Loose horses

“Cheryl, your horse is loose!”

Those words can strike terror into the heart of any horse owner. In this instance, I was fifteen years old and my mother had woken my up. I’ve never got out of bed and dressed so fast in my life. I ran into the garage, grabbed a bucket of oats and my lead shank and raced down the driveway, where I stopped. I could see my Quarter horse, Duchess, safely in the field across the street. And yes, there was a time when 182 Street on the hill above Cloverdale had several small hobby farms. Unfortunately we didn’t have a field and barn but our good friends the Scott’s let me keep my horse on their property. A quick glance at the field below where I kept Duchess and I could see the pony that lived in that pasture was accounted for. Then I saw the third horse, grazing at the side of the road by the field. I was carrying a bucket of oats and a lead shank so I walked down the street, approached the horse, gave him some oats and snapped on the shank. I led him to our back yard and put him in, not quite sure what to do next. Mother phoned the police department to report we’d caught a stray horse, only to be frustrated by a rude officer who kept repeating: “Phone the pound, ma’am, phone the pound.” She finally slammed the phone down on him and phoned the pound. They said they could pick up the horse, but it would cost the owner big bucks when they claimed him. Not wanting to cause someone financial problems, Mother told them we could keep the horse in our back yard, and passed the phone over to me to give the description. I was pretty sure the horse was a runaway from the local Standardbred track (now known as Fraser Downs) that had recently opened a mile from our home. I gave the clerk all the details on the horse. A couple of hours later the frantic owners phoned and we gave them our address. They were extremely grateful when they picked up the horse, which was indeed a racetrack escapee. This was the first in a long string of Standardbreds that I frequently caught over the next few years. My horse was probably the closest horse living to the racetrack, so they may have naturally gravitated in our direction.

One night I was driving home down 184th Street, nearing 24th Avenue and an oncoming car was flashing his high beams at me. I thought I saw something in its headlights and stopped my car. Sure enough two horses were galloping ahead of the car. I figured the owner could use a hand, pulled a U-turn and came up alongside him with my hazard lights flashing. An oncoming car cresting the hill forced me to pull behind the car trailing the horses. The car continued down the hill toward 16th Avenue, but I was positive I’d seen the horses turn right down 20th Avenue, which led to 176th Street a mile ahead. Just to be sure I turned right and caught up with them a block ahead. Carefully I pulled around them and got in front, slowing my car until I was able to bring them both to a stop. I got out of my car and approached them, but they ran down the nearest driveway. I got a hold of one horse’s halter. I knew a family who lived on acreage about a block away and figured I could lead the horse there and hope the other horse would follow. But it was not to be. The other horse bolted and the one I was holding yanked out of my grasp, and they both galloped down the road, fortunately headed back to 184th and not to the much busier 176th. I hopped back in the car and pursued them, but clearly I was not going to be able to catch them singlehandedly. I pulled out my cell phone, ready to dial 911 for assistance. These horses had to get off the street, for their own safety and the safety of any drivers who might not see them in the dark. As I approached 20th and 184th I saw several people on the street. I blocked my car behind the horses and two men managed to grab them and lead them onto the property on the corner. They’d heard the hooves pounding on pavement a few minutes earlier and had come out to investigate. With the horses safe, I turned for home, but at the first stop sign I noticed a man on the sidewalk. I rolled down the window and asked if he was looking for two horses. Fortunately he was and I told them they were safe and gave him directions where he could find them.

Cloverdale has grown significantly in the past 30 years. There are no small hobby farms housing horses. And the racetrack has fences around the barn areas making it less likely for Standardbreds to escape the fairgrounds. The days of catching loose horses roaming around town are over.