It's a long one. For me, not for him...
In the middle of January I was riding with "the old man." His 13 year old WB jumper mare, and his 9 year old paint rescue. Still desperate for my own, but had just about, all but given up on looking.
The mare was jumping well- the paint... not so much. Being a rescue, this guy had not had much human interaction during most of his life- just hay and carrots over the fence, the only horse on a property of hoarded cats and other small animals. Turning was a huge issue for him, pulling on either rein got only a battle- I must have strained all the muscles in my arm trying- a problem I would later experience on my own. Well built, strong and knew it.
I had been dragging the old man along for weeks to see horses, overpriced and not right for me. Trolling Kijiji had become my specialty, anything even remotely bred warm. Carstairs, Didsbury, Acme and beyond.
And then there was this ad: "4 Purebred Warmbloods $1000 ea. OBO." Away we went. Down dirt roads with numbers for names, past feedlots, pumpjacks and crumbling barns sinking into the earth, (Rural Alberta Landscape at its best) to a farm with no sign and no house number. There were three bays and one chestnut standing at a round bale, in a foot of mud surrounded by chicken barns that looked like they had seen better days. My first thought "Ugh. more boring bays."
Pulling up beside the other cars in the "lot" a short lady in big boots came out and introduced herself. I asked her how she had come to have 4 warmbloods in a field, when she told me she had misunderstood the difference between "Registered" and "Purebred."
"Ugh... here we go. And did I mention they're all bays??"
Sloshing through the mud (yes in Calgary, there is mud and sunshine together in January, sprinkled with snow- we owe it to the mountains for the Chinook weather patterns) to the fence, we watched four round horses gorging themselves, basking in the warm sun.
"They're all pretty wild. I've had a halter on one of them."
.... Great, REALLY UNBROKEN.. Bays.... The ad had warned us, but not that these horses had never even been haltered.
The old man and I decided that we should try anyways. I really believed in his methods, his horsemanship and I do to this day. Through his grumbling about not getting paid for attempting to halter wild horses and all the things he'd rather do for the afternoon, we chased those four horses all over the field; around abandoned machinery, over the top of a pile of manure and bones, there was no run-in shelter. But the way I remembered it, Vincent didn't run- he floated. He had the movement I had been looking for: that warmblood trot, the balanced canter- he was a gem- white socks flashing.
The Mare (Roulette, Vincent's Mom) was dead lame in the front. She stopped running first and let us halter her about about an hour and a half. It broke my heart to see her crippled like that. The lady told us that she was close to 20 years old and my heart broke again. What kind of person was going to take in a 20 year old lame mare. If I could have, I would have. Her teeth were in desperate need of floating, a quick look showed the hook on the front incisors. I could only imagine the lacerations that must have been hiding in the back. Still, once caught she was soft in my hands, kind, sweet, nuzzling my hands and face. I kept her picture so I wouldn't forget her.
Vincent's two full brothers were there too. "Quinten" (the names of these horses I later learned from the copies of the papers given to me, at this time they were just "the gelding with the socks", "the dead lame one...") was lame in the back. You could see it from the start. You can see it in his picture. The back end is atrophic from not being used. By the end, he wouldn't even put his weight on the back right. He was the most Warmblood looking on of them all, he was beautiful. My heart truly broke this day to see these horses like that. If only I could have taken all of them, I could have figured out why they were so lame, someway, somehow.
The mind and the heart hardly work together. There is no way I could have financially provided for all of these horses. In my head I knew this- but to this day, there will always be some part of me that wonders "Could I have made them sound again? Made them useful?" My only solace is the thought that the woman who took the other three horses was successful in doing just that, and somewhere they are happy, sound, healthy and useful. I think of them often.
After some futile attempts to halter Vincent while he was in the pen, we decided to call it a day. I left a deposit on him and his younger brother. $100 and a promise to call later that evening. When I asked more questions I found out the chestnut was cryptoid, and three years old.
An ungelded son in the same field as his mother? My thoughts ran wild- was this gelding I was going to buy inbred? Was there something wrong with him they weren't telling me?
It would have been a good idea at this time to get a vet check. But you'll soon realize that first time experiences for me aren't always coupled with good ideas....
I committed. I thought about this gelding (said to be between 4 and 6) for a week, that had so much potential, and was so hindered by his environment. He deserved something better, more fulfilling. And to be honest... I thought I deserved to have him. I have been taking care of other people's horses for 15 years and never had one of my own.
In the truck on the way home, I made the old man promise to help me with the gelding. "He'd be worth it" he said. I told him there's no way I could train the gelding without his help. I haven't heard from him in months now. He gave up on me, because I went somewhere else- to be honest I cant blame him, he is only looking out for the best well being for his horses. Working on the weekends, I no longer had time to ride for him. He replaced me with someone else. who wouldn't want to ride amazing jumper horses for free? So now, I am left to fumble blindly on this journey without him, the new folks at the place Vincent lives now are very supportive and have stepped in to help me frequently, they also train their own horses.
A week later I had hired a trailer out of Turner Valley to move him. The place the old man's horses were kept at did not want a "wild one." I did some research and chose a high end facility in the south with great people promising to help me and offering me a job on the weekends to help pay his board. I thought he'd be proud of me- I had arranged all of this all on my own. Heck, I was proud of me...
I was so nervous. The day finally came. Sunday (rescheduled from Saturday because of a snowstorm) and -10. By now I was a wreck. I had begged the lady to let me come and spend some time with him- get him used to a halter, and to me before the trailer came. My requests were in vain. The owners of the property did not want an unknown girl on their property, a punching bag for a very wild 1200 pound horse. An unruly ram, insurance- not really sure what the real issue was and never will.
It took close to 3 hours to get him on the trailer. I was so frozen I had to stand in the shed. There is something about a horse struggling to get into a trailer that brings out crazy ideas in people. We had the 12 ft line (the lady, being the only one to ever successfully halter him got my brand new Parelli halter on him) attached to him threaded through the front windows- like a winch. I watched him panic and go up, coming down on a fence on his abdomen. I was horrified and so worried about him. I couldn't watch any more. The lady got out the stick. I was so frustrated I started to cry- if only they had given me time with him, I could have coaxed him on- pressure and release. The trailer cost me $350 for an hour trip because he took so long to get on.
Shivering uncontrollably, I paid the rest for him. $600. I promised the lady I'd send pictures from Spruce Meadows. I intend to do this- or maybe from somewhere else. She chuckled- she thinks it's impossible. He is going to be great.
He came off the trailer like an old pro, following me calmly. He spent the first week in quarantine. I spent hours with him brushing him- he loved it, fell asleep. I taught him about velcro and blankets. I picked up his feet. He got vet checked with a clean bill of health and reasonably good confirmation (there is a strange bump on his back tendon but has never been lame and his front right leg has a slight turn, so slight you'd never notice.) He got his teeth floated and his vaccines. I was in love.
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