The Extremes of Horse Personality
- September 23, 2024
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- Jan Swan Wood
Posted in: Featured, Horse Care, Horse Training, Ranch Life
She was a yearling the first time we saw her at the breeder’s place. A big, rangy Thoroughbred filly, who if she grew into her head, would be a big horse. Far from pretty, she was correct and balanced and we ended up buying her. Her siblings had gone to the racetrack and done well, but this filly was destined to become a ranch horse instead. My then husband Bill laid claim to her.
We named her Holly. She was gentle as she’d been handled a lot, but, she was bold and headstrong to work with. She grew so fast as a two year old that her joints were gappy and she was awkward, so he decided to wait until she was a three year old to start riding her. By then she was tall and had kind of caught up to herself some. Her attitude hadn’t changed though, and was still bold and headstrong.
Bill did lots of ground work with her, ground drove her, and all that jazz. She would go along fine until something ticked her off, then she’d explode into action. Her reactions outpaced her thinking, so she’d get herself into a wreck pretty often. I sure wasn’t jealous that she wasn’t my filly to be starting.
I’d used a method on many reactive horses that sure helped them along. It gave them time to think and ponder their transgressions without being punished. It was the simple maneuver of laying them down. Since horses are fight or flight animals, it renders them unable to do either and gives them time to simmer down and think about things. Bill had never done it, but had seen me do it, so he finally tried it on Holly.
It sure seemed to cool her jets a bit. Over the ensuing two years, she was laid down more than any horse probably had ever been, to the point that when you picked up her foot, even to clean it, you needed to be clear that you weren’t asking anything more. It became a standing, if you’ll excuse the pun, joke with her. She even had a side that she preferred and would lay down that way no matter which foot you picked up. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
On one of Holly’s first outside circles, we were going along just fine and something boogered her. She blew the plug and with the power she threw at him and the sudden change of direction way up in the air, he didn’t make the ride. His spur hung in his rope and she dragged him in a blind panic for about 100 yards. His boot finally pulled off before I could think of the life insurance agent’s name, and he was okay, just skinned and bruised and sporting some cactus thorns. She hadn’t kicked at him, which was in her favor, just ran.
Once I’d determined that he was okay, I set off to catch Holly. I was riding Lily, probably the only horse in the country that stood a chance of overtaking her. Her snaffle reins were trailing behind and she stepped on them until one of them broke, and I was finally able to circle around her and let her come to Lily and I. Her mouth was bleeding from stepping on the reins, but she was otherwise just winded and wound up. I led her back.
He had to get on her as it was too far to walk, but I kind of suspect he wasn’t very excited about it. He used his tie down string for another rein and he got back on very carefully. Her tail was clamped and she was grabby but she didn’t do anything else. I’m sure he was glad to get off when we got back to the corrals.
Her tongue and bars were cut, but he kept riding her with a hackamore (as in bosal) and kept her going. I think he stayed puckered up on her a lot of the time due to her hair triggered reaction to things. Her imagination was pretty prolific so there were scaries all over the place for her. Each time she’d come apart at the seams, he’d lay her down and let her ponder on it.
When the fall riding was done, he had a pretty solid 30 rides on her. She got turned out for the winter. The next spring we took a cattle contract to take care of about 4000 yearlings and 800 plus cow/calf pairs. Holly was going to be his nearly daily ride with the idea that it would “kill or cure her”. She was running out of options.
The mud was deep when the cattle started arriving in April, and Bill camped on Holly day after day. She was tough as rawhide and got tougher. We made big circles every day, doctoring in the pasture and checking cattle and fences. She remained bold and headstrong but was getting the job done. She hadn’t blown up and bucked again, so that was on the plus side for her. I was still glad she wasn’t mine to be riding.
The manager of a big bunch of the steers had come along when we received them and they’d helped us trail them several miles across the wet gumbo to the pasture they were to be in. One steer needed doctored for something so the manager and another guy he’d brought along roped the steer and stretched him out. The wind was blowing pretty hard and the horses were kind of grabby over it, even the broke horses. I was leading our little guy on his old horse, so sat back a ways to watch them take care of the steer. Bill had stepped off of Holly to do the doctoring.
He had the medicine in his hand and led Holly on the get-down rope of a mecate rig, to the steer. Just as he got to the steer, the wind caught the tail of the slicker that had been tied on the back of Bill’s saddle all spring, and flapped it against the saddle. That was the final straw for the mare and she grabbed herself and launched forward like a missile, being way more concerned about that flappy slicker than the man and steer in her path.
She mowed Bill down, tumbling him over the steer, and running over both of them in the process. He grabbed his get-down and snatched her around to face him, mad enough to have shot her right there if he’d have been carrying a weapon. Right then and there, he laid her down, then tied her head around so she couldn’t get up. After locating the medicine and syringe that had been flung out of his grasp, he doctored the steer and they let him up.
He was mortified that she’d wiped him out in front of those other guys (he was used to me seeing it happen), so his temper was red hot. The impulse to stomp her big empty head into mush was strong, but he fought it off. He walked all over her though, rubbing her ears, eyes, nostrils and every part of her body, making sure that she could really SEE him and detect his presence. When she finally worked her mouth and said Uncle, he let her up.
His saddle was muddy but, she was sure more circumspect. He stepped back on her and we finished the day out without her making any more big mistakes. The whole episode wouldn’t have been quite so bad if it had been the first and only time she’d ever done that to him. This was, however, the first time a bovine had been involved in the trampling.
The times that she may have had a reason to come unglued never caused her to come unglued. One such occasion was when a neighbor to the summer pastures had landed his plane and Bill had ridden over to talk to him. Holly had walked up close to the plane and just looked at it as it sat and idled. After the conversation, the neighbor got back in his plane and Bill rode away to avoid the whole scene that could happen when it took off. He heard the guy bring the throttle up, so he turned Holly to face it. She calmly watched it take off like it happened every day.
Another time he had roped a steer to doctor and the steer got on the fight. In the process of trying to get the trap laid on the steer to pull him down, the steer had built to Holly and just before he was going to hit her, she simply raised straight up in the air and sailed over the top of him. When she landed Bill was able to whirl her to face the steer without her getting tangled in the rope. Her athletic ability was superb.
The fairly good days were starting to occur. He even gave her a day off occasionally. But it was still a bit rocky. We’d run into an acquaintance at a horse sale and he and Bill were talking about the Thoroughbred horses we all liked. Bill brought up Holly and mentioned her sire to the guy. Monte grinned and said “I’ve had several of them.You’ll hate her guts until she turns five, then one day, she’s just a broke horse.” It gave Bill hope, because he sure wasn’t loving her much at that point.
The next spring she was a five year old. She was a bit over 16 hands tall and stout, had grown into her head, still wasn’t pretty, but, she became everything Bill had hoped for the day he saw her as a yearling. Solid and reliable. Soon she was riding in a two rein rig and never making a mistake. At six she was straight up in the bridle, carrying it with style and looking like the top horse she was.
She was easy moving, tough as nails, honest and cowy. She could move anything he tied on to, and would do it time after time. One particular day she pulled the hondo out of his rope five times gathering and loading a bad bull for a guy. She never quit trying and was as determined to load the bull as Bill was.
She became the ultimate using horse and earned the right to eventually be retired to be a broodmare at the place that raised her. But, my oh my, those first four years were a smidge rough!

Posted in: Featured, Horse Care, Horse Training, 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....