Sonita/Chapter 14

We were on our way. Sonita had finally started to place. I was beginning to understand my horse and the cowhorse game we played. After showing in AQHA or NRCHA events 26 times before even having our name called, much less ending up in the money, Sonita and I were becoming competitive.
My students and the horses I had in training were all beginning to benefit from my hard won knowledge. My students were beginning to show and place, my horses were becoming soft and reliable. I was beginning to understand the mysteries of working a cow. I could get through entire shows without anybody asking me, "Why don't you get rid of that tail-wringing bitch and get a cowhorse?" I became competent help at a horse show and was asked to shag cattle (move cattle back to the holding pens after they were worked), do bit checks and scribe for some of the top judges at our bigger shows.
I was no longer considered "cannon fodder" for the classes I entered. The friendly greetings from my fellow competitors stayed the same, but the unending advice and help began to dry up. Some regretted the advice they had given, because it was becoming obvious I listened to everyone, and used it. Most were happy for me. I had certainly paid my dues.
The cowhorse bunch is a tight knit group. I was proud and happy to finally be an accepted part of it.

This was my frame of mind as I entered the Colorado Reined Cowhorse Association's Futurity and Derby in September. I might not have been confident, but I was certainly hopeful. Sonita and I would show in the bridle class and I had an up and coming snaffle bit horse to show in the derby.
Three of my students, (OK, one was my kid) had gutted up and were also competing. I was feeling like I was finally getting somewhere.

As we pulled into the fairgrounds my entire trailer exploded with wild neighs and pounding hooves as Sonita began to double barrel the trailer walls with everything she had.
"Hey!" I yelled.
I slammed the truck into park and jumped out to see what had set her off now. I ran to the back of the trailer and Sonita let loose with another volley of kicks and shrieked her best wild stallion imitation.
"What is your problem?" I said as I peered into the last stall of my trailer.
The other horses were cowering, terrified by the sounds and violence. Sonita glared at me, her eyes wide and her ears flat. Ropey, foamy sweat dripped to the floor. Her hay bag was torn off it's hanger and stomped into the stall mats. The acrid smell of mare pee filled my nostrils.
"Oh no. Here we go."
Sonita was in heat.

Sonita in season was a terrible thing. Never a particularly friendly horse, when she cycled she became a vision from hell. Maybe Mother Nature simply knew that my own personal psychopath should never be bred, because when Sonita came in season she also became determined to kill any horse that flicked an ear her way. No stud was ever going to approach her and live. I'm not sure there was a fertility doc on the planet who would have been willing to AI her.
There is a lovely, legal hormone treatment available called Regu-mate. Within three days after starting a mare on Regu-mate her regular cycles will be suppressed. Essentially she will be begin behaving like a bred mare as long as she is given the treatment every day. A pregnant mare is a happy mare. Sonita on Regu-mate stayed almost focused, rideable, and fairly compliant.
Unfortunately, it costs about $400 a month to keep my mare happy and content. I had used it with much success during the spring and summer of that year. Some people only put their horse on it the week before a show in order to save money. But the uproar it caused with Sonita's hormones to stop and start her up again wasn't worth it. I wasn't willing to cause that much stress and discomfort to save some money.
It was fall. The intensity of her cycles should have been motoring down for the year. So I had retired the Regu-mate at the end of August. I had calculated the days and figured she wouldn't go into season until the week after the show.
As I stood watching her dismember my trailer I realized my calculations were wrong. So very wrong.

The Big K came by my stalls to say "Hey."
"Sonita's in," I said.
He stepped back as she lunged over the stall door, teeth bared at a horse that was led too close.
"So I see," he said.
"Have fun with that," he added as he walked on down the aisle.
I saw by his strut and the silent shaking of his shoulders that I was going to be his favorite joke of the day. It took everything I had to stop from throwing my curry at his retreating head.

I waited to work her until after midnight. At that time of night there are only a few riders out schooling their horses. A few green horses, a few green trainers, the nervous and the desperate. So we had plenty of room in the pen.
We rode until 4 a.m. Sonita roared, she leaped, she shook her head and thundered. She was savage. She would squeal and strike at the passing horses. I spun her off them over and over.
Typical of a cowhorse event, no one gave me room. They expected me to control my horse or clear the arena. So we fought.
When I finally put her up I did my chores and headed to the Roach Coach for coffee. I flopped my tired bones down at a picnic table with the Big K. He was just waking up and in irritatingly good form.
"Why good morning!" He said. "How did it go last night?"
"I rode her, but I never got her rode."
"It should get better, you've got a few more days before you show her. She'll start to come down."
I hated it when he was perky.
"Well, Mr. Sparkles, you weren't there when a stud moved into the stall behind us. She's gone. I mean over the moon. I'm thinking I should scratch. She's a train wreck."
"I guess I wouldn't stop you," he said and began studying his gnarly, scarred-up hands.
"But?" I asked.
"But nothing, you do what you need to."
"There's a but. What do you think?" I pressed.
"I think," the Big K glanced up at me from under the brim of his hat, "I think you should turn that aggression into something and go win your class."
"I was afraid you'd say something like that."
"It's time for you to ride like Bob."
I rested my forehead on the picnic table. The Big K and I had shared many a discussion on the pros and cons of the different riders we competed against. We would sit for hours and watch each rider, analyze the way they rode and how their horses went.
He was talking about Bob Avila. Not that I had to compete with him, but the Big K had crossed his path more than once.
"Avila doesn't win all the time because he's always on the best horse, even though I've never seen him undermounted," the Big K had told me,"he doesn't always win because he's the best rider. Nobody can be at their best all the time. Avila wins because he is the best showman out there. He can stare a judge in the eye and dare him to not give him the win. He can make every horse he rides look spectacular , even when things go wrong. Nobody can gut their way through a class like Bob."
I didn't want to ride like Bob. Bob would have yanked his saddle and shot Sonita dead in the arena years ago. Bob would have gotten himself a horse that wasn't one shoe light a set of sliders. A horse that was two bales short of a ton. A horse who had popped the last few strands of her 100% wool string cinch.
"Fine", I said into the table. "I'll ride like Bob."

It was finally show day. A warm, breezy beautiful day.I was in the warm up pen. Sonita was alternately squealing in fury and crying for her friends. We were loping many, many tiny little circles. "Ride like Bob, ride like Bob," ran through my mind in time with her lope.
A young rider came in on his stud horse. He nodded at me as he trotted by. It was the stud living behind Sonita.
He was a well behaved animal under saddle. He didn't nicker, his strong trot didn't waver. But his eye slid along Sonita as they passed.
She squealed and began to buck. I pulled her nose to my knee kicked her hip around. Sonita flipped her tail over her back and began to pee.
The stud lost his composure and nickered.
Sonita tried to buck harder and we spun in a circle. The pee sprayed around us like a water sprinkler. I heard the stud gear up and holler.
"Oh man, my new chaps!" Echoed behind me as I booted her out of the arena. I heard the announcer call my name. Sonita and I were in the hole. Just call me Bob.

The pattern was a trot in. Sonita trotted into the arena at a snails pace, slinging her head and crying a lost, sad wail for her friends. We finally made the middle of the pen and she stopped to pee yet again.
The judges sat back in their chairs and grinned at each other. This was promising to be an interesting little interlude.
I sat up tall, looked them in the eye and picked up my reins. I dared them to laugh at me, at least in my mind.
Sonita stepped out, dropped into frame and loped off like a lamb. I couldn't believe it. She was on. All the way with me. She stopped, she spun, she changed, everything felt fantastic. I looked up into my final run down and saw the Big K grinning at me behind the gate.
I scowled at him and charged into my final stop. Who was he to smile at Bob?
We turned to face the cattle pens. I waved at the gateman for my cow. Sonita stood frozen, her back quivering through the saddle. We were going to eat this cow.
A white plastic grocery bag rolled slowly across the fence line. My eyes flicked on it and off again. Bob's horse wouldn't spook at a bag. I wasn't worried. The gate creaked open. I rested my hand on Sonita's neck, her cue to set on the cow. The white bag slowly rolled into view and settled in front of the opened gate. It waved gently back and forth in the breeze.
Sonita dropped her head and began to cut the bag.
The cow trotted out the gate. Sonita never lifted her head. She cut that Wal-mart bag with everything she had.
I wacked her with my spur hoping to get her on the cow before the judges realized what we were boxing.
Sonita dropped even lower and cut back and forth harder, mesmerised by the waving bag.
Sonita didn't see the cow until it began to meander down the side of the arena. She stopped. She looked.
I could almost feel her confusion.
"Why are we working a bag when there's a perfectly good cow right there, boss?"
I sighed and we went to the cow, straight down the fence. She worked it well, but it didn't really matter. We had missed our box work.
The second the judges whistle blew Sonita began to whinny her sad, lonesome cry. She kept it up until we left the arena.
The Big K was laughing so hard he could barely stay on his horse.
"What the hell do I do in a situation like that one?" I said.
"Give her a pet and tell her she's a good girl. This will never happen to you again. It's done. She went to work the minute you told her to. Didn't matter to her if it's a bag or a cow. That was just cool." He started to laugh again.
"Good job, Bob."
I rode back to my stalls on my whinnying, dripping, oozing mare. Bob my butt. I gave her a pat. "Good girl you knot head. Good girl."