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I made myself a promise about 11 years ago, that I would find myself a really nice, broke, and handy gelding that I could crawl on without "my arse cheeks puckering". I was living alone and needed something that I didn't need to work up the courage to ride whenever I wanted or needed to. So along came Clyde. He was big, like 16 hands big and he was handy and broke and smart and kind and so damn honest. Oh and he was grey, steel grey when he first arrived and whiter as the yea

This little brown gelding made a mark in the sport of Canadian Rodeo that might never be forgotten, He sure as hell did that very thing in mine and many people's heart and on our souls. As The Grey Horse Chronicle evolves there is a pretty good chance that he will have his very own set of stories, because they are vast. Today, however, I want to share a little bit about a maybe lesser known side of him. It aint the start and it aint the end, its just a little chapter, a littl

When Clyde passed, it left a hole - there had been a big grey horse in my field for 11 years. He was like a beacon of sorts (after all how does one miss a big grey horse) - grey, black and bay, 1-2-3 - all is well. Along with the grief and sadness my field felt empty and what does one do with those feelings? How does one make it "not in vain"? How do I honor him? Well, that is how this blog has come to pass. His story creates the root of it — the stories of all the horses who