Ravishin' Robbie and I celebrate our 38th Anniversary today!

Howdy Friends! – Ravishin' Robbie and I celebrate our 38^th Anniversary today! How Sweet It Is! How she puts up with me is a giant mystery to me … I always tell her she must have been really bad in her past life to get saddled with me in this one! We've had a wonderful adventure together now for almost 4 decades and each year she just keeps getting better. The first moment I met Robbie I was smitten, and that feeling has only strengthened over the years. I shout to the world how much I love my Robbie! ~ Gitty Up, Dutch

"Tom Named By Horse-pt 3"

Howdy Friends, 

Many of our Coffee Clutch and Facebook friends know of my novel. For some, this is the first you've heard of it. Tom Named By Horse is the first of a trilogy about Tom Named By Horse. An Historical Fiction spanning the years from 1850 to1910.  Of course it's a love story, and much more than that ... The first book tells of a young Tom, orphaned on the prairie, sold to a sadistic buffalo hunter from whom he escapes – and immediately befriends Chief Red Cloud's granddaughter. Charged with a mission by Red Cloud, Tom selects the chief's granddaughter to travel with him. And that is just the beginning .... This excerpt is the Second Chapter, and we meet Army scout Buck Hawkins, among other key characters. You can read pt1here… I hope you enjoy, and please leave your comments. Thanks!

Kessy, Saturday and me writing -

Chapter Two 

 “Yo, Buck Hawkins … General wants to see you!” Sergeant Worly scratched his white beard, as he swung up on “Old Bedlam's,” porch, the officers' quarters in Fort Laramie.

“Yea?  Have a seat Sergeant. I haven’t finished my morning coffee. Just got in two days ago from four weeks of scouting and tracking renegades and the only thing I want to ride is this lopsided old chair. Have a cup with me.” Buck pushed his feet up against a porch post, rocked his chair back and forth on its rear legs, and was quite content.

“Can’t Buck. I gotta get to the corrals and look at the new saddle stock that came in while you were out on your pleasure trip.”

“What do you know about saddle stock? The last time you sat a horse we were still a British colony.” Buck smiled wide at the Sergeant.

“I didn’t mean I was gonna ride 'em, I just gotta count 'em. General wants to know how many made it through the renegades his favorite scout told him wasn’t there.

“Well they weren’t there when I was. Because if they were, I’d of seen 'em and run them off.

“You must have just missed ’em. Because they sure gave the Lieutenant and his boys a run for their lives!”

“That's not good. Guess I'd better go see the General.” Buck bounced down the heavy plank steps of Old Bedlam. "Thanks for the warning, Sergeant."

As Buck approached the General’s office, he was a little surprised to find him on the porch.  “Morning Buck,” the General didn't bother to stand.

“Morning, General Sturgis, and a fine morning this is!” Buck tried to set the mood with his wide grin.
“Not if you have to answer to Washington for raided settlements, and missing horses. Buck what can you tell me?”

“Well, we have Arapaho to our East. Sioux and Cheyenne to our South, and renegades and outlaws to our North and West. Go more than twenty miles in any direction, and you'd better have a fast horse.”  Buck took a seat on the rail facing the General.

Buck was a good looking young man and liked to dress in deerskin pants with fringes down the outer seam, and leather moccasin boots. He always wore army issue blue blouses and a dark leather vest. When he walked across the parade, any officer’s wives that happened to be about would surely watch. His sparkling green eyes could pierce a man through when angered, and melt any woman he turned his soft gaze upon. It had been gossiped that Lieutenant Harris’ wife had openly expressed desire for the man, causing a rift to exist between the two men. Although for Buck’s part, it was simply a way to torment a man he considered a good friend

“I need to know where Hooker’s camp town is. There has been a report they raided another settlement near Little Bear Creek and killed three men and stole the livestock. I have dispatched four men to guard the settlement, but we need to do away with the whole bunch. They cause more trouble then the Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Sioux combined. I want you to leave now and find where they hide like snakes in the grass. I want to know their numbers. Buck I want this over.”

“Numbers I can give you now. They have close to fifty, mostly lazy outlaws, and drifters, but they have begun to attract renegade Indians. They say that a renegade Sioux called, Tall Dog, is sending word to all Arapaho, Cheyenne and Sioux villages to join him with Hooker.”

“Well the Sioux and Cheyenne are fighting each other.”

“Not when they can fight you,” Buck pointed his finger at the General.

*********

The old buffalo hunter guided his wagon horses carefully through the narrow pass that led up the last steep grade. His wagon was loaded with the results of a successful hunt. Not just for hides, but whiskey, and guns too, that he could sell to the band of outlaws and renegade Indians. He stopped the wagon in the center of the camp.

The camp had grown into a small town since the old man had last visited. Shacks of board and canvas numbered over twenty, and now there were even women in the camp. “Where’s Hooker?”  Bellowed the hider.

A crowd of mildly interested ruffians gathered around the wagon

“What have you got for me this time, old timer?”  Hooker walked around the wagon pushing the curious aside and trying hard not to get mud on his fancy boots.

“Whiskey for everybody, hides for the Injuns, and ten of these new Henry repeaters. For anybody with gold coins.” The boastful old hider flipped back some skins to reveal a wooden crate.

Hooker ripped the top from the crate and stared at the neatly packed rifles.

“Yeah,” the hider said. “I followed the sutler coming from Fort Laramie after he met with the Army buyer there. I knew he had these rifles along. I got’im talking after a little whiskey. One of them fancy gents thinking he would get rich quick sellin’ rifles to the Army. Fool was too new from the East. Come here representin’ a big Army contract for these new repeaters. So I moved ahead about twenty miles, and when he came over the rise I, well you can just say I put him outa the repeater business and put me right in it. I took these here Henrys and six hundred dollars in gold coins he had on him … There’s gonna be a big shipment moving from Fort Kearney to Fort Laramie, in a few weeks.”

“That, you old cuss, is worth a drink!” Hooker slapped the hider on the back and led the way to the makeshift canvas saloon. Hooker and the old hider settled at a small table in the corner.

“I can tell you this,” the hider held his voice low. “You need more men than you have now. The wagons with the rifles leave Fort Kearney with a cavalry escort of fifty troopers. They’re expected in Fort Laramie by the end of October.”

“Tall Dog will find us more. They’re scattered all over the prairie just waitin’ to kill U.S. soldiers. He can gather fifty in a week. Those renegade Sioux and Cheyenne will follow him anywhere. Almost every day another handful leaves Red Cloud, and wander into the village Tall Dog started just north of here.  What day do the wagons leave Fort Kearney?”

“To get to Fort Laramie on time, they need to get started in a week or two. That many men, horses and wagons, it’ll take those soldier boys a good two weeks to make the trip.”

“What other supplies are coming along?” Hooker’s eyes held an evil glow.   

“You’ll be able to outfit all your men with brand new U.S. Troopers clothes!” The hider wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smiled at Hooker.
“Troopers clothes? New Henry repeaters and new clothes!" Hooker scratched his cheek. "Ha, we’ll have our own army. You get back to the fort and find out when they’re leaving Fort Kearney, and get back here.”

******** 

 I'll be going publishing in a few motnths and am editing now. I hope you enjoyed this look into "Tom Named By Horse" – Please share your comments. I'll continue to share excerpts from time to time as I edit and polish ….  

To Read Pt 4 CLICK HERE  

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Ride Through The Rough Patches"

Howdy Folks,

He stopped under the oak on his way to the barn, looked out to his mare, and whistled. She raised her head, then after a pause, came to his side. Draping his arm over her neck he let her bear his weight. They stood a moment, him leaning on her, she accepting the weight. She was a good mare, always seemed to know when to corral her attitude and just be a friend. She did that today.

Rough patches are a part of life. Someone once said it's the rough patches that make the rest of life shine. Rough patches come sometimes out of the blue. Other times a body can see them coming, but when they get here they're just as rough as any other kind. Losing a friend, sometimes you can see that coming, and he had, for a while now. But now that it happened the time hadn't really done much to ready his heart for the heaviness. Walking back from the grave was when the real finality set in.

Not much to do about it. Just have to move on, get along with things, they say. Recently there had been too many, losing friends, rough patches. They all feel the same, so dammed final. Some friends are closer than others, and those make the widest rough patch. This was a wide one.

Without lifting his arm, he started for the barn. The mare knew to follow. Holding her head low she took his weight and stopped when he did, at the tack door. He wasn't much in the mood for all the preliminaries, so he brushed only where the blanket fit, slid on her halter, tossed up the saddle and swung right up in the barn, then rode out the door. His dog trotted behind.

He didn't ask for anything, just a slow steady walk, hadn't even bothered with reins, today just the rope would do. His mare knew what to do. She knew the trails. He could just sit, think about their old friend and ride through the rough patch.

His plan was to let his mare do the heavy lifting, he would simply sit and think. Part of the strategy of riding through a rough patch was doing nothing. Let the horse do the work while he contemplated then, as the familiar gait softened his hard heart, he could begin to see the beauty in the world around them. The mare knew her duty, accepted it and without a single misstep did it. 

The sun warmed their backs as they moved slowly along the wooded trail. Before long he realized there were a great many butterflies about that spring afternoon. The mare walked softly onward, and before he realized it he found himself looking for butterflies. They were everywhere, on the wildflowers, the tree branches, the greening grass, even the mud along the trail. He lost count in the thirties.

Watching butterflies he decided to hunt wildflowers too. The best place for wildflowers was a small ravine by the big stream, but that meant a mighty steep decline. It was this time last year they were searching for the same wildflowers and he knew his mare would remember the tricky path, and she did.

Their walk, with a little slide mixed in, was rewarded with a grand bouquet of wild flowers. Some dozen varieties grow in this little lost haven, some in bloom, some not quite ready yet, but all splendid. It was here they enjoyed the best bird watching of the rough patch ride too. By now his heart was a little lighter, and it was time to head back. First they had that steep hill to negotiate, and his mare took it in stride, as was her duty this day.

Back on the safe trail though, something must have told her he'd shed some of his heavy heart, and she decided she'd earned a bit of a heel kicking romp. She tested his resolve with a quick head tossing flatwalk, then without waiting for a cue, or permission, shifted seamlessly to a slow canter. Her silliness painted his first smile on his face. He wondered after the initial crowhop if she was truly trying to make him laugh, which he did, or just flat being naughty. He thought reins would be nice right about now … Then let go a hearty laugh and turned her loose.

When life plants rough patches in your way, lean on a friend and ride right through it.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Tigger, A Dear Friend"

Howdy Folks,

 

We lost a dear friend and avid Coffee Clutcher yesterday ... Our sweet little Tigger crossed the rainbow bridge to frolic with her pal Sweetness.

 

Tigger and Sweetness loved laying on our bed together ...

Tigger loved the Coffee Clutch! Most mornings she'd beat me to the barn and either march about telling me it's time to sit with Kessy, or hop into my chair ahead of me and anxiously demand, with her squeaky meow, I sit. Once I'd settled she'd curl up tight on my lap. Only the coldest mornings found her unwilling to join us for our morning routine … For about the past month she'd been too weak to be part of the Coffee Clutch most mornings, then last week she began scarcely leaving the house. She did wander out on the warmest afternoons to lay with Kessy at her hay, she loved doing that, and Kessy loved it too.

Tigger was a Charter Member of The Coffee Clutch ...

Our daughter, Abbie, found Tigger roaming the streets of State College, PA a few days before graduating Penn State in '98. Knowing the tiny kitten had nowhere to go, she brought her along home. Abbie moved on to her first big gig pretty quickly, Tigger stayed with Ravishin' Robbie and me. I named her Tigger, because we almost always name our cats after Winnie The Pooh … and because she surely could bounce! And if you're a Pooh fan too, you know, "That's what Tiggers do!"

Ravishin' Robbie and Tigger were particularly close, and for many years Tigger seemed glued to her. Didn't matter much what Robbie was doing, Tigger would be there snuggling and supervising, either laying on her keyboard in the office, or on her kneepad in the garden. Ravishin' Robbie loves her walks in the woods, and Tigger never missed one of them. Some days they'd be gone for hours.

Over the years Tigger helped welcome and make feel at home several cats, dogs and horses. Her best friend for over ten years was Sweetness; who also came to us homeless. To some degree Sweetness stole Tigger from Robbie! Those two ate together, slept together and surely roamed the world together. Sometimes watching Tigger and Sweetness trot off into the woods made me think of the movie, "Homeward Bound." … The day we laid Sweetness to rest, Tigger came and sat with us as we wept.

Saturday and Tigger sunning together - just outside of this picture is Kessy, sunning with them ..

Tigger, like Saturday, adopted Kessy too. The three of them made quite the "2 acre wood roaming team." And Tigger not only loved our Coffee Clutch, but loved hanging out with Kessy. She'd lie on Kessy's hay inviting Kessy to eat around her. She'd rub on Kessy's face as Kessy munched her hay, and rub on her legs too. That bond got increasingly tight after Sweetness crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year. If we wanted to find Tigger, we looked for Kessy!

Kessy and Tigger taking in the sun together ...

Tigger loved evening TV time as much as I do, too. But for this Ravishin' Robbie was her first choice – whenever Robbie sat still enough for Tigger to settle in ... You know Robbie, always doing something!

 

Tigger always had a flare for adventure ... Here we are, (a lot of years ago,) when Tigger was first learning to ride, River, my strawberry roan TWH, who carried me the last years of my endurance riding adventures. Tigger did manage to master the saddle seat on the lunge line. I thought she sat River better than me!

We laid Tigger with Sweetness last evening, together they will romp the fields and woods again.

Ah, Tigger, you've been a great friend, brought us many smiles, warm laps – and leave us with sad hearts, but buckets of memories, too. Kessy will think of you as she munches hay and basks in the sun. Saturday and Miss Kitty will do their best to fill in taking care of Kessy and managing Coffee Clutch … Robbie will miss your gardening advice and walks ... It will be a long time before Coffee Clutch feels normal again ... Bless you, Tigger and say howdy to Sweetness for us.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"The Last Wild Horse In America Died Today - Feature Friday"

Howdy Folks,

We looked up and they were no more … Just as this year the Black Rhino in Africa was poached to wild extinction, our own Federal Government will, with reckless abandon and determination, do the same for America's wild horses.

Proud horses, families and bands yanked apart and driven mercilessly by helicopter and other violent means, to greatly overcrowded corrals where they stand, broken hearted and bewildered, awaiting their uncertain future ... Often that future is years in those filthy, overcrowded corrals while their health and spirits deteriorate. Their future dims. 

Accustomed to wide open spaces to run and live free, suddenly they have a mere few square feet in those concentration camps, with little or no protection from driving snow, or blistering heat, and too often a gross shortage of water to drink. Out of reach are their familiar sheltering valleys and watering holes. Hooves that are used to traveling tens of miles a day grow long with neglect … confused foals try to understand. Confined band leaders search for their families. Fights occur regularly because separation is not possible. Crowded as they are, sickness is a constant.

Once the wild horse was one of our proudest and most magnificent symbols of the great American Spirit. Even the United States Congress declared it to be true in 1971 when they recognized them as, "Living symbols of the historic and pioneer spirit of the West, which continue to contribute to the diversity of life forms within the Nation and enrich the lives of the American people." Today that same Congress considers them, "Feral nuisances" that need to be gathered and removed, often sent to slaughter.

Shallow, transparent excuses like, "overgrazing, and land management," are the most sited excuses for this race to annihilation. In many cases cattle and sheep roaming those BLM managed grasslands outnumber the horses 100 to 1 ... Causes one to wonder who's actually doing the over grazing.

Many wonderful and concerned folks have been working hard and politely to defend and protect our wild horses. I've written about some of those fine people. Thousands more have contributed donations to help those folks defend the noble wild horses. In response those government employees and departments, "charged with managing millions upon millions of acres grazing rights and other management practices," continues to run hell-bent toward the extinction of our wild horses, in a most disgusting, brutal and underhanded way.

BLM helicopter running terrified horses through barbed wire fence

On any given day there are over 30,000 wild horses in Bureau of Land Management (BLM) long term holding pens, and another 11,000 in temporary holding pens. These 40,000 wild horses, burros and Mustangs outnumber those running free today; the BLM estimates the number of still wild horses at about 20,000. A number so low it virtually guarantees extinction. Many of the herds now clinging to freedom are too small to continue viable genetic bases. The BLM does not own the wild horses, they are charged with managing the grasslands. The American people own the wild horses.

From Laura Leigh founder Wild Horse Education - "Very little of what happens to our wild horses and burros on public land actually has to do with wild horses and burros. Livestock interests and extractive industry drive our public land policy. In the 12% of public land occupied by our last American herds it is no different. If we are not careful the industrialization of public land will not only change the physical landscape, but will extinguish our American spirit in the form of the wild horse." 

I weep in fretful fear of the day headlines scream, "The Last Wild Horse In America Died Today."

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry 

Photos courtesy of Laura Leigh and Wild Horse Education -