My Life In a Stall

My Life in a Stall

I know if sounds corny and overly dramatic, but I love horses. Women and girls say it all the time, but if a man says they are fond of a pony, well we might have to take his man card away!

Since my early 20’s, I have been involved directly or indirectly within the horse business. Directly, I tried to make it as a trainer/breeder, and then once reality slapped upside the head, indirectly as an animal health sales rep.

I was a late bloomer to say the least, not desiring to put my skins on the wall as a horseman until I was well beyond my formative years. All kinds of variables seem to have flicked the switch for me. A want of doing something that very few of my friends did was a contributing factor. Trying to impress people (mainly the female persuasion) is probably another. All I know is I am sure glad I made my move.

The big step for me was leaving the comforts of my hometown and moving to Arizona. I worked as an apprentice (glorified stall cleaner) for an Arabian horse farm in Tucson. I loved it from day one. The smell of alfalfa hay and sweet feed in the mornings did me in. The scent of the desert after the infrequent rainstorm didn’t help much either. While my horsey side kicked in, my mountain lust was beginning too.

That year in my life was financially strapping since us “apprentices” only made about $275 a month, plus a place to sleep. I learned a lot of basic equine techniques and had an education that at times was trying. The first time I saw a horse receive an injection of penicillin, my stomach did a flip. I never have figured why, but I’ve always hated being on the receiving end of a needle, so there you have it. The toughest day was when a mare got colicky and we had to put her down. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live. We walked her for hours and she kept trying to lay down and roll. You could see it in her eyes that she was in awful pain. After the decision was made to put her down it took a  only a few seconds after the vet mainlined her, to drop right in her tracks. I was still holding the lead rope. Strange that we have moments like this that will define ourselves.

A trainer I worked for once in once told me, ”God put horses, cattle and other beasts on this earth to serve man. We, therefore, are obligated to care for them.”  Pretty intense words…

I moved back to Texas that next year and then after some searching, went to work for a cutting horse trainer (Joe Heim) in Oklahoma. Being in the saddle all day, every day was an education in itself. A horse’s individual personality became very apparent to me here. We rode every kind of horse here; mares, studhorses and geldings. Bloodlines like Little Peppy and Doc Bar to Colonel Freckles and even some racehorse lines. It took until several years after my time there that I started to realize the difference. Some of them loved their lives and never pinned an ear at anything. Others were cranky and would just as soon be back in their stall or in the pasture as to be in the working pen.

Joe bred and owned Docs Okie Quixote. Spoiled and brash, I have never known very many horses like him that thought their shit didn’t stink. One day Joe told me to exercise him, but this time, he told me to saddle him and put a side pull on his head. Big deal for me since Okie was worth a small fortune. Okie didn’t even wait for me to swing my right leg over his back; he intended to test me for all I was worth. After about 10 minutes of bucking and running off, throwin’ on the brakes and ducking left or right trying to peel me off his back, he simply stopped. He acted like a damn pleasure horse with a nice easy lope. We did this for about 20 minutes and then I stepped off and put him back in his stall. An absolute gentleman until I turned my back to walk out of the stall. I sensed a reason to turn and he tried to nip me on the shoulder. I rode him for another 3 or 4 days and he tried to buck me off every time. The fifth day I climbed on expecting another test, but he just walked off, trotted a bit and then we loped for the remainder. I think he finally figured I wasn’t going to be disrespected and gave in.

The last day I worked for Joe, that son of a bitch Okie bit me in the face. So goes respect…

Joe had to put him down a few years later because of colic. I hate to admit I shed a tear for Okie.

My mare care and repro years gave me the most respect for equines. I really miss working with the babies and the mares. Breeding stud horses are another thing all together. Don Henneke once told me that stud horses have to believe that you are the reason the sun rises in the morning and sets at night.  They will get in your hip pocket if they have half a chance. Fortunately I never had to work with any bad ones, but I heard some stories. I had heard of a halter horse stud who was a hand full. Halter horses can be the most unpredictable because they are constantly being picked at to stand still, hold their head a certain way , etc. This particular one was a world champion and he was a dandy. The guy I worked for was asked to help get the horse collected for breeding. He said as soon as they walked out of the stall, the horse came at him like a wildcat. He finally backed into a tack room to get away and had to fight the horse off with an ax handle. I don’t know if there was any embellishment to the story, but its probably most true.

I’ve seen some studs that would not “perform” when certain people were visible. Weird. There must be a backstory to that.

Some mares won’t give you the slightest clue they are in estrus. They hem and haw around wasting everybody’s time until you palpate them and see a follicle the size of Dallas. It is truly an art to be able to figure out if the shy ones are ready to breed or not. At least heifers will ride each other…

Foaling a mare was a super rewarding task. I wasn’t crazy about the hurry up and wait part, but when that mare foaled and the baby stands and nurses for the first time, well that my friend is a special moment. Sometimes it doesn’t go so well like a breeched birth or a mare that is in poor shape, but the good outweighs the bad any day of the week. Breeched births are unavoidable, but the poor mares are a shame. We foaled a mare in Utah that was owned by a well know person in the industry. Her ribs were like a xylophone and she was only middle aged; maybe 9 or 10 years old. She lived, but the baby didn’t. If she had been taken care of like we are supposed to take care of them, the baby would have been fine.

Halter breaking babies is very rewarding. The progress you see as the babies gentle up is rewarding. I read an article once about “imprinting” babies at a young age. Part of the article said to put yourself down to the babies level; basically eye-to-eye. You squat down in front and work with them to calm them down. Pretty good idea until you are working with a 4-5 month old that has been in pasture his whole life. I didn’t have to squat down much but tried to get to his level. It seemed to be working until he backed into a fence and bumped it with his butt. Next thing I know, his legs are on my shoulders and I’m getting a good look at his junk. I burned that article later that night.

I’ve known many people that have special relationships with horses or

a horse. Rocky Denard had a colt he named Wino that would do anything Rocky asked him to. Wino would gladly race cars. Yeah, cars.. Rocky & Wino would be trotting down Hwy 377 in Stephenville coming home from work. A car would be coming up from behind and he would throw Wino the reins and take off.  I’m talking Fast with a capital F. Wino was cruising through the bar ditch, ears pinned and taking unbelievable strides. Steve Adams, Grat Williams and I were at Rocky’s house, waiting for him to get off work.  I closed my eyes and cringed waiting for the wreck that never happened. An amazing horse who trusted Rocky to the nth degree and only wanted to please.

Wino hurt himself later in life and couldn’t race cars as much, so Rocky donated him to a disadvantaged youth riding program. Rocky said Wino’s picture is in the newspaper with these kids more than Trump.

Giggle…

I sure miss being horseback. Since I began my second career as an animal health rep, I haven’t sat on a single horse. I sold my good saddle before we moved back to California, but I still have one that I bought in a feed store in San Benito, Texas back in the late 90’s. It has a high cantle and big swells would keep you locked in. It has a tall brass saddle horn and was built in Pueblo, CO in the 50’s.  Pretty punchy looking. I keep it around because you never know.

Maybe one day I’ll get to sit on a horse again. All I want to do is trail ride these days, but I like to take myself back from time to time. I worked for a man in Arizona who said once, “We have the greatest job in the world. Someone is paying us to ride horses. It don’t get any better than that.”

It shore don’t…

 Another day at the office for Rocky and Wino.

The Great Ones-J. Quade

The Great Ones-J. Quade

“You ain’t got a hair on your ass if you don’t call her.”

Words of encouragement from a co-worker are always the highlights of my day. J. Quade and I had been working at Coastal Ag for about 2 years. I had recently moved to Seguin, Texas and had met one of his customers at Callahan General Store. I was contemplating calling her for a date but was chicken as usual. J. and I were sitting in the Coastal Ag offices waiting for the phone to ring (remember that Junior Jordan?) when J’s soothing words were spoken. That ego-lifting soliloquy got the best of me and I made the call. Thank you J. because I ended up marrying her.

J. Quade was a good friend of mine a long time ago. We both took different career turns and didn’t see each other much over the last 20 or so years. I ran in to him from time to time and we always had a good visit, but we kind of grew apart. Being in the same industry, we had many mutual friends and in a round about sort of way, we kept in touch.

One of these mutual friends is Brett Davis. Brett and J. worked at Bayer together and I met Brett when I moved to California in 2005. Brett and J. had become great friends over the years and we used to tell Quade stories when we were together. Brett told me that J. called him out of the blue and said he had tickets for Brett and Brett’s brother Chad P. at a Van Halen concert in Fresno, CA. the next day. Brett and Chad met J. at the airport and drove to the concert. J. must have been in a meeting or some such before he flew because he was dressed very business like when they went to the concert. Khaki’s don’t mix too well with Van Halen. J. left his seat and when he returned, he slowly paused at the bottom of the steps going up to their seats. With a true act of rock & roll rebellion, he raised his fist in defiance and bowed his head in reverence to the rock gods. Rock on Quade…

Going with the rock concert theme, we continue. I sold tack while I worked at Coastal Ag and J. had a territory for Coastal in the Texas Hill Country near Austin, TX. I was working in J.’s area one week and he asked me to stay with him and his wife Kelley while I was working the area. When I arrived back at their house the last night I stayed with them, J. had a true Quade moment. He said, “ Molly Hatchet is playing at Cheatham Street Warehouse in San Marcos tonight. We’re there dude.” This was the early 90’s and Molly Hatchet had not been relevant since the mid 80’s, but hell yeah I’ll go see Molly Hatchet! We drove down to San Marcos from Wimberley and pulled into the full parking lot. We were a little late and we asked the longhaired guy selling tickets when the band was going to start. He looked our cowboy asses up one side and down the other and said, “No problem man. You still got time to go back to the parking’ lot and burn one.” Good times. After the show, (awesome to say the least,) we were driving back to Wimberley and J. saw these three skateboard punk burnouts walking on the side of the road and he told me to slow down. He hung out the window and hollered, “Soundgarden rules! Yeah!!!” More good times. We got to bed around 2:00 AM and had to get up at 5:00 AM to meet the Coastal driver in Seguin to pick up J.’s orders from that week. Oh to be young again…

I think the only person more gullible and believing than me is my Mom. I love you Mom, but it’s true. Before Susie and I were married, we had our rehearsal dinner at a San Marcos, Texas restaurant. J. and his wife Kelley were some of the people we asked to attend. My Mom was introducing herself to people and she walked up to J. and started a conversation. She asked J. his name and he must have seen this coming because he answered very seriously, “Mike Tyson. Pleased to meet you ma'am.” My Mom didn’t think twice and said, “Oh hello Mike. How long have you known Tim?”

Can you hear me hitting my forehead with my palm?

Our wedding was huge and predominately attended by Susie’s large, extended family. I only knew about 30 or 40 people and they were mostly my friends and family. One of the traditions for Hispanic weddings is the dollar dance. Wedding guest’s pay a dollar or more to dance with either the bride or groom. During the dance I saw a lot of my friends dancing with Susie, J. included. I had stepped on enough feet during my dances and I looked to see who the next victim is. Standing with his dollar in hand with a big shit-eating grin on his face is none other than Quade. I knew that him and Wilke had indulged largely that night, but I never thought that I would ever dance with a man. Not to mention a slow dance with a man. With 300 people watching.  I played along and we began swaying slowly to the left and right. J. was actually a great dancer, very light on his feet. We were both laughing and a stupid idea crept into my head. With my left hand holding J.s, I slowly lowered my right hand down his back to his waist and then thought, “What the hell.” I planted my hand squarely and firmly (but still with that oh so gentle touch) on J.’s left butt cheek.  All J. could say was, “Whoa dude! Take it easy. My wife might see us.”

Being in the animal heath industry brings people together in the craziest ways. Brandon Manning is a great friend from college and the ag industry. I was a groomsman at his wedding and when he introduced me to his future wife Betty Powell, she and her maid of honor Carman Reed (the future wife of another good friend Brian Mannen) said, “He looks just like J. Quade.” Weird, but a nice compliment none the same.

J. had a very unique sense of humor also. He affectionately named our Coastal Ag company trucks “Fur Trappers”. I asked him where in the world that came from and he said that the camper top and the headache rack on top of the camper would be the perfect vehicle for a Canadian outdoorsman. He said, “All you have to do is strap your canoe to the rack, throw your traps in back and you’re in business.” He even told me that he drove his company truck to a friend’s house and the guy came out and said, “Don’t park that in front of my house! The neighbors might think you’re here to fix my plumbing!”

J. was everybody’s friend. He had the kind of personality that drew people to him. His slow, methodical way of talking to people showed that he carefully thought about every word he spoke. I always wanted to be like J. I tried to emulate him and follow his every move. To me, J. was a walking success story. I looked at J. and saw a man who had it made. Family, job, friends; he had it all. You can look up “family man” in the dictionary and see J. front and center. He was so proud of Dani and Peden and all of their accomplishments. His wife Kelley was his world and will forever be.

I suffer from the same crappy hand that J. was dealt. The vast majority of days are great, but every once in a great while, it can be tough. J. was able to hide this from most people just like I have done. I would have never known J. was sick if this terrible tragedy had never happened. I wish he had talked about it more because then, with his many friend’s help and encouragement, he might still be here. Plain and simple, depression sucks.

This is the third person I have known that has taken their life by their own hand. The other two certainly had depression issues. Unfortunately the un-deserved stigma of this illness makes it difficult to discuss, even with your family and closest friends. I have only talked about this with a few people and I would have rather taken an ass beating than talk about my issues.

I wish my friend J. was still here. If he were, I would squeeze his ass again.  Maybe with both hands.

Miss you bud. I’ll be seeing you….

Turkey Day Rewind

Turkey Day Rewind

Thanksgiving is probably my favorite holiday. Sorry Jesus Christ. Your birthday has been around a lot longer than Thanksgiving, so we can give some homage to the turkey for a little bit.

The other day I tried to recall as far back as I could, my earliest memories of Thanksgiving. I’m not sure why, but I could only get back to age 10. The more I think about it, I don’t think I even had a favorite food at that age. We had just moved to Baytown, Texas from Covington, Louisiana and that fall my mom was 8 months pregnant with my brother Dan. We ordered takeout Thanksgiving dinner at Wyatt’s Cafeteria. Mom probably said to my dad, “Screw this. I’m pregnant and I’m not cooking.” Having had to deal with a pregnant spouse twice before (me and my sister Amy), I’m sure Dad knew to choose his battles and did the smart thing. I remember going to the cafeteria with my sister and Dad bringing home a big ole box ‘o Thanksgiving. My Dad’s parents came over and I remember posing for pictures with my Oklahoma Sooner shirt and my high water, corduroy pants.  Fashion and me never have got along too well.

On to Turkey Day memories…..

Thanksgivings of Day’s Past

Seems like Thanksgivings got better as I got older. No more sitting at the kid’s table has a lot to do with it. In the early 80’s, I had my own apartment in Baytown, Texas and I sponsored a couple of parties called “The Annual Tim Guest Day Before Thanksgiving Party”. Big times with a keg of Old Milwaukee beer and loud music. How I managed to cram 60 people into my 1 bedroom apartment I will never know. Dink and Laura Stephens had been married about a year and when they arrived Dink asked where he could put his jacket. I didn’t have a closet so he put it inside the dishwasher so he wouldn’t forget it. Genius. I recall someone (name withheld to protect the stupid) showing the partygoers that if you breed 2 Igloo Playmate coolers you get a 20-quart bigger one. I know, I’m scratching my head right now too. My neighbor below me must have detested me, because Baytown’s finest showed up around 11:00 that night and things quieted down from there.

Another time back in Baytown, me, Robert Burch and Chris Hastie went over to Chris’ mom’s house for Thanksgiving and ate ham. I don’t think I ate so much ham in my life. One tended to get really hungry hanging out with those two, if you know what I mean. Cough, cough….

The year my brother was married, the whole family went to Austin in order to remind Dan to never do this again. Dan and I fried our first turkey and for some reason, it came out fantastic.  The only hitch we discovered was what to do with the oil. We then hatched a covert operation that even Dick Cheney would have been proud of. Since Dan’s neighborhood was still under construction, we took the oil under the cover of darkness to a vacant lot and poured it out. I love the smell of warm peanut oil in the morning. Robert Duvall, Apocalypse Now reference…..

Susie and I had our first Thanksgiving the year before we were married. She lived in Austin and I was still living in Seguin. Her brother managed to get us tickets to the Texas A&M-Texas game in College Station on Thanksgiving Day. Susie’s sister Dalia and her future husband Jerry drove to Austin Wednesday night and we all cooked Thanksgiving lunch on Thursday. After lunch we drove to College Station and froze our arses off in our end zone bleacher seats.  These were the bleachers that faced directly north. Into a 30 mile per hour wind. I don’t think I could have been colder. We drove back to Austin with sleet and snow the whole way and somehow made it back dent free.

Since we have moved out west, we don’t have the gigantic, multiple family celebrations as in past years. It’s really a pleasure to have a quiet celebration, but I do miss our relatives. The first year back in California, we had our first Thanksgiving with just the two of us. We couldn’t find a stunted growth, malnourished turkey so we went with a chicken. Why couldn’t the turkey growers cross a chicken with a turkey and come up with a smaller version?  Anyhow, we cooked an amazing roast chicken with olive dressing. Susie made a couple of pies and I cooked the dressing and potatoes. We also had green bean bundles wrapped in bacon. Nothing is bad with bacon. Duh. Bacon on a truck bumper would be delish. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

PS-Dump the turkey oil in cat litter next time. Much less mess and smell. Your neighbors will love you…..

Working With Bo

Working With Bo

“We want you to jump on board with us. C-mon!”

This was the voice mail my future boss left me after I interviewed for a territory manager position with the Bo Brown Company. I have to admit, I wasn’t real sure if “C’mon” meant, “Give me a call me back” or “Hurry up man! Let’s go!” After a few years working for Bo, I think I am getting it figured out.

Working for Bo is a pleasure and a challenge. He is by far, the best “people” person I have ever worked with, and going away, the best salesperson. I learn something new every time I am around him. When I say challenge, I mean he has his own language, so to speak, and you literally need a reference guide to understand him.

The first instance of this came with a phone call to Bo about a month after I started working for The Bo Brown Company. I called his cell and he answered, “Brown here!” I think I hung up because I wasn’t sure who it was. Another time Bo answered his phone “Bo Bo here!” I didn’t say anything for a few seconds and he finally said, “Tim-o, is that you?”

 Mealtime is when the best of Bo seems to come out. When he makes dinner reservations the hostess asks whose name the reservation is under. He never misses and answers, “Brown. Like the color.” Of course then he has to use his second most famous line with the waiter. He always grabs the waiter or hostess and says, ”Hey man. You got any coupons?” I suppose he must have asked for coupons before and they had some. Might as well ask. When asked what he wants to drink, Bo usually replies “Red wine, but not that expensive shit.” I about choked on a piece of ice.

One time while eating dinner with a group, we were discussing the best ways to get out of a speeding ticket. Some of the better responses were asking the policeman if he was selling tickets to the Policeman’s Ball, in which the cop usually says, “I’m sorry, Policemen don’t have balls.” Bo piped in and told us he always told his kids that if they got between a rock and hard place, they should just tell the cop, “I got the diarrhea.” I want to try it out, but I don’t know if I could pull it off.

I asked Bo how his dinner was and without a hitch, he responds, “It’ll bubble up a turd.” Not the newest response I have heard; Kelly Wilkie usually says the same. After eating dinner it never fails that the staff will try to get us to order desert. I asked Bo if he was going to have any and he said, “Can’t. I got the sugar diabetes.” Chocolate and him don’t get along real well, so he passes and reminds us, “That’ll pop up a zit if you’re not careful.’

Bo and I had a lunch meeting with some customers one day. They had us meet them at the restaurant and we arrived about the same time as them. We all sat down at the table and our customer starts ordering food for all of us, even drinks. Bo leaned over to me and whispered, “Ain’t this some shit!” I almost spit out my eggroll.

Bo Brown Company meetings are an opportune time to learn when Bo is around. He has been in this industry forever and he helps us learn about mistakes. He always cautions us to be careful about what you say and whom you say it to because, “You might get into a jackpot.” Truer words have not been spoken.

One time Gina Hawley (my business partner) placed a big order with one of our customers. Bo was pretty jazzed with this and responded as only Bo can. I don’t know how he does it, but Bo tilts his head to the right, clasps his hands together next to his mouth and makes of big popping sound like a cork being pulled out of a wine bottle. I have been watching him do this for 5 years from all angles, but I can’t figure out to save my life how he does this.

 Bo gives excellent advice and we all take what Bo says as the gospel. Gina was telling me that she asked Bo for some advice and Bo told her “You’re a grown-ass woman; you can make up your mind.” Being the always cool and calculating person I am, I decided to use that line.  Later that day Gina and I were driving to an account talking about a completely different subject. She asked “What do you think I should do?” Trying to be funny, I mused, “Well you’re a big-ass woman, you decide.” I noticed she didn’t say much for a few seconds and I looked over at her. The daggers from her eyes were heading straight at the carotid artery in my neck and she glared at me and said, ”What in the hell did you just say?” Of course we laugh about this exchange now, but for a few seconds that afternoon, I didn’t think I was going to live to see the sunset that evening. I am still careful when I eat at a restaurant with her and I watch her like a hawk to make sure she doesn’t spike my food. One can’t be too careful….

Bo has always been very complimentary to people he likes and people he likes to work with. The other day he was complementing one of the buyers he works with.

“She’s amazing to work with. She’s bionic.” I think you need to be born before 1968 to understand what in the world he was talking about.

 Bo’s wife Ruth tells a good story also. She told us that Bo gets up earlier than her and is wide awake when she gets up. Bo’s been up for a while and wants to talk. Ruthie just looks at Bo, puts her finger to her lips in a shushing manner and slowly turns her head left to right in a very convincing negative way. We only thought Bo was the boss….

Working for this man has been a tremendous blessing and I am super fortunate to be on his team. To be able to watch Bo work a tradeshow, detail customers on product or make the rounds at the dinner table while we are eating is magical. The man knows people and how to treat people. I’m a lucky guy.

Bo, Gina and Me