3rd in series Chronicles of a Broke Horse Trainer

Author, Ed McCarty

Ed McCarty’s hometown is Mountain View, Missouri. Ed considers his faith and wife the most important to him. Ed lives a very active and amazing life. Life has taken him from learning how to train Fox Trotters with his granddad, training and racing Thoroughbred horses, Equine Dentistry, to successfully running a huge trail riding operation. His journey

to retirement has inspired his love for storytelling.

Ed is sharing his love of horses, life experiences and connections in these intriguing fun short stories. We are happy to provide these great stories from HorseN Around with Mister Ed, through HoofNit ™ Podcast.

HoofNit ™ Podcast is brought to you by Everything Horses and Livestock® News, Podcast, and magazine.

Enjoy the R ead…

The following story is third in a series of stories titled "CHRONICLES OF A BROKE HORSE TRAINER". They are based on fact with the names changed in most cases. A few of the facts may be slightly enhanced by the memory of an old man.

BUCK by HorseN Around with Mr. Ed Ed McArty

Those of us that have owned horses for a good portion of our lives know that once in a great while, and sometimes once in a lifetime, you come across that special partner that seems to blend with your mind and spirit in such a way that conscious cues and conscious thought processes become almost unnecessary for the working relationship. Such is the case with Buck and I. It began in the early Summer of 1984. I was taking a couple of my young horses and a couple of young client horses to a little rundown track in South Sioux City, Nebraska called Atokad Park. It was one step above a “bush track” but it was recognized by the Jockey Club of North America which meant that the races here would count on your horse's record. This can be very important since most tracks have screening rules for eligibility to run there. Examples would be that a maiden (non-winner of a race) could not run once it reached 5 years of age or a horse that had ever run below a certain claiming price (ex. $3000) could not run unless it had finished top 4 in one of its last 4 races since running for the low claiming price. It is relatively easy for a horse to get into eligibility trouble due to injury, layoffs or simply bad breaks. In those cases, the small tracks with low purses but somewhat easier competition could prove very useful. I pulled into Atokad Park in May of 1984 hoping to break the maiden on the 4 horses in tow, all of which were four-year-old maidens, and then move on to someplace with somewhat better purses. The barns were long wooden structures with open shed rows to the outside of the stalls. I learned quickly that you don’t unload horses until you have checked the stalls. With the maintenance budget at Atokad, it

was an almost certainty that there would be boards to replace or gates to repair before the stalls were “horse ready”. As I was attending to these tasks and looking around trying to get my bearings at this facility, I noticed an older gentleman at the far end of the barn with a horse tacked up in western tack (which I assumed to be a pony horse) in one hand and a lean bay race mare on a leather lead line in the other hand. They were soon joined by a young man who crawled on the pony horse, secured the lead shank of the race mare and walked away toward the track gate. In a matter of a minute or so I heard the sound of thundering hooves which was produced by the bay mare headed back to the barn at full speed with the leather shank whipping around beside her. Not far behind her came the pony horse at a somewhat unconcerned trot also bound for the barn. The young man followed at a “stomping” walk while muttering some very unflattering remarks about the pony horse. The young man never made it completely to the barn before waving his hand in a dismissing manner at the old man as he circled in a different direction. It was then that the old man yelled in my direction “Do you ride?”. I replied that I had been known to on occasion which prompted him to proclaim that if I could get that so and so horse and that bay mare around the track and all three of us come back together then he would give me the pony. I explained to him that I really didn’t want to take his horse but would sure give it a try. If I got dumped, it wouldn’t be my first mouth full of race track dirt. The pony was a good looking, stout horse with a couple of crop-out paint markings on his legs and belly and a wide crooked blaze down his face which spread across his eye on the right side and caused him to have a blue eye on that side. As I approached close enough to get a “read” on the horse, I was greeted with what appeared to be a rather calm eye despite the resent chaos and a non-threatening demeanor. The old man introduced himself as Art and said he called the pony Buck. I am sure the name came from Buck’s da rk buckskin

color but recent events seemed to add a fair amount of credence to the moniker! I wasn’t sure what had transpired on the young man’s attempt at ponying the mare but saw no reason not to take my shot at the task and proceeded to step into the saddle. Art handed me the leather lead shank which was equipped with a nose chain threaded through the mare’s halter as was common practice when ponying on the track. He mumbled a rather muffled “good luck” and sent me on my way. It was about 100 yards from the barn to the track and the young man was waiting for me at about the halfway point of the trek. According to his account of his failed attempt, Buck would be a perfect gentleman until he got all four feet on the racing surface at the track gate. He said that as soon as Buck had cleared the track gate, without any warning, he “broke completely in two” with his nose planted between his front feet and commenced “hoggin’and squallin’ “like the best saddle bronc he had ever seen. I thanked him for the warning and, being the smart horseman that I was, proceeded to develop a plan to hopefully avoid the excitement. My plan was to keep Buck busy with cues from me by asking him to turn left and backtrack down the rail as soon as his two front feet were on the track surface. Then I would ask for a trot until I approached the winner’s circle at which point I would reverse direction and ask for a slow lope up the track. I had, unfortunately, left one important part out of the equation, that being the lanky bay mare that I was ponying. As we approached the track gate, she made it very clear that she had already played this game once and had no intention of coming back for an encore! She reared without warning and began to suck back with full intention of breaking loose from me. I instinctively locked my right elbow into my body and grabbed the leather lead with both hands. The pressure of the chain on her nose quickly convinced her that my direction was her best option. At about the same instant that she responded, I suddenly realized that I had relinquished all control of the proclaimed bronc between my

legs! My next realization was that we were actually backtracking along the rail at a nice trot exactly as I had planned in my grand scheme to outwit Buck. I am certain that I had unconsciously given him some cue with my legs or a weight shift during the excitement. I was so relieved to still have a leg on each side with the mare still in tow that I honestly didn’t care how I got there. My goal now was to continue with my plan and make a full lap around the track. I reversed direction at the winner’s circle and asked for a lope. Buck responded immediately and perfectly and our journey around the oval had begun. Our orders were to complete one five-eighths mile lap and return to the barn. The mare was pulling hard wanting to go and Buck felt like he would enjoy a little blow so, at the end of the first lap I gave Buck his head and we accelerated to a full gallop for a second lap. I was somewhat amazed that it was everything that the race mare could do to keep up with Buck. The second lap was fun for all of us and after we got pulled up and backtracked on the rail to the gate, we enjoyed a leisurely walk back to the barn. Art met us with a smile and took the bay mare in hand to cool her out after our little run. After confirming that there were no more horses to pony, I unsaddled Buck and walked him around while Art tended to the mare. I had seen which stall Buck came out of and took it upon myself to put him away when I hear d Art yell “What do you think you are doing?”. I responded that I was just putting Buck away to which he replied “He ain’t my horse and I don’t want the counterfeit so-and- so in my barn”. As a side note, I did find out later that I was the fourth person to try ponying with Buck and the first three had all met the same demise. I did have an extra stall at my end of the barn and instead of arguing in the heat of the moment I simply led Buck to my stall and bedded him down for the day. My assumption was that Art would rethink his rash decision and would take back the horse in the next day or so.

Over the next few days, I got to know Art well and it was then that I

learned the tarnished history of Buck. He was a three-year-old that had been broke to ride on the farm and they brought to the track to make a pony horse out of him. It had been a failed effort until I came along. Art was convinced that there was some uncanny connection between that horse and I and was adamant about me keeping him with the agreement that if I ever wanted to part with him, Art had first choice. I used Buck extensively at that race meet and made a considerable amount of money ponying off of him. He became my very loyal sidekick and quickly developed the reputation of being able to handle any horse you would bring in tow and had a real knack of protecting me from any ill-mannered horses that were brought our way. Buck was my companion for the next sixteen years. (He was stricken with colic and died at the age of nineteen). As good as he was for me, he maintained the idiosyncrasy of never letting another man ride him (and some pretty good ones tries). On the other hand, a woman could ride him anywhere and he was a perfect gentleman. He also proved to be a great babysitter on the race track. Kids could ride him all around the barn area even while races were going on or traffic was moving around the grounds.

Buck was definitely one of a kind. I tried for years to replace him but there was always a little something missing in the relationship.