Thinking back to my own school days, back in the dark ages, when we rode dinosaurs, I remember saying that I hated the subject History.

Now geologic eons later, I find I am fascinated with it. I love to read about history, be it fact or fiction based on fact. It is interesting to know where we came from, and how we got here.

It doesn’t matter if it is ancient history or recent current events. I love to hear about Jason’s voyages up the Oxus river to its headwaters in the foothills of the Himalayas, as well as Bible stories of Judah Maccabee, or the formation of our american government by the likes of Washington and Jefferson.

Even my own family history, sketchy though it may be, teases my imagination.

One ancestor sails from the west coast of Scotland in 1746, while another departs Germany in the 1800’s. Another branch came with Lord Baltimore in the 1600’s to form the first Catholic colony in the new world.

I suspect more than a few were undocumented aliens escaping political “situations” in Europe!

The story of the American West being explored by Europeans, over the protest of the first americans is as unsettling as it is stimulating to the imagination.

By the way, even those first americans are now known to be Asian immigrants, also undocumented.

What I have learned from reading these histories is to draw the implications out of history. That makes this study so very much more compelling.

As Winston Churchill is quoted as saying “If we don’t learn from the mistakes of history, we are condemned to repeat them!”

Why ride mares? Why not ride mares?

Growing up, we rode anything with four hooves. We used the word “horse” for all equines, regardless of gender. More recently, in dealing with horseman from other countries I find them using more specific terms.

A “horse” for instance is a stallion, as distinguished from a mare, or a gelding.

In countries such as Spain and Portugal mares have been used traditionally only as breeding stock. It has been explained to me that in past centuries, because those countries were supplying war horses, work horses and just plain transportation horses to the known world, every mare was required to produce a foal every year.

Now, with the advent of infernal combustion engines, horses are not as much in demand. We find ourselves more focused on quality than quantity. In fact in Portugal this emphasis is reflected in the practice of only giving potential stallions a limited number of certificates with which to register their foals. Consequently the breeder should want to bring only quality producing mares to their stallion.

One of the best ways to determine a mare’s quality is to train her to work under saddle. That way the breeder knows from experience which mares offer the best ride, athleticism, and personality to their offspring.

In the USA, one ranch that has practiced this for at least a century is the King Ranch in south Texas. Mares on that enormous spread are started into work right along with geldings and stallions. When a steed is ready for work, he or she is assigned to a kineno, as the hereditary cowboy of the ranch are known.

When a mare shows outstanding qualities in her work, she is selected out of the working string and placed in the broodmare band.

It is a point of pride to have a favorite mare stolen out from under them in this manner. I guess that’s women’s Lib. for equines!

From as far back as I can remember I have always wanted to be a cowboy. I think I have this in common with a lot of little boys.

My journey, learning about horses and cows, has taken me to five or six western states, Mexico, Spain, Portugal, and even England.

Everywhere I’ve been there were men and women a’horseback working cattle. their variety of skills were a wonder to see. I’ve tried to copy them, and have conquered quite a few. Some have been beyond my ability.

I’ve learned to ride and train horses, and how to guess at cows motivations, but as a roper I’m definitely third string! I’ve learned to understand how livestock behave, survive, communicate and defend their young ( boy howdy, just try putting ear tags in newborn Corriente calves!) It is a wondrous world, that of animals in nature.

So even though I’m not the reincarnation of Toots Mansfield, I can flip a rope a little and I have carved out my own place in cowboydom ( cowboy dumb?) And, it’s an okay place.

Like Wiley Gustafson sings:

“When I’m ridin’ I’m right

I’m a happy cowpoke,

wind in my face

and my pony at a lope.

My reins are loose

and my cinch is tight.

I’m on top of the world,

when im ridin’ I’m right!”