Chasing Perfection

Perfectionism is a symptom of an unhealthy mind. It certainly is not a virtue and it most certainly is not something of which one should be proud. Perfectionism combined with competitiveness on the part of horse breeders have spelled disaster for horses over the years.

The pursuit of perfection in appearance and the silly science of conformation are at the root of a system that causes large breeding operations to produce 60 colts a year while only six of those ever achieve elevation to "the highest level of competition." It is those horses that become our surplus, unwanted horses. The drive for perfection has caused us to condone inhumane training methods and devices while doing nothing to elevate the human spirit or the quality of the horses' lives.

Endangered breeds like Spanish mustangs are particularly vulnerable to the threat posed by perfectionist breeders. God did a fine job in creating mustangs. In fact, it was one of His better efforts. Only arrogance that rivals that of the builders of the Tower of Babel can drive the urge to "improve" these horses.

At the core of such delusions is a simple inability to understand the meaning of the term that lies at the center of all truly satisfied minds. That term is "good enough." In fact, to perfectionists the term 'good enough" actually means, "not good enough" and denotes a slovenly product in dire need of improvement.

No, there are two very important aspects to the concept of "good enough" that these people do not understand. Those aspects are that the product is "good" and that it is "enough."

The wild stallion in the picture above is Spec who was killed when struck by a vehicle. The perfectionist breeders can look at him and quickly see his defects. I saw him up close and all that I noticed was a fine horse, one certainly good enough for me.

One cannot breed for that which one cannot see and until we spend hours training, riding, and spending time with a horse we cannot, in the words of Plenty Coup, the Crow chief of the late 1800's, look into his eyes and see his soul.

Lido was born with cerebral palsy and the right side of his body was of nearly no use to him. As a young teen he could put a fifty pound bag of feed on his left shoulder and tote it where it needed to go. As an older teen he could run five miles at the speed of the average high school athlete. Most significantly, for several years he was the first person to mount most of the wild horses that I trained.

As a horseman he was not perfect, but he was good enough. And good enough made him better than all but a few of the kids that I have ever met when it came to handling rough horses.

I have no interest in the effort to try to improve mustangs by seeking to breed only the best to the best. The mustang world would be better off with more Spec's and Lido's, stones rejected by the builders who made first rate corner stones.

A Number Worth Writing Home About

In the last nine years, my riders and I have trained 45 horses, most wild, many colts, and a few modern horses to the degree that each could be ridden in the woods by an intermediate rider. I have scoured my memory and I can only recall one broken bone that occured to a rider during a training session under my direction. That was a broken finger. That is a tribute to our dedication to safety, good safety equipment, and a sound training program.

Ten years ago an experienced horse owner told me that 'you can't let kids work with wild horses." And that comment was from a friend. Opponents of natural horsemanship, mustangs, and non-traditional training were much blunter in their attacks on our program and our horses.

Those critics all came back to the same point,-- "it cannot be done." Well, it can be done and we have done it. Most importantly, it is not brain surgery. Anyone who is willing to learn natural horsemanship, cares about horses and cares about kids can do this.

The program is not just for kids. The young lady pictured above had never ridden before coming out to our place and she is pictured with her Corolla Spanish mustang, Samson. She rode him forty six miles in one of our earliest long rides.

(Forty five horses trained is a great number. Here is another great number--30. Thirty years ago tonight my wife and I went out on our first date. Unfortunately, even after 30 years she considers me to be merely green broke.)

Sometimes You Just Have to Push On

The note below is about a Corolla stallion that is in Texas and is standing at Karma Farms.

The Sea King and the Critter Creek CTR
by Tommi Grey on Tuesday, September 7, 2010 at 11:45am

This weekend CWH The Sea King was introduced to the concept of Competitive Trail Rides (CTRs) and the North American Trail Ride Conference (NATRC). Knowing my little horse had no, and I mean NO conditioning even for the short 40 mile weekend of Novice, I took King and volunteered to ride drag at the Critter Creek Caper at the LBJ Grasslands, located outside of Decatur, TX.

For those of you about to ask, drag or safety riders are riders who follow behind the competitors on the trail picking up lost items, taking down old (and sometimes remarking) markers and trail, and – most importantly – helping a horse or rider in need in case there is an emergency on trail. Usually it’s a pretty easy job, and drag riders only go as fast as the last rider, which is usually pretty slow. LBJ is very easy trail, being mostly sand, and so I figured this would be a great time to get some conditioning in on King.

First off, the little Corolla stallion was a big hit with pretty much anyone who saw him. Deck out with my distance gear and covered in yellow ribbons to indicate his fertile state, he was often greeted with, “Oh my god, he’s so cute!”, “What a sweet horse!”, “Is he really a stallion? He’s got such good manners!”, and “He’s from WHERE?!” This was often joined with children, riding and not riding, literally hugging him, petting him, and hanging off of him anytime they had a chance. He spent Saturday afternoon before dinner giving “Corolla rides” to the Karma Kids, who just had to know what it was like to ride a real sea horse. Oh, and the food. He spent a lot of time eating, particularly things that were never intended for a horse. Kids and adults alike added to his diet cookies, peanut butter granola bars, Wheat Thins, watermelon, carrots, Honey Nut Chex Mix, and Chili Cheese flavored Fritos. He was particularly fond of the homemade Macadamia nut, chocolate chip, marshmallow cookies. In fact, I think the only thing he didn’t eat when offered all weekend was celery.

The riders did two loops each day, Novice being shorter and slower than open. When asked by the Safety Chairman where we were needed most, we found ourselves riding the second Open loop both days. Day one was uneventful and easy, though faster than King was used to. The White loop was right around 12 miles, 2 miles further than King had ever gone before and far faster. But he took it in stride, and found he actually rather liked it. Not too surprisingly, though, when I got back to camp I found he had some girth rubs and adema. I doctored him, and we prepared for the next day.

Sunday morning saw only 13 Open riders time out. The first P&R (Pulse and Respiration check) was right in camp, which happened to be where I and my fellow drag team, Bill and his horse Flag, took over. 12 Open came into the P&R. 10 minutes after the last one left, we were still waiting on number 13. No one could reached the other Open drag on the radio. King and I had been waiting for a while, so a P&R worker asked if I would mind back tracking down the trail and looking for the lost rider. I met with the Ride Chairman who told me take no longer than five minutes and be back quick.

Half a mile later, I ran into Open drag – and not the rider. When I told them about the missing Open, they doubled back to look for her while I went back to camp. By the time I saw the chair again, they’d found her: she’d taken a wrong turn on trail.
Bill and Flag left with the rest of Open to keep an eye on them, while I stayed in camp to get the radio and follow the no longer lost rider. It took her 20 minutes to get in and out. King and I followed her three miles, until she and her horse decided they were done—the horse was just too tired to continue.

I radioed ahead to inform management of the pull, and asked if she needed me to follow her back. She said no, she would be fine, so I continued down the trail. I saw no reason to hurry too much – King was still sore from yesterday, and Bill had my cell phone number. If there was a problem, he could call me—otherwise King and I would take our time and look for lost items on the trail.

Guess who called?

A rider had fallen off of her horse and broken her arm. To make matters worse, said horse had run off down trail and the only person able to follow had been another competitor. When Bill called me, we were about 3 – 4 miles away, and there was no way to move the rider and no way to get in to her except horseback or on foot.

So I kicked King into high gear and began to relay info to management. For at least a mile maybe two, I rode with the radio in one hand, my cell phone in the other, and King’s head free as a bird, using only my body and verbal signals to keep him in a constant trot or lope. The day was hot, the sand was deep, and he was sore, but I couldn’t let him rest right then. He didn’t argue. When I was able to put the cell phone away, I kicked up a notch faster. He gave me what I asked for.

By the time we’d reached Bill and the injured rider, King was hot and panting. I saw to the rider while Bill argued with 911, and when I could sponged King down, tied him under a shadey tree and pulled the saddle. His girth rubs were three times worse and very tender, but again, I couldn’t worry about that then.

Bill left to find a near-by road to help 911 with directions, leaving me with the rider. We talked for a while, and I was informed that her horse had been caught and taken back to camp. After a time I asked what had happened. Her horse had spooked when she’d gotten her map out. After a moment or two longer, while looking at King, she asked, “What is your horse?”

“Spanish Mustang, or Colonial Spanish Horse,” I responded, “He’s from a very rare, pure strain still wild on Corolla beach in North Carolina.”
“Is he a stallion?” she asked, seeing the yellow.

“Yeah, but he’s a real sweetheart with perfect manners.”

“Does he spook much?”

I laughed a bit. King’s odd spooking habits had earned him the nickname “Chicken of the Sea” at the farm. “Not really, just from other horses. He got hurt in a stallion fight on Corolla which was why he was taken off. I’m sure he knows that’s what ruined his life as he knew it.”

She paused a moment. “I think I need one of those next time,” she mused.

After a while, Bill returned with a volunteer fireman. The road wasn’t far, and an ambulance was on the way. I radioed management, and was told to leave Bill with her and I should try to catch up with the rest of Open. I saddled King, careful to keep the girth as far back from the rubs as I could, and we left. Bill caught up with us quickly, saying she had been able to walk out to the road to get in the ambulance.
To try and make time, Bill asked, “Is your pony up to some fast riding still?”

I looked down at King. He was so much more tired, and so much sorer…but his ears were up, and he was curious and looking at things. “He’s got more than enough left,” I replied. I asked him to go, and he went without hesitation.

By the time Bill and I got back into camp, the rest of the riders had been in for over an hour. The Safety Chair thanked us, and asked if I needed her to take care of my horse while I took care of me. I thanked her, but said King and I would be fine. When I striped his saddle for the last time, his girth was no worse but his breathing was hard and labored. I took him and a sponge down to cool water and shade, where I sponged him off and let him drink. I gave him a dose of Bute and electrolytes, and in 15 minutes he was cool, calm, and happy as a clam.

More importantly, however, was that the little horse was very proud. Everyone in camp could tell it. He carried himself better, he held his head high, his eyes were brighter, and he even ate his hay with a different sort of vigor. He knew he’d done something important, something wonderful, and he thought he was wonderful for having done it.

And you know what? He’s right.

On This We Must Stand

There was a proposal that the Horse of the Americas Registry develop a part bred registry for horses of half Spanish mustang blood. The issue was hotly debated and in an open election the proposal was voted down.

The leadership of the Horse of the Americas Registry asked the Spanish Mustang Registry to appoint a committee to work with the HOA to develop plans to promote Spanish mustang preservation. The SMR declined to do so.

A group of Spanish mustang enthusiasts in Europe have chosen to affiliate with the HOA.

Another Spanish mustang registry,the American Heritage Horse Registry, has come into being.

The HOA is a growing registry that seeks to give real power over important issues to the membership. The HOA must continue to shoulder the heaviest burden of all of the registries. It must continue to keep to the high road and continue to seek cooperation from the other registries.

I have no doubt that the board of the HOA will strive to do just that. It is vitally important that the HOA membership not divide itself over the part bred registry issue. The stakes are much bigger than who won and who lost.

There is not enough room in our life boat to fight each other.

A Neglected Horse

Horses that are simply "hard keepers", but otherwise healthy, are a problem only because of the reaction that visitors have--"Oh, what is wrong with him?" It irritates me to have to justify a horses genetic predisposition to be lean to a family of fat people.

It is the rarest of visitors that notices the horse that I have that does have a serious dietary problem. Tradewind was captured because he foundered in the wild to the degree that he was severely crippled. Using Pete Ramey trimming techniques he is now sound and never shows a hint of lameness, even on a fifty mile ride.

However, his life is at risk every day. He is insulin resistant and if he were allowed to have the diet of a normal domestic horse he would cripple or colic within the week. He is overweight unless he is exercised very hard. I am currently running him at least five miles a day, at least five days a week.

By doing so I am maintaining his health. It is time consuming, hard work to keep him healthy. To the average visitor he looks great. Unfortunately, many horse owners think that all horses should be coated with fat slabs.

When I hear people chortle about how they know that their horses are obese but they simply, "like to keep them looking happy," I can only take relief at the knowledge that at least they cannot teach their horses to smoke cigarettes.

This is a shot of what Tradewind looks like when he is in shape.