Reno Wasn’t Really a Kid Horse
- July 24, 2024
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- Jan Swan Wood
Posted in: Featured, Ranch Life
My Dad’s horse of a lifetime was a home raised buckskin gelding named Reno. Reno was absolutely the best horse for any and every job that was necessary on the ranch, plus he moved easy across the country and had a fast walk. He was gentle with no buck, but in no way ever deemed a “kid horse”. He had a big motor and was quick and catty.
I wish I could remember what the circumstances were that I was chosen to not only go to a far pasture
and sort off a steer that didn’t belong there and return him two pastures over to where he did, but I was. I had older siblings that were certainly more experienced, but they must not have been available that day. I was probably a runty nine year old at this time. I’d ridden since I was really little and had many miles on my record, but always on my faithful friends Skipper, Penny or Roxie. I’d never ridden Reno in my life.
When Dad gave me my assignment, I recall my Mom getting pretty upset about it. She reasoned that
Reno was too much horse for me and my Dad countered that he knew his horse and kid and thought we’d be fine. I just remember being excited about getting to ride Reno. It was beyond my wildest dreams! Of course I’d helped work cattle, drive cattle, and sort, but never on something with the lightning moves of Reno.
So, off I went the next morning, riding while the dew was on the grass and headed for the Owl Creek pasture to retrieve one staggy, red baldy steer. Reno was heads up and hustling along at that wonderful walk and, let me tell you, I thought I was some punkins.
Dad had told me to ride over and open the north gate into the School Section on my way across the Cow Pasture, so I bravely broke Reno into a lope across the Cow Pasture meadows, crossed the creek and opened the gate. There was no sign of any cattle, as Dad had reminded me to look and make sure. Reno stood like a statue as I climbed back on. Once back on, we crossed the creek again and I rode to the southwest corner gate into the Owl Creek pasture, and hooked it back into the fence as I’d been taught from early on, and climbed back on.
The cows and calves were on the creek on the east half of Owl Creek pasture, so I rode through them
and finally found the steer. He was sure mothered up to those cows and didn’t want to leave. I think Reno knew exactly what we were doing and where the steer was going, so he took over. He’d run, then would turn, nose to nose with that steer, and the steer never stood a chance of getting by him. I’m sure at times I looked like the rodeo act with the monkey on the border collie, but I stayed in the middle of him.
The steer fought to go back all the way across the pasture to the gate. I pushed him on through the gate, then hurriedly got off and shut it before he could catch his breath. Reno stood like a rock again while I got back on, and then we fought the steer clear across the Cow Pasture. He played games with us at the creek crossing, but Reno never gave an inch and went where he needed to be before I could even ask him.
By the time we got the steer through the gate into the School Section, he was hot and his tongue was
hanging out. I pushed him through a ways, then shut the gate behind us. The steer had about given up the fight by this time, as he hadn’t won one round so far, but Reno never let down and remained focused and ready to move, no matter what the steer did. A few more feeble attempts to go back, and the steer finally quit and lined out.
Reno and I were both sweated up, and I was kind of glad for a little easier last leg of the trip. The other steers were near the dam when we got there, and I pushed the staggy steer to the water before leaving him there. I checked the other steers (one never, ever rode by stock without checking them), and then turned for home.
We went through one more gate and then Reno hit his running walk toward home. I’m sure that my Mom had been watching for me, as she was out in the yard tending her flowers when I rode up the hill to the house. Dad was working on something by the barn and walked over. He asked me how it went and I told him we got the steer put back. I told him we’d taken him to the dam and that the other steers were there close by when I left them and that they were all fine.
Being Dad, he didn’t make a big deal of any of this, just acted like his smallest kid rode his big gun horse every day to go get a snorty steer out of a bunch of cows and back through several gates and pastures. If I was expecting excitement or a big pat on the back, I would have been disappointed, but I wasn’t. Dad wasn’t that way. If he said little, it meant you did well. If he had a lot to stay it was because he was chewing your hiney over something. Mom just said that she was glad I was back in one piece, or something to that effect.
I didn’t need any pats on the back though, as I’d had such a fine time on Reno that I was on a cloud for
days. I resumed riding Penny or Roxie thereafter, which was no hardship, believe me, but they sure weren’t Reno. He was for sure the top horse, not only on the home ranch, but anywhere else horses were used to do a day’s work. He may have been a bit more careful with his little passenger than an adult, but I don’t think he would have been called a kid horse, even after that day.
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Posted in: Featured, Ranch Life
About Jan Swan Wood
Jan was raised on a ranch in far western South Dakota. She grew up horseback working all descriptions of cattle, plus sheep and horses. After leaving home she pursued a post-graduate study of cowboying and dayworking in Nebraska, New Mexico, Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota....