El Rancho Gitano Del Desierto

EQUINE WATER BOARDING

9-28-2021: I set the alarm for 5:00 AM. I don't know why I bothered - I was awake by 4:00. I had originally planned to drive the 4.5 hours to Alamo and camp for the night. That would put me in Alamo late morning. I'd be twiddling my thumbs the rest of the day. I opted instead to drive on in to Aquila. A good 11 hour drive if you avoid Vegas and drive through the Lake Mead National Park. It's a pretty drive and worth the extra 45 minutes- plus it's free if your coming from Overton heading South; otherwise it is a toll of $35.00 to pass through the park.

I woke in Wells to howling wind. Everything is harder in the wind it seems. From Alfalfa flakes blowing back in your face to blowing dust. I fed the horses early enough to allow them time to eat before loading. Horses aren't typically fans of the wind, either. Trying to lead two of them through multiple narrow barn doors that kept blowing back on us was a lot of fun...if your into that sort of sadistic activity.

Things at the trailer didn't go much better. I struggled to open the loading door...pulling with everything I had against the wind. When it finally opened far enough for the wind to catch it - it jerked me off my feet and slammed me into Drifter. For a yearling, that guy is awful patient. On the up side – the wind pinned the door open. As long as it didn't shift on us, we should be good if we hurry.

Jack did not get the memo regarding the need to hurry. In 13 years that horse has never refused to load. Normally, he loads himself – I toss the lead over his back and he jumps in. Not today. He'd had enough. If he figured out we still had two thirds of the way to go, we'd never make it out of Wells.

It was still dark out so I flipped on the trailer light hoping that would work. It didn't. I tried a few tricks I've seen other people use on hard to load horses. I walked him in a circle...I backed him up...I tried coaxing him with cookies...nothing. About the only thing left was brute force and I wasn't going there. I've never found the need to force my horses to do something they refuse. 1200 lbs vs. 120 lbs (It's my blog – I can lie if I want to) - it's a battle I'm not going to win.

Right off hand, I can't think of any place I'd rather not live than Wells Nevada. It is, in my opinion – the shit hole of all shit holes. I closed my eyes against the blowing dust and plopped down on the trailer floor with lead rope in hand. Jack dropped his head and nuzzled my face. “Please get in the trailer Jack. I'm tired and I want to go home. I don't want to live in Wells Nevada. I heard they eat horses here.” Call it luck...call it coincidence...call it whatever the hell you like - but I know that horse understood every word I said. He gingerly stepped around me and into the trailer. He then looked back at me sitting on my behind like I was the obstinate ass. Holy shit...he's in. I leapt to my feet – cracked my head on the open partition and slammed it shut before he changed his mind. Drifter piled in as soon as I untied his lead. I hastily fastened the butt chain, pushed the door shut and said a quick prayer of thanks to the horse gods.

Once behind the wheel – more prayers were in order. I've had to randomly jump start my truck the last few days. You might think a normal person in such circumstance would purchase new batteries before heading out on a 1200 mile journey with two horses and a dog. I doubt anyone would accuse me of being normal. I just wanted out of town. Period. I carry a small battery jump starter for emergencies. It hadn't failed me yet. Just get me to Aguila and I'll buy new batteries in Wickenburg.

I at least had the forethought to unplug anything in my truck the night before that might drain the batteries: The SiriusXM – GPS – Phone Chargers – radio and dome light switched off. “Please start...please start...please start.” Wait for the glow plugs to warm up...say a little prayer and turn the key. The old Dodge fired right up. “Hang on Hankster...we are out of here." 

I held my breath every time I stopped to fuel up...which is a lot when your only getting 9 miles to the gallon. Yikes. The Dodge didn't fail us but my checking account certainly felt the drain.

Somewhere around 11 hours of FOX syndicated News, Comedy Central and Willie's Roadhouse, we pulled into Aquila Arizona. Dusk had settled in. There would have been just enough light left to unload the horses and get settled in for the night...if only Drifter would get out of the damn trailer. While Jack wouldn't get in earlier – Drifter wouldn't get out! Again...he usually loads and unloads like a dream! I made sure he would back out not long after I brought him home. He is now too big to turn around. He started to back but changed his mind mid stream. You've got to be kidding. We were so close and I was so tired. I considered pulling the trailer into the arena, propping the door open and checking him in the morning. I might have...but Jack couldn't get out until that little black booger got out first. Like Jack, he didn't throw a fit or freak out – he just wouldn't move. I braced my back against Jack's butt and pushed against Drift's chest with my foot. That didn't work – but he now knows how to untie shoes.

I got in front of him and jumped up and down waving my arms. He thought that was fun and mimicked me (or perhaps mocked is more accurate) by bobbing his head up and down and wiping horse cooties on my shirt.

This went on until it was now pitch black out. Great. I considered opening Jacks partition and squeezing Drifter against the wall so Jack could get out. Pretty sure there are multiple ways that method could go wrong.

Exasperation breeds ingenuity...at least that's what I'm calling it. Before any “horsey trainers” start to criticize what is about to unfold – it worked; and no humans or little black boogers were harmed during the process. I didn't want to risk scaring or hurting him. The only thing I could think of at the time was: I'll annoy him out of the trailer!

I took a bottle of water and squirted it on his nose. I stopped if he took a step back...continued if he took a step forward. Three times of this equine water boarding and he backed right on out calm as can be. The horse whisperer's got nothing on a tired old lady that just want's to crawl in bed for a week.

SOMETHING AIN'T RIGHT

10-1-2021: I spent the first couple of days transferring junk from my LQ to my RV and organizing more junk between Crandall's and my property. If there's anything I've learned in the last year, it's I have too much junk. That is saying something after getting rid of a good 85% of said junk when I sold my place in Idaho. A person realizes just how little they need when living in an 8' short-wall for a couple of years.

I will be staying in my RV on Crandall's until I finish the water line on my property. Hoping to have that done within the week. I dug the trench to the RV spot and horse area using Miss Kitty and a ditcher. I had the 300 foot trench dug in under10 minutes. No rocks and a shallow frost line in this area is a far cry from digging on my place in Oregon! I unearthed one rock. I had to get off the tractor and visually verify that it was indeed a rock. I think somebody brought it in from someplace else....or the damn thing followed me from Oregon.

I've done as much damage as I can until I head to Surprise for pipe. I saddled Jack and headed for the State Land bordering my property with Drifter and Hank in tow.

Jack was feeling his wheaties. He was on a mission to go somewhere. Drifter is not a slow walker but had to trot to keep up. I let him go so I didn't have to pull on his face. The first thing he did was bump into a cholla. A blob stuck on his face and several spines stuck in his fetlock. Normally I would wait until we got home to pull them out, but he likes to rub his face on Jack's flank or my leg when we are headed down the trail. You can see where that might be a train wreck. He'd head toward us with that big blob of cholla just aching to implant itself on Jack's butt and get me ejected. We'd take off running beyond is reach. It's fast coming to the time when Jack his hard pressed to outrun him...he has some legs on him. I dismounted, called him to me and removed the cholla from his face and legs.

We rode onto my property before heading back to Crandall's. I showed the horses their new digs. Jack wasn't impressed. The arena panels and giant camo connex sitting on a flatbed could possibly eat horses. As we wandered around the property – something felt off. I can't explain it. Sure...it was rapidly changing as I added more of my stuff and started to set things up...it wasn't that. I don't know what it was. Something was just off. I chalked it up to my overactive imagination and headed for camp. 

DISSAPPEARING YARD ART AND SUBTERRANEAN MESQUITE MONSTERS

10-2-2021: We are slowing getting back into somewhat of a routine. Each morning, while it's still cool – Hank and I take a walk on the State land bordering my property. Some mornings we walk out and contemplate life with Sam the Saguaro. Sam's perspective of life is somewhat limited...seeing as he hasn't ventured from the same spot in 150 years. Still, I enjoy bantering with him in his stoic and often prickly manner.

Today we headed west outside the gate instead of south towards Sam. I don't often go this way as it's not as pretty and takes you back toward civilization. Not that there is a lot of civilization here in Aguila. This brought us to the NW corner of my property. I stopped dead in my tracks. What the hell? It's gone! Some low life scum bag piece of shit stole my yard art!

When I first ventured onto this property I would later come to purchase – I fell in love with a big hunk of rusty metal somebody had fashioned into a backdrop for target practice. Crandall's said it was there when they first came to this area. Nobody really knows what it's original use was. I'm guessing it was part of an old car frame or railroad track with a sheet of ¾ steel welded to it. A hook was fashioned at the top presumably for hanging targets. Anyway – I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I joked with Grandov's and their Realtor that I would buy the place only if they threw in the “yard art.”

I scoured the area. Somebody had to have taken it from across the state land fence line or the property bordering mine to the north. The gate into our properties is locked. It has to be several people big enough to heft that thing over the fence. The fence is slightly bowed on top but that could be from anything. I supposed they could have hooked onto it with a tractor bucket and got it over the fence. It was taken before that last big rain as there is no trace it was ever there. Just a big pile of lonely dirt where my yard art use to sit.

Whoever took it had to be somebody from around this area. You would have to be running around on the property behind me or on State Land to even see it. They would also have to know that nobody was around. They are just damn lucky I didn't catch them doing it on the previous three impromptu trips I took in the last several months. I'm a decent shot and pretty good with a backhoe! :(

Spot formerly known as my yard art. :(

I was...I am, furious. It was just a rusty hunk of metal...but it was my rusty hunk of metal! It might as well been the Hope Diamond. I'm guessing some tweaker sold it as scrap for blow money. Even if I don't find them....Karma will..and if I were them...I'd hope for Karma.

There was nothing I could do about my missing yard art and I couldn't get pipe until the following week. I needed to stay busy or I'd make myself nuts stewing about it. I set about clearing the mesquite where my arena will go.

Clearing ground in this area is a far cry different than clearing the ground on my place in Halfway. There are no rocks. The dirt is more like sand. What we do have here is mesquite roots that reach into the next county.

What lies above ground is deceivingly benign compared to what lies below. I came upon a scraggly few sprouts of mesquite sticking no more than six inches above ground. I dug around the base and wrapped a chain around it. Miss Kitty backed halfway across the arena before she pulled the last of the tap roots out of the dirt. It's almost creepy. I half expect to pull up some subterranean creature from the center of the earth clinging to the root. Actually...that would be kind of cool. It's not rusty metal yard art cool....but still cool.