Escape! And the pointed Picket of Discouragement.



From the barn hill, to the southwest. The first tree line across the mud borders the wheat field. The white blob on the right side of the photo is a silo on Creek Rd. The white buildings on the left of center of the photo are Winter's farm on 188.

Driving into the driveway after work yesterday afternoon, I slowed the car, opened the window against the chill and sing-songed to Mikey, pacing in his paddock " Mikey, you're okay!" but, then again, where are the other two?
I pulled in, got out of the car, and put my observant on...didn't take too much observant to notice a big black and a smaller black and white horse out in the dark mud of the west corn field. Uh oh. A bigger "uh-oh" because hitting the enormous expanse of a dirt field ( 600 acres in that one portion alone?) could mean but one thing. The overgrown and luscious grass of our yard was not attractive enough. The energy pent up in their big bodies was so huge, that the lure of food was not sufficient pull to keep their heads down and their hooves on the farm. This has not happened before. (Well, not with these two. There was the near-death incident of summer 2003 when Cashew, the Quarterhorse,  decided to go for a nice long walk in the waist- high soybeans, and I followed him into the field, nearly succumbing to fatigue and hoping for location by turkey vulture GPS. Word to the wise- don't try and walk miles through waist high soybeans). Then again, having this much rain in April, and now May, has never happened before either. At least not in recorded history. Poor devils are sick of it too.
 I dashed up to the barn and scooped some nice loud pelleted grain into the grain bucket and dashed back outside onto the easily visible barn hill to shake the grain and call the ponies. They were still relatively near, and looked up at me on the hill, even moved their shoulders back my way. I was praying for one to begin the homeward dash, bucking and kicking up heels. Nope. Peaches looked the other way and began to trot off in the mud. Oslo joined her, adding the bucking and heels bit.
Blast.
So, another dash back into the barn to grab two halters, two lead ropes. Down to the house to change into muck boots and a dash to the car to collect my cellular telephone.
And, into the mud.
As I reached the rise where they had previously stood, and gave me slight hope of return, I could now see them, at the edge of the field, cropping the weeds at the tree line dividing this field from the one south of it. But, I didn't get much closer before Peach found a way to the other side of the tree line and a wheat field, waist high in wet winter wheat. Again, I hoped they would just stay right there, but they had no intention of ending their adventure soon. They could feel me getting "closer"- like three Broadway blocks- and off they went again, down the tree line, headed west.
This complicates things. One more field west is all there is between the horses and Creek Rd. Creek Rd. is a sleepy little thing with maybe 4 houses along the entire length. It is used mostly for farm vehicles, the school bus and loose cattle- not a big threat. BUT, Creek Rd. intersects with 188- a twisty, fast country highway, right at a portion where visibility is poor, but speeds are still grand.
Without wings, I need help. Thank goodness for cellular telephones. I call Pat and Bob Shannon, farming neighbors, and friends who will likely 1) be home and 2) jump in a truck and block the road.
Then, I call home where my two eldest will have just gotten off the bus. I tell Eldest to illegally drive the minivan, and her younger sister over to Creek Rd to block the other way, and fetch me by car if I can't locate the horses on foot and need transport. Now, who else? Who else might be home and would jump into their car and go to the south of me on 188 in case the horses cut directly south? Kersi! Maybe he's home. Thank the Lord, he is, and as with all good friends, drops whatever he was doing to head out to the danger zone.
All this while still jogging, slogging through the wet at the edge, now, of the wheat field, no horses in sight. Really, it points out that it isn't as flat as it seems around here. It is relatively open (relative to anything but Nebraska), and tree less (ditto), but there are little rises and hollows that mean you can't really see everything. Also points out that being in shape is really helpful. Might want to work on that a bit more.
As I reach the northwest corner of the wheat field, still no horses, I have found tracks, big 'uns,  and follow them back south along a decent fence line towards the creek (that is now more of raging river). To the west I can see Bob and Pat's truck. To the North I can see Denty, with my precious children, driving illegally.
And, just as I see a section of previously usuable and decent fence now utterly missing to my left- I see my horses, grazing near the river. We have one field to the west, and there wait Pat and Bob, and one field to the south, and then 188. But, the river is high, and between us and 188, and will be my friend.
The wheat field and the way they came is still open, and I am coming around from behind the horses. I don't wish to send them dashing back through the wheat (I'm already feeling awful for any damage they might have incurred) and if they go back east and north, there is no one waiting to catch them- I'm still without wings, but not without friends.
So, I go north and east myself, through the waist high cold wet wheat, until I am in front of them, and they will have to go into the river, or, back to the fence line, and the dreaded gap. Or, frankly, they could wait until I am an arms length away, and just turn their powerful butts and go wherever they want.
But, I've raised them better than that.
 I feel the wet cling of my pants to my legs, the fast thumping of my worried heart and slow down, relax, be easy. As I approach, Oslo comes to me, nose poking out in welcome and inquisition "What did  you bring to the party?". Grain. Lovely. I slip on his halter, then Peaches. Now, I am about a mile from home, with two ponies, my socks fallen into the toes of my boots, blisters on the backs of my heels. Thank you, God.
I head for the wonderful gap in the fence, and the small crowd of friends now collecting in the field to the west, chatting and helpful. Pat joins me half way across the west field of mud, stick in hand to help her get unstuck. Then, Middest comes, school shoes thick with mud to collect Peaches from me. We reach the cars, and I inform Eldest that she is going to get to lead Oslo (maybe for the second time?) home through the muddy fields. For all this time, as I've been focused on these two escapees, I've also been worrying about Mikey. I'm hoping he hasn't hurt himself, or done something stupid having been completely deserted by his new herd. So, I thank my friends (words cannot be enough) and switch my boots for Eldest's white sneakers, and point Denty for home. Driving quickly over the pavement of 188, watching the progress of the two horses and two children to the North.
Mikey is in his stall, unhappy, but not particularly beside himself. I put a halter on him and take him outside to the hill where we can watch the two wayward ponies come home. I had figured out during my afternoon mud-jog, how they came to be on the other side of the fence.
There is a fence post about a foot away from the cement water trough. The gap had been bridged by an old thick plank attached to the post, but Oslo had been testing the plank by reaching his neck over the corner of the trough and pushing with his body to crop the small crescent of reachable grass. Not much can withstand the purposeful leaning of that massive weight, and the plank had sensibly moved on. This left a gap a foot wide in the fence. Not normally a problem, but with one side of the gap being only high enough to hit between horse knee and shoulder, I suspect Peaches thought it worth a test. Can one put legs through the gap, if the body leans to the right over the trough? Yep. Once freedom was obtained - a rare commodity in the swamp that is now our farm- it was not easily returned.
Another large plank is in place, and aiming sideways over the gap then, between the trough and the plank, is The Pointed Picket of Discouragement.
And, today, as the sun shines, in a most unusual manner, it will be exercise day. Somehow, some way, those horses will get to use their muscles!