Editor’s Note
The Old Gray Mare, she ain’t what she used to be is an old Nursery Rhyme that seems to hold true. However, over the years for some a relationship develops that weathers fading beauty and waning energy and provides irreplaceable trust and support. The winners of the Senior Horse Essay Contest describe such a relationship. When asked to describe “Why your senior horse is special” readers responded with a flood of stories from all corners of the Northwest, making the selection of the winning entries very difficult. Following are the four top essays representing a young horseperson, one in her thirties and a mature horse keeper. The experiences described in these essays do not necessarily reflect safe training techniques, but speak of relationships that overcame the naiveté of the individual to form a lasting bond.
Me-N-Glory
Years ago a small girl rode her Pegasus through the sky. Moments later, she was riding Secretariat in the biggest race of his career. The setting sun found them alone in their barn as just a small girl and her beloved horse. When I was ten years old, Marty moved in. I still don’t understand why dad brought him home. Marty was 15.3 hands, and barely 900 pounds. Countless times he bucked men off those first few days. This was supposed to by my replacement horse? I saw more hooves and teeth those first weeks than I really cared to. It got to the point that I was barely allowed in the barn alone. But I never listened anyways.
I was drawn to this magnificent creature. I renamed him Star and I weathered the best of his storms. Then one day, I was sitting on his back. No saddle, not even a halter on him. Then we were taking midnight rides and riding him before mom and dad got home from work. But Dad ended up catching us. This was the horse that threw countless men, and here this eleven year old girl – no, his baby girl, was riding him. About that time Dad started calling him Tuff. I hated calling him that, it didn’t even fit him.
This horse was special to me, he needed a special name. And Glory fit perfectly. When I was young I wanted to be a jockey. That old lane soon turned into Belmont Park, and Glory was that year’s Belmont Stakes winner. Then it was jumping. Barrels, raspberry poles, woodpiles, tires. Then it was Rodeo. Poor old Glory. I wanted it all and as far as I was concerned, he was going to be the one to get me there.
Today we have been gaming and in 4H for four years. He’s not the fastest, yet we still have our share of ribbons and trophies. We even ride in performance classes for fun. Glory and I turned 18 this year, and even though I am retiring him, he is still my best friend and my hero. I have learned almost everything on him, and we learned to trust together. He taught me how to win and how to lose. That mane has dried a million tears, those old ears have heard it all, and that 100 percent heart has made dreams come true. All those years ago, I never knew we’d get this far, or make such a good team. Glory has given me so many dreams and he has been there to help them come true. He has taught me how to read a horse, how to connect with them, and to really ride, not just to sit and drive. He even gave me the love for a life with horses. So far, eight years of memories and a wonderful bond are the reasons I’ll never let him go. I only hope there is more to come with Glory. My horse. My teacher. My best friend.
Quoata
By Nikki Wyatt
While walking across the field towards the small herd, I see my old mare and it makes me smile. As I approach, she has that look in her eye…go ahead, Daylee is over there. When I slip the halter over her nose and buckle it, the look changes to…who me? Yes, YOU! Just leading her to the barn evokes a rush of emotion. I am leading my childhood by a cotton rope. I can hear it sigh, breath and move. I can smell the most wonderful smell on the planet coming from her. There on the strong back of this proud old mare, I grew up and became the person I am today. Before I am even mounted, the ride has already begun.
I swing on bareback and all the feelings from the past rush back. It is like being back in my childhood. I can hear my sisters and myself laughing. I can hear their horses running after us. I can feel the water splash on my face and arms as we run across the creek. I can hear my heart pounding as she runs. I can see her ears flicking, waiting for the ease up or pour it on cue. I am a kid again and I am free. There is an awareness of my life galloping by, deftly carried by her. And it is comforting.
As we head up the trail, I can think of the lessons she has taught me. Simple ones and other much more complicated. Keep your cool. You are the leader. The rest will react just as you do. Don’t tie your horse with its bridle. Be a good partner and you will always have the same. Keep a loose rein. Life is more fun without white knuckles. There is no better sound than a nicker on a cold winter morning. Keep things as black and white as possible; shades of gray can lead to miscommunication. And most importantly, trust.
Heading home I think back to my pre-teens turning into my teens, turning into my twenties, and beginning my thirties and the one thing is always constant: Quoata. I realize that she is special because she is me. I realize I am special because I am her. Her conformation and gait have changed over the last twenty years, but her mind is still sharp and she still has her quick wit and sense of humor. My secrets are safe with her and always will be. No matter what life has thrown her way, she has always been herself… another lesson I try and work on daily. They say that as you get older with your animals, you begin to look like them. I say yeah!! She is beautiful and I have way too many bad hair days, so for me that’s a good thing!
Why My Senior Horse is Special
by Peggy Chase
Why in the world do you keep that old hay-burning money pit? If you can’t use her, get rid of her. Comments like these echo through my mind. Most people don’t understand why I work so hard to provide special care for my friend of 31 years.
Memories of a long ago time light the corners of my mind. In my Seattle home, I dreamed of one day racing the wind on my very own horse. Years later, the dream became reality as I gazed on my new filly struggling to stand on wobbly legs. Thus my adventure began.
Armed with raw determination and classic horse training books like My Friend Flicka and the Black Stallion…you get the picture…I approach my baby with a halter. I didn’t know it was a calf halter! I also had a 30 foot flat nylon lounge line…lead rope? A rope is a rope isn’t it? That was my first attempt at training.
Heart pounding, but confident in my stupidity, the halter and lounge line in place, a car backfires. Delta Dawn is off and running through the open field…Round pen? What’s a round pen? In slow motion, the 30 foot line rips open my hands. I remember thinking, Let…go-o-o-o-o…of…the…ro-o-o-o-pe. Upon finally dropping the line, the leather loop hits the ground, bounces and wraps around my leg tying a knot. My life flashes before my eyes as I crash to the ground.
Just in time, hoofbeats sound from the other side of the barn as Delta’s mama sizes up the situation and stops her in her tracks. My trembling fingers eventually untie the knot and release a shaking filly to seek out her mama’s side. Legs that are quite unsteady carry me to a safe haven and an ice bag.
Hours later my husband came home to find an incoherent woman babbling uncontrollably, “I ruined her forever. I completely wrecked her.” But the teacher became the student…a rather SLOW student.
Hard lessons I’ve learned:
1. Use the proper equipment
2. Horses are NOT big dogs
3. Pushing is disrespectful
4. Horses KNOW if you don’t know what they know
5. The Black Stallion and My Friend Flicka are NOT good training manuals.
Persistence paid off. Finally, we became partners riding across Washington State on the Bicentennial Wagon Train, leaving our mark on mountain trails and forging horse-eating mud puddles. She taught me that no matter how much I wanted to be Pioneer Woman, I was actually Seattle Pansy. (Ouch)
All horses require special care and as they age, their needs change. Because she’s not to have any hay, I prepare a special diet three times a day for her. Her feet need the softness of sand now. And though her back is no longer straight and strong, her gait slower and her teeth at gum level; she is still my companion, my confidant, and my teacher.
“Too much trouble?” I can only paraphrase a famous line, “She Ain’t Heavy…She’s My Friend.”
Chocolate Sundae
by Wendy Jameson
She neighed in recognition even though it had been over twenty years. When I was eight and Chocolate Sundae was four, my mother bought me this sweet, backyard, black and white pinto pony. It was love at first sight.
With both of us being hunter/jumpers at heart, Sundae and I learned to trust in each other and excel at whatever task was given. Sundae could pop her wheels up and clear a fence like no other. After four years of being one of the top pony hunter and pony jumper teams, I sadly outgrew her. She was sold to a new girl, a smaller girl, who would love her and learn from Sundae as well.
Over twenty years passed and I had often thought of her--wondering and hoping that she was living a good life. I returned to horses after ten years of finding myself and ran into my childhood trainer. We chatted, catching up on old times and then she told me what I had secretly wondered about for years. “My son thinks he saw Sundae in Del Mar!”
Sundae would be 27 years old, if this pony was her. I had gone to high school in Del Mar after my parents divorced. My sister still lived there. Had she been under our noses all these years? So one perfect fall day, my sister stopped by the barn. Stable hands passed by Sundae’s stall but as soon as my sister approached, Sundae let out a robust neigh. Her owner and my sister cried together as they went in and held our long lost friend.
As they talked my sister offered, “When you retire her, my sister would give her a loving home.” The owner cried yet again as my sister told her that I had nine acres of pasture where Sundae could live out the rest of her days. It would be the perfect place for Sundae’s retirement. Sundae still taught one more little girl how to ride and jump that year, a talent at which this pony excelled.
The phone call came one crisp December morning in Oregon. The best Christmas present I could ever have. Sundae was coming home. After years of teaching children to ride confidently and being sold coast to coast as a top-notch pony hunter/jumper, her life was coming full circle.
A few weeks later I flew south to see Sundae and meet her owner. As my sister and I stepped out of the car, not only did we meet the owner but the girl owned Sundae after me. She too had moved to California and had heard of our story. We came together, a few of the women that this pony’s life had touched and cried as we reminisced about how this wonderful pony who had taught us so much about overcoming fears and trusting in ourselves.
Sundae lived with me for the next year. Her days were less demanding now and filled with playful frolic and relaxation. Sundae’s life had come full circle, returning less than two miles from where she had been foaled.
We lost Sundae later that year to symptoms of old age but the year she was back in my life is a year I will never forget.
Copyright © 2008 The NW Horse Source, LLC
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