I was NOT horsing around!

I know I’ve mentioned that I live on a farm/ranch. For the past fifteen years, it was mostly a farm with a small-scale cattle operation on the side. But two years ago, come October; my dad bought a permit in the mountains. 200 head of cattle came with that permit. At first, I was excited. I thought it was time to kiss my life of farming goodbye, since I’d hated farming with a passion ever since I can remember.

But with the permit, horses came. There’s no other way to maneuver the mountain unless you’re atop a horse. And last summer, I discovered something: I hate horses. And apparently, horses hate me, too.

The best example I can give of my rocky relationship with the four-legged beasts-of-burden is a true story that took place last Saturday:

We had to gather the whole herd so we could brand the calves that had managed to slip under the fence the week before. I was to ride a horse who is my favorite (favorite, meaning that out of out horses, I like him the best.) He also happens to be as old as I am. (For a horse, 20 isn’t exactly ‘spry’.) My brother rode my horse, my sister rode my mother’s horse, and my dad rode a friend’s horse. My mother and her almost-one-year-old puppy would stay at the corral and wait for us. I could tell it was going to be a bad day right from the start. My horse fell down. He didn’t trip or fall into a hole, he just flat-out fell down. (Did I mention I was still on his back?) That scared me. It was the second time this horse has gone down on me, and it was worse than the first time. This go round, my foot got stuck in the stirrup and I couldn’t get loose. The horse started to get up, but I was afraid he was going to fall again and flounder around, squashing my in the process. So I dove to one side. My foot slipped out of the stirrup just as my horse got to his feet. I didn’t realize he was that tall. That really set the mood for the rest of the day.

A couple hours later, when we had almost reached out ‘destination’, my horse (who, by the way, hates walking in mud or water) ran up a hill and under a cottonwood tree. Despite my explicit instructions to go around the tree, my horse went straight and even though I ducked, a branch slammed into my shoulder, bringing a bit of colorful language and a muttered “You stupid horse!” from me.

Not ten minutes later, after I’d got off my horse and left him tied to a tree, as I walked along behind the herd trying to hasten them towards the corrals, my sister’s horse swerved in front of me and high-tailed it through some rather thick trees and brush. I watched my sister slowly bend backwards in the saddle and throw up her arms to shield her face as the horse plowed onward. My sister clung to the branch as her horse trotted away, and then fell to the ground, arms scratched and scraped.

Meanwhile, my dad almost got bucked off his spirited pony, and while no one was looking, a cow went right over the top of my mother and stomped on her wrist. It was about that time the cattle decided they weren’t going to play nice anymore. They all turned and scattered. Battered and bruised, my family and I limped back to the corral and got in the truck and came home. The next day we went out again and managed to get almost all the cows back in.

So when I’m older and have my own cattle operation (I know what you’re thinking: Are you nuts? You go through all this and you still want to own cattle?!) I know that I won’t mind being called a ‘modern cowgirl’. My sister loves her horses, but I love four-wheelers. They can’t go as many places as a horse can, but they are loyal and a lot better listeners. Now, if only I could figure out a way to get up the mountain on a four-wheeler. My world would be back to almost-perfect.

On a positive note, my trying weekend gave me some new inspiration for a fantasy western book. It will be something about a boy in the 19th century who lives on a ranch but cannot connect with his horses and is the laughingstock of the county. On his journey to becoming a cowboy, our young hero will meet with a magical creature who becomes his noble steed and a beautiful young wizard. (Has anyone ever heard of a female wizard?) So what do you think? Will this be an interesting story? Is fantasy-western a genre that might have some takers?

P.s. Did I mention that I like farming now? All it took was a job I hated more to turn me into a devote farmer. So keep that in mind. If you don’t like your current job, try doing a job that’s much worse. Then you’ll find out how much you really do love your job.