In suspension

It's been a rollercoaster this past week. One minute everything is in place to leave, the next minute plans fall through, then they are picked up again, then it's off, then no, then maybe... it's playing havok with my peace of mind, not to mention worries about how it affects those far away. So no more posts for a bit until we see where the grand design comes to rest.

In the meantime, everyone have a wonderful holiday and new year's!

almost ready for the rodeo!

Okay, time to fess up... I've been invited to join Sea G Rhyder and the Free Range Rodeo.

Sea is a Long Rider, a brave and amazing adventurer. She's midway on a coast-to-coast ride. Free Range Rodeo is the mix of equines and people that make up the travelling herd as she goes. She's been solo for much of her ride - including the entire way across the Continental Divide - and on the same horse all the way, Jesse James, and most of the way with the pack pony, Findhorn. For several months at the start, and right now, another amazing adventurer and circus performer, a young woman named Gryph, has been along. They now have another pack horse, a grey mare, Luna.

Long story how Sea and I became friends, but not yet met in person... you can read about it in her blog - please follow the link and visit, you'll be glad you did!:

Freerangerodeo.com

saved by a mule

Ever since Butch's meltdown in Texas, no matter how well things are going the memory of being kicked has stayed with me, along with a nagging question in the back of my mind:


In an emergency, would Butch take care of me?

Or would he hurt me to (in his mind) save himself?

Yesterday a friend and I went for a long ride down the riverbed. It was a perfect fall day. She was working on exposing her horse to new things, I was working on building up Butch's conditioning. I've been slowly building him back up to longer stretches of trotting in deep sand, and just recently starting cantering him some in it.

"You want to lope a bit?"

"Sure, you go ahead."

Butch was willing, he kicked right into gear. Here's what happened next, 

from my view:

Midstride, suddenly Butch pitched forward & down. I went over his head. I was lying on my stomach and could hear him scrambling frantically right next to me. I heard my name yelled, and turned over just in time to see his shoulder land at my shoulder and the rest of his body coming crashing down on top of me. Then, miraculously, I had time to roll out from under him and let go of the reins (I was still gripping the reins!). The instant I was out of the way he fell heavily on his side, struggled a moment and then got up. 

Becky's view:

Midstride, suddenly Butch pitched forward onto his head. I flew over and landed face-down. For a moment Butch scrambled madly to recover but somehow his head was twisted under his neck (probably from me holding the reins) and he couldn't. A second later, he went down shoulder-first into a flip. Becky saw me under him and yelled my name. Suddenly - impossibly, with his head caught under his neck like a pretzel and his body tumbled halfway over - Butch froze, butt up, holding his hind end up off the sand. Becky saw me roll out on the other side of him. Butch unfroze, fell the rest of the way over, freed his head and pulled himself up.

He then stood quietly and waited for me. 

Butch is okay - I'm fine - he's bruised under his tail where the crupper broke and a little stiff in his right shoulder, but otherwise seems none the worse. He got the royalty treatment when we got back to the barn!  He got so many hand-fed apples he'll be impossible to deal with for the next two weeks.

Butch Henry. My mule. 

There are no words...

Gearing up for the next one

remembrance of rides past (and yet to come...)

Yep, that's the Butchenator. We're still in it together.

Meet Butch Henry

When I first met my boy two Novembers ago, he was a goofy, gangly, spoiled, attention-loving 5- or 6-year-old kid named "Butch." The name was given him by his very young, very short happy-go-lucky bull-riding owner who clearly hoped for a very macho mule. And kissed his wannabe macho mule on the nose every morning, fed him apples and called him "Butchie-wutchie-poo."

At first I kept the name because it made me laugh.

Butchie-poo seeking the camera, November 2009

Manhandling young Butch, the macho he-mule, Feb. 2010

But soon, it became clear that the name was so hilariously ill-fitting, he really did need a new one. Something about Butch reminds me of a man I knew growing up, an old farmer who was the husband of Mrs. G, who took care of us kids. Henry. Mrs. G was Mrs. G, and Henry was always Henry. Our whole family loved Henry. He was a small, wirey old man who climbed the roof and shovelled snow til the day he died, and he lived to his 90s. Always smiling, always joking. Something about Butch's expression, the woeful eyes with a hint of mischief, his good nature... anyway, I decided to change Butch to Henry.

Just one problem. Butch knew the name "Butch."

And Butch was a handful. He had zero ground manners... none. He had to be taught not to drag his handler, not to run over him or her, not to knock people down with his chest (on purpose), not to charge at his handler in the round pen when he was pushed, not to butt anyone with his head, to wait to be given a treat (if he earned it), to keep a respectful distance at the gate, etc., etc....  I decided since he did know his name and responded to it, this was such a plus, not to mess with it.

Time went by. Butch grew up, filled out, matured, mellowed. He learned to carry a rider.

Tarp lesson, March 2010

At the lake, April 2010

Our first solo drive, December 2010

Rocking K, February 2011

Awaiting a ride, August 2011

Dragging the arena, November 2011

The multi-use riverwalk, December 2011

Riding the Rillito, December 2011

All packed up & ready to go, March 2012

Little did he know, he was being groomed for the ride of his life (up to that point). 

Texas. 

Highways. Oil trucks. Trains. Hardest of all... equine solitude.

If you've been following this blog, we all know how that went... but even with his meltdown, how brave was my mule! He dealt with all of it. His only downfall was the terrifying loneliness. And if he hadn't gotten injured, who knows how much more he might have proven himself.

So when we got back, in honor of his courage and newfound maturity, I decided he had earned his new name. From now on, Butch would be "Henry." 

Surprisingly, Henry seemed to like his new name. He even answered to it.

Everyone at the barn loved it. They all took to calling him Henry right away.

Just one problem. I couldn't remember it. I kept calling him Butch.

Then one day, when my mule was being especially trying, like an exasperated parent I found myself yelling, "Butch Henry, you QUIT that RIGHT NOW!" And with a guilty look, he did. 

Suddenly, we both knew his name. 

Meet Butch Henry. 

Mule extraordinaire.

rehab update

Several folks have emailed me recently, noting how long the blog has been silent and wondering if we are okay. Thank you so much for your concern! Yes, we're both alive and kickin & getting restless.

Butch's burn has finally closed up. I still put Corona on it a few days a week to keep the scar soft. Here are pics:

Quite a doozy, eh?

Battle scar to show off to the babes!










While the Butchenator was recovering, I had events on the home front that kept me out of the saddle for the better part of 6 weeks. We both turned into a couple of marshmallows. About two weeks ago, took Mr Mule out for the first off-property ride since early June. We took a short loop across the river, along the bridle path, down and back, about a mile. He was sweating! Couldn't believe it. And I was a little stiff myself, couldn't believe that either. Yikes. Doesn't take long to lose tone.

This is him a month ago:

Asking for the remote and a beer, no doubt. He's just soft though, not fat.

No pics of me, sorry. Use your imagination.

...Hey... I'm not that out of shape!!

remedy on the rocks

Butch in his slick summer coat

Doc S. is the kind of old-style veterinarian who can tell more at a glance than most younger vets can diagnose with a clinic-full of tests, tools and machines. He's a local legend. He's retired. He's an old friend of the barn owner. He treats my mule because I board with her. Lucky me - lucky Butch!

Diagnosis: The stocking up (swelling) in Butch's left hind is NOT due to a tendon injury. *Whew!!!*

                  It's not a long-term concern. 

                  He's not lame. There's no reason not to ride him. 

                  However: 

                      The burn injury is still healing; it's slow to repair partly because of reduced blood flow so far from the heart, which is also why his fetlock joint keeps stocking up. Usage during healing produces fluid the heart can't pump quickly enough, so it builds up slightly overnight. 

                 Doc S. also noticed Butch's feet are wearing unevenly due to a mild conformation issue. (Mule's right front toes out a bit.) Which brings us to:

Treatment: Ride - on rocky ground!

                  Doc says riding will keep the burn scar tissue flexible as it forms, and will increase blood flow even if it does cause mild swelling. And he says the uneven foot wear now is due to Butch self-correcting to try and carry himself evenly in the sand. Riding on rocky ground - especially hills - will teach him to balance on the whole surface, wear the hooves evenly, and have the added plus of toughening up his feet.

                Other than that, just keep doing what I've been doing: hose, apply Corona, wrap at night.

Prognosis:  Full recovery. *Happy dance!*

morning ride

Saturday morning's ride was hot, hazy and overcast. Hazy with smoke from the massive New Mexico fire. Step outside and it smells like ash and cinders, no matter where you go. I'm surprised my clothes don't have that campfire reek.

Friday evening several of us rode into the setting sun, marvelling at the beauty of the huge red fiery orb hanging in the sky. There was so much smoke you could stare right at it.

All day it looked and felt like monsoon weather... except that low-lying loose blanket of gray clouds blowing in wasn't clouds...

Butch was so happy to get out for a real ride, he nickered when he saw me carrying the big orange hornbags from the tackroom. I've been easing him slowly back into work, checking his leg and healing burn after each go-round, hosing them down and wrapping his legs even now, with no swelling. Friday night, for the first time, I put him up without hosing or wraps. This morning he was fine, so it was time for a several miles of walk-trot in the riverbed.

Turned out to be walk-trot-lope. He was so cheerful and so good! No stumbling, no hesitation, no barn-sourness. The only time he stopped and didn't want to move was when his cinch needed adjusting. He's always good that way, lets me know when it's too loose. He stands perfectly still now when I get on or off. He was a joy to ride, responding to every touch of the rein and leg, every shift of seat. I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised! Apparently time off work has been just the break Butch needed, mentally and physically.

Back home gave him a bath, all of him, not just his leg. Happy happy mule! He stretched out his neck, eyes half closed, lip quivering while I scraped him off.  Funny guy.

Saturday night, no sign of swelling. Sunday morning Butch's left hind was all stocked up again. *Sigh.* Vet comes Monday...