Rudy is the horse from my childhood who taught me the most. I’ve spent more time horseback on Rudy than any other horse in my life. He is on that pedestal in my memory where all faults are forgiven and forgotten–to me, he is the best horse in the world.
Rudy was born special. My dad had gone to a Pitzer Ranch sale and bought a grandson of Two Eyed Jack, a sorrel stallion named Watch Joe Starlite. The first foal was born to our old gray mare, Tasha Jo, and it turned out to be her last foal. So Rudy, born in 1988, was the only foal from the breeding of those two horses, and there was always something different about him.
Rudy was built like a racehorse. His hindquarters had a higher muscle on them than any of our other horses, and though we went on to have many foals that were half brothers and nephews to Rudy, he had more drive and speed than any of the others.
When Rudy was a yearling, Dad sold off a bunch of horses, and the buckskin colt I had claimed as my own got sold along with them. So Dad said I could pick a new colt. Of course, I chose Rudy. I had been riding the buckskin without any trouble, but he wasn’t even green broke yet. So Rudy would be my first horse to train. Dad always said you ruin the first colt you train, because you just don’t know enough the first time around. But in spite of his faults, I still won’t admit that I ruined Rudy.
I started riding him when he was two and I was twelve. My sister had been the main colt starter at our ranch, and had gone to a Ray Hunt clinic and also gained a lot of tips from our neighbor, Kevin Wescott, and she had a lot of experience with horses. But she left for college around that time, and so it was up to my other sister and I to get the colts trained.
I rode Rudy several times his two-year-old year, but then he was put out to pasture with the rest of the yearling and two-year-old bunch, and I lost a lot of momentum in working with him. I remember riding my sister’s gelding, Johannes, bareback out to the pasture the colts were in, a mile or so from home. I let Johannes go graze with the others, caught Rudy, and shimmied onto his back from a side hill. We were walking along nicely, when the other horses kicked up their heels and took off at a full run towards the windmill. I held Rudy back until he bucked me off and tore the reins through my hands and ran away after them. I walked to the windmill and soaked my sore hands under the cool water. Always one to get back on, I caught Rudy and climbed on again. We rode around a little, but when it was all said and done, I am certain that I learned much more than he did that day. But that was the first and last time he ever bucked with a rider.
He was brought in with the ranch geldings that next winter, and I started using him to work pairs (mother cows with their babies) in off the field once they had calved. One big mistake I made in his training was putting him in a curb bit too soon. Stupidly, I figured he was a three year old and since I’d been riding him for a year, he should be ready to move up from the snaffle. It would have been fine if I had actually put a year’s worth of rides on him, but in reality he maybe had been saddled ten times or so before I switched bits and went out to work cattle with him.
I remember trying to sort out a cow and Rudy being completely confused by my reins. I had to reach up and take the cheek strap of his bridle to get him to turn where I wanted him to, that’s how poor his reining skills were. But whatever he lacked in training, he made up for in cow sense, and we made great leaps in both that winter.
Somewhere along in there, my sister Kellie decided she wanted to see how fast Rudy was. We were always racing the older ranch horses, as long as Dad wasn’t around and we weren’t working cattle. We liked to shout, “To the top of the hill!” and take off at a dead run. Kellie rode Rudy once and raced him and couldn’t get him to stop. And that was all it took. From that day on, Rudy was a full-fledged runaway, and it didn’t matter what set him off, he would never stop running.
It got so bad that only my Dad and I were allowed to ride Rudy. My dad liked him for his ground-covering stride and his willingness to leave the barn happily. If you had to let him run to turn back a cow, you really had to shut him down quickly, or you’d be off into the next county by the time he stopped. My dad would talk gruffly to him as they trotted along with a group of riders, because Rudy would get to dancing sideways, wanting to run. He loved to sort out a cow and be in charge of the situation. You could pretty much point him to a certain one, and he’d take it from there. With training, he would have been an incredible cutting horse, because the love of the game was strong in him.
Rudy is living out his older years on my parent’s beautiful mountain ranch. I see him once or twice a year, and he’s my first pick if there’s riding to be done. He will still run away on any given day, if given a chance, and I love that in him! But we’ve all kind of learned to get along with him and not let his hyperness, fear, or whatever it is, escalate too high.
I think Rudy had the perfect genetics–the strength, cow sense, and athleticism of the Quarter Horse bloodlines of Two Eyed Jack, blended with the height, speed, and grace of the Thoroughbred lines of Three Bars. He was one of a kind, and I’ll really miss him when he’s gone.
