Hooves and Heritage

3 thoughts on “Hooves and Heritage”

1. By Jim Eaton, Jr.

   My youngest brother, Roger, requested this subject. He and his twin, Maggie, are about 13 years younger than I am. They missed out on the horse years in our household.

   Horses were destined to have an impact on my life. It probably started with a wooden rocking horse when I could barely walk.

   Although I have no current memory of such, I was told I rode this wooden pony until the rockers fell off. That was just the beginning.

   The first encounter with a real horse came several years later. A photographer appeared at our house with two ponies to use as props for pictures. I am not certain, but I imagine my father had a hand in this (he was usually in the background for many of the opportunities we had).

   The man dressed us (I remember both my sister Cathy and I being the subjects of the photoshoot) up in western wear with a big hat. He paraded us around for a few minutes to set the mood for pictures, and to make me happy, then took the picture you see inserted here.

   Soon after the picture session, my father had the yard around our house fenced. One day, a couple of Shetland ponies appeared in the back yard. Apparently, my father had arranged it with John Cameron, one of my father’s many friends who had a ranch north of town and raised horses and cattle (I think he had a few oil wells also!).

   We had a great time riding the horses around the yard. Cleaning up after the ponies was not as much fun. The Terrants lived across the street to the north of us. It just happened that their son was the sheriff. They apparently did not think we should have so much fun, so they asked their son to have the ponies removed. As usual, my father found a way around this.

   He bought a trailer court with adjacent land that had a barn and small corral around it. This property was approximately six blocks north of our house. One day my father took us out to the property. Guess what? There were two ponies—Nipper and Bluie—along with saddles and tack.

   Bluie was so named because of his bluish coat. Nipper was named because of his habit of nipping people when they turned their back on him.

   I must have been about 8 or 9 at the time. Times were different then. We could walk from home to the barn to ride the ponies. There was roughage grown in the adjacent field that we cut for feed for the horses. One day when we went to ride the ponies, my mother went with us. She was very petite at about 5’ and less than 100 pounds, but fearless. She knew Nipper’s predilection to nip, so she held his head while I saddled him for my sister, Cathy. Nipper added a new dominion—he cow-kicked my mother. She would have none of that. She kicked him back. I never saw him kick her again! To the best of my knowledge, my mother never rode any of our horses.

   I grew, but the ponies didn’t. I was almost too big for them when a person came into my life that would impact it forever—Bucky Fuller. The picture below is of Bucky and his daughter Millie. It’s the best I could find. Amazing that there were not more and better photographs of him. Photographs were expensive back then—no cell phone cameras

   He lived next to the location of my father’s first store. I knew him then because he would come into the store wearing a big western hat and singing. He was a giant of a man at about 5’4”, more details of which will be revealed as we continue down the trail. He and my father had become great friends, and it was my duty to see to it his special drink was always available in the pop cooler (at that time, they were not refrigerated but had to be iced periodically during the day) at my father’s grocery store. That drink was chocolate pop. Although Bucky had a full-time job as a guager at Fina Oil Refinery, his true calling in life was working with horses, cattle and kids, and not necessarily in that order. When I was about nine, I got a call that he was coming to pick me up without any explanation as to why or where we were going. He did, and we went to ride horses, the first full size horse I remember riding. That was the beginning of my affair with horses, cattle, and Bucky Fuller.

   It is well worth a few sentences to talk about Bucky. Outgoing does not start to explain his personality. I don’t know how he got involved with putting kids with horses, but it was a great thing he did. There were several other older boys that he was “mentoring” at the time. Each and every one had nothing but respect for him. He did believe that a buggy whip and hot shot were good deterrents to bad behavior, and did not hesitate to use them if needed. He seldom had to use them. Years later I learned that some of these guys may have been problems to their parents. Maybe I was naive, but I never had any idea that any of them created problems. We were all treated the same. Bucky would take us to not only ride horses, but to break them. He took us to work cattle and taught a lot of common sense by example. He gave us responsibility for which there were consequences. All of these activities developed not only skills handling and relating to animals, but also created an increasing level of self-confidence, pride, and respect for both people and animals.

   As part of the activities with Bucky, I mowed “Aunt Myrtle’s” lawn (I never understood exactly whose aunt she was, but assumed she was Bucky’s aunt). My reward was a piece of apple pie made with red hots—best apple pie ever. I sure would like to have that recipe! I also mowed his mother’s lawn. She lived in a small town east of El Dorado. He was driving me back from mowing her lawn on the hot July afternoon when the massive tornado hit El Dorado. As we were driving west, we could see the wall cloud. Bucky pointed out the area of the cloud that would dip down, turn from a white color to a darker color, and then raise back up into the cloud. Each time the funnel will dip a littler lower. Bucky made the comment that we could get to town and find significant destruction. As we approached the edge of town, the funnel lifted. A good portion of the town was destroyed. A number of people were killed, many drove into the path of the tornado because it came in backwards, from the northwest to the southeast. That’s a story for another time.

   He prepared us for horse shows. These were primarily different types of races. He worked us until we had perfected our skills, even when we thought it was excessive, but the extra effort was responsible for us winning many of the races in which we participated. Initially, I rode other people’s horses. Bucky started me on a mare named Zell. She was well trained for the types of races in which I would participate. It was a challenge just staying on top of her. With Bucky’s help, I learned how to anticipate her change in movement, and to concentrate on the task at hand. If I didn’t, I would be flat on the ground. One of Zell’s great attributes was her ability to correctly anticipate the start. Most of the races at the horse shows were started with a flagman. She had the ability to lunge over 20 feet at the slightest downward movement of the flag. If I wasn’t ready, I would be left behind on my behind. If I was, we had a good initial lead. This was great training for me. I won a lot of races over the next decade, mostly because of the great starts I got on whatever horse I was riding. That edge on starting has stayed with me, and even got me into trouble in the Army—I was always being called down for anticipating whatever action was about to happen.

   Early Christmas morning when I was about 12, I was awakened by my parents. They hurried me to get dressed. This was all very strange. Then they took me outside for my gift. There was Bucky holding a saddled buckskin horse—Buck. I was so excited, I jumped on and took off. When I returned much later, I could not tell them I was gone so long because I could not get him to stop!

   Buck was much taller than the Shetland ponies, and I was rather short at the time. Therefore, I had to improvise how I saddled him. I usually had to lead him to some structure on which I could climb to properly place his bridle, and lift the saddle onto his back.

   The barn where we kept the horses was unsecured. So, if I wanted to ride when no one was available to drive me, I had to walk from our house to the barn, about 6 blocks. Sometimes I would take only the bridle, then ride him back to the house to saddle him. Other times I would carry the saddle some six blocks on foot. One day when I was returning home carrying the saddle and walking down the alley, a Doberman Pincher came out of nowhere and bit me behind the knee. I dropped the saddle and bridle and ran home. My mother went with me to talk with the dog’s owner, and to pick up the equipment. It turned out the dog had just had pups and was extremely protective. That didn’t make the bite hurt any less!

   Buck and I spent many, many great hours together, and won many races that I will describe below.

   I had so much fun, I even got my grandfather, Andy (AJ) Lehr and my father on horses. The photos below are very special. For some reason, I do not have a picture of AJ on a horse, but remember he did mount up on Buck. The picture of my father on Bunny is the only know picture of him on horseback.

   Even my aunt Judy Badwey was enticed to ride.

   Several years later, on a cold wintery day in January, my parents took me out to the saddle club grounds. This was going to be another surprise gift for my birthday. Bucky and one of my close friends, Larry Wilson, had gone out to the pasture to get my gift—a blue roan quarter horse. After they caught it, they put a halter and rope lead on it and were leading it from the car when it broke away. It attempted to jump a gulley, but drove its shoulder into the bank on the far side, gravely injuring his shoulder. They were able to get the horse back to the arena where we were waiting. They took the horse to KSU College of Veterinary Medicine, but the shoulder could not be repaired. I really liked that horse! To replace it, Bucky gave me a colt from one of his mares, Zell. His blood lines went back to the King Ranch where quarter horses originated. His sire was Major, so I named him General. He was a red dun with a dark stripe down his back. He would be the last horse I owned. We lived in the country at the time, and I was able to spend a great deal of time training him. By the time he was three, he could really work cattle. He and I were one. I did not need a bridle. I could control him with voice commands and knee and leg pressure. Like other horses I broke on the farm, I initially spent time with him in and on the banks of the stream that ran through our property. The mud required much more energy, and tired him. After tiring, he was much more receptive to training.

   He did leave me with some physical scars. When I first had him tied to a post in the corral, he reared striking me in the face. My nose was fractured, my four central incisors were knocked loose, and my lip was cut producing a scar I still have.

   When I was given General, my parents also bought Cathy, Joe, and Mark colts. The picture below includes Allen Lee Martin, Bucky’s nephew holding Cathy’s horse, Mark, Joe, and me. Joe’s horse, Jack Paar, ultimately was trained for the race track and ran at Ruidoso Downs in the American Futurity.

   HORSE SHOWS: The races at the horse shows included flag races, keg bending, barrel races, cloverleaf races, water race, relay race, rescue race, and lead-back race. The flag race involved a flag planted in a container on top a 55 gallon barrel at one end of the arena. The object was to race from the opposite end, circle the barrel, collect the flag without knocking over the barrel, and race to the start/finish line.

   Keg bending consisted of approximately eight kegs placed at specific intervals. The object was to “bend” through the kegs alternating sides, circle the end keg, then return to the start/finish line again bending through the kegs. Knocking over a keg was a disqualification.

   Barrel races consisted of three 55 gallon barrels placed in a straight line at prescribed intervals. The object was to circle each of the barrels counter clockwise going up, circle the end barrel then circle the two remaining barrels clockwise and cross the finish line. Knocking over a barrel was a disqualification. There were many, many bruised shins from banging on the barrels—I liked to make very tight turns.

   The cloverleaf race consisted of three 55 gallon barrels placed in the formation of a cloverleaf. The object was to circle the first barrel on the right clockwise, then the barrel on the left counter clockwise, then the third barrel counter clockwise and return to the start/finish line. This was a timed event whereas all the other races were competitive heats. Again, knocking over a barrel was a disqualification.

   The water carrying race took a different set of skills. A barrel with a bucket of water was placed on top of a 55 gallon barrel at the end of the arena opposite the start line, and a second 55 gallon barrel was placed at the start/finish line with an empty pail on it. The object was to carry water from one end to the other using a small cup without knocking over either barrel. The first to fill the pail was the winner.

   The lead-back race require more physical activity. A line was drawn at the far end of the arena. The riders started at the start/finish line, rode to the opposite end, dismounted and ran, leading their horses, back to the finish line. The races I won here were truly due to the great starts I got, not that I was fleet of foot. Also, cowboy boots were required. That added an additional degree of difficulty.

   The rescue race consisted of two man teams. One person was positioned on foot at the far end of the arena. The other team member was on horseback. The object was to race to the far end of the arena, pick up the teammate on the back of the horse, then race back to the start-finish line. As you can imagine, many, many things can and did go wrong. Some ran over their teammates—not good. Some interfered with the line of travel of opposing teams. Some horses didn’t like a second passenger and bucked them off. Some of the members picked up were hanging in various positions from the horse. It was not a race for the faint of heart!

   The relay race was a team race. Generally there were four members to a team. A barrel was placed at the far end of the arena for each team. There was a “baton”, usually a 12” piece of hose, was to be passed between team members. The lead rider would take the baton and race around the barrel at the end, then return and hand the baton to the next member. The older member of our club could exchange the baton at full speed. So, we younger riders thought we could do the same. This required substantial practice. The horses had to become accustomed to having another horse pass it in the opposite direction at full speed. The riders had to anticipate the location of the hand-off horse, judge the location of the hand of the next rider, and place the baton in a position where it could be received easily by the next rider. The rider taking the baton had to align properly, judge when to start so as not to pass the start/finish line before the hand-off, and concentrate on grabbing the baton.

   Each year there was a Kansas State horse show in Hutchinson, Kansas. It was like the World Series for our horse races. You had to qualify to participate. When I was about 14, our relay team was participating. We had practiced long and hard. Contrary to the advice of our elders, we decided to throw caution to the wind and make the exchanges at full speed. I was the cleanup rider, riding in fourth place. The exchanges had gone well up until my time. As I started for the exchange, the on-coming rider’s horse shied into my horse hitting him just behind his shoulder, then into my leg. I was knocked off my horse and missed the exchange. As I was laying there, I heard the noise of the crowd, something I had never heard during any races anywhere. I wasn’t sure how to react. Nothing was broken, I guess, but my right ankle was severely sprained. I still had several races in which to compete over the next couple of days, but my boot would not fit. Fortunately, one of my friends had big feet and I could wedge my foot into his boot. I participated the next day. My balance was off, and I was disqualified from the keg bending because I hit one of the kegs, but I believe I won the other two races.
   There were also Horsemanship competitions. These were judged events that were mostly subjective. Specific, a defined performance course was included for which points could be deducted based on objective faults. However, most of the judging was subjective based on appearance of both the horse and rider. I did not initially mark well in these competitions. My mother’s narrative below best describes why.

   It is important to note that my mother took it upon herself to design and sew western shirts for me, including snaps instead of buttons, including snaps on the flaps covering the shirt pockets. I did start to place in horsemanship after that wardrobe change!

   HORSE COMMUNITY: We operated under the guidelines of the El Dorado Saddle Club rules and those of the State organization. There was a very active participation by members in our club. They came together to upgrade the rodeo grounds, the club house, and to assist each other. They built the best arena and facilities I knew of at the time. Each person had their own talents. Some were welders, some laid concrete, and others provided the man power. They all worked together. If there was any conflict, it was well hidden from me. They volunteered to help prepare and serve for the horse shows and rodeos put on by the Saddle Club. This is another area where my father operated behind the scenes. Not only did he offer his time, but insured that the supplies for the concessions stands were provided below cost—this was not publicized. Several of the members were ranchers and had stock trucks they volunteered to transport the horses to the horse shows. Each person whose horse they transported kicked-in to share the cost of gas. Seventy-five cents to one dollars was what I remember initially giving—the price of gas and depreciation of vehicles was significantly less then!

   The members also participated in various community services. These were people from all walks of life, not just ranchers and cowboys. There included merchants, laborers, school principals, salesmen, secretaries, and housewives, all working together enjoying life.

   For many years, they hosted the children and staff from the local orphanage, providing horseback rides, entertainment, and refreshments.

   We were often called on to participate in parades and other social events, especially if they needed a photo op for publicity.

   One event that I remember took place at the Matfield Green Kansas Turnpike facility. A memorial was being dedicated to Knute Rockne, the great Notre Dame football coach. The plane carrying him and a number of others crashed near that facility. The promotors of the event wanted photos with cowboys and horses to emphasize the West, I guess. So, we all got dressed up, loaded up the horses, and drove to the Turnpike facility. My faint recollection is that it was a hot, dusty, windy day. We were mounted, and waited for what seems like forever for the politicians to give their speeches. Then, after a few pictures, we loaded the horses and headed to the barn. I have not been able to locate any of those photos, but have been in contact with those who have continued to care for the memorial. Possibly, they may have photos in their archives.

   Each year, usually in winter, the Kansas State organization, Kansas Western Horseman’s Association, under which all these horse show operated held an awards dinner and meeting. I was fortunate to receive many awards for the most wins in different categories. All those awards, including all the ribbons and trophies I won over the years, disappeared while I was away in college.

   The one award I remember most was for the most wins on the same horse ever—at least up until that date. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but as I looked back, it was quite an achievement. That record was not broken during the following years that I participated. Sure wish I had that certificate!

   WORKING CATTLE: One of my great experiences with horses was the opportunity to work cattle. In exchange for pasture use, we worked cattle for a number of ranchers. This varied from moving cattle from field to field, rounding them up for transport, castrating calves, and dehorning those with horns. There was just a sense of pleasure being in the fresh air, and working with animals. Having a horse that worked with you as one was very gratifying. I guess this is one of the simple pleasures that I truly enjoyed, and miss today.

   CATTLE DRIVE: When I was in the 9th grade, I was invited to participate on a long cattle drive involving hundreds of head of cattle. One problem was it started during the school week. My parents agreed that this was a chance in a lifetime because it would be the last or one of the last large cattle drives in the area. I don’t remember what my parents put on the excuse slip for the principal, but it worked. The cattle drive started early in the morning, so I stayed overnight at Rollie and Nydine Dilts’ home. Rollie was heading the drive. What they didn’t tell me until we were unloading the horses was that they had an ulterior motive. The horse they had for me was a young colt that they needed ridden. The first few hours in the brisk weather proved interesting. I didn’t tend to the cattle, but worked to keep the colt under control until he tired. The wives brought lunch—one of the best tasting meals I have ever had. After about five hours on the trail, it tasted great. We stopped well after sundown. After being on the trail for about sixteen hours, I remember sleeping very well that night. The next day we continued the drive to Beaumont, Kansas, a very small town known for its airplane fly-in breakfasts on the weekend. That hotel and restaurant are about all that is left there, but both appear to be thriving, including the weekend fly-ins.

   HORSES IN THE FAMILY: Horses became a part of our family, especially after we moved to the farm north of El Dorado. My parents bought Cathy, Joe, and Mark horses as noted above, although their participation in the horse shows was much more limited. Some of the jokes Joe picked up around the horse show crowd and told at the dinner table did not reflect appropriately with family standards. This resulted in his participation at the horse shows being restricted!

   HORSE RACING— the track: The horses belonging to my friends were registered quarter horses. However, they had substantial thoroughbred blood in them. They were generally taller, and less stocky that most quarter horses of the time. We had some that just seemed destined for the race track. Most of the races were a quarter or three-eighths of a mile, some ran longer around the curve. In the 1960’s, there was no legal para-mutual betting tracks in Kansas. However, there were race tracks in Wichita and Anthony, Kansas, and Pawhuska and Newkirk, Oklahoma where betting did occur. By the time we got into track racing, I was larger than most jockeys. Therefore, I rode very few of the scheduled races. My participation was mainly in training, because I was taller, I had more leverage and could control young horses easier. I did ride a couple of scheduled races, but most of the races I rode were matched races with only two or three horses on a straight track. If I thought Zell had a tremendous start, it was nothing compared to riding out of a starting gate. The jockey tack was much smaller than the western saddle—there was no saddle horn to grab. When the gate opened, that one horsepower seemed like a thousand. The force was amazing pushing me deep into the stirrups, and back into the saddle. Once out of the gate, I attempted to make my profile as low as possible reducing wind resistance as much as possible while guiding my horse straight down the track in my lane. One memorable event occurred in a matched race outside of Wichita on a private track. I was using the horse owner’s tack, and did not inspect it closely. I won the race, but when I went to pull up, one stirrup strap broke. That not only impacted my balance, it also stimulated the horse to continue running. It took the better part of a mile to finally get the horse stopped. Bucky was not pleased with the condition of the tack, and appropriately addressed the issues with the owner.
   As noted above, track racing was a gray area. Two events caused us to terminate our relationship with it. First, at a set of matched races in Anthony, I became aware of some owners attempting to pay jockeys to fix races.

   During that time, we also became aware of one of the owners injecting his horse just before the race to enhance performance. I don’t know what they injected, but it was not legal. We wrote off Anthony at that point.

   Second, during a race day in Wichita, a large disturbance occurred, probably over a bet. Fists were flying, and people were running in all directions. The owner or manager appeared on horseback wielding an axe, not an axe handle, but the complete axe. He made it very clear that such activity would not be tolerated. We decided to terminate our track racing.

   During the track racing era, we had one horse, Jack Paar, who made it to the big time for quarter horses, the Ruidoso Quarter Horse Futurity in Ruidoso, New Mexico. I was not able to travel to see him race, but sure wish I could have. He did very well.

   BULL RIDING: This is a very short note in my cowboy history. When I was about 15 years old, I was really feeling my Cheerios. I had been riding horses for some time, and was very comfortable. At that time, I was in extremely good condition and shape, at least in my mind. I had never ridden a bucking horse out of a chute, but I had ridden horses that were bucking. This expanded my confidence to the point I thought I could ride anything. A junior rodeo in Eureka, Kansas offered the opportunity to test my skills. Several of my friends were participating—they were older and more experienced. So, I talked my parents into signing a release so I could participate—I think I forgot to tell them I was signing up to ride bulls! Anyway, the big day came. The bull rope was placed around the bull right behind his forelegs, with the hand slot on top right behind the hump on the Brahma. As I slowly slipped down the inside of the chute, one leg on either side of this monster, the rope was cinched tight, my hand placed in the slot, and the tail of the rope tightly wrapped around my hand. As I eased down onto the bull’s back, I tightened my grip using all every muscle in my hand, forearm, and shoulder, then nodded for the gate to be opened. The bull immediately made a hard right turn out the gate, made two hops, then laid down! I had to scramble to get out of his way so he would not lay on my leg.

   Because of the bull’s lack of cooperation to perform, I was granted a second “ride”. After several other riders had their turns, I was up again. I went through the same slow process preparing, then it was time again. I eased on to the back of the new bull, nodded my head, and the gate opened. This was quite a different ride. With a horse, you can generally determine which way it will turn by looking down its withers across its shoulders. Its body follows the shoulders. A bull is much different. It twists and turns with no rhyme or reason to its motion. This bull had a lot more action. As it hopped, it twisted. Its loose skin make it difficult to stay astride. The bottom line is, I did not complete the ride until the whistle.

   One of my friends that assisted me was a professional bull rider. The next weekend he was hooked on the side of his head by a horn on one of his rides. The next time I saw him, he had a screw emerging from behind one ear connected to a wire that disappeared into his lower jaw. I decided that my bull riding days were over, and I would just learn to shoot it (the “bull”, e.g. BS)!

   BREAKING HORSES: As I became more comfortable and proficient with horses, I gradually began to break them for other people. The facilities when we lived in the country were ideal for breaking them. We had a barn with stalls. Attached to it was a holding pen made of 2” X 6” boards with railroad ties for posts. The posts were on the outside of the boards so that they did not present an obstruction when riding in the pen. There was a large field to the north of the barn that belonged to our neighbor Harold Tate. He farmed it, but allowed us to run the horses in it when appropriate. The years that he had soybeans were especially great. After the beans had been harvested, we would turn the horses loose. They loved the beans missed by the combine, and the sheen of the hair showed it. We had open fields and woods behind the house with a stream running through it. As noted above, the stream was great for wearing down a frisky colt.

   We had one very unfortunate event. One summer night, there was a deluge. Part of the fence was washed out. One of the horses I was breaking got out onto the highway, and was hit by a car. Both the horse and car were destroyed, but no one in the car was hurt.

   DECISIONS: As time came to graduate from high school, everyone talked about going to college. When I was accepted to Regis College in Denver, Colorado, I knew I could not keep my horses. So, I basically exchanged my horses for college—big mistake. I have often, very often recently, wondered what if…

   ADDENDUM: After spending many hours researching for this story, and recalling many, many memories from the pictures I reviewed, I realized just how great a childhood I had. I had been fortunate to live in a time where people not only respected each other, but truly enjoyed each other. It was a less complex time, no cell phones, no computers, car air conditioners were a rarity as were FM radios. We worked hard, and played even harder.
   When someone needed help, there were people lined up to volunteer.

   This life experience lead me to believe that was the model for life for everyone. I assumed everything would in the future would just fall in place, and continue in the mode to which I was accustomed—wrong. “Advances” in our society seem to have separated many of us from the old, basic traits so characteristic of our parents, peers, and friends. I think I need to buy some horses!

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

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   1. I was not really interested in horse shows but when I was 8 Bucky Fuller decided that it was time for me to get into the action. So he had me accompany them to the next horse show. Without letting me know he had entered me in a keg bending race. Out of nowhere, Kate [sister] pinned a number on my back and Bucky lifted me up onto old BUCK, tied the reins together so I wouldn’t drop them and told me to grab the saddle horn and hold on as tight as I could. My feet didn’t even come close to reaching the stirrups so they just hung there. He lined us up on the starting line. The flag dropped and Buck lunged ahead like a rocket. I held on for dear life with my legs flying up and down while Buck weaved in and out of the kegs. When he headed for the finish line he was going so fast I thought we would never stop. I have not been on a horse since.

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2. By Roger Eaton, grandson*

   *Relation to Andy and/or Flora Lehr

   Annette’s article on horses triggered some fond memories of my horse experiences. I was less than four when my brothers and sister had horses. I don’t recollect their horses. My earliest memory of horses includes riding the Demo’s ponies, as Annett described. In the early 1960s, the Demos lived on the fringe of El Dorado, Kansas. There were a couple houses to their north and nothing to the east. On occasions, we hiked from the Demo’s house to Lake El Dorado – the old Lake El Dorado. That was a good range for horse riding.

   As a teenager, I recall riding with Annette. She was not as thrilled as I was. We rode together on her horse. She didn’t like riding double, but she cowboyed through it. She kept her horse at the Vestring’s ranch. It was north of El Dorado. I think the middle school is located on that land, now. Horses can be daunting. They are a large animal and there are some practices that need to be followed. You never stand behind a horse. They will kick you. That can be fatal. They can bite. Each horse has its own personality. I was apprehensive, but once I was boosted up to the saddle, I hung on to Annette and enjoyed the ride.

   Before saddling up, Annette advised me not to lean into turns and other welcome tips. Horses start with smooth side-to-side rocking motion. As they increase speed, the ride gets bouncy and I felt that I would bounce off. I didn’t and the ride smoothed as the horse began to gallop. This was my first memory of riding a full-sized horse – not a pony.

   I began to understand that riding a horse is different than riding a bike. Bikes respond to your control. When you want to turn, you control the bike. A bike stays at rest until you initiate movement. Riding a horse is more of a collaboration with the horse. Each horse responds to movement commands differently. That was a lesson that I relearned later in life.

   The riding experience provided me with a respect for horse riders and helped assuage any lingering fear of being near large animals. It was great, but I resolved that my bike was better suited for my transportation and entertainment needs.

   When our kids were young, we introduced them to horses at the Kansas City, Missouri, zoo. They rode the ponies, while we walked beside them. While vacationing, we would enjoy riding trail horses. Our daughter, Muriel, would always learn her horse’s name. While at the Academy Stables in Colorado Springs, Colorado, we learned that some horses don’t get along with other horses. They put my horse next to Muriel’s and it raised up on its rear legs, then tried to bite Muriel’s horse. The horse trainers quickly separated the two horses.

   I learned my best leadership lesson from a horse at a leadership course in Crested Butte Colorado. It was called Problem-Solving Leadership. One of our problems was to arrange an evening activity for the class. We planned a dinner in town followed by a (horse) trail ride. The horses knew the trails well. The trail boss told us to keep the horses moving and not let them stop and graze. I carefully steered my horse around boulders, a curvy trail and thorny plants. After a few bends in the trail, the horse stopped. He turned his head, grabbed the reign with his teeth and pulled it from my hand. He knew the trail and didn’t need my help. The lesson that I took from that horse was, don’t tell a subject matter expert how to do their job. That lesson has served me well.

   My experience has been with trained domesticated horses. They are intelligent with individual temperaments and capable of developing relationships with people and other horses.

   

   

   

   

   

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