🔵 By Matthew Boivin. Photo by lauragrafie.
What happens when a prison cowboy gets a chance to go to college? The focus may shift a little from the cows, but not even college can pull a cowboy from his horse. A formal education offers benefits for a positive future, but the knowledge the horses give me is far more valuable than any piece of paper.
When the prison administration posted a flyer announcing the start of a college program, I signed up without hesitation. The Southeast Arkansas College offers an Associate’s Degree in General Studies to any prisoner who qualifies for the Federal Pell Grant program. I qualified and became one of the first students at Cummins to attend classes. Th e classes are held at the prison school building inside the main compound Monday through Thursday evenings. There are five of us from the Modular Unit that make the trek every school day, which presents its own challenges.
Living in the Mod while attending college presents several difficulties. The first challenge is the daily strip search. After 26 years, I should be accustomed to the shakedown, but part of me still views it as the violation of body it is. Anymore, a twice daily strip search is just one price to be paid in order to do something positive for myself. U put the whole squat-and-cough routine out of my mind and focus on the credits I’m earning to transfer toward my continued education after my release. Another challenge I face is the overall structure of college in prison. Prison security considers a simple pencil as contraband and refuses to allow college staff to provide us with the most rudimentary of supplies. If a pencil is hard to come by, paper is even more difficult. The college provided us with a 100-sheet composition book at the beginning of the semester advising us to make it last as we tore pages out for all classes. As a free student, I would simply buy my own supplies so I do the same here buying my own paper and flexible pens from our commissary.
The last piece of the challenge I find puzzling is the lack of textbooks. Yes, I’m enrolled in a college course that doesn’t have a textbook. The professors bring photocopies of the material we’ll use for the lesson, and we study from those. The prison administration has limits on the size of books allowed in prison, but I don’t fully grasp the logic there. The main library has textbooks, encyclopedias, and hardcover books, but the administration forbids the college from providing textbooks in hardcover. On the other hand, the college doesn’t seem to wan to spend much of our grant money. The total price for our tuition for this semester is $6,895. the lead professor is acting very secretive when questioned, which is not helping. I don’t want to believe the college is pocketing the remaining $5,200 or that the prison is requiring a portion of the funds in order to allow the college into prison, but I am an old convict who has seen the gaping maw of prison devour every cent possible.
In spite of the challenges which seem to be deliberately created to discourage every student from succeeding, I find myself enjoying being back in an educational environment. The courses are easy to me – Real World Math, English Composition I, Reading, and an elective titled Principles of Academic Success (which I would NOT have elected to take, given the choice). It is so much like a prison program, I feel cheated. Unfortunately, the other classes aren’t very intellectually challenging, either, but they are necessary. That just means I’ll transfer high scores when I go after my Bachelor’s Degree in Animal Science with a Pre-Veterinary option. No matter the obstacles or tedium of what is for me remedial material, the credits I earn now can only help me later on. At least that’s how I see it. The only way to true freedom is through education, and fortunately for me, the horses provide me with true education.
In 2021, I attended the Farrier School and was invited back this year to help show the new farriers-in-training the steps to shoeing. I had more time to focus on the horses this round and spent time teaching about how to recognize a horse’s personality. A frustrated farrier will always have a frustrated horse, and the horse always wins a wrestling match. Recognizing that a horse is a living, thinking animal with emotions of her own, then treating her with respect makes for a better overall experience – for the Farrier and the horse. As I made my rounds from one workstation to the next offering pointers on trimming the sole or nailing on a shoe, I talked as much about the horse as I talked about the process. After all, the first rule of horsemanship is the horse. We have seven horses on the Beef Herd that have shown me their personalities over the last three years with his or her own way of reacting to situations. Of course, Bow’s personality could fill volumes, but I also care for Bonnie, Moody, Kate, Spider, Patch, and Penny Two-Stockings. Each horse has his or her own set of quirks or mannerisms that make the all unique and special. Some would argue they’re just horses and I’m applying human emotions to an animal, but I beg to differ. I know the horses talk to one in their own language. Horse whispering goes both ways.
Bonnie is a 12-year-old Bay mare with dark fetlocks and solid black mane and tail. Her Bay coat is a deep brown mixed with maroon that resembles the color of dried blood with one white spot on her withers about the size of a grapefruit. The white spot is from an old saddle sore that was allowed to deepen into her second layer of skin making the hair grow back white. Bonnie is one of our babysitter horses because she is usually calm enough to carry a novice rider with no problems. She’s a kidnapper, though. I watched her carry a man screaming over a mile as she bolted back to the barn. All the white, he was clinging to the saddle horn scared out of his wits. When I ride Bonnie, she gives me all her cowhorse training with clean pivots, a quick side pass and a short sliding stop before executing a nice rollback. She knows what she can get away with and who is in the saddle. My favorite quirk happens every time I rasp her hoof while putting shoes on. As I’m leaned over dressing her hoof wall, she lowers her head beside mine and watches every stroke of the rasp. I imagine her saying, “Not too much. I like them round and shiny.”
Moody is a 12-year-old Red Roan mare who lives up to her name every day. Mostly, she is a calm babysitter, but occasionally her mood shifts and she doesn’t want to go to work. She acts like a pouty teenager fidgeting and dragging her feet, dancing away from the saddle or throwing her head against the bit. Once she gets over her pouting, she’s a fine horse. Her Red Roan coat is a sight to see in the summer when the sleek sheen of her red hairs interspersed with the white undergrowth gives her the appearance of living marble with patterns in her hair that shift from one viewer to the next. Her mane and tail are black with red strands interwoven as natural highlights. Moody is a decent cowhorse under the right rider, but she definitely knows when she carries a buffoon. Shes a job to shoe, though. When I release one foot even for a moment to change tools, she lifts the other foot for me. There’s no fight when shoeing Moody, but the poor girl is deathly afraid of needles. She fights like a banshee then. Even the wormer tube, which only looks like a syringe, makes her tremble in fear. I handle her very gently at medication time, but the damage is done.
Kate is her own horse, and she knows it. No rider yet – myself included – has been able to capture her mind. Oh, she’ll carry a rider with no real problems, and she follows directions mostly; but her mind is definitely her own. She does what needs to be done at the moment. All the while, though, the barn is on her mind distracting her from the job at hand. This makes her seem absent-minded. She’s a beautiful Dapple Grey with black stockings and hooves. Her mane and tail are also black but the tip of her tail is white looking like a bleach-blonde long overdue for a touch-up. In the pasture, Kate is a bully pushing the other horses around to get the best grass. Spider rand Bow don’t put up with it, though, and give her a quick bite or swift kick to remind her of her place in the social rank. Her rebellious nature bleeds over to the shoeing as well. When I pick a food up, she gives me about 20 seconds to work before she wants to arm wrestle. She snatches her foot back quick and has cut me more than once with a newly driven nail.
Spider is the old man of the herd at 14-years and is every bit a cowhorse. There’s a draft horse somewhere in his bloodline, and the genetics show in his characteristic long head, wide chest, and rough, stomping gait. He was bred to pull, and the old man will snatch a 1,700 pound bull off its feet without a second thought. He is a dark sorrel with a blaze face, four white stockings and red mane and tail. Overall, Spider is the best all-round cowhorse on the Beef Herd. He can track a co for roping, hold a cow on the end o fa rope, sort calves in a pen, and pull so hard the rope snaps in two. He generally lumbers along without getting excited about much, but when I pick up his foot to put shoes on him, this horse gets all the way goofy. Poor guy will actually ejaculate when I drive nails into his hoof wall. It only happens when I drive the nails in his front feet. As a gelding, he only shoots blanks, but I still have to drop his foot and step back. Spider’s the only horse I know with a foot fetish (for his own feet).
Patch got transferred to the Beef Herd in 2021 and still comes to the barn with fresh bite marks every morning. He’s at the bottom of the social ladder and is often seen in the pasture far away from the other horses. Even when we call the horses to the barn to feed them in the morning, Patch will linger around until the other horses are in the stalls before he comes into the barn. He is a 12-year old Sorrel with two white stockings and one distinguishing feature – a large brown patch on his right flank that resembles a port-wine stain birthmark. Workwise, he’s as capable as Spider, but he lacks the confidence to excel. That lack of confidence stems from an accident several years ago. He was fighting another horse and was pushed into a barbed wire fence. When he was found the next morning, he had a metal T-post stuck in his neck. Poor guy was impaled by a fence post then pulled away hard enough to rip the side of his neck where the post was surgically removed. Understandably, his attitude seems to say, “I’ll do what you want, just please don’t hurt me.” He’s a joy to shoe, though, lifting each foot for me and waiting patiently until I finish.
Penny Two-Stockings, on the other hand, won’t even let me touch her feet. She’s a 6-year old Sorrel filly with a shiny copper-colored coat that reminds me of a new penny. Her hind feet have two bright white stockings up to her fetlocks; hence, her name. Penny came to me a damaged horse with large bare patches along her back from too much time under a poorly fitted saddle. Someone took the phrase, “Ride the hair off her,” to its literal meaning. She is scared of people and always looks with a wide eye at anybody approaching carrying anything in his hand. During this year’s Farrier School, one of the prisoners responsible for “breaking” the horses told us the process is to rope the cold in the round pen, throw her down (literally, trip her off her feet”, then tie tires weighted with concrete around her to let her “buck it out”.
A horse’s only protection against predators is to run away. Equine vision has evolved such that a horse with her head down grazing can see 360°; everything on all sides except for three blind spots – directly in front of the horse, directly behind the horse, and, yes, on the horse’s back exactly where a rider sits. A horse won’t even lie down for a nap in the sun unless she is comfortable with the pasture under the watchful eyes of other horses. The prison process of breaking a horse is the most traumatic way imaginable. Penny was trapped in a round pen with nowhere to run, roped around the neck, pulled off her feet then “attacked” by a heavy “monster” that kept hitting her no matter how hard she struggled to free herself. Terror and panic must have flooded her mind until she just gave up. It is no wonder she tried to throw me out of the round pen when I first saddled her.
Much like her brother, Bow, Penny is a fighter, but she also shares his love of food. Over time, Penny has healed enough to let herself be petted and will accept watermelon and sweet potato treats out of my hand. She has the potential to be a great sorting horse – she’s very athletic with a quick mind. Fully healing enough to trust people again and let herself be ridden without trying to throw her rider (namely me!) into next week, though, will be a long process involving patience, compassion, and a gentle hand. When she lets one touch her feet, I’ll know she’s ready.
Finally, Bow. He’s been the star of these stories from the beginning. After two years, as my main horse, we have developed a language of our own. He talks to me through his body language and isn’t afraid to tell me when he’s not happy about something. Most recently, he told me I should stop wearing my spurs when I ride him. I make it a point to be gentle with spurs because I certainly wouldn’t appreciate being jabbed in the side with a sharp piece of metal. When I applied pressure to his side with the spurs, he would turn his head and look at my foot. To me, he was saying, “Why are you poking me? I know what leg pressure means!” His behavior was a recent development, and when I took my spurs off, he quit doing it. Message received, problem solved.
I usually don’t put shoes on Bow because he doesn’t really need them – he has strong feet. When I was putting shoes on him regularly a year ago, he didn’t put up much fuss unless I held his foot for longer than a couple of minutes at a time. I noticed, though, he would paw the ground, stomp when tied, and change his gait after new shoes. I stopped putting shoes on him and kept him trimmed to run barefoot. He stopped the pawing and stomping, and his gait returned to normal. He would not snatch his foot away when I trimmed hi, and we settled into an easy rhythm. The last day of the Farrier school changed that rhythm.
The lass needed horses, and we had to take Bow to be shod. After the class ended I was told that Bow fought the guys putting shoes in him. He wouldn’t hold still, snatched his foot away, and stubbornly refused to even lift. It took them two hours to accomplish what I usually do in 30 minutes (shoes and all.) Bow just didn’t want anybody else putting shoes on his feet! I waited two weeks to let his hoof walls grow back, then pulled the shoes off his feet. I trimmed him to run barefoot and not once did he snatch away or dance around. Bow is definitely my horse.
If that wasn’t evidence enough, I was doing mechanic work on the bulldozed at the office and looked up to see Bow a the fence watching me intently. After about 30 minutes of work, he was in the same spot still watching me. I walked over to give him some affection and let him nibble on my fingertips before going back to the bulldozer to finish. He was gone when I turned back around. This horse watched me working, curious about what I was doing, then went on his way after a little affection. Definitely my horse.
Every day with the horses gives me more and more insight into their personalities. Some would argue I’m just applying human emotions to a dumb animal. I know better, though. Horses are majestic creatures with thoughts and emotions all their own. Man build the civilization we enjoy today with the help of the horse. As stewards, we owe the horse the dignity it has earned.