How I Became an Official Cowgirl

As is the case with most riders, my goal when I took up riding was to never hit the ground. I don't know anyone who wouldn't agree that it's a lofty goal, especially when dealing with equines, but it never hurts to set your sights high.

My first step in the right direction was to find a safe, reputable trainer with calm, well-broke schooling animals. Unfortunately, I've learned that no amount of training, for equine or rider, can keep your butt in the saddle 100 percent of the time.

Someone once told me that you have to fall off three times to become an "Official Cowgirl." Well, here's how I became an Official Cowgirl:

#1—Emergency dismount: When I bought my trailer in 2007, I was eager to hit the trails. Unfortunately, my closest horsey friend had moved a few states away and I didn't really know anyone else to call. Not keen on riding alone, I decided to head over to a local park for an organized poker ride.

The parking lot was packed when I arrived. Surely there would be some group that wouldn't mind a tag-along mule and rider. After trying out a few groups, I finally settled with with a threesome: two middle-aged females and an older man. Things were going well until the old guy decided to show off by going through a small pond to the side of the trail. Ever the competitive one, I thought I'd follow because, well, Maxine can do anything.

Famous last thoughts.

As I steered Max into the water, she stopped short and tried to continue up the dry trail. Ignoring her warning, I lightly spurred her forward. She reluctantly obliged. As we waded through the ankle-deep water, her right hind leg sunk into a soft spot. She turned toward the dry trail and then fell to her haunches. As she was about to scramble to her feet, a calm voice in my head said, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off."

The voice repeated as I rolled into the mud and standing water. Max clamored back onto the trail and froze. Unhurt, I remained on the ground a moment as I scanned her legs for injury. When I was certain she was okay, I rose from the muck, and patted her on the neck in apology. Then, I mounted from a picnic table and continued our ride. Needless to say, we both got hosed off at the trail head that day.

#2—Unexpected dismount: After the NW Regional Trail Championship in Eugene, Oregon, last November, I was riding my trainer's sweet mammoth donkey through the practice course. The donkey was in a rushy mood, so my job was to slow her down.

As I guided her onto a raised dirt box, she jolted forward and then fell straight to the ground. Again, I heard, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off" from the recesses of my brain. Before she could raise back up, I did a double roll out of the saddle, off the box, and onto my feet. Fortunately, everyone was okay, so I got back on and continued riding.

#3—Spectacular dismount: Each spring and fall, Maxine and I compete in trail competitions held in our hometown. Every show gets bigger and bigger—the log tangles more technical, the hills steeper, and the step ups higher.

This past spring, there was one particular obstacle of which I wasn't too fond—a step-up that came out of a water box. What I didn't like about this obstacle was the fact that the first step was only about eight inches deep, then there were three for four rock stairs in succession. Had these elements been separate, I would have barely noticed them. However, put them together and add water, and things get tricky. Because the stairs were so close to the obstacle, the animal has less room to move, creating (in my mind) a much higher step than intended. Plus, only the first few animals would have dry ground to work with. After that, it would get increasingly muddy.

Fortunately, we bypassed the obstacle on the first day. On the second day, we were instructed to ride down the steps and into the water. After a talk with my trainer, I decided to bypass the obstacle and take a zero on the score pad. Sure, some might call me a sissy, but my intuition was screaming that this was a bad idea, so I listened. In fact, I bypassed a couple more obstacles that day—and I was on the verge of tears most of the day because of it.

No, I'm not competitive at all. *roll eyes*

On the final day, the course called for us to ride up the step. I was wary, but knowing that it's easier to go up hill than down hill, I considered taking the obstacle.

The step was one of the first obstacles in the pattern. I rode calmly up to the approach. Our entrance into the water box was perfect. With a right haunch turn, we were facing the step.

Maxine paused for a moment to assess. My mind quickly went into action and I had second thoughts. Intuition said to turn away, but it was too late—Max raised her front hooves onto the step.

Personal observation: I don't know exactly what happened after that, but I've pieced this together from both what I experienced and what I was told by onlookers after the fact.

As Maxine moved forward, her rear hoof slipped on the wet timber. She fell back on her haunches and rolled onto her left side. Like a broken record, I once again heard, "get your feet out of the stirrups and get off," repeating in my mind. With my eyes open, I rolled to the left—once to dismount and again to get as far away from her hooves as possible. Then I jumped to my feet and yelled, "I'm okay, I didn't hit my head!"

Maxine scrambled to her feet and was caught by the judge's scribe, after ceremoniously stepping on my hat. I patted Max on the shoulder, lead her to the judge, and said, "Let's check to see if she's okay."

"Oh, it's always about the mule, isn't it," he replied with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I smiled. "I didn't hit my head, just rolled onto my hip. I'll have a bruise for sure, but I'm more worried about her."

After we were certain she didn't have any scrapes, lacerations, or lameness, I found a rock, hopped back on to a round of applause, and finished the course as an Official Cowgirl.


Photo: Me and Maxine (and my smashed hat) during our in-hand trail class, which was fortunately scheduled after the class in which we fell. This gave me an opportunity to calmly rebuild her trust of the course.

My Baby is Better than Yours

When I hear my friends talk about how their human babies are starting to crawl or pull themselves to their feet at however-many-months-old, I always want to say, "My baby could walk over a bridge, haunch turn, and back up by the time she was one-month old."

It's not that I want to overshadow their success stories. I just want to share my glory along with them. Fortunately, I know when to bite my tongue, because some people just don't seem to appreciate when you compare their babies to a mule—no matter how accurate the similarities may be.

Thankfully, I have friends who not only understand, they are eager to help with her upbringing.

Just a month after Madge was born, my friend Emily took her for a spin. Emily has been riding with my trainer for years and—though she will deny this—is an exquisite rider. She has a special relationship with Fig (Madge's mom), so my trainer asked if she would be the first to pony Madge.

While Emily tacked up, I held Madge close so that Fig didn't think we were trying to steal her away. Then we were off to the orchard.

Personal observation: An orchard is a wonderful place to ride on a hot day. We don't have an arena where I train, so we regularly ride in the orchard. It's quite romantic—and teaches good steering skills!

While Emily and Fig did a couple of warm-up laps, Madge received her first lesson in, "Stand. Good girl." Madge let out a deep soft bray each time her mother passed, but remained relatively quiet for such a young girl. Plus, it was the first time I'd her her speak—so cute!

Personal observation: Actually, her lesson sounded more like this... "Stand. Whoa. Back, back. Whoa. Stand. Uh, uh, uh, back. Whoa. Stand. *pause* Good girl!" And repeat.

It wasn't long before Fig was ready. I handed the lead to Emily, and off they went. What a pair! A big white American Warmblood with a jet-black baby in tow. Needless the say, the camera ran out of batteries that day!

Personal observation: While an orchard is perfect for riding, it's horrible for photography. Too many shadows!

My trainer and I watched and giggled as Madge adjusted to her new situation. We oohed and awed over her lovely gaits. We discussed future rides and ribbons.

When it was time to return to the barn, I proudly took the line and led Madge back to the stall that she and Fig shared. I couldn't have asked for anything more from her first lesson.

Photo: Madge (one-month old), Emily, and Fig take their first lesson together.

I Knew I Had Been Blessed

Let me tell you a little secret. Just four years ago, I looked my horsey friend in the eye and said, "I don't ever want to have a foal. It would be too much work!"

Boy, did I eat those words!

When my trainer called in early 2008, to offer me a breeding with her mare and a local jack, I was surprised when I didn't instantly say, "No way!" What was I, a three-year equestrian whose husband would likely be laid off in mere months do to the economy, going to do with a bratty, time-consuming, expensive foal?

But, I was intrigued. My trainers mare is not only gorgeous, she's eager and reliable, with a mind for work. The jack was kind, strong, and easy-going. I knew this wasn't going to be some backyard pairing. My trainer had chosen the pair to breed a mule for herself, but circumstances placed this offer in my lap, and so wasn't going to make the decision lightly.

Something was telling me this was something I needed to do—but was I crazy?

I called a horsey friend, hoping she would convince me this was a bad idea. Nope. "That would be so cool" she exclaimed. "You'd totally be able to train her yourself, so you'd always know what experiences she'd had throughout her life." Damn, that's a good point.

That night, I spoke with my husband. We don't have the kind of marriage where we have to ask one another about every purchase, but this wasn't like buying a chair. His opinion was important to me, especially with his job situation. I was certain he would convince me it was a bad idea. Nope. "I know you're really into this," he said. "If this is something you want to do, I'm behind you 100 percent."

Personal observation: Yes, I know I have the best husband in the world. I must remind myself to tell him that.

It seemed that everyone thought I should buy this breeding, and I was starting to believe it.

Personal observation: I will admit, I didn't call my parents for guidance on this matter. They're far to realistic and might have brought me to my senses. By this point, I wasn't going to take a chance with them!

As I mulled over the decision, a little voice was telling me that this was the right thing to do. All my doubts were melting away.

Sure, I don't have a lot of equine experience, but I train endlessly, I listen thoughtfully, and I learn quickly. More importantly, I know when I'm stuck or in over my head. I know when to ask for, and accept, help. Plus, the foal would be boarded at my trainer's barn, so we'd be under her watchful eye, 24/7.

We don't have a lot of money, but who does these days. Heck, a mule is much cheaper than a baby. You should hear what my friends pay for daycare! Funny how folks never say, "If you need money, why don't you just sell your baby?" *eye roll*

I called my trainer to say I was on board. The next day, she wrote me a contract and I wrote her a check. Within a month, the mare was in foal and I received her first sonogram photo. Finally, I could torture all of the mothers at work with my very own sonogram photo!

I spent the next year trying be realistic about the outcome of our deal. It was the mares first pregnancy, so the chance for difficulty was higher than normal. Despite a good mare/jack match, we had no idea what she would produce. Would I be blessed with a level-headed beauty or be forced to love a blunt-nosed idiot? For more than a year I waited for my foal to arrive, and when she did...

I knew had been blessed.

Photo: One-month-old Madge, after her first body-clip.