My husband and I spent a beautiful four days in the San Juans Islands last week. We came back on Wednesday. Needless to say, I hadn't been on my horse in about a week.
Thursday I readied for my lesson, fully intending to tell my instructor that I was going to try showing next year if my mare stayed sound. So I'm riding around the arena, starting my lesson and waiting for the appropriate time to tell her my plans. We move into a canter and work on half-halts from a school canter to a walk and back again. Gailey was dull and lugging, not really into working hard. We circle at 20 meters in this slow collected canter. Just as we come back to the rail, Gailey leaps sideways and shies. Now, my mare is NOT talented when it comes to shying. She's too big and too slow to unseat anyone.
Until now.
She goes one way. I go the other. All of this plays out in slow motion while I fly through the air. Funny how moments like this slow down time. As I'm approaching the ground, my first thought is "I hope I don't hear a snap." For those of you that have followed my posts, you know my mare is 17-1 hands and a long way to fall. I slam onto my side into the hard-packed arena sand near the rail. My hip hits first then my right arm as I jam my elbow into the ground.
No snap.
But pain. Lots of pain washes over me. Darn.
I sit up and flex my arm. No bones grate against bones. Just the pain. I get to my feet as my instructor catches my horse, who was more suprised by me landing on the ground next to her than I was. She's never had anyone fall off of her before and had no clue what it meant other than she might be in trouble.
I feel my arm. Nothing appears to be broken, but it hurts. I sit in the arena veiwing arena while my instructor jumps on the mare to make sure she doesn't attempt a repeat performance. She didn't. Meanwhile, I'm sweating like crazy and feeling pretty sick to my stomach. Then I find I have trouble breathing. I've never had that happen before, but I guess I now know what asthma must feel like. Shock, I guess.
My trainer calls my husband to pick me up. He breaks all speed records getting there. One of the boarders cools out my horse and puts her away (thanks, Kim).
The next day, I'm better, but then yesterday, it seems to hurt more. Plus, the swelling has migrated down into my wrist. I finally concede defeat and see a doctor. She used to ride, too, and has had lots of falls. They take x-rays. Nothing is broken, but I've sprained my wrist and elbow. I probably shouldn't even be typing this.
I feel lucky to have fallen off at that speed from that height and escaped with only sprains. I'm anxious to get back on my mare and get going again, but it appears it'll be a few weeks before that happens.
I guess it goes to show that things happen, especially with horses, that you can never predict. In the 11 years I've owned this horse, no one has ever come off of her, including me.
There's a first time for everything. So tell us about one of your firsts!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The One That Got Away
By Laura Crum
How many of us can think of a horse like that? One we wish we had bought, or worse yet, wish we hadn’t sold. A horse that, if we had it to do over again, we would still own. Or have kept until he/she died. Fugly has created a website where horse owners can find these horses, and I would be using it myself, except that the horse that got away from me is certainly dead. She was my riding horse when I was fourteen, and she was in her teens then. I’m fifty two now. I think we can all do the math.
Ramona was her name—a little pinto pony mare. She stood somewhere shy of fourteen hands, a big pony/small horse. She had the sturdy pony build and the slightly fuzzy pony mane. She also had the wide flat back and smooth gaits so essential for riding bareback. It wasn’t until I bought another similar pony for my son and started riding him, that I realized these traits were common in ponies. Like Ramona, I could sit Toby very comfortably bareback at the trot, something that has not been true of very many horses I’ve owned.
Ramona was always ridden bareback. She didn’t even have a saddle. She belonged to my friend Kristie, who kept her at a small barn that was walking distance from my house. At fourteen, I was a horse crazy girl who desperately wanted a horse of my own. I was allowed to ride my uncle’s horses out at the family ranch, but since I couldn’t drive, I only got out to the ranch when my parents would take me. And that was once a week. Not enough.
Kristie came to the rescue. She had recently bought a fancy QH gelding that she intended to run barrels on. She wasn’t interested in Ramona any more and offered to let me use her if I would pay for Ramona’s feed. I took the little mare for a few rides and found her to be an absolutely reliable trail horse. She would go anywhere you asked her. She was sure-footed, with smooth gaits, including a sweet little rocking chair lope. She had the slightly stubborn pony personality, but no vices. She was perfect. I accepted Kristie’s offer.
For the next year I rode Ramona everywhere—through the neighborhood, on solitary trails through the mountains, across the river where we had to swim, down to the local pool to show off to the other kids. You name it, I did it. Mostly by myself. Kristie had moved her fancy gelding to a proper training barn with an arena and didn’t ride with me any more. Ramona never put a foot wrong.
And then, when I was fifteen, my parents decided to let me buy a horse of my own. Of course, I thought of buying Ramona. I figured Kristie would sell her to me if I asked. However, my advisor was my uncle, a team roper who raised Quarter Horses. My uncle was not willing to give me one of his horses, no. I was buying a horse with my own hard-earned money. But my uncle thought I should buy a proper QH type horse that he, Todd, could potentially use as a practice team roping horse. A useful horse. Useful to my uncle Todd that is. My uncle did not think much of the humble pinto pony, good only for trail riding. And a mare besides. He advised against buying her and said he would help me find a better horse.
I listened. Why wouldn’t I? My uncle was my hero. I continued to ride Ramona while we shopped for a horse I could afford and my uncle approved of. And eventually my uncle picked out Jackson, a fifteen-three bay gelding who was priced cheap, seemed reasonably gentle, and did, indeed, look like a team roping horse. I bought him.
Unfortunately, Jackson was not the kid’s horse Ramona was. Though superficially gentle, he was a lazy, uncooperative beast who was quite willing to rear in a vertical manner when he didn’t care for the look of a trail and also willing to kick hard enough that the horseshoer, another tough old cowboy, refused to put back shoes on him.
Jackson kicked me in the head one day when I was saddling him—knocked me out cold. I was finding it impossible to take him out for trail rides, he simply stopped and reared when he didn’t want to go. Ramona was still at the stable where I kept Jackson, and I took to riding her instead. It was a lot more fun.
Finally my uncle decided that he’d better help me sort Jackson out. He came up to the little barn where I kept Jackson and went for a ride with me. I rode Ramona. When Jackson balked and reared, Uncle Todd pulled him around and beat the crap out of him. Jackson was a smart beast. He gave up the rearing pronto. Todd put me on Jackson to be sure I could convince the horse that I was now in charge. I got it done. And Todd and I went for a ride. We loped up the little hills, Todd riding Ramona bareback, me on Jackson. And when we got back to the barn, Todd slid off Ramona and said, “This is a pretty nice horse.”
I think that’s when it dawned on me. I should have bought Ramona. Ramona was the perfect horse for what I wanted to do. Ramona fit me. I had allowed my uncle to convince me to buy a horse that fit him. Not me.
But I was young and I wanted to please my cowboy uncle, who remained my hero. I kept Jackson. When I was sixteen and could drive, I moved Jackson out to the family ranch and my uncle turned him into a practice team roping horse. Jackson remained a stubborn, uncooperative horse, prone to rearing. And I never knew what became of Ramona.
Kristie was fond of her and said she would retire her. But I didn’t keep track of her. I wish I had. I can still see her little pinto pony face in my mind. I remember the fun I had with her and how safe I felt on her. When I bought Toby for my son and began riding him, it all came back to me. Toby was very like Ramona.
To this day I wish I had bought Ramona and kept her until she died. I did keep Toby until his death, and I feel he was a great gift both to me and my son. And now I have Sunny, my little trail horse, who looks something like a pony crossed on a Quarter Horse. He has that pony personality, and the surefooted, go anywhere pony ability. I love riding him on the trail. Sometimes I ride him bareback (he has the wide flat back, too). It takes me right back to my youth, and Ramona—the one that got away.
How many of us can think of a horse like that? One we wish we had bought, or worse yet, wish we hadn’t sold. A horse that, if we had it to do over again, we would still own. Or have kept until he/she died. Fugly has created a website where horse owners can find these horses, and I would be using it myself, except that the horse that got away from me is certainly dead. She was my riding horse when I was fourteen, and she was in her teens then. I’m fifty two now. I think we can all do the math.
Ramona was her name—a little pinto pony mare. She stood somewhere shy of fourteen hands, a big pony/small horse. She had the sturdy pony build and the slightly fuzzy pony mane. She also had the wide flat back and smooth gaits so essential for riding bareback. It wasn’t until I bought another similar pony for my son and started riding him, that I realized these traits were common in ponies. Like Ramona, I could sit Toby very comfortably bareback at the trot, something that has not been true of very many horses I’ve owned.
Ramona was always ridden bareback. She didn’t even have a saddle. She belonged to my friend Kristie, who kept her at a small barn that was walking distance from my house. At fourteen, I was a horse crazy girl who desperately wanted a horse of my own. I was allowed to ride my uncle’s horses out at the family ranch, but since I couldn’t drive, I only got out to the ranch when my parents would take me. And that was once a week. Not enough.
Kristie came to the rescue. She had recently bought a fancy QH gelding that she intended to run barrels on. She wasn’t interested in Ramona any more and offered to let me use her if I would pay for Ramona’s feed. I took the little mare for a few rides and found her to be an absolutely reliable trail horse. She would go anywhere you asked her. She was sure-footed, with smooth gaits, including a sweet little rocking chair lope. She had the slightly stubborn pony personality, but no vices. She was perfect. I accepted Kristie’s offer.
For the next year I rode Ramona everywhere—through the neighborhood, on solitary trails through the mountains, across the river where we had to swim, down to the local pool to show off to the other kids. You name it, I did it. Mostly by myself. Kristie had moved her fancy gelding to a proper training barn with an arena and didn’t ride with me any more. Ramona never put a foot wrong.
And then, when I was fifteen, my parents decided to let me buy a horse of my own. Of course, I thought of buying Ramona. I figured Kristie would sell her to me if I asked. However, my advisor was my uncle, a team roper who raised Quarter Horses. My uncle was not willing to give me one of his horses, no. I was buying a horse with my own hard-earned money. But my uncle thought I should buy a proper QH type horse that he, Todd, could potentially use as a practice team roping horse. A useful horse. Useful to my uncle Todd that is. My uncle did not think much of the humble pinto pony, good only for trail riding. And a mare besides. He advised against buying her and said he would help me find a better horse.
I listened. Why wouldn’t I? My uncle was my hero. I continued to ride Ramona while we shopped for a horse I could afford and my uncle approved of. And eventually my uncle picked out Jackson, a fifteen-three bay gelding who was priced cheap, seemed reasonably gentle, and did, indeed, look like a team roping horse. I bought him.
Unfortunately, Jackson was not the kid’s horse Ramona was. Though superficially gentle, he was a lazy, uncooperative beast who was quite willing to rear in a vertical manner when he didn’t care for the look of a trail and also willing to kick hard enough that the horseshoer, another tough old cowboy, refused to put back shoes on him.
Jackson kicked me in the head one day when I was saddling him—knocked me out cold. I was finding it impossible to take him out for trail rides, he simply stopped and reared when he didn’t want to go. Ramona was still at the stable where I kept Jackson, and I took to riding her instead. It was a lot more fun.
Finally my uncle decided that he’d better help me sort Jackson out. He came up to the little barn where I kept Jackson and went for a ride with me. I rode Ramona. When Jackson balked and reared, Uncle Todd pulled him around and beat the crap out of him. Jackson was a smart beast. He gave up the rearing pronto. Todd put me on Jackson to be sure I could convince the horse that I was now in charge. I got it done. And Todd and I went for a ride. We loped up the little hills, Todd riding Ramona bareback, me on Jackson. And when we got back to the barn, Todd slid off Ramona and said, “This is a pretty nice horse.”
I think that’s when it dawned on me. I should have bought Ramona. Ramona was the perfect horse for what I wanted to do. Ramona fit me. I had allowed my uncle to convince me to buy a horse that fit him. Not me.
But I was young and I wanted to please my cowboy uncle, who remained my hero. I kept Jackson. When I was sixteen and could drive, I moved Jackson out to the family ranch and my uncle turned him into a practice team roping horse. Jackson remained a stubborn, uncooperative horse, prone to rearing. And I never knew what became of Ramona.
Kristie was fond of her and said she would retire her. But I didn’t keep track of her. I wish I had. I can still see her little pinto pony face in my mind. I remember the fun I had with her and how safe I felt on her. When I bought Toby for my son and began riding him, it all came back to me. Toby was very like Ramona.
To this day I wish I had bought Ramona and kept her until she died. I did keep Toby until his death, and I feel he was a great gift both to me and my son. And now I have Sunny, my little trail horse, who looks something like a pony crossed on a Quarter Horse. He has that pony personality, and the surefooted, go anywhere pony ability. I love riding him on the trail. Sometimes I ride him bareback (he has the wide flat back, too). It takes me right back to my youth, and Ramona—the one that got away.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Trailering Magic
Hi!
Hope everyone is having a terrific summer with lots of fun riding.
During the years I was competing, summer always meant trailering to tons of away shows on the weekends. I was writing a scene for The Grimoire (which is almost finished) about loading a green three year old and I couldn't help thinking about my beloved Spencer.
He had always trailered really well until I moved to a new barn and the owner offered to go and get him. I didn't know a lot about this barn as I was moving to a different part of the state, but it was a large facility, very well kept up and I liked the barn manager when I met her. I had just bought Spencer some travel boots, figuring it would be easier than wraps. I don't know exactly what happened as I was following the trailer in my SUV, but Spencer must have panicked inside. When we reached our destination, Spencer limped out with blood all over his right rear lower leg and the boot was dangling by the one still connected strap off the bottom of his foot. The three remaining boots were partly off and Spencer was shaking his legs trying to free himself of them.
I got the boots off and started to lead him to the was stall and the poor guy staggered off the path onto the grass. The owner came up behind me and told me their barn rule was that horses were not allowed on the grass in front of the barn (here was a great clue I had not landed in a terrific place!). Anyway, from then on trying to load poor Spencer was a nightmare. Even though the boots hit the trash can and we went back to quilted wraps & polos, it was a struggle to get him in the trailer almost every time.
The memory has stayed with me, too and found a way into my writing. One of the fun things about writing about magic is thinking of fun ways it could be applied to one's own life. Here's the scene where I applied what I would have loved to do for poor Spencer:
“Come on, baby.” Gemma tugged on Jack’s lead rope. The recalcitrant horse planted his hooves at the base of the trailer ramp and refused to move. Sweating, Gemma tugged harder and was pulled off balance with Jack’s head toss. Stumbling, she swore.
Jack eyed her with disdain and gave a very human snort. Jumping Jack was a green four year old and was as stubborn as they come. His owner, a lovely, gentle middle-aged lady bought him because he was the prettiest horse she’d ever seen. Never mind the chestnut gelding was so high-strung she couldn’t ride him. Even when magically linked, Gemma had difficulty persuading him to her will. His owner didn’t stand a chance.
“It’s my job to fix that, which is why I’m going to show you in one or two classes today.” Gemma said aloud, blowing the hair out of her eyes. “Okay, pal this calls for a different approach.”
Jack tilted his head to the side with an expression that said I’d like to see you try it, lady.
“Well, you asked for it.” Gemma let the lead rope go loose in her hand. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind to the horse, matching her breathing to his, seeking to calm, seeking a link to ensure collaboration between horse and trainer. She felt his resistance, an equine version of ‘No way, no how.’ She bore down, looking for openings past the iron wall of stubbornness which was so much a part of Jack’s personality.
Ah, there it is. With her mind she eased past his fear and anger, seeking to sooth.
Jack huffed out a breath and lowered his head. “There’s a boy,” she murmured, maintaining the link as she led him slowly up the ramp. “Remember this nice, calm approach when we’re in the show ring, okay?”
This time Jack stepped into the trailer without complaint. Gemma led him forward, clipped his halter to the strap attached to the wall, and eased out the small door in the front of the two-horse trailer.
Going around the back, she pushed the ramp up and closed the back entry to the trailer, effectively shutting Jack in with her own beautiful black mare, Abby.
Horse show days started early enough without cranky four-year olds. Refusing to acknowledge her own bad temper, she finished loading gear in the back of the pickup truck the trailer was attached to and headed out.
Now wouldn't that have been easier for my Spencer?
Happy summer, happy riding, and happy trailering!
Cheers,
Mary
www.marypaine.com
Hope everyone is having a terrific summer with lots of fun riding.
During the years I was competing, summer always meant trailering to tons of away shows on the weekends. I was writing a scene for The Grimoire (which is almost finished) about loading a green three year old and I couldn't help thinking about my beloved Spencer.
He had always trailered really well until I moved to a new barn and the owner offered to go and get him. I didn't know a lot about this barn as I was moving to a different part of the state, but it was a large facility, very well kept up and I liked the barn manager when I met her. I had just bought Spencer some travel boots, figuring it would be easier than wraps. I don't know exactly what happened as I was following the trailer in my SUV, but Spencer must have panicked inside. When we reached our destination, Spencer limped out with blood all over his right rear lower leg and the boot was dangling by the one still connected strap off the bottom of his foot. The three remaining boots were partly off and Spencer was shaking his legs trying to free himself of them.
I got the boots off and started to lead him to the was stall and the poor guy staggered off the path onto the grass. The owner came up behind me and told me their barn rule was that horses were not allowed on the grass in front of the barn (here was a great clue I had not landed in a terrific place!). Anyway, from then on trying to load poor Spencer was a nightmare. Even though the boots hit the trash can and we went back to quilted wraps & polos, it was a struggle to get him in the trailer almost every time.
The memory has stayed with me, too and found a way into my writing. One of the fun things about writing about magic is thinking of fun ways it could be applied to one's own life. Here's the scene where I applied what I would have loved to do for poor Spencer:
“Come on, baby.” Gemma tugged on Jack’s lead rope. The recalcitrant horse planted his hooves at the base of the trailer ramp and refused to move. Sweating, Gemma tugged harder and was pulled off balance with Jack’s head toss. Stumbling, she swore.
Jack eyed her with disdain and gave a very human snort. Jumping Jack was a green four year old and was as stubborn as they come. His owner, a lovely, gentle middle-aged lady bought him because he was the prettiest horse she’d ever seen. Never mind the chestnut gelding was so high-strung she couldn’t ride him. Even when magically linked, Gemma had difficulty persuading him to her will. His owner didn’t stand a chance.
“It’s my job to fix that, which is why I’m going to show you in one or two classes today.” Gemma said aloud, blowing the hair out of her eyes. “Okay, pal this calls for a different approach.”
Jack tilted his head to the side with an expression that said I’d like to see you try it, lady.
“Well, you asked for it.” Gemma let the lead rope go loose in her hand. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind to the horse, matching her breathing to his, seeking to calm, seeking a link to ensure collaboration between horse and trainer. She felt his resistance, an equine version of ‘No way, no how.’ She bore down, looking for openings past the iron wall of stubbornness which was so much a part of Jack’s personality.
Ah, there it is. With her mind she eased past his fear and anger, seeking to sooth.
Jack huffed out a breath and lowered his head. “There’s a boy,” she murmured, maintaining the link as she led him slowly up the ramp. “Remember this nice, calm approach when we’re in the show ring, okay?”
This time Jack stepped into the trailer without complaint. Gemma led him forward, clipped his halter to the strap attached to the wall, and eased out the small door in the front of the two-horse trailer.
Going around the back, she pushed the ramp up and closed the back entry to the trailer, effectively shutting Jack in with her own beautiful black mare, Abby.
Horse show days started early enough without cranky four-year olds. Refusing to acknowledge her own bad temper, she finished loading gear in the back of the pickup truck the trailer was attached to and headed out.
Now wouldn't that have been easier for my Spencer?
Happy summer, happy riding, and happy trailering!
Cheers,
Mary
www.marypaine.com
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Equine artist Tom Chapman . . .
by Kit Ehrman
There’s so much I love about writing, but an unexpected bonus has been that writing has allowed me to meet a bunch of wonderful people whom I never would have met otherwise.
One person I’m privileged to have met (via e-mail) is ex-jockey and marvelously talented artist Tom Chapman. I was looking for a unique way to celebrate the release of TRIPLE CROSS, my Kentucky Derby mystery, when I found these wonderful Christmas cards by Tom titled “Christmas at Churchill.” I purchased a box or two and e-mailed Tom to thank him for the cards. We’ve corresponded ever since. What follows is Tom’s fascinating story and some of his wonderful artwork.
Kit: How did you get started with horses?
Tom: I was a senior in high school and getting ready to go to college or the army. I wasn't really excited to go to school though. It was 1972 and the army probably wasn't the best place to be at that time. My father suggested that I try to be a jockey. He had a friend who trained quarter horses where we lived in Montana. I thought to myself “Why not give it a try? I can always go to school if I don't like it.” I worked around the fairs that summer and later moved to Southern Cal to work on a horse farm. There I learned from the bottom up. I first started hot walking and cleaning stalls. Later I broke babies and eventually got to the track where I exercised horses. After about four years from the time I left Montana, I finally rode my first race on a filly named Zulla Road at Santa Anita Feb. 17th, 1977.
Rachel Alexandra
Kit: What’s it like to ride a half-ton Thoroughbred at 40mph in a race?
Tom: It's about the most awesome feeling you can imagine. The wind in your face, the sounds of the horses and jockeys all around you, the mane slapping your cheeks, and the dirt clods pounding your body just bring such a sensory overload. The power of the horse underneath you is something only another jockey can relate to. On top of all, this there is the competitiveness and the adrenaline coursing through your body.
Kit: How did you prepare before each race?
Tom: I would read the Racing Form and try to figure out who the major competition was, where I most likely would be laying in the race, and try to figure out how the race would be run depending on what riders were on which horses.
Secretariat
Kit: What did you dislike most about being a jockey?
Tom: I didn't like fighting my weight all the time. I also didn't like having to work on weekends and missing things my sons were involved in like baseball and soccer. I also hated it when a horse was catastrophically injured.
Kit: Is there a horse that has a special place in your heart, and why?
Tom: Moment to Buy was a three-year-old filly back in 1984. I won my only grade 1 win on her--the Hollywood Oaks. She beat the best three-year-old fillies that year. She also ran second to two older mares in two different races that year. Royal Heroine was one of them, and she went on to win the BC Mile against colts and horses. The other was Princess Rooney who won the BC Distaff that year. I have several others, but I don't think you have all week to hear about them.
Kit: What can you tell us about a jockey’s life that we might not know about? Some behind-the-scenes tradition or nuance that we might not ever consider?
Tom: The track is like a world all to itself. It's kind of like a big dysfunctional family that sticks together. Once a person is accepted into the family, they are always in. Sounds a little like the Mafia doesn't it? Anyway, I could go to every racetrack in the nation and run into someone that I know or at least a friend of someone I know.
The Look of a Champion, Barbaro
Kit: Besides winning, what did you love best about race riding?
Tom: I loved the competitiveness of it all. I just loved the adrenaline to the point that I was addicted to it. That is one of the reasons I eventually got into painting. On my days off, I would try to replace that adrenaline rush by skiing, paint balling and stuff like that. I would come home more tired than days when I was racing.
Kit: Who influenced you the most in your racing career?
Tom: I learned a lot riding against Bill Shoemaker and Fernando Toro. Everyone knows “The Shoe.” He was a real horseman. I was always amazed at the way horses ran for him without him even moving on them. Fernando Toro was the "King of the Turf" down in So Cal when I started. He rode the turf better than anyone. I also eventually excelled in turf races and a lot of it had to do with learning from him. People would call me the “Toro of Northern California” and I would say, “No, Fernando is the Chapman of So Cal.”
Kit: That's great. Tom, you’ve made a spectacular career change from race riding to painting gorgeous portraits of all kinds. I know you took art in high school, but your talent is spectacular. Is it mostly self-taught?
Tom: I have a God-given talent and I've been able to develop it. I did take some art lessons starting in 1993, but within a year I had outgrown the teacher. She did teach me a lot about color mixing and light and shadow but the rest I just picked up on my own. I also read every book I could find on art and I would try everything that was suggested.
Kit: Do you think your artistic skills and mindset had an effect on the kind of jockey you were, or are they totally unrelated?
Tom: I'm not sure about that. I know I was more involved with other things in life than most jockeys. Don't get me wrong, I loved raceriding and the track, but my life wasn't all racetrack. Maybe that is one of the reasons I got into art. I've always wanted to learn about different things like the stock market, real estate, politics, art, etc.
Kit: Do you usually paint from photographs, or do you sometimes go onsite to paint?
Tom: I usually paint from photographs. I may use reference photos, from 5 to 10 photos for one painting. I rarely just copy a photo. I also go on location to paint at times. That is usually just for a landscape though. I've always said, “If I can see it, I can paint it, and horses won't stand still long enough.”
Kit: How true. Do you use oils? Other mediums?
Tom: I mostly paint with oils on canvas but will do pencil sketches. I've also done a few murals with acrylics.
The Walk Home After the Last
Kit: What else would you like to tell us?
Tom: I've been married to my best friend, Kathy, for thirty-four years. Our lives together haven't always been easy. but we are closer now than ever. We both know and love the Lord and He has blessed us so much. We have three boys. Matt is 33, Luke is 23, and Daniel is 10. When people hear that they are so far apart, I know that they are thinking that I must have been married 3 different times. I'll jokingly tell them they are all out of the same broodmare.
Thank you, Tom!
Thank you, Kit.
Tom's Giclee prints are very reasonably priced.
Tom's website
Happy reading and riding,
Kit
www.kitehrman.com
There’s so much I love about writing, but an unexpected bonus has been that writing has allowed me to meet a bunch of wonderful people whom I never would have met otherwise.
One person I’m privileged to have met (via e-mail) is ex-jockey and marvelously talented artist Tom Chapman. I was looking for a unique way to celebrate the release of TRIPLE CROSS, my Kentucky Derby mystery, when I found these wonderful Christmas cards by Tom titled “Christmas at Churchill.” I purchased a box or two and e-mailed Tom to thank him for the cards. We’ve corresponded ever since. What follows is Tom’s fascinating story and some of his wonderful artwork.
Kit: How did you get started with horses?
Tom: I was a senior in high school and getting ready to go to college or the army. I wasn't really excited to go to school though. It was 1972 and the army probably wasn't the best place to be at that time. My father suggested that I try to be a jockey. He had a friend who trained quarter horses where we lived in Montana. I thought to myself “Why not give it a try? I can always go to school if I don't like it.” I worked around the fairs that summer and later moved to Southern Cal to work on a horse farm. There I learned from the bottom up. I first started hot walking and cleaning stalls. Later I broke babies and eventually got to the track where I exercised horses. After about four years from the time I left Montana, I finally rode my first race on a filly named Zulla Road at Santa Anita Feb. 17th, 1977.
Kit: What’s it like to ride a half-ton Thoroughbred at 40mph in a race?
Tom: It's about the most awesome feeling you can imagine. The wind in your face, the sounds of the horses and jockeys all around you, the mane slapping your cheeks, and the dirt clods pounding your body just bring such a sensory overload. The power of the horse underneath you is something only another jockey can relate to. On top of all, this there is the competitiveness and the adrenaline coursing through your body.
Kit: How did you prepare before each race?
Tom: I would read the Racing Form and try to figure out who the major competition was, where I most likely would be laying in the race, and try to figure out how the race would be run depending on what riders were on which horses.
Kit: What did you dislike most about being a jockey?
Tom: I didn't like fighting my weight all the time. I also didn't like having to work on weekends and missing things my sons were involved in like baseball and soccer. I also hated it when a horse was catastrophically injured.
Kit: Is there a horse that has a special place in your heart, and why?
Tom: Moment to Buy was a three-year-old filly back in 1984. I won my only grade 1 win on her--the Hollywood Oaks. She beat the best three-year-old fillies that year. She also ran second to two older mares in two different races that year. Royal Heroine was one of them, and she went on to win the BC Mile against colts and horses. The other was Princess Rooney who won the BC Distaff that year. I have several others, but I don't think you have all week to hear about them.
Kit: What can you tell us about a jockey’s life that we might not know about? Some behind-the-scenes tradition or nuance that we might not ever consider?
Tom: The track is like a world all to itself. It's kind of like a big dysfunctional family that sticks together. Once a person is accepted into the family, they are always in. Sounds a little like the Mafia doesn't it? Anyway, I could go to every racetrack in the nation and run into someone that I know or at least a friend of someone I know.
Kit: Besides winning, what did you love best about race riding?
Tom: I loved the competitiveness of it all. I just loved the adrenaline to the point that I was addicted to it. That is one of the reasons I eventually got into painting. On my days off, I would try to replace that adrenaline rush by skiing, paint balling and stuff like that. I would come home more tired than days when I was racing.
Kit: Who influenced you the most in your racing career?
Tom: I learned a lot riding against Bill Shoemaker and Fernando Toro. Everyone knows “The Shoe.” He was a real horseman. I was always amazed at the way horses ran for him without him even moving on them. Fernando Toro was the "King of the Turf" down in So Cal when I started. He rode the turf better than anyone. I also eventually excelled in turf races and a lot of it had to do with learning from him. People would call me the “Toro of Northern California” and I would say, “No, Fernando is the Chapman of So Cal.”
Kit: That's great. Tom, you’ve made a spectacular career change from race riding to painting gorgeous portraits of all kinds. I know you took art in high school, but your talent is spectacular. Is it mostly self-taught?
Tom: I have a God-given talent and I've been able to develop it. I did take some art lessons starting in 1993, but within a year I had outgrown the teacher. She did teach me a lot about color mixing and light and shadow but the rest I just picked up on my own. I also read every book I could find on art and I would try everything that was suggested.
Kit: Do you think your artistic skills and mindset had an effect on the kind of jockey you were, or are they totally unrelated?
Tom: I'm not sure about that. I know I was more involved with other things in life than most jockeys. Don't get me wrong, I loved raceriding and the track, but my life wasn't all racetrack. Maybe that is one of the reasons I got into art. I've always wanted to learn about different things like the stock market, real estate, politics, art, etc.
Kit: Do you usually paint from photographs, or do you sometimes go onsite to paint?
Tom: I usually paint from photographs. I may use reference photos, from 5 to 10 photos for one painting. I rarely just copy a photo. I also go on location to paint at times. That is usually just for a landscape though. I've always said, “If I can see it, I can paint it, and horses won't stand still long enough.”
Kit: How true. Do you use oils? Other mediums?
Tom: I mostly paint with oils on canvas but will do pencil sketches. I've also done a few murals with acrylics.
Kit: What else would you like to tell us?
Tom: I've been married to my best friend, Kathy, for thirty-four years. Our lives together haven't always been easy. but we are closer now than ever. We both know and love the Lord and He has blessed us so much. We have three boys. Matt is 33, Luke is 23, and Daniel is 10. When people hear that they are so far apart, I know that they are thinking that I must have been married 3 different times. I'll jokingly tell them they are all out of the same broodmare.
Thank you, Tom!
Thank you, Kit.
Tom's Giclee prints are very reasonably priced.
Tom's website
Happy reading and riding,
Kit
www.kitehrman.com
Sunday, July 26, 2009
My "Bombproof" Horse
I had another post ready for today, but I decided to tell the story of my "bombproof" horse, Moses Malone. I've mentioned Moses previously in a few other posts.
Way back (too far back to even think about) in my late twenties, a timid riding friend and I decided to find a horse to half-lease together. Now, I'm not exactly a brave rider either but compared to her, I was. She's one of those riders that rarely gets beyond trotting. Nothing wrong with that, she was who she was.
We took a trip to Seattle and checked out several horses. One big warmblood we considered was quite impressive, but there were subtle red flags. The owner treated him like he was a bomb ready to explode any minute. We never saw any behavior that justified her caution, but obviously it was there. My friend refused to try him out. So that was the end of him.
We checked out a few more horses, all unsuitable.
Finally we showed up at this backyard barn. A very pregnant teenager came out and proceeded to show Moses to us. It was love at first sight. He was five years old and a rich chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail. Even my timid friend tried him out. He walked, trotted, and cantered (taking the correct leads) and seemed calm and agreeable. The teenager needed to find him a home for obvious reasons. She'd prefer to sell him but agreed on a lease with an option to buy in a year.
Moses had an interesting history. As a baby, he and his mother had been boarded in a small pasture. One day when he was several months old, the owner showed up and hauled away the mother, leaving him behind. Driving by his pasture every day, a woman noticed that he became increasingly thinner and thinner. Finally, she stopped and inquired with the neighbors. None of them knew who owned him, nor had they seen the owner in months. They did give her the number of the property owner. A quick call to him revealed that the absentee owner hadn't paid board on the horse for months.
So she loaded Moses up and took him home, naming him Moses because she'd found him "abandoned in the bullrushes." She attempted to find the owner with no luck. At three years old, she sold Moses to the girl I got him from. This girl added Malone to his name because Moses Malone was her favorite basketball player.
Moses proved to be an excellent horse for me, not necessarily for my friend. I found him to be bombproof, she didn't. While he was a mellow sort, he did seem to be sensitive to the moods of his rider. He also had one quirk. He liked to play with you if you weren't paying attention. All of a sudden, he'd shy for no reason. He was quick, too. One minute there'd be a horse underneath you, the next you'd be suspended in air and he'd be halfway across the arena. Within in a months, he had my friend's number, and she quit riding him. I kept him and bought him about six months later.
Over the years whenever anyone rode him who was overly nervous, he became overly nervous. He also checked out his rider to see what they knew. If they didn't handle him with authority, he took over, usually in the form of walking back to the barn and waiting by his stall. If they were heavy handed, he became annoyed and jigged the entire ride if it was a trail ride.
On the other hand, even if you were a novice, as long as you treated him fairly and confidently, he'd do anything for you. One time at an open show, a novice rider friend of mine hopped on him for a novice western pleasure class. She'd never ridden him before. They finished 1st in a class of 34 horses! Moses took care of her. She just sat there while he listened to the announcer and walked, trotted, and cantered based on what was announced.
I owned Moses for years. I rode him to Prix St. George, showed him to 4th Level. I also jumped him. He was a handy little jumper but didn't start using himself until he hit 3 feet, while I maxed out at three feet. I also did a stint showing him in open shows in western and English pleasure.
He wasn't a talented dressage horse, quite the opposite, but he was a wonderful horse just the same. We spent countless hours on the trails by my house. You could just loop the reins around the horn and enjoy the ride.
In his later years, I leased him to two men for a trail horse. A few years ago, I tried to get him back. The two guys were almost in tears. They said it'd be like losing a member of their family. I let them keep him. He's 30 this year, and to my knowledge still going strong. I loved that horse.
He'll always hold a place in my heart.
Way back (too far back to even think about) in my late twenties, a timid riding friend and I decided to find a horse to half-lease together. Now, I'm not exactly a brave rider either but compared to her, I was. She's one of those riders that rarely gets beyond trotting. Nothing wrong with that, she was who she was.
We took a trip to Seattle and checked out several horses. One big warmblood we considered was quite impressive, but there were subtle red flags. The owner treated him like he was a bomb ready to explode any minute. We never saw any behavior that justified her caution, but obviously it was there. My friend refused to try him out. So that was the end of him.
We checked out a few more horses, all unsuitable.
Finally we showed up at this backyard barn. A very pregnant teenager came out and proceeded to show Moses to us. It was love at first sight. He was five years old and a rich chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail. Even my timid friend tried him out. He walked, trotted, and cantered (taking the correct leads) and seemed calm and agreeable. The teenager needed to find him a home for obvious reasons. She'd prefer to sell him but agreed on a lease with an option to buy in a year.
Moses had an interesting history. As a baby, he and his mother had been boarded in a small pasture. One day when he was several months old, the owner showed up and hauled away the mother, leaving him behind. Driving by his pasture every day, a woman noticed that he became increasingly thinner and thinner. Finally, she stopped and inquired with the neighbors. None of them knew who owned him, nor had they seen the owner in months. They did give her the number of the property owner. A quick call to him revealed that the absentee owner hadn't paid board on the horse for months.
So she loaded Moses up and took him home, naming him Moses because she'd found him "abandoned in the bullrushes." She attempted to find the owner with no luck. At three years old, she sold Moses to the girl I got him from. This girl added Malone to his name because Moses Malone was her favorite basketball player.
Moses proved to be an excellent horse for me, not necessarily for my friend. I found him to be bombproof, she didn't. While he was a mellow sort, he did seem to be sensitive to the moods of his rider. He also had one quirk. He liked to play with you if you weren't paying attention. All of a sudden, he'd shy for no reason. He was quick, too. One minute there'd be a horse underneath you, the next you'd be suspended in air and he'd be halfway across the arena. Within in a months, he had my friend's number, and she quit riding him. I kept him and bought him about six months later.
Over the years whenever anyone rode him who was overly nervous, he became overly nervous. He also checked out his rider to see what they knew. If they didn't handle him with authority, he took over, usually in the form of walking back to the barn and waiting by his stall. If they were heavy handed, he became annoyed and jigged the entire ride if it was a trail ride.
On the other hand, even if you were a novice, as long as you treated him fairly and confidently, he'd do anything for you. One time at an open show, a novice rider friend of mine hopped on him for a novice western pleasure class. She'd never ridden him before. They finished 1st in a class of 34 horses! Moses took care of her. She just sat there while he listened to the announcer and walked, trotted, and cantered based on what was announced.
I owned Moses for years. I rode him to Prix St. George, showed him to 4th Level. I also jumped him. He was a handy little jumper but didn't start using himself until he hit 3 feet, while I maxed out at three feet. I also did a stint showing him in open shows in western and English pleasure.
He wasn't a talented dressage horse, quite the opposite, but he was a wonderful horse just the same. We spent countless hours on the trails by my house. You could just loop the reins around the horn and enjoy the ride.
In his later years, I leased him to two men for a trail horse. A few years ago, I tried to get him back. The two guys were almost in tears. They said it'd be like losing a member of their family. I let them keep him. He's 30 this year, and to my knowledge still going strong. I loved that horse.
He'll always hold a place in my heart.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Bombproof-99% of the Time by Janet Huntington
I love Laura's tips on finding a bombproof horse. She had some sound ideas and a good definition of what the term bombproof means.
She was also careful to point out all horses can spook, jump, maim or mutilate. OK, I added the last few words but you get my drift.
My daughter's good mare Annie was everything you could look for in a bombproof horse.
She had carried both of us through the mountains on more than one three day trip at our ranch.
I had ridden her for several years and knew every tick, every tock and trusted the steady reliability that shone in her eyes 100 percent.
She was the kind of horse I could ride several miles from home, alone, to fix fence. I could get down, drop my reins, unload my gear and go to work. She would graze, or doze in the sun, but she never left.
She was never rattled, only became angry if you tried to keep her in a stall or run and I had only seen her spook once. It was the year of the Haymen fire and she could smell it traveling towards her. She ran to me and stayed close. That was it.
When my daughter was two she was sitting on Annie's back. I looked the other way for a split second and Annie shook like a wet dog. My twig of a daughter flew through the air and landed in a very prickly bush.
I ran and picked her up, half laughing, half panicked. Annie came over and nuzzled my sobbing daughter all over. She didn't take her muzzle off the kidlette until she quit crying.
Annie was a school horse for me for many years. She truly lit up when she was with children. She walked as if she was carrying a carton of eggs with the newbies and would lope a barrel pattern when they were ready.
I had complete faith in her when my daughter took her over. Annie was the ultimate definition of bombproof.
When the kidlette was 8 or 9 we trailered to the Garden of the Gods park to go on a trail ride.
We all unloaded out horses in front of the Rock Ledge Ranch and were tacking up.
Suddenly Annie lost her mind. She was snorting, blowing and jumping back and forth. The kidlette jumped out of the way, her saddle went flying and her pad slid under Annie's leaping feet.
I walked over to see what the ruckus was about. I'll admit, I said, "What did you do?" to my daughter. I knew my darling Annie couldn't be at the bottom of this.
Annie was really going nuts.
I followed her line of sight and realized she was freaking at the sight of the ranch caretaker, Andy, with his team of Belgians and their wagon.
Annie was horrified.
"Just ignore her, she'll put it together in a second," I said.
I was wrong.
As the wagon and team came closer Annie threw herself back, snapped her lead rope and took off. Towards the wagon.
She circled Andy and his team at a high trot, with her tail straight in the air.
I had to stop and admire for a second, she was probably 24 or so, and she looked absolutely beautiful.
I snapped out of it when Andy yelled at me. Annie was thinking of charging the team, she had her ears pinned and was darting in at them.
We ran in and began shouting and waving our arms at her. She just ducked us and kept running at the team. The Belgians were starting to get snorty.
"Go back to your trailer and I'll head back to the barn, maybe she'll go back to your horses," Andy called.
He was right. As soon as he was out of range Annie came trotting back, snorting and looking quite proud of herself.
We never did figure out why she hated wagons so much, she did the same thing a few years later at an AQHA show when the driving class began to warm up.
I was using a stouter lead rope by then and we were able to hang on to her. All I know was my gentle, reliable, bomb proof horse seemed to have a little German Shepherd attack dog in her.
And then there was that problem she had with ponies.....
She was also careful to point out all horses can spook, jump, maim or mutilate. OK, I added the last few words but you get my drift.
My daughter's good mare Annie was everything you could look for in a bombproof horse.
She had carried both of us through the mountains on more than one three day trip at our ranch.
I had ridden her for several years and knew every tick, every tock and trusted the steady reliability that shone in her eyes 100 percent.
She was the kind of horse I could ride several miles from home, alone, to fix fence. I could get down, drop my reins, unload my gear and go to work. She would graze, or doze in the sun, but she never left.
She was never rattled, only became angry if you tried to keep her in a stall or run and I had only seen her spook once. It was the year of the Haymen fire and she could smell it traveling towards her. She ran to me and stayed close. That was it.
When my daughter was two she was sitting on Annie's back. I looked the other way for a split second and Annie shook like a wet dog. My twig of a daughter flew through the air and landed in a very prickly bush.
I ran and picked her up, half laughing, half panicked. Annie came over and nuzzled my sobbing daughter all over. She didn't take her muzzle off the kidlette until she quit crying.
Annie was a school horse for me for many years. She truly lit up when she was with children. She walked as if she was carrying a carton of eggs with the newbies and would lope a barrel pattern when they were ready.
I had complete faith in her when my daughter took her over. Annie was the ultimate definition of bombproof.
When the kidlette was 8 or 9 we trailered to the Garden of the Gods park to go on a trail ride.
We all unloaded out horses in front of the Rock Ledge Ranch and were tacking up.
Suddenly Annie lost her mind. She was snorting, blowing and jumping back and forth. The kidlette jumped out of the way, her saddle went flying and her pad slid under Annie's leaping feet.
I walked over to see what the ruckus was about. I'll admit, I said, "What did you do?" to my daughter. I knew my darling Annie couldn't be at the bottom of this.
Annie was really going nuts.
I followed her line of sight and realized she was freaking at the sight of the ranch caretaker, Andy, with his team of Belgians and their wagon.
Annie was horrified.
"Just ignore her, she'll put it together in a second," I said.
I was wrong.
As the wagon and team came closer Annie threw herself back, snapped her lead rope and took off. Towards the wagon.
She circled Andy and his team at a high trot, with her tail straight in the air.
I had to stop and admire for a second, she was probably 24 or so, and she looked absolutely beautiful.
I snapped out of it when Andy yelled at me. Annie was thinking of charging the team, she had her ears pinned and was darting in at them.
We ran in and began shouting and waving our arms at her. She just ducked us and kept running at the team. The Belgians were starting to get snorty.
"Go back to your trailer and I'll head back to the barn, maybe she'll go back to your horses," Andy called.
He was right. As soon as he was out of range Annie came trotting back, snorting and looking quite proud of herself.
We never did figure out why she hated wagons so much, she did the same thing a few years later at an AQHA show when the driving class began to warm up.
I was using a stouter lead rope by then and we were able to hang on to her. All I know was my gentle, reliable, bomb proof horse seemed to have a little German Shepherd attack dog in her.
And then there was that problem she had with ponies.....
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Finding a Bombproof Horse
By Laura Crum
Not too long ago I read a blog that stated there was no such thing as a bombproof horse. Well, in a manner of speaking, that’s true. Any horse is capable of spooking or throwing in a playful crowhop. However, there are horses that will pack a beginner or a child or a timid rider with steadfast reliability, never doing a stupid, violent, or “scary” thing, such that said beginner need never be frightened or come off the horse. This is what I call a bombproof horse, and I’ve known quite a few of them.
I own such a horse currently. My son’s horse, Henry, qualifies as bombproof. I’ve blogged about Henry a few times and inevitably, in the comments, someone will remark that they wished they had such a bombproof horse for their kid, or themselves. So I thought I’d write today about how to buy a bombproof horse.
First of all, if you are new to the horse business, or even kinda new, you need a knowledgable helper. Your helper can be your trainer, or a friend who has been in the horse business a good long while. But be sure that whoever your helper is, he/she is not in a position to make money on the horse you might purchase. I mean it. It doesn’t work out. If you take a “trainer”, the trainer can make money training or giving you lessons on what you purchase, but be sure he/she is not getting a commission on the horse from the seller. Again, it doesn’t work out. I’ve had a lot of experience of this. There are exceptions, but you don’t want to be betting that you’ll be one. The most important thing your helper needs to be is a long time participant in whatever sort of horse activity you favor. If you’re looking for a gentle trail horse, don’t take a helper that shows a lot but never trail rides. Take someone who has trail ridden for years.
Also, if you are not new to the horse business, but you haven’t bought a horse in a long time, or you are new to the area, it would pay to find a helper who knows the local horse market well, particularly the part of it you’re interested in.
Second thing, be clear about your priorities. If you want a bombproof horse, do not get hung up in breed, or beauty, or color, or whether the horse can win at a certain event. Do not expect to get a horse who is younger than ten. It might happen, but it isn’t likely. What you are looking for is a sound, healthy, reasonably well broke (for whatever you want to do) bombproof horse. Expect the horse to be in his teens (at least). I will avoid horses that are much older than twenty. They may be perfect, but you are not likely to get that many more years out of them. But there are sure exceptions to this rule.
As for what type of horse is most likely to be bombproof, well, its hard to generalize. Old rope horses can be great. So can school horses. I have a theory that overly pretty horses are unlikely to be bombproof. No rhyme or reason to it. Its just what I’ve seen over the years. Plain, solid looking horses are the most likely candidates.
The hallmark of a bombproof horse is a solid mind. The horse is sensible; he does not panic. He can be very willing, or a bit lazy, but he is not genuinely resistant. He has no impulse to be defiant. He will go along wiith a beginner’s wishes, even though he knows the beginner is not really capable of being in charge. He may be lazy enough to be hard for a beginner to get in the lope, or he may move out easily, but he will stop when you pull on him. The bombproof horses I have known were bright-eyed, alert looking horses. The dull-eyed horse is unlikely to be bombproof, despite his apparently relaxed demeanor.
Now the most important rule about finding a bombproof horse is also the most difficult one to follow. You, or someone you know and respect, has to have known the horse for at least six months. Unless you follow this rule, you can’t be sure what the horse is really like. Any horse can appear bombproof on a given day or week, whether because he’s been ridden down, or just because he’s in a good space. If you have only the word of a stranger who is trying to sell you the horse, and the horse’s behavior the day you go to see him, you really don’t know enough to decide if the horse is bombproof.
The only way to be sure you are getting a bombproof horse is if you, or your helper has known the horse for awhile, or you are buying the horse from someone you trust who has known the horse for awhile. It is impossible to be sure about the horse otherwise. This is why a helper who is involved in the horse business is so important. If said helper can tell you, “I’ve seen this pony around for years, I’ve seen him packing beginners, I’ve never seen him doing a stupid thing,” that goes a long way.
This is the main way I buy horses. I keep an eye on horses that fit my needs, and when/if they come for sale, I buy them. Or if I need a horse, I make an offer. This is how I bought Henry. My son’s pony had recently died of cancer. I knew Henry, I’d known him for many years, and I knew he was what I wanted. I offered more money than this nineteen year old gelding was really worth. And I got him bought. He has been worth every extra penny, to me.
All the usual things apply when buying such a horse. Have the seller ride him first, then ride him yourself. But do not assume that you can tell much from this. Unless you can find someone who has known the horse for more than six months, you are really operating in the dark. What you can tell from riding your prospect is whether you like the “feel” of the horse. And bombproof or not, some horses fit some riders better than others. So, your test ride is to see if the horse gives you a good feel. Don’t go any further if you don’t like the feel, no matter how perfect the horse seems. Again, its been my experience that it doesn’t work out. But do be sure you try the horse in the application in which you plan to use him.
I can give an example here. When I first tried Sunny, my trail horse, I tried him as a replacement for Toby. For my son. I’d known Sunny for a few years; I knew he qualified as a steady, bombproof horse. I tried him in an arena, and decided he was too lazy, ill broke, and resistant for my son. I bought Henry (for more money) instead.
A few months later I decided I needed a bombproof trail horse for myself, in order to give my son a steady lead on the trails. I tried Sunny again, this time for myself, this time out on the trails. He was perfect. He is still a resistant, lazy, not very well broke horse in an arena. But to ride down the trail, he is a jewel. So try the horse in the ways in which you plan to use him. If possible, take him home on trial. Some sellers will allow this, some won’t.
The big question that I ask the seller is, “Has anyone ever come off of this horse? Ever. For any reason. If so, tell me about it.” The answer to this question, if the seller is honest, and has owned the horse at least six months, is very instructive. The other thing I do is try to determine exactly why the seller is selling this horse. This I don’t usually ask directly. I just pay attention and get them talking about the horse and their current situation. I try to figure out why they’ve decided to let this horse go. Its good if there is a logical reason that does not amount to some “issue” with the horse.
If neither you nor your helper has known the horse previously, and you don’t know the buyer (not an ideal situation), ask if you can get in touch with a previous owner of the horse. If you can get this contact info, use it. You will often get a very helpful, honest opinion from a previous owner. Be clear that you are looking for “bombproof”. Ask if anyone has ever come off the horse. Ask if the horse was ever lame. If you can’t talk to a previous owner, try to talk to someone who knows the horse but is not the seller (or the seller’s trainer). It is very important (I can’t stress this too much) to talk to someone who knows the horse and is not trying to take advantage of you. Be sure you understand “horseman speak,” too. No one likes to talk bad about someone else’s horse. If you tell the previous owner or trainer what you are looking for and there is a long silence, followed by, “Well, I guess he might fit,” consider yourself warned off.
Final point. And this is a very simple rule. Don’t buy a lame horse. Some exceptions to this rule apply, but not many. I can save you an awful lot of time, money and grief here. You will not enjoy your bombproof riding horse if he’s lame when you want to go for a ride. And even managable lamenesses take managing. And it usually costs money. Possible exceptions are things like bone spavin and minor arthritic stuff that many older horses have, that they warm up out of easily and quickly.
You actually do not usually need to do the often quite expensive vet check, if you follow these rules. Someone you trust has known the horse for at least six months. Said person can say with clarity that the horse has never done anything “scary”; no one has ever come off of him/her, horse has always appeared sound. You ask to contact horse’s regular vet and then ask he/she what issues horse has had. Finally, most important, you jog the horse in circles on hard ground (pavement or packed gravel, arena will not work) both ways. If the horse limps, don’t buy him. Do the jogging after you ride him, so the horse is thoroughly warmed up. Again, if he limps, don’t buy him. If you can’t tell if one is lame, you should have a helper who can. Period.
The seller is liable to say the horse is bruised, or has new shoes, or he’s “barely off”. Fine. Say you’ll come back in a month. Try the horse again. If he limps, at all, don’t buy him.
On the other hand, if he doesn’t limp, don’t be put off too much by the idea that he has some scary “incipient” problem. I’ve seen people vet check sound horses, get told the horse had incipient ringbone (determined through X-ray) and turn the horse down. Then they get to watch the horse stay sound for somebody else for the next ten years. My rule is, if he limps, don’t buy him. If he doesn’t limp, and it all seems right, I’m Ok with it. I rarely do vet checks any more. I certainly didn’t do one on either Henry or Sunny.
Long term health problems are another issue. When I bought Toby, our pony, I was told he had Cushings disease and had had a run-in with cancer. I accepted him because he was sound and seemed perfect for my needs. But I found that managing the Cushings with meds, removing the tumor when it reoccured, and giving meds to try to prevent it coming back, cost me far more than ten times Toby’s purchase price. Not to mention the time, trouble and worry. And Toby died of kidney cancer two years later. Would I still buy him, knowing what I know now? Yes, I guess I would. We loved Toby, and he taught my little boy to ride, but it was a sad, expensive business in the end. It’s a story worth remembering if you are looking at an older horse with known long term health problems.
On the other hand, Henry, who had never colicked or had one known health problem, colicked a year and a half after I bought him, and had to have colic surgery to save his life. Talk about expensive. So, you never know. But I am still glad I bought Henry. Yesterday my son and I went for a two hour ride through new country on Sunny and Henry and we had a blast. Both horses were steady and quiet, ears up, looking around. Deer crashed through the brush..etc, but not a spook or a jiggy step was ever seen, let alone anything worse. We had a delightful, peaceful, magical ride through the redwoods and neither of us had one anxious moment. (And by the way, we have had well over a hundred trail rides just like this on these two horses.) Our bombproof horses are worth every penny I spent on them. And I hope this blog will help someone else find just the horse they need.
Not too long ago I read a blog that stated there was no such thing as a bombproof horse. Well, in a manner of speaking, that’s true. Any horse is capable of spooking or throwing in a playful crowhop. However, there are horses that will pack a beginner or a child or a timid rider with steadfast reliability, never doing a stupid, violent, or “scary” thing, such that said beginner need never be frightened or come off the horse. This is what I call a bombproof horse, and I’ve known quite a few of them.
I own such a horse currently. My son’s horse, Henry, qualifies as bombproof. I’ve blogged about Henry a few times and inevitably, in the comments, someone will remark that they wished they had such a bombproof horse for their kid, or themselves. So I thought I’d write today about how to buy a bombproof horse.
First of all, if you are new to the horse business, or even kinda new, you need a knowledgable helper. Your helper can be your trainer, or a friend who has been in the horse business a good long while. But be sure that whoever your helper is, he/she is not in a position to make money on the horse you might purchase. I mean it. It doesn’t work out. If you take a “trainer”, the trainer can make money training or giving you lessons on what you purchase, but be sure he/she is not getting a commission on the horse from the seller. Again, it doesn’t work out. I’ve had a lot of experience of this. There are exceptions, but you don’t want to be betting that you’ll be one. The most important thing your helper needs to be is a long time participant in whatever sort of horse activity you favor. If you’re looking for a gentle trail horse, don’t take a helper that shows a lot but never trail rides. Take someone who has trail ridden for years.
Also, if you are not new to the horse business, but you haven’t bought a horse in a long time, or you are new to the area, it would pay to find a helper who knows the local horse market well, particularly the part of it you’re interested in.
Second thing, be clear about your priorities. If you want a bombproof horse, do not get hung up in breed, or beauty, or color, or whether the horse can win at a certain event. Do not expect to get a horse who is younger than ten. It might happen, but it isn’t likely. What you are looking for is a sound, healthy, reasonably well broke (for whatever you want to do) bombproof horse. Expect the horse to be in his teens (at least). I will avoid horses that are much older than twenty. They may be perfect, but you are not likely to get that many more years out of them. But there are sure exceptions to this rule.
As for what type of horse is most likely to be bombproof, well, its hard to generalize. Old rope horses can be great. So can school horses. I have a theory that overly pretty horses are unlikely to be bombproof. No rhyme or reason to it. Its just what I’ve seen over the years. Plain, solid looking horses are the most likely candidates.
The hallmark of a bombproof horse is a solid mind. The horse is sensible; he does not panic. He can be very willing, or a bit lazy, but he is not genuinely resistant. He has no impulse to be defiant. He will go along wiith a beginner’s wishes, even though he knows the beginner is not really capable of being in charge. He may be lazy enough to be hard for a beginner to get in the lope, or he may move out easily, but he will stop when you pull on him. The bombproof horses I have known were bright-eyed, alert looking horses. The dull-eyed horse is unlikely to be bombproof, despite his apparently relaxed demeanor.
Now the most important rule about finding a bombproof horse is also the most difficult one to follow. You, or someone you know and respect, has to have known the horse for at least six months. Unless you follow this rule, you can’t be sure what the horse is really like. Any horse can appear bombproof on a given day or week, whether because he’s been ridden down, or just because he’s in a good space. If you have only the word of a stranger who is trying to sell you the horse, and the horse’s behavior the day you go to see him, you really don’t know enough to decide if the horse is bombproof.
The only way to be sure you are getting a bombproof horse is if you, or your helper has known the horse for awhile, or you are buying the horse from someone you trust who has known the horse for awhile. It is impossible to be sure about the horse otherwise. This is why a helper who is involved in the horse business is so important. If said helper can tell you, “I’ve seen this pony around for years, I’ve seen him packing beginners, I’ve never seen him doing a stupid thing,” that goes a long way.
This is the main way I buy horses. I keep an eye on horses that fit my needs, and when/if they come for sale, I buy them. Or if I need a horse, I make an offer. This is how I bought Henry. My son’s pony had recently died of cancer. I knew Henry, I’d known him for many years, and I knew he was what I wanted. I offered more money than this nineteen year old gelding was really worth. And I got him bought. He has been worth every extra penny, to me.
All the usual things apply when buying such a horse. Have the seller ride him first, then ride him yourself. But do not assume that you can tell much from this. Unless you can find someone who has known the horse for more than six months, you are really operating in the dark. What you can tell from riding your prospect is whether you like the “feel” of the horse. And bombproof or not, some horses fit some riders better than others. So, your test ride is to see if the horse gives you a good feel. Don’t go any further if you don’t like the feel, no matter how perfect the horse seems. Again, its been my experience that it doesn’t work out. But do be sure you try the horse in the application in which you plan to use him.
I can give an example here. When I first tried Sunny, my trail horse, I tried him as a replacement for Toby. For my son. I’d known Sunny for a few years; I knew he qualified as a steady, bombproof horse. I tried him in an arena, and decided he was too lazy, ill broke, and resistant for my son. I bought Henry (for more money) instead.
A few months later I decided I needed a bombproof trail horse for myself, in order to give my son a steady lead on the trails. I tried Sunny again, this time for myself, this time out on the trails. He was perfect. He is still a resistant, lazy, not very well broke horse in an arena. But to ride down the trail, he is a jewel. So try the horse in the ways in which you plan to use him. If possible, take him home on trial. Some sellers will allow this, some won’t.
The big question that I ask the seller is, “Has anyone ever come off of this horse? Ever. For any reason. If so, tell me about it.” The answer to this question, if the seller is honest, and has owned the horse at least six months, is very instructive. The other thing I do is try to determine exactly why the seller is selling this horse. This I don’t usually ask directly. I just pay attention and get them talking about the horse and their current situation. I try to figure out why they’ve decided to let this horse go. Its good if there is a logical reason that does not amount to some “issue” with the horse.
If neither you nor your helper has known the horse previously, and you don’t know the buyer (not an ideal situation), ask if you can get in touch with a previous owner of the horse. If you can get this contact info, use it. You will often get a very helpful, honest opinion from a previous owner. Be clear that you are looking for “bombproof”. Ask if anyone has ever come off the horse. Ask if the horse was ever lame. If you can’t talk to a previous owner, try to talk to someone who knows the horse but is not the seller (or the seller’s trainer). It is very important (I can’t stress this too much) to talk to someone who knows the horse and is not trying to take advantage of you. Be sure you understand “horseman speak,” too. No one likes to talk bad about someone else’s horse. If you tell the previous owner or trainer what you are looking for and there is a long silence, followed by, “Well, I guess he might fit,” consider yourself warned off.
Final point. And this is a very simple rule. Don’t buy a lame horse. Some exceptions to this rule apply, but not many. I can save you an awful lot of time, money and grief here. You will not enjoy your bombproof riding horse if he’s lame when you want to go for a ride. And even managable lamenesses take managing. And it usually costs money. Possible exceptions are things like bone spavin and minor arthritic stuff that many older horses have, that they warm up out of easily and quickly.
You actually do not usually need to do the often quite expensive vet check, if you follow these rules. Someone you trust has known the horse for at least six months. Said person can say with clarity that the horse has never done anything “scary”; no one has ever come off of him/her, horse has always appeared sound. You ask to contact horse’s regular vet and then ask he/she what issues horse has had. Finally, most important, you jog the horse in circles on hard ground (pavement or packed gravel, arena will not work) both ways. If the horse limps, don’t buy him. Do the jogging after you ride him, so the horse is thoroughly warmed up. Again, if he limps, don’t buy him. If you can’t tell if one is lame, you should have a helper who can. Period.
The seller is liable to say the horse is bruised, or has new shoes, or he’s “barely off”. Fine. Say you’ll come back in a month. Try the horse again. If he limps, at all, don’t buy him.
On the other hand, if he doesn’t limp, don’t be put off too much by the idea that he has some scary “incipient” problem. I’ve seen people vet check sound horses, get told the horse had incipient ringbone (determined through X-ray) and turn the horse down. Then they get to watch the horse stay sound for somebody else for the next ten years. My rule is, if he limps, don’t buy him. If he doesn’t limp, and it all seems right, I’m Ok with it. I rarely do vet checks any more. I certainly didn’t do one on either Henry or Sunny.
Long term health problems are another issue. When I bought Toby, our pony, I was told he had Cushings disease and had had a run-in with cancer. I accepted him because he was sound and seemed perfect for my needs. But I found that managing the Cushings with meds, removing the tumor when it reoccured, and giving meds to try to prevent it coming back, cost me far more than ten times Toby’s purchase price. Not to mention the time, trouble and worry. And Toby died of kidney cancer two years later. Would I still buy him, knowing what I know now? Yes, I guess I would. We loved Toby, and he taught my little boy to ride, but it was a sad, expensive business in the end. It’s a story worth remembering if you are looking at an older horse with known long term health problems.
On the other hand, Henry, who had never colicked or had one known health problem, colicked a year and a half after I bought him, and had to have colic surgery to save his life. Talk about expensive. So, you never know. But I am still glad I bought Henry. Yesterday my son and I went for a two hour ride through new country on Sunny and Henry and we had a blast. Both horses were steady and quiet, ears up, looking around. Deer crashed through the brush..etc, but not a spook or a jiggy step was ever seen, let alone anything worse. We had a delightful, peaceful, magical ride through the redwoods and neither of us had one anxious moment. (And by the way, we have had well over a hundred trail rides just like this on these two horses.) Our bombproof horses are worth every penny I spent on them. And I hope this blog will help someone else find just the horse they need.
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