Horse For Sale

                                                by Laura Crum

            I don’t know about you guys, but I hate selling horses. When I was younger, I kind of enjoyed the buying/selling routine, especially buying. Like many people, I suppose, I always hoped that the new horse would be the perfect, special, just-right one. I didn’t mind selling, thinking that I would find a horse I liked better than the one I was letting go. But this all changed as I got older.

            Now I’m far more careful when I buy, knowing that I’ll want to keep the horse forever. And as for selling, why I just don’t. I’m tormented by the thought of the horses I sold when I was younger. Horses that I had trained myself, that I owned for many years in a few cases. I never once sold an old horse that had given me his best years (thank goodness), but I did sell several horses in their prime. And I wonder now if some of them ended up at the killers. I’ll never know. It haunts me.

So, any more I don’t plan to sell horses. The two that we re-homed in recent years both went for free to a very good home who has promised to retire them when their riding years are done. I trust these people and I also keep in touch. I feel fine about these horses. But selling, not so much.

Still, two years ago, when my friend and horse partner Wally bought a black horse that he thought he could use for a backup heel horse, I agreed that we’d sell the horse if he didn’t work out. Wally boards his horses with me, but I couldn’t take Coal, the black horse, at my place, as all my corrals were full. So Wally boarded him with our friend Mark, a young horse trainer/team roper, in exchange for Mark getting to use the horse.

Coal was/is a pretty horse—absolutely solid shiny black, very refined. More refined than I would prefer, actually, he looks more like a TB than a QH. He is taller than I like at 15.2 (I like 14.3 or shorter, thank you very much). Coal was nine when Wally bought him and sound and gentle and very smooth gaited—and cheap. I rode him four or five times in the arena and agreed he was a nice riding horse. He had the smoothest trot and lope of any horse I’d ever ridden, I think. He carried himself in a nice frame and was a very polite, obedient horse to ride. I thought that if I lost the use of Sunny or Henry, maybe my son and I could use Coal as our backup. Wally thought he could use Coal if he lost the use of Twister.

So we went along for a couple of years. Mark roped on Coal and trail rode him and mounted lots of people on him and the horse did OK. He didn’t turn out to be a very good heel horse, though, and Wally didn’t like him. This last summer Wally began lobbying to sell Coal, and, of course, I protested. I just don’t like selling horses.

But I had nowhere to put the horse and no time for him. One horse is all I can keep ridden these days. In the end I agreed to take Coal on a trail ride and make up my mind if I really wanted to keep him as a backup for Sunny and Henry. So last weekend I did that. And sadly, he flunked.

We went on a very easy ride, a logging road that winds up from my uncle’s place through the redwood forest to the top of the ridge. Its an up and back. Takes about two hours at an easy place. About five miles total. Its pretty steep in the first mile up the ridge. But good footing.

I had promised to take my son’s friend for a trail ride, so I put the friend on Sunny, my son rode Henry, Wally rode Twister and I rode Coal. Coal was a touch cinchy, which I knew about—no problem, though. He looked at stuff from time to time but for the most part walked with his ears at half mast—very slowly. Now Sunny is not a fast walker, but Sunny, Henry and Twister all outwalked Coal—quite dramatically. Still I wasn’t really bothered. I trotted to catch up and Coal had a lovely trot. Smooth—seemed absolutely even. We made it to the top of the ridge with me thinking the horse was OK. I didn’t love the way he walked so slowly with his ears flopping—both Sunny and Henry, though not fast walkers, walk alertly, with their ears up. Its easy to see that they enjoy trail rides and like looking around as much as I do. Coal, however, gave me no sign that he was enjoying this expedition. And then we started back down the ridge.

Right away Coal’s already slow pace slowed further—to a snail’s pace. He also, rather alarmingly, began taking “bad steps”, where he would suddenly stumble. We fell further and further behind the others. I remembered Mark telling me that Coal was not a good “downhill horse.” Now I could see what he meant.

I didn’t want to hurry Coal, and I could not tell what was causing his problem. So I just asked the others to wait periodically. My horse Sunny also walks (in my eyes) quite slowly downhill, but Sunny was leaving Coal in the dust. I had the sense that Coal was uncomfortable, and he became more so when the hill got steeper. I was uncomfortable riding him. As soon as we got to a level spot I trotted him out and he trotted absolutely even. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t an easily detectable lameness. But I knew for sure I wouldn’t be using this horse as my trail horse.

We made it back to the barn in time, and everybody had a lovely ride—except me. I was sad about Coal. I knew I had to tell Wally to go ahead and sell him, and I just HATE selling horses. Coal is in many ways a very nice horse—he’s just not a good trail horse. It would make me feel awful to think that he came to a bad end because I didn’t keep him. (For those who think I’m paranoid here, I have just known too many horses that were sold to a supposed good home that ended up somewhere not good at all.)

But logic prevailed. I told Wally to go ahead and sell Coal. I just asked that he do his best to be sure the horse went to a good home. We agreed that he shouldn’t be sold to be a rope horse or a trail horse, as he clearly wasn’t enthusiastic about these events. And Wally told Mark to find the right sort of a home for the horse (giving our conditions).

Now there’s every possibility this story will have a happy ending. Coal may get a home that is far better than the home I could possibly have given him. And I have to admit, there is no way I want to ride Coal on the trails. But still…I worry. What if? What if years later I realize that poor black horse ended up at the killers, or starved to death. And this happened to some horses I once knew and liked. They didn’t belong to me (like Coal) and they were sold, and I only heard much later what happened to them. It still bothers me.

Any thoughts?

When to Quit

by Laura Crum

First of all, I want to give an update on Henry, my son’s lazy red horse. Last fall Henry developed the bad habit of refusing to pick up the lope. He would lower his head, brace against the bit and trot faster. This became very frustrating for my son. We worked on this problem all winter/spring. Henry got lots of rest; I determined he was sound and felt good; I rode him several times and reprimanded him for doing this; I put a different bit on him; and, finally, I coached my son through a protocol for addressing the problem. Every time Henry ignored the signal to lope and put his head down and trotted faster, I had my son pull him up (fairly roughly) and ask for the lope again from the walk, using the crop. Once Henry loped well for a few circles, I had my son stop him—before Henry dropped out of the lope on his own.

It worked. My son was able to lope Henry quite successfully at home in our riding ring. But he was still nervous about loping the horse at our local roping arena, where the problem first developed. Henry has a tendency to want to go back to the other horses and stop, and my son was afraid he would attempt to use his bracing vice again. I encouraged my kid to give it a try and the last few times at the arena, Henry has loped many perfect circles—willingly and with very little attempt to revert to his old habit. And when he did, briefly, put his head down, my son was able to correct him instantly. So, for those of you who wrote in and gave me good advice (and thank you—I found it very helpful), there’s my update. So far, its been a real success story. My son has definitely become a better rider because of this. He and Henry remain a good team, both in the arena and on the trail. I think this is a good example of the sort of problem that can be worked through, if the horse and rider are basically well suited.

And now, on to today’s topic.

A fellow horse blogger asked me recently about knowing when it was time to quit—or give up—on a horse, and said she thought it would make a good blog piece. I had to think about this for awhile. I’ve made the decision to quit on quite a few horses in my life—horses that I was training that seemed too unpredictable and resistant (horses that were violent)—I was afraid I’d get hurt. I chose not to ride them any more. And horses I owned that, for whatever reason, didn’t work for me. Some of these horses I sold. In my later years, however, I mostly gave them to good homes who promised to keep them or return them to me.

The reasons I “rehomed” these horses were various. But the bottom line was that they just didn’t work for me. And since I was asked, I thought awhile about what this means. And the truth is—I keep the horses that make me happy when I look at them. I rehome the ones that don’t make me feel happy when I look at them.

What does this mean? Well, it doesn’t mean that I keep the pretty ones. Pretty is fine, as far as it goes, but what makes me feel happy when I look at a horse in my corral is the inner certainty that I enjoy this horse. I like dealing with him. I like having him around. This can be an older horse that I no longer ride (like Gunner) or a horse I ride a lot (like Sunny)—doesn’t matter. I like to be with the horse, I like to handle the horse, I like to ride him (if I’m riding him), I like to look at him and touch him. He makes me feel good. I feel safe with him.

When I was younger I felt safe with a far livelier, more challenging horse than the sort I feel safe with now. But the important thing is that I realize this. I’m aware of how I feel. I like a quieter, calmer horse than I used to prefer. And that’s fine.

Some of my horses, in fact, all of my horses, give me a minor problem from time to time, like Henry did last fall. But I still feel happy to work with them and handle them, even though I may be frustrated with the problem. It’s a subtle thing. But the way I judge it is the fact that looking at that horse in the corral still makes me smile.

What sort of horse makes me not happy? A hard thing to explain. I don’t like having a horse that seems anxious or unhappy living with me. I don’t want a horse that seems in any way dangerous. I don’t want a horse that annoys me. And this is idiosyncratic. One horse annnoys me with his quirks, and another, with similar quirks, amuses me. A horse I find annoying, another horseman loves. Its personal. The main thing is that I’m aware that if a horse does not give me that happy feeling when I see him in my corral, its not a good thing.

I’ll give an example. Awhile ago I had a horse named Lester. Lester was given to me by my friend, who had given up on him as a team roping horse. Lester was, in most ways, a gentle, safe horse that anyone could ride. He was a good trail horse. In a group, anyway. Lester had a few quirks. Speed events blew him up. (Why he didn’t make a rope horse.) He was incurably herdbound—taking him out by himself was a total pain. He fussed with things in the pasture and corral, beating on fences and feeders, breaking gates, scraping the paint off sheds and trailers. Lester annoyed me.

I lent him to a friend for her teenage daughter (explaining exactly what he was), and they loved him. But the daughter outgrew her interest in horses. Once again I had Lester back. The very first morning he was here again, he woke me up by beating on his feeder like it was a drum. I was mad before I even looked at him. Like I said, Lester annoyed me. I did not smile when I saw him; I grimaced in frustration, even though I was fond of him.

I found him a new home with a woman who gave lessons. I explained what he was. She was a Parelli person and said her hobby was working with problem horses…if they weren’t dangerous. I said Lester wasn’t dangerous—at all—if he wasn’t asked to work at speed or be alone. I said he was annoying. She laughed.

To make a long story short, this gal has had Lester for many years and loves him. She lets lots of kids ride him—he does great. To begin with she tried to Parelli him out of his herdbound ways, but from what I’ve heard lately, she just sticks to riding him with other horses. I check on Lester once in awhile. He looks fat and happy. They think he is endearing rather than annoying. I’m thrilled.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m in favor of rehoming the horses that don’t make us feel happy inside. Sometimes it takes awhile to determine this. I usually give a horse six months—if I still like him at that point, I figure we have a chance. If I still like him after two years, I make a commitment to him. That’s my window.

My Sunny horse was on trial for the first six months I owned him. I had the previous owner’s agreement she’d take him back and refund my money if I found him unsuitable. But though I initially was doubtful about Sunny, who seemed cross grained and offered to kick, crowhop…etc, over time we came to a real meeting of the minds. After two and a half years, Sunny is my horse. I feel we make a good team and are each able to provide what the other needs. Sunny seems happy living with me. I smile every time I see him.

But if a horse makes me feel unhappy inside, for whatever reason—and I mean consistently, not just when we have a bad day, or a bad week—then I am going to find that horse a new home. I will be careful to be sure the horse does not end up in a bad place (to the best of my abilities) but life is too short and there are so many sweet horses that it isn’t worthwhile keeping one that doesn’t fit.
That unhappy feeling is varied. Lester made me feel annoyed. If I felt a horse was a danger to me or my kid, I’d feel anxious. I’ve had horses here that constantly paced or seemed restless, or just gave me the impression they were not content, and this, in turn, made me uncomfortable. All of these feelings are variations on “this horse does not make me feel happy when I look at him.”

As I said, this can be a fine line. Sometimes, as with Henry, a horse you genuinely enjoy can frustrate you for awhile. I think the secret of being a good (and happy) horseman is partly the ability to walk this line. To rehome the ones that don’t make us happy and keep the ones that do. And having the wisdom to know the difference.

At the moment, a huge part of what makes me feel happy with a horse is feeling safe. And I have enough wisdom to recognize this. So my answer to the horse blogger who asked me the question (who is an experienced horseperson herself and probably knows what my answer would be)—is that if I don’t feel safe with a horse I’m not gonna be happy with him….and I will find him a new home.

So that’s my take on it. Any other opinions?

What Do We Owe Them?

by Laura Crum


The other day I was thinking about the riding school where I took lessons as a kid. And I began to remember my favorite lesson horses. Melody and Gypsy, the two old mares who were my mounts when I was just a beginner. Dusty, a horse I actually progressed to jumping three and a half foot fences on (pretty good for a thirteen year old who had previously only ridden western). Peg, on whom I learned vaulting, and won many a bareback class. And there were others. Rhonde, Uncle Max, Thunder, Freckles…all were my favorite at one time or another.

I took lessons at that riding school for many years. I went to their summer camp program. I knew their horse herd well. And they had almost a hundred horses. They took pretty good care of these horses. The horses were turned out every night in a big pasture and fed hay every morning in the corral; the ones who were to be used were then caught for the day. No horse was thin. Lame horses were not ridden. The horses did get vet care. If a horse was old, that horse only had to give a few lessons a day. Many times I heard the instructors refusing to let the more advanced kids ride Gypsy and Melody, telling them that the old girls should not be used too hard. In short, it was not a bad place.

Still, I have little doubt that when these horses’ time was done, they were hauled to the local saleyard and bought by what, in those days, was called the “chicken man”. The guy who bought horses for chicken food. This was just what most people did at that time. It was taken for granted.

Now, I have a confession to make. I sold my first horse, an ornery bay gelding named Jackson, to this riding school. Jackson was not a particularly endearing or successful first horse—I have written a few times about the fact that he was prone to vertical rears and kicking (under certain circumstances), and that once he kicked me in the head and knocked me out cold. What my parents were thinking to turn me loose on such a creature I can’t imagine. But, if only asked to walk, trot and lope around a ring, Jackson was reasonably gentle. And when I determined to be rid of him and buy myself a young horse to train, I sold him to the riding school where I had taken lessons.

Jackson was a success there. I went up to visit him some years later and he was doing fine, well loved by the little girls who rode him. And no, he didn’t end up at the sale. I heard from a friend who taught there that he was kicked by another horse and suffered a broken leg. He was euthanized by the vet right there on the place. By that time he was over twenty, so, all in all, I’d say things worked out OK for him.

Now I didn’t train Jackson—when I bought him he was fourteen. I owned him for three years. I did not create his problems, and he left me a more cooperative horse than when he came to me. But also, I did not take responsibility for him. When I sold him I left him to his fate. Would I do that now? I’m not sure.

I think of all the horses I rode at the riding school, Gypsy and Melody and Dusty and Peg, all such good horses. I was grateful to them. I thought I loved them. As a child and then a teenager I never thought to ask what would become of them. I never thought of it as my problem.

I think of other horses I owned at one time and then sold. I don’t, to this day, know what their fate was. Did they end up on a truck, bound for slaughter in Mexico? Was the basic trust I tried to instill in them when I owned them completely and finally betrayed? How much might they have suffered? It will always torment me, to some degree.

And this is what I am trying to do differently with my son. We talk a lot about our old, retired horses and why we retire them. We talk about being grateful to our horses and taking care of them until they die. My son goes with me when I feed the retirees. I am trying to show him, both in words and by example, that it is our business what happens to these horses, how they end their lives. It is definitely our problem.

I have no idea what effect this will have, of course. But at the very least I am hoping that when he looks back on the horses that taught him to ride, he will feel good to know that we took care of them and were there for them until the end. I am hoping that we can begin a new pattern. I am hoping that, unlike me, he will be free of this nagging sadness.

I’m grateful that I have had the resources to keep my horses, that I have not been forced to sell them out of financial necessity. But if I did have to sell some horses because I didn’t have enough money to keep them all, it would not be my older horses who would go. No, the horses who worked hard for me all their lives, whose quirks are the results of my training and my choices, these are the ones that I owe. I will honor my debt to them by making sure that they have the retirement they deserve. Its not that I think I am the only one who can take good care of a horse. Its that this is my responsibility, not someone else’s. It is my privilege to do right by these horses.

Believe me, I sure know how tempting it is to decide to offload a horse that is no longer useful to the owner. Its so easy to develop a convincing rationale for doing what would be most covenient for us, the human in charge. Maybe the horse is old, maybe it has issues, lameness or otherwise. For whatever reason, we, the owner, no longer want to ride this horse. And so often we have other, younger horses that we’d rather ride. Our older horse is taking up space, or costing us money, or taking time (usually all three) that we would rather devote to these younger horses that are our current interest. And so we decide to find the older horse a new home. We rationalize that it could be “better” for the horse, that the horse will get more attention. And sometimes this can be true. But what we are really motivated by is the fact that it will be “better” (more convenient) for us. We are justifying our ready excuses as to why we shouldn’t have to take care of a horse who has served us well and perhaps been injured, physically or emotionally, or perhaps just grown too old for the job we want to do.

I’m not saying that one should never find a new home for a horse. I have “rehomed” several horses in the last ten years that just didn’t fit my needs. But I always took responsibility for these horses. I didn’t sell them. I placed them in homes where I thought they would work. One lived happily in that home until he was retired and eventually euthanized. One is still living happily in his home. Three I had to take back. Why? Were they bad homes? Not at all. In two cases the people lost their jobs and could no longer afford the horse. In one case the woman went through a divorce and could no longer afford the horse. If I had not been there, ready and willing to take the horses back, if I had simply sold them and lost track of them, they would have been sold again. There is no way of knowing where they would have ended up. Thus, I believe that if one wants to rehome a horse and still be responsible, one needs to maintain control of that horse. Usually, this means not selling the horse.

I am currently facing this dilemma with my horse, Plumber, who features in my mystery series. I’ve known Plumber since he was born; I’ve owned him since he was three. I broke him and trained him myself. He’s been a competitive team roping horse since he was eight. He’s won several saddles, lots of money, numerous buckles and awards. He started to slow down at nineteen. Last year, at twenty, we used him very lightly. It became clear near the end of the season that Plumber just didn’t want to run hard any more. He also doesn’t care for steep hills. He’s still sound for walk, trot, lope type work on level ground. But he’s not really a kid’s horse. A little too flighty, inclined to spook and prance, rather full of his own ideas. (And all these issues are no doubt due to my failures as a trainer.) This spring Plumber will be twenty-one. He isn’t going to be much use to me as a riding horse, since I want to trail ride and the country where I live is very hilly. It would be fairly easy for me to find him a home if I gave him away. He’s gentle for an intermediate rider, kind, smooth gaited, no one has ever come off him in his entire life. He’s very safe. Lots of people would enjoy him. It would be convenient for me to have an extra pen and one less horse to take care of. So, am I going to rehome Plumber?

I don’t think so. I owe him. He’s my little horse and he did his best for me. It may not be convenient for me to keep him, but I’m going to, even if I have to eat mac and cheese, or make other sacrifices. I plan to keep him and retire him because I think that’s what would be best for him.

The writer of one blog suggested that horses don’t really get attached to us the way we do to them. No doubt this is true. Plumber nickers whenever sees me, including when he’s in a group of other horses…etc. Is he fine when I’m gone? Sure. But there is also no question that this little horse who has lived in the same big corral here on my property for seventeen years and been hauled to many, many events, and who has covered a great many miles under my saddle, is used to his people and his life. Could he accept change? No doubt. But what if I’m not trying to figure out a solution that’s convenient for me and might be acceptable. What if I want to do the best I can for this horse?

I’m not going to say that I know what’s the best thing for every owner of an older horse to do. I don’t. Plumber won’t get as much attention here as he would if he were somebody’s one special pet horse. I have four other saddle horses at my place that need my attention, as well as my other retired horses.

What I do know is that I accept responsibility for my horse who has done so much for me and seems so bonded to me and his life here. It isn’t about ego and thinking I’m the only one who can do it. Its about love and doing the best we can for the ones we love. Its about hanging in there when it isn’t easy or convenient. That’s what I want to teach my son.

When we sell a horse we lose control over that horse’s fate. That’s a fact. Its possible to rehome a horse and do right by him. As long as we retain control and keep track of how the horse is doing, it can be a good option; we need to be willing and able to take that horse back at any time—or his end may not be so pretty. But there’s a whole nother equation. And that’s about wanting to give back to the ones who gave to us. And yes, it sometimes is about eating mac and cheese (figuratively, anyway). We can delude ourselves that its not about that, but those are meaningless words. Unfortunately its often about making sacrifices so that we can do our best by our horses. Sometimes we need to do things that aren’t easy and convenient for us because its better for someone else. Often we need to stretch ourselves a little and look beyond what comes as the most “logical”, “natural” choice for us, the human owner. Sometimes we need to look at what would be best for a horse who has done a great deal for us. Maybe we need to consider what we owe them. And so I will continue to study on what’s the best path for my horse, Plumber, with an open mind and a willing heart. Because I really want to do what’s best for him….not just what’s convenient for me. And its my belief that Plumber, like me, loves his pleasant life and his companions and his familiar routines. And I don’t plan to take that away from him lightly.

The real question in my mind is whether it would be better for Plumber to turn him out with my other retired horses or keep him here at home and try to give him what attention I can. Plumber is a fussy critter, more like a mare than a gelding, prone to kicking at his companions in the next corral and squealing, and he is very, very used to his routines and very people oriented. In the pasture he would get far less attention, but much more freedom and grazing. The fences in the pasture are not perfect, though they’re decent, but still not as safe as my pipe corrals at home. I have never had a horse seriously hurt in this pasture (knock on wood) in over ten years of horsekeeping there. But I worry. Plumber is not the ideal candidate for turnout. If he made it through the transition, I’m sure he’d be fine, but would this fussy little people oriented horse be happier here or in the pasture?

If anyone would like to chime in with suggestions about the best way to retire a real “people horse”, I’d love to hear them. I’d also be interested in your thoughts concerning rehoming an older horse with issues (whether due to lameness, age or whatever) that are the results of one’s own training and choices.

And don’t forget about our Reader’s Write Saturdays. Send us a post about you and your horse, or short piece of your own fiction, or your favorite blog post from your own blog. Or your take on one of the many subjects we’ve brought up and discussed here. Anything you think might interest our readers. Send it to Jami at jamidavenport@att.net and she’ll post it on the next available Saturday. We’ve very much enjoyed all the contributions so far. We’d be glad to feature you soon.