What's in a name?

Names have always been critical to me. Finding the best name for animals, plants, vehicles, stuffed toys - it's one of the greatest challenges and, when successful, most satisfying  experiences. Names capture the essence of whomever - or whatever. Over the years, we have changed the existing name of horses and cats without issue. When my BigMan came into my life, I decided to continue calling him "Sport" as that fit him perfectly. He was a sport, and a bloody good one at that. "BigMan" was the most appropriate nickname for him as he was enormous. When it came time to show him, I chose "The Highwayman". Being a flea-bitten grey, black and white were the only colours he could wear, so the dashing moniker fit.

The Highwayman at Foxcroft...

Sambora, the first photo taken...

I was lucky enough to be able to name Sambora. That she had gone three years of her life without a name (though she was, as I was told, called "Monster" because apparently she was a "big foal") was another wrong I was hell-bent on righting. In early 1987, I had gone to see Bon Jovi in concert at the Cap Centre in the DC-Metropolitan area (Landover, Maryland, to be precise). While Jon was undeniably a draw, I was riveted when guitarist Richie Sambora stepped up to his mic and began singing Dobie Gray's "Drift Away". I had no idea where he'd been keeping that voice, but wow. Tall. Dark. Deep chocolate eyes. And his name was super cool - Sambora. "Sam" had always been a favourite name of mine, and calling my beautiful dark bay Thoroughbred-Quarterhorse mare "Sam" or "Sammy" was as natural as saying my own name. Thinking of the future, I thought how clever, and appropriate to name Sam's First Born "Riches", as in "Sambora's Riches". It would certainly further honour the man for whom I had named the best thing to ever come into my life, as well as imbue Sam's baby with all the intrinsic value of the word "Riches". In short order, I realised Richie had named my horse for me. Both of them.

The Gold Cup Steeplechase was a huge social and sporting event in Northern Virginia. It was thrilling to see high blooded horses racing around the emerald grass track, pouring over fences like so many richly coloured spices spilling across a table. After the races were concluded and the traffic thinned out, it was customary to go to Mosby's Tavern in Middleburg for the "after party". It was always packed with jockeys, locals, equestrians, horsey people enjoying the loud music and drinks. Once Sambora was "mine", I was fizzing to be part of the horsey-set.

Wandering around with a drink in my hand, some guy barely taller than me (likely a jockey or perhaps a wannabe) came up and started a conversation. He asked if I had a horse, and I proudly said, "Yes. A dark bay mare."

He then asked, "What's her name?"

"Sambora." Not really sure why her name was important to him, but okay. It was Mosby's after Gold Cup.

His eyes lit up, "Oh? Is she Arabian?"

Over it, I replied, "No. She's Jersey Italian."

Whether or not it was the clever answer I thought it was, it worked, and I was left alone to people watch.

I had Sammy at a private barn of a woman who foxhunted and made the Hunter/Jumper rounds. I did stalls, fed, brought in and turned out, and groomed at various events in exchange for Sam's board. Luckily, Gayle, the owner, invited me to take Sam along whenever there was an opportunity. Driving to the barn the day of our first show in a long time, I got to thinking about a "show" name for Sammy. Mel Gibson's version of Hamlet had recently been released to theatres. Then I progressed to Shakespeare and his brilliance, and my mind seized upon a phrase, "we are such stuff as dreams are made on" from The Tempest. I worked it around to "Stuff of Dreams", and smiled to myself, quite pleased. Certainly Sambora was the stuff of my little girl horsey dreams, and so she became officially, my "Stuff of Dreams"...

Stuff of Dreams, with Mrs. Braly and Richard, before classes got started...

"Doodle" doing what she did best...

Years later, I did stalls and took care of horses for a woman outside of Leesburg in exchange for a small barn. Sam, Sport, and Riches made themselves comfortable, and life was going merrily along. Jocelyn, the woman, she decided I needed a pony to help Sam with give lessons. On New Year's Eve, we went to the sale at Thurmont, Maryland (boy howdy do I know how to celebrate...). I saw a darling little bloody bay pony mare being put through her paces out in the dark parking lot. Walk, trot, canter, jump - she did it all. And she did it with panache and aplomb. I pointed her out to Jocelyn, and we waited for her to "go through the sale". Enthused by her cucumber-cool demeanor in the noise and clamour of the auction barn, Jocelyn set about the bidding with gusto, and we won. According to what we'd gathered about her at the sale, her name was "Samantha". I had a "Sambora", so that wasn't going to do. Her previous name had been "Molly", which was what I'd called my burnt pumpkin Toyota Tercel years before. She was a funny, feisty, sweet little girl, so I decided to call her after one of my favourite cookies, "Snickerdoodle". The only shortening possible was "Doodle". When we went up to collect my new pony, calling her "Doodle" was just funny. And somehow right.

Fast forward to 2008 and Hideout Ranch. Craig and I decided (well, okay, I decided...) we would give our horses names representative and reflective of the West. We wanted to draw our guests' attention to the West, to cowboys and Indians, to history and literature, to legend and lore - to real people who carved a home out of an unforgiving wilderness. The conversation introducing our guests to their horses would forge a path for talking about the inspiration for the name, and we could educate and inform our guests. Some recognised the name and its source, and lively discussion would ensue. Often, we'd watch the movie or talk about the book, perhaps listen to the music. It was a challenge sometimes (as we'll see later), but we did our best to capture the essence of the animal.

As you may have read, the Original Seven horses we brought with us from the farm got to keep their names - Sambora, Riches, Doodle, Kansas, Calvin, Tonka. Sebastian was the ironic twist in all of this. The tall, lanky bay gelding Craig bought as a two-year old was called "Pancho" in Arizona. Craig brought him with the other three boys to Virginia, but we didn't really know what to do with him. When I'd ridden him in Arizona on trail, he did all he could to convince me he was actually not a "Western" horse, and I could not argue with him. Following my instinct, I reschooled him under English tack and rechristened him "Sebastian". When I took Riches and Sebastian schooling at Elysian Hills Equestrian Center near the farm, Craig barely recognised his horse in his new guise. His jaw dropped and his pride burst in a smile, shining from behind his beard.

Sebastian or, as he was shown, "Into Everything". Because if a horse could get in trouble, it was Sebastian...

The first horse we purchased specifically for the ranch was Mose, the big chestnut draft-cross. His name prior to purchase was Spanish for monkey or ape or something primate. We decided to call him "Mose", a character from one of our favourite Westerns, "Open Range". The character Mose was a tall, hefty young man who was affable, stalwart, and unflappable. Much like our new big red gelding...

Mose...

Second to join the Hideout horses, was Yaqui. At the ranch where we found the handsome red roan called him "RagTail". It was a disturbing situation.The owner lived in Rhode Island and maybe saw the little gelding once a year. Yaqui was named for one of the native tribes of Mexico. As it often happens, the names take on a life of their own. Yaqui would, on occasion, find deep sand completely irresistible, and drop to scratch an itch. He didn't do it out of malice or meanness, he was just sweaty under the saddle and enjoyed a good itch. His nickname quickly became "Yaq 'n' Roll". Yaqui's favourite things in the world were teenaged boys. Something about their youth and abandonment connected with him, and he was always happiest with them in the saddle.



 




I may not get all these horses in the right order of appearance, but I think the next horses to come home to Hideout Ranch were three lovely mares from a friend in Kentucky. Craig drove "back East " one more time to pick up Hope, Lizzie, and Sada from a friend's farm. He left the ranch Sunday morning, and was back Wednesday night. His motivation for such haste was quite literally a matter of life and death. But, that's another story, so back to the horses.

When renaming horses and if I know their previous name, I try to have their Hideout name be as similar as possible in sound. Hope was a stunning black and white Tobiano mare, and her name was a breeze to convert. She instantly became Hopi, for the Hopi Indians living in northeastern Arizona. Lizzie and Sada presented a bit more of a challenge and were tremendous opportunities for learning some fascinating facts.

Hopi, dazzling in the Arizona sun...

Lizzie, a beautiful black Quarterhorse mare, inspired me to look up Lozen, and learn more about the Apache. According to Wikipedia, "Lozen (c. 1840-June 17, 1889) was a warrior and prophet of the Chihenne Chiricahua Apache. She was the sister of Victorio, a prominent chief. Born into the Chihenne band during the 1840s, Lozen was, according to legends, able to use her powers in battle to learn the movements of the enemy." Lozen became one of our most loved guest horses, even prompting a singer/songwriter friend to write and record a musical tribute to this incredible warrior woman.

Lozen, who learned so much with us and grew so brave...

Sada sent me on a chase from one idea to another before I settled on "Naja", pronounced nah-hah. Of Arabic origin, Naja means Rescue or Escape. It is also the Navajo word for "crescent", and is customarily the pendent or centerpiece of a squash blossom necklace. The Spanish conquistadors brought the crescent to the New World with them after, perhaps, appropriating it from the Moors who would affix an inverted crescent on their horses' tack for protection against evil. However, the naja inverted crescent may predate even the Moors as it was a symbol of Astarte, a Phoenician Goddess of Fertility.

Naja, our stunning true black Arabian...

As we had more than 40 horses, there will most assuredly be more, so keep checking back...

Happy Gotcha Day, Chisum!

Chisum, in the Holding Facility...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 2016, Craig and I learned about the Trainer Incentive Program (TIP), a collaboration between the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and the Mustang Heritage Foundation. The goal of the program was to adopt "wild" Mustangs out to the public and train them for ranch work. Given our positive experience with Cap, our Mustang who participated in the inaugural Extreme Mustang Makeover, we wanted to bring more of these incredible representatives of the American West to Hideout Ranch. We made arrangements with the sponsor of the program and trainer, and scheduled an appointment on May 6th to meet with officials at the BLM Holding Facility in Florence, Arizona. Excited at the prospect of another Mustang, we started the three hour trek to Tucson at an unholy hour.

Cap, Hideout Ranch's first Mustang, and a young guest at Granite Gap...

We picked up the trainer at White Stallion Ranch, then continued on to Florence. Craig, JP, and I followed the BLM official to the section of pens. Most of the horses were plastered to the back of the pens - except for the black with a blazing white will-o'-the-wisp centered on his forehead. Fizzing, we made our way to the front of his pen, and I stretched my hand out toward the small gelding. He took a shy step, reached his muzzle and met my fingertips. Once he touched me - of his own volition - Craig, with a catch in his voice, announced "He's ours." And with that, Chisum became the newest of the Hideout Horses.

Shooing us out of the way, they ran Chisum out of the pen, down the alleys, and into a chute where they did what they did to get him ready for his trailer ride to his new life. Craig expertly backed the trailer to the head of the chute, and we all waited to see how Chisum would react. It really didn't take a great effort to usher him into the big, roomy aluminum trailer. Of course, he wasn't tied as being haltered was one of the first training exercises of Chisum's journey. Once he was safely in, we shut the door and headed back to Tucson where Chisum would be staying at White Stallion for his training. 

Chisum, waiting rather calmly to start his new life...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chi

Chisum traveled quietly, for being a "big, scary wild Mustang". After an uneventful loading, we were curious about how he would unload. See for yourself...

It was tough to leave him, having just fallen in love with him, but we were slated to be back at White Stallion for an AZDRA meeting on May 12th. Of course, we were planning to spend time with our boy. After the meeting, we all gathered out at a small round pen where, only six days into his training, I rode Chisum. Myself. JP said, "You realise this is not typical, adopters riding their Mustang so soon."

I replied, "You realise we are not your typical adopters."

He could not disagree.

Chisum came home to Hideout Ranch in July of 2016. He's gone on trail with me countless times, and with guests nearly as often. Craig was inordinately proud of our "Big Scary Mustang". I teased him about his saddle being too big and too heavy for Chisum so obviously Craig couldn't ride him and, therefore, Chisum was mine. He didn't seem to mind, he was simply overjoyed to have Chisum home with us.

I could not recommend Mustangs enough, though with proper and professional training. They are proud, noble creatures, but they are steady and stalwart. Chisum and Cap are living proof that the legacy of America's Horses lives on...

One of the Best Episodes of As The Gate Swings...

Kiowa, our precious Tiny Dancer - and the biggest flirt ever...

One of  the very best episodes of "As The Gate Swings" we ever watched here at Hideout Ranch involved Kiowa, our adorable paint pony. Our cherished friend, Monique, had been diagnosed with cancer in 2011. After breaking that unpleasant news to us, she asked us to take her horses. She had two mares - one, a delicate Arab-Quarterhorse paint who looked like a yearling for her entire life. The other, Peppy, was a chestnut Quarterhorse mare who only let Monique on her back. When they came here, we chose to let Peppy keep her name and be officially retired. She was Monique's horse, and would always be Monique's horse.

The delicate but saucy paint, being decidedly younger, we eagerly added to "the string" and gave her a "Hideout name". Lonesome Dove, the book and the movie, was one of Craig's favourites, and served as source of many names. There is a line Gus McCrae says to Woodrow F. Call about the grey mare Call is attempting to break as the movie opens. After the mare throws Call then bites him, Gus warns him you "can never trust a Kiowa mare" - The Kiowa were one of the many Plains native tribes. The line always amused me, and I was only too excited to call a mare "Kiowa", hence a play on "Kiowa mare". However, we could trust our Kiowa. She was steady and solid out on trail, and the apple of every little girl's eye who came to ride with us.

Kiowa was a flirt. AND she had Craig wrapped around her little hoof. She darted through the gate one night, charging from the bottom pasture into the upper one because, ostensibly, she liked the boy horses in the upper pasture better. Of course, Craig let her do what she wanted because, well, he was Craig. Kiowa immediately took up with Logan, one of our "Sackett" boys. He was an elegant grey, personable and adorable. Logan didn't really know what to do with all the attention, but he took up with our brazen hussy and let her call the shots. 

Logan, one of our "Sackett" greys...

All seemed well and happy in the Upper Pasture, Kiowa and Logan snoodling and canoodling all around. Well and happy, until... Mac.

Mac, our "drug horse", proving bad treatment doesn't always ruin a good horse...

Mac is a tall blood bay gelding we'd gotten from a local ranch. He was named for Tom Selleck's character Mac Traven in "The Shadow Riders", a Louis L'Amour story. As the story goes, Mac was used by the cartels to carry bundles of drugs across the border, and was confiscated by the DEA. One side of his body has scars and indentations from the drugs being strapped too tightly to him. Mac played a significant role here, and there is much more to tell about this unbelievable animal. But, I will strive to focus on this one episode.

Kiowa and Mac...

We'd turned Mac out in The Brat Pack (brace yourselves, there are loads of stories there...), a very tight-knit group of geldings. Josh, our wrangler, kept an eye on the getting-to-know-you process. Things in a group of big, boisterous boy horses, all with shoes all around, can get dangerous during these introductions. He realised the Brats were not letting Mac near the water, so he made an executive decision to move Mac from the Brats to the Upper Pasture with Wyatt, Hawk, Kiowa, South, and Logan. Well...

Hawk, the gentlest giant...

Kiowa brazenly ran up to Mac, cooing and flirting, saying "Oooooh, you're new here! You're tall and dark and handsome - and you're dangerous. You have a past." There were squeals and stomps and some running about, but everyone soon settled down. Then, poor Logan realised he'd lost his girl. He was dejected, of course. A little listless. Wandering around.Then, Hawk walked up and nudged him, saying, "Hey man. Sorry about your girl. Come on. I'll buy you a beer..."

From then on, Logan and Hawk were inseparable. I would have to give Hawk a treat in order to take Logan from the pasture to ride. Hawk would wait for Logan to come back and pelt him with questions about the trail and what happened and did he eat my granola bar at lunch.

Kiowa and Mac did remain a couple - with one amusing hiccup - which we will keep for another day...

Logan (l) and Hawk (r) became inseperable...

Mose. That's all. Just Mose...

Mose on his test ride...

The end of May 2008, Craig and I went to Columbus, New Mexico to see some horses. Some of the guys from the electric company were talking with Craig about horses, one in particular. Craig and I made our way to the gentleman's house, and watched as a man pulled in with a rickety pickup and even older trailer. We waited as he opened the back door and backed out a big, deep chestnut gelding. The look in Craig's eye said it all. Craig tacked this big guy up with my saddle, then helped me climb aboard. Well. This chestnut was perfect. Ideal. Big. Solid. Gave a feeling of instant stability and safety. Craig got on, and that was it. He was ours. We made a show of haggling on the price (Craig was not at all a bargainer), but we left with the first member of the Hideout Ranch horse string, Mose (named for a character in the movie, Open Range).

Per the usual precaution, we kept him quarantined in a round pen for the first couple weeks. Used to alfalfa, he would rootle through the bucket of Bermuda grass and look at us accusingly. Didn't take him long to decide grass was okay, and he settled into life here.
 
When we turned him out with the boys, Tonka, one of our original herd and a classic "tough guy", ran up to Mose (who was taller and heavier) turned and let loose with both back feet. Mose stood for a moment, then turned and returned fire. Craig and I both ran, screaming and yelling, into the pasture, scolding them both.

Tonka raced up to me, panting, saying "Mommy! Mommy! Did you see what he did to me? He KICKED at me!"

I looked at him as every mother looks at a child who started the ruckus then denies it.

No one had scratches or blood, and all was calm. We just shook our heads. And Mose became the boss...

Even as we added horses, Mose was one of the best. Safe. Solid. Everything he was during his "job interview" was proven true. In buckets. Up at the Stronghold with our good friends from New York, Mose and Bob were spending the day together. Coming down from the lunch summit through a narrow channel, Mose felt Bob go off balance in the saddle and actually stood on his own hoof - steady as a rock - until Bob was settled back into the saddle. Bob remarked on how this horse knew what was going on and how Mose intentionally "saved" him. It was just one of the many times Mose took care of our guests...

Mose (l) and Tonka (r) after making peace...

Mose with Bob (r)...

Mose and Bob leading up behind the E...

Mose and Bob at the Stronghold...

Mose with Barry for a photo shoot...

Mose, making my saddle look itsy-bitsy...

Mose and a guest riding the ranch...