As Porky The Pig So Often Said

..that's all folks. Over the last month this blog had over 2,800 page views. I started writing this because I had things to say. I have said them. This is the final post for this blog.

A writer once told me that she was told that her writing needed to be "edgy" if she was to write for today's kids. She was not edgy and would not pretend to be. Perhaps my views have come to contain too little zip-a-de-do-da.

Facebook makes blogs like this one obsolete. If I have anything worth announcing I can put it on Facebook. I appreciate all of the nice comments expressed over the life of this blog. Such things are very meaningful.

As it was so well put in that timeless work of literature, 'The Big Red Dog', "Good-bye!"

By Now You Ought To Know Better

The essence of wisdom is to replace optimism with realism. The key to happiness is to replace pessimism with optimism. The key to survival is to simply persevere.

This week I got infused with a optimism and hopes for a better year coming. By now I ought to know better, but it was so good that I just could not help it.

Katie came out and rode with me. Katie as one of my first riders. She was the first kid to really throw her heart into what we were building. Once when we were riding around the Green Path she looked over to the mud and crooked fences and said, "One day this place is going to be famous."

At the time we had few horses. Her horse, Wounded Knee, is the Paint horse pictured above. Katie has succumbed to the greatest flaw that little girls have. She has grown up. Except for that she is as wonderful as ever.

Without a doubt no year of our program has brought me less pleasure than 2011. In fact, only one or two years of my life have been as sorry and empty as has this year.

But I have come to believe, perhaps foolishly, that this next year could be better. Before long Liam will be riding with me. The baby will start serious riding this summer. I expect that Beth will return to the saddle. Maybe this spring I will finally succeed in riding 100 miles in 24 hours.

Regardless, we will persevere. We have mastered perseverance.

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Crying Oh The Dreadful Wind and Rain

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Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Collateral Benefits II

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Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Perhaps I Have Been Too Subtle

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He Played to Rave Reviews

War Admiral followed up on the smashing success of his Christmas Parade appearance with a thoroughly convincing appearance today in the role of "goat" at the Trinity Methodist Church's Christmas Eve service. Things got off to a rocky start. When it was time to head out he slipped into his, at times infuriating, star/diva gone Hollywood mode and insisted on riding in the front seat of the truck. I had planned for him to ride in the back, but it seems that I did not hear him yell "shot gun" as we got to the truck.

He did not like being handed off to one of his co stars, a shepherd, and insisted on me staying within arms reach while waiting for his stage call. Of course, all of the tension resulted in a few "accidents". But far from being embarrassing, each turned out to be powerful ad libs that gave a certain gritty realism to his character.

When he was lead down the aisle of the church he was not prepared to be confronted by all of the flashing phone/cameras that went off like fire works. Unfortunately, I forgot to warn him about the paparazzi. Next time he will be prepared.

I do not understand why some churches spend fortunes on consultants to develop plans to increase attendance. Here is the formula for success and, in the spirit of the season, I will give it out at no charge.

To draw in kids have at least one goat attend each church service. For adults, start serving cracklin biscuits at church breakfasts.

Without a doubt you will put Satan on the run in your community.

Ever Expanding Horizons

Today is a big day for my Baylis Colonial Spanish goat, War Admiral. He is making his theatrical debut at Trinity Methodist Church for the Christmas Eve service. He will be playing the role of "goat." Last night we went over his lines and he did great.

This is a very big step for him. I can tell that he is nervous. He has never been inside a Methodist Church before.

He was raised Baptist.

The Intangible Recognition of That Which Is

"No need for apologizin'
Just time for recognizin
that that what is ain' how its got to be."

Suppose,in addition to teaching children not lie, we also taught them to neither believe, nor tolerate lies. Suppose instead of teaching that there are two sides to every story, we taught kids that the only side that matters is the side that is true.

Perhaps it started with the old patent medicine shows--a lie to sell a product was not a lie, it was simply "marketing." Then mass communication moved lying from shooting a flint lock rifle to shooting an AK-47. Politics in the world of mass communication began to raise lying to an art form. Computers brought that art down to being within the reach of the masses.

Consider the possibilities. I can hit "send" and lie to more people before breakfast than my grand parents could have lied to in a week of steady, dedicated, industrious lying.

All of that marketing, mass communications, politics and technology has reached a zenith in the effort to restore horse slaughter to America. It is not that individuals that support horse slaughter are necessarily evil. The bigger problem is that so many are so gullible. They drink the line of those who would cover the concrete floors with horse blood with the zeal of a cocaine addict taking in his line of truth.

Ignorance plus misinformation does not equal knowledge. Many that oppose horse slaughter get sucked into believing that they carry the burden to explain why horses should be privileged among other livestock.

No such burden exists. It does not matter if one cannot articulate a distinction that is acceptable to those that would drip blood. We are human and all that which makes us human demands that we recognize the rightness of that which is right. We need not always understand righteousness. We need not explain righteousness. We certainly do not have to apologize for believing in righteousness. We need only to recognize righteousness and act righteously. Nothing more can be demanded of us and nothing less can be expected of us.

We live in a filthy, wicked, lying age. That does not mean that we have to like it. It most certainly does not mean that we have to pretend that it is otherwise.

I do not believe that I need to go out and live a pure life in a cave somewhere. I just believe that it is wrong for me to smile weakly and say, "Well I guess you have a point."

Say What?

As a lawyer I talk for a living. That means that to do my job well I also listen for a living. That is causing me to have to make some big adjustments and to change my expectations of how well I can communicate.

There are not (I hope) a lot of people that realize how poor my hearing has become. Without my hearing aid, if everything breaks just right, I can clearly make out about a third of the words that I hear. With my hearing aid I can hear that third louder. The rest rumbles and with the hearing aid the other two thirds of what I hear rumbles louder.

I think that I do a very good job of figuring out what people must be saying to me. It is exhausting having to concentrate, theorize, speculate and interpret conversations. The other thing that I am learning about the workings of the brain is that in order to remember a given thing one must hear it pretty clearly. Things that are half heard are completely forgotten.

Last weekend someone brought me a ham to the tack shed while I was in the woods. The person that was there did not know the name of the person that brought it to me. He did not get the name because the person told him that he had told me that he would be bringing one by for me. I cannot figure out who that person was. I have no recollection of such a conversation with anyone.

I have made plea agreements that I would have never made if I had correctly understood what was being proposed. The worst part of it all is the telephone. I never liked talking on a phone away. I really find it very difficult to do now. There are very, very few people that I am comfortable speaking with on the phone. There is a small handful of people that know me well enough so that they can tell from my response if I did not understand the question. Speaking with everyone else is bad, very hard to do.

Sounds that come from multiple directions are the most difficult. Last week I attended a meeting of our local bar association. I think that it will be my last. I can only figure out what one person at a time is saying to me.

Oddest of ironies is that while every other aspect of my hearing is declining, there has never been a time when I had better pitch. There has never been a time when I could figure out songs better. Perhaps the skills acquired from having to concentrate so hard to understand people have lead to a better ability to concentrate on pitch and tone.

The bottom line is simply this--Send an email. Especially if whatever you are asking me is important.

When Life Ain't Zip-a-de-do-da

Life is Best Lived When One Is In The Key of "D"

Bad to be lonely when you lost no one
Even worse to be guilty of things you ain' done
A worn out drunk that don' even drink
A burned out genius that just can' think

Well educated in things that ain' true
A red stripped tie and oxford shoes
Keep your self back, don' come too close
Like the sand in the desert from the sand on the coast

Well the good life's become having comfortable shoes
Eating supper on the sofa and watching the news
Tomorrow might not be as bad as today
That's what fools think but it ain' never that way

Need a microphone 'bout five foot tall
And a podium as thick as a castle wall
Well a good round pen will do in a pinch
Words hit so hard they could make a stone flinch

Truth don' shave, it don' hardly take a shower
Lies wear perfumes that smell like power
Pack up a few horses, a guitar and move
But Lawd, you hate travlin' that just won't do

Peculiar, or strange, or just eccentricity?
Hostile, cold, and mean or insecurity?
If the sun don' shine through the clouds so good
It takes a fool to think the moon would

But some things will keep you smiling when you got a dead life
A first rate pony and a damn good wife
Little bitty fingers on an old banjo
When we sing "Will You Miss Me" how do my part go?

Girl go get your banjo and we'll try it once more
Do it with Grandaddy, One-Two-Three-Four
When I raise my eyes you sing real loud
Close to the mike, Make Grandaddy proud.

Life ain' worth the trouble I have no doubt
But life sure is worth singin' about
Get the auto harp, press down on "D"
Come make life worth living for Granddaddy

Ain' never seen a banjo molest a child
Ain' never seen a guitar start a deadly fire
So I'm on keep on living until I die
Cause I never heard a mandolin tell no lie

Spinoff

Yesterday we had a lot of guests at the horse lot. Ate lunch at the Little House, pulled out the guitar and called a pair of the little ones over to my chair. No hemming and hawing--I said sing--they did, beautifully--and confidently. Not the way most second graders would do.

If you learn to handle horses when you are very small you develop a satisfying sense of confidence in every endeavor.

Where This Old Dirty Road Has Taken Me

City people do not know what a bad dirt road is like. They think that the path to the tack shed is bad. A bad path is one in which you have to get another tractor to pull out the first tractor that got stuck while trying to pull out your four wheel drive truck, which was buried up to the axles.

Nearly a decade ago I had a few horses, did not teach riding or natural horsemanship, did not do training clinics, had never written a book or done a training video, had never turned on a computer, and had no clue what a website or a blog was. On a cold morning I looked behind me and saw a van and a truck edging up that path towards the spot where I now have a tack shed. The van opened its doors and kids began roll out like circus clowns. I was impressed that the van had made it up the path so easily. But it had an Alaska license plate. I suspect that this was not the first imperfect path that it had ever taken.

I do not stand in my pasture and play with one horse without knowing that others will be jealous and that some kicking and biting is about to begin. I have to be very careful about singling out any of my riders for any positive comments. The others become jealous and serious kicking and biting begins. I am going to take that risk because I think that each of them can appreciate that everything that goes on in our horse lot began when Emily and Abby and a slew of their siblings rolled out of that van.

Abby was a gangling little girl whose face consisted of roughly 62% teeth. Emily was quiet, very modest, and was obviously the oldest daughter. She kept her eye on the younger brood the same way an old hen does when the chicks venture into strange territory.

I could have never guessed what they would grow into. Abby is the best rider that I have ever seen. I do not know anyone with her ability to stay on a bad horse that is determined to rearrange its current configuration. Red Feather gave her his best bucking and simply gave up after a while. I think that she embarrassed him when she began laughing while he was bucking.

Emily is as good as I am at relaxing a scared horse and might be better than I am at relaxing a scared kid. She is a nurse. (She would not like for me to tell you how she did on her national board exam. Reluctantly, I will not not say how she did. Instead, I will only congratulate the 2% of those across the country that scored higher than she did.) During nursing school she was given a personalty profiling test. She found the results curious and suggested that I take the same test.(It was online). She and I ended up with precisely the same score and personality type among the 16 various personality types that the test classified.

When they moved back to Alaska they stayed in touch with me. When they moved to Colorado they stayed in touch with me. And when they were grown (or at least thought they were) they ended up back in the area. Abby is program manager for the Corolla Wild Horse Fund. Both intensely strong in their Christian faith, both athletes, both great singers, and both grew up to be right pretty. People often assume that they are my daughters, especially when we play music somewhere. In fact, it was even commented that they both "look just like you." (Abby took that news harder than Emily).

They smile, often for no reason at all. It is hard to frown, on the outside or on the inside, when Abby is around you smiling. It delights me to see them laughing and riding, especially with Lydia or Ruthann. If either of them stubs their toe, it makes my entire leg hurt, a lot.

Several years ago I mentioned to Emily that I was never afraid of a horse in a round pen because I would much rather be killed by a horse than to be in a nursing home.

Without hesitation she clucked and scoffed, "You won't need to go to a nursing home. I'll take care of you when you get old."

Every thing that is good that happens at the end of our old dirt path can be traced back to those two little girls coming to look at an old pony for Abby on a cold windy day nearly a decade ago.

Townes Van Zandt was right. One never knows where this old dirty road's taking me.

As It Is So Often Said, "Some Things Are Best Kept Between A Man And His Hog."

Amos, my halter trained boar hog, went out to survey his domain today. We might not pay as well as the big factory farms, but it is a whole lot more fun to be a hog in my horse lot than in any of those big name establishments.

High On the Hog--Putting 'Cuz To Work

I love Marsh Tackys. They are now the state horse of South Carolina, as they should be. Their history is intricately bound with the history of working people from the Low Country to the Mountains. Small, gaited, remarkably calm, trainable and tough--endless endurance (sound familiar?) I have no doubt that these horses share not only some common roots with the Bankers but I suspect also the Choctaw and Cherokee lines of Colonial Spanish horses.

Like the Bankers, they were the horses of poor, hard working folks. Indeed, the breed name "Tacky" is rooted in its Colonial meaning, not as being of poor quality but of being common and widespread. Today they are neither common nor widespread. Like the Corollas, their future is very tenuous. David Grant has spearheaded the recent efforts to preserve and breed these horses. He has worked closely with the American Livestock Breed Conservancy and the Tackys now have a good foothold.

In recent years they have been used by hunters for jump shooting deer in cut overs and other places that the tree line was more shrub like than tree like. Though not widely known, until the mid fifties the white tail deer was gone from much of the south. Efforts to restore them were so successful that we are over run with deer. On into the early sixties deer were still quite rare in our area. Back then hunting usually meant small game, squirrel, rabbits, coons, and quail, in particular. When deer came along small game hunting fell by the wayside for nearly everyone.

Much of the south is becoming over run with wild hogs. The hogs are destructive beyond imagination. Within twenty years I expect hog hunting to cause deer hunting to go the way that small game hunting has. To "go hunting" will mean to go hog hunting in a large chunk of this nation. David Grant is getting out in front of that curve. He provides guided hog hunts on Marsh Tackys at Carolina Marsh Tacky Outdoors (Marshtacky.com)


Saving these horses requires getting them in public view and showing what they can do. David Grant has come upon a great way to do that.

Fat Kills

And it does not just kill insulin resistant horses like Tradewind. Obesity is the leading contributor to the shortening of the lives of modern horses. The established horse world with its emphasis on conformation and "halter" classes are greatly to blame for this epidemic.

Over feeding is a much more common form of neglect than lack of feeding, yet I have never heard of a case of an owner being charged with abuse and neglect for maintaining a horse in a chronically obese fashion. Ironic--it does not seem to matter if you abuse your horse. The question is how you abuse your horse. Too thin--criminal charges--too fat--blue ribbon in the halter class.

I am not suggesting that owners of fat horses be carted off and sent to jail any more than I would suggest that parents of overweight kids be criminally charged. The solution for both situations is the same--education.

Some horses, like some people are genetically prone to obesity. They require special care because their lives depend on it. Some horses, like some people are genetically prone to maintain very little body fat. They require no special care. They are blessed, not abused.

The more one looks at problems that horses have the more one realizes that the solutions tend to come back to three things--natural horsemanship, natural horse care, and natural hoof care.

This Is How You End Horse Slaughter

A few weekends ago Mikhail had his first lengthy canter (that was on purpose, there was an involuntary lengthy canter a few months ago but that does not count). Saturday he was in his first parade. He is young, 6 or 7, I think, athletic and loves fun.

He also represents a very important part of the answer to the problem of "unwanted horses." Of course, we do not have a surplus of horses in America. We have an extreme shortage of riders. The only hope for the horses is to attract more riders. That means reaching out to novices and teaching them to ride. The best way to do that is for them to learn much more than to simply be relatively safe passengers in the saddle. The more that they understand about natural horsemanship the more likely it is that horse ownership will be part of their future.

One of the major reasons that horses go to slaughter houses is because boys are afraid to ride them. Even worse, they are part of a society that encourages and supports that fear. After all, why should a boy risk injury, pain, or even a saddle sore, when he can quietly entertain himself with a violent video game?

I do not have a lot of helpful suggestions in this regard. I have lost my ability to inspire boys. I hate to admit the fact, but denying it would not change the situation. Little girls are easy to inspire. Even with all the advances of the past fifty years we still live in a world in which little girls are constantly taught that they are fragile, incompetent, and not capable of demonstrating real courage. From the moment of our first conversation I make it clear to little girls that if they break, they will mend and that if a thing is worth doing they can do it. I give them tasks that I doubt that their parents think that they are capable of and they do it. As they get older I delegate a great deal of authority to those that earn it. Again, often to the surprise of their parents. (Lydia's mother looked a bit surprised when I told her that the reason that we chose a particular BLM mare was because Lydia had looked them over quite closely and felt that she was a good choice.)

Little girls respond to encouragement, trust, and high expectations. Too many little boys do not. Given the opportunity little girls exceed the incredibly low expectations that society has for them. Were I trapped in a burning building Emily Wilda would find enough strength in her seventy some pound body to drag me out while the firemen were still putting on their gear.

Mikhail will be different but not because of anything that I instill in him. In a few years I will be able to tell him to get in a round pen with a bad horse and gentle the meanness out of her. He will be another Jacob. He will be able to ride as hard as Christian. I will be able to depend on him and so will his horse.

In short, he will be just as good as the girls.

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Treatable, Perhaps Curable

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Teaching the Unteachable

A man is allotted only a certain number of breaths in this lifetime and it is a shame to waste any of them. As soon as one recognizes that one is casting pearls before swine, pick up your pearls and relocate rapidly.

This is Tradewind, HOA National Pleasure Trail Horse of the Year for 2011. This wild Corolla stallion was captured because he was utterly crippled with founder. He has completed a fifty mile in a day ride and carried me 206 hours in the woods last year, the vast majority of that time being at a trot or canter.

He is 12.2 hands and, when in top shape weighs 626 pounds. I have no idea what I would weigh in top shape because I have not been in top shape for decades. In any event, I weigh less than 626 pounds.

I do not blame anyone for not knowing that a Spanish mustang had such a weight bearing capacity. Several years ago I did not know it. However, I will not waste a second of my time arguing with those who still want to tell me that the Corollas are just too small for a "grown up." (Look at the evidence. I am grown. In fact, my height has not increased for the last 37 years. I have come to terms with the fact that my dreams of an NBA career will likely not be realized.)

If I encounter a disheveled person sitting alone on a park bench loudly carrying on a conversation with both Groucho and Karl Marx, I do not stop to join the conversation. When a member of the established horse world sniffs disapprovingly that "no adult should be riding a pony" I have three stock responses, depending on the specifics of the situation. All three serve me equally well.

1. "Sure been dry lately." (Then walk away)
2. "Sure been wet lately." (Then Walk away)
3. "Sure been raining just the right amount lately. (Then walk away).

In fairness to them, perhaps I should not compare apples to oranges. The distance that Tradewind carried me in the woods pales in comparison to the number of miles that their horse paced back and forth in its stable last year. And yes, you are probably correct that I give my horse's "stupid" names. I apologize.

In fact, please instruct your horse's stable manager to have the groom pet your horse, "Gucchi's Wrinkled Skin Old Prune" once just for me. Don't forget to pickup some WD40 the next time that you buy your horse's supplements. With enough WD40, I am sure that you will be able to find a way to get that stable door open.

Christmas Parade

Rare, historical Colonial Spanish goat. Rare, historical, Colonial Spanish horses. Unique, hysterical, granddaughter (she is still only green broke)

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Whoever Said it Had a Good Point

My memory has dulled a bit. I cannot remember if it was Lincoln or Fredrick Douglas that said, "I hear many that speak of the virtues of slavery, but I find none who would volunteer to be a slave."

Horse slaughter advocates that claim that we need to kill horses to keep something bad from happening to them seem to me to make the same moral equivocations.

If a humane horse owner supports horse slaughter because of all of the neglect claimed to happen without it, would it not be a more humane and virtuous stance to take to offer up all of your horses that, after all have had such good lives, to the slaughter house and replace each of them with horses from rescue operations? That would free up more space in the rescues. Doing so doubles the number of horses that have an opportunity to have years of good lives. Seems like a more humane trade off than simply killing those that you have deemed neglected, which will not increase the number of horses that have had the opportunity to have a good life. This must be so, unless you find slaughter so appealing that you find the value of a good death to equal that of a good life.

The return of horse slaughter will give those of you who cry such crocodile tears over the fate of the neglected horses a chance to really demonstrate how much you care. Put your daughter's show pony on a slaughter bound tuck and replace it with a neglected horse. Now there is a win-win, for everyone! I mean you do really care about all of those neglected horses don't you? I understand that you cannot save them all. I understand that you cannot even afford to take in even one neglected horse. But therein lies the beauty of horse slaughter's return. After you allow each of your horses to make that one last road trip you will have room to give a great life to a neglected horse that you now have room for. And think of all the happy Belgians you will be making by giving them the opportunity to enjoy high quality American horse meat. So if you really love your horse, don't give him treats. Help make him into one!

This is a great solution, unless you are one of those that merely preaches the virtue of slaughter with out being willing to volunteer to offer up your horses to the blood factories. You need to act now. We certainly cannot expect those that run rescue facilities to take up the slack by emptying their pastures of horses. Obviously they do not care as much about neglected horses as do you or they would be on the forefront fighting to bring back the horses best friend, the slaughter house.

Morality only becomes difficult when one seeks to actually apply it.

The Horse That is In Your Head

Some belief systems reject the belief in a subconscious. They reject the idea that humans have any form of shared archetypes buried deep within them that help understand certain behaviors. If one adheres to such a belief system there is no point to read further.

Horses are a rich part of the symbolic and fantasy lives of humans, particularly children. It suggests nothing perverse or obscene to point out that many young girls refer to their horses as if they are their boy friends. Such an attraction is to a relationship and is not a sexual attraction. I have been asked by little girls, with the greatest of concern in their voice, if their horse will think that they are "cheating on him" if they ride another horse. I have seen such little girls sneak a ride on another horse , but only in a pasture out of sight of their horse "so he won't get jealous." The flip side of this is the unfortunate reality that if a little girl feels that a horse has betrayed her trust by bucking, biting or kicking she will often try to drop him quickly and get a new horse friend, even if the miscreant is her own horse that she has ridden for a couple of years. ("Yea, but he bit me for no reason and I like Comet now."...I used to really love my colt, but he bucked." etc)

Most interesting to me is the psychological symbolism that a horse takes on for many older teens and young women. The horse comes to represent the freedom and autonomy that they crave for themselves. They flock to videos of horses being ridden without any tack. They melt over phrases like "I do not catch my horse. I let my horse catch me." They view bareback riding as the ultimate riding experience because it is both free and natural, two things that they long to be themselves. Their attitudes towards bits are the most telling point. They often feel that they are being humane when using a rope halter instead of a bit. A bit is easier to abuse than a rope halter, but both are subject to abuse, and more importantly, neither need be an instrument of abuse when used properly.

The differences between teen age boys view of their horses and that of teenage girls is best illustrated by their very telling terminology in describing training problems. When a horse is not compliant the boys generally say, "He will not do what I tell him to." Girls are much more likely to say,"He is not listening to me." Boys look to obedience. Girls look to communication.

When boys approach a horse in the pasture they generally catch him and immediately make him move. When girls approach a horse in a pasture they are more likely to have the horse stand still and talk to him. Young teen boys too often view a horse as their first car. They have little interest beyond making it go fast and being in complete control of it. As soon as they realize that they are not in complete control they panic and many become too afraid to continue riding. These little boys have been raised with video games in which they press a button and get a result. These games cause 75 pound, ten year old boys to believe that they are physically able to control, or at least blow up, any obstacles. Girls who play no such games have a much more accurate view of the universe. They do not believe that they are all powerful and seek to compromise and compensate. That is why it is so much easier to teach girls to ride than it is to teach today's video game loving boys.

On the other hand, adult women often refer to their horse as their "baby". Many talk to their horses in baby talk. A maddening few of them seem to think that their horses are every bit as fragile as an infant and treat them as such. To this I cringe. It never ceases to cause involuntary convulsions in my internal muscles when a women refers to me as one of my horse's Daddy. No, no, no, no, no, no, no..I do not think of my horses as fragile. I do not think of them as infants (Even when they are infants. I mean, they can canter a few hours after they are born!) It is not a comfort to my psyche to think of a horse as a pre-invalid, made of crystal, likely to break at any moment. Instead, the subconscious symbol that a horse has to me is as the stoic, quiet hero that overcomes all odds and ignores all pain and discomfort to get the job done. That is Tradewind. That is Croatoan. And that is what I should be.

In short, I recognize that the horse symbolizes for me human characteristics that I admire.

All of this would be merely interesting observations were it not for one important part. We must recognize that the horse is not an embodiment of our desires and world views. He is a living creature that has evolved to live as a prey animal in a world in which every movement and every sound could be that of a predator slipping in to terminate their existence. The result is that a horse has a huge range of physical and emotional needs that we do not share with them.

The most important point should be seared into every horse owner's head. The Golden Rule Does Not apply to Horses. Do not treat our horse as you would like to be treated. To do so is to force a horse into trying to live successfully as a human. You may love the comfort of a warm bedroom, sweet deserts, nice shoes, and a life of rest and leisure. But do not delude yourself into thinking that you are doing anything more than abusing your horse when you seek to give him that which you would like to have.

Instead, make the effort to understand what your horse needs and provide it to him.

Or you can try to shrink your horse's existence down to make him fit your image of what would be good. Look at this picture. It does not matter how beautiful a horse is if the existence that you give him is so shrunken that it cannot be recognized as that of how a horse needs to live.

The Serious Threat of Genetically Modified Organisms

The tragic results of putting genes of a human child into a pumpkin seed. Will the horror ever stop?

Do Some Good With Your Christmas Gift

The Center for America's First Horse in Johnson, Vermont is a great organization dedicated to preserving Spanish Horses and working with young people. They are seeking funding for upgrades to their power and water system.

I have toted many buckets of water to horses in pastures far from the source on the rare times that things froze up down here in the winter. It is brutal, time consuming work. It takes time away from doing the other work of the organization. I can't imagine having to do so in Vermont.

For those who are hard to find a gift for, or if you already have everything that you need and people keep asking what you want for Christmas, a donation to the Center For Americas First Horse is a great gift.

Go to their website, www.centerforamericasfirsthorse.org to learn more about how to help this great organization.

(This foal is now about 18 months old and is available for purchase from us. She would make a nice Christmas gift too.)

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Old Time Religion

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: Old Time Religion: This morning, my father, who is about 73, my niece who is about five, and Terry, who is not about to have her age discussed in this forum,...

Teach Your Children Well: Learning Should Be Fun

Now this was what the Little House was made for! Yesterday it was filled with riders and guests to hear Gene Gwaltney speak on the artifacts that he has collected over his lifetime in the immediate vicinity of the Little House. Many of these artifacts came from an Archaic site in pasture number one.

We have done a lot of things at the Little House but I believe that the kids had more fun and learned more yesterday than they have in any other program that we have done.

This weekend I also found a great source for the kind of authentic appearing lumber that we will use to construct the Gwaltney Frontier Farm in pasture number two. The early colonial reconstruction will serve as a back drop, a picture frame, for our programs to preserve rare colonial livestock of the region. The emphasis, of course, is on the Corollas, but they will be joined by other livestock that would have accompanied my earliest white ancestors when they settled around the Little House in the late 1600's.

That was not the only learning that was going on yesterday. We did not saddle up yesterday. Instead several families worked, and worked hard, on fencing, moving lumber, beautification and general clean up. Jacob continued marking the trial that he will be cutting through nearly 20 acres of woods to create additional riding challenges. Two families of guests came out to see our animals and programs. Kay's painting class continued and Jesse showed me a spectacular piece of art work that he is creating to benefit the Corolla Wild Horse Fund.

Tomorrow night is Monday night so beginning at 7:00 pm several of my riders will be working up a collection of ancient songs along with some Townes Van Zandt and Gram Parsons songs.

It is a very real thing that when a kid learns to appreciate history, art, music, the outdoors and the good feeling of being tired from working hard, they become better prepared to live a full, and meaningful, adult life.

Spiritually it does more. Without any hard sell, lectures, threats of damnation or promises of reward, a kid that learns to recognize the beauty of a deer trail through a tangled swamp, the sweet harmony the notes of B and D, the vibrance of color on a canvas, and the life altering power that one can obtain over a wild horse through love and discipline, cannot help but recognize that there is a God who loves them.

And tomorrow I will go into court, as I do on every Monday, to prosecute people that never had a Little House to go to.

A most peculiar existence.

Wild Spanish Mustangs In Corolla

At times the wild Spanish mustangs of Corolla have to be captured for medical treatment. When it is necessary for the Corolla Wild Horse Fund to do so, the horse may not be returned to the wild. The risk, however slight, that it could bring back a germ that would erase one of only two herds of wild Spanish mustangs east of the Mississippi is too great a risk to take.

We rehabilitate and train these horses and breed them domestically, not as a replacement for the wild herd, but as a safety net in the event that the wild herd is destroyed by bureaucrats, developers, or a natural catastrophe. The off site breeding program is designed to insure that these horses, which are the state horse of North Carolina and are among the rarest and oldest distinct genetic grouping of American horses, will always be with us.

This is Croatoan, an older wild stallion that was removed from the wild because he was swimming out to areas where he could be struck by a car. He is typical of the Corollas in that he is so gentle natured that, although an older stallion when captured, he is ridden by beginners and small children.

He has fathered some beautiful foals, including Mokete, the first pure Corolla produced in the offsite breeding program. (He has also produced some spectacular 1/2 Corolla foals that are great horses but are not part of the off site breeding program because their mothers are modern horses.)

We have horses available for placement to those who wish to participate in the off site breeding program. In addition, we offer the free breeding services of our stallions to outside mares. All Corollas and Shacklefords are eligible to be registered in the Horse of the Americas Registry. Any offspring of my stallions that are not from draft stock mares can be registered with the American Indian Horse Registry.

Exactly what can one expect from a Corolla Colonial Spanish mustang? I can only speak from experience. They are the easiest horses to train with which I have ever worked. They are strong, easy keeping horses with incredible endurance. Many of our horses have completed rides of 50 miles in a day.

Tradewind, the 2011 Horse of the Americas Registry's National Pleasure Trail Horse of the Year, is a 12.2 stallion, weighing 626 pounds in peak condition. In 2011 he carried me 206 hours in the woods, the vast majority of those hours either trotting or cantering. This does not include the many hours that others rode him on the trails.At the time my weight was from 212 to 222 pounds. He did so even though he was captured because he was utterly crippled with founder. He is now wonderfully recovered and has produced two beautiful colts.

Look back over the stats in the paragraph above. Most people who are only familiar with modern horses would think these achievements are impossible. I am afraid that they would be impossible with most modern horses. In reality, he is typical of the horses of Corolla.

If you are thinking about getting a horse don't settle for second, or third or fifth best. Become part of the Corolla offsite breeding program and ride a spectacular, and nearly extinct, horse.

If you would like to come and ride with us and see what these horses are like just send me an email.

Extinction lasts forever and the clock is ticking.

Stomped to Death by Donkeys and Elephants

I do not care about the politics of an issue but I do still appreciate the value of truth. Many are trying to seek political points by blaming the President for horse slaughter. To do so is inaccurate. The President can accept legislation or veto it in whole. This amendment was part of the bill to fund the government for a short period. A veto would have resulted in a government shutdown. It was the Congress, and sadly leaders of both parties in Congress, that created this situation.

While it is not accurate to blame the President for this disgrace, it is entirely fair to blame him for each and every abuse that the BLM commits. It is accurate to blame the President for the Department of Interior's opposition to legislation to protect wild horses.

There are heroes in the struggle to save the wild horses in both parties, none more dedicated than Jim Moran, and Walter Jones. There are villains in both parties.

Unfortunately, in Washington, as in the rest of the world, there are a few more bad guys than there are good guys.

That is why the good guys have to work harder.

Send Me Dead Flowers

There are many similarities between playing music and riding. Most of them are physical---hand/eye coordination, focus, and timing to name a few. Some transcend the physical. A strong work ethic to practice and improve is a key to success whether riding or playing music. Playing music improves skills for a host of activities. It makes everything better.

Sitting still and playing, especially alone, creates the opportunity to reflect and to develop insight. I stumbled into a pretty important one a few weeks ago. Standard guitar tuning on an acoustic guitar puts the instrument in a straight jacket. A guitar cannot relax and enjoy itself in standard tuning. But if you tune it down about four frets a guitar will take its shoes off and sit back on the sofa. Tuning it down four frets allows a guitar to take its tie off and quit faking who it really is.

Your horse is not happy when tuned to a standard pitch either. Standard pitch for horses requires them to be clean. Want to see how much your horse hates standard pitch? Turn him loose and watch him wallow. Standard pitch requires horses to be shaved in the winter and blanketed to replace the hair that you just shaved off. Tune your horse down at least four frets. Let him wallow. Don't shave your horse. And if you feel that you must put a blanket on your horse during "turnout" be fair to him and purchase one that has clearly emblazoned on each side, "Don't blame me for this blanket. It's my owner's fault."

Tune your horse down at least four frets. If you are not willing to risk the disapproval of all of your horse owning friends, (who are likely the most standard tuned bunch of people one will ever encounter) by tearing your stable down, at least take the door off of it. Quit feeding him that standard pitch horse feed. Drop him back four frets to a good diet of hay and grass.

Face reality--your standard tuned horse is not going to get you to Carnegie Hall. However, if there ever is another Woodstock your horse will be delighted to take you there as long as you and him have been living at least four frets low.

The Ugly Season

I hate muck. My love of the green of springtime is dwarfed by my hatred of the gray/smoke/black/blah color of our wet season in eastern Virginia.

But even in this setting, even in this buffet of vile tastes, visitors love what they find at our horse lot. They love riding through slippery cut overs that weeks ago were vibrant and green. They love seeing weanlings slip and slide in a pasture where a few weeks ago they would prance and glide.

It brings home the simplest of truths--that beauty has nothing to do with appearance. Beauty transcends the season, the time, the place and even the age.

Beauty was in the appearance of Sarah Carter, nearly eighty years old, stepping up to the microphone for her last public performance and singing "Happiest Days of All" with Maybelle. Beauty is in the appearance of Huskinaw, a spunky, wide eyed weanling that approaches everyone to silently give the most important news of every day, "I Waked Up Again!"

But most of all, beauty is in the face of a muddy, Red Feather standing there, missing part of his ear, and without a sound saying, "You damn right I made it. I am still here. And you made it too."

There is great beauty in the ugly fact that to persevere is to win.