Alybenbo (Aly), May 29th, 1988 – Aug 16th, 2009
Aly has been the only stallion I have been around day in and day out. He was one of the kindest, most respectful horses I have had the honor and privilege to care for.
More than once have I been on one end of the lead rope, Aly on the other when called upon to do live cover. Umm, him not me. No, no, I mean I’ve DONE live cover just not at the end of a lead rope . . . ok, well not when a stallion was involved. Wait, what were we talking about? Oh, Aly! Yes, yes, vividly I recall those ‘special’ moments, when Aly, gleaming in his freshly bathed best, espied THE halter being clasped onto a mare that trumpeted THE occasion. He would be excited, he would be in a bit of a frenzy, but he remained composed. He was a gentleman for me; he was a gentleman for the ladies.
Terri & I had been together for about 5 months in 2001, when she announced we were going on a road trip to Utah to pick up a teaser stallion. I had moved in with her onto the farm a month or two prior and really did not have a lick of sense about horse stuff, except I would help with the feeding and she had enlisted me in mucking duties (I took to it like a duck to water, I’m told). From the get, he was a good boy and we had a wonderful journey out to Utah & back (about 18 hours total) and the minute he stepped onto the farm, it was his.
My favorite Aly story happened about a year and a half after his arrival. It was sometime in winter, I think February or March, and we would give the stallion the back 8 acres to putz around in during morning chores. So morning feeding routine was typically to let him out of his stall into the back field, clean & muck all the stalls, care & feed the rest of the herd and then wrap up morning chores with feeding Aly his grain – typical TB hard keeper needed OODLES of grain to keep weight on. At the time I would set his grain out in a feed tub near where the gate to the back field was, give him a holler and wait for him to come in and eat. Now, Aly LOVED his grain and it normally took just one “YO! Stallion!” and in he’d charge – literally, charge. Seemed almost every morning I’d be throwing up my hands to get him to slow down before he got to his grain – I was concerned he would come in too fast and slip on snow/ice trying to stop. Yet that was our M.O. – Aly coming in like an equine freight train, me the human railroad crossing lowering the gates, waving arms frantically and whooping it up to get him to slow down when he got within grain shot. He never did, by the way, until the final step or two . . . really great stopping power, that one. I started getting just a bit perturbed that me, authoritative-human-in-charge, had to each day do this repetitive nonsense. Shaking my head and setting my jaw I thought, “I’m the boss, why should I allow such recklessness?!?” I resolved to bring this, literally, to a screeching halt.
The stallion was going to respect just who I was in the herd, by golly! So after I had completed all the chores, I took Aly’s feed tub out to its usual spot, set it down, and called the boy. As usual, the instant he heard my call, in he charged. I calmly stepped forward, and put myself between him and his feed bucket, standing tall, standing quite full of myself. No shouting, no hand waving; arms crossed and standing firm in my superior humanness. In came Aly, full gallop, making for his grain at his most quickest. Solid I stood, certain in belief the stallion would bow to my herd superiorness. In he came, solid I stood, in he came, solid I stood, in he came, solid I ***Ka-POW!!!!!***
He stopped all right . . . . six inches past the original position of my forehead. Ass over teakettle I went, backward, backward, backward, rolling some 40 times before coming to rest slumped against the back gate, some 5 feet away. (Screw physics, it WAS 40 times!). Within a few seconds, as my wits came back, I realized I was alive and my head remained on my neck, but I was sure I was bleeding directly from my right eye, with glasses I was wearing permanently etched into my socket. I glanced up, concerned that Aly might have been hurt as well and as I slowly began to focus on him, saw he was a short distance from me walking in a circle, shaking his head. I am CERTAIN I heard him say “What an IDIOT!!” before remembering why he was here in the first place and heading for his grain. Obviously HE was no worse for the wear, so I struggled to my feet, staggering through the snow, making for the back door of the house. Still seeing stars, pink moons & green clovers I opened the back door, lumbered into the kitchen and slumped down with my back against the kitchen counter, sitting on the floor. Sure I was going to have to pick glass shards out of my eyebrow, I gathered my wits, exhaled and pulled my hand away from my eye to gauge how much blood loss was happening. I looked into my palm and saw . . . . snow. White snow. No blood. Not even discoloration except for a couple of dirt flecks. Hallelujah my eye was saved! Eyeglasses . . . not so much; while amazingly in one piece, the intricate bends and angles occurring from the collision were worthy of the finest of pretzels. As I sat there for a few seconds, gathering my wits, I felt the warmth of the kitchen air just as I began to feel the tightening around my eye as swelling began. Ah, collateral damage. I was going to have a shiner (I actually ended up with 2).
Just about then my lovely, supportive, soul-mate, hearing the commotion (she said I was whimpering like a 5yr old boy having a nightmare the Tin Man was chasing him – but that’s a whole another story) rushed in to see what was going on. There I sat on the floor mangled glasses dangling from one hand, the other gingerly probing around my orb(s) for further damage, my wonderful, caring, concerned better half looking down from where she stood, intently gauging the severity my wounds and asking “What happened?!”
Concern evaporated from her eyes like water on a hot stove as two things occurred to her; a) I was gong to be all right and would not need an eye transplant and b) I was explaining what ‘lesson’ I was teaching Aly . . THEN came the look and the shaking head, JUST LIKE the stallion and though she swore she didn’t say it aloud, I KNOW for the 2nd time in less than 3 minutes I heard “What an IDIOT!!” reverberating through cosmic airwaves. As she walked away the inane chortling that wafted from her retreating steps were, in my view, very inappropriate. After all, I could’ve lost an eye, or had a concussion or even needed BRAIN work . . . oh wait . . .
So, with a back up pair of really cool standard plastic black horn-rimmed frames that I kept for special occasions I went out to finish up chores, walked over to Aly finishing up his grain, and gave him a good neck scratching and in a “I’m ok, you’re ok” voice mentioned I was glad we were able to come to an understanding of just who ran the farm around here.
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A little over two months ago, on Sunday morning, I opened up the back door and walked out and into the wonderful symphony of neighs and nickers and whinnies from a herd ready for breakfast, when came Aly’s familiar scream. It’s a very distinct, stallion-esque scream which envelops me with an enormous sense of belonging. Aly was living in the farthest stall in the barn, the same stall he was living in so many years ago when he first came to the farm. It’s close enough that he can see all his girls in their runs and even further out he can glimpse those pesky geldings moving to and fro. The stall is no more than 50 yards or so from the back door of the house. I have a clear view of his stall and when I open the back door I watch him trot out to greet me at the end of his run. He moves with head & tail high, his Presence surrounds me and brings a smile to my face and warmth to my soul. He called twice that morning, but he didn’t leave his stall. Aly always comes out of his stall to greet me and his 2nd call was higher pitched than usual. Something wasn’t right and my heart sank as I expected the worst. Fresh in my mind was the loss of our two foals Serafina and Helene and my boy Happy in the past month. As I opened the end of Aly’s run and began walking towards the stall, I could see him standing in the corner, head facing me, staring right at me, but not moving. Half a dozen steps later I saw that Aly had broken his right hind leg. In his stall. When, how . . . I don’t know. No signs of slipping, nothing to get caught on. He had fractured his leg, right at the hock. Jennifer was able to get on the road immediately and would arrive in 20 minutes. I went into the feed room, filled a bucket full of grain, put it right in front of Aly’s nose and sat by my stallion, spending his last minutes with him.
Rest in peace Alybenbo, may the grass be green, the geldings run scared, and the mares plentiful.
P.S. Let nobody stand between you and your grain.
