Two Jobs

   For much longer than I have been an Animal Control Officer, I have also been the SPCA agent here in town. It kind of goes hand in hand. What I can't deal with in one position I can with the other. These days as I am ageing, I tend to send people on to another larger branch for help as opposed to jumping on my horse (figure of speech) and galloping to the rescue. Many claims are not valid and just a waste of time but I keep my ears to the ground in sorting and will often check things out or speak to people. Sometimes you can get pretty humorous phone calls .

   Nearing Christmas one year, I received a call from an older gentleman and I really thought he wanted me to come by because he had a donation he wanted to make. Upon arriving at the house, he introduced me to his wife and she offered me tea.

It turned out he had a complaint to make about a pig that was being kept across the street. I had a hard time finding out what the problem was. Finally the stately old gentleman got right down to it. He was upset because his wife should not have to see that pig fornicating a barrel! Apparently a barrel in the pigs yard had frozen into the ground and being the right height, was being put to use by the pig. I had a hard time keeping a straight face I tell you!  Number one, the pig wasn't being abused and the barrel was not a living animal and number two, his wife didn't need to watch! I think I got out of the house by saying I would have to check with my supervisor but that I didn't think we could do anything.

   Another time I received a call from a lady about a very large dog that was kept chained. I asked many questions and the dog was fed and watered and walked etc. Finally I asked what she felt the problem was. Her answer was “He isn't loved!” Well true enough, that is not a fair thing for a dog but no laws have been made regarding that and the humans are definitely missing a wonderful thing when they reject a dogs' love. Again I could do nothing.

   Still, I would hope I have done a few good things by taking on these positions. I also received a report of a dog being abused and the neighbours having to listen to the animals' cries. This case I knew, I already had a potential home for this dog if the present owner would relinquish it to me. I spoke to the man and he was quite willing to let me take the dog. It went to the home I had planned, but later needed another home when it dug holes in the ladies rented yard. The next owners proved to be his forever home and they have learned to live around what problems the dog has presented and all is well and happy in that relationship.

   There have been times when I felt I was connected to or had dealings with nearly every dog in town but there are always new ones coming in and old dogs replacing puppies.  The scenario goes on.

Livin' Rough

My time at Twin Bridges was always accompanied by Chubby. But, he was now joined by Spankey. This was the other corgi and a good-looking dog she was, with lots of “Chrome”, white decorated her chest,belly, and paws.

   She had previously attached herself to Eileen and when Eileen left the farm and I took over, Spankey transferred her attentions to me. This included waking me at an early hour as she squeaked in anticipation of a new day, outside my window. In many of my photos Spankey will appear looking up at me adoringly. I just had to love her back for that honor. And so nearly everywhere I went I was accompanied by two dogs now and they got along well.

   True to character, Chubby soon found himself a job of “Bossin'.” The horses, once tacked up (saddled etc.) were not UN-tacked until we were done for the day. It wasn't a practise I approved of but necessity demanded  we did it that way. A cinch, on a horses' saddle was tightened when we put a rider up to go and loosened when they returned. Then the reins were loosely tied around the horses necks and they were turned back into the corral to rest. With a sweaty and then itchy back, many of the horses would naturally try to roll, to ease the itching. This action could break the horns and trees of the saddle and so we would dash in and chase the horse up again. Poor horse-but such was life.

   Chubby watched all this and loved the power of it apparently and soon took over the job of getting these horses up. This saved us steps and so we let him have his “job”. I still had to watch him though as he never did distinguish a saddled horse from one that was untacked. He would continue this practise for the rest of his life.  One time, this job nearly cost him dearly. Whenever Chubby got kicked he would holler the house down (preferably when there was a long line of people waiting to go riding). More than once I had been able to put a stop to his wailing by simply telling him to shut-up, but if there were people around telling him what a poor baby he was, he would continue to tell them all about it for some time.

   There came a day when we were very busy putting out a large, group ride of more than twenty riders. I suppose Chubby could feel the tension in the air as we hurried to get everyone up on horses. There was a small kerfuffle in the corral but this time Chubby did not cry out. I called him and although he was still on his feet, as I approached, it was obvious he could not see where I was! My heart sunk to my toes but there was no time for emotion. I picked him up and put him in a small shed and took the large ride out. My heart was so heavy!. What would I do now?  Would I have to put Chubby down?  How could a blind dog live here with all this action?  I was kept so busy with the riders and looking after them I did for a time, forget about Chubby. Two hours later we returned home and got everyone settled and I had time to check on my dog. I opened the door and there he came!  Tail wagging-Good as new! A small miracle had occurred for sure and possibly he had just been knocked coo-coo for awhile?  I was certainly pleased to know he was still with me and not blind.

   In retrospect, I often wondered if his head wasn’t a series of fractures and hit just the right way would fragment all over the place. In later years he would indeed have a swelling come up every so often along his jaw. When taken to a vet, the only way to handle “The Chicken” was to flop him on his side like a calf and hold him down. If Chubby got even an inkling of anything happening he was gone and you couldn't get near him for the rest of the day. One vet out here in B.C. observed my handling of Chubby and commented that I was a bit “rough” but it was the only way and I knew my dog well .  How we had lived was just that-Rough!

One More Tribute- Bear With me Please?

    Its time to give credit where credit is due. There would be no photos on this blog without the help of friends.  Mostly I must thank Sandi, a whole lot!

     I care about my photos  and have thirty or more albums on a shelf in my spare bedroom. The process by which any photos appear in my blog is a long one and thank goodness for the computers of nowadays.(and friends of course!)  Right now, lacking the equipment I need, I take my photos downtown when I go for coffee in the mornings and hand them to Teresa to scan and send back to me. This worked well with the photo of Chubby and I by the tractor but after that my machine decided it didn't want to accept any more and poor Teresa was getting frustrated. Putting on my "thinking cap" I thought I needed Teresa on my address book and all would be well-not so.  I did receive Fums photo, when Teresa sent it to a mutual friend but now we have given up and send them directly to Sandi.  At least some peoples machines are more obedient and do what they want! Okay Okay! I admit its not the machine but the operator!  My computer is not out to get me;  I guess I cannot train it like a horse or a dog to listen to me. This time I have to train me and that's harder than any animal I have known to date.  I hope to one day get another "All-in-One" printer but that isn't going to happen overnight either. Bear with me readers.

   I also do not get my "comments" anymore. They are apparently being stored in a bin somewhere and although I can get to the bin I can't figure out how to open it. Probably have to read all that stuff google keeps sending me?  I really miss my comments especially "Anonymous" who I have found rather intriguing. But until that problem is fixed I guess I can't get comments.
   In short everything done on here seems to be done the hard way.  So be it. Many things are hard but there is often still a way.
   I must also thank Sandi for helping me format or "size" my screen. I was unable to see the spell check symbol after a time (and it had nothing to do with my eyesight) another friend Judy assured me that things didn't just "go away" but they seemed to here.  I just used the spell check and MAN does it make life easier!  I haven't been able to use one for years and love it.
  Anyway its not as if I have a huge following of readers and apparently only FB users are able to get to my link?  In fact its the only way I can get on it. So with much room for improvement I will soldier on as I am still enjoying writing immensely. Its made my life a happier one. One of my LOL's (Lovely Older Ladies) recently said."I told you Joyce years ago to keep writing" And so she did. And so I am!
  The photos in my album of course are only precious to me but I am thrilled to see them up online and to share them with the few readers I have. I am really rich in friends and thank you one and all, your help is appreciated a whole bunch! Loveya! JD

Good Dudes and Bad Dudes

We had some favourite people that came to rent a horse on a regular basis. Mr .Parsons was one such a person. He was a tall man and I think a retired lawyer. Because of his height we had to pull our tall horses out for Mr. Parsons to ride.   He soon had three mounts he preferred:

Bingo a black and white paint   Ruby a sorrel mare 

or Charcoal a black mare

 Mr "P" was well-liked by us all and I should note here that Charcoal was hardly ever sent out with a man.Women would not have a problem with that horse but very few men could bring her home in decent condition. She would fret and work herself into an awful sweat. I remember Doug, (one of our helpers) could ride her and bring her home in great shape and also Mr.P which said a lot for that “Dude”.

   Our big sign also read that horses were to be brought home “dry”, or the customer would pay double.  This helped to settle down the would-be cowboys that wanted only to run the heck out of the horses for their money. ( A measly $2.00! ) An alternative, was to walk your horse “dry” behind the tack sheds. If a rider preferred to pay double the twins were employed as walkers. But none of the horses were ever put away “wet”. Sweaty wet horses had to be settled down and walked dry. A heated up and “hot” horse going for water could mean a very sick horse. I remember once Mary found her son had put his horse out “wet” and in the ensuing chastisement I believe he picked himself up off the floor with a split lip! This then, was a definite no-no.

   I had never considered that I had a bad temper, but there, at Twin Bridges, I learned  indeed there was a red hot temper in me that could be aroused! We worked very hard and very long hours. So at the end of a day, to put it mildly our butts were draggin' and our patience lacking. On such a day, we had a group of mouthy teenagers come out riding. When they returned, it was requested that they walk their horses dry. This request was not taken lightly by the group and as they walked the horses there were many loud comments and complaints. Always sensitive to others' moods, I tried to ignore it all. Then the mouthy girls called one of the Siamese cats over and petted it. Shortly after that another of the group walked their horse over the cat and with a horrendous yowl, the cat took off running. That annoyed me to no end and the next mouthy comment had me moving! I honestly did not remember starting towards the girls and literally was “seeing red” as they say. Suddenly I snapped out of it to find a young girl looking at me in fear saying “Don't you hit me!” My goodness! I had never hit anyone in my entire life! However, appearances were such that my intentions were obvious. From that day on I knew I had a temper and throughout my life it would not happen again! I would not LET it happen again! In any case, the teenagers soon left and I was glad to see them do so. I hoped they wouldn't return. The poor cat however needed to have its tail amputated at the vets. All I could think of was that if they had not called the cat over it would never have been stepped on and that is what had tipped my temper over.

   It was necessary, of course, upon greeting a customer, that I ask how much they had ridden. Most people were honest and asked for a very quiet one or if they could ride would tell me so. We tried to match the horse and rider as best we could and often gave instructions so they would have a good ride.
   One young man immediately got me a bit riled with his attitude one day. When asked if he could ride he replied that he could probably ride better than I! He also did not want a saddle etc. Fine thought I. In our corral we had a grey(white) horse called Scotty. This horse was “hot” in another way, as in excitable and a bit hard to control. Needless to say Scotty did not get duded out very often. With, what may have been a wicked grin, I told him I had just the horse for him. As I listed off a few rules about running the horses over a spot with gopher holes etc., this cocky fellow didn't seem to be listening or care. Off he went and I knew he would not obey the rules. Sure enough! Once again we heard the thundering of hooves and knew a horse was returning at a rapid rate. It was Scotty with green grass stains all over his knees.(Gopher holes,right?) Some time later the would be “Great Rider” walked in and began a tirade of complaints. This fellow had ticked me off in the first place and I found myself getting so angry I went and got Ken to deal with it. The minute a man was facing him “Mr. Great Rider”, changed his tune a lot and paid double and left. This was a much better way to handle things instead of losing my temper. Ken was a very calm person and reasonable. I was glad he had been around to step in.

Character Horses

   We used to have a large group of Oriental people (possibly Chinese?) that came out on a regular basis to rent horses at Twin Bridges. They seemed to be very excited to be there. They made a great amount of noise and of course it was foreign to the horses. One day the horses were suddenly all filtering out of the corral. They had found a hole in the fence and were leaving that “joyful noise”. These people always stood on our one old picnic table and Ken (one of our helpers) started telling them we were going to come to their restaurant and do the same. They laughed and laughed, but continued to stand on the table.  In due course we would have everyone looked after. I remember one gentleman telling me he wanted a “clean” horse. Well that was funny, our horses lay in the dirt and manure at times.

 But I brought out a small black horse named Tarbaby.  (we called him Black Ass.) The man went off happily enough to join his friends. There was a lot of confusion and chaos when these people came in and I was always happy when I had them all up and on their way. The Chinese certainly tested our horses' ability for tolerance. They all had some idea that you pulled back on the reins and kicked like hell, to go! I never did convince them this was incorrect.
   In any case, all was quiet for a time until we heard the galloping of hooves. I looked up the lane to see Black-ass coming home in a hurry, with of course no rider! The horse only had a portion of his bridle left. Who knows what had become of the saddle and who knew exactly what had happened?? I would guess that the fellow hung too hard on one side or the other and eventually the saddle turned. Possibly the rider tried to fix things and Black-ass left for home? In the meantime, with the saddle under his belly he had kicked it to smithereens! He had also stepped on and snapped the reins off.  The rider showed up on foot later and none the worse for wear. That may have been the last time that fellow went riding-I don't know.

   A saddle is built on a form-called a tree and the trees of a good saddle is usually made of rawhide over wood-tough stuff! But then the saddle makers started putting out saddles with hard plastic trees and such was the one Black-ass kicked apart. For months after this incident I would be out on the riding grounds and find pieces of red plastic from that saddle.

   On the back of all our saddles was a name in felt marker. This was so helpers would know which saddle to bring out for which horse. We had one old reprobate horse named “Strawberry”.
 He had been in the string long enough to know how to look after himself when he had a crazy rider like one of the Chinese group. I used him every time until finally the Chinese  would come in saying “No Strawberry! No Strawberry!” I duded old Strawberry out anyway, telling the people this was  Roany” but he was wearing Strawberry’s saddle today. This horse of course was a roan color but his face was a lovely characterization that told of his attitude.  His eyes always looked slanted to me,

like he was just cooking up what he would do to the Dudes today.  
  We treated our horses as well as we could but once they left the corral with a rider, we had no control over what happened. I did however, in an attempt to ease their burden, make a rule that four rides was enough for any of the horses.  One smaller horse named Monty, especially could only handle four hours of Dudes. It was a hard life for them and I never held it against the horses if they retaliated. We would be able to look out and on the skyline see Monty doing his rocking horse thing. First he would rear, then he would buck and this continued the whole way home. It was obvious then that Monty needed some time off and we gave it to him.

   Upon arriving at the corrals where we put the Dudes out, there was a large sign stating “You Ride At Your Own Risk”. This I suppose was to protect the establishment from having a law suit against them. I guess it worked then but today I am sure “Guest Ranches” need a tighter insurance policy than that.  However, I must say in the time I worked at Twin Bridges there were  no serious accidents or injuries to any of the paying customers.

   There were times of course when a customer was not pleased with their mount and complained.  On one occasion a man said his horse “would not go”. The horse in question was Ladybird, she wasn't a particularly stubborn animal and I wondered at the mans ability. My friend Ruth observed all this and she knew the horses as well as I did. She looked at the man and said”I bet I can take her out of here at a gallop” The man handed over the reins and as Ruth got on she dug the toe of her boot into Ladybirds side and left at a gallop, winning the bet easily. Still angry the man said something about Ruth trying to make a fool of him. She replied “Nope the horse already did that” Possibly this was not the way to be “nice” to customers but we were quite cocky and full of “attitude” in those days.

   The dude string did well while I worked there and some days my jeans were so full of money I could hardly walk. I believe I made 10% of the take on a daily basis. I had quite a bank account. It was easy to save money when you worked seven days a week- no time to spend any of it. On the days that it rained hard and kept it up, I was able to go to town and loved spending money. It really was a fun time of my life.

Fum and the Horses

   Young Fum, at two and half years of age. was a going concern, and I remember her following me around most mornings.  Upon waking she was only in the house long enough to eat and have her diaper changed and she was off to the horses.  She seemed to listen very well and so I didn't mind having her around. she was actually good company and could talk until the cows came home.
   I finally found out she had a perfectly normal name, Sarah. But somewhere along the line they had fed her too much apple juice and all eight of her front teeth were rotted and a little green looking.  I had never heard of or seen such a thing and when her mother called her Fumblina Greenteeth, it blew me away!  In any case, the nickname Fum stuck for many years.
   Although Fum was a little toughie and not quick to cry, one day she got stepped on pretty hard, so I took her up to the house for some attention and also it smelled like her diaper needed to be changed.

    Not twenty minutes later Fum was right back again. Now she wanted to ride.  "What horse" I asked her and she quickly replied," CHAH-LIE!"  And so I got Charlie out of the main corral and tightened the cinch on his saddle, threw Fum up and led them behind the tack sheds where they could go around and around in a circle and Fum would be content.  Once in awhile he would stop and as her kicking would be ineffectual,she would squawk and I would holler at Charlie to "Get-up" and he would!
   On a day when Charlie has already been duded out, we tried a different horse for Fum. Patches looked like a small workhorse and he wore an old highback saddle. It was high in the front and the back almost like a rocking chair. I thought she would be pretty secure.  Unfortunately Fum decided that day to go part way down the lane.  Patches started off well but somehow got turned around and headed for home faster than Fum usually rode.  Fum hung on hard for a time but then the rocking gait of the horse "rocked" her right out of the saddle!  When I saw her it looked like she was trick riding!  Here was this little kid, with the reins in one hand and the horn clutched tightly with the other while her body hung down his shoulder!  It couldn't last and it didn't.  As Patches came in the gate by the tack shed, Fums strength gave out and she plopped to the ground totally unhurt. Only a resilient kid could pull that off.  She was fine but declared she was going back to riding Charlie again and I agreed!
   Fum wasn't the only rider Patches brought home against their will.  We had quite a heavy woman come out every Saturday to ride.  She had once been given Little Goldie, who was the most willing to please horse in the string, and this woman asked for Goldie every time after that. However I felt Little Goldie was too light a mount to handle all that weight whereas Patches could certainly handle it.  So I talked her into taking Patches out. With the stirrups adjusted well in that highback saddle I felt for sure she would be up there to stay.  It mus t have been another Cranky day for Patches and less than an hour later I hears some shouting and here they came!! Thundering down the lane with everything flopping and flapping, the woman was still in the saddle but headed for home at a very good clip.  I really thought she was going to make it but,at the gate, she catapulted out of the saddle and landed on our metal oat pails waiting nearby to be filled.  I was at her side quickly and surely thought we would need an ambulance, but there was no blood and nothing broken.  The woman was only shook up and I imagine her adrenaline was pumping pretty good!
    It was an astounding phenomenon, that riders coming home out of control, would hang on hard as long as they were on their own and scared but upon reaching home and seeing me, they would give up and come off.  later in life I would explain to my students that what I was telling them could save their bacon but from the ground there was little I could do to physically "save" them.  It worked well and the kids knew to listen.
   Many dude Horses develop "tricks of the trade" so to speak and I think in the end it is a type of survival. Turning back and heading for home was an easy one for most of the horses and the Dudes themselves encouraged this by running the horses towards home.  The horses well knew when they got home they could rest and snooze and not pack these silly people around on their backs.

Chubby Gets Country-fied

   It should be noted here that for most of his life,possibly all of it, Chubby had been a city dog not a country one. He and I both had many lessons to learn at Twin Bridges. Right off the bat Chubby got kicked by cows and horses and learned also to steer clear of the goat. Being a bossy terrier type with a bad temper this must have been hard for him to take. He eventually got kicked so many times that he lost all the small front teeth in his upper jaw. When he lost his temper he would take after whatever animal had done him damage and I had to watch him closely. He also figured cats were just to chase and that was that. As mentioned before the boss had Siamese cats. I think there were four females and a male at that time. The tom was named “Father Rat”, Mary was a fine one for coming up with unusual names at times .

   One day I was cleaning the barn when I heard a shout and when I came outside, Mary was hollering that Chubby was going to get Father Rat! Well it certainly looked that way. Chubby was hard on Father's butt and if the cat had stretched out his tail would have had him for sure! I yelled his name and to his credit he stopped and came to me even though he was pretty sure he might get a lickin'. I didn't make a big practice of “beating” on my dog but I did find it necessary at times to chastise him with more than just words. Chubby knew what was coming and proceeded to scream the barn down!!Then I heard Mary hollering out the door again and asking me what I was doing to that poor dog!? I had yet to touch him but he let on like he was getting killed. So he got off and was just punished with words. I knew he was spiteful though and would do it again given the chance.

   After a long day of working with the horses and dudes we would all have supper and then on many evenings would go for a ride on the Indian Reserve, which bordered our land. Chubby and the other dogs usually came with us.

   One dark night, upon returning home I looked down from my horse and wondered what Chubby had found that was white. He seemed to be bringing it home in any event and I would find out later. When I was able to get him in the light it turned out that he had met a porcupine and the “white” was quills! In no time, I had the poor dog was on his side and with pliers I extracted the quills. It was so lucky we had kept moving and he had no time to really get at it with that porky. And in my ignorance, I knew nothing of the “proper” way to extract quills. But being a toughie he just went on his way and seemed none the worse for it.

   Next Chubby thought he would check out the burning barrel for goodies. Mary happened to look out the window about that same time and thought someone had put and old muffler pipe in there. Then it moved, and lo and behold it was the Chubby in there seeing if he could find anything to eat.

   Soon my neutered dog would be back to his fanciful ways and cause a bit of a problem. One of the Corgis came in heat and the undaunted Chubby decided once again that he really was “intact”. On a very busy hot day, with a long line up of people waiting for horses, I heard a bit of a commotion and there were small children pointing and it was at my dog and Candace one of the corgis. They were tied! One dog going left and one going right and what to do??  I phoned my friend Ruth and she informed me we had to throw a bucket of water on them or else scare them. The water was a long way to go so I chose the latter. It worked with a yipe from each dog, they separated and all was well again. Who would have thunk it?

   The next time it happened was not so easy. I got up in the morning and Pops handed me the binoculars and told me to look up the road. There the two dogs were once again, and again they were tied! So I got in my car to go and get them but have you ever tried loading dogs that are going in different directions??  Not easy and as I tried I heard the now-familiar yipes' and they parted and walked home on their own.

   It was a crazy place. Another time Pops spotted Watson, the basset, out on the Indian Reserve playing with the coyotes. Pops predicted there could be some spotted coyotes next batch. Who knows? Watson was always a happy, happy dog so it was hard to tell if his ventures had been successful or not when he returned home but I never did see any basset type coyotes so maybe they were just playing???

  In order to gain a bit of peace on the place, it now became necessary for me to tie Chubby up and prevent further “occurrences”, with the Corgi Candace. Eventually I would forget to tie him and it never happened again, so to this day those shenanigans remain a mystery for me.