But On The Other Hand...

There was one advantage of being sick for so long. While I had little energy to train, I also had little incentive to be concerned about getting injured. I have not been comfortable hopping on an untrained horse to give him his earliest rides for a reason that few people can understand. While not pleasant, breaking a few ribs is no big deal. Toting water, rolling hay, digging fence posts with broken ribs are all very big deals. In short, getting injured is not the problem. Having to continue to run our operation while injured is precisely the problem. Over the summer I came to realize that no matter how sick I was, the horses still got taken care of one way or another. I really did not have much too lose. Edward Teach is the prime beneficiary of my summer of convalescence. His training had come to a stalling point. Months earlier, Abby had ridden him bareback in the woods twice. The fact that Abby can ride a horse is not a testimonial to the horse's training. Abby can ride a horse be he trained or not. Even Red Feather has never been able to toss Abby.

 Even as a teenager I could not ride remotely as well as Abby. I do not feel bad about that because I have never met anyone that could ride as well as Abby.

 Like all old men faced with a problem, I went back to looking at what used to work. I applied the same boring principles of natural horsemanship that Rebecca and I used successfully on other wild horses. I worked him the way that Lido and I used to work horses. I worked him without stopping to ask what big name clinicians would do. I worked using what horses have taught me instead of worrying about what clinicians have tried to sell me. And what I worked with him worked. I rode him in the woods several times--he never resisted--he never flinched--he showed no fear and he gave no pain. My initial encounters with this young, severely injured wild stallion had been intense. When he came to us he had a wound in his neck large enough to put a baby's face into it. He showed hints of having a touch of Red Feather in his heart. It turns out that he is as tractable as Croatoan.

He has one son so far, Ashley's colt, Peter Maxwell. Peter is 1/2 Corolla. His mother Quien Es? is a Chincoteague BLM cross. We will train Peter the same way that I worked his father with complete allegiance to the horse and with no concern for anything else.

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: A Peculiar Post--Perhaps Helpful

Mill Swamp Indian Horse Views: A Peculiar Post--Perhaps Helpful: (What is set out below is not a normal blog post. It is from a note that I sent out to the parents of my riders last week. In the note I ...

The End of The Beginning

I am feeling better. Over the past week I have been in the saddle more than I have for a very long time. Sunday I was shocked to see how long it had been since I have ridden hard. I rode from the horse lot to my home through the woods. The trail had completely grown up in some spots and there was not hint that a trail had ever existed. For the past decade the horse's hooves have kept the trail open. It will be open again soon. This blog will also be making a comeback.

Just a Little More Time

Don't give up on this blog yet. I have not stopped writing but I am not quite all the way there in terms of feeling completely well. I normally write in the morning and I do not have all my energy back up every morning yet. I am getting there. Two days ago I rolled two round bales into the trailer by myself. It has been a very long time since I could do that.

Look at this horse closely. He could not be distinguished from a young version of Croatoan. Like Croatoan he has what Plato would have called the "form" of Spanishness.

Objection-Relevance?

The cruelest objection ever made in a courtroom is an objection to the relevance of the question. Implicit in the objection is the recognition that the question--and the resulting answer--simply does not matter. Even if everything thing the witness says would be true, the answer simply does not matter. The answer is irrelevant.

The cruelest evaluation of a life lived is an objection to it based on the relevance of that life. Simply put, at the end of it all, was the life lived a life that gave meaning to other people? If so it was relevant. If not it was a life wasted. If we had perfectly honest tomb stones too many of them would simply give a name and an epitaph that read "So What."

I have never been inordinately afraid of dying but I have always been inordinately afraid of dying without having mattered. The two minute warning has not been called but I am playing in the fourth quarter. My hair is possum colored and I have only a few more teeth than a rooster. Years ago when I stepped in front of a crowd, charisma dripped off of me like sweat. Now when I step in front of sweat drips off of me like sweat.

But finally our program is becoming relevant. Horses that need to be ridden matched with people that need to ride. Truths that need to be taught matched with kids that need to learn. Pain that needs to be healed matched with horses that can heal pain.

When we started this program I received several emails from members of the established horse world offering me their advice. They offered their expert advice on breeding (e.g. "Quit breeding worthless crap that has no market value.") One advised that "horse people all over the country are laughing at you."

Turns out that they did not matter then and they do not matter now. But, for the record, I object to their assertions, and their system of values,..... on the grounds of relevance.