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.