One thing about growing up on a mixed farm in Manitoba, you’re never very far from animals of one kind or another. I have some very fond memories of such connections and some not quite so fond.
I do know they created a lot of work and being the oldest of three kids I was pressed into service from a very young age. Apart from gathering the eggs every day, the hen house had to be cleaned out every spring and every fall before winter set in. How I grew to hate the smell of ammonia.
But of course there are many unpleasant smells on a farm with animals. Most Saturdays it was my job to muck out the pig pens. And I say pig pens, plural because depending on the time of year there was usually more than one. If not the pig pens then the cow stalls or the calf pen would need mucking out and fresh straw put down for bedding..
On the Jack Stewart farm near Gladstone, one of my favorite animals was the horse. Her name escapes me now, if she even had one, but she was a dapple grey mare that had been left by the owner when he and his family left for the city and Dad rented the farm. One day I got the bright idea I’d like to try horseback riding. The fact that I had never ridden a horse prior to that except in front of one of my older cousins didn’t deter me, so I asked Dad if it would be okay if I gave it a try.
His answer was, “If you can catch her you can ride her.” So one sunny Saturday I set out to see what I could do. The first obstacle was that we had no saddle. That made no difference to me as there was no way I could have gotten a saddle on her by myself anyway. We did have a bridle though so luring her with some oats in a pail, I grabbed hold of her halter and after several tries managed to get the bridle on her and buckled up.
The next hurdle was actually mounting her. I was about nine or ten at the time and her back was a foot higher than my head. No problem, I thought, as I led her over to a 45 gallon gas barrel in the middle of the yard, climbed up on the barrel and slid into position on her back. I sort of knew the basics from watching my older cousins, who were expert horse women by that time. So with a few clicks of my tongue and a bit of encouragement with my bare heels against her sides, we started off across the yard at a gentle walk. So far so good.
It took me a while to figure out that the mare was trained to neck rein, which simply means that by laying one rein or the other against her neck she would know which way I wanted her to turn. No need to pull at the bit in her mouth, in fact it turned out she could be ridden without a bit if necessary.
After several minutes of travelling up and down the yard at a walk I soon got a little bored, so I urged her into a trot. This is going well, I thought. No sooner did that thought pass through my mind than the mare took an abrupt turn and headed under some low hanging tree branches, brushing my off of her back in one simple stroke.
So now it became a battle will and wits and I who had few wits to spare, was on the losing side. Gradually over the next few weeks I would ride the mare every fine day when I got home from school and we eventually came to an understanding.
Another of my daily chores was to bring the cows in for milking. When they were in the nearest pasture it was just a matter of going partway down the pasture and hollering ‘Co Boss…Co Boss.’ and they would start to head in. But when they were in the far pasture they could be as much as a mile away from the barn and I would have to go after them. I always did so on foot and often resented the chore but it had to be done. Often they would be down in the trees at the end of the property enjoying the shade and I’d have to locate each one of them and persuade them to head for the barn.
So, one day, when the mare and I had adjusted to a riding routine, I asked Dad if I could ride her to the back pasture to bring in the cows. He agreed but neglected to tell me she was a cutting horse. I was picturing a nice leisurely ride to the end of the property and an equally leisurely ride back, trailing the cows into the barnyard.
What I hadn’t taken into account was the calves that were in the herd. At some point on the way back up the field one of the steers made a break for it and headed back in the direction we’d come. I promptly turned the mare to follow and all hell broke loose. True to her training that mare took off at a gallop, headed off the calf and swiftly turned it back to join the herd in a series of very rapid twists and turns and sudden stops, with me hanging on for dear life to her mane.
Needless to say I learned a deep respect for that horse’s capabilities and was much better prepared the next time I used her to bring in the cows. Tune in next Monday for another tale involving the dapple grey mare with a much less happy ending.