Horse Mavericks

“You’re chopping it.  You don’t want to chop.  You want to deliver,” Lanny West said.  He was sitting on a stump in his barn.

Ok, so I’m chopping it, I thought.  But what did he mean?

A loop hung from my right hand and the coils in the left.  My arms dangled at my sides.  The roping dummy, a lifeless and, I might add, poor imitation of a real steer, seemed to be mocking me.  

“You’re not watching the video.  You have to watch the video,” he said.   

He was right.  Months ago I had filmed Lanny roping, so I could take it home to study.  Back then I had watched it several times, but I hadn’t seen it recently.  

“You’re not practicing,” he said.

Again, he was right, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.  Every afternoon I picked up my rope, put on my gloves and set the dummy in the driveway while the kids played.  Inevitably Daisy, my four-year-old, would trip and skin her knee.  Sage, my 22-month-old, would ask for help to put on her bike helmet.  When that was done, Daisy would start climbing a slippery, rattlesnake-infested, dirt bank and fall.  After I got her smiling again, Sage would need a diaper-change.  Then they would both be hungry, and, sure enough, I would look at the clock and it would be dinnertime.  Then we would all take a grand exodus inside to find food.  

All told, I would have thrown maybe ten loops and that’s it.  So yeah, Lanny’s right.  I haven’t been practicing much.  The bottom line:  I choose to put my kids first.  

Still if I could just figure out what he meant by “chopping it” at the very least, I might take an incremental step toward improvement.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said.  ”I’ll watch your video everyday for a week.”  I knew if I told him I would do it, I could pull it off.  

The first night I came home, I watched it.  I didn’t pick up on anything new.  The second night, I didn’t watch it.  The third night, I watched it twice to make up for the previous night.  I took the time to slow it down studying the way his hand rotated for the delivery and how his arm crossed in front of his body for the follow through.  

And then it dawned on me.  I was “chopping it.”  My hand was coming down like a sledgehammer.  Lanny’s hand floated parallel over the horns.  

The next day, I went through the usual routine.  I pulled on my gloves, placed the dummy in the middle of the driveway and threw the rope.  The kids were in a good mood and entertained themselves while I tossed loop after loop without interruption.  Out of 45 tries, I missed five times.  An 88% average.  Not too bad.  Not professional standards by any means, but not too bad.

I coiled the rope, gathered the girls in my arms and jumped on the trampoline which sat on our front lawn.  We steam-rolled each other, bounced high and performed gravity-defying tricks.  After all our giggles and laughs were spent, Daisy decided she wanted to go back to riding her bike and Sage wanted to get down to pick dandelions.  I went back to roping.  

On Monday, I’ll take the two-hour trek to Lanny’s house to listen to his advice and try again.  There is something valuable in pursuing an activity which requires a little discipline.  I hope my girls will learn through watching me that effort for the sake of effort is valuable.