But, This Is All for Your Mules!

My husband recently asked what I wanted for Christmas. After a little thought, I rattled off a few items: new stall hanger, extra bucket strap, portable saddle rack, reflective bridle set for riding after dark...

"But, that's all stuff for your mules," he pouted. "I want to get something for you."

"Um, where have you been the last five years, Sweetie?" I replied. "My girls are what make me happy, so why would I want anything else?"

"I guess," he surrendered.

Fortunately, when it comes right down to it, he knows just how important my girls are to me, and he supports my hobby 100 percent. If it weren't for Madge and Maxine, I'd still be spending most of my weekends on the couch watching reruns. Now I spend at least one day each weekend at the barn. Whether I'm giving the girls a workout beside the golf cart or taking a trail ride with friends, my girls provide that extra something my life was missing five years ago. That is why the number one item on my Christmas list is a fancy bucket lid, not a diamond bracelet.

At least I'm easy to shop for.

Photo: Madge will be rooting for the University of Oregon Ducks during the upcoming Rose Bowl.

Happy Halloween!

Maxine, Madge, and I would like to wish you a happy, safe, warm Halloween.

Photo: Max catches the swine flu.

Happy National Mule Day!

From your friends, Jenny, Maxine, and Madge.

Peronal observation: Be sure to add it to your calendar. National Mule Day is every October 26!

Photo: Maxine and I give Madge a workout.

Pretty in... Anything but Blue!

Before Madge was born, I bought a large, expandable foal blanket. It was sold for Warmblood and Thoroughbred foals, so I was certain it would last--at least a little while.

During the summer, the blanket got quite soiled. Seems I was using it more as a training device on the stall floor than as a blanket for my baby. In late August, I thought it was time to get it ready for winter, so I tossed it in the back of the pick-up to take home for cleaning. That was the last time I saw it.

At first, I was heartbroken. Her first blanket, gone just like that. I searched high and low, but never found a stitch of that burgundy cloth.

When the weather turned cold, I resigned myself to buying a new one. Unfortunately, foal blankets are tough to find in local stores. I started looking at pony blankets instead, but the only thing I could find was blue.

Personal observation: Now, I'm not a vain gal--my Maxine wears blue as her primary color--but I really wanted Madge's first blanket to showcase her "mareness."

Fortunately, our local Wilco store has a very helpful woman in the horse section. She knew that she had "the cutest purple plaid blanket," but it was nowhere to be found. We waded through the sea of blue pony blankets to no avail. Soon, I was ready to move on to the next store, but she refused to give up hope.

"I just know I have one of those blankets somewhere," she said as she began searching her computer. "I found it! What size was she?"

I had to admit that I hadn't been able to get her size yet. I wasn't scheduled to drive to the barn until the next day, but the weather had turned quickly, so I was eager to get a blanket on my girl.

"No matter," she said. "I've got two in another store. I'll have them shipped here tomorrow. If you don't want them, I know I can get rid of them."

I thanked her and left the store. Still, I was annoyed that I would have to spend money on a new blanket when I had owned a perfectly good one just one month before.

The next day, Travis and I went down to the barn to do some work to pay off a little of our board fee. While we were there, we borrowed my trainer's tape to measure Madge for her new blanket. As I unrolled the tape, I was amazed.

"She's 56 inches now," I said.

"What was she before," asked Travis.

"I'm not sure, but the blanket she used to wear only expanded to 45 inches. She's grown well over ten inches! I guess we would've had to buy another blanket anyway," I laughed.

When the blanket arrived at Wilco the following day, I called to confirm the size.

"The blanket is 57 inches," said the woman's voice over the phone.

"That's perfect," I exclaimed, astonished by my good fortune. "I'll be right down to pick it up!"

Photo: Madge in her new Weatherbeeta blanket that just happens to have hot pink accent lines to match her hot pink halter. What luck!

Getting to Know You

As you can see, Maxine continues to resist the notion that Madge is here to stay. However, I have to admit that I kinda prefer it this way. The last thing I need is a pair of herd-bound idiots to deal with. As long as Max keeps an attitude, Madge will always know her place.

I often tell Maxine that she'll always be my number-one gal. In return, she helps me remind Madge know that I'm number one in our little herd. With as big as Madge is going to get, letting her know that she's low gal on the totem pole will come in handy down the road.

Personal observation: No, the camera isn't crooked. Madge is actually leaning away from Maxine. *smile*

Still, I know that Maxine is starting to enjoy her a little. Not long ago, I decided to work with them both together. I brought Maxine out first and tied her to the barn. When I brought Madge up, I saw a genuine look of curiosity on Maxine's face. She's not fooling me—she's definitely starting to enjoy her little sister—but we'll let her fool Madge into thinking otherwise for as long as she wants.

Photo: Madge learns that grazing in hand can be fun, as long as you stay away from Maxine's buffet.

How I Became an Official Cowgirl

As is the case with most riders, my goal when I took up riding was to never hit the ground. I don't know anyone who wouldn't agree that it's a lofty goal, especially when dealing with equines, but it never hurts to set your sights high.

My first step in the right direction was to find a safe, reputable trainer with calm, well-broke schooling animals. Unfortunately, I've learned that no amount of training, for equine or rider, can keep your butt in the saddle 100 percent of the time.

Someone once told me that you have to fall off three times to become an "Official Cowgirl." Well, here's how I became an Official Cowgirl:

#1—Emergency dismount: When I bought my trailer in 2007, I was eager to hit the trails. Unfortunately, my closest horsey friend had moved a few states away and I didn't really know anyone else to call. Not keen on riding alone, I decided to head over to a local park for an organized poker ride.

The parking lot was packed when I arrived. Surely there would be some group that wouldn't mind a tag-along mule and rider. After trying out a few groups, I finally settled with with a threesome: two middle-aged females and an older man. Things were going well until the old guy decided to show off by going through a small pond to the side of the trail. Ever the competitive one, I thought I'd follow because, well, Maxine can do anything.

Famous last thoughts.

As I steered Max into the water, she stopped short and tried to continue up the dry trail. Ignoring her warning, I lightly spurred her forward. She reluctantly obliged. As we waded through the ankle-deep water, her right hind leg sunk into a soft spot. She turned toward the dry trail and then fell to her haunches. As she was about to scramble to her feet, a calm voice in my head said, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off."

The voice repeated as I rolled into the mud and standing water. Max clamored back onto the trail and froze. Unhurt, I remained on the ground a moment as I scanned her legs for injury. When I was certain she was okay, I rose from the muck, and patted her on the neck in apology. Then, I mounted from a picnic table and continued our ride. Needless to say, we both got hosed off at the trail head that day.

#2—Unexpected dismount: After the NW Regional Trail Championship in Eugene, Oregon, last November, I was riding my trainer's sweet mammoth donkey through the practice course. The donkey was in a rushy mood, so my job was to slow her down.

As I guided her onto a raised dirt box, she jolted forward and then fell straight to the ground. Again, I heard, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off" from the recesses of my brain. Before she could raise back up, I did a double roll out of the saddle, off the box, and onto my feet. Fortunately, everyone was okay, so I got back on and continued riding.

#3—Spectacular dismount: Each spring and fall, Maxine and I compete in trail competitions held in our hometown. Every show gets bigger and bigger—the log tangles more technical, the hills steeper, and the step ups higher.

This past spring, there was one particular obstacle of which I wasn't too fond—a step-up that came out of a water box. What I didn't like about this obstacle was the fact that the first step was only about eight inches deep, then there were three for four rock stairs in succession. Had these elements been separate, I would have barely noticed them. However, put them together and add water, and things get tricky. Because the stairs were so close to the obstacle, the animal has less room to move, creating (in my mind) a much higher step than intended. Plus, only the first few animals would have dry ground to work with. After that, it would get increasingly muddy.

Fortunately, we bypassed the obstacle on the first day. On the second day, we were instructed to ride down the steps and into the water. After a talk with my trainer, I decided to bypass the obstacle and take a zero on the score pad. Sure, some might call me a sissy, but my intuition was screaming that this was a bad idea, so I listened. In fact, I bypassed a couple more obstacles that day—and I was on the verge of tears most of the day because of it.

No, I'm not competitive at all. *roll eyes*

On the final day, the course called for us to ride up the step. I was wary, but knowing that it's easier to go up hill than down hill, I considered taking the obstacle.

The step was one of the first obstacles in the pattern. I rode calmly up to the approach. Our entrance into the water box was perfect. With a right haunch turn, we were facing the step.

Maxine paused for a moment to assess. My mind quickly went into action and I had second thoughts. Intuition said to turn away, but it was too late—Max raised her front hooves onto the step.

Personal observation: I don't know exactly what happened after that, but I've pieced this together from both what I experienced and what I was told by onlookers after the fact.

As Maxine moved forward, her rear hoof slipped on the wet timber. She fell back on her haunches and rolled onto her left side. Like a broken record, I once again heard, "get your feet out of the stirrups and get off," repeating in my mind. With my eyes open, I rolled to the left—once to dismount and again to get as far away from her hooves as possible. Then I jumped to my feet and yelled, "I'm okay, I didn't hit my head!"

Maxine scrambled to her feet and was caught by the judge's scribe, after ceremoniously stepping on my hat. I patted Max on the shoulder, lead her to the judge, and said, "Let's check to see if she's okay."

"Oh, it's always about the mule, isn't it," he replied with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I smiled. "I didn't hit my head, just rolled onto my hip. I'll have a bruise for sure, but I'm more worried about her."

After we were certain she didn't have any scrapes, lacerations, or lameness, I found a rock, hopped back on to a round of applause, and finished the course as an Official Cowgirl.


Photo: Me and Maxine (and my smashed hat) during our in-hand trail class, which was fortunately scheduled after the class in which we fell. This gave me an opportunity to calmly rebuild her trust of the course.

My Baby is Better than Yours

When I hear my friends talk about how their human babies are starting to crawl or pull themselves to their feet at however-many-months-old, I always want to say, "My baby could walk over a bridge, haunch turn, and back up by the time she was one-month old."

It's not that I want to overshadow their success stories. I just want to share my glory along with them. Fortunately, I know when to bite my tongue, because some people just don't seem to appreciate when you compare their babies to a mule—no matter how accurate the similarities may be.

Thankfully, I have friends who not only understand, they are eager to help with her upbringing.

Just a month after Madge was born, my friend Emily took her for a spin. Emily has been riding with my trainer for years and—though she will deny this—is an exquisite rider. She has a special relationship with Fig (Madge's mom), so my trainer asked if she would be the first to pony Madge.

While Emily tacked up, I held Madge close so that Fig didn't think we were trying to steal her away. Then we were off to the orchard.

Personal observation: An orchard is a wonderful place to ride on a hot day. We don't have an arena where I train, so we regularly ride in the orchard. It's quite romantic—and teaches good steering skills!

While Emily and Fig did a couple of warm-up laps, Madge received her first lesson in, "Stand. Good girl." Madge let out a deep soft bray each time her mother passed, but remained relatively quiet for such a young girl. Plus, it was the first time I'd her her speak—so cute!

Personal observation: Actually, her lesson sounded more like this... "Stand. Whoa. Back, back. Whoa. Stand. Uh, uh, uh, back. Whoa. Stand. *pause* Good girl!" And repeat.

It wasn't long before Fig was ready. I handed the lead to Emily, and off they went. What a pair! A big white American Warmblood with a jet-black baby in tow. Needless the say, the camera ran out of batteries that day!

Personal observation: While an orchard is perfect for riding, it's horrible for photography. Too many shadows!

My trainer and I watched and giggled as Madge adjusted to her new situation. We oohed and awed over her lovely gaits. We discussed future rides and ribbons.

When it was time to return to the barn, I proudly took the line and led Madge back to the stall that she and Fig shared. I couldn't have asked for anything more from her first lesson.

Photo: Madge (one-month old), Emily, and Fig take their first lesson together.