He got his first horse when he was nine (he's 57 now), so that's many years ago. He first was a ridder, so knows what it takes to ride. He then went into stb racing because he was too big to race ride. He made this his carreer. He learn to shoe when he was 18 when his dad (who did their shoeing) lost his fingers in a trailering accident.
He was (is again) a trainer/driver of stbs. since before I was born acctually, his first stb. was Rosland Abbe, and would have been if he was still alive almost a year older than I am!-- I'm 41
If I didn't have my husband I couldn't have my horses, since with stbs. you take care of them yourselves, there isn't a board type of arrangment, (and Che and Tattoo must have special care that would be too much responsiblity to ask of a board facility even when they are no longer in the stb. world).
He is there when I have to work, he is the main reason my big horse has made such strides to becoming at least somewhat normal to handle. He loves all three of them, and is fair, kind, firm, understands them, and capable of carring for them in every state. He trains them, drives (in the race) them, he is there each and every day even when I can't be.
He has been there for Che everyday since we got him, and that is almost four years ago.-- everyday... I think Che would die of shock if his 'dad' did not come to the barn, but when I don't show we all joke that it just means more time with his 'dad', and that he doesn't have to share with ME!
Heck, Che tried to kick a vet once-- my husband saved the vet-- but got the kick instead-- square!!! And he still love the big idiot horse!
I am one of the luckiest women on the planet-- my husband was a horseperson before I was born, and loves them as much as I do...
take care, I have friends who's husbands won't even go the barn, and a friend of mine's father after 30 some years of marriage told her mom that it was either him or their horse-- her mom said she loved him, but that she would choose the horses-- they got divorced.
Barbara the halter pic is hilarious! I remember the first time Sharif got out of our gate and started running up and down our street wild-eyed at express train speed. I hadn't had him long, but I had taught him to come to the bucket with a bit of grain. I quickly barked to my son to run back to the house (his legs are longer) and grab a rope, halter and bucket, and come back FAST! he stopped, What's a halter? he said. That's when I realized I didn't have a farm boy. (We did catch Sharif without incident in a moment when he stopped racing up and down). Sharif then walked back like a lamb, no sign of the crazed psycho horse of a few minutes before.