Great Horse Stories (29 page)

Are you wondering how Satin's adoption worked out? Sharon cherishes the memories from owning her dream horse, but most of all she's thrilled that she helped make Kim's dream come true. Kim has followed through on training Satin and regularly emails pictures and tales of their special moments together. Kim and Sharon feel they own Satin together. God's solution worked out perfectly!

Lord, when I'm facing tough life decisions, help me remember that Your love meter overflows for me. You always have the perfect solution. Amen.

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Thoughts to Ponder
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Picture how a love meter would register if you hooked God up to it. Now do the same if you were hooked up to it. What would it register in regard to how much you love God? What can you do to improve your score?

45

THE BATTLE OF THE CINCH

Kindness

Summer 1955

A
lthough the details have faded with the years and become more like I impressions in Carolyn's mind, she vividly remembers the quarter horse mare named Betty.

A hot, dry breeze rustled the grass on the hillsides and carried the smell of sage through the meadows of a large ranch in Southern California. The sun was high in the sky. Some men and boys worked around the main barn doing chores. Standing next to the corral were two 12-year-old girls in ponytails and wearing plaid flannel shirts, blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

Kim excitedly chatted about the darling palomino colt they'd ridden over to see. Carolyn took a bite of a sweet pickle, and then wrapped the remaining piece in waxed paper and stuffed it into her left shirt pocket. Stepping next to the bay quarter horse mare she was riding, the girl flipped the stirrup over the saddle horn of the tooled, black-leather western saddle. She tugged on the latigo to tighten the cinch. As she pulled, the mare inhaled, filling her lungs with air so Carolyn couldn't get the cinch very tight.

Squinting her eyes Carolyn growled, “Betty, stop that!” The teen grabbed the latigo with both hands. Bracing her feet, she yanked as hard as she could but the strap barely moved. She heard Kim's saddle squeak as she mounted.
Kim always has to wait around for me because
I can't get the cinch tight
, Carolyn thought. She sighed and put the stirrup back down. Gathering the reins, she slipped the toe of her boot into the stirrup and bounced her weight up. Before she could swing her leg over, the heavy saddle slipped sideways. Quickly Carolyn stumbled down, barely keeping herself from falling.

Kim chuckled, partially out of embarrassment for her friend.

Carolyn flushed.

From behind her Carolyn heard one of the men come closer. “You know she's blowing up on you, don't you?” He strolled next to her, his smile wide and his eyes twinkling, “If you give her an elbow to the gut, it'll pop that air out.”

Carolyn looked up at him blankly.

“Give her an elbow as you pull that cinch. Let me show you.” The guy straightened the saddle, grasped the latigo, and as he pulled, he stuck his elbow into the mare's side. The mare exhaled and he quickly pulled the cinch tighter by a couple inches. Grinning, he said, “Just like that.”

Embarrassed and flustered, Carolyn said thank you and climbed into the saddle. The two girls rode down the dirt road. Although that method did work, Carolyn didn't like the idea of belting the mare with her elbow even though she realized it probably didn't really hurt Betty. After all, horses kicked each other when they were playing, and she couldn't possibly elbow the mare that hard. But she thought it was kind of disrespectful. What else could she do?

The battle of the cinch had started the first time Carolyn hefted the heavy saddle onto Betty's tall back. Although she'd pulled the cinch as tight as she possibly could, the saddle slipped every time she put her foot into the stirrup. At first she thought she was doing something wrong—and maybe she was. This horse thing was new to her. But Betty had figured out that if she took a big breath of air and held it, the cinch couldn't be tightened as much. Carolyn had quickly learned to cinch the saddle, wait a minute or two, and then pull the latigo a bit more. It would tighten enough so she could mount, but 100 yards down the road when she asked the mare to speed up, the saddle would roll and Carolyn would slide to the ground.

Other than the cinch issue, Betty was a fine horse. Carolyn decided
to give the elbow jab a try, and over the next couple of months she perfected it as well as a petite 5'2", 100-pound gal could. But she still hated bonking her mare. Every time she did it, something scratched at her inside. She reasoned,
What other choice do I have? It's too dangerous to ride on a saddle that rolls under a horse's belly.

Throughout the summer the battle of the cinch raged. On the days when Carolyn couldn't get the cinch tight, she'd strip off the saddle and ride bareback. Then one hot, summer day things changed. As usual, nosy Betty followed her around the corral as Carolyn cleaned it. Carolyn stopped for a break and pulled a sweet pickle out of her pocket. Unwrapping the waxed paper, she nibbled on it and rewrapped the rest. She stuffed it into her pocket and went back to work. The next time she took a break, she took another bite of pickle, but this time she set the pickle on a wooden fence post, figuring she'd get back to it. When Carolyn turned around a few minute later, the pickle was gone!

She looked around and spied her bay mare on the other side of the corral chewing on something. Carolyn chuckled. The following day, Betty nudged Carolyn's pocket and they shared the pickle. The mare quickly became a sweet pickle addict. By fall, Carolyn's mother was getting a little irritated. There were five kids in their household, and she couldn't seem to keep any sweet pickles in the refrigerator.

One beautiful fall day, Kim and Carolyn planned to go horseback riding. Betty bloated up like a whale. Even with the elbow-bashing trick, Carolyn couldn't get the cinch tight. She was almost ready to ditch the saddle when Betty's nostrils suddenly flared and her whiskers wiggled. She curled her neck and nudged Carolyn's pocket. Grinning, Carolyn got out the pickle and broke off a piece for Betty. Then she got a brilliant idea. She set the piece of pickle in the palm of her left hand and grabbed the latigo with her right one.

When Betty stretched her lips and plucked the pickle into her mouth she let out all the air she'd been holding in.

Quickly Carolyn tugged the cinch tight.

Betty just enjoyed the treat, drooled, and smacked her lips.

This was the first time Carolyn had been able pull the cinch tight in one easy tug! Finally she'd discovered a solution that didn't involve force. She could give Betty something nice and sweet each time instead
of poking her with her elbow. And the results were a lot better. From that day forward, Carolyn always went horseback riding armed with a sweet pickle.

When Carolyn emailed me a short note about her sweet pickle-eating horse, I laughed. I'd never heard of such a thing, but it made so much sense. The first thing that went through my mind was the advice my mother gave me as a little girl when I'd come into the house wearing a mad attitude because I was cross with a neighborhood friend. Mom's blue eyes would twinkle and she'd say, “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” In other words, if I acted out of a loving heart and used sweet words rather than being bitter, resentful, or mad, the people around me would be drawn to me and together we could solve any challenges we faced.

As I got older, there were many times my life would have traveled down a more pleasant road if I'd applied Mom's wisdom. Eventually I discovered that Mom's wisdom was gleaned from the Bible. Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” That gentle answer could very well be a kind deed, such as sharing a sweet pickle. Proverbs 12:18 promises, “The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

Carolyn's heart's desire was to be kind to her horse, so when she discovered that sweet alternative, she quickly abandoned the elbow thumping. It's my heart's desire to speak encouraging, constructive words that convey God's love and grace. Perhaps I should wrap a sweet pickle in waxed paper and tuck it into my shirt pocket as a reminder.

Lord, when I'm having difficulty with people, open my eyes to some positive options for dealing with the situation. I want my relationships to thrive and honor You. Amen.

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Thoughts to Ponder
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Do you have any difficult situations you're facing right now? How can you employ the “sweet pickle principle” to ease the tension?

46

THE GREAT ESCAPE

The Gift of Freedom

T
he light, spring breeze carried the scent of lush green grass past the small ranch house that was built on a hill above a creek that flowed through the Cypress Hills. Across the creek a barn stood with wooden corrals built around it. From the lawn, Claire lifted her hand, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched her husband walk toward her. Ross had finished his morning chores and was coming in to eat lunch. She yelled, “The horses are out!”

Ross exploded. “No way! I'm going to have to start tying all the gates shut!” Over the last few days the horses had repeatedly escaped the corrals. The only time he kept horses in the corral was when he was riding every day. It was much faster and easier to grab one this way than going out into the enormous pasture to catch a horse. He always made sure they had plenty of food, water, and salt. The horses weren't getting out because their needs weren't being met.

Over lunch Ross and Claire discussed the great escape. They came to the conclusion that one of the horses had learned how to open the gate and enjoyed the challenge of doing it. They agreed to watch the corrals closely to discover which horse was the culprit.

One day Ross walked into the ranch house with a grin on his face. After washing up, sitting down, and scooting his chair under the table he shared his story.

“Yep! The culprit is Brandy. That horse is too smart for her own good!”

Brandy was a bay mare that had been born and raised on the ranch. She was a great all-around workhorse. Ross chuckled as he explained.
“Do you know what she did? That horse put her rear to the gate and rubbed until her tailbone got caught in the hand pull.” He laughed in amazement. “She rubbed and gradually increased the sway in her hips until the board slid back. With immense satisfaction she turned around and watched the gate swing open. The herd thundered past her. She was the last to leave. I'm sure she was swinging her head side to side as she enjoyed her victory. We're going to have to tie the gates shut. What a nuisance!”

Brandy's antics remind me of a mule I knew from my backcountry trail-riding days. The tall, blocky sorrel got his name from his nose. The crew dubbed him “Parrott.” Below his eyes his nose curled toward his chest, resembling a bird's beak. “Gentle” and “being willing to work” were his two best assets. His worst trait? He should have been named Houdini after the great magician who had a reputation for being able to escape out of anything. If Parrott decided he wanted to go somewhere, he figured a way to get out and do it. But escape wasn't enough for him. He had such loyalty to the other horses and mules that he made sure every single one of them got loose too.

Although it may sound funny now, it wasn't when we drove to the “end-of-the-road” corrals to get set up to take guests on pack trips into the mountains. We'd get there and discover there weren't any horses or mules in sight. We'd check, and sure enough the slide rails across the corral opening had been pushed away. The stock had thousands of acres of forest service land to wander in. We'd follow their tracks and catch them one by one. By the time we caught the stock, saddled up, and loaded the mules, the day was half over.

That night we sat around the campfire and decided to use baling twine to tie the three horizontal gate rails in place.

The next time we arrived for a pack trip, we found three broken rails and an empty corral.

When we returned from that pack trip, we put the animals in the corral and then hid in the woods. We spied on Parrott as he performed his great escape. We were amazed as we watched his technique.

Balancing both front feet on the bottom rail, Parrot leaned his weight back on his haunches. He reared and then crashed down,
making sure his front feet hit the rail, snapping it in two. Then the big guy flopped to the ground. A cloud of dust enveloped him as he lay on his belly and scooted under the top two rails. Like I mentioned, he could have kept going, but he wasn't that selfish. He wanted to give his friends freedom too. When going under the rails, he stopped when the top rails were centered above his back. Then with a low grunt he jerked to his feet and snapped the two top rails. After that he'd stepped to the side and watched his friends take off. We were sure he had a grin on his face when he joined them.

Once Parrott mastered the gates, he went on to bigger and better things. He became like an old-time outlaw who insisted on breaking his friends out of jail. One morning at the end-of-the-road camp, we were within minutes of riding the trail for a summer pack trip. As part of the crew, I was talking with the guests and giving last-minute instructions for the trip. Unknown to us, Parrott was planning a massive escape.

Under the shade of some tall pines, the horses were saddled and tied to a hitching rail. With one back leg cocked, each one of them was peacefully napping. On the other side of the rail, the mules were laden with white packs filled with gear and food. They stood relaxed and sleepy as they bided away the time. That is, all the mules except Parrott.

Using his lips like fingers, that mule manipulated his lead rope until it was untied. Once again, he didn't stop there. Having mastered this new craft, he untied every horse and mule within minutes. The herd must have been overjoyed because some dropped their heads and ate the green grass while others frolicked around enjoying their taste of freedom. Those of us on crew were not impressed.