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...