Horses I have Known

My Dad was a wheat farmer, so his sons were not raised as cowboys. We had no big hats, high-heeled boots, spurs or chaps. His first homestead, taken in 1898, was at Glen Ewen Saskatchewan. His second, or pre-emption, was in 1910, between “Wood Mountain" and "Willow Bunch" in the “Little Woody district”. After 1928, when the railroad came, it was 4 ½ miles northeast of where the town of Rockglen is now.

Our farm on the shores of Fife Lake, early 1920’s. Photo courtesy of author.

Dad was a wheat farmer, but that does not mean we didn't have horses, we had lots of them. Each with its own personality, as all us mammals do; some good, some bad, some real characters.

Everyone’s favourite was an older bay gelding by the name of “Dudley”. If a horse could have been a British Remittance Man, he would have been. Well brought up, but having a tendency to be a bit lazy. Satisfied with three meals a day and a roof over his head at night. He was the nicest tempered horse you could hope for. He seemed to love people, especially kids, and relished attention. Anyone could ride him, always bareback. Part of the fun was tickling his flanks with your bare heels and hanging on as he would playfully give a little buck, more of a humping of his back, no one ever fell off. Then he would look back over his shoulder and smile if possible and look for approval. He seemed to enjoy it as much or more than us kids.

His teammate, if driven, was a very gentle mare, quiet and docile. She had been wound up in a barbed-wire fence before my time, and had a pronounced limp. We called her “Kitt". We drove them to school sometimes. Quite slowly I might add. This was during the 1930s. Our school was 5 miles north of the town of Rockglen. It was called “Moyer" and was 3 ½ miles northwest of our farm buildings.

Hills south of Rockglen, 1942. Everett Baker Photo Collection.

Bad horses were few, but we did have one. His name was “Pete”. My Dad always referred to him as the “Outlaw”. At an early age, we learned not to get too close to his heels or his head, as he was apt to kick or bite. He was big and strong and, if teamed with the right mate, was a good worker - usually with a mare named “Betty" who was a big, strong, stable, sensible harness horse. We didn’t often get a team to drive to school, but we had a homemade two-wheeled cart - as a rule, pulled by “Kitt" and “Dudley" or other gentle, well-mannered horses.

One day in 1937, when brother Bill (who was 14 years of age) and sister Muriel (who was 16) were still going to school (it was their last year), the four of us were coming home from school with “Pete" and “Betty” hitched to the cart. Unknown to us, Dad and two sons-in-law were butchering. When we got close to the buildings, “Pete” smelled the blood and began to dance; he took the bit in his teeth and took off. Bill was in the driver’s seat, of course, and strong, but he hollered “pile out, I can't hold them!" which brother Hal and I did, over the back end, and away they went. Eventually, after about ½ mile, he got them under control. No harm done. Such was Pete the "Outlaw”.

Another of my companions, and I use the term loosely, was “Doc,” an ornery old beggar, not very big, who had learned lots of bad habits, as he was an orphan and raised on the bottle. His mother died during his birth. He was okay as long as he got his own way, which was usually the opposite of what I wanted.

After Muriel and Bill quit school, Hal and I got there by “shanks mare" on foot. But after Hal quit, I was given the privilege (?) of riding old Doc. He hated the trip more than I did, I think. Coming home was fine, as he knew a bite of oats and hay were waiting for him, but going…he used every trick imaginable to make it miserable for me.

Horse ranching, Bill Smith Range, South Fork, 1956. Everett Baker Photo Collection.

During those times (the 1930’s), some enterprising people decided we should have telephone service, and the first line was carried on a barbed wire fence. It worked sometimes, but never in wet weather. Going on the trail to school there was no fence, so a barbed wire was strung to carry the telephone service on posts about four feet high. When I was riding old Doc it would be on my thigh, between knee and hip.

I don’t know how he knew it, but old Doc had it figured out that if he crowded that wire, I would be apt to get a real scratch. It was a real struggle for me to keep him away from it. One morning, I guess I was feeling as contrary as he was (early morning depression I suppose), so I decided, after getting tired of trying to keep him away, that I would teach him a lesson. I let him crowd the wire and at the last minute pulled my leg out of the way to let the barbed wire scratch him instead of me. I didn’t succeed, and ended up with torn pants and had to go home, which was what Doc wanted in the first place. No school for me that day. Doc was spoiled. I feel most bad traits horsed develop are partially caused by human influence.

Brother Hal acquired a good saddle horse in his early teenage years. Her name was “Babe”. They got along very well as horse and rider, mostly bareback. One trick they developed was going full tilt through the open big barn doors at the end of the ride. The doors rolled on rollers on an overhead track. The track had a shield over it to keep out dirt and snow, which in time fell off, leaving the groove in the track open, which Hal would grab as they went under it, leaving the reins over Babe’s neck as she went on into the barn. This happened time after time, until one day the track shield had been replaced unknown to Hal and he had no groove to catch his fingers on. He ended up on his back on the cement pad in front of the barn. No harm done. I can visualize brother John standing hidden in the trees, with a knowing grin. Probably having discreetly replaced the shield anticipating the results. Only speculation on my part, but it would be typical of one of John’s tricks.

Dan on “Toots.” Photo courtesy of author.

I should mention “Toots". I bought her in 1951 after I started farming, as I had started producing beef cattle and as there were no Quads in those days, I needed a means of herding. She was a good saddle horse, long-legged and intelligent. She could really travel sometimes, pacing as it was in her genes, I guess. She bore a son eventually, a “ketch colt” as the term was. A big blockhead, not too smart. I had him gelded, Francis Anderson did the job. I traded him in 1964 as part payment for a little Welsh pinto, ”Cindy,” for my kids.

“Cindy” was a nice little companion for my family. They rode her everywhere. But she must have gotten quite lonely while the kids were in school. She developed a relationship with a white orphan calf that we were raising on the bottle. The relationship got quite strong and eventually, she started mothering it, to the extent that it began nursing from her. The calf grew and the horse didn’t until the calf got almost as big as Cindy, and was still nursing. It got to be a bit embarrassing when the school bus or someone else drove into the yard while this performance was going on.

“Cindy” with the author’s sons, Cameron and Russell.

Every story does not have a happy ending, as in the case of this one. I have to mention a very painful experience suffered during my childhood - the demise of Kitt, and our good friend and playful companion, Dudley. The day Pete the “Outlaw” and his teammate ran away with us, it was not my Dad doing the butchering, as previously stated, but the two young sons-in-law, Ernest and Virgil. The blood that Pete smelled was not of beef but was the blood of Kitt and Dudley.

In looking back from today, and a lifetime of more or less prosperity by comparison, and the devaluation of the dollar, it is hard to explain the situation as it was at that time. A bushel of oats was probably worth only a few cents, but to have it, you had to find the oats and then find the money to buy it. Hay was the same. You must understand and realize that this was caused not only by the worst drought in history but also by the worst economic depression experienced so far. Any money that could be found went for the bare necessities for human survival.

So, in facing facts, if an animal was not able to pull his weight and was getting older with worn-down teeth and so on, they were disposed of. Such were Kitt and Dudley. My Dad could not do it, so the dirty work fell to the sons-in-law. Horsehides were probably worth a dollar or two, which they would get. It was heartbreaking, but part of growing up.

Dan Belbeck.

DAN BELBECK is from Rockglen, Sask. He is 92 years old and still lives alone, still drives and looks after himself. He admits his memory for 75 years ago is better than it is for this morning or yesterday.

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