When I was little, I had a thing for horses. My parents used to tell a story about losing track of me one day in the corrals when they were working cows. After searching high and low, they found me. In the stud pen, standing directly under the 3 year old Appaloosa stallion, named Sundowner, scratching his belly. Panic set in and they tried to remove me. I was all of 3 myself and I went kicking and screaming, literally!
From that day on, Sundowner and I were buddies. I already had a Shetland pony named Peanuts. Ornery, was not a strong enough description for this little guy. I think ponies are put on this earth to make young riders either tough as nails or cure them from riding for the rest of their lives. When he wasn’t trying to take a hunk out of me when I was stretching my little legs to get on, he was rubbing me off on a tree into the irrigation ditch or planting his feet and refusing to go any further. When I kicked him harder, he just got on his knees and went to trying to roll. When the saddle wasn’t on, he as a gentleman. When it was, he became a monster. Looking back, I remember sitting in the middle of the field kicking him with all my might and him not budging, not one inch for what seemed an hour, that is until, I got off and led him home.
The irony is he and Sundowner were also buddies. In fact, one rarely went anywhere without the other. One big beautifully colored Appy stud, one little bay Shetland: what a pair they made.
When my dad wasn’t riding Sundowner I was. I loved him. I was on him even when forbidden by my parents. I loved slipping on him off the corral fence and feeling terribly naughty and free all at the same time, riding without one single thing. As I got older the exquisitely trained and loved horse became my big teddy bear. He turned from bay with spots to white with albino eyes. He was my 4-H horse, he was the one who I hugged and cried with giant sobs into his mane when my parents fought. He carried me on rides of freedom out into the reservation as I grew and dreamed of being on my own.
I tenderly rubbed salve around his pale skin around his eyes and nose when it was sunburned. I brushed and brushed the white horse whom I could do the Roy Rogers leap onto from behind or fall off in a failed attempt of trick riding and feel nuzzling on my back. I could get on Sundowner, lift a calf onto the saddle, ford the river and never fear, for a moment, of being left on my behind in the dirt.
Now, years later, I think about the impact that Sundowner made in my life. He seems like some kind of Deity to me now. He was who I ran to when I was sad, heaving gasping, tearful sobs into the warmth of his neck. He was the one I ran to and hugged with delight when I was happy. He was the horse I could ride with nothing more than a piece of sisal twine around his neck, running like the wind through the fields bareback giving my dad a heart attack. Little girls need horses. Big girls need horses. Just the smell of a horse today takes me back to Sundowner, though I’ve had lots of wonderful horses in my life since. He was my first love. And there is something special about your first love that you never forget.
Aspen, my 6 year old, has found her first love in Kitten, shown above, all 17 1/2 hands of him. He got his hame from following her like a kitten and putting his nose down to be kissed. I don't think an earthquake could move this big guy when that little girl is giving him attention.
What to know more about what I do? It's all about western design at www.contemporarywesterndesign.com.
