The language and practice of horse breeding in the days of my youth were in many ways radically different from modern horse breeding. In those days, a mare was “horsin’“ when she went into her heat cycle. When she didn’t come back into heat after a breeding, it was presumed that she was bred or “settled“, so the breeding “stuck.“ If a combination of a certain stallion and mare consistently produced a good offspring that was considered a “nick”, as in “that mare really nicks with Poco Bueno!” Now, we more often ultrasound for a follicle, and inseminate when it approaches 40 mm in size. There was a story about a horse breeding somewhere in Eastern Europe where horses are still widely used for work. A mare was brought to a stallion for breeding. The breeding took place. The next day the whole village gathered around as the mare was brought to the stallion. She kicked him. There was a great murmur of approval and many smiles, for they all knew that meant she would have a foal next year. Hand breeding was more frequent than artificial insemination when I was a teenager. Two people would lead the prospective pair together. Great care was taken to assure that no injury would happen to either horse. But sometimes horse and human were at risk. Ranchers in those days still just turned out a band of mares with a stallion in a large pasture. We were always cautioned not to ride into such a pasture. If we did find ourselves in one, we were instructed to get off our horse, as the stallion would have no interest in us, but he would certainly fight our mount. I find it interesting that insurance companies who insure stallions, rate pasture breeding stallions in the lowest risk category. I guess it works out that if left alone, horses receive fewer injuries. Maybe they know more about this breeding business than we do!

Then there was the fellow sitting in the stands at the stock show who showed me a picture of his stallion. I asked what it cost to breed to him. His answer was classic “Well, now that depends. If you bring me just any old mare, it’s $1000. But if you bring me a mare that’s a worldbeatin’ producer, I might pay you!“

If you want to see me go into orbit, just decide that it’s a good day to take horse photographs for sending in registrations. You would think that to be the easiest job in the world, far less risky than mounting bronky youngsters for the first time, and less boring than longeing horses in limitless circles. Well, the problem is, first, horses seem to detest standing still. This is especially true when the photographer has to fiddle with equipment for half a minute. Second, if I have been training the horse to come to me, it’s nearly impossible for me to stand one up squarely, then step away out of the picture without them stepping toward me—and out of position. If there are several horses to photograph I’m usually foaming at the mouth like a hydrophobic coyote by the time we’re done. Yes, it’s true, I’m a perfectionist. But I’ve learned one thing about this picture taking thing. And that is, beyond the fact that you should use a telephoto lens, shoot from a distance in a squatting position, and be at a three-quarter rear view to keep your horse from looking like a deformed big headed jackass. What I’ve learned is that it is much like learning how to keep from crying when chopping up onions – get someone else to do it.

Once upon a time a couple of good friends of mine were breeding horses and trading stallions with each other. They both had swarms of colts, and it seemed that there they were always pens full of young stallions. They would argue endlessly about the quality of their respective colt crops. One preferred a certain kind of horse, while the other had a slightly different ideal horse. Most of the rest of us castrated all our colts to make good, quiet, practical, “usin’ horses.” These guys left all their colts “entire” sometimes until they had been under saddle for a year, waiting to see if they had the next legendary reining stallion.

On Christmas, one of those friends was opening presents sent to him from friends and family. He found a small box with a red bow and his name on it. When he opened it, he found it contained a three bladed rancher’s pocket knife. He called his buddy to thank him, and then he asked why a pocket knife instead of maybe a bottle of bourbon. His friend answered “Last time I visited your place, I saw a lot of colts running around but no geldings, so I thought you needed a new sharp pocket knife!”