🔵 By Matthew Boivin. Photo by lauragrafie.
A cowboy isn’t a cowboy without his horse. Any man can put on jeans, boots, hat and spurs, but until that man rides a horse chasing a wild cow or ropes a calf off that horse’s back at a gallop, his cowboy credentials are questionable at best. A trial ride does not make a man a cowboy. Bow has taken good care of me for the six or eight months, working with me through all our Prison Cowboy adventures. Unfortunately, Bow caught a patch of mange on his withers that developed into a saddle sore. He’ll most likely have the Fall off and maybe even into the winter until the hair grows back. That left me without a horse, but not for long. A well-placed phone call, and the day after Bow goes lame, I get another horse. I should have suspected something was not quite right when he was delivered so fast, but a cowboy does not shrink from a horse in the remuda, the work must get done.
I was in a pasture on a Caterpillar D-4 bulldozer building a road and pushing compost into sinkholes covering it with topsoil. I didn’t get to see when the horse got off the trailer, but when my supervisor’s truck showed up where I was working, I shut the bulldozer down and left it there. The road was finished, and the compost project was almost done, so when my supervisor asked if I wanted to go see my new horse, I was all too ready to hop on the back of the truck to take the ride to the office. It was 5 pm, and my co-workers were turned in for the day, so I got to evaluate him without a lot of hoopla. I could see him from the top of the levee tied to the rail in the round pen and was pleased to see a tall buckskin waiting patiently as we pulled into the office. I hopped off the bench on the back of the truck, and we walked to the round pen. I was checking out his lines as we walked up and didn’t fail to notice he flinched as I walked beside him. Skittish from the start, but I wasn’t going to hold it against him. I walked in the pen and untied him, using the lead rope to walk him around a few paces checking out his movement, looking at his teeth, and watching him as intently as he was watching me. My second warning sign was his feet. His hooves were flared and overgrown from neglect, plus, there was a conspicuous absence of nail holes in his feet as well. The fact that his hooves were neglected and missing the telltale signs of shoeing spoke volumes to me. This horse had been put out to pasture, left there for months, and didn’t make the trip to the shoeing class six weeks prior. In my mind, that meant something was wrong with this horse and nobody could handle him. It’s not the prison way to pasture a 5-year-old gelding who could otherwise be working but for his “character flaws”. I wasn’t going to hold that against him, either. It was late in the day, though, and security would be calling my supervisor soon and wondering how long he’d keep me out. Farm security had to get off the clock, too. So I led him out of the round pen, took his halter off and made sure he had water for the night. My supervisor took me in for the evening and I spent the time in the shower planning for the next day riding the skittish, problematic horse. I was looking forward to it actually. Bow had lots of problems when I took him over, and we made excellent progress in six months. I wasn’t about to shy from a challenging horse. I went to sleep comfortable with the training agenda I had brewing.
The Beef Herd planned to separate the bred heifers from the open ones and move them to different pastures. All our open cows are shipping to a different unit to start a second calf crop. We’ll winter the heifer calves, and the other unit will sell the steer calves. I fully know the hard work ahead of us, and a good horse is going to be the key. We have a lot of moving, sorting, and counting ahead of us. I woke up anxious to see just what this horse had in store for me. As soon as I got off the truck and put my mud boots on, I went to the barn and caught my horse. I dropped him a bowl of oats and caught the other horses to feed them before work. When I got back to the buckskin, I brushed him down, getting him ready for the saddle. After I hung up the brush, I took a bit and bridle from the door and tested him through the first step to saddling. He had a lot of resistance when I asked him to put his head down to accept the bit. Pressure on, pressure off, releasing my hand pressure on his poll just as soon as he gave me just a little lower. Eventually, he figured out what I wanted but threw his head up as soon as I brought the bridle over his nose. Head shy. Seems someone in his past didn’t know the *1 cardinal rule of horsemanship: NEVER hit a horse in the face. A head shy horse will always fight bridling. I won’t hold it against him, though; just one more note in my mental training log.
I got him into his head stall and led him closer to the barn where I could keep an eye on him as I went through the saddling process. I evaluated each step methodically, making notes in my mind how to improve this horse to overcome whatever damage was done to him by overzealous officers who believed the answer to every horse problem is to whip him harder than the last time. I put a blanket and pad on him with no problem and went to get my saddle.
I sat the saddle by the hitching post, standing it on its horn while I went to get a fresh belly girth band. I had pulled mine off to spray the dried mud away and failed to put it back on. The saddle fell over while I was away, and the horse went haywire. He didn’t act up enough to throw off the blanket and pad, but when I went to catch him, he kept walking away, turning his back toward me at a slant. There’s no greater sign of disrespect than a horse turning his back to me. A half-stance in horse language means, “I have my eye on you. Watch your step. My guns are loaded.” A full stance in horse means, “I’m loaded and cocked. One more step and you get both barrels.” Getting kicked is never any fun, and a horse kick is not how I planned to start this day. I gave him his space, retrieved his breakfast bowl and walked straight to him – no problem. Not so nervous now food is in the picture.
I took his reins and led him back to the hitching post, draping the split reins over the rail. I wasn’t giving him the chance to snap a rain acting skittish. Without any more ceremony, I lifted the saddle and lowered it on to his back, admittedly being a little easy not to spook him. He accepted the saddle without a fight and I snugged the latigs, watching him for any reaction. Once I got him saddled, I thought we’d go to work, come what may, but he had other plans. On our way to the trailer, a Border Collie named Sadie ran under him, and up he goes, snorting and bucking. He didn’t snatch the reins out of my hand and calmed down pretty quick once he processed the presence of the dog. I was asked if I wanted to warm him up in the round pen, but I declined, saying, “If that’s all he’s got, I can ride him through it.” I walked him to the office to get a water bottle for the day and found he had other plans again. As soon as I lifted my leg to mount, he was off again, bucking, snorting, crow-hopping and acting the fool.
He bucked his way to the implement yard about 100 yards away as I slowly walked to him. He started spinning away from me, but I had his number now. I extended my hands palms up and walked directly to his front as if to say, “I’ve got nothing in my hands to hit you with. You can watch me the whole time – no sneaking from the side.” He let me walk up to him, pick up his rains and I lead him to the round pen. Progress even though it may not seem so. Once in the round pen, I tied his reins around his neck and went to work. I made him run laps to get his mind right. A way to a horse’s mind is through his feet, and I made him move his feet – A LOT! He didn’t try to throw the saddle or buck at all, so, after a few laps, I dropped the flag and turned my back to him listening for the sounds of his submission. I heard him come to a stop and the telltale sound of the licking of lips – a sure sign of submission. When I turned around, he was perpendicular to the rail, facing me and licking his lips like the famous Mr. Ed after a spoon of peanut butter waiting for my next command. Arms extended, palms up, I walked purposefully toward him, took his reins and led him to the center of the pen. When I put weight in the stirrups with my hand, he blew up again, telling me I wasn’t getting in that saddle. Unfortunately for him, we had work to do, and I was definitely getting in that saddle, one way or another.
I prefer a horse that thinks for itself, so I spent the next 30 minutes breaking down each motion of the mounting process and repeating it until he stopped reacting. First, I worked the leg lift until I couldn’t get a reaction. Then I put pressure on the stirrups and dropped it a hundred times, watching him progress from a sidestep away, to a whole body shudder, and finally, no reaction at all. Trust-building. When I could get a foot near the stirrup without an explosion, it was time for the finale. My supervisor came into the round pen riding his horse and took the buckskin by the rein at the bit while I mounted. Even mounting became a calculated ritual. Foot in the stirrup, take it out and pet him. Foot in the stirrup plus weight, take it out, pet. Foot in the stirrup, weight, stand up, reverse it all, pet. Go through it again, lay over the saddle for weight on his back, reverse it, pet. Finally, I swung my leg over and settled my weight in the saddle. We led him around for a couple of turns, and I felt like a little kid for a moment; but my supervisor let go of the reins, giving him to me fully. The buckskin gave a shudder, but no real problem. Trust.
Once I was on his back, I let him get used to work, trotting to the cows while the other horses rode in the trailer. I stayed at a trot or a lope almost the entire day letting him know this work is serious – no time for shenanigans. We made a day out of it, and I practiced mounting and dismounting several times during the day. I was on the back of the truck with the other guys and said, “Sorry to disappoint y’all about the rodeo, but I needed to teach him, “ just to gauge their reaction to what they watched in the round pen. One of the other guys who thinks he’s a real horseman said, “Lower those stirrups and take that rope off, and I’ll teach him something.” always somebody wanting to play hard. I could have thrown my leg over and rode what fight he had, but what would that horse learn? Only to fight. I took the fight out of him without raising a hand in retaliation. Every day since, I have saddled and ridden that horse with no more mounting problems.
Was I weak for not making it a fight? Was I scared because I took each step slowly? Hardly! I am successful where others are not. Turned out, this horses name is Whiskey, and he’s been on the farm before. He started work in 2018, born in 2016, and passed around from the Beef Herd (before me), the Horse Barn, and the Dog Kennel, because nobody could handle him. Every one I talked to who knew the horse told me he wouldn’t let anybody ride without a fight and would even blow up while on his back. One of the war stories from the Dog Kennel was that during a mounting practice, Whiskey reared up on his hind legs attempting to put his front hooves through the chest of the man handling him. I know the guy, so I can see the picture clearly: Whiskey turning away from the mounting block; the guy losing his temper and pulling on the reins; Whiskey terrified of the beating he imagined coming, trying to back away; the guy pulling harder on the reins on to his hind legs; Whiskey in a panic, pawing the air fighting his attacker away. That scenario is purely conjecture, but most likely very accurate. My proof? Mount Whiskey on the off-side (his right), and he won’t move at all. Every nuance this horse has is directly tied to bad experiences on his left mounting side. The thing is, if I pick a fight with Whiskey, he has no problem giving me that fight. Too many handlers have picked that fight, lost, and proudly declared the horse is to blame. My goal is to teach Whiskey to save the fight for the cows where I’ll gladly let him do his worst. Those cows need to learn to respect a horse anyway.
The signs of inept handling are all over this horse, but I won’t hold it against him. He is not responsible for the abuse he suffered at the hands of idiots in a uniform too arrogant to admit they have no clue how to communicate with a horse or to develop a relationship centered on respect, love, and trust. I commit to teaching him to overcome his fears to be the best horse he can be.