A Good Old Mare

I stopped in at a local day show last Saturday to visit with a few friends. I was admiring a young girl who was just riding the tar (in a good way) out of a sharp looking Fjord pony. This petite little thing wrestled the Fjord through class after class. She looked cool and calm and her pony merrily lumbered her way through the arena as best she could.


A Fjord doesn't exactly melt into the crowd in my neck of the woods. Our English classes are judged in the "Wenglish" or "Engstern" tradition and the Western are, well western. The classes are filled with quarter horses, paints, a few arabs, more quarters and paints, some grades that look like quarters or paints and did I mention the quarter horses and paints?


But I watched this young rider place in most of her classes. They make a fairly stunning pair in my book. She even reins on her little Fjord and their patterns are quiet and solid, even if they don't have a 30 foot slide or a hair trigger spin.


I told the girl's grandmother how impressed with them I was and her answer surprised me a little.

"If she was riding one of the other horses you see here she'd really be cleaning up," she said.


I was a little taken aback. For one thing, that pony is a dream. The other is I know full well the little girl rides the way she does because she had to really work in order to succeed on a horse who doesn't quite fit in. Kids don't learn to ride like she does when they're handed a trained show horse.


What parents often fail to understand is a finished horse shapes a green rider. The rider learns to fit the horse's needs in order to compete. There is nothing wrong with this, but for kids especially, I think it's important for them to learn to shape the horse to fit them. It truly teaches them to ride.

Which is why I was perfectly willing to have my daughter spend her first several years riding and competing on a very willing, gentle but extremely elderly mare, Annie.
Annie was a quarter horse. My daughter had grown up riding her. The kidlet rode with me until she was four, then took over the reins and was off on her own.

Annie never gave me reason to doubt her. She was consistently kind, she loved kids, she tried to do what I asked of her. She was my primary beginner lesson horse. She was also just about the slowest horse on the planet.

Annie was famous for her innovative transitions. When a child would be urging her into a trot for the first time, Annie would speed up her walk and begin bobbing her head in a perfect imitation of a horse at the trot. But those feet would keep on walking. She could "trope" all day. Slow and easy, loping in the front and trotting in the back.

Annie gave children confidence. She would obey when they could make her, but not until they were horsemen enough to get her there. She would lower her head for a hug from the tiniest child. She would stand quiet and soft for the most fearful.

She was perfect. Unless you were my fearless wild child, crazy with the desire to run and wanting so bad to go to the shows with her mom. Annie and my kidlet had been a perfect pair at the day shows. They had become an almost unbeatable team in the 10 and under morning classes.

Now, at 11, my little girl had definitely out-grown her horse. But she was the horse I had for her. She would have to do.

So the kidlet began to teach Annie to rein. She begged me for sliders. I finally caved and had Ed come put sliders on Annie. Of course they were my version of appropriate sliders for a 26 year old horse. Ed shoed her in the back with regular keg shoes, but turned them upside-down so they were smooth. Then he left all the nail heads on to give her some grip.
Kidlet was happy, Annie was safe and we were reining.

I was pleased and impressed to see my little girl get the old mare circling up. She worked hard and figured out her lead changes. Annie, as usual, complied with dignity once she was resigned to the fact that my kidlet was determined to make it happen.

I finally promised to take her to an AQHA show and let her show in the youth reining. I warned her the competition would be fierce, that Annie was old and not a reiner.

Kidlet was sure it wouldn't matter, she knew they'd be fine. We picked a show in Rifle, because it was smaller than some and we would have time to go tubing in the river and take a trip to the hot springs. Kidlet was out of her mind.

The first day of the show came awfully quick. Kidlet was a nervous wreck when she saw the sleek and finished reiners she was up against.The other youth riders were well into their teens, confident and at ease.
She snapped and snarled at everyone in our group (ahh...so like her mother!) and fretted all the way into the arena. She had a look of absolute terror on her face. Annie looked bored.

They under spun and zeroed. They misplaced their markers. They missed a lead. Kidlet's hat fell off, banged Annie on the butt and I witnessed the only buck I ever saw come from the old mare.

Kidlet left the arena with her head down and disappeared. I gave her a few minutes and found her sitting in the truck, crying her eyes out. Annie stood patiently beside the truck door, her reins dangling.

I rapped on the window.

"Get out here and take care of your horse."

I went back to the arena to wait for my class. Kidlet showed up later that afternoon. She was red-eyed, but cheerful enough.

"I cleaned the stalls and watered Annie," Kidlet told me. "She's out grazing."

It seemed the crisis had passed. When we had curled up in our trailer for the night we talked more about the day. I reminded Kidlet of what was important. Remembering her pattern, riding her horse to the best of her ability and being proud of what they could do. She really didn't want to hear it, but I hoped part of my stubborn little girl was listening.

Two days later it was time for her next class. She came into the arena silent and focused. She watched the other goes with fierce determination. She snarked at me if I even pretended to coach.

"I know my pattern!" Kidlet hissed at me.

I left her be and kept my stage mother anxieties to myself.

When the kidlet and Annie walked into the arena she sat straight in the saddle and looked the judges dead in the eye.

Annie loped off into her first big circle. I glanced up at the judges. They smiled at the very cute picture Annie and my little girl presented. They also looked resigned at the incredibly slow lope they saw going around the arena. One of the judges looked at his watch and settled back into his chair.

It didn't seem possible but when it came to their small slow circle, Kidlet brought Annie down even slower. It was amazing. I could almost hear the judges groan. Then back to the next big fast, er sort of.

I was proud. Annie was cruising along at her usual crawl and Kidlet sat a little up and forward, her hand up and her legs bumping a gentle encouragement in fine reiner style.
She sat back and took Annie through her clean lead change smooth as silk. The old mare was level and quiet, huffing her way around the pen.

I saw the judges sit up and look a little closer.

Kidlet's second set of circles was as perfect and slow-mo as the first. There were a few whistles from the audience after the second lead change. I saw a tiny flash of a smile whip across my daughter's serious face and then she looked up the pen and started her run-down.

Kidlet sat back and drove the old mare up the pen. Annie rounded her back, well, sucked in her belly anyway, and pushed into the bridle. Although they would have lost a race with a pleasure horse, they still increased speed with every stride and stopped clean. They slid a good three or four feet. Tiny little eleven's.

Their roll back was honest and they repeated the clean run down and stop. The judges were leaning forward and smiling now. Her last stop was clean. They backed straight.

Then came the spins. Annie could not spin. She had arthritis in both hocks and was seriously sway-backed. There was no way to pick herself up and get around.

Kidlet dropped her weight to the inside, took her leg off and drove her forward. They executed four tiny little circles each way. They were done.

I glanced at my watch. My daughter and her mare had been in the arena for almost 12 minutes. Almost twice the length of the average pattern. But there were people clapping. My wild child had gone out there and shown her horse. She was calm, smiling and proud. Me too.

A miracle happened that afternoon. We sat and watched the other kids go. We saw nerves get to them and watched forgotten patterns. We saw over ridden horses blow and buck. We saw over-spins an under-spins. We saw Annie get a third place ribbon.

No one will ever convince me I made a mistake keeping my daughter on Annie for all those years. She loved and treasured that mare. She learned how to take a knock. She learned to compete. She learned to ride. All in the safety of that slow, old mare.

This is Mugwump's daughter speaking...

Hi. This is Janet's daughter.
I wanna put my name down.. but she won't let me. whatev.
I just thought that you guys might be interested in what I have to say about all of what's happened to my mom in the past ten months.
First off. I'm super proud.
I love the fact that so many people look up and respect her.. although her fellow trainers always knew that my mom was a baller.. i dont think they ever realized to what extent. if you're wondering what baller means: it is the act of being fly. and fly... well it simply means cool.
Secondly. I find it great that people love my mom so much that they often think about her and her advice while they are riding and/or training. It's funny because my mom gets uber flattered.. and seeing my mom flattered is just fun.
This blog has overall brought my mom the spotlight that she has deserved for so long, but because of the ridiculous way that the cowhorse/journalist worlds work, she never earned.
All in all, I am very thankful for the mugwump chronicles and all of her devoted fans. You guys have shown my mom just how great/cool/baller/sweet/awesome/amazing/legit she really is.

so thanks for the ever-growing support.
its much appreciated.
and please excuse me for my lack of capitalization and punctuation marks. although i maybe an aspiring english teacher. ive let facebook and myspace affect my typing skills a bit too much.

-mugwump junior.

She's an odd little duckling, my kid. I added the photo for sweet revenge. My daughter is eleven in this shot, she's on Annie the antique. I'm on Loki, a four-year-old, who was on her way into the arena for her first cowhorse run. The sick look on my face is as close to a smile as I can muster on show day.
My daughter is almost 18 now. She's grown into a nice person, an excellent horseman and an all around good kid.
I'll tell you about that show today or tomorrow, depending on my time at the paper.
This was taken Annie's one and only AQHA show with my daughter.

Sonita

Sonita hollered as I drove in. As always, she was ready to go. She paced up and down her run, carefully walking as close to the rail as she could. It had rained the night before and she refused to get mud on her feet.

As I worked through my chores I kept looking over at her. The new coat that came in with the harvest moon every year was thick and glossy. Deep cherry red, she was at her prettiest in the early fall.

Sonita became nervous under my gaze and she lunged at the horses on either side of her. Her muscles bunched and slid, smooth under her skin.

I went back to work, releasing her from my eyes. She settled and walked back into her stall for a bite of hay.

When I put her in the line-up, I was careful to tie her so the other horses were well out of her kick zone. She squealed a few times and settled in, happy enough to watch me ride the other horses and snake at them over the rail as I loped past.

"Hssss," I would mutter as I flashed by her and lifted my rein in a mild threat. It was just enough to get her to keep those bared yellow teeth at bay. My own version of horse whispering, I guess.

I brought her out to ride in the middle of my day. I was warmed up enough to deal with her and still fresh enough to survive what ever my little darling cooked up for our ride.

We walked around the perimeter of the rail. I made her bridle through the corners and past my tie rail, but let her spook and blow at the walls and shadows in between.

After we had made it around once each way Sonita had enough. She rattled her rein chains and savaged the roller in her bit. She began to strike out a forefoot every step or two. She didn't break gait, or lean on my hand so I caved. We picked up our lope.

I let her go around the rail at her own speed. Today she was content with a fast lope.
"Good girl," I said. This usually meant we were looking at a good work-out.

Sonita tried to come off the rail, afraid of the dark shadows against the arena walls. I pushed her into frame and loped her through the scary corners, driving her hindquarters forward, her shoulders into the center of the arena, easing the pressure building in her mind.

We went into our circles and Sonita relaxed into the zone. We loped our standard twenty circles each way, ending collected and correct for the last five.

As she stood in the center to blow, relaxed, alert and ready to go, I ran through my mental checklist of our strengths and weaknesses.

She still wouldn't stop worth a damn. I'd gone through a time thinking she wasn't able to. But she would park it as hard and long as necessary to turn a cow.

My inexperience as a cow horse trainer combined with Sonita's fierce determination to only obey if she saw a purpose had made it clear that World Show or no, we were going to take a hit on our stops.

She would still well up against my hand and look to the outside of her circles. I had never succeeded in getting her to focus on the track ahead. She was way too busy checking for her friends, the dreaded judges and something she may need to spook at.

Our spins were lovely.
Her feet never went off course. Her circles were clean and perfect, her run downs were true.

If the moons were in their proper phases and the stars were aligned in our favor, nothing could stop us on a cow.

We were qualified. We were going. Sonita was what she was and so was I. I sighed and loped her off.

Once I was satisfied we had done everything needed and Sonita had her edge off, I took her outside to walk in the fields behind the indoor arena. Sonita relaxed as soon as we came into the bright sun. As always, she was so much happier when we were outside.
I looked at my watch. We were an hour and a half into our ride. As usual, her workout had put me behind. I would be riding until at least 7 o'clock now.

Getting Sonita ridden was exhausting. We both needed the walk through the fields to regroup.
She still skittered and played, but most of her urgency was gone. She slowly cooled. I took her back to the barn, washed her down, threw on her cooler and brought her back to the arena to spend the rest of the day on the rail. Putting her up too soon still caused her to fret. I gave her a scratch, checked her legs for heat and went back to work.

That night as I started to put my horses away, one of my clients came out to help. (I had very well-trained clients)

"I'll take Sonita," Crystal told me.

Sonita nuzzled Crystal's hair and walked quietly next to her. Crystal was one of the few people Sonita liked, much less acknowledged.

I walked next to them and the two horses I was leading stayed carefully back and to the side. They knew to stay away from Sonita's teeth and heels.

"Are you excited about the Worlds? Are you getting scared?," Crystals friendly chatter brought me out of my thoughts.

"You know what, I'm starting to get excited," I said.

"You know what I'm scared of? I've decided to sell Sonita."

Crystal fell silent and stared. It was official. I had said it.