Read Online Faraway Horses by Buck Brannaman, William Reynolds - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Buck Brannaman, William Reynolds
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controversial in those days. People thought that the notion of getting along with a horse, communicating with the horse, and even, God forbid, being friends with a horse was forsaking the western image of being a cowboy.
Out came the horse, a five-year-old black stud colt. Both ears were frozen off, and his mane and tail were full of burrs. A real pitiful-looking animal, and touchy, too. The two old boys herded their horse into a round corral that had been set up in an indoor arena, then they waited with smirks on their faces. They just knew they were going to get that old man—Ray was in his fifties—in a wreck.
Ray knew he was being set up, so he told the owners, “I can see you take a lot of pride in your horses. I know you have a bright future for this colt, so I guess I’d better get him leading.” Ray, who had been born with a clubfoot, kind of limped into the corral. A few minutes inside, and he could tell he wouldn’t be safe on foot, so got up on a saddle horse.
Using patience and skill, in under ten minutes Ray had the colt leading and standing right beside the saddle horse so Ray could rub him with his rope’s coils.
Within another five minutes, Ray had the colt saddled. But when he turned the colt loose, everything came undone. The colt bucked and kicked, the stirrups hitting on his back at every jump.
Ray, who was then on foot in the corral, kept the colt moving around. He threw a rope around the colt’s neck, then led the horse up to him and petted him down the forehead. Turning to the owners, he said, “I don’t want to hold up you boys’ progress, so I’d just better ride him.”
By now these guys were thinking that maybe they’d set up the wrong man, but they were still fairly confident because Ray still had to get the colt ridden.
The colt had the rope around his neck. Ray looped a part of the rope across the colt’s nose to get him bending toward him, pulled down the stampede string of his hat and tucked it under his chin, and stepped onto the colt.
Ray was wearing a down coat, the kind that makes more noise than you’d want to be making on a young sensitive colt. He unzipped the coat and slipped out of it. With his rope in one hand and the coat in the other, Ray reached back and tapped the colt on both hips.
Everyone watching waited for the explosion, but the colt just loped off like the gentlest son-of-a-buck you ever threw a leg over.
Ray allowed the horse to stop, and then said to the men, “Well, considering how far you boys plan to take your colt, I’m sure you’d like him to turn around a bit.” With that, Ray reached forward with his coat, and the horse turned.
Turned? The colt spun so fast he was a blur. I don’t know how Ray’s hat stayed on his head, even with the stampede string under his chin.
Ray then shook the rope in his other hand, and the colt spun the other way. With that, Ray loped the horse around the corral, through the gate, and continued to lope around the indoor arena. While he was at it, he asked the colt to make three or four lead changes. The colt obliged, and with beautiful clean changes, too.
Then Ray galloped the colt down to where its owners were standing—and I mean
galloped
—ending with the most beautiful sliding stop you ever saw.
Ray flipped the loop of the rope over the colt’s nose, stepped down, and offered the rope to the men. “Well, boys, I guess I got him ready for you,” he said.
One of the guys started to reach out, then pulled his hand back as if from a hot branding iron. “No, Ray,” he said, “I think the horse has had enough for the day.”
Ray looked the guys in the eye and replied, “Well, boys, I don’t know whether you got what you came for, but this horse did.”
I couldn’t wait to try this new way of turning out on Ayatollah. When I got home, I hung my coat on top of the round pen fence where I could reach it from horseback. Then I caught Ayatollah.
When I got him saddled, he was walking-on-eggs edgy.
Out came the horse, a five-year-old black stud colt. Both ears were frozen off, and his mane and tail were full of burrs. A real pitiful-looking animal, and touchy, too. The two old boys herded their horse into a round corral that had been set up in an indoor arena, then they waited with smirks on their faces. They just knew they were going to get that old man—Ray was in his fifties—in a wreck.
Ray knew he was being set up, so he told the owners, “I can see you take a lot of pride in your horses. I know you have a bright future for this colt, so I guess I’d better get him leading.” Ray, who had been born with a clubfoot, kind of limped into the corral. A few minutes inside, and he could tell he wouldn’t be safe on foot, so got up on a saddle horse.
Using patience and skill, in under ten minutes Ray had the colt leading and standing right beside the saddle horse so Ray could rub him with his rope’s coils.
Within another five minutes, Ray had the colt saddled. But when he turned the colt loose, everything came undone. The colt bucked and kicked, the stirrups hitting on his back at every jump.
Ray, who was then on foot in the corral, kept the colt moving around. He threw a rope around the colt’s neck, then led the horse up to him and petted him down the forehead. Turning to the owners, he said, “I don’t want to hold up you boys’ progress, so I’d just better ride him.”
By now these guys were thinking that maybe they’d set up the wrong man, but they were still fairly confident because Ray still had to get the colt ridden.
The colt had the rope around his neck. Ray looped a part of the rope across the colt’s nose to get him bending toward him, pulled down the stampede string of his hat and tucked it under his chin, and stepped onto the colt.
Ray was wearing a down coat, the kind that makes more noise than you’d want to be making on a young sensitive colt. He unzipped the coat and slipped out of it. With his rope in one hand and the coat in the other, Ray reached back and tapped the colt on both hips.
Everyone watching waited for the explosion, but the colt just loped off like the gentlest son-of-a-buck you ever threw a leg over.
Ray allowed the horse to stop, and then said to the men, “Well, considering how far you boys plan to take your colt, I’m sure you’d like him to turn around a bit.” With that, Ray reached forward with his coat, and the horse turned.
Turned? The colt spun so fast he was a blur. I don’t know how Ray’s hat stayed on his head, even with the stampede string under his chin.
Ray then shook the rope in his other hand, and the colt spun the other way. With that, Ray loped the horse around the corral, through the gate, and continued to lope around the indoor arena. While he was at it, he asked the colt to make three or four lead changes. The colt obliged, and with beautiful clean changes, too.
Then Ray galloped the colt down to where its owners were standing—and I mean
galloped
—ending with the most beautiful sliding stop you ever saw.
Ray flipped the loop of the rope over the colt’s nose, stepped down, and offered the rope to the men. “Well, boys, I guess I got him ready for you,” he said.
One of the guys started to reach out, then pulled his hand back as if from a hot branding iron. “No, Ray,” he said, “I think the horse has had enough for the day.”
Ray looked the guys in the eye and replied, “Well, boys, I don’t know whether you got what you came for, but this horse did.”
I couldn’t wait to try this new way of turning out on Ayatollah. When I got home, I hung my coat on top of the round pen fence where I could reach it from horseback. Then I caught Ayatollah.
When I got him saddled, he was walking-on-eggs edgy.
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