Remembering Tiny

Besides being the anniversary of D-Day where in 1944 the Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy, this June 6 date has another significance to me.  On June 6, 1963, the first horse I could ever really call my own was born.

Mother, my sisters and I were in Michigan at the time, visiting my Aunt Louise.  We received a call from my dad that Largo had had her foal:  a light chestnut filly.  And, she was really tiny, my dad said.  I couldn't wait to get home to see her.

Well, Harold's descriptive term stuck with her for her barnyard moniker, even though she had a Half-Arabian registered name, Gay Warena.  Her father belonged to Balches who raised Arabians.  His name was Waraff.  

Tiny ended up being my 4-H horse project.  She also ended up a different color from her birth coat.  At the time, we had not seen very many liver chestnuts (about the color of Hersheys cocoa), so she was a novelty in the area. 

Eventually, my folks said Tiny was mine.  I was so proud to have my own horse, even though we always had horses around.  Tiny did very well for me in 4-H where, back in those days, all we did was show our horses at halter and in fitting and showing. 

During my last year in 4-H, Tiny took me to the grand championship in fitting and showing, but I must say that it was by default.  I've told the story before---that another 4-H'er had the championship in the bag, and it was looking like I was going to have to settle for runner-up, which often seemed to be my calling card in other areas of competition.

Lunch time occurred between the regular rounds of fitting and showing and the championship class.  My competitor liked to feed her horse treats.   On this day, she handed the horse one of the cookies in her lunch sack.  The horse grabbed the cookie AND her finger, biting it almost off.

She had to go to the doctor, did not return, and I won the championship.  I never did feel too triumphant about that victory, but my family was proud.  And, I always cherished that trophy and purple ribbon, rationalizing that there must be some wisdom in keeping your fingers away from your horse's teeth.

Tiny served me well over the years.  When it was time for her to be "broke," as we called it back in those days, we summoned our horse shoer Lloyd Bennett.  After that, I rode Tiny up and down the roads and maybe even in a few forgettable horse show classes.

One day I rode her into town for the Fourth of July Parade.  When I arrived at the set-up place in the big field across from Dubs, I met a couple who had just moved from Colorado to the old Neu place at  base of Schweitzer.  Lo and behold, the wife was sitting on another liver chestnut.  

The wife was named Mardette Lewis, and her Tennessee walker mare was named Firefly.  Dave, Mardette and I rode as a trio in the parade and became great friends, especially after learning that we lived within a couple of miles of each other.  Eventually, Lewis kids were in our 4-H group, and since those days, we've all remained friends, especially in the horse circles. 

I also took Tiny on some major trail rides.  One time I rode with the Gold n' Grouse 4-H Club on an overnighter.  We camped in beautiful Boulder Meadows east of Naples.  It was on that ride that one of the Wood kids (Jim and Virginia's) taught me how you climb up a snowy mountain incline.  

He instructed me to get off from Tiny, wrap the reins around her neck and then step behind her tail, give her a nudge, hold on to the tail and follow her up the hillside.  I always thought that was pretty slick (not the snow but the idea), but I've never put myself in a similar situation since.

One time I entered Tiny in a competitive trail ride (40 miles' worth) up at the Wood's Gold Creek Ranch.  Soon into the ride, I realized that neither Tiny nor I had done enough conditioning to make it the entire 40 miles, so we turned around fairly soon, came back to the start and waited for others to come in.

Over the years, I realized that I've never been hard core with any aspect of horsemanship, but I am totally hard core in my love for horses.  That will last until my dying day.  Throughout her 28-year existence Tiny and I had some good times, but I never put her through anything rigorous again. 

Tiny never did develop a good walk, and I always got tired of constantly jogging to catch up with the rest of the crowd.  Nonetheless, I loved that mare with all my heart.  It took me ten days to go to the barn where she died suddenly one night just before the vet came.  

I remember sitting inside the house, blubbering away and commenting that I'd known Tiny longer than any member of my immediate family.   And, to have to say good bye to my first-ever horse was the most painful of experiences I'd ever encountered up to that time.

Besides my experiences with her, Tiny served as a first mount for my kids and as a project horse for several 4-H'ers.  She served us all well, and every June 6, I think about her when I go out to lead my horses to pasture for the day. 

Tiny was a good horse and a faithful friend.  Aren't they all?

Photos:  Willie and Annie and Tiny---a while back!