A Lifetime With Horses, by Sheila Varian, featured in March 2009 Arabian Horse Times

Looking back to March 2009

A LIFETIME WITH HORSES, by Sheila Varian

A Lifetime With Hor ses Are Some Horses Fun ny? Or, The

Idylls Of Bay-Abi

by Sheila Varian

Sheila Varian and

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Bay-Abi (Errabi x

Angyl, by *Raseyn ).

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• March 2009

A Lifetime With Horses Are Some Horses Funny? Or, The Idylls Of Bay-Abi

by Sheila Varian

Sheila Varian and Bay-Abi (Errabi x Angyl, by *Raseyn).

The more time you spend with horses and the more you are aware of them, the more you recognize their unique personalities. We all know that horses have personality traits, like being shy or bold, timid or outgoing, that make them memorable. Bay-Abi was memorable. He was cheerfully funny, a happy horse.

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Arabian Horse Times • March 2009

On the serious side, Bay-Abi was U.S. National Champion Stallion in 1962, with me training and showing him (which is another story). Then he founded a dynasty, not only at Varian Arabians but throughout the Arabian world. From Bay-Abi came Bay-El-Bey, who gave us Huckleberry Bey, as well as Bey Shah and Barbary, who created breeding programs for others. Huckleberry Bey, in turn, sired Desperado V, along with such influential stallions as Afire Bey V and many others. In today’s generation at Varian Arabians, Bravado Bey V and Maclintock V carry on the tradition. That isn’t BayAbi’s whole story.

I bought Bay-Abi in 1959. He was my first stallion, and he was a three-circle horse, which is a horse that is extremely well-balanced. For those who aren’t aware of the concept, imagine a circle, the circumference of which reaches from the horse’s face to his withers; then a second equal circle that includes the withers and barrel; and finally, a third equal circle, encompassing the loin, hip and buttocks. If those circles are equal, you’ve got a really well balanced horse.

That was the theory of the time, and it was Bay-Abi’s key to quality. I always said he was the yeast in a pedigree. He took any mare, kept her qualities, and smoothed out the problems.

To this day, generations down in my program, I see his little fox ears flicking back and forth, and his long tail dock, straight in the air. Bay was an extraordinary breeding stallion who just happened to be very impish and funny.

Because I spent a huge amount of time with Bay-Abi, games were invented for my amusement. It was Bay who refined our games into funny routines that were always entertaining. You could see the wheels in his mind turning.

Arabian Horse Times • March 2009

When Bay-Abi was young, I taught him to come when I called by using rocks (not boulders, folks, simple rocks).

When I called “Bay,” if he didn’t come, I’d flick a rock and pop him on his fanny. When he turned around to look at me, I would back away from him, which invites a horse to come to you. It didn’t take Bay long to learn to come when I called.

I was insisting on speed, so when I called, I meant for him to come—right here, right now, this moment. (I was a very bossy young horse trainer.) And he would come a-dashing.

I started snapping my fingers to have him sidle over to me, which led to my climbing up on his pasture fence. I’d call him, and as he galloped up, I’d snap my fingers so that he was side passing over to me as he arrived. Well, of course, there was no way not to grab his mane and jump on that shiny bay back. The train immediately left the station with all engines full throttle. Down the hill we would hurtle, jumping down the bank with me lying on his back, hanging on to his mane as he covered the acre of his field at the speed of light, then made the turn at the bottom of the hill and galloped back up to the gate. All aquiver with excitement, Bay would slide to a halt alongside the fence where I got on. I could get off and the game would be over, or stay on for another ride at supersonic speed around his field.

Always one to think of an easy way to do something, I decided this was a perfectly natural way to show Bay-Abi off to the visitors who came to see him. “Bay!” I would yell, and clap my hands. Up the hill he would come galloping, slide to a halt snorting and blowing, tail over his back, huffing and puffing and definitely impressing the people as they all pedaled backwards in a hurry. I’d clap my hands again, and

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off down the hill he’d go, with his tail in the air, a grin on his face, and make another pass of his pasture.

Not surprisingly, after a while this showing off for a crowd began to be a little boring for him, not making as much sense to him as it did to me. So he began adding his interpretations.

I would call, he would take off down the hill with his usual enthusiasm, and arriving at the bottom, he would slide to a stop, turn around three times, and poop. He knew I couldn’t very well call him when he was pooping, so I would wait, laughing to myself and thinking, “Bay, you are so smart.”

Pretty soon the pooping routine wasn’t enough for him.

People would come, I would call him, he would race up the hill, I would clap my hands, he would tear down the hill, stop, turn around three times, and very slowly deposit a kernel or two. And then fly halfway up the hill to his water trough, stop, and drink. And drink … and drink. When he finished, he would rush up the hill again, snorting and huffing and puffing.

No matter how many times I sent him down the hill, he always had one more poop in him and one more sip.

At the time, I kept some of the mares in a pasture all the way down at the end of pasture three, about a quarter of a mile away. Not wanting to walk that far, I did all the teasing on Bay-Abi bareback. It went like this: I would call Bay up the hill, put on a bridle, hop on him bareback, and pick up my two small buckets with enough water to wash a mare. With my long lash whip over my shoulder, I’d ride down the hill (careful not to spill the water), leave the buckets on the fence post, and ride into the field. The mares would always come over to see Bay. I would drop the long lash whip over the backs of the mares I didn’t want, and the mare that appeared in heat would come up and Bay-Abi would tease her. Then I’d plop the whip over the back of the mare who had been teased and 186

she would walk away, and the next mare would come forward and he would tease her. I could tease one mare at a time that way. When we had checked the mares, we would gallop off to the next field.

Bay-Abi had the whole daily routine down pat. Of course, I could open gates from his back; I have never considered getting off to open a gate from the ground. However, Bay would give me only so many seconds to get it all done. I had to unlatch the gate, push it open, let him side pass over so I could close the gate and snap the latch—all in his specified amount of time—and then we would dash off to the next field.

He would tease the mares very quietly and with wonderful manners, but as we galloped off to the next field, he would crow-hop all the way with great good glee. He was easy to ride, even with all his bouncing around, so it was fun. He wasn’t trying to throw me off; he was just doing it in his enthusiastic way. Then we would get through the next gate in our allotted time, and he would suddenly be very quiet and very mannerly as he teased the mares.

Because Bay-Abi was teasing naturally, he let me know which mare he considered ready to breed. I would slide off, tie him to the fence, catch up the mare ready to be bred, and wash her. Then I’d turn her loose, untie Bay’s reins, walk him over and tell him to breed the mare, and he’d do his job. I’d go back over, climb up on the fence, snap my fingers, he’d side pass over, I’d pick up my buckets, and we’d ride home. It was a daily job that was always fun.

One last story: As a young girl, I was able to ride out on the Forsythe Ranch with a wonderful lady named Syd Spencer.

Syd was a true horsewoman—not a showman, a horsewoman.

She knew horses inside and out. I was a kid and she must have seen some inkling of talent, because she took me under her

Arabian Horse Times • March 2009

wing. One day, she decided that we would ride from her ranch up to the top of the Santa Lucia Mountains, ride the ridge, and then come down an old trail she remembered from years before. She knew it would be a long ride, but not as long as it turned out to be. Going out, we had to cross the creek maybe 20 times, and each time Bay-Abi would walk through it with disdain.

By the time we got to the top of the mountain, it was hot. Syd was looking for the trail down, but it had become overgrown and she couldn’t find it. We rode and rode. BayAbi was just 3; he was too young a horse, and it was too long a ride for him. Those brown eyes with the little pearls over them plainly let me know he was thinking he was never going to get home again, and his life might be over. I got off and led him, and he moped along. You could see him thinking, “Oh, it’s such a far way and I’m never going to get home again.” He was thirsty and tired and so was I, but we were up there and there was no getting down until we found a trail. We’d been out since early morning, and it was almost dusk when Syd at last found a place to cut off and get down the mountain. It was especially steep, and we were sliding down from ledge to ledge. Finally getting to the bottom, to the creek, BayAbi dumped his head in and drank like he was still with his ancestors on the Sahara Desert and had not seen water for a week.

We rode back into Syd’s ranch after dark. I put him up and didn’t think any more about it. But then, one day after a rain, I was riding Bay-Abi down the hill from my house, stepping over little puddles in the road. Bay got to a puddle and it seemed like he wanted to drink. So I let him have his head, and he drank the puddle dry. We went a little farther and there was another puddle, so I let him have his head, and

Arabian Horse Times • March 2009

he drank that puddle dry. For the rest of his life, for as long as he lived, whenever there was a little water somewhere, he drank it. Typical Bay-Abi smarts: He figured that sure enough, Sheila was going to take him to the top of some mountain somewhere and there wouldn’t be any water, and he was never going to let that happen again. Bay-Abi was so darn smart.

Bay was a beautiful stallion. I led him to a national championship and I ran cattle off every mountain that I could get to, all the while showing him at Arabian shows, teasing my mares on him, and thinking up some new game to play. That funny, game, smart, quick, clever horse was the joy of my life for 25 years.

Sheila Varian, of Arroyo Grande, Calif., has bred, trained and shown Arabians for more than half a century. Now in its ninth generation, the Varian Arabians program is a dynasty of her bloodlines, with national champions in nearly every division. She has been a leading breeder at Scottsdale and the U.S. Nationals many times, and in 2008 received the USEF/Performance Horse Registry Leading Breeder Award, a selection made over all breeds.

Sheila’s own record includes U.S. and Canadian National Championships in halter, English, park, stock horse, and western. She is a recognized authority in the equine industry as a whole, and was inducted into the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Fort Worth, Texas, in 2003. Her techniques for socializing and training horses are based on the “soft approach” of the legendary Tom Dorrance, with whom she was close friends from their introduction in the 1960s until his death in 2003.

For more information on Varian Arabians, and its April Spring Fling and August Summer Jubilee weekends, please go to www.varianarabians.com.

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