Sensitivity

In the era of equine advancement, there is still an unanswered question. Ranchers, cutters, jockeys, polo players, light cart drivers, mule skinners, Olympic hopefuls and Amish, not to exclude EVERYONE that owns a horse, wants to know.....How much can my horse feel? By feel, I mean, long distance eye pressure, anxiety, mood, temperament, barometer, and excitement. I have seen riders get on their horse, ride out for the days work, the entire day making statements such as, "He won't work, He just doesn't wanna go", and then apply spur to get through the day. At lunch, I would stick a finger under his lip, confirm my thoughts for earlier in the morning, he was feverish. All the while the rider being clueless. I've arrived at a clients stable, upon removing the old set of shoes, to find a rock embedded in the apex of the frog, having been there days, maybe weeks. Again, clueless! We as humans, have proven to each other and our horses, we are aware of very little. Our energy field is small, when compared to the pastures of the common horse. They know what they can get away with, with a green rider, they know that later on in the day, it's gonna snow. As an exercise, the next time you lunge your horse, at the trot intently focus on his inside eye, the following two laps, focus intently on the tip of his tail. See if you are aware of any change.

To Produce a Smile

Little boys loping their ponies in the river bottoms, playing cowboys and Indians for hours on end. These are some of the memories, which were the building blocks for a life that is lived out today. Reflecting on these memories, during a recent visit to a home, where a video game was in play. The steady sound of automatic weapons and the sound of phrases, such as, "cap that rock slingin' ho", and music pounding at the decibel of 9, was provided by, The Suicidal Tendencies. The title of the song was, I Saw your Mommy, and your Mommy's Dead. My great-grandmother wouldn't let her sons listen to Marty Robbins, because of two lines, I was hangin' around town, not earning a dime. She told the boys that, that song referred to a loafer, and they shouldn't aspire to such a vocation. The cowboy in that song was standing there looking for work, not standing on 9th and Main, pushing heroin. Hat on backwards, pistol tucked into his low riding pants, looking more like a plumber than should be allowed. The activities our children engage in as youngin's, will shape and mould them into the adults that govern and rule our society. At the time in life, when we will want to relax from thirty years of concentrated labour, providing for the next generation, we will be watching our bar covered windows. Looking for thieves, instead of grandchildren through tear soaked eyes of happiness. Of course, because of my new found act of legislation, those grandchildren will now be on a pinto pony, wearing a smile and whistling, The Strawberry Roan.

To Produce a Smile

Of late, I have been tempted to lobby congress for new legislation. It would simply state, all parents should try to get their children horseback once a month. A chain reaction would occur. The first link in the chain would be a smile, next link, a happy family. Then, various links scattered through out the chain would be, better grades nationwide, shrinking numbers on drug addiction, empty jail cells, attentive listeners in the classrooms, pharmaceutical company and Wal-greens going bankrupt, for lack of sales on Ritalin. Okay, so I am dreamer, but am I so far off base and out of touch with reality, that the wii has taken the place of the family horse or backyard pony.

Przewalski's Horse

I can see Genghis Khan leading a large band of warriors, in a light horse charge across the vast Steppe of Asia. His doctrine of war included his men to wear a foul stench. To cause this odor to be carried as if by the winds of death to proceed the swift sword. Fear, reaching the nostrils of the enemy, even before the war whoops and the pounding of Przewalski's Horse beating cadence, reached their ears, and counting time before destruction. Actually, they rode decedents of the Przewalski's Horse, maybe they rode breeds like the Konik or Heck? We know the true blood of this horse (Equus ferus) dried up in 1966. Careful breeding and help from many agencies has brought them from near extinction to releasing them back to the wilds of Mongolia, thus removing them as a true natural selection species. Placing them on a level plain with the Brumby and the Mustang, (Equus ferus caballus). Many have stated that the wild horse lives longer than the domestic horse and we need to get back to NATURAL horsemanship and natural balance hoof care. Scientifically impossible! I will attempt to show that natural horsemanship is just as it reads, horse and man in the same ship!

The Cowboy

If you are a boy, how many cows do you have to own, to be considered a cowboy? Much thought has been given to this subject, what if the outfit you work for, only run steers? Somehow, the romance of the sunlit plains or of a cowboy drinking coffee by the fire, has been replaced with images of brutality towards horses, and ill treatment towards livestock. The very reason that a buckaroo, drover, cracker, cowboy, or even a rodeo champion, has chosen this occupation, is certainly not so that they can be close and cuddly to the bovine species. Neither, is it for the money! It's usually for the love of the horse. Sure, I admit, some of their ways are harsh, but I believe we are judged as in any race, culture, or profession, by a mere 5% of the whole. It's as if the weekend, or backyard horseman or horsewoman, were a teenager, having more knowledge than their parents, the old cowboy of the west. Like the little kid that comes home from school and says to mom and dad," Oh, there is a new planet, we know more, 'cause my teacher (the clinician) said!" But the parent (the old cowboy) simply states,"No, it's been there the entire time, but technology has just allowed everyone to see it, via Utube." Contrary to the derogatory term that is being used," Don't be cowboyin' around on my horse!" The buckaroo prides himself, on his soft easy-going mannerism, when with his companion, The Horse.

Auction

Who will start at 500? Somebody give me 400, down a quarter, now half? Okay, who will start me at $10, for this fine, yearling, stud colt? I remember, maybe two years ago, sitting beside a sale ring, and wittnessing this for the first time. Having grown up around the sale rings all my life, my father brought me to my first sale, when I could look up to see the belly of a short lizard, on a cool rock, on a hot day. If anyone would have told him that he could buy a full load of horses with a hundred dollar bill, it would have knocked him over. Even as a kid, a horse that walked on three, milked on one, and could see out of none, was still worth more than a hundred dollars. I marked the feeling that day in the sale ring, scores of horse owners with reality of the value, of the horse flesh at their own homes, evaporating in one failed swoop. They were all very quiet, perhaps remembering that they had just written checks for good alfalfa hay, for a high as $200 per ton. The mood was somber. I feel, without public auction, the horse market will never bounce back. We have read article after article that the high-end horse has not been affected. What a lie! Graphs show in 2009, more than 50% of the registered mares in our country, were left uncovered by the nations top stallions. With statistics like that, how can top breeders not be affected? Auction goers will pay more for a billy goat, than they will a horse. Why is it that champagne drinkers will pay more for art, at an auction than it is worth, but look down upon the sale of a horse, sold with the same method? The horse community as a whole, needs to work together, to find a solution for this problem. So many equestrian enthusiast have yet to admit.... there is a problem.

To Enter the Fight - Day 6

With our country fighting a war on two fronts, how could we not give ink to support our troops? During WWII, the small valley in which I call home, exported thousands of horses to be used in the war effort. So many years prior to the war at hand, quarter masters, propaganda writers, and the over-all war machine were aware and careful with our country's admiration of it's horses. For they labeled these train loads of broom tailed horses, leaving Idaho, as remount horses. With careful research, it's not hard to find, that these horses could not be remount horses, for they were never mounted in the first place, or for that matter, they were not even halter broke. Instead, they provided our courageous men in uniform with, what was know as, S.O.S. or in lay terms...chipped beef on toast. Once again propaganda was labeling to fit the cause, perhaps, this was one of the building blocks, to an eventual non-horse eating society. Let's look at a man, with a brown suit and tie, in an office in Washington, raised on cleaned, bleached, pre-packaged meats, never having put an axe to the head of a chicken. Making decisions for our boys in the trenches. I can hear him now," We don't want those Nebraskan plow boys, busy with the fight, worried, that we are slaughtering Bess and Dan, their trusty plow horses back on the home front." When in fact there are many stories, of old French cart horses, catching lead from an M1Grand in the forehead, to provide a platoon meal, while the battle raged. It makes me wonder, if some of our boys returning from the present theater of action, will be able to testify of the taste and texture of camel. OUR BOYS, bled and died for FREEDOM, one of those freedoms, which is being taken back by, so-called, animal loving, animal activists, is the right to use our God given canine teeth. Start with the horses, next is the cow, salmon, chicken, ect. ect.

To Enter the Fight - Day 5

Whether we choose to believe it or not, the horse is and always will be, a stock animal. I have traveled exstenively abroad, and found that our country is one of the only places in the world, that humanize our pets. Simple illustration: I purchased a horse in the Philippine Islands. I went to name her, Kate, all the men standing near, looked at me as though I were a nut! Realizing that this horse would bring, added income, transportation, status, and family enjoyment to the very men , who thought it odd to name her. A NAME was too humanistic, for after all, it was just a horse. One failed step on a slippery mountain trail, resulting in a fractured canon bone, would reduce the value of this horse, to added protein for the next village barbecue. They could never afford the luxury of the euthanization, that in our country costs $325, or fathom the thought of the lost food source. There are those in our precious country who have twisted the ideas so far, that we pay considerable amounts per anum , to discard a protein source that is so readily available. Can we afford to turn our snooty, snotty noses up forever? The cost being the loss of the American horse. Can this mentality ever be reversed? I do not see in the future a bumper sticker on a Volkswagon Jetta, that reads, HORSE, IT'S WHAT'S FOR DINNER! Thankfully, nor do I see, on a one ton Chevy flat-bed pickup, dogs hanging everywhere, a sticker that reads, TOFU, IT'S WHAT'S FOR DINNER! But, there is a fight raging between the two ideas.

To Enter the Fight - Day 4

If my love of horses is questioned, one must hear the story of Bud. He is a 14 yr. old calm, steady, trustworthy, groomed, buckskin gelding. Bud gets the daily adoration of my daughter, Jessica. As soon a the bus drops her off, she runs to his paddock, with hoof-pick in hand, to take care of his feet. Although his ancestry is questioned, one can see perhaps, Andalusian blood in one of his great-great-great grandfathers. If we let our minds wander a tad, we might even see his majestic great-great-great grandfather crossing the seas, with Cortez, getting the first glimpse of a new world. One thing for sure, war is in his blood. His current paperwork does not read AQHA, APHA, Jockey Club, Warmblood, or POA, but the 10 inch long white freeze brand on the left side of his neck, tells his plight. The reason he is being cared for, by our family, is because I could not fathom a horse with many wonderful years of service left in his bones, to warrant a trip involving French cuisine. Number me, with the ones that have championed the Mustangs, such as, but not limited to, Mr.and Mrs. Parelli, Mr. and Mrs. Monty Roberts, Mr. Baxter Black, Mr.Ray Hunt, Mr.Tom Dorrance, Queen Elizabeth II, The NFR, and Mr. Walter Zettl. Let me be, not to the left, not to the right, but down the center line on this fight. For the journey of the American horse, is a one-way city street or country lane. I've heard it said, If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the cause!

To Enter the Fight - Day 3

With hope on the horizon, the gentle breeze of stigma is changing direction. This reader has noticed a change in even the country's elite equestrianados. With 35,000 so called,"free-spirited", "symbol of the American West" horses, living in conditions no less, than that of feed-lot cattle. These animals are relying on the generosity of private citizens, for their care. Let's be honest, and talk about their value. Previous to the closure of plants sending meat, yes, I said it, to the European markets. When in fact, the European consumers, absolutely love the stuff, with a little mushroom gravy on it, MMmmmm. That same pen of 35,000 horses @ $.35 lb, on the average of 800 lbs. per horse, would be worth $10,000,000. Post closure of the same plants, these horses are now worth $.08 lb. No one will adopt a losing business venture. Even the constituents who swung the vote to eliminate the slaughterhouses of the US, have to ask themselves, how have we helped these horses? I, as a conservationist, would ask these same people, would you have voted to remove the crocodile (that love zebras with a little gravy) out of the waterways of the great migrations of Africa. In hopes that all zebras, young, old, strong, weak, feeble, ill-breed, diseased, three-legged, one-eyed, and even flip-over-backward surly, could make it to belly deep, green pastures?

To Enter the Fight

Geronimo, was no stranger to entering the fight. He faced powerful adversaries his entire life. Starvation being one of the greatest enemies, plagued this great leader and his people. The equitational skills of the Apache have never been doubted. Their horseback military campaigns remain to be some of the greatest accomplishments in history. It is also said, that an Apache warrior, could not only live on, but fight as well on but a handful of roots for weeks. Geronimo said," That a warroirs greatest weapon is his horse,for he cannot EAT his spear."

To Enter the Fight

If one could only imagine, an aluminum can, lazily discarded on the side of a suburban roadway. Half buried in the dust of passing traffic, perhaps a school bus, flatbed pick up, Geo metro, even a Subaru with a bicycle on top, or a Volkswagen half breed. Now let your mind wander to the inner city America, to a dirty man, with a plastic bag for a cloak and a bungee cord as a belt,with a scraggly beard, rummaging through a blue dumpster, with the word refuse stenciled on the side of it. Intently searching for an aluminum can.
To enter the fight of the American Horse, eloquent dressage horse, or cockle burr filled main and tail of a BLM horse, you must consider the word....UPCYCLE..I did not say recycle. I know that there are equine enthusiasts, who will say,"My horse, that I meticulous groom, dream about,spend $27000 on it's air conditioned trailer, $2.75 on the average, daily for it's dietary needs,$35-$100 monthly on pedicures alone,Up to $350 monthly for 16x16 stall,....is not an aluminum can".. I adamantly disagree!