This is my experience, and has been successful to me. I have trained horses both professionally, and for private pleasure. I have imprinted over thirty foals in my life successfully, four of which were my own. I have taken Parelli courses, and Irwin courses, whenever I had the opportunity. As a younger person I was fortunate to have ridden with trainers; such as the original Pat Carter, Neil Simpson, Archie McArther, Keith Brown, and my black smith was one of the original cowboys Leroy Kufskey (the author of Cowboy English/English Cowboy :) )
In my early years I did not show horses, I followed a very good friend as she showed in the sporting events, and pleasure, often coming away with the first prize. My biggest pleasure with our local club 'Central Saddle Club' was to join it's members in long weekend trail rides, or Saturday shoe followed by a Country Western Dance. Getting up at 5 a.m. and going to the boarding barn, feeding the horses, tacking up, filling the saddlebags with food and drink, and meeting at a local country corner, sometimes as many as 20, but generally around twelve. These are some of my best memories in life. Often we would get a call, like an emergency fireman, help the cattle broke the fence down and are all over the country side, or our ponies broke through the fence by the highway again. I have gone back into the bush and found lost calves, laid them over my saddle and tied them down, and carried them back to the owners barn, and been chased by bulls in fields, but mostly my adventures were by those more experienced than me.
My first foal 'Buddy' was born to a tobiano liver and white paint mare called 'Choctaw', That was not her show name, and she was a Quarterhorse/Paint cross registered, sired out of Painted Skipper, Painted Skipper was Canadian Champian, owned by the Rileys, just outside of Paris Ontario. Choctaw was later bought by a blacksmith out of Paris ON, and was to go on and win m any ribbons like her sire, at Quarterama, and other natianal shows. Choctaw was far to young to have foaled, only turning two. The Sire was her half brother, another two year old Stud, also sired by Painted Skipper. The owner and his wife, had loved the Painted Skipper line, and bought two yearlings to break and train. The owners exact words exact words to me, were, "well I never thought a brother and sister would mate'.....both of his horses were registered Quarterhorse/Paints, he gelded his stud, and because I had been working with Choctaw the mare, and had been the one to notice she was pregnant, he gave me the solid colored dun foal for the cost of the vet bill. I worked with him from the moment he was born, with the coaching of my land lord, Art Brewer. (another story all together, I am sure).
We started the imprinting, as I always would follow with the rest of my days. My ways a little more patient, but I listened and learned. Teaching him not to bite, haltering him right from the first day, so it meant nothing to him. Knotting the lead line to hang, so he would not trip up, but was comfortable for the pull of the lead line to the halter. I would get up and drive out to the barn, every morning, before work, and every night after work. Teaching him how to lead, flanking him, trailering him, walking him like a dog down to the rail way tracks. I shot guns around him, had transports blow their horns at him, waited for the train to pass with him. All this before his sixth Month. I walked him with a pony saddle when he was little, then as he grew the saddle grew. I went for long trail rides with my mare, or his Mother, ponying him behind, or I just walked him like a dog on foot. By the time he was two, and ready to break, I was riding him around the paddock, with all the horses watching him, he never minded, and never had separation anxiety, because he trusted and loved me as I did him. I rode him for the first time, at two and a half, down by the railway tracks with a friend , and we stood, Buddy and I relaxed and still, as my friends horse tried to bolt with the train whisking bye
When Buddy was just over two, I was thinking I would like to show him, and at the same time found out I was pregnant with my first son, so not to loose time, in the period I could not ride, I sent him to Pat Carter's to be trained. Within two weeks, Pat called me back, I remember I had just had my C section, and had a newborn, I brought him with me to the barn. Pat told me she had him side pathing in a few minutes, she could not believe how quiet he was, she said I had done a great job. Buddy did everything she asked him and more, he loved the ride of Horse and rider. However, I told her I was not confident, for his age that leaving him sit until I got better was the best thing to do, she agreed, and I kept him at her barn another three weeks, then she and I rode down the road together, while she instructed my leg cues for him. Pat praised him all the way, and I was never so proud.
Buddy will always be my first love. He was such a good boy, but when I found out, in his third year I was pregnant with my second child, I knew he needed a better owner. One that could take him to where he was to go. I advertised, and went through several people before I sold him to the right owner. A blacksmith and showman near MaryHill, ON. The man told me you are the first person, in all the horses I have looked at that knew her horse. You described him to a tee, and I thought it was to good to be true. He allowed me to come out and see his facility, which was as organised back then, as some of the best professional barns I have seen, he was a modern thinker, of horse first. I knew this was the right place for Buddy. Buddy had taught me many things, mostly patience. Today if he would still be alive, Buddy would be around 16 hands, and 34 years old, he has probably long since joined his Mother in the big pasture in the sky. Buddy went on to win many ribbons, and trophies, locally and nationally. Which is exactly what I felt he could do. I missed him always, but never had any regrets, for I know he was well loved and taken care of to the end of his days.
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Saturday, 25 May 2013
The White Horse ehttps://www.google.ca/search?q=White+Quarter+Horse+Arabian+cross&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSWAkvunjywfT1FhpECxCwjKcIGjIKMAgBEgrjA-ID5wPoA-EDGiCQm2dRZ8PwFeg2ufZratpCt2t3zCk3eYCEWE4Q3bhhpgwLEI6u_1ggaAAwhBSKWnIKPIgw&sa=X&ei=OOmgUZaiLo74qAHXjIEY&ved=0CCYQwg4oAA&biw=1024&bih=653
Let me start by saying I have been involved with a unique relationship with horses since I was nine. They have been a cathartic save to my life. Psychologically we shut down in shock, or just do not feel at all when we experience to much pain, tragedy, or mental abuse to young. When we are older and experience these same elements it generally turns to anger. If you have no outlet, four your negative energy, no balance, it turns inward, builds up, hurts you, and those around you. You must first be happy for anyone around you to be happy. Cathartic or not, work on yourself first, your choice, before you use your experiences to work on others.
I remember the first experience I had with a horse, it was in a dream. Some may scoff, others may see the light, and love, but it is my experience. I have an enormous capacity for memory, much to the chagrin of those that have caused me negative energy. However, my memory, is filled also with love, happiness, adventure, and amazing moments of light, I digress. The dream use to reoccur into my twenties. Always a white horse, a beautiful Arabian style head, with an old style quarter horse body. In the beginning, in my dream, this magnificent horse was running towards Highway 401, in a field, alongside the highway, Just outside of Windsor. The highway we always took to my Grandparents, when we crossed the U.S. border, from Windsor to Detroit. I would often wake, in that exact spot on the highway, before Windsor, from having fallen asleep in the care, and say, "Did anyone see the white horse?" It became humorous to my parent's and siblings travelling with us. There was never a white horse. We would stop in Windsor, at my cousins, then proceed to my Grandparent's house in Wesltland, to Glen Street. Where my knight in shinning armour awaited, my Grandpa John.
My first love in life was my Grandpa John, my second horses, my third dogs, they all loved me unconditionally, as I was. On with the white horse. .....
I had suffered, as many have, as a child, sexual abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse; the sexual abuse a neighbours Grandfather. My mind had no where to turn, I was a quiet child, most times, the youngest, in my first Family of four French/Metis children. The White Horse often appeared at moments of transition in my life. Something significant always happened when I saw the White horse.
My Grandfather died, when I was fourteen, May of my fifteenth year, I was devastated. My Mother had remarried, when I was six, and my step Father later adopted me. However, it was my Grandfather that had been the important male figure in my life. He is and will always be with me, in heart, and in spirit.
On the way to my Grandfather's funeral, just outside of Windsor Ontario, my parents were trying to cheer me up. My littlest brother, from this second marriage, was sitting with me in the car. My parent's started to tease, and say remember the White Horse? Just as we approached where I always dream the White horse to be. My Father pulled over, and the car went quiet, for there running towards the fence, in an open field, sided by woods on each side (a hydro tower path), was my White Horse, when the White Horse reached the fence, he tossed his head, his white mane full and flying, a magnificent site, my parents just sat looking at each other in silence. No one ever mentioned it again, as we entered back onto the highway, and continued on the most tragic event of my life, my Grandpa John's funeral.
It was years before I saw my White Horse again, and I had owned a few horses of my own since then, never forgetting my first, in my dreams.
I had almost died with my first son, an unreported hole in my heart. Doctors had thought, that as a child my hole would mend on it's own. Never mentioned, yet the culprit of years of Asthma, and breathing problems during athletic events, the hole remained small and unseen. In pregnancy, the blood pumping for two causing my heart rate to beat faster, and straining the heart beat of my unborn child as he grew, worsening as the time of delivery became closer. 'Healthy hips' the doctor had said, later to find my childhood abuse had damaged my uterus to the point I could never have a child natural and required corrective uterine surgery, so emergency C section it was. As they put me under the anesthetic I could still hear the Dr.'s and nurses talking, I felt the cut of the knife. With clarity I saw the vision of a three year old young boy, with the curliest white hair, and most beautiful long lashed hazel eyes, riding naked, bare back astride my White Horse, hands placed on the withers, relaxed with purpose and direction riding towards earth. The White Horse looked at me, his brilliant eyes kind, as if to say, this is your gift, he will bring you love. I spoke out loud of what I saw, I heard the nurses chuckle. One a personal friend remembered. They announced my son, as I drifted off. When I first saw him he looked nothing like the child of my vision, but by the time he was two, his beautiful, thick, long lashed, hazel eyes, and his, kinky white curls, was bringing much love and adventure to his Father and my life.
My second son, well, times had become tragic, his Father and I were struggling, my health was waning, I was not to have gotten pregnant with him. The Dr.'s had done repair to my uterus, and had known I was pregnant, but felt the baby would abort. They discussed it with my husband, but not me. It was to the surprise of my husband, and Dr. when I started having morning sickness a month after the surgery. Both husband, at the time, and Dr. being adamant, I had to have an abortion or I would never bare another child. I looked at them as if they were both insane, and told them I guess I will never have another child, because this one was meant to be, or he would not be inside me. The were more prepared near the end, I spent three weeks in the hospital, luckily I had other friends there also having children, we were able to entertain ourselves from boredom. Again another C section 21 months after my first son, and six months after my Uterine suspension, the anaesthetised me. Again my White Horse appeared as I heard the nurse, a friend of mine, say, "OH, what a beautiful girl", then I heard the Dr. say "can you not see that", but I had already known, as the White Horse looked at me in my vision, with a three year old golden, curly, haired, blond boy, bareback astride it, hands on withers riding towards earth.
Both my boys, have been my light, my love, my sanity, and strength. There were times I never thought I would make it, but for them. They also have had to endure, loss, pain, disappointment. However, they have always remained my strength, light, and love. Independent, with purpose, they carry on in their own lives. My brilliant lights, my warriors.
I have had many horses, but never a white horse. Each horse has always had the white base coat. Oddly Quarter Horse Paint crosses. Always special and enlightening. My first horse was a Mare I named Brandy Wine, my second a foal I imprinted from birth, named Buddy, my third a Registered Palomino/Sabina named Lacey. Lacey gave me two foals, Lew, a beautiful red Dun Tobiano, with a Bear head and shoulders on his chest, and the full body of the bear climbing under his left side belly, on his right shoulder he had a hill of red dun color with a Mama bear near the top, and two cubs climbing up. On his back right hind quarters he had the map of Florida with two little islands; her second foal was Abbey, 'Abbeniezer sneazer' a more golden Dun, with white socks, and a white blaze. Abbey gave me Dancer, Dancer wanted to be a buckskin, but with her black mane and tail and black socks, she still had one white cannon. With the cartoon Sheep dog sitting on her face in white. A golden sheen coming through, almost a bronze copper coat. All registered Paints, I had bred back to Quarter Horse/thoroughbred lines. Beautiful, loving, grounded spirits, well except Lew, but that is another story. :) But never a White Horse..... I think when my son's have Children, I will buy a white foal, to signify a new beginning.
Thank you for sharing... God Bless
I remember the first experience I had with a horse, it was in a dream. Some may scoff, others may see the light, and love, but it is my experience. I have an enormous capacity for memory, much to the chagrin of those that have caused me negative energy. However, my memory, is filled also with love, happiness, adventure, and amazing moments of light, I digress. The dream use to reoccur into my twenties. Always a white horse, a beautiful Arabian style head, with an old style quarter horse body. In the beginning, in my dream, this magnificent horse was running towards Highway 401, in a field, alongside the highway, Just outside of Windsor. The highway we always took to my Grandparents, when we crossed the U.S. border, from Windsor to Detroit. I would often wake, in that exact spot on the highway, before Windsor, from having fallen asleep in the care, and say, "Did anyone see the white horse?" It became humorous to my parent's and siblings travelling with us. There was never a white horse. We would stop in Windsor, at my cousins, then proceed to my Grandparent's house in Wesltland, to Glen Street. Where my knight in shinning armour awaited, my Grandpa John.
My first love in life was my Grandpa John, my second horses, my third dogs, they all loved me unconditionally, as I was. On with the white horse. .....
I had suffered, as many have, as a child, sexual abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse; the sexual abuse a neighbours Grandfather. My mind had no where to turn, I was a quiet child, most times, the youngest, in my first Family of four French/Metis children. The White Horse often appeared at moments of transition in my life. Something significant always happened when I saw the White horse.
My Grandfather died, when I was fourteen, May of my fifteenth year, I was devastated. My Mother had remarried, when I was six, and my step Father later adopted me. However, it was my Grandfather that had been the important male figure in my life. He is and will always be with me, in heart, and in spirit.
On the way to my Grandfather's funeral, just outside of Windsor Ontario, my parents were trying to cheer me up. My littlest brother, from this second marriage, was sitting with me in the car. My parent's started to tease, and say remember the White Horse? Just as we approached where I always dream the White horse to be. My Father pulled over, and the car went quiet, for there running towards the fence, in an open field, sided by woods on each side (a hydro tower path), was my White Horse, when the White Horse reached the fence, he tossed his head, his white mane full and flying, a magnificent site, my parents just sat looking at each other in silence. No one ever mentioned it again, as we entered back onto the highway, and continued on the most tragic event of my life, my Grandpa John's funeral.
It was years before I saw my White Horse again, and I had owned a few horses of my own since then, never forgetting my first, in my dreams.
I had almost died with my first son, an unreported hole in my heart. Doctors had thought, that as a child my hole would mend on it's own. Never mentioned, yet the culprit of years of Asthma, and breathing problems during athletic events, the hole remained small and unseen. In pregnancy, the blood pumping for two causing my heart rate to beat faster, and straining the heart beat of my unborn child as he grew, worsening as the time of delivery became closer. 'Healthy hips' the doctor had said, later to find my childhood abuse had damaged my uterus to the point I could never have a child natural and required corrective uterine surgery, so emergency C section it was. As they put me under the anesthetic I could still hear the Dr.'s and nurses talking, I felt the cut of the knife. With clarity I saw the vision of a three year old young boy, with the curliest white hair, and most beautiful long lashed hazel eyes, riding naked, bare back astride my White Horse, hands placed on the withers, relaxed with purpose and direction riding towards earth. The White Horse looked at me, his brilliant eyes kind, as if to say, this is your gift, he will bring you love. I spoke out loud of what I saw, I heard the nurses chuckle. One a personal friend remembered. They announced my son, as I drifted off. When I first saw him he looked nothing like the child of my vision, but by the time he was two, his beautiful, thick, long lashed, hazel eyes, and his, kinky white curls, was bringing much love and adventure to his Father and my life.
My second son, well, times had become tragic, his Father and I were struggling, my health was waning, I was not to have gotten pregnant with him. The Dr.'s had done repair to my uterus, and had known I was pregnant, but felt the baby would abort. They discussed it with my husband, but not me. It was to the surprise of my husband, and Dr. when I started having morning sickness a month after the surgery. Both husband, at the time, and Dr. being adamant, I had to have an abortion or I would never bare another child. I looked at them as if they were both insane, and told them I guess I will never have another child, because this one was meant to be, or he would not be inside me. The were more prepared near the end, I spent three weeks in the hospital, luckily I had other friends there also having children, we were able to entertain ourselves from boredom. Again another C section 21 months after my first son, and six months after my Uterine suspension, the anaesthetised me. Again my White Horse appeared as I heard the nurse, a friend of mine, say, "OH, what a beautiful girl", then I heard the Dr. say "can you not see that", but I had already known, as the White Horse looked at me in my vision, with a three year old golden, curly, haired, blond boy, bareback astride it, hands on withers riding towards earth.
Both my boys, have been my light, my love, my sanity, and strength. There were times I never thought I would make it, but for them. They also have had to endure, loss, pain, disappointment. However, they have always remained my strength, light, and love. Independent, with purpose, they carry on in their own lives. My brilliant lights, my warriors.
I have had many horses, but never a white horse. Each horse has always had the white base coat. Oddly Quarter Horse Paint crosses. Always special and enlightening. My first horse was a Mare I named Brandy Wine, my second a foal I imprinted from birth, named Buddy, my third a Registered Palomino/Sabina named Lacey. Lacey gave me two foals, Lew, a beautiful red Dun Tobiano, with a Bear head and shoulders on his chest, and the full body of the bear climbing under his left side belly, on his right shoulder he had a hill of red dun color with a Mama bear near the top, and two cubs climbing up. On his back right hind quarters he had the map of Florida with two little islands; her second foal was Abbey, 'Abbeniezer sneazer' a more golden Dun, with white socks, and a white blaze. Abbey gave me Dancer, Dancer wanted to be a buckskin, but with her black mane and tail and black socks, she still had one white cannon. With the cartoon Sheep dog sitting on her face in white. A golden sheen coming through, almost a bronze copper coat. All registered Paints, I had bred back to Quarter Horse/thoroughbred lines. Beautiful, loving, grounded spirits, well except Lew, but that is another story. :) But never a White Horse..... I think when my son's have Children, I will buy a white foal, to signify a new beginning.
Thank you for sharing... God Bless
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