Saturday, August 21, 2010
Texas
Texas was amazing and very very hot! It was fun seeing the Extreme Mustang Makeover and the Mutt Makeover. I took some pictures and am working on getting them on. Our computer has a virus and isn't cooperating so I'll updating this when I can. My Mustang is making great progress... I will be selling him soon. :) I promise pictures will come.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Mustang
We have hit a break through!!! I am now able to touch and catch my mustang as of yesterday!!! Today I have already been out and worked him and he did so well. I am so happy!!! Here is the photographic evidence. Ha Ha.
Camp
I am now going to Texas to be a camp counselor for the AMHF. I am so excited. We get to fly down and everything. We are leaving on Thursday and upon my return I will post pictures.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Mustangs
I am working on a name for my mustang... We are still working with them every day. I can now pet him. I'm striving to build trust with him. He is more skittish and guarded than the other mustangs we picked up so it is taking longer to get him comfortable with me.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Mustang
Day two. We roped him and I was almost able to touch him. I was unable to take off his tag. But he is making great progress.
Also note he is also cleaner, we hosed him down this day and thank heavens he didn't roll. 
Mustangs
Day one working my Mustang. As you can see, he is very very dirty. We were unable to touch him and are working really hard to build trust.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Mustangs
We picked up our mustangs the other day. It was a blast and tons of fun picking which one we wanted. My mom adopted a red roan. I will be posting pictures soon.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Mustangs
We are going next week to get our mustangs. Randi contacted me this week and let me know that I can do what Heidi is doing too and make even more money off this mustang. Woot! I am realizing that it takes a lot to run a buisness. Thats all for now.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Trooper
This is Trooper and me. Yes, he is wearing his new hackamore. We are still working on it but he is doing beautifully. :) And yes I ride him bare back in that outfit... don't make fun.
Trooper
This is Trooper my mustang that I got and trained last fall for the Extreme Mustang Makeover. Woot!! I love him. In these pictures he just got his second bath... I had a heck of a time stopping him from rolling. But alas he is still clean.
Mustangs
Ok so the road is still being fixed and the BLM called us and said we can get our mustangs anytime next week. I'm so excited. I am now doing the American Mustang Representative II!!! Woot!! Now lets see who is all reading my blog... I need a good name for my Business, aka horse training. I am open to suggestions so let me know and please let it me appropriate.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Mustang Update...
Still working on getting our trailer fixed... and the road to the BLM holding pens is apparently being redone... so I continue to wait pationately...
:)
Meanwhile, I have found a facinating new way to work with horses, mustangs in particular. I am very interested. It is called Horse Tenders. Here is their website: http://www.horsetenders.com/
I have e-mailed them and am awaiting a reply.
:)
Meanwhile, I have found a facinating new way to work with horses, mustangs in particular. I am very interested. It is called Horse Tenders. Here is their website: http://www.horsetenders.com/
I have e-mailed them and am awaiting a reply.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Mustangs
This summer I will be participating in the TIP Program through the Mustang Heritage Center. I am elated that I am able to do this. I will be picking up my mustang some time between this week and next, our trailer is being fixed right now. I will be posting weekly on this and will also use my blog as a journal to keep track of my mustangs' progress. Cya.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Summary/ Response Paper Enlish 1010
Annaka Heaton
4th hour
Summary/Response Paper
19 Mar. 2010
Audience: Unsuspecting Readers
Cowboy Tough
Unsmiling he stares at the reader from his place on the page of this “Ariat” advertisement published in the December 2008 Western Horseman magazine. His face: appears impassive, splattered with mud, covered in light stubble. His stance: unyielding. Draped across one shoulder, a thick braided lead rope, his right hand gripping it, sporting the medical tape upon his hand. His left shoulder supports a bucking cinch of a saddle; his hand rests on the back of the seat. His clothes, a basic black and white plaid western shirt with the words “Pro Rodeo” on the collar and traveling down the arm, completed with a safety vest. His jean clad legs enclosed by dark leather chaps. His whole persona contains a shadowy gray look
His gear allows for the reader to clearly read the “Ariat” brand on the vest. A white cowboy hat dons his head. The background, black, consists a glimpse of a fence fading into it on both sides. He consumes most of the page standing slightly off to his right. The words, in white bold print, quote Bradley Harter, “A partially collapsed lung is nothing. All I need is 8 seconds of air.” His profession, also stated, in smaller print under his name reads, “Saddle Bronc.”
The bottom right of the page consists of the “Ariat” brand with the words “Official boot of the Wrangler ProRodeo Tour”. The top right of the ad the reader finds dominated by the “Ariat” brand again with the words “Bring It” below. . The “Ariat” brand came into the world in 1990; “Ariat” sells its products around the world in over 4,000 retail outlets. They also sponsor over 10,000 local, regional and national events as well as hundreds of athletes.
He embodies raw masculinity to the letter. This advertisement uses many different angles to convey that the reader needs to buy this brand. The color contrast and the use of an athlete both aid in making this advertisement effective.
With the whole background consumed by dramatic black with a shadowy picture of Bradley Harter as its focus, the words, in contrast, printed in a very bold font in white. This causes them to stand out while still complimenting Harter. The reader’s eyes dart towards first the picture then to the bold print, planting in them a curiosity to find out the name of this rugged cowboy along with an explanation as to why his facial expression resembles one of impassive dominance. As the reader seeks the answer, their eyes focus on the finer print and discover the identity of the cowboy, Bradley Harter, his profession, Saddle Bronc. The reader next wonders the motive of this ad appearing in the magazine and the bold white print of “Ariat” screams at them from the top right corner. What better colors to use than black and white to contrast each other and draw the eye? Gold, the only color other than the black and white in this ad, the color of the Ariat brand appears at the; top right, middle left, and bottom right. The lack of color variation draws the reader to this page; the magazine on a whole consists of many colorful pages. The lack of color on his face further causes him to appear fearless and commanding.
Ariat’s use of an athlete furthers this ad’s appeal. Ariat uses Bronc riding, widely known as a very dangerous sport, to get the point across that the most trying sports demand the best of the best: “Ariat”. The quote, “A partially collapsed lung is nothing. All I need is 8 seconds of air,” shows the strength and fearlessness in Harter. It gives the illusion that only the strongest and toughest become Bronc Riders and they wear Ariat. The ad makes sure the reader knows the importance of Harter by showing him in a shirt that contains the words, “Pro Rodeo”.
The overall message tells the reader to buy Ariat brand by use of color, and athletic appeal combines to make this ad very appealing to readers. Whoever buys this brand achieves masculinity and toughness, personified through Bradley Harter, a professional Saddle Bronc Rider.
4th hour
Summary/Response Paper
19 Mar. 2010
Audience: Unsuspecting Readers
Cowboy Tough
Unsmiling he stares at the reader from his place on the page of this “Ariat” advertisement published in the December 2008 Western Horseman magazine. His face: appears impassive, splattered with mud, covered in light stubble. His stance: unyielding. Draped across one shoulder, a thick braided lead rope, his right hand gripping it, sporting the medical tape upon his hand. His left shoulder supports a bucking cinch of a saddle; his hand rests on the back of the seat. His clothes, a basic black and white plaid western shirt with the words “Pro Rodeo” on the collar and traveling down the arm, completed with a safety vest. His jean clad legs enclosed by dark leather chaps. His whole persona contains a shadowy gray look
His gear allows for the reader to clearly read the “Ariat” brand on the vest. A white cowboy hat dons his head. The background, black, consists a glimpse of a fence fading into it on both sides. He consumes most of the page standing slightly off to his right. The words, in white bold print, quote Bradley Harter, “A partially collapsed lung is nothing. All I need is 8 seconds of air.” His profession, also stated, in smaller print under his name reads, “Saddle Bronc.”
The bottom right of the page consists of the “Ariat” brand with the words “Official boot of the Wrangler ProRodeo Tour”. The top right of the ad the reader finds dominated by the “Ariat” brand again with the words “Bring It” below. . The “Ariat” brand came into the world in 1990; “Ariat” sells its products around the world in over 4,000 retail outlets. They also sponsor over 10,000 local, regional and national events as well as hundreds of athletes.
He embodies raw masculinity to the letter. This advertisement uses many different angles to convey that the reader needs to buy this brand. The color contrast and the use of an athlete both aid in making this advertisement effective.
With the whole background consumed by dramatic black with a shadowy picture of Bradley Harter as its focus, the words, in contrast, printed in a very bold font in white. This causes them to stand out while still complimenting Harter. The reader’s eyes dart towards first the picture then to the bold print, planting in them a curiosity to find out the name of this rugged cowboy along with an explanation as to why his facial expression resembles one of impassive dominance. As the reader seeks the answer, their eyes focus on the finer print and discover the identity of the cowboy, Bradley Harter, his profession, Saddle Bronc. The reader next wonders the motive of this ad appearing in the magazine and the bold white print of “Ariat” screams at them from the top right corner. What better colors to use than black and white to contrast each other and draw the eye? Gold, the only color other than the black and white in this ad, the color of the Ariat brand appears at the; top right, middle left, and bottom right. The lack of color variation draws the reader to this page; the magazine on a whole consists of many colorful pages. The lack of color on his face further causes him to appear fearless and commanding.
Ariat’s use of an athlete furthers this ad’s appeal. Ariat uses Bronc riding, widely known as a very dangerous sport, to get the point across that the most trying sports demand the best of the best: “Ariat”. The quote, “A partially collapsed lung is nothing. All I need is 8 seconds of air,” shows the strength and fearlessness in Harter. It gives the illusion that only the strongest and toughest become Bronc Riders and they wear Ariat. The ad makes sure the reader knows the importance of Harter by showing him in a shirt that contains the words, “Pro Rodeo”.
The overall message tells the reader to buy Ariat brand by use of color, and athletic appeal combines to make this ad very appealing to readers. Whoever buys this brand achieves masculinity and toughness, personified through Bradley Harter, a professional Saddle Bronc Rider.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Trooper- Shorter version for class
“Okay… Just breathe deep… I’ll do fine…” my internal voice tries to sound convincing yet fails miserably. I nervously fidget with the reins in my clammy hands, readjusting my grip yet again. Trooper, my horse, prances and shifts weight under me, feeding off my anxiety. I reach a shaky hand down to stroke his strong neck reassuringly; hoping one of us stays calm.
We both jump as the announcer calls the next number. I entertain the idea of allowing him to bolt and run away with me, a perfect excuse to not go into the arena. With a decisive breath, I resign to staying put. Trooper’s wall of fear, blocks my decision from sinking into him and he jumps to the side in fright. I jerk to the side, and quickly turn his head to gain control over my apprehensive horse. I rub his neck again as soon as he stops dancing. He snorts in objection and looks around wide eyed and fearful unsure of his surroundings.
I look over to my dad as he rides his mustang, Ringo, towards me. Trooper, seeing Ringo, perks up and calls to him, seeking the same comfort I feel in the presence of my dad.
Why do I have to go before him? I silently curse the random selection. Thinking of random selection, I’m so glad they randomly chose Trooper for me. What where the chances of them selecting the mustang with the perfect demeanor for me. Only with him could I come as far as I have.
Only 95 days to train a wild mustang, a very daunting task to say the least. The plan: round up the wild mustangs, distribute them to qualifying trainers, allow them 95 days to take the mustang home, and train it. To show the effectiveness of this program, a required show then takes place to permit the trainers the opportunity to show off their mustang, and the trainer’s ability. The end brings an auction, giving the bystanders and trainers the chance to bid on their favorite mustangs.
The thought of the auction churns my empty stomach. I spent the whole night vacating its contents into the hotel room’s plastic-lined ice bucket; my gratitude for that fact grew as another flip-flop made it-self known. I want to buy Trooper. With my limited purse, the chances of that slim down with my mere $600. Mentally prepared for disappointment; I resign myself to expecting the worse and hoping for the best. I send up another prayer, hoping his bid falls within my price range. During this fervent plea I ask for divine intervention to prevent the show from occurring, or at least my ability to not faint or puke to continue.
My dad moving up beside me arrests my attention from my tangent of thought. He reaches over and grasps my trembling hand, squeezing it reassuringly. I attempt a weak smile, feeling it fall short. “We’ll do great. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done with your horse,” he grins.
“Thanks,” I manage to force out. My trembling ceases and I take a deep breath.
The moment he releases my hand doubt comes flooding back. Glancing over I see the two rodeo queens, decked out in all their sparkles and shimmering outfits. Although I despise sparkles and sequins, my mind, unable to help but see how they look the part, adds this fact on to my already monstrous pile of self-doubt. They move their horses around and I see how showy and confident they look. I gulp down my insecurities and turn my gaze back to the arena and obstacle course.
Worry for Trooper seeps into my mind. The thought of just him and me alone in front of hundreds of people not to mention a few judges, watching and analyzing our every move, adds to my dread. No pressure. I, the youngest contestant, therefore, own the least experience out of all the participants. With no experience with 4-H or rodeo, my dread intensifies at this ominous trial. I, barley 18, almost missed qualify to take part in this fall’s Extreme Mustang Makeover on account of my age.
The contestant before me now leaves the arena by means of the gates on the opposing end. My turn; all thoughts vacate my mind as I freeze in terror. No coherent notion enters my awareness. I sit here, my face frozen in blank horror, as the ushers’ wave me over to enter the arena. My body, petrified with fear, refuses to respond. I feel the adrenalin rushing through my body, causing my head to pound in time with my overactive heart beat. Trooper, impatiently pounding the ground with one forefoot, jars me out of my fear-induced, immobile state-of-being. With one last fleeting glance for support at my dad, I gingerly nudge Trooper forward with my heels.
As we progress through the gate leading into the arena, I push down my suffocating fear and tentatively coax Trooper towards the first obstacle. They really went all out this year. I pondered how many truck loads of dirt it took for the landscape architect to design the ‘Mountains’ theme. The crowd distracts me to the point that I jolt as Trooper shies away from the first bridge crossing. I quickly reach down and stroke his tense neck in a vain attempt to calm him. I make an unconscious decision right there to ignore the crowd and focus all my energy on Trooper and our objective. We struggle through the course, me calmly trying to ease him over and around the different obstacles, and him refusing to budge. His mind clouded with fear of the unknown and unfamiliar, causes his body to tense.
I find out, the humiliating way, that the course owns a time limit, the announcer booms over the intercom, “Two minutes remaining.” I’m not even half way through the course. Trooper simply refuses to cross the first bridge and I dismount and walk through some of the obstacles. We struggle and finally cross the second without me gracing the ground with my feet upon it. As we finish, with the cow acting surprisingly cooperative, and my appreciation for the bond we established these last week’s grows. We finish with seconds to spare and as I escort him out of the arena he spooks, jumping to the right causing the saddle to slip to the ground, me having loosed it for the health inspector to examine Trooper.
The course behind me now, my focus brakes and the previous fear that hounded me creeps back this time paired with the relief of the end. I pick up my heavy saddle, talking quietly to Trooper to calm him and with head bowed in humiliation slink out of the arena.
“It’s over,” I whisper to Trooper and myself as I inhale deeply of the cool fresh fall air. The air inside the arena stifling with fear makes it strenuous to draw breath. I’m flooded with instant relief, as calming as balm applied to an angry burn.
I quickly re-cinch my saddle, securing it back into place. I place my foot into the stirrup and pull my weight up with my trembling arms, as the adrenalin drained for my weakened body. I sit there for a few minutes mentally replaying the show in my head, dwelling on the imperfections.
Two bystanders discuss the upcoming auction; this unwelcome reminder causes my gut to twist into the now familiar knots that carried me through the show. My mind now assaulted with the thought of parting with Trooper indefinitely. My now clear brain remembers a man who showed interested in Trooper prior to me going into the arena. His inquisitive attention towards us now rekindles the apprehensive feeling of separation, and I weigh my meager purse against my heart’s desire.
My ability to keep a professionally detached relationship with all the horses I ride for other people proves difficult to obtain with Trooper. No matter how many walls I built around my heart, somehow, my capability to stop loving him proves unattainable.
As the day progresses, the auction nears. I spend all day riding Trooper, knowing the finality the end of this day brings. I refuse to allow myself to hurt and acknowledge how I feel. So in silent, false contentment I ride into the auction ring. When the lady with the mic hands it up to me, I plea with the bidders to permit me to buy him and take him home; giving the mic back I ride him around for all to see, and the bidding starts. Unable to hear the bids from my point on the arena floor, I simply ride.
We both jump as the announcer calls the next number. I entertain the idea of allowing him to bolt and run away with me, a perfect excuse to not go into the arena. With a decisive breath, I resign to staying put. Trooper’s wall of fear, blocks my decision from sinking into him and he jumps to the side in fright. I jerk to the side, and quickly turn his head to gain control over my apprehensive horse. I rub his neck again as soon as he stops dancing. He snorts in objection and looks around wide eyed and fearful unsure of his surroundings.
I look over to my dad as he rides his mustang, Ringo, towards me. Trooper, seeing Ringo, perks up and calls to him, seeking the same comfort I feel in the presence of my dad.
Why do I have to go before him? I silently curse the random selection. Thinking of random selection, I’m so glad they randomly chose Trooper for me. What where the chances of them selecting the mustang with the perfect demeanor for me. Only with him could I come as far as I have.
Only 95 days to train a wild mustang, a very daunting task to say the least. The plan: round up the wild mustangs, distribute them to qualifying trainers, allow them 95 days to take the mustang home, and train it. To show the effectiveness of this program, a required show then takes place to permit the trainers the opportunity to show off their mustang, and the trainer’s ability. The end brings an auction, giving the bystanders and trainers the chance to bid on their favorite mustangs.
The thought of the auction churns my empty stomach. I spent the whole night vacating its contents into the hotel room’s plastic-lined ice bucket; my gratitude for that fact grew as another flip-flop made it-self known. I want to buy Trooper. With my limited purse, the chances of that slim down with my mere $600. Mentally prepared for disappointment; I resign myself to expecting the worse and hoping for the best. I send up another prayer, hoping his bid falls within my price range. During this fervent plea I ask for divine intervention to prevent the show from occurring, or at least my ability to not faint or puke to continue.
My dad moving up beside me arrests my attention from my tangent of thought. He reaches over and grasps my trembling hand, squeezing it reassuringly. I attempt a weak smile, feeling it fall short. “We’ll do great. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done with your horse,” he grins.
“Thanks,” I manage to force out. My trembling ceases and I take a deep breath.
The moment he releases my hand doubt comes flooding back. Glancing over I see the two rodeo queens, decked out in all their sparkles and shimmering outfits. Although I despise sparkles and sequins, my mind, unable to help but see how they look the part, adds this fact on to my already monstrous pile of self-doubt. They move their horses around and I see how showy and confident they look. I gulp down my insecurities and turn my gaze back to the arena and obstacle course.
Worry for Trooper seeps into my mind. The thought of just him and me alone in front of hundreds of people not to mention a few judges, watching and analyzing our every move, adds to my dread. No pressure. I, the youngest contestant, therefore, own the least experience out of all the participants. With no experience with 4-H or rodeo, my dread intensifies at this ominous trial. I, barley 18, almost missed qualify to take part in this fall’s Extreme Mustang Makeover on account of my age.
The contestant before me now leaves the arena by means of the gates on the opposing end. My turn; all thoughts vacate my mind as I freeze in terror. No coherent notion enters my awareness. I sit here, my face frozen in blank horror, as the ushers’ wave me over to enter the arena. My body, petrified with fear, refuses to respond. I feel the adrenalin rushing through my body, causing my head to pound in time with my overactive heart beat. Trooper, impatiently pounding the ground with one forefoot, jars me out of my fear-induced, immobile state-of-being. With one last fleeting glance for support at my dad, I gingerly nudge Trooper forward with my heels.
As we progress through the gate leading into the arena, I push down my suffocating fear and tentatively coax Trooper towards the first obstacle. They really went all out this year. I pondered how many truck loads of dirt it took for the landscape architect to design the ‘Mountains’ theme. The crowd distracts me to the point that I jolt as Trooper shies away from the first bridge crossing. I quickly reach down and stroke his tense neck in a vain attempt to calm him. I make an unconscious decision right there to ignore the crowd and focus all my energy on Trooper and our objective. We struggle through the course, me calmly trying to ease him over and around the different obstacles, and him refusing to budge. His mind clouded with fear of the unknown and unfamiliar, causes his body to tense.
I find out, the humiliating way, that the course owns a time limit, the announcer booms over the intercom, “Two minutes remaining.” I’m not even half way through the course. Trooper simply refuses to cross the first bridge and I dismount and walk through some of the obstacles. We struggle and finally cross the second without me gracing the ground with my feet upon it. As we finish, with the cow acting surprisingly cooperative, and my appreciation for the bond we established these last week’s grows. We finish with seconds to spare and as I escort him out of the arena he spooks, jumping to the right causing the saddle to slip to the ground, me having loosed it for the health inspector to examine Trooper.
The course behind me now, my focus brakes and the previous fear that hounded me creeps back this time paired with the relief of the end. I pick up my heavy saddle, talking quietly to Trooper to calm him and with head bowed in humiliation slink out of the arena.
“It’s over,” I whisper to Trooper and myself as I inhale deeply of the cool fresh fall air. The air inside the arena stifling with fear makes it strenuous to draw breath. I’m flooded with instant relief, as calming as balm applied to an angry burn.
I quickly re-cinch my saddle, securing it back into place. I place my foot into the stirrup and pull my weight up with my trembling arms, as the adrenalin drained for my weakened body. I sit there for a few minutes mentally replaying the show in my head, dwelling on the imperfections.
Two bystanders discuss the upcoming auction; this unwelcome reminder causes my gut to twist into the now familiar knots that carried me through the show. My mind now assaulted with the thought of parting with Trooper indefinitely. My now clear brain remembers a man who showed interested in Trooper prior to me going into the arena. His inquisitive attention towards us now rekindles the apprehensive feeling of separation, and I weigh my meager purse against my heart’s desire.
My ability to keep a professionally detached relationship with all the horses I ride for other people proves difficult to obtain with Trooper. No matter how many walls I built around my heart, somehow, my capability to stop loving him proves unattainable.
As the day progresses, the auction nears. I spend all day riding Trooper, knowing the finality the end of this day brings. I refuse to allow myself to hurt and acknowledge how I feel. So in silent, false contentment I ride into the auction ring. When the lady with the mic hands it up to me, I plea with the bidders to permit me to buy him and take him home; giving the mic back I ride him around for all to see, and the bidding starts. Unable to hear the bids from my point on the arena floor, I simply ride.
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