As most of you know, I had to make the ultimate decision to put my show horse, turned broodmare, down this week due to kidney disease. I still don't quite have the words to sum it all up, but, oddly enough some words did come to me in the form of a poem. I used to write a lot of poetry, and I haven't for quite some time. In my last moments with Lady, I chose to braid and take off her tail myself. I pictured us standing in the Claresholm arena, which was where she showed her b

In the sport of Cutting, the turnback horse is one of the most crucial, and yet often glazed over, players in the game. When you watch cutting there are four helpers that assist the cutter in driving a cow out of the herd and making a nice cut that will earn him or her a high score. These helpers are on turnback horses, this horse "turns back" the cow for the cutter. The turnback horse is also used to sort and settle the herd when it is first brought into the arena - a crucia

I wrote this cowboy poem when I was in, what I call, one of my "Miranda Moods." AKA when I feel like a blinged out, total cowgirl, badass... like Miranda Lambert. (Who, if you haven't figured out by now, I love). This song was almost entirely inspired by the character behind the song "Little Wed Ragon", so take a listen.. and then read the newest Story Sunday. :) ***** I like the way people stare when I wear my jingle-jangle spurs in the grocery store, And I like the way they

I speak only the truth when I tell you this story friend, There are a few rides my horse and I haven't finished through until the end, It always frustrated me and got under my skin, 'For I was always out to just finish - not even to win. Fortunately for me, my steed is big and strong, And for the most part, despite his minor infractions, we always get along. However, as any good pair knows, There are days when the trail just becomes your foe. One day I got the smart idea to h

My little monster I had been ponderin' and thinkin', for some time now, That it was high time I found myself a border collie that could herd any nasty cow. I pictured myself up on top my regal cutting hoss, Directing my handy pup - like any true cow boss. And so imagine my surprise when I found quite the opposite - in a little poofy mutt, He was yappy, small and fluffy, and he sure as hell couldn't help me cut. But for some reason I took a liking to the little poodle cross. A

Waiting out a Storm I hear the old men chatting, they discuss the comings and goings of the land, They say there's a new trainer set up down the way, they say he is quite the hand. 'Round here the word of lore is not written in newspapers or passed on bills, But instead, is spoken through the pursed and wrinkled lips of ranchers who have tended to these hills. I can't help but eavesdrop as I drag my heels through the silt and sand, For one of the highest compliments given in

This one was one of my first poems, and remains one of my favourite. It was born of the idea of balance in my flag works, and how good the end result of that felt. Days spent in the pen hearing my boss say "look at your line - look where you need to be". It was inspired by a couple mares that have come into my life. Gritty, tough, hard to please, hard to earn their trust, problem children, and they've always turned out the best. A whole lotta grit in a little body I've said i

Heading into the pen in Jackson, loaded down with bridles, boots and ponies. There's a whole world at work under any arena light, The big wins, tremendous stunts, and smaller moments just out of sight. I used to revel in the 3 am texas air, Where the only souls awake were the ones that truly cared. There is much to do before the big show must go on, Some horses go to practice pens, other hand walked on the lawn, The lopers are in their morning uniforms of hoodies and tennis s

Happy Easter my lovely followers! I hope, whatever you are doing, it's a lovely day. For this Easter, and this Story Sunday, I tried a bit more humourous style of Cowboy Poetry. This time, it's from the eyes of an ol' rodeo cowboy... *** Props if you understand this photo in reference to this poem. A young Renee Zellweger. I was feeling pretty full of myself when I sauntered in to my local watering hole, I could have still drown a few cold ones, even after the rodeo road had

A conversation... how it has always been. I remember quite distinctly, the way he looked whilst standing there, The whites of his eyes showing, his wild mane - all matted hair. I was young myself, thought at the time I felt pretty old, Which was probably why I said "I'll ride him" - feeling pretty bold. She said, "you can't wear that yellow rain jacket, he'll spook and run," & in the pouring rain I took off that jacket and began to think... this wasn't looking like much fun.