Welcome To The Bullpen
Opportunity Knocks
Leslie Johnson
There are no “Rules of Engagement” in Horse trading, among horse traders themselves it is no holds barred and give no quarter. It is, and can be, a rough and tumble form of gambling, with the winner being the one who suckered the competition. Unscrupulous traders will prey on unwitting customers, but no trader worth his competitor’s respect would stoop to that. Sometimes, just sometimes, a trader can get suckered by customer who might not have even meant to.
A friend of Hervie’s, who was a trail rider and team penner, had a beautiful three year old mare out of Shorty Toland, a name I didn’t recognize, but well known among the Quarter horse crowd. She was about fourteen hands, and lovely blood bay, the rich, deep colored kind that are so pretty, with black legs and mane and tail. She was kind eyed and gentle as a puppy, the guy’s wife was crying, and he even looked as though he might join her. They were retired and just didn’t need her, or have the time to train her as she should be. He thought Hervie could find her a good home with someone who would appreciate her breeding and looks, maybe as a brood mare or saddle horse. They hadn’t done much more than break her to lead and enjoy being groomed and handled, but as gentle as she was, that would be no problem.
Broken up they might have been, but they weren’t so upset they didn’t get a good price for her. I was more than a little alarmed, we didn’t get many customers who’d plunk down nearly a grand on a green broke horse. Hervie was confident he could still have room for money, her breeding alone was worth that, and once she was broke to ride, she’d be snapped up by any Quarter horse owner without a qualm.
Maybe, but I did have to admit she was just as pretty as she was gentle, and a pleasure to work with. We put her up to let her get used to the place for a few days, made over her real big to keep her from getting homesick, and even Hervie brought her treats and soft words. She would look at you with those big doe eyes and whicker gently when she saw you, you just couldn’t help but want to pet and love on her.
We took her into the ring and tied her to a post, then just rubbed and gently flapped a blanket at and around her. She accepted this with calm interest, not in the least alarmed, and Hervie was fairly chortling with anticipation. A couple of weeks under saddle, a little rein work, a month at best, and a big sale. He laid the blanket across her back, then gathered the stirrups up so they wouldn’t slap her, and lifted it up. No problem, not even a flicker of an ear in interest. He slapped the seat a time or two, leaned on it, and let the stirrups down. She sighed, and rested on one hind leg, the very picture of peaceful trust and willingness. Even cinching the girth, not tight, but just snug enough the saddle wouldn’t turn as she walked off, elicited nary a glance.
“This is soo great!” he grinned, “I’m going to put my boots on and go ahead and ride her. You just lead her off until I tell you to let go, ok?”
No problem, this was going to be apiece of cake, no doubt about it. We left her tied there as we walked off to the porch for his boots. He sat on the deck step and pulled off one barn boot, pulled on his riding boot, then unlaced the other. We talked about nothing much, as relaxed as she was. Her head raised, probably listening to us, she could certainly see us, then she leaned back on the lead and lunged forward, crashing head first into the post. Not once, not twice, but several times, as we yelled and ran to her. Just as we reached the fence, she flopped sideways and laid out as though she’d been shot. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing hard. Had she knocked herself out? What in the World had scared her? We jerked the saddle off and I cradled her head in my lap, almost in tears. He checked every inch of the saddle and pad for anything that might have pinched or hurt her, shaking in shock as bad as I was. Finally her beautiful eye opened on my side, and she closed it slowly again. Still alive then, obviously. She struggled to her feet and stood there, looking at us reproachfully.
I untied her and walked her off for about five minuets, but she seemed fine. We tied her back up and went through the whole process again, from flapping the saddle blanket all over her to gently cinching the saddle back on. Again, she stood as peaceful as a cow in a meadow, the very picture of contentment and trust. We stepped back and left her tied, watching her like a hawk.
A minute or two crawled by, and she hadn’t made a move, we looked at each other laughed. Just a fluke! She was fine as frogs’ hair! We walked off a few more feet and she hit the switch. Her eyes popped open wide, she hauled against the lead, then launched herself against the post. This time she knocked hide and hair off, battering that post like a ram, then slung herself to the ground, legs outstretched like a saw horse. Her eyes were tightly closed, and as this time we tied her fairly short, her head was off the ground. I started towards her, and Hervie caught my arm.
“Don’t.” he hissed, “Wait a sec.”
Sure enough, one eye opened up, saw us, and closed. Hervie turned on his heel and stalked to the barn, coming back with a lunge whip.
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked nervously. “Shouldn’t we untie her? She might be really hurt..”
He walked over and popped a stinging blow right on her plump behind. She exploded off the ground, I mean almost literally! She snapped her head to face him, and it was as though another personality had taken over. Squalling in fury, she attacked the post again with her head, and Hervie burned her up with the whip. I was yelling at him to stop, sure he was going to kill her, but he laid it on until she finally quit, sobbing for breath, her head a bloody, ruined mess, and sweat foaming off her.
The gloves were off now. She hated him with every fiber in her body. I tenderly cleaned her poor head, and it swelled up like a pumpkin. She could barely see. Training stopped until she healed, a few weeks, and then Hervie changed tactics. He didn’t tie her to anything like a post, he snubbed her to another horse. She’d pony off stiff legged with fury, then erupt into a bucking frenzy as soon as she was released. The more he rode her, the harder she bucked, until she figured this was going nowhere and took to throwing herself over backwards. She attacked him in the stall, and he gave her a chest full of pitchfork to reconsider. Another couple of weeks to heal, a Vet call and more money out. Hervie was furious, and I was beyond despair. We were just going down the john, period. She tore up saddles, broke leads and halters, ripped posts loose, took to kicking Zapata, the horse I ponied her with, until he started biting her, and the fight was on.
One afternoon I happened to look out the kitchen window as I was doing dishes, and was astonished to see one of the neighborhood boys, who often helped Hervie by riding and barn work, riding this mare bareback in the ring! He hadn’t been around when all the fighting was going on, and just thought he’d get her out for a little excersize. He put a bosal on her, swung up bareback, and away they went, nice as you please. I was so amazed, I called Hervie, who rushed up to see for himself. RT was afraid he’d done something wrong at first, but Hervie laughed and avoided the mare’s snapping teeth with rare good humor. He offered to pay RT if he’d ride her and teach her to rein as well, but bareback, mind you! Never even offer to saddle her, ok?
Then he made every effort to placate the little mare as well. He brought treats to her, fed her extra grain, gradually got her over being actively hostile, just wary with him. She healed, began to bloom again in good health, groomed daily until she gleamed, and got a nice layer of fat over the muscle she’d developed being a bronc. He had a plan.
He called Talouse, who’d suckered him awhile back with a cold backed saddlebred, and told him I had a little riding mare out of Shorty Toland that I didn’t need. We ride gaited horses on the trail, and she just can’t keep up, he sighed. I hate to do this, but we figured you’d be the man with the connections to place her well. My wife wants her to go to a good home, though, and I know you can do this. He schmoozed awhile longer, dragging the bait until his fish was hooked. It was agreed Talouse would just come by and look at her, no certain time, since he figured we couldn’t Ace her up if we didn’t when he was coming.
Two days later, in the evening, he was there. Hervie knew he’d lined up a buyer for the mare and was going to make sure he got her before we did something stupid, like trade her for a gaited horse. He didn’t have one available, so he knew this was going to a cash deal, if he was interested.
I got her out and walked her up and down the street in the fading light, she gleamed like a ruby. Her kind eye was back, and she was very content now that she’d showed us she wasn’t going to be saddled. There was only a little white hair on her forehead to mark where she’d rammed the post, and the pitchfork incident left no scars. Talouse was sweating, he KNEW there had to be a hole in her somewhere, but he wanted her. She was a cool two grand at the very least, maybe more if she rode well. Ah, does she ride?
“Does she ride?” Hervie looked shocked and offended. “Didn’t I tell you she rode? Come here, Les. Does she ride? Ha!” He threw me up on her glossy back, and we strolled to the ring. Once inside she trotted off, lightly cantered, and reined beautifully. RT had worked her faithfully and lightly, she was a pleasure to ride.
I slid off and handed Hervie the reins, he began the delicate dance of negotiating between two men who trust each other as far as they can throw an anvil. Hervie asked fifteen hundred, Talouse shrieked like a hog caught in a gate. He offered a thousand. Hervie told me to put her up. All the while making sure Talouse understood I was heartbroken over this. I had to leave, afraid the lightening would strike the innocent, and it was an hour later before Hervie came back to the house. He was holding a thousand dollars, cash, and grinning like a mule eating briars.
“That’ll teach that sob to mess with me!” he laughed, warm all over with the knowledge he had suckered a Master. It meant more to him than the money, any day! All that was left to complete the joy was waiting to hear about it.
Talouse was a Master, so he didn’t say a word about it for months. His barn boys weren’t nearly as reticent, and there were harrowing stories about men bucked as high as the rafters, cross ties torn down, stalls shattered, and at least one broken arm. To any of this Hervie affected sheer amazement and disbelief. Eventually they met each other at a sale, and smiled like old, dear friends.
“That was quite a mare you sold me.” he mused, watching the horse coming into the sale ring. “Your wife must still miss her.”
“I can’t believe you had trouble with her.” Hervie shook his head sadly. “My wife rode her, you know, and she can’t even get on a horse by herself.”
“Bad knees.” I muttered to no one in particular. They ignored me.
“I’ll give you this,” Talouse narrowed his eyes appraisingly, “That was the only horse I ever had I couldn’t clip.”
They both laughed at this, and continued to watch the sale. The war was on.
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