52 War Cry - What all manner of dreams are made of ...

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 little happenstance that will show us something about horses that might make some of you ponder.

So Big Country Rodeo brought bucking stock to a rodeo near Medicine Hat, Alberta called Box Springs. That rodeo waxed and waned form one of the biggest and best in the amateur circuits in Canada to just a little pumpkin roller (as my dad would say). It was at one of these pumpkin roller performances that I watched War Cry show us all something that sometimes humans forget.

We always got the draw close to a week in advance and there beside Ole 52 was the name of a young man that quite frankly didn't ride very good. Like, wasn't going to ride one side of the little brown horse. So the end result was pretty predictably not gonna end well for him.

Now a segue to this story, and a tribute to my dad is that he didn't have an A-team and/or a B-Team. He certainly had better ones and lesser ones, but they always all got on the truck. It didn't matter what association, my dad always gave the contestants and the crowd his best.

So here we are, on a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon in ole Box Springs and people are sitting on the little side hill and some have made it to the beer stand, and everyone is having a grand time. The rodeo is about half done and intermission is about over. The broncs are loaded, the chutes are full and in the middle chute on the left hand delivery stands a little brown horse with a big reputation and a litany of accolades. The young man strapping his tack to him has none. He knows he's out-gunned and out-matched, but he goes to loving on that brown horse as much as, or maybe more then I've seen anyone do. I could tell he was just feeling blessed to be crawling in that saddle on that horse.

So he pets him and he talked to him and he gently untangles some fairy knots out of his pony-cross mane. All the while War Cry just stood there and loved the lovin'. You see, alot of times bronc riders will think they need to dominate when they go to getting on, they almost want pick a fight and they intend to win it. What I know is, that more often then not, they'd be better off politely asking for a dance. This was always and especially true with War Cry and that day was the epitome of that.

The young man was the last to nod his head. War Cry was always the feature horse, the one we bucked last to sell out the bronc riding with our very best. So, he measures his rein one last time, steps across his saddle, gets his stirrups, rolls his hips, makes his ugly face, lifts on that bronc rein and nods his head.

War Cry was great to get out on, I helped make that so when he as a young horse - but that's an other story for another time.

On this day, in that arena, he did what he always did and left with a pretty big move and out across the arena they went. He bucked as he normally did, with all kinds of that down draft and those swells just falling away for his rider with every jump. The fella was a scratching away, there wasn't much lift left and alot more pulling going on. It sure wasn't very pretty, but every time he was about to fall off, War Cry would just pick him up - like he wasn't going to let him hit the ground. This little dance went on for about 6 - 7 seconds and then it was just like War Cry looked at his watch and said it was time. He deposited the young man on the ground, almost gently really. They had made it almost all the way across the arena.

So remember when I spoke about it being a dance. Well, sometimes or maybe more often then one might think, if we just stop for a second. If we just feel the energy of the four-legged, if we just breath and appreciate them and it (whatever it might mean for you) the whole thing changes. This man knew he wasn't going to make 8 seconds, but he was just so damn honored to be strapping his tack on that little brown horse, that he created a bond and it was a truly magical. I have seen War Cry meet 'em where they're at, I've heard cowboys tell me how they're going to spur him and best him. I always just laughed because more often then not they'd be laying out there in the middle of the arena watching their empty stirrups clicking together overtop of the saddle. He had the magic ability to be bucking harder at 9 seconds when he was the first jump out of the chute.

52 War Cry was a remarkable 4 legged on so very many levels. It was an honor to be in his presence. There are more stories about my friend and we'll get to them. This is just a little something to make us all ponder.