2011 Can't Do It Anymore

I have been to Emerald Downs five times.  The first time was great.  I loved watching the horses in the paddock and following them to the track.  I even placed a few bets and visited the gift shop.  

The second time  I fell in love with a black mare named "She's All Silk".  I had particularly noticed her because she reminded me very much of a horse I loved dearly in my childhood (a black Thoroughbred steeplechaser named Gilda).  As she walked to the track she turned and looked at me, right into my eyes.  A few minutes later she was dead.  It literally made me sick to my stomach and after seeing how insignificant the incident seemed to the public, I left.

She's All Silk

The third time was good, it was a somewhat cloudy day and I did not stay too long.  No one died that day, at least not while I was there.

The fourth time i saw a beautiful gray horse go down after the finish line. He actually fell over from exhaustion.  I thought I was seeing another fatality.  This happened where everyone was watching.  A few people were concerned.  Then, miracle of miracles, he got up and walked into the ambulance.  Apparently he was okay.

Gray horse down and then back up

The fifth time was yesterday (Sunday) when I saw "Shesawalkingbeauty" die.  She was close to the lead and she stumbled and was pulled up.  Apparently she broke her sesamoids and now she is dead too.

ShesAWalkingBeauty

I go to Emerald Downs because I love horses and it breaks my heart to be away from them.  I love watching them before they are saddled, their silly tongues hanging over the bit, their smell, their big eyes, their nostrils flaring, their beautiful silky coats, the never-ending variety of colors.  The nobility and elegance of these beautiful creatures is unlike anything else on earth.  But as much as I love them, I can't bear to see the tragedies.  I just don't think I can do it anymore.

1957 Horse Dentist

Much of my childhood (and adulthood for that matter) was spent in a dentist's chair.

In Normandy, after I was caught not going to my dentist appointments after school, my mother drove me to Le Havre to a fancy dentist.  I seem to recall that I was getting my first caps.  My dentist was wonderful.  He was very brusque and abrupt with Mother and she wasn't used to that.  She thought everyone was charmed by her.  But to me, maybe for that very reason, he was amazing.  After the first few visits, we started talking and he told me he had horses.  He invited me to go horseback riding with him one weekend.  

I never thought my parents would agree to it, but they did!  My mother drove me to his farm near Le Havre, and left me there for the day.  Mme. Le Dentist made us lunches and off we went, just the 2 of us.  We rode all over the area, down dirt roads and across fields.  I was riding his daughter's horse and he was perfect.  When we were about to stop and have lunch it started pouring rain, so we found a barn and we and the horses spent an hour or so inside that barn while it poured down rain inside.  I have no idea what we talked about, horses no doubt, not about teeth.  

By the time we got back to his house, my mother was there chatting happily with Mme. Le Dentist (who seemed properly charmed).  I was so blown away by my day that I barely talked all the way home.  That day stayed with me a very long time.  It was the first time I understood how it would be if I had a horse of my own.  

1959 My Stable

When we returned to the US from Normandy, I was very depressed.  On Friday, I was in my home in Notre Dame de Gravenchon, and on Sunday I was on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean.  I did not adjust well.  

For a couple of weeks, we lived in Chestnut Hill near Boston with my aunt Audrey, uncle Abbey, and cousins Paul and Douglas until we could get settled into our new house in Orono, Maine.  

One day, we all stopped at a Howard Johnson restaurant to eat.   I didn't talk much.  I just didn't really care about much of anything.  I just wanted to go home to Normandy.  Then, at the register, I saw a display with several Breyer horses.  One of them was a black stallion.  I made a comment about it, and the next thing I knew, the horse was mine.  My dear uncle Abbey realized that it was just what I needed.  I took that horse everywhere with me.  I made him a coat and a halter.

When we moved to Maine, I found a nice cardboard box and made him a stable.  There was a stall and a tack room.  I made him a saddle, bridle, and a couple of different colored halters, along with some blankets and coats.  I went out into the fields around our house and cut the tall grass and made him some hay and some hay bales.  I found things to use as buckets for oats and water, etc.  The stable had four walls, a window in the tack room, a door, a floor, and a ceiling so I could close it up when I wasn't playing with it.  I kept it in the barn because I got in trouble when the 'hay' fell all over my bedroom floor, and I played with it outside.  I had set up a spot outside I had made fences and paddocks.  When I took it out and set it up, it was perfect.

Every day I would go to the barn and get the stable and play with my horse.  It turned into quite a project and I was very proud of it.  My mother was pretty impressed, too, in fact, she made curtains for the tack room window.

One day I went out to get my stable and it was gone!  I looked everywhere.  It was nowhere.  I cried all day.  When my dad got home, we asked him if he's seen it.  He got a stricken look on his face and asked me where I kept it.  When I told him, he looked sick.  He said he was going to go fishing that weekend and the day before, he had stopped on his way home and gotten a big batch of nightcrawlers.  "I found a great box out in the barn right by the door," he said, "didn't even have to turn the light on."  

He took me outside and showed me the box of nightcrawlers that he had covered with a tarp.  

My beautiful stable was full of nightcrawlers.  He felt terrible.  He offered to make me a new one out of wood, we would make it together.  But I just didn't have the heart.  My beautiful horse was homeless from then on.

1980 Wings

One of our baby goats had interesting markings.  Like the other two, she was a pretty gray color (actually a tweedy blend of black and white called gray agouti) but she had two white markings on either side that looked like wings.   In fact, that became her name.  She was very cute.  She had a black muzzle and black legs, but most everything else was gray.  And of course, she had those wings.

Wings

Wings was the smaller of the two girls.  She was a little wilder, too.  She really loved my horse, Tug (we had sold Sugar by then and bought Tug).  When Tug would lie down in the sun, Wings would jump on his back and go to sleep.  I had put a big cable spool in the middle of our lot because Tug was very tall and I couldn't get on him without a saddle.  The spool was the only way to climb up on his back.  Wings soon discovered this.  I would hear her screaming and when I looked out the window, she would be standing on the spool yelling at Tug to come over so she could get on his back.  Usually, he did just that.  I was tempted to rename him America, so I could have Wings over America.

1980 Goats and Dancing Dervish

When I lived in Vernon, Texas, husband #2, Jim, and I decided we wanted to get some goats to keep my horse Sugar company.  He contacted Carter McGregor, a rancher who had bought some of his paintings.  Carter was a very well known horseman.  He said he had herds of goats, and of course we could have as many as we wanted.  


Not long after that, we went to the McGregor Ranch.  He took us out to the pasture where there were literally hundreds of goats roaming around, and told us to pick a couple.  We decided on a black nanny goat and a chocolate brown billy goat.  A couple of Carter's hands caught them and loaded them into the back of the pickup and the deal was done.  They were put in our horse trailer and we were taken on a tour of the ranch house.

It was amazing.  But the thing that really captivated me was a painting of the great Thoroughbred, Native Dancer.  When I asked Carter about it, he said he had something to show me.  We went out to the barn and he took me to a stall where a beautiful white horse was munching hay.  "That's Dancing Dervish", he said, "Native Dancer is his dad"  I was in awe, I got goosebumps, and I actually petted him.  I petted a son of Native Dancer.  When we went back to the house, Beth McGregor and Jim talked about art and paintings, but Carter and I talked about horses.  

Many years later, around 2007, I went to the local eye doctor in Aberdeen, Washington and for some reason, we started talking about horses.  He told me had a couple of racehorses and asked if I ever went to Emerald Downs, the track about 60 miles away.  I said that yes, I had gone many times.  Then I told him about the beautiful white race horse I had met so many years ago, Dancing Dervish.  He stared at me and said "Could you repeat that?"  I told him again that many years ago in Texas, I had met a beautiful white racehorse, a son of Native Dancer, named Dancing Dervish.  He shook his head and said, "It always amazes me what a small world it is.  I have a horse who is the grandson of Dancing Dervish".

1932 Horsefly

When my dad, Travis, was just a sprout, he desperately wanted a horse, but my grandmother Mary kept saying no, it was too dangerous.  Finally though, when he was 11 or 12, she agreed.  She told Earl what she expected and one day Earl came home with a horse trailer containing Travis's horse.   He was large, and a mangy white color.  Travis was not particularly impressed, but he was a horse, his own horse.  

After a few days, they got to know each other well enough, and he decided to set out for town to show his friends.  Off he went that morning.  Then, couple of hours later, Mary saw him walking back down the dirt road, dejected.  

When he got home, she asked "Where's the horse?  Did he throw you?"  "Of course not" Travis replied.  "He dropped dead right in the middle of the road!"  

My grandmother Mary felt so bad that she let Earl pick the next horse.  This one was black, and apparently very nasty.  He bit everyone and kicked everything.  His name was Horsefly.  He was impossible to ride, or even approach.

Finally, after Travis had been thrown several times, they all agreed that going from one extreme to the other was not a good idea.  This time, they would let Travis make the choice. 

They sold Horsefly and Travis found a little 2-year old filly that he named Pony.   She was a pretty girl, sorrel with a flaxen mane and tail.  My dad was the one who broke and trained her. I loved her.  She died at age 30, in 1952.

1956 La Societe Hippique du Havre

I still remember the name after over 60 years. Every week my mother would drive me to Le Havre, about an hour away so I could follow my passion, horses. The arena was in a big Quonset hut that had actually housed aircraft during the war, which was not so long before. My teacher was Odette. I’m not sure I remember her background, or even if i knew it. She was the instructor but she did not own the stable. There was a big covered arena inside the Quonset hut with sliding doors at one end. Attached to the hut was the stable with the school horses, as well as privately boarded horses. 

Odette was unlike any other teacher i had ever had. Although we were learning to jump, she drilled us unmercifully on the basics. We would have to post without stirrups. Sometimes she would make us ride bareback; often she just took the stirrups off the saddles. She would take the reins and tie them up around the horse’s ears so we had to direct them with weight and legs, then she would have us do circles in the inside of the ring. She would have us lie down on the horse, leaning back on the rump. We would have to do circles and serpentines with our arms crossed and no stirrups. We even had to ride backwards and use our weight. When we were learning balance to start jumping, we didn't have stirrups on the saddle for weeks at a time. She took the stirrups off the saddles and put paper francs between our knees and the saddle. She would stand in the center of the ring with a big long whip and and whenever she saw a franc flutter to the ground, she would crack that whip. The horse would jump and many a time the rider ended up on the ground. I had such bad blisters on the insides of my knees from gripping the saddle that I had to have antibiotic treatment for months and I had scars for years. 

Sometimes if my mother was late picking me up I would help Odette clean the equipment. Once she took me upstairs to her apartment and talked to me a little about the war and about the planes bombing the area. I had noticed when whenever a plane flew over, she tensed up. She told me both her parents had been killed in bombing raids. I thought she had a perfect life, living above the stable, with her own horse. 

I don't really remember any other people in the classes. They weren't always the same; we would advance depending on our skills. I do remember we always had to wear our 'bombe', which was a steel helmet covered with velvet. I fell a lot and got bumped and bruised but never really hurt. But one of the girls came to class without her bombe one day. Odette didn’t want her to ride, but her mother insisted.  She said that had driven too far for her not to. The inside of the Quonset had wooden walls up to about 8 feet to make a straight vertical wall. Odette had us trotting around the arena and posting without stirrups. Suddenly, a bird flew out in front of this girl's horse and spooked him. He jumped and she fell. Apparently she was cheating and had her outside foot still in the stirrup, which kept her off balance. When the horse jumped she fell to the right, against the wall, and her foot got caught in the stirrup. Her banging against the wood scared the horse even more, and when he finally stopped she was unconscious. Actually, I thought she was dead. They took her away in an ambulance and later we found out she was in a coma. I don't know if she ever recovered. 

I came home from school one Friday in 1959 and my parents told me we were leaving, going back to the United States, leaving on Sunday, in 2 days and my whole life was shattered. 

1957 Gilda

I remember when Gilda arrived.  A trailer pulled up and Odette said it was the school’s new horse.  She seemed excited, and as I watched, a beautiful black horse, shiny and sweaty backed out of the trailer.  She stood and shook her head.  She had such a presence.  In later years when I would watch the TV show ’Fury’, I thought of Gilda on that first day, that moment.  It was love at first sight for me.  

They walked her over around a bit and then Odette asked if anyone dared ride her.  I didn’t think she really meant it, but I said “Me, me, please me”.  They saddled her and up I got.  I remember on the far end of the ring were a few jumps set up for Glycine, my dream horse.  

I gathered the reins, and we started to walk.  She was like a dream. Then I felt her tighten up a bit.  “Go ahead and trot her and maybe try a canter if you dare” Odette shouted me.  (Why “if you dare“?).  I squeezed my legs and felt her tense up and quiver and I knew what was coming.  All of a sudden, she collected herself and then expanded like a spring and we were gone.  

I lost my stirrups and my reins, I grabbed her long mane and just held on with my knees and crouched down.  From a long way away I could hear Odette yelling, "Just hold on, just hold on." I looked up and saw the jumps coming.  I can still see her ears flattened, the jumps coming up, and her mane flying, hitting me in the face, stinging my eyes along with the sweat and tears…

I was terrified and exhilarated and then we were airborne, not once, not twice, but 4 times, over the 2 uprights and the in-and-out.  I was flying and yet time was not moving.  Nothing was.  It was like being suspended in time and space, frozen in terror and joy.  I wished it could have lasted forever, but then it was over.  

We cantered around the ring, breathing hard, and I got my reins back and my stirrups.  Then when I looked around I saw Odette and the class just staring at me.  When I stopped her in front of Odette she said ‘Do you know how high those jumps were?”  “No’.  “‘5’, 5’2 and 5’4 (in meters).  Oh and I forgot to tell you , Gilda was just retired from the steeple chasing track”.  

We had a bond from then until the last time I saw her.  From then on, she was the horse of a lifetime for me.  I will never never forget her.   

1957 Piaf, un Cheval, and l'Aprenti Fakir

When we lived in Normandy, we would often take weekend trips to Paris, it was only about 3 hours away  Usually we would go with one of my mother's friends and sometimes with my dad. But once she took just me. 

The first thing I remember is being at the hairdresser’s. It was very warm inside but outside it was spitting snow and cold rain, miserable. I remember one of the hairdressers working on a lady with very long hair. He took the hair and twisted it into a long rope and then he took a blowtorch of some kind and ran it up and down that rope of hair. I was shocked. He told me he was burning off the split ends. I thought it was the most awesome thing I had ever seen! And the lady wasn't even scared. 

But the thing I remember most was looking out the window. I was bored; after all we were there for several hours. At one point I looked out the window and right below was a horse-drawn carriage, which are quite common in Paris. As I watched, a couple got in and the driver started to direct his horse out of the spot. The horse hesitated, and the driver started whipping him unmercifully. I ran over to my mother and told her someone needed to go make him stop. She laughed, as did the hairdresser and the lady with the burning hair. They told me something like "Ma petite, ce n'est qu'un cheval, c'est son metier" (honey, it's just a horse, it's his job). I found that unacceptable. But no matter what I did, they paid no attention to me. 

What I found out later was that was that my mother was totally in shock because her idol, Edith Piaf, had just come in.  She was old, and in ill health I guess, but apparently she was going to have a concert in the next few days. I was introduced to her but it didn't mean much to me, I was reading magazines and thinking about the horse.  He looked so beaten and resigned, in that cold wet weather. But a few minutes later he was gone. 

Still, my mother was absolutely blown away. Piaf was her idol (along with Judy Garland, whom she also met, but that's another story). My mother's dream was to be on the stage. She went to dramatic school and sang on the radio for a couple of years. She wanted to be Piaf or Garland. To meet Edith Piaf must have been an amazing experience for her and now I regret that I did not pay more attention to it.

After the hairdresser, we went to see a ballet called "L’Apprenti Fakir” Tthe Sorcerer’s Ppprentice). It was awesome and I totally lost myself in it, except when I thought back to that horse. Then we went to a restaurant called "Jour et Nuit” which was famous for its onion soup. We had been there before (we went there almost every time we went to Paris) and it was truly the best thing I had ever eaten - thick, melted cheese, French bread. Oh...  Then we went to our hotel.

The next day we went shopping. My mother always went to Christian Dior (she had several Dior outfits - one was a wonderful black and white cocktail dress) and to Chanel (she had a pale blue Chanel suit that she just loved).

And then we went home to Gravenchon.  It was a wonderful weekend, full of experiences that I have remembered for almost 60 years.  And yet, I think of that horse - I think of him when I see horses huddled out in the rain, or when I see horses being abused in any way.  It broke my heart.

1958 Biquet

His body is hot and sweating.  He is snorting after the tough ride around the arena.  He never has liked to jump.  Suddenly we are called into the center and Odette asks me to get off.  When I ask why, she just shakes her head and looks down at the ground.  After I take off his saddle, she hands me a halter and a brush.  She tells me  brush him quickly, but to do it with care.  She still will not tell me why.  As I rub his wet coat, he turns around and nuzzles me.  He is not a jumper, but no one minds riding him because he is so dear.  When I am done, Odette asks me to lead him into the courtyard and turns away.  All the other riders have stopped and are watching as we walk out into the sunlight.  When I see the truck that says ‘abattoir,’ my feet stop and I cannot make them move forward.  Inside I am screaming, no, you can’t take him.  But when the man reached his hand forward to take the rope, I hand it to him.  My mind is racing,  maybe we could buy him, we could  give him to Odette.  But meanwhile Biquet has walked to the ramp of the trailer.  He turns and looks at me and then goes inside.  As he disappears into the darkness, one of his shoes comes off and falls to the dirt.  The man closes the ramp and suddenly Biquet has gone to his death.  Inside my head is an echoing silence.  Still in shock I walk over and pick up Biquet’s shoe.

1959 Chess, My First Horse

When we lived in Maine I knew I was going to get a horse, just knew it.  We were renting a house on several acres and there was a barn.  Daddy would park the Country Squire in it and it smelled wonderful, of hay and animals.  I would get home from school and run from the bus to the barn, thinking maybe today was the day my horse will be there, but he never was.  

One fall day I was wandering down the hill on the land and Velvet ran off. I thought he had run into the woods, so I went after him and fell over some branches.  I was caught in a fence, and when I picked myself up, I saw horse hooves.  I was afraid to look up, because I knew there couldn’t possibly be a horse standing there.  But I did look up, and there he was, a chestnut horse with a flaxen man and tail.  And he was real  Right then I named him Chess.  

He was my dream secret horse. I would talk mother into buying lots of carrots and apples and then steal them and feed them to him every day.  Eventually he would follow me around, trying to get them out of my pocket.  I would sit on the ground on a log and he would stand behind me and reach his head over my shoulder.  I would give him an apple and he would chew it and dribble apple juice all over me, in my hair. 

 On the school bus one day, I found out our neighbor was some rich guy who wasn’t around much.  In my mind, I knew that like on National Velvet that horse would someday be mine.  

One day, I decided to try to ride Chess.  I had no saddle, bridle, halter, nothing.  I  coaxed him close to the fence and got on him.  He was so warm, and he was as shocked as I was.  He danced around a little and I prayed he would not just take off with me, but he didn’t, he just walked around.  Pretty soon, it became routine.  I would climb on him and he would graze or wander around the pasture for a while.  After that I did it whenever I could, and I went to visit him every day – he was my horse at last.  

One day during the winter it was freezing with sleet and snow, and I took off my new gray fleece jacket and put it on his back to keep him warm.  Eventually he wandered off into the trees and I never saw the jacket again.  

Because of an incident with Velvet, I was no longer allowed to go see him.  But one day I snuck out to see him and he was gone.  I went back day after day, but he was never there again.  I found out later that his owner had decided he was of no use to him and took him to the auction.  I pray he found a good home and someone who loved him as much as I did.  

Even now, the smell of a warm apple bitten into and juicy brings back memories of Chess, my first horse.  

1959 Penobscot Pony Club

In 1959 when we lived in Orono, Maine, I went riding at the Penobscot Pony Club in Hampden, near Bangor.  Polly Briggs was my teacher. I remember cleaning stalls with her and soaping saddles and bridles when mother was late, sitting in that little room with a heater, smelling the hay and the saddle soap. It was wonderful.

There was a beautiful dark chestnut horse boarded there, 'Moonlight Sonata'. He belonged to a rich young girl who yelled at him and hit him in class. My favorite horse there was my little Star, sweet, black, chunky, with a white star on her forehead, my favorite.  And there was Lollipop, a privately owned horse.  On his stall was a plaque that said, “The more you lick him, the faster he goes“.  He was a black and white paint who always seemed to be wearing his winter coat. I found out later that my parents actually considered buying half of him for me, but I would have to keep him at the Pony Club for his other owner.  

I loved the Pony Club.

1959 The Arab's Farewell to his Steed

When we lived in Maine, there was a shelf in the hallway outside my bedroom door.  This shelf contained a complete copy of The Book of Knowledge.  I would sit on the wood floor for hours and read through the volumes.  But most of the time I read this.

​​

THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED

By Caroline Norton (1808-1877)

My Beautiful! My Beautiful! That standest meekly by,

With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye,

Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed;

I may not mount on thee again,--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof,--snuff not the breezy wind

The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind:

The stranger hath thy bridle-rein,--thy master hath his gold,

Fleet-limb'd and beautiful, farewell; thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold.

Farewell! Those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam

To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home;

Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread prepare.

The silky mane I braided once must be another's care!

The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be;

Evening shall darken on the earth and o'er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.

Yes, thou must go! The wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,

Thy master's home-from all of these my exiled one must fly;

Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing bright;

Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;

And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I, starting, wake to feel-thou'rt sold, My Arab steed!

Ah! Rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, 

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side:

And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant pain,

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each started vein.

Will they ill use thee? If I thought-but no, it cannot be-

Thou art so swift, yet easy curb'd, so gentle, yet so free;

And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,

Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return?

Return! Alas! My Arab steed! What shall thy master do

When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanish'd from his view?

When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears

Thy bright form, for a moment, like a false mirage appears;

Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary step alone

Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on;

And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think,

"It was here he bow'd his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!"

When last I saw thee drink!-

Away! The fever'd dream is o'er,--

I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more!

They tempted me, my beautiful!-for hunger's power is strong,--

They tempted me, my beautiful! But I have loved too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wast sold?

Tis false,--'tis false! My Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back and scour the distant plains;

Away! Who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains!

1960 When Velvet Almost Died

I had a secret horse named Chess that I visited almost every day when we lived in Maine.

One day Velvet, our Boxer, went with me to visit Chess. Usually I didn't let him because he tended to chase Chess, but that day he came. As soon as Chess and Velvet saw each other, I knew it was a mistake. Chess wouldn't come to me and Velvet kept barking. I was afraid someone would hear him and my days of visiting Chess would be over. Finally, Velvet started to chase Chess and I knew there would trouble. How was I going to catch Velvet to make him stop? The more upset Chess got, the more Velvet chased him. Finally, Velvet got really close and Chess kicked out. I heard a yelp and then Velvet fell to the ground. Chess stopped in front of him and just stood there in a sweat. He let me come right up to Velvet, who was lying on the ground totally still.

I knew he was dead. He had a big gash over his eye and he had blood all over his head. He was totally still but he was breathing. I dragged him out of the pasture and tried to get him to stand up, but he just kept falling to the ground. I realized I had to get him up the hill to the house, so I just started to drag him with my hands under his front legs and backing up that steep slope. I imagine he weighed about 50 lbs and I was not very big for 12 years old. 

Finally, I had to give up and go get my dad. I so dreaded doing that. Velvet was his best friend. I believe I actually told him I thought Velvet was dead. He loved that dog so much his face just turned white. He didn't even asked what happened, I think he probably thought he had run out into the road on one of his famous escapades.

We both ran down the hill and my dad just threw him over his shoulders and got him back to the house. He was still breathing. My dad put him on the couch and got a cloth and water and washed off his head. That was the first (and maybe the only) time I saw my dad cry. He got some of his Johnny Walker Red and put a few drops in Velvet's mouth, then a few more.  I can still hear my mother saying "For God's sake, Travis, you love that dog more than us", and I think it was probably the truth.

I remember being on my knees on the floor with my head on his chest listening to his heart. When we were in Australia I used to lie on the floor using Velvet as a pillow but his heartbeat always seemed too loud and it kept me from falling asleep on him. I thought of that now because it didn't seem that loud anymore. My dad kept talking to him, and stroking him, and finally Velvet came around. My dad immediately loaded him into the car and drove him to the vet. I was not allowed to go, I imagine in case Velvet's injuries were to prove fatal. My dad would have wanted to grieve alone. But that was not to be, thank God.

Velvet came home with many stitches in his head and a shaved head. Apparently he also had a concussion. We nursed him back to health and he never had any ill effects from his kick in the head. However, I had to explain the whole incident to my dad, and I was forbidden from seeing Chess again. He explained all the reason, trespass, liability, etc., and oh yes it all made perfect sense to me, but I still had to go one more time to say goodbye. As much as I loved Chess and our adventures, I felt as though that was my punishment for letting Velvet get hurt. And I accepted that, because I did love Velvet more.

The next day, I went and took him extra apples and laid them in a pile for him and told him it wasn't his fault. It was so hard to say goodbye that day. It was raining and I could smell that wonderful warm horsy smell and the apples. But it had to be I guess.

1960 Teela Wooket and the Horses

We lived in Orono, Maine, when my parents decided I should spend the summer in Vermont at camp.  It was my idea though, I heard about it from my friend Lendon, whose great-uncle ran it.  I remember driving to Vermont from Maine with the rest of the family and staying in a motel the night before I was 'checking in'.  I was really nervous and dreaded the whole thing.  I don't think I had ever been really away from home before.  They dropped me off the next day and I think I pretty much kept a stiff upper lip.

Then I was taken around and outfitted with my uniform and taken to my bunkhouse.  It was a small cabin with 3 rooms.  Two of them had bunk beds for us girls and in the back was a smaller room for the counselor.  I don't remember our first counselor's name, but my roommates were Melanie Zibbit and 2 others (can't remember their names either).
 
We hit it off pretty well, especially Melanie and me.  But we hated our counselor.  Finally we decided just to get rid of her.  We proceeded to make her life miserable by putting dead rats in her bed, dumping water in her bed, etc.  Finally she quit in tears and never came back.  We got a new counselor, Ginny.  She was wonderful.  She told us great stories and really was one of us.  We all loved her.
  The meals at Teela Wooket were awesome.  There was a huge hall with many many tables and it was all served by campers (perhaps who couldn't afford the tuition?).  The food was amazing and plentiful.  The camp had many activities and my parents signed me up for all of them!  There was candle making, weaving, and all kinds of girly stuff.  But there was also archery and riflery, which I really enjoyed and never missed.  And of course there were the horses.  

Equitation class

Heading out for a trail ride

Jumping class

The cabins

Oh yes, the reason I was there - the horses.  There were 67 of them. 

The barn was on 2 levels.  One of the levels was for the privately owned horses, the other for the camp horses.  I believe the private horses were there to be trained by Cappy.  He had been a trainer for the US Equestrian Team.  There was one horse there, Mighty Meath, who had been on the US team at one point.  I knew the name of every horse, its origin, and all its characteristics.  For instance, there was Oasis (named for the cigarette commercial, "Oasis takes you away" because he tended to be a runaway).  He was privately owned by someone named Tom Owen who was a radio talk show host.  I don't remember much about the camp horses actually.
 
Once I had cut my girly class and was at the stable with Cappy and Lendon, and she talked him into letting her ride one of the USET horses.  She was chewing bubblegum at the time, and just as she was approaching a jump, a big bubble exploded on her face, blinding her.  But she made it with perfect style, the way she did everything.  That was Lendon.  I was privileged myself to be allowed to ride Mighty Meath once.  He was huge!  Probably 18+ hands tall, and he always had his tongue hanging out around his bit, slobbering.  He was a real baby though!  So sweet and very much fun to ride.
 
We had a field trip too, to a horse show in Montpelier.  Some of the camp horses went, because I remember helping to load them into the trailer.

1960 Pal

We lived in Toledo, Ohio from 1960 until we left for Venezuela at the end of the school year in 1961.  Every week I went to a riding school in Michigan.  There was a really beautiful Palomino named (surprise) Pal, but you had to earn the right to ride him.  Finally, Mr. White, our instructor (who was black), told me it was my day!  I was excited.  We did our routine exercises, then it was time for jumping.  

Pal and I flew over the first couple of jumps, then we approached the next jump.  Then he stopped.  He didn't tell me he was planning to.  I slid up his neck, over his head, and over the jump, landing on my knees on the other side.  Then he decided to follow me over.  Seeing a large airborne horse looming over me, I rolled over.  When I looked up, his nostrils were in my eyes.  "What are you doing down there?"  he asked.  My back hurt so badly I couldn't move.  My mother started to run out to the arena, but they stopped her.  Mr. White came over to me and helped me up.  He asked me if I could get back on.  I said yes.  So he helped me up into the saddle.  

I took one turn around the arena and had to get off, I was in so much pain.  It wasn't Pal's fault, either.  It was mine.  I should have been gripping tighter with my knees.   My mother took me to the doctor and we found out I had torn all the muscles in my lower back.  I was off school for a week and spent most of that week in a hot bathtub.  They told me if I got pregnant I might have to wear a back brace, since the muscles were weakened. Luckily, that wasn't the case.  I never got the chance to ride Pal again, because not long after that we moved.  

1981 Yellow Mount

My 2nd husband Jim was a watercolor artist and painted many Western scenes.  He needed some resource material about paint horses, so we decided to go Iowa Park, TX (about 40 miles from where we lived in Vernon) and visit the greatest paint horse in history, Yellow Mount.  

When we arrived at the Flying W ranch, one of the Williamsons' famous paint cars was in front of the house.  I think it was a Cadillac, and it was painted like a paint horse.  It was wonderful.  

Then the Williamson’s took us on a tour of their house, showing us all the trophies and awards that Yellow Mount and his stable mates had won over the years.  We saw the famous painting of him done by Orrin Mixer that was used in the American Paint Horse Association logo.

Then we went out to the stables.  They showed us all the horses and I fell in love with one in particular.  His name was Hopeful Spots* and he was a racehorse.   

When we got to Yellow Mount he came right over and begged for treats.  What a horse.  It wasn’t just his beautiful markings and his gorgeous head, it was his demeanor.  He knew he was special, you could tell by the way he walked out of his stall.  You knew you were in the presence of greatness.  He was about 18 years old then, but looked like a youngster.  

It was bizarre to see the real horse when I had the Breyer’s model of him at home.  

The Williamsons were wonderful, very friendly and obviously proud of their legend.  They chatted with us for hours.  It was a day I’ll never forget.

* I named my beloved Dalmatian Hopeful Spots several years later.

1982 Dale Robertson and Jubilee

I always say that Fabian was my first crush, but I actually did have a crush before Fabian. I loved Dale Robertson’s horse Jubilee almost as much as I loved Dale himself. That was in the early 60s when he was in 'Tales of Wells Fargo'.  

I met him once, in the early 80s at a horse auction at the Williamson ranch in Iowa Park, TX (home of Yellow Mount). He was surrounded by a crowd of people, and was wearing a black cowboy hat.  I just stood on the edge of the crowd for a while, just listening to that voice.  It was really him, Dale Robertson!  He turned towards me and I told him, "I just wanted to tell you how much I loved Jubilee, and how beautiful he was in all his silver".  Dale gave me a big smile and said "Thank you for remembering him, I loved him too".

I was just as flustered as I would have been 20 years before. 

Then in August 2012, I went to the Washington Thoroughbred Breeders and Owners Association auction at Emerald Downs near Seattle. I was talking to some of the employees and was talking about the auction at the Williamson's years before.  When I mentioned Dale Robertson. they told me been at the WTBOA auction the year before, and was supposed to there that day, but he was sick and couldn‘t go.  That was only about 6 months before he died.