A dog may be man's best friend but the horse wrote history. - Author Unknown
"Each time he floats through the air, I am for an instant free from problems, free from critical coaches and unhappy people, free from flat tires and expensive truck repairs, free from the laws of gravity and velocity, free from earthly constraints.” Jim Wofford
Langerud Custom Saddery - 16" inlay seat, CS Roper $3000
These horses are broke to ride. They are accustomed to wide open spaces - cross creeks, climbs hills, have been around cattle, tractors, skidloaders, 4 wheelers, etc. They are not well broke at this time. They are not bomb proof, husband safe or good for the beginner rider. That's where you come in if you have the time and ability to make them into a saddle horse. If so, you will have a reliable, handy horse very quickly. My husband and I, in our youth, would ride any horse that came our way. Sadly, time passes and we no longer have the fearlessness and agility that we once had. We have raised horses for many years and sold to buyers all over the country. We have many return customers. These horses have good minds and are athletic. They just need more wet saddle blankets. If you are interested, contact me. I love to place horses in forever homes where they will be appreciated.
AQHA Dun gelding - Redfords Sage # 5531791
2013 AQHA Dun gelding. Sage is broke to ride. $2500
www.BoldingHorses.com
We ride never worry 'bout the fall, guess that's just the cowboy in us all.
Life is good. Work hard. Have fun. Never give up. Expect miracles. Lead the way. Don't look back. Push yourself. Take a stand. Smell the roses. Life is good. ----- Author unknown
I RIDE
> I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However as many women
> who ride know... it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and
> empowerment; being able to do things you might once have considered out of
> reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water in the
> cold rain, wait for the vet/farrier/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on
> a horse trailer by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding out before
> getting down to the business of drinking a cold drink after a long ride.
> The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for dedication. At
> least, I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call it 'a sickness.'
> It's a nice sickness I've had since I was a small girl bouncing my
> plastic model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most of
> the women I ride with understand that meaning of 'the sickness.' It's not a
> sport. It's not a hobby. It's what we do and-- in some ways-- who we are as
> women and human beings.
> I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some nice
> trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle up, whistle up my dog and I ride. I breathe
> in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savour the movement
> of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile spreads across my weathered face. I
> pull my floppy hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse
> leaves in the sand.
> Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding
> flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is
> perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of his walk and the movement of
> the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand
> softens with the warmth.
> I consider the simple statement: I ride. I think of all I do because I
> ride. Climb rocky slopes, wade into a lily-pad lake, race a friend across the
> hayfield... all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Other days
> just the act of mounting and dismounting can be a real accomplishment. Still I
> ride, no matter how tired or how much my sitter bones or any of my other
> acquired horse-related injuries hurt. I ride. And I feel a lot better for doing
> so.
> I think of the people, mostly women, that I've met. I consider how
> competent they all are. Not a weenie in the bunch. We haul 40 ft. rigs, we
> back 'em up into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We set up camp, tend the
> horses. We cook and keep our camp neat. We understand and love our companion--,
> our horses. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know
> that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, fill, bathe, wait and
> doctor. Your hands are a little rough and you travel without makeup or hair
> gel. You do without to afford the 'sickness' and probably, when you were a
> small girl, you bounced a little model horse while you dreamed of riding a real
> one.
>
> "My treasures do not chink or glitter, they gleam in the sun and neigh in
> the night!
>
> I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However as many women
> who ride know... it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and
> empowerment; being able to do things you might once have considered out of
> reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water in the
> cold rain, wait for the vet/farrier/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on
> a horse trailer by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding out before
> getting down to the business of drinking a cold drink after a long ride.
> The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for dedication. At
> least, I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call it 'a sickness.'
> It's a nice sickness I've had since I was a small girl bouncing my
> plastic model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most of
> the women I ride with understand that meaning of 'the sickness.' It's not a
> sport. It's not a hobby. It's what we do and-- in some ways-- who we are as
> women and human beings.
> I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some nice
> trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle up, whistle up my dog and I ride. I breathe
> in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savour the movement
> of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile spreads across my weathered face. I
> pull my floppy hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse
> leaves in the sand.
> Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding
> flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is
> perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of his walk and the movement of
> the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand
> softens with the warmth.
> I consider the simple statement: I ride. I think of all I do because I
> ride. Climb rocky slopes, wade into a lily-pad lake, race a friend across the
> hayfield... all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Other days
> just the act of mounting and dismounting can be a real accomplishment. Still I
> ride, no matter how tired or how much my sitter bones or any of my other
> acquired horse-related injuries hurt. I ride. And I feel a lot better for doing
> so.
> I think of the people, mostly women, that I've met. I consider how
> competent they all are. Not a weenie in the bunch. We haul 40 ft. rigs, we
> back 'em up into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We set up camp, tend the
> horses. We cook and keep our camp neat. We understand and love our companion--,
> our horses. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know
> that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, fill, bathe, wait and
> doctor. Your hands are a little rough and you travel without makeup or hair
> gel. You do without to afford the 'sickness' and probably, when you were a
> small girl, you bounced a little model horse while you dreamed of riding a real
> one.
>
> "My treasures do not chink or glitter, they gleam in the sun and neigh in
> the night!
>