The equestrian lifestyle conjures up images of expensive watches, preppy outfits and generally the idea that someone else is doing the real work. Meet those of us doing the real work.
Hello, my name is BBE and I am a micromanaging hippochondriac.
It is finally spring/summer here in Western NY; which means we have had two days in a row without rain. Of course, the switch flipped and it went from 50 degrees to 80 degrees. I am not complaining in any way (it was a long, dreary, wet, long, dreary, long winter). Usually the horses have been out on grass for a few weeks, but we are running behind this year.
Being a micromanager, I like to put them out for a short period of time and then gradually increase it until they are out full time on grass (helping to alleviate fear of founder, colic, etc). So tonight, I put a group of five out in the big back pasture since they are up to a couple hours of grazing. I figured that before dark, I would drive up in the Gator and herd them back down to the winter paddock and it would be easy peasy.
I went up in the Gator and stopped to snap a few pictures of the pretty horses grazing in the big field with the pretty sunset over the lake, blah, blah, blah. Then I tried getting them to head back down towards the barn. We work pretty hard to desensitize our horses and it is a working farm, so a Gator in their space doesn’t concern them a bit. At all. Neither does a yelling clapping human in said Gator. So back down to the barn I went (get out/open gate/drive through/get out/close gate and repeat) to grab lead ropes and hoof it back up there.
I snagged Tas (a boarder’s Morgan) and Gunner (a boarder’s OTTB) without much difficulty and marched them down. Then I was able to snatch Brandy (a boarder’s Appaloosa). Brandy made a meager attempt to avoid me, but she is slow and sweet and I got her down to the gate to the paddock. That got to be a little more interesting as I was trying to shove one horse into the paddock that didn’t particularly want to go in and block two geldings that very much wanted to go back out onto grass.
At this point, I was left with Tess (a boarder’s Paint) and Gust. Now mind you, if you take Tas/Gust/Gunner to a show and try and part them and they will scream for each other like Romeo and Juliet in that god awful 1960’s movie that we all had to watch in high school. However, according to Gust – if it is choice between being buddy sour and grass, then suddenly love is for fools, and call him Desperado because he isn’t being chained down.
Cue the sound of the western movie gun fight as the three of us stared each other down. Tess promptly hightailed it up about five acres while Gust and I locked eyes, trying to decide who was going to twitch first. Tess came back through for another pass and decided I could grab her and stuff her through the gate. Gust assured me he felt no such herd bound desires, so off we went.
It was like those natural horsemanship gurus, only without the round pen, the accent and the $500 dollar training accessory that I could sell you. The only reason that this came to any closure was it was a hot and muggy night and Gust stopped at the trough for a drink. I leapt at his neck, flinging my arms and lead rope around him like a clingy child. He jumped back and spun me around like a WWII soldier returning home to his girlfriend while I clung like a stubborn monkey. I didn’t let go, but he got the last word by dumping his very large mouthful of water down the back of my jeans.
Not being one to quit, I hitched up my soggy undies and triumphantly stuffed the last horse through the gate to call it a night. However, I am guessing that look isn’t going to be showing up in a Rolex ad anytime soon.
Beer Budget Equestrian 