Buck Brannaman Says

Buck Brannaman, the premier (or close) horse clinician in America, says to never wrap the lead rope around your hand. The reason involves runaway horses and the dragging of the person at the other end of the lead rope. I confess I’ve been dragged a time or two, but usually when I have just held on with both hands as the horse (momentarily) thought to, um, hurriedly leave me.

And, then, there is today.

I had promised Ghost Ryder yesterday that today I would bring him into the barn for fun and treats. So, when I almost didn’t go, when my sore feet nearly kept me home to rest for the doggy class this afternoon, guilt reared its ugly head, and I gathered carrots and peppermints and my own Diet Dr. Pepper, took an extra pain pill (don’t tell the doctors), and headed to the farm.  Before I even got there, I went to buy them their beloved Alfalfa/Timothy pellets, treats for after we work, something they have not had in almost three months. The bag comes in one size—forty pounds. I hefted it to the

Tripp & Ghost Ryder

car and drove on, sure my boys would be pleased with me.

To minimize steps, I thought to bring both horses—Tripp and Ghostie boy—in at the same time. I’ve done it before, and though it has, er, challenges, we’ve always made it fine. Today GR made his way to me quickly as I opened the gate to the pasture and I could feel his horsey thoughts:  “Don’t just take that spotted horse. I wanna go in with you, too.” I hugged his beautiful neck, held out his halter, which he pretty much put on by himself, clipped a lead rope, and took him out and tied him to the fence to graze on the grass right outside the fence—which, by the rules, is ALWAYS greener and better—and returned to get Tripp…..

…..who had his head dug into hay put out from a new roll, apparently, this morning. I talked him into coming with me without too much trouble, we stopped along the way and picked up GR, and started to make our way to the barn where I had already set up grooming and tacking supplies.

And then.

Into the drive I saw two logging trucks turn. Loaded down with trunks of big trees. An access road lies right beside the barn; the path on which we walked ends onto that road, just at the barn door. About thirty feet before we arrived at the barn, the two big trucks rattled, chugged, lurched, clattered, and banged by us.

At this point, you may want to reread the first sentence. Because as the trucks clanked loudly by, sounding for all the world like a steam engine rattling along and about to explode, two horses-just two seconds before walking calmly beside me-decided these were the INCREDIBLE HORSE EATING MONSTERS that horse mothers warn every baby horse about, and have since the beginning of horse time. They reared, whirled, flung themselves around, and took off back down the way we had just come, the lead ropes slipping from my hands and not, thankfully, wrapped around them, and, thus, two horses did not drag me after them as they fled the terror behind.

This time I didn’t even try to hold onto a lead rope. I MIGHT be able to slow down one horse who just doesn’t want to work on any given afternoon. But there is no way I could stop two 1000-plus pound terrified animals determined to get away from THE INCREDIBLE HORSE EATING MONSTERS and heck with me. I thought I did pretty good letting go before the lead ropes could even give me rope burn. I did worry a bit that they would step on one or the other as they flew back down the path. But, really, no worries. Two beautiful horses raced away from me, manes, tails, and lead ropes sailing behind. I even managed to enjoy the sight of those magnificent animals that I so love as they sprinted away so gracefully. I could almost see the second when outright panic changed into, “Well, since we’re heading this way, anyway, let’s just head on home." From paddocks and pastures, their farm mates watched as the two steeds flew by. “Hey, you escaped from that INCREDIBLE HORSE EATING MONSTER! Good for you!”

Watching the Runners

When they arrived at their pasture gate, they stopped. Tripp—ever predictable—lowered his head and started grazing. After all, you NEVER KNOW when it could be your LAST MEAL, because, like, those things can apparently come from just anywhere! Ryder leaned over the fence to get sympathy from Freckles who, mare that she is, screeched at him. He then crossed the path to talk to one of the other geldings.

The (used-to-be) boys gotta hang together.

Meanwhile, my plan for fewer steps had gone galloping away with the two gorgeous steeds running away from me in that moment. I sighed and started walking after them. Buck Brannaman also says to not end a session on a bad experience……like having two terrified horses run away and think that’s the way stuff goes. So, I determined to, somehow, get them back down the path and into the barn. I AM the lead mare around here!  

Still nervous, Ghostie looked at me. “Are you sure about this?” Tripp kept trying to graze.

Finally, I tied Tripp to the fence and walked GR to the arena, at least part way to the barn, so I could go back and get Tripp. Ghostie tried to explain to me.

Ghost Ryder

 “Did you see those things? They were HUGE. They could have eaten me AND Tripp.”

“They were just trucks,” I tried to explain, “like the ones across the street where they’re building houses.”

“Boy, that was CLOSE,” his beautiful brown eyes rolled at me. “How did you get away? You only have two legs!”

Finally, I released him in the safety of the arena where no huge trucks awaited and returned to bring Tripp, who happily came along once he saw where his buddy waited. Then I just gave up the riding idea (by this time my feet had announced their presence), went in the barn and prepared the pellets (I wet them down a bit before they eat them) and put them in the new very pink buckets I got in their stalls. And, yes, I also got out applesauce for them.

No they are NOT spoiled…..very much.

Tripp, though, remembered from last Sunday that he actually can resist my clipping on his lead rope when he is in the arena and he wants to stay there. So, I went (again) back to the barn and brought out the new, pretty pink bucket full of sweet alfalfa/hay pellets and wagged it at him.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, “I’m not falling for……is that Timothy hay in there?” He walked over and sniffed, reaching his neck as far as he could, that blue eye rolling over at me. Then I set the bucket down, and he inched forward, thrust his gorgeous head into the small bucket, raised it, chewing, looked at me, and sighed as I clipped the lead rope to his halter. No, I didn’t want to have to bribe him, but I could not chase him for an hour again. And he was amazingly good as we walked in, me holding the bucket away from him, he strolling on the other side, making a bee line to his stall.

(I had long since lost count of the back-and-forth walking-to-the-barn times. So much for cutting steps).

Then back for the Ghostie boy who was no trouble at all, but who did almost run over me to get into his stall once he smelled applesauce in the building (Tripp had gotten his serving already). And, so, I made him come out, WAIT, and re-enter.

He did better that time.

Tripp Waiting for Ghost Ryder
to Return

I returned them to the pasture one at a time, not wanting to chance another double runaway. Once I got Tripp back to the others and returned for GR, I heard my spotted boy calling out for his friend.

“Hey, where’s that grey horse? Where? Where? WHERE? Don’t leave me alone!”

Tripp & Ghost Ryder
in Pasture

And he waited for us at the gate till we returned, grateful for GR’s presence, everyone safe and sound again.

 

Me, I am so grateful to be back with the horses, and SO very grateful to have pain meds waiting for me at home.

I’m not sure what Buck Brannaman would say about that.