Katie Tims, Cleveland, Miss., has been editor of Quarter Horse News for six years. She worked at Performance Horse and then came to work for Quarter Horse News in 2001. Born and raised in Surprise Valley, located in the rural northeastern corner of California, Katie grew up on a cattle ranch started by her great-grandfather. She competed in cutting, cow horse, all-around and rodeo events, then later in life, rode reining horses and served on the board of the Mississippi Reining Horse Association. After graduating from the University of Nevada, Reno, with a degree in journalism in 1988, Katie worked for several years doing public relations and marketing in the gaming industry. She volunteers time to several civic organizations and served on the board of directors for the National Association of Junior Auxiliaries.
Yesterday morning I came across an article on the website for The Tennessean newspaper. What I read sent a chill up my spine – as it should for the entire Western performance horse industry.
Let me be clear right here, I am NOT promoting the soring techniques used to encourage high-stepping performances in gaited horses. But it’s obvious that a well-intentioned regulation has taken on a life of its own as officials from the United States Department of Agriculture are inspecting Tennessee Walking Horses at shows.
The article provides basic coverage of the 73rd Tennessee Walking Horse National Celebration last weekend in Shelbyville, Tenn. The big news was the elimination by USDA inspectors of two horses, Dark And Shady and Moody Star, both favorites coming into the show. According to the news report, Dark And Shady was disqualified “for an alleged HPA (Horse Protection Act) violation, and Moody Star was excused because of a “scar-rule violation.” The article went on to report that of the 1,063 horses entered, 84 were issued HPA violations. And keep in mind, these horse owners/trainers went to the show KNOWING their horses would be subject to inspections by federal officials, and still those horses were cited.
Chip Cirillo, the reporter who wrote the article, interviewed Dark And Shady’s trainer, Jimmy McConnell, who said, “The government went nuts. They don’t know what they’re doing. Absolutely don’t know what they’re doing.”
Keep in mind, McConnell – like all of the other trainers, riders and owners at those shows – will be subject to the discretion of those federal officials time and time again down the road. And still, he was to the point where he was willing to voice his opinion.
Again, I don’t promote cruelty to horses – or dogs, chickens, cattle, pigs, hamsters, frogs, or any other living being. But I do know there are times when what one person believes is a humane training (or handling) technique can be interpreted as abuse by another. Sure, there are obvious violations and any person with an ounce of commonsense recognizes those instances. Those should not be tolerated in our associations.
But what about hobbling a horse? What about using spurs? What about saddle spots? What about the adminstration of psychotropic drugs? What about using certain bits or stud chains? What about checking a horse around in the stall? God forbid, what about keeping a young horse tied to the fence all day?
There are some (well, actually many) out there who view all of those as abusive. I guess the point that I’m trying to get across is that we in the Western performance horse industry better ask ourselves this question: What if our industry was subject to the same USDA inspection standards as the Tennessee Walking Horse industry?
The road is one I’ve traveled often, one I’ve written about more than once. From Reno, Nev., you head north. Not by 395, the way that’s boldest on the map. Instead, this road veers north off of I-80 about a half-hour east of Reno. From there, you go through Nixon, Gerlach and up through Duck Flat and into the southern end of Surprise Valley, just across the California border.
It’s a place I call home.
Along this road, I've had times when not a car passed during the 150 or so miles after leaving the interstate. Not a car, except for those parked along the street at Bruno’s in Gerlach (word has it that Bruno let wild horse activist Madeleine Pickens in on his secret ingredient in his famous raviolis during one of her recent visits – but that’s a whole other story).
On this road, some look forward to Burning Man. I look forward to sagebrush and silence – the heavy soundless of nothing. It’s where jack rabbits play chicken, cattle warm themselves on cold desert nights and wild horses roam.
I traveled this road one morning in June – early, before the sun rose. I was headed south, back to Reno, when just outside of Surprise Valley I came around the corner and met a friend. The wild horse was standing in the middle of the road. Piles proved how long he’d claimed the spot as his, how comfortable he’d become with passersby. I was temped to believe that perhaps he wasn’t a wild horse, but his territorial markings informed me otherwise.
I stopped the car. He strolled over the side, looking fairly annoyed by the intrusion. He was gentle – a far cry from the wild-eyed horses that I’d known as a kid while gathering cattle from on the northern Nevada range. You’d get within a half-mile of those, and they’d be gone. Used to be that wild horses were wild.
Not this one. Not really caring to commune with his morning visitor, the horse opted for the trail alongside the road. But he didn’t run away, he didn’t even go in the other direction. He was headed north, and no human in a rental car with an iPod video rolling was going to change his mind. The bay horse strolled by, stopped to look and then walked over to a clump of grass and started to eat. Not worried. Not particularly wild.
When I hear of people wanting to “protect” the wild horses, of people trying to stop round-ups and establish more “sanctuaries,” I wonder how many of them have met a wild horse on his terms (without an entourage, without the media, without an agenda). Alone. Have they experienced the awesome vastness of the desert, of how impossible it would be to gather the horses and treat the mares with birth control, which would need to be administered repeatedly? Do they know these were horses from the remudas of days past – using horses that were managed? Are they aware of the numbers, of how easy it is these days to find a wild horse, or two, or 10, or 20?
Every time I go north from Reno to Surprise Valley, I see the horses. Scenery, Great Basin style. I’ve also seen those horses dead – having struggled and died agonizingly from thirst at Trail Springs, about 30 miles from where that bay stud was on that June morning. This year’s fine – there’s plenty of water and grass on the range. But what about next year? What about next decade? What about the times when there’s not as much water, not as much grass? What then? Are we really at a place where a horse thirsting or starving to death is an acceptable form of population control? All in the name of animal "welfare." How sad!
And still the well-intentioned insist – don’t gather the horses. Don’t control the numbers. Don’t castrate the stallions or manage the herds in a way that’s actually possible. Let the horses be free and reproduce on a range where there are not enough natural controls on their population. (Ever see a coyote try to kill a horse? Doesn’t work very well.)
Pretty horses. Ugly reality.
I looked at that bay horse that morning, and he looked at me. It was an peaceful moment. I admired his poise, his good health and his rather friendly demeanor. I just wish more people could travel along the same road. Take time to look. Take time to listen. Take time to step outside agendas and well-meaning intentions that will one day end up doing more harm than good
In March 2010, I wrote an editorial about what I believed to be the inevitability of animal rights activists taking a more aggressive role in the performance horse industry. My points were based on a poignant speech Dr. Jim Heird gave at the 2009 AQHA Judges Conference.
For some reason, I thought it might be a good time to re-publish that editorial...
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The road is one I’ve traveled often, one I’ve written about more than once. From Reno, Nev., you head north. Not by 395, the way that’s boldest on the map. Instead, this road veers north off of I-80 about a half-hour east of Reno. From there, you go through Nixon, Gerlach and up through Duck Flat and into the southern end of Surprise Valley, just across the California border.
I traveled this road one morning in June – early, before the sun rose. I was headed south, back to Reno, when just outside of Surprise Valley I came around the corner and met a friend. The wild horse was standing in the middle of the road. Piles proved how long he’d claimed the spot as his, how comfortable he’d become with passersby. I was temped to believe that perhaps he wasn’t a wild horse, but his territorial markings informed me otherwise.