Proud-Cut

NOT LONG AFTER I returned to college, Mama hired Landis Spurbeck to deliver and stack hay in the barn. Landis was the old cowboy who had told me Prince needed to be broken. “You got to teach him who’s boss,” he had advised.

Landis drove his pick-up truck loaded with bales of hay to the barn door and carried one bale at a time into the barn for stacking, and of course, while doing this, loose hay fell to the ground, and of course, the horses were eager to munch on this hay. Landis didn’t mind working around Joe and the ponies, but he was afraid of Prince and would wave his arms and yell to frighten him away. Then, if Prince remained near the truck, Landis threw stones at him. 

“That big black horse has the devil in him,” Landis told Mama. “He’s a five-year-old stallion. Should have been gelded two years ago. He’s dangerous! It won’t be long before he starts killing your sheep and goats. I’ll castrate him for you.” Landis had worked on ranches in Texas and knew all about breaking horses and castrating stallions. 

Mama phoned to let me know about Landis’ offer. “I checked with the vet, and he agreed that it was best to have Prince gelded as soon as possible. He said that stallions can become troublesome.”

“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “Sandy’s uncle told me the same thing, but he was so well behaved this summer that I didn’t even think about it.”

“He has changed, seems more aggressive. I’ve seen him chase the goats.” Mama replied. 

“He’s probably just playing, but you’re right. It’s best to have him gelded. When will the vet be able to do it?” 

“Well,” Mama paused before answering. “The vet’s fee is a lot, more than we can afford, so I accepted Landis’ offer.” 

“Landis? When? Did he tell you how he planned to do it?”

“He said he’ll have a couple of fellows he knows help him sometime this week. I assume they’ll have to lay him flat and tie his legs.”

After our conversation, I took a walk and thought about Prince being lassoed and thrown to the ground, about his legs being tied, about Landis using a sharp knife to castrate him. It was September and I was on a college campus six hundred miles from home. In my mind I sobbed, I’m sorry Prince. I should have taken care of this when I was home. I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry I won’t be there. 

Mama phoned on Thursday to let me know that Landis had attempted what he said he would accomplish. “They lassoed his head and legs and pulled him to the ground. At first, Prince struggled wildly but eventually stopped and just lay on his side. Landis’ two helpers kept the lassos pulled tightly on his legs to keep him from kicking when Landis started cutting. Landis had almost finished when Prince surged forward, kicked and sent Landis flying and his helpers running. Prince stood up and hobbled around until the lassos fell off. Then he ran to the far end of the pasture. Landis was limping pretty badly when they left.”

“That sounds awful!  So, is he castrated now?”

“That’s the problem, Landis said he didn’t get everything, but he wasn’t going to try and finish what he started. He said he didn’t want to risk getting killed.”

“That means he’s still a stallion?” 

“Well, he’s partly a stallion. Landis admitted that he botched the job.

 He said that now Prince is a proud-cut gelding, a gelding that thinks he’s a stallion.”

Before hanging up the phone, I said, “Tell Prince I’m sorry.” 

 In October, I returned home during the mid-semester break. As soon as Mama parked the car and before carrying my suitcase to the house, I hurried to the pasture to greet Prince and Joe.

As before, they lifted their heads, whinnied softly and began walking toward me, Joe limping badly as he walked. “Wait. Let me get you some grain,” I said, as I turned to go back to the house, but Mama, knowing that I would return for oats, came carrying some in a bucket. Joe and Prince eagerly accepted the treat and stood quietly while Mama and I stroked their necks. “Have you been chasing any goats lately?” I asked Prince.

“No,” Mama said. “He stopped doing that after his ordeal.”

 “Well, maybe he’s not a proud-cut gelding after all.”

 “Maybe,” Mama agreed. “But one thing has changed, he is very frightened of men. When Ted visited a couple of weeks ago, he couldn’t catch him even with grain.”

 “Well, men weren’t kind to him. It’s understandable that he would be afraid.” 

(This is an excerpt from the memoir, Hoofbeats and Heartbeats, a book about the author’s teen years and her two horses. It was written for those who love reading horse stories. It is available on Amazon.)