When I hear the term kid horse, I automatically think of an old horse. My first horse was old, and those we have had for the children and grandchildren have been old. They have passed the stage of being too frisky for an inexperienced rider.
Flood waters around the state in the past few weeks brought stories of stranded animals. While watching pictures of horse rescues in the Houston area, I thought of Shadow. I first saw Shadow when our youngest son bought her for his daughters. She had once been in the remuda for mounted corrections guards at the state prison in Huntsville, Texas. As she got older, she went to a Boy Scout camp. My son bought her from the camp for his young daughters. She was sometimes in Weatherford and sometimes here in Stephenville She was a gentle, friendly horse. As the girls grew older, they were involved in too many activities to have time for riding. She finally went to the ranch of one of Ken’s cousins in Oklahoma to be ridden by his young grandchildren.
The Washita River runs through the cousin’s property, and it flooded last year. Three of their horses became stranded on a little island in the river. I watched a video of the horses swimming for their lives as they were coaxed and led through the rushing water. I heard the whistles and calls of those on dry land. When I heard the encouraging voice of a cousin calling “come on Shadow,” tears came to my eyes. It was thrilling to watch the three horses reach solid ground and slosh their way out of the water.
stranded coming out of the water
Shadow was no longer ridden by the children. We prepared to bring her back to Stephenville to live out her remaining days. His cousin found her dead in a pasture the morning we were to get her.
We took two horses to Harlingen when the children were small. One had not been ridden for several years, and the other was unbroken. The children were told that Ken would need to ride the horses first. He would break one and get the other accustomed to being ridden again.
The process started one morning in a plowed field behind our house. Our youngest son, Charles, would not stop pestering his Dad to let him ride. He watched from a back porch as Ken got on the horse that had not been ridden in a while. Ken was immediately thrown off. The horse came to the back of the house. Ken led him back to the field, and the horse dumped him again. The horse walked back to the house. After the process had been repeated the third time and Ken was limping back to the house, our son yelled, “Dad, that’s all right. “I will ride some other time.” He went into the house and did not mention riding again for several weeks. Ken’s persistence paid off, and he got the horse under control by the end of the day. The horse was not old, and he was not a horse for the children to ride.
We decided on a calmer, older horse for the children. We bought Mister, a horse retired from duties on the King Ranch. He was patient and protective of his young mounts. Kevin, our oldest son, was on him one afternoon when the girth began to slip. The saddle slid until Kevin was underneath Mister. The horse stopped dead still, turned his head as Kevin dropped to the ground, and watched the boy get up. He did not move until Kevin adjusted the girth and remounted.
Mister made the move with us to Georgetown in 1972. He had been in South Texas all of his life. Winter was unusually cold that year. Mister had never seen snow and ice. Ken went to extra efforts to protect the old horse. We were not letting the children ride him by this time. When fall approached the next year, Ken began to wonder if Mister could survive another winter. Neither of us had the heart to have him put down. He did not seem to be suffering. He saved us from having to make that difficult decision. One morning in early fall, he simply lay down and died. He was a true “kid horse.”
One of our nieces who lived in town wanted a horse. She begged and begged for a horse. Finally, Ken promised her that he would give her Mister’s first colt and would also persuade her parents to keep it. She waited and waited. She was in junior high school before she realized that Mister would never have a colt. She has never forgiven Ken. He did give her a horse many years later when she had her first child. It was a custom made, wooden rocking horse with the name “Little Mister” stenciled on the side. She refers to Ken (fondly) as her “Old Horse trader.”
My favorite old horse was Dugout: a horse that had been my brother’s, sold, and bought back for me. I wrote about him earlier as “A Good Old Horse.” He was just what I needed. He never tried to unseat me and was patient with me. I was not to run him, but I did, when no one was watching. (It is hard to believe that I ever disobeyed.) I thought that he could run like the wind. When I was in junior high, I got a young paint mare. She was young, frisky, and could run like the wind.
Any visiting city friends who wanted to ride were allowed to ride Dugout, and I rode the mare. One afternoon a friend wanted to race. I told her no. She ignored me and started Dugout running… I took off after her to try and stop him. I could not. He was determined that the young horse was not going to catch him. We had quite a race. At that point, I stopped the mare hoping that Dugout would stop. He did not stop until he got good and ready. He passed the point where we were to turn into our yard. My Dad happened to see the incident. I was told that whenever she visited again that we were to ride bicycles.