NEVER ABOUT RIDING, ALWAYS ABOUT THE HORSE PART 4: LUKE!

NEVER ABOUT RIDING, ALWAYS ABOUT THE HORSE

(This is the last in a four-part series of essays about my horse life, which began when I was fifty years old. Three horses, Fire, Jack, and Luke, have been such an important part of my life that I decided to write them into my novel, Josie and Vic. I wanted to convey the special bond I’ve experienced with each of them, as well as share their distinct personalities. So they became Josie’s beloved horses. After meeting Fire, Jack, and Luke in the novel, my readers can now learn about their real life stories.)

Part 4: LUKE: A FATHER’S LAST GIFT

Becoming a horse owner in my fifties was surprise enough, but I certainly never expected that in my sixties I’d own two horses. Truth is my miniature horse, Luke, came along at a vulnerable time in my life. I suppose if I’d given more thought to the immense expense of board, feed, and vet bills, plus the daily responsibility of horse care—all times two—I’d have wisely said, “Nice idea, but no.” That response would have involved logic and practicality, and at that time, I was operating on pure emotion.

My dad was dying.

Heavy-hearted, I found great comfort with Jack, my Quarter Horse. Both the physical exercise and our emotional bond were healthy and healing for me. But I was exhausted from flying back east to visit my dad every couple of months and, when home, driving down winding mountain roads to Jack’s boarding facility an hour’s drive away. Desperate to have him closer to my home in Lake Arrowhead, I had been searching tirelessly for a place to keep him somewhere on the mountain. Finally, to my utter joy and relief, I was introduced to a couple, Jim and Brenda, with a two-horse barn a short drive away. They had one empty stall—just waiting for Jack.

Home, Home, on the Mountain

Jim and Brenda were kind and welcoming. I still remember Jim saying, “Let’s get ’er done!” as we drove down to pick up Jack. I was a tad apprehensive as Jack is not a happy camper when it comes to trailers, yet he hopped into Jim’s trailer with the gentlest tap on his backside. Perhaps Jack sensed this was going to be a good move for both of us. Since I no longer would have to drive up and down the treacherous mountain road, I could visit every single day—with horse treats and carrots.

While it was a joy to see Jack daily, we did struggle with riding. I had hoped to try trail riding, but soon found out it was not for me—or Jack. These were not exactly wide, level, tree-lined trails, but often steep, narrow, and rocky. I was not an experienced rider. My talents were limited to walk/trots around an arena. And Jack was not rock solid like my first horse, Fire, but nervous and high strung in new situations. Plus the mountains were teeming with wildlife, such as black bears, coyotes, rattlesnakes, and mountain lions.

Both Jack and I were easily stressed. I tried a few times, but the last trail ride ended with Jack refusing to continue on a particular trail and backing up toward a ditch. A more experienced and confident rider might have convinced him otherwise—in fact, my riding companion gave it a try and Jack stubbornly hopped and bucked. Perhaps he smelled something and had good cause to want to head home quickly—which we did. We never hit the trails again.

Around this time, my dad passed away. Like often happens, it was after the funeral, once I got home, that my grief was a gut punch, taking away my breath and all energy. A part of me wanted to stay in bed all day, but I’d push myself up and head over to see Jack. I’d sit with him while he rolled and ran in Jim’s small arena. Once in a while, I’d saddle Jack, and we’d walk/trot around a few times. Mostly, we’d just hang out. Sometimes, Jack would  stand in front of me, his head low, as if in communion with my sadness.

One day, Jim came down to chat and started talking about miniature horses that could pull a cart. He said he had a friend who raised minis, and he’d be happy to take me down to his ranch to check them out. “You could drive the roads in the neighborhood. Might be fun for you,” he said.

One thing I definitely needed in my life was fun. So I figured, what the heck. Going to a miniature horse ranch in itself sounded uplifting. And so, off we went.

Of course, the horses were adorable. The tiny hooves—the mini everything! So darn cute. One in particular caught my eye, but she was pregnant and not cart trained. Most of them looked small and fragile. I couldn’t picture them on the mountain with fierce winds and snow. Didn’t feel right at all. So after a pleasant ranch visit, we headed home. For me, the issue was closed.

And Then There Was Luke

The following week, I got a phone call from the mini-rancher’s daughter, saying she knew the perfect horse for me. While I had already put the idea out of my mind, when she offered to meet me the next day and drive me to see this special horse, something pushed me to say yes. I had enjoyed getting away the week before. Another off-mountain experience would be a welcome diversion from dwelling on my sadness.

Painted H Ranch, a family run farm that promotes and breeds American Miniature Horses, was spectacular. The 56-acre facility was stunning, and the thirty plus horses were top notch, many awarded high honors in halter and driving. Of course, I was not looking to compete in shows, and I certainly could not afford a high-end mini, but I followed along just to take in this unique experience.

Then I met Luke. A mini buckskin, with golden-tan body, black mane and tail, and very alert amber eyes.

Unlike the minis I had seen the day before, Luke was a bit bigger and definitely more solid. I had a firm sense that he could weather the mountain climate. But there was something more about his demeanor. A strength, a confidence, perhaps borne from his years of training and traveling to shows where he won numerous awards as a champion Country Pleasure Driving Horse. Or perhaps because most of his nine years he had been a stallion, gelded at the age of seven, yet still retaining that band leader attitude of stallions in the wild.

I had never driven a cart before, but I was willing to give it a try. Just like with my first horse, Fire Mountain, I sensed Luke was experienced enough to lead the way. I was given a few instructions: hold the reins taut but not too tight, loosen up when needed. Otherwise, cues to start and stop were similar to riding, a kiss or click and whoa.

We were off! And what a blast! Around and around the spacious, covered arena we went. I wasn’t just smiling—I was laughing inside. “You’re a natural!” I heard the owner, Aimee, say. Whether I was a natural or whether I was in the hands of a pro didn’t matter. I was having fun.

That’s when Aimee and I sat down to talk about money. The asking price was too high for me. We chatted a while. Then I mentioned that my dad had passed away and left me a small amount of money. If we could agree on a price, Luke would be a gift from my dad. When I looked up, Aimee had tears in her eyes. She then explained that Luke had been a gift from her father as well. He had since passed from cancer. She told me a bit of their story and concluded that maybe this was a sign. Perhaps this legacy should continue—a father’s last gift. She’d been very particular about where Luke would go. He was no longer a show horse and deserved a gentler life. I seemed the perfect fit, and Luke certainly was for me. We agreed on a very modest price. And like that, I was the owner of two horses.

Jim was right. This big little guy lifted my spirits. But what I didn’t expect was Jack’s intense and immediate bond with Luke. I’ve learned over these years that Jack bonds with his stall mates. When they are taken out to ride, Jack will call out and watch for their return. But with Luke, Jack carries on like he is leaving forever. He neighs and cries and paces and sweats and poops. No matter how many times I’ve taken Luke out for a walk or a drive, and safely returned within the hour, Jack has never learned that there’s no cause to fret. All these years later, Jack still panics when Luke is out of sight.

As for driving, I purchased a cart and the necessary equipment and learned how to hook it all up—which was a heck of a lot more difficult than the actual driving. Sometimes I drove in the small arena and sometimes I’d take Luke out on the quiet mountain streets. Quiet except for hearing Jack’s desperate cries for us to return—which definitely put a damper on driving.

 

Home Sweet Home

The following year, my husband and I moved to a house on the mountain that was zoned for horses. Within the year, we added a two-stall shed-row barn with a small arena. What a joy to bring my boys home! I’d sit on the deck and watch them with my morning coffee and evening glass of wine. I could hang out with them several times a day. While it was a lot of work—especially when it rained or snowed and we had to dig trenches to drain the water or shovel snow—I loved every minute of it.

 

We had visitors often. Mule deer. A coyote. I’m sure a bear or two has trudged through.

Jack loved the snow. Since he refused to stay in the stall with the door closed, I blanketed him when it was cold. He could go in and out as he pleased, but often I’d see him standing in the stall doorway, his body sheltered with his head outside. When it snowed, he’d stand completely outdoors, taking it all in. If there was a layer of snow, he’d roll and roll, making horse versions of snow angels.

Every winter, Luke grew a very heavy coat of his own; in fact, he almost looked like a miniature wooly mammoth. At night, I put him inside his stall, door closed, since mountain lions were on the prowl. Otherwise he did well au natural.

While I occasionally rode Jack in the arena, we spent a lot of time working together on the ground. That’s when we began doing a liberty routine where he would follow me without a lead rope, back up, bow, and give me a kiss. I tried doing this with Luke, but he was not in the least interested. An independent spirit, he would snap at Jack every now and then to remind him who was boss, but he was also protective in his own way. When Jack would occasionally lie down, Luke would stand guard.   

 

Goodbye to Mountain Life

All in all, it was a great experience having them on our property, but family issues called us back to the Los Angeles area. As we hunted for a new home, our priority was being near a horse boarding facility, since a home with horse property in LA was a bit pricey. We ended up finding a lovely home just five minutes from a horse boarding ranch where a dear friend, Connie, kept her horses. In fact, she used to board at Sterling Oaks when I had Fire Mountain. Here we were, boarding together again.

Unfortunately, a few weeks before our scheduled move, there was a fire on the mountain and we had to evacuate the horses quickly. Another nightmare experience ensued as Jack refused to get in the trailer. Poor guy, I didn’t blame him as low flying helicopters were filling up from the lake and then passing right over our house. It took well over an hour to get him in, followed by a long drive down the winding road, and two hours west on the freeway to the horse ranch. It was dark when we arrived, but we were met by the managers, carrying flashlights to lead the way to their new stalls, all prepared with fresh shavings, hay, and water.

Exhausted, I collapsed at my mother-in-law’s house that night, communicating with my husband by phone as he was still on the mountain keeping an eye on the distant fire.

The next morning, Jack and Luke were settled in as if nothing unusual had happened.

We spent six happy years there. We made new friends, Jack bonding with all those horses around him, Luke independent as always. And I reconnected with my dear friend, Connie, and her SERT (Special Equestrian Riding Therapy) volunteers. 

During those years, I sold Jack’s saddle after a hip injury limited his activity. I sold Luke’s cart as we discovered he has rapid respirations when he exerts himself too much. His compromised respiratory system may be the result of a previous undetected infection or damage from the effects of the fire in 2019. I keep a close eye on his respirations and don’t put unnecessary demands on him. When the weather starts to warm up, he’s clipped so he stays nice and cool. 

I loved just hanging out with them and watching their interactions. Luke, feisty and independent, would stand calmly beside Jack now and then, but more often he’d snap at him and Jack would snap back. Typical brothers, fighting one minute, playing the next. I’d sit in a chair beside Jack’s fence so he could hang with us as well. But Luke would always stand behind me and nuzzle my neck and hair. He’s a ham when it comes to selfies.

   

 

Another Move. A New Home Sweet Home.

Then in early 2023, the ranch sold and we had to move again. It was stressful looking for a new place and worrying about getting Jack in a trailer. His hip injury had recurred and we’d been through a difficult winter of rain and mud. I feared he’d injure himself further in the usual struggle to trailer. So many sleepless nights worrying! 

Fortunately, I found a place  just down the road, so our move was fairly easy. I found a horse hauler with a low ramp, brought watermelon, and, that morning, Jack sniffed the ramp and followed the watermelon in the trailer immediately! Maybe he’s mellowing in his old age or sensed everything would be okay. 

And everything was okay. In fact, my dear friend Connie moved here as well, and all of Jack’s horse friends, too. We’ve all settled in to our new home. Our new Home Sweet Home.

 

Pricele$$

Yes, the expense of two horses is overwhelming at times, especially as the drought has increased the price of hay. But Jack and Luke are a priority in my life—before vacations or house upgrades—and my wonderful husband supports us one-hundred percent.

Jack and Luke have added so much to my life. During the pandemic lockdown, they were my lifeline. While other people were confined to their homes and apartments, I was outdoors with my horses every morning. They gave me a reason to get up and out each day. The few people I encountered at the ranch were quite a distance away, caring for their own horses. It was just me and my boys. During those trying months, they kept me active and energized, which has most likely contributed to my good health.

They are worth every penny and more!

 

Josie and Vic

For many reasons, I decided to write my three treasured horses—Fire Mountain, Jack, and Luke—into my novel, Josie and Vic. Josie leaves her three beloved horses in the hands of her equine veterinarian when she flies to Los Angeles to help her brother, Vic.

I wanted to capture my horses’ distinct personalities, convey the joy and comfort horses can bring, and show the unique bond that is established when a horse connects with a trustworthy person. It was a joy to write scenes that involved them, while sharing my love of horses in general.

 

Better Late Than Never

I may have come to horses late in life, but I cannot imagine living without them now. They are the start of my day, every single day. After my morning coffee, I head to the ranch, clean their stalls, fill their water, take them for a walk, then lovingly groom each one. When I’m finished, I sit for a while—sometimes outside their stall and sometimes inside one or the other. It’s my form of meditation. Utter peace and contentment.

I hope to have Jack and Luke in my life for many more years. At this writing, Jack is twenty-one, Luke is nineteen, and I’m celebrating my seventieth birthday this summer! What the future holds for us is uncertain, but I do know that no matter what, we will be just fine—because we’ll be together.

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