1. The storm earlier this week was a good cold one. Enough snow fell in the Sierras that many of the ski resorts were able to open. We were on the cusp of getting snow at our place, with temperatures in the high 30s. We did get a significant amount of rain. So far, we are at 85% of normal rainfall for the season -- a good start. And, there is another storm coming through this weekend -- another cold one with heavy rain.
2. I was able to finish planting my 500 daffodil bulbs before the rain started last weekend. I have planted 500 daffodils each fall since we moved into the house -- we are going into our third season. I completed the circle around the front lawn and put the rest in my garden and around the tree where we scattered Sedona's ashes. My favorite flower and my favorite dog together; it seems appropriate.
3. The chickens have not laid an egg in a week. heavy sigh
4. Last Sunday, Brett and I rode before the storm let loose. It was overcast and cold, with a bit of wind. Lucy was full of energy but well behaved. Pistol worked in a beautiful frame and was happy (and fit enough) to do a lot of trot and canter work. Her trot was particularly nice to watch. As we took the horses back to their pasture afterwards, scattered drops fell. By mid-afternoon, we had moved all the horses into barn.
5. We will be spending this weekend in Yosemite; celebrating our 15th anniversary. We had such a good time there last year that we decided to go again. Yosemite is 3 1/2 hours south of us -- and Lake Tahoe is an hour east. The drive to Yosemite is beautiful; no freeways, just a country highway winding through the Sierra foothills before climbing up into the mountains and then dropping into Yosemite Valley. We are fortunate to live close to two of the most beautiful places on this earth.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
Selling Mufasa
Since Brett stopped riding Mufasa, Mufasa has been spending his time in the pasture with Flash. In the summer he wore a fly mask, he gets his share of the cookies Brett carries in his pocket, and Brett checks him daily for ticks. Other than that (and regular vet and farrier care), he is left alone. With the demands of keeping the property up, Brett is only able to ride Pistol a few times a week. There is no additional time left for Mufasa. -- and the same goes for me. I don't ride Lucy, or spend as much time with her, as I would like. Any "free" time I have on the weekend is devoted to her -- or Jackson.
We tossed around the idea of selling Mufasa -- or even giving him to a trainer with the right skills (one who trains using the same philosophy as Mark Rashid). But, we didn't take any action on it. We want to make sure we are doing the right thing for Mufasa and that means being confident that he will be okay.
When Brett took Pistol to the Mark Rashid clinic a few weeks ago, Brett spent a fair amount of time talking to Mark about Mufasa. Mark remembered Mufasa from the clinic in March. He said that Brett had made the right decision in deciding to stop riding him. At 66, riding a skittish horse isn't a smart thing to do. Mark still feels that there is really good horse inside Mufasa and, in the right environment, he could be wonderful for someone. He needs a confident, flexible, rider. When we bought him, he was being ridden by a 20-something kid with a balanced seat and a kind manner. Mufasa was better then, than he is now with us. We are not the best place for Mufasa; not for him to be the horse that he is capable of being.
Yesteday afternoon, a cold winter system moved into the mountains from the Gulf of Alaska. We set up the horses' stalls and then brought them in. The girls and Jackson came in first. Then we went to the boys pasture where I put a halter on Flash and Brett went to get Mufasa. Except that Mufasa had a meltdown. He would come close to Brett, trembling a bit, and then lose his nerve and run off. Brett was getting wet and increasingly irritated. He threw some hay in the run-in shed and stomped off to stack hay in the barn.
Mufasa was miserable. He was running around in the rain, calling to the others. I took his halter off the hook and went into the pasture. I must have been a sight -- my rain jacket zipped up tight, and my cowboy hat squished onto my head on top of the hood of my jacket. It worked well for me, but I'm sure I looked like some freaky alien. Mufasa snorted and took off. I stood by the gate and he eventually came over to investigate.
Me, in a quiet, kind, but matter-of-fact voice: Mufasa, you are a pain in the ass. I know you want to go into the barn. You need to trust me.
He took a couple steps towards me -- and then took off. I stayed by the gate. He came back. We did this for what felt like forever. I told him that I wasn't going to put the halter on him until he touched me. He had to touch me first. He was curious about the jacket and my dripping hat. He did, eventually, stretch out his nose and touch me on the shoulder.
I approached him, slowly but with confidence. He trembled. I praised him for staying. I scratched his withers and then slipped the halter on. He thought about wiggling out and running at one point, and I said "whoa" in a stern voice. He stayed. And then we calmly walked into the barn where dinner was waiting in his stall.
Brett and I talked about selling him again. We had hoped that time in the pasture would mellow out the fear, but it hasn't. I created an ad. I tried to make it honest and fair to Mufasa. We'll see what happens.
We tossed around the idea of selling Mufasa -- or even giving him to a trainer with the right skills (one who trains using the same philosophy as Mark Rashid). But, we didn't take any action on it. We want to make sure we are doing the right thing for Mufasa and that means being confident that he will be okay.
When Brett took Pistol to the Mark Rashid clinic a few weeks ago, Brett spent a fair amount of time talking to Mark about Mufasa. Mark remembered Mufasa from the clinic in March. He said that Brett had made the right decision in deciding to stop riding him. At 66, riding a skittish horse isn't a smart thing to do. Mark still feels that there is really good horse inside Mufasa and, in the right environment, he could be wonderful for someone. He needs a confident, flexible, rider. When we bought him, he was being ridden by a 20-something kid with a balanced seat and a kind manner. Mufasa was better then, than he is now with us. We are not the best place for Mufasa; not for him to be the horse that he is capable of being.
Yesteday afternoon, a cold winter system moved into the mountains from the Gulf of Alaska. We set up the horses' stalls and then brought them in. The girls and Jackson came in first. Then we went to the boys pasture where I put a halter on Flash and Brett went to get Mufasa. Except that Mufasa had a meltdown. He would come close to Brett, trembling a bit, and then lose his nerve and run off. Brett was getting wet and increasingly irritated. He threw some hay in the run-in shed and stomped off to stack hay in the barn.
Mufasa was miserable. He was running around in the rain, calling to the others. I took his halter off the hook and went into the pasture. I must have been a sight -- my rain jacket zipped up tight, and my cowboy hat squished onto my head on top of the hood of my jacket. It worked well for me, but I'm sure I looked like some freaky alien. Mufasa snorted and took off. I stood by the gate and he eventually came over to investigate.
Me, in a quiet, kind, but matter-of-fact voice: Mufasa, you are a pain in the ass. I know you want to go into the barn. You need to trust me.
He took a couple steps towards me -- and then took off. I stayed by the gate. He came back. We did this for what felt like forever. I told him that I wasn't going to put the halter on him until he touched me. He had to touch me first. He was curious about the jacket and my dripping hat. He did, eventually, stretch out his nose and touch me on the shoulder.
I approached him, slowly but with confidence. He trembled. I praised him for staying. I scratched his withers and then slipped the halter on. He thought about wiggling out and running at one point, and I said "whoa" in a stern voice. He stayed. And then we calmly walked into the barn where dinner was waiting in his stall.
Brett and I talked about selling him again. We had hoped that time in the pasture would mellow out the fear, but it hasn't. I created an ad. I tried to make it honest and fair to Mufasa. We'll see what happens.
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