Back in the late summer of 1993, we saw an ad in the local newspaper. A gentleman had two horses for sale: a gelding that he said was well broke to ride, and a seven year old mare. It was a nice afternoon, so why not go have a look? The man had copies of the AQHA registration papers for each horse conveniently at hand. We were impressed! Both of the horses were closely related to the great Three Bars...in fact, the mare had that name still on her papers, meaning that she was related closely enough that the 3-generation pedigree showed his name. We had always had a dream of raising some colts and wanted them to be good, solid "thinking" horses that would know how to work. This could be the start of that dream.
The gentleman offered to saddle up that gelding, but we couldn't even 'see' that horse anymore! When the man shook an oats bucket out the barn door, the sorrel mare looked up, thought about it for a few seconds (probably waiting for him to beg) and then ambled toward the barn. Oddly, the man didn't offer to saddle her up, but we were far past that point already. (We would later learn why he 'overlooked' that little item!) The mare tolerated most of the handling 'test's that my husband performed. We said we would think about it.
We weren't lying! We thought of nothing else for the next few hours...and knew she had to be ours. Her name is Phylleigh (pronounced 'filly') and she has lived here ever since. When we brought her home, we set about learning who she was. Her hooves were a fright! It was obvious that she had had shoes on at one time...and that no one had bothered to remove them. They had just waited for them to fall off of their own accord, leaving split and splintered hooves in their wake. She didn't appear to be lame, though, so we put her back in the trailer and asked a nearby neighbor to do a quick trim. When she returned home, we put a saddle on her for the first time. Seconds later, that saddle lay on the ground beside her with the saddle blanket nearby. When the saddle again sat on her back, she allowed it to stay, knowing she had already made her point with me. When I first rode her around the yard, quietly at a walk, then a smooth gentle trot that needed no urging, I realized that she reined so easily that it was almost as if she read my mind! I knew she was the classiest ride I had ever experienced. Nothing has changed.
So it began. Dear Phylleigh made it very plain that some man had 'done her wrong' and she wanted little, if anything, to do with the members of that gender ever again. Ray was finally able to walk up to her and scratch her neck sometime almost 3 years later. It was a matter of self-respect on her part. She also had another little trait that I learned to never ignore. When I first stepped aboard, I could feel an invisible knot beneath me, a knot that threatened to explode! Yes, that girl could buck! I learned to discuss this issue with her immediately, walking and talking until she had time to get her mind right. The details of those discussions included quiet warnings....and other words. This ritual hasn't ever changed. We talk and we walk and then we ride. We later heard (though the 'grapevine') that she had been deemed to be a 'renegade', a 'killer horse', and, basically, she was supposed to be impossible to ride. Fortunately, she and I already had lots of fantastic miles behind us when I heard this. I still laugh when I think how she had those men fooled!
Oddly enough, she seems to be one of those girls who don't really grow nice nails or long flowing locks. We tried several treatments to make those hooves shape up; they didn't work. She has never once come up lame, though we never expected daily hard work from any of our horses, so she wasn't stressed.
She continued to amaze me. We worked with the neighbor's cattle, rounding up and herding. She only needed to be told to "watch her feet" to be able to avoid every rock, hole and piece of wire with which that pasture was littered! There was one yellow cow, however, that made a lasting impression on both of us when she turned round and plowed into Phylleigh's side, missing my lower leg by a mere fraction. I dropped a rein and lost a stirrup, but my girl took care of me till I got regrouped and said, "Let's get the hell OUT of here!" She gladly agreed and never quite forgot that nasty hag.
On another occasion, we were going to move about two dozen heifers for that same neighbor. Young cattle are notoriously flighty and can be counted on to explode in all and any direction at the last moment before the job is done. There were five of us bringing those heifers to the corral, but somehow I had gotten stuck with the end position and knew that I would take all sorts of razzing if they got past me. At the very last moment, here came those cattle, running along the barbed wire fence that was straight ahead of us. I'm not sure yet how it happened, but suddenly dear Phylleigh made us both look great, doing a cantering side-pass, cutting off those heifers, and, when they stopped, wheeling around to face them, never taking her eyes off them. I almost cried because I was so proud of her.
Then we decided to give her a shot at being a mom. She was bred to Mr.BlackBarMoney, who was owed by Earl Linneman, a respected local breeder. It was so very exciting, watching and waiting that whole eleven months! As we came up the drive on that April day, the lump of stuff in front of the grain bin raised its head and shook its long ears! It was Phylleigh's firstborn son, Ray's Mr.BarJack. From that moment on, Phylleigh seemed to absolutely love small children, nickering to them and warning them to be careful and snuffling their hair. She has allowed a few little ones to have short rides while I led her; no one else has ridden her since the day she came in the yard. She has given us several other foals as well, each a beautiful example of the American Quarter Horse breed.
Her last trail-ride was several years ago now. Edith and I attended a celebration in my little home-town of Florence, SD. It was a short little ride of only five or six miles, but it was exciting for us because Edith had never had that sort of experience before. We got there early and parked the pickup and trailer in the nice little pasture that had been set aside for all of us. There ended up being about twenty or twenty-five riders and, since we had had plenty of time, all was calm and quiet when it was time to head out. Then...out from the tree grove next to the pasture came a tiny, yapping dog! It was as if we were all in slow motion for a few seconds while each horse made its decision as to how it would respond to this excuse to behave badly. Phylleigh had no hesitation...she KNEW how to respond! BUCK!! I didn't come off. I am not proud of how I stayed on. It wasn't a matter of worrying about being embarrassed in front of my old school mates. It was a matter of knowing how suddenly the ground would come up to greet me and how my old body would suffer for it. All I remember about that blessedly brief bucking spell was thinking, "Phylleigh, PLEASE be done now!" Then she was! We had a wonderfully peaceful and gorgeous ride that ended with us taking part in the parade down Florence's main street. Small children and their parents were seated right up to the pavement so that Phylleigh could see each and every one of them. It was her first and her last parade, but she loved it.
A few days ago, we realized that this was the year that the dear old girl would need special care through the winter. She always was an easy keeper, as if eating more would provide the nutrients her body needed to maybe produce a decent mane and set of hooves. Now, though, she is becoming a shadow of her beautiful self. She is not the dominant queen of the herd that she used to be and sometimes has to wait her turn at the water tank. She needs more grain now, richer in minerals and nutrients. It is difficult to give special treatment to one horse out of a group, so we brought her into the sheep yard so that she would be able to come into the barn in nasty weather. She now gets a feed pan with a mixture of oats, corn, beet pulp shreds and sweet feed each morning. She seems to think she could prepare it herself, with perhaps a little more generosity, but we have made sure that isn't an option. She seems very pleased with her new situation. She is able to see 'her herd' over the fence yet, but doesn't seem upset to be separated from them. I have noticed that the rest of the horses now gather on the west side of the barn more often, almost like they find that a place where they can all be closer together like it used to be.
I can look out the north window and see my dear old girl out there with all those sheep and the little goat family. She now lays down to sleep in the shelter of one of the big round bales, often with Petal and her family laying nearby. She greets us every morning with a nicker and bright alert eyes, ready for the nice meal and the pat-pat she knows is coming. She doesn't owe me anything and we both know we are each too old for the drama we shared in the old days. She still is one of my greatest joys.
