12/17/2023
I have long maintained that it is easier for me to create a show horse out of a working horse, than it is, the other way around.
Wi******er was one more pony who proved this to be largely true for me.
I’d first spied the 14:0 hand registered POA, on an online buy-sell site. His ad was short and to-the-point: PONY FOR SALE. WELL BROKE. There was also a grainy picture of a chunky roan being ridden in the bush, along with a phone number from the northern part of our province. I took a chance and made the call.
The pony was a lease ride, hired out at a remote hunting lodge, by sportsmen out for the day to bag big game. Due to his small stature, he was being replaced with a half-draft that could better do the job of carrying sedentary businessmen. Any horse who has earned his keep by safely carrying non-riders has to have the patience of a saint and so, I asked for some video of him being ridden, just to be sure.
“No problem!” was the enthusiastic reply from the other end of the line.
Soon, I was emailed a film clip of the pony—whose name was Killer—at a stiff gallop over a hardtop road. He was being filmed out the window of a truck and the camera wobbled alarmingly, as the driver/filmmaker shifted gears from first, up to fourth. All the while, the hoar frost-covered pony raced alongside, with his balaclava’d rider 'over ‘n’ undering' with the reins. His hooves rang out upon the hard road. I could only think about all the sales videos I’d seen with horses in snowy white leg wraps and in the beautifully groomed footing of a riding hall…
Even with his mouth wide open and jets of steam puffing out into the sub-zero air, I knew the nine-year-old gelding was worth taking a big chance on. I quickly replied that he was sold. With that, arrangements were made to send payment for a pony I'd never set eyes upon and to meet halfway for the exchange, which was still a good five hours from home.
This was a decade ago and my mother was still up for such adventures, back then. I’ll never forget her sitting beside me on that long icy trip, for the winter roads were bad the day we travelled, her knitting needles clicking without pause, the whole way. Her only words of dismay were uttered when we finally stood, side by side, as our new charge unloaded at the truck stop parking lot.
“Lee, are you sure about this?”
I had to inject much false enthusiasm in answering, for the pony, whom I'd decided to call Wi******er, left a good deal to be desired when seen in the flesh. The ‘varnished’ red roan was very long-haired, particularly around the belly. In contrast, his mane and tail had both been eaten, or itched, off. It would seem that once off the payroll, his ‘employers’ had decided to cut their expenses and to let him go along without much in the way of extra feed, or a farrier.
But I took the proffered lead rope and thanked the seller for his generous offer in meeting me halfway. I loaded my new pony and turned my truck south for the treacherous drive home. After a white-knuckle trip on a dangerously slushy, windblown and chaotic highway, I pulled into the ranch gate with the sheer gratitude one feels in just making it home, alive.
I felt something else, too... the intuition that I was backing a really solid pony off the trailer. From that day on, Win never looked back. His teeth, deworming and feet were dealt a swift blow and then, we went to work.
Horses who live in the bush can be greatly challenged with the relentless wind and long sightlines that come with life on the prairies. Win was no different. He would stop moving entirely, literally standing frozen to the spot, quivering, if he saw a herd of cattle or a tractor working in a distant field.
The first time I took him to the public arena in town, again, he was rooted motionless, staring up at the overhead lights, as though seeing angels on high. An hour later, I was still trying to convince him to lower his gaze and get moving! This pony, who could pack fresh meat and thought nothing of gunfire, was mesmerized by electric light!
But Win was ‘honest’ and kind and never once did I have a moment’s regret. It was he who first introduced me to the delights of the Pony of America—or POA—as a breed.
Dating from the 1940s, the original breeder had the unlikely notion of crossing Appaloosas with Arabians and Shetland ponies… and somehow, inexplicably, coming up with these incredibly versatile, workmanlike, enthusiastic, trainable, athletic and eye-catching ponies. The only North American breed that allows children to show stallions, these little horses are hugely popular with anyone who has ever worked with them. Or, so it seems.
Meanwhile, Win grew to love working cows but at first, he was very frightened of them. He learned to check cows at calving time, moving from one pair to the other over the windswept pastures. The first branding I took him to, he had some panic during the gather. A herd of cows and calves in the hundreds sets up a deafening din as the mothers call to their babies in the melee. Win thought we were under attack and I had my hands full, for a while. By the end of the day, he was sorting pairs in the busy corrals like he’d been born to the life.
It was the same with introducing him to the sidesaddle… and to jumping… and to just about every other thing we could present him. Win would show genuine concern about letting us down, but after he’d had a while to ponder it, he would be gung-ho to master whatever thing was new.
Never herd-bound, or one who shied reactively, Win was always a nicely forward and sensitive ride. He was a pleasure for anyone with solid basics and an appreciation for safety. With hundreds of outdoor miles under his belt, Wi******er needed only to have some formal schooling to become an honest-to-goodness unicorn!
Win went on to his new family back in 2014. He is still with them today. Always kind and uncomplicated, always asking how he can make the day better, I’ve never quite had another one like him… and you know what?
I doubt I ever will.
Photo: Bar U Ranch National Historic Site.
