Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary: Who We Are

Tierra Madre Horse Sanctuary

	OUR HORSES
	AKIRA She’s the sweetest, happiest little paint horse you ever did see. When she first arrived, though, she wasn’t happy. As a matter of fact, she looked like she was just putting her time in until it was time for her to join the Great Herd. It was sad. She had constant – uh, loose stool (please don’t tell her I told you that) - & no energy whatsoever. And she really didn’t want anything to do with most two-leggeds. I think she’d had her heart broken along the line & didn’t want to invest it again for fear of the pain coming back. We got her back fixed, her teeth fixed & we changed her diet completely. Within a couple of months, she was a new horse. Now? Now she just loves to be ridden & soaks up whatever love anyone wishes to convey upon her. She’s begun to trust the fact that she’s safe forever. Finally. And every evening when I go in to see her, I give her a “21-Kiss Salute” – 21 smackers right on her sweet, happy little cheek.
	BELLA BELLA is a beautiful girl – hence her name (Bella means “beautiful girl” in Italian). As a matter of fact, it’s Bella’s picture that appears in the Tierra Madre logo. When she got here, she had horrible back problems. Dr. Bill Wood, one of the best veterinarian/equine chiropractors anywhere, said it looked like she’d fallen off a truck or something for her back to be that bad. He fixed her up, though, and she’s good as new. She also has a big, swollen right foreknee that indicates a bad injury sustained back in her racing days. Doesn’t seem to bother her at all, though. As a matter of fact, Bella is – without doubt – the fastest horse at Tierra Madre. She’s capable of blinding speed and has often raced Hudson around the arena – she has no trouble passing him on the outside. Our guess is that she was once a darned good sprinter. She used to live in a large pen with Hudson, but was kind of overshadowed by his galoot-ness. She now lives alone in her own large stall and her beauty and personality just shines through. Except at feeding time. Then she turns into a dervish, chasing the horses on either side of her away like she hasn’t eaten in a week. Even though it’s been maybe three hours. As soon as her food is delivered, it’s back to being the beautiful one. If a name ever properly fit a horse, it’s Bella. Ciao, Bella.
	BENTLEY BENTLEY Is a big, big guy. He’s black. He’s a Thoroughbred. He stands nearly 18 hands tall and weighed in the last time at 1490 lbs. Bentley is none-too-subtle, either. When he wants his head, neck, back or butt scratched, he simply walks in front of you and blocks out the sun. “Scratch, yo!” As big as he is, he’s nowhere near the leader of the herd and, truth be told, gets pushed around by several of the other horses. He does have his little cadre of a herd-within-a-herd, though. One-eyed Tarzan hangs with him continuously – Bentley acts as Tarzan’s other eye and serves as his early-warning system should another horse try to get stupid with Tarzan. Kiss is also part of Bentley’s posse and Suzie Q isn’t often far away. Bentley has the most expressive eyes of all the kids in the field. When he’s happy or contented, his eyes are very soft and gentle. When he doesn’t want company or if he’s not particularly happy with whatever’s going on around him at the moment, he glares at you with unbridled fire in his eyes. If you don’t read his eyes, be fully prepared for that big head to whirl toward you, led by a worthy set of choppers. Not that he ever bites, but that means he ain’t backward about being forward when the urge hits him. When Bentley gets to running and jumping and kicking around the field, you can feel the ground vibrate. True thundering hooves.
	CHANCE Chance is a challenge. A beautiful, young, palomino challenge. When he was rescued from the “prison” he was in, it seems he had been confined to a dark stall with only one small window for light. And he was only fed every three or four days. And he must have been severely abused by two-leggeds some time in his sweet short life, too. Because when he got here, Chance was a biting, kicking maniac. Almost unapproachable. We told him, “Dude, we know you’re scared of us two-leggeds. And we know your best defense is a good offense. So here’s what we’re gonna do: We’re gonna let you just be a horse for as long as it takes – a year, two years, five. Whatever. And we’re gonna show you nothing but love every day of that period. Until you finally realize you’re safe. And you’re loved. And you can trust again.” And he’s making progress. Real good progress. He’s a pretty happy guy most of the time, now. And he’s beginning to trust, if only just a little. You can see it in his eyes. But here’s a question: What on earth would possess a person to knowingly abuse another of Mother Earth’s children?
	CHARLIE & MINI ME CHARLIE and MINI ME…..the odd couple. The very odd couple. Charlie is huge – the largest horse we have. He’s 18 hands tall (that’s six feet at the withers…..just standing, his head is a good eight feet off the ground) and weighed in the last time at 1540 lbs. His stablemate, MiniMe, stands about seven hands (28 inches at the withers) and weighs around 260 lbs. (and he could stand to lose a few, too). They’re inseparable. When Charlie first got here, he was one of the unhappiest horses I’ve ever encountered. I’d known him for a year or so before he came and used to stand in the back corner of the stall with his head in the corner. Didn’t trust people one bit. My belief is that, because he’s so big, while he was on the racetrack and even after he came off it, he was roughly led around with a stud chain over his nose. Not hard to control a horse whose nose is being brutalized. So we’ve let Charlie be a horse for the past couple of years and he’s responded famously. He’s always up at the front of his pen and doesn’t meet a stranger he doesn’t like. Stud chain? Uh, no. Sometimes Charlie and I take a walk without his even wearing a halter and lead rope. We just walk around free. Min never met a flake of hay he didn’t like. He will eat anything that won’t eat him first. We work hard to keep his weight down and have succeeded pretty well, though it seems he can put on pounds just by looking at food. He’s a funny little guy who is convinced he’s every bit as big as every other horse on the ranch. He’s pretty well convince the others of that, too. Certainly his personality is as big as anybody’s. So, back to the odd couple…..MiniMe is Oscar to Charlie’s Felix.
	CHARLIEHORSE I received a call one evening from the brother of a woman who runs a boarding stable near here. He said he’d brought a horse down from Montana a few months prior – thought his sister might be able to use him as a lesson horse or lease him or something. That didn’t happen & she said she couldn’t afford to keep him any longer. So the guy told me, “Ah, if I can’t find him a home tonight, I’ll just take him back to Montana with me tomorrow & use him as bear bait.” Bear bait?!? “Send him over.” CharlieHorse is in his late twenties & had been a working horse for most of those decades: a pack horse in the Rockies, a string horse at a dude ranch – that type of thing. When he got here, he didn’t know what a carrot was, or what an apple was or what a treat was. Now he does. “Hey, where have these been all my life?!?” He’s the sweetest little guy in the world. He’s pretty reserved, though. The strong, silent type. Guess he didn’t have too many people to talk to while he was ferrying two-leggeds’ stuff up & down mountains.
	CHESTER Chester had been living at a boarding facility near here. And his human had abandoned him there without paying his boarding fees. So, he’d been living by himself for a good six months, un-cared for, poorly-fed & watered, covered with flies & standing forlornly all alone during the very long, very hot Arizona summer. Oh, & he has Cushings disease, so his hair was extra-long, meaning he was obviously extra-uncomfortable in the heat. And his Cushings went untreated. Cushings disease is very often a forerunner to laminitis, so Chester had been dancing with the devil. A friend of ours boards her horses there & did what she could to make him happy until, one day, the facility owner told our friend she had ten days to find him another place to live or she’d take him to the slaughter auction. We couldn’t have that, now, could we? So, the day after our friend told us of his predicament, a down-trodden – but curious – Chester walked through our gates. And now? Now, he’s thriving. His Cushings is being treated. And he’s so sweet & loving, he’s become the center of attention among a whole lot of us two-leggeds. And his protruding hip bones & ribs are a thing of the past. Welcome home, Chester. You finally made it under the wire.
	GUESS GUESS is one of the world’s great dames. A perfectly-proportioned 16-2 Thoroughbred with a beautiful face and a true alpha personality (her nickname is The Queen Bee), she’s one of the great loves of my life. I met Guess a few years ago when she was at The Horse Rescue of North Scottsdale. Holly had asked me to work with some of the Thoroughbreds in hopes they would become good trail horses, leading to a better chance of finding a good home. I worked with Guess (who is one of the best trail horses I’ve ever met) and we developed a mutual love affair. Alas, one thing led to another and I had to move back to Los Angeles and Guess had to go to a new home. I cried when we parted. Fast forward three years. In the Spring of 2006, Holly called one day and asked me if I remembered Guess. “Remember her? She’s one of the great loves of my life!” Holly said her human could no longer keep her and would I be interested in giving her a home. “When can she be here?”, I asked. “Two hours.” When I went into the trailer to lead her off she looked me in the eye and buried her head in my chest. “You’re home for good, baby girl.” And she is and she will be for as long as both of us are still breathing.
	HEIGHTEN HEIGHTEN is an ex-workhorse of a racehorse. He’s about 12 years old but, from what we understand, was on the track until he was seven or eight. A lot of races. And all that left him with a terrible back. Some friends of mine acquired Heighten a few years ago and asked me to train him to be a good trail horse. The problem was, nearly every time I got on him, he bucked his fool head off. He told me he was in pain and I relayed that to his humans. I told them I’d have Dr. William Wood, one of the premier veterinarian/equine chiropractors anywhere, to look at him if he were my horse. Well, they didn’t. A couple of years later, Heighten’s humans came to me and told me that because he was unridable, they’d gotten another horse or two and had to get rid of Heighten. Would we take him here? Sure, but Dr. Wood needed to be brought in. Dr. Wood said Heighten must’ve fallen over the inside rail on the track or something because his back was in such horrible shape. But it was surely fixable. After an hour or so of his magic, Dr. Wood declared Heighten good to go. The first time I got up on Heighten after his treatment, he bucked me straight off. I said, “Dude, your back is fixed. It won’t hurt anymore.” I got back up on him and I swear I heard him say, “Wow, this is great.” Heighten now loves to be ridden and he’s never seen a trail he didn’t like. What a terrific feeling it is to see a young horse go from a life of pain and misery to a life of joy and happiness. Good for Heighten. He deserves it.
	HOLLY GOLIGHTLY Holly’s a mustang that came with Katie & Sundance. She’d been rescued from one of those Bureau of Land Management adoption things & had lived with those two other kids for about eight years before they all came here. She just had to come here with them. She’d never been halter-trained & wouldn’t have had an easy time of it finding another home. As a matter of fact, her life just may have been severely jeopardized. Besides, she had a family & families stay together, right? She’s small – about fourteen hands – typical mustang-sized. And, like Katie & Sundance, doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. And she’s not wild by any stretch of the imagination. It’s a good idea to let her know you’re coming up behind her, though – she’s been known to fire off a warning shot with one of her tail guns if you don’t. I fell in love with Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. And I think I’m having a deja vu all over again.
	HUDSON HUDSON is a big galoot. Big and strong-boned and beautiful, he’s a Thoroughbred with some of the best breeding ever – Bold Ruler, Mr. Prospector, Raise A Native, Foolish Pleasure - the list goes on. With that breeding, he should have been a superstar in the racing world. Ah, but remember, he’s a big galoot. Hudson kind of lives in his own happy world and doesn’t pay much attention to the things he’s supposed to be doing. So it’s easy to imagine him in the starting gate with the bells going off and the gates flying open and a stampede of horses bolting down the track and him just standing there thinking, “Why, that’s a pretty bird over there. Wonder where all those guys are going in such a hurry.” Must have thrilled his connections no end. He’s a real mild-mannered galoot, though. Under saddle, you can hear him asking, “Oh, you want to go over there? Okay.” And then he’ll amble off in the direction the rider was thinking and asking of him. No problem. Just don’t ask him to get there in a hurry, though. In his mind, that destination will still be there when he gets there. And he’s right. We could all learn a lot about dealing with life from Hudson.
	IRON MAN His real name is Coloreado & he hails from Chile. He’s big – a little over 17 hands - & he’s black. And he’s beautiful. And he’s as sweet as the day is long. We helped to retire him off the racetrack. He’d just run his third mile-plus race in eighteen days & stopped in the middle of the stretch, saying, “I just can’t do this anymore.” And no wonder. In his seven-year career, he’d run in 124 races. See why we call him The Iron Man? Lou Gehrig had nothing on this guy. Having spent most of his life in a stall, it took him a couple of days to get used to living outdoors. The first night he was here, I went to visit him. He looked up into the sky & asked me, “Jimbo, what are those things?” I told him, “Those are stars, Iron Man. And they’re your new ceiling.”
	JANI JANI is a very sweet Quarter Horse mare in her late teens. Her folks – very nice people who are good friends of the Sanctuary – couldn’t keep her any longer &, given that she has ringbone in one of her hooves, wanted to make certain she had a good, loving home & wouldn’t be made to work hard. Jani has been a hard worker all her life – she’s jumped, run barrels, given lessons & been a trail horse – so she certainly has nothing left to prove to us two-leggeds. She was kind of reserved when she got here (“What’s going on & why am I here?”), but she’s settled in very nicely & loves to romp around the arena every couple of days. And nobody, but nobody, enjoys a good meal like Jani. She’s what is referred to as a “good doer” - & that’s putting it mildly. She’s in one of the ‘in-n-outs’ in the barn now, right next to the breezeway where we humans often hang out so she’s getting a lot of attention. And little Jani’s becoming downright gregarious. You don’t suppose it has anything to do with her proximity to the treat can, do you? Nah.
	JOHNNY B. GOODE JOHNNY B. GOODE is the leader, or itancan, of the herd of ten horses that live in Tierra Madre’s pasture. Of his leadership there is no doubt, although John’s reign is characterized by his low-keyed confidence, subtlety and keen sense of fun. John arrived from Los Angeles on a truck one day with Jericho, another of the horses in the herd. I knew, and was great friends with, Jericho back when we were both associated with a riding stable at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center. John came from the same stable, but I didn’t know him at all. He got off the truck with no history and no name. Just a 16-hand dark bay Thoroughbred with an oversized right knee and a scar on his face that looks like he might have gone through a plate glass window sometime in his anonymous past. I called him Johnny B. Goode in honor of the great Chuck Berry. He had obviously been on the racetrack at some point because he has a tattoo that also tells us he was foaled in 2000. John always gets his hay first, directly in front of the water tank adjacent to the gate. See, John likes to dunk his hay in the water, thus affording us the opportunity to clean and refill it every morning as it’s full of hay and the water is green due to the cholorphyll leaching out of it. He’s always there to help, though, by either holding the cleaning brush or the hose in his teeth. He also loves to dunk one of his toys - an orange traffic cone - in and out of the tank, splashing water everywhere. Most mornings, there’s a beat-up cone lying deep in the murky green water. John also looks quite dapper in a cowboy hat.
	KATIE & SUNDANCE Katie & Sundance are brother & sister & have lived together their entire lives. They’re both in their early twenties, though Katie’s got a couple of years on Sundance. A very nice woman in Tucson called one day – in tears because she knew she had to let them go due to some physical constraints on her part. Although we were pretty full – completely full, really – how could I say no? I mean, a brother & sister who’ve lived together their whole lives just have to stay together, right? There’s no doubt that little Katie’s the one in charge, though I think Sundance lets her have her way because it’s easier that way. He’s blessed with one of those laissez-faire attitudes that figures “peace at any price”. Besides, when did a younger brother ever get anything but grief from an older sister? Katie & Sundance look like they came out of a box of chocolates. She’s the dark brown semi-sweet & he’s the caramel. Just like their personalities.
	KISS KISS, whose given name is Kiss the Spot (?!?), is a 17-hand big, gangly Saddlebred, who spent most of his prior life as a show horse. As such, he lived primarily in box stalls in barns and was pretty much always spotless and groomed to within an inch of his life. When Kiss was introduced into the field, he couldn’t believe the scruffy group of hooligans who greeted him. “But I’m a show horse”, he said. “Back of the line, chump”, was John’s rejoinder. It took ol’ Kiss quite a while to realize that he, too, was now a scruffy hooligan. But he’s adapted quite well. Not all the way – probably never will – he’s a little like Tony Bennett thrown in with a posse of rappers, but he holds his own and has found ways to be a darned happy guy. He was a little nippy for quite a while, but not in a bad way. Horses have a habit of lightly nipping each other when they’re happy together – the term “love bites” comes close. The problem is that humans aren’t very partial to horses’ love bites – they have a tendency to hurt a little. Anyway, Kiss was the king of love bites. He’s pretty much gotten over it now, though. I didn’t do anything in particular to make him stop, like yelling at him or giving him a rap on the shnoz – just didn’t give him a horizontal surface and made sure my hand was in position to gently push him away when he thought about nipping. He hangs out with Bentley and Tarzan and Suze and Venture when he feels like hanging out with some of the others – and that ain’t half bad considering where’s he come from and the difficulty he initially had in adapting. Who knew Tony Bennett could be happy hanging out with Wu Tang Clan?
	MISTAH LEE A white horse named Levi hobbled in here one day. He could barely walk. He could barely move at all. We believe he’d broken his right rear hip at some point, but there was so much arthritis around the joint, we couldn’t see his bones on the x-rays. He couldn’t put any weight on that leg at all. Gosh, he was a sad case. Seems he’d been an ex-ranch horse & somewhere along the line, had gotten himself really hurt. The people who brought him here had purchased him from his original human scant minutes before he was going into the auction ring, a sure death sentence for a horse in his condition. Once he got here, we put him on a medicine & supplement program & started him on a regular walking regimen. Somewhere during this year-&-a-half long program, old Levi receded into the distance & Mistah Lee began to emerge. And Mistah Lee is a far different horse than the guy who came in here that late-Winter afternoon. Mistah Lee now walks with barely a limp, stands for the farrier, has girlfriends all up & down the shed row (he fancies himself as quite the Casanova) & holds his head up as high as any horse on the ranch. And he has the prettiest whinny of any horse I’ve ever heard. It sounds like music. Ladies & gentlemen, Mistah Lee is in the house!
	M’STOR M’STOR broke his knee in a race at Turf Paradise in Phoenix in the fall of 2006. A slab fracture, where the bone fractures like an earthquake – part of it just separates from itself. Bad injury. He was only three years old. He was here the next day. It was either come here or get loaded onto a truck to the slaughterhouse in Texas. The universe brought him here. Lucky for all of us. The doctor said at the time that three things could happen: it would heal well enough for him to be ridden easily at a walk or slow trot some day; it would heal enough for him to have a comfortable life in the pasture; or it wouldn’t heal and he’d lose his life. It’s healed remarkably well and the doc said he has 90 percent flexibility in the knee. Yay! When he first got here, M’Stor didn’t know how to behave around humans. He’d try to bite all the time and didn’t want to be touched at all. He’d probably gone from being a young, young horse directly into the rather impersonal (for the horses) and very demanding world of horse racing. But, like his broken knee, that behavior is all in his past. He’s now the most loving guy – I often stand with him, our faces pressed together, my arms around his neck, the two of us silently sharing our secrets. Wherever we’ve been, whatever we’ve both been through, passing between our spirits. And, for that moment, it’s just the two of us in the world.
	RUSTY Because he’s originally from Arkansas, this boy’s sometimes referred to as “RustyBob”. He’s a Quarter Horse & a pretty one at that. He can’t really be ridden anymore because he has some issues in his rear wheels. Not bad ones – he can still fly around the arena like a young colt – but enough to preclude two-legged baggage. There’s really no other way to say this....Rusty has a snout that looks like a cow. Yep. A Guernsey, I’d say. With sweet, sweet eyes to match. Heck, everything about Rusty is sweet. He’s a friend to all, two- & four-legged alike. He’s never meet another spirit he doesn’t like. Or a flake of alfalfa. When feeding time rolls around, ol’ Rusty’s not backward about being forward in the vocal department: “Hey! Me! Don’t forget about me! I’m hungry, too!” Don’t worry, my sweet, bovine-faced boy. We’ll never forget about you.
	SEDONA Sedona’s a big Warmblood & lives next door to Sweet Boy. They’re often referred to as “The Highwaymen” because they have no compunction about assailing anyone who passes in their never-ending quest to empty the treat can that stands right next to them. Sedona has a chronic problem with one of his tendons & can’t be ridden anymore. That doesn’t mean he can’t run around to his heart’s delight, just not with a two-legged on his back. And, every morning, he & Sweet Boy are the first into the arena. And, every morning, they tear around & chase each other & get up on their hind legs & box & create a dust cloud that doesn’t settle for a good fifteen minutes. Sedona’s favorite trick – he thinks it’s his job - is to see to it that the water tank in the arena is either completely emptied or completely full of dirt before he goes home every morning. And every morning, on his way home, he says, “Hey, somebody better do something about that water tank. It’s a mess.” Thanks, big guy.
	SLAYER His name has nothing to do with his personality. Seems his old human had a predilection for heavy-metal bands. At least she didn’t call him “Ratt”. Slayer’s a big Thoroughbred, well over 16 hands. He never raced, though. When he got here, he had a pretty bad back & we had Dr. Wood, the vet/equine chiropractor, fix him up. In taking him through his post-adjustment exercises, I found that Slayer has a trot like a metronome. It’s just wonderful. So is he. Except when the food cart comes around. He thinks it’s his job to pull it toward him & eat anything contained therein. More often than not, this little trick results in the cart getting knocked over & the air becoming rather blue with admonitions. He thinks it’s fun, though, so what’s a few choice curse words between friends? He & M’Stor & Iron Man share common fences & they all hang out together doing their level best to empty water tanks & so on. This little triumvirate is, at various times, referred to as “The Three Amigos”, “The Three Musketeers”, “Huey, Dewey & Louie” & “Curly, Larry & Moe”. Take your pick. One real nice thing about Slayer: he’s not into head-banging.
	SOLO SOLO, a Saddlebred, purports to be #2 in the herd hierarchy. I say “purports” because although his leadership may come in time, he has a lot to learn. He still thinks leadership is all about physical presence & intimidation. He’s learning from John & Moose but, truth be told, the others think of him a bit as a wiseass & kind of a bully. He has fun, though. We have one of those big blue plastic barrels & Solo often rolls it around the field, pushing it with his nose. He can get the thing going pretty fast & trots behind it sending all over the place. Everybody else scatters when Solo is on the loose with his barrel. He loves to play with the water tanks & can spend endless minutes kicking them with his front hoof, watching the water slosh around. His sense of timing is remarkable & it usually sounds like somebody beating a big bass drum to a perfect rhythm. Under saddle, there is nobody better. Solo has a a slow, smooth, steady trot that can last for days & his canter is equally as smooth & reliable. Once he & the rider properly connect (& he doesn’t suffer fools gladly), he’s magical. One of his front teeth has a big chip broken off & I sometimes accuse him from coming from a trailer park.
	SUZIE Q SUZIE Q is a big, beautiful dark bay Thoroughbred, just under 17 hands tall. We rescued her from a woman who was desperate to get a horse for the show ring. Not to show off the horse, mind you, but to show off herself. A really nasty piece of work. Shortly after this woman got her, Suze developed a hairline fracture of the right front sesamoid bone. “What?!?”, the woman shrieked. “I don’t want a horse with a broken foot!” I did and said so and Suze was ours on the spot. Suzie loves to be loved. She can’t get enough rubbing and scratching and just buries her nose in the crook of your arm. She also loves water. She always “helps” with the water tanks and is personally responsible for the irretrievable loss of thousands of gallons (she always pulls the hose out when you’re not looking). And when it’s hot and we spray them down, Suze thinks it’s her personal shower time. If she’s not getting sprayed directly, she conveniently steps on the hose and nobody gets wet ‘til she’s good and wet again. When she first was introduced into the field, Dawnie couldn’t stand her. They’d be maybe 100 feet apart and all of a sudden, Dawn would get a notion in her pretty little head and charge clear across the field just to bite Suze in the butt. It was funny to everybody but Suzie. Now, they get along pretty well and hang out together often though Dawn, about two-thirds the size of Suze, is still the boss-lady. Suze doesn’t mind.
	SWEET BOY SWEET BOY must have been really badly abused somewhere along the line. Oh, he’s happy now and a lot more trusting than he was when he first got here, but he must have one nasty story to tell. First of all, he must have had a human that was brutal when saddling him – kicked him in the belly, yanked hard and fast on the cinch – something like that. Because whenever you put a saddle on him he whipped that ol’ head around pretty violently. He’s getting a lot better because we are always as gentle as possible but it’s pretty obvious that old scars run deep. He was very headshy and didn’t want anybody to touch him. He was downright nippy and obstreperous on a simple lead rope. A real loner. A sadness in his eyes. And he has the most unique eyes – they’re light brown so you can read almost his every emotion. Realizing he had a lot of adjusting to do, we decided to just let him be a horse for a year or so with no other pressures. It seems to be working because the nippiness is gone and he leads quite nicely. It’s about time to get a saddle on him again because once you get past all the problems of tacking him, he’s a terrific horse – walks, trots and canters virtually on command and does each with grace. Oh, that sadness in his eyes? It’s been replaced by mischievouness. And that’s so nice to see. The story of Sweet Boy raises the ever-present question: Why do so many two-leggeds have to be so mean to horses when all they really want to do is please them?
	TARZAN TARZAN is an enigma. I wish I knew his whole story, but it must not be a pretty one. Tarzan is a big, robust Quarter horse and he’s blind in his left eye. The woman who dropped him off said he’d been a champion rodeo horse – a hazer for a calf-roping team. And she said he’d gotten blinded in a trailer accident seven years earlier. Tarzan tells quite a different story. First, when Tarzan got here, he continually craned his neck so he could see everything with his one good eye. Horses, like people, learn to adjust. Two-and-a-half years after Tarzan arrived, he’s begun to adjust pretty well. But he hadn’t been blind for seven years, like the woman said. Nor had he been injured in a trailer accident. If that had been the case, Tarzan would never go near a trailer again. We’ve had him in a trailer twice and each time he’s walked straight in, pretty as you please. But you can’t get anywhere near him with a rake. Nope, Tarzan tells us the woman lied. Tarzan had been blinded in that eye just prior to his being dropped off – and he’d been nailed by a rake or something like it. Horses don’t lie. Tarzan still doesn’t want virtually anything to do with humans. I can sidle up to him and pet his right side now and then and he’ll take carrots and treats pretty well, but that’s after two-plus years of daily close proximity to him. Tarzan must have spent years being brutalized by a human or humans in one way or another. He’s contented now, though. And you can tell he’d like to trust somebody. It’ll happen on his time, though, and not a minute beforehand.
	TED Ted’s an ex-racer that also came from South America – Peru, we think, based upon his lip tattoo. We got a call one time from a young woman down in Tucson. Seems she had this big horse who scared her absolutely to death. Every time she took him out, he acted up: reared, bucked, kicked – all of that. She was in fear of her life & didn’t want him any more, but wanted him to have a good home. When he got here, it was evident that his back was killing him. And it was also evident that, because he knew the young woman didn’t know what she was doing, he figured if he went with her, she might make his back hurt worse than it did. So he took it upon himself to tell her to leave him alone. When Dr. Wood looked at him, he said Ted must’ve been in agony for over a decade. We fixed him up. And today? Why, today Ted’s a pussycat. A pussycat that’s learned that if he makes a racket by banging his hoof on his fence rail long enough, somebody will give him a treat to make him stop.
	VENTURE I met Venture in a back yard in Thousand Oaks, CA. several years ago. And he’s turned into just about my best friend in the world. He’s an Arabian – a Polish Arabian - & there’s not a strand of any fiber of his being that has a mean streak woven into it. He’s pure innocence on four hooves. And he just loves to wander about the countryside being ridden bareback. And to stick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, a la Michael Jordan. He had a best friend one time. Jericho. Those two were inseparable, 24/7. So I kind of left Venture to Jericho for a few years. They were having too much fun together for me to intrude. Then Jericho died. And Venture was left alone. Because some clouds have silver linings, that’s given Venture & me the opportunity to be together again. And every morning, I ride him around the ranch or up the road into the desert. And then we make our way back to the breezeway in the barn. I jump down & go about my business & Venture just kind of hangs out & wanders around loose, following me if I look like I’m off to round up somebody’s food. He lives in the field with several others & he’s nowhere near the top of the pecking order there. But he has a title that no one else on the ranch has: The Mayor of the Breezeway. Gosh, I love that guy.