Treasures' Trove Boarding Stable

Appaloosa Katet

By Ed Fussell and Joy Neverla

It was late spring, early summer of 2007 that a series of events were about to unfold that would change the direction of my future---at least, my future endeavors with horses.

                While visiting the stables to help my then ill wife with her mustang, I had been taking care of a little bay horse that seemed to me to have been forgotten by his owner.  Just when we began to build a splendid relationship, his owner moved to Florida and took him with her. I fell into a blue funk that was magnified each time I went to the stables, despite the ministrations of my wife, Joy and our friend Silke, owner of TNT stables. This blue funk impeded with my new-found interest in horses, and as time went on, seemed only to get worse. 

                Destiny was about to intervene.

                One afternoon, as we drove into the yard with our cadre of companions, Jubal and Sol, our dogs, we observed Silke working a new horse in the round pen.  He was a beautiful leopard spot appaloosa, and Silke was having a right smart time with this fellow.  Although his original name is Stardust, she had a few other alternate names, but we will stick with the name Dusty.  At any rate, it appeared to me that he was not happy with where he was, or with what he was doing.  

                Now, understand this comes from someone who other than knowing which end the hay goes in and which end it comes out, didn't know a thing about a horse.  Having stating my qualifications, I will say this:  Silke, on the other hand, knows horses, and this fellow was a handful.  He wasn't mean or nasty, but he was determined that he wasn't giving his trust over easily.  I watched with renewed interest as Silke performed hand-to-hoof combat with her new charge.

                After informing me that she wanted him isolated until he became used to his new environment.  I had to be satisfied with watching him, which wasn't hard to do. He was beautiful: bright white coat beset with coal-black dots throughout; head and ears up, alert, intelligent, and proud.  There was no fooling him---he knew that he wasn't in Kansas anymore, where he came from, and there was no use in looking for the Wizard. To me, he also seemed to feel lost, alone, confused and maybe even betrayed.

                Time went by, and things for Dusty and the rest of the world weren't getting much better.   Every time I came by, I would look at him, as was my habit to watch all the horses. One day, as I stood there watching him, I was no longer being ignored---he had turned and was watching me!  This was something new for me.  Joy had told me at one time that you do not always pick the horse, sometimes the horse picks you. Unbeknownst to me, this was the beginning of the end of my blue funk.

                Previous to this incident, I had read books, saw videos, and listened to instructions on how to approach a new horse.  So I started slow.  At this time, Silky had Dusty in the round pen again. So I walked over to say hi, but what I got in return was a centered view of his hindquarters.  I stood there for a while and the view got no better, so, upon advice from Joy, I called it a day.  As I started to leave, an odd thing happened: I looked back and saw Dusty looking back at me as if to say, "That's it?"

                I watched more videos, read more books, asked more advice, and came back prepared to do battle.  Cookies in one pocket, candy in the other and a prayer on my lips. And Dusty came prepared as well:  hindquarters groomed, attitude primed, and a sneer of contempt in place.

                This time, as I entered the battle arena and stood before my foe, he promptly went to the opposite side, and surprise---showed me his backside. (Later I discovered that meant, "Stay away!"  I can be a bit dense, but I still got the hint.) This time, after a few minutes of the standoff, he looked over his left shoulder as if to say, "You're still here?"

                I went left, he went right; and then we reversed directions. We danced this way for a few minutes and stopped:  me on one side, Dusty on the other, facing me down with his butt.  I contemplated the situation, trying not to look like I was out of breath.  I also noticed his water bucket overturned.  As an excuse to hide my lack of knowing what to do next, I went to refill his bucket.  Without realizing it, that is exactly what Mark Rashid said to do: walk away.  As I walked away to fill up his water bucket, I thought, well, I didn't progress, but I hadn't regressed, either. Looking back, I noticed him sniffing the spot where I had stood, and looking at me.  While returning to the pen with the water, I got to thinking that Dusty had won round one and two, plus had me trained to get his water, and I hadn't noticed.

                When I reentered the pen, Dusty was still at the other side, and he no longer had his backside to me, but was partly facing me.  As I have heard Clinton Anderson say that it is no eyes, one eye, then two eyes when you know you are making progress.   Rashid, Parelli, Anderson, Joy, and Silke all told me the same thing: cause the horse to think. After all, he had me thinking. So, while I considered all of that, I figured this was a good positive ending to the day.

                When I returned, I had new information in hand, cookies and candy in pocket, and a new plan in mind. Again, we danced a while. Then, I went to the middle of the ring, turned my back on Dusty, pulled my hat down over my eyes, folded my hands in front of me---just as Mark Rashid said---and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Days turned into night, seasons changed, and still I waited. Then, I got my answer: a sniffing sound at my back.

                Our relationship progressed very well after that day. He began to look forward to seeing me almost as much as I to see him. Although, I had help and advice from others, I believe this: Dusty showed me how to train him or maybe he just trained me---who knows? But I do know if I make mistakes, he'll forgive me.

                Now during all this learning cycle Dusty and I were going through, there was a conspiracy being hatched.   Understand, Silke took on Dusty to train him so he could be ridden, then she planned to sell him to someone as a trail horse. She was kind enough to allow me access to Dusty and help train him with this purpose in mind. Dusty "Warlock" (his nickname because he has a magical way of getting into mischief) and I were becoming good friends.  Herein began the conspiracy, unbeknownst to me.

                One afternoon, as I am fixing our horses' feed for the afternoon, Silke walks up to me and says: "Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of an appaloosa."  You have to understand:  her sense of timing was perfect! Here I am, up to my elbows in a bucket of wet alfalfa and beet pulp, two hungry horses staring at me and she lays this bomb on me!  With a "cat that ate the canary" smile on her face, a bounce to her step, she turns on her heels and leaves me standing there with my mouth open wide enough to catch flies.  Quickly, with a superb mastery of the English language and a rapier wit, I reply, "huh?"  Patiently, she repeats what she said. It cleared up nothing for me, but it gave me a chance to spew forth any excuse I could muster:  "I don't know how to take care of a horse!" (like as if I hadn't already been doing it).  Unfettered, she replies that her and Joy would help me.  Just like that, I am a "proud owner", as she had put it, of a beautiful leopard-spot appaloosa. But this is only part of the conspiracy….as a conspiracy takes more than one.

                I went to find Joy and to explain what Silke had just told me. She listened, nodded at the appropriate times and was oddly calm about the whole ordeal.  My discovery came a few months later while we are having a discussion about the horses.  I made a commit about how glad I was and how nice Silke had been about giving me Dusty.  There were a few more frills and dressings, but you get the picture.  Joy replies, "Yes it was, and I think we did a good job of selling you on the idea."

                I may not be the brightest bulb on the chandelier, but I caught the "we" part.  After asking her what the "we" meant, she became evasive.  I didn't give in, it was a contest of wills; I continued to interrogate, question after question. I got tougher, went to torture, water-boarding, bamboo under the fingernails, pulled out all the stops, still she wouldn't sing. Then it hit me: I informed her that if she didn't spill the beans, I would smear Nair on Stoney, her beloved mustang. She couldn't help it, she gave it up.

                The story is that she and Silke felt that I needed more training and that the best one for the job was Dusty. I hate to admit it, but they were right. In fact, it has been over a year since and Dusty has been doing a right fine job of it. He still is not able to break me to a saddle but we will get there. 

                So that is how I came to own a fine Appaloosa pony named Dusty, and with the continued help from two good friends---conspirators that they are---he will make a fine trail pony one day.