Hello. Welcome to Horse Hope

I'm sure glad you have a few minutes to stop in and look around. I look forward to getting to know each and everyone of you. But let's start of with you getting to know me a bit.

I was raised in Utah, the youngest of 9 children. There was an 8 year age difference between my sister and I. So I spent a lot of time, using my imagination, and feeding my imagination with books. I could read at an early age, and by the time I hit Jr. high I had earned myself the nickname *horse* I took it all in my stride. Water off a ducks back. I kept reading.

Mom raised me up good. Being a single mother, she was always there, and always supportive. When I was 7 Mom took me to meet a friend of a friend. This man would become one of the most influential people in my life. And my "unofficially adopted Dad" Bob. From here out I'll call him Dad, it's easier for me. And I'm sure there are those who can relate.

I can still recall the first time I met my "Dad". He lived in the recreational valley, east of where I was born. "Dad" had never had kids, but he sure handled me well.. I wasn't shy. There was a horse involved, no room for shy here. I met Dad and smiled, and said "Is that your horse?" Dad says, "Yep, that's my horse Star" Now I looked at Star, I knew his color was bay, and I got this real big ego and I popped off "He's a Stallion right" Dad looks kinda funny and replies with "Yeah, he's a stud horse, how did you know?" Big 7yr old ego replies " Cuz his mane falls on the left side of his neck and all stallions manes are on the left side"

Folks, I don't know where I got that from. *Is laughing even now* But it was something I was darn sure of. Funny the things kids think of. Anyhow, Dad pastured another horse for a buddy. A big ole 'Appy', whom I will call Fred. His real name I wont use.. But he was a sweet big ole guy - just as gentle as a kitten. The second Dad asked if I wanted to ride. I was out of my skin. If I recall correctly, I was very assuring as to my abilities. I explained how the reins work. Not to pull to hard, cuz their mouth was soft and could get hurt, how ya don't yell at 'em and scare 'em. Hey, I had the best riding instructors available. Why who could be better then Walter Farley. Anna Sewell, and truck loads of authors whose love of the horse, put pen to ink.

Id read 'em all, some twice. Dad saddled Fred, and helped me up. The stirrups wouldn't adjust to my legs, so I just held on. He led me a bit then, he let me go. I took a few turns around the yard, he and Mom watched. Poor Mom, I think back, she must have been a wreck of nerves. Love ya Mom, dont worry. Im still OK.

I made trips to see Dad every weekend. I rode, I brushed, I learned to build a fire in that old pot bellied stove at the ranch house. Oh it was a small place. But to Dad and I, that place held more memories then you could fit into Mile High Stadium. Dad taught me how to clean tack, how to fix tack, how to feed, and my least favorite and a forever battle. -To muck. I learned to milk the goat, and how to avoid the Billy goat.

Just before my 8th birthday, Dad and I went to visit a couple of our friends. Good folks, who had a few horses. Well they had a horse, who just so happen to have had a baby a day or so before. That's all I needed to hear, I was in the pasture looking. While the adults were asserting assorted precautions, and the occasional "Get outa there before you're hurt" I fell in love with her. She was registered Gallant Hustler. What a good girl, and my best friend. I was at her place every chance I got. We played hide and seek, tag 'you're it', and just had fun hanging out with each other. I told her everything.

Now I don't know when Dad arranged to buy Gallant for me. I remember walking her home; those few blocks were the most exciting moments in my life. I kept thinking "She's mine, she's really mine" Sometimes I couldn't help it. I'd have to pat her and say "we're going home, its OK" Cept for when she kicked that car. She didn't leave a mark, she was so small, but the faces on those folks. Man, if it happened now. I'd make sure they were OK, then tell em about horse and car safety.

Gal and I were, how does Forrest gump put it, oh yes "Peas and Carrots" And were we ever. I would walk her all over town. When they laid new blacktop on the street in front of the house, you can bet those hoof prints were a conversation piece for years. I used them as a stride guide. As she grew, her stride grew. Now we kept Gal in the pasture with Star. Star was used for breeding. (He was a Morgan. Reg. name Raydel Star) Anyhow, he had no interest in Gal, she was young, and he went right to being her big brother. I often rode Star in the pasture, and she would follow. As I got bigger, and she did, I would pony her around.

I would put things on Gals back, blankets, my own legs when Dad wasn't looking. Id sit at night while she ate and talk to her, and Star. Finally saddle day came. Now Dad was great at raising me. He would give me advice then, let me learn from my mistakes. He never talked down, or said I messed up. He would say, well read on.

So I get my saddle, and Gal's like 'OK nothing new just Kar putting something else on me'. Dad and his buddy are standing there, and Dad says, Hmm Do ya think that saddle will fit her? Star is bigger then her. "Oh it will be OK, I'm not going to ride her, just saddle her up and let her stand here a few minutes."

Well folks, a saddle looks much better on top of a horse. And your horse looks real funny with her front legs apart, looking at that thing and then at you and her ears are going but she is silently screaming MOM HELP!

Dad and his buddy, I dint know how they kept from crackin up. I soaked it in, and unsaddled the 'topsy turvy' mess, and chewed down my pride as I asked Dad if we could get a smaller cinch, cuz Star's didn't fit.

I "broke" (as it was OK to call it then) Gallant by cheating. I would let her follow Star and Dad. She threw me one time. Actually way after I'd been riding her. Why? Well, she was *Butt sour* Lesson learned.

Now on top of reading everything about horses I could find. Including Dad's entire collection of Western Horseman, and my own developing collection of Horse Illustrated 'mag., I watched movies. There are 2 which stand out in my memory, and have influenced my thoughts and actions today. The ever classic The Man from Snowy River (I named my daughter after the main female character) and another not so vastly popular, but equally wonderful Sylvester. It was that movie that turned my eyes from the western discipline to English. I immediately started making little jumps out of things. I knew how jumping felt, the before mentioned Fred, well he had jumped a ditch once with me, and I loved it. That feeling of being weightless, it seemed for a fleating moment I was suspended in air with him. Everything else faded, turning quiet. Of course it was a small ditch. But now, I was going to Lexington! I worked with Gal constantly. We learned gaits from books, and from watching the movie over and over. Everything was done from the gut. I made bigger jumps, by putting a fence rail across 2 bails of hay. This is where I learned a very big lesson. Don't use bails of hay. Gal wants to eat them. I had her lunging in a circle between two of my improvised jumps. She did fine for a little bit, then started being 'snotty' - well I got 'snotty' back. And, well folks, there is a dent in my skull the shape of a horse shoe from 'snotty' leading to rearing and striking. No, I wasn't wearing a helmet and I should have been. But the big point here is - I had no place doing that to her. It wasn't her fault, she was trying to tell me she was bored. She responded to me, when I responded to her incorrectly.

Remarkably, I wasn't knocked out from the strike. Must be the Irish blood that gives me that incredibly hard head.

Dad did help me build correct jumps, which, to this day are still standing in the field with only the ghosts of the hours of practice, sweat, dreams, secrets and hurts to keep them company.

I did learn to jump, and jump well. I taught myself to circle the entire pasture with no stirrups, nor reins. I took jumps with arms out, just like the book "Jumping Explained" by Carol Green Publisher: New York : Arco Pub. Co., ©1976

I followed every description and picture - I was obsessed. When we went on pack trips, I rode in the new forward hunt seat saddle Dad got me for Christmas. He always ended up packing in extra stuff on Star, because I couldn't pack everything on mine. Gallant got obsessed too. If she saw a felled tree off the trail, she would make it a point to set her pace and we would clear it. During the summer, one of our favorite places to practice was a campground near our home. All the sites were separated by logs, sat up on slabs of concrete. Various heights, there were places we could do a combo vertical, or a wide spread. It grew a sort of unofficial status, the forest service let me come in. I never bothered campers, and always gave them a good show. Keep in mind I was only 10 and about 60 pounds. Sometimes, friends with horses would go, and we would critique each other, or see who could complete a planned route with the best time.

All of these memories and all the years, but I can not honestly tell you when I became a horse trainer. There has always been a silent secret that I can't begin to describe, that I share with horses. My brother calls it a gift.

For years he and others would tell me to grow up. Stop dreaming, go to school, become a vet. Blood isn't one of my stronger points. But I never could get the horse in me to hush. There has never been a time when I couldn't recall the smell of Gal during a workout, or the way it felt to take a jump. Or the pride I felt when I had helped someone with their horse.

Do all people have this? I think so - I think that deep down there is a place where we have a link to a great variety of things. For some it's dogs, for others, its working with the blind. For each it is a wonderful story of spirit and imagination. Even in my own children, I see the way my oldest can listen to a piece of music, or hear a beat and create an entire dance around it or watch someone dance a few steps and then recall them from her memory, and combine them with another set of steps she saw. For my son, he can read something, and recall it. And he can look at something, and see how it works, He understands the mechanics of how an item can function. For my youngest, she has my gift. I've raised all my kids on horses. Yet, the gift is with her - not the others. It's in her eyes, her movements. She's a bit slower in her actions and reactions. It's like she can see a horse in slow motion.

So, does this mean my older kids aren't as good with horses? Nope. It just means that place deep down links up in a different way.

And so folks, that's a bit of me. I'm human, I have dreams, fears, and desires. I'm not better then you. And there's no reason why I can't give everyone a bit of my gift, to help them. After all, everyone needs a Gallant in their life.