Naming Rights

I wanted to name my horse after a Bon Jovi song; nothing too obvious, just a subtle reference. It didn’t work out. I probably should have known better.

Picking a name is serious business with horses. In Quarter Horses more so than Thoroughbreds, the name is usually a hybrid of the father and mother (sire and dam). For example, “Eye of a Streaker”’ was our horse. Her father was Special Eye Appeal and her mother was Streakin Queen. The name must be registered with the American Quarter Horse Association and it can’t duplicate another living horse. For betters at the track, the name gives you an idea of what should be expected. You can tell if a horse is out of proven parents by the name alone.

In the case of my horse, I had found something that seemed to work and my mom had agreed to send it into AQHA with his registration pages. Oddly enough, there is a horse out there named Bonjovi already. Even, I think that’s a little nuts.

Still, somehow, the papers came back with nothing even remotely close to my original name choice; his name is Dee Brakes Gone. We call him Brakes. It was convenient my mom had suggested that name. I should have known better. She always has the last say when it comes to names.

Foaling season is coming up and like every year, I doubt I’ll have any input on the names other than getting a phone call from my mom asking me to “Get on your computer and look this up.” Even though she has working Internet and a perfectly good computer I guess it is easier to call me. At least I get to hear what she’s considering.

I know I probably won’t ever win this argument. The Brakes debacle was years ago and my suggestions on names have never been heeded.  The cows I don’t care about and we won’t be getting another dog anytime soon; but, I think I’ve found a battle I can win: I’ve gone in for the cats.

So this fall when they added five kittens to the two at home, I called out naming rights as soon as I could.

Here’s what I came up with: 

Magnum P.I.: A black cat with a much-defined white strip on his upper lip, i.e. a moustache. I considered Tom Selleck, but Magnum now purrs when I ask him what he’s investigating today.

Captain Charlie Crash: He goes by Charlie but originally I named him Crash because he hails from Owatonna, Minn., where a sheriff’s deputy talked me into taking him home after he was abandoned by his mother at an accident site.

Festus & Matt Dillon: Named after Gunsmoke characters for my Dad (who long ago gave up on naming anything around the ranch).

Stubby: He has a stubby tail. It didn’t quite grow. 

Maytag: He likes to “wash” or lick you.

Aurora Borealis or Boris for short: A long-haired gray that has a perfect ring of white hairs illuminating  his chubby little face like a lunar eclipse.  

Amazingly, whether she just feels a little residual guilt over Brakes (or for naming my puppy even after I’d picked out a name) mom is letting me run with it. Of course, my mom chose my name and as likely suspected I was named after a horse person; except, my namesake wasn’t a girl, but her father. Yep, I’m named after a man (and his daughter who was a Wendy Jr.).

I suppose, like Brakes, I should just be thankful it wasn’t an 80s hair band.

What’s in a hat?

When Carrie Bradshaw said she could live on Vogue because she felt looking at the beautiful clothes just “filled her up more” than food ­– I could relate. And I wasn’t much of a Sex in the City fan. But I do love fashion. So, last year when I saw this fall’s trends would be equestrian inspired, I was ecstatic. It seemed like the latest trends in fashion would be a nice reflection of the different parts of my own life. Plus, my obsession with boots would pay off.

I got to thinking about my style – and at times a lack of. I’m a hat person. I have more than 75 hats: Everything from fedoras, stocking caps, baseball caps and beach hats. Oh, I can’t forget the hats I’ve collected for Derby Day, and the (now) very-dusty-Jenny-from-the-Block topper. – Thank God I left that phase.

Considering my love of hats and my background, it’s a little ironic that I don’t actually own a cowboy hat and I haven’t since I was about 8. 

I have a tacky gas station straw hat I once got on the way to a hard rock festival but rarely wear it and if I do, it’s to the beach. It reminds me a little of a particular country singer, whom I find pompous and annoying.

My dad, on the other hand, has a cowboy hat for every occasion. He has the old white hat for every day, a semi-old hat for “going to town” (which really means catching an easy dinner at the local diner) a semiformal black hat and the latest edition black felt hat for “formal” occasions.  He even has a hard hat some co-workers had made for him in the shape of a cowboy hat.

I’m still trying to decide if the hats we wear say a little something about us or not. I lean to the side of “yes” but I haven’t figured out what. My favorite hat is one of my oldest: a newsboy that I got from my grandpa when I was little ­– a style that seems fitting, considering my profession.

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll give in and get myself a real cowboy hat to add to the collection. In the meantime, I admit the goofy straw cowboy hat is still fun, putting it on makes me smile because then I must be on my way to the beach.  Well, that is once I get the picture of a crusty Brett Michaels out of my head.

One at a time

All the pictures above in my new (and lovely thanks to our genius designer, whom I’ll call “Guinness”) header were taken at Canterbury Park by Mike Johnson of Owatonna, Minn.

The picture on the far left is my Mom and her pony horse Bo along with one of our race horses, Rosie. I’m hidden by her (No. 6) in the in the paddock photo

Mike, a fire chief, and his wife, joined us at Canterbury for a day of racing two summers ago. They both thoroughly enjoyed it and I’d have to say I did too. Nearly every year I get someone who has never been to a horse race to come down and check it out. So far, no one has ever left disappointed.

My latest gambit was my cousin Chris. He and his brother Josh are more like my brothers than cousins; I’ve gone to their soccer games, diving meets and the like for years. (They come to my games and milestones as well.) Chris is now a grad-student and diving coach at USD. His experience with horses was limited to holidays at my parents’ when my Dad would saddle up and give the kids a ride around the ranch.

I eventually piqued his curiosity when I mentioned Thursday night races included all beer and hotdogs for $1. He and a group of his friends met me there a week later.

Throughout the night, they were all in awe over everything from the speed of the horses, the betting systems, to the people dressed more like they were going to a hot club than a racetrack. It was a lot of questions and a lot of fun.

He admitted horse racing was nothing like he had thought it was going to be. They were already talking about coming again next season.

Then the other day Chris called and asked if he could stop at the ranch and go riding with his girlfriend when they come home for Christmas. I was tickled – and thought it was adorable.

For one, I was super impressed with my little bro for being so thoughtful to his girlfriend (She’ll be meeting our extended family later that week so spoiling her early on is a good idea.) But more than that, I’m excited he’s turning into a little bit of a horse-lover. Well, that may be a stretch, but I think he’s gaining an appreciation for them for sure.

If nothing else, he’ll owe me one. So, by next season he can pay me back by bringing more people to the track.