The Prickly Pear Chronicles

12/12/2020 – Roadrunners and Monkey brains.

Cindy and I prepaid our entry fee's for the “Do you want to build a snowman” shoot at the Larkyn arena. We were on the road to New River by 11:00 am. Earlier, Cindy printed off two copies of AQHA transfer papers for Leslie, the gal that bought J'Lo. Leslie and J'Lo will be at the shoot. My neighbor had sent J's registration papers certified mail on Monday. According to tracking, the Aguila PO received them Friday afternoon. We stopped at the PO on our way to New River. Apparently, the Pony Express route between Phoenix and Aguila is based on dog years. The papers had not arrived. I text Leslie and let her know I would deliver them once they arrived. I wanted to check out more of the country anyway.

One hour, twenty two minutes and one U-turn later brought us safely to the Larkyn arena.

The small parking area was packed with the Scottsdale Saddle Club horse show. Western and English classes vied for the judges attention in the arena. There was no room for our rigs until the show was over. Ed, self proclaimed as the man assigned to take care of us for the weekend, directed us as to where we were to camp and pen our horses once the show rigs cleared out. In the meantime, We found a place to park along the road.

We unloaded and saddled with plans to ride the foothills around New River. We had parked next to a trail guide who was in the process of outfitting a young couple from Michigan. The man wore khaki shorts and the woman sat her mount in a pair of thin, stretchy yoga pants. We assumed neither had yet to encounter the ever present jumping cholla.

As I ride through the diverse landscape of the Arizona desert, I am often struck with an overwhelming sense of awe and wonderment. I can not believe I am here. I feel immensely blessed to be experiencing this amazing creation. Every aspect is a delight to my senses. From the Saguaro sky-lined against a vivid blue sky to the vibrant Palo Verde trees nestled in swell after swell. From the smells of grease-wood to the sensation of an arid landscape across your skin. The shrill screech of a hawk souring in the turbulent breeze hundreds of feet overhead can be heard as clear as if they are mere feet away. It truly takes my breath away.

We rode for a few miles before spotting the outfitter and his clients. We pulled off the trail and waited for them. Cindy flashed a big smile, waved and exclaimed on what a beautiful day it was. The guide, possibly smitten by this pretty girl on a good-looking sorrel pulled up and waved back. “I see by the way you sit a horse you must be from Idaho.” Oh brother. I rolled my eyes...”Yeah,” I said - “Or maybe you could tell by her license plate when you left the parking lot.” The bursting bubble was audible. I don't intend to be mean (most of the time) but sometimes I open my mouth and sarcasm spews forth. I'm working on it. I've gotten better...it's a 12 step program. I've been on step 1.3 for 50 some years. True recovery doesn't happen overnight.

The parking lot had thinned out by the time we unsaddled. The spot we were to camp was vacated. We parked the rigs and proceeded to settle the horses in their pens. Dave and Melodi Beckman had pulled in not long after. One other shooter pulled in next to us. I recognized the man from the Tombstone shoot as the guy on the gray horse that ran by Blake and me after the ride into Tombstone. Actually twice, as he'd taken the wrong trail...twice. It's almost refreshing knowing somebody out there might have a sense of direction worse than mine.

The horse pens are connected to one end of the arena. The same arena as the English class was currently being judged. A little arranging was in order to get the pens ready for the horses. Some panels needed to be moved and or removed. I wasn't paying any attention to the horse show and you sure as hell couldn't hear anything going on. Cindy grabbed one end of a panel and I the other. We were about to send it flying into the alley when a prim and proper lady all decked out in her English finery came trotting by the fence. She was all bug-eyed and a bit tense as her nicely collected English forward moving steed, equally bug-eyed and tense – realized we were about to send a metal panel flying in there direction. Cindy realized it before I did and suggested we hold off a bit. The grateful English lady mouthed a sigh of relief and thanked us for not getting her bucked off in the middle of her performance.

An English class: Be very, very quiet 

You could have heard a pin drop in that arena. You would have no idea there was a show underway if you hadn't seen it. The horses cantered around without making a sound. No leather squeaking...no horses grunting or snorting. Even the judges whispered! “now canter to the low end of the arena please.” I'd be like: “WHAT!? There's cantaloupe in the arena? Where!? I like cantaloupe!”

I stomped up the metal bleachers to get a decent view of the show in process. Spectators sat in complete silence. What the hell is with this horse show? I snapped a few pictures and bounced back down the bleachers. The sound echoed throughout what could have passed as a wake. I turned to a spectator: “Dang, are these things always this quiet?” She simply nodded. Hint taken. I meandered back to the trailers knowing full well Jack and I would never be show quality...and that's perfectly OK by both of us.

I tied the dogs to the trailer after taking them for a walk. I was on the other side when I heard a man yelling: “MONKEY! COME BACK! Monkey...get back here!.” What the hell...now we have monkey's on the loose? If they're them damn flying monkey's, I'm heading back to Aquila.

I heard Shade growl. I stepped around to her side of the trailer to find out what the commotion was. An overstuffed yellow lab was smack in the middle of Shade and Hanks personal space. Anybody that's camped with me over the years is aware that Shade is protective about her trailer. She's never bit anybody, but she has taken them by the hand and escorted them away from her trailer.

The man fumbled around with Monkey's leash...finally gets it attached. Monkey lurches against the leash and drags the man right in the middle of Shade and Hank. Monkey dashes underneath Shade and literally lifts her off her feet. A few years ago had this happened, Shade would have had Monkey brains for dinner. Today, however, Shade is old, deaf and broke down in the back end. The man, still trying to pull off his dog, thought it was kind of cute I guess. He laughed. Probably more nervous than malicious. Shade gave it the best she could, threw her weight into it and got Monkey on his/her side with her mouth around her throat. She didn't bite down, but Monkey figured out in a hurry she'd picked the wrong playmate. Shade doesn't have the agility to heft herself off Monkey. The man finally drags the dog from under Shade. Then he proceeds to try to pet Hank and Shade. Dude! Do you want to get bit? Even docile Hank looked like he wanted a piece of him.

Monkey was just being a goofy dog that wanted to play and picked the wrong trailer to do it. Had all the dogs been loose they probably would have played and got along fine. As it was, the whole ordeal shook Shade up pretty good and it hurt her. She wanted back in her trailer away from guard duty and overstuffed Monkey's flying or otherwise.

We pulled the “girlie card” on Dave and shamed him into unhooking and taking us all into the Roadrunner for dinner. Cindy and I noticed the restaurant/bar on the way in. It looked way too cool to pass up. The roadrunner did not disappoint. The food was great, the atmosphere inviting and the bartender/waiter didn't bat an eye when he brought me the fix'in's for my Jeep'in Juice formula.

That evening, I drug out the man magnet (propane fire ring) and set it up between Cindy's and Beckman's trailer. I'm fresh out of cranberry juice. Fortunately, Fireball goes equally well with apple juice. What doesn't go well with Fireball? Mayonnaise maybe? I doubt Fireball goes well with Mayonnaise.

We sat around the man magnet, took the obligatory feet picture and solved the worlds problems until the wind came up and blew our ambitions back to our trailers. As I type this – my trailer is rocking back and forth and not for all the fun reasons. I am not a fan of the wind. I hope it stops before our shoot tomorrow. It will be interesting to see how Jack reacts to seeing J'Lo. Hopefully she doesn't make him stupid as past experience dictates will happen. It will be my first competition on Jack in some time. We have a full class, which is cool. My goal is to shoot all my balloons and not worry about placing. I think we will do fine.

12-13-2020 – Do the Clint Squint

My hopes of a wind free and warm day were dashed the minute I woke freezing my butt off. I'm in Arizona for Pete's sake, this is not supposed to be happening. I switched the heat on and pulled up the security camera set at my property in Idaho. Three inches of snow and 19° put things in perspective. Suck it up buttercup – it's time to put on your granny panties and kill some balloons.

I wasn't planning on competing off Jack in a CMSA shoot until we got some time and practice under our belts. I figured on sticking to jackpots and clean shooter events until we worked on our rating and control. I'd already signed up for the “Do you want to build a snowman” shoot in New River before I sold J'Lo. It was pre-pay, so I'd be going with the intent of putting in for the clean shooter side pot and not worry about the rest.

Jack let me know J'Lo was in the area as soon as she arrived. He was tied at the trailer while I finished getting geared up for the shoot. I could tell from the first nicker J-Bird was in the building.

Those two horses drew together like two fuzzy magnets. It was sweet and sad at the same time. They nuzzled. Jack arched his neck and gave her his sexiest nicker. J'Lo nickered back, pinned her ears back and gave him her usual benign nip and that was that. Just like old times.

J'Lo looked so good; immaculately groomed and tacked up like a superstar. Best of all, she looked happier than I've ever seen. Soft eyed, ears forward and content. This is the life I hoped and prayed for her. Leslie was beaming. Leslie and I chatted while Jack and J stood quietly nose to nose. Leslie was a little nervous...this would be her first time shooting off J. What!? I was shocked...that is one brave girl. I could no more compete off a horse before putting them through their paces than fly. She was nervous, but confident. Each run was better than the previous. This is going to be a team to watch out for. I was so happy, I didn't care how me and Jack did. Best of all...this would not be the last time Jack and J got to see each other. We will be going to the same shoots, practices and clinics this winter and Leslie and I agreed to keep in touch and go trail riding as well. I sold a mare and gained a friend.

Our first stage was smooth and clean. Cold and windy, but clean! It was one of the new courses, #82. Frankly, it sucks IMHO. There are multiple ways to run it. I opted to run up the middle and shoot most of them off...letting the wind work for me instead of against me. It seemed to work. We weren't fast, but we were clean. Our time was better than I expected though - especially since we broke into a trot in the random. Jack's gait is deceiving. His long stride is faster than it looks and feels.

The second stage was another new course, #85. You have to shoot two gates but I like it. I thought we were going to smoke it. We picked up a little speed – shot the random clean and headed for the rundown. I slipped hammered on the second to last balloon causing me to leave two standing. Shit. So much for the nice clean shooter check. Still, I was happy with the way Jack ran and rounded the barrel and with clean shooter out, we had nothing to lose.

I tied Jack to the trailer between stages. I wondered how he would do having J'Lo out of sight but within earshot. They whinnied back and forth some, but stayed put and patient. My boy is maturing.

I didn't know for sure where we stood in the standings. I felt like we might pull off a 2^nd if I didn't miss any balloons on the last stage. 1^st wasn't out of the question if I shot the last stage clean and didn't dilly-dally. We aren't ready to move up to the SL4's. J'Lo is outrunning Jack by an average of 3 seconds per stage. I would be happy with 2^nd. In order to pull off second, I could not miss a balloon...my closest competition to 2^nd place was 2 seconds behind me.

Course #26 is a big T that starts at the far end of the arena by the rundown barrel. Jack and I sat in the arena waiting for the range master to give us the go. Hum...with Jack's long stride...we could make up the 2.6 seconds needed to win this thing. No pain, no gain. No safety'ing up. I decided to ask for a little more speed heading down the arena. Jack complied with that big long stride. Unfortunately, it takes a football field to get him turned around. Especially when his rider doesn't Q him to do otherwise. We blew out the random barrel...I miraculously hit the first two strong shots and ended up in the middle of the T wondering which way to go next. We overcompensated trying to hit the cross shot. Jack's hind-end whipped around taking out the #7 rundown balloon with his big-ole butt. I felt it and new we knocked it over but I had no idea if the balloon had popped or where it ended up. You can knock over a rundown target without penalty if the balloon does not pop and you pick it up on your way through the rundown. First place was out even if we did pick up the balloon. We took up too much time floundering around in the middle of the T trying to get back on course and hit those damn balloons.

We rounded the rundown barrel and picked off #6. The #7 balloon lay outside the rundown covered in arena dirt. It was still intact. I've never had to pick off a grounded balloon, but I can now say you feel kind of bad-ass when you do! That balloon was going down. I stretched out, squinted my eyes (not because I think it looks cool...but because I can't see worth shit that far) and shot it dead. The rest of the rundown didn't stand a chance. It wasn't pretty....it wasn't fast, but we got it done.

Cindy has had a bad case of the last course curse. Her and Cowboy smoke every single run...almost always shooting clean up to the last course when the curse strikes. I was sure she was going to break the curse this time. I was filming her so didn't see what happened until I looked at the video later. She made her usual smoking run that defies physics, rounds the rundown and suddenly, Cowboy inexplicably drifts into the center of the rundown plowing over a target. Cindy couldn't shoot it unless she shot between his ears.

We almost packed it up and left but I was fairly certain I might get a 2^nd place check. I knew Cindy was bummed and felt bad holding her up to wait while I picked up my major reward..if there even was one. We went in search of the over-all results, if there were any. Maybe we could tell if we needed to stay or not. The results were posted at the far end of the arena. We didn't have to do any calculation...they had the results posted. I took 2^nd place. I still felt bad for Cindy. I was about to tell her to head on without me and I'd follow as soon as I picked up my check. Jack deserved that much. We glanced down the results page to Cindy's SL5 class...winning her class by over 7 seconds: Cindy Crandall. Wow...I'm not a hugger, but I was so happy for her, for Cowboy, for me, for Jack...for J'Lo ...that I had to give her a quick hug...and not a lame, awkward side-hug I'm famous for, either.

I always take lessons away from my experiences. This shoot was no different. It wasn't a fancy shoot held in a fancy arena and the weather was less than ideal. It was a simple, one day shoot put on by some hard working people that put on multiple shoots every year to give us mounted shooters something to look forward to. It wasn't the biggest check I've won, but it wasn't the smallest, either. It paid enough that I was able to shoot and have fun for less than 10 bucks. Can't complain about that.

The lessons I took home are worth that and more. I learned that I am not the only one that can give my critters the home they deserve. Knowing that J'Lo is cherished and cared for warms my heart. The fact that her and Leslie are a better match than me and her is priceless.  I've learned much from watching Cindy shoot. Her and Cowboy go out there and give it their all each and every run. To safety up is not an option. Even in a clean shooter Jackpot...they run as hard as they would if they were entered in the worlds. I admire that.

While I realize Jack and I have a lot of work ahead of us, I learned you don't really know what yo

u need to work on until you get out there at an actual competition and see what you got. I cringe when I see the videos of me pulling his head up to my face because I'm still getting the hang of short reins. I can fix that. I learned to be more aggressive on the hammer to prevent slip hammering. I learned we need to work on rating and snappy turns. I don't think I ever did Q him to make that barrel turn...how is he supposed to know!

I learned to reach out and track every single balloon – just like you would if you were hunting and tracking the one your horse blew out of the rundown with his big'ole butt and your 2^nd place check depended on you hitting it. If you need to channel your inner Clint Eastwood and squint your eyes to get it done, so be it. You might feel a bit bad-ass when you do, too.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

12-9-2020: Cookie score and tea fairies

It's one of the warmest, sunniest days so far down here in Arizona. I guess “down here” is relative. It's “down here” for us Idahoans, anyway. I doubt if too many Mexican nationals are reading this blog. Would be cool though. If you happen to refer to Arizona as “up here” - leave a comment...that would be cool.

It's a little surreal around here without J'Lo. Jack doesn't seem to notice she's gone. He still nickers once in a while...usually because I'm late with his cookie. Still...it feels a bit empty. Easier, but empty.

One less lead rope to handle. One less saddle to heft. One less water bucket to fill and definitely less poop to scoop. I feel like I have a lot more time on my hands...especially with the less poop to scoop. We don't have a shoot for a few days and nothing pertinent on the schedule. The beautiful, blue, cloudless desert sky was begging to shine down on a rider and her buckskin pony.

Shade stayed with the trailer while Jack, Hank and I rode out on our own to explore the Arizona desert with no particular destination or motive. I try to stick to the trodden trails and four wheeler tracks to keep Hank out of the cholla. I don't know why I bother – he chases anything that will run from him and can be seen dashing after jackrabbits, cottontails and ground squirrels with sheer abandonment. He seldom comes back with a cholla stuck in his paw so he must have it figured out. He's a good dog.

We crossed the power line and rode up a drainage toward the rugged Harquahala mountain range. The Palo Verde trees are prominent here, as well as Ocotillo, mesquite, Saguaro and prickly pear. Of course, the ever present teddy bear cholla are littered about but they don't seem to be as thick the higher you get.

I hobbled Jack. He grazed on dried grass and weeds that looked less than palatable even for a horse that eats anything. Hank lapped up a full bottle of water out of his collapsible bowl and I shared a tiny “mini” apple with Jack.

Hank and I set out on foot to do a little exploring. It's one of those moments when you really hope your horse doesn't take it upon himself to head back to camp without you. He's only done it once. There was a palomino mare involved. By the time I caught up with him we had a serious come to Jesus meeting. I felt fairly confident he wouldn't do it again. There was no mare in sight and besides, it wasn't more than five miles from camp. I could do that...I'd kill him once I got there, but I'd get there.

Not only did he not leave me...but he wouldn't leave me. The goofy horse hobbled after me no matter which direction I turned. I'd head up the trail...hobble hobble hobble...turn down the wash.....hobble hobble hobble. Fine specimen of a steed you are. I removed his hobbles and head on up the mountain followed by a border collie and a goofy buckskin. Maybe that's why the Native American's called them “big dogs.” Big goofy dogs.

I didn't want to turn back. It was too nice out. However, one of the things I've learned about Arizona is how quick it goes from the most beautiful sunny day you've encountered to freezing your ass off as soon as the sun goes down. And I was hungry. Jack ate half my apple and it was a tiny apple to start with. I rummaged through my saddle bags for my can of Beanee Weenee's. Not to eat them mind you. I've had that same can for at least 10 years. They probably wouldn't kill me? I didn't want to eat them, I wanted to take a BW picture before I headed back.

I felt around in the Buck's Bag's for the familiar can. My hand touched something foreign. Something square and crinkly. What's this? A COOKIE SCORE! A couple months ago, my friend and sometimes ridding partner, Rob, invited me to go riding on the spur of the moment. I was camped for the weekend at Crandall's for their annual Halloween Spook Shoot. I said I'd go, but asked if he'd make me a lunch. I didn't have much in the way of food with me other than about 9 lbs of seven layer bean dip I'd made for the potluck. He agreed and we met up at Wilson Creek.

We stopped for lunch. Spread out on a boulder was a feast to put a caterer to shame. Turkey sandwich, cheese rounds, fruit and some other stuff I can't remember. For desert he'd brought this square cookie thing hermetically sealed in plastic. It was stamped: Cheryl's Cookies. To be honest, it did not look appetizing. Not wanting to hurt Rob's feelings, I quickly stuffed it back in my saddles bags and forgot about it.

Fast forward two months to an empty stomach with a tiny half apple floating around in it. Today, that cookie looked appetizing. Well...it looked edible, anyway. Truthfully, it still looked a bit disgusting. It's about 2x3 inches square covered in some sort of white glaze with what looks like chunks of boogers on top. Bloody boogers. I hesitated a little. Maybe a lot. My stomach growled.

I tore open the plastic wrap and took a nibble off the corner...trying to avoid anything resembling boogers. Not bad. I took a bigger bite – unable to avoid the dried boogys. Oh. My. Gosh. Raspberries! Not dried boogers but white chocolate sprinkled with dried raspberries! Surely, this is what they feed you in Heaven. Thank you Rob...and Cheryl.

Belly full of cookie manna, I sent Cindy a text letting her know I was headed back. My InReach was on the charger so I'd made sure and let her know where I was going via text. I told her it was beautiful out here and I would spend the night but I was hungry and headed in. She asked how far I was and I told her a little farther than we had ridden a few days earlier.

I hear all the time you are not supposed to run your horse back to the trailer. I don't really get that. I think if you want to run...run. If your horse gets jiggy on the way back to the trailers, then run their butt all the way there a few times and I bet they will stop jigging. Always worked for my horses. Jack doesn't usually get jiggy, but he does like to run. We long trotted and loped, making short work of the miles back to camp.

I was hot and dusty. I put Jack away and guzzled a large Styrofoam cup of iced tea sitting on my kitchen counter. I drank half of it down before realizing I didn't have a Styrofoam cup of iced tea in my trailer. Cindy didn't immediately respond to my text inquiring about the sudden appearance of my favorite drink next to Fireball. Later that night, I received a text answering the mysterious tea appearance. “Tea Fairies.” I'll be damn! Cookies from Heaven and Ice Tea Fairies. It's been a good day.

Trail Log: 12/10/2020

•  Trail: State Land behind Crandall's (Aguila)
• Miles: 7.77
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: It must have been close to 80 degrees. Gorgeous day for a ride. It's been a while since I've been able to take Jack out on our own and just ride. It felt good not needing to pony. We rode up to the power line, crossed the road and up a draw/wash with cacti, Palo Verde trees and mesquite. I could have stayed out all night - except it gets really cold at  night in the desert and I was hungry. 

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

Home is where we park it! 

12-4-2020: Sterilite Stash of Unmentionables

I do not like going to town to run errands, shop or make appointments no matter how important they might be. If I have to go into town at home, I usually load up my horses and get a ride in on the WRT to dilute the disdain of having to do anything remotely civilized. Cindy, in part, feels as I do. So when she needed to go to Surprise to pick up an appliance and run errands, I went along to squeeze in anything I might need to do as well.

Living the majority of your days in a tiny 8 foot short-wall can feel a bit cramped. A person becomes extremely creative with space management. Where to put ones socks and underwear can become a major accomplishment in creative thinking. Last year I lived out of a duffle bag. Whatever you can't hang up or aren't wearing at the time gets stuffed into a bag that in itself doesn't seem to have a proper place to call its own.

If there was a solution to my storage dilemma, Amazon Prime would have the answer. Before heading south, I ended up getting a hanging collapsible cloth organizer with three drawer like things and three open shelves. I stuffed my 'unmentionables' in the drawers and everything else on the shelves. The organizer hung on the shower curtain rod via Velcro. It sort of worked but was a pain anytime you wanted to take a shower. It would only be a matter of time before taking it on and off would weaken the Velcro and make it useless.

I needed to find a space in this tiny LQ for a more permanent, solid solution. I couldn't put it “there” because I wouldn't be able to open that cupboard. It can't go over “there” because the door is in the way. I certainly can't put it “there” unless I cut way down on my fiber intake and wear astronaut diapers.

I settled on a spot by the couch that is 12” wide and 4' high. I won't be able to turn the couch into a bed but I'm OK with that. The couch makes into a miserably uncomfortable bed when pulled out.

I got on-line and found some organizers that should work at Walmart and Target; both near where Cindy had her appointments.

We stopped on our way to watch Dave rope...I mean, attend a very important business meeting and have lunch. Dave's business dealings were quite successful at this particular seminar. Lunch wasn't too bad, either. We bade farewell to Dave and departed on our way. Which is a polite way of saying we stuck Dave with the check and skipped town.

Target had nothing that would work for my needs. I was more successful at Walmart. I didn't find exactly what I was looking for but ended up getting something that might be even better. Two, three drawer sections of plastic “sterilite.” They fit nicely in the spot between the couch and steps to the bed. The color matches perfectly. My unmentionables now have their very own discrete container and I can take a shower without having to remodel the bathroom each time.

So....that was pretty much our day in a nutshell. I just dedicated an entire blog to the search and procurement of a plastic container in which to store my underwear. What do you expect? Not every day can be full of excitement and adventure! Until tomorrow...you are welcome.

12-5-2020: Pro's – Con's and Roller Coasters

I don't know if today was any more exciting than yesterday, but it was definitely an emotional roller coaster.

I have been tossing around the notion of selling my little red shooting horse, J'Lo. I bought her with the intent of passing her on when/if Jack could become a shooting horse. That time has come. J'Lo is an awesome little mare than anybody can ride and you can do anything on. She's as solid as they come. I had to really weigh the pros and cons of keeping her or finding her a good home.

Reasons to keep her:

1. Anybody can ride her including my grandkids

2. She's consistent. She's the same horse today as she will be tomorrow.

3. It's nice having two horses if one pulls up lame or you need to lay them off.

4. She is fun to shoot on and easy to win on. Jack's coming along but not as consistent yet.

5. She will always have a good home with me. She will never be abused or mistreated.

6. Jack likes her

7. She likes Jack

Reasons to pass her on:

1. It's a pain in the butt traveling with two horses

2. Jack can be an idiot when she is around. He pays more attention to her if she is within ear-shot and it irritates the hell out of me.

3. This is the perfect time/age to sell her.

4. I'm not bonded with her and vice-versa – not like I am Jack, and vice-versa

5. Hard to admit, but the money would be nice.

6. I struggle with keeping them both in the game and legged up.

7. I'd rather ride Jack outside of the arena.

8. I prefer a taller, rangier horse.

9. One horse is cheaper upkeep than two.

10. Jack gets ridden half as much as he should and vice-versa

11. She deserves to be somebody's favorite horse

Both lists can go on and on. I came to the decision to sell her when I realized I was looking for excuses to justify my decision either way. I realized it boiled down to I'm just not that bonded with her. All Jack has to do is not blow smoke out his nose or not try to buck me off and I'm praising him and loving on him and telling him what a good boy he is. J'Lo goes out and wins me two shoots in a weekend after being laid off for the season and all she gets is an extra cookie. That's just wrong. Technically, she is a better arena horse than Jack may ever be. I'm just not as attached to her for some reason. She deserves to be somebody's favorite horse and I am holding her back.

I came south early for several reason. Mostly, I love it down here. I would live here 6 months out of the year if I had my own place. I wanted to shoot in the Tombstone Helldorado shoot. It was canceled twice last year. Third – I had posted J'Lo for sale on an obscure social media sight. A guy showed some interest in J'Lo. He would be at the Tombstone shoot. It would be a good opportunity for him to see her and for me to get to shoot in the Helldorado. Win win.

I recognized the man when the announcer said his name. I don't know if he recognized me or not. I imagine so. However, it felt like he sort of avoided me. Or maybe I was avoiding him. Blake, my son, told me several times to go talk to him about J'Lo...to see if he was interested or not. Call it a gut feeling or what have you...I could not do it. This was not the right person for J'Lo and apparently she was not the right horse for him. He could have been the freaking horse whisperer for all I knew...it just did not feel right. Call me weird – or, maybe I wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

He watched every run we made and J'Lo smoked every one of them. We won both shoots. Still, he never acknowledged us or tried to approach me. He rode a nice looking chestnut and made some awesome runs. I believe he won his class. He didn't appear to stay at the Livery with his horses and tack. I couldn't do that. I'd be too freaked out my horses would get into some trouble or somebody would steal them! Heck, if I can't see my horses out my kitchen window I think something horrid has befallen them.

My gut feeling was validated when I finished my last run and Dave peered over his saddle as he got ready for his run:”Young lady, you better not sell that horse. You have her priced too low.” Dave might have been joking...I have no idea. All I know is I took it to heart. J'Lo was not for sale in Tombstone.

Blake drove home from Tombstone which gave me the opportunity to really mull over whether to put her up for sale or not. It was then I realized it wasn't that I wanted to keep her forever, it's that I wanted to know she would have a good home and be cherished. The decision to find a home for her became clear and final. I'd post her on a shooting sight, ask a fair price and see what happens. I didn't have to sell her unless it felt right.

Within minutes of posting the ad, the PM's poured in. I couldn't keep up with them. I finally turned my phone off at night so I could get some sleep. Some people were just curious – others seemed genuinely interested. A large majority, I felt, would be a great fit. I had to be sure. I did the only thing I know to do in situations like these: I prayed. I asked God to bring the right person for J'Lo if there was one. If not – I would be OK with taking her back to Idaho in the spring.

A few inquiries stood out: One man wanted her for his 6 year old twins. Perfect – J loves kids. A few others were looking for calm, level headed shooting horses. One gal PM'd that her sister, a SL4, was looking for a horse to replace her forever horse that had come down with a serious medical issue. A brain tumor. I never thought about a horse getting a brain tumor. It hit close to home. It brought me back years ago when my then 11 year old son was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

Cindy recognized the lady's and assured me that if they bought J'Lo – she would have an awesome home. The sister, Leslie, PM'd me right away and we made arrangements for her to come out and see J'Lo the next morning. In the meantime, the guy with the little twins would send somebody over to look at her the day after.

Maybe I judge people too quickly. I liked Leslie from the minute we met. She has a calm, quiet demeanor about her. Dave said to not have the horse caught and ready before she came. Otherwise, people might think you rode them down or they were hard to catch. You cold leave J'Lo out in a pasture for six months untouched and she would be the same horse you rode the day you turned her out. I handed Leslie a halter and pointed to where J was penned.

Leslie put J'Lo through her paces while I pretended like I wasn't watching. I'd glance over now and then to see how they were getting along. I swear J'Lo handled better than she's ever done for me. Flying lead changes, an awesome little stop...the works. She's always had a good stop on her, but I struggle with flying lead changes on all horses. I found that if I just get out of their way, they change on their own. Leslie, on the other hand, seems to know how to Q her to get her to swap leads on command.

I offered to let her shoot on her or take her for a trail ride. She had seen enough. She offered me a little less than asking price. I stuck to my guns. I had priced her as low as I was willing to take. She was worth it. Leslie said for full price, she felt she needed to vet check her. I would too! I had no problem with that, but had to let her know that if the people looking at her tomorrow didn't creep me out and offered to take her home, she would be gone.

Leslie understood and said she would be in touch and left for home. I know she liked the mare and I could tell J'Lo liked her. I text her right away and told her that I would not make her wait. I'd text the people and tell him if they wanted her – they would have to let me know sooner than later...that she was sold pending a vet check if they didn't take her.

The guy immediately text back and said he would be sending somebody out to look at her that evening. At the same time, Leslie called back. She would take J'Lo and forgo the vet check. She would be over in the morning to take her home. I was ecstatic. I then quickly text the man back to tell him he was too late, she was sold. He text back and offered more money. Good hell. This horse trading business is exhausting. I declined his offer. I wouldn't do that to Leslie, or J'Lo. Those two are a perfect match. God had answered my prayers to find J'Lo a better home than she had with me.

12-6-2020: Pin your ears back and give'em hell.

11:00AM~

Leslie, her sister Molly and Molly's husband, pulled in to Crandall's by 11:00AM. Cindy helped me with paperwork. We printed off a bill of sale and a copy of her AQHA papers. The originals are being sent to me from Idaho. Leslie will be shooting at the “Let's build a snowman Shoot” at the Larkyn arena on J'Lo. I'll transfer the rest of the paperwork to her then.

I'm not sure what it's going to be like seeing J'Lo at the shoot! I'm sure her and Jack will recognize each other. I do know I am glad that Leslie is not in my class. Jack and I cannot compete against J'Lo yet. I sincerely hope Leslie and J'Lo totally kick ass. I told Leslie that J'bird will put you anywhere you point her – so point her where you want her and let her have her head and you will take your class. I'm excited to see what a good rider and higher level shooter like Leslie will bring out in her. I think they will be unstoppable. As sad as I am to see J'Lo go, I am more excited for them both.

J'Lo didn't look back as she willingly jumped in her new fancy trailer. I didn't look back either as I fought back tears and buried my face in Jack's fuzzy neck. I had already said my goodbye's earlier that morning:

8:00AM ~ earlier in the day

I wanted to give J a bath so she looked all spiffy for her new home, but it was too cold. I didn't want her getting sick. She would be stressed enough...or so I thought. I brushed the dust off the best I could and tried to remain detached. I failed.

I know she didn't understand what I was saying, but I had to say it anyway. I wanted her to know that I had found her a home where she would be somebody's favorite horse. I wanted her to know that I appreciated, admired and respected her beyond words. She is and will always be the little mare that came in to my life at just the right time. She brought me so much more than buckles, winners checks and trophy jackets. She helped me to stay in a sport that I have grown to crave. She gave me the confidence to step outside my comfort zone and prove that we were as good as anybody in the arena. Most importantly – that little red fire engine taught me that no matter what life throws at you...pin your ears back, give it all you got and give 'em hell...every single stage.

Trail Log: 12-5-2020

• Trail: Aguila AZ - State Land behind Crandall's
• Miles: 5.02
• Riders: Self - Cindy
• Horses: Jack - Jimmy

Notes: Cindy and I rode behind their place towards the power line for a short ride. Jack was a bit lethargic...totally out of the norm for  him. I attribute it to the heat (lower 70's) and he hasn't lost any of his Idaho wholly mammoth coat. Little Jimmy Dicken's made up for it with his usual enthusiasm. Cindy  would check him up and shout: "Whoa....when I say whoa, I mean WHOA!" She didn't clock him over the head with her rifle or anything, but she made a great impersonation of Yosemite Sam! It cracked me up and now I can't get it out of my head. "Whoa mule! When I say WHOA, I MEAN WHOA!!"   

Trail Log: 12-3-2020

• 

Trail: State land behind Crandall's

Miles: 6.25

Riders: Self

Horses: Jack and J'Lo

Dogs: Hank

 Notes: Things have settled down a bit and I'm pretty much settled in. I saddled Jack and J and went for a ride on State Land behind Crandall's property where I will be living for the next three months. There is absolutely nothing like riding through the desert with sandy washes, saguaro cacti and mesa Verde trees littering the landscape. I swear I was a desert dweller in another life.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles - Major Rewards and Ghost Chickens in the Sky

 

11-28-2020: Major Rewards and Ghost Chickens in the Sky

It's been awhile since I've competed off J'Lo. She's had most of the shooting season off this year while I focused more on Jack. I decided to put her up for sale if the right person comes along willing to pay what I think is a fair price and give her a good home. If not – I will try to have her bred in the spring. I've always heard if you want to assure your animals a good home, make them the best they can possibly be. I intend to compete off J'Lo while I winter in Arizona and get her into top form. I'll use Jack at clean shooter jackpots and other less pressure competitions.

The Tombstone Ghost Riders put on an amazing shoot. Saturday would be one shoot and Sunday another. The Sunday shoot would be for bragging rights only (no cash or awards for the class winners) Basically, a glorified practice for CMSA points only.

I really like the competitions where they have two separate shoots in the weekend. If you mess up on the first day, you still have a chance to redeem yourself the next.The down side to that is if you don't want to move up all that bad but happen to win both days on a full class, you could be moving up that much faster. There were 7 ladies in my class...the biggest class I've shot in thus far.

J'Lo was a rock. Our first stage was flawless. I told myself I would not safety up, something I have a tendency to do. Clean shooter was included in your fees...so I pretended like I didn't even enter. It's hard to get it through your head, but most of the time, to safety up can cause you to miss balloons. The harder J'Lo runs, the smoother she levels out.

We had the fastest time on stage one by .608 seconds. I missed a balloon on the second stage, but had the fastest raw time by over 3 seconds. – dropping us down to 3^rd place. Kathy, my closest competitor – shot clean. I had 1.6 seconds to make up if I wanted to win.

I seldom look at the results as they are posted through each stage. It makes me more nervous. The advantage of looking is you know where you stand and can try to adjust accordingly. Ideally, a person would go out and run their hardest each and every run. I'm getting better at that – but sometimes a little strategy is in order. If you have a good shot at winning if you don't miss a balloon and don't need to run your hardest, I see nothing wrong with that. In may case – I had to run hard and hit all my balloons if I wanted to place.

J'Lo smoked the final stage and I shot clean. They don't post the final results until awards. I felt like we might have gotten 2^nd place. There was a gal that ran after me. I could not tell if she was in my class or not. She didn't look like a senior, but neither do half of the ladies in the senior classes. If she was a senior, then I would likely take 2^nd or 3^rd. Regardless of the outcome, I was proud of J'Lo. She ran harder than ever and kept up with the levels above us. She walks into the arena calm, waits for the go...pins her ears back and gives whatever I ask of her. Once her stage is done...she exits the arena as calm as she entered. That means a lot to me. I see horses run in sideways, backwards or on two legs. They often make smoking runs....but I don't want my horses to do that. I'm too old for that shit.

The Tombstone Ghost riders know how to put on a fun shoot. Awards were at 6:00PM with a talent/non talent show to follow. My class should pay two places. The TGR gave buckles to the winners of classes 1 through 3. Normally, the only buckles given out are to the 1's.

Diana Olsen – president of the TGR club, began the awards. Diana is a riot. She should have been a stand up comedian. I sat through the wranglers, the 1's, the 2's...the SL1's and the SL'2's...finally it was time for the SL3's. I held my breath when she called the 2^nd place winner for my class: “Kathy K”...YES!! Does that mean I got 1^st? Blake was almost positive the gal I was worried about being in my class or not, was an L3. I sure hoped he was right. I held my breath as Diana got side-tracked. Several minutes went by while she entertained the crowd with her hilarious antics. Surely this is it...she looks down at the checks in her hand: “And the 1^st. Place winner goes to.....(I hear drum rolls...but it could be my heart palpitations)...the winner is...Darien Ross!” WTF!! I don't remember a Darien Ross! Blake had been wrong...Darien must be the SL3 that doesn't look a day over 30!! Maybe she's using a fake ID! That must be it! I will admit, my heart sank more than a little. I put on my very best fake smile and courtesy applaud for this “Darien” woman whoever the hell she is. Good for you girl...may you age exponentially in the next 20 minutes.

Someone from the back of the crowd shouts out: “Hey – you skipped the SL3 winner...Darien is a 4! There was still hope. This Darien, however, was not the gal I was worried about. Diana fumbles around with her papers and makes a few jokes. Everyone laughs. Ha ha. I'm dying here. I want to win a damn buckle. A few more jokes and shuffling about and I beat my head on the table. Finally, Diana finds the correct check with the SL3 1^st place winner: “Here it is! The winner is....(blah blah blah...more funnies. More laughter. Ha ha. I think my heart has stopped.) SL3 1^st place goes to.....Laurie (The thought crossed my mind that at this point in the game, there could be another Laurie in my class. Hell, maybe we were all named Laurie in my class!) – Bryan.”

Thank you Jesus. I tried my best not to jump up and down in an inappropriate display of “I WON! I WON!” Take that...you 30 year old with the fake ID! I walked up as calm as I could muster, which really wasn't calm on any level, to receive my major reward. I told Diana that next time she could just stab me in the heart and make it quick.

The talent/no talent show followed the awards. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. The first act was a rendition of the poem “pert-near Perkins” as told by the Pastor for Cowboy church and several unrehearsed actors.

The second skit was Diana's TGR club dressed up as chickens acting out the song “Ghost Chickens in the Sky.” The comedic timing and nuances were impeccable. I hope somebody got it on video.

There were a couple other funny acts finished off with Dave accompanied by a guy (I don't know his name) singing and playing the guitar. Dave doesn't think he sounds very good but he really does. I just wish he would sing louder and use is phone voice!

Blake suggested we go out and celebrate. I suggested we not. Tomorrow was another shoot and fake ID or not, I've always been too old for this shit.

11-29-2020: Whore-Durbs and Silver bullets

Sunday's shoot was a different format. A sixty dollar entry fee got you bragging rights only, no money for a class win. The only chance for money was clean shooter. It was still an official CMSA shoot and would count for points and a qualified win with a full class. There were 5 gals in the SL3's– 1 more than needed for a full class.

I've been wearing the same plain Jane chinks I traded for when I first started mounted shooting 6 years ago. They look like something a kid would dress up in to play cowboys and Indians. I've wanted a nicer pair, but could not justify the expense for something I wear only when I'm shooting. A pair of purple/lavender and gray chinks hanging from hatcreek leather beckoned. I felt a little guilty buying them. I figure since J'Lo does all the work – I should buy something for her. But they are purple. My favorite color. The guy wanted $265.00 for them. I offered him $250.00 cash. He had them cut down and adjusted to fit by my first stage.

Sporting my new chinks, I damn near missed my stage. I'm usually way early. All prepared an hour a head of time and jumpy as a frog in a hot skillet. I've yet to witness a frog in a hot skillet – but I imagine it would be pretty jumpy.

J'Lo smoked the first two stages. I was ahead by enough that I could miss a balloon and still take 1^st. The only money would be clean shooter. I debated whether or not to safety up. I decided not to. I've regretted doing so in the past. I didn't send her out whipping and spurring. I don't do that anyway – but I do ask for more speed when I want. This run I let her pretty much run at her own pace. I held up a little more than I should on the gun change and rundown. I have a tendency to hold her back on the rundown unless I'm doing shotgun. Still working on fixing that.

The final stage wasn't the fastest or smoothest of the weekend, but I was clean. We won our class and clean shooter. I was a happy shooter. The TGR gave out cool prizes for the overall's and some other side pots. Clean shooters took home a shot glass with a silver bullet and 50 dollars.

Now I could relax and celebrate. Blake and I drove to Margaritaville for my last prickly pear margarita and hors d'oeuvres, (that would be whore-durbs without spell check) It's a good thing I can shoot because I'd never win a buckle in a spelling bee.

I text Cindy that Margaritaville was open and had live music. Her and Dave met us there shortly after. The same man that performed last year was the evenings entertainment again this year. He plays a 16 (or so) string guitar (among others) and sings. He has a wonderful voice and takes requests. I had him play El Paso. It sounded a lot better than my rendition and I doubt it took him 4 shots of jeep'in juice to get it done.

11-30-2020: To launder or not to launder?

Blake and I left the Livery bright and early Monday morning. I had copious amounts of laundry to do before putting Blake on the plane in Phoenix Tuesday morning.

Tired and road weary, we decided against driving back in to Wickenburg to do laundry. Blake would pack his dirty clothes home with him and I could wait and do laundry on my way back from Phoenix

We watched “The Three Burials of Melquiadas Estrada” with Tommy Lee Jones and Julio Cesar Cedillo. I don't think Tommy Lee Jones can make a bad movie. His role as Pete Perkins is my favorite so far.

Blake appeared as tired as I was. We turned in shortly after the movie. We needed to be up early and headed to Phoenix to make his plane. I'd be sad to see him go home, but I know he was excited to get back home to his three kids and dog.

12-1-2020: Skinny Jeans and Endless airport loops

Driving to the Phoenix airport during rush hour is an experience I hope to never repeat. We were on the road by 6:45 am. A tad earlier than intended. As it turned out – it's a darn good thing it was.

Blake gives me shit about my compulsion to keep my truck on the top side of half. I guess I get it from my dad. He instilled in us girls to always keep enough gas in your rigs to get you as far out of Dodge and into the boonies as you can get should shit hit the fan. Said shit was about to hit said fan.

I was not the last to drive my truck as Blake had driven home from Tombstone. He said my driving scares him. I don't know why! I think I am an excellent driver...as long as it's not dark...or the suns not in my face...or there are no lights coming at me...or.

I fired up the Dodge to find the fuel gauge at 1/8^th of a tank. Ok...no problem. We could make it to the Shell station just outside of Wickenburg. We pull into the Shell station to find all of the Diesel pumps out of order. Not just 1 or 2. All of them. There is another station outside of Morristown we 'might' make. I debated going back into Wickenburg for fuel but Blake was fairly confident we could make it...he runs on less all the time! Ugh

I fretted as the gas gauge hovered over empty. I'd never let it get this low and I hadn't been getting that great of gas mileage. My relief at pulling into the Shell station outside of Morristown quickly faded. Every diesel pump was marked out of order. What the hell? I ran into the store to inquire what the deal was. I envisioned a national diesel shortage to go along with the elusive and fabricated coin shortage. Great...you can finally buy a roll of toilet paper but you can't purchase the fuel required to drive to the store to buy it.

The clerk assured me it was a Shell thing only. They were replacing their pumps or some such shit. It's hard to tell, they were kind of vague about it. We couldn't make it back to Aquila and we couldn't go on. What now?

I swear, I have the best guardian angle ever. This time he made an appearance as a somewhat sketchy looking dude in skinny jeans. “I have a diesel pump in my truck. I can give you some diesel if you want. What kind do you need?” What kind do I need? There's different kinds? My brain was too fried to understand what he was asking. “I need the kind that will get this truck on the road so I can get my son to the airport.”

I was a little hesitant. Paranoid might be a better word.  Was this a scam? Was skinny jeans really a serial killer working the truck stops in search of his next victim? I've seen the movie “Breakdown” with Kurt Russel and Kurt wasn't here to come rescue me in my hour of need and Blake was nowhere in sight. Where was that kid, anyway? I had no intentions of following skinny jeans out into the parking lot without Blake knowing what was going on.

Skinny jeans seemed a tad impatient when I hesitated. I told him I would be right there as soon as I found my son with the 3^rd degree black belt and an oozie strapped to his belt. Not really...but it was tempting. I found Blake and we met up with skinny jeans in the parking lot...where Skinny jeans waited with the hood of his truck open trying to get it jump started. This was looking weirder with each passing moment.

Not entirely sure I wanted to give SJ more information than necessary...I waved in no general direction when he asked where I was parked. “Bring it on over here and I'll fill it up. I can't move my truck to you until I get it jumped started.” I did as SJ requested. I know your not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I gave the fuel he was about to dispense a good looking over before he started pumping it. It smelled and looked like Diesel to me. I payed Skinny Jeans 20 bucks for 10 dollars worth of fuel and thanked him profusely. (Not only for the fuel, but for not stuffing my unconscious body in a wooden crate in the back of a semi to be found later by my unsuspecting son.) Yeah – I watch too many movies.

We were back on the road with enough fuel to get us to the next gas station. Blake mentioned something about off road diesel, dip sticks and a hefty 10K dollar fine that I chose to ignore. I figured if I get pulled over and questioned I'd just start crying. I was close to it anyway. It's never worked in the past, but there's always a first time.

I have no words to describe the traffic going into the Phoenix air terminal. I don't know how we made it. I pulled up to what we hoped was the departures lanes – terminal 4. Cars cut in and out a mere inches from hitting each other. Blake grabbed his duffle-bag of dirty clothes as I literally opened the door and kicked him out on the curb and sped away. “WISH ME LUCK” was the last words I heard my baby boy utter as I pulled back into traffic.

I was becoming quite familiar with terminal four. My GPS was stuck in a perpetual terminal four loop. About the fourth time past the same terminal, I powered off Gigi and struck out on my own. The airport seemed to be built underground with tunnels and dim, artificial lighting. I headed for the nearest ray of natural light I could see. Miraculously, I found myself back on the 202 loop heading in the right direction. Gigi gained satellite connectivity and recalculated our route toward home. Traffic going out of Phoenix was not near as traumatic to my nervous system. Once off the I10 onto 303 North, I could finally breath. I said a quick prayer of thanks to Jesus and Skinny Jeans for getting us to the airport on time and safely back.

Blake landed at the Boise airport the same time as I pulled the last load of laundry out of the dryer. I thanked him for driving south with me. I imagine most boys (men I suppose) have things they would rather do than spend 11 days in a tiny 8 foot short-wall with their mom.

I tried not to lord over him, judge him or otherwise be his mom. Other than fretting over whether he'd been kidnapped by Coyotes, upside down in a wash or picked up by the border patrol, I think I succeeded for the most part. I enjoyed our time together and hope he did, too. I got to know him a little better and maybe he got to see a side of his mom that he didn't know existed as well. One side he'll for sure never see again is the 4 shot of Jeep'in Juice, El Paso singing drunk Karaoke side. Nobody needs to see or hear that....nobody.