It was near the end of May, 1977. I had finished seeding, all but the oats which I always seeded late for livestock feed near the middle of June. My neighbour and good friend, Bud Starky, was still seeding; he was a large farmer, for that time, in our area, with a lot more acres to seed than I had.
Bud also had an Appaloosa stallion. It was Bud’s horse but likely was purchased by Bud’s father, Beauchamp, who was of an earlier horse era and a good horseman in his own time. Though fully retired, Beauchamp still liked horses and the buying, then selling, of his purchased colts. Bud’s younger brother was more of a cowboy than Bud. Bud became a beef and grain farmer, though he had grown up riding and working with horses. Brian, 16 years younger, was then a cowboy and entrepreneur who was living near Osoyoos in the arid Similkameen part of British Columbia.
Damper, Bud’s Appaloosa stallion, was a sharp-looking horse. Though I wasn’t a big fan of the Appaloosa breed, Damper was a very well-built, fine-looking horse. He didn’t have the rattail characteristic of some of the Appaloosa horses of that time. Damper was a speckled black and white Appaloosa on his head, neck, and front quarters. But his hind quarters had the perfect Appaloosa blanket colouring: white rump and hind quarters covered with round black spots, perfectly spaced. He was a strikingly good-looking horse.
I talked to Bud about the possibility of getting a little stocky cinder-grey mare that I owned at that time, bred to Damper. He agreed without hesitating.
“Bring her over when you think she’s cycling and put her into the corral with Damper. Damper would enjoy some company.”
Bud smiled and winked.
I could tell that Cindy, (taken from Cinderella—that’s what I had named the grey mare) was cycling a few weeks later.
I phoned the Starky house at noon. Bud had been married for less than a year to Jean, a pretty B.C. city woman from Coquitlam. She was quickly adapting to life on a large mixed farm in east-central Alberta.
“Bud’s not home,” she said. “He’s still seeding up north on the section. I’m just going to take lunch out to him, then supper to the field tonight. He won’t be home until dark.”
I explained the situation.
“Well, if Bud said you could bring your horse over, if it’s OK with him, bring her over and put her in with Damper.”
Cindy loaded easily onto my 1965 Ford half-ton. I had found some used, heavy wooden custom-built stock racks advertised for sale in the Edmonton Journal by a horse lady in Edmonton. She had sold her horse, and her somewhat-newer-than-mine Ford truck, but still had the custom-built racks.
They were exactly what I had been looking for, including a short, heavy loading ramp that hinged up with considerable effort, to become the centre part of the rear section of the stock racks. Like I said, it was a very well made set of stock racks for a Ford half-ton truck.
There were very few horse or stock trailers around at that time.
I drove to the Starky farm, four miles from ours.
I parked the truck some distance from Damper’s corral and unloaded Cindy.
Damper immediately noticed us and whinnied loudly and lustily as I led Cindy to his wooden plank gate.
I could barely get the gate open as Damper was excited and anxious, wanting to come out. But I got her in with him and unsnapped the halter shank as soon as she was safely inside the corral with the now wildly-aroused stallion.
I knew very little about stallions and mares and their interactions at breeding. I still don’t.
Cindy resisted Damper’s advances, kicking hard and often at him with both back feet. Damper wasn’t easily put off. He was mean and fast. Even more mean and miserable to her than she was to him; he was determined too. They both made a lot of noise.
It wasn’t long before he had his way with her, ignoring any resistance. He covered her, I believe, is the correct term referring to a stallion-mare relationship.
In other words, Damper bred Cindy.
“That was easy,” I thought, “amazingly quick, easy, simple. I won’t need to leave the mare here for a few days or a week, I’ll just wait a few more minutes, catch her, take her out of the corral while leaving Damper inside, load her and take her home. The deed’s done; the job completed.”
Just as I was getting ready to go inside the corral with the halter shank, Damper mounted and bred her again.
I waited a few more minutes.
I went in and caught Cindy and led her to the gate. It wasn’t easy to get Cindy out of the corral by herself. Damper was very determined to come along with her.
Somehow I got her out and the corral gate shut while hollering and waving at Damper. I got the light chain around the gate and the snap closed into one of the links.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I led Cindy back to the truck and up the heavy loading ramp, then tied her to the front. Damper was whinnying and screaming, circling wildly in his corral. I lifted the loading ramp, got the pins in and locked it. I was ready to take Cindy back home.
I had contemplated stopping at the house and telling Jean that all had gone well, that I was taking my horse home, not leaving her with Damper.
But I changed my mind. Damper was angry, upset and still racing wildly around in his pen, screaming and whinnying. I decided to drive home immediately, get that mare out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind of the enraged stallion.
I hurried around to the driver’s side of the cab. There was a loud bang and crack at the corral. The gate burst open and Damper came thundering towards the truck!
I was stunned.
Damper reached the truck, reared and stood with his front feet touching the stock racks near Cindy’s head. She didn’t appear to be overly alarmed. He came down, hurried around the front of the truck and did the same thing on the other side, whinnying shrilly.
What to do? What should I do now?
There was no way I could catch or put a halter on that angry, out-of-control stallion.
He was now walking on his back legs around the cab and the front of the truck. His front hooves touched the hood, the wind-shield, then the stock racks again beside Cindy’s head. That’s the spot he seemed to like the best, standing completely erect, front hooves solidly on the racks of the truck.
Another member of his body was erect as well, fully extended, close to his belly.
My heart was pounding as my mind scrambled frantically for a solution to this unforeseen dilemma. Perhaps I should unload the mare and lead her back into the corral as quickly as possible with Damper beside her, take off the halter shank and leave her there with him. (Looking back now, that’s what I should have done.)
The problem with that idea was that when I dropped the ramp, exposing Cindy’s rear end, Damper would most certainly climb the ramp in spite of anything I could do to stop him, and try to mount Cindy. He could possibly injure himself, or even break one of his back legs in the process. Besides, the top 2x6 cross member of the rack’s back part could be a serious problem if Damper tried putting his head under the 2x6 before mounting Cindy. The same thing would likely happen if I drove the truck with Cindy, back into Damper’s pen and tried to unload her there.
I looked at the open corral gate, walked over and looked to see what had broken. The gate was fine, solid. He hadn’t tried to jump. The snap on the end of the chain was broken; it must have snapped when Damper leaned or pushed hard against the gate with his chest, with his head over the gate reaching toward his new girlfriend. He wasn’t going to be separated from her, now the love of his lonely life.
It was quite a long length of chain, long enough to reach around the gate and even tie a knot in place of the broken snap. Damper’s halter and rope hung on the fence close by. I took off the rope. I was going to use it as well as the chain to securely fasten the gate shut, if I could only get Damper back inside.
I hurried back to the truck. Damper had calmed a bit, content to stand on his back legs and have his head as close as possible to Cindy.
I got in the truck and started the engine. Damper was standing upright beside the cab, feet on the racks. I raced the engine and released the clutch for a split-second, jerking the truck ahead. Damper was surprised by the sudden movement and came down, standing on all fours.
I quickly drove around towards the partially open corral gate, stopping with the gate beside the truck just ahead of the driver’s door. Damper was on the opposite side, standing upright again.
I walked slowly in front of him and approached him, talking to him, my hand outstretched like I was going to catch him. He came down and quickly hurried around the back of the truck towards the gate that was almost touching the fender of the truck.
I was close behind. I hollered, took off my cap and waved my arms and cap.
Damper was startled and raced into his corral while I hurried to swing the gate shut. Soon he came roaring back to a closed gate and a shouting, waving, but frightened me.
He stopped, but he was very angry, whinnying like he was cursing me.
I took off my denim jacket and hung it over the gate while I tied the chain and rope around the gate and the gate-post, the chain higher, and the rope, long enough to go around twice, before I tied it as tightly and securely as possible. My heart was pounding. Then I took the long rubber floor mat out of the truck and hung it over the gate beside my jacket. I wanted a new obstacle, a new hindrance, a new diversion, to keep him from trying to jump or push against the gate.
He raced and circled around his pen, then roared back to the gate and put on the brakes, but he didn’t try to jump.
I got into the truck and drove slowly past the house, stopping where Damper couldn’t see the truck. I rolled down the window. I could hear him shrieking and whinnying.
I prayed Cindy wouldn’t answer back.
She didn’t.
I waited a long minute.
Then I drove out of the driveway south to the railroad crossing and the highway. I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror, praying I wouldn’t see a dust cloud behind a black and white Appaloosa stallion galloping and gaining on the pickup with his new love imprisoned inside.
I got to the railroad and the highway.
Damper wasn’t behind me. My heart was slowing down. I got home. My heart had returned to normal.
I unloaded Cindy and took the stock racks off the truck. I felt the dirty scuff-marks on the cab and hood. There wasn’t a dent, not even a scratch, where his hooves had been. Was he that dainty, or did only the heel of his hoof touch the metal on the truck?
The next April, Cindy had a beautiful little foal. She was light grey, almost white, with polka-dot round black spots, evenly spaced all over her neck and body.
She was the perfect picture of an Appaloosa, and she didn’t have a rat tail either.
I named her Scamper.
Bud saw her and liked her and he laughed. I had told him all about Jean’s and my episode with Damper on the day that Scamper was conceived.
I halter-broke Scamper late that fall and winter. She was high-spirited like her sire, but still completely manageable as a very pretty yearling filly.
I had acquired a good-looking, gentle Palomino gelding named Sandy that showed a lot of promise. I liked Sandy with his gentle nature, so I sold Cindy.
I kept Scamper until she was a very good-looking two-year old.
I didn’t really need Scamper and the fast-approaching additional work and the prolonged effort of breaking her to ride. I had increased my beef cow herd as well as grain farming acres, and my family responsibilities with a growing son and daughter had increased too.
I decided to sell Scamper.
I placed an ad in the local newspaper, The Tofield Mercury. It read: FOR SALE Two year old Appaloosa filly, well-bred, well-built, well-marked. Halter-broke. $200. Phone 688-2374.
A fellow from northwest of Tofield called the evening of the day that the paper came out. He said his name was Frank. His last name sounded French-Canadian—I can’t remember it. He was very interested, wanted to come soon and have a look at her.
He came the next day with his truck and racks. He looked Scamper over carefully but casually, almost disinterested—a usual horse buyer’s tactic. But I could tell Frank really liked Scamper.
He said he’d take her, didn’t haggle about the price and had $200 cash with him.
I sold Scamper to Frank and he took her home with him. I had a strong feeling she was going to a good home.
I had seller’s regret then and even today when I think about her.
Years later someone had a remuda of Appaloosa horses in a field west of Tofield beside Highway 14. I often wondered, as we passed by on our way to or from Edmonton, if some of them were the offspring of Scamper and Damper, but I didn’t stop to inquire.
My good friend Bud passed away suddenly and tragically in September, 1980.
Some time after Bud’s passing, Bud’s brother approached Jean and her son David, saying, “I’ll be glad to take that stallion of Bud’s off your hands.”
Surprised, Jean and David agreed. They didn’t have use for or plans for Damper.
Brian took Damper to the Osoyoos area of B.C. where he lived. Damper sired a lot of foals there and into the state of Washington as well. There some First Nations friends of Brian’s saw Damper, were impressed with him and wanted foals sired by him.
And as I write this I don’t remember even paying Bud a stud fee that he properly, legally and historically, was entitled to.
Ironically, I regret that too.
But I think that Bud probably would have laughed had I offered to pay.
Maybe he would have winked again.