Jo Fanelli's blog

I let my horsemanship skills down and received a poll to my hip.
That’s right, a poll to the hip.
I was feeding my mares, Sprite and Tessa, when I startled 20-year-old Sprite by rushing by her on my way to a cocktail party.
You see, I was in a hurry to accomplish very task of equine-care I could in the shortest amount of time, so I could make it to a ‘meet and greet’ cocktail party at a convention for work. Lucky for me, it was in my hometown, and I could attend.

For the last couple of weeks I have been riding a friend's horse for him. Koko is a 10- year-old chestnut Arabian gelding. He has a quirk about trailer loading. My friend told me that if Koko refused to get into my trailer, I should take a chain, like the one at the end of a lead rope and jingle it. Then I should act like I put around his nose, but not to really put it on him, and he will get in. Well, it works every time.

I could see the thunder clouds looming over the mountain range where the Colfax Coal Rush endurance ride was to be held. As I drove closer to base camp a crackling rod of lightning struck across the sky. The radio station went off the air. I thought this is going to be a scary ride.

By morning the clouds were gone and the sky was blue. The ground was muddy, but that didn't stop us from hustling down the trail. I rode the 55-miler with Arrow. We started in the middle of the pack of about 20 riders. Just as I thought he would do, he slowed to the back of the pack when we started the climb up the first mountain. The views from the trail were endless. We could see the Tinaja Plains and the snow capped peaks of Colorado. There is a steep and narrow part of the trail called Cupcake, which was like riding in frosting because of the mud. The clouds rolled in in the afternoon and kept the sun off of us, which was really nice. It is surprising how hot it can get in the mountains. We took 12 hours to complete the ride.

Three girls riding in a row on Toro’s back. Falling like a giggling ribbon across his side. Hitting the ground with a bounce and climbing back on. I was ten. My cousins and our friends would ride our horses back and forth between our houses along the railroad tracks. Halfway between my house and my cousins’ house lived Dawn and Darlene Trokey. Robin lived next door to Dawn and Darlene.

Robin had a weedy barn sour sorrel mare. Darlene had Toro and Dawn had Go Eastern A Go Go. We called him GoGee. I can remember being at the Trokey’s house and being told that we could ride to my house on their horses if we put a saddle on GoGee. GoGee’s withers were two-feet higher than the tops of our heads. We watched as Dawn came at GoGee with a 16-inch western equitation saddle lifted over her head and then resting it on the barrel of the dappled grey gelding as he just stood there. Several times, she pushed the saddle up and it shoved the woven saddle blanket off his back. “We don’t need the blanket. Do we?”

The barn at Marigon Farms was filled with the quiet munching of hay. The setting sun turned the Western sky shades of pink, orange and blue. There were five horses and a bay yearling named Arrow safely stabled for the night. Arrow was a curious youngster, and he had discovered that Miss Lala Laroo, the oldest horse in the barn, had many stories to tell about her life. Arrow loved to hear about her adventures.

“Miss Lala Laroo, have you ever gone riding in the dark?” He asked, as he leaned on the stall door and peered down the breezeway to gaze at the darkness gathering around the barn.

I went out early this morning in a futile attempt to beat the wind. My neighbor has an American flag blowing in his front yard, and I use it as a wind meter. If the flag is just flapping, the wind is tolerable, if it is wickedly whipping, the wind will be like riding in a vacuum hose, if it is sticking straight out like it was starched the wind will take your skin off.
When I left the house at 7:30 a.m. it was barely flapping. But the wind was cold. I wore silk long johns, a long sleeve tee-shirt, a flannel shirt, and my collection of polar fleece that is a blue color coordinated combo of socks, gloves, neck sock, vest and riding tights, and over all of that I wore a heavy winter coat. My nose was cold.

There was a Bureau of Land Management wild horse auction in Albuquerque, N.M. in May 2006. I went to take some photos, and get a story on how good the wild horse adoption program was for local equestrian retailers. I didn't write the story, but I did get a horse.

I was at the auction all three days, snapping photographs and talking to some of the most interesting people. Everyone said they were looking to bring home a part of the American West.

I was asked several times if I was taking one of the kind-eyed creatures home. I said no. The horse people who taught me how to ride told me that the wild horses were sickly and crazy. I believed them.