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Welcome To The Bullpen
My Horses
Claine Tanner
I got to thinking the other day about the horses that I have owned. One never forgets a good and trusty saddle horse. My mind wandered back over the years in a pleasant and dreamy recount. When I arrived at the beginning of my riding days many years back I pondered and reminiced and a smile spread across my face. As a very young pup I had a corral full of nice horses. I had a stud or two and some paints and a bunch of brood mares and of course some seasoned and dependable geldings. They were good horses and I have fond memories of those days. My cousin and I teamed up together to manage a pretty nice cavy of remarkable mounts.
We must have been five or six years old at the time. Not far from the house was a patch of willows along the creek. Our best horses came from that patch of willows. Yes, You guessed it. They were stick horses.
I recall bringing these green mounts from the willows. We would ride a good ole horse from the corral to the creek. Pull out our pocket knives and cut several new mounts. Pony them up with a string or thong and lead them back to the correl. Once at the corral we would brand them by scribing the brand into the soft willow bark. Then we would notch the large end so that a bridle (thong or string) would not slip off. Some of these horses became paint horses when we removed pieces of bark to expose white patches. Our newly acquired young horses were put into a corral of their own ready to break. Breaking colts was always fun and didn’t take long. We were experienced because we had observed the process from the top rail of the corral watching our fathers and uncles break young horses.
We had to put some sweat and effort into building our corrals to hold em. Stout stakes sharpened with the ax were found at the wood pile and pounded into the ground for posts with baling twine to substitute for poles. Complete with a gate just like the one Dad would build. Well almost! As green horses were added to the remuda regularly our herd grew and we worked on and expanded our corrals as needed. Each day we came off the bus from school and changed into our boots and wranglers and headed to our corral.
Just as our Dad’s often did, we too, would venture out to gather the cows off the sand rock ledges south of the house. I preferred a good thick gelding that was good in the rocks.. A cowboy needs a good and sure footed mount to work the steep and treacherous terrain of the sand rock ledges. Off we would go on a long trot to the ledges occasionally spooking a jack rabbit out of the sage brush on the way. We rode often in those sand rock bluffs stopping to look over the country side and the road below. One could not help but inscribe his initials in the sand rock as we stopped to allow our trusty stick horses to get their wind again.
Once in a while we would get bucked off but not too often for we knew the mind and mood of our horses and could predict pretty well what they had in mind. Even a good ole horse will step in a hole or trip over some dead wood and take a spill but they get more and more sure footed from each and every sweaty work out.
These were peaceful and happy days. As I inventory the horses that I have owned I am reminded of how they have brought me peace and solace and a retreat from the worries of the world……..even those first and earliest mounts.
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