Poor Legend. Hapless horse, mistreated mare, picked on person, yes, she was all of these, and while she was a very proud mother, we must remember that she wasn't even consulted in the matter. It was all just a hare-brained Harris-Daniels scheme, a wouldn't it be great if... .
And as any human mother can attest, not everything is universally pleasing about early maternity. For Legend, it was nursing. Her bag filled with yummy mare's milk, but it was very tender. Did her foal care? He did not! If milk were not forthcoming in sufficient quantity, he would give her bag a firm swipe with his muzzle. She flinched with pain but persisted. The baby, Secret, had to be fed. Ah, the joys of motherhood.
Weaning time came when Secret was about four months old. Legend's bag was still filled with yummy mare's milk but without a colt to drink it, she had to be milked by hand. She had a big bag and little spigots. It was thumb and forefinger work all the way.
As luck would have it, it was also time for the Tevis Cup ride. I had already earned my buckle on the aforementioned Legend and figured out that since I only wore one belt at a time, I only needed one buckle. But Legend and I had taken up the charitable activity of riding drag from Michigan Bluff to Auburn. Drag riders try to make sure that everyone makes it into the fair grounds on time and earns a buckle. We especially try to make sure no one gets lost in the volcano beds and river bottoms along the way. Legend and I couldn't let the side down, now, could we?
So we showed up at Michigan Bluff, ready and loaded for milking. Legend's bag was full. Very full. I had to milk her before we left and I wanted to drain her bag dry. So, with thumbs and forefingers, it was squeeze and squirt, squeeze and squirt. Cramp time. Switch to thumb and middle finger. More cramp time. Very good, I've milked for five minutes and I'm already cramped from fingers through elbows to shoulders. Can knees be far behind?
And, as has happened so often in my life, a female came to save me, this time in the person of a young girl whose mare's foal had died. She had become an expert mare milker, and offered to do the job for me, since she couldn't tell who was in greater misery, Legend or me. In very short order, she had emptied Legend's bag of milk and we were ready to take up the drag.
And that's how you milk a mare – find a teenage girl to do it for you.
Showing posts with label Tevis Cup. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tevis Cup. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The Popped Curb
It was May in 1961. Legend and I had just returned from our week's ride from Barstow to Las Vegas. Unfortunately, she had been kicked by someone on the ride on the left hind leg below the hock and above the ankle joint. It didn't seem to bother her any.
I returned her to Joanne to resume conditioning for the Western States Trail Ride. One of the first things Joanne did was to ride from our house down the San Gabriel River to the ocean near Long Beach. The ride was at least 30 miles and the river bed by this time was nothing more than a concrete ditch. You could have rolled a bowling ball from our house to the beach.
Next on the training agenda was a ride into the San Gabriel Mountains. Joanne and our neighbor, Doris Levingston, trailered the horses to the Arroyo Seco Stables in South Pasadena and headed up the trail towards the mountains.
A little south of the Rose Bowl, Legend suddenly went from go-go to no-go. Joanne dismounted and discovered that Legend couldn't put her left hind foot on the ground. A huge lump, hot to the touch, had suddenly appeared between the hock and the ankle areas. She had become an instant three-legged horse. Joanne managed to walk Legend to the Rose Bowl while Doris drove the trailer up there. From there everyone came home.
A vet later explained to Joanne what had happened. There are twin parallel tendons running down the hind leg and they move against each other, or at least in opposing directions, when the horse walks. Apparently Legend had been kicked there and the resultant swelling of either the tendons or the muscle tissue surrounding them caused the tendons to rub against each other. This friction resulted in Legend's disability. And believe me, she was disabled.
Not much to do about it. Rest. Massage some lotion onto the area to increase the circulation. We did that twice a day. It got so Legend would see us coming with the lotion and she would just stand there and wait.
It didn't take too long before she was ready to take easy rides, but the time for training was over. So Joanne left for Tahoe City to accompany our neighbor Doris to help her on the ride and to see what went on there. She intended to complete the ride the next year.
Legend and I were left to guard the chickens and she didn't make the ride until the following year, 1962.
Copyright Ken Harris 2009
I returned her to Joanne to resume conditioning for the Western States Trail Ride. One of the first things Joanne did was to ride from our house down the San Gabriel River to the ocean near Long Beach. The ride was at least 30 miles and the river bed by this time was nothing more than a concrete ditch. You could have rolled a bowling ball from our house to the beach.
Next on the training agenda was a ride into the San Gabriel Mountains. Joanne and our neighbor, Doris Levingston, trailered the horses to the Arroyo Seco Stables in South Pasadena and headed up the trail towards the mountains.
A little south of the Rose Bowl, Legend suddenly went from go-go to no-go. Joanne dismounted and discovered that Legend couldn't put her left hind foot on the ground. A huge lump, hot to the touch, had suddenly appeared between the hock and the ankle areas. She had become an instant three-legged horse. Joanne managed to walk Legend to the Rose Bowl while Doris drove the trailer up there. From there everyone came home.
A vet later explained to Joanne what had happened. There are twin parallel tendons running down the hind leg and they move against each other, or at least in opposing directions, when the horse walks. Apparently Legend had been kicked there and the resultant swelling of either the tendons or the muscle tissue surrounding them caused the tendons to rub against each other. This friction resulted in Legend's disability. And believe me, she was disabled.
Not much to do about it. Rest. Massage some lotion onto the area to increase the circulation. We did that twice a day. It got so Legend would see us coming with the lotion and she would just stand there and wait.
It didn't take too long before she was ready to take easy rides, but the time for training was over. So Joanne left for Tahoe City to accompany our neighbor Doris to help her on the ride and to see what went on there. She intended to complete the ride the next year.
Legend and I were left to guard the chickens and she didn't make the ride until the following year, 1962.
Copyright Ken Harris 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Pegasus
My wife, Joanne, and I lived in Auburn, California in the mid-1960s, and involved ourselves with the Tevis Cup One Hundred Mile ride group. We had both done the ride and wanted to keep our horses in condition. Often we spent our weekends with Wendell Robie marking trail for the next ride. Wendell was the guiding light for the Tevis Cup ride and, as I stop to think of it, figured in several of our misadventures.
On one of these expeditions we found ourselves on a steep hillside. Usually when I tell this story, it’s a cliff. But the slope wasn’t ninety degrees, it was more like seventy. It was certainly too steep for ballroom dancing. The slope had a few oak trees growing on it, but you couldn’t see their sides, only their tops.
Wendell was in the lead, followed by Joanne on her horse, Country Girl, followed by me on Legend. We came upon a pine tree that had fallen over during the winter rains leaving its rootside uphill of the trail and the topside dangling out into the air. Wendell rode around the obstacle. A horse is perfectly capable of negotiating a seventy degree slope if the rider just gets out of his way and lets him do it. Joanne didn’t want to go around the tree, she wanted to jump it. And jump it she did.
Legend got ready to jump the tree from a standstill, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go around the obstacle, not over it. I pulled back on the reins and turned her out facing the slope. I figured we would go off the trail and down the slope, around the tree and up the slope, the way Wendell had done. I had forgotten my earlier jumping lessons at the Arroyo Seco Stables in South Pasadena. I had forgotten that to Legend could and would jump from a standstill.
She did jump from a standstill.
I wish you had been there to appreciate the look of amazement on Legend’s face when she saw nothing but air and tree tops below her instead of firm ground. I was there and I did see it. I really wish you had been there instead of me. As soon as I realized we were airborne, I let go of the reins, kicked my feet clear of the stirrups and tried to abandon ship. But the higher I went, the higher she went. My ship wouldn’t let me abandon her. I don’t know what she thought I was going to do, but it was clear that she expected me to save us.
Fortunately, we landed in the top of an oak tree where we parted company. If we had augured into the ground I wouldn’t be writing this story now. We filtered through the tree and fell to earth, taking branches with us, and landed one on each side of the trunk.
Joanne tells me I was knocked unconscious, but I don’t believe it. I was merely laying face down wiggling fingers and toes, rejoicing in the movement of each digit. It took a while. After all, there are twenty of them. Legend had a scrape above her left eye and I didn’t get a scratch, although some years later a chiropractor looked at an x-ray and asked me about my whiplash.
The rest of the crew continued with clearing the trail, but Joanne and I repaired to a sandy beach on the river and fished what was left of our lunch out of the saddle bags. Our friends said that if I’d do it again they’d bring a cameraman along and we could all split the money. I have such good friends.
Meanwhile, I learned two important lessons. One: horses can’t fly. Two: I can’t either.
Copyright Ken Harris 2006
On one of these expeditions we found ourselves on a steep hillside. Usually when I tell this story, it’s a cliff. But the slope wasn’t ninety degrees, it was more like seventy. It was certainly too steep for ballroom dancing. The slope had a few oak trees growing on it, but you couldn’t see their sides, only their tops.
Wendell was in the lead, followed by Joanne on her horse, Country Girl, followed by me on Legend. We came upon a pine tree that had fallen over during the winter rains leaving its rootside uphill of the trail and the topside dangling out into the air. Wendell rode around the obstacle. A horse is perfectly capable of negotiating a seventy degree slope if the rider just gets out of his way and lets him do it. Joanne didn’t want to go around the tree, she wanted to jump it. And jump it she did.
Legend got ready to jump the tree from a standstill, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go around the obstacle, not over it. I pulled back on the reins and turned her out facing the slope. I figured we would go off the trail and down the slope, around the tree and up the slope, the way Wendell had done. I had forgotten my earlier jumping lessons at the Arroyo Seco Stables in South Pasadena. I had forgotten that to Legend could and would jump from a standstill.
She did jump from a standstill.
I wish you had been there to appreciate the look of amazement on Legend’s face when she saw nothing but air and tree tops below her instead of firm ground. I was there and I did see it. I really wish you had been there instead of me. As soon as I realized we were airborne, I let go of the reins, kicked my feet clear of the stirrups and tried to abandon ship. But the higher I went, the higher she went. My ship wouldn’t let me abandon her. I don’t know what she thought I was going to do, but it was clear that she expected me to save us.
Fortunately, we landed in the top of an oak tree where we parted company. If we had augured into the ground I wouldn’t be writing this story now. We filtered through the tree and fell to earth, taking branches with us, and landed one on each side of the trunk.
Joanne tells me I was knocked unconscious, but I don’t believe it. I was merely laying face down wiggling fingers and toes, rejoicing in the movement of each digit. It took a while. After all, there are twenty of them. Legend had a scrape above her left eye and I didn’t get a scratch, although some years later a chiropractor looked at an x-ray and asked me about my whiplash.
The rest of the crew continued with clearing the trail, but Joanne and I repaired to a sandy beach on the river and fished what was left of our lunch out of the saddle bags. Our friends said that if I’d do it again they’d bring a cameraman along and we could all split the money. I have such good friends.
Meanwhile, I learned two important lessons. One: horses can’t fly. Two: I can’t either.
Copyright Ken Harris 2006
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