"Blackie" by Ann Jamieson

If there is one thing five year old girls know, it's how to get what they want. And Doreen wanted Blackie.

He was a bag of bones, bound for the slaughterhouse, definitely not the kind of horse you picture your daughter on. Her parents tried to talk her out of it. They pointed out other, more suitable prospects: fat, slick horses any kid would be proud to call their own. They would have been happy to pay more than the asking price of $175 for Blackie in order to get their daughter a decent horse. Nope. With a child's instinct for the right thing, Doreen stubbornly held her ground. Blackie had come up and nuzzled her, choosing her, which was how it was supposed to be. "That's the one I want," she said again. And that was that.

Blackie was five, too, a Quarter Horse/Morgan cross that had definitely been in the wrong hands. In Doreen's care, he thrived. He grew fat and shiny and he never forgot who had changed his fate.

With no formal training to help them, Doreen and Blackie trained each other. Starting with a little bit of groundwork, in no time Doreen was on his back, working him with her voice. They did flatwork, progressing from simple walk, trot, canter, to barrels, trail riding and then jumping. He was so easy, eager to do whatever was asked of him. Even if Doreen didn't know how to ask, Blackie understood. Out on trail, logs would get in the way and Blackie would leap over them effortlessly. So the two started working on jumping in the ring. But Doreen preferred barrels. That was her favorite.

Some guidance was available from 4-H. The club would put on clinics and hold a camp. Lasting three days, the camp featured trainers in all disciplines. Pleasure classes were featured, and Doreen also learned a lot about horse care. Four H didn't aim to produce just riders, but horsemen and women instead. Doreen learned to give public presentations on various horse topics as well as how to compete in shows.

Blackie could do anything and do it well. After only a year together, when Doreen and Blackie were six, they started competing. They showed in English and Western Pleasure, barrels, jumping, and even driving. Blackie didn't just excel in shows; he was also a true pleasure horse. Doreen could let anyone ride him and be confident that they would be safe on his back. In the warmer months he pulled a cart. In winter, he pulled a sled. Doreen could even get on him with no tack, not even a halter or a lead rope, and Blackie would do whatever she wanted. The pair rode in parades, where Blackie would bow to the judges. When they rode in a parade representing their 4-H group, they would wear the 4-H colors, with matching shirts, saddle pads and skid boots. Sometimes Doreen would stand in the saddle, waving the flag. At the Bicentennial parade in 1976, Blackie pulled the mayor of New York in his cart, a cart which had been built by Doreen and her father and painted red, white and blue for the occasion.

As Blackie and Doreen grew up together, Blackie took an even more important place in her life. He became the babysitter for her two kids, Dennis and Chrissie. Just as the 15'1" gelding had been Doreen's first horse, he became her kids' first horse. Blackie's nickname had become "The King Man." Soon the plaques and trophies and belt buckles that line Doreen's home included ones won by her son and daughter.

Blackie's last show was at The Southern Dutchess Horseman's Association in Stormville, New York. A retirement ceremony was held for the champion whose reign had spanned generations. Dolled up in a red breastplate and red reins, Blackie galloped around the arena that he had owned for so long for one last time. On his back was Chrissie, only 4 years old, carrying the American flag.

At 36, Blackie colicked severely. The vets diagnosed a twisted colon. They felt at his age he could survive the surgery, but wouldn't make it through the recovery. Doreen wanted badly to have the surgery done, but knew it would not be fair to her horse. She made the excruciating decision to have him put down. Blackie was given a fatal injection, but he wouldn't go out. So Doreen took his head and put it in her lap. He then closed his eyes and faded to horse heaven. He was waiting for Doreen to say "it's OK Blackie, you can go now."

Blackie is buried at her farm. The engraving on his tombstone is from a photo of Blackie running barrels with Dennis astride. In a local publication called The Horsemans Directory, Annie Secor eulogizes him:

Just how do you earn the title "The King Man?" First you come with a smooth black coat and big, kind, but mischievous brown eyes and you adopt a little "whirlwind with pigtails" tied with red ribbons and a big smile and take her to Championships in every division in every show in the area! You must have the best ground covering extended trot for Pleasure Shows and the best record in the "Carry The Mail" event in Gymkhanas! This has to be done without use of a crop, whip, spurs or other speed-inducing aids. After all that, you must also have the same results for the children and friends of that "whirlwind with pigtails" during the next 10 or so years! Most importantly, you must have a set of shoes that most horses wouldn't attempt to fill and a kingdom of friends that miss you a lot! That's how you get to be "The King Man!"

To learn more about the author see her Team HorseGirlTV Community Page.