- May 11, 2010
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Long ago I purchased a Quarter Horse named El King Tonto. He was a massive sorrel with a flaxen mane and tail who I brought home after a 10 year hiatus with horses. Let me tell you he was one high powered horse. Way too much horse for a gal just getting back into horses. The tiniest cluck would have him charge forth like a stallion at war. Slightest leg pressure had him spinning like a top. He left my fanny in the air many, many times. Still young enough to be stupid, I kept on riding the massive gelding, and I learned to stick on him. And he learned to take it easy, and we formed a bond all horse people know about.
All I needed him for was to move cattle and check the fence line. He took to the work very nicely and he made a mighty fine ranch horse. He was my favorite. Always waiting for me at the gate. He loved to work and I liked to use him as an all around horse. We'd hit the trails, we'd move cattle, haul trees, repair fences. Didn't matter. If something needed to be done he'd do his best to do it. He never did learn a slow walk, though. Old horse folk said he had a ranch walk. Gaited horse folk called his mighty stride a running walk. He had a 12 inch over-stride that gaited horse breeders dreamed of. I called it comfortable and enjoyed the ride. He left a unique hoof print as his back hooves were larger than his front. I'm sure Western Pleasure folk shuddered at the thought of an over-stride like his.
One morning he was not at the gate. Frantic, I searched for him in the 100 acre pasture and found him dead on the hill. Struck by lightning. I was devastated. I felt I had somehow failed my horse. I had allowed nature to take him from me. He was buried on the hill and I put his halter on a nearby tree. He would be difficult horse to replace in my heart, at my farm, and in my mind. Yet, I continued without him. Finding a good ranch horse would take time and I always compared the prospects to King. Not one horse was good enough, and as months passed I was forced to walk the fence line with my Doberman.
Keeping fences repaired is an important part of ranch work. And a lonely one when you don't have a horse. One sunny morning, loaded down with my toolbox, and paired with my Doberman, I trudged along the barbed wire. The Dobe normally foraged ahead to sniff out danger but suddenly she came close to me. She looked behind me with a ridge of hair standing along her spine. Her green eyes did not falter as the morning sun reflected off her red hair. She did not show her teeth. Just stared. Very focused. Very alert. Her nub of a tail was completely still.
I felt the skin on the back of my neck tighten with fear. I scanned the tree line and saw nothing. Worried about a bear, I put the Dobe on alert.
"Watch me," I ordered and I saw her set her lips in a grim line. Her green eyes became slits as she waited for my next command.
I looked at the trees again then scanned the hilltop. Again I felt a tingle along the back of my neck. The Dobe crooked her right front leg as if to point at something or someone on the hilltop. I stared but saw nothing. My heart pounded and every sound in the forest seem to magnify. I heard a soft nicker. My mouth opened. My tongue was dry.
"King?" I whispered hopefully.
The Dobe did not change position. Then her nubby tail wriggled ecstatically and the hair along her back went down. She sneezed and looked at me. The moment was gone. I sighed and started back. As we crossed the creek bed, I noticed something that made me drop my tool box and stop in my tracks.
A fresh trail of hoofprints in the mud. Large hoofprints overstriding small hoof prints.
All I needed him for was to move cattle and check the fence line. He took to the work very nicely and he made a mighty fine ranch horse. He was my favorite. Always waiting for me at the gate. He loved to work and I liked to use him as an all around horse. We'd hit the trails, we'd move cattle, haul trees, repair fences. Didn't matter. If something needed to be done he'd do his best to do it. He never did learn a slow walk, though. Old horse folk said he had a ranch walk. Gaited horse folk called his mighty stride a running walk. He had a 12 inch over-stride that gaited horse breeders dreamed of. I called it comfortable and enjoyed the ride. He left a unique hoof print as his back hooves were larger than his front. I'm sure Western Pleasure folk shuddered at the thought of an over-stride like his.
One morning he was not at the gate. Frantic, I searched for him in the 100 acre pasture and found him dead on the hill. Struck by lightning. I was devastated. I felt I had somehow failed my horse. I had allowed nature to take him from me. He was buried on the hill and I put his halter on a nearby tree. He would be difficult horse to replace in my heart, at my farm, and in my mind. Yet, I continued without him. Finding a good ranch horse would take time and I always compared the prospects to King. Not one horse was good enough, and as months passed I was forced to walk the fence line with my Doberman.
Keeping fences repaired is an important part of ranch work. And a lonely one when you don't have a horse. One sunny morning, loaded down with my toolbox, and paired with my Doberman, I trudged along the barbed wire. The Dobe normally foraged ahead to sniff out danger but suddenly she came close to me. She looked behind me with a ridge of hair standing along her spine. Her green eyes did not falter as the morning sun reflected off her red hair. She did not show her teeth. Just stared. Very focused. Very alert. Her nub of a tail was completely still.
I felt the skin on the back of my neck tighten with fear. I scanned the tree line and saw nothing. Worried about a bear, I put the Dobe on alert.
"Watch me," I ordered and I saw her set her lips in a grim line. Her green eyes became slits as she waited for my next command.
I looked at the trees again then scanned the hilltop. Again I felt a tingle along the back of my neck. The Dobe crooked her right front leg as if to point at something or someone on the hilltop. I stared but saw nothing. My heart pounded and every sound in the forest seem to magnify. I heard a soft nicker. My mouth opened. My tongue was dry.
"King?" I whispered hopefully.
The Dobe did not change position. Then her nubby tail wriggled ecstatically and the hair along her back went down. She sneezed and looked at me. The moment was gone. I sighed and started back. As we crossed the creek bed, I noticed something that made me drop my tool box and stop in my tracks.
A fresh trail of hoofprints in the mud. Large hoofprints overstriding small hoof prints.
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