Throwback: My Big Red Horse
My Trainer took me out to an auction house when I was 15 years old. My dad came too. We were there to help my trainer find a new lesson horse. His mare was getting old, and needed to retire.
My trainer was also my coach, my lesson instructor, and a dear family friend. We affectionately called him Mr. Bee, as his last name started with a B, and was challenging to pronounce and spell.
There were horses crammed into pens. A small round pen surrounded by bleachers and a single wide trailer served as the office. I wandered the pens, trying to find any good options. And there he was.
He looked like a giraffe. In a sea of hides and horses, crammed into pens together, his long red neck extended like a flag pole. His head held high above all the other ranch horses, I swear it felt like he was looking right at me.
That's the one. That's the one I want I told Mr. Bee. He nodded.
He went into the Auction house office and ten minutes later he came back, paperwork in hand.
I caught the tall red gelding easily enough, and loaded him into the trailer as if he had done it all his life. And we took him back to the barn.
After a brief quarantine, a vet check and a visit with the farrier, this large red giraffe horse, now called Barrister, was ready for some action.
He was a Saddlebred gelding. Roughly 15 to 16 years of age. He'd been shown all his life. And then dumped into an auction when his rider grew out of horses and moved away for college. He had just a hint of white on one back foot. A shiny red coat and a crooked stripe on his face.
He was perfect. He knew what to do and would take any cue I gave him. He was my dream come true. I rode him in local fun shows. He always placed highly. He knew how to put on his game face, and judges loved him. With Barrister as my mount, my riding progressed to the next level. He was a wonderful partner.
After establishing Barrister was skilled, well trained, and calm. I helped Mr. Bee train him for our small hippotherapy program. He was a perfect candidate as a therapy horse. Smooth gaits, gentle personality, non-spooky. He knew how to park out, which made mounting him easier since he did stand at about 16 hands. He responded to voice cues well. He naturally stops and transitions gently.
The only thing we taught him in addition, was to lie down. I felt good about teaching him these skills and knowing what he could do, because a well trained horse is a safe horse. Not just safe for people to ride and be around, but safe from slaughter, from abuse, and the chance of them always having a home is high.
And then after years together, I too, had to leave for college. But I didn't abandon him. I visited him every summer, and during every break. My dad would come and ride him on occasion. And when Barrister got "too old" for riding, we retired him out in the pasture. He lives in the pasture behind Mr. Bee's house. He gets carrots and treats almost daily. He gets visited by the little kids next door who rub his forehand and pat his nose. And he loves it. He put in years of work and partnership. I would no more leave him out in the cold than I would let my own parents go uncared for in their old age. And no matter how old he gets, no matter how many white hairs grow in on his face, he will always be my big red horse.
Barrister, Circa 2007
My trainer was also my coach, my lesson instructor, and a dear family friend. We affectionately called him Mr. Bee, as his last name started with a B, and was challenging to pronounce and spell.
There were horses crammed into pens. A small round pen surrounded by bleachers and a single wide trailer served as the office. I wandered the pens, trying to find any good options. And there he was.
He looked like a giraffe. In a sea of hides and horses, crammed into pens together, his long red neck extended like a flag pole. His head held high above all the other ranch horses, I swear it felt like he was looking right at me.
That's the one. That's the one I want I told Mr. Bee. He nodded.
He went into the Auction house office and ten minutes later he came back, paperwork in hand.
I caught the tall red gelding easily enough, and loaded him into the trailer as if he had done it all his life. And we took him back to the barn.
After a brief quarantine, a vet check and a visit with the farrier, this large red giraffe horse, now called Barrister, was ready for some action.
He was a Saddlebred gelding. Roughly 15 to 16 years of age. He'd been shown all his life. And then dumped into an auction when his rider grew out of horses and moved away for college. He had just a hint of white on one back foot. A shiny red coat and a crooked stripe on his face.
He was perfect. He knew what to do and would take any cue I gave him. He was my dream come true. I rode him in local fun shows. He always placed highly. He knew how to put on his game face, and judges loved him. With Barrister as my mount, my riding progressed to the next level. He was a wonderful partner.
After establishing Barrister was skilled, well trained, and calm. I helped Mr. Bee train him for our small hippotherapy program. He was a perfect candidate as a therapy horse. Smooth gaits, gentle personality, non-spooky. He knew how to park out, which made mounting him easier since he did stand at about 16 hands. He responded to voice cues well. He naturally stops and transitions gently.
The only thing we taught him in addition, was to lie down. I felt good about teaching him these skills and knowing what he could do, because a well trained horse is a safe horse. Not just safe for people to ride and be around, but safe from slaughter, from abuse, and the chance of them always having a home is high.
And then after years together, I too, had to leave for college. But I didn't abandon him. I visited him every summer, and during every break. My dad would come and ride him on occasion. And when Barrister got "too old" for riding, we retired him out in the pasture. He lives in the pasture behind Mr. Bee's house. He gets carrots and treats almost daily. He gets visited by the little kids next door who rub his forehand and pat his nose. And he loves it. He put in years of work and partnership. I would no more leave him out in the cold than I would let my own parents go uncared for in their old age. And no matter how old he gets, no matter how many white hairs grow in on his face, he will always be my big red horse.
Barrister, Circa 2007
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