Cupcake Gets Some Learnin'

Look what I found! This is Stormy....and also why I think there's something to be said for Foundation Breeding.

Cupcake had begun to put on weight. He tolerated my touch enough to pull the last of the patchy dry hair. A shiny red coat began to appear.

I used my fingers to untangle his mane and tail. Little by little I pulled out the burrs and loosened the Rastafarian coils. He learned to tolerate mane and tail conditioner and to appreciate fly spray.

His cotton top forelock hung over his eyes and half way down his delicate Arab face.

I spent at least 30 minutes a day grooming him with only my hand.

He had become friendly and eager for my touch. He accepted a saddle with little fuss. The long time he had spent in isolation had made him yearn for contact, so his progress became quick.

Unless he was around other horses. He became incensed when he came anywhere near them. He would squeal and strike unless I was near to keep him in hand.

My usual method of simply tying him to the tie rail with my regular line up wasn’t working. He would bloody himself trying to climb over the rail. His pinned ears and violent screams infuriated the studs and terrified my other horses.

He was going to hurt himself trying to get at them.

“I swear he’s a Jack Russell terrier,” I told the boss, “and he thinks the whole world is a rat.”

“I’ve seen horses which have never been socialized before, but not like this,” the boss said.

“He needs the shit kicked out of him and some manners knocked into him,” I answered.

I had once taught a three-year-old stud his manners by leaving him overnight in an indoor arena with a group of old pregnant broodmares.

There is nothing crankier than a pregnant broodmare dealing with an ill-mannered colt.

But this colt was the rankest thing I had ever come across. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“You can turn him out with Stormy if you want,” the boss said.

“Really,” I was surprised, “you’d do that?”

“He couldn’t hurt him and Stormy won’t do anything to him,” she responded.

Stormy was a beast of a Foundation Quarter Horse. 15hh and 1200 pounds of old fashioned bulldog style muscle, the venerable grandfather of the bosses breeding program was a sweet tempered, easy to handle guy. He was also built like a rhino.

“ I guess it could work if we turn them out in the arena. It’s neutral ground and will give each of them room to get away from each other,” I said.

The idea made me nervous, but again, I knew Cupcake’s time was running out.

“Lets give it a shot, I guess we can break them up if things get nasty.”

So the boss went and gathered up Stormy and I went to get Cupcake.

We turned Stormy out first and gave him a chance to roll and snort around before we turned out the wild child.

Stormy was pretty to watch, his massive muscles rippled under his glossy chocolate coat and his large expressive eyes snapped and crackled with fun. He had a beautiful head, heavy jowled, a small muzzle and little fox ears. He also came with the tiny useless feet of the 1970’s Quarter Horse, which is why he had been pretty much retired from the breeding game for several years.
He still drew in the occasional client looking for color, Stormy sired grullo, dun and buckskin babies at about 90% and so his popularity wasn’t entirely diminished.

After the old stud had settled I brought Cupcake out and slipped off his halter.

I scooted under the fence and the boss and I leaned on the rails to watch the show. I took off my spurs and hung them on the gate. If I had to get in there I didn’t want to trip and be tangled in a heap under their hooves.

The dogs sat at the rail panting heavily. Their ears were pricked and they quivered with anticipation. This looked like it was going to be good.

Stormy and the colt immediately high stepped to each other, with their heads flung in the air and tails flagged.

They squealed, Cupcake struck out a forefoot and Stormy…turned and ran.

“Well this is working out great,” I said.

“Hmmm,” the boss answered.

For half an hour the little colt herded Stormy around, it looked like a horse fly chasing an old mama cow.

Stormy zigged and zagged, mostly at a trot, but once in a while loping along, while Cupcake buzzed from one side to the other, nipping his flanks and trying to mount him when he slowed.

We let them go, in an odd way they seemed to be having fun, Stormy’s eye was calm and serene and I could see Cupcakes already inflated ego growing by the minute.

“At least he’s getting a workout,” I noted.

Stormy was barely breaking a sweat, but the red colt was getting foamy. His crazy charges were slowing and he was mostly just trailing along.

Stormy suddenly hit the brakes, spun around and squared off.

Cupcake almost whacked into his butt when he stopped and then they were nose to nose.

Cupcake squealed and struck again, this time Stormy sidestepped left, dove into the colt, grabbed him by the crest of his neck and threw him a good five feet.

Cupcake landed flat on his side in a heap like Bambi on ice.

Stormy stood looking at him, ears pricked and his eyes bright.

Cupcake pulled himself up. The sandy arena dirt covered his sweat soaked side. He blinked rapidly trying to get the mud out of his eyes. Cupcake looked completely confused.

Stormy dove in, ears pinned and bared his yellow, grooved teeth. He grabbed the colt by the throat and shook him hard before he tossed him again.

This time Cupcake hit the iron rail and slid, stunned, to the ground.

I slid into the arena and headed toward Stormy, swinging my rope and yelling.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I shouted.

Stormy snorted and shook his head at me before he started to back away. He feinted around me and went to close in on the dazed colt. The dogs came in nipping and barking and helped drive him across the arena.

I stood between the horses and called off the dogs.

Stormy snorted at me a few times and I kept swinging my halter.

“Hey now, hey now, easy, you big jackass,” I crooned.

Cupcake staggered to his feet and peeked around me at Stormy. The huge stud relaxed and looked out over the rails.

The little red colt was scraped raw in a few places, but for the most part he was OK.

I went to crawl through the fence again and Cupcake shadowed me. If he could have squeezed through the rails with me he certainly would have.

Stormy walked towards Cupcake and he flew away from him in earnest.

“Stormy won’t run him for long,” the boss commented, “he’s too fat and the sand’s too deep.”

She was right. Stormy approached the foam flecked red colt a few more times. Once he was satisfied he would run like hell every time he headed towards him he ignored him.

The boss and I relaxed. The dogs threw themselves down in the sand and dozed. The tension leaked out of the air. By the time we started putting horse up that night Cupcake was following Stormy around like a lost weanling. He worked his mouth and tailed the massive stud everywhere he went.

When I caught him up and led him to his stall he walked past the other horses without a sound.