Wormer

I went to Kiowa to visit my three booger heads.I brought my mother for company. She's an interesting talker and appreciates the beauty of a cold Colorado landscape as much as I do. We drove the back roads to my friends ranch and she kept saying, "Just how far out is this place?"

I spent so many years with an hour commute to my job this trip seems reasonable to me. But I guess it is pretty far out there.

Loki came up to greet me as I pulled in. Leland stood his distance but stayed alert and friendly.

And then came the yellow mare.

100 MPH racing through the fields with her best friend, an equally goofy TB mare.

They circled us, tossing their heads, making sure we properly admired their wild mustang impersonations.

The couple who owns the C&S ranch call them "The Cheerleaders."

They are beautiful to watch and although I try not to humanize them, they seem awfully vain. And prissy.

I opened the arena gate and they all flowed in.

Have you ever noticed how horses will gather their forces and just blast into any open gate they can find?

Cattle on the other hand stop cold, and stand in a giant, solid clump, staring at the opening as if it's leading them to the pits of hell.

Anyway, the herd willingly ran into the arena and stood around staring at us, a communal, "What's up?" on their faces.

Worming was what was up.

Leland, the unbroke, barely handled 2-year-old stood quiet when I caught him, took his wormer like a champ and hung out for a few seconds to get a wither scratch. I'm starting to really like him.

"He's really sweet," my Mother said.

Loki smelled the wormer and began her rapid fire head toss. She stood quiet but had her head slinging around like a nut job.

I stuck my finger in the corner of her mouth, pulled tight and hung on until she sighed, relaxed and let me worm her.

"Does the wormer taste bad?" My mother asked.

"I don't think so, Loki quit her nonsense as soon as I got the wormer in. I'm pretty sure squirting the wormer in is some kind of insult. I've never quite figured it out," I said.

The entire time I'm doing this the yellow peril was flitting around, coming up behind me to nose my back, spinning and taking off, circling up, nosing Loki, biting Leland, trying to pull the lead rope off my arm, you get the picture.

I bet you guys thought my horses had manners didn't ya? Well, most of them do.

When it was the yellow butt head's turn she trotted up to me, neck arched, knee action waaaay too high for a respectable AQHA quarter horse.

I scratched her neck, went to tie her halter and she sniffed at some wormer on my knee.

BAM!

She was gone.

She tossed her head, bucked to the moon and tore around the arena.

I swung the lead rope at her and chased her around some, waiting for her to decide to quit.

She finally stopped, looked at me and waited.

As any of you round pen guys know, this is usually a good time to catch a horse. It's a clear signal telling me she's ready to listen.

Unless of course the horse is screwing with you.

I prefer my horses wait for me to come up and catch them. I don't ask them to come to me. I don't mind a friend coming over to say "Hi" like Loki did. But when they're being enough of a goober to need to be worked before I can catch them I want them to wait for me to approach.

I was two steps from Pumpkin-head before she looked at me like I was a pit viper and took off. Now she was trotting a big lofty trot, her tail curled over her back like a husky and her head waving back and forth like, well, a smart-ass.

So I worked her around some more. The arena is a good sized one so I had to do some running. I was glad I've taken up jogging again, I'd of died out there if I hadn't been.

It went something like this, swing my rope, sawdust-for-brains takes off and heads for the gate along the rail. I sprint across the short side, swing my rope, turn her and send her down the other side and stop to catch my breath.

Blond and beastie circles around and bolts for the gate, I race to head her off, turn her and send her down to the other side.

"She keeps kicking at you," my mother says.

"No,she's not really kicking at me," I told her.

"See how she keeps her legs tucked in? She's just sassing me."

"How are you going to catch her?" Now my Mom was gently stroking the end of Lelands nose.
She smiled at him while he carefully sniffed her coat.

"He sure is pretty," Mom said.

"Oh, I'll catch her," I replied between ragged gasps.

I staggered down the arena and Bomb-shell Barbie pricked her ears and looked pretty.

I was right. Two more goes around the arena and she stopped next to me, put her head down and waited for the halter.

Her eyes crackled with the fun of it all.

I got even. I wormed her.

She spit half of it out.

I scooped it up, dirt and all, and stuffed it in her mouth.

The yellow beast chewed at the wormer-mud-ball and swallowed. She had a deep inward, thoughtful look on her face. Then she turned and sniffed my hands. With a quick lick she cleaned the rest of the wormer off my muddy fingers.

I scratched her neck and rubbed her forehead. She leaned into me and let me wrap my arms around her neck. She stretched up and rested her head on top of mine for just a second.

When I let her go she spun off and and bolted, one last kick and a fart daring me to catch her again.

"You always like the wild ones," Mom said.

As we drove out my mother looked back at the horses.

"I like that one."

Her eyes were soft as she looked at Leland.

Madonna ran with us all the way to the gate.