The Crazy Horse I Had to Own
- February 27, 2026
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- Jan Swan Wood
Posted in: Featured, Horse Training, Ranch Life, Uncategorized
The first time I ever saw the horse I stopped in my tracks. He was the vision of a using horse that had
lived in my head for several years. The guy who owned him was using him in the sale ring at the cattle
sale. As the day went on, I watched the roan gelding without hardly seeing the cattle.
I was riding on a big bunch of yearlings that summer and was short of horses old enough to take the
miles. It was the summer before my junior year of high school and I put in long days horseback taking
care of the cattle, doctoring those needing doctored and keeping them where they belonged. I’d leave the home place before daylight and get through the yearlings on the 6400 acres of summer range that
bordered my folks ranch, then ride through the cattle on the folks place and ride the bog line. It was quite a circle, so it took a more mature horse to do it.
As I watched the roan gelding, I saw clearly that he was scared to death in the ring and scared of every
move his rider made. The cattle didn’t seem to worry him much, but everything else did. Every clang of a steel gate made him jump and he was sweating badly though it wasn’t hot in the sale barn.
It was a summer sale so didn’t last too long, so after the sale I walked out to the trailer where the roan
horse’s owner was getting ready to go home. I asked about the horse and was told that he’d just bought
him and that he’d been on the track in Colorado, then went straight from there to a noted calf roping
trainer there, who was an absolute brute to a horse. The horse had blown up mentally there and was sold to another person before this guy got him. Small wonder he was nervous.
He unsaddled him while we talked and I liked him even better without the saddle. He was about 16
hands tall, with a pretty head, good neck, big withers, deep through the heart and well balanced. His legs were straight and he had plenty of bone and foot for his size. He was a red roan, technically, but was more of a dun on the face and legs. His mane was dark dun with silver mixed in. His color didn’t catch my eye as much as his looks, though.
We visited for a while and he asked me what I was doing to keep busy and I told him. He perked up
when I said I was riding on yearlings, and before I could think of a way to get my hands on that roan horse, he asked me if he could hire me to take the horse and use him the rest of the summer. Of course, I said yes.
He delivered the horse a few days later. I fooled with him a bit in the corral, just kind of getting acquainted, then saddled him up. The guy had left the bridle he’d been riding him with, a mechanical
hackamore with a soft noseband, and though I didn’t care for it, I told him I’d use it. He’d explained that
the horse had a cut tongue and wasn’t healed up from that yet. When I was brushing him off I’d opened
his mouth enough to see his tongue and it was a mess all right. Healed but scarred terribly and probably
still tender.
I stepped on and rode him in the corral a bit, then unlatched the wooden gate and headed out across
the pasture. I didn’t know if he’d ever been ridden outside or not, but they all have to go out the first time, right? We moved out at a walk, then a trot and he was nervous but not plumb nuts, and we got back to the corrals without a wreck. He was ready to go check yearlings the next day as far as I was concerned.
We headed out before daylight the next morning, with him loping and jumping sideways across the
yard due to the clang of a steel gate that was trying hard to sound like a starting gate or roping chute, both not being calming to the former racehorse and fried calf horse prospect. My mother had looked out the window as I rode by the house and was not impressed, as I learned later.
The horse settled down some as we got away from the corrals and straightened out to where he could
cover some ground. We went many miles that first day, checking cattle, circling on around and riding the
bogline on the way back. As I recall, we even pulled a sheep out of the bog that first day, and he didn’t
seem to be scared of a rope and would pull from the horn. That was sure encouraging.
On that first big circle that day I found that he loped easy and could really cover the country, had a nice long trot, and best of all, had a fast walk that I knew would only get better with time and miles. He’d gotten somewhat used to me and seemed to like the neck rubs and quiet handling I handed out. He was
really green and only track broke so the miles were the best thing, plus a job with a purpose, like looking
at cattle and following a creek to check for bogs.
We got in later that day and I unsaddled him and brushed him off, just spending time and getting better acquainted. He seemed to have let down his guard somewhat and wasn’t as watchy of me as he’d been. He was a kind horse that hadn’t experienced much kindness for a long time.
When I walked in the house, my mom turned from what she was doing and lit into me about that crazy horse and what was I thinking taking a horse like that in to ride. She had a lot to say on the subject and I let her talk while I made myself a sandwich and ate some watermelon. Finally, she huffed her breath one more time and asked me what I was going to do about that horse.
I remember looking her right in the eye and saying “I’m going to buy him if I can.” She was aghast!
Why, she’d seen him being completely crazy for about a half minute just that morning as I’d ridden by the house and was sure that all the time and money invested in raising me to the age I was would be wasted when the horse killed me.
You need to understand that my mom didn’t ride. She didn’t trust horses and had never ridden. She was grittier than a government mule with a cow and could milk cows that many cowboys wouldn’t go in the pen with, but horses scared the daylights out of her. From her point of view, the roan horse was an assassin and would never be anything else.
I tried to reassure her that he was actually kind, just scared, but I could see she was quite skeptical about it. When my dad came in that evening, he asked me how he’d ridden and I was able to tell him
while Mom listened over supper. Dad sure liked the looks of the horse too. When he didn’t back Mom on
her opinion of the horse, she did finally let the subject drop for the time.
Every time I rode him he got better, until by fall, he seldom had a run-sideways, backwards and shake
attack over little things, and he was really liking covering the country. His ears would be pointed toward
the far ridge, with the occasional flick back to check on me.
His owner finally called him about coming and getting him and I knew I had to own him, not send him back. When I told him what all I’d done with the horse and that he’d made real progress he was pleased. When I asked him how much money he’d have to have to let him go, he was surprised. He finally named his price and it was high for the time, and I countered with an offer that deducted the cost of the riding I’d put on him from the amount. After quite a bit of discussion, he finally agreed to the offer I’d made. I’m sure I must have done a dance when I got off of the phone.
The next sale day when the guy would be there to work the ring, I was there with my checkbook. I wrote the check, he signed the transfer for his papers, and I had a royally race bred, fried calf horse, and official new partner. It was the start of a great time in life, with a horse who had the potential to do and be anything I wanted and the youth and time to achieve it. Rebel was all mine!
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Posted in: Featured, Horse Training, Ranch Life, Uncategorized
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....