A horse to love

River City Storm in a storm of his own

Best Husband in the World came into the kitchen, stamping his feet against the late February chill. He'd been down at the barn, repairing a fence our little buckskin, River, decided it would be fun to mow over in the middle of the night..

"Stormy isn't eating," he said. "He wasn't eating much last night either."

Immediately, I was out the door. At the age of 15, Stormy, the newest addition to our Standardbred menagerie (see Stormy's story here), is also the oldest. He is, as well, the easiest keeper of all the horses. So if he's off his feed, I know it's worth investigating.

I conducted an extremely in-depth assessment. It lasted... about two and a half minutes. "He's bored," I told Best Husband.

Two weeks ago, we were at 70% of our average rainfall. All the "experts" made gloomy predictions of drought. But for the last two weeks, it's rained almost non-stop. In fact (as evidenced by the above photo), we even had snow at 1100 feet (see our "snow story" here)!

Today, the ground is now so saturated, Sacramento--and most other Northern California towns--are worried about flooding. Here at the ranch, our pastures are thick with mud on the hillsides, and there is standing water on the flats.

Which means we have the equine equivalent of a geometry theorem.

It has been raining cats and dogs: therefore, Stormy has to stay indoors: therefore, Stormy is bored.

When I first came down to the barn, Stormy's head was out the window. He regarded me with head high, ears pricked, his eyes intent. He looked like a man waiting at the airport gate for the love of his life to deplane.

Stormy in a "non-bored" state on the trail before the rains began

The beauteous Cordealia (aka "The Dilla"), ini the next stall, was also looking at me. Sideways. If Stormy looked like a lovestruck youth, Cordealia looked like she was about to face a police interrogation. She was only paying attention in order to figure out her escape route.

If you could have inserted a wiretap into the heads of these two horses, my guess is each would yield up something completely opposite of the other.

Our Standardbred mare, Cordealia...beautiful, arrogant...gotta love her!

The Dilla: "What? Are you looking at me? You lookin' at me? I may be looking at you. But it's only to see what you're up to. Because I know you're up to something. Yeah, I see you looking at me and, since it's not dinner time yet, that can only mean one thing-- annoyance. I'm not looking at you because I'm glad to see you. Don't get any crazy ideas about that. Unless...hey, did you bring me some carrots? Yes? Cool. Thanks. Got anymore? No? Dude, I'm outta here."

Stormy (aka Mr. Sweetie Pie): "Oh, good, here you come. I'm soooo happy to see you. I've been waiting for you. Haven't you seen me staring up at the house for hours now? I want you to come over here. Hurry. Don't go see anyone else. Just come see me. And don't forget the carrots. Oh, never mind, I don't need the carrots. I just want you, you, you! First, I want you to pet me and tell me I'm wonderful. Because...I am, you know. Then I want you to let me out. I'll follow you anywhere, I swear I will. I can help you with chores, too. I'll pull the hammer out of your back pocket. And when I'm done helping, why don't you put me in the round pen and give me some of those weird exercises to do? It's true, I've been a champion harness racer my whole life, so this round pen stuff is all new to me. But hey, old dogs--uh, er, horses-- learn new tricks all the time. I'm living proof. Come on, let's go play. I love you!"

And so that's what we did. When Stormy finally went back to his stall, he was relaxed and happy. As I secured the stall door, he turned to me, heaving one of those wondrous, heavy horse sighs that signals contentment.

I, too, felt a tranquil breath leave me.

"Right back at you, kid" I told him. "Right back at you."

Author Charles Leerhsen brings harness racing history to life in "Crazy Good: The True Story of Dan Patch"

Ever since I first devoured Black Beauty, I've been a sucker for a good horse story. One of my perennial favorites is a book called The Secret Life of Cowboys, the lyrical, haunting (and true) account of Tom Groneberg's struggle to live the cowboy life in modern day Montana. One Good Horse, the follow-up from this frequent contributor to Cowboys & Indians Magazine, is also prominent on my bookshelf.

I'm proud to introduce to you my newest library addition, Charles Leehrsen's Crazy Good: The True Story of Dan Patch, the Most Famous Horse in America.

If you are a die-hard harness racing fan, you no doubt know at least a little about Dan Patch. But if you are new to Standardbreds, it's unlikely you have even an inkling of what your grandparents and great-grandparents knew--that the most beloved figure in turn-of-the-century America was a horse. Born so crippled he was nearly put down, Dan Patch grew up to be fast...and famous.

By today's standards, Dan Patch's million dollars worth of endorrsement deals were not all that impressive. But when you consider that baseball's greatest hero at the time, Ty Cobb, was making $12,000, you understand a bit more about Dan Patch's superstar status.

Writing for USA Today in June, journalist Deirdre Donahue said:

At the starting gate of summer book sales, Crazy Good: The True Story of Dan Patch, the Most Famous Horse in America by Charles Leerhsen is positioned nicely on the inside rail.

It's a terrific look at a legendary if now forgotten equine superstar named Dan Patch. Leerhsen does for early 20th-century American harness racing what Laura Hillenbrand's Seabiscuit did for Depression-era Thoroughbred racing.

By all accounts, Dan Patch adored the roar of the crowd. At the dawn of the 20th century, Patch reigned as the Secretariat of harness racing at a time when it was more popular than Thoroughbred racing.

Dan Patch and owner M.W. Savage in their hey-day (Photo courtesy of Dan Patch Historical Society)

Born in Indiana in 1896, Dan Patch was a small-town Hoosier made good. Intended for recreational riding, the stallion showed such speed that at age 4 he began racing. During his racing years from 1900 through 1909, he was front-page newspaper copy.

At the height of his fame, he earned for his owner more than $1 million a year. His image appeared on everything from tonics to sleds to washing machines.

Crowds of 100,000 turned out for a glimpse of the stallion who possessed an unusually gentle temperament yet radiated charisma. Dwight Eisenhower lined up with his parents at the 1904 Kansas State Fair to see him, and Harry Truman recalled that as a boy he had written a fan letter.

Leerhsen, an editor at Sports Illustrated who has worked at Us Weekly and People, has a snappy pop style that will help readers grasp the difference between Standardbreds and Thoroughbreds, trotters and pacers. (To see the original article, click here.)

Nearly a century has passed since Dan Patch died in 1916. But under Leehrsen's skilled hand, he lives again in this exceedingly worthwhile book.

Crazy Good: The True Story of Dan Patch is available in hardcover, paperback, and downloadable eBook form. To learn more, you can logon to the publisher's site at Simon & Schuster, or at Amazon.com.

To learn more about Dan Patch online, visit the Dan Patch Historical Society at http://www.danpatch.com/.

The difference between a pacer and a trotter

River City Storm (left), our newest addition, raced as a trotter for 12 years. Kiwi (right) is a winning pacer who retired at age 5. Both now live happy lives as trail horses, riding both Western and English.

“What is the difference between a Standardbred pacer and a Standardbred trotter?”

It is probably the question I am asked most often, second to “Can you teach a pacer to do a normal trot and canter?” The answer is “yes” and I’ll address it in another post in detail. First, let's get to the differences between pacing and trotting.

In order to understand what pacing is, you must first understand the mechanics of the trot. In the trot, the horse’s legs move diagonally in a two-beat rhythm.

In other words, when the front left leg is forward, the right hind is also forward. When the right fore comes forward, the left hind also comes forward.

Take a look at the photo below of Cordealia, our retired pacer, now a superior trail , dressage, and jumping horse. When she first came to us from the track, she would pace across the pasture, while the other horses trotted. Within a week of starting her saddle training, she learned to forego the pace (which she did naturally from birth) for the trot. In this photo, Cori is trotting; you can see that as her right foreleg stretches in front of her body, the leg diagonally opposite (her left hind) moves in unison.

According to Stephen Chambers, an owner/trainer (and Cordealia's former "dad"), “Trotters are the elite of the harness racing crowd. They are harder to train, and subsequently, the prize money is higher for trotters.”

Stephen adds that in Italy, France, and most other European countries, trotting is the only kind of Standardbred racing to be had. Most is done with a rider, whereas in the US and Canada, trotters race with a driver and a sulky, known in track parlance as a “bike.”

The pacer is a horse of a different color. Originating from the state of Indiana, the pace is a lateral movement. In other words, if the left foreleg is forward, the left hind will also be forward.

Take a look at this win photo of our lesson horse, “Key to the Highway.” “Kiwi” wasn’t always the docile, saddle gent he is today: in the photo below, his power and proud heart are more than evident.

Note that Kiwi is pacing: his right foreleg is stretched out in front of his body, while his right hind stretches forward as well, helping him to tear up the ground for a first place win.

You might be surprsed to learn that when it comes to training trotters and pacers, the latter is far easier.

“Training a trotter,” says Stephen, “requires truly great horsemanship. Although the trot is slower than the pace, the horse can easily break [his stride by cantering, a basic disaster when it comes to racing]. And if, for example, you are in third place behind other horses, you can’t just pop a trotter out of the pack the way you can a pacer. You have to use a lot more finesse than with a pacer.”

Pacers are trained to the gait with the aid of hobbles, also known as “Indiana underpants.” Take a look again at the photo of Kiwi, and you can see the hobbles around the legs. These humane restraints help keep the horse in the gait.

“Pacing is probably more of a crowd favorite in the United States because it’s much faster than the trot,” explains Stephen. “The horses don’t break as often as trotters do. And you can really move the horses around more easily. Unlike trotters, you can, in fact, ‘pop’ them out of a pack.”

Re-training a pacer for life as a saddle horse is not as difficult as some people think. Every Standardbred I have worked with, without exception, has had the mental fortitude to quickly grasp the switch. Liberty work in a round pen or on a longe line is a key part of the process, as is a great deal of vocal reinforcement.

Working in the round pen with our newest addition, Joanne’s Fancy (known around the barn as “The Cupcake”), you can hear me constantly chatting easily with the horse. “Trot. Good trot. Good trot. Trot on. Good trot.”

In the saddle, I use the same, quiet, musical patter. “Trot. Good trot. Slow trot. Slow.” My vocal instruction is always paired with a lot of physical reinforcement in the form of strokes on the neck.

For those of you with arthritis or other health issues, a Standarbred pacer might be just the ticket. I have discovered that The Cupcake's slow pace, known as an "amble," is a slice of gaited heaven that is exceedingly easy on the back and seat.

If you are considering bringing a Standardbred into your life, rest assured that these intelligent, tractable animals can easily adapt to any task you give them. After life at the track, they are accustomed to hard work, to say nothing of a great deal of attention. They actually look forward to any job you put in front of them. In the case of training one to adopt a trot in leeu of a pace, it's right up their alley.

River City Storm is one lucky horse

There are a host of famous quotes that work on a variation of “Success is 10% hard work and skill, and 90% luck.”

It this is true, then River City Storm, the second most winning horse in the history of Cal Expo harness racing, had his good hold right to the end of his career. And beyond.

One week before his retirement bash at Cal Expo’s $100,000 California Sires Stakes night, “Stormy” ran—and won—his last race in Massachusetts. Lucky horse.

Then, with the help of a consortium of admirers, Stormy was then brought back to his home turf in Sacramento. December 20, the glowering skies parted long enough for a night of racing under the stars and Stormy’s official retirement. Lucky horse.


Stephen Chambers, who once leased Stormy, was part of a consortium that banded together to bring Stormy back to his home turf of Sacramento.


Stormy, age 15, then packed up his cooler and Baker blanket and came to our farm, where he has settled easily into his new life as a saddle horse. He has also acquired an unexpected role, that of ambassador for his breed.

On Saturday, I decided to take Stormy out for his fifth ride under saddle. We rode to Cronan Ranch, the 1800-acre open space area brodering the crystalline waters of the American River. Along with dozens of horseback riders, the trails had drawn many families with small children.

Stormy at Cronan Ranch showing his personality.


Every time I came along a family of hikers, the children would all excitedly cry, “Look at that horse! Look at that horse!”

So I would stop and ask, “Would you like to pet him?”

Superstar that he is (and accustomed to much adulation), Stormy stood quietly while small hands moved over his shoulders and tickled his muzzle. Furry as a teddy bear, Stormy’s soft, full coat elicited squeals of delight.

Everyone was very impressed to hear that Stormy was “a famous harness racer” who had made a lot of money in his career.

“He’s so quiet,” commented one young mother. “I thought race horses were all kind of…crazy.”

“Not Standardbreds,” I answered, going on to explain how Standardbreds have calm minds, common sense, sturdy bodies, and great hearts.

As we rode away, I heard, “Ooo, look at his tail. He’s so beautiful.”

“And sweet,” came another comment.

Since Storm came to live with us, many people have said that he was lucky to find us. After all, who would want a 15-year-old horse with 12 years of racing on those legs?

Stormy scores another piece of luck!


Yet, the more I come to know his intelligent, noble, willing personality, the more I have the pleasure of storming down a trail with that magnificent trot, the more I think, "Let's just see who got lucky here."

Is this what they call a "win-win" situation?

WHY I LOVE STANDARDBREDS

In which a devotee of thoroughbreds learns from a Standardbred that, just as there really are good men in the world, there are also fantastic horses.

All my life, I’ve been in love with thoroughbreds. Just as with the tall, dark, and handsome men I used to be attracted to, I craved thoroughbreds as if they were a drug. I lusted for their beautiful heads. I coveted their athleticisms. I obsessed about their dauntless hearts. To me, they were “It.” With a capital “I.”

And as with the tall, dark, and handsome men I was attracted to—oh, let’s face it, I was addicted—most of the thoroughbreds I rode were just…well…a tad untrustworthy. A bit full of themselves. A bit…crazy.

Before any of you get all up on your high thoroughbred horses, I’ll be the first to tell you that there were major exceptions. I think of Majestic Pauper, descended from the great Majestic Prince, who went from race horse to winning A-circuit hunter without a single hiccup (well…except for that first year of blasting around the ring as if stung by a wasp every time the announcer said “canter.”).

Or Tindle, the refined bay with a heart as big as his jump, who carried me through the Olympic screening trials after I’d completely lost my focus on the cross country course.

Consider the gallant Paragon, who came to me as a 16-year-old. He restore my confidence after my 4-year-old thoroughbred bucked hard, causing my retina to tear. And consider that Paragon, now known as Max, is the best riding companion ever to 14-year-old Olivia.

Let me not forget tiny Charmer, whose name spoke of her patience with young riders—and belied her complete intolerance for many of her equine stable mates.

When I finally ditched tall, dark, and handsome men for the less tall, very handsome, blond, blue-eyed, and white-hatted Best Husband in the World, I felt a bit like I’d emerged, wide-eyed and a bit fuzzy, from a very long dream.

“You mean there are really men out there like you?” I asked, amazed. “Men who are respectful, kind, loyal, funny, gorgeous…and you like horses?”

And he just tipped his white hat, twinkled those baby blues at me, and said, “Yes, ma’am. Here, wanna share my bedroll?”

It was pretty much the same story when I met Cordealia, the rosy bay with the star who was, last year, my first face-to-face with a Standardbred.

I had never owned anything other than thoroughbreds since the age of 10. But with my years advancing and my vision severely declining, one buck too many made it clear that it was time to shelve my big competition plans for Pilot, the aforementioned 4-year-old with a rather annoying penchant for tossing me skyward.

Tall at 16.2 hands, dark with entrancing, steel grey dapples, and arguably one of the handsomest horses I’d ever seen, I fought against facing the facts; but like that tall, dark, and handsome man who had neglected to mention he was married until well after I’d handed him my heart on an entrée plate and my soul for dessert, Pilot did not have my back.

Just after I sold Pilot to a serious competition stable, I spoke on the phone to Stephen Chambers. Stephen has a small harness racing operation out of Cal Expo, and he is big on the Standardbred.

He said, “I have this mare and she’s really something special.”

Now that I’ve had this horse for a year, I realize that what Stephen was actually saying was, “I have this horse and she really thinks she’s special.” But I digress.

With 9 wins and a threatening tendon issue, Cordealia’s pacing career was over. “I just want to see her in a good riding home,” explained Stephen, “rather than have her go to the Amish, where she’ll spend the rest of her life working very hard.”

I didn’t know anything about Standardbreds. But the price was right, so The Best Husband in the World and I went to check her out.

The first thing that struck me was how quiet the track was. If I’m honest, back stage at a thoroughbred track can be unsettling; there always seems to be a lot of yelling, a frantic pace, noisy, high-headed horses yelling for stable pals. By contrast, Cal Expo was practically meditative. And the mare, beautiful Cordealia with her feminen head and round, intelligent eyes, was so calm, I actually wondered if she were drugged.

Stephen laughed when I hinted at my concern. “Standardbreds,” he said, as if that explained everything.

When Cordealia backed her hind end against the rail of the small turnout, I thought she was going to kick us.

As I backed away, Stephen just laughed again. “She wants you to scratch her rear end. It’s her thing.”

We took her home. That afternoon, she had a saddle on her back and The Best Husband in the World climbed on. Cordealia splayed her long legs a bit, but then found herself again and moved easily forward. A week later, I rode her out on her first trail ride. Accustomed to the usual thoroughbred antics, I sat ready for anything. Well, anything, but the complete calm with which Cordealia greeted every new thing, from bridges to rushing dogs to the sparkling waters of Northern California’s American River.

It was unequivocally the best ride of my life. From that moment on, I was a changed woman. A convert. A devotee. I wanted to put a bumper sticker on my Durango that read, “I heart Standardbreds.”

Just as my years with The Best Husband in the World have affirmed that good men do, in fact, exist, I recently got another opportunity to affirm that my adoration for Standardbreds is well placed.

It came in the form of “Key to the Highway,” AKA Kiwi. Five years old, this dark bay with a soupcon of a star had reached the end of his harness racing career. But like Stephen Chambers, breeder/owner Greg Watson wanted something more for this sturdy little gelding than what is offered up on an Amish farm. So Kiwi came to us.

His first day, Best Husband in the World put one of those giant Western saddles on him and mounted up. Kiwi acted like he’d had people climbing up on him all his life. Best Husband in the World made sure Kiwi had a “whoa” in him, then asked for “go,” and put Kiwi through the Best Husband in the World Accelerated Training Program. They wandered all over our property, through gates, over obstacles, through the forest of oak trees.

“Well, he’s a prince,” declared Best Husband in the World. “Let’s toss him to the wolves.”

I wondered if Best Husband had lost the marbles under that white hat, but he said, “I’m going to go cut down that tree limb that’s hanging in the round pen. Hand me the limb trimmers.”

Kiwi was more than a prince; he was amazing. There’s Best Husband in the World standing in the stirrups under our big oak tree, snapping at the offending limbs with the jaws of a giant limb trimmer. When the limb broke, cascaded gently down upon horse and rider, Kiwi didn’t move a hair. Well, unless you consider him twisting his head around to get a mouthful of leaves.

This morning, his fourth day under saddle, I took him down our little country lane to the 1800-acre open space down the hill. Kiwi saw turkey vultures feasting on a road kill buffet. He saw overturned trees. Snorting at a neighbor’s mailbox, I urged him forward for a closer look; he sniffed it, and then pulled it open. I swear, if there’d been any letters in there, he would have put them between his teeth and handed them back to me.

In short, I felt like Kiwi had my back. There is no way I would ever trust myself to a thoroughbred the way I handed myself over to this green gelding.

So it’s final. I’m way past smitten. I’m head-over-heels. Give me a Standardbred. Just as with those devilish tall, dark, and handsome men who first tested my heart, I will always harbor great fondness those tall, dark, and handsome thoroughbreds who first carried me. Like my former paramours, I will nostalgically recall how their elegant lines made my breath grow short, my heart thrum within my breastbone.

Then I’ll look at the blond, blue-eyed, less tall, white-hatted Best Husband in the World as he leans on the fence and scratches Kiwi and Cordealia behind the ears. And I’ll think, “But how much more wonderful the ride!”