The Cast of Characters ... of The 3-Bell Ranch
Oldest members to the youngest members... Here we are:
Gandalf... or Ganny
Missouri Fox Trotter Gelding, age 18
We've been together since June, 1996
My dear friend, Jim, named this horse in 1996. Ganny was just three years old at the time, and still had a lot of gray in his coat.
They say that one should choose names carefully. Poor choices include names like "Spook" or "Wildfire."
"Gandalf" was a fine choice, and the horse is much like his namesake: loyal, regal, honest, protective without being overbearing, calm under pressure, generous. He is the leader of the herd and a fine partner. Like the gray wizard, Ganny's color has become lighter and with the lightness of coat comes the wisdom of age.
They say that one should choose names carefully. Poor choices include names like "Spook" or "Wildfire."
"Gandalf" was a fine choice, and the horse is much like his namesake: loyal, regal, honest, protective without being overbearing, calm under pressure, generous. He is the leader of the herd and a fine partner. Like the gray wizard, Ganny's color has become lighter and with the lightness of coat comes the wisdom of age.
Sierra
Missouri Fox Trotter Mare, age 18 years
We've been together since June, 1996
Sierra was a fiery little horse when I met her as an unbroke 3 year old. She was small, 14.1 hands, and for years I was mighty glad this was so, for she was a handful. She was high strung and opinionated, but she lacked courage. It took a week to get Ganny going under saddle, but it took 2 years to feel somewhat safe under saddle with her. Even then, periodic melt-downs left me feeling impotent and vulnerable.
I once spoke with an animal communicator who told me that Sierra would be slow to mature, but would "come into her power" in middle age- 13 or 15 or so. And so she has.
Her greatest strengths are her compassion and ability to communicate across the species. Even in her youth, she was able to "tell" the other horses what it was I was trying to do. And she was able to tell me when I screwed up with one of the others or when another horse was in trouble. There are dozens of examples: When taking riding lessons in a barn which had stalls on the back side, she kept shying from one area. It turned out there was a colicing horse in that stall. When he was discovered, he was brought into the arena and a vet was called. When the vet arrived, they decided he needed mineral oil and they attempted to run a tube down his nose into his stomach. The horse was having none of it. But Sierra understood the intent. Standing between her and the sick horse, I felt a soft pink energy flow past me to the horses. Immediately the horse lowered its head and allowed the vet to treat it.
Another time, when I still believed that horses need shoes to go on long mountain treks, I had taken Sierra, Ganny and Ellie to the farrier. He shod Ganny. Then he shod Sierra. And when it came time for Ellie's turn, Ellie hunched up her back and pointed wary ears at the large man. He backed away. Sierra then left the grass she was eating and came to stand ten feet from Ellie. Then she made a huge show of flipping her head one way then the other, in circles, up and down all around. And in five or so seconds yawned, rolled rolled her eyes around and went to sleep. Ellie's back relaxed, her ears and eyes softened and she lifted her foot.
On and on I could go.
Sierra has one blue eye and one brown eye, which some say indicates a "spirit horse." Hummm
I once spoke with an animal communicator who told me that Sierra would be slow to mature, but would "come into her power" in middle age- 13 or 15 or so. And so she has.
Her greatest strengths are her compassion and ability to communicate across the species. Even in her youth, she was able to "tell" the other horses what it was I was trying to do. And she was able to tell me when I screwed up with one of the others or when another horse was in trouble. There are dozens of examples: When taking riding lessons in a barn which had stalls on the back side, she kept shying from one area. It turned out there was a colicing horse in that stall. When he was discovered, he was brought into the arena and a vet was called. When the vet arrived, they decided he needed mineral oil and they attempted to run a tube down his nose into his stomach. The horse was having none of it. But Sierra understood the intent. Standing between her and the sick horse, I felt a soft pink energy flow past me to the horses. Immediately the horse lowered its head and allowed the vet to treat it.
Another time, when I still believed that horses need shoes to go on long mountain treks, I had taken Sierra, Ganny and Ellie to the farrier. He shod Ganny. Then he shod Sierra. And when it came time for Ellie's turn, Ellie hunched up her back and pointed wary ears at the large man. He backed away. Sierra then left the grass she was eating and came to stand ten feet from Ellie. Then she made a huge show of flipping her head one way then the other, in circles, up and down all around. And in five or so seconds yawned, rolled rolled her eyes around and went to sleep. Ellie's back relaxed, her ears and eyes softened and she lifted her foot.
On and on I could go.
Sierra has one blue eye and one brown eye, which some say indicates a "spirit horse." Hummm
Ellie, our 3-Bell Mule
"Grade" mule, 23 years old
We've been together since May, 1997
I think Ellie has taught me more than I've taught her.
She taught me that mules and horse can and do learn from watching. Early on I discovered that if I wanted to teach her something, I'd be years ahead (and yes, I do mean 'years') if I taught the other horses the skill first and worked with her last.
Ellie taught me that mules use everything you teach them one way or another. This can be a good thing. This can be a bad thing. Regardless, it is a good thing to be aware of.
On an outing to the beach one day I taught Sierra to walk the length of a huge log that had washed ashore during a November storm. After succeeding in having Sierra walk the entire length, I "taught" Ellie the same skill. A month or so later we were trail riding. A friend who was a fairly new rider was mounted on Ellie and we were slopping along a muddy section of trail. Ellie watched as Ganny then Sierra, trudged through the quagmire. Then she spotted the log. It was nothing close to the mammoth log we'd practiced with, rather a length of about 10 feet with a diameter of 10 to 12 inches. "It'll have to suffice," Ellie mumbled, and tiptoed across the log like a tightrope walker.
I've learned that a mule will bend over backwards to work with you if he trusts and respects you. It took me 3 years to earn enough trust for her to allow me to ride her alone or at the head of a string. Eight years later I taught her to drive with only 13 ground lessons... But this was after we'd been together for 11 years. The first three years were rough. Way rough. I learned that the adage "a mule will work 30 years to get you back for one injustice" is more than likely true. But I know too that mules can and do forgive you. But not before evening the score. Ouch. That one hurt.
I've learned that mules need to save face. One does not embarrass a mule without consequence. It is very important to give them an "out" and to ere on the side of fairness on their side rather than your own.
And I've learned that mules can match a bully's strength pound for pound and that they'll win by adding a half pound on their end. They don't waste effort on hysteria or flailing revenge. They calculate everything. This can be a good thing. This can be a bad thing. Surely, it is something to be acutely aware of!
She taught me that mules and horse can and do learn from watching. Early on I discovered that if I wanted to teach her something, I'd be years ahead (and yes, I do mean 'years') if I taught the other horses the skill first and worked with her last.
Ellie taught me that mules use everything you teach them one way or another. This can be a good thing. This can be a bad thing. Regardless, it is a good thing to be aware of.
On an outing to the beach one day I taught Sierra to walk the length of a huge log that had washed ashore during a November storm. After succeeding in having Sierra walk the entire length, I "taught" Ellie the same skill. A month or so later we were trail riding. A friend who was a fairly new rider was mounted on Ellie and we were slopping along a muddy section of trail. Ellie watched as Ganny then Sierra, trudged through the quagmire. Then she spotted the log. It was nothing close to the mammoth log we'd practiced with, rather a length of about 10 feet with a diameter of 10 to 12 inches. "It'll have to suffice," Ellie mumbled, and tiptoed across the log like a tightrope walker.
I've learned that a mule will bend over backwards to work with you if he trusts and respects you. It took me 3 years to earn enough trust for her to allow me to ride her alone or at the head of a string. Eight years later I taught her to drive with only 13 ground lessons... But this was after we'd been together for 11 years. The first three years were rough. Way rough. I learned that the adage "a mule will work 30 years to get you back for one injustice" is more than likely true. But I know too that mules can and do forgive you. But not before evening the score. Ouch. That one hurt.
I've learned that mules need to save face. One does not embarrass a mule without consequence. It is very important to give them an "out" and to ere on the side of fairness on their side rather than your own.
And I've learned that mules can match a bully's strength pound for pound and that they'll win by adding a half pound on their end. They don't waste effort on hysteria or flailing revenge. They calculate everything. This can be a good thing. This can be a bad thing. Surely, it is something to be acutely aware of!
Quincy
15 year old Tennessee Walker Gelding
We've been together since June, 2001
Quincy is the kindest and most honest being I've ever known. No horse works harder to learn his lessons and do The Right Thing than Quincy.
Quincy came to me in 2001 from a million-dollar horse farm. He had the exquisite care and accommodations; but he had lived his entire life such as is the lot for stabled horses: he had his own spacious box stall and turn out area where the square footage could not have been more than 700 square feet. He had no pasture time. He spent no time with other horses.
He was content. His life was simple, and as he knew no other, he accepted it without question or longing. He had no vices. He occupied his day in a trance-like meditation that seemed void of dreams or thoughts.
And then he entered my world. No stalls. No solitary confinement. He melted down for the first two years. The first year he fled from the company of the other horses as though they were devils. The next year he decided to try another tactic and attempted to eat them all. Some time during that second year I learned to use round pen work effectively, and I found a way to connect him with being horse. One day, a month into our lessons I saw the light snap on in his head. I knew we'd had a major breakthrough.
We had. He was on his way to becoming a whole horse, a horse as horse is meant to live.
When we introduced Stormy and her new foal, Bert, to the herd, Quincy fell in love, not with Stormy, but with Bert. He followed Bert everywhere, sucking on his mane until it was a slobbery mess. Bert didn't mind Quincy's idiosyncrasies. He actually seemed to enjoy this odd duck. Quincy continued to integrate "horseness" into his character; but when Stormy had her last mule-foal, she agreed to bring Quincy up as she raised Ernie. It was fascinating to watch Stormy monitor his behavior, tolerating some things, and issuing severe reprimands for others.
When Ernie was 4 months old, I thought Quincy was balanced enough to go live with a friend on the coast. I was wrong. He went "blind" and "deaf" from the stress of being away from the security his family offered. Within a month we canceled the experiment and brought him home. He nearly cried when he got home, and for their part, the others were genuinely glad to see him. They welcomed him without requiring he reestablish his position in the pecking order.
I can't say that he'll "never" leave home again, but I cannot see him being comfortable away from Bert, Ernie, Stormy, Ganny and the rest of his horse clan. They accept him, unconditionally, and nurture the lost horse in him.
Quincy came to me in 2001 from a million-dollar horse farm. He had the exquisite care and accommodations; but he had lived his entire life such as is the lot for stabled horses: he had his own spacious box stall and turn out area where the square footage could not have been more than 700 square feet. He had no pasture time. He spent no time with other horses.
He was content. His life was simple, and as he knew no other, he accepted it without question or longing. He had no vices. He occupied his day in a trance-like meditation that seemed void of dreams or thoughts.
And then he entered my world. No stalls. No solitary confinement. He melted down for the first two years. The first year he fled from the company of the other horses as though they were devils. The next year he decided to try another tactic and attempted to eat them all. Some time during that second year I learned to use round pen work effectively, and I found a way to connect him with being horse. One day, a month into our lessons I saw the light snap on in his head. I knew we'd had a major breakthrough.
We had. He was on his way to becoming a whole horse, a horse as horse is meant to live.
When we introduced Stormy and her new foal, Bert, to the herd, Quincy fell in love, not with Stormy, but with Bert. He followed Bert everywhere, sucking on his mane until it was a slobbery mess. Bert didn't mind Quincy's idiosyncrasies. He actually seemed to enjoy this odd duck. Quincy continued to integrate "horseness" into his character; but when Stormy had her last mule-foal, she agreed to bring Quincy up as she raised Ernie. It was fascinating to watch Stormy monitor his behavior, tolerating some things, and issuing severe reprimands for others.
When Ernie was 4 months old, I thought Quincy was balanced enough to go live with a friend on the coast. I was wrong. He went "blind" and "deaf" from the stress of being away from the security his family offered. Within a month we canceled the experiment and brought him home. He nearly cried when he got home, and for their part, the others were genuinely glad to see him. They welcomed him without requiring he reestablish his position in the pecking order.
I can't say that he'll "never" leave home again, but I cannot see him being comfortable away from Bert, Ernie, Stormy, Ganny and the rest of his horse clan. They accept him, unconditionally, and nurture the lost horse in him.
Pippen
13 year old Welsh Pony
We've been together since January, 2002
What I wouldn't have done to have this pony when I was a kid! Athletic, bright, charming, playful, naughty... A spectacular pony with talent oozing from every pore, he is a delight to work with.
Pippen and I took a road trip together a few years ago. I'd just taught him to drive, and even though he was quite green, we logged miles on Yelm's inner urban trail, the Redmond inner urban trail and Bellingham's Squalicum Creek trail. He was quite remarkable.
On that trip I decided to practice my telepathic skills, so each night, before I went to sleep, I would visualize what we would be doing the next day and tell him what his role would be. Each morning, when I set out to fetch him from the guest pastures, he met me at the gate, eagerly anticipating the activity I'd outlined. It was rather remarkable.
Pippen also accompanies us on little pack excursions. He has packed us into Stehekin from Rainey Pass and tagged along on a little 45 mile trip into the Pasayten Wilderness in August of 2008. Having a mile case of ADHA, he is actually not his best in the capacity of pack pony as his curiosity gets the best of his mind and he forgets what he's doing (i.e. carrying Important Stuff). It is not uncommon to find him suddenly jumping into creeks, leaping over trees or rocks or climbing vertical hillsides.
Pippen and I took a road trip together a few years ago. I'd just taught him to drive, and even though he was quite green, we logged miles on Yelm's inner urban trail, the Redmond inner urban trail and Bellingham's Squalicum Creek trail. He was quite remarkable.
On that trip I decided to practice my telepathic skills, so each night, before I went to sleep, I would visualize what we would be doing the next day and tell him what his role would be. Each morning, when I set out to fetch him from the guest pastures, he met me at the gate, eagerly anticipating the activity I'd outlined. It was rather remarkable.
Pippen also accompanies us on little pack excursions. He has packed us into Stehekin from Rainey Pass and tagged along on a little 45 mile trip into the Pasayten Wilderness in August of 2008. Having a mile case of ADHA, he is actually not his best in the capacity of pack pony as his curiosity gets the best of his mind and he forgets what he's doing (i.e. carrying Important Stuff). It is not uncommon to find him suddenly jumping into creeks, leaping over trees or rocks or climbing vertical hillsides.
Stormy, or Gold Miner's Storm Cloud
Born in October of 2000
We've been together since June, 2006
What is it that makes Stormy unique? Few horses are born in October. but she was born on October 18, 2000, which makes her a Libra. Now whether or not one believes in the energetic "truth" of the Zodiac, uncanny "coincidences" occur. For example, from a web page, HowStuffWorks, I learned that people born on October 18 are "dynamic, spirited, and energetic. They refuse to sugarcoat their opinions to please others. They are ambitious, even a little aggressive, but they wear it well. October 18 people are not afraid to display their confidence. They have great analytical intelligence. They are self-starters who believe in taking control of their lives."
Wow! That's Stormy!
Unlike Quincy, Stormy does not strive to do the right thing because "nice lady said for Quincy to do this this way." Stormy will do it if she figures it makes sense. She's completely pragmatic. If she figures it makes no sense for her to stand tied to a post, she'll untie herself and leave. If she decides that it makes sense to stand tied to a post, she'll leave her rope tied. For the record, I have yet to tie a knot she cannot untie.
Stormy watched me training Ganny, Sierra and Ellie in preparation for our Ride to Rendezvous in 2008. She hung on every move in every lesson and between sets galloped up and down the field screaming, "I can do this! Let me show you; I can do this!" I did not have time to work with her, but I did carve out a tiny sample lesson and I was blown away when she really could do the work! Getting her under saddle in July of 2008 was a breeze. She had watched with growing anxiety, as I started work with "the A Team"-- Sierra, Ganny and Ellie. She so wanted to be part of whatever it was that was going down. She had 7 rides under her belt when we launched our 7 day, 45 mile Pasayten pack trip. Now these were not big days in terms of hours or miles, but for her it was the trip of a lifetime. She was brave, stoic, and solid during that trip. I cannot say I've trained a lot of horses: Ganny, Sierra, Pippen, Bert, Ernie, Stormy and a few other horses whose lives I touched and who touched mine, but I can say I've never met a horse like Stormy.
This web site also says "They have a tendency to grow up too early. October 18 individuals are concerned about making life less stressful for their children. With their tendency to go to extremes, they may be too protective."
Stormy was bred too early. She was 2 and a half years old when she had her first foal. I knew her four foals later. She had Bert at her side. When she entered our herd, then of only four horses, she came on like the proverbial Mother Bear. Griz that is. Pure Griz. She and Ganny went head to head and back to back for a good week before he called a conditional truce. "All right. Tell you what. The herd and I will give you a 100 foot radius around you and your foal. We don't get in your space, but you stay out of ours." She agreed. They kept the truce for ten months-- until Ernestine was born. Then she loosened up on the reins and let the others help raise the baby.
If her startling similarity to the zodiac sign of October 18 is discarded as mere coincidence, there is the possibilty that her coloration, that of the Medicine Hat horse, has influenced who she is in the world. This color pattern requires the horse have a hat (spot on the poll covering the ears), shield (spot on the chest), and blanket (spot on the rump). Web Pages, inclduding an article written by Rena Sherwood, explain that the Native Americans believed these horses had special powers of protection and intuition. I've read that they were reserved for the cheifs or medicine men.
Regardless of influence, Stormy is a powerful and unique horse. It is a pleasure and an honor to be her chosen person.
Wow! That's Stormy!
Unlike Quincy, Stormy does not strive to do the right thing because "nice lady said for Quincy to do this this way." Stormy will do it if she figures it makes sense. She's completely pragmatic. If she figures it makes no sense for her to stand tied to a post, she'll untie herself and leave. If she decides that it makes sense to stand tied to a post, she'll leave her rope tied. For the record, I have yet to tie a knot she cannot untie.
Stormy watched me training Ganny, Sierra and Ellie in preparation for our Ride to Rendezvous in 2008. She hung on every move in every lesson and between sets galloped up and down the field screaming, "I can do this! Let me show you; I can do this!" I did not have time to work with her, but I did carve out a tiny sample lesson and I was blown away when she really could do the work! Getting her under saddle in July of 2008 was a breeze. She had watched with growing anxiety, as I started work with "the A Team"-- Sierra, Ganny and Ellie. She so wanted to be part of whatever it was that was going down. She had 7 rides under her belt when we launched our 7 day, 45 mile Pasayten pack trip. Now these were not big days in terms of hours or miles, but for her it was the trip of a lifetime. She was brave, stoic, and solid during that trip. I cannot say I've trained a lot of horses: Ganny, Sierra, Pippen, Bert, Ernie, Stormy and a few other horses whose lives I touched and who touched mine, but I can say I've never met a horse like Stormy.
This web site also says "They have a tendency to grow up too early. October 18 individuals are concerned about making life less stressful for their children. With their tendency to go to extremes, they may be too protective."
Stormy was bred too early. She was 2 and a half years old when she had her first foal. I knew her four foals later. She had Bert at her side. When she entered our herd, then of only four horses, she came on like the proverbial Mother Bear. Griz that is. Pure Griz. She and Ganny went head to head and back to back for a good week before he called a conditional truce. "All right. Tell you what. The herd and I will give you a 100 foot radius around you and your foal. We don't get in your space, but you stay out of ours." She agreed. They kept the truce for ten months-- until Ernestine was born. Then she loosened up on the reins and let the others help raise the baby.
If her startling similarity to the zodiac sign of October 18 is discarded as mere coincidence, there is the possibilty that her coloration, that of the Medicine Hat horse, has influenced who she is in the world. This color pattern requires the horse have a hat (spot on the poll covering the ears), shield (spot on the chest), and blanket (spot on the rump). Web Pages, inclduding an article written by Rena Sherwood, explain that the Native Americans believed these horses had special powers of protection and intuition. I've read that they were reserved for the cheifs or medicine men.
Regardless of influence, Stormy is a powerful and unique horse. It is a pleasure and an honor to be her chosen person.
Bert
5 year old Tennessee Walker Mule
We've been together since June, 2007
Bert is Stormy's son. His sire is Lonesome. He was born on March 26 and wore a face of great wonder and excitement from the very beginning. He followed dutifully beside his mother chattering away, "MOM! Look at THAT!"
"That's a bird." Stormy would respond patiently.
"WHOA! MOM! Look at it go!"
"It's flying, dear."
"Can mules fly too, Mom?"
"No, dear. They can only run and jump."
Bad thing, putting ideas in his head.
Bert runs and jumps everywhere. That first sight of birds must have planted seeds of Great Adventure in his mind. He jumps off of banks the other horses work hard to find ways around. Ellie thinks he's reckless. She's right of course.
In spite of being a dare-devil, Bert is playful. He picked on Ellie when she came back to live with us after her sabbatical on Guemas Island. He picked and picked an picked. I'd hear her fussing, "Quit it!" and I'd set out to put him in solitary confinement for a time out. Finally he got the point. He enjoys picking on Pippen, but Pippen enjoys it just about as much. Bert's favorite playmate is his sister, Ernestine, who was born the year after he was.
Bert started under saddle this year. He was very proud of his new job. He proved to be a steady mount, save descents, when he got a little wobbly trying to figure out how to carry a rider. Next summer I'll pack him a little to give him practice without me having to worry about being banged up as he navigates through these new waters.
"That's a bird." Stormy would respond patiently.
"WHOA! MOM! Look at it go!"
"It's flying, dear."
"Can mules fly too, Mom?"
"No, dear. They can only run and jump."
Bad thing, putting ideas in his head.
Bert runs and jumps everywhere. That first sight of birds must have planted seeds of Great Adventure in his mind. He jumps off of banks the other horses work hard to find ways around. Ellie thinks he's reckless. She's right of course.
In spite of being a dare-devil, Bert is playful. He picked on Ellie when she came back to live with us after her sabbatical on Guemas Island. He picked and picked an picked. I'd hear her fussing, "Quit it!" and I'd set out to put him in solitary confinement for a time out. Finally he got the point. He enjoys picking on Pippen, but Pippen enjoys it just about as much. Bert's favorite playmate is his sister, Ernestine, who was born the year after he was.
Bert started under saddle this year. He was very proud of his new job. He proved to be a steady mount, save descents, when he got a little wobbly trying to figure out how to carry a rider. Next summer I'll pack him a little to give him practice without me having to worry about being banged up as he navigates through these new waters.
Ernestine
4 year old Tennessee Walker Mule
We've been together since the night she was born April 14, 2008
Ernestine is Bert's full sister, born one year and a month after her big brother. Like so many siblings, she is very different from her dare-devil brother. She's cautious. She is prim. From the time she was a tiny, wobbly foal, she has had a bit of a Princess Syndrome. She still stands with her front legs squared up and an expression on her face that says, "I'm Ernestine. I will take my breakfast right here, thank you."
Ernie's had a bit of a hero-worship thing going of her brother Bert until this summer when he lost a bit of credibility by planting himself in a barbed wire fence. We were on a freedom ride, in which Ernie, Bert and Quincy had been set free as Wild Subjects of the photoshoot. Bert took "wild" to heart and at the end of the ride, attempted to jump a fence when I approached him with his halter. It looked very bad, his predicament, and Ernie was aghast that her brother would be so stupidly impulsive. Now she weighs his ideas through her own cautious filter.
Still, she and brother Bert glide along like synchronized swimmers.
"Bert? Let's go herd the moos," she'll suggest and off they go, gathering up the steers, stuffing them in the round pen and putting them through their paces.
"Bert? You think we can move the round pen?"
"Sure! Put your head through the rails like this, Ernie. Then, on the count of three we'll lift and push. Ready?"
I don't know if it was that I imprinted her at birth that created such an unusual personality. She is different from any of the rest of the herd and has, among them, a sort of diplomatic immunity. Ellie did not understand this when she returned to the herd in August of 2008 when Ernie was a year and a half old. Ernie sauntered over to Ellie's hay and began to eat.
"Get out of here, Kid," Ellie growled.
"I'm Ernestine," Ernie stated innocently. "I can eat with anyone."
"Get out of here, Kid!" Ellie snarled again.
"I'm Ernestine," Ernie stated innocently. "I can eat with anyone."
Annoyed at her petulance, Ellie reached over and bit Ernie on the nose.
Ernie blinked in disbelief, stepped back sobbing, "I'm Ernestine! I can eat with anyone!"
Ganny moved in to reprimand Ellie. "Go on," he said with a nod of his head.
"The kid needs discipline!" Ellie protested as she moved off.
Sierra arrived as back up.
Ellie slunk away grumbling. "How do you expect her to amount to anything if you all spoil her. She's a little princess and no self-respecting mule's a princess.
Pippen moved in as though to complete her humiliation. "I can eat with Sierra and Ganny 'cause I didn't bite the kid."
For the record, Ellie's right. Ernie needs discipline. But that's easy to over look because she's generally well-behaved. Although it cannot be said she's easily swayed, she is a rather amicable type.
Ernie's had a bit of a hero-worship thing going of her brother Bert until this summer when he lost a bit of credibility by planting himself in a barbed wire fence. We were on a freedom ride, in which Ernie, Bert and Quincy had been set free as Wild Subjects of the photoshoot. Bert took "wild" to heart and at the end of the ride, attempted to jump a fence when I approached him with his halter. It looked very bad, his predicament, and Ernie was aghast that her brother would be so stupidly impulsive. Now she weighs his ideas through her own cautious filter.
Still, she and brother Bert glide along like synchronized swimmers.
"Bert? Let's go herd the moos," she'll suggest and off they go, gathering up the steers, stuffing them in the round pen and putting them through their paces.
"Bert? You think we can move the round pen?"
"Sure! Put your head through the rails like this, Ernie. Then, on the count of three we'll lift and push. Ready?"
I don't know if it was that I imprinted her at birth that created such an unusual personality. She is different from any of the rest of the herd and has, among them, a sort of diplomatic immunity. Ellie did not understand this when she returned to the herd in August of 2008 when Ernie was a year and a half old. Ernie sauntered over to Ellie's hay and began to eat.
"Get out of here, Kid," Ellie growled.
"I'm Ernestine," Ernie stated innocently. "I can eat with anyone."
"Get out of here, Kid!" Ellie snarled again.
"I'm Ernestine," Ernie stated innocently. "I can eat with anyone."
Annoyed at her petulance, Ellie reached over and bit Ernie on the nose.
Ernie blinked in disbelief, stepped back sobbing, "I'm Ernestine! I can eat with anyone!"
Ganny moved in to reprimand Ellie. "Go on," he said with a nod of his head.
"The kid needs discipline!" Ellie protested as she moved off.
Sierra arrived as back up.
Ellie slunk away grumbling. "How do you expect her to amount to anything if you all spoil her. She's a little princess and no self-respecting mule's a princess.
Pippen moved in as though to complete her humiliation. "I can eat with Sierra and Ganny 'cause I didn't bite the kid."
For the record, Ellie's right. Ernie needs discipline. But that's easy to over look because she's generally well-behaved. Although it cannot be said she's easily swayed, she is a rather amicable type.
Alice
... a 12 year-old Bouvier
We've been together since she was the size of Molly!
"Alice needs a job," my mom declared. And the next thing we knew, Alice had a beautiful purple cart. The first thing we did was travel around The 3-Bell Ranch picking up box load after box load after box load of spreaders, irrigation pipes, and other debris. Up and down the field we marched. It was a good job for her!
I'd never had a Bouvier before. I'd had German-bred German Shepherds. Every person I spoke to about her Bouv said, "Oh, I USED to be into Shepherds, but they just can't beat a Bouv.
I agree that she's a pretty special dog. But, like all working dogs, she cannot reach her full potential without their talents being refined. For Alice, that's herding-- a task she loves, and does quite badly, although to her credit, she has helped move the steers out of the alfalfa field when they've broken in to gorge themselves on fresh greens! Couldn't have done that without her! And we haven't had a coyote attack our animals. So we give her an A+ for herd protection too. And she's got a great sense of humor.
I'd never had a Bouvier before. I'd had German-bred German Shepherds. Every person I spoke to about her Bouv said, "Oh, I USED to be into Shepherds, but they just can't beat a Bouv.
I agree that she's a pretty special dog. But, like all working dogs, she cannot reach her full potential without their talents being refined. For Alice, that's herding-- a task she loves, and does quite badly, although to her credit, she has helped move the steers out of the alfalfa field when they've broken in to gorge themselves on fresh greens! Couldn't have done that without her! And we haven't had a coyote attack our animals. So we give her an A+ for herd protection too. And she's got a great sense of humor.
The Infamous Molly-Cule
A "purebred" Jack Russel Terrorist (with a twist of Chihuahua we suspect)
We've been together some 3 years now
(We'll bring you a better photo soon)
I've never seen SO many characters in one body ever before. One moment the delicate little lap dog who needs to be tucked into your jacket to protect against the frigid winter winds, and a nano-second later, the mighty hunter intent on killing some doomed vole then next.
Molly is one of the most intelligent dogs I've ever known. Although raised in a city-setting until she came to be part of our lives at 10 months, she took to farm life like a duck takes to water. It turns out she excels at herding as one of her many farm-skills.
One day in the fall, our three young steers decided our fences were not hot enough for them. "Molly! Get those moos!" I called and she ran out, and one by one she picked them off until they were all contained again. She kind of dropped the ball though when it came time to keep them together and drive them down into the wooden corral where all good AWOL animals find a secure jail. Her inner-terrorist side took over and she ended up on a baling twine leash.
She and Alice have decided that they are the pig-controllers. Feeding pigs can leave one feeling he has entered a war zone of live torpedoes (a.k.a. hungry pigs) who are all vying for first dibs on grub. So, we build a dining hall where we can control who eats what when. Molly and Alice guard the front gate and discourage pushy pigs prodding snouts by snapping and snarling until there is general swine compliance.
Molly is our best pig herder too. Izzy's June litter had a group of recalcitrant pigs. They treated the net fence like kids playing tag with the gool zone being everything on the pig pasture side of the fence. "Molly! Get that pig!"
I've never seen SO many characters in one body ever before. One moment the delicate little lap dog who needs to be tucked into your jacket to protect against the frigid winter winds, and a nano-second later, the mighty hunter intent on killing some doomed vole then next.
Molly is one of the most intelligent dogs I've ever known. Although raised in a city-setting until she came to be part of our lives at 10 months, she took to farm life like a duck takes to water. It turns out she excels at herding as one of her many farm-skills.
One day in the fall, our three young steers decided our fences were not hot enough for them. "Molly! Get those moos!" I called and she ran out, and one by one she picked them off until they were all contained again. She kind of dropped the ball though when it came time to keep them together and drive them down into the wooden corral where all good AWOL animals find a secure jail. Her inner-terrorist side took over and she ended up on a baling twine leash.
She and Alice have decided that they are the pig-controllers. Feeding pigs can leave one feeling he has entered a war zone of live torpedoes (a.k.a. hungry pigs) who are all vying for first dibs on grub. So, we build a dining hall where we can control who eats what when. Molly and Alice guard the front gate and discourage pushy pigs prodding snouts by snapping and snarling until there is general swine compliance.
Molly is our best pig herder too. Izzy's June litter had a group of recalcitrant pigs. They treated the net fence like kids playing tag with the gool zone being everything on the pig pasture side of the fence. "Molly! Get that pig!"
