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Post by rain on Jul 10, 2009 23:04:40 GMT -5
A well maintained Sundowner rolled to a halt in front of the auction house. This was its last stop had they not sold their sale stock this go 'round. The auctions a few cities over took five of the six off the breeder's hands and this stout mare was all that remained. If this sale didn't go through, she would go back to the pasture at home and waste away until the next batch of sales on their route. The driver stepped down from the flat bed Dodge, trudging his way to the rear of the trailer and disappearing through the door he swung wide. With an echoing cacophony of thuds, the spotted beast emerged and stepped off in a bit of a huff. She had been carted around enough to know she was fed up with being carted around. With a flip of her tail, she whirled around in a frenzy as he moved to close the door, pawing impatiently as he latched it shut. He jerked once on her halter, which made her stop her tantrum, but the expression on her face was definitely not a happy one. The pair made their way to an empty auction pen where the mare was deposited. The driver quickly hung a water bucket and filled it, then dumped a few coastal flakes over the railing before striding off to handle all the necessary paperwork with coggins in hand. A few minutes later, he returned and with one more trip to the truck, came back with a folder, lawn chair, and laminated info sheet which he taped to the front of the pen. Boogieland Bonanaza
7 Years Old
Dual Registered Appaloosa and Colorado Rangerbred
Varnish Roan Snowflake
Mare
Trained in Team Penning
Two colored foals on the ground
While a flashy and well made mare, Bonnie does not have the sweet nature we strive for in our breeding program. Luckily, the gentle disposition of the sires of her two foals passed that on down the line, but we would rather free up the space for a mare who better fits our breeding program. She's a fierce competitor and shows well, and is a very good mother. She even has the tendency to soften her character when she's playing "mom" and is known to parade her foals for viewing in a proud fashion.
$3,500 OBO |
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Post by jagger on Jul 12, 2009 19:10:24 GMT -5
Ichabod surveyed the pens with a dry look, unsatisfied by the animals he saw left standing in the pens. They'd been looked over for a reason - too stupid - too old - too young ... he was just ready to turn heel and leave when his eyes landed on the varnish roan. Intrigued, he made his way over, dust swirling about his paddock boots. Bonnie, eh? Attitude, eh? Mares. Snuffing slightly, the Kumeyaay-born mid-life crisis victim scratched his chin, staring at the mare with a zoned out expression. She did have a nice build to her, though. Circling the outside of the pen, he let both hands rest on the railing and bent slightly at the waist to eye her further. He could feel the heat in his pocket, that checkbook just itching to be written in.
No, no, no. Don't need a pissed off mare. Turning on his heel, he walked away from the pen and outside the auction yard gates, shuffling for his keys. He stopped dead half-way across the parking lot and sighed, staring at the large trailer he had brought with him. He already knew his mind was made up, and his inner voice - y'know, the voice of reason - was prompting him to move on and go home, come back tomorrow, keep looking. Fuck. He swore, kicking a rock ahead of him and watching it skitter across the washed pavement. He turned heel again, stomping back into the yard with a mild, grumpy air.
Approaching the driver - he assumed he was with the mare, seated in the folding chair outside her corral - he stood just before him, jean-clad legs spread slightly and hands folded across his chest. He was never good at negotiating. Nice mare. She current? He meant on vacs, of course. Whatever else would he mean?
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Post by rain on Jul 12, 2009 19:46:11 GMT -5
The driver, hands folded over his rounded belly, had let his chin dip into his second chin as he dozed in the shade. His snoring was growing louder, though thankfully the voice speaking to him outweighed the bass in his nose. Sputtering back to reality, he blinked up at the towering individual slightly invading his personal space. Coughing to clear the saliva from his fat-clogged throat, he braced his hands on his knees and grunted himself into an upright position on his feet. "Yes'sir. Paste wormed two weeks ago, trimmed last week, good for Potomac, West Nile, Rabies, Rhino, Influenza, Strangles til this time next year...yep, she's good to go. Teeth floated last month, too." As if she knew they were talking about her, Boogie meandered over to investigate the conversation with quiet curiosity.
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Post by jagger on Jul 12, 2009 20:55:06 GMT -5
K. She good for the farrier and vet? was Ichabod's only response, turning half to view the mare and still keep his eyes on the driver. She sounded fairly decent so far; but he was waiting for that "Oh, by the way, she eats babies." comment he was sure was right around the corner. He had met a few nasty mares in his day.
Shuffling over to the pen, he held the back of his hand up for the Appaloosa to sniff, keeping a distance enough away to avoid any potential teeth markers. Horse bites were no fun, and he'd learned that the hard way a few years back. And if she's not disagreeable, I'd like to see her feet and watch her move. He nodded, turning back to the driver once more.
[okay. Lame. I'm dead.]
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Post by rain on Jul 12, 2009 21:43:58 GMT -5
[ LOL Now that things are picking up, I'm no stranger to making lame posts today. No worries. ]
Making his way to the rail the mare was hanging her head over, the driver took the opportunity to rub the face that held still for the attention. Sure, she liked a rub now and then, but she had a cat's personality in the sense that she didn't always seek it out, nor was she always in the mood. A few seconds into the pet-session and she had grown tired with being touched. So, she moved only a step or two out of reach, still facing the men who were discussing her as if she wasn't there. Her tail twitched about her hocks to discourage the gathering flies, but it did little good to ward them off permanently.
Sighing, the driver knew that it was best to not waste a buyer's time by spinning a bunch fluff and stuff about a horse they'll be spending thousands of their hard-earned dollars on. So, with an exasperated huff, he delved into the truth of it all. "Most days she's good for them. She can fuss, but you give her a stern warning and she usually falls in line. She's not your pocket pony, by any stretch. But she won't take your face off when you're not looking. Can promise that much. She's just...pissy." He looked back on the mare with a quiet fondness. In truth, he liked the spunky mare, she had attitude. She wasn't one that was push-button, dead from the neck up. He could appreciate that in a horse. But, the owners had a mindset for their breeding program and he couldn't argue with that, either. She simply didn't fit the bill.
Once he was asked to move her out, the driver was more than happy to oblige. He took up the cotton lead that he had loop-hung on the railing and stepped in through the pen gate. The mare's nearest ear flicked in his direction, but she didn't move to acknowledge him. He clucked lightly to her, trying to get her to reposition as she had placed herself more or less with her head in the corner. "C'mon Boogie, gal. Move it." His voice was firm but encouraging, and he twirled a foot or two at the end of the lead as incentive. She snorted indignantly, but obliged, squirting away from her previous post and danced around to face him with a "what the hell do you want?" expression. He laughed, reading it all over her face. He worked his way to her neck, rubbing along the protruding muscle behind her poll as he clipped the snap to the bottom of her halter.
Escorting the marbled mare to the same gate he left closed behind him but not latched, he kicked it open with his foot and it slammed back with a groan on rusted hinges. Stepping out and standing off to the side, the broad mare pranced out after him and swung around to face him, as was typical with her pass-through training. Rubbing her forehead, he brought her the few steps over to Ichabod and tossed the lead over her neck with the excess hanging over her near side. He leaned his left shoulder into hers and stooped halfway just as she snapped her foot up for him immediately. Then he stood there a moment, wiggled the foot a bit, dropped it and made move down to her rear. As he did so, she snorted lightly and went to move away, but a savvy hand snaked out and yanked the lead that hung over her neck resulting in a sharp jerk to her halter. She huffed, but stood still this time as he tapped at her hock and again, she snapped the foot up in response. He pulled the leg forward and back, then let it drop before pulling on her tail in a gentle fashion. He then made his way back up her side before resting his arms and chin on the mare's back as he stared towards Ichabod. "You want me to saddle her up or just lunge her out?"
[ end tangent ]
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Post by jagger on Jul 13, 2009 12:17:09 GMT -5
Ichabod watched the display with mild interest bordering on fascination; believing what her handler said to be truth. Beauty seemed to come with a price; both in women and in horse flesh. The question clicked in his head a second after it was spoken and he shrugged, adjusting mirrored sunglasses over his dark complexion and mismatched light eyes - they always looked so oddly out of place on his squareish head, with it's commanding jaw and mop of curly hair (near an honest-to-goodness jewfro if he allowed it to grow out long enough). The Kumeyaay's weren't always an attractive race. Nah, lunge'll do. Just run her around a bit. Walk, trot, canter, both directions.
Moving to prop himself up on the bars of the wide pen, he jostled for a better vantage point. Finding one suitable, his forehead rested against the top rail and he folded his arms on the one below it, right foot propped up on the bottom railing. He didn't care much how she behaved under saddle - everything could be seen from the ground watching her move without added weight; and given his history, Ichabod was fairly confident he could handle anything the mare threw at him.. or most anything. He was no stranger to falling off and even less a stranger to breaking bones, and neither possibility scared him.
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Post by rain on Jul 13, 2009 22:39:00 GMT -5
Stepping away from the pen now, the seller tugged the now sluggish Boogie along behind him. The mare had slightly dozed in the process of having her feet handled and was less than enthusiastic about whatever was to come. There was no saddle, no bit, no promise of real work. Why hurry? She hadn't seen a cow all day, there was no sign of getting down and dirty. So she drug her feet, sending a flurry of dust up behind her as she plodded along in a nag-like manner. The man handling her paused at his trailer to steal a lungeline and swapped it for the cotton lead, then continued onward to the same location Ichabod was waiting. Boogie's ears flopped in an airplane like fashion, and if one were to snap a picture of her, it would go in veterinary textbooks as "drugged horse." In actuality, she was drugged in nature, but not physically.
Once he stood centered in the pen, he looped the line in a manner as to feed her excess easily and held the last two feet in his other hand as driving incentive. Kissing to her now, he stepped into her shoulder and spun the end of the line like a propeller(sp?) sending the mare off to about a 20' diameter circle. Boogie huffed in surprise, but quickly perked up and took off to the end of her allowance. The line was taught, but she wasn't trying to drag him off. Her ears still flopped in a straight line, jogging slower than she could walk and still dragging her feet in an attempt to kick up a dust storm. Grunting in disdain, the seller stepped forward in an aggressive manner by only a step or two, kissed, and the mare picked up the pace. Clearly she was just being a lazy ass.
To the left she jogged steadily, at times reaching for the next step and showing a decent amount of extension for a stock horse when the end of the line was twirled towards her. Finally, he tossed the end of the line out at her with a sharp "Hup!" to shove her into a lope. He didn't know this mare, he just knew what he knew. In response, the mare snaked her head towards her knees and bucked up only once in his direction as if in a "screw you, buddy" gesture, but loped out of it nonetheless. The hop had left her in a nasty resemblance of what would be a left lead lope on the fore and a right lead lope on the hind. In essence, an awful ride and ugly to look at. But, Boogie hated an awkward gait and after merely four strides at that pace, she had a talk with her ass and swapped rear leads. She now loped fluidly around him to the left, a solid topline carried as she kept her head even with her withers and hips.
After a few laps to the left, the seller tugged lightly on the line and gave short, sharp "ho," and Boogie happily obliged by dropping her ass onto her hocks and halting instantly. Her happiness was short lived though as he redirected her to the right and sent her off at a jog again. This time, her strides were active, fluid, and even and she was a tad more aware of the man working her. Ear cocked inward, it only took a step forward and a soft kiss to transition her from her active two-beat to an immediately correct and controlled three-beat. She loped fluidly around him, still taught on the line though not leaning heavily on it. Only after the third lap did she flip her tail in mild annoyance, starting to wonder what exactly was the point of this dizzying display of performance.
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Post by jagger on Jul 18, 2009 0:27:32 GMT -5
Ichabod watched the display with mild amusement. She was willing enough and she had personality; what better to ask for in an Appaloosa... those notoriously hard-headed little shitheads of a horse. He didn't dislike the breed for it; all the same, actually, he loved the challenge they presented. Holding a hand up, he called for the display to halt, sliding through the bars to approach the duo.
Reaching Boogie's side, he ran hands along her in every which way - across her back and barrel, over her croup, back to her poll; down her legs and onto her ankles and feet. He was sure to pick each foot up in succession, ducking beneath her neck to switch sides - just to see if she'd object. Lastly, he handled her face - running hands over her eyes and up onto her ears, tugging lightly on her forelock and running down the broad swath between her wideset eyes.
"I like her. I think I'll take her." He glanced over his shoulder at the handler, resting an elbow on her broad back as he propped his lanky body beside her.
[short and blah but hey whatever]
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