with two pack mules who didn't have much training on them and were not very good at being ponied.  It took a bit to get them lined out properly and they'd stay in position for ten or fifteen yards and then get all jacked up again.  It was very frustrating, but Estes was amazing.  She didn't even bat an eye when I grabbed the "string" (two still counts as a string, right?) of mules, though she did get annoyed when they didn't stay lined out like they were supposed to.

Eventually, the mule string went back to Compass and we headed home.  I was never so glad to be headed back home as I was that day.  Nor was I prouder of my mare.  It wasn't an easy ride, I asked a whole lot of her and she did it all (and then some, if you count the Goat Trail debacle).

We did end up with a beautiful picture of us with College Boy and Fancy.

Photo cred: Allenspark Livery

The videos turned out beautifully, even if my nerves were shot by the end of the day.

Changes Can Be Good Sometimes

I hate change.  I really do.  I want things to stay the same (most of the time), but sometimes change is a good thing.

There was a surprise change of management at the local livery and it looks like it's going to be a good thing.  With last minute changes, things either go really well or they go right down the toilet.  Though typically an optimist, I've been through a bad change or two in the past, so I was pretty pessimistic about this very last minute change in management.  Probably the worst barn boss we had was one who threatened to beat the stuffing out of one of the female wranglers because she didn't agree with how he was handling the horses.  He's also the only barn boss I've ever told to go do something anatomically impossible with himself and walked off the job (the only job I've ever walked off of - ever).  So, you can see why I was a little concerned about this change.

Imagine my delight when I found out that the new barn boss is a wrangler I worked with ten years ago or so.  I was just a day rider at the time, filling in when they were over-booked and/or short staffed, so it's no surprise that Compass didn't remember me.  That's okay, 'cause I'm thrilled she's back.

The horses can be very sensitive to change and they've had the same barn boss for over five years, so I was pleasantly surprised to see how relaxed and happy they are with the change.  There are changes afoot at the livery, but they all seem positive.  Compass and her two full-time wranglers have been very patient getting to know the horses and are handling them calmly and consistently.  The horses are happy. 

Even Raja looks like a whole new horse - and she's super sensitive to how she's handled.  If she doesn't have a clear leader, she'll run right the hell over you.  I spent some time rubbing on her today and she practically fell asleep on the rail.

Why is this my business if I'm not working as a wrangler for them?  It's my business because we still share common space and I've known most of the horses on their string for years, so I have a vested interest in their well being.  And I wouldn't mind working again as a day rider when needed.

Some Of My Favorite Views

Since I started this blog in August of last year, I've been talking about the areas I regularly ride in.  One of the things that I never left the livery without was my camera and extra batteries.  Today, I was going through some of my pictures, looking for a new header picture and found a whole slew of pictures that I thought I'd share.  I'm lucky to live in what I'm pretty sure is the most beautiful place in Colorado.  I hope you enjoy them.

Along Wild Basin Trail

Part of the Wild Basin Trail feels like an Enchanted Forest

Burn area on the way to Thunder Lake

Before a storm at Thunder Lake

View on the way to Finch Lake

Runoff at Indian Peaks

The Return

The next morning, bright and early, we were up and had the few horses left saddled up. We had a big ride scheduled for ten a.m., so we had no choice but to find and return the whole herd. The hope was that they had stayed herded up and were hanging out in the meadow, grazing. Four of us headed out toward the meadow. Just before the trail headed down, we split up. Two of the wranglers circled to the east of the meadow and the Barn Boss and I stayed up top in hopes of being able to keep the herd from splitting up. The plan was that the wranglers moving toward the herd would quietly work their way in, catch one or two, halter them up and lead them out. It would have worked like a dream if one particular wrangler hadn’t taken it upon herself to change it.

Barn Boss and I tied up our horses on a side trail and had intended to creep through the trees to a better vantage point when we heard a whoop followed closely by the sound of stampeding horses. We hurried back to our horses, mounted up, and headed in the direction of the herd. Obviously, someone had gotten too excited about playing cowboy to actually follow the plan. Instead, we had another disaster in the works. Rather than leading the horses back in a calm manner, we now had thirty head stampeding toward the highway. Crossing the highway the night before in the middle of the night was worrisome enough, but at eight-thirty on a summer morning during the height of tourist season was downright dangerous.

Boss and I moved out as quickly as we could without spurring on the horses too much. The last thing we wanted to do was run up behind a stampeding herd and ignite even more panic. Boss’s son, one of the wranglers that had gone into the meadow, met up with us on the trail, cussing up a storm. We were too far behind to head them off – they didn’t follow the trail back up, they just crashed through the trees straight up the mountain, the same way they headed down the night before. We followed as quickly as we dared, but couldn’t get them in sight. The best I hoped for was that they’d head for home, and from the sounds of it, that’s exactly where they were headed.

As they headed down the switchback, still out of our sight, I cringed inwardly, already hearing the sounds of squealing tires and screaming horses. Okay, so maybe I have an over-active imagination, but I could also see in my mind’s eye the car, horse, and people carnage just waiting to happen when the horses stampeded across the highway. What I actually heard was a whole lot of shod horses skittering across the asphalt. The skittering sound brought a whole new batch of images to my mind of one horse losing his traction and taking out the rest of the herd, and then there would be squealing tires and screaming horses and carnage.

Luckily, my imagination was just that – imagination – and the herd got across the highway without anything bad happening. Boss and I arrived in the yard just as the one most useless wrangler I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with was shutting the gate to the pen. While I was glad that the horses had all been returned, I was livid with her. She’s actually very lucky that the Boss’s son got to her before I did. She really, truly had no idea that what she had done was endanger not only herself, but the whole herd and anyone on the highway by racing them back in stampede fashion. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded if she’d been trampled in the stampede, but I really was worried about the horses and the general public. In her mind, she had single-handedly brought the horses back and proven that my plan to do it in a calm manner wasn’t the way to do it.

Yes, we got the horses back, and yes, she single-handedly whipped them into a panicked frenzy to do so. As a consequence, we had hot, sweaty horses that we had to calm down before we could even consider pulling them and getting them ready for our big ride. We had them in the pen, but they were so full of adrenaline that they were picking fights with each other and staying whipped up. We had less than an hour to get them calm, pulled, and ready for the big ride at ten.

They slowly calmed down once they realized they were back home and that no one was chasing them, yelling. Eventually, we were able to enter the pen – minus the useless wrangler – and start pulling the horses we needed to the day’s ride, which went off without a hitch.

The useless wrangler? She got to stay behind and scoop poop while the Boss’s son and I took out the ride. To this day, she has no idea what she did or why she was punished.

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The Great Escape

My bed at the bunkhouse – seriously – was the most comfortable bed I’d ever laid my weary body on. It could have been just because of the extreme exhaustion that plagued my body from day after day of fourteen-hour workdays. Or it could have been because the pen was located just twenty yards from my window and I could hear the soft shuffling of the horses at night – they were every bit as tired as the wranglers, so there were very few scuffles in the pen at night.


One night, though, I woke up to a different type of shuffling and snuffling. I immediately chalked the new sound up to VW Bear, who had been checking in on our dumpster ever since his first successful break-in. I lay in bed, thanking my lucky stars that he was on the backside of the bunkhouse and didn’t seem at all interested in the dumpster, which was located far on the other side of the building. I had a tense moment when I swore VW snuffled right at my window, a mere eighteen inches away from my head on the pillow, and cracked open just enough to let a breeze in.

I breathed a sigh of relief when VW moved away from the window, toward the pen, but I knew that he wouldn’t bother to attack the horses – bears are lazy by nature and a pen full of forty horses would be just too much darn trouble, especially with all of the full dumpsters in the neighborhood.

Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell one of the horses that VW wouldn’t bother with them. Whichever horse got stuck with sentry duty sounded the alarm when VW got too close to the pen and it was instant chaos. The pen went from quiet shuffling to stampede in about half a second flat. Normally, the horses would have just made a few panicked laps around the pen and settled down once they realized that VW was outside the pen, uninterested, just passing by, and they were safe inside the pen. Normally.

I don’t know what caused the horses to try the gate, but they did. Or at least one did and the gate gave way. Suddenly, the night got a whole lot more interesting. By that time, I was up and in my boots. I had intended to just go out to the pen fence to try to calm them down, but – damn – now they were loose in the yard. If I acted quickly enough, I might be able to keep them in the yard and off the mountain.

I stepped out of the bunkhouse and into the yard, right in front of the leading horses. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I called, trying to keep my voice calm. “Just chill out, you’re okay. Sshhh.” I’d gotten the lead horses to pause in their escape. They looked at me, like I know you, you’re the boss. I had every intention of just blocking their way to the road until I could get some reinforcements to help herd them back into the pen. Things were going according to my plan right up until somebody came slamming out of the other end of the bunkhouse, yelling. I have no idea what they were yelling, but it was enough to startle the horses and start up the panic again. Since I was blocking the way to the road, the smart ones in the back whirled and took off out of the yard and up the mountain. Four or five managed to squeeze by me and head down the road. The night, at that point, officially became a disaster.

I heard my parent’s van start up and realized that they were coming to help, despite the fact that they didn’t work for the livery and had been sound asleep in their own bed at the B&B when the manure hit the fan. My mom appeared at my side with a couple of halters and Bill was in the van, swinging around the block, hoping to head off the horses on the road and herd them back to the yard. The Barn Boss hopped in the truck and tried blocking the other exit from the yard, but it was far, far too late. I could already hear the horses scrambling up the switchback on the mountain.

Bill managed to herd the escapees from the road back into the yard, but they heard their buddies up on the mountain and skirted the truck to go join the rest of them. Damn. Well past the witching hour and we had horses loose on the mountain. Not much to do but go get them.

Mom and I started hiking up the switchback, each with a couple of halters. We knew that if we could get our hands on just one or two and lead them back, the rest would follow. Bill took off in the van to make sure that there weren’t any horses running up and down the highway. In all honesty, I was so focused on getting up the mountain I don’t remember what the Barn Boss was doing. Mom, Bill and I worked so well together, that we kind of shut out the “real” boss.

The moon wasn’t too terribly bright, but bright enough that we could see the trail without the use of a flashlight. We had decided against taking a flashlight because the horses hadn’t been desensitized to them and we didn’t want to drive them deeper into the forest. Once we got into the trees, we stepped off the trail and just listened for them in the darkness.

We could hear them headed toward the meadow, so we split up to circle around behind them. Mom moved out ahead of me to go toward the east end of the meadow and I headed straight down into it. After a few minutes of travel in the trees, I could hardly see my hand in front of my face and knew that I was flirting with disaster so I just stopped. I could hear the horses shuffling around, very close to my position, and hoped that they would get curious and come up to me. They knew my smell and I knew that they would be able to scent me out if they were interested. There were moments when I would have sworn that they were within just a couple of feet of me – I could feel them circling up around, but I didn’t want to move because I didn’t want to set them off again. I decided to let them make the first move. I kept murmuring that it was okay, that I’d take them home if they’d come see me.

I heard the Barn Boss’ and one of the wrangler’s voices on the trail and saw the bobbing flashlights as they rode up on two of the Boss’ personal horses. Unfortunately, the horses also heard and saw them coming and took off in a frenzy again.

Mom came back up from the trail to the meadow muttering under her breath about the horses being scared off a second time. She, too, had a small herd surrounding her in the trees and we both felt that if we’d had just another ten minutes before being interrupted, we’d’ve been able to bring them back home.

We met up with the Boss and another wrangler on the main trail and gave them an approximate location of the horses. Boss decided to push on to see if they could round them up and herd them back to the livery. Mom and I headed back; she and Bill went back to the B&B to see if they could salvage a little bit of the night before they had to get up and cook for thirty guests. I stayed up until Boss returned an hour later empty handed, at which point he decided to leave the horses on the mountain until the next morning.

Keystone Wrangler

It rained for six weeks straight one summer; the pen was a swamp and I began to fear that my toes would begin to form webs. I spent more time in muck boots than cowboy boots. It sucked. But I gotta tell you, I was ripped. When the pen’s a quagmire, you can’t cheat and load hay bales into the wheel barrow to take to the feeder. No, you have to carry all of the hay, bale by bale, out to the feeders in ankle-deep mud that threatens to pull the muck boots right off your feet.


Sucked.


I’m five foot nothing (well, on a good day, five feet one-half inch) and in order to get the bales into the feeder I had to essentially execute a clean-and-jerk up over my head. The tops of the round feeders are eye level for me, so imagine trying to lift a light fifty pound bale from knee level up over your head and then push it forward over the feeder and wiggle your gloved hands out of the twine before your fingers get popped off. Now imagine doing it with sixteen hungry horses trying to help and standing in mud that completely covers your feet and ankles.


Sucked.


Only once did I make the mistake of trying to set the bale down to get a better grip for my clean-and-jerk. Dumb move. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I gently set the bale down on the mud, hoping that the large surface area would keep it from sinking into the mud too far. You know, like laying supine when caught in quicksand.  Increasing the surface area decreases the sinking speed.


I repositioned my hands, got a better grip, bent my knees so that I could lift with my legs and not my back. One, two, three, lift. Nothing. I tried again. One, two, three, lift. Nothing. The stupid bale wouldn’t budge. Then I realized my mistake – I hadn’t taken into account the suction-cup factor involved in pulling a fifty pound bale of hay up out of the mud before I sat it down. I should have nominated myself for a Darwin award for that move.


In the end, I had to forgo proper lifting technique in favor of using the toes of one foot to prop the hay bale up out of the mud. I planted my heel in the mud, pulled my toes up to the sky and attempted to balance the bale on my toes up out of the mud. It was beautiful. Kind of like the Keystone Kops, but not. I was the Keystone Wrangler.


Sucked.


But…I learned my lesson and earned some pretty sculpted arms during that summer of rain. And I never again sat a bale of hay down in the mud.

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Hoss Rustlin'

“Mom? There’s someone out with the horses,” my daughter told me, peeking out behind the curtain covering the window above her mattress in the bunkhouse.

I immediately jumped out of my bed and peeked out the door. Sure enough, there were two people in the pen moving around with the horses. It was six-thirty in the morning and I was the only one scheduled – who on earth would be out in the pen with the horses? One of the reasons we always had someone stay in the bunkhouse was to keep people out of the pen. The horses didn’t seem alarmed, but without my contacts I couldn’t see who was out mingling with them.

I peeked out the door again to look at the parking area and sure enough, there was a strange car parked there. How on earth had I not heard them drive up and get in the pen? Since they seemed to be moving with purpose, like they knew what they were doing, I picked up the phone and called the main house to see if we were expecting a vet or farrier, though I was pretty sure that either would have checked in at the bunkhouse and it was early – certainly too early for even a vet or farrier.

By the time I got off the phone with the main house, they had moved two horses from the pen through the barn and tied them to the rail. All I could see, sans contacts, was a brown hat moving between the two horses and I could hear the second person rummaging in the barn. Since the answer from the main house had been negative, we were not expecting a vet or farrier, the only answer we could come up with was that someone thought that they could help themselves to our horses. Hoss rustlers!

My daughter was giving me a running commentary of the happenings in the yard as I pulled on my socks and boots and grabbed the Glock .40 cal I slept with. I decided that I could shoot well enough without my contacts that I didn’t bother with them – all I had to do was aim at the big moving things that weren’t the horses and even as blind as I am, I could tell the difference.

Knowing that making a big, loud exit from the bunkhouse could startle them and give me the advantage, I told my daughter to stay put and slammed the door open, jumped out of the doorway to the ground and started yelling, “Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing with my horses?!?” I must have been a sight; hair piled up on top of my head in a mushroom, gray long-sleeved t-shirt, shiny, blue pajama bottoms and brown cowboy boots. I continued bellowing as I stalked toward the pen, trying to get a look at the people with my horses. I kept my gun down by my side in my left hand, keeping my dominant hand free to grab a lead rope if I needed. I could see one person between the horses and the other stepped out of the barn as I was yelling.

“It’s me,” came the reply from the person between the horses. By this time I’d built up a good head of steam – “it’s me” meant absolutely nothing to me.

“Who?” I bellowed back, knowing full well that I did not know the person exiting the barn.

“Ken” he answered. Ken. My brother-in-law, and a part-time wrangler. “Juanita said I could take a couple of the horses out today.”

About that time, my daughter poked her head out the door of the bunkhouse and hollered, “Mom! Grandpa says not to shoot Ken! Grandma said he could take a friend out today.”

Well, hell, here I was, wide awake now and lookin’ to shoot me some hoss rustlers and it was just my brother-in-law. Couldn’t shoot him. Crap. That’s okay, I s’pose, ‘cause it just wouldn’t have been right to shoot hoss rustlers with a handgun that wasn’t even a six-shooter. For that I’d’ve needed a pump-action 12 gauge.

Falling In Love

After our first ride together, Estes and I got partnered up, she became “my” wrangler horse. None of the other wranglers would have anything to do with her, except for my parents, but they had their own personal horses to ride. Riding Estes was a lot of fun once I mastered the running mount and learned to relax. I realized that when she was “acting up”, she wasn’t about to hurt me, she just felt good and wanted to go. At fifteen years old, you would think that she would have learned to stand quietly, but that just wasn’t in her. If she couldn’t go, she’d dance in place. Standing still just wasn’t her thing. The first few times I rode her, I’d get stressed out by her jigging, but then I’d set her to a job and she was rock solid. I could tighten cinches from her back, adjust guests, pass things back and forth between guests and nothing would disturb her, she’d just stand quiet as a lamb.

The more we worked together, the more in tune to each other we became. I was slowly falling in love with Estes, but she just tolerated me. Her daughter, Meeker, was also one of our ranch-horses-turned-livery-horses and looked just like Estes. When they would get muddy, we’d have to scrape the mud from their hocks, just above their hooves, to tell them apart. Estes has two socks, Meeker has three. Meeker may have inherited Estes’ looks, but certainly not her temperament. Estes was very stand-offish, she tolerated people, but never showed any affection. Meeker, on the other hand, loved everybody. I don’t know that Meeker’s ever met a stranger. If I ever needed equine therapy, a horse just to cuddle with, it was Meeker, not Estes that I spent time with. Estes could take me or leave me, it seemed.

There was one ride that I was working with my mom. I was riding drag and knew that there was a wedding scheduled. Whenever we had a wedding scheduled, we knew we’d have to be on poop patrol. Brides don’t like having to avoid horse droppings, no matter how quaint it was to have horses riding by outside the tent. We normally did poop patrol in the evenings after the livery closed, but on days with weddings scheduled, we cleaned up almost before the poop hit the ground. Of course, on the return ride, less than a half an hour before the wedding was to begin, one of the horses had to go. Right in the middle of the “Bridal Path”. Knowing that I had to get it cleaned up, Estes and I peeled away from the ride and trotted ahead to the livery. I tied her to the fence, grabbed a manure fork and headed out through the yard to the scene of the crime. I ran past the returning ride, cleaned up the mess, raked the wood chips back into place and ran back to the livery. I pitched the manure fork through the fence toward the barn and went around to the staging area to help unload the ride.

Imagine my surprise when I turned the corner, looked over at Estes and saw that she was standing at attention, ears forward, watching for me. As soon as she saw me, her eyes softened, her body posture relaxed and she nickered at me. That was the most affection she’d ever shown anyone and it about brought me to tears. My heart filled with joy, the Heavens opened up and the Angels sang. At that instant I knew I was head-over-heels in love with that little bay mare…and that she might have a place in her heart for me, too.

Ranch Horses as Livery Horses

My parents were asked to run a nearby livery a few years ago. The offer was made at the last minute, literally days before the opening of the season, and there were no lease horses to be found. The local horse distributer, who runs over 1,800 head of horses nationwide, didn’t have any to spare. We had a livery, but no livestock, and the clock was ticking. In passing, my parents mentioned to the ranch owners where they buy hay the dilemma they were in. The ranchers had a solution – we could lease their ranch horses. The ranch owner told us we’d be doing him a favor of sorts by keeping his animals in shape over the summer. It was perfect! We only needed ten or so, as my parents had been able to secure a handful from friends of theirs in Arizona who ran a dude ranch. It was the perfect solution! Mountain ranch horses; they were healthy, they were in shape, and they were ready to rock and roll. They also had only been ridden by a few different people – members of the family – all of whom grew up on horseback, and they’d just come off of winter pasture and spring round-up.

Our shiny, new-to-us livery set up was about as perfect as any livery I’ve ever seen. We had a small outdoor area where we could have our safety briefing with some benches and a picnic table; the staging area where the horses were tied to the hitching posts, which were arranged in a U-shape; and a barn that connected the front staging area with the pen. The pen had a tall cross-buck fence and was more than large enough for our small herd. The livery was beautiful! Whoever designed the layout was a genius.

With the layout, we could hold our safety briefings and have every guest sign the waiver without them ever coming near a horse. The U-shaped hitch posts were perfect for matching up horse and rider; the riders safely ensconced within the “U” and the horses tied on the outside. The barn that connected the pen to staging area was the perfect place to saddle the horses; we pulled them from the pen, tied them in the walk-through, saddled them from the open tack room and lead them out directly to the hitching post.

Delivery day was unbelievable! There wasn’t much time for the anticipation to build, as it does at other liveries, since getting up and running at the last minute was such a whirlwind of activity. Opening the back of the trailer was unlike any Delivery day. I’m sure we all looked like kids on Christmas morning - we got shiny, new-to-us horses for our own shiny, new-to-us livery. Each horse prompted a round of “oohs” and “aahs” as they were unloaded from the trailer. They were all shapes, sizes, and colors, but they all were sturdy, well put-together and had intelligent, soft eyes. After all of the horses were delivered, we spent hours – well into the evening – just sitting on the fence watching the horses get used to their new home and us.

Then the work began, as it does at every livery. The Delivery Day honeymoon is very short-lived, about twenty-four hours. The newness wears off quickly as the work begins.

With our shiny new-to-us ranch horses, in our shiny, new-to-us livery, we just felt eager anticipation to get started. We had no clue what we were getting ourselves in to. In all fairness, my parents bore the brunt of the work, while I helped out after work and on weekends to get the horses acclimated and re-trained to be trail horses. The ranch horses were amazing horses, every last one of them. They were a joy to ride. They had impeccable ground manners, soft mouths, were responsive to leg cues, and could think for themselves.

They had also never seen a trail.

The concept of “stay on the trail” was absolutely foreign to them. Their faces reflected their initial confusion and you could almost hear them thinking, “Jeez, what if there is something interesting behind that bush? Or maybe that bush? What about that bush waaaaayyy over there?”

The concept of “single file” was also a bit disconcerting to them. On the ranch they worked as a team, each within sight of the other. They read each other’s body language so well it was like they communicated telepathically. Once they figured out the concept of single file, they adapted unbelievably well and continued to work as a team. The wrangler leading the ride really didn’t have to do much work as far as pacing the ride went; the horses would speed up or slow down to keep even spacing between them and would look back at the horses behind them frequently to make sure they were all still together. Of course, the wrangler still needed to check to make sure all of the saddles were still occupied – the horses didn’t care if the guests fell off as long as they were all accounted for.

As smart as the horses were it didn’t take us long to begin to feel comfortable with the thought of putting other, less experience people on them. We had the basics, after all. They knew to “stay on the trail” in a “single file” line and knew each of us well enough that they would respond to our vocal commands if they “forgot” the rules just long enough to check out the bush over there. So we invited our friends up to ride and began hiring and training new wranglers. The pre-season progressed without a hitch. The wranglers were ready. The horses were ready. Nothing could go wrong, we would be the best run livery in the area and people would come from all over the world just to ride our amazing new-to-us ranch horses at our amazing new-to-us livery!