I have a geriatric horse. His name is Gremlin, so if you are a movie buff, his name would date him. He's named after those little creatures in the 1980's movie, "Gremlins." He has lived up to that name for almost 24 years. I haven't been his owner that whole time, but Gremlin has lived with me since birth. His dam, Boots, was about 24 years old when she was given to my nieces. They were instructed to share her until she could have a foal, then one of them could claim the foal and they'd each have a horse. I remember thinking, "If she lives long enough..." Well, Boots did live long enough to produce a foal, and that was Gremlin, born in May, 1984. But the winter of 83-84 was a hard one, and it took a toll on her, along with being old and pregnant. Boots lay down and died in the fall right after weaning Gremlin. Pictured above is Gremlin in the recent past with Allyissa up.
That was the same year I moved to Lance Creek, and my nieces had already left the ranch, so Gremlin came with me to Lance Creek in the spring of 1985. The niece that he belonged to was able to come help me start his riding program when he was two, then she left for the Army. Planning to make her career there, she decided to sell Gremlin to me. It was a good fit. Turns out, the very first horse I owned as a youngster was closely related to Gremlin. So I kind of knew what to expect from him as far as temperament and mannerisms. He was a handful! Half Quarter Horse, 1/4 Thoroughbred, and 1/4 Shetland Pony is a dangerous combination in a horse. He used to unload me at least once a year, usually in a very unkind manner, until he got to be almost ten years old.
I rode him as a three-year-old in a local outdoor pageant where there are cowboys and Indians, teams and wagons, fires, waterfalls, crowds and gunfire, among other scary things. That's how he went from green broke to sorta broke. The first year, he did great. Everything was new and held his interest, except for those Longhorn Cattle hitched up and pulling a wagon. He just tried to quit the country every time they came near. Guess he knew that wasn't natural--cows pulling a wagon. The second year, he was a little harder to handle. He knew what was going to happen and he didn't really want to take part. The third year, he piled me up at the beginning of the show the first night. The second night he also unloaded me and kicked my leg as he shot past me on his way out of the arena. Some spectators in the bleachers said they heard my leg pop like a rifle. Didn't break it, but the bruise went clear from one side of my knee to the other.
But we kept going back, and Gremlin eventually came to know the cues for the pageant as well, or better, than most of the Indians.
Gremlin finally gave up trying to pitch me off, when he decided it hurt him more than it did me, because I kept climbing back on.
That was the same year I moved to Lance Creek, and my nieces had already left the ranch, so Gremlin came with me to Lance Creek in the spring of 1985. The niece that he belonged to was able to come help me start his riding program when he was two, then she left for the Army. Planning to make her career there, she decided to sell Gremlin to me. It was a good fit. Turns out, the very first horse I owned as a youngster was closely related to Gremlin. So I kind of knew what to expect from him as far as temperament and mannerisms. He was a handful! Half Quarter Horse, 1/4 Thoroughbred, and 1/4 Shetland Pony is a dangerous combination in a horse. He used to unload me at least once a year, usually in a very unkind manner, until he got to be almost ten years old.
I rode him as a three-year-old in a local outdoor pageant where there are cowboys and Indians, teams and wagons, fires, waterfalls, crowds and gunfire, among other scary things. That's how he went from green broke to sorta broke. The first year, he did great. Everything was new and held his interest, except for those Longhorn Cattle hitched up and pulling a wagon. He just tried to quit the country every time they came near. Guess he knew that wasn't natural--cows pulling a wagon. The second year, he was a little harder to handle. He knew what was going to happen and he didn't really want to take part. The third year, he piled me up at the beginning of the show the first night. The second night he also unloaded me and kicked my leg as he shot past me on his way out of the arena. Some spectators in the bleachers said they heard my leg pop like a rifle. Didn't break it, but the bruise went clear from one side of my knee to the other.
But we kept going back, and Gremlin eventually came to know the cues for the pageant as well, or better, than most of the Indians.
Gremlin finally gave up trying to pitch me off, when he decided it hurt him more than it did me, because I kept climbing back on.
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