A Perfect Lady | A Story Of An Appaloosa Horse

By: Dorthy M. Ross

There were lots of Appaloosa horses running around my dad’s central Illinois farm, including Colida, Franchita, Hobo Star, and many others over the years. Many of them were offspring of the famous outcrop Colida, and were named with M.S. in front of their names, indicating Marcussen and Son – Russell, and my brother Jens. Colida came into my dad’s possession with the purchase of his dam, Lady Chesty, AQHA P-19041 in early 1957.

Parting with these beautiful horses was never easy, but since my dad was in the business of breeding Apps, he had to keep it on a business level, and selling a horse made it possible for him to expand his breeding efforts to still more outstanding Appaloosas.
But one spotted horse that never left the farm was named Lady. She belonged to my brother Jens, and was loved by all who saw her. Many offered to buy her, but she was never for sale.

Family reunions back in those days were often held at my parents’ farm near Riverton because our big farmhouse could hold everyone in case of rain, and the lawn, pastures, lots and fields around the farm permitted lots of “spreading out” room, which included pitching horseshoes, softball and sitting under a shady tree. For the younger kids though, the main reason to come to Uncle Russell and Aunt Frances’ house was to ride Lady.
And ride they did!

Sometimes as many as five small cousins were lifted to her back (as many as would fit and/or could hang on), and off she would go, walking carefully and ignoring the wild use of the reins held by one of the kids – the one who considered himself in charge. Out into the lot, and then, if there was an open gate into an empty pasture, she took them there too.

Her pace never quickened to the heeding of myriad small heels encouraging her to speed up. And, if one of those would-be Dale Evans or Roy Rogers happened to slide to the ground, in an unwanted bail-out, Lady stopped, with three hooves on the ground, and the fourth foot lifted to avoid the spilled rider. Some were able to climb up or be pulled back up, while others had to hoof it themselves, back to the house.
This went on throughout the morning, literally for hours. Lady would return the first load of riders to the yard, in the general area of the outside pump and well platform, which was near a board fence.

This made it easier for the children to climb down – if they didn’t want the ignominious slide/fall-off bit – and was where the next batch of kids waited to climb up the fence rails and clamber onto Lady’s back. Next departure, same route, same story, same safety measures in case of an unexpected bail-out of one of her riders, and then, same return.
Finally a Time Out at noon was called to give Lady a rest. She was provided with a fresh bucket of water, and led to a handy shade tree where she munched on fresh grass and once in a while, one of Mother’s shrubs.
With the arrival of the last relatives, dinner time was announced, and 99 percent of those present (excluding that die hard Jr.

Gene Autry still anxiously waiting his turn in the saddle) concentrated on filling up on the fried chicken, potato salad, apple pies and other goodies that were lifted carefully out of the picnic baskets.
Then, before the last burp was heard, it was Lady-Time once more, and the kids all hurried to the shade tree, to wait their turn – in the saddle – or holding on behind – or just sort of dangling from the rider immediately in front.

It all depended on the rider’s size, location of where she or he had managed to perch, and how many could fit between saddle horn and Lady’s rump.
The older cousins looked on with disdain at first; many of them, being city-bred, were more accustomed to bikes, motor scooters and even an occasional ride on a Harley, which was big in those days, as I recall. But, before the day was over, they too lined up for a chance to climb into the saddle and because they had a little more strength, to encourage Lady into at least a half-way gallop. The speed of her gallops depended pretty much on what time of the reunion day it was.

But the younger cousins were not to be left out much longer; it was time for them to mount up again. And so they did. Same scenario, which went on for well over an hour. Same scenario, except that by this time, Lady was more than a little tired of all the unusual and expanded requests made of her.
But she remained the lady she truly was. Slowly they were taken on that final trek, slowly they returned. When small hands at the reins tried to demand that she repeat the journey, she ignored them, and headed slowly into the back yard.
The back yard, location of the family’s clothes line, and where on sunny Mondays it was loaded with freshly laundered linens and family duds.
The back yard, location of the family clothes line, which, uncannily, was stretched at almost the exact height as Lady’s back.

She headed straight for it, ignoring her riders’ demands, and ducked her head beneath the rope line. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, carefully, oh so carefully, she continued walking, until she had carefully and very neatly “shaved” off her small riders, allowing them to drop onto the soft grass, disappointed but unhurt.
Sometimes the more determined of the cousins would try to change her mind, but Lady would have none of it. They might lead her close enough to the board fence to mount, but she let them know she was really tired and took them once more under the clothes line.

After a couple times, they got the message, and went on to other games. We never could figure out how Lady figured out that the clothes line was her escape from her yearly reunion duties but – did we mention she was a very smart horse?
That was our Lady, who never traveled in the horse trailer to fancy shows, who never aspired to purple ribbons, who never kicked or complained, and who epitomized her name for well over twenty years, before she was laid to rest in one of the green pastures she had once grazed, and over which she had taken many a happy kid back into the wild, wild west.