Every Horse has a Story

Whiskey enjoying the sun.

Every Horse Has A Story

This post is one I hope many people will contribute to.  I will be telling stories about my horses and I hope you will tell stories of horses you know or have known.  I will start with Whiskey.

Whiskey

Whiskey came to us in 1990.  The last three horses of my youth died in 1989.  We picked up a horse in February and she needed a companion.  A friend told us about a horse on their property, a mustang owned by their caretaker, that was for sale.  My husband (at the time) and I went to check out this Mustang.  My first thought upon seeing him was; Gosh, he is little!   Having learned to ride on draft horses, this little thing could barely be considered a horse.  I went for a test ride.  He was pleasant enough and listened fairly well.  The price was right and Lady needed a friend.  So, March, 1990 we had two horses.  I did not know what this little fellow would come to mean. 

I went to the farm every week end from my home in St.Louis.  Whiskey’s story was that he had been captured in the mountains of Utah and cowboy broke by Colorado penitentary inmates.  The lady I bought him from had been an Elephant Trainer.  Whiskey was broke and very rideable but he was still green.  He needed as much riding as possible.  I came to the farm an extra day a week.  A friend, Kathi, would come with me occassionally.  While riding one day, I told Kathi that I thought Whiskey was gaited.  She took a look and quikly agreed; gaited indeed. 

Whiskey became a favorite mount for our many visitors.  He has been a show horse, trail horse, lesson horse, uncle and grandpa to the young stock.   It was quite a site in the gaited classes to see our little Mustang with his cute little shuffle in the ring with those big, flashy, high stepping Tennessee Walkers.  He held his own in the youth classes giving our Nephew Grand Champion. 

It would be hard to find a more sure footed, willing to go horse than Whiskey on the trail.  Other horses would dodge or jump mud and puddles.  Whiskey just drudged on through and would look at the others as if to say “What is your Problem?”  He always knew where the trailer was.  If left to his own, he’d bushwhack his way back to the trailer when he’d had enough. 

In1999 another friend convinced me I could use Whiskey and another horse to do a horse camp for her daughter and her friend.  That was the beginnng of horse camps here at Prairie School Road Farm.  Whiskey became a favorite of many campers for the next several years.  He has always been an energy conservationist, slow.  That was a trait that beginners valued.  I always said a lesson horse should be one that does exactly what is asked or less.  Whiskey tended to be one that would do less.  Perhaps stubborn and obstinate could be used as descriptors.  Didn’t matter though.  He knew the barrel and pole pattern and enjoyed taking the kids for rides. 

Whiskey, the smallest horse in the pasture, was always the dominant horse.  As more mares and geldings were added, Whiskey was busier and busier riding herd on the herd.  We would find the geldings running across creeks, up bluff, over fences and hiding in the woods to get away from Whiskey.  Whiskey and the geldings were getting thinner and thinner.  Whiskey was exiled from the herd.  It was his own fault.  That is how he became Uncle Whisey.  The young stock needed an older horse to teach them a thing or two.   Whiskey had a new job. 

As time has passed, so has Whikey’s health.  Cushings and laminitis have taken their toll.  They haven’t done him in but slowed him down significantly.  He gets tender footed now where he once had feet of iron.  The heat and humidity are his worse enemies.  A good cold crisp day can still find Whiskey on the grassy trails giving someone a smooth fun ride. 

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