Partners once again with the Drama Queen!
Showing posts with label Drama Queen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drama Queen. Show all posts
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Drama Queen lives!
Partners once again with the Drama Queen!
Monday, January 11, 2010
First time horse ownership, part V
Zeplin
I made my way through knee high grass and weeds and down the rutted path towards the location where I spotted Zeplin's chestnut tobiano coat. He stood still at my approach, clearly exhausted and soaked in sweat, head drooped past his knees. His blonde mane stuck in soggy clumps to a glistening wet neck. Zeplin wore a bright red, brand-new, yearling-size halter that hung loosely over his young Arab head, to which I attached the first leadrope.
The miniature gelding, Chester, appeared from the brush nearby. I caught him handily and attached a second leadrope to his small green halter. His sides heaved rapidly from exertion, but he remained upbeat and energetic.
I led both of my errant boys past my motorcycle and onto the gravel road towards home. We were about six miles away from the house. I'm not sure how long our journey lasted. Poor baby Zeplin had clearly been pushed past his endurance. He wanted to stop again and again, refusing to budge when I tugged on the lead. I realized that if I dropped the line and continued walking Chester, the colt would stand his ground for awhile, and then rush to catch up so he wouldn't be left by himself.
The sun burned brightly on my neck as we reached our yard. I offered the boys water, then put them back in their pen with a happy Eddie. Eddie brayed a welcome to his best buddy, which perked little Chester right up and added spring to his step.
I rested for a moment and contemplated my next move. Now I had to retrieve my motorcycle as well as the other three horses. I dreaded walking the distance over and over, but that seemed to be my only choice.
As I grabbed the leads and headed down the driveway again, a green Chevy truck pulled up to me. The driver rolled the window down, and I stepped up to address the white-haired gentleman behind the wheel.
"Hey, I noticed that you have horses now," the man began.
"Well, I did," I replied, my frustration creeping into my voice. "They ran off last night, and I have to go back and get the others." I gestured to the fence behind me where Zeplin, Chester, and Eddie were happily munching on hay.
"Do you need some help?" the man offered. The lady with him smiled at me as I nodded silently. "Hop in!" he replied, indicating the crew door on the passenger's side.
Gratefully, I slid into the dark leather bench seat. "My name's Dennis," the man said. He introduced his lady friend as well, but for the life of me I cannot remember her name anymore. "Do you know where they are?"
"Yes, they are in a farmer's field by the river," I answered. I directed him while he drove.
Before we reached my abandoned bike, I looked down a dirt lane between two corn fields and saw Phoenix's shiny red body. "There they are!" I pointed. "I'll walk down and grab them then we can take them home."
It took some effort to capture my reluctant mares. I only found Jazzy and Phoenix; Caly was nowhere in site. Jazzy still had very little human interaction and had not yet been halter trained. My only chance at getting the wild mare home was by catching the alpha Arabian mare first.
Phoenix played hard-to-get for awhile, trotting up and down rows of growing soybeans whenever I neared. I finally snagged her and attached the lead to her halter. Once caught she followed me willingly back down the dirt track towards the waiting truck.
Jazzy whinnied after us. She didn't want me to halter her, but she feared being left behind. I handed Dennis Phoenix's lead then softly approached Jazzy again.
Finally, Jazzy allowed me to to pull her heavy nylon halter over her face and buckle it around her poll. All fight left her, and she walked behind me quietly to where my new friends waited.
Dennis put down the tailgate of the truck and motioned for me to sit there. "We'll each hold a horse's lead and she can drive," he said, nodding towards his female companion. "If you need her to slow down, just holler at her."
The truck pulled forward slowly. I held Jazzy's lead, and felt it go taut when the vehicle moved. At first she resisted, then she gave to the pressure and began walking.
Whereas Phoenix paced briskly behind the truck, head up and ears pricked, Jazzy stumbled tiredly, dragging her feet along the gravel road. Several times, I indicated to Dennis that we were going too fast for Jazzy. Numerous times, when Jazzy slowed to the point of almost stopping, I would hop off the back of the truck and walk her by hand. Dried sweat clung to her copper-colored coat, and her flazen mane hung limply over her sagging neck.
Along the way, Dennis decided we should take a break to offer the mares water. There were only two houses along the road, but he knew the owner of one. Kevin was an area farmer who lived alone in his old white farmhouse. I learned from Dennis that Kevin had his driver's license revoked after too many DUI arrests, so now he took his combine into town for transportation.
Fortunately, Kevin was sympathetic to our needs, and I was able to offer my girls cool water from a dog bowl under the hydrant in his yard. They drank deeply, barely giving us time to refill the bowl before plunging steamy muzzles back into the water. After a few refills, we gently tugged them away from the bowl to continue our trip home.
I think it's safe to say that Jazzy was well broke to halter and lead by the time we finally reached my yard.
Phoenix and Jazzy joined the boys, burying their noses deep in the hay. Dennis and his friend gave me a lift back to my bike so I could continue my search for Caly. "Give us a call if you need anything," he told me before they left.
Jazzy
Hot, worn out and worried, I climbed back on the blue motorcycle. I compressed the clutch, grabbed the brake and pushed in the electric start button. My bike roared back to life.
To be continued...
Friday, December 18, 2009
First time horse ownership, part IV
Exhausted but determined, I hauled myself out of bed as the first rays of dawn brightened the eastern sky. I abandoned the unfortunate red Mazda in favor of my little blue motorcycle. I could travel places on my bike that I wouldn't be able to reach in the car.
In the calm glow of the morning sun, it was ridiculously easy to find the path left by my feral herd. They clung to the roads, leaving mountainous clumps of green manure wherever they passed. I ventured out on chalky gravel streets farther from my house than any previous expedition since I moved there. In some locations, the banks of the road dropped sharply into deep ditches lined by tall sullen trees. Corn and soybean fields stretched out endlessly on either side of me as I drove. Occasionally I would discover a remote house guarded by overgrown maple trees.
Alas I found them! My silly bunch of ponies had found the only other horses in our vicinity! They grazed casually in a stranger's yard, discussing mundane equine topics with the lone sorrel on the other side of a small metal corral.
My bike wasn't loud, but Phoenix started at the sound of my approach. Off she went, dashing across the road into the soybean field with her rag-tag band trailing out behind her!
I wasn't sure what to do at this point, as I hadn't thought so far ahead. How would I bring the renegades home? I had some lead ropes and halters in the tail bag on my motorcycle, but there was no way I would be able to lead them on my bike!
The herd sprinted across the beans until they reached the thick cornstalks of the next section. I had never seen any of them run before, and it certainly was a breathtaking site. Phoenix's bright copper coat gleamed against a background of leaves. Her tail flagged high in the air. Her head was held high with nostrils flared and flowing mane streaming out behind. Jazzy paced her then came Zeplin with his own proud Arab tail aloft. Poor young Caly, not quite a year old, and diminutive Chester, with his shorter legs, labored to remain with the group. I could only follow from a distance, keeping them firmly in my sites as I drove alongside the field.
The row of beans ended abruptly, and Phoenix darted up the embankment back onto the road with everyone else pursuing. I lagged behind them, trying not to panic them further. They paused, nostrils wide, coats soaked with sweat, and sides heaving from effort. I killed the engine of the bike and rested it on its kickstand. Cautiously I approached my little heathens, calling urgently and hiding a rope behind my back.
Phoenix would have none of it. She abruptly spun on her heels and crashed through a ditch into yet another bean field. Her band struggled after her, clearly winded. Phoenix darted through the plants, widening the gap between herself and her herdmates. Distressed to find herself alone, she halted and called to them. Jazzy pressed gamely onward, dropping to a brisk trot. The remaining three slowed but continued to follow their leader to the best of their abilities.
A fence divided the soybean field from the adjacent corn crop. The fence terminated at yet another corn field, but there was a several foot gap between the two fields. Phoenix vanished into the opening, and soon I lost site of the others as well. Frustrated beyond belief and fighting a huge lump in my throat, I backtracked to the nearest road heading west, the direction my ponies had disappeared.
The gravel ended and I found myself on a dirt track heading to a heavily wooded section by the Missouri River. At the edge of the woods was a barbed wire fence with a large metal gate blocking access to the remainder of the dirt path. To my right, a rutted corridor forged its way through tall grass to several machine sheds far back from the dirt track. I pulled into the path and parked my bike.
At the end of the corn row abutting the corridor I could make out the white of Zeplin's coat.
To be continued...
In the calm glow of the morning sun, it was ridiculously easy to find the path left by my feral herd. They clung to the roads, leaving mountainous clumps of green manure wherever they passed. I ventured out on chalky gravel streets farther from my house than any previous expedition since I moved there. In some locations, the banks of the road dropped sharply into deep ditches lined by tall sullen trees. Corn and soybean fields stretched out endlessly on either side of me as I drove. Occasionally I would discover a remote house guarded by overgrown maple trees.
Alas I found them! My silly bunch of ponies had found the only other horses in our vicinity! They grazed casually in a stranger's yard, discussing mundane equine topics with the lone sorrel on the other side of a small metal corral.
My bike wasn't loud, but Phoenix started at the sound of my approach. Off she went, dashing across the road into the soybean field with her rag-tag band trailing out behind her!
I wasn't sure what to do at this point, as I hadn't thought so far ahead. How would I bring the renegades home? I had some lead ropes and halters in the tail bag on my motorcycle, but there was no way I would be able to lead them on my bike!
The herd sprinted across the beans until they reached the thick cornstalks of the next section. I had never seen any of them run before, and it certainly was a breathtaking site. Phoenix's bright copper coat gleamed against a background of leaves. Her tail flagged high in the air. Her head was held high with nostrils flared and flowing mane streaming out behind. Jazzy paced her then came Zeplin with his own proud Arab tail aloft. Poor young Caly, not quite a year old, and diminutive Chester, with his shorter legs, labored to remain with the group. I could only follow from a distance, keeping them firmly in my sites as I drove alongside the field.
Phoenix running in the pasture (video still)
The row of beans ended abruptly, and Phoenix darted up the embankment back onto the road with everyone else pursuing. I lagged behind them, trying not to panic them further. They paused, nostrils wide, coats soaked with sweat, and sides heaving from effort. I killed the engine of the bike and rested it on its kickstand. Cautiously I approached my little heathens, calling urgently and hiding a rope behind my back.
Phoenix would have none of it. She abruptly spun on her heels and crashed through a ditch into yet another bean field. Her band struggled after her, clearly winded. Phoenix darted through the plants, widening the gap between herself and her herdmates. Distressed to find herself alone, she halted and called to them. Jazzy pressed gamely onward, dropping to a brisk trot. The remaining three slowed but continued to follow their leader to the best of their abilities.
A fence divided the soybean field from the adjacent corn crop. The fence terminated at yet another corn field, but there was a several foot gap between the two fields. Phoenix vanished into the opening, and soon I lost site of the others as well. Frustrated beyond belief and fighting a huge lump in my throat, I backtracked to the nearest road heading west, the direction my ponies had disappeared.
The gravel ended and I found myself on a dirt track heading to a heavily wooded section by the Missouri River. At the edge of the woods was a barbed wire fence with a large metal gate blocking access to the remainder of the dirt path. To my right, a rutted corridor forged its way through tall grass to several machine sheds far back from the dirt track. I pulled into the path and parked my bike.
At the end of the corn row abutting the corridor I could make out the white of Zeplin's coat.
To be continued...
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Drama Queen
She's had it (again)! What further indignities must she suffer under my (lack of) care? What kind of owner am I, anyways? I leave her out in the RAIN, now the SNOW!! She has to deal with GRAVEL ROADS and DUST all over her sleek body with every trip! And the animals!!! She has had turkeys roosting on her and horses pushing her over! Aaaaaaaaaaack!
This is a photo of the Drama Queen (as dubbed by my mechanic, Kevin) the weekend I picked her up from Columbus, OH (October 2006). She's a 2004 Suzuki GS500F. This was the first year the GS500s had a fairing thrown over what was a "standard" body to make them "sportier." The earlier models, GS500Es, were naked. The DQ is a brilliant blue with grey and white accents as shown. She did have a dent in the tank and some nicks in her paint and scratches on her exhaust when I purchased her.
I bought the DQ on EBay from a disinterested, well-off Japanese man who owned a nail salon with his girlfriend. They had purchased brand new matching bikes in 2005. His was blue, hers was yellow. They rarely rode them, preferring instead to drive their cages (a term used by motorcyclists). Hers had already sold prior to my bid on the DQ. The DQ had only seen 303 pampered miles.
I looked into finding a bike near me or near my family in Indiana. Columbus isn't too far from Indy, so it wasn't a huge deal to take an afternoon to venture into Ohio and load the cargo into the back of my little blue Ranger. My younger cousin Tony came with me, eager to examine my exciting investment. Yes, the DQ was an investment for me. I wanted a more efficient commuter vehicle for my 40 mile trip to work. The Ranger wasn't horrible on gas, but the expenses added up quickly.
The DQ has definitely paid for herself and then some since I brought her home on a warm October day. I've added over 21,000 miles to her odometer. We've traveled through grass, over dirt and sand, and barreled down the gravel road that fronts my yard countless times, as well as covering thousands of miles on more traditional surfaces. The first winter with her I didn't have my equine companions as of yet. She rested peacefully alone in the chilly garage, dreaming of warm spring days and miles of pavement under her tires.
Kevin helped me maintain my bike... well, mechanically at least. When she needed new tires, he ordered them for me and put them on her petite frame. Oil and filter change? No problem, right on schedule at 4000 miles (as per his recommendation). Kevin's wife used to own one of the GS500Es, and so he owned the repair manual for that particular model. Obviously there were a few differences between the bike with the fairing and the older, naked style, but none were monumental.
The first sign of her true personality and the issues to come was a slight sputter and lack of responsiveness to application of the gas late summer 2007. I'd twist the throttle as far as it would go, and she would protest and argue instead of smoothly accelerating. Driving home from work one night, I directed her onto the exit ramp for home and she choked. She cut out power completely. I frowned and guided her to the edge of the road to stop and check the gas tank (my bike doesn't have a fuel gauge). Plenty of fuel available. I managed to coax her back to life long enough to reach my house. Oh, Kevin!!
Kevin picked her up in his truck and lugged her back to his house to figure out her issue. It was a carburetor problem. Unfortunately, his quick fix didn't work and I had to return her to him shortly after with the same complaint. The temperatures plunged quickly, and Kevin didn't have time to work on her with all of his other projects. She overwintered in style and comfort with all of the Motorcycle Safety Foundation's beginner course bikes that Kevin was maintaining. I wound up taking her to a local repair shop in the spring because Kevin needed to travel quite a bit for his "real" job. He called the shop for me and received an estimate, then dropped the DQ off for repairs. All was good again until...
Returning from Indiana after an Independence Day trip, the chain rattled and clunked. Back to Kevin's for a diagnosis. She needed a new chain. The dust from living on a gravel road had eaten away at the old one, even with frequent applications of chain lube.
Over the winter she was forced to share her abode with four smelly horses. They pushed her over one day and broke a side mirror, chipping a section of windshield off in the process. Kevin ordered a new mirror and she was once again whole.
This past summer brought about the latest chapter in the ongoing saga of the Drama Queen. Normally I topped off the 5.4 gallon tank every other day. I kept the control lever on "reserve tank" so that the DQ wouldn't grumble and cut out while driving to work when the gas level dropped below the regular tank. Now she protested and lost power after a measly 83 miles on a full tank! After she repeated her performance the next day, I knew it wasn't a fluke. Oh, Keeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvvviiiiiiiiiiinnnn!!!
Kevin quickly accommodated me, coming to the rescue that very evening. He dismantled the tank and checked out her hoses. He replaced the filters for both regular and reserve tank intakes. The only thing he found was a kink in the air intake hose (or something like that, I'm not a mechanic). That was this fall, and I haven't really been able to test her since then because now her battery is going! Oh, dear, DQ, what next? I didn't want to buy a new battery until the spring, so there she sits on the sidewalk. I had the charger on the battery, but the horses disrupted it. I was unsuccessful in my last attempt to start her. She hasn't moved from her spot for almost two months now, in spite of nice riding weather. I know she's muttering to herself, deciding what she will do in her next tantrum to pay me back for the injustices she has endured at my hands.
I bought the DQ on EBay from a disinterested, well-off Japanese man who owned a nail salon with his girlfriend. They had purchased brand new matching bikes in 2005. His was blue, hers was yellow. They rarely rode them, preferring instead to drive their cages (a term used by motorcyclists). Hers had already sold prior to my bid on the DQ. The DQ had only seen 303 pampered miles.
I looked into finding a bike near me or near my family in Indiana. Columbus isn't too far from Indy, so it wasn't a huge deal to take an afternoon to venture into Ohio and load the cargo into the back of my little blue Ranger. My younger cousin Tony came with me, eager to examine my exciting investment. Yes, the DQ was an investment for me. I wanted a more efficient commuter vehicle for my 40 mile trip to work. The Ranger wasn't horrible on gas, but the expenses added up quickly.
My twin nephews, Matthew (back) and Gregory, checking out the new bike while it was still on the back of my truck.
The DQ has definitely paid for herself and then some since I brought her home on a warm October day. I've added over 21,000 miles to her odometer. We've traveled through grass, over dirt and sand, and barreled down the gravel road that fronts my yard countless times, as well as covering thousands of miles on more traditional surfaces. The first winter with her I didn't have my equine companions as of yet. She rested peacefully alone in the chilly garage, dreaming of warm spring days and miles of pavement under her tires.
My youngest nephew, Benjamin, takes his turn on the DQ
Kevin helped me maintain my bike... well, mechanically at least. When she needed new tires, he ordered them for me and put them on her petite frame. Oil and filter change? No problem, right on schedule at 4000 miles (as per his recommendation). Kevin's wife used to own one of the GS500Es, and so he owned the repair manual for that particular model. Obviously there were a few differences between the bike with the fairing and the older, naked style, but none were monumental.
My sister, Sarah, and baby Sammie
The first sign of her true personality and the issues to come was a slight sputter and lack of responsiveness to application of the gas late summer 2007. I'd twist the throttle as far as it would go, and she would protest and argue instead of smoothly accelerating. Driving home from work one night, I directed her onto the exit ramp for home and she choked. She cut out power completely. I frowned and guided her to the edge of the road to stop and check the gas tank (my bike doesn't have a fuel gauge). Plenty of fuel available. I managed to coax her back to life long enough to reach my house. Oh, Kevin!!
Kevin picked her up in his truck and lugged her back to his house to figure out her issue. It was a carburetor problem. Unfortunately, his quick fix didn't work and I had to return her to him shortly after with the same complaint. The temperatures plunged quickly, and Kevin didn't have time to work on her with all of his other projects. She overwintered in style and comfort with all of the Motorcycle Safety Foundation's beginner course bikes that Kevin was maintaining. I wound up taking her to a local repair shop in the spring because Kevin needed to travel quite a bit for his "real" job. He called the shop for me and received an estimate, then dropped the DQ off for repairs. All was good again until...
Returning from Indiana after an Independence Day trip, the chain rattled and clunked. Back to Kevin's for a diagnosis. She needed a new chain. The dust from living on a gravel road had eaten away at the old one, even with frequent applications of chain lube.
Over the winter she was forced to share her abode with four smelly horses. They pushed her over one day and broke a side mirror, chipping a section of windshield off in the process. Kevin ordered a new mirror and she was once again whole.
This past summer brought about the latest chapter in the ongoing saga of the Drama Queen. Normally I topped off the 5.4 gallon tank every other day. I kept the control lever on "reserve tank" so that the DQ wouldn't grumble and cut out while driving to work when the gas level dropped below the regular tank. Now she protested and lost power after a measly 83 miles on a full tank! After she repeated her performance the next day, I knew it wasn't a fluke. Oh, Keeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvvviiiiiiiiiiinnnn!!!
Kevin quickly accommodated me, coming to the rescue that very evening. He dismantled the tank and checked out her hoses. He replaced the filters for both regular and reserve tank intakes. The only thing he found was a kink in the air intake hose (or something like that, I'm not a mechanic). That was this fall, and I haven't really been able to test her since then because now her battery is going! Oh, dear, DQ, what next? I didn't want to buy a new battery until the spring, so there she sits on the sidewalk. I had the charger on the battery, but the horses disrupted it. I was unsuccessful in my last attempt to start her. She hasn't moved from her spot for almost two months now, in spite of nice riding weather. I know she's muttering to herself, deciding what she will do in her next tantrum to pay me back for the injustices she has endured at my hands.
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