Wild and woolly West
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A lighter post, for those who are convinced I live an exotic life. *g*
Yesterday, on my way to town, there was a loose horse munching grass in the bar-ditch. (That's the local term for the usually weed-filled ground area on the side of a road; it's usually dipped to a greater or lesser degree, to hold rain runoff.)
Anyway, I slammed on my brakes, parked the truck, and went to pound on the door of the house that the horse was in front of. I pounded LOUD, but no answer. So I drove (yep, too far to walk quickly) to the next house, across the road and up a ways (four or five hundred yards.) That lady was home, but she didn't know the horse. While we were talking, another truck stopped at the first house, and the driver was more successful at waking the household. (Or maybe they were already on their way to the door, after my pounding. *g*) Okay, situation under control, I thought, so I got in the truck, headed toward town again -- then the horse dashed across the road in front of me.
Okaay, NOT under control. So I parked the truck again, got out, and helped 'encourage' the horse back into its pasture. (That consisted of standing back and waving my arms so that it wouldn't turn back from the pasture gate. No biggie, but you have to be prepared to dash to one side or the other if the animal makes a break.) Frankly, I've seen some shoddy methods of keeping animals confined since I moved out of the city limits. In this case, they had merely balanced a couple of T-posts on top of some wire fences on each side of a gap, to close that gap. Well, duh! The horse knocked the T-posts down and got out. When I left, they were planning to get some wire and string it across the gap. Well, no shit! *g*
This is not the only time. Many years ago, I came across another loose horse in the bar-ditch, trailing a rope. With the help of another passing motorist, I was able to get close enough to catch the rope and tie it to the fence. I asked him to call the sheriff's department - this was before cellphones - to come out, and I'd wait with the horse. (It was very skittish, and I didn't want it to break free again.)
After half an hour, with no 'rescue' in site, I left the now-calmer horse and drove to the nearest house. Well, it was theirs, or rather their son's, who was out of town. They asked if I'd help get the horse in; the husband could drive me there, and I could lead the horse back. I looked down at the open sandals on my feet, picturing me traipsing through the weedy bar-ditch - ouch!. But... he had an artificial leg and walked with a cane; it was a no-brainer. We got the horse back home, and I was no worse for the wear, outside a couple of insignificant scratches.
That's not to say that such things are daily occurrances. In twenty-plus years living out here, I've dealt with escaped horses only half-a-dozen times (a couple were mine, and I had such fun getting them back home, *g*). Loose cows a time or two; got up one morning to find my garage full of cows - (and cow-patties - ick). They had spent some hours apparently munching on the hay stored there; what a mess!
No biggie; that's just life in rural areas. You know how I really knew I lived in the West? It was just a year or so after I had moved to town. I was very young, very naive, and living in a trailer-court. (Years before I had my horses or land.) As I was heading out shopping, I saw two men on horseback ride up to the drive-in window at McDonald's. They handed over their money, collected their sacks, and trotted off up the main street. Nobody paid any attention at all, except to drive wide around them, to give them room. That was soooo cool!
.
A lighter post, for those who are convinced I live an exotic life. *g*
Yesterday, on my way to town, there was a loose horse munching grass in the bar-ditch. (That's the local term for the usually weed-filled ground area on the side of a road; it's usually dipped to a greater or lesser degree, to hold rain runoff.)
Anyway, I slammed on my brakes, parked the truck, and went to pound on the door of the house that the horse was in front of. I pounded LOUD, but no answer. So I drove (yep, too far to walk quickly) to the next house, across the road and up a ways (four or five hundred yards.) That lady was home, but she didn't know the horse. While we were talking, another truck stopped at the first house, and the driver was more successful at waking the household. (Or maybe they were already on their way to the door, after my pounding. *g*) Okay, situation under control, I thought, so I got in the truck, headed toward town again -- then the horse dashed across the road in front of me.
Okaay, NOT under control. So I parked the truck again, got out, and helped 'encourage' the horse back into its pasture. (That consisted of standing back and waving my arms so that it wouldn't turn back from the pasture gate. No biggie, but you have to be prepared to dash to one side or the other if the animal makes a break.) Frankly, I've seen some shoddy methods of keeping animals confined since I moved out of the city limits. In this case, they had merely balanced a couple of T-posts on top of some wire fences on each side of a gap, to close that gap. Well, duh! The horse knocked the T-posts down and got out. When I left, they were planning to get some wire and string it across the gap. Well, no shit! *g*
This is not the only time. Many years ago, I came across another loose horse in the bar-ditch, trailing a rope. With the help of another passing motorist, I was able to get close enough to catch the rope and tie it to the fence. I asked him to call the sheriff's department - this was before cellphones - to come out, and I'd wait with the horse. (It was very skittish, and I didn't want it to break free again.)
After half an hour, with no 'rescue' in site, I left the now-calmer horse and drove to the nearest house. Well, it was theirs, or rather their son's, who was out of town. They asked if I'd help get the horse in; the husband could drive me there, and I could lead the horse back. I looked down at the open sandals on my feet, picturing me traipsing through the weedy bar-ditch - ouch!. But... he had an artificial leg and walked with a cane; it was a no-brainer. We got the horse back home, and I was no worse for the wear, outside a couple of insignificant scratches.
That's not to say that such things are daily occurrances. In twenty-plus years living out here, I've dealt with escaped horses only half-a-dozen times (a couple were mine, and I had such fun getting them back home, *g*). Loose cows a time or two; got up one morning to find my garage full of cows - (and cow-patties - ick). They had spent some hours apparently munching on the hay stored there; what a mess!
No biggie; that's just life in rural areas. You know how I really knew I lived in the West? It was just a year or so after I had moved to town. I was very young, very naive, and living in a trailer-court. (Years before I had my horses or land.) As I was heading out shopping, I saw two men on horseback ride up to the drive-in window at McDonald's. They handed over their money, collected their sacks, and trotted off up the main street. Nobody paid any attention at all, except to drive wide around them, to give them room. That was soooo cool!
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