A Success Story

                                               by Laura Crum

            When my son was seven years old and still reeling from the recent death of his pony, I bought an older rope horse that I knew well to be my boy’s new mount, hoping to both alleviate the pain of the loss and to make sure that my child could continue riding, which he was enjoying very much. And so, six years ago this October, Henry came into our lives.

            I paid five thousand dollars for Henry, which was considered a lot for a nineteen year old retired rope horse. But I knew Henry was sound and a reliable kid’s horse. One year after I bought him, Henry colicked, and I had to send him to colic surgery to save his life. So there went another ten thousand. At this point, I had a fifteen thousand dollar kid’s horse.

            Now I am not a rich woman. My husband is not interested in horses. Neither one of us really expected that horses would become my son’s passion—my kid liked to ride in a mild way, mostly because he grew up with/on horses, and hey, riding is fun. Still, my son was in no way driven to ride and compete on horses, the way many young people are—the way I was when I was young. So there really wasn’t any obvious justification for spending fifteen thousand dollars on a horse for him.

            But I did it. And my husband approved it wholeheartedly. And it was one of the best choices I ever made.

            My son grew up riding Henry. For six straight years we rode together two or three times a week. Mostly on the trails near our home, in our riding ring, and at my uncle’s roping arena. But also on the beach and in the redwood forest and up in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. My little boy crossed busy roads (hundreds of times), rode steep, technical trails on multi hour loops through the hills, waded in the surf and crossed creeks, loped endless circles and galloped after recalcitrant cattle. Almost all of my riding time during these last six years has been spent escorting my son on his various horseback adventures.

            Many people assume that I did all this because I wanted my son to become a horse person like me. But this isn’t true. I wouldn’t have minded if horses had become his passion, but I didn’t expect this to happen. I didn’t even exactly WANT it. I just believe that growing up on a horse is a healthy way to learn to feel kind, empowered, and connected in a real way to the natural world. Riding horses is the number one therapy for impaired children. So how much good can riding do for any child? Also I wanted to share the joy I have always had in horses with my little boy.

            The downside of this equation is that horses are inherently dangerous. Since the era of the internet, I am able to hear about horseback disasters all over the world. It scares the shit out of me, to be honest. So many people, not always doing anything wrong, are injured and/or killed in a wreck with their horse. I tried to make good decisions, my son always wore a helmet, Henry was and is a VERY reliable horse. But I’m not dumb. Any horse can fall, there is no predicting the day you will meet an erratic driver when crossing the road, wasps can cause even the best horse to flip out, helmets do not protect you against every kind of bodily damage, including head trauma…etc. The risk is real, even when you are doing everything “right.” And I was taking this risk with my beloved only son.

            Still, I persevered. Somewhere in my heart there was trust that I was doing the right thing. And there was trust in Henry, and trust in my son. We rode together for six years straight. We did not have one wreck. We did not even come close to a wreck, in all the miles we covered during those six years. We had a LOT of fun. We saw some beautiful things.

            And now my son is a teenager. He is more interested in riding his bike and surfing on his boogie board and (sigh) video games than he is in riding. He’s also much more busy with schoolwork now that he is in a junior high homeschool program. He is still willing to ride with me, and we ride once a week or so, mostly fairly sedate (walk/trot) short rides.

            Because Henry is twenty-five this year, this reduced program seems to fit him, too. He doesn’t have a lot of enthusiasm for loping circles any more. But he is still sound, and is always eager to be caught, meeting us at the gate every time. I have no idea how much longer he’ll be able to be a riding horse, but we will keep riding him lightly as long as it seems to suit him, and as long as my son is willing to climb aboard his horse. And when Henry doesn’t want to be ridden any more, his home with us is secure for the rest of his life.

            Even if my son never rides much in his adult life, I consider this to be an incredibly successful horse story. We have shared so much joy together, and my son’s experiences of horses, and the lovely places we have ridden, have been virtually entirely positive. What price could you ever put on that?

            My take home message is this: Buy that older solid horse for your child, or for yourself, if you are a beginner. There is no way you can over-value the peace of mind that comes with riding a steady trooper. And the price of that horse is a good deal less than the bill for emergency medical treatment is likely to be. Let alone the emotional trauma. Horses like Henry are worth their weight in gold.

            Henry and my thirteen-year-old son last weekend—a real success story.

            Does anybody else have a “Henry?” If so, I’ll bet you can attest to how valuable these solid equine citizens truly are. And please, please, from the bottom of my heart-- when these great older horses are past their useful working life, don’t just pass them on, hoping they’ll get a good home. Take care of them, and give back to them for all the good things they’ve given you. I honestly think it is truly evil to sell/rehome a good older not-quite-sound horse, never knowing what becomes of him. Because they so often end up in terrible situations. (I do agree that finding a suitable home can be OK—if you keep track of the horse and are willing to take him back if the home doesn’t work out.) If any horses are deserving of a peaceful, happy retirement, it is the “Henries” of this world. My gratitude to our own Henry is boundless, and it is my pleasure to give him a happy home until he is ready to let go of life.

My Life With Horses--Part Eleven

                                                by Laura Crum

            With Sunny and Henry my son and I began exploring the trails along the ridge near our home in earnest. My son was seven and a half. I was fifty years old and, to my surprise, a new horseback passion had entered my life. Because I became quite obsessed with riding the trails of my home.

            And here, if there is anyone out there who has been reading my posts on Equestrian Ink from the beginning, is where you came in. Because I began blogging here just a couple of months after I bought Sunny. In fact, one of my early posts was titled “The New Horse” (May 2008).

Sunny was always a very reliable trail horse and he gradually came to accept me as his boss and dropped most of his “testing” behaviors. I’ve blogged about him here often enough, so probably most of you have a pretty good idea of this little yellow horse’s personality. Suffice it to say that Sunny and I formed a good partnership and from the beginning I was deeply grateful for how steady both he and Henry were on the trails. These two horses opened up a whole new world for my son and me.

We began riding in the hills several days a week, sometimes with our friend Wally, sometimes just the two of us. We rode the trail to the Lookout often. 

We also discovered new trails, a whole network of trails that criss-crossed the wild ridge that we could see from our front porch.  

We hauled the horses down to the shore and rode them on the beach. 

Sunny and Henry were and are amazing trail horses. In the redwood forest.

    Crossing creeks. 

           In the mountains. 

I could never describe, or even show you in photos, half of the delightful and beautiful things my son and I were privileged to see from the backs of these two wonderful horses. I have to say that though it may not sound as exciting as training and showing cutting horses or competing at team roping, these last five years exploring the trails of our home and the beaches and mountains have been my absolute favorite part of my life with horses. It has been a time of pure enjoyment, of taking delight in both the horses and my son and the wonder of what we were all seeing together. There has been nothing to prove to anyone, and no need to improve or train or push. The horses have been our partners every step of the way; they were competent, solid horses when we got them and they brought their own confidence and experience to share with us. My forty years with horses stood us in good stead, and I am proud to say that my son has grown up riding, has challenged himself as he saw fit (and yes, kicking Henry up to a gallop after a steer and riding some of the steep, tricky trails we have ridden has been a true challenge), and has become an adept, kind and secure rider, one who really understands horses. I don’t know what the future will bring, but we have done and seen some lovely things. My photos can show our life with these two horses better than words. 

I can truly say that for five straight years we rode Henry and Sunny everywhere and had a blast. We may be getting close to a thousand rides all told (I kept track the first year and we went on 165 rides that year alone). We were never hurt or scared, never even very anxious—none of us. And it is all due to these fine horses. We have had so much fun. Gathering and working cattle with friends. 

Just loping along in the sunshine.

This year my son turns thirteen and Henry is twenty-five. We are still riding a couple of days a week, but we aren’t pushing Henry too hard, and, to be fair, my kid is developing other interests and isn’t as passionate about riding. And that’s OK. The magic will always be with us and in us. And Henry and Sunny will be with us until they die. The gift they have given us is beyond price, and I will always be grateful.

I wrote my 11^th and 12^th novels in the Gail McCarthy series about trail riding along the ridge by our home (of course the books feature some very dramatic happenings out on these trails—which I am VERY glad we never experienced in real life). Sunny and Henry both have prominent roles in these stories and are described very much as they actually are. So, for a glimpse of this part of my life, and a couple of exciting mysteries as well, try Going, Gone and Barnstorming. 

My Life With Horses--Part Ten

                                                by Laura Crum

            I have told the story of how I came to acquire Henry rather recently on this blog (see My Son’s Horse). So, in the interests of not being too repetitive, I’ll just say that Henry opened a brand new chapter in my life with horses. And you could call this chapter “The Trails Along the Ridge.”

            As you may remember, my seven year old son had begun asking me to go out on trail rides. And as it happens, there was a network of trails on the ridge across the road from our house. Many years ago, when we were first together, my husband and I had explored these trails on Flanigan and Plumber. But I had not been up there since I got pregnant with my son. So I hadn’t seen the trails in eight years. I didn’t even really remember them all that well, and the way we used to access them had been blocked by a housing development. Thus I was pretty much starting from scratch to figure out if we COULD trail ride from here.

            I headed out on the newly acquired Henry to explore a little (and make sure he was as reliable on the trail as I thought he was), and I found a way back up to the ridge. As was inevitable, it involved crossing the very busy road at the end of our driveway, and then some rather dubious skirting of other people’s property. But horse hoofprints indicated that riders from the nearby boarding stable rode this way. And sure enough, I eventually found (and recognized) the same old trails I had ridden years ago with my husband, and reached the Lookout—a high spot with a glorious view of the Monterey Bay. I knew that this was where I wanted to take my son trail riding.

            Henry was an absolute champ outside. Nothing bothered him, he was relaxed and calm, and walked quietly at all times. He was as steady as a rock when I crossed the busy road, indifferent to the traffic. I felt that I could take my son riding out on the trails with a reasonable degree of safety. So we tried a few expeditions, beginning with some easier trails. And I realized that the only problem I was going to have had nothing to do with my son or Henry. It was Plumber.

            Plumber was nineteen years old at this time and I had done plenty of trail riding on him in the past. But for the last eight years he had been strictly an arena horse. My friend Wally roped on him and I rode him while I accompanied my son on short rides in the arena. Plumber was starting to slow down and Wally and I were pretty sure this would be his last year as a team roping horse. I thought that the timing was perfect and Plumber could now become my trail horse. But I was wrong.

            Because it turned out that Plumber didn’t want a new career as a trail horse. And he made this very plain. Every single time I took him out on the trail, he danced anxiously and spooked at every little rustle in the brush. He also protested at the downhill bits, tossing his head and pinning his ears, switching his tail, and walking at a slow, reluctant crawl. He absolutely never relaxed and just walked along, enjoying the scenery, as Henry did. I took my son for his first ride on the beach and Henry was perfect. Plumber was nervous and unhappy the whole time (which I think you can see in their respective expressions in the photo of that expedition—below). In every way he could, Plumber communicated, “I don’t want to do this.”

            A lifetime spent with horses will teach you a few things. Even though it was reasonable to suppose that the still quite sound Plumber could be my trail horse, I had to acknowledge that it wasn’t working for either him or me. Steady as Henry was, Plumber’s constant spooking triggered Henry to spook once or twice. Despite the fact that I felt perfectly safe on Plumber in an arena (and had ridden with my kid in front of me in the saddle for two years—that’s how safe I felt), I did not feel safe standing next to the busy road while Plumber danced anxiously. I was pretty sure I could control Plumber, but at this point I had my son on the pony rope and I absolutely needed to keep my whole focus on him. Nor could I risk that Plumber would startle Henry. So I made the rather unpopular decision (just ask my husband) that I needed to buy a new trail horse. And I knew just the one.

            Nine months previously, I had tried a little palomino horse as a possible replacement for Toby the pony (Toby’s cancer had reoccurred and we had removed another tumor from his sheath—I was aware that his time might be limited). This was a horse that I had known for a few years and I believed that he was a steady, reliable trail horse. But upon trying him I realized that he was also opinionated, ill broke and a bit spoiled—not a good combination for a kid’s horse. So I passed on him and eventually bought the much better broke Henry for my son. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t forget the cute little palomino horse. Neither could my boy, who continued to ask about “Sunny.”

            Sunny remained for sale. A friend of mine tried him and rejected him for much the same reasons I did. “Too ornery for a kid’s horse.” But when I thought about finding a steady trail horse for myself, Sunny popped into my mind with irresistible force. And despite my husband’s protests that we did not need another horse, I picked Sunny up that very day to take him on trial. The rest, as they say, is history.

(To be continued—the beginning of the saga is here)

My Son's Horse

                                                by Laura Crum

            Sometimes you get lucky. I had no intention of buying Henry. I had known the horse for years. A reliable, good hearted, somewhat boring horse, I thought. I had no interest in him. For most of those years I rode more athletic horses that were sensitive and perhaps a little hot. Henry struck me as dull. And he was a sorrel—my least favorite color. He did not intrigue me and I had no desire to own him, though I knew him to be a good horse—a capable rope horse, always sound, willing to babysit a child. Just not my kind of horse.

            When my son was little (between three and five years), he rode with me on my horse, Plumber. And one day, when Plumber was lame due to being kicked while in the trailer by his traveling partner, my uncle, who owned Henry, offered to let us ride the horse. I knew Henry was safe, so accepted the offer—and I was pleasantly surprised. Though a lazy horse overall, Henry had a wonderfully smooth trot and gave me a good feel. I enjoyed riding him. And I didn’t think too much more about it.

            When my kid turned five, I bought him a pony. And for two years he rode that pony almost every day. At first with me leading him, and later with me ponying him from my horse, and after about a year, my son rode Toby independently, while I rode along with him on Plumber. Toby was a real jewel. He was a big pony, thirteen and a half hands, and I thought, if I thought about it at all, that my son would grow up riding his pony, as the girl who owned Toby before us had done, and that when my boy became a teenager I’d move him up to a horse—just like the previous owner.

            Sadly Toby died of cancer just two years after we bought him. It happened the same autumn we lost our old dog and an old cat that was my son’s special friend. All within a six week period. It was my child’s first real brush with mortality, and it was a tough introduction. I was desperate to do something to alleviate the pain. I couldn’t bring Toby back, but I could make sure that horseback riding didn’t disappear for us with the loss of the pony. If I could find the right replacement for Toby.

            I remember telling my husband that none of our horses were suitable to mount a child on—too sensitive, too spooky. It wasn’t worth the risk. “But I know of one,” I said. And I called my uncle up and asked what he’d take for Henry.

            My uncle has been a horse trader all his life. He wasn’t planning on selling Henry, but it was autumn and the roping season was coming to an end for the year. Now he would feed the horse through the winter and not get any use out of him. And Henry was 19. Though sound, his days as a rope horse were probably limited. And my uncle knew that I would give any horse I took on a good home. And so he named a price—a very high price for a nineteen year old horse that was to be used as a kid’s riding horse. I said, “Fine. I’ll take him.” And the next day Henry was in my barn.

            My knowledgeable horse friends thought I was nuts. “He WAY overcharged you,” they said. “Did you vet him?” they said.

            I shrugged. No, I didn’t vet him. I knew him. And I also knew that I could search forever and not find another horse I was sure about. Sure he was sound, sure he was safe. It was worth every cent to know that my kid could keep riding and that I wouldn’t have to worry. I trusted Henry.

            And so it proved. When I bought Henry my little boy had just turned seven. Toby the pony had taught him to ride, but we really hadn’t ventured out of the arena much. My son had just begun asking me to go on trail rides shortly before Toby died. And with Henry, we jumped right in. Below you see us on my son’s first ride at the beach, shortly after we bought Henry—it was Henry’s first time at the beach, too, I believe. In the photo we have just emerged from the trail through the sand dunes and are looking at the ocean. If I look a bit stern it’s because I was wondering how Henry would react to his first sight of the sea (he was fine). Plumber, my horse, never did care for the beach, which I think you can tell from his expression. But we had a good ride that day, and my son was hooked on riding “outside.”

            However in the months to come I realized it was time to retire Plumber, who was 20. Plumber was peggy on downhills and let me know he did not care for trail riding any more. Not to mention he was spooky. He spooked at every little rustle in the brush. This had never bothered me before, but now I had to keep my attention on my son. I needed a solid horse that could take care of himself and give Henry a steady lead. And so I bought Sunny.

            Sunny was as steady on the trail as Henry. Not much of anything bothered him. And my son and I, on Sunny and Henry, went on over a hundred trail ride adventures in the first year that we owned these two horses.

            Through the woods.

                               To the Lookout.

                                    On the beach.

                                 In the redwood forest.

Over the hills.

                         Henry was a trooper. He loped endless circles for my kid.

                                          He chased cattle.

            He was just a great horse. And then he colicked. It seemed, initially, to be a mild colic. We treated him. But every time the pain killer wore off, the pain came back. Henry never did seem to be in great distress. But he wasn’t coming out of it. After two days of this, we hauled him to the equine center. And there, after X-rays and ultra-sound, they told me that he needed surgery.

            I have to admit, I have always been one of those people who said they would never do colic surgery. Too much money, endless rehab, a lot of horses don’t recover, just too much grief for both horse and owner. So my inclination was to say no. And besides Henry wasn’t looking too bad. Just mildly painful. He didn’t look like a horse that needed surgery.

            But the vet convinced me that it was Henry’s best chance. And I couldn’t stand not to try. We’d lost Toby a little over a year ago. If I could help it, we weren’t going to lose Henry. It was a tough decision, and I drove away from the veterinary center with tears streaming down my face, not sure if I’d ever see Henry again.

            But I did. We all did. The very next day we drove to the center to take Henry (with a huge bandage around his middle) for a walk. And the old horse was a bit shaky, but bright-eyed. He nickered when he saw us and walked eagerly alongside my son and grazed on the green grass. And the vet handed me a cantalope sized stone they had taken out of his intestine.

            Henry recovered. The rehab was as long and time consuming and frustrating as I had feared, but we got through it. Six months later, Henry was back to full work and doing great. I will be forever grateful.

This was five years ago, and we have gone on hundreds of trail rides since. I have grown to love Henry as much as I have ever loved any horse. Not just for the gift he has given my son, though that alone is priceless, but for himself. For his wonderful, bright-eyed, tough little self. My son’s red horse. Who still carries my kid bravely on adventures, and is 100% sound and free moving at 25 years of age. Like I said to begin with, sometimes you get lucky. Thank you, Henry. You have a forever home with us.

My son and Henry headed back to the barn after a good ride--April 2013.

 Henry enjoying some post-ride grazing--April 2013