The School of Life with Horses

 Thursday, May 21, 2009

I swear sometimes my horse life feels like one long string of bad decisions.

When was young and stupid (allow me to be more specific - more stupid than I am now) and already into the Quarter Horse Show game I sold a really cool broke show gelding that was winning consistently with me and decided to purchase a weanling – the thought behind this error was 1) I was going to get married this coming summer and knew that I wouldn’t be able to afford to show much or find the time while planning my own wedding. Why let my gelding waste away in a pasture for a year, when someone else could be showing him. 2) You are supposed to sell when you are winning, not losing – and I was winning, I had a whole collection of points plus 2 ROMs and was destined for much bigger shows or so it seemed at that point in time. For that I would need a tougher horse, so I should sell him to purchase a better one ((sigh…)). 3) I could keep myself busy working with a yearling and hopefully get back into showing the following year with him being a 2 year-old. ((….sigh again…….))

Fate does not always protect fools and children…

So I sold Four that winter to a youth in California, who ended up never getting along with him, but they never called me about it. AND I ended up using the money for a down payment on our house and not on a new horse so with little cash left I picked out what I thought would be competitive horse as a weanling.

The weanling stayed at the breeders’ place until the snow cleared and I could come pick him up – imagine my concern when I did pick him up and he was not much taller than when I first saw him almost 5 months ago. His breeding was that of Patrick’s dad and he was out of a mare who was almost a full sister to Dollie Pine (dam of Zippo Pine Bar), so he was a double bred Zippo baby. Blood Bay – very very pretty. When the sun would hit his coat it looked all iridescent and shimmery with purples and reds, the tell tale sign of a blood bay, or so I was told. With four white feet, and a diamond type marking on his head – he was adorable…............and I later discovered he had had a very short temper.



He was named Patch after his registered name, which I hated, Patches Pine Paul ( I asked my trainer who was smoking what when they named him, as it turned out years later I learned Joe named him - HA!) – later I paid the fee and renamed him Infinitley Pine. He was a kicker and he was responsible for my 2 broken ribs. It took a lot of time and repetition to teach him to lead properly, tie-up and have his feet handled – I didn’t know a how to train a weanling, but I read and watched everything I could get my hands on and stuck with the things that worked. In the mean time I was kicked many times. Being the first baby I ever worked with I really didn’t know how difficult this horse this horse was until I did the same things with Patrick and it seemed that Patrick knew each lesson before I started them.

During the remainder of his first winter with me during a tying session I was brushing on him when he started to crowd me up against the fence – I knew I needed to put a stop this dangerous behavior quickly so I tried at first to discourage it by poking him in the ribs to get him to move over and to convince him not to do it again. When I did he slammed me up against the fence he was tied to, not thinking logically (remember this was my first) I took my hand pushed him off and whacked a few times near his rump (now think here where would Stephanie have to be standing to spank him in the ass?) – yup, about the time it occurred to me that I was in the WRONG place to be doing that I took a step back and (another no-no – don’t give them more leverage to kick you with) he unloaded both hind feet at me – almost fully extended the little *** hit me just below my left boob in the chest. He actually kinda hopped forward to put more effort into the kick.


I was lifted up into the air. When I hit the ground I couldn’t breath, not for the longest time. My eyes watered. I was mad, and because I couldn’t get up so I crawled back toward the tack room in the barn first on my stomach then on my hands and knees. I used the saddle racks and any hanging piece of tack to grab and pull myself up off the cold cement floor – I grabbed a crop. Now that I was standing and had got my breath back – I turned and marched straight out to the helpless baby tied to a railroad tie anchored in cement just beyond the tack room. I repeated my exact steps – my intent was not to repeat the accident or to beat the colt out of anger but to put a stop to the crowding behavior that very day. At exactly the same time he swung around and tried to smash me into the fence I beat the holy hell out of him for about 3 seconds before he could finish the move – he freaked and pulled back. I let him, he pulled then hopped forward then tried the exact same fence trick again. I repeated the short but brutal beating – he pulled back again – but got nowhere with it.



He stood there shaking – I kept the crop in my hand and continued brushing him as if nothing had happened. In effect I sacked him out with my hands as I brushed him until all flinching was gone. I calmly asked him over and over again to move over – which he did very quickly. It took a couple of weeks after that for him to stop being scared of moving to the left while tied – but he never tried smashing anyone up against the fence again, and was a better horse for it. When I was done and felt it was a good place to stop I turned him loose and collapsed. Dad came over to see if I was ok and I said I was fine. Since I no longer living at my parent’s place I limped back into my truck to drive home but made a stop at the ER on the way.

Two broken ribs they said – nothing to do except pain pills and ice they said….AND no horses for 4 weeks they said ( HA!). Let it heal, they said. It was one of the most lingering painful injuries I have ever had (up to that point in time – my current back injury has been lingering way longer than the ribs took to heal). When I would sneeze I would start crying it hurt so bad. If he would’ve been 2 inches higher I would’ve came home from the hospital and taken him straight to Post Falls Live Stock Auction – Thank God for underwires.



Two weeks later I put an end to the kicking all together – I had him out and was leading him around carefully out in front barn when he decided to get frisky, jump in front of me and let one fly – he nailed me just above my right knee. At first it didn’t feel any worse that getting smacked with baseball so I stayed with and spanked him for it – in response he pulled away and reared (he’d done this before too) so I took the opportunity and let him get up real high, then I zipped back behind him and with all my weight pulled him the heck off balance – it was a little icy so fell – hard. For a brief second I thought maybe I killed him, then he slowly got up, stood there and shook, he was terrified. I didn’t coddle him at all just stood there calm until he was ready to go again. We walked around a little more, each of us blowing little white puffs of warm breath into the crisp winter air, Patch behaving like a model yearling – then I put him away.

When I got home and carefully slid down my pants to inspect the damage I saw a lump the size of a baseball on my leg. During the next day the bruising was impressive slowly turning from blue to black, but what convinced me to go to the doctor was when my knee started to bruise up big time, it even swelled but it didn’t hurt and I also found a bruise on the bottom of my foot. The look on my doctor’s face when I limped into the office that time was memorable. What happened to the 4 weeks? They asked me; I shrugged – what can you say, I felt better, like I could work with my horse who obviously needs the work so I did! Only cowgirls can understand. As it turned out the blood in my leg was draining into my knee and on down my leg and pooling in the bottom of my foot (gross huh?) – but nothing was broken so they sent me home. With more ice and an upgraded pain pill prescription.



Right way or wrong way not only did I get him over the kicking and crowding and the pulling back and the rearing but I got him lunging both directions in all three gates. I also saddled him and bridled him for the first few times before sending him to the trainer’s. Although I didn’t feel real accomplished then – I look back on it now and I feel very proud of what I did.

Patch never grew, and he still always had a temper – he moved awesome but never grew bigger than 14.2 – and I just needed a bigger horse than that – so towards the end of his three year-old year I traded him for some training credit and went on to purchase one of the most rotten horses I have ever owned. Further compounding my errors in judgment. So there I was out of the show pen for two years, out of money but at least I had a horse in training that would be ready to show…….some day.

But that is a story for another day. Patch was sold to be a heeling horse - and I have heard he does quite well at it.

If I would’ve held on to that nice broke gelding I had before Patch - I could’ve been out showing the year after my wedding no problem and with the up swing in the market I could’ve sold him for almost double what I sold him for the year before. But having a house is nice too so I can’t fault myself too much selling him. I guess what hurts most is knowing how much he trusted me, how close we’d become – and the memory of loading him up in that big semi truck bound for California and the way he whinnied at me just as the truck pulled away. I think maybe if I could do it again I would keep him and just see where that would’ve lead me. I loved him and I still miss him.

Shoulda Woulda Coulda - right?

Lessons learned:

Buying babies is a BIG gamble sometimes, despite good breeding, they just don't turn out to be what you want them to be - be it tall, or a show horse or a reining horse or whatever....

Don't stand behind any horse and whack it - if a kick is coming don't back up.

Babies are cute to look at but a pain in the ass - literally!

A nice broke gelding that you can hop on and go show is worth it's weight in gold.



Short plug here to answer a question about Stretch - yes he is slowly getting used to being a real horse, but he has lived in a stall his whole life and as much as we'd like to fantasize that all horses long to run in wide open spaces with grass up to their eyeballs, some are just as happy to live in their clean comfy stalls where everything happens on schedule. Deer scared Stretch, most of the noises outside made him nervous, a sudden loud noise would send him running for his life, and he was a little off his feed - but he is adapting, slowly. The other weekend he seemed much more relaxed than the first. But he still prefers his hay over pasture grass - so we're working to wean him off of the hay a little bit at a time and he still stares longingly at the barn.