By: Karen Bragg

We met him on a cold, crisp December day. His owner was a college student desperate to find him a home before Christmas Vacation ended, and my four-year-old daughter was equally desperate to have her own pony. When we saw him for the first time he was standing in a field looking at us. At least, from the glow in his eyes through his thick coat, you could surmise he was looking at us. Dad got on him bareback with just a halter and lead rope and cantered across the pasture without getting bucked off, so we figured he’d be okay for Katie. That is how Rebel came into our lives.

Looking like a Welsh Pony, but without papers to prove it, Rebel was a short, round, stocky, furry bay gelding. Although, when we got him home and turned him out with our small band of Arabian mares, he promptly rounded them up and stood guard over them. He took his position of protector very seriously, running off the dogs and even the people that attempted to come near. Rebel, alias “Studly Doolittle”, put on such an act that even our stallion, looking on from his private paddock, was a little disturbed. Rebel was immediately dispatched to his own private paddock, where more gelding-like manners gradually returned.

Of course, Katie was never put off by his antics. He was just living up to his name. She discovered in short order that he loved peanut butter and jam sandwiches and Oreo cookies. He discovered, equally quickly when lunchtime was, and waited at his fence by the backyard for the little blond headed girl with half her lunch in her hands. They became fast friends.

That spring we took him trail riding. Our family spent nearly all of our vacations riding in the mountains and we had to see what sort of trail horse Rebel would be. Our first outing was Silver Falls State Park near Stayton, Oregon. We let Katie and Rebel lead down the trail so we could keep an eye on her. Soon it became apparent that this was not such a good idea. Rebel had a strong dislike for larger horses.

So strong was his dislike that he wouldn’t wait to get crowded to kick. No, he would run backwards up the trail to get his licks in! So, Rebel and Katie got relegated to the back of the line. She was content back there, though. She could hold Rebel back and canter to catch up. Soon they were jumping logs and practicing leads and learning to post at the trot. Rebel would go anywhere. He’d march through the brush around the windfalls and wade through the creeks like a pro. He carried Katie every where in the Central Oregon Cascade Mountains and Wilderness areas; Tam McArthur Rim, Green Lakes, Park Meadow, Sister’s Mirror Lake. He made Katie a trail rider.

One spring day, a couple of years later, a group of us went riding at Silver Falls. We stopped at one of those wide intersections, tied up the horses and sat down in the grass for lunch. The horses were all content and standing quietly, or so we thought, when all of a sudden, there stood Rebel, his halter hanging on the tree where he had rubbed it off. Katie was frantic, but I calmly informed her that he wasn’t about to go anywhere and leave all of the other horses. Boy was I wrong.

All he was lacking was a mustache to twist. He gave us an evil smile, complete with a glint in his eye, then turned and bolted down the trail, tail up over his back. One of our group hastily mounted her horse and took off after him. Katie was in tears, fearful she would never see Rebel again, and I must admit, as we sat and waited for what seemed like hours, I began to have my doubts. Well, Sarah caught him, but not without running him down and literally forcing him off the trail into bushes he couldn’t run through. We never tied him again without putting the halter on so tight it nearly strangled him!

Katie had show ring dreams as well, and Rebel seemed to know his stuff, so we gave that a try. The first show, I cautioned Katie about keeping him away from big horses because he might kick. Secretly, I crossed my fingers and hoped she could keep him from backing up into other exhibitors. I needn’t have worried. He got to the show, took one look around and became “Rebel the Show Horse”. He tucked his head, with reins hanging below his knees, and marched into the ring like he owned it.

Probably from the whiplash Katie got when gait changes were called for, I could tell early on that he was paying attention to every word the announcer said. His transitions were perfect. He never missed a cue, from the announcer that is, and Katie sat there, smiling broadly, collecting ribbons. By the time she was seven, she was an experienced exhibitor, with a wall full of blue ribbons and shelves full of trophies. One special show, we loaned Rebel to a friend for a leadline class, but Katie insisted on leading. So we had a seven-year-old leading a six-year-old on Rebel. They won.
As years passed we found ourselves a bit crowed in the barn.

We considered putting Rebel in the same paddock as our stallion, “Sam”. Now, Sam was known to be a bit of a coward. During his own show career, his biggest problem was his lack of confidence when other horses crowded him. We weren’t sure how he and Rebel would get along, but we thought we’d give it a try. Rebel promptly chased Sam out of his stall. Sam had never had to share his territory with anyone. He wasn’t sure what to make of the little bay devil with the swishing tail and flattened ears.

They had a delicate standoff for awhile, and gradually Sam began to ask for his space back. Rebel acquiesced, to a point. They would share hay, but Sam got to keep his grain to himself, and when the weather was bad, they would both stand in the stall and watch it rain. Rebel liked his new paddock. It was in front of the barn, bordering on both the driveway and the road. He’d great visitors with a whinny, and soon learned Katie’s bus schedule. She would reward him for his diligence by saving her bread crusts and apple cores to feed him after school.

Rebel served another purpose as well. On those occasional days when things just weren’t right; a harsh word from me, an unfortunate comment by a friend at school, Katie would disappear to the barn with a handful of Oreros. The cookies were not for her. I don’t know what she said to him, the conversations were very personal. I don’t know what he said to her. All I know is when she came back to the house with cookie crumbs on her hands and horse “kisses” on her sleeves, she would be smiling and happy again.

For ten years Rebel and Katie belonged to each other. She developed confidence in rough backcountry and in show rings. While Rebel was no angel, and could cow kick with the best of them, he was perfect with Katie. When no one else could make him move, she could pick up a canter from a stand still and change leads on the fly. On rainy afternoons when even Sam huddled in his stall, Rebel would wait up by the road for the bus and whinny when he saw it coming. Was it the apple cores and crusts of bread he waited for? I think it was Katie he wanted. And as for Katie, well, he was always there for her.

Old age is inevitable. It made its first impact on Rebel in the fall of 1989. Metabolic problems led to near founder. His trail and show career ended but not his relationship to Katie. She looked after her old friend, hand grazing him in the front yard, still taking her tears and smiles to share with him. I can’t remember a morning he didn’t whinny a greeting as she left for school, or an afternoon he missed the arrival of her bus. She rode other horses on the trails and in the show rings, but Rebel still owned her heart.

Katie turned fourteen this year. She is a long way from the four-year-old with the long golden pigtails flying down her back. This last year she trained her own horse, a three-year-old Arabian filly. As I watched her guide that youngster up the trail toward Green Lakes with tremendous confidence this summer, I thought about the first time she rode there on Rebel. As she calmly coaxed the three-year-old over snowdrifts and across fast flowing creeks, I silently thanked Rebel for all he had done. When she won her first blue ribbon on that frisky filly, I recalled that first blue Rebel had won for her. Was it luck we found him that December day? Or are some things just meant to be?

We said good-by to Rebel on October 14, 1993. He will be missed.