My Black Mare

By Diane DeRome

This is the true story of Jammer, a throwback Andalusian Brood Mare bred by the local Island Cattle Baron. Jammers journey brought her into the hands of a young woman and the two bonded and together they formed a friendship of trust and adventure. Her lineage was from great Andalusian horses the Conquistadors that once ruled the island had brought over from Spain breeding war chargers for conquering the Caribbean Islands and the Americas. Everyone on the Caribbean Island wanted to own the majestic wild black mare. Jammer would let only one person into her life. This is Jammers story. Proceeds of this book to benefit: sixteenhandshorsesanctuary.org

This book is for 10 years old and up

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453500620

Diane DeRome

The author settled in the Caribbean in the 1980’s where she lived for 10 years. After surviving a Category 5 Hurricane in 1989, she finally settled in Sarasota, Florida where she has resided for 15 years. Throughout her adult life she has worked in the field of law as a Paralegal/Legal Assistant. She has a continued love of animals and has two Labrador Retrievers and an Andalusian Gelding and can be found on the weekends riding the Florida State Parks with her horse. Look for more books from this author in the near future. Proceeds of this book to benefit: sixteenhandshorsesanctuary.org

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by Diane DeRome.

ISBN:   Softcover     978-1-4535-0061-3

             eBook          978-1-4535-0062-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a true story.

The names of people in this story have been changed.

Any references made about any person in this book

are for clarification of the story.

For information regarding permissions, write to:

Diane DeRome, Author: [e-mail]

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Print information available on the last page.

Cover: Jammer with her Colt Andiamo; just born and only hours old

Rev. date: 11/11/2016

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

CHAPTER I

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

CHAPTER II

JAMMER COMES HOME

CHAPTER III

ANDIAMO

CHAPTER IV

THE AWAKENING

CHAPTER V

JUST THE TWO OF US

CHAPTER VI

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

CHAPTER I

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

The magnificent black mare stood in her stall, the C brands which she boasted on the sides of all four of her front and back quarters marked her as an Annaly Bay horse owned by the Cattle Baron on this small 35 square mile island located on the inside of the Greater Antilles in the Caribbean Sea. When anyone walked past her, the beefed up black mare would stomp her foot as if to say, Hurry up and be gone! Leave me alone! At four years old her physique was all muscle after running wild on the open range of Annaly Bay on the tiny Caribbean Island and this animal looked every bit like the war charger that she was with an athlete’s stamina. The wild mare had been born up in the mountains of Annaly Bay and lived amongst the herd with other horses belonging to the Cattle Baron. One could not help but notice this horses’ presence as each of the tourists walked down the middle isle of the barn looking at the horses on either side as they walked down the center isle as the horses stood in their stalls, not yet saddled up for their ride.

That there is Jammer, a young Texan said, eager to see if any of the tourists was game enough to get on this horse. Not too many people can ride this ole’ girl. The group headed through the barn, talking about riding an easier horse and Jammer was soon forgotten.

The Texans were headed by a blond woman in her thirty’s who had rolled into town one day with her fourteen year old daughter Sue Ellen and Sue Ellen’s eighteen year old boyfriend named Mike. Before anyone knew it Betty, the blond, had sweet talked her way into the Cattle Barron’s pasture and was hand picking a dozen or so horses to be hauled down from the mountainous ranges in the rain forest to the sixteen stall riding stable located at the five-star resort the Conch Shell Plantation. Betty had just contracted with the Resort that was built around the ruins of an old Caribbean Plantation laying just inside a cove on the Caribbean Sea. Betty was leasing the horse stable that lay adjacent to the exclusive eighteen-hole golf course which boasted magnificent waterfront tees and greens, hedges of bougainvillea and tended by devoted staff who manicured the exotic mix of color against the beautiful backdrop of the Caribbean Sea.

I was unemployed during the recession of the 1980’s and stumbled upon the trio one day when I approached the stable looking for a job. They gladly took me on as a stable hand paying me minimum wage. I had not had an opportunity to work with horses since before I left the Mainland for St. Croix some five years before.

The first time I laid eyes on Jammer, I fell in love with her. She was so majestic. She just had this presence about her which said, Back off, baby! The red glint in her eyes told everyone to be aware of her wrath. People would stop and look at the angry horse, and once they passed, Jammer would calm down again, safe in the knowledge that no one was going to bother her.

After a few weeks went by I became more familiar with her and I was puzzled by one of her specific behaviors. During feeding she would put her nose into the feed bucket hanging in her stall along the center isle wall and she would swing it from side to side. As she did this all of her feed would fall out of the bucket into the isle just outside her stall. I could never figure out why she had this insatiable urge to do this with each feed. After all these years and now that I look back I see this was a game for her! I can just imagine that after the lights would go out Jammer would be there sticking her head out under the stall door licking up each kernel of feed which she had previously dislodged from her bucket hours ago. This in turn would get all of the other horses riled up during the night hours because she was eating her food and none of the others had any left!

At the time I could only stand there and scratch my head at her behavior. Finally, after watching her push her feed out of her bucket every time I fed her, I said out loud Jammer, when you keep swinging you’re bucket, all your food slips out! Now, I am just going to have to push all that food that you don’t want over to Ginger’s stall for her to eat. I came up with the push broom and pushed the all of the feed which had just been dumped by Jammer in the center aisle right into Ginger’s stall! I walked away for the night and shut off the lights. The next evening when Jammer was fed her dinner, she ate all her food without swinging her bucket and with none landing in the center isle.

Wow! This is a real breakthrough. This mare is actually teachable. She understands me! I was struck with an inner smile knowing the she was going to allow me to be at peace with her. I pretended not to notice that Jammer was eating without her tantrum and just moved on down the lane.

Week by week, I became closer to Jammer. I would approach Jammer at feed time and look into her eyes as she ate her food. The only thing I ever saw in her eyes was anger. A red gleam was always present whenever any human was near as if to say, Yes, I am bad, now leave me alone! But, I would not leave Jammer alone; I was encouraged to work with this mare as if something drove me to her.

The next test I was brave enough to attempt with Jammer was to pick her all four of her hoofs. With horses, both for sanitation reasons and before riding a horse, the hoofs must be picked to clear the inside of the hoof to remove any stones, shells or sticks that a horse might pick up either on a trail ride or while standing in their stall or the corral. One day I had the perfect opportunity to work on this with Jammer. I patiently waited until the Texans went out with a trail ride of tourists and left me there alone to answer the phone and help keep order with the horses while they were away. I seized my opportunity and took my chance.

Although I was not brave enough to lead Jammer out of her stall and tie her up out in the corral I decided to enter her stall with a lead line in my hand. I walked into the stall and latched the lead line of her halter. Then I passed the end of the lead line through the boards of her stall, just laying it lose over the board, not bothering to tie it down. My initial fear was that if she reared up on her hind legs while she was in her stall with both of us in those small quarters, she would either break the board or become very agitated and the end result would be that perhaps at least one of us would be injured and somehow I knew that it would probably be me, and how would I explain that to the Texans! I ran my hand along the rope until my hand reached her halter and then I touched her nose with my hand. It was so soft and velvety. That was the first time I had ever gotten that close to Jammer. Feeling braver at her acceptance of that gesture I ran my hand along her thick strong neck. I stopped at her front thigh and patted her strong muscles where her brand was. I then brought the pick out of my pocket and touched it to her nose. She seemed to revel in smelling the scent of another horse on it. Becoming ever more cautious, I picked up her leg and cleared away the debris from her front hoof.

No problem.

No rearing, no fussing, no problem.

Good Girl, I reassured her and patted her muscular leg again.

I took a few steps and moved over to her hind quarter and picked up her back leg, again clearing the debris in the hoof and again, no problem.

Taking this as a good sign, I moved around her large round hind quarter giving her rear end enough space. I did not want to spook her for fear that she would kick giving her a reason to panic as I walked past her. I took her next hind leg ever so gingerly and cleaned her hoof. Finally, I moved to the other front hoof, picked it up and still there was no retaliation from Jammer. I had just picked all four of the hoofs of this wild untamed brood mare and she was as sweet as could be!

What is up with this crazy horse? I thought to myself as I took the lead line off of her halter and removed myself from her stall making sure to lock the stall door securely behind me. I leaned up against her stall door while I repeated over and over to Jammer what a good girl she had been.

When the group came back from their ride I walked to the front gate to open it for them and welcomed the trail ride back into the yard. Mike, the eighteen year old Texan was off his horse first and each of us grabbed the bridle of a trail horse to let the riders dismount. Sometimes we would stand by and using the tourists’ cameras, take pictures of them on their horses. One by one the guests came up to dismount and once they hit land again, they would turn and thank their horse for the fun ride then saying their goodbyes to the Texans as they would leave us to tether the horses along the fence line where we would start removing the western style tack. Mike would take the saddles, pads and bridles into the tack room while I would start hosing down the weary horses who had just taken a 10 mile walk through the hills surrounding the stable. After I cooled down the horses and rinse off their sweaty coats Mike would then come along wipe them down and start bringing them to the water trough before they were led into the barn and away from the heat of the day to the solitude of their stalls for some fresh water and hay in exchange for their morning work.

Although tempted to boast about my breakthrough with Jammering and kept my thoughts to myself not letting anyone squash my hopes and dreams with unfounded fears.

A few days later, I begged Mike to let me ride Jammer.

I don’t know, Mike said. They say she is a real wild one. I don’t want you to get hurt.

Yea, I thought to myself, ‘you don’t want me to get hurt because then you’ll have to clean the stalls!’

Please Mike? I will just go into the ring and walk her around a bit, I pleaded.

Finally, with my cajoling, Mike relented and I got Jammer’s halter on her with a lead line and brought her out into the corral and locked the gate. I brought her over to the rail and tethered her.

Mike, can you please watch her while I get her tack?"

Okay, but I just don’t like this.

Don’t worry Mike, everything will be fine, I said as I ran for the saddle pad, saddle and bridle.

I came back a few moments later layered down with a saddle pad, a heavy western saddle and a hackamore bridle.