The lady, name of Kathy, from whom I purchased American Spirit only owned him for 3 months. She did a couple of Limited Distance Rides on him, and when she didn't get thrown or too scared to finish the ride, she came in very quickly. Kathy told me this horse left her little choice. Kathy went on to say that her husband was insisting she sell him because he felt the horse was going to kill her one day very soon. As Kathy went on about the horse, I tried to hide my enthusiasm. When she said "this horse never ever tires," I knew my eyes, hidden behind my dark sunglasses, just went wide open with excitement. Kathy had the look of fear when she said this; I had the look of desire (not for Kathy, but for the horse). Horses like this don't scare me. I don't know why. It's not that I'm a brave man; I'm not. I have a fear of flying, to the point, when I even contemplate this mode of travel I get dizzy, nauseous and have deep seeded visions of large jets imploding into tall buildings. I would need to be completely inebriated before I will even consider boarding an aircraft (try doing that in this day and age with all of the security restrictions). There are a few other things that scare me like crazy sniper psychopaths, with long range telescopic rifles, who shoot at humans while hidden crunched inside the modified trunk of their car. Watching that tale unfold on television has completely changed how I now feel about gun control in this country. If our founding fathers truly believed that every human in America, including the whackos, deserve to own a firearm, I think that may have been the one thing they got completely wrong. How many assassinations or cold blooded murders will it take to finally convince us that the Second Amendment to the Constitution, giving us the Right to Bear Arms, needs to be rewritten? I fear whackos who carry guns. I, also, fear those disturbed individuals in America who drive their cars on the highways with two very dangerous traveling companions riding along inside, who go by the names of Fury and Anger. These folks are so quick tempered they are one step short of committing life threatening road rage against you and your family, for any minor infraction they feel was perpetuated against them, and they plan on using the 3,000 pound weapon they're driving to correct all the injustices they've ever experienced in their lifetime (and, in their world there has been many). You, pulling out in front of them, just set off a chain reaction, waking up Fury and Anger who had both fallen asleep inside the car. The three of them, working as a team of one, plan on evening the score in a game called "Total Delusion" that they have been losing to most of their life. I seem to meet this type of driver every time I get into my Motor Home and one of them ends up behind me and my horse trailer. As you can see, I have many fears; I'm not a brave man (you might not be a "well" man, either, Howard). Kathy told me American Spirit had been abused by the man she purchased him from. I did notice his scars, which looked like life long reminders of serious encounters with barbed wire or a bear claw. He has over a foot long scar on his upper left croupe, where one part of his outside hide kind of over flaps with the part it's supposed to be attached. This scar speaks to me and says, "I should have been stitched up by a vet, but the owner just kind of let it go." I remember the first week I had American Spirit, I was trying to put some wound cream on his inside fetlock (he had interference marks on all 4 legs) and he kicked me. Not a real hard kick, but hard enough where it pissed me off, I got up off the ground, started yelling at him and I was about to hit him very hard. As I raised my hand, the horse literally started to shake and it was over 90 degrees outside. I calmed down, did not hit him, and learned to alter my behavior because someone had definitely messed with this horse's mind big time. I did not want to add to that and planned on going very slowly, to earn this horse's trust, and to try my best never to hit him or scare him in any way. This is not an easy task considering he's a complete lunatic out on the trail. When I first started riding him he had this terrible habit of rearing and occasionally bucking. But, once I got him going in a particular direction, this horse covered ground more quickly and, in his own way, efficiently, than any other I have ever owned. And, since I do train with a heart monitor, his beats per minute seem to decrease as his speed increased, even with a gait change. He's the only horse I own that has a lower heart beat in the canter than in the trot. And, he comes down to less than 60 BPM, even after a 15 mile hard run, in less than 5 minutes. What makes it even more amazing, at least to me, is that he does all of this with my fat butt on his back, and I weigh in, with tack, at 205. When you own a horse named America you may find yourself talking to him using slogans or thoughts engraved into your head since Grade School. I often say to him, "God Bless you, America," or "I love America," or "America's the Greatest Horse who ever lived." Some might say I've gone a bit mad with my patriotic analogy, and they may be correct. But, with what is happening around the world today it might take a touch of madness to set things right. All I know is that one must be completely crazy to mess with "America." This is one of the few things the terrorists and I seem to have in common. I started to train America alone, without my daughter or wife riding with us. I knew I needed to bond with this horse and I planned on starting out slow using the endurance motto of "long, slow, distance" training. America, however, had other plans. My guess is this horse had some sort of disastrous experience, previously, with LSD, because the word slow is not in his vocabulary. Even, on those few occasions, where I could get him to walk, it was more of a prance, a sort of quick step maneuver that I thought only a gaited horse could do. Dance Line, my Saddlebred, will do this on occasion, but, America, was the first and only Arabian that I've seen "walk" this way. I find myself wondering if horses can have "ADD" (attention deficit disorder) which is a phenomena one of my sons had. My kid had ADD with Hyper Activity, which means he could not sit still, ever. It was hard for him to watch television, a movie, or to read a book. We found that certain types of physical activity, like swimming or track, were the places he seemed most comfortable. My son was the captain of his High School Swimming team and did well in track, but, I don't think he was ever able to read much and his academic grades reflected this disability. I think my America has "ADD". This would most likely not be a good thing for a horse to have if he were performing in the show ring, but on the endurance trail, I do believe it might be a plus instead of a hindrance. The more I ride America the more I find myself wishing he was a stallion instead of a gelding. I would breed a farm of horses like this one if I could. He may not look like much, he's gangly, looks underfed (almost to the point of being "wormy") and his skin is very sensitive. He has scratches behind and above both front hooves and is quite susceptible to girth rubs, no matter what material I use. He is a work in progress and I've never been happier (don't worry, Dance Line, I still love you too).
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