In 2001, my family was looking to add a new stallion to the farm's roster. After an extensive search I found a beautiful bay 4-year old colt named Deputy Warlock. A year earlier, he made a run for the roses, finishing a respectable, middle of the pack, tenth in the Kentucky Derby....a race won by Fusaichi Pegasus.
When Dep arrived at our farm, we were told, "he's mean.......he's nasty." He actually wasn't either of those. What they didn't realize was that all he wanted was your respect. If you respected him, he'd respect you. There were certain people he liked and certain people he didn't like. If he allowed you to enter his paddock, even if it was to clean up HIS manure, then you had an honor bestowed upon you that very few experienced.
In his early days at our farm, Dep had his own barn that he could walk in and out of at his leisure. I felt bad that he didn't have a larger pasture to run around in, but he had a prime spot where he could see everything going on at the farm....including when the pretty mares would come up the street through the front gate. He was certainly the king and he knew it.
One day, I decided I wanted to give his two stalls a really good cleaning and clear a better path for him to move in and out of his private barn, which I did over the course of a few days. I used a variety of tools including a pickaxe, shovels and some heavy metal rakes. Dep had a mischievous side to him, that very few had a chance to see. After working on his stalls for the entire day, I cleaned myself up and headed home. Prior to my departure, without giving it a second thought, I left all of the implements up against a wall outside of his stall. When I returned the next morning, I found all of the tools inside his stall. I sat there and thought to myself, "did I leave them in there." Nope, I didn't. I asked my farm manager, Kathi, if she had for some strange reason put them inside his stall....of course she didn't. It then occurred to me that this big old lummox had reached over his stall door, grabbed each tool with his teeth, including an extremely heavy pickaxe, and dragged them into his stall. I swear, I still think he was laughing at me as he stood in front of me that day.
Every horse that my family has owned and/or bred, has been special to us. I admit, I don't remember them all, but we treat them all like they are royalty....I've always said that my horses have better lives than I do....most of them get to winter in Florida, while I live through the cold, snowy winters here in New Jersey.
That said, while every horse is special to us....to me....some stand out, for whatever reason, just a little more than others. We bought Dep to stand stud for us and he produced a few nice runners but nothing spectacular. After awhile, we stopped breeding him. I know some may have tried to find a home for him, but he was a special boy to us....we couldn't just get rid of him. He had no future as a riding horse or in breeding. He really could only be one thing and that was basically a pet. After awhile we moved him to a larger paddock, when we knew he wouldn't try to jump over the fence and we eventually gelded him. We couldn't put him with other horses, but he enjoyed the company of Private Venture in the paddock next to him. After a long, 32-year old life, Private passed away last fall.
Today, we say good-bye to another close friend. Due to complications, we had to put Dep to sleep. I went and said good-bye to him this morning. He saw me coming up the path to his paddock and he stood tall for me, puffed out his chest, as to say, "look at me boss, look how strong I am." I found a spot along the fence line and he came right over to me. This "mean, nasty" horse put his head on my shoulder, as if he were hugging me hello.....and good-bye. I tried to hold back the tears, but I wasn't strong enough....I put my arms around his neck, gave him a kiss on the side of the face, told him I loved him and said good-bye. He was a good boy....a very good boy....and if there is a place in heaven for horses, then I know exactly where he is.....he's running in a field and sliding in the mud. Good-bye old friend.
