They call it a Disease

If you ask my parents what I have they would tell you it is an affliction, end of story.

But if you ask millions of other horse crazy people in the world, (usually more women than men) they would tell you it is a disease. There is no cure for this sickness except to buy, rent, lease, or be close to a horse. Sometime even that isn’t enough to help the allure of the equine passion. Just a whiff of horse sweat would drive me nuts, I always thought, if I could just make a perfume that smells like a horse I would be a millionaire overnight.

My Father Bob McDonald, even as a young boy you can see horses were a big part of his life. No wonder it runs in the genes!

Sadly, my father is to blame for my affliction, if you can call it that, on my first birthday; dear old dad brought home a Wonder Horse. How many of you remember those? Plastic horse with a wooden handle through the head for the riders hands to hold and wooden handles for the feet rest on. The horse’s front feet folded back under it’s self with the hind feet tucked under their plastic belly, the horse was mounted on four metal springs attached to a metal tube rack for support. You could either rock this horse back and forth or bounce on it. My father, bless him, with only good intentions, promptly put me on it and started to bounce me. (Just a little harder than I wanted according to Mom) Needless to say I took my first spill from a horse (plastic at that), and ran to my mother for safety. Dad, the true blue cowboy that he was, took me back and placed me back on Wonder Pony, because everybody who rides a horse knows the golden rule “if you fall or get bucked off you get right back on!” That was the last time I cried about a horse, unless I was told, “no you can’t ride or no you don’t need one of your own.” I liked that horse so much and I could bounce it so hard that I could walk him across the floor. I think that is when Mom, bottle of aspirin in hand and with hand held to head told Dad that poor Wonder Horse had to go and I had to find another mount.

This brings me to the plastic stick horses, soft plastic heads that were red, black, or brown. My favorites were the black ones! They had string manes, and vinyl tape reins with a small silver bell attached at the bottom of the bit, a wooden stick coming out the bottom of the horse’s head, painted whatever color the horse’s head was with a candy cane stripe down the length. This stick horse was just the right size for you to throw a leg over and gallop all over the house, the yard, or the driveway if the notion took you. Between the ages of 4 and 7 again according to Mom, I wore one out about every two months. Not because these darling horses were hard mouthed, but because the farrier with no amount of coaxing could add more stick length after I worn it down and it became too short for me. I remember one afternoon asking Grandpa Henry to please take one of grandma’s Vi’s broom handles and put poor Blacky’s head on it, because he just didn’t fit me anymore. Grandpa kindly declined, I think, because he was afraid grandma would put his behind on the stick. With this turn of events I finally grew up enough to get a real horse. This brings me to the one and only Shetland pony in my life.

I became the owner of Scotch the piebald pony at the tender age of 5 years. Dad had an uncle that lived about an hour from our ranch, and he had this little Shetland pony. It had foundered and needed another home. So Dad took the pickup to Beulah along with a bottle of real Scotch Whisky to trade my uncle for the pony (now that is real horse trading material)and hauled this pony home for me and to give Mom some needed peace and quiet in the house. Mom on the other hand did not get her needed rest because I in turn kept asking her all day “Mommy would you saddle and bridle Scotch for me PLEASE?”

Mike standing behind Scotch, my youngest sister Beverly, at his head and myself standing at his shoulder. Taken at Rainbow Meadow, Oregon 1967. Notice the hobbles on his front feet. He had a nasty habit of leaving camp!

Scotch was a great pony that is if you didn’t mind having your legs scraped on everything from bushes, to gate posts or get a bath whether you wanted one or not, because he would lay down in irrigation ditches, with saddle and all, just to remove you from his body. I remember one incident when Scotch tried to rub me off on Dad when he was talking to a gentleman in our yard. Dad was explaining something to this guy and lifted his arm up to point out a building to him. Scotch saw this as the perfect opportunity to get rid of me and proceeded to run under Dad’s arm. Needless to say it wasn’t one of his brighter moments. Dad decided he had enough of Scotch and his antics at my expense, and got on and rode him for about 20 minutes. Funniest thing you ever saw, this great big man on this little horse with his feet dragging the ground. Scotch just trotting trying to bounce Dad off. I never laughed so hard in my life. What Scotch did teach me at an early age was to envy my Dad’s saddle horses. These were the big honest horses in my life at this point. They always seemed to do what Dad told them and they didn’t put Dad in the fence or the water. Unfortunately Scotch was all I had until Dad brought home Mohab.

Mohab was half Morgan and Half Arab, and if I remember right the only Arab that Dad ever allowed on the place. He had a funny way of traveling because when he loped he loped sideways like a dog and Dad started calling him ole rubberneck. The reason for this nickname was because no matter how hard you tried to neck rein or plow rein him over to direction that you wanted go, he would just counter canter the opposite. So Dad trained him to calf rope since he liked to run straight, but that didn’t last long when Mohab got into some wire and cut his hind legs pretty bad. After that incident and he healed up, he became my new horse.

Mohab and myself – first time in 4-H 1968
Harney County Fair, Burns, Oregon

Mother was stilling hoping for peace and quiet with this new horse because I had two more sisters by this time and the three of us kept her pretty busy. Also neither one of them had the affliction for which she was grateful! Unfortunately for Mom I still bothered her to help me saddle and bridle, because the horse was bigger and he always would lift his head higher than I could reach to put the bridle on. Funny how horses always know how to out smart a 6 year old kid.

By now I was becoming a better rider and Dad would take me with him in the spring of the year to help turn out the cattle in the forests of eastern Oregon for summer grazing. This was a big highlight for me because I got to spend two weeks with my Dad and grandfather up in the hills at buckaroo camp and ride all day. Another bonus to this was getting out of school early at the end of year. It was only a day or two before school ended officially, but it was fun to tell all my friends that summer vacation was starting early for me. I rode in the hills every spring until I graduated from high school and I still have fond memories of trailing cattle through the ponderosa forests.

My horse riding skills improved daily because I was always riding, even in the winter. When you live on a working cattle ranch you ride continuously no matter the weather or the conditions. I think it made me a better-rounded horsewoman for it. Of course Mom still got the brunt of my horse adventures, especially in the spring when I would come in from at ride bare back and then throw my pants with horsehair and sweat stuck to them in the washer usually unannounced to her and promptly turn it on so that I could have clean jeans for riding the next day. I never looked to see what else might be in there and mom was hollering at me because horsehair got everywhere even in the clean clothes!

Brandings were a fun event for me as well; I think it made my Dad nervous for a change instead of Mom. He was always warning me to remember to keep my fingers out of the dallies when I was roping. I remember him saying, “Remember to keep your thumb up Sis!” I never worked on the ground with my mother or my youngest sisters. That was just not my style; I wanted to be horseback and roping to bring the calves to the fire. I was now riding my Dad’s best working stock horse “Chester”. (Who, by the way if you were to ask him, Dad would tell you to this day that I just ruined “Chester” chasing barrels.) I probably did, but it sure was fun! Chester was the best roping horse that Dad had; he knew when to pull, when to let off, and when to hold the rope tight. I pretty much just sat there and threw the loop. When things went smoothly it was fun, but when things went wrong it could get ugly. I remember one year when I was roping and the rope got stuck under my horse’s tail. Now talk about a bucking fit, it made ole Wonder Horse look docile. Chester clamped his tail down; Dad started yelling “turn him out from under it Sis,” and the other cowboys just got out of the way to give ole Chester room to move. I managed to get the rope out, but I had lost the calf and that hurt my feelings more than the ribbing I got at lunch break.

Dad and Chester, 1971 winning the Harney County Stock Horse Futurity for the 5-year-old division.


I grew up with knowledge of horses that just scratched the surface, I thought I knew enough to break colts out for other people and then I went to college, got married and had kids. At this point horses were not a part of my life and it just about drove me crazy. The horse disease had reared its head again. My first husband just about died the day I came home with a friend and said, “Hi love, I just bought a horse.” The look on this poor man’s face was pure devastation; you would have thought I had slugged him in the stomach. He did finally understand that no matter how much you take the girl out of the country the country is always going to stay in the girl. Horses are the same way, you take the horse away from the girl but the girl is still going to long for the horse. Or figure out a way to get the horse to the girl. Yep you guessed it. I got the horse to the girl and it was a Half Arabian gelding, black just like my stick horses of the past and green so that I could break him out the way I wanted. His name, Shadow Dancer!

Shadow and I at a local Indiana horse show, riding saddle seat aside.

Poor Shadow was now the victim of a person that hadn’t been around horses for about 12 years. I was so excited to have another horse that I did just about everything to him, western riding, English, cutting, roping, and driving just to name a few. As time went on we even went elk hunting together, which he enjoyed as long as the elk were still alive. The dead part just wasn’t his cup of tea, but if you needed to know where the game was just look between his ears, for those ears were greatest radar detectors for elk or deer that I’ve ever seen in action, he always would see them before me.

I sent Shadow to my niece to use for pony club so that she and her sister would not have to share a horse. I always had one and I though it was only fair they should each have one to ride. My friends have all teased me that I have given away the best horse that I will ever own. Yet I ask them “how will I know unless I get a new one and see how that colt will turn out?” I have been blessed with several Shadows over the years and each one is always a new challenge and I look forward to many more. I hope that Mankind will never get a cure for this affliction and hope that many more ladies and gentleman get to be just a crazy as I have been. You never known when it is going to strike you whether you are young or old but I can tell you that there isn’t a more wonderful way to spend your life than with a horse!