BEST FRIENDS

Andy is very much like me, in the sense that he is a solitary creature. He doesn't fight with other horses in the pasture, but neither does he tend to make good friends. He tends to keep to himself most of the time. A lot of times when I get him from the pasture he's off by himself. He can actually get crabby when other horses get in his space, and he'll get a little nippy with them.

For some reason, other ponies are drawn to Andy, despite his anti-social tendencies. When he was in the polo club, there was a mare named Jewel that had a big crush on him. She'd follow him around in the pasture, making doe eyes. Which is funny in itself, because that horse was kind of a giant bitch who was very mare-ish with other people and horses. But she loved Andy. Andy, of course, did not love her. He would generally ignore and evade her at all times.

At his new barn, Andy has collected another admirer. This time it is a cute paint gelding named Lance who came to the barn at about the same time. Surprisingly, Andy seems to maybe even like Lance...sometimes. Other times I see him get annoyed and take a bite at Lance, but pretty much every time I go into the turnout I see them somewhat close to each other. Yesterday they were standing shoulder to shoulder and it was so KYOOOT! I know that Andy is sort of a lone ranger, but I worry about him getting lonely and not making friends. So having a pasture pal is a very good thing!

Prince Hellstrom

I just got Andy's paperwork a few days ago in the mail. Of course, I poured over it thoroughly, and read on his Coggin's test that he had a tattoo. I knew he was registered, but for some reason didn't think he had a tattoo, which in hindsight is dumb, but I'm not really knowledgeable about the Jockey Club or breed registries in general. Anyways, the Jockey Club is pretty much the best kept breed registry there is, and I figured that I might be able to find some info on his with his tattoo number. Say, maybe his real age! So I went to the Jockey Club website and used their tattoo identification service, and OMG I found a freaking goldmine!

My darling Andy was a bonafide race horse! He started in 9 races. Granted, he was a pretty crummy racehorse, with a career earning of $789, thanks to one third-place finish. But he raced! I think it's so cool that I get to ride a thoroughbred that at one time paraded in front of a grandstand, loaded into a starting gate, and then thundered around a track at 35 mph!!!

I also found out that the registered name that someone told me he had was wrong. His actual name is Prince Hellstrom. Ummm.....Yeah, let's just stick with Andy. His sire was Just Behavin' and his dam was Dazzling Dancer. Nothing too remarkable in his pedigree until you go back 5 generations, and then you'll find MAN 'O WAR!!!!! Only the best race horse of all time. That's right, I own a descendant of Man 'O War. A great, great, great-grandson, but a descendant nonetheless. I also found out that he is 19, originally from Illinois, and is a Taurus (born May 4th), although officially his birthday is January 1st, like all the thoroughbreds in the northern hemisphere...but fuck that, he gets a birthday party on both days!

He hasn't been raced in 16 years, but I wonder if he still remembers it? It would explain his old reputation as a crazy runaway, especially outdoors. It would also explain how he sometimes takes off at a gallop, and is difficult to pull up. Granted, since I've moved his to his new barn, reduced his grain, and gave him daily turnout out he's much more likely to be lazy and not want to canter than be a nutso and bolt.

I'm so happy to have found all this! I just wish I knew the inbetween. How did he get from Illinois to Corvallis? What happened in between? Oh well. At least I know he will be happy, fat, and lazy for the rest of his life.

Here is a picture of Andy (Aka Prince Hellstrom) biting his old buddy Ritz.

I Got the Disease

Many years ago my Uncle Ron asked me what I thought was a very rude question. "When are you going to grow out of your little-girl obsession with horses?" He said. What an ass. Then again, I knew from a very young age that Uncle Ron was full of shit. He was a smart man; a Ph.D who was a professor at the university I ended up attending, with a sizable collection of written works. But we called him Uncle Criminal for good reason, one of which included getting arrested while teaching (literally cuffed in the middle of a lecture, for burglary). When Uncle Criminal asked me this question, I was smart enough to know he was belittling my love of horses as an immature phase I would grow out of, like kindergarten boys drawing anatomically correct figures on the school sidewalk in chalk.

"Never," I answered back at him. And I was right.