Saddling Up And Going For A Ride

Rose was one smart lookin' little horse. She shed out in the spring to a lovely red bay with metallic mahogany sheen to her coat, complete with dapples. Since she was too young to start riding yet, we took her everywhere and exposed her to as many things as we could. Trek a mile to the far pasture through creeks and uncertain footing? No problem! She splashed through water without a blink and scampered up rocky,slippery footing like a mountain goat. Squeeze yourself into a tiny, cramped, dark trailer? No problem! That little filly never had a problem loading and would walk right up into any trailer, any time, day or night! Did all this mean she was so quiet she would get bored and fall asleep or never gave us any kind of problems? Hell no, she was after all still a youngster and was known to spook at things and act up now and then. But I always got the feeling that when she spooked at something, it was only to see how WE would react and to see just what she could get away with.

Since she wasn't old enough to ride and nearly everyone at our farm showed, I was dying to get out there and show as well. We started in simple halter classes and moved on to showmanship once she got a little more experienced. She always did well, she always placed...maybe not always won but she was almost always in the top 3. It was a lot of fun but man was I itching to get up on her! When she turned 3 we introduced her to the bridle and she chewed at the snaffle bit for maybe 10 minutes then ignored it completely. We walked her around, took the bridle off, put it back on, and walked and trotted her around the arena for a bit until she was well used to it. Later that day I was grazing her in one of the smaller paddocks and I led her over close to the fence...can you see where this is going? I clambered up the fence and positioned myself next to my little horse. She watched me out of the corner of her eye but since there was nice green grass to munch on, she didn't move. I scratched her withers a bit then got up the nerve and leaned across her back. She snorted and gave a half-hearted buck, more out of surprise I think than anything else. I slid off and gave her a scratch, my way of apologizing for startling her. I never tried it again after that day, just longingly stared at that broad back of hers and tried to be patient...I wasn't the most patient of people in those days!  

Six months later my mother walked into my room and declared the horse should be old enough to be riding by now. Seems she was even more impatient than I was...of course her impatience was because she seemed to be paying for an object that wasn't being used to it's full potential, nevermind that it was too young to be used to it's full potential! We had bought a nice used western saddle from a tack sale the month before and I was dying to try it on her. Looking back I'm not really sure why we hadn't taken it out and gotten Rose accustomed to it before, I just remember it sitting in our basement for a month and that I used to go down and hop on it and pretend I was riding...I'm sure we've all done that at least once in our lives. I lugged the saddle upstairs and we all loaded up and headed to the barn. I don't remember having any butterflies or being nervous although I know I had to have been!

We got to the barn a little later than usual, nearly everyone else had come and gone so the place was almost empty. I decided to introduce Rose to the saddle while still in her stall, just in case she went crazy. Isn't that what all horses do when you first saddle them up? You tighten the girth and they all buck around like crazy for a while right? A picture kept looping around in my 15 yr old mind, I'd tighten up Rose's girth and she would start broncing around like she was rodeo bound! I showed her the saddle blanket, rubbed her neck and back with it then tossed it over her withers. No problem! I brought in the saddle and again, I let her sniff it and get a good look at it then placed it slowly on her back. She looked back at it but that was about it. I slowly lowered the cinch and stirrup on the other side so they wouldn't bang against her barrel and startle her. I reached under her belly, grabbed the cinch, took a deep breath and then started to tighten it up. I pulled the cinch until it was touching her belly, no problem! I pulled a little tighter, still no problem! She kept one ear flicked back in my direction and the other out the front of her stall, she seemed much more interested in a fellow boarder who was grooming her horse in the aisle than to what I was doing. So I tightened the girth completely and stepped back...waiting for the inevitable explosion...

It never came. I thought to myself, once she moves and realizes this thing is strapped to her back, she'll start bucking. Nope, she moved around her stall, got a drink from her bucket, walked around...nothing. So, getting braver, I brought her out of the stall and into the arena. Sister grabbed the lounge line and clipped it to her halter just in case she went mental, that way we'd have a nice long lead to hang on to. Nope, nothing! Rose meandered around like she had been wearing a saddle every day of her short life. I stopped her in the middle of the arena and Sister and I gave her lots of pats and scratches. I looked over at Sister, looked back at my newly saddled horse...Sister grinned as I grabbed the stirrup, stuck in my foot, stepped straight up and balanced there. Rose took a little step sideways, that was it. So I swung my foot across her back and slowly sank myself into the saddle. Both of Rose's ears immediately swiveled back towards me, I kicked both feet out of the stirrups and once again braced for the explosion. Once again, it never came. Rose simply sighed, turned her head and nosed at my foot as if to say "what is this doing here?" and that was all she ever did. No bucking, no rodeo display...nothing. I wish they all could have been like Rose. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her, her hoofprints are forever embedded in my heart.

The Story Of Stormy, Part 2

The day was calm and quiet, one of those early fall days where the leaves are just starting to change colors and the air is cool and crisp. We were headed out to the barn for the usual evening chores and to work the horses a bit. After a rather rocky beginning, Stormy had finally learned that he could trust me. I could halter and lead him to and from the paddock, saddle and bridle him, work him on the lunge line and hop on and ride with little to no problem. He seemed to have gotten over his earlier fears of well...everything. Or so I thought...


We entered the barn and said hello to some of our fellow boarders. Rose caught the sound of my voice and called out in her high pitched whinny, Stormy followed with his soft little nickers, ears pricked. I stopped and unlocked the tack box, scooping up Stormy's saddle and bridle. My sister decided she didn't feel like riding so she grabbed the lunge line and headed to Rose's stall.


Mom busied herself with measuring out the evening feed and chatting with fellow boarders...she liked to gossip and spent most of the evenings talking rather than actually working with the horses. Stormy was still showing a fear of buckets and so rather than feeding him in the corner feeder, we started feeding him out of a bucket to help him learn that a bucket could be a GOOD thing. He was doing rather well with it, he still wouldn't let you touch him with one, but he would certainly eat out of it now without much fuss.


Sister haltered Rose and lead her out to the middle of the arena to groom her, the little filly ground tied like no body's business and was happy to stand for hours as long as someone was scratching the itchies on her withers and chest! I gave Stormy a fast once over with the brush then picked his feet (another challenge we had overcome) and saddled him in his stall. I lead him out just as Sister started lunging Rose at the top end of the arena. While Stormy was never "hot" like a lot of Arabian's can be, he was certainly eager to work and he chewed his bit and licked his lips incessantly in his excitement.


I lead him around the arena a few times, he was still very green and like a lot of horses would suck in a big gulp of air as you were cinching up so I walked him first before hopping on. I halted him in an arena corner and tighted up my girth and took a look around to make sure there wasn't any surprises hiding in the barn loft....Stormy was getting better but he still didn't like motion above his head. My mother was the only person up there, still scooping grain. I noticed she had forgotten to bring down Stormy's feed bucket and so I reminded her to bring it down with her when she was finished. I adjusted my stirrup, checked my girth one last time and just as I was stepping up on my little horse...my mother leaned over the side of the loft and dropped the feed bucket practically in Stormy's face.


He pivoted like a reining horse and I scrambled to get my other leg over his back and my butt in the saddle. I missed, due to his momentum I landed BEHIND my saddle and my thumping down on his kidneys just added to his terror. I let loose his reins since I feared pulling him over and grabbed for his mane instead. I looked up and realized he was headed straight for Sister and Rose. I felt like we were moving in slow motion but in reality he had spun and covered the arena in 3 or 4 big leaping strides and I knew I had no chance of regaining my seat and pulling him up...we were on a collision course and there was no way out...

Just An Update

Sorry I haven't posted in a while...I'm working on some stories as well as having some trials going on in my life. I'll work on getting the next post up soon, I'm sure some of you are curious to hear some more about Rose and Stormy.

The Story Of Stormy

As I stated in my last post, Rose seemed to take everything in stride. From tying to trailering, clipping to clomping above her head in the loft not much bothered her. The old gelding I had leased, Indy, was another of those who had seen much of life and had a "Been there, done that" kind of attitude so I just wasn't thinking about much more than just where to unload Stormy as we pulled into the barn drive with our new horse.

Stormy, however, soon gave me much, much more to think about. Dad backed the trailer closer to the barn doors and we all jumped out to be greeted by frantic screams echoing out of our little 2 horse trailer. Undaunted, I hopped up in the trailer with Stormy, clipped a lead to his halter and dad released the bar across the back. The colt shot out of the trailer as if he'd been fired out of a cannon and let loose another shrill whinny. He spun around mid-whinny and got his first look at his new home. His frantic call died in his throat (it literally sounded as if he swallowed it!) as his eyes widened in shock....I realized then he had never seen any barn bigger than the tiny 2 stall shed he had grown up with. In his four years of life he had never seen anything other than the little paddock where he lived and the 2 elderly people who had cared for him. He stood there frozen, legs splayed in what would have been a comical picture if he hadn't been so afraid. I gave his lead rope a gentle tug and took a step forward. Stormy flicked an ear at me but remained riveted to the spot. I stepped back and scratched him under his mane, working in circles back towards his withers. He slowly relaxed his neck and gave me a shaky sigh. I stepped forward again and this time he took one hesitant step forward with me.

We had, of course, gathered an audience. No new arrival at the barn ever went unnoticed! Thankfully no one made a lot of noise or stuck their nose in places it didn't belonged. It took me 15 minutes to walk Stormy the short distance to the barn doors. I paused there and let him get a good look around. When he decided that nothing was going to jump out and eat him he walked beside me down the hallway and into the main barn. I stopped again and gave Stormy the chance to take in his surroundings. He stood with his head nearly vertical, eyes wide and nostrils flared, breathing in deep (if still rather shaky) breaths. The horses that were still in their stalls were peering curiously out at him, even they wondered what his deal was. This time it only took him 5 minutes to relax and I moved farther into the barn. He still walked with his head held up but at least he was moving forward. He looked at EVERYTHING...the sawdust pile (oh yikes...when you breathe on it, it puffs up in your face!), the chickens, the shovels and wheelbarrows we use for the sawdust...nothing missed his inspection as we walked a lap around the barn. He relaxed even more and by our third lap he was quietly walking by my side on a loose lead.

There was sudden movement in our loft and one of the boarders appeared above the stalls. Stormy snorted in surprise and once again he froze splay-legged as he realized (oh the horror!!) that they were ABOVE his head. I stood, waiting to see which way he would bolt as this was obviously more than he could handle after such a traumatic day. He stood bug-eyed for just a second more then started to nervously lick his lips, then he simply turned slowly around and put his back to the scary lady in the loft. He didn't bolt, buck or flee in terror...he just turned his back! I walked him away from the lady in the loft and he came with no hesitation, walked into his stall and showed interest in his hay.

After that first episode with the boarder in the loft, Stormy's way of dealing with scary situations was to simply turn his back on it. He was never violent about it, just slowly pivoted until he was no longer facing whatever it was that frightened him. He was a very fast learner, he learned to lunge, how to stand for the farrier and vet...as long as I was there he was fine. He was still too much for my sister or mother to handle, neither one ever rode him or lead him to the fields to graze. One of my favorite memories of him is one of us down in far back pasture where only a few horses were let out to graze. I had gone down to the pasture to check on him and stopped to sit a while in the shade. Stormy quietly came up and grazed beside me, simply to be in my company. Those were good days, too bad we didn't know those days were numbered...

Horse Times Two

Rose fit into her new life seamlessly. Being novice horse owners, we never actually asked what things she had been trained for, such as tying, leading or picking up her feet. I just expected her to do these things and surprisingly...she did them. I never thought twice about tying her up, walking to the ladder at the end of the barn, clambering up and stomping across the hay loft to where we stored our tack...directly above her head. I never expected her to freak out at me leaning over the edge of the loft and reaching down to scratch the tips of her ears. I never knew how good I had it. It took our second horse to teach me otherwise.

My sister and I shared the responsibilities of Rose for that first summer. By the time autumn was rolling in it was apparent my sister was getting a little angry at playing second fiddle to the little filly. Since I was the one with the horse experience in our family, I did most of the work with training. My sister mainly got the job of stall mucker or mud scraper. She started dropping huge hints that she thought she deserved a horse of her own. And since my mother seemed to give her whatever she asked for, mother went on the search for a second horse.

Like I said before, most of my family had no idea about horses. I had been riding a friend's horse for quite a few years and had leased one for another year before we bought Rose. My mother and sister however had little to zero experience. Neither had ridden before and had only gotten close to a horse a handful of times until Rose came along. So it came a huge surprise when my mother waltzed in my room one day and told me she had bought my sister a new horse. She hadn't done any research, she hadn't asked any questions...she simply picked up the paper, flipped to the ads and found the first horse that had the bad luck to be the only breed she could remember....an Arabian. Well...Half-Arabian, but close enough. She called the guy up and told him she would buy the horse, sight unseen. Anyone else hear alarm bells going off?

Two days later we all packed back up in the truck and drove over an hour to take a look at this so called "wonderful" horse. We pulled into the driveway and I had to say that this farm was leaps and bounds above the one we got Rose from. No dogs roaming the property, no rusting hunks of metal. The front yard was well groomed and the flower beds neatly manicured. The elderly gentleman that met us at the door however looked as if a good stiff breeze would knock him over. His equally frail wife greeted us warmly and offered us some iced tea. I started getting butterflies in my stomach...I definitely had a bad feeling about this, those alarm bells just kept jangling in the back of my head. These two gentle old souls didn't seem as if they would be able to handle anything but the quietest of equines.

"Come on back here and take a look at him." He offered, "I closed the barn door so he'll be outside where you can see him." Hhmmm...that was certainly an odd statement. We walked around the side of the house and got our first look at our new horse. The small bay colt had froze at the sound of voices, his head flung up high and nostrils flared. There was no doubt about him being half Arabian, his finely chiseled head and high, arched neck gave that much away. Whatever his other half was, it was certainly a mystery to me.

Having learned our lesson with Rose (and being told how crazy we were to have bought a horse without asking what things she knew.) I asked the kind gentleman a little about his, eeerrr...umm..our, horse.

"Well, Stormy there is four years old and is one half Arabian and one half Paint," he replied. "We bought his mother at an auction and we thought she might be a little lonely. We bred her to the stallion up the road so she could have a nice foal to keep her company."

"Alarm! Alarm!! ALARM!!!" Yep, those bells were ringing loud and clear.

"Yes, she was a good mother," the old farmer's wife chimed in, "it was so sad when she died on us a year later. Stormy missed her something awful. He cried and cried for nearly a week. After that he was never the same."

"Never the same?" I heard my father ask. "Just what does that mean?" Apparently he had some alarm bells going off as well.

"Oh well he used to be so sweet and come up with his mother for scratching and petting. He used to love to be groomed. Now he hardly comes up to us at all, mostly just stand there and looks at us. We just dump his feed in the bucket there and go on about things. He doesn't seem to want to have much to do with us. He's so lonely, you see."

"Uh huh." I said, not believing what I was hearing. "So, how is he to tie? For the farrier? The vet?" I asked.

"Well," he paused guiltily, "I haven't had to tie him since he was a foal but he's pretty good for the vet and the blacksmith...after a bit." came the reply. He opened the gate, the chain jangling off the metal gate set my teeth on edge.  

The clatter of the chain had startled Stormy into a frantic trot around his paddock. I had to admit, he could certainly move! He had a springy, elastic trot that just looked so smooth and effortless. "Is he broke to ride?" I asked without thinking.

"We did have a guy come out a couple of years ago to work with him and he got him going pretty good under saddle. But it's been a few years since any one's done anything with him." the wife answered.

I looked at my mother. She was grinning ear to ear thinking she had done a great job at finding a horse for my sister. "Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!!" was still shrilling away in my head however.

Mom paid for Stormy and we left, scheduling to pick him up the next day. The next morning we hitched up our trailer and drove out to pick the colt up. My sister had this smug smile plastered to her face and my mother had that look of that cat that's gotten into the cream. We arrived to chaos. The old farmer had apparently gone out to try to catch Stormy and things hadn't gone so great. The colt was galloping in crazed circles on the lead rope around him, nearly dragging the poor old man off his feet. I could hear the horse's ragged breathing and see the whites of his eyes from across the paddock. Every so often he would let loose a high pitched, frantic sounding whinny. I glanced at my mother and sister. Both had identical faces...gone were the smug smiles, the air of victory. Instead, my mother's jaw had fell open in shock and my sister had gone quite pale. I think her eyes matched the colt's, wide eyed in shock. Stormy let loose another shrill scream and without thought I whistled as I had at Indy, the horse I leased.

Stormy's head whipped around and he froze, staring at me. He stood, as if on tip-toe...on edge and terrified. The old man yanked on his lead and the colt bolted. I stepped between the fence boards and made my way up next to the elderly gent. I took Stormy's lead from him and nearly had my arm wrenched out of socket when the colt hit the end of the lead. He frantically whinnied again and once again I whistled in return. The elegant head snapped up, the white star at it's center gleamed in the sun, little black tipped ears pricked towards me. Stormy turned in to face me, snorting, once again frozen in place. I gave him a second to catch his breath then took a step forward. He took off once again, one ear cranked in my direction.

"Hey, hey, heeeeeey." I said to him. I made sure he had a little slack in the rope instead of bracing and hanging off his face. He nervously flitted around me and I repeated the phrase quietly. Ever so slowly, the frantic look left his eyes, the tightness left him and he slowed from a headlong gallop to a weary trot. I told him to whoa and was rewarded with not only a stop but he stopped and faced me. He was soaked in sweat, it ran off him as if I had turned a hose on him. I turned away from him, waited a few seconds, then stepped towards him...sideways. He shifted as if he was about to take off again and I told him whoa once again. He settled and finally let me come up next to him. Still not looking at him I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but otherwise stood still. I scratched up towards the underside of his mane, back towards his withers, down between his chest and he rewarded me with a huge shaky sigh. I'm pretty sure we bonded right then and there. Both of us worn and sweaty from our battle, we leaned against each other and caught our breaths. I wiped the sweat away from his face and led him to get a little water. He let me lead him up and onto the trailer, a miracle itself since apparently he had never seen one nor been in one in his life.

Mom loudly declared Stormy was too dangerous for my sister and refused to let her get near him. Rose was designated her horse and she had full charge of the little filly after that. I can't say I wasn't a little jealous, she got the wonderful, smart, solid little filly and I had this weedy, spastic colt just dropped in my lap. But he taught me all sorts of interesting things...like how you CAN teach a horse to trust you, how the sound of your voice can reassure them when they are frightened and most importantly he taught me to trust him...but that is for another time.

Remembering Rose

The excitement in the old truck was nearly palpable. After nearly 15 years of waiting, I was headed to the upper corner of the state to check out what might become my very first horse. All my father had told me was that he was a 4 year old Appaloosa gelding and from that little bit of information my imagination took off. I pictured myself galloping through green fields aboard a wildly spotted leopard, or leaping fences on a bright, glossy horse emblazoned with a big blanketed rump!

We pulled into the old farmer's drive and his son directed us towards the barn. The yard was littered with old farm machinery and rusting car bodies that were rapidly being swallowed by weeds. Numerous dogs ran rampant around the property, barking and fighting amongst themselves. I tried to keep my feelings to myself...not everyone was well off and times were rather hard.

"He's back in here." the son said, leading us into a tiny, ramshackle barn. Crowded in with my family (there were 5 of us in total, even my brother had come along to see what all the excitement was about) I couldn't get a good look at him, just barely catching a flash of chocolate colored hide. "We put him in with the filly since we're a little short on room." he explained. He slid open the stall door and grabbed the colt's halter. Like a flash the little red filly rocketed out of the stall and tore off across the property. "Oh don't worry about her." he said. "She's always doing that."

I turned back to the colt and felt all my dreams shrivel and disappear. Gone was the thought of riding a flashy, wildly spotted horse through fields or over fences. What stood before me, tossing his head and jerking on the lead, was a hideous parody of Appaloosa...big, heavy coarse head with a mottled roman nose, small piggy eyes buried in pink speckled flesh, sparse mane and even more sparse tail, seeming to hold a whopping 4 hairs. And to top it all off...two tiny nickle-sized spots marked his haunches, that was all. Determined to make the best of the situation, I reached out to scratch him on the cheek. He yanked his head up and away from me, tightening his lips in what seemed like disgust.

"Oh don't worry about that," the boy drawled, "he's like that with everyone at first. He'll warm up to you in no time." He led the colt outside and tied him up. The wan winter sunlight did nothing to improve his looks. Suddenly there was a pattering of hooves and the little filly came careening around the front of the house. She was a bright cherry red bay with a ridiculously long winter coat that was fluffed out in the cold. It caught the light and she seemed to be surrounded by a bright red glow. She suddenly realized we were there and she skidded to a stop, snorting in surprise. Once she was sure she had our attention however, she pirouetted like a dancer and floated in a beautiful trot back out to the front yard, tail flagged like an Arabian. She paused and looked back at us over her shoulder, making sure we were still watching before she spun once again and pranced back towards us. Halfway there she spun yet again and floated off around the house. I stood mesmerized, caught up in the spell of the little red filly.

 "That's just Rose," he informed us, "she's the last foal we had. A little on the small size." My entire family, even my very non-horsey brother, were mesmerized by this little horse! I heard the son clear his throat and we all rather guiltily turned back to the ugly gelding. My sister and I exchanged a look, neither one of us was very enthusiastic about the boring, bad tempered brown colt when the flashy little filly was dancing around the front of the property.

"Now he's still pretty green," the son said, "but he's got a good walk and trot going and he's a nice trail horse, even goes through water."

"That's nice." I heard my father reply. "How about that other one? The little red one?" Apparently even my father wasn't impressed with the colt!

"Oh she's too young for your girl. She's only about 2, this gelding is what you're looking for!" was his answer. It seemed as if he was pushing us to believe that this coarse little colt was just every girl's dream horse. He started to saddle up the gelding and I watched as the colt again wrinkled his nose and flung his head up, sidling away from the tack. At least he took the bit rather well...with a head toss of course.

At last the colt was saddled and the boy hopped up on him. He headed down the driveway at a plodding pace, the gelding's nose held up and sideways. My father glanced over at me and I did my best to appear excited since I had waited so very long for a horse of my own. Apparently he could tell how unenthusiastic I was since I saw his expression soften.

Little Rose decided to make an appearance at just that moment. She flitted around the ugly colt, weaved in and out around the unruly dogs and side passed through the rusted hunks of cars. She also kept at least one eye and an ear trained on us at all times. She tucked her nose to her chest, shook her head, bucked on the spot...anything to keep us looking at HER and not the colt! According to my father, from the look on my face the filly was already dancing her way into my heart.

The son had coaxed the gelding (with much kicking, clucking and slap with the ends of his reins) into a jarring trot and headed back towards us. The colt still had his head held to the stars and his nose cranked to the right, lips tightened and eyes glaring. The boy yanked him to a stop in front of us and hopped off.

"So...what do you think?" he asked, a big grin plastered on his face. "He's a little rough but with more training he'll even right out."

"Well," my father replied. He glanced my way, I suddenly realized that I could be saddled with this unruly colt if my father gave his ok. Unbidden tears came to my eyes and I turned away, staring at the lovely little filly still dancing around the front yard. "Well, we'll have to talk it over as a family." came my father's voice. "What can you tell me about that filly? Seems my daughter really likes the look of her."

My head spun back and huge grin split my face at his words. Suddenly I forgot about being cold, about the ugly colt and the ramshakle farm. The thought of owning Rose was a dream come true!

"Oh, she isn't for sale." came the reply.

My dreams crashed to the ground, smashed to bits by his words.

"Yeah my dad wants to keep her 'cause she's the last foal out of our good ol' mare that we just sold." he said. I stared at the ground, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I willed the tears from my eyes and tried to swallow the lump that appeared in my throat. The boy looked at me and cleared his throat, uncomfortable in sudden silence. "but hey, I can ask him if he'd sell her. Sure you don't want to try out the colt though?" he asked.

I never did step up on that colt. Rose was bought that very day, that old farmer said he had watched everything from his house and said he knew when a horse chooses it's rider and that Rose had made it pretty darn clear who she wanted to go with. It's so hard to believe that all this happened nearly 20 years ago. Everything about that day is emblazoned in my mind...the way the snow had melted away except for a few stubborn patches in the shadows, the way the wind whipped the horse's manes, the smell of the barn, the sun glistening off the old chrome bumpers of the cars, the staccatto rap of Rose's hooves on the gravel driveway. It is said that a journey of a thousand miles begins with just a single step....this journey started with a flying, floating trot.