gccasnoopy

   My reasons for breeding my 6-year old Quarter horse mare, Frostie, were marginally rational. Horse friends had convinced me that if I bred her and sold the baby, that it counted as a business and I could write my mare off on my taxes. And my trainer, Tina Duree, thought that motherhood might be good for my mare’s often jittery temperament. So as 2002 came to a close, my journey began.
     First, I had to choose a stud. I wanted to stay in the breed, so I got a copy of the December Quarter Horse Journal (QHJ) and began pouring over photos of stallions. I eliminated horses that share Frostie’s bloodlines, and horses that weren’t bred for the same events. She is short, so I looked for a taller stud. And since she is an excitable gal, I wanted a quiet disposition. Armed with my checklist, I looked for Mr. Right.
     Then my friend bought a brood mare that was in foal to a stallion named Artful Investment. I looked him up in the QHJ and saw a beautiful, 16.2 hand bay that does english and western events, has been five-time World Champion, two-time Reserve Superhorse, and could probably bring world peace if he just had opposable thumbs. People who knew him confirmed that he was also a gentleman. In

December, I requested a form, wrote a check and sent everything off to Aubrey, Texas.
     Now there was nothing to do but wait for Frostie to be in the mood for love. I’d like to say that the whole experience was just that romantic, but if I’d been asked to conceive a child like this, I wouldn’t have had my son.
     In the quarter horse world, a lot of breeding is done by artificial insemination (AI) so I spent some time at the United Airline counter in Ontario, picking up cooled semen. It took four packages and three months, mostly because the airline lost the first two shipments. The oddest experience was standing at the counter while they searched for my first lost canister. I looked over at a ten-year old boy who was waiting for his grandmother.
     “Waiting for horse sperm?” he asked casually.
     Apparently it’s not the specialty item I thought it was.

Mellow Mama
     By Memorial Day, Frostie was finally pregnant, and I had two grainy pictures showing a large black circle surrounded by grey static. At the top of the circle was a small white dot. They looked just like my son’s first ultrasound. I put one on the refrigerator door and took one in my purse to show everyone.

Pregnant Frostie is dressed up as Mary for the ranch's Christmas parade.

It took a long time for Frostie to show her pregnancy physically, but mentally, she became a different horse instantly. My spooky mare who jumped at trash cans was now barely raising her eyebrows. Although I had owned Frostie for three years, it was during this time that we finally bonded. Having her less jumpy made me trust her more, and gaining my trust made her trust me. As she grew rounder, I spent time riding her bareback around the arena with a little snaffle bit, something I never did before.
At other times I put her in the turnout to stretch. She would drop with a groan into the soft dirt and roll, then wobble to her feet. Afterward, she would stand by me at the fence. I’d stroke her neck while she held my shirt in her mouth; it was a feeling of complete contentment in the moment for me.