I grew up in the shadow of stories about his sister, my
namesake Leona, and her keen horsemanship. “Toby” ,who could ride
sideways, ride backwards and ride standing up without a saddle on a
dead gallop.”

So, of course, I tried all those ways of riding a horse. Be
it in the very beginning, on the horse named “Byrd”.

My cousins will all smile and chuckle. Many of them remember,
because they too grew up with “Byrd”. “Byrd” was a white percheron
mare. She was gentle and old and wise to the ways of kids.

Byrd could be rode bareback. Once,Washington cousins came to
visit, there were five girls various sizes, riding Byrd, all at the
same time. We put the only bridle she had, the one with the blinders
on the sides. Reins of baling twine, then helped each other up. Byrd
plodded patiently along, then surprised us all with a quick turn. Off
the front, we slid in slow motion. 1,2, 3—-4 onto the dirt!

The summer my brother was born, Byrd, my sister,Nancy and I
worked picking sticks and rocks off a bulldozing. All, summer long,
Byrd pulled the stone boat up and down, back and forth in the hot
sun. Dusty and dirty Nancy and I picked sticks. Patient Byrd, her
tail switching flies. When the field looked perfect, dad would
cultivate and pull more up. It was a full time summer job!

In the late summer afternoons, Byrd became my cow pony. I
would pull her toward the fence, crawl up the wires, climb on her
back, quickly, before she made a hasty turn. Off we’d go to the
south pasture to fetch the cows. And we never came home until all
were found.

Sometimes Byrd decided she’d had enuff! If she was close
to a slough she’d go lie down and roll. If she was close to the barn
she would not be detoured. She’d squeeze through the barn door! If a
person was lucky, the door was open more than a foot. Then,Duck.
Lie flat. Pull up the legs. And keep yelling Whoa!, Byrd, WHOA!

I learned to first harness and drive a horse with Byrd. She
was strong,and the two of us worked as a team cleaning the calf pens
in the barn. She had worked it out to swing the stone boat over the
pile and with just the right pitch of my fork the load would slide
off slick as a whistle.

I got great pleasure cleaning that barn with Byrd and
bringing in sweet, golden, straw into the pens. Uncle Emil once
commented, “You’re a good barn cleaner”. And, I knew then, it was my
true calling.Yep. No housework for me when I could be working in the
barn, singing off key at the top of my lungs.

Doing it all with a horse named Byrd who I found, I was
never smarter than she.

Vickie