This page is dedicated to those courageous Morgan Horses who made Trillium a global player in the equine world of outstanding show, breeding and pleasure companion horses. More importantly, it is their contribution to humanity through their quiet dignity in perilous health, their untiring stamina to the will of the rider and their sweet resolve at the hands of their caregivers. Their example has made all of those who were fortunate to know them in life, a more tolerant and caring person. (Above, The Trillium Memorial Garden, established in 2001.)
A cool October rain fell lightly that grey fall
morning. The barn routine was kept as usual,
although the day would not be usual. Wrought
with pain, Hobbiton Tinuviel, better known as Ginger, was making her way for the last time
to the soft footing of the arena with each slow and unsteady step. It would seem an eternity to make that short walk,
but no one was in a hurry this time. As we
hesitated for a moment, giving Ginger some time to recuperate before another agonizing
step was taken, memories from nearly fourteen years past, began to return.
How excited I was the day I led Ginger home to our barn! It was to be the beginnings of our successful
breeding program. I vividly remember that
brisk walk she had, keeping me at a jog, just to match her stride. Ginger had been on lease to the Lauralee Morgan
Farm (just around the corner from us) and was due to return to New York when the
opportunity arose for me to purchase my first foundation mare. I had researched her background and knew that the
bloodlines of Vigilmarch and the famous Merrylegs lines, would give me the athletic
Morgans I so admired.
Ginger was foaled on March 27, 1987 at Mabel Owen’s farm in
Massachusetts. She was owned by Rosemary and
David Papayanopulos of Huntington, New York and was the first to carry the Hobbiton prefix
(fashioned after characters in the popular trilogy fantasy stories from Lord of the Rings,
i.e. the Hobbits). Ginger was by the first
son of Vigilmarch, Bro-Rock March On and out of the great mare, Merry Belllsinda, a
pedigree that reaches back through Merry Knox and Belldale to the likes of Meade and the
famous Florette. Ginger would later be the
first to produce a foal with the Trillium prefix and also the Windwalker prefix. And so it goes that her legend as a foundation
mare was firmly established.
In all, Ginger produced ten offspring, eight colts and two fillies
with her last foal arriving in the spring of 1992. As
time went by in the foaling box, my original blueprint to produce an athletic Morgan, was
borne out with Ginger’s first foal for us, Trillium Reflection by Lauralee Foxy Man. Reflection more than lived up to our dream for a
good trotting Morgan. He eventually won the
Canadian Morgan Horse Club National Reserve Championship, based primarily on his racing
endeavours in Vermont. He excels in road
hack classes too and like his mom, has a powerful ground-covering walk that makes life
lonely out on the trail in the company of others.
Ginger was shown very lightly during her life. She did however come home with top placings each
time out. One moment in her brief show
career, was the day she pinned ahead of the great Grand National and World Champion,
Aritstippi, stealing a little limelight from the show.
No one was more surprised than I was that day and the reason given for her
first place ribbon was that “she was the only horse in the class that worked off a
light rein.”
Besides being an adoring mother, Ginger’s biggest attraction
was her personality. Everyone loved her and
she loved everyone. Over the years, she had
gathered her own exclusive fan club of admirers, mostly young impressionable children, or
timid individuals. With her ever-present warm
inviting nature, these people quickly overcame their fear of the horse’s titanic
proportions. Needless to say, her favourite
“people” activity was parades. It
was difficult keeping her in a straight line on the parade route. She often wandered over to the crowds, ears
pricked forward, hoping to be petted. And
there was one special little trick she had that delighted both the young and old.
Mabel Owen once said that
Ginger almost went through life with the nickname “Tongue”. She had a fetish for sticking her tongue out of
the left side of her mouth whenever someone approached her.
You couldn’t possibly ignore it, in fact she wanted very much for you to
stroke her tongue. She would cock her head in
the desired position, encouraging you to pet it, smiling at the same time. It was somewhat embarrassing when she was judged
on line. She wanted to get the judge’s
attention, so as if on cue, out popped the tongue when he or she would approach. We gave up scolding her for it, and eventually
just accepted this peculiarity as part of her endearing character, returning her to
broodmare ranks. She had this habit right
from birth, according to Mabel, and it stuck with her all her days.
Like her son Reflection, Ginger too made an exceptional trail horse
that could out-walk any horse on the farm. She
wasn’t content to hold back, because slow walking wasn’t her thing – when
you walked – YOU WALKED!
This past spring, Ginger presented us with her last foal sired by
Trillium Samson. From day one, this bright
fellow followed everyone around with the benefit of traditional training to lead. Just being with people seems natural. He (Trillium Brass Buttons) definitely inherited
his mom’s charm and personality.
Ginger’s only two daughters are highly prized by their owners. Hobbiton Eowyn is one of the Lauralee Morgan
Farm’s most valuable broodmares, while Windwalker Red Willo is fast becoming
“the best Morgan who we have ever owned”, as stated by owner Joan Pearce.
Another of Ginger’s offspring, also demands praise from his
owners. Trillium Pride N Joy (a full brother
to Reflection) is noted for that same personable nature and character. It is clear that Ginger’s disposition and
manner was infectious, as so many of her offspring display it.
Ginger’s only outside breeding for us to UVM Dexter, produced
Trillium Moonraker, a handsome young stallion. Raker
carries Ginger’s carrot red mane and tail, accenting his deep rich wine-coloured
coat. He most resembles his mother in colour
and of course, that unbeatable walk.
Panting and exhausted now, her suspicious long curly coat, wet from
the stress, she stood in the silent arena. Somehow
it seemed more peaceful today, giving solitude to our final farewell before the
veterinarian would ease her discomfort forever with a slight pinch of a fatal injection. I sorrowfully stroked her forelock and gently
petted her shoulder now burden with unbearable pain supporting her aching tired frame. With feelings of deep emotion, it was time. It would be our first loss in 20 years of owning
Morgans and my first personal loss ever of an equine companion. Saying goodbye to Ginger
with a heart full of compassion and love couldn’t have been any tougher.
Postscript: Ginger’s
condition was not confirmed, but she appeared to display the symptoms related to Cushings
Disease, a disorder of the pituitary gland, most evident in aged broodmares past 19 years. It affects hair growth, muscle tone, respiration,
with an increased thirst and bouts of laminitis. There
is no cure at this time. A donation to the
Canadian Morgan Horse Foundation will be made in her memory.
November, 1992
by Catherine Sampson
PART 1
The story of Lauralee Foxy Man
Preamble: I never imagined that I would soon be writing an obituary with this story, but sadly I fear this may be true. The old patriot of the Morgan world has suffered a debilitating illness that has robbed him of his balance and cat-like maneuvers. Rather than put the grand old man through any more suffering and possible serious injury, I have had to come to terms with the inevitable. For now, we hope to give him one last summer. After twenty-five years of companionship, and I say that with all reverence, how does one ever have the courage to say goodbye. For a quarter of a century, Foxy has owned me; not the other way around. Foxy and I have been through so much together that it defies all logistics of such a final farewell. But in my heart, I know I must. Perhaps writing his life story on these next few pages will ease the burden I must face one day soon. I can only scarcely summarize our times together, for to tell it all would take volumes. But for the record, here is Foxy’s abridged story, as glorious a celebration of life as I can tell.
The Beginning
Lauralee Foxy Man was the first Morgan I had ever owned. He had become the realization of a dream and aspiration I had as a child to own one of his kind after reading about them in an all breeds book. I loved all horses that had a mane and tail, even those without tails and I still do. But there was something extraordinary, even magical about the Morgan that still sets my heart aglow. Everything about the breed appealed to me as I turned the dog-eared pages of the library book, even though I had never seen one in the flesh. However, I kept the mental image of the Morgan tucked away dormant for years until I met Foxy. Today, he represents the Trillium Morgan Horse Farm as its founding sire. He is responsible for the farm’s existence and outward success spanning 25 years. Many of his kids, grand kids and great grand kids live at the farm today. Foxy has given many others a pure sense of devotion to the Morgan breed, through his deeds and example.
It all began when I saw a sign from the highway that read "Morgan Horses". I was curious and eager to visit the farm, remembering that book of long ago. I was surprised that the horses were so small. I had been used to 16 hand horses or better, so when the 14 hand plus or minus Morgan was shown to me, I hate to admit that I was a little disappointed. It’s amazing how one’s impression can change. But as Morgans do so well, it was the personality and grandiose stance that won me over, especially that of the stallion, Cordon Marksman, a son of Bro-Rock March On by Vigilmarch. He was literally bigger than life and never thought of himself as anything less, yet gentle and kind. Other factors I assessed were the conformation of symmetry and strength. Everything fit well in this nice tidy package. It was apparent that my initial faith in this breed was now reborn and it would be a Morgan that I would have at long last.
On a second visit to the breeder, I was shown the mares that were then in foal. It was at that time that I decidedto choose my future Morgan before it was even born. The sire and dam I had selected were Skipper Boy and the maiden mare Lauralee Delia Rose, a daughter of Cordon Marksman, who would later come to live with us for a spell in her later life. This was to be Delia’s very first foal. The sire had recently been acclaimed the Ontario High Point Champion and was a sweetheart to handle and very pleasing to behold. Now the waiting game began in earnest.
In the wee early morning hours when daybreak was rising, a spunky colt squirmed his way into the world and immediately made his presence known. His bright red coat glistening from its embryonic bath, quickly dried and repelled the moisture. A tiny star fixed in the centre of his forehead would become a trademark for future generations. The breeder had already decided on a name for the little fellow when the phone call was made to inform me of the birth.
It didn’t matter to me the sex of the foal, as long as it was healthy. I can still remember, as clearly as if I was there at that very moment, when I first peaked into the stall and saw my perfect miniature Justin Morgan and knew that I would see ownership on paper within weeks.
The breeder asked me how I liked the name she had chosen for the colt, a combination of names from his pedigree – Foxy for Foxfire and Man for Cordon Marksman. Little did she know how foxy the "Foxy" would be in later life. So at two weeks old, the deal had been made and Foxy would come to live with me upon weaning. His future as a stallion would not be determined until his late yearling year.
Owning and raising a stallion would be a unique experience for me. Although I had been exposed to an old Standardbred stallion by the name of Claude Hanover when I was a young girl, it was not the norm in those days for women, let alone young ladies, to handle the studs. They were strictly off limits, believe me. You were never allowed to enter the stall, groom or lead the horse. So I had to be content to admire the handsome boy from afar. It was still a male dominated environment that would eventually begin to change over time and dispel old myths. So here I was, raising and training my very first stallion. I had been given all sorts of advice from the horsemen of the day and strongly recommended that I geld the colt before he became too much. I had heeded their cautions, but seemed determined to keep the colt unaltered for as long as possible. Whether or not I lucked out, or because I had been the dominant herd leader from the start, Foxy never in his entire life ever posed a problem. Firmness and discipline had been instilled from the start and we respected each other. I had given time and commitment to this project. Although I don’t advocate owing stallions, I personally still prefer the character and sharpness of a stallion, ideally those I have raised since birth. They always keep you on your toes and humble, but with that comes a magnificence all their own. I credit Foxy with giving me the courage and working knowledge to handle the big boys. (Presently, we have four stallions.)
Our earliest achievements of success in the show ring came when Foxy was just a month old. He placed second in a weanling class. This show would be the first of many to come over the sixteen-year span of ring presence. As a yearling stallion, Foxy was Reserve Champion Futurity Yearling at our breed’s annual show. His second year proved to be even better as he was shaping into a very spectacular and debonair stallion. He captured the Junior in Hand Championship for the year and never looked back. It is estimated that Foxy has accumulated 1,000 ribbons or more, many of them championships for harness, saddle and in hand.
I suppose when thinking back over the years, there are certain moments in the ring that people remember best. As they can never be repeated, these treasures of time past are locked safely away somewhere in the deep recesses of our memory awaiting retrieval. For us, one the most vivid exploits of this horse was his entry in the "Justin Morgan Performance" classes. Foxy, always the underdog, managed to win second place for this exciting and stamina driven event. Foxy did this under handicap as well, which I will describe a little further on. He was a true stayer with a heart that just wouldn’t give up. After competing in 14 classes over the two days of the show, he ran the ½ mile race with all out effort, settled for the pleasure class which he always won, then came back in work harness to prove his strength with the stone boat pull. All of this was done in 90-degree weather, with a chronic lung condition, and segments of this class running in succession. He was truly gutsy and amazing! It usually boiled down to just two horses, Foxy and the great Danell’s Nova Don. Years later, one of the Field girls (owner of Nova’s Don) visited the farm and reminisced about Foxy’s duel with Don. Those two horses certainly provided the entertainment to the hordes of screaming people hanging on the rail with excitement in their grip.
Bob and I were noted for holding the record time for the fasted tack change in the Combination classes. Maybe this helped us win so many of these classes, but most likely the credit belongs to Foxy and his ability to stay calm amidst the flurry of harness to tack change. Or maybe it was just his ability pour it on when coming down the rail when it counted.
Foxy even attracted his own fan club over the years with his performances at Lindsay Fair. These classes are shown in front of the grandstand, which demands an audience of large proportions. Unlike most horse shows, the Grandstand here is always filled with spectators. There was a time when Foxy won every class for three or four years in a row. His fans always dropped by the trailer to say hello and congratulate him on his repeat success. At this show he took the english, western, pleasure driving and combination classes and Foxy loved the applause from the bleachers, as he made his victory pass with full extension. He was a show off indeed!
On one occasion at this fair, a rather inebriated fellow began to harass me while I was mounted on Foxy making our way to the holding area for our upcoming western pleasure class. I was alone at the time with Bob off on an errand to check the ring situation. The security staff were no where to be found. As the drunkard yanked on my chaps while making lurid comments, I called upon Foxy to rescue me. With a light leg aid cue, Foxy very nicely lifted his front hoof and placed it hard and square on the man’s foot. The guy was in excrutiating pain. Even with the all the liquor he had consumed, it did not dull the sensation. Foxy never moved and continued to press down hard. I finally relented to the man’s pleas and moved Foxy forward and away, without looking back. I can still hear the guy howling and wrenching in pain. Foxy was my hero and we went on to win the western pleasure class.
Upon his retirement from the ring at age 16, Foxy had competed in just about every division. In those days, versatility meant just that. It wasn’t specialized like it is today. The ½ mile trotting races were always a crowd draw along with the combination classes. There were no heavy show shoes to impede or strain and manners did count for something. We even had gaming events! In one way, those days were more enjoyable, certainly for the spectator and most likely the horse too. The show ring of course was only a small part of Foxy’s life and I believe to this day that is why he was able to be so fresh in the ring for so long. He never was bored and always did an honest job.
As a trail horse, we travelled the pathways with much enjoyment and good cheer. Foxy appreciated these outings and break from the boredom of ring work. I recall one such ride when we decided to follow a creek and ventured in. It was a warm day; the cool splash of the water on his belly was a welcome relief. As we clip clopped further along, Foxy suddenly disappeared beneath me. The bottom of the creek had sharply dropped off and Foxy found himself swimming. At first the shock of being dunked was frightening, but I soon realized that yes, Foxy could swim and yes, I could still stay in the saddle. When Foxy claimed the bottom of the creek again, we headed up the bank, totally soaked with the initiation rite of bonafide trail buddies complete.
On our pleasure rides, the only thing that Foxy imagined as being an enemy were those large killer rocks. He always passed them with respect, giving them a wide berth. He wasn’t taking any chances that these sleeping giants might awaken and eat him. He was out of there as quickly and silently as possible.
Panic however, was not a word to be found in his equine dictionary. Even with a hoof caught in a fence, or cast in a stall, Foxy just waited and waited for someone to release him from his predicament. He never struggled, but instead trusted his human friends to come to his aid. I’ve never known a calmer or more sensible horse.
In the winter, Foxy became our sleighbell horse and many a rides in the antique cutter were enjoyed. It was invigorating and fun! He proved to be a great all seasons , all terrain driving horse.
At age seven, we came very close to losing our dear Foxy. He had contracted a virus from a new horse that entered the stable. Although he had been examined by our then vet of many years, his condition worsened. The vet had prescribed more cough powder, but we were becoming increasingly worried that the treatment wasn’t working. Enter our current veterinarian. We had sought a second opinion and this vet had come highly recommend. Upon examination, it was concluded that Foxy was suffering from a severe case of double phemonia. Damage to his lungs was cautioned. To find out just how serious his condition was, Foxy was referred to the University of Guelph for further examination. End of Part I
PART 2
Foxy underwent a thorough examination at the University of Guelph. The ravages of double phenomia left him with a permanent condition of chronic bronchitis. Never again would his wind be sound, but with careful environmental management, he could return to some function of activity. I now know that the doctors prognosis of his abilities were seriously understated as testimony to his campaign of competition in the Justin Morgan class mentioned previously.
Foxy came home to a life style change. Ideally, he should never have seen the inside of a barn again, but of course that was totally impractical. A small paddock had been added to the outside door of his corner stall. It would remain open year round to provide him with fresh air at all times. This stall/paddock arrangement would later be reconstructed for him when he was moved to Trillium and his final home in Orono.
During that first winter following his return from Guelph, he was put on medications to clear his airways. Coupled with this medication was a regiment of light, but regular exercise. Every morning before leaving for work in the big city, I would drive out to the farm. Since the best path to take Foxy on meant riding the shoulder of a busy service road, bicycle flashlights were strapped to my stirrup irons and a workman’s safety vest was pulled over my riding jacket. Off we would go in the darkness of early morning heading west, then south towards the lake. At times the wind would rudely slap my face and sting my hands that gripped the reins. Still on we would go at a steady walk. By spring, his breathing had improved considerably. Despite the occasional cough, Foxy returned to his usual activities. It wasn’t until years later when we met the vet who had diagnosed Foxy’s condition at Guelph, did we learn that they had only given Foxy a couple of years. That couple of years had been extended to 18.
Foxy’s tolerance for pain has always been high. Like some of the great racehorses that tried to finish the race on three legs in the face of mortal injury, Foxy too would give his all. At one stage in his life he battled with another stallion whose door had been carelessly left unlocked by accident and not design. It was a large Thoroughbred who decided to rid the barn of this little pesky Morgan stud. When we were urgently summoned to the barn, the stable looked like a war zone with debris and blood splattered everywhere. Foxy stood exhausted and bleeding, but he had won the fight and didn’t appear any worse for wear. Down the aisle, a veterinarian was attending to the wounds of the 16 hand Thoroughbred stud. The stallion was so traumatized that he was also being treated for shock. It wasn’t until a few days later when riding Foxy for the first time since the incident that a problem was noticed. Once and awhile Foxy would stumble slightly then continue on at the trot or canter. Figuring it was just the roughness of the field that caused the break in gait, not much thought was given. After a few more stumbles, I decided that it would be prudent to investigate a little further. When I pulled Foxy up and looked down his front leg, I was horrified to see blood gushing from a crack in his hoof wall. Apparently, while doing battle with the Thoroughbred, he had kicked so hard (probably catching the stone wall) that he had cracked his hoof. Special shoeing was required to stabilize the hoof for the next twelve months. In the end, the hoof grew out normal and no further intervention was required.
Foxy had been my first training project of consequence and I had been so pleased with our progress. By his fourth year, Foxy had been trained to harness and shown, he’d been worked under saddle and competed as well. We wanted to enhance Foxy’s driving abilities so we sent him to a well-known trainer at the time. It was not to be and although Foxy can home with an extended trot albeit, he wasn’t Foxy. The once mild mannered and friendly stallion had turned into a crazed animal, literally climbing the walls of his stall. He fretted constantly and we feared it was the equivalent to a mental breakdown, much like the horse in the fictional best seller and movie, "The Horse Whisperer". He had lost considerable weight and had no appetite. What had we done! Was there any hope now? A friend of mine who had worked at the racetrack suggested we get him a goat. We were desperate to try anything and so we found a breeder and purchased a young goat and introduced him to Foxy. Within a week, Foxy started to respond. I dare say that Tinker the goat was Foxy’s Tom Booker and ultimate salvation.
Foxy and Tinker lived together all that summer. Foxy found great delight in carrying poor Tinker around his stall by the scruff of his neck. The wailing Tinker would call us to his rescue. Foxy just thought it was neat and released him when we scolded him with a sharp tongue lashing.
Later that year, we decided to try another trainer to improve Foxy’s western discipline skills. Although somewhat nervous over our decision, this time Foxy had company and off he went to school. Again tragedy happened. A gelding had got loose and both Foxy and the gelding fought. During the disagreement, Foxy’s sharp toe clip had twisted sideways and punctured the sole of his hoof. This meant lay-up again, but at least this time, his injury was less severe. During the end of his stay for western training, Foxy would lose his constant friend and companion.
Being a master of escape as goats are, Tinker had managed to expedite his way out of the stall and into the grain room. Tinker later died of bloat just outside of Foxy’s stall. If any animal could grieve, then Foxy surely did. It was such a pitiful sight. Foxy stood by his door, pawing endlessly trying to pull his buddy back into the stall where the door gaped open at the bottom. Foxy went off his feed for a couple of days, refusing to eat, standing with his head pressed into the corner of his stall, ignoring everyone. As time passed, Foxy returned to his old self. Tinker was buried at that farm and Foxy came home.
Foxy’s personality was one of youthful play and determination. He was quick and crafty, just like his name. They say that horses can’t solve problems, but I don’t know. Foxy came up with an ingenious solution to escaping into the pasture from the confines of his paddock. On a number of occasions, Foxy would been found grazing in the field, instead of his private enclosure. The stall door was secure and the fence untouched. Now you must understand that Foxy would never attempt to jump anything, except a mare in season, so how then was this Huodini making his escapes?
Upon closer inspection of his pen, a large hole was found, large enough for a horse to crawl under the fence. That is what Foxy had been doing in his spare time, digging his escape route. You would have thought him to be a POW like in the classic movie "The Great Escape". He was that persistent and determined. Since he had mastered this technique, we had to find a solution. Hot wire was installed on his fence – top and now bottom. But even then, he knew when the fence was on or off, depending on whether or not he could hear the clicking noise from the shock box.
A contortionist he was. You learned in short order never to leave him unattended with just a stall guard up. He had been caught in the act attempting to escape again by going down on his knees and literally crawling under the guard. No kidding!
Foxy enjoyed a variety of activities that kept him constantly interested in his surroundings. He participated in parades many times riding stirrup-to-stirrup with his favourite mare, the late Hobbiton Tinuviel. He also excelled at breed demos, tours and workshops. He was constantly in the public eye and claimed the people for his own.
On one occasion as a parade horse, Foxy managed to slip free of his halter while Bob was saddling him and I was in the throws of dressing in the trailer’s tack room. Foxy very nicely decided to go for a stroll in the schoolyard where we were parked. His leisurely stroll soon advanced to an all out road trot. I could hear Bob’s frantic calls and when I reappeared from the trailer, there was poor Bob, holding onto the cinch strap and pacing Foxy. In true horsemanship response, I yelled to Bob not to let go. Well, have you ever tried to keep up with a road trotting horse! I had never seen Bob’s feet fly by so fast. You would of thought he was going after Donavan Bailey’s world record sprint time. Foxy moved up his gait and challenged poor exhausted Bob to go even faster. Bob took hold of the horn with his feet just bouncing with every stride of the horse. I think Foxy was having a good hardy horse laugh at our expense! A group of us finally managed to form a human corral of sorts and brought Foxy back to a walk and eventual halt. Bob was panting so hard you thought he was having a heart attack. We finally finished tacking up the wayward stud and he completed the parade route without further deviations.
In later life, he became a reliable teacher for first time riders such as Ruth Gray. When they were informed that the stud Foxy would be their mount, they were apprehensive at first. You could literally read the dialogue racing through their timid minds, "Oh my God, Stallion!!!"
Foxy had a knack of dispelling any fears and cautions, quickly and easily. He gave these future want-to-be riders a confidence in their ability that continues with them today. All of his students have gone on to be excellent pleasure and equitation riders. He taught our junior riders, like Sarah Hawkins, daughter of a former professional jockey, who at age eight used to ride Foxy bareback around the field with just a halter and two lead shanks. He was that special kind of horse that took care of children and the insecure novices. Today his son, Trillium Samson, also a breeding stallion, continues in that tradition of teacher for beginner riders and drivers.
Foxy entered the breeding shed later than most. We wanted to concentrate on training first before adding this duty to his roster. In his entire career at stud, I believe there were only one or two mares that were not successfully covered and in these cases the mares were well in their 20s. His offspring and the next generations have honoured the old boy well. Many of them have surpassed Foxy’s show record. His most famous get includes Trillium Reflection, two time Reserve Champion winner of the Vermont Governor’s Cup Road Race ; Trillium Samson, five times OMHC Park Champion, OMHC and CMHA Champion stallion; Trillium Flashdance, multi champion gelding and Trillium Justina, Reserve Champion High Point Western Pleasure. His grand get are reserve national award winners too, including Trillium’s Chantilly Lace and Trillium Arioso.
There are so many more passages from his diary of life that I could tell. Foxy has had a remarkable time and has taught us so much. More importantly, he has taught us that a horse is not just a horse. They bring out and nourish our own personalities, strengths and weakness. They accept us as we are and not necessarily who we think we are. They make no judgements, and show us endless patience. As Sarah’s father would say in praise of Foxy, "what more can be said about the Morgan, and a stallion at that." The years have been good for us and interesting too as we adapted to living with a Fox!
October, 1998
![[H-Loli Photo]](loli.jpg)
It was May
23, 1969 when H-Loli entered the world, not in the confines of a well-bedded straw foaling
stall with today’s technology and fancy monitors, or foal watchers looking on to
ensure a safe delivery. Rather she came in a
more humble way, born on the open and rugged plains of Wyoming without benefit of shelter
or human intervention, braving the elements and constant predator danger.
She was a
daughter of the infamous Chingadero, the stallion with his pale cremello coloring,
considered to be white at the time. Chingadero,
in part, was credited for a catalyst of change in rules for the breed of the day. Years later, the “white rule” would be
rescinded after decades of controversy.
H-Loli was
foaled the property of the Cross Ranch, bred by George A. Cross and Sons. She carried two distinctive brands; one on her
neck the other on her hip. She was line bred
to Flyhawk with four crosses to Warhawk on her pedigree.
Much like her other siblings by Chingadero, she was solid black in colour with no
markings. Not a big horse by the stick, but
she was tough and resilient like many others from that breeding program. And she produced bigger than herself.
They were
all survivors, as she would later attest to in her life.
She would have four other owners, traveling from Wyoming to Iowa, then on to New
York State before entering Canada in 1979.
In the late
summer of 1980, I had an opportunity to visit Jack Reeves’ Chestnut Hill Morgan Farm
and view the horses listed on their dispersal sale. It
wasn’t long before I focused my attention on the lone little black mare with a large
buckskin colt at her side. As I approached
the somewhat timid mare, it was her large clear eye that attracted me most to her. That eye and the intelligence and good nature it
reflected, convinced me that she was indeed special from all the rest in the pasture of
quality Morgans.
She was
sturdy of build, and inch-by-inch “Morgan” came through in her outward
appearance and mild manner. She traveled with
good motion, a trait she had inherited from her dam, as told to me by the late Albert
Cross. Loli’s hooves never saw steel and
remained durable, unmarred and healthy until very late in her life when she developed a
bout of laminitis, most likely the result of age. Her
disposition was that of her sire, old Chingadero. Abe
Cross remarked that Chingadero was the best natured Morgan they had ever bred out of
hundreds of foals they produced over the years at their Ranch.
Loli had
been bred back to Clear River Phantom, a son of Merry Knox, that spring of 1980 and was
due to wean her then current foal. Soon the
purchase was made, and I welcomed Loli to our farm that fall. It would be a remarkable journey in her life
coming to Trillium. It was to be her final
home as she produced without question, multiple offspring of kind, willing temperaments
and unquestionable Morgan type, grit and talent.
I always
believed in giving the broodmares a rest once in a while to rejuvenate them, regardless of
the gamble for rebreeding the next season. Following
this program Loli was not bred every year during her most fertile years as a broodmare. However, she did produce eleven registered
offspring in her lifetime with most notably leaving behind her greatest legacy, the
farm’s leading sire, Trillium Samson. Her
very last offspring at age twenty-five was a black filly named Trillium Lady of Intrigue,
by none other than Serenity Intrigue. The
list of grand offspring of H-Loli is long and impressive with many of them achieving grand
champion and national status, such as Trillium’s Chantilly Lace, Trillium Arioso and
Trillium Classic.
Color did
come through from time to time with Loli. She
produced three palominos and a couple of buckskin Morgans.
Mostly though, her offspring were bay or chestnut in color. It didn’t seem to matter what color she
produced, all of her foals were excellent, both in Morgan type, smarts and ability.
Never a
saddle or harness horse, Loli was still one of the most popular Morgans at the farm, even
though she was just a companion and broodmare, but what a broodmare!
It was her
demeanor that won people over on first encounter and of course that eye full of life and
clarity. She drew a crowd like a magnet at
the farm’s many public events. She was
special beyond her size, ebony color and occasionally with an adorable foal at her side. She was the most trusting horse who would let the
vet stitch a flap of skin on her face without the benefit of freezing or restraint, as she
was so heavy in foal. And in this last year
of her life and test of courage, she endured the devastation of massive infection,
paralysis and the enormous healing process left in its wake.
Loli slipped
quietly away from this world, but with much love and admiration. Next spring, five more grand offspring will
arrive, dawning a new era of Loli’s legacy delivering her spirit and genetic prowess
that makes the Morgan Horse a breed apart.
October, 2000
![[Serenity Intrigue Photo]](intrigu2.jpg)
Foaled
on May 8, 1970, Intrigue was one of three full siblings.
Besides being one of the last sons of the great Vigilmarch, his notable distinction
from this culmination of bloodlines was that he was the only producing sire and full
brother to Val’s Terry. Adored by his
fans, the flashy gelding affectionately known simply as Terry, was considered by many to
be the greatest show horse in Morgan history winning eighteen world championships.
Intrigue
graced the show ring briefly winning his share of ribbons and championships, but only in
the shadow of his famous brother. Mostly, he
stood at stud in South Carolina and Georgia before traveling north to Canada and home to
Trillium in the spring of 1990. After
all, he was the only one, other than his sister, Serenity Victoria, who was capable of
passing on genes that may yet produce another Terry some day.
He sired
fifty-nine registered offspring during his lifetime and most likely countless others. At age twenty-eight, he sired his last foal being
the filly, Trillium Intrigues Spirit who now resides in Scotland.
I clearly
remember the day when the grand stallion first arrived and walked off the van into the
yard after his long journey from Atlanta. I
had made the purchase sight unseen, basing my decision solely on his excellent bloodlines. It was a risk I took, purchasing a stallion of
age, but I have no regrets. He was everything
I expected and more.
His stable
name was chosen by one of the boarders the very first day he was in our stable. She kept referring to him as “Studley Do
Right” and so it stuck with most people just referring to him as “Studley”
in the end.
Intrigue was
a real gentleman and easy breeder. His mane,
tail and forelock were long and abundant. He
was undeniably Morgan in every sense. His
head with its chiseled and refined features reflected his intelligent mind and good
breeding. His hooves were solid and
unblemished. He possessed clean dense bone
and a strong hip that everyone described as “the butt walk” when in motion. That wide moving, driving hind would be a trait he
would pass on to a number of his offspring.
Intrigue
would sire fabulous offspring for us over the years such as Trillium Symphony of Fire,
Trillium Independence and Trillium Peppermint Patty to name just a few. All of his get are talented and full of
personality. They are very clever
horses, bold and willing. They are also
enduring horses, tough for the competition with stamina that just will not falter.
So many of
his get entered the field of competitive ride. One
son held the distinct honor of leading a fox hunt near our nation’s capital, yet
others were successful in the hunter division. Another
son is noted as a distinguished police horse in the southern United States and more
offspring are remembered as brilliant roadsters and pleasure horses.
Even in his
final days, the glorious stallion still stood with that typical Vigilmarch regal air that
no one could deny him. To the end, he kept
his promise and guarded old Loli with his entire being, sharing his hay and beet pulp,
sharing his water bucket, keeping watch over her tired body, as weary as he was too. It was a sad farewell as I stole one last wistful
look of him obediently and slowly walking down the road as the veterinarian led him to a
place of eternal rest. For all that he was,
Intrigue will be remembered for his nobility and blessed Morgan poise, intelligence and
independence.
Postscript: Loli and Intrigue were laid to rest side-by-side adjacent to Foxy’s resting place. Their stall signs, adorned with a single red rose for Intrigue and a pink rose for Loli, temporarily mark the gravesites. In the spring, the area will be landscaped and flat granite stones ordered to honor their respective graves.
October,
2000
![[Serenity Intrigue Photo]](fashion.jpg)
Fashion was foaled on May 12, 1984 in Wisconsin, U.S.A. She later moved to
the Chandel Farm as it relocated to Kansas City, Missouri. She was
imported to Canada in April, 1989 by the Flying Diamond Ranch of Huntsville,
Ontario.
Fashion was the product of Fairfield Fortune and the heavily government bred
mare, Ledgemere Gretel. The refinement from Upwey King Peavine through the
Saddlebred line, gave Fashion the finely featured head and neck.
Intelligence, laced with a spirit the had her roll and look through the bridle
spelled "fine breeding".
Fashion only discovered the show ring briefly, but did manage a Reserve Champion Mare title on her third showing. She was a gaited mare as well adding to her talent base. Smooth running walk and rack were an added bonus.
She lived her life primarily in breeding barns and as the occasional pleasure horse. When she came to Trillium at age 19 in 2003, life changed. Fashion soon became a steady and popular lesson horse for young children. Everyone absolutely adored her. She was bred the following year to Trillium Samson in hopes of producing another National Champion honour role horse, like her daughter, Trillium's Chantilly Lace. However, it was not to be.
In the spring of 2005, fate took Fashion and
her unborn foal from us suddenly and without warning quiet one evening in March.
Shock and disbelief followed. Fashion rests beneath a tree that shelters
the playful foal pasture. Her little lies with her. So, be it.
November, 2005
Trillium Oneofakind (aka Sunny) was foaled on May 3, 1984. He was a very unusual foal in that his colour was in great contrast to his ebony black dam and liver chestnut sire. Sunny came wrapped in a blanket of gold and grew to a height of 15.3 hands. His grandsire, Chingadero the controversial cremello (near white) stallion of his day, was more or less responsible for this gene colour. As a result, we named him Oneofakind. As the years past, Sunny's mane turned to silver while his tail remained snowy white. This crossing of H-Loli and Lauralee Foxy Man continued to produce some unusual colour combinations as well as the standard, bay, chestnut and blacks.
Sunny was sold as a yearling and didn't see his home of Trillium until he was a senior citizen and had lived with a series of owners. His last owner at the time wanted Sunny to retire back to the farm where he was born and so we adopted Sunny back.
Sunny proved to be an excellent a patient teacher of novice riders. He was well liked and spoiled by everyone. This past summer, with advanced age, weight loss from a suspicious cancer, he was humanely put down after a week long struggle with impaction in his esophagus. The old boy left quietly for greener pastures, never to suffer again.
On June 30, 2007 during the Canada Day celebrations and
Orono's 175 year village recognition day, a horrible tragedy took place at the
Trillium Morgan Horse Farm.
Our daily farm chore and lesson program was conducted as usual. Horses
were turned out so chores could be done; lessons progressed in the arena as
scheduled. Fortunately, I had just finished my last lesson of the day when
an CF 18 fighter jet arrived, swooping down with great speed above the tree-line
at an elevation of 500 feet and directly over our west pasture before passing
over the main arena roof.
I managed to get the student off her horse safely and put the horse in a stall still with its tack on. A client was ground driving her Morgan mare at the time and managed to control her without injury. Those few remaining horses that were in the stable at the time of the flyby were frantic in their stalls, some receiving minor cuts and bruises. The remaining 30 horses on our farm were out on pasture in different turnouts; one to the north, another to the south and east.
It appears that Annie, who suffered the mortal injury was trying to clear the fence and got entangled in it. With each pass of the jet, she would struggle to free herself cutting her hind leg so severely that it sliced through two tendons and through bone entering into marrow. This devastating injury rendered her hind limb useless. She was humanely destroyed. The older mare caught her left front hoof in the page wire and in her panic, cut to the bone severing an artery. She remains in critical condition. Several other horses had less grievous injuries that could be treated without major intervention.
A dozen people came to our aid. Four men struggled to support Annie as she awkwardly made her way into the stable. The older mare walked slowly under her own steam to the stable. The veterinarian was summoned immediately as we applied first aid treatment to the horses. I personally took over monitoring vitals signs and organized a temporary sling to help support the injured horses that had lost life-threatening amounts of blood. Pressure bandages were applied time and time again to help control the bleeding. When the bleeding was somewhat controlled, we irrigated the wounds and dressed them until the veterinarian arrived. With the horses succumbing to shock and the injuries so severe, we called in a second veterinarian to assist. Drs. Cox and Morrison worked feverously on the two most seriously injured animals. In the end, Annie was euthanized. Her owner was unable to assist the veterinarian with this task, so I took over this very sad duty.
We were able to document both the injuries and position of the jet. A client, who was videotaping his daughter at the time, turned his camera to the sky and caught the jet on film flying over the pasture and arena. Another client had a friend with her who is a professional photographer. She took the graphic pictures of the injuries before treatment. It was a horrific day for us at the farm that has left us all numb with disbelief. It has been especially hard on the children who worked with these horses and loved them.
Annie was a very special horse. In view of her untimely death, I've chosen to print Annie's life story. After reading it, you will be moved by the events of her short life that touched the hearts of so many people who knew her. This is for Annie:
Annie’s Story
See Annie's story in an upcomimg issue of Equus magazine.
Mascots
of the Past
Tolerance, Compassion, Individualism and Love for the Human Kind
No memorial would be
complete without acknowledging those dear friends that welcomed the public to
the farm over the years. They became a beckon of friendship at the farm,
making it a home and not just a stable. As we reflect on their names, a
subtle smile in return for all their days of good cheer is all that is
needed. Tears are all but shed, now we must remember them for their soft
meows and wagging tails.
Felines:
Taffy (age 12), Pumpkin (age 6), Panda (age 24) and Mr. Bill (age 22)
Canines: Lord Dorion of Hannibal
(Newfoundland - age 10), Tammy the 4th (St. Bernard - age 6), Cuddles
(Lab/Springer Spaniel - age 14), Sebastian (Labrador - age 10), Hero (Walker
Hound - age 4), Cindy (Red Bone Coon Hound - age 4)
Updated: March, 2008
Copyright © 2008 Trillium Morgan Horse Farm