Horses. They’ve been at the center of my life since I was born. They have been what puts flesh around my dreams. I have chosen to live on ranches because of the life that they make possible, traveling and working the ground that we live on.

I grew up in a horse culture—for locomotion on the ranch, we had only wagons and horses and mules. Early every morning, the ground and horseback crews would go out with wagons and horses. The men on horseback would prowl the pastures checking waterings, cattle health and pasture conditions, and the ground crew would work on fences, or put salt and mineral out and return with wood for the cook stoves. Every afternoon they’d return with the remuda gathered as they came through the house trap, horses for the next day. I’d look for the dust that foretold their imminent arrival at the corrals where the horses would be unsaddled and unhitched, fresh ones sorted for the next day, and wood unloaded from the wagons.

Horses were a central part of life on the ranch. As they have been, ever since.

Before I was five, I would wake up from my afternoon nap to my horse tied to the gate post outside, where I’d go out and be taken for a ride, led around headquarters by my mother. She told me once about how when I was small, I would always run down the long hallway leading through the house, galloping and snorting like my horses. Before I was thirteen, I had nine magnificent creatures. The foreman, the segundo (second man under the foreman) and the third man under the segundo each had a string of horses that were ridden only by the man who held that position. I would poach older horses from the foreman’s string when a foreman left, so that by the time I reached my teens, I had a respectable group. Many times, I would tie them head to tail in a long string and take them into the wildest and my favorite part of the ranch and camp with them.

When I think about what draws me to them, I think, well…. everything. The way they look, their smell, their eyes, the unbelievable power in their bodies and how it feels when you turn them loose and they just run and all you can hear is the wind and their hooves pounding the ground. It’s not only the sheer power, but the grace and athleticism with which they move. The way their mane flows as if it is the wind itself. These are perhaps things that most anyone will tell you about why they like them. For me, it’s hard to put into words. The connection between us has come from having spent so much time with them. During some parts of the year, I am catching my horse in the darkness of the corral, saddling and trotting out into the pitch black morning with the full day ahead. Everyday all day for a period of time. The bond that has grown between us has become part of who I am, the place in me where I draw strength. It is part of who I have become, like how my legs have grown to the contour of their bodies. 

I’ve been asked many times what my favorite horse is of all the horses I have had. The first time I was asked, I paused thinking about the question, I had never thought about it before. Each horse I can think of represents a certain phase of my life, like a song that you might hear that brings a certain feeling of a past time. I realized after thinking that I didn’t have a favorite, really. All of them have been special in their own way. It’s kinda like thinking about your kids; they are all equally special, in their own way. 

It’s not one thing that I like about my horses but a combination of things and they might be different than what you would think. Such as, not slowing down when we are trotting to get somewhere, to step over a log or a small ditch. Politeness such as not moving when I’m getting on, staying put when I get off and drop a rein, not moving when I’m leaning over closing or opening a gate. Leading well, facing me when I am catching them, standing still when being saddled. My life revolves around living within the natural environment around me and so a horse that can subsist on native pasture - an easy keeper, is important to me, and all of my horses do this. 

Each horse has a special strength that I use for those days when I need it. It could be making a long circle when I need a steady, smooth-trotting, forward horse, or a quickness when working in close quarters with cattle. Or sometimes when in steep terrain, I need the one that does not panic when in tight situations and is sure footed. I have had horses that I chose over others for branding outside in the pasture in the spring time that will move exactly as I ask, as I work through the herd to rope a calf. 

My horses sometimes have two names, one for everyday, and one for those days when they rise above. My horse Slurp went by Damascus when he had a good day. My big black and white horse (retired on the Chico now) goes by the name Stephen, but when he was rose above his normal self, he was Constantine.  

I remember clearly one such day with Stephen. We were on a bison gather in the fall a few years ago and we had been running alongside this large herd of bison we were maneuvering toward the trap. Each person had a section of the herd to keep in and we’d been running hard keeping the right side of the herd in for several miles and Steve was panting hard, entirely soaked with sweat, head down and forward. He was a total beast pushing through heavy sand and rabbit brush that kept us from seeing more than a few feet ahead. Suddenly right there in front of us appeared a huge tangle of wire, and metal with an old rusted water trough laying sideways across our path, so close that there was no way to stop or go around. It was tall too. My heart sank. No way out of this except to crash. Stevie was way too tired. I remember two things flashing through my mind: get ready to jump off to avoid getting trapped under Steve when he hit and the herd was going to break through and disappear into the sand. But that’s not what Stevie had in mind. Or I should say, what Constantine was thinking. Without hesitating, he gathered himself and went sailing over the deathtrap of scrap metal, cleanly clearing it, and continuing onward as if it had never been there. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even think, just up and over. 

He has one of the deepest hearts of any horse I’ve been with. After the herd went through the gate and we were walking around in circles, cooling off, I said quietly to him as I leaned forward, stroking his drenched neck, "Just another day for you, huh, boy." I was so humbled. 

And I still am.