Paint

It was a hot summer day at my ranch near Vista, California. A runaway two year old pinto horse stood panting at the gate to my front pasture. The skinny young gelding was dripping with sweat, and his hooves were split from running in the street. Misty, our white pony was mildly curious to see the pinto horse standing at the barn yard gate. I opened the gate, Paint entered, and he made friends with the Welsh pony.

Paint allowed me to hold the broken rope attached to his halter. I cautiously boosted myself to the pinto's back and rode him to the back yard using the short rope to guide him. Riding bareback, my legs hung at his sides. My feet bumped under and behind his front legs because his underweight body was not wide enough to hold my legs out. I washed the dirty sweat off his short haired, brown and white body. His white hair was like clean snow. The dark copper brown color reflected light, and his two toned freshly washed coat was soft. He was thin but stood fifteen hands high at his whithers. Standing at attention, his head was about seven feet high. He had the conformation of a race horse with slim ankles, large smooth muscles, a small head with perky ears, and he had large alert brown eyes. I turned him loose into the back pasture where Paint quickly made friends with a young black Arabian mare and with my thoroughbred gelding Big Red. Paint pranced about and established himself as a leader by chasing and nipping at the other horses, but Big Red held his ground. Big Red was older and much stronger than the others, and he ended up being in charge without anyone getting hurt. It was an exciting thing to see all the horses racing around the three acre enclosure.

Three days later Paint's owner visited us and found my grade school children riding Paint bareback. He said he had recently purchased the horse at an auction of horses from Nebraska. The horse was green broke. This meant Paint would allow a person to lead or ride him, but he was not well trained.

Paint's owner said, "When I tried to ride him, the horse acted up by jumping around. He ran away with me. I have not yet learned to be a good rider and frankly, this horse frightens me. I had boarded him on the other side of town for a couple of months. Then I rented a house about a mile from you where we have room for animals. There is no corral, so I staked Paint with a rope on our lawn. He broke the rope and ran away."

The young man told me he was in business for himself painting cars. He said, "I want to thank you for taking care of Paint, and I appreciate the way you people have calmed him down. I couldn't believe it when I saw your kid on his back. I would appreciate it if you keep the horse here until I have time to build a corral at my place. Ride him if you have time. He needs all the training he can get."

I agreed to keep the horse, and the man agreed to pay for Paint's alfalfa. The man returned with his wife on the following Sunday. He said he was in a bind financially and not able to pay the feed bill. He visited me once during the next two weeks and had no interest in touching or riding Paint. He was content to watch my family handle the young pinto. I rode Paint every day trying to teach him to turn and stop well. Paint galloped only with a left lead even when I turned him in a circle to the right. It was an uncomfortable and unsafe ride, and I was not successful in changing his habit. The horse stopped with his head down causing me to slip forward.

In less than a month Paint became lame. I called a young veterinarian who was new in our area. Dr. Rose removed a rusty nail from the hoof, cleaned the wound, then he medicated and wrapped the wound. When the doctor snapped his finger or clapped his hands together Paint was startled. His eyes covered themselves with a white membrane.

Dr. Rose explained. "Paint is suffering from tetanus. I have not treated many horses with this fatal disease. Usually they die. But, I know how we might save him. It will require a lot of work and patience from you and me. If you are willing to put in the time, I will help you treat him. I don't want to give you false hope because there is not much chance he will live."

My wife Barbara is a nurse, and she agreed to give large doses of injected antibiotics and tranquilizers. We were required to give injections every two hours day and night. It was also necessary to keep the pinto in a dark stall. We used a covered shed next to our garage. We removed all the gardening equipment to make room and hung blankets on the open ends of the shed to keep out light during daylight hours. The concrete floor was easy to keep clean. Paint stopped eating, but he was able to drink water from a bucket.

Dr. Rose said, "Being able to drink water is a favorable sign. Let's hope he will soon be able to eat something."

During the day Barbara and I took turns giving the injections on either side of Paint's neck. At night we led the gelding out to our driveway where we walked him in the dark for exercise. Paint was getting weaker, and he had poor balance. At times we had to shove him to help him balance.

The owner of the horse showed up two weeks after we began treatments. Paint was very weak, his coat was dull, and he had lost hundreds of pounds. Barbara explained that Dr. Rose had been coming every day to check on the horse. She told him she did not know how much the vet bill would be. She told the man his horse might die, and that there was little hope of a full recovery even if the horse lived. The man was too sad to say much. He left our place that day and never returned. That night Barbara was up every two hours to give injections. Paint's neck was hard and swollen on both sides from all the needle punctures and the large doses of medicine being pumped into him.

Dr. Rose returned the next day and suggested we use an electric hot pad to treat the neck and told us to start giving the injection shots in Paint's rump. The large heating pad was one I used for treating people in my physical therapy practice. To heat the pad I was required to hold an electric switch down while it heated. Then I released the switch to allow it to cool. By alternating the heat we caused moist heat for the horse. The moisture was caused by temperature change just as a frozen glass becomes wet when removed from the refrigerator. I must admit it required patience to give Paint his heat therapy. Every day Barbara talked to Paint and petted him. Every day she became more attached to him.

During the third weak of antibiotics Paint became unsteady on his feet. We kept him standing all the time, and when we gave him night walks on our driveway, Barbara and I braced ourselves against Paint's sides to prevent him from falling. Then, suddenly, Paint responded to the treatments. He began eating grain and alfalfa. Dr. Rose was very happy to tell us we had won. He talked to horses as if they were human often calling them "nice people".

He said, "This person is going to survive. Not only will he survive, he is going to be a strong person. Give him the medicine for a few more days. Then, when he's feeling better, you can turn him out to pasture with the other horses. I feel good about this. I have decided to reduce the bill so you can easily pay it. I doubt if your friend will return to claim this person. Barbara, since you have given such good nursing care, you should think about keeping him for your own."

Barbara said, "I hope the owner doesn't come back and claim Paint. I have invested too much of my time in this horse to give him up. Nursing him has made me feel a kinship to him."

Soon Paint was strong. I became interested in training him. I took riding lessons from a tall Native American cowboy who lived at a horse ranch nearby. He rode his Appaloosa stallion in the Rose Parade every year. The horse was also used in movies to portray a wild stallion who reared up and danced on his hind legs. The trainer taught me how to sit on a saddle and ride in a training ring. Paint refused to canter in a right lead. This meant he did not lead with the right legs in a right turn. Sometimes Paint went into a cross lead which is also unsafe and uncomfortable. Paint still made quick stops with his head down causing me to be thrust forward in an uncomfortable way almost being thrown over Paint's head. The trainer let me take Paint into a bull ring to work him.

A bull ring is a thirty foot circular enclosure with an eight foot high solid wood fence. The trainer said, "The bull pen is a good place to get full attention from the horse because he has no distractions. He can't see out, and he can't run away. You can borrow my training whip. You stand in the middle of the ring and make Paint run around in a circle. Make him run in both directions until he learns to run naturally in a right lead. After he learns, you get on and make him do it with a rider."

I took Paint into the bull pen and worked him from the ground using the long whip to scare him. I ran him to the left, then to the right alternating his direction back and forth around the ring. The Native American looked to me like a movie star because he was tall, dark and handsome, and he always had an eye for the ladies. He stayed outside the ring, climbed a ladder, and gave me instructions as he looked over the high fence. Paint was a high strung horse and frightened as he dashed about in the ring. Finally he seemed to forget about the saddle he was wearing, and he began using the correct leads as he turned back and forth. Then my teacher told me to mount, run in circles, and change directions by turning back toward the fence each time.

I attempted to follow the order as best I could. However, I was too timid to master the horse, and Paint refused to take a right lead. The trainer took pity on me and said, "O.K. I have a bad back. I didn't want to aggravate it by riding a horse, but, since you obviously don't know what to do, I will show you."

We traded places, and he carried the long whip as he mounted Paint. He snapped the whip and used it to turn Paint back and forth at a run. He caught the whip under Paint's tail on purpose, and I expected it would cause Paint to buck. Instead of fighting, Paint forgot about everything except survival. I looked over the fence and saw the man giving the horse a wild ride. Finally Paint turned back and forth with a flying change of lead. It was an exciting show, and I learned a great deal about riding and training that day. After the lesson I trained Paint to walk, trot and finally to canter around three barrels in my training ring at home. Then I set up tall poles in a row to practice pole bending. The horse is expected to weave through the poles at a run, spin around the final pole and weave back through the poles, then race past the starting line. These games would ready Paint for gymkhana races at western horse shows.

Behind my back fence are hundreds of acres of pasture with hills and a running stream. I took Paint for many rides. Barbara rode him occasionally. Usually she was content only to talk or wave to him from the house.

My younger brother Dr. Tom Brown came to visit me, and he rode Paint. Tom had been a race horse jockey and later a licensed race horse trainer. After Tom allowed Paint to run at full speed he said, "This is a race horse. I have ridden very few horses who could keep up with this horse in a short race. You could put him in some match races and make some money."

One day Barbara loaded up our four children in our station wagon and drove them two miles to the Palomar Riders horse show. I rode Paint to the horse club and sat on him to watch the horse show. People showed their horses standing with halters sort of like they show dogs at dog shows. Then people mounted and were in contests to show horsemanship at the walk, trot, and canter. The winners of the contests were given ribbons. When they were about to start the gymkhana races Barbara asked me to enter Paint in the contests.

It was a new experience for me and for Paint. I'm not sure why, but Paint was in an obedient mood. He raced in most of the contests and won first place ribbons in most of them. At the end of the day he was high point winner and was awarded the championship trophy. Several times Barbara turned down thousands of dollars from people who wanted to buy him.

One day I decided to ride Paint without using a saddle and without using a rope or anything to guide him. We had a young baby-sitter who was watching me, and I wanted her to see I could ride like an Indian. I turned the horse by leaning and by pulling on his mane, and he started walking down the hill toward my back fence about two hundred yards away. Paint went into a trot then broke into a fast gallop heading for the wire fence. I tried to turn him to the right then to the left pulling on his mane but he would not turn. Just before we reached the fence, Paint ducked his head and slammed on the brakes. I flew over his head, somersaulted and landed on the hard dirt on my back. I was unconscious until the young lady walked down from the hilltop to wake me up. I was not hurt but I felt foolish.

We owned Paint for the rest of his life and never worked him on a race track. He died in his twenties from old age and kidney failure. We buried him on our land. I used a photo of Paint to do his oil portrait on canvas for Barbara. Later I used the painting to make a photograph and put it on a 2001 calendar. We loved that horse. He was a real beauty.