Breakfast With Mama - part 47

By Kathy Johnson, Executive Director, MHP

Poco Locos

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Those are words to the wise, all about retrospection, second thoughts, and hindsight. The three minis were doing well with their liberty work. I thought it would be a funny idea to get them all working together, then add the giant Friesian, Antal Von Jorrit, called Jorrit. Jorrit was the son of the famous dressage and trick horse. He would be an awesome addition to the troupe. Cute, right? My friend Julie came up with the topper: get a photo of them together in the snow and make a Christmas card! Brilliant.

We hadn't had much snow yet, and time was running out. So, when the first good snowfall hit, I begged Tony to come out and shoot the scene. No, we hadn't practiced, but Jorrit went out every day on the other side of the fence and seemed to get along with the little guys. He round penned well by himself. All were bright fellows, and I was master trainer, so how hard could it be?

Tony took one look outside the window and came up with a hundred excuses. The sky was too gray and there wasn't enough light. The snow would fog the lens. The horses were too black against the white snow. The contrast was too great. He would never be able to get all, if any, of the horses in focus. All of which proved true, but turned out to be the least of our worries.

I enlisted my son CJ to help as he staggered in from early morning feeding. He said it best, "Mom, you're crazy."

The snow was falling a little harder than I expected. Fine. It might make a cool, artsy photo. It was definitely colder than I expected. Bitter cold, in fact. And the wind whistled at a good 30 miles per hour, not only dropping the wind-chill, but blasting snow into whiteouts where we couldn't see three feet in front of us. That proved to be the second least of our worries.

Amid much grumbling, sideways slanted looks, heavy sigh heaving, eye rolling and layer upon layer of outwear, we ventured out for the photo op. "Crazy," I kept hearing bantered between the two guys.

"Crazy like a fox," I shrugged it off. Tony always came through in adverse conditions and got some of his best work. This would so cool. It was like a well orchestrated machine. CJ waded through two feet of snow to bring Jorrit from the main barn. Rodolfo, who never rolled his eyes and never called me crazy, at least to my face, and I would catch and halter the minis. Tony just had to show up to shoot.

"No problemo," Rodolfo smiled.

Problemo. We couldn't catch a single mini. They got in a nice straight line in their pen and began trotting circles around us. They wouldn't stop, not even for grain or clicker. I competed in a greased pig contest once. This was the same. Every time we got close to a mini, they slipped through our fingers, darting this way or that, planning together evil ways to thwart our efforts. Havoc, chaos, lots of horse and human running amok. CJ, Rodolfo and I slid about in the snow, or got stuck in drifts, while the three amigos trotted merrily away.

The humans stopped to regroup. The ponies stood together, looking brightly back at us. A new game? We strategized the perfect flying wedge to block them. Stop Carlos, turn Twilight, and tackle Midnight. We attacked with renewed vigor and military precision. Rodolfo blocked, I averted, and CJ dove. The ponies vanished in a puff of snow. Nothing. When our vision cleared, they stood together at the other end of the pen, looking brightly back at us.

In the meantime, the blizzard raged. Did I mention it really was a blizzard, and I really was crazy? But, we all know that once you start to catch a horse, you can't quit until you catch him. Add to that what Tony calls my "target fixation," which is more likely a gene passed along by my Missourian parents, more commonly called Missouri mule stubborn. Surely I was smarter than the average mini. These were obviously not average minis.

Eventually, Carlos turned to CJ in desperation. "You're not crazy like that lady," the pony surely thought. Midnight and Twilight fell into line. We haltered them all and led them to Jorrit, patiently waiting in the round pen, Tony impatiently awaiting outside, anger fueled steam rising around him like the mists of Styx. And then the games began.

I'll keep this short. Jorrit, Midnight and Carlos would have been fine. But Twilight, former breeding stallion and father of Midnight, hated Jorrit, also a former breeding stallion. Twilight protected his herd at all costs. I couldn't get them in any sort of workable line, because Twilight insisted up on placing his body between Jorrit and his friends.

Twilight stood up to Jorrit. He would not back down. They went face to face, and Twilight seemed to grow and grow, like a mad Chihuahua, his attitude taking on massive proportions, backing down the mighty Friesian steed. But if Jorrit flicked an ear, Twilight went into full retreat, spinning and dashing away, trumpets blaring.

Twilight's strategic planning was far superior to mine. I understood then why we had trouble catching him in the pen. He outwitted me, and he outwitted Jorrit. If Jorrit was in front of the line, Twilight ran up from behind and attacked from the rear. Jorrit fled. Talk about David and Goliath. It was ridiculous.

If Jorrit was at the end of the line, Twilight launched the twisted tiger double barrel back kick, always missing Jorrit's ankles by a good 6 feet. Jorrit stopped dead in his tracks.

And if Jorrit stopped and tried to assess, Twilight attacked from the side. The pony was freakishly fearless. Poor Jorrit didn't stand a chance. And I, master trainer, stood even less of a chance. No amount of discipline or reward would keep Twilight from putting Jorrit in his place.

The ponies, having learned from our earlier escapade in the pen, became organized. They formed their own perfect flying wedge and attacked Jorrit en masse. The photo shows them smiling.

Finally, Twilight took his place in the center and began longeing Jorrit, who preferred that to all out attack. Somehow this seemed natural and right, as I learned my place in the pecking order.

The cold and the inevitability of the day's outcome became clear. My hard headedness, er, target fixation, began to ebb. It would never reach the depths of Twilight's hormonal post-stallion rage. Tony, who was ready to pack it in hours ago, agreed. CJ vanished instantly. Rodolfo, shaking his head, muttered something about "poca loca," I'm sure referring to the ponies.

Even the ponies agreed, shaking their heads as well, begging for their halters, and happy to be caught. The day's festivities wound down with a whimper.

 

Chapter Index - Don't Miss The Other Episodes

 

Breakfast With Mama copyright 2011, 2012, Kathy Johnson
Photos copyright 2011, 2012, Tony Johnson

 

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