With Gratitude to a Mule Named Rhonda

I won it. And am thanking the mule for it. Here's the play-by-play:

Barrels: smokin' hot run. 1st place.

Poles: knocked one down, which I have never done before. Damn! 3rd place. 

Keyhole: another smokin' run. 2nd place.

Birangle: a close one, but I won 1st place by a tenth of a second.

By this time the mule lady and I are back to being tied for the buckle, with just two events to go. 

Goats: I noticed with other riders that the goat kept diving to the right. I go to do my run-down and park right at the stake. The goat dove to the right, his rope touching my horse's front feet. The flaggers announce that I'm disqualified. A feeling of despair rushed over me as I left the arena. I had no idea the rope couldn't touch the horse, but yes, the rule makes sense. Why didn't I know this?

I told myself I had five minutes to sulk and then I would get over it. After all, I was still winning all-around in the different events, which was huge. As I was walking my horse (and sulking) Peaches says that they are allowing a re-run for me and Patty (who I guess also had the same thing happen to her) with a ten-second penalty. So, after a grueling tackle and tie on the world's most ornery goat, I scored fourth. And a rope burn. 

Now I am two points below her, the mule lady. 

Cattle sorting: Nailed it. I got the cow to cross the line in twenty seconds, 1st place. The mule lady was 6th place with 50 seconds. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I left the arena. Some spectators cried, too. I thought of all the hard work Ally has done for me… from Colorado this summer.. to the California Rodeo.. to this. What a joy she has been and I have learned so much from her. 

But the biggest thing I have learned, by far… is learn the rules so I don't DQ again!! What an idiot I was!

And to make me feel a little better, James (a friend who was in charge of holding the goats) told me that he held on to the goat for a looooong time for the mule lady, practically holding it for her. After that run, the "referees" told him to let go of the goat when the rider's boot touches the ground. So, mule lady had the advantage and we all had, well.. a goat that dove right under our horse's feet.

Am I happy? Yes. Am I exhausted? Yes. Am I proud of Ally? Indeed. We shed a lot of blood, sweat and tears for this. (I also shelled out a lot of dough for goat-tying DVD's, beeswax, and goat strings!) But I am not a jumping-out-of-my-skin-and-shouting-yeehaw kind of happy. I guess I wish the goat tying event would have gone differently, for all the contestants. Maybe if Noah had been in charge of holding the goat. Or Matt. Or if I hadn't parked Ally right at the stake but instead off to the right. Or if the other goat were out there (the one who doesn't duck to the right). 

There were a lot of "coulda shouldas" today.

The mule lady congratulated me. She asked if this was my first buckle, and when I told her yes, she said she was happy for me. She told me she had won numerous buckles in her day. 

And so, I did not kick the mule lady's ass, as I had posted on Facebook so childishly. Instead, we were neck-and-neck. All day. And if it weren't for the re-run, the buckle would be hers. For that re-run I am forever grateful. And for the strenuous competition against a mule named Rhonda, I am also extremely grateful.

Refuse to Lose

Refuse to Lose

I’m sorry to say, but you cannot win.
Because I refuse to lose.
I’ve trained too hard to be defeated.
I’ve been cut and hurt and bruised.

I made up my mind long ago
That this was mine to take.
My head and spirit are far too strong
To weaken or to break.

I hope you brought your “A” game,
Your best horse and best saddle.
I’m ready for the competition.
I came here to battle.

I’m sorry you won’t be the Champ
Whenever you leave here.
And I have some more bad news for you,
I’ll be back again next year!
Author: Anonymous


Mia took this picture of my piece of junk buckle, one that I bought at the tack store several years ago. There was once a little gold horse on it that has since broken off. Tomorrow afternoon I hope to have a brand new shiny "4M Ranch Rodeo" buckle.. one that I earned.. not bought!!!

None of your beeswax!

"I'm sorry I have to leave the party early. I have to go shopping for beeswax for my goat rope."

The looks I got were hilarious. Jaws dropped. Heads cocked. Eyebrows furrowed. The ladies gathered closer. "Did you say… goat rope?"

That's right. Beeswax makes your goat rope sticky. And sticky means that that damn horned farm beast will be less likely to kick it off at Saturday's big rodeo! I need the win. Badly.

I went to Beverly's at 8 o'clock last night to shop for beeswax. The first two people weren't very successful in helping me find it; they said they didn't carry it anymore. Luckily, I asked the cashier about it on my way out and he steered me in the right direction. He got a kick out of it too when he found out I wasn't using it for sewing or candlemaking. "No sir, it's for goat tying!"

I came home and stretched my goat ropes back and forth over the beeswax, forming a small groove in the block of wax. Roland just chuckled as he watched tv. "My wife has lost it," he muttered.

"Oh yeah? That's none of your beeswax!"

Down the Home Stretch

The rodeo is a week away. My heart beats faster just thinking about it. The hours are ticking by.

I rode yesterday, though I could tell Ally was not happy about it. It was almost her dinnertime, so I kept the workout light and fun, mostly working on transitions rather than making any tight turns or anything. She had a pretty good run at the poles, so I galloped her down the home stretch and called it a night.

I came home and watched my goat tying video again, pausing and rewinding and slow-mo-ing the good and bad runs, analyzing each step. Ughhhh.

And I strategized. I emailed Peaches asking her if I can go last in the lineup. That way I can analyze the mule lady's every run and gauge my runs as needed after she goes.

And then I went to bed. But I stayed wide awake for four hours, the anxiety of the "home stretch" winding in and out of my brain like a can of worms.

Momma's sick, but she still means business!

Another sick day. I spent it like any coughing cowgirl would: in the middle of a circle, my horse trotting and cantering around me.

Ally's favorite game has never been the circling game. As an LBI, she is lazier than lazy. I first discovered the yo-yo game had become increasingly crooked and sticky. I moved away from the circle and placed two barrels horse-width apart, then placed a cookie piece on each barrel. I yo-yo'd her back and forth through the barrels, but she still was so crooked at times, moving her hip out toward me. I finally gave a phase 4 (or maybe a phase 3, since I'm ill and weak) on her zone 4 and that straightened her out completely. Voi-la!

Next, I discovered that that little lesson was such a HUGE part of getting our circling game going well. When we moved back over to the circle, Ally cantered off from the send. Yahoo! She knew I meant business. And she stayed cantering most of the time! There was just one little spot when she was tracking right where she would break to trot. I had visions of Jarno and Kathy, and their two very different (yet very effective) approaches to fixing the problem. I tried smacking the ground with my carrot stick at the place where she would break to trot. After a few rotations, she went past that place at a canter (a speedy one, mind you!) and that was it. Reward and rest. Lick and chew.

She was in a sweat after the workout and I was, too. It was 82 degrees up there. The poor girl has already grown her winter coat. She must be so confused. A cool hose-off and a roll in the dirt ended the day on yet another good note.

undemanding time

I have been sick. I've had a really bad cold. ugh. What a way to force me to slow things down. I spent some undemanding time with Ally today. I sat in her pen, giggling at her as she'd swing her butt to me for a scratch. After awhile I took her down to the arena and brushed her and put some hoofmaker on, then turned her loose. She came back to the gate after awhile, bored and wanting more attention from me. I could only give so much. After this little of an activity, I was exhausted. Time for a nap. (achoo!)

tie a stronger knot!

The last rodeo was October 23rd. And I'm just now mustering up the courage to write about it.

That's because the worst thing ever happened. Well, not the worst thing ever. I guess that would entail someone getting hurt or something. It wasn't that bad. It's just that I got… DQ'd.

That's right-- disqualified. The day was going quite swimmingly. Ally and I were kicking major mule ass (if you don't know about the mule, read previous posts) in every class: barrels, poles, keyhole, speed barrels. Then it came time for the goats. DAMNED GOATS!

I did everything I had practiced. My run down was flawless. My dismount at full-speed was graceful. I ran down the rope and flanked the goat at the speed of light, tying it in a flash. I raised my arms to signal I was done. "11 seconds!" the announcer shouted. WOW. I had shaved my time immensely. The crowd roared. I ginned from cheek to cheek.

And then, after four seconds, that damn goat kicked off the rope.

In order for a tie to be legal, it must stay on for six seconds. Ahhhhhh! I was devastated. At first I thought this only put me in second place for goat tying. Then, a few minutes later I realized a DQ means no time.. no score.. no points!

At the end of the day, mule lady had won the daily high point with 55 points, even though she had placed second in every event and first at goat tying. I, with five first place ribbons, only came away with 50 points.

And so, this makes my overall points for the buckle at 153. And the mule lady? Ugh. 153 as well.

Stay tuned!

Smiles. Rain. Love.

Turnin' n' burnin' tight circles, hugging the barrel, sparking out and racing full speed ahead….

After riding two days with "direct-line-thinking" on the brain, I could tell… Ally was… PISSED!

Today we took it a step back (sigh…). When catching her, I already knew her mood was better than on days prior---she came to me from the other side of the corral, nickering and ready to play.

Rain drops were forming and grey clouds loomed in the distance. The arena below was freshly groomed. My 22' and 45' lines hung on the fence next to my carrot stick. And most importantly, my pockets were loaded with cookies.

We played "Falling Leaf" and "Touch It" and "Sideways," with her earning cookies galore. We danced a little at liberty, playing "Backward 'S,'" but she was hesitant to turn left each time, like she didn't want me in her right eye. Hmmm. How interesting. I made a mental note and moved on.

We tried the 45' line, and I should add that it was our first time ever. Once I got it untangled from my hands and her legs (oh.. and from the savvy string, too), we were off and circling. She cantered effortlessly, any sign of her left-brained-introvertness fluttering off in the distance. I couldn't help but think that maybe she LIKED the increase in real estate. Maybe cantering on the 22 is harder for her. A-ha. Another mental note.

Then suddenly, she stopped cantering and faced me, as if to say, "ha ha! I'm way out here now! You can't tag me with your stick! You can't make me canter anymore!" And I just laughed, this time making a mental note that I'll have to have David Lichman help me with the 45!

And that was it. The rain started to pour down, wetting her fur and my ponytail. I flung my hood over my head and ran around the arena, gathering up my things from the tops of the barrels and the fenceposts. With my hood snug around my dampened cheeks, my peripheral vision was blocked. I felt a presence near me and turned my head slightly to see… Ally… right along side me. She was trotting around the arena at my shoulder, playing "mirror me," and I hadn't even known it.

Smiles. Rain. Love.

Tackling goats

Time to put the homework to practice. Things I learned:

1. Peaches' goats are big. I am small.

2. Lifting a goat incorrectly causes back muscles to tweak, pop, and slip.

3. I still don't like tackling goats, but I am better at it.


I went to Peaches' house Friday without my horse to practice flanking and tying the goat. First thing Peaches noticed was that my tie was all wrong. So I had to re-teach myself the correct way until the muscle memory overrode my brain waves.

(This is the technical stuff): Grab the rope and run straight. If the goat turns, do not chase it, just keep running to the end of the rope, blocking the goat's shoulder with your left knee. Flanking is next (picking up the goat and slamming it to the ground). Grab the left foreleg with your left hand and the flank with your right hand, rolling the goat up onto your thighs until the goat is on it's side, then drop the goat to the ground and come down on top of it, your left leg on it's right shoulder. With your left hand still holding on to the right foreleg,  sweep the hind legs in with your right hand, and hold all three legs with your left hand. Do not let go with your left hand! Then, tie (which is completely complicated and I won't even begin to write it out, because that is precisely how I learned to do it incorrectly-- by reading some website's step-by-step instructions!).

Then, take two Tylenols and drink a beer (or two) for dinner.

Above: The goat poses while Peaches and I snap photos.

Goat shopping

How hard can it be to buy a goat around here?

I grew up in Southern California. Buying a goat down there might be a feat-- there probably aren't too many breeders off the 405 freeway.

But up here? C'mon. This is the county. This is Prunetucky. And there ain't no goats around for sale. At least, not any that I'd want.

On Friday, my dad drove me around the Prunedale area, horse trailer in tow, searching for the perfect doe or buck for my newfound obsession (the sport of goat tying-- in case you haven't been reading). The first place we stumbled across had plenty of goats.. with plenty of bones sticking out of them. The seller looked like he had had plenty of cheeseburgers-- he was about 500 pounds. I softly told him that if he couldn't take care of the goats, the SPCA would gladly take them off his hands and give them a good home. He looked at me like he was crazy. Those goats were supposedly his cash flow. No sale here.

The second place we found was a different disappointment. The goats were cute and fat, but... pregnant. And somehow I knew from my Biology days that when goats kid, they have multiples. No thanks.

So it's back to the Craigslistings, of which there are no good prospects. And it's back to practice goat tying with Mia's stuffed horse (that's actually easy-- he doesn't kick, or even move a muscle, for that matter).

(goat tying is actually supposed to have the front right leg tied, too, but the horse's legs won't bend that far back, so I just have to pretend).

Here is a link to goat tying. She's about the speed I would be. In the real goat-tying world, this would be considered slow! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q83-VwtQUsk

Swimming with goats

Goat tying is my worst event. By far. Like I stumble and fall in the dirt when I dismount. I flail helplessly when I tackle the bleating creature. I get horns in my thighs as I wrangle him to the ground. I tie the rope around multiple times, like a clueless preschooler trying to tie a shoe. And I pray a silent prayer that it doesn't come undone when, what seems like years later, I finally raise my hands, signaling the flagger and timer to end the agony.

It's time to do some homework.

I bought a goat tying video online from Rodeo Videos, Inc. I never knew such a company existed. A small niche for them indeed. And goat tying is supposedly spelled, "goat tyeing" much to my dismay, English major that I am. I'm okay with that.

The video is of backyard quality: some young chick who apparently DIDN'T major in public speaking shows viewers that she can flank a goat and tye it (again, this is supposedly proper goat tyeing spelling) at the speed of light, her arms moving faster than a hummingbird's wings.

I actually learned a lot from.. Kit.. I think her name was. I'll get into the technical stuff, like flanking, another time.

That night, as I drifted off to a peaceful slumber, my eyes burning from the late-night intense examinations of the goat tyeing DVD, visions of brown and white horned creatures filled my head. I dreamed my neighbor had a multitude of goats all over her yard, and I was swimming around them, lost. Symbolism? Indeed.

My Buckle Quest History

I didn't always want a buckle.

In fact, there was a time when I didn't even know what a belt buckle was. And there was a time when I knew what one was, but didn't have any desire to win one.

Everything has changed.

I started riding in the 4M Ranch rodeos last fall. I heard about them in Off 68 and talked to Mark Mackenzie, owner of the ranch, on the phone. I told him all about my riding history--the twenty plus years spent riding English, and how my recent switch to western landed me in the reined cowhorse discipline for a few years. Mark's rodeos would have barrels, poles, keyhole, and other speedwork which I had never competed in before, much less even tried before.

I went to Mark's practice night the Wednesday before the first rodeo. This was Fall of 2009. I met his daughter, Peaches, a totally sweet and down-to-earth cowgirl in her twenties. She gave me some pointers but I was super hesitant. I barely cantered the obstacles, and even forfeited several chances to practice, shying away in the shadows of the arena. "You go ahead, my horse doesn't like this saddle," I would say, making sure I didn't have to embarrass myself in front of the crowd of ten fellow competitors. I don't know why I sequestered myself so; the group was friendly, and they were all pretty much beginners, too. I suppose it was painful to be doing something new in front of so many watching eyes.

The four rodeos that fall went quite well. My mare, Ally, proved to be quite the master at speed barrels, a pattern which involved three barrels in a straight line, creating a weave pattern for the horse to gallop through, then turn around and weave back through to home. We entered the intermediate class each rodeo, always placing top three in each event. However, I missed one rodeo, can't remember why, so my overall points for the buckle weren't as high as they could have been. Overall for the series, we took Reserve Champion at speed barrels, an accomplishment which left me with an ear-to-ear grin.

I told myself, if we did that well attending three out of four rodeos, maybe we could win the buckle next year. Just maybe...

And so here we are. Fall 2010. I have attended two of the four rodeos at 4M Ranch. And so far, so good.

At the first rodeo, I decided to enter the advanced category. All day I placed second or third behind some  barrel-racing bitch (okay, that wasn't nice, but she really smoked us all-- I think she's practically a pro or something). And Cam Watkins was also a speed demon and really good at the cattle sorting. I placed third all-around at the end of the day. There were a few others in the advanced group, too, but we were always faster than them.

At the second rodeo, the barrel racing girl didn't show up (yay!) and Cam brought her young horse to school him (double yay!). And to increase my chances of winning, I brought Tyler that day, my gelding who is infamous for his lightning-speed gallop. The only other competitor in the advanced category was a gal on her mule. I thought for sure I had it in the bag.

But that damn mule can run.

Tyler and I flew around the barrels, flew around the poles, snatching first place ribbons in both events. Piece of cake, I thought. At keyhole, that damn mule ran it in  6.99 seconds. What!?! I couldn't believe my ears. Nobody had broken seven seconds. It was my turn with Tyler. We hauled ass down to the keyhole, slammed on the brakes, spun the haunches, and whipped back around to the gate. "7.25 seconds" Peaches announced over the loudspeaker. Damn.

That's okay, that's okay. You can let one point get away. You can afford to take second here and there. 

The next race was birangle. The mule was quick, nimble, fleeting. But I felt confident we could beat her. We took our run, flying around the first pole. Tyler was taking it wide. Why is he going so wide? I thought. He seemed to be crow-hopping.  Oh no, we're wasting precious seconds way out here. Get closer to the pole! Move it! He finally gained his footing and fled to the next pole, then finished the pattern at top speed. As we headed out the gate, a familiar unevenness quavered beneath my saddle. He was lame. Like hopping on three feet sort of lame. There were two more events I would have to forfeit.

I sauntered up to tell Peaches the bad news. She gave me her condolences, then suddenly exclaimed, "Wait! You can ride my horse!" I jumped at the offer, honored that she would offer her new horse for me to ride.

Karma was his name. Fitting, given the circumstances I was under. I could have brought my mare, Ally, the one that has been by my side for the past seven years, through thick and thin, the one I hauled all the way to Colorado for the bonding experience of a lifetime at the all-acclaimed Parelli center. But that morning, at the last minute, I chose Tyler because I thought he would be faster. Greedy me. And now, Karma was mine, in more ways than one.

And to boot, Karma the horse was incredibly lazy.

Goat tying was next, my absolute worst event. I hate trying goats. I hate catching them and flinging them on the ground. I hate their horns in my leg and their pitiful little "baa" as I wrap three feet of rope around their protesting legs.

I cantered Karma down there and took my sweet time, not on purpose, but because I wanted the damn rope to stay put so I wouldn't D.Q. We finished just under 50 seconds. The mule lady: 20-something seconds. The tortoise meets the hare. Ugh..... (and Cam did it in like 30 seconds, so I took third).

Finally, cattle sorting. I scored first, mostly because I spurred the hell out of poor Karma and ripped her cheeks off so she'd stay with the cow. The mule lady took second and Cam and her horse took third.

I thanked Karma and Peaches and slumped into the truck, grabbing my iphone to use the calculator. I tallied up my points. 58. That had to be enough to take daily high point, right?. I knew the mule lady's points, and so, competitive little me went at it, plugging her points into the calculator only to be overcome with dread. 59.

I learned a lot of lessons that day: 1. I am more competitive than I thought, 2. My horse Ally is by far the better choice for me, 3. Belt buckles can be really hard to win, 4. Now I have even more belt buckle envy and 5. I need to practice, practice, practice!

And so, the next rodeo is October 23rd. Game on, mule lady!