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Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Curiosity... by Kathy Rogers Kalero was a yearling and even though I was now riding his mother on a regular basis, I always set aside a block of time to "work" with the youngster. Calero Ranch is a spacious, huge facility, with a handful of arenas, pasture areas and paddocks and barns. I liked to lead Kalero through throughout the property, exposing him to different sights, sounds and experiences. It was mid-spring and the sky was blue, and you could hear the boaters on Calero Resevoir, mixed in with the occassional whinny and mooo. Kalero was doing great, staying off my right shoulder, looking cute as ever. We wove our way through a maze of paddocks and emerged in a large gravel driveway, with a big oak tree in the middle, and a large lump on the ground covered with a big blue tarp. The tarp instantly got Kalero's attention and so I took the opporunity to prove to him that tarps aren't scary. As we approached the tarp, I fleetingly considered what might be under neath it, and concluded that it must be yard debris, covered to keep animals out. Kalero did not like the tarp one little bit. He started snorting, and side stepping, very reluctant to get close. I insisted however, maneuvering him as to place him right next to the tarp. "You see, nothing to be afraid of Kalero". I stroked his neck, but he was still quite frightened of the tarp. "I'll show you what's underneath so you won't be scared" I offered, as I leaned over and took hold of a corner. But just as I was about to lift the tarp and expose its mystery, I began to comprehend the shape of the "lump" under neath. And as I took in the full form, it was clear, there was a dead horse under the tarp. "OK, that's all", I said to Kalero as I quickly turned him around and headed away from the lifeless form in the driveway. What a lesson that would have been.

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Sandy... by Kathy Rogers

It was long before helmets and trainers, and I was just a nine year old, long legged, red headed little girl in love with my pony. But pony was not in love with me, and within seconds of entering the open pasture, pony was running full speed and completely out of control. And the one tree in the pasture was now growing larger in my scope and its low lying limb was clearly in direct line with my face.

I let fly the reins, lifted my hands and grabbed the branch as it made impact with my jaw, taking most of the blow with my hands. I hung there momentarily, as my pony fled into the open and then I unceremoniously plopped to the ground.

That was not the first incident with Sandy. He as a young, half Welsh, half Hackney palomino pony. But the ranch owners finally became interested in my situation when I was carried back from the field in my Mother's worried arms. Cowboy "Val" decided he would work with this "uppity" pony and this little girl.

My next visit to see Sandy was all set up. There stood Sandy in the arena, saddled, bridled and ready to go. My heart jumped with anticipation and fear. But Val had his hand on Sandy's neck and the other holding the reins and was bekoning me to come on down. "You will be all over this ranch on this pony in no time" he encouraged. And that was all I ever wanted.

As I mounted Sandy in the arena, having this big cowboy handle him was reassuring, and eventually, I was walking cirles around Val in complete control. "Let's try a trot" he hollered out. "Lean forward and give him a little heel". But as I leaned forward, I needed no heel, because Sandy was already moving out. He hit a very rough, extended trot within a few strides and then broke it on out to a full gallop within a few more. Now Val was making a big cirle in the middle of the large arena, I was pulling back on the reins to no avail, and the rough gallop was just about to unseat me -- but like a circus monkey, I was holding on for dear life.

Just as we rounded the fence line at the south end of the arena, Sandy let loose his gut and slipped his saddle, sideways with me still seated, and I took a 4 X 4 arena post right in the ribs. There I again hung, momentarily, then slid to the ground. This was my first experience with having the wind knocked out of me, and I do believe I nearly needed resuscitation to come back. As I lay at the edge of the arena, moaning and crying - my mother came running with horror on her face. I rolled over on my side, and as my tears ran down into the dirt, I saw Val - now riding that Pony, long reins whipping back and forth on his trembling rump.

"Good , I never want to see that pony again." I cried. And my Mom made sure I never did.

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Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Cheyenne... by Kathy Rogers

As she came pouring out of the rusted trailer my first impression of Cheyenne was strength. She was only 15 hands, but her red roan-speckled butt was enormous. When her front end rose up and performed a perfect levade on exit, she spun and landed it -- head high, nostrils wide, terror in her eyes -- my thoughts turned to "dangerous freak".

"My Uncle game me this horse", mumbled Joanna, as the transporter handed her the halter. At the other end stood a "stiff as a board" appaloosa mare who obviously had no trust for humans in any way, shape or form. And Joanna had never owned a horse, only ridden a few times. This was not going to be a good thing.

For the first couple of weeks, Joanna handled Cheyenne rarely. Mostly hanging with the rest of us, brushing our mounts to perfection and playing with the hose. Eventually, the mare did begin to settle, and I became curious about why Joanna was not working her horse. "Can I take her out?" I offered one day.

Joanna looked relieved as I took the halter from her and headed up the drive towards Cheyenne's stall. As we approached, Cheyenne, who had blistfully been hanging her head out her stall window gazing at the other horses, spotted us with the halter and "turtle-turned" into her stall, out the back to the paddock and all the way to the back fence. "It's OK" girl I said as I approached, but her body began shaking and she was clearly in a lot of distress. I reached out, stroked her neck, she did stop shaking, but remained stiff as a board. I haltered her walked her down the drive, realizing that the horse was in a "mode" of being defensive all the time. Well, maybe that is just the way this horse is, I pondered. Maybe she will be fine.

I tied her well to the post in the barn and began brushing her as I would any other horse. She was jumpy but not agressive. I brushed her out carefully, talking all the time, and then began to pick her front left hoof. She pulled it out of my hands twice, with an overpowering stamp to the ground. But I tried to not to dispcipline her, just soothe her. And I continued.

As I ran my hand down her back, towards her flank, her back lep popped up immediately. My gelding often lifted his feet for me to pick as he knew the routine. I took this motion to be the same, and reached out and took hold of her fetlock. WRONG. She was not offering her hoof to me, she was warning that she was ready to kick. OOPS. Now I had hold of her leg, and we were in a tug of war. A tug of war that she was clearly going to win, and quickly.

As she withdrew her foot in tight to her body, I knew if I let go then, she was already retracted and ready to kick me. So, I waited until her leg was extended in the back and forth tug of war and I let go. It was my only option, and not a good one, as she retracted that leg faster than Mohammad Ali and back with a cow-kick to my inner knee that sent me flying across the barn floor. Gratefully out of her range, as she began pulling back, until she broke the post, and went running up the road with a 4 X 4 X 1 foot section of post flying around at the end of her lead rope.

Over the coarse of Joanna's ownership of Cheyenne, that horse kicked people and horses, she maimed hands while handling, she broke wrists, sprained ankles and was almost killed by a shoer with a temper. Eventually, Joanna returned Cheyenne to her Uncle and the horse was retired to pasture.

Somewhere, somehow, somebody had abused this horse. She was frightened for her life most of the time. I never blamed the horse, but instead, I blame people. Someone must have seen or known of this abuse - whenever it happened. So, whenever you see abuse, in the barn, at the show, or in a child's living room -- do something, say something, tell someone.

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Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Picture this... by Kathy Rogers

"You know horses think in pictures" Tracy stated wth such a matter of fact tone that I didn't even bother to question her. "And if you want to communciate properly with them, you have to think in pictures too". Well of course you do. Made sense to me. Horses are herd animals. Watch a herd of any animal traverse an open plain and you can clearly see they are well aware of eachothers coordinates, direction, intentions. And since they don't have language of course their thoughts are driven by pictures.

"There's Hajji", I pointed as we turned the big corner at the dam of Calero Reservoir in South San Jose. She stood among a dozen horses scattered across the huge pasture. Just a little chestnut dot on the landscape.

"It would be great if Hajji would meet me at the gate instead making me hike into that pasture " I mumbled. "Well, then you need to "communicate" with her" Tracy suggested.

We chuckled as Tracy maneuvered her Ford Explorer up the long and winding driveway. But I was already thinking, picturing, imagining.

As I closed my eyes I could picture her there -- my pretty little apricot Arab Hajji. I squeezed my lids tight -- here I am Hajji. I'm standing at the gate. I can see the aluminum gate with its chain in place. The old bathtub with goldfish and the big oak tree casting needed shade and cover. But ahead is a formidable 30 foot incline to the pasture level, and then several rolling low hills with oak and scattered brush -- at least 1/4 mile to where Hajji chomped her grass.

We parked and parted ways, as Tracy had her mare, Lytica in a paddock. I grabbed my halter and headed to the pasture gate -- hoping to find Hajji waiting there for me. Dream on. No Hajji. Just the gate, the tree and the bathtub. As I began the hike up the 30 foot incline towards my destination, dissappointed in my abilities to "communciate" with my horse, I was still picturing her. She was running - fast. Maine and tail flying, Hajji is cute to look at, but her true beauty is in her movement. And I was reveling in the memory of her as I anticipated our ride.

Just as I popped over the summit of the low hill a thundering blur plowed into me, pushing me back and nearly toppling me backwards down the hill. As my vision cleared and the dust settled, there stood Hajji, back end down in a slide stop, and I've never seen such surprise on a horse's face.

Apparently somebody communicated something....

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Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Turtle Turn... by Kathy Rogers It was a gorgeous Spring Day and had been looking forward to my horseback ride all week -and now the time was here. As I drove onto the stable grounds, I caught a glimpse of Kalero, standing near his gate looking bored. Well, we will fix that I contemplated... I was boarding Kalero up near Placerville, on South Shingle Road, near an abandoned rail line. He seemed to be content here in his big 5 acre pasture, but there was no arena, only trails, and he had gotten a bit "rough". It was one of those spring days where the grass is so green and the sky is so blue and for whatever reason, I elected to go with the bareback pad, mp3 player/headphone, and worse yet, no helmet. Kalero was in a fine mood and hit the trail with enthusiasm. So, I pumped up the MP3 player and directed him up the main trail toward Placerville. This particular single-track trail stayed close to the rails, but followed the contour of the land rising at times 20 or more feet above the actual tracks. On the east side were a row of expensive, 10 acre parceled ranch homes and to the west were the rails. As we progressed, I became more and more relaxed, and increased the volume on my headphones and Kalero kept a brisk pace down the rail line. It was all going so good, until Kalero apparently decided the ride was over and used his brilliant imagination on a large boulder, which apparently looked a lot like a bear. He spooked, dropped his left shoulder, and rolled violently and completely to the right. "A turtle turn" is what I call this maneuver -- because it seems like they suck in their head and it comes out their butt, and now the horse is moving in the opposite direction. I credit my 36 inch inseam on my pant leg with the reason I didn't come off, as my right knee was now hooked over his wither, and I was merely hanging off the side of Kalero. And Kalero was moving out - his front end is up in the air, and he was pushing hard with his hind legs, trying to reach terminal velocity as quickly as possible. As I hung for dear life, I looked down the trail and a cluster of small boulders were coming up fast and my head was clearly in line with disaster. I honestly don't know how I did it, but as those boulders came rushing up to meet my face, I reached up and grabbed his wither and with all my might I lunged myself back up on his back -- now with no reins and at full speed, Still better than the boulders below, and he continued to gain momentum as he was clearly shocked I had made it back on him and now he was running from me..... It took a few strides to gather the reins and pull him in. I brought him to a sliding stop and sat, knees quacking, hands shaking, no more mp3 player, no more sunglasses, just me and my heartbeat. The next time I went out, I had a saddle, a helmet, a cell phone, and very quiet ride. Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Be careful what you "imprint" by Kathy Rogers I love working with babies. They are so fresh, so bold and so animated. I always start "imprinting" my Arab offspring right away -- at first I did this without even knowing what that was. Some things are just obvious. My last breeding experiment, The Kalero Kidd, would go anywhere with me and leave his mommy behind. At first, we took long strolls through the barn, parading in front of rows of onlookers, with ears pricked forward and noses extended. But soon Kalero was excellent on the lead, and we headed outside for our first trail walks together. They were a blast. Akin to watching Bambi discover the butterfly, Kalero's enthusiasm for the great outdoors was a joy to behold. But on one of our first walks along the ridge, through the tall summer grass, I realized Kalero had a long way to go before he understood all the "Rules". As we approached the top of an incline, and I looked over at the adorable 5 month old Arabian baby at the other end of my lead line, and saw a spark ignite in his eyes. We started to jog, and then together we sprinted up the hilll. Kalero began kicking up his heels and squealing with delight. He was so cute, that I just reached out as we ran together and lightly touched his shoulder up near the wither. As a reply, Kalero started flipping his head around, extended his cute little nose toward me, and opened his mouth WIDE, taking a mouthful of my forearm... Yeowwww, he lifted the muscle right off the bone, and the pain was excruciating. Out of instinct, I lurched free, and came right back at him with the soft cotton lead rope that was looped in my right hand. I smacked him hard upside the head, stopped, and grabbed my injured arm. There we stood, facing eachother in the tall grass. He had a perplexed look on his face, as he did not expect to be "cuffed" in such a manner - and he was clearly thinking about the situation. About a year later, I took Kalero for a walk along the same trail. He was much bigger, and forunately, better mannered, but still a rambuncious Arabian youth. As we got to that same incline on the trail, I remembered the biting incident. I pictured that day in my mind, and as we started to trot up the hill side by side, I recalled the exact place where I had reached out and "touched" Kalero's wither. Just as we got to that spot, Kalero, who apparently was thinking the same thing, closed his eyes, lifted his nose, snaked it over my way and opened his mouth in an exaggerated biting motion. As I jerked my arm away before tooth impact, Kalero threw his head in the air, in anticipation of the "cuff". But I didn't "cuff" him, because he clearly did not bite me. Again we stood, face to face, contemplating the situation. In the end, Kalero has never been a mouthy horse, perhaps because of the first intinct I had to smack him upside the head for biting. Who knows. But I do know that imprnting is a great methodology for training. Just be careful what it is you "imprint".... Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Pay Attention... by Kathy Rogers I must admit, sometimes I have a short attention span. But when working young horses, I have found it most useful to pay attention to them, and only them. Despite my beliefs, one spring day in the mid-80s, when I should have been paying attention to my "2 yr old student", I learned my lesson the hard way. I was diligently working Hajji on her left circle, on the lunge line. She was having a most excellent day, had was executing her changes in pace and gait, even her leads, and was moving mostly off my voice, then my hand and whip, etc. And today she was bending beautifully to the left, carring her arabian tail just right and floating her canter. "Hey Kathy!" came the intrusion. "Hajji looks great. Did you see the new Palomino in the far box stall?" It was down hill from there, as I totally broke my pattern of thought, brought Hajji to a halt, turned to the "intruder" and began to explain what I knew or didn't know, about the new Palomino. Hajji stomped, flicked her tail at a fly, but I continued. Hajji tossed her head and then swung her butt around to the right. I turned, corrected her, but continued. Hajji pretended to become alarmed at a nearby peacock, I ignored her and continued yacking. Hajji flipped her head up in the air, rolled her eyes, and swung her head down to mine -- snatching my cheek in her mouth. My widened and frightened right eye was now looking directly into her widened and firghtened left eye -- she spit my cheek out of her mouth, threw her head as far up in the air as possible, blinking and twitching in expectation of quick discipline. She got it, with the end of the cotton lead rope I had in my hand. I quickly realized that she had but spit and slobbered on me, but there was no skin break or even bruising.... Next time, I'll pay attention. Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 Gone Missing... by Kathy Rogers "You have got to be kidding me", I sighed. "I was just there, and she seemed fine!" "Well, I'm sorry to say Kathy, but I went down to the stable and your mare is no where to be found. I think she's gone looking for your old gelding." That old gelding was Slim, my childhood friend who I had euthenized earlier in the day. Slim was 28 years old when I recovered him in very poor shape from a relative, and for the last six months I had been working dilegently to restore not only his health, but also his emotional well being. But Slim was insane -- from painful, arthritic joints to skin conditions and a three-month bought with starvation. I had the vet out several times to address his issues, and each time the doc calmly looked me in the eyes and asked why I was not putting this horse down. His wolf teeth were pushing his upper lip into a snarl, his fetlocks were crooked with rickets, he had had been severely malnourished. But something wonderful had happened to Slim. When I recovered him and brought him home, I stopped and picked up Kalita - my petite and pregnant arabian mare. Now Slim hadn't been around another horse for more than 5 years, and as Kalita sashayed into the trailer, their noses came together and grunts and squeals of excitement rang out. Slim was in love and from then on, the two were inseperable. As I unloaded the newcommers into a ten acre Los Gatos Foothills pasture, the very hills that Slim and I had conquored so many years before, Slim took total charge of Kalita. We fed the horses right away to cut down on any unnecessary fighting, and Slim wheeled into action. It was an inspiring sight as this decrepid little gelding spun and reared and screamed his protection of his new mare. And of course, Kalita took total advantage, eating slowing and calmly as Slim kept other horses at bay. For the next several months, I tried to restore Slim to health. I fed him constantly. But he was insatiable and if anyone got in between him and his food, he would simply rear and strike. Like a boxer he was. This was presenting a problem for anyone who was handling him. Including my vet, who really didn't believe me when I told him that this little old man would rear and strike. But as soon as that vet raised up the file to Slim's mouth, that little horse rocked back, performed an excellent levade, and punched the doc right in the arm. Sent him flying. Another growing problem with Slim's demeaner was any attempt I made at trail riding the pregnant mare. Everytime I tried to take her out, Slim would have to be stalled, or he would act as though he would go through fences to join us. And believe you me, I could hear him kicking the stall walls a mile away. It was becomming more and more apparent that Slim was in pain, physical and emotional, and I knew it was time. I just wanted him to be fat and happy before it happened. And as Kalita's delivery approached, I also knew that either Slim was going to be a big problem for the new baby, or he was going to be a big problem for anyone near the new baby. Now, the day had come and the deed had been done. And now it appeared Kalita had gone looking for Slim. As I drove to the stable, crying of course, I contemplated where Kalita would have gone. Upon arrival, their paddock was quiet and empty. I caught the ruddy appy, Applejack and threw on his hackamore - jumped on his back and headed into Quicksilver Park without a clue of which way she went. I turned left at the main trail, only because the other way had a steep uphill grade coming up, and I figured Kalita wouldn't want to go that way. As I rode Applejack down the trail, I realized the sun had set on this awful day and my anxiety over Kalita's dissapearance now combined with the reality that I had just had Slim killed, was playing big games with my emotions. I stopped near a big oak tree and tried to gather myself. I had been calling for the mare for about the first mile, but now I was was just using my eyes to find her. Applejack was swinging his head back and forth, wanting to proceed, when he suddenly turned his head, and looked up the hill to the right. As my eyes followed his, there she was my beautiful Kalita, her shiny coppery coat gleaming in the dipping sunlight. Thank God was all I could muster and I began calling her and coaxing her off the steep grassy grade where only deer had frequented. But Kalita was not coming down. She stood high up the hill, looking down upon me, not moving. The grass was still in her mouth, but her mouth was not moving. She was clearly thinking about things. I tied Applejack to a tree and began a laborious ascent up the steep hill. She never resumed eating, just stared down at me as I approached. I fed her well that night, had a long talk with her. And then we never talked about it again. Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 The Martingale ... Part Two by Kathy Rogers "Where's the martingale? You know he needs to be ridden in a martingale". "That was then, this is now", smiled Tracy. "I've been working on his ground manners and I've been riding him everyday. He is doing so well at giving his head to the bit, that I don't need the martingale". Now Kalero was pretty green at age 5. In fact, Kalero is still pretty green. And, for whatever reason, both Kalero and his mother have always been ridden with running martingales. Well, Tracy had always been fairly bugged by this "training prop" and had been working hard with Kalero to bring him into the world of the reasonably well trained horse, without the need for "training props" It was a gallant effort. As she led Kalero to the big western outdoor arena at Bear Creek Stables in the Los Gatos redwoods, she explained how well he had been doing and how pleased she was with their progress. I was still not convinced. I hopped up on the tall arena fence and settled in for the "show" as Tracy positioned Kalero in the middle of one end of the big arena and mounted. Kalero's head went down, not up. Very good. As she progressed in the lesson, his head stayed down, his gait was really pretty, engaged and even collected. "Wow, he looks great" I hollered out as Tracy's smiling face passed by the fence rail. But, no sooner had the words escaped my lips, when I noticed two rowdy arabs being turned loose in a pasture right next to the far end of the arena. The moment I noticed, Kalero noticed. His tail and his head went up and he began to dance side to side as Tracy tried to calm him and the horses went bucking and screaming through the pasture right next to him. I started to yell out -- GET OFF when I saw his tail curl up over his back. But just as I caught my breath, Kalero's head goes up. Way up. I plainly see the moment he discovers there is no martingale. In one beautiful motion, with his head straight up in the air, and he falls back on his haunches and launches into a full out buckaroo tornado. Well, fortunately, Tracy had been engaged in a rigerious regiment of weight workouts, and she was "buff". As Kalero landed, she was thrown from the english saddle, but held on to the pommel and the back of the saddle, banging her chest against the saddle with every buck. Those two bucked all the way down the arena and she didn't come off. Kalero was doing everything in his Arabian bucking repertoire to unseat her, and he finally came to a slide stop and wheeled around. Tracy pushed off and landed on her rump in the dirt - unhurt. Kalero looked down at her, looked up and saw me on the fenceline, and bolted towards me at a full out gallop, squealing and throwing his stupid head around. The reins were still in position and as he came down the line, defying me with his apparent conquest of Tracy. I grabbed the post next to me with one hand, and reached out and grabbed his rein as he went flying by. As I set my body, he hit that bit, and came to a sliding stop as I fell into the arena and let go. He instantly wheeled around and stood, head down, panting, staring at me. His puzzeled and beaten expression taught me that the "long arm of the law" can be an awesome power. But the shaken and dishoveled Tracy coming up behind me reminded me that martingales are just plain old necessary with some horses. I don't care what they say... Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 My Grandma Ruby... by Kathy Rogers "'Kaffey, now I remember, you're the one who likes horses." "That's right Grandma, I'm the one with horses," I'd reply. Now Grandma had six grandaughters, so it was understandable to have me pegged in this way and at 95 her mind was not what it used to be. "Kaffee, did you know my Daddy had himself a saddle horse when I was a child, growing up in Arkansas? " I think you've told me, but tell me again Grandma. "Oh, she was a big black horse. With a long tall neck and big strong nose. Why I used to take that horse to town and pick up things for my Mamma. Oh yes, I really liked to ride that horse." Grandma would nod as her eyes lit up. Then she'd lean forward in her chair, and look out over my shoulder, searching for a memory -- 'Oh but one time, when Mamma sent me to town, why that horse took to runnin' Kaffee! Oh, and she could run fast! We ran past the neighbors and through the woods, the harder I pulled back the faster that horse went. Until we came all the way home, and that horse ended up right in the barn!" Then Grandma would get a kind of wistful look -- tilt her head back and ponder, "you know, I think my Daddy got that horse for me. Why nobody else ever rode that horse. I think that horse was mine." Grandma Ruby must have told that tale more than 50 times in her final years, as her short term memory failed her she turned to memories that were securely locked up, and couldn't be erased, those of her childhood. Born in Carroll County Arkansas, May 9, 1910, Ruby Drue Kinne Griffin passed away April 14. In her final years, my Mother and Father cared for Grandma with so much love and devotion that she never knew the fear or depression so many find in old age. And on my last visit she openly remarked how lucky she was to be surrounded by her family when so many other old people are alone. Ruby Drue was a tall, athletic woman -- she always caught the biggest fish, had four hole-in-one's in golf and enjoyed life until the very end. She lived it right and it actually paid off for her. Now if that is not inspiration, I don't know what is... As I recounted the runaway horse story at Ruby Drue's wake to the crowd of 40 who had come to pay respects at the Marriott Hotel, Ruby's younger sister Blanche began chuckling and turned around to me and said, "That whole town saw Ruby flying by on that horse. My Mama got phone calls for a week!" We all laughed as the next relative began relating a humerous story about her. Thank you Grandma Ruby - I will miss you.... Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 A Kid, a horse and a tree.... by Kathy Rogers "Mommy, look how high he can jump!" Cori exclaimed as she came around the backside of the small, fenceless arena on the banks of Quadelupe Creek. Cori loved to jump her Sonny and today's jump was a downed tree branch in the middle of the arena. Sonny was an awesome horse and my daughter, even at eleven was already big and strong. But Sonny was half pony, and even though he was quite well trained, he had a mind of his own, and he often used it. I looked up when I heard the hoof beats coming around the bend of the makeshift arena and as I leaned on my rake, I shouted "make this your last jump. It's hard work for Sonny, and you've been riding a long time." But as I hollered my instructions to the passing duo, I also caught Sonny's eye. There was something about the tilt of his head and the swivel of an ear -- he knew I had told her to stop, and he was pretty sure I meant NOW. He started to slow, but Cori kicked him on. He tried to balk, and then gave a half hearted buck. But Cori pushed him on, towards the jump. The next thing I see is Sonny's nose tossed up in the air, and he grabbed the snaffle in his teeth and veered off track in a mad dash for the old oak standing dead arena-center. All I could do was watch as Sonny barreled towards the tree with Cori onboard, now helplessly trying to stop him or turn him away from the tree. But her pulling was in vain and in a calculated manner, at a fast canter, he dipped and rolled his shoulder, exposing Cori's leg to a direct hit, and subsequent unseating, or even "smear" on the tree. I brought my hands up to my mouth, dopped the rake, and started a sprint towards the ensuing calamity. I fully expected the worst, as I had a similar "smear" in my childhood. But just upon impact, Cori smoothly and all too easily pulled her leg back across Sonny's loin, exposing his side to the tree and with a lough oooooooogggghhhh,, impact was made. Both horse and rider bounced off the tree and inadvertantly right into the jump he was supposed to make in the first place. And he did, ending up at my feet with an abrasian to the side and a real knock to his horsey self-esteem. "OK", I'll quit now, Cori grinned... "Get off" was all I could say. Back to Stable.com

Stable.com Blog Posting Copyright 2006 You never know when.... by Kathy Rogers I know I blog a lot about scary things that have happened to me around horses. But let's face it, those are the stories we want to tell. Becuase those are the ones that could help save some one else from getting into the same situation. I've certainly been tossed around by the best of them, and had my share of falls and slips along the way. I've even been kicked pretty hard in the knee and the shin, but quite honestly, when those bad things happened, I was putting myself in a "precarious" situation. Either out matched on a green horse or in a tug or war with a wild eyed appy mare's back leg, either way, I knew I was in for it. But there was one early afternoon in South San Jose, about 22 years ago, when I had the begeeeeeze scared out of me and all I was doing was brushing my horse! I had driven out to the stable with the sole purpose in mind to simply brush my mare and handle my new "baby" Hajji. It was an easy capture, and I had the halter around Kelly's head before she knew it. Out through the gate, I waited for the "baby" to catch up and she obediently took her spot up at her mother's hip as we left the paddock and headed toward a small wooden round pen and hitching post. As we walked down the pathway, I noticed that the owner, Don, had tied several of his young Arabian Stallions here and there around the ranch. He did this as a method of teaching them to stand tied and worked with each horse a couple of times throughout the day. It was about then that I realized my mare must be in heat, becuase these rowdy young stallions were dancing at their hitching posts, straining and pawing. Their squeals were giving me chills, and I was happy when my "baby" was safely secured in the round pen. I proceeded to tie the mare to the hitching post, up against the barn wall, and began grooming, my back to the tied stallions. It happened so quick. I was completely knocked into my mare's side, as a screaming bay stallion body slammed my mare in a vicious and violent attempt to mount her. I turned and looked up into his face, we made total eye contact, and I knew he knew I was in the way. In one quick motion, I grabbed and pulled the end of the lead rope, freeing my mare and turned my back to the stallion, since I was trapped against the barn wall. Just as I turned, I felt his hoof impact my back, from top to bottom, and then he was gone -- chasing the mare who was now running hysterically around the outside of the round pen, with the "baby" inside, also screaming, runing around in a circle. I began running towards the ranch house, calling for Don to come get control of his horse. He came running out of the house with questioning eyes. He could tell I was hysterial, but as I told him his horse attacked me I could tell he thought I was being an idiot. But he turned and went running towards the commotion. Meanwhile, Don's wife came out and asked if I was OK. "OK? I was pawed by a stallion" I exclaimed. "No, you were not" she said. I turned around and pulled up my shirt to reveal a huge black/blue and bleeding contusion running the entire length of my back. And did I mention, I was nine months pregnant. That was the last time that a pregnant person was allowed to work horses on Don's ranch. And I'm pretty sure he double checked his knots when tying up unattended, young stallions from then on...

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Copyright 2006

Buried at Trail
by Kathy Rogers

"I haven't seen old Yankee out for a long time", I pointed out to the pleasant young blonde woman now working a curry over the big buckskin. "That's right!" she explaimed. "Bob said I could ride him in the Ride and Tie today up in QuickSilver Park!" My brain quickly calculated the ride and concluded that the start to the Ride and Tie was about three miles and 900 feet of elevation down the road, and old Yankee had not even been out of his paddock in over a year. "Are you sure he's up to that?" I quereied with genuine concern? "Oh no problem, said the Blonde. He's an old cow horse, and strong as a bull," she explained.

"Well OK" I acquiesced. "But take it easy on him". "Oh I will" she said.

I was so worred about the situation that as she was saddling the ole man, I sauntered back over again and asked her a few questions to guage her experience. She seemed to know generally what she was doing, but was not concerened about the condition of the horse, or lack of. I pointed out again that Old Yankee had been standing around for a year, looked to me to be over 20 years old, and was probably not in good enough shape for the Ride and Tie. She assured me several times that she would take it easy on him. And she was clearly becomming annoyed with me.

But I still wasn't very happy about it. His feet didn't look very good, no shoes and a bit long. His back had dropped with age, and you could see the shallow hole above his eye socket seeking nutrition. But Yankee wasn't my horse. Heck he wasn't even her horse. And she had permission to ride him. And no one else seemed to care. So, with a final comment from me about his lack of condition, the pretty blonde rode Yankee off the ranch and down the road toward the Ride an Tie. Yankee was so proud as he exited the ranch -, ears perked, he finally had a job to do - and he was gunna get it done.

About four hours later, while I was bathing my young arabian mare, I noticed the pretty blonde girl walking up the graveled drive into the ranch. But no Yankee.

She was crying, and as the tears streamed down her face she managed to explain that Yankee had collapsed in the park, not far from the start of the ride. Everyone was heartsick she said, and they quickly brought in a back hoe, and buried him right there in QuickSilver Park. The poor girl was so bereaved, going on and on asking how this could happen to her. What would she tell Bob?

All I knew was I had a thing or two to tell Bob. But for Yankee -- just rest in peace my friend...

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Copyright 2006

Stick to the Plan!
by Kathy Rogers

There he stood. Mouth agape, eyes open wide, jaw dropped and his left rear leg tucked sharply up under his groin. Oh Crap! was all I could blurt out as I turned to face the big dope who had just literally dropped my six month old foal out the back of the trailer. What the hell are you doing????

This was truly my most heartsickening horse moment. This was my third generational try at the perfect arabian and for all of you who have taken the time to select a stallion, fork up the medical expenses, read the books, and make the emotional investment into the creation of your own unique horse know what I'm talking about. I was in love with this little horse -- The Kalero Kidd. He was adorable, highly spirited, smart and fun -- and seemed to be a great trail horse prospect.

But, it was time to wean him, and I had a plan. I would ride his mom with him following behind to a ranch down the trail a couple of miles. There, was waiting his new weaning buddy and big pasture to grow in. I was going to leave his mom with him for a couple of days, and then ride her home without him when he had settled. It was a good plan.

I had mom saddled, and was haltering Kalero when some Dude hanging out at the ranch offered a trailer ride to the "weaning ranch". He reported his recent acquisition of a new stock trailer and it was all hitched up in the driveway. I didn't like it, I already had a good plan, so I tried to decline. But this Dude was very insistent. He explained that this was a great way to give the colt a lesson in how to trailer. That did sound like a good idea. He had convinced me.

As we approached the trailer, I noticed that it was quite high in the back, and over a hard graveled driveway. But we weren't unloading, just loading, and my mare practically jumped into the trailer. I tied her in the front and then went back to get Kalero. Mom started to get really nervous, and began to call kalero into the trailer, and he obliged quikly, jumping in like a pro. I turned to the Dude and said "get the gate!"

Suddenly, Dude is standing next to me, not outside the trailer, getting the gate where he belonged. Instead he grabbed Kalero's lead from me and motioned me towards the gate -- you get it! There was no time to argue as I jumped out the back and went to swing the door around.

Now, Kalero was a sensitive little horse, and he had gotten into the trailer with me, not this Dude, and the next I heard a clamoring in the trailer, spun around and there was my little Kalero Kidd in a tug-of-war with the Dude -- and the 175 pound Arabian is winning. I couldn't shut the door with Kalero's butt hanging out, but in hindside I should have, because just as Kalero had all his weight hanging out the back, the Dude let him go and my six month old perfect little horse went tumbling to the hard gravel driveway, with full gravity and force on his rear left leg.

There Kalero stood, mouth agape, eyes open wide, jaw dropped, left rear leg tucked sharply up under his groin. Yes, it was broken. No they didn't shoot him. Instead, I just happened to have one of the best vets I've ever known treat the injury for the next eight months. I pastured Kalero until he was about 3 and had the same vet up for a soundness check. He passed, and that vet actually thanked me for allowing him to treat the injury. He said he would use that information to treat other horses with more optimism.

I've been riding Kalero ever since, and he's come up with many injuries over the years, with a most recent head bonk, sarcoid in his ear, etc. Curiously enough, Kalero trailers fine but he is one of the most nervous horses I've ever known. And ever since our trailering inident, I have a tendancy to "stick to the plan" whatever it is.

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Copyright 2006


Rope Burn
by Kathy Rogers

Where are those dammed gloves? I thought as I rustled through the tack room, overturning buckets and looking behind dusty, dirty bottles of shampoo and conditioner. No gloves. Oh well, I've ponied many times without gloves. Why would this time be any different?

As I tightened the western cinch on "Brian", a gangly, oversized Appendix Quarter horse with little apparent intelligence, but not a malevolent bone in his body, I contemplated my maneuver through the gate and up the single track trail to the main fire road at Quicksilver Park. I turned to little Hajji - at least three hands shorter than Brian, smarter, prettier, but not yet ridden. Hajji was just two years old, and just coming into her own. She had been driven, lunged and ponied to death resulting in a pleasant, easy to handle, respectful little horse -- and I didn't anticipate any trouble.

I untied Hajji, mounted Brian, and began my trek toward the main trail. Hajji assumed her spot off Brian's right flank, and seemed truly excited about the outing, ears perked, tail up. Brian was easy to control with his egg butt snaffle and English reins, even with one hand and the ride went well for about two miles. As we wound along the flat, wide dirt trail we came upon a large rivelet of muddy water running off the hill and cutting through the trail. It produced a wet spot about six feet wide, but the actual rivelet was only a few inches wide with running water. Brian looked down at the wet spot and decided to launch over the wetness in true steeplechase form. He could be unpredictable, this I knew. Meanwhile, little Hajji didn't like the look of that wetspot, hadn't been given enough time to decide its safety factor, and decided she was not jumping, but instead sat down and refused.

Meanwhile, I'm aboard a 747 and I look down to see my Little Hajji slipping through my bare hands. As the nylon lead rope sizzled through my palm and fingers I became unnecessarily horrified at the notion of Little Hajji adrift in the park, runnning wildly with her lead rope trailing. Without any time to think, with the end of the rope near, and Brian still airborne, I clamped down even harder on that rope -- I swear I saw smoke! As the end passed out of my reach Brian simple landed and stopped, and Little Hajji just stood there looking at us, with her rope dangling to the ground. But my GOD - my hand was on FIRE!

I jumped off Brian and drove my hand into the middle of the ice cold rivelet of water. There was absolute relief. But as soon as I lifted it from the water, my hand was on FIRE! Our little ride had taken us at least two miles from the ranch and knew I had no alternative but to turn back, suck it up, and ride on in. So, I grabbed a handful of cold mud, remounted Brian, tied Hajji's rope to the saddle horn - a bit roughly I will admit - and began the ride home.

Within one minute that mud had warmed and I was flipping my hand around trying to rid myself of now hated mud and the FIRE on the hand! There was nothing else to do but use the moment as a study in pain. I held my hand high and tried to block the pain, embrace the pain, be one with the pain. Nothing worked, it just hurt -- real bad. If I had had a knife, I think I would have cut that hand off.

When I got back to the ranch, I grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge, again instant relief. After stabling the horses, feeding and cleaning up around the barn, I had to exchange that beer for another cold one. I drove all the way home with that beer in my hand, and when I got home, I had to exchange it for a cold soda. All nite long I kept exchanging warm for cold until morning, when for some reason all the pain was gone. Next time, I'll find the gloves...

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Copyright 2006

Picture Day
by Kathy Rogers

I've been blogging here now for a few months and wonder if my readers would like a better visual of Stable.com Blog topics. And since I've been down with the flu now for 8 days, and find it difficult to get the creative juices going, instead, I'm blogging in a visual way today... I hope you enjoy !

Hajji Ba-Ba, one of the prettiest "movers" I've ever ridden, and cute as a button. Here she's entertaining my two year old Nephew Henry and as you can see from her worried expression, she is making sure I stay within earshot.	Even at 19 yrs, and drug out of the pasture with no notice, Hajji is supple, moves forward on the bit, and always delivers a peach of ride :)
I wrote about Sonny as a "generic" riding horse, but he was really more. Sonny was very well trained by a guy in the Mexican Calvary, and he ended up as a schooling horse for Calero Ranch down in South San Jose. I have heard from two of his "Students" that told me they learned much from this feisty, stout little gelding. Here's daughter Cori and her napping friend.	I bred my beautiful Hajji to a stallion with a lot of sleek class, but I should have paid more attention to attutude and personality -- because the wild-eyed Kalero Kidd - here as a yearling, has always been just a handful of trouble. But for some reason, I still enjoy riding him.
I guess I've always loved Arabs and Chestnuts. I purchased 1/2 Arab / Quarter Copper Corrigan, sired by Al Marah Lord Rosolio back in the early 70s for $300. It took me six weeks of work to pay it off. He was a sweet gelding, fairly talented in western pleasure, but ended up showing english and jumping in his later years.

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Copyright 2006

February 4, 2006

"Your Grateful Horse"
by Kathy Rogers

Next week, Stable.com launches its first Online Seminar Series, "Bodywork for Horses" in association with "Your Grateful Horse", which is headed by my long-time friend, Tracy McGowan. Tracy will lead a discussion on how horse owners can themselves use "Bodywork for Horses", to improve their horses' lives and performance -- the first topic : "How to tell when your horse is in pain".

Tracy has always been an advocate and a therapist for those who can't express themselves to our understanding. Her first profession kept her working tireless hours with mentally handicapped children and adults, many of whom also suffered greatly from painful physical disabilties. It doesn't surprise me that after learning how to help alliviate pain with body and energy work on people, that Tracy became involved with healing animals and improving their lives.

For the past 20 years, Tracy has been traveling the U.S. learning and becomming certified in Bodywork and Dressage Training methodologies, helping animals and people alike through seminars, and one-on-one lessons and treatments. However, Tracy quickly became annoyed at the number of animals left untreated due to monetary constraints. She therefore embarked upon the quest to empower horse handlers and owners alike with the knowledge that by performing routine bodywork they will enhance the overall health, performance and well-being of their horses themselves.

I urge you to check in on this FREE Online Seminar -- I'm sure your horse will thank you!

Click here for more information about "Your Grateful Horse".

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Copywright 2006

January 26, 2006

"To Martingale or not to Martingale?"
by Kathy Rogers

I never really liked "gimmicks" for training -- like tie downs and sliding reins. I've ridden many different disciplines, from bare back to dressage and even a little gymkana -- but no matter what style, I always strive to make sure my mount understands what I want, not just what I don't want.

With this in mind please understand that the question "to martingale or not to martingale" has raised its ugly head more than once, as it just so happens that the peculiar Fadjur-bred Arabian line of which I have owned three horses, have all needed a little extra help with their heads. And the best releif I've found is a properly adjusted running martingale.

Now I have got to say, my martingales are set pretty loose, they don't come into play until the nose is well past horizontal -- just meant as a friendly reminder, that you can't get your head up and take off with me. I don't like it and its just not conducive to an enjoyable ride.

I really thought that this martingale question was put to rest one day, near the end of a very long, hot trail ride. My friend and I pulled up our mounts at the top of Quicksilver Park, directly overlooking Guadelupe Resevoir. We had climbed about 900 feet, winding about 12 miles around the mountain. And now our end destination was in sight, nestled at the bottom of a steep set of switchbacks that took us down to lake level was the ranch.

I was abord Hajji, my favorite of all, and at 10 yrs old, she was really in her prime. Slick and sweet, Hajji had flaxen mane and tail, wide blaze, and a beautiful apricot coloring. She was adorable and knew it. Tracy was on top my generic riding horse Sonny, and we were both having a most excellent adventure.

The trouble started when Tracy gave a puzzled look and asked, "why do you use a martingale? Hajji is so well trained? Why do you need it?

It was a good question. And I had to stop and wonder as the horses gathered their breath for the long haul down the mountain. I couldn't remember the last time Hajji had thrown her head and hit the martingale. It did seem like I never really made use of it. She always had a nice headset. In fact, Hajji really loved her bit. I never stepped up from the first level snaffle, and her mouth was always moist and receptive. Hajji was a really nice riding horse.

"I dont' know why I have this on her" I proclaimed. "I'll just take it off!"

And so I did.

As I remounted, Hajji took her typical step forward to adjust under my weight, and as I gathered the reins and her mounth hit the bit, her nose went up instead of down. As her nose went up so did her speed. Now she was walking very fast towards the steep trail, her nose straight up in air, and I was having a real hard time believing what was happening. Before I knew it, she was trotting, fast, down the steep rock strewn trail, her nose straight up in the air, and everytime I tried to get her nose down, she simply went faster.

Now my sun glasses are flying off my head, my feet are coming out of the english irons, and Hajji is cantering straight down the winding trail, tripping and gaining momentum. She was completely out of control - like never before. I was having an incredible adrenalin rush as my legs wrapped around her and all my instincts and skill came into play. The only way to keep her on her feet was to give her her head, and every time I did, she went faster and faster. Now we are kareening down the mountain at a dead run, I'm thinking that if I don't stop Hajji on the next turn, we are going down.

As we hit the turn, instead of letting her take it towards the trail, I suddenly steered her right into the side of the cliff looking up at the trail we had just come down. She ran straight into the side of the cliff and came to an abrupt stop. I was furious as I catapulted off her back looked her right in the eye and kicked her in the side with my right foot. Bad move. Don't ever do that. It hurts. It hurt for about three years. Sometimes, when it's cold, it still hurts.

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January 19, 2006

"Ben's Birthday"
by Kathy Rogers

Yesterday was Benjamin's Birthday... Ben turned 22, and is starting his first full year as an adult civilian. He just spent a dusty, heart-wrenching year fighting a war in Iraq and is now dealing with the tragic loss of his best friend in combat.

Ben was awarded the Purple Heart for injuries sustained during battle. It doesn't surprise me that Ben fought with bravery -- He's always been brave and a bit too trusting. I remember a day when Ben learned a tough lesson on what it means to trust, or not...

Ben was about 13 yrs old, a tall, skinny red head with shiny new braces - and he loved horses. It was time to feed, and Ben was along for the ride. I was boarding my mother/son Arabian pair at a self-care facility in Orangevale, California -- right on a City Park with arena, trails, and soccer field. The two horses were kept in their own 1/2-acre pasture, separated from the others by an electric fence. In fact, old man Difani, the owner, was a true believer in electric fences, and his place was a maze of wires, fence lines and gates, all coming into a central hub of tack room/open stalls with mangers.

I was rummaging through the tack/hay room when I noticed Ben leaning out over the electric fence to touch Kalero's nose. Kalero, thinking that Ben might be offering something to eat, but wary, stretched his neck toward Ben's open hand. But as Ben reached out over the fence, and Kalero extended his head out towards Ben's fingertips, I realized that Ben's face was too close to the Hot wire, and just as I began to shout my warning, Ben's braces hit the wire and a bolt of lightening shot right out of Benjamin's finger, straight to the tip of Kalero's nose, and ZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAPPPPP!!! Kalero flipped his head straight up in the air, reared and jumped back, and then began a relentless bought bucking and screaming around his pasture.

Benjamin fell to the soft grass at the edge of the fence, grabbing his mouth, as his voice broke with screams and muffled laughs. Wow, I had no idea that electricity could act that way. Of course I had never rubbed wet metal up against the wire either... Kalero, who had been so wary, yet trusted too much, was now convinced that Benjamin was evil. And Ben now understood why the horse had been so reluctant to greet him near the fence in the first place.

Is it paranoia when what you were afraid of actually happens? Or is it just forethought? Whatever the case, Benjamin had his fears when he went to Iraq, and unfortunately, most of them came true. But he still put it all on the line for us and I thank him....

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January 11, 2006

"Slippage"
by Kathy Rogers

It's already been a slippery, muddy winter and this is a reminder for all you trail riders to be aware -- mud can be a serious hazard. I can recall a couple of times that mud and stupidity combined for a calamity. One muddy spring day, many many years ago, I joined a group of young bareback riders gathered in the orchard for a fast and exciting game of "Cowboys & Indians". We had gathered in the center of the orchard, some aboard tall, well-build thoroughbreds, other's on scrappy half ponies, me on Slim, a Justin Morgan throwback. We schmoozed and gossiped for a while and then divied up teams, and off we went to explore and conquor.

I had Slim canter off the trail towards a gulley that I wanted to stake out as my own, but as we hit a low spot in the trail, Slim's front leg shot out from under him, and he went down hard, shoulder first into the water soaked ground.

We were both knocked unconcious, and I awoke first. As my head cleared and I started remembering where I was, I noticed a huge weight on my left inner thigh, and it became apparent that I was still astride Slim, but we were lying on our sides, in the mud, and he was completely out. "I really love you Slim, please don't be dead", was all I could muster in my pre-teen haze, and as we lay together in the mud, all alone, on our sides, him crushing my leg. Here, I came to grips with the fact he was dead and I would be next.

It wasn't meant to be, however, as he came to his senses within a minute and proceeded to rock back and forth. He groaned and I moaned as he got up enough momentum to get to his feet -- at which point he quickly began eating the spring grass hysterically, completely ignorning my pain and humiliation as I lay in the wet mud with serious bruising to my inner legs.

I made up my mind then and there that this would be the last time I mourned Slim's "passing" -- unfortunately, it wasn't...

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Stable.com Blog Posting January 3, 2006 "Water Fear" by Kathy Rogers

I first realized how dangerous a horse's fear of water could be as a teenager, when my arab/quarter gelding decided that the water coming out of the hose must be acid-based and would surely remove all skin if contact made. I knew that Copper Corrigan drank water - on a regular basis even. I had seen him standing in mud and even splashing urine about his legs without concern. But when cross-tied to large posts on a cement slab, suddenly water must be avoided at ALL COST! and I mean ALL!

Corrigan was a tall more arab than quarter mix, but he had an overall quarter horse temperment. Calm, sweet and cooperative, Corey was my first experiment in training and at 2 yrs old, he had been worked at length on the ground and I had grand plans of a summer filled with trail riding with friends on this beauitiful horse.

By the time Corey understood his leads, he moved well off the leg and had a real nice way of moving under a western saddle, I was so pleased and felt totally ready for our first trail ride. When I bought Corrigan, his original owner related a story of how Copper Corrigan had gotten trapped in a rivelet of water that ran through his pasture when he was only hours old. He was found in the morning, in some sort of shock, mud all over and his mother standing guard.

I knew he had issues with water. I knew they were big issues. I had watched him stiffen and startle when hosed off after workouts, and even jump small puddles in the driveway. But I had not the oppotunity to really check out the depth of this fear until we arrived at a branch of the Los Gatos Creek. It couldn't have been deeper than 8 inches at most, but was more than 10 feet across. After a few attempts, it was clear that Corey was not going to cross the creek. Unfortunately though, it was the only way to get to the trails, beside riding up a dangerous stretch of Kennedry Road and Copper Corrigan was going to have to learn how to cross water.

At this point in my life, I had never heard of a horse whisperer, nor had I ever attended a clinic. I had a few lessons from a sadistic woman with spade bits, enough to know that there were a lot of people who seemed to have it all wrong. By chance (or not), before I bought Copper Corrigan, my Mother had bought a book for me, called "Horsemastership". It was written by an English woman whose name I can no longer recall. It was a brilliant book, and this woman was able to illustrate proper flexion, collection, impulsion, bending, excercises for both horse and rider. .I had devoured it cover to cover and took careful note of her nifty means of controlling run-aways, bullys, frightenend horses. I loved that book.

Before my next trail ride, I carefully reviewed her fix for a horse that would not cross water -- bascially to lead the horse on a long lunge line, get behind him with whip, and drive him across the water. I could do that.

I positioned myself behind Corrigan, and slowly "coaxed" him toward the creek. He knew I wanted him to cross, and he actually wanted to comply, but his overriding paranoia would not allow it. I pushed him closer and closer to the edge, and he began to work his exit maneuvers. But I was able to out think him, and keep myself position behind him, and driving toward the creek. Eventually he understood he would have to cross, and began to plot his flight. I got a bit closer to him as be brought all four feet together, and began rocked back on his haunches at the edge of the creek. Bad move - as he launched into the air, his back feet kicked out, and he nicked me with two feet, both right across my chest. Yep, that's right, my chest....

As I dropped to the ground, and let loose the whizzing lunge line, I looked up to see Corrigan land safely on the other side of the creek. With red line wafting through the air he began charging up and down the bank of the creek, screaming and worrying as I simply rolled in the leaves on the other side. Corrigan was much easier to drive back across the creek, and I hugged myself tightly on the walk home as I considered other ways to get Corrigan's trust up so he could do water obstacles without danger.

Copper Corrigan did eventually get better at crossing the creek. But he never liked it, and he always wanted to avoid it. Sometimes I complied, other times I could not. I understood however, that Corrigan's fear of water was based on something real. A real incident, where his very survival was at stake. And I always thought it a victory that he did cross the creek that day, but a lesson in respect. Respect for his fear and his back feet!

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Stable.com Blog Posting December 27, 2005 "Tsunami" by Kathy Rogers

As we approach the New Year, it is easy to be flabbergasted with flash backs of the many disasters in late 2004 and throughout 2005. From Hurricanes to Floods to the absolute worst disater of my life-time, the Tsunami. I was part of a Tsunami once, about 16 years ago, one morning the rain started coming down real hard. I noticed it at my home in Los Gatos about the same time my phone rang. It was June, the older lady who owned the self-care stable where I kept my two horses - right below Quadalupe Reservoir, on the creek.

"Kathy, the rain is coming down so hard, and I'm afraid that the dam that my neighbor repaired is going to fail - and it's right above the stables - you need to get your horses OUT!"

"Whoa!", this woman was seriously afraid, and I didn't question her, I just jumped in my car and headed up Hicks Road. The rain was really coming down by the time I got close to the stables - about 6 miles up the winding road - which was quickly becoming a river of brown run off. I was beginning to get it, this was a torrential rain. I went into a trance and as the rain pounded my windshield, I formulated my plan to get as many horses to safety as possible.

When I pulled into the drive, the creek was cascading across the street, as it had overrun the existing draining tube under the road. The horses were hysterical. And I grabbed a halter and started catching them, one by one, leading them across the street in the driving rain, and into the upper pasture.

I evacuated the ladies first but my attempts to shoooo them up the hill and out of danger had failed. They mares were just hanging there at the gate looking for direction, but not taking it from me. I went back to the barn and caught Sonny, who was pacing and screaming. He quite literally dragged me across the street and the second I opened the gate and let him go, Sonny went into action. Nipping, screaming, pushing, he got those mares together and drove them up the hill to the upper pasture. The last I saw of Sonny that day, he turned and looked back down the hill, threw his head in the air and dissappeared over the low hill on his treck to the "Upper 40".

The dam did break that day. All the horses were safe, and I returned the next morning to survey the damage. The water had come through the stable at about 4 feet deep and had taken out everything except the barn structure itself, and some of the sturdier fences. It cleared the creek and forced trees and debris for a miles down stream. I never knew if anyone down in San Jose ever noticed a "Tsunami" coming down the Quadalupe River, where I suspect it had some impact all the way into the San Francisco Bay.

The power of this 4 foot "Tsunami" astounded me. But when comapared to the Tsunami of a year ago, the incident at Quadalupe was but a drop in the bucket!

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Stable.com Blog Posting December 20, 2005 "Jingle Bells" by Kathy Rogers

It's that time of year again, and the snow is now falling in the Sierras - ski season is on! I'm hoping this year will be as good as last year, one of the best ski seasons on record. But not every year has good rain/snow fall. I remember a very dry Christmas, 1990 I think. The ski runs were dry that year, but it was perfect horseback riding weather, and my 9 yr old daughter and myself were out on a ride around the mountain - about 8 miles through oak forest and pastures. The trails in Quick Silver Park were hard and cracked - the grass was dry and the usual carpet of mid-December green was nowhere to be found.

Cora-Lee was riding her trusty mount, Sonny. A middle aged Welsh/Arab grey gelding - with lotsa tricks up his sleeves but more more than a little respect for his rider. I was aboard Hajji, a young Arabian Mare - the color of apricots and sweet like one too. We had been out for about 45 minutes, mostly trotting, but mixing in a little canter here and there. Sonny looked like a furry polar bear, while Hajji had been blanketed since late November, and had a slick, shiny coat. Both horses were a bit winded as we pulled up for a breather at the top of one of the many inclines that wound around the low mountain overlooking Quadalupe Resevoir.

As we cracked open our Granola Bars, a very faint jing jing jing came into ear shot. Both horses looked up quickly toward the sound and then looked at eachother - using eachothers reactions to guage the scarriness factor. Nobody moved as the noise came louder, now causing the young mare to react with a spin and a attempt at a hasty exit. I gathered her up quickly and brought her back to face the "music", but now Sonny was dashing past me, brushing my leg against my daughter's and nearly unseating me. But Cora-lee was able to pull him around, and now we had two petrified horses, ears strained forward, eyes wide, reins tight, as the jing jing jing became JING JING JING !!!

I thought my mare was going to jump out of her skin when the old jogger appeared. He was wearing jingle bells and running shorts, and was making the biggest jingle jangle racket I've ever heard. It took to about a count of two before the horses recognized the source as human and probably not dangerous - and I was very pleased that both mounts kept their heads until that count of two passed -- even though I don't think anyone took a breath. But now I was more than slightly annoyed at the old jogger, who was clearly out on a shared running/horseback riding trail, wearing such noisy apparatus. I was just about to voice my opinion, when his face exploded into a huge smile and he exclaimed his Merry Christmas. I was suddenly overcome with a flood of good cheer. As he passed, my daughter and I shouted our Merry Christmas back to him, and then the old jogger, Jing Jing Jing, dissapeared around the corner.

"It's beginning to look alot like Christmas" I offered up to my daughter with renewed optimism as we proceeded up the trail. I was rewarded with a big smile, bright eyes, and a certain amount of newly earned confidence.

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Stable.com Blog Posting
December 14, 2005

"Live Birth"
by Kathy Rogers

This week's Horse News focuses on "Birth Control for Mustangs." Makes good sense to me, but I can't help but think back to the joy of Horse Birth. I had recieved a call that morning, the breeder explained to me that Kelly's teets were leaking, and she would probably give birth that night. I changed my daily scheduled around to include a quick trip to the stable for one last picture of Kelly pregnant.

"I hope there is enough light" I pondered, as I glanced around the 12 X 12 foaling stall. As I struggled to identify the correct framing for the shot, Kelly began to "urinate" - or so I thought. But as I adjusted the focus, she continued urinating, and urinating... I stroked her neck and then side, on my way past her flank, I realized that the Urine was really clear, and kinda looked more like water. "Some sort of condition?" I pondered.

I cautiously reached around her butt, grabbed her tail and lifted. As I peered on in to check the source of the downpour, a long thin "bone" suddenly pierced the air, following by another "bone" tip. I was totally unprepared and immeditaely started screaming. In no time the "breeder" showed up, quieted me down, explained that horses are born feet first. He then proceeded to shove up his sleeves and get to work.

Within a few hours, we had a full 36 exposures and a a beautiful baby girl on the ground. That little girl grew up to be my most favorite horse of all time. She's now 21 years old, retired to pasture with an older gentlemen quarter horse. I still have those pictures -- think I will go find them....

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Stable.com Blog Posting
December 9, 2005

"Join Up"
by Kathy Rogers

There's a lot of talk about "Join Up" in today's expositions and seminars. I first heard about the phenomenon from a good friend, Tracy. She first explained it to me on a long trail ride through the coastal redwoods. But our conversation was interrupted about three fifths through the ride, as all four of us came to a halt at an unexpected "obstacle".

"What the heck? I don't remember this".. I said. .Tracy looked annoyed from the back of Lytica as Kalero and myself found our journey interrupted by a low slung, very thick, rusty old cable. Both ends of the cable were secured to 12 X 12 posts sunk deep in the ground, rising about 2 feet.

I considered just jumping over the cable, but Kalero was a very green arab gelding, and he wasn't really a "jumper". He coud easily mis step and get hung up in the cable, which came within inches of the ground in the middle, creating quite a bit of "play".

Turning back was an option, but we were on the last leg of a 12 mile ride through the Santa Cruz Mountains along the banks of Bear Creek, and to turn back meant adding about 8 miles to the journey. I didn't like that option - so I dismounted, tried to get kalero's wide-eyed attention on the cable, and took a chance - something us horseback riders often do. I simply asked him to walk over the middle of the cable -- how hard could that be???

Of course, Kalero's initial step went wrong. He hung up his leading front foot, the heavy cable swung out and tripped him. He scrambled to maintain his footing as I instincteively let him go - as his reins were over the saddle pommel and would not become an issue. As he gracefully fell past me he took that rusty old cable with him.

As he fell, he pulled me forward, and I heard a loud swoooooosh go by the right side of my head. Looking up, I saw the post, still attached to the cable, flying all the way to the right, with Kalero high-tailin it away -- outta sight in the blink of an eye.

It was suddenly very quiet. Tracy, never one to scream, had Lytica in hand, and their path way was now cleared of all obstacles. We all three stood there and peered down the trail toward the last sight of Kalero - speechless...

My imagination was starting to go wild as I contemplated what my inexperienced, paranoid young arab might be doing with his new found freedom. We were a few miles from the ranch, and he had never been this way. I had my doubts as to whether he could find his way home.

I didn't have to wonder very long. Soon his hysterical screaming emerged from the trail and Kalero came rushing around the bend. Head high, I could see the white's of his eyes, and his nostrils red with oxygen -- he was in a full gallop as squeals of terror escaped his flapping lips... Just as I started to make my "bail-out" move and give way for him to run past me, he suddenly came to slide stop at my feet. With a sidelong glance at Tracy, I proclaimed "I believe we have join up". As she nodded her agreement, a blast of hot horse breath hit my face -- and we all smiled.

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Stable.com Blog Posting
December 7, 2005

"Trail Class"
by Kathy Rogers

In "Today's Stable.com News" we learned that Trail Class is serious business in Oregon. As the article's author described the "logs, ditches, bridges, boulders, ponds and streams – all obstacles that face riders and animals in the wilderness", it reminded me of my first trail class. Sometime in the early 70s, high up Kennedy Road in the Los Gatos Mountains, under blue California sky's, we girlfriends put our steeds to the test. We were a group of 13 and 14 yr old horse crazy girls - all boarding our horses at the same stable -- pretty much owned the place.

Bevin's Ranch was at the end of Forester Road in Los Gatos, a private drive, now lined with million dollar homes, where we used to play "indian" in the orchards. The best feature of the ranch was the indoor barn with small arena and it was here that we meticuously created our first "trail course" - dragging in logs and wheelbarrows, puting down plastic tarp and cavalettis. We chose our judge, scrounged up paper and pen, and someone found a dusty old blue ribbin hanging in the tack room. We were ready for the "show" - and don't think for a minute, we all didn't want that blue ribbon on our tack box.

First to enter the colorful arena was long, skinny Mary aboard Stardust, a very pretty and very calm palomino mare. Both had been perfectly schooled in the English Arts at Kennolyn Camp for the last few summers. Stardust could negotiate the course perfectly until the plastic tarp. She had no patience for plastic tarps and gave Mary a bit of 'trouble' before stepping on across and then quickly scrambled off. The bar had been set.

Next came Joanna and her crazy mare, Cheyenne. No competition here, as Cheyenne was just about the scariest animal I ever worked with - and one of the few horses that ever really hurt me bad. Poor Cheyenne had been through some really tough times with humans, we just didn't know who or when. And Cheyenne and Joanna were the mis-match of all time, as Joanna could not relax on any horse, much less a freak. Within moments, Cheyenee was bolting out the arena gate and up the graveled drive towards her stall, Joanna screaming from her back. We all chuckled and watched as Nancy, probably the truest horsemen of the group, entered the arena on Katey.

Nancy was always perfectly balanced aboard Katey, an older, big-boned, chestnut mare who could negotiate any obstacle. Her downfall, she enjoyed rolling in shallow water at a moments notice. Katey almost always won these events (because there as no water to roll in) as she would plod gracefully through all obstacles with forward momentum and an aire of enthusiasm. It would be tough to beat her. Of course Nancy negotatied the course with perfection, and as she left the arena there was a collective sigh.

Then came beautiful Barbie, perfectly seated aboard her borrowed mount, "Badger", a spirited smallish buckskin gelding, surely of icelandic descent. Now Badger was an adorable little guy, but he just never looked right in a saddle. And even though Barbie could master him with great subtlety, Badger still had too much "animation" about him as his six-inch "roached" mane had just too much vibration, or something. Even though Badger would negotiate all the obsacles, his absolute glee in jumping too high over the low hurdles meant for stepping over, would always sink him.

Finally, my turn. I gathered up the reins, and Slim, my short but stout Morgan gelding, slippery with show sheen and decked out in full western gear, even breast collar, jogged into the arena. Slim was about 14 hands and at age 14, I was already 5'8 and all legs - and so we did look a bit odd together. Slim was chocolate brown, overweight like a fat weiner dog, smart as a whip and strong as a bull. Find a photo of the statue of Justin Morgan's horse, and you will find Slim.

Slim and I were together for more than 20 years and he was the only horse I ever owned that could break out of any enclosure and then "free" his neighbors. In hindsight, I think poor Slim had a terrible problem with Equine Metobolic Syndrome, and the lack of food could drive him to madness. But he would go anywhere and do anthing with a smile on his face and a clip in his clop, and he did. With perky little ears he would look carefully at each obstacle, and proceed with just the right amount of enthusiasm -- we nailed that course.

Much to my dismay however, our 9-year old judge felt differently, awarding the dusty blue ribbon to Nancy and Katey - over and over again. In looking back, we were all winners that summer, as the five of us learned how to work together, keep our animals happy and healthy, deal with individuals and their needs. But most of all, after a few tries, we all learned how to loose gracefully.

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Stable.com Blog Posting
December 3, 2005

"Test Drive"
by Kathy Rogers

"What could possibly be wrong with this horse" I ignorantly exclaimed as we approached a really good looking, blue-black, tall, well built, half-Arab Gelding named Star.

The owner hadn't shown up yet, and Tracy and I had taken the liberty of checking him out first. The black stood nibbling hay in the corner of his covered paddock, paying us little attention but I was thinking about the $1,500 price tag. Truth be known, Tracy had signed me up to "test drive" this horse. I didn't see the harm in that. I knew that Tracy had ridden a lot as a kid, bareback through the Los Gatos Mountains, and now she was looking for a horse that she could do dressage clinics with. Shouldn't be too hard.

Star's owner drove up before we got too cozy, but as she emerged from her car, I noticed she was severely hindered by a big cast on her right hand, specifically, her ring finger and wrist. Car accident she muttered, looking down at her injury -- anyway, can you help me saddle Star? Knowing Tracy's intentions for the horse, I asked if we could lunge him first. She nervously complied.

Once in the middle of the arena, long whip in right hand, lunge line in left, I asked Star to move out. He refused to move away from the whip, and actually make me touch him lightly on the rib cage before he began moving out of the circle. But he did move out. However, when I asked him to halt, he turned into the middle and came right into "my space" in a boarish manner. I waived the whip in his face, and he simply threw his head and continued his assault -- out of instinct, I quickly flipped the whip around, and smacked him soundly on the bridge of his nose - he complied and moved away. "Let's just saddle him up now" interrupted his nervous owner

I watched from a distance as Tracy and the owner geared Star up with slippery, old western saddle two sizes too small and a big egg-butt snaffle bit attached to two very light, inconsistent nylon reins. I didn't like it, but Tracy mounted in the covered arena and to my surprise Star began a monotonous trek around the arena, head down, no rein contact.. Come ride him begged Tracy, see if he will move for you, she called as I watched her moving her legs about in an attempt to get a jog. I will just see if he will contact and move out on the bit I said noting Star's flared nostrils as I wedged my foot into the old stirrup.

As I mounted Star, I instantly noticed that I didn't really have any contact with his mouth with this bit. It was dead. But, I was in a relatively small in-door arena, and how bad could it get anyway???

The next thing I noticed is that the stirrups were way too short, so I popped my feet out, wrapped them long legs around that horse, gathered up the reins and asked him to get on the bit - just for kicks. I could tell he knew what I wanted, but instead of complying, he completely caught me off guard with a huge lunge forward that ripped the rein right out of my right hand, like no other horse ever has be able to do.

Well, I only lasted two bucks I'm sorry to say, but the ground was soft in that indoor arena, and the next thing I know I'm on my back, looking down the arena at a BIG, MAD BLACK HORSE - and he's looking at me, and he knows I'm down.

I quickly scrambled to my feet, then my knees, then my feet again as I made my break for the fence line, I could hear him thundering up behind me as I dove through the space between the pipe fencing, rolling out the other side. And that big black horse hit that fence hard, bringing thoughts of Kujo or Christine, or the even the Headless Horseman. I'm telling you, that horse really scared me - he wanted my hide under his feet. I have never experienced horse hate like that before - nor since.

I looked up at the freakily white face of the owner, who was looking down at my right ring finger, which I now noticed was not in its rightful place - the finger that is. I looked back at her cast, and calmly told her to not let anyone else ride that horse -- "oh no" she said shaking her head I won't, I promise....

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Stable.com Blog Posting
November 29, 2005

"Keepers are Keepers"
by Kathy Rogers

I'd never seen my horse upside down in the water before... And I never want to see that again.

Kelly, a tiny Apricot Arab Mare was not only upside down in the water, but she was 3 months pregnant and I was scared.

We were at the end of our 10-mile trail ride through the Los Gatos Mountains - it was an unseasonably warm late spring and there was lotsa water in the creek, and lotsa sweat on the horse -- so I let her wade chest-deep for a quick refreshing drink.

As her nose went down, I started gabing with my riding buddy, and barely noticed her head recoil and "stick" in a really "nice" headset. But this "headset" was not a good thing, and immediately, her body weight shifted back and my right leg instinvely swung back over her rump. As I plopped down into the water, Kelly executed a perfect "levade" - back end buckling and then silently, with no fan fare, rolled backwards into the murky creek.

Now her legs were flailing next to my head, and I was totally useless and my friend was screaming. Somehow, Kelly scrambled about enough and managed to right herself. But as she emerged, her chin was still jammped tight against her throat, and she was buckling again -- her mouth caught up as the bit had snagged on the running martingale -- on both sides!.

I made a mad attempt to release her mouth, grabbing both ends of the closest rein and pulling together, but it was much too tight for my weak efforts, and again she rolled backwards into the rocky creek.

I stood, mouth agape, staring wide eyed at my screaming friend, as again the mare's legs thrashed through the silent air with mighty attempts to right herself. I made one very clear decision at that point, if she came up again, I would spare nothing to free her. She did come up again, and I did free her with a mighty jerk that also tore the corner of her sensitive mouth.

There she stood, ears flat-out sideways with water dripping out, a trickle of blood in the corner of her mouth - and she was looking more like a mule than any Arabian mare ever should. Her legs were splayed and trembling, and her sides heaving air into her lungs..

Talk about "water attitude" from then on........

That was my last ride without martingale "keepers" on my reins..... I wish someone had told me first.... or if they did, wish i had been payin' attention...

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