A Quarter Horse Story

We liked our mares to foal in April and May, the way God intended. The bitter winter months in Southwestern Kansas can be deadly to unprotected newborns and, with our limited facilities, we pasture bred for spring foals. We hoped for stud colts because the demand for them was much better than fillies. So, when my husband Jack and I loaded the pickup and headed to the pasture to feed the broodmares one frigid mid-March morning, we weren't prepared to deal with a premature filly.

The wind had been howling all night and the wind-chill was in the single digits with stinging icy flurries of snow; so typical of March in that country. Our hearts sank when we drove up to the gate and saw that one of our older mares, Miss Vandy Bar Jack, aka "Flipper", had given birth at least 45 days too early, with no baby in sight. Closer inspection revealed a tiny bay filly near her mother's feet, laying flat in the hay around the round bale feeder...barely alive.

She was so delicate that she fit neatly into my lap when we snatched her into the pickup and cranked up the heater. The pitiful little creature was nearly frozen; her tiny lips pulled back into a horrible grimace, her body limp, and her eyes glassy slits. I new the situation was probably hopeless, but never-the-less I sent up a prayer and aimed the heater vents at her and started vigorously rubbing her icy little body while Flipper anxiously circled the truck nickering for her baby. She was the smallest live foal I had ever seen, weighing only 20-30 pounds instead of the robust 75-100 pounds we normally had. Her chest wasn't much wider than Jack's palm with legs slender as a fawn's and a velvety soft coat, too thin to provide much insulation.

Gradually, as her little body warmed, she was racked with violent shivering spasms. I gritted my teeth and prayed some more, knowing that this poor baby might die in my arms at any moment. After more than an hour, the convulsive shivering diminished and she started to show signs of life, squirming briefly accompanied by a weak little squeal, attempting to nicker back to her panicky mother. Soon afterward, she pursed her tiny lips, stuck out her tongue, and proceeded to try sucking anything within reach. I knew then that this tough little girl wanted to live!

We took mother and baby to the house and ensconced them in our modest little barn, a once upon a time chicken shed, and we started the long struggle to keep her alive. Since she was unable to stand unaided, we immediately milked the mare and fed the colostrum to the tiny baby with a syringe. It was imperative that we keep her warm; she needed every bit of her energy devoted to growth.

My dad donated a heat lamp for her but, lacking an appropriate foal blanket, we had to get creative. We dressed her, front-end and rear-end, in layers of our old T-shirts and sweat-shirts. One leg cut from an old pair of sweat pants, with holes cut for eyes and ears, made a warm hood. We topped off the ensemble with an old black hooded sweat-shirt: the arms shortened for her diminutive legs. With all those baggy clothes and the black hoody, my husband, Jack, remarked, "She looks like a little street thug". "She's as snug as a bug in a rug!" I joked. "She's a Thug in a rug!" Jack shot back. Later, she was registered as Miss Vandy Bob Cat but the moniker "Thug in a rug" stuck and, I'm embarrassed to admit, was eventually shortened to "Thug". I finally took some photos when she was about 6 weeks old

I had to pick her up to nurse each time but, once she got her pins arranged under her, she was able to stand and, with my help, find the nipple. She could barely reach the udder but, when she latched on, suckled greedily, her tiny tail keeping rhythm with her hungry little mouth. I helped her to nurse every two hours for the first four days until she could stand and find the dairy-bar on her own.

Flipper was a wonderfully patient mother for us both. We discovered that, like her sire Smokeys Bob Cat, the dark bay little filly was going to turn gray, if she lived; displaying a few white hairs scattered among the dark ones around her eyes. Within a week she came down with the scours and had to be treated with drenches and antibiotic injections and cleaned up morning-noon-and-night for weeks to prevent the dehydration that is so lethal to preemies.

Thug accepted her treatments and clothing changes with minimal struggle, forgiving me for the painful unpleasantness and charming me into lavishing her with hours of attention. The sweet little beastie imprinted on me like a newly hatched duckling and considered me her mother as much as Flipper!

Within two weeks we started taking mother and baby to the round-pen for a little activity if the weather wasn't terribly cold. I still have to chuckle remembering her first efforts to scamper around. She'd give a little jerk with her head, let out a grunt and her wobbly little legs would stiffen just enough for her to hop three or four times in a row in an effort to buck. This performance so exhausted her that she immediately needed a nap. In fact, she spent most of her first two months sleeping! Though, when she was awake, her eyes sparkled and her tenacious little spirit never wavered. She grew and strengthened bit by bit, eventually convincing us that she was going to make it. I thanked God Almighty, knowing she would have died without his blessing.

When she outgrew her shabby clothes and the weather dependably warmed, we decided it was time to return Thug and Flipper to the broodmare pasture. Thug apparently considered this a personal betrayal. For months afterwards, on our daily drives through the pasture to check the horses, she would leave her mother's side to doggedly stalk the pick-up. She would grimly stomp after us with her ears laid back until we stopped and got out to give her a scratch. She'd prick up her ears and trot the short distance to receive her due and forgive us our transgression for another day.

In spite of her size, Thug became the boss of her siblings. She turned out be unexpectedly speedy and the bigger colts soon learned not to play too aggressively with her, because they couldn't outrun her! She was a breeze to halter break, showing no alarm at all about the halter or lead-rope. One day Jack and I were working with the weanlings when my dad showed up and presented us with an antique child's saddle that he had just picked up at an estate sale. The other weanlings were cautiously eyeballing the saddle where it sat on the fence and Thug, as usual, was standing right beside us ignoring the suspicious new object. Jack picked up the saddle and set it on Thug's back, curious to see what she'd do. She just stood there calmly, totally unconcerned by it. I guess it didn't occur to her that we would ever do anything harmful to her. We were her people.

Months passed, and one by one all of Thug's siblings found new owners but nobody showed much interest in the little dark gray filly. It didn't help that late in her yearling year she turned up with a prominent bump on the bridge of her, already rather plain, nose. The injury was slow to reduce and is still slightly visible to this day. Then, early in her second year she suffered a life threatening rattle snake bite on the nose, requiring emergency treatment. Shortly after that she managed to cut the outside corner of her eyelid, requiring stitches. She was a perfect patient for us through it all but, at the time, didn't present a pleasing appearance for potential buyers. She wasn't outgrowing her undersized start in life either, but I was secretly pleased that we might not have to part with my little fosterling.

Thug had a handsome pedigree, a SUPER disposition, correct conformation, attractive color, surprising speed and was a tough little survivor but not likely to entice a buyer. So, in 2005, her third year, we decided it was time she pulled her own weight and we sent her to the broodmare band of our new stallion, San Bolero. Miss Vandy Bob Cat, aka "Thug", has become an excellent broodmare. So far, she has produced three beautiful, sweet minded babies for us: 2006 Sorrel Mare, Miss San Bolero; 2007 Gray Stallion, San Vandy Bolero; 2008 Gray Mare, Boleros Missy, and is currently in foal for 2009 I can hardly wait!