The Story of Pete, Part I
There isn't an easy way to start at the beginning so I'll start with today. Right now, The House of Yeti boasts, or is traumatized by, 3 horses and one spotted pony. There is an additional horse, she has been sent away to a reform school for teenagers who need something to do. 3 horses and one spotted pony are too many. This is the beginning of our story with a horse we can call, "Pete" for now.
If you have space, they will find you. Pete found us.
Pete is a coming 7 year old black, sorta black, Arabian with beautiful names on his papers. My husband and I first saw him on a section of video intended to sell our Paint gelding in training. Pete's performance showed a bright-eyed youngster, tail held as a flag, pacing the arena with a slow, easy trot. If the sound had been left off, the video would have been lovely. It wasn't. Pete was a young stallion with a habit of biting and attacking people. The trainer's recorded conversation was disturbing enough for us to remove our horse immediately from the barn. Pete was beautiful. We talked about who he was and how unsuitable a horse like him would be for us. But Pete was pretty. My husband kept the video years after we sold our gelding because Pete was handsome.
My sister boarded her horses over a number of years at the barn managed by the people who bred Pete with the pretty names on his pedigree. They bred horses during the time when horses were a tax write-off for the wealthy. The tax benefits were taken away by congress and left Pete's humans with a half-filled barn and boarders as the only income. The Head Trainer left, the assistant trainer took over, mostly for mucking stalls. Pete lived in a stall and was rarely touched because he's a mean stallion who bites. He was a baby mammal who put his mouth on everything to explore his world but he was left in a stall where the only thing to explore was the next person who walked in. They hit him so he bit. They hit him again, he tried to defend his small universe. They beat him next time. It wasn't just one, "They" it's what was done, he was a mean stallion. He started to cower in the corner of his stall every time someone opened the door.
My sister got to watch as months went by without Pete being turned out or handled or allowed to interact with other horses. She made quiet suggestions to his people, she petted him, she gave him treats, she took photos when his owners decided to sell him for the tax-deduction era price. Pete was covered in muck and it was hard to tell exactly what color he was. My sister did her best to make him look good but no one paid his asking price. She watched in helpless disgust that she turned her mind away from. We were children too much like Pete. I picked up pieces of Pete's story over the years he lived in his stall but only in passing, she didn't talk about it.
Eventually Pete was one of few left in a mostly empty barn. The manger's family had a truly terrible health crisis and they shut their business down. Kind people helped care for the horses until a new manager came in with her own business. The new manager and the kind people had gotten Pete out and taught him to walk on a lead. They taught him not bite people, most of the time. They didn't hit him. They did geld him!
My sister boarded her mare there again under the new manager. We talked about Pete a lot. I came out and worked with the petite black horse who was so different from our powerful, willful Haflingers. He was not a dangerous stallion, he was an eager youngster who looked and acted half his age. I was impressed by how fast he figured out what I was asking of him. He didn't bite but he did think about it until my elbow arrived inconvienently in the way if he tried.
We talked to our husbands about taking on another horse but we agreed we had to many. It was a hard decision because we have what Pete needs so desperately, a green pasture with mares to kick his ass and teach him how to be a horse. Without learning how to be a horse, he would try to be what he knows and make people his herd. Treating people as his herd is a behavior that brings many horses, and sometimes people, to bad ends.
This month, Pete's owner could no longer pay board, he was to be off the feed bill by Dec. 1, a few weeks away. There are no homes for horses. Everyone I know who can take in another horse has including ourselves. No one wants a horse with no skills, no job, no value, especially just before the holidays when feed bills are highest.
And ad went up on craigslist and my sister sent it to me. Craigslist horses listed very low or for free tend to end up sucked into a creepy circuit of people buying low and re listing high or taking them to auction after posing as, "family" homes or being resold because the new owner didn't understand what it would take to care for the horse. The horses are often not well cared for and they do not learn the skills they need to find that real long-term home. I felt ill seeing that ad. I knew my sister did too.
I told my husband that Pete was on craigslist. It was last Friday and he asked me if we were picking up a horse the next day. I hadn't said much but after 10 years, I would guess he can read the look on my face.
We picked up Pete the next day. It wasn't raining so I cancelled my riding lessons and off we went. The gaggle of teenage girls that float around most barns was to be found at this one too. They became interested after seeing a strange lady walk into Pete's stall and walk him out for grooming without hesitation. No one touched Pete except the manager and my sister. They started to form an audience on the stairs across from the cross-ties where we got Pete ready, my sister installing polo wraps as the only protection we could offer his legs. We untied the tail that had been carefully braided and kept in a cover in anticipation of entering the show ring, tail like a flag, floating above the ground. It was more than a foot past the ground. My audience was silent when I pulled his tail straight and chopped it off ungracefully at the ground. I handed my sister the thick section of tail, so symbolic of an Arabian show horse and of his new future as her pasture horse.
I took out a section of the property owner's white fencing along the driveway on the way out. Good thing I bought my first trainer more than second hand because learning to pull a 3 horse slant load is not easy!
There isn't an easy way to start at the beginning so I'll start with today. Right now, The House of Yeti boasts, or is traumatized by, 3 horses and one spotted pony. There is an additional horse, she has been sent away to a reform school for teenagers who need something to do. 3 horses and one spotted pony are too many. This is the beginning of our story with a horse we can call, "Pete" for now.
If you have space, they will find you. Pete found us.
Pete is a coming 7 year old black, sorta black, Arabian with beautiful names on his papers. My husband and I first saw him on a section of video intended to sell our Paint gelding in training. Pete's performance showed a bright-eyed youngster, tail held as a flag, pacing the arena with a slow, easy trot. If the sound had been left off, the video would have been lovely. It wasn't. Pete was a young stallion with a habit of biting and attacking people. The trainer's recorded conversation was disturbing enough for us to remove our horse immediately from the barn. Pete was beautiful. We talked about who he was and how unsuitable a horse like him would be for us. But Pete was pretty. My husband kept the video years after we sold our gelding because Pete was handsome.
My sister boarded her horses over a number of years at the barn managed by the people who bred Pete with the pretty names on his pedigree. They bred horses during the time when horses were a tax write-off for the wealthy. The tax benefits were taken away by congress and left Pete's humans with a half-filled barn and boarders as the only income. The Head Trainer left, the assistant trainer took over, mostly for mucking stalls. Pete lived in a stall and was rarely touched because he's a mean stallion who bites. He was a baby mammal who put his mouth on everything to explore his world but he was left in a stall where the only thing to explore was the next person who walked in. They hit him so he bit. They hit him again, he tried to defend his small universe. They beat him next time. It wasn't just one, "They" it's what was done, he was a mean stallion. He started to cower in the corner of his stall every time someone opened the door.
My sister got to watch as months went by without Pete being turned out or handled or allowed to interact with other horses. She made quiet suggestions to his people, she petted him, she gave him treats, she took photos when his owners decided to sell him for the tax-deduction era price. Pete was covered in muck and it was hard to tell exactly what color he was. My sister did her best to make him look good but no one paid his asking price. She watched in helpless disgust that she turned her mind away from. We were children too much like Pete. I picked up pieces of Pete's story over the years he lived in his stall but only in passing, she didn't talk about it.
Eventually Pete was one of few left in a mostly empty barn. The manger's family had a truly terrible health crisis and they shut their business down. Kind people helped care for the horses until a new manager came in with her own business. The new manager and the kind people had gotten Pete out and taught him to walk on a lead. They taught him not bite people, most of the time. They didn't hit him. They did geld him!
My sister boarded her mare there again under the new manager. We talked about Pete a lot. I came out and worked with the petite black horse who was so different from our powerful, willful Haflingers. He was not a dangerous stallion, he was an eager youngster who looked and acted half his age. I was impressed by how fast he figured out what I was asking of him. He didn't bite but he did think about it until my elbow arrived inconvienently in the way if he tried.
We talked to our husbands about taking on another horse but we agreed we had to many. It was a hard decision because we have what Pete needs so desperately, a green pasture with mares to kick his ass and teach him how to be a horse. Without learning how to be a horse, he would try to be what he knows and make people his herd. Treating people as his herd is a behavior that brings many horses, and sometimes people, to bad ends.
This month, Pete's owner could no longer pay board, he was to be off the feed bill by Dec. 1, a few weeks away. There are no homes for horses. Everyone I know who can take in another horse has including ourselves. No one wants a horse with no skills, no job, no value, especially just before the holidays when feed bills are highest.
And ad went up on craigslist and my sister sent it to me. Craigslist horses listed very low or for free tend to end up sucked into a creepy circuit of people buying low and re listing high or taking them to auction after posing as, "family" homes or being resold because the new owner didn't understand what it would take to care for the horse. The horses are often not well cared for and they do not learn the skills they need to find that real long-term home. I felt ill seeing that ad. I knew my sister did too.
I told my husband that Pete was on craigslist. It was last Friday and he asked me if we were picking up a horse the next day. I hadn't said much but after 10 years, I would guess he can read the look on my face.
We picked up Pete the next day. It wasn't raining so I cancelled my riding lessons and off we went. The gaggle of teenage girls that float around most barns was to be found at this one too. They became interested after seeing a strange lady walk into Pete's stall and walk him out for grooming without hesitation. No one touched Pete except the manager and my sister. They started to form an audience on the stairs across from the cross-ties where we got Pete ready, my sister installing polo wraps as the only protection we could offer his legs. We untied the tail that had been carefully braided and kept in a cover in anticipation of entering the show ring, tail like a flag, floating above the ground. It was more than a foot past the ground. My audience was silent when I pulled his tail straight and chopped it off ungracefully at the ground. I handed my sister the thick section of tail, so symbolic of an Arabian show horse and of his new future as her pasture horse.
I took out a section of the property owner's white fencing along the driveway on the way out. Good thing I bought my first trainer more than second hand because learning to pull a 3 horse slant load is not easy!
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